

In the Shadow of the Black Sun

Book One:

A Dream of Storms

by

William Kenney

Published by William Kenney at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 William Kenney

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Chapter One

Its skin was that of stone. As it approached the small village, its heart became stone as well. Roughly three heads taller and perhaps four times the weight of the average man, it was an imposing sight. Sniffing at the cool spring wind, it halted at the unmistakable scent of Man. It wrinkled its nose and placed one huge foot in front of the other. Its hunt was near complete. Soon, the sounds of morning business reached its ears and it grew more cautious, slowing to a walk. For three weeks it had traveled, the supplies on its back now exhausted. Just ahead, it thought. A few more steps and I can rest. For a moment. Raising one tattooed arm to its eyes, it checked the location of the sun. Nearly noon. There should be plentiful food about. Two days with little nourishment produced a deep growl from its stomach.

The villagers in the main square stopped open - mouthed where they stood, their eyes moving quickly to the huge lumbering figure as it lowered its foot onto the red cobblestone sending several cracks running away through the square. There were many townsfolk milling about and all came to a halt where they stood, in sudden silence. Several shop windows slammed shut and someone inside let out a scream.

Turning its hairless stone head from side to side, it surveyed the small town, its deep - set eyes in a squint. One hand went to its massive chin as it pondered its next action. After several tense moments, its eyes fell to the closest villager.

Haniman Grinter nearly dropped from fright. After all, it's not often that the town tailor is approached by a creature straight out of legend. In an impossibly deep and gravelly voice the creature addressed him.

"Hmmm.... I seek." He hesitated, obviously unsure of the language. His strange lips formed silent words for a moment. He hadn't spoken the human tongue in quite some time. "Hagan... Must speak Hagan Marindel."

With this, he looked from face to face in the hope that he was understood. Long minutes passed.

"What seems to be the - " a young man strolled casually into their midst and immediately froze. His blue eyes became like saucers as he took in the Stone Troll standing to his right. He brushed his shaggy brown hair from his eyes, unsure of what they were seeing. "What... Who is that thing?" he stammered.

Haniman leaned close to the boy's ear and whispered, "He's looking for Hagan." He paused and placed one hand to his chest. "D'Pharin, what do we do?"

Just then, the Troll reached into his pack and removed a torn sheet of parchment. He eyed it quickly, his thick fingers tracing the writing there, closed his eyes and spoke again.

"Hmmm. I mean no hurt.... Message."

An aged man smelling of cheap wine joined Haniman and the boy. Wrinkling his balding forehead in a frown he said, "Well, s'obviously a Stone Troll from up north. Far's I know, ain't never been no evil Stone Trolls, heh..." This started a coughing fit that had everyone backing away. "'Course there were that time in Pandaria. I held off – what - musta been seventy or eighty giants'n then when my sword...." He paused mid - sentence and gathered his tattered brown cloak about him. From somewhere within the folds of his clothing he produced a small glass bottle. He slowly raised it to his cracked lips and drank. Suddenly he turned on his heel, rounded the local inn and was gone. Everyone was familiar with Trune's fondness for drink and elaborate stories, none of which were true. The man had never left Lauden.

"You think we can trust him, then?" the boy asked, glancing quickly at the Troll.

All of the villagers had since gathered around the two and were staring at them for answers.

Haniman nodded. "Let's take him to the Village Hall and have a little chat with Chenal. Oh, I'm sure he'll love this."

He then raised his voice in the Troll's direction. "Uh, Sir.... If you'll kindly join us." He waved the towering beast over as the villagers parted allowing the Troll ample room to pass. With skin of rock and piercing black eyes, he was a sight to behold especially for an out – of – the - way village this side of nothing. The few children standing there simply gasped and ran to tell their friends. It seemed that the adults were by far more afraid than the young ones were. Gorin produced the closest thing to a smile his chiseled features would allow.

"That was easier than expected," he thought as he followed the tiny men deeper into their town.

"Gorin Grimandin, Great St \- stone Troll from the wondrous city of Rathnok. All l - looks to be in order here."

Chenal shook with fear in his somewhat fancy chair behind his stately mahogany desk. Not quite fancy enough for his station, he often thought. The mayor should have better furnishings, what with all of the important decisions he had to make! He barely managed to stutter his sentence loud enough for anyone in the room to hear. His teeth were chattering far too much. He puffed a final time on his long ivory pipe sending small clouds of smoke into the air.

"N - now, what is this all important message th - that you must deliver to our dear Hagan?"

Some within the hall chuckled softly under their breath at the slight emphasis on the word dear, getting a glare from D'Pharin. To think they would be so disrespectful of his brother with him standing right there! Most thought of his brother as a drunkard who was wasting his life in hiding. Hagan Marindel had been one of the most celebrated war heroes a dozen years ago, but when he had returned, he had changed. He only spoke of it briefly with D'Pharin before he moved up into the mountains some time ago. He had simply stated that he had seen and done things that he was not proud of and wanted to be left alone. He had only seen his brother a handful of times since his return.

"Hagan must hear.... Hmmm..." came the low answer. The Troll looked at each of the people present; hoping his point was taken. I do not have time for this.

Chenal leaned back, one hand scratching his salt – and - pepper beard. He brushed at his puffy white shirtsleeves, a habit he had acquired with the office.

"I see... The message, it seems, is for our Hagan's ears only, eh?" he tried to stifle a sneer. "Might we know from whence it came?", he asked.

The grey giant shifted his feet nervously. To D'Pharin, he seemed to be growing agitated, as if he were in an extreme hurry. D'Pharin instinctively backed toward the door.

The Troll cleared its throat and the hardwood flooring below reverberated with the sound. The atmosphere suddenly became tense.

"Hmmm. You may.... Not." the great creature uttered. He slowly stepped within arms reach of the mayor and placed his two giant hands on the edge of the desk. His breath ruffled the hair of Chenal's brows and blew smoke back into his pudgy face.

"Fine, fine... " the mayor smiled until every tooth was visible. He quickly backed his chair away with a scrape and stood. He suddenly forgot his arrogance. Wanting nothing more than to be out of the Troll's presence, he summoned his assistants. As the two men rushed in, he gave them the order to lead him to Hagan.

D'Pharin jumped in. "Um, excuse me, Sir? Sir Gorin?" He paused as the Troll leveled its eyes to his. "You don't mean any... harm to my brother do you? Hagan, I mean?"

Gorin drew back his head in shock.

"Certainly.... Not!" he grunted and strode from the building. D'Pharin ran quickly after him, afraid he had somehow insulted him.

"Sir ... ? Uh, Gorin?" he called. "I meant no harm. It's just... well, most of us have never even seen a Stone Troll and we don't know what to expect."

Gorin slowed and turned to face him. His features had a puzzled look as he took in the young man before him. Tussled brown hair, somewhat sharp features with a long nose. He could see in his eyes that he was not harmful.

"I understand. Hagan... he is your brother?" he asked, not noticing the townsfolk slowly gathering round him. He was already becoming accustomed to the language once more. Years ago he spoke it fluently and it would not take more than a few hours to sound normal, he knew.

"Yes Sir, he is."

"It seems you have his honor and... what is the word in your tongue ... ? Respect... if you are kin to him, then I am certain you are a good man." The Troll grinned, sending some of the smaller children running. To them, this must have looked like an intense scowl, after all stone doesn't move as easily as flesh.

D'Pharin smiled back. He was beginning to like this creature from the north. As they walked off through the middle of the village, a crowd followed them perhaps twenty paces behind. He was in awe as each of Gorin's steps sent a shudder through the ground beneath their feet. If a Troll such as this was ever angered, he pitied the poor soul on the receiving end of one of those enormous fists. He glanced back at the villagers and felt a sense of pride. He had a Troll for a friend. Imagine that? What'll father say?

"I'll take you to Hagan. It's not far. Just up into the mountains a bit." he said as they pulled away from the crowd. The mayor's assistants turned to one another and cleared their throat in unison.

"The Mayor Chenal has given us specific instructions - " they began.

"Hmmm. This lad will... suffice. This is Hagan's brother is it not? He can most likely lead me as well as the two of you, hmmm?" The grey giant cut them off. He stared for a moment and with a quick nod, they agreed. Soon, they were out of sight.

"I've read stories of Trolls from my father's library. Are all of your people so... big? With an army of Trolls as big as you ... Who could beat you?" D'Pharin asked with a fire in his eyes.

"Hmmm. Most male Trolls in my country are... are much larger than I. I am... hmmm, well... considered small."

"Small?"

"I have brothers and they stand an arm's length taller than do I. It is an embarrassment." Gorin explained, his eyes downcast for a moment. D'Pharin had evidently touched on a sore point.

The Troll slowed for a moment causing D'Pharin to turn on his heel.

Gorin hesitated, obviously stalling.

"My friend... Hmmm... is there a place for food nearby ... ? My task requires haste, but I am afraid I may fall from hunger if I do not eat soon. Wind, forgive me." As Gorin muttered this, an accompanying growl issued from his abdomen. "My apologies... It has been two days."

There was a brief pause and suddenly they both began laughing, which caused more of the deep rumbling. They were both thankful for the change in topic.

"Of course," said D'Pharin leading him off down a side road. "Where are my manners? You could probably eat a muckhog. Heh, heh." Muckhogs were disgusting pig - like creatures not known for their cleanliness. Usually, they made their dens in refuse and smelled like it. It wasn't hard to track a muckhog on a clear day.

There wasn't much conversation between them at The Rose and Thorn inn, with Gorin literally shoveling roast and potatoes into his gaping mouth. D'Pharin had never seen anyone or anything consume that much food at one sitting. After four or five helpings Gorin pushed himself back from the old wooden table and patted his belly. The other patrons at the inn had all moved over to a far corner and were mumbling amongst themselves under the dim yellow lamplight. Even old Mastriel, the innkeeper's wife, was keeping her distance. D'Pharin couldn't blame them though; Gorin was a sight to behold, especially when engulfing every bit of food in sight. The Troll wiped his lower lip with an old rag he had pulled from his belt and let out a low moan.

"I have wasted enough time here, hmmm... We must... go".

He stood, accidentally shoving the table into D'Pharin's midsection. D'Pharin had a short conversation with Mastriel about who was paying for the food and asked her to speak to his father when he came to town later. His father would be angry that he hadn't immediately returned to the ranch, but D'Pharin considered this much more important. He grinned and walked back out into the street.

Gorin was leaning against the side of the building evidently unaware of the people gawking at him from the alleyway across the street. His head was back and his eyes were closed. He seemed to be napping.

"Gorin?" D'Pharin said reaching out and touching him lightly on the forearm. The skin was not as solid as he would have imagined. It gave beneath his fingers. Not quite like his own flesh but not unlike it either. The surprising thing to him was the heat that came from the Troll's skin. Much hotter than a man's and it almost seemed to vibrate as he touched it.

The Troll slowly looked down at him, dark grey eyes barely visible beneath his brows.

"I am sorry, my friend... I know there is no... hmmm... excuse." he began in his impossibly deep voice. D'Pharin did not understand.

"I have been traveling for two weeks and one day. It seems that ex... exhaustion has caught up with me." He pulled his back away from the wall and stood up straight, blocking out the midday sun and putting D'Pharin in a sudden deep shadow.

D'Pharin chuckled to himself. "Well, you slept, didn't you?" he asked.

"I most certainly did not! He huffed and stuck out his chest. "You may not know the customs of the Stone Trolls, my friend... I will take no offense, but it was put upon me to deliver an important message and until that message is delivered, Hmmm, I will not rest!" he had become visibly agitated and it seemed as though he was somewhat ashamed of himself. If a grey - skinned creature could blush, then Gorin did.

"Sorry, sorry." D'Pharin started. " I... oh never mind. You're right. I don't know your customs. I didn't know... " he let his voice trail off and they remained silent as they exited the town and headed into the near foothills.

They walked steadily for an hour without a word. The air grew more uncomfortable about them as they both tried to shrug off their own embarrassment. D'Pharin let his mind wander and he found his thoughts on his older brother, Hagan. So much of Hagan's past was unknown to him. He had fought in The Battle of the Black Sun almost a dozen years ago and had returned a war hero. That much he knew, but then everyone knew that. D'Pharin had only been a very young boy when Hagan had left and they had never been able to develop a close relationship. Relationships like those among other siblings in Lauden. Hell, I don't even know him, he thought with a shake of his head.

Since the war, Hagan had retreated into the mountains with the money given to him for his service. He had built a small cottage and secreted himself inside, rarely coming into town and never speaking to anyone when he did. They had only seen each other a handful of times in the years after his return and D'Pharin regretted that. To not know one's brother. Sad indeed. Nowadays, what he knew of his brother was gathered from hushed rumors he overheard among the other townspeople. His brother's drinking and strange moods. Some had told him that occasionally they could hear Hagan screaming and breaking things in a drunken rage up on the mountain.

It seemed he had spent most of his childhood in fistfights over his brother's reputation. D'Pharin was as good as anyone in town with his fists. He wondered if Hagan was even aware of that.

The way became more difficult as they trudged into the foothills and began their uphill climb. Gorin seemed to have no trouble at all despite his lack of sleep. To the northwest, they could begin to make out the lay of the land. D'Pharin imagined he could see the shimmer of the Illdredge River from here, but that was impossible. It lay many leagues away. He also knew that even farther to the north sat the Elfwhere forest, home to the mysterious Wood Elves. He had never traveled there of course, only read stories and overheard conversations. His brother had known Elves, he was sure of it.

They followed a well-worn path commonly used by the villagers. Other small towns sat in the heights of these hills and there was often trade between them. The green brush and trees were thick here, resplendent with their new spring growth. Flowers sprung up everywhere in a rainbow of colors and small animals scattered as they approached. It smells like spring, D'Pharin thought out loud and Gorin turned to look at him.

"I did not think you, hmmm...Humans, noticed such things." he said raising one hairless brow.

D'Pharin stopped where he stood.

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't we?"

The Troll moved his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. With a deep breath he sighed, "Once again, it seems our races are somewhat, hmmm-ignorant-of one another. We must agree on this-we will no longer assume anything about one another. Agreed?"

"Agreed." he answered with a smile. "You know, Gorin, every human is different. There are some of us who probably don't notice the small things. The smell of flowers and the colors of a sunset, but my family has always taken time out to do these things. My mother...well, she's gone now, but when she was alive she taught us to cherish these things and to never forget them. Her faith in the Wind was as strong as any in all of Kirkaldin."

Gorin grinned at the lad and lightly clipped him on the shoulder.

"She sounds like a great woman. You should be proud to be her descendant." He paused, considering his next words. "In the Stone Troll, hmmm... communities, honor is the most important thing one can own. One can be as poor as a beggar, but with honor one is still rich beyond his wildest dreams. Loyalty, respect, integrity-you know these words? These are the things we strive for in Rathnok, my home."

"In Rathnok, each of us is treated the same. Until we are given a reason to doubt, all are equal. Even the women of our home have equal station, unlike... I am sorry, these are your ways and I should not question."

D'Pharin shook his head. "No, that's fine. Some of our ways seem strange to me as well." They both laughed.

"D'Pharin, in other lands- you would not believe- the women fight alongside the men and are just as skilled! The Elves of the forests, their women are some of the best warriors I have ever seen. In the Battle of Tree Towers, I... "

"The Battle of Tree Towers? You fought at Tree Towers? So long ago? But, then Trolls live much longer than we do." D'Pharin could not contain himself. War stories always excited his sense of adventure. Never having left this small town, he longed for a challenge. Anything besides this boring life of helping his father at the stables. He loved horses, but Lauden couldn't be more mundane. "I can't believe it, tell me about it. Did you see S'Darin? How exactly did he die? Is it true that Mournenhile himself destroyed him?"

Gorin burst out in deep laughter, shaking leaves form the nearby trees. After his chuckling had subsided, he sighed.

"Ah, son... you are young, are you not? Stories of battle always excite the mind. Fighting in such a battle is another tale indeed. As the Stone Trolls say, there is no glory in blood." He placed his huge right hand on the young man's back and helped him over a small stump in the trail. "Perhaps you will leave this town one day and have your own adventures. I pray luck for you. Wind watch over you, my friend."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" D'pharin asked anxiously.

"Hmmm. Later, friend." Gorin answered with a crooked smile. He rubbed his palm over the top of his head, producing a rough, scraping sound that almost put D'Pharin's teeth on edge. Troll skin was a mystery to him for certain.

Roughly an hour passed with much casual conversation between them. It had not taken much time for them to grow comfortable with each other. D'Pharin found himself dreading the Troll's departure. There were so many more questions he wanted to ask.

"D'Pharin, is that your brother's home, there?" He would have to put his questions on hold for now.

One massive finger pointed through the trees to their left. A small cottage stood just off of the trail somewhat hidden by the upward slope of the hillside. It was obviously very run-down and not taken care of. Several smashed rain barrels littered the front yard and many fence posts had fallen to the ground. The roof was in disrepair and the dark green door was partially open and loose on its hinges. Two large dogs raised their heads at their approach and sensing no danger, dropped them back to the ground.

"Yep, that's the place." he answered with a little disgust. He couldn't believe the uncaring attitude his brother had slipped into. He wasn't like that when he left, he thought. Gorin's eyes went to him.

"Do not judge your brother, D'Pharin. No one can know what he feels. What has changed inside. War is not easy on one's body or one's mind."

Gorin had seemed to guess his thoughts, somewhat unnerving him for a moment.

"Well, let's go see if he's home." D'Pharin said as he walked onto the knee-high grass of Hagan's yard. Who am I kidding, he thought. Isn't he always home?

He lightly rapped on the door with his knuckles and it swung a little farther open allowing a better view inside. The place was a mess. Junk was piled everywhere that he could see. He knocked louder, already impatient.

"Hagan, are you here?" he called out as he stepped from foot to foot.

"Hagan?!"

"Damn."

He pushed the door open, which was a feat in itself. Something blocked it from the other side. Probably some sort of trash thrown about. After getting the door open and recoiling from the pungent smell of old ale, he motioned for Gorin to follow. This would not improve Gorin's opinion of his race, he was sure. The entire ceiling was covered with cobwebs, some occupied and some not. A layer of dust covered every visible surface. They noticed several pieces of strange artwork hanging on the walls. Disturbing paintings of carnage and great horned beasts. Stacked to one side, was a large crate full of buckets of what seemed to be paint. Various brushes and art utensils lay about. Was Hagan responsible for all of these drawings?

Three steps took them through the entryway and into the home proper. In the main living room, adjacent to the stone fireplace, a man's feet hung off the end of the embroidered sofa that sat there. The rest of his body was completely covered by several blankets. A low rumbling came from underneath and the covering above his face rose and fell a little with each snore.

D'Pharin could not help but be flustered. Maybe the people were right. It seemed his brother was a drunkard after all. Look at him there, passed out in a drunken sleep. He glanced up at Gorin and smirked as if to say, "sorry about this". Gorin simply smiled back and grabbed his shoulder.

Suddenly, another foot came out from beneath the blankets. A rather smooth and feminine foot.

Both of them gasped in surprise. A little too loudly in fact.

A most disheveled woman, wearing nothing but an elaborate necklace, sat up straight, her raven-colored hair all about her face. Her near-black eyes fixed on the Stone Troll and after a brief silence, widened like saucers. She let out a scream and bolted from the room, out into the front yard. In seconds, realizing she had forgotten her clothing, they heard her sneak in the back door. After finding suitable attire, she exited again with just as much haste.

Gorin turned to D'Pharin with huge, round eyes. He seemed to be almost blushing.

"It's alright, Gorin." he said. "Think nothing of it."

"But... " Gorin began.

D'Pharin cut him off with a shrug and wave of his hand. He couldn't help but grin. It's not every day that a woman races by as naked as a newborn. He set his mind on his brother.

"Hagan." he said, leaning in close to the bundled man.

No answer.

He reached out and put his hand on an exposed calf. Instantly, there was a quick rustling of bedclothes and a blade at his throat. Hagan's haggard face was inches from his own, his red-rimmed eyes wide and intense. The younger brother recoiled for a moment from his foul breath. For a moment, D'Pharin did not recognize him, but Hagan was quicker to react. His eyes became softer and he tossed his dagger at the mantle in disgust. With one hand he gripped D'Pharin at the upper arm and hugged him with the other.

"Brother. I'm so sorry... I.... "

"It's alright, Hagan. I surprised you, that's all. I know you didn't mean to." D'Pharin tried to calm him as he slowly pried his brother's fingers from his arm.

Hagan took a deep breath and slowly reclined on the sofa. He pushed his unwashed hair away from his dark eyes and ran a hand over his stubbled chin. Then, he went rigid again as he caught sight of the great Stone Troll standing to his left. His eyes once again met his brother's.

"Who is that? What is he doing here?" he said, now obviously angry.

"Sir Hagan. I am Gorin Grimandin from Rathnok. I mean no... offense. Please, listen... " Gorin spoke slowly as he moved closer to D'Pharin's side.

"He's a friend, Hagan." D'Pharin added. "You can trust him."

"D'Pharin, please. I think I have a little more experience in this type of situation. Why don't you let me decide who to trust, eh?"

Hagan threw the blankets to the side and stood, pulling on his patched brown trousers. His brows came together as he looked down at the sofa. He suddenly looked sharply at Gorin.

"Where is she? If you harmed her in any way.... " he scowled.

"Hagan! I told you he was a friend. Your... woman... ran outside at the sight of him." The youngest brother explained, pointing out the front door.

They all glanced at the wooden floor, where some of the woman's clothing still lay strewn about. Hagan produced a small smile and looked into D'Pharin's face.

"Naked?"

D'Pharin nodded and after a moment the two burst out in laughter while Gorin stared on with a puzzled expression. As they calmed down, the woman burst through the open door and scooped up her belongings.

"I'm glad you can laugh at this situation!" the frazzled woman screamed. "And by the way, I don't like your artwork!"

She turned and slapped Hagan hard against the right cheek, then stormed out.

"Amitee... " he called out an apology.

Silence.

Then the laughter started again. Excepting the Troll, of course.

Once his older brother had cleaned up a bit, D'Pharin sat Hagan down at the small table in the kitchen. He noticed that Hagan had changed a lot for the worse. His once flat stomach now held a large paunch and he slouched when he stood. He no longer held the air of confidence that D'Pharin remembered. When Hagan had left for the War, everyone looked up to him.

Gorin felt uncomfortable and stood leaning against one wall, his eyes on the floor. Hagan had become a little more coherent and attempted to straighten the room up a bit, but soon gave up.

"Can I offer you gentlemen some... uh... what do I have?" he started, fumbling around in the cupboards. "Never mind. There's nothing here. Haven't been to market in some time. Uh... "

"Lord Hagan." Gorin interrupted, motioning for Hagan to be seated across from him. Hagan hesitated, but knew there was no avoiding this. He had been sent a message. He knew as well as any that Stone Trolls were among the most good and honorable creatures in all of Kirkaldin. He knew the message would be of great importance. He did not want to hear it. I'm through with that.

Gorin slowly dropped to one knee and bowed his head, hand to chest.

"Lord Defender. Vanquisher of the Darkness. Hero of the Black Sun. Sir Hagan Marindel..."

"Enough! Look, Gorin, those are no longer my titles to bear. I... I don't want them. In fact, I never wanted them. I'm no hero. So, please... continue but, without the formality." Hagan had begun to stand, but once again seated himself with a thud.

Gorin was obviously taken aback. His people lived by formality. It was what made them the respectable race that they were. His forehead wrinkled as he thought out his next words.

"As you wish. Lord Hagan... " he began in his low gravelly voice. The word 'lord' produced a grimace from Hagan, but the Troll continued. "When the stillness came upon the world and once again Mournenhile crawled onto the land, you fought beside the best of our realm's warriors. As the Black Sun shown down upon Harquinn, your blade left naught but death in its wake. The fires of Hell were upon our earth and you stood your ground, defending the great city and all of Kirkaldin. Your battle with Malhain is now a tale of legend, sung by minstrels near and far. On that dread day, the side of good defeated the armies of Mournenhile, driving them back across the Edge to lick their wounds, those that did not lie upon the ground in their own blood."

"Yes, I know the stories. They never found Malhain's body. He may not have died. Get on with it, Gorin. Please." Hagan was growing very impatient although his younger brother was in awe.

"Are you- I mean were you really called all of those things?" D'Pharin asked, smiling in Hagan's direction. He took notice of a large painted canvas leaning against the north wall. A battle scene. Mostly shades of red.

Hagan only grunted in response. He then turned to Gorin, his hands slowly becoming fists upon the tabletop.

"Can we please get to the point?" he whispered through clenched teeth.

Gorin breathed a heavy sigh and began again.

"You have been summoned by Councilcrane. They request your presence immediately, Lord Hagan."

Hagan paused for a moment, his eyes fixed to the grain of the table.

"No."

All were silent for a moment, not knowing what to say.

D'Pharin was the first to clear his throat and speak. However as soon as he opened his mouth, his older brother silenced him.

"No, brother. I am not a legend. I am not a hero. Those are not things I want anymore." He hesitated and looked to the ceiling. "I just want to be left alone... "

Gorin fidgeted where he stood, unsure of his next course of action. He knew that at any cost, Hagan must be convinced to accompany him on his return.

"Hagan," he began. "I mean no dis... disrespect, my friend. Before the battle, you swore an oath to Kinrahd-"

"To Hell with the oath. I had no idea what I was getting into. None of us did! You don't have any idea what was asked of us, do you? No idea. The things I had to do... I can never forgive myself. If I had known what was to come, I never would have given my word. Not to Kinrahd. Not to anyone. It wasn't worth it. Too many died. Far too many... "

His eyes held a faraway look as he remembered those days and his lip began to tremble.

"Hmmm. How can you say it wasn't worth it?" Gorin moved close to him, his hulking form casting the table in shadow. "Had you not fought, the land you stand on now would be under Mournenhile's rule. All would be as twisted here as in the east. Have you seen the lands across the Edge? Black and deformed."

"You may have suffered along with the rest, but never say it wasn't worth it. Would you want your family-your brother-to die under Mournenhile? I don't think so. Remember those that fell under that Black Sun."

"Look, I am finished. I have no more to give. They cannot ask more of me. I gave everything I had." Hagan was in obvious pain. D'Pharin reached out a hand, but he slapped it aside.

"I don't want sympathy. I... I don't know what I want. It wasn't supposed to turn out that way. Friends and companions dead by my side. I do not want that again, do you understand?"

For the first time since they had met, the Stone Troll held an expression of near anger. He huffed, causing the cobwebs above him to swing and dance around.

"Do not say that you would consider breaking your oath. Do not say that." Gorin said with a hard squint. "I will no longer hold respect for one who does not keep his word. And a war hero no less!"

"Do you think I want your respect? Why would that matter to me? I want to be left alone or didn't you hear? This is my place now. Here." He jammed his finger into the tabletop to make his point.

Gorin looked away and out the window in thought. D'Pharin thought he could actually hear his teeth clenching from where he sat.

"It is your decision, of course." The Troll said quietly in Hagan's direction.

"And I have decided I will stay here." said Hagan roughly.

"No, Hagan. That is not what I meant." Gorin turned toward him and bent at the waist until they were face to face. "It is your decision whether you ride to Harquinn or I carry you there. A Troll always completes his mission. Always. I will have you in Harquinn within two week's time regardless of your mode of travel. I do not mean to be... what is your word ...? Violent. However if the situation calls for it... "

Hagan stared into his dark grey eyes for a moment, then turned his aside. He looked to D'Pharin but found no solace there. The last thing I want is another blasted adventure!

Who am I responsible for this time?

Hagan sharply exhaled, stood and walked past Gorin to the window. He took in his front yard, untended for months and his fence, broken in many places. The dogs raised their heads as they sensed him there, then realizing it was not feeding time, went back to their naps. The trees outside were starting to get their leaves. Soon, all would be a thousand shades of green. Strange how he hadn't noticed these things for so long. Now he would be leaving, so he tried to soak it all in with his eyes. This may be the last time I see this place. I almost didn't make it back last time.

"I have one condition. One condition and I will go." Hagan said coldly.

"Go on, my friend." Gorin answered, taking a step toward him.

"If I am heading back into battle-I am sure they would not want me if that were not the case- if I will see blood again, I want to bring Vasparian."

"Lord Hagan... " Gorin began.

"No! That is the only way! We will find Vasparian and enlist his aid. He and I survived the Black Sun back to back. His is one of the few blades I trust." Hagan balled his fingers into a fist and stared at it for a moment.

"That will add many days to our trip... " the Troll muttered through clenched teeth.

"I don't care. You swear an oath, now. You swear to me that we will at least ask him to join us."

"Hmmm." Gorin grunted. "Agreed, Hagan. I will never hear the end of this once we reach the council... "

Gorin looked as though he were calculating things in his head. This will have to do. I am bringing him back. Most did not believe I could even do that. And I am the smallest of my family. Hmmm!

"Must we leave now?" he asked without turning.

Gorin cleared his throat.

"I can give you until the morning if you like." he said.

"No." Hagan replied trying to sound confident once more. "I'll just need to gather some things."

"Understood."

"D'Pharin, would you help me in the other room?" Hagan asked wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

"Sure, brother."

D'Pharin was at a loss for words. He wished to comfort his brother in some way but had no idea what he was going through. Gorin remained in the kitchen as the two moved into the next room. The elder brother walked through the living room and into a dark room at the back of the house. D'Pharin followed him and discovered a room filled with trunks of all sizes. Some were carved with ancient and unfamiliar symbols, others plain and unmarked. Piled in a far corner were leather sacks and packing crates that Hagan began throwing to the center of the room. Dust immediately filled the air, as it seemed this room had not been used for some time. Finally, Hagan found what he was searching for and stopped digging. Slowly, he turned toward D'Pharin although his gaze was fixed on the items he held in his hand. He began to brush off the cobwebs and dirt as he turned them over in his hands. He held before him a deep blue suit of chest armor, inlaid with reflective silver markings and in the other hand, the matching gauntlets. He managed a small smile as some thought brought a fond memory.

"I've never seen those." His brother gasped extending a hand towards them. He traced the patterns with his fingertips and smiled.

"No one has... unless they were there in Harquinn." Hagan answered. He quickly walked back into the main room and tossed the armor on the sofa. With D'Pharin on his heels, he opened the door to his bedroom and entered. He crossed the room and knelt at the other side of the unmade bed. He lifted the mattress with one hand and pulled something out with the other. D'Pharin was unable to see what he held but it gave Hagan a deep frown.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned yet very intrigued. What other treasures did his brother have hidden away up here?

"I swore to never use this again." he mumbled and shook his head.

He stood and pulled a beautiful long sword from its black leather scabbard. Its slightly curved blade glinted in the dim light and a flare traced the length of it as Hagan moved it in an arc in front of him. His eyes followed the movement of the silver steel with a strange satisfaction. He felt a longing. He missed the feel of the sword in his hand. He could not deny it. It was simply an extension of his arm. Always was. No, I can't!

Not again!

"By the Wind, Hagan... " D'Pharin exclaimed. He had never seen such a sword in person. He remembered the pride he had once felt for his brother. "That is some blade, brother."

"NO!" Hagan screamed and threw it across the room, causing a long gash in the wall. The sword fell to the floor with a clang and came to rest. Hagan put his head in his hands and turned away. D'Pharin leapt across the bed and retrieved the sword. He marveled at its brilliance as he gently took the scabbard from his brother's shaking hands. He reluctantly sheathed the blade and held it to his chest.

"I'll hold it until you want it back, agreed?" he asked.

Hagan turned, teary-eyed and nodded. "I'm sorry, D'Pharin. I... " he let his voice trail off.

"Don't apologize, Hagan. I'm sure I can't understand war, having never been anywhere close to one. Hell, Father won't let me out of his sight for a moment. By the way ... " he dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Will you take me along?"

Hagan gave a start and looked sharply at his brother.

"Brother, please. You have no idea what this will involve. I will not risk your life as well as the others. Your place is here-"

"What? My place is here? What does that mean? I'm only meant to be a stable boy? A ranch hand? Father's errand boy?" D'Pharin yelled.

"I can't believe you would say that to me! So, you're the only one in this family that gets to leave this boring place? No, wait a second. I am old enough to decide where and when I go. You may be older than I am, but I am my own man."

"D'Pharin... "

"I don't want to hear it. You're just like him!"

He stormed out of the bedroom, sword in hand and ran out into the yard. The dogs raised their heads as usual, then returned to sleep.

Hagan saw Gorin looking on from the kitchen doorway.

"He doesn't know what it's like out there, Gorin." he said as he stared at his brother's back through the open door.

"Who decided when you would leave, Hagan?"

Hagan slowly looked at the Troll. I did, I know. He's just a kid. If I can keep him from harm...

"Your life is not his and his not yours. If he wants to go from here, he will, without your blessing if need be. Hmmm... he has your blood in him. The blood for adventure. True blood. Just as you joined the side of Good and fought with the Wind, so will he. You know that."

"I know, I know... " Hagan mumbled walking past the fireplace and reaching to retrieve his dagger. As he reached the front doorstep he paused and then called out to D'Pharin.

"I'm not carrying you when you get tired. If you complain, I'm gonna choke you. Agreed? The road out there is rough, brother. It is no picnic. Most of all, you have to agree not to get yourself killed."

D'Pharin turned and smiled, gripping his brother's sword in both hands. He ran over to him and tossed it into the air toward Hagan. The older Marindel caught it with one hand above his head, sunlight catching the silver tooling along the scabbard. Gorin stepped out of the cottage with a grin.

"Lord Defender, Hero of the Black Sun." he stated with pride.

What the Hell am I doing? Hagan thought.

Getting sucked back into the fires of Hell.

After packing several sacks with Hagan's supplies, they were ready to depart. Hagan had gathered all of his armor and weapons, a bedroll, and some grooming items. D'Pharin was somewhat surprised to see that he owned any. His appearance of late had become rather wretched. At some point, he had cleaned himself up quite a bit. His hair had been combed, face washed and shaved. He looked about ten years younger as he shut and locked the front door.

"Coal. Leather." he called out to the two hounds and they jumped to their feet. He patted each on its broad head as they tried to jump up on him.

"You two are going to go stay with your grandfather, alright? Now, you have to behave yourselves, understood? There'll be plenty of work to do. I'll be back soon. Come on, now."

Gorin was carrying most of the sacks. To him it was no burden at all. Hagan and D'Pharin both had one smaller bag slung over a shoulder. They crossed the front yard and stepped through the rickety fence gate. As they turned north down the path, a woman's voice called out.

"Hagan!"

They all turned and looked back up the hill. Farther along the path, Amitee came running, this time fully clothed. Even from this distance they could see she had been crying. She wiped her face as she drew closer and threw her arms around Hagan, almost knocking him to the ground.

"Where are you going, dear?" she said softly, turning them both so that their backs were to D'Pharin and the Troll.

"You're not leaving me, are you?" she sobbed as she looked into his eyes. She had always had a seductive way about her. She usually got what she wanted from him and now he felt weak.

"Amitee .... I must go. I have important business far from here."

"No, please. Stay here with me. You always said that you were through with all of that. That you would never again leave this place. Please, Hagan. Stay." She was on the verge of tears, clawing at his shirt collar. Hagan struggled to hold her up. He truly felt sorry for her but he knew this had to be. What do I say? I can't tell her the truth. I promised.

"Amitee. I will come back. You know I will."

"No you won't, dammit! Don't you lie to me! I know what will happen." She screamed and spat at him. Almost immediately she calmed herself and batted her eyelashes at him.

"We have fun together, don't we? Huh?"

Hagan blushed a bit, mostly because his younger brother was standing behind him. He adjusted the sack on his shoulder and cleared his throat.

"Look, I have no choice. You must understand. This is not something I can say 'no' to." He paused and searched for the right words. He didn't want to hurt her. They had been together for nearly ten years now, off and on. It was a strange relationship but he hadn't cared. Anyone that would put up with his raving and listen to his stories couldn't be that bad. "I made a promise."

She scowled up at him. He thought for sure that she would hit him again. She didn't.

"You promised me, too."

"I... " He wasn't able to finish the sentence. She ran off up the hillside and into the trees. The last word he heard from her was a shouted "Bastard!" and then nothing else.

He stared up after her for a moment, remembering their time together. Good times, but he had to admit, there were also plenty of bad. He would miss her. He knew that much.

"Come on, brother." D'Pharin slapped him on the back and he nodded.

"Let's go." he said. As they walked, he couldn't stop himself from looking back. Perhaps she meant a lot more to him than he would admit. He didn't think she would be here when he returned. If he returned.

The dogs fell in line behind them as they made their way back towards Lauden. The sun was high in the sky, the shadows shortening before them. They didn't talk much for the first hour or so, but soon D'Pharin spoke up.

"Maybe we should stop by the Dreamsinger before we go, huh?" he said.

"I don't think we have time, the way Gorin speaks." Hagan replied. He wanted to talk. Anything to stop thinking about Amitee.

"Your town has a Dreamsinger?" Gorin arched an eyebrow in their direction. Nowadays, very few towns had them. They were gifted people, usually women. They could walk through other's dreams. At this time, travelers mostly used them. The traveler gave a lock of hair or some other personal effect to the Dreamsinger and when relatives wanted to make contact, the Dreamsinger would use this 'connection' to communicate through them. An easy way to keep in touch if you could afford it. Of course, some did not trust it. That is the way of magic.

"She is new to the craft, but very good I am told." said D'Pharin kicking some loose dirt down the path. "I think Haniman has used her and probably Chenal as well."

"I think Chenal has used just about everyone." Hagan added with a chuckle.

"So tell me, Gorin. What news have you? What goes on in the world? It's been awhile you understand, but I should catch up on things. Don't you agree?" he said.

"Hah. Hmmm, where to begin?" Gorin started. He paused for a moment in contemplation and then resumed.

"Since the Battle of the Black Sun, Harquinn has been rebuilt into an even finer city. The stonework of the Tower is beautiful. The council still rules, although there are rumors... some want a king."

"A king? What? The council has ruled for what, nine hundred years?" Hagan protested.

"Closer to one thousand, I would think. That was indeed before my time." The Troll added. "Some wish Harquinn to have a stronger army and to rely less on magic."

"Interesting... " Hagan said. "Interesting, but foolish."

"Some would say." said Gorin.

"What's the difference?" asked D'Pharin feeling a little left out.

"Well, Harquinn is the stronghold of the east. Many of the great battles have culminated there. The people remember this." Hagan explained. "What they don't remember is that magic swayed the war, not the sword. Don't get me wrong, the sword had its place, but in the end, sorcery turned the tide."

"Hagan, please." Gorin said and then addressed D'Pharin. "Your brother is being modest, I believe. The tales all tell of the final battle between Malhain and your brother. That, I believe is what turned the tide." He placed one huge hand upon both of the brother's shoulders. He smiled, looking down upon each of them; happy with the company he would be traveling with.

"Malhain. Hagan, I can't believe that was you. I thought those were just stories." the younger Marindel was once again amazed.

"Alright, let's talk about something else, shall we?" grunted Hagan with a sidelong glance at the Troll.

"Hmmm, as you wish." Gorin mumbled. He then began filling Hagan in on what he had missed in his years of seclusion. The continuing movement of evil into the lands of good. This invisible border between the two sides of the realm was most commonly referred to as The Edge. The edge of the good lands. He spoke of the end of trade between the peoples of Elfwhere and the cities of Man. Some said the Elves had begun to mistrust Man. Man had joined Mournenhile's armies in the past and would most assuredly continue to do so. Already there were rumors of an army of Men across the Edge preparing for a war like none had witnessed in the past. The Dwarves of Kirkaldin, as was usually the case, had little to do with the other races; in fact, Gorin hadn't seen or heard of a Dwarf sighting in years. Not many people had cause to venture as far south as Pahn Pirik, the huge mountain range that pushed its face against the sea. The Slatebreaker Sea, as it was known to it's native folk.

He told them of the Rot. A sickness that ravaged the mind of those afflicted. It turned its victims into raving madmen. Once infected, the person babbled and spoke to people that were not there. Some claimed to hear the voice of Mournenhile himself. As the Rot progressed, the body began to literally decompose from the feet up. It seemed to be very contagious and the worst of the infected were often locked away where they could harm no one. Over all, the world was in a slight state of chaos.

It seemed that Gorin wished to say more but was holding back. Hagan decided not to push him.

"Does Davaris still hold the High Seat in Councilcrane?" he asked to change the subject.

"Hmmm, yes. None is as wise and fair as Davaris. I can think of none that could take his place." the Troll said with utmost pride. "None that still live, that is."

Those that knew of the Battle of the Black Sun, knew of the fall of Kinrahd. He had ruled the council before Davaris. Hagan had always felt that he had let Kinrahd die. No one else saw it that way, of course.

"It was he that sent for me?" asked Hagan.

"It was." Gorin affirmed.

"I look forward to seeing him again. He was always fair to me." Hagan said with a grin. Memories were beginning to assault him. Things he had intentionally blocked out for a dozen years. Fire and blood, steel and sweat. The white-hot glow of Wizard's flame. He remembered the faces of those that had served with him, so many now gone. He remembered Kinrahd. Strong and powerful Kinrahd. With dark scarlet robe and wild white hair, standing atop the bodies of the fallen. Staff thrust out before him and dancing in fire. Shouting in the ancient tongues and blasting their foes to ashes. Terrible Kinrahd. That was the only time he had ever felt afraid of the High Wizard. Those eyes. I think his eyes had more fire in them than his staff.

But, he had fallen. In the end, the flames were extinguished, just as we all will be eventually. Our time will come, no matter how we fight it. To be remembered, that is all one can hope for. To not disappear into the past, but remain in the present dwelling in loved one's memories.

"Hagan?"

D'Pharin had called his name several times. He had been so lost in thought he had not heard.

"Sorry, just thinking... " he replied.

"Gorin, any word about the Runeglobe?"

"The Tinkerers of Aka-Brindor have made little progress, it seems." he replied with a frown.

The Runeglobe was an ancient artifact unearthed years ago. A mostly transparent ball full of energy, it was inscribed with millions of archaic symbols. The council had thought it most important and had set the Tinkerers to uncover its hidden meaning. Thus far to no avail. Since its discovery, it had been secreted in an underground chamber near the heart of the city.

"The council still believes the globe holds the key to ending Mournenhile for good, eh?" Hagan asked with a shrug of the shoulders.

"It would seem so, yes." answered the Troll.

"They believe it to be a relic created during the Morning of the World, when all of this was created." He spread out his giant arms to encompass everything within their view.

"Who do they think created it?" asked D'Pharin. "The Elves?"

"No, no. Not the Elves." Gorin shook his head from side to side. "Not the Elves. The Wind itself. The creator of Kirkaldin. He who carved the plains and built the mountains.

"Before Morning, came the Wind.

Naught but darkness accompanied him.

Time at rest.

Time begins.

Since the coming of the Wind."

"Go on, Gorin." said an excited D'Pharin. He loved the ancient songs. "Sing the rest of it."

Gorin looked at Hagan as if asking permission. Hagan nodded his agreement and he continued.

"Barren ground rose and fell.

Snow-capped peak and forested dell.

Time at rest.

Time begins.

Since the coming of the Wind.

Hawk and wolf, whale and wren.

Elves and Dwarves, and later, Men.

Time at rest.

Time begins.

Since the coming of the Wind."

"You sing well, my friend." Hagan said. "Deeper than most, but still very enjoyable."

"My thanks, Hagan." Gorin said with a toothy smile.

The songs of the Trolls were well known throughout the land. On special occasions, the very mountains themselves could be heard to reverberate with their voices. Thousands in unison, melody and harmony. Guests were not welcome at these events. Troll clan songs were always appreciated from afar.

They had gotten close to the end of the path and the way had leveled off for the most part. As spring had arrived in Lauden, the air had grown quite warm and the animals had come to life. Of course the birds were everywhere, but now squirrels and chipmunks foraged for nuts in the thick ground cover. They even sighted a family of deer just as they left the foothills.

They were so close to the village of Lauden now that they could smell old Vemberin's Bakery as they rounded a low hill, smelling his sweet bread and pastries. Gorin mumbled something about another meal and quickened his pace. The plan was to make a stop at their father's home to gather supplies and leave the dogs. Hagan still did not believe that their father would allow D'Pharin to leave and he thought that was probably for the best. Father can crush his dream instead of me.

Before they reached the town, the dirt trail forked in front of them. Their fathers ranch was on the outskirts of Lauden, so they took the easterly path. A horse-driven wagon loaded with goods rumbled past them as they stepped to the side. The driver was wrapped in a dark cloak up to his eyes and didn't even look in their direction. Most likely a shipment from Ar'Klaemen, possibly baking supplies or ale for one of the few taverns in town. Whatever it was, he was in a hurry. Hagan cursed under his breath at the driver's carelessness.

"Wonder what he's in a hurry about?" asked D'Pharin stepping back out onto the trail.

"I didn't recognize the wagon, did you?" Hagan asked.

"No." his brother replied. "And I know most of the traders by name. Never saw that one before. I think I would remember that fellow."

"We'll let father know. The mayor can look into it." Hagan said.

Gorin had been standing in the tall brush to the side of the path staring after the wagon. He hadn't moved since it had thundered past. He seemed to be frozen where he stood. They both noticed him at the same time.

"Gorin? What's the matter?" D'Pharin asked moving closer.

The Troll finally swung his head back towards them and his face held a strange expression of almost fear. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

"What? What's wrong?" Hagan asked loosening his sword in the scabbard. Anything that could scare a Stone Troll was worth worrying about. He scanned the trees at both sides of the road and pushed D'Pharin closer to Gorin.

"Hmmm... Something is not right. I felt something, almost like death as the wagon passed. There is something wrong here."

"What do you mean?" both brothers whispered in unison.

"Let us make haste. We must hurry."

Then Gorin was off at a trot. They ran after him and soon they were walking briskly down the long drive that led to their father's horse ranch. As they approached, some of the ranch hands noticed them and shouted out a welcome. Most were amazed to see Hagan out and about. At the sound of all the commotion, their father, Rhuvin Marindel sauntered out the back door. A tall, imposing man with thinning hair and a paunch around the middle, too much time in the sun had creased his eyes and forehead deeply while leaving his skin a dark pink color. He wore buckskin breeches as the other ranchers did and a long sleeved button-up work shirt. He held his left hand close to his body as if injured.

Their father's eyes went from brother to brother, mostly ignoring the huge Stone Troll, then finally settled on the younger, whose eyes were on the ground.

"D'Pharin, today's chores are still waiting where you left them." he said with a rough tone. It seemed that he wished to speak with Hagan alone and needed a reason to dismiss D'Pharin. "Maybe your large friend can give you some assistance."

Gorin gave a quick snort of disapproval, glanced at Hagan and followed D'Pharin across the yard toward the stables. Several ranchers looked up from their work, expressionless. Their eyes, however, followed the great Stone Troll until he disappeared into the stable building near the rear of the main house.

Three of them mending a fence began a hushed discussion about the unexpected visitor. Something strange goin' on, one of them remarked.

"Could've used your help down here after your mother was taken by the Wind," Rhuvin said casually as he walked with Hagan to a busy corral. They had several horses within that were being trained.

"That's a fine mare, there." Hagan remarked, gesturing to the far end of the corral. Two men worked with a huge black horse. Very muscular and proud, it fought them every step of the way. Such a noble beast, he thought.

"Fine, yes, but she is much too stubborn." his father added.

"Some refuse to be broken. You cannot force the wildness out of all of them. Some will serve, but on their own terms." Hagan said.

"That's a whole lot of effort, son. When obeying would be so much easier in the long run."

"Obeying?" Hagan gritted through his teeth. His father obviously was not speaking of horses any longer.

"I did not come here to argue, father." Hagan said calmly, pushing his aggravation down.

"Why did you come, then, Hagan? I haven't heard a thing from you in years. You weren't even in attendance at your mother's funeral, by the Wind!"

Hagan tightly shut his eyes. That hurt, he thought.

"You wouldn't understand." he said turning to face Rhuvin.

"Understand what? Your mother dies and you can't even pay her your last respects. She didn't deserve that, Hagan!" his father lashed out, releasing anger that he had bottled away for years.

"I paid my respects, damn you! I didn't need to look at her dead body to make my peace. Where do you think the roses around her grave came from? Magic? They just blossomed out of nowhere? No! I planted them there and every year I tend to them. For her! I would say that qualifies as respect, father! Don't you?"

His father's mouth hung open as he stared at his defiant son.

"You didn't answer my question, son." he said softly. "Why did you come?"

"I came for my horse. Where's Maelstrom?"

"Maelstrom? Maelstrom's been dead for years, boy. You forget how long you've been hidden away up there. He was getting old when you left him here." said Rhuvin.

Hagan turned away in despair. He never imagined Maelstrom not being here when he returned. They had been through it all together. Now he was gone. That beautiful stallion. Damn.

"I lied." said his father after a moment.

Hagan's eyes brightened as he lifted them to his father's face.

"Well ... in a sense. There is a Maelstrom here. Your horse sired him. Take him."

Maelstrom's son? Strange what time does. Well, if it can't be Maelstrom, then this will be as close as possible.

"Thanks." Hagan finally managed.

To say things were awkward between them would be an immense understatement. Since Hagan had left, against his father's wishes, things had changed and it seemed beyond repair.

"Drom, " he called out to a ranch hand. "Have Maelstrom saddled and ready to ride." A burly, blonde youth jumped to his feet and ran for the stables. Rhuvin employed many of the village boys. His ranch seemed to be a very successful business. People from many distant cities came for the horses he raised or to have their steeds trained by his ranchers.

"So I guess the council has held you to your oath? Is it another war? What is it this time? Some fool adventure, I suppose." His father had a way with disparaging remarks. Always condescending. Grow up to be a rancher just like me, he had always said.

Hagan glared at his father with narrowed eyes. How can one hate their father?

"Damn you. While the rest of us fought and died out there," he gestured far off to the north and west. "You hid up here on this ranch, old man. You are and always will be a coward. We could've used your help out there!" Hagan's voice was nearly a scream as those last words came out.

Rhuvin suddenly jumped forward and roughly grabbed Hagan by the shirt collar. Then, with incredible speed Hagan pivoted in place, brought his hands up between his father's. A quick sweep of his right leg put his father to the dirt in a heap.

"Boy ... " his father began as he tried to rise.

"Boy? Look again, father. I'm no longer a boy to be pushed around by the likes of you. If you ever put your hands on me-or for that matter, D'Pharin-I will do more than throw you to the ground."

A small crowd of ranch hands had gathered but they were keeping their distance. Hagan stomped his way through them to the open stable doors. D'Pharin and Gorin stood just inside the doorway where they could see but not be seen. Several stalls back, the blonde-haired lad was walking Maelstrom out. As he entered, D'Pharin let out a low whistle.

"Hagan ... " he started. He silenced him with a look.

"Grab a horse and mount up, brother. We're going." He stated plainly.

"But, father won't-"

"It's no longer his decision. It's mine. And yours. Don't stay here. Come with me to Harquinn." he said as he watched Maelstrom approach.

"You look just like your father, boy." he remarked patting the huge horse along the neck and chest. The horse seemed to study him for a moment and then nuzzled against his shoulder. It was as if Maelstrom knew him although they had never actually met.

"I'm Hagan. I knew your father. There was never a finer stallion."

Maelstrom's big brown eyes seemed to comprehend all that he said.

In minutes, the two brothers sat atop their steeds within the stable. Their stallions both stomped the straw-covered dirt floor with anticipation. The chance to run again.

"Hagan, what if he-" D'Pharin began to question their present course.

"D'Pharin, it is time you leave this place. He has never treated you well. You are a man and as a man you can make your own decisions, understand?" Hagan smiled at him and that gave him all the courage he would need.

"Gorin, how will you ride? There's not a horse in this entire country your size." D'Pharin asked with a laugh.

The Troll opened his mouth to answer, but Hagan interjected with an explanation of sorts.

"Don't worry, brother. He'll make do, I assure you. Gorin doesn't need a horse to keep up." Hagan said taking his bags from the Troll's outstretched hand. He slung these over his saddle and tied the leather drawstrings to it.

"When we ride out, don't look at him. Don't be afraid. As long as I am here, he can't hurt you."

The two riders spurred their horses forward and out of the stable. The Troll trod along behind, ever watchful. The ranchers were all frozen in their tracks. They fully expected Rhuvin to stop them, especially the younger brother.

He stood, arms crossed over his chest, feet spread wide. He was in their direct path and seemed to have every intention of remaining there.

Hagan turned to his brother.

"Don't look at him, understand?"

"Sure." D'Pharin answered, casting his eyes downward.

Hagan was worried that his father would somehow frighten D'Pharin into staying. Not this time, he thought.

"What you doin' boy?" came their father's call.

The younger brother's eyes darted back and forth across the ground but never in his father's direction.

"You get down off that horse this instant before I knock your damned head off!"

Hagan met his stare head on, never wavering. Never blinking. No longer was he the youth of twenty, shivering with every word out of his father's mouth. He had been more than just a rough parent. He had been extremely violent with them. Mother always retreated to the comfort of the house when he went into one of his rages. Hagan was sure his father was the cause of his mother's death.

"Goodbye, father." Hagan said with a grin.

"And look after my dogs."

Rhuvin took a step forward, had second thoughts and stepped back.

The three companions rode past him and out onto the dirt road in the direction of Lauden.

Chapter Two

Old Trune sat huddled, mostly concealed by brush at the side of the road as the three approached. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking and it wasn't the ale this time. He was more frightened than he had ever been in his life. He rubbed his dirty hands across his bare foot. The dark sores still hadn't faded. His feet burned like fire.

Straggly wisps of white hair stuck to his sweat-streaked face and his bloodshot eyes jerked to and fro in his head. He downed a few more swallows from his flask.

He had told no one of the voice.

They all think I'm just a drunk. And I'll let'm go on thinkin' that.

The drink quieted the voice to an extent. There was never complete silence, but it seemed to give some relief. The voice had told him this day would come and just as it had promised, he had found the woman. He had gone to the Arch mostly out of curiosity for he had never put much stock in the reality of the voice.

That is, until now.

It had been just as the voice had foretold and that truly scared him. Now he couldn't get the image of her bloody and mutilated body out of his head. She hadn't been dead long when he had found her. No signs of decomposition and the blood was still wet in places.

He carefully slipped his worn boot back on and let out a deep sigh.

The voice tried to reach him again.

Shut up, shut up! No more ...

As he noticed the riders approaching, he tried to scramble farther away from the road but only succeeded in bringing more attention to himself with the rustling noise.

Hagan pulled his horse up short at the sudden sound to his right. It was far too much noise for an animal, he thought. Whatever it was, it was still there. It hadn't fled, as an animal would have.

He loosened his sword in its sheath and motioned for the others to stay put. Dismounting slowly, he walked toward the sound's origin.

"Who's there?" he called as he stepped quietly into the brush. Labored breathing off to his left. Whoever it was, they were scared and most likely no danger to them. Just then, a loud cough issued forth from the overgrown weeds and he immediately recognized the cough as Trune's.

"Trune? That you in there?"

No answer.

"Trune? It's Hagan. What's wrong? Why are you skulking around like a Muckhog out here?"

"H-Hagan?" came Trune's barely audible reply.

"Yes, it's me."

Suddenly Trune erupted from hiding and threw his arms around Hagan as if begging protection.

"Whoa, whoa. What is it, man?"

Hagan helped the old man onto the road and signaled the others that all was safe. They made their way to them with troubled looks upon their faces.

"Talk to me, Trune. Tell me what's gotten you in this state. Been hittin' the old flask again, eh?" Hagan gave him a slap on the back to comfort him. Trune finally let go and literally collapsed at their feet.

"I've never seen him like this." D'Pharin whispered in Gorin's direction.

"I ain't never been like this neither dammit!" Trune screamed, spittle dripping into his yellowing beard.

"Go on, friend. We want to help, but we have to know what the trouble is." said Hagan with a puzzled look at the others.

"She's out there. Under Klaemen's Arch. Oh, Wind. They tore her apart-" he muttered almost under his breath.

"What? Who was torn apart?" D'Pharin asked. He knelt down trying to see Trune's eyes.

"She's dead. But not long dead, mind ye. A few hours mebbee. Lots o' blood, there is. Lots."

The others looked from one another in shock and confusion. Was this another of Trune's stories? This seemed different somehow. Trune was never this shook up about anything. Hagan was inclined to believe him this time.

"Alright. We'll take his word on this one. If he says someone's been ripped apart under the Arch, then I believe it. It's only a league or so to town. We'll alert the mayor and have him send some guards along with us." Hagan explained. "We have to check this out."

Gorin cleared his throat suddenly, getting their attention.

"He is coming again. This makes our haste all the more hmmm... necessary."

He was obviously disturbed and upset. He paced back and forth across the dirt road and kicked at some stray rocks.

"It is as they have foretold." he added with a growl.

Trune quickly glanced at the Troll. Did he know as well? How could he? Did he hear the Voice? No, that couldn't be.

"What are you getting at, Gorin?" Hagan asked as he placed a foot in his stirrup and hoisted himself onto Maelstrom's back.

"It is nothing, Hagan. We must hurry on to Lauden." He trudged on ahead of them at a very fast pace.

"All of this cryptic foolishness is making me crazy." Hagan announced out loud. He extended a hand and pulled Trune up behind him. "If you know something about all of this, let us in on it as well."

"We must speak to the Council as soon as possible." Gorin shouted back to him, still many paces ahead.

With a huff, Hagan grew quiet and quickened his pace, Trune's incessant babbling in his ear. He shook his head roughly and looked at the sky. None of this makes any sense.

Klaemen's Arch had been a landmark in the west for centuries, formed during the final battle between Klaemen and Mournenhile himself. Celebrated as one of Kirkaldin's finest heroes, Klaemen had been both mage and warrior. Most students of sorcery eventually gave up the more physical arts. Not so with Klaemen. He had excelled in both.

In the fiery climax of their battle, both combatants had been destroyed in an explosion that had rocked the entire continent. Some say the Elves across the sea felt a tremor as well.

No trace had been found of either of them, only a huge hole blown in the side of the mountains that had stood there. All that remained was a rocky arch, each foot resting leagues apart.

Beneath the arch they stood staring in disbelief at the body at their feet.

"Told ye. I told ye she was here. Tore her up, they did. That is ... whoever they were." Trune said shakily, keeping a fair amount of distance between himself and the body.

Chenal had brought along the Dreamsinger, Gaela. A beautiful blonde woman with short, wavy hair, she got everyone's attention as soon as she had dismounted. She wore a long burgundy skirt with intricate embroidered patterns covering the length. She was near tears. The mayor assumed that they would need to thoroughly examine the body and usually a woman performed that duty on another woman. That and Gaela was rumored to possess certain 'gifts' beyond that of dreams. Some said she could 'see' things. Past and future. She might be able to reveal more about this attack.

"Oh, Wind ... "

Her breathing grew more rapid as she fell back, fingers to her temples.

"I know this woman. Oh, Wind."

"Who is she?" the mayor asked. "I don't recognize her."

"No, no. She's not from Lauden. She is Ar'Klaemen. Her husband had been away and I sang with her to contact him. He was so happy about the- oh, no ... "

She stood, glanced at the woman again and bolted away down the hillside.

Chenal followed, attempting to comfort her.

"What could've done this?" D'Pharin asked, covering his mouth with the back of one forearm. He tried not to show his queasiness to the others. He felt the need to sit down. Somewhere far away from here.

"Not what, brother. Who." Hagan responded as he knelt near the woman's head.

"Who? You don't think-"

"Look at the prints on her arms. Here." He pointed out an almost perfectly formed handprint. A small print, but definitely not animal.

Everyone looked over to the mayor, awaiting his orders. He realized this with a start and began to fidget.

"It, uh ... Well, that is ... " he stammered, rubbing his pudgy cheek. This was his first difficult decision in many years. He puffed on his pipe frantically and blew smoke from his nostrils.

Hagan was far too impatient for this. Instead of waiting, he barked orders over Chenal's shoulder as he flinched.

"Scout the area. Especially in that direction." he said pointing along the path of blood. "And be careful."

The guards hesitated a moment and Chenal nodded. They moved off in pairs to comb the region.

"Hmmm. Let us move away from here." Gorin stated. He wrapped an arm around D'Pharin's shoulders and gently nudged him down the hillside.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" the young man asked.

Gorin frowned and put his eyes to the ground as he sat. He chewed his massive lip for a moment in thought, and then raised his head.

"The only honorable death is in fighting and defending something that you believe in. To see something such as this turns my stomach. So young and innocent. I have seen too many innocents killed in my time. Too many ... "

D'Pharin felt his pain, but was at a loss for something to say.

Hagan strode up, eyes scanning the near horizon.

"It seems Gorin is the only Troll that can't stand the sight of blood." He grinned trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Gorin gave him a sudden glare.

"Relax. It was a joke." Hagan said sitting down next to them.

"My friends, things are happening all too quickly. Hmm ... There are forces at work here-I ... I am forbidden to speak of this until we reach Harquinn." The Troll announced, shrugging off the last few words.

"Sounds like something we should know, Gorin. What are we getting into here?" Hagan asked as he searched the hillside for a sign of the guards. "Are you saying this attack has something to do with us? With me?"

No answer.

He stood up quickly and brushed off his breeches.

"I hope what you're hiding doesn't get us killed. I would like to know what we're up against." he added.

"I am sorry, Hagan. I, too, swore an oath." Gorin muttered, eyes to the ground.

"Hagan, I hate to admit it, but I'm a little scared. Nothing like this has ever happened around here." D'Pharin explained running a hand through his hair.

"I know, I know. It seems the answers all lie in Harquinn. The sooner we arrive, the sooner I can start questioning the council. They only let you know what they think you need to know and that's usually as little as possible. I'm not looking forward to the games of sorcery, to be honest. How does it go again? ...

"The only truth to be gotten from a wizard, is a mountain is a hill and a dragon is a lizard."

This produced a huge grin from Gorin, who then tried to conceal it.

"What was that, my rocky friend? Do you mean to say that you don't trust the wizards, either?" Hagan asked in an exaggerated manner.

"Hmmm ... I do trust them; however, you speak truthfully when you tell of their mysteries. The Trolls call it circlespeak. Their own words are at odds with each other it seems."

They all had a chuckle. D'Pharin felt somewhat left out, never having dealt with a wizard before. It won't be long now, he thought.

Gaela was finishing up her examination of the body after being coaxed back into it by Chenal. She stood and covered it gently with her long pale cloak. Instantly its shade darkened and she hurried away. She approached Hagan's group with a frown.

"What do you think?" he asked inviting her to sit. She declined and folded her arms over her chest. She hesitated a moment and as she began to answer, a group of guards lumbered up the northern hillside.

"Well, whatever ripped into her, it's long gone now." one of them called out.

Gaela glared at him with contempt. How cold and callous.

"Not what ripped into her. What ripped out."

"Huh?" the guard said, puzzled.

Trune produced an almost grunt-like sound and backed away. He decided to disappear while the others were occupied.

Hagan wrinkled his forehead.

"What?"

"This thing that killed her came from inside. It was her unborn child that tore itself out. I've never seen or heard of anything like this ... " She slowly trailed off in thought.

"Her child?" D'Pharin asked with a startled expression.

"That's right. She was pregnant. Nearly full-term ... Something evil is upon us." She hesitated. " I must go." She gathered her skirt about her legs and made off for her horse. She hopped up sidesaddle and flicked the reins.

As he watched her, D'Pharin found that he missed her company already, but he new that was simply her charm. All Dreamsingers possessed a certain magical charisma. They could be very persuasive when they chose to be. She certainly is beautiful, he thought.

"She's something, isn't she brother?" Hagan asked in an attempt to embarrass the younger Marindel.

"Absolutely." he answered, his eyes still on her as she rode away. As she passed into the trees below, he turned.

"One day, I'll have a woman like her." he said with a sly grin.

"Whatever you say, brother." Hagan laughed. "I think she's a little ... sophisticated for you."

"I'm sophisticated." said D'Pharin in defense.

"Hmmm ... I agree. You are quite the gentleman." Gorin added in all seriousness.

"Right ... " smiled Hagan, punching D'Pharin lightly in the chest.

Chenal and his guards had bundled the slain woman in blankets and had placed her in the back of a horse-drawn wagon. There was much talk among the guards as to the cause of death.

Evidently Gaela had not informed Chenal of her findings and this had him a little upset.

"Why does she think I brought her out here? We're going to have a little talk back in town." he said all too loudly to gain everyone's attention. Always grandstanding, he was. The brothers knew that by the time he was in Gaela's presence again, her persuasiveness would calm the fire right out of him. He would leave her home a humbled man for certain. That was the way with the Singers.

"Saddle up, men. Back to work." he shouted with a look at Hagan. He would probably never forget the fact that Hagan had commanded his men and they had obeyed!

Chenal didn't know much about respect and never would. Money only buys you so much.

Hagan's group hadn't had time to gather supplies while in town due to the commotion, so they mounted up and trotted off ahead of the wagon. They didn't talk much at first; each immersed in their own thoughts. It seems that they were thinking roughly the same things, however.

"Poor woman, huh?" D'Pharin was the first to speak. "What does this mean? What happened to her child for it to become something like that?"

"Well, I'm sure Gorin knows all of the answers, but I can only guess. If the council is bringing me in and things like this are beginning to happen ... It's going to get bad again." Hagan said. "Months before the Black Sun, things like this began to happen. Evil things. That's the only way to describe it. Whatever killed her, it wasn't her baby. Not anymore, at least. Mournenhile has a way of twisting things."

"Mournenhile?" D'Pharin asked in shock.

"Do not speak that name so close to his handiwork!" Gorin bellowed, bringing up the rear.

"You don't believe all of that superstition, do you? Speak his name, feel the flame?"

"Hmmm ... Let us not tempt fate, my friend." Gorin said.

"Tales to scare children, that's all." Hagan added, turning his eyes back to the road.

"Do you think this is really his doing? I thought he was destroyed." said D'Pharin.

"Evil that dark cannot be destroyed." Gorin stated, now walking abreast of them.

"Nonsense." Hagan argued. "Everything can be destroyed. Everything has a beginning and an ending. He can die. What you say is true, there always will be evil, however, that evil can be dispersed and its form changed. When Mournenhile is destroyed, the darkness will take on another shape and be weakened for a time."

"Hmmm ... Let's pray you are right, Hagan." The Troll said as he watched the horizon. "Just as well, good cannot exist without the presence of evil. No light without shadow."

"Why couldn't all evil be destroyed? If we were to destroy Mournenhile and his armies; erase them from Kirkaldin, only good would remain." D'Pharin said.

"No offense, brother, but that's a little naive. Every being has the capacity for evil within them. We are created that way. It's usually jealousy that causes us to behave that way. We want what others have. One man wants another man's land or wealth or worse ... his woman." Hagan explained.

Gorin let out a deep chuckle. "I knew you were leading to that tale." he said. "Hmmm ... Shall I?"

"Tell on, my friend." Hagan said with a noble flourish of his arms.

"In the early empires of Man, two cities grew and flourished above all others-Mavindoor and Gaevinhold. These cities rested high in the northern reaches of Kirkaldin and controlled many leagues of the surrounding lands. Both kings, wise and good, had grown to be as family and so too their children. Jinhazen, son of the king of Mavindoor, had grown up in the forests that lie between the two kingdoms. He and the prince of Gaevinhold, Drumend, were as close as brothers. Together they grew nearly to manhood with a fiery competition between the two. So it was when they met Lyndsae."

"Hmmm ... " Gorin paused for a moment. "She was beautiful, they say, hair of gold and skin that glowed like ivory. She was a merchant's daughter from Mavindoor, Jinhazen's city. Both young men fell madly in love with her and she in turn loved both-in different ways, you see ... "

"One evening, Lyndsae took Jinhazen aside and broke the heartrending news. She loved him, but as a friend. It seemed she had promised herself to Drumend and they would marry, as was human custom, when she reached twenty-one years of age. Jinhazen politely congratulated her and lightly kissed her on the cheek."

"'I am truly happy for the both of you. I'm sure you will be happy, Lyndsae.' he said."

"But inside him was a fire. A churning had begun in Jinhazen's gut and there was no stopping it. He waited nearly a full year in tense silence, saying nothing of his feelings. Inside however, he was mad with jealousy."

"He would not let Drumend have her. Coincidentally, his father had fallen ill. Grievously ill. Near to death. This gave Jinhazen his chance. One winter morning he commanded his troops to lay siege to Gaevinhold and they reluctantly agreed, he being heir to the throne."

"The ensuing war lasted nearly a full month, with Jinhazen's army inching it's way toward Castle Gaevinhold. On that final day, Jinhazen himself stood upon the castle grounds screaming up at the king's tower."

"'Give Lyndsae to me and all this will end.' he cried, madness in his voice. Drumend answered.

"'What have you done, my friend? My brother? What have you done?'"

"'I will die before I let you marry her.' Jinhazen screamed."

"'What has happened to you? Can you not give us your blessing? Your most cherished friends?'"

"Jinhazen paused for a moment, then his eyes lit with flame. 'I have no friends', he screamed."

"And his troops assaulted the castle."

"A single catapult shot brought down the tower in a hail of stone and fire."

Gorin halted the story for a moment in thought. The others waited anxiously and he began again.

"Jinhazen stood, hands on hips and smiled. 'Now will you surrender her, Drumend?'"

"There was no reply."

"'Drumend?' he called. 'Drumend? Answer me!'"

"His rage once again enveloped him. 'They're trying to escape. Let no one escape!' His men rushed into the smoldering rubble to head them off but pulled up short. Confused, Jinhazen joined them and there in ther rubble, still clutching one another, were Drumend and Lyndsae. Both crushed to death by a single stone ... "

D'Pharin gasped. "He killed them? Wind! Why ... What happened?"

Hagan chuckled and nodded to Gorin to finish the tale.

"Of course, Jinhazen was crushed and realizing what he had done, he went into self-exile and never returned to his homeland. In the northern regions, they say that he still calls out for Lyndsae and Drumend."

"What envy can do." Gorin announced after a brief rest.

"And love. Don't forget that, my friend." Hagan added.

"Ah, yes. Many a male has fallen victim to the cunning female. Once you have fallen, it is like a poison that never completely leaves the system.

Hagan did not know Gorin's past in regards to the opposite sex, but his was a tragic tale. He had indeed fallen in love. A beautiful, golden-haired girl. Spirited and free. He had loved her with everything he had. However, when the Black Sun came and he decided to journey to Harquinn and fight, it ended.

She had begged him to stay and finally issued the ultimatum that had finished it. She had never understood. It was something inside of him. He just couldn't stand back and allow Mournenhile to devour their world. Never.

If you leave me now, then you will never have me. I will go from this place and never return. It is your choice, my love. I will not lose you to this war. Better I end it now and never know the outcome. It is your choice, Hagan.

Those words stung his heart as they echoed in his mind. He hadn't thought about that moment in a long time. Where had she gone? He had gone to her home after returning, but a new family had purchased it. No one could tell him where she had gone. For weeks he had searched for any information. Anything. There was no trace. It was as if she had never existed.

Since then, he had tried to recapture the feelings that they had shared. Other women were just not the same. They were not her. Even Amitee. He had genuine affection for her without a doubt, but it still fell short. It's most likely an impossible goal my mind has set. Those other women are probably just as good, but my mind cannot let go.

Later, as they loaded their saddlebags with provisions they would need for the trip, Hagan noted how different he felt physically. A general feeling of health. Since his exile, he had continuously felt drained and beaten down. Now, only a day away and he was full of energy. Stronger. Lighter on his feet. Strange, he thought.

With the horses now packed and secured, they left Lauden in the late afternoon. They took the northern road and planned to ride past nightfall or walk as in Gorin's case. There was a light breeze and the rustling of the leaves was soothing. Not a bad start to the trip, D'Pharin thought. Gorin did not share his optimistic outlook. He sensed something foreboding.

Many townsfolk noticed their departure and exchanged troubled looks. Something strange was afoot. Hagan Marindel was out among the living once more. A bad omen in their eyes.

By dusk, the three had made good progress and rested on the banks of the Rilechel River. The trees and brush were thick here, blocking out the coming light of the moon. The pleasant babbling of the water over its rocky bed was almost successful in lulling them to sleep. They ate a late supper of meat and cheese and were up again, following the river northwest an hour later. It wasn't until nearly midnight that they set up camp.

As they were arranging their bedrolls and getting comfortable, Gorin, who was still standing, turned and suddenly sniffed the air. He glanced at the horses and frowned.

"What is it?" asked D'Pharin.

"Hmmm ... Nothing. For a moment-ah, it is nothing." he said, taking a seat next to the campfire.

"Cut it out, Gorin. You're going to give him nightmares." Hagan chuckled.

"Oh, shut up." D'Pharin exclaimed as he tossed a handful of grass his way.

"Hey, Gorin. Aren't you going to sleep?" he asked, seeing that the Troll hadn't even unpacked his bedroll.

"Someone needs to keep watch and my task is yet to be completed. I will not rest until I have your brother in Harquinn."

"Well, if you die from exhaustion, will your quest be completed?" D'Pharin asked as he rolled away from the fire onto his shoulder. "What are you watching for anyway?"

"Sleep now, young man. Hmmm ... " Gorin rumbled deeply.

Hagan stretched out on top of his thick blanket. "He is right, you know. We all need rest. Whether we are Man, Elf or Stone Troll-everything needs rest."

"Hmmm ... An oath is an oath and I shall honor it," he answered staring into the flickering flames. His craggy features looked frightening in the orange glow.

"I don't think the council intended for you to go without sleep, my friend." Hagan half-muttered, sleepily.

"We repay our debts, Lord Hagan."

The word 'Lord' stuck in Hagan's mind, but he was too exhausted form the days events to answer. Instead, he fell quickly asleep amongst ominous dreams and the crackling of the kindling.

His eyes popped open when he heard the scream. He had heard D'Pharin screaming.

Where is he? What's wrong? I can't find him. My sword. I'm coming, brother. Nothing will harm you as long as I am alive.

He slashed at the underbrush, searching. His eyes shot out across the river. Nothing. No sign of D'Pharin or Gorin.

Where are they? Who did this? Why-

He awoke with a start. Reality began to seep into him as his eyes adjusted to the golden morning light. He heard D'Pharin screaming. In the river.

Bathing. Just bathing.

"Holy Wind, it's cold!" he shouted, thrashing about, attempting to clean himself as quickly as possible and get back to shore.

Hagan took his white-knuckled grip from his sword hilt and rubbed both eyes. The horses were already saddled and packed. They stood in the shade of the trees and stamped the earth nervously.

Ominous dreams. Feelings of helplessness.

Gorin sat at the fire and stirred something in the cast iron cookpot.

"Sleep well?" he asked Hagan with a knowing look.

"Not exactly."

"I've made a pot of Mossmelt porridge. Join me."

"Yeah, sure." Hagan said, throwing his blanket to the side.

Gorin spooned out a bowlful and tossed in a handful of blackberries. He handed it to Hagan and called out to D'Pharin. As the younger brother was drying himself on the riverbank, he leaned close to Hagan.

"We are being followed." he said softly.

"Are you sure? I-"

Gorin cut him off.

"Hmmm ... I am sure. Whoever it is, is a very skilled tracker and not easy to spot. Someone is out there on our trail. I didn't want to scare the boy."

D'Pharin dropped down beside him and scooped out a helping of Mossmelt.

"This smells great, Gorin. It's actually made from moss?" he asked between mouthfuls.

"Hmmm. It is. But, only certain mosses produce this wonderful taste." Gorin answered as he scanned the trees in front of him.

Hagan's eyes moved about in anticipation. He half-expected an attack at any moment. Gorin's news had put him on edge.

The Troll placed a hand on his forearm to reassure him that all was secure. This seemed to relax Hagan somewhat.

"Finish your breakfast, young man." Gorin said to D'Pharin, rising to his feet. He hid his concern from the younger Marindel, appearing to clean his cooking utensils. He walked to the riverbank and bent to the water. His eyes however surveyed the far side, searching.

Something is out there. I do not like being followed.

With a huff, he returned to the campfire and began to pack what remained.

"How far do you think we'll travel today?" D'Pharin questioned his brother.

"Depends, I guess. If I remember correctly, the lay of the land should be even for the next few days. We might make it as far as Runa."

"Really? I've heard of that place. There might be Elves there, right? " D'Pharin said with surprise. He was still filled with excitement about his first real trip.

"Sure, I suppose. It's only a small fishing village, brother. There may be nothing to see. Just fishermen."

Gorin grunted, throwing his heavy leather sack over his left shoulder.

"We shall travel nowhere if we stay and discuss it all morning."

"Hmmmm."

He turned and trudged off between two large oaks, fading into their shadow.

"Let's ride." said Hagan.

They set off once again into the wilds, the rolling green meadows spotted with large clumps of oak trees and brush. On this day the air was somewhat cooler than days before and the light wind that occasionally reached them had a bite to it. D'Pharin pulled his cloak tight about his neck and sat up a little in his saddle. The land ahead of them looked the same as the land behind. He really saw no difference here than in days past.

That day, they rode at a quicker pace with Gorin growing more restless and constantly hanging back on their trail to check for the unseen follower. Even D'Pharin could sense something in the air. Something was going to happen and soon. They barely spoke to one another for hours, each surveying the land about them with unblinking eyes.

D'Pharin knew that if his brother was on edge, so too should he be.

They had finally relaxed somewhat and began to talk in a hushed tone when Gorin froze in his tracks. Both brothers turned to watch him, drawing their horses to a stop on a low hill.

Gorin remained motionless, his dark form silhouetted against the deep blue of the sky.

Suddenly he turned and headed toward them in a full sprint, eyes wide. Hagan ripped his sword from its sheath and glanced at D'Pharin to do the same. Hearts racing, they awaited their friend.

Gorin reached them within seconds and grabbing the reins of their horses, he dragged them toward a nearby thick wood. They reached the shadowed copse without sign of what had frightened the Troll, but he pulled only harder.

Soon, over their own noise, sounds of pursuit became clear. Leaves rustling, branches snapping and the low thud of footfalls. Whatever was coming was few in number. Gorin was scared, though and that's what shook them to the bone.

Gorin led the horses over a low rise and down a steep slope. He pulled them up short here and ducked in under the low hanging roots. Evidently, this is where he chose to make his stand. Below in a deep green gorge ran a twisting stream perhaps twenty paces across. To D'Pharin this did not seem the best place to hole up. He couldn't even see over this damned hill. The pursuer was growing closer with no concern for stealth. The noise grew and in seconds they knew the attacker would be upon them. They braced themselves, weapons in hand.

Then, a small cloaked figure came leaping and crashing directly over their heads.

"Grimandin!" came its feminine scream. "It's on my tail!"

Whoever it was landed mere paces from the stream and was soon scrambling for her life to wade across. She appeared wounded, holding her left arm close to her side. She wore the colors of the forest, dark greens and browns and wore a short bow and quiver across her shoulder.

Gorin's eyes grew huge as he recognized the woman. He knew that whatever it was that chased her was formidable indeed. He clenched a great stone fist and crouched, eyes set firmly.

Almost immediately a ghostly, nearly shapeless thing lurched over the rise and landed an impossible distance away and in front of them. It nearly caught up with the woman in one leap. It seemed to wear about it a shroud of darkness and fear seeped into them at its presence. The urge to run began to build.

Vaguely man-shaped, it crouched in the stream and gathered its legs beneath it. Dark and hissing vapor rose from the passing waters where it touched its skin, encircling its pale form. As it rose, its tattered greyish wings pulled close against it and its emaciated shape was evident beneath. Hagan and D'Pharin let out low gasps as the creature stood to its full height, nearly as tall as Gorin.

Its tiny yellow eyes darted about, searching for its prey and all but ignoring the others that were present. It wanted the woman. Gorin had to move now.

"Rathnok!" the Troll shouted and leaped from his hiding place, both fists curled into enormous things of destruction. He moved incredibly fast for his size.

Those nervous yellow eyes instantly locked on him and its blackish teeth were bared. Its skin had a leprous quality; the features seemingly ready to melt from the bone. High cheekbones and sunken eye sockets lent it an overall skeletal appearance. Venomous ooze dripped from its mouth and it smiled, both arms shooting straight out towards its attacker.

An ebon liquid flame twisted from its fingertips and abruptly shot in the Troll's direction, seeking out his eyes and heart. The air crackled with electricity and the trees around them swayed as if a storm approached.

Hagan witnessed Gorin's form suddenly outlined in fire and the Troll's body went rigid. So loud were his cries that the brothers covered their ears in pain.

"Gorin!" D'Pharin screamed over the cacophony.

Blood ran from the Troll's ears and spittle sprayed from his wide-open mouth. He held both hands across his chest and curled into himself as a babe would.

The creature, now nearly hidden in steam, did not relent. Flashes of light punctuated the lashing of flame that issued from its skeletal fingertips. It began to scream. A very high-pitched cry of otherworldly origin. It seemed to tap another source of power with its voice and the earth began to shake.

"Dammit. Dammit to Hell!" Hagan yelled and jumped from their hiding place. With both hands on his sword handle, he drew back over his right shoulder and swung hard as he reached the creature. The blade bit deep, his foe taken by surprise. He pulled the blade free, dripping with thick fluid and spun a complete circle, chopping at the creature's other side.

The creature howled in anguish and its power faltered, allowing Gorin to fall heavily to the ground.

"Hagan, no! Fall back, fall back!" he screamed holding his ribs. Blood dripped from his chin and his eyes blinked slowly.

Several arrows came from the forest as the woman joined in the melee. They seemed to have little effect on the thing. It stood silently and brought its gaze to meet Hagan. He was frozen with fear and his sword felt like dead weight in his hand. A vast hatred for all things living swum in those eyes. Only destruction did it see.

Swing, dammit. Can't move. This is it ...

"Run!" he yelled. "Get out of here!"

The trees erupted as if a cyclone were slicing through them all at once. Limbs and leaves spiraled about them and lashed against their faces. Smaller saplings were completely uprooted and took to the air. All about them was filled with dust and debris. Hagan could barely make out the figure before him.

Other fingers of flame began to seek out the running woman. Twisting its sinuous length amongst the tree limbs quickly striking near her feet. She fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. The woman let out a scream that sent Gorin running to find her. Then, she was up again.

"Windenn! Where are you?" he yelled into the wind, the dust filling his eyes until they caked with mud.

A long and bony hand gripped Hagan by the throat and lifted him from the ground. Hagan smelled the thing before he could see it. Soon they were face to face.

Hagan pulled back instinctively from the foul breath wafting from its open mouth. Maggots had nested in the thing's right cheek. His body twitched involuntarily at the torturous sorcery that assailed him.

All around him was in chaos; he could hear his friends running frantically trying to escape.

I can't let this happen. It can't end like this. If I die, they die. No.

Try as he might, he could not force his arms to move. Whatever sorcery this creature controlled, it was strong indeed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he wondered why the creature hesitated. Kill me then, you bastard. A fitting end to Lord Hagan. I give up. No more fighting.

The creature's eyes widened and its grip lost its hold. It grunted and tossed Hagan aside like a doll. It pulled its tattered wings from the waters and hunched its shoulders as if in fear.

What is going on?

The force of the wind died somewhat and Hagan could hear his friends somewhere off to the east. Still running.

Then, it seemed as if a light began to move into the forest from the north. A glow that pushed back the darkness of the cyclone. The dark wind died and soon grew calm, replaced by an increasing light breeze. The creature shook its head back and forth in seeming disbelief and slowly backed into the trees, a gagging sound issuing from its throat. Branches moved of their own accord and barred its way.

The trees are alive?

One final scream came from the huddled creature as it raised its face skyward. With that, it ceased to be. Nothing remained but flecks of dying flesh floating in the current.

Steam rose from the running stream, slowly making its way above the treetops.

Hagan heard singing. Just out of earshot and understanding, but singing nonetheless. A sense of good came over him and he sat up, leaning on his elbows. The trees to his left began to give off a faint glow as if someone walked through them bearing a bright lantern. The branches parted and there he stood.

An aged man long of beard and robe. He bore a great twisting staff of wood but didn't seem to need it. Leaves forever the shade of autumn danced about his limbs, spiraling in never-ending patterns, tightly encircling him. The ivory hair of his beard and head only lightly played about his face despite the quickness of the enveloping wind. In his eyes were the ancient ways. The ways of the Morning. They had no doubt that he had been there at the birth of their world, among the first peoples of Kirkaldin.

He spoke in a high lilting voice that seemed to harmonize with itself.

"Foul child of blackness within my wood? Despair, vile thing! Despair and return to your master's heel!" he seemed to address the sky above him.

"Leave these good folk to their worries. Fly, fly away, little gnat ... "

He stood strong and sure and when he reached Hagan he smiled down at him and bade him stand. Hagan gripped his outstretched hand and rose. The man's eyes held him. Ancient blue eyes swimming with wisdom and intelligence. Of this world, but not. He stood transfixed for many moments until he heard his friends calling. He turned to see D'Pharin running from the stream, sword still clutched in his hand and bleeding from the temple. As he approached, he noticed the old one and slowed to a stop. He dropped to his knees instinctively and let his sword fall, such was the power of his being.

Gorin came moments later carrying the wounded woman. His harsh and ragged breathing rasped loudly as he approached. He almost dragged his great legs behind him. He had a blank stare and seemed oblivious to everything around him. Gently dropping her to the grass next to D'Pharin, he leaned against the nearest tree, eyes in deep shadow. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. He didn't seem to acknowledge the presence of the old man who danced with leaves.

"Ah, children. I have heard your call." he began and small fragments of his voice seemed to repeat themselves in the forest beyond.

"From a great distance and for many years I have traveled to greet you here. Fear not, for none will harm you in my presence."

And the fear that had crept into their hearts was replaced with a growing sense of security.

He walked a few paces, staff dragging the ground. He stooped to the roots of a large oak now blackened by the creature's sorcery. He held the twisted foot of the tree as one would a small child, lightly caressing the soot-covered bark. At his feet, the grass suddenly lightened in color and waved to and fro as an ocean in a storm. The circle of power extended away from him until it reached the base of the stricken tree and seemed to soak into the roots.

The effect was immediate. The black, crisp bark began to fade away and beneath was the rich brown of healthy tree skin. The branches above shivered with renewed vitality and it seemed to those present that they could hear the forest sigh.

"Ah, these are shadowed times, children. The darklings creep across the surface of our world, befouling and bedeviling all in sight. Now, I can feel each frenzied footstep of the unseen armies. The land breathes ill at their invasion."

He turned to look at them once more, trails of tears visible on each cheek.

"A time of great change approaches, I fear. A time for trial. A time to test all good things. We will be tested, children ... "

His unearthly gaze met each of them in turn, holding them fast until he chose to release them. Something passed to each of them. An understanding. A sense of the true peril that they each would face. Mostly an urgent sense of need.

"Do not fear, young Marindel." He said to D'Pharin as his eyes shot up. "Though unseasoned, when the time arrives, change will come through you. Know this and face your future."

He turned to Gorin who could barely lift his head.

"Great stone Titan, You will prove yourself as well. Your people will sing the songs of your deeds. Be as stone inside as you are without."

"Forest child," he said, turning to Windenn. "I have watched you among the trees for many years. Your heart is true. Do not stray from the path though it seems so foreign to you."

He slowly spun to speak to Hagan.

"And Hero of the Black Sun ... ah, yes. Much is in your hands and He is ever watchful. Your doubts are unfounded, child. Do not fear loss, Hagan. There is purpose in everything."

"Do not linger here, young ones. The vile thing is still with us. He will not show himself while I am here, but he is not gone to be sure. The dark servants have grown very strong in recent times. My power will hold him fast in this grove until you are gone, but do not tarry."

As he spoke, the light breeze that surrounded him softly touched them, comforting them. In those eyes they beheld truth. Trust. They seemed to stare at his face for the longest time when in actuality only seconds passed. Some of them cried and later could not explain.

He left them all standing in silence. The beautiful wind and spinning leaves followed him from the stream's edge and into the shadowed trees. One moment he was there and the next, simply gone.

"Wearer of the Wind." Windenn whispered, breaking the spell of silence that had held them. She spoke in what seemed a strange dialect to the Westerners, a rather informal, loose tongue, somewhat rougher than the women they were used to.

"What?" Hagan asked, shaking his head and clearing his mind. "They don't exist."

"Then what was that?" she asked, quickly aggravated by Hagan's doubt.

"Well, it wasn't a Wearer of the Wind. That's a legend, not real. No one's ever seen one."

She scowled.

"Have ye ever seen a Pith-child? No, but they must exist, eh? They aren't born full-grown, I'd bet." she said, a condescending tone slipping into her voice.

Hagan stared at her for a moment, not sure how to handle her.

Shorter than he by a head, she made up for it with her fiery attitude. A shoulder length bush of auburn hair topped her head. She seemed to keep a disheveled look to herself purposefully. The bright green of her eyes was striking as she stared defiantly back at him.

"Hmmm ... Hagan." Gorin groaned, now sitting with his back to a tree trunk. "It was a Wearer."

Hagan just stared with open mouth at the seated Troll.

"When ... I was still very young, I was lost in the Spires, the stone forest below Rathnok. I was foolish and hmmm ... went exploring on my own."

"I was told of the Whispermist by the Elders, but I ignored the warnings. One of the Wearers saved me in the nick of time. Another few moments and I would not be sitting here with you."

"Hmmm... unless my eyes deceive me, the Wearer that has just visited us is the same that protected me all those years ago."

His voice trailed off to a low moan as he let his head fall back against the tree behind him. For a moment, he seemed to be sleeping,, then he softly spoke again.

"Hagan, D'Pharin ... Meet Windenn, Woodwarden and treasured friend. By the way, girl, what are you doing here?"

"Ah, Gorin. For what seems like months I have been followed. I tried every trick that I know to elude that thing, but I could not shake him off of my tail. I was near the end of all hope when I thought I sensed your trail. That was roughly three days ago."

She paused in thought, rubbing her left elbow.

"I thought I would never catch you. Do you know what that thing was?"

"Hmmm ... yes, unfortunately. I think Hagan knows as well ... " Gorin replied.

Hagan frowned at the ground.

"I had hoped it would take longer for Mournenhile to rebuild them. Yes, I know. It was one of the Inquitis."

"One of the what?" asked D'Pharin.

"That can't be." hissed Windenn. "Why was it after me? Aren't they usually concerned with higher matters?"

"They know something, Windenn." the Troll answered, his voice cracking with exhaustion. "They know what the future holds or so it is said."

"I'm no one, ye know. There's no reason for them to hurt me."

"There's always a reason. You can consider yourself no one now, but Wind knows who you will be years from now."

The Troll tried to regain his feet, but ended up seated once more.

"Uh ... The Inquitis know. They always do."

"You're scaring me, Grimandin." Windenn replied.

"I don't mean to ... Perhaps it is better this way. You will be on your toes and won't let your guard down. By the way, girl, are you hurt?"

"Just twisted an ankle running here. That's all." she answered.

"No time to waste ... " he began, as he finally managed to pull himself upright." Let us do as the Wearer instructed and leave this place. We need to be as far as possible by sundown."

They all stared at the steaming brook for a moment and quickly gathered their things. Gorin had the horses rounded up and ready to ride in minutes. Windenn reluctantly agreed to ride on Maelstrom's back behind Hagan. She wished to travel on foot alongside Gorin but due to her ankle and the need for haste, she would ride.

She carried only a bow, short knife and a pack slung on her back. She hesitated in clinging to Hagan's waist for balance but after he lightly dug his heels into Maelstrom's flanks, she wrapped her arms around him.

Hagan showed a grin. He had spurred the horse on intentionally.

Gorin frowned up at him.

"Hmmm... Let's move, my friends."

D'Pharin pulled up the rear and watched Windenn's back as she fidgeted. It was exciting to see another stranger from a foreign land.

And the Wearer!

He was still too amazed to absorb all that had happened.

The Inquitis.

Never had he known such fear. Later, the others would explain the potent magic that had caused the fear. For now, he felt somewhat cowardly. He had nearly soiled himself when the thing had attacked.

Nevertheless, this life was far more interesting than the old one. He wondered if he would ever go home.

Maybe he would die out here.

Stop thinking like that, he thought.

There wasn't much in Lauden to go back to, that was for certain.

Hours later, they traveled along a high ridge allowing them a nice view of the countryside for miles around. The lay of the land remained the same as in days before, gentle rolling hills spotted with thick groves of trees. An occasional flock of birds passed overhead, their shrill calls echoing across the seemingly empty land. Once, they had found signs of other travelers, an extinguished campfire, probably weeks old and the remains of rabbits and squirrels. It seemed the hunting had been good.

From this vantage point, they made out dark, towering silhouettes miles in the distance on the northern horizon. Although some leagues away, it was easily recognizable as an ancient city or stronghold.

Gorin's eyes seemed to avoid that place. Finally, D'Pharin couldn't hold his tongue.

"What is that place?"

The Troll grumbled, shrugged his shoulders and trudged on.

D'Pharin looked at Hagan and Windenn. Hagan was reluctant to answer and hesitated as he sifted his thoughts.

"It is the ruin of Tree Towers, lad." Windenn explained.

Gorin's head turned back slightly at the name but he only quickened his pace and adjusted his pack. Something about the place made him uncomfortable, D'Pharin thought.

"Three hundred years ago, in the year 903-as time is kept by Man-there was a great battle fought there. At the time, Tree Towers was the most beautiful of all Elven cities. The trees there were enormous, ten times the size of the largest of Greymander Forest."

"Their homes were carved into the great trunks of these trees. And high above, within the cool shade of the leaves, walkways and wooden staircases were constructed to join every tree to its brother. It is said that no one ever set foot on the plush blanket of grass that made up the floor of the forest. No one needed to. On the threshold of Tree Towers, there was the most breathtaking garden with intricately carven trellises and spiraling paths to take you among the rarest of Kirkaldin's flowers. Here stood statues of the lords of the city dating back to the Morning of the World."

She went on, obviously enjoying the tale.

"No such place will ever exist again, they say, and I don't doubt it."

Gorin had halted and cleared his throat. The others had stopped to stare at the ruins many leagues away. No one moved and Windenn began again.

"Things had been chaotic just before the war and the side of good, although comprised of great people, could not agree on their next course of action. The Elves had struck what they considered a devastating blow against Mournenhile across the Edge. A vast army had swarmed one of his most important strongholds and all but leveled it. The cities of Man had disagreed with the Wood Elves, concluding that such an act would only bring down Mournenhile's wrath in full force."

"They were right ... "

"S'Darin Hyght had come to the Middle Lands in an attempt to unite the peoples. He was the most powerful of sorcerers at the time and very wise. If anyone could rally them, S'Darin could. Word came from the east that an unimaginable army was on the march. Heading for Tree Towers, it laid waste to all in its path. An army of dark Men and deformed giants. And worst of all ... the Pith, riding their great scaled beasts and armed to the hilt."

"Mournenhile knew that rather than abandon Tree Towers and see it destroyed, S'Darin would stand and face the coming horde. The battle went on for a month to the day and on that final morning S'Darin stood alone at the foot of the largest tree. He was determined to make this the last day of the siege. The most powerful of the Runepith, their black sorcerers, approached S'Darin and after a moment of silence, attacked."

"The fiery climax shook the entire countryside and countless leaves fell to the ground that day. Countless Men, Elves and Trolls died in that time. Few escaped, Gorin being one."

"Wind ... " said D'Pharin. He wanted to say more, but he left it at that. Windenn gave Gorin a caring look and continued.

"In the end, both S'Darin and the Pith Lord were destroyed and without S'Darin the side of good soon collapsed. Tree Towers was razed and all its inhabitants killed. Several of the Pith warriors, by Mournenhile's command, consumed S'Darin's blood as it left his body and soon after, returned to the east to their master. It is said that Mournenhile slaughtered them and used the blood to create creatures like we saw back there. The Inquitis."

"And Mournenhile is on the move again." Hagan added. "That's what we have to look forward to."

"I'd like to see that place ... to pay my respects." D'Pharin murmured.

At that, Gorin turned.

"Hmmm ... unfortunately our path will not take us close enough ... " he grumbled.

Windenn glanced at D'Pharin from Maelstrom's back and shrugged her shoulders.

"It looks like some of the trees still stand." he said, shielding his eyes from the sun.

Windenn shook her head.

"I wouldn't consider them trees anymore. The sorcery of the Pith sucked the very essence from them. Only fossils stand now."

They moved on, riding the ridge downward for another hour and eventually reached level ground once more. The trees were fewer here, only scattered clumps rose up here and there. An occasional boulder the size of a small cottage jutted up out of the bedrock looking from a distance like enormous beasts of burden. The horses trotted easily across the land hardly needing to lessen their pace.

As dusk approached, they still rode in a mostly wide-open area. They had little choice but to camp near a cluster of boulders although Windenn argued about concealment. Luckily, the boulders formed a rough circle, enough to somewhat hide them from searching eyes. They tethered the horses within the circle and set about readying their makeshift beds.

It was obvious that Gorin was beyond exhaustion, his heavy-lidded eyes stared ever downward as he stood, his back against one of the huge boulders. He seemed on the brink of collapse.

"Grimandin. Rest now, ye stubborn fool." Windenn said as she removed her pack and placed it gently next to her bedding.

"I'll take first watch. There is no harm in you having a good night's sleep."

Gorin raised one hand as if to argue, then dropped it again to his side. In this way, he agreed.

Windenn helped him down to the ground and patted his shoulder.

"Sleep now, friend ... don't fret tonight, alright?"

Gorin groaned and was instantly asleep.

"How in the Wind did you get him down like that?" Hagan asked as he folded his dark cloak. The nights had been fairly comfortable of late, not cool enough to warrant a second layer of clothing.

"He knows me well. Often with him, I am the voice of reason. He trusts me. Perhaps more than anyone." she answered. Grabbing her bow and quiver, she glanced skyward, sizing up the nearest boulder.

"I'm hoppin' up for a better view. You two should get some rest as well. There's no telling what'll be waiting for us tomorrow."

With bow thrown over her shoulder, she bounded effortlessly up the stone's side and was soon perched at its crown. They could barely make out her form against the dark sky. Then, the shine of her eyes met them and she called down.

"I said, get some sleep. I'll wake you before dawn."

Hagan raised an eyebrow at his brother and shrugged.

"Well, let's get to bed."

D'Pharin followed his brother's lead and soon they were both breathing easily under their blankets. He was sure Hagan was asleep but he couldn't get the stories of Tree Towers out of his mind. He struggled for what seemed like hours with it and couldn't let it go.

He silently wiggled out of his blanket, snatched up his sword and glanced up to the Woodwarden's perch.

Can she see me? I don't see how ...

He stayed low and quietly made his way from the camp. He wouldn't risk untying his horse, so the trip would have to be made on foot.

It can't be that far.

Chapter Three

Windenn snapped suddenly awake.

Had she been sleeping? No, couldn't be. A Woodwarden was trained for this sort of thing.

She stretched out with a wide yawn, still confused and felt a biting pain in her shoulder.

"Damn ... " she muttered, gripping her arm just above the elbow. The skin felt hot. Too hot. Something was wrong.

She knew she hadn't broken any bones.

She pulled up her sleeve and tried to examine the site of pain by moonlight. There was a jagged cut there across the bicep. She frowned in concern. She had only fallen wrong when she had hit the ground. She hadn't been cut. What was this?

Whatever it was, it was badly infected.

Just then, from the corner of her eye, she made out a lone shape leaving the encampment below.

D'Pharin.

"Now where's he got too?" she grumbled, dropping her sleeve.

"Oh, damn. He's gone to Tree Towers, the fool."

In one leap she lightly hit the ground far below. She didn't like leaving the camp unguarded so she retrieved four Wardstones form her chest pocket. These had been somewhat misnamed during the early days as they were made entirely of polished wood. Of what little magic she possessed, this was some of the most practical. She placed the Wardstones around the camp at each compass point. This would serve to protect the camp from evil, casting an illusionary shell over it. From a distance, a traveler would see nothing but giant rocks.

She hoped to catch the boy before he reached the ruins or before something reached him.

D'Pharin was pulled toward the ancient city like a child to a willowisp. It dragged him forward with wide eyes and thumping chest. Clouds drowned most of the moonlight and he had to pick his way carefully. Soon, he stood atop a high, grass-covered hill that overlooked what was once the entry garden. Tall walls, now mostly fallen, had surrounded the cobbled walkways and shrubbery. From here, he could see that the massive gate had been nearly blown off of its great hinges. He could see the dark forms of what he assumed were statues beyond the fallen gate.

And beyond that-the towers.

Three of the foremost still stood, leafless now and blackened by long dead flame, but somehow still majestic. Reaching nearly to the clouds themselves, he could not make out their tops. The darkness of their bark was dotted at regular intervals with windows even darker still. Scattered remnants of wooden scaffolding and catwalks littered the ground beneath, only a handful still attached to their original moorings.

Some such dangling pieces swayed in the night breeze producing a steady knocking noise from above, a hollow sound that served to remind D'Pharin of the utter emptiness of this place.

Directly below the hill on which he stood there stretched a flat field. Several hundred yards of level ground dotted with many large low-lying stones. He would have to carefully pass through these to finally reach the gates. With a deep breath, he began to descend, sword in hand. A touch of fear crept in as he reached the base of the hill. The boulders resembled large flat tombstones, he thought, the moon beginning to show its face from above.

As he made his way around the first, he halted. He scanned the ground in front of him and then looked to the boulder directly to his right.

Was that a helmet? A rounded shoulder and arm?

He jumped back, gasping.

What ... ?

He knelt and reached out with the tip of his sword. It was stone, not flesh. He breathed easier and moved close.

Wind ...

As he leaned over the rocky shape, the moonlight caught the chiseled features.

It was the body of a Troll.

Windenn was just climbing the hill when D'Pharins scream reached her.

She threw her bow across her back and accelerated to a full run. She reached the bottom in three giant steps, nearly somersaulting on the third.

Regaining her balance, she leapt forward and toppled over D'Pharin as he sat hunched over himself.

"Dammit." she muttered. She immediately jumped up and slapped him hard at the back of the head.

He made no move to avoid it.

"What are ye doin', boy? Is your arse where yer head should be?"

She pushed hair from her face in disgust. He glanced up, caught her fiery eyes and stared at the ground again.

"How 'bout this? Next time you decide to go wandering off on yer own ... Don't!"

She straightened her disheveled clothing.

"If ye weren't a friend o' Grimandin's, I think I'd-"

She stopped midsentence as she recognized the shape behind him. In turn, she studied the others within view and frowned.

"They're still here. They're all still here ... For three hundred years, they've lain where they fell."

She reached out a trembling hand and touched the shoulder of the nearest Troll. She slowly moved around to its face. It had died in agony. Eyes clenched. Mouth wide. Veins still stood out along its throat and at its temples. Most of its armor had long since deteriorated, being mostly leather, except for the great iron helm. It sat lopsided, barely upon the Troll's head, half-eaten by rust.

"It ... must have been terrible." she whispered to herself.

"Hmmm ... It was."

Gorin's voice boomed from out of the darkness. His form came into view and his anger was evident.

"Both of you, back to the camp." he ordered.

"Grimandin, I-" Windenn began.

"Now!"

The shadows of his cavernous eyes met them each and they had no choice but to go. Together they ascended the hill and quickly trotted on their way.

Gorin looked all about him at his fallen people. The Trolls of Rathnok had a tradition; they always carried their slain home. Not in this case. This place was rumored to be cursed and none would set foot here. None would ever come to gather the dead.

Gorin raised his eyes to the sky and wept.

They had held their own for twenty-nine days. They had driven back the vile Pith countless times and faced their demonic steeds. By this time, most of the Runepith had fallen, leaving very little sorcery on the side of evil. The warriors of Rathnok were as a wall.

That misty morning all was silent as S'Darin climbed to the top of Hollow Hill. There to end the battle with one terrible sorcerous assault, he brought naught but his elegant staff of wood. He was so majestic against the rising orange sun, long robes swaying about him as he confronted the Runepith. At the first magical blast, the war drums had begun and despite the fiery combat, the ground had swarmed with footsoldiers. Down into the vale and up against the wall of Stone Trolls.

"They're attacking blindly, fellas. They know there's no hope." shouted Raginta, captain of the Red Flank, a division of the army of Man. Covered nearly head to toe in snow-white armor and draped with a crimson cape he rode along behind the front line of Trolls yelling his support from horseback.

"They know they can't cut through stone, the bas-" he stopped short, turning.

From behind, a blue-robed mage came running at full speed, a frightened look in his eyes.

"No ... " he muttered. "Something is not right. Pull back, all of you. Pull back!"

His voice had become a hoarse scream as everyone stared in confusion.

No one understood. The Trolls glanced to one another dumbfounded. The assault was almost upon them, thundering across the flat plain. At the forefront, the mounted Pith would reach them first, crashing with full force.

Gorin spun his head to see behind him, catching a momentary glance of the indigo robes and the arms flailing about in warning.

A horrendous crunching shook the earth as the two armies met and Gorin turned to meet it. The initial push sent the Trolls back only steps and then they became the aggressors. Metal glanced on stone, easily turned aside. Spear tips shattered. Shields buckled.

To Gorin's left, three of his kindred wrestled one of the Pith's lizard-like riding beasts to the ground. To his right, the Trolls fended off swinging scimitars with their huge forearms. A company of Eastern Men persuaded to Mournenhile's side wielded these weapons with insane savagery. After destroying the blades, great hammering fists destroyed the bones of the attackers. It was all too easy.

Gorin avoided a thrown spear and tossed its user far to the side toward the Red Flank. For such small beings, the Men proved worthy allies on the battlefield. Occasionally, a small group of Pith made it through the line of Trolls to be brought down swiftly by the battalions of Man and Elf.

In front of him on the horizon, the clouds blackened and the winds shifted. The harshest crack of thunder shook the plain sending many on both sides to the ground. Both sides paused mid-swing and stared at the eastern sky in awe.

Another thunderclap.

The clouds above seemed to writhe and twist like a dark serpent.

Directly in front of Gorin, one of his comrades drew back in surprise as small droplets of black liquid landed upon his left shoulder. He stared for a moment, then his mouth opened wide as the liquid sank into his skin.

Cries of pain and terror erupted all around him as Gorin struggled to comprehend what had happened.

The first drop to hit him dripped down the front of his leather tunic, melting through and touching the bare flesh beneath. The pain was pure agony. Never in his long life had he experienced this sort of torture.

Many Trolls made the mistake of looking to the sky and were blinded. They fell by the hundreds, curled into themselves like crushed insects.

We will all die out here. We must retreat. Seek shelter.

The Men nearest him all but dissolved in the rain. Their soft flesh did little to hinder its corrosion. They died in mere seconds.

The Stone Trolls, who had never known fear in battle, fled. In every direction they ran to escape the falling death. The slobbering Pith burst through the scattering defenders and stormed the trees. Flames erupted and consumed the gardens. Then dark shapes like horseflies quickly climbed the nearest of the trees as the army of Mournenhile sacked the city.

The rain did not relent. Gorin grabbed a large shield from one of the fallen Elves and covered his head. He had no choice but to flee and hope he could reach the nearby countryside. Soon, drops of metal ran down his shoulders and froze there, forever part of his flesh. A silvery reminder of his darkest day.

And he ran.

Crossing the horrible battlefield, the screams of his brothers nearly turned him about. A flash of blue robes in a heap as he passed.

"Gorin!" they called. "Help us, brother ... "

He knew there was no help. Nothing could beat back this unholy onslaught. Still he ran and did not rest for days.

The rain had been centered over the battlefield and once he had escaped it, he discarded the shield. His wounds stung sharply and he winced as he jogged away. Not only from the deep holes in his body but for his fallen people.

Not since that battle had the dark rain fallen. Not since then had the side of good taken such heavy losses.

He shuddered at the memories as he sat among the remains of it all. He wished that somehow he could carry the Trolls home to the mountains. He knew no one else would ever come here. So they would remain. Forever.

He hoisted himself up and with a final look across the field and up at the few towers that stood; he turned and walked away. Ironically, the low rumble of thunder growled in the distance.

"He rarely loses his temper like that." Windenn remarked as they neared the camp. A light rain had begun to fall and they raised their hoods against the wet.

"I had to see it. I've read about that place since I was a boy." D'Pharin said, staring at the ground.

"And what are ye now? A man? Then, act like one. Ye knew not to go there ... " she scolded.

Hagan stirred as they approached and quickly jumped to his feet.

"What's going on? Where have you been?" he stammered groggily. "I didn't even hear you leave ... "

There was a time when he had slept lightly. It would have been impossible for someone to sneak up on him. At least, since leaving Lauden he was improving. He seemed to become himself more and more each day that he was away from that place.

"Well, your foolish brother here decided to visit Tree Towers."

"What? D'Pharin, what were you thinking?" Hagan yelled.

"He wasn't. That's the problem." Windenn answered.

"D'Pharin, you never know what lies waiting in the ruins of any city, let alone Tree Towers." Hagan said, dropping back down to his bed. He yawned wide and stretched.

"Where's Gorin?" he asked, pulling his blanket up and staring out into the night.

Windenn produced a frown.

"He followed us and he's not too happy. He sent us away and stayed behind. I'm sure he'll be along soon." she said.

"Oh no ... " Hagan whispered. Tree Towers was the last place Gorin would ever want to see again, he was sure. He knew the stories. "Maybe I should go get him." he added. He dragged his blanket a little closer to the immense boulders for shelter from the increasing drizzle.

"No," Windenn said calmly. "Leave him to his ghosts. He'll deal with it. He always does."

"Everyone has a limit." Hagan said, settling down to sleep once more. It was a few hours before dawn and he felt he needed the rest.

"D'Pharin, tomorrow's gonna be a hard ride with no sleep. You'd better try to get a few hours, at least."

Windenn circled the camp once, removing her Wardstones. Their magic was strong, but she wished to save them in case of emergency. No sense depleting them so soon.

As expected, she woke them just before dawn and as D'Pharin and Hagan rubbed the sleep from their eyes, they noticed that with the morning came no sun. Only a more torrential rain. Gorin readied a quick breakfast, huddled over his small fire to keep the downpour out. Bread and strange blue eggs he had gathered on his way back. He seemed oddly calm as he served their plates and warm mugs of tea. The ground around them had gradually become one large mud puddle. They had managed to stretch a light tarp of burlap between the boulders and held the other end with a stake driven into the ground. This seemed to keep most of the water off of them, but they were soon soaked to the skin nonetheless.

"Hmmm ... We have three or four days travel to reach Elfwhere. If we take the Illdredge River south from there, we should reach Harquinn perhaps three days after. That is, if there are no more surprises awaiting us. Windenn, what are your plans?" he asked as he set about scrambling the remainder of the eggs, water dripping from his brows and chin. The rain didn't seem to bother those of the Troll race. D'Pharin found himself hoping there was plenty more breakfast to go around. He was unsure of the species of bird, but the eggs were delicious.

"Well. If ye think I'm goin' off alone again with the Inquitis after me, you're mad. If no one objects, I'll join ye on your way to Harquinn." she said as she glanced from brother to brother.

They both shrugged their approval, cheeks full of victuals. Hagan noticed the way she still hugged her arm against her body, though she tried to hide it.

"Is that still bothering you?" he asked.

"Eh? No, no. I'm fine." she lied. Hagan read it in her face.

"Let me have a look." he said, reaching out to take her wrist.

"No."

The raised voices took Gorin's attention away from the cooking pan. He walked to where Windenn sat and bending at the waist, he stared curiously at her.

"Hmmm. Let him have a look, Windenn." he said.

She frowned at him, then loosened her arm and allowed Hagan to examine it.

As he pulled the soaked sleeve up, purplish swollen skin was visible even before he saw the wound itself. The shallow cut had grown bright pink and leaked a yellowish fluid. A strange webbing of blue veins branched out from it just below the skin.

"What the hell happened?" Hagan asked with concern. Immediately he let go of her arm to avoid hurting her and to avoid exposure to this unknown infection. He had never seen a wound attacked in this way.

"Hmmm ... make room." Gorin grumbled, pushing his way into the small space, close to Windenn.

Her face grew more frightened as her secret was revealed. She looked like a little girl begging for help.

"I ... don't know what it is, Grimandin. I don't remember the cut. In fact, I would swear to it. Nothing touched me."

Gorin's gigantic hands held her arm gently as he attempted to study it in the grey light of the storm. He stopped after a moment and looked directly into her eyes. For a moment, she simply stared back. She knew what he was thinking.

"It can't be." she whispered to him. "It hasn't happened since-"

"Do not worry, Windenn. I will find you help." the Stone Troll stated firmly. He stepped out into the storm and stared off to the north in thought. His deep voice carried back to them.

"Wait here. I will return soon. Do not move from this spot." he looked to D'Pharin on that last word, embarrassing him for his previous foolhardiness.

"Where-" Hagan began, but the Troll was gone into the curtain of water before he could finish.

The storm had grown intense in the last few hours and it produced a constant hammering sound on the tarp overhead. Hagan was agitated. One thing he hated was waiting.

Nowhere to go. Can't even see through this storm.

"Well, for someone in such a damned hurry, Gor –" Hagan started, his voice almost a scream above the pounding of the rain.

"Be silent!" Windenn yelled.

Hagan turned angrily toward her. Seeing the look on her face, he quickly calmed himself. She was terrified. This was obviously more than what it seemed.

"If I am not treated properly-and soon ... " she said, her voice catching in her throat.

"What? It's that serious?" D'Pharin asked. He had been silent all this time, feeling a little like a hindrance.

She turned moist eyes to him.

"I've got maybe two days. If I'm lucky. It all depends on when I was hit."

Both Marindels asked the same question in unison.

"What is it?"

"This hasn't been seen since Grimandin's youth. They call it 'The Kiss of Mournenhile'. It was a power that the Inquitis possessed before they were destroyed. In the past, their touch could cause wounds such as this in their selected victims. But, they had to be in close contact and undisturbed for a good length of time. I wasn't touched. Ever. I'm sure of it." She shook her head in disbelief.

"Gorin is going for help?" D'Pharin asked. "Out here?"

She nodded.

"Grimandin knows of many things. He searches for that which cured many in the past."

She paused.

"When S'Darin fell all those years ago, the Pith drank of his blood. They gathered a piece of his essence. His power. But, they weren't the only ones."

"As the battle moved into the city and left the battlefield, a group of - well, a sort of cult, I guess - came to S'Darin's body. They took that which remained. They gathered the precious little lifeblood that remained and his broken staff."

"The blood was encased in glass amulets that each wore around the neck as a tribute. No one is sure what became of the staff. It seemed that the amulets protected the wearers from evil, the blood of S'Darin being so potent and powerful. But, there is a reason that only a handful of chosen people ever wield the fierce magic that he commanded. Most mortal bodies cannot contain it. S'Darin's parents were both powerful mages and we all know that sorcery is in the blood. If ye aren't born with it, ye will never be a mage. Unless, of course, you try a more sinister and devious approach ... "

"What do you mean?" asked D'Pharin.

"She means murder." Hagan answered. "The magic is in the blood. If you kill a wizard and drink his blood ... "

"Is that really possible?" D'pharin asked, somewhat amazed at this fact.

"Absolutely." Windenn said. "It has happened. However, those that drink are never sure if they can contain it. Just as easily as some gain power, others simply ... explode."

"Wind ... " he said. That seemed like a big risk to take for a little power.

Windenn's teeth clenched as she suffered through another wave of pain. Sweat covered her brow suddenly and she wiped it away with her good arm.

"Those that fashioned the amulets were not aware of the lasting effects of the wizard's blood. Their bodies were distorted and bent under its weight. Though they did not die, they were forever changed."

"It was found that this remaining blood had a will of it's own, in a way. The bearer of an amulet is unconsciously drawn toward the greatest need. In other words, if the Inquitis are to be found in the lands of good, then one of the bearers will be close by."

Lightning flashed suddenly outside and thunder shook the earth beneath them.

"So this blood can heal you?" D'Pharin asked.

"So it is said ... "

"And Gorin went to find one of these bearers ... " Hagan murmured, peering into the blackness outside. Just as he returned his gaze to Windenn, lightning flashed once more and he saw something. From the corner of his eye he saw them.

Three tall silhouettes a mere stone's throw away.

He quickly looked back but all had once again returned to darkness. Their horses stamped and whinnied, frightened by the presence.

Hagan slid his blade from its sheath, uncontrollable fear squeezing his heart. The others felt it as well. The presence of the Inquitis. This time three was their number.

"Is it-? " D'Pharin started.

Hagan hurriedly hopped into a defensive stance, sword extended toward the downpour. His brother drew his blade as well and stood between Windenn and the darkness.

"Hagan ... " he began.

"Shhhh."

One of them nearly killed all of us. Now there are three?

Where is Gorin?

"Swords alone are useless." Windenn said through clenched jaws.

"We don't have much choice, Woodwarden." Hagan answered, his eyes staring through the rain.

Lightning once more.

Nothing. He saw nothing now.

D'Pharin opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by Hagan's outstretched hand.

The ground shook.

They held their breath.

Again. And once again, quicker this time. And closer.

Like footsteps.

A huge figure loomed before them, grey and wide.

Hagan drew back his sword.

Gorin.

They all exhaled in relief. He had returned. In his hand he clutched a length of rope. The other end led back slackly into the darkness. He tugged firmly on his end and a hunched and grizzled form lurched clumsily into the shelter of the tarp.

It looked to be more goblin than anything but it was evident that its form was unnatural. Its gruesome face seemed to melt from its deformed skull, one eye hanging much lower than the other. Scraps of coarse hair jutted from its mottled scalp in every direction.

It stood, eyes downcast, sniffling and chattering to itself. Its twisted and palsied fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, clenching and unclenching at the air and occasionally grasping the large amulet around its neck.

"Wind." whispered Windenn, huddled, back to the boulder.

"Hmmm ... Its mind is gone. It is impossible to speak to it. It understands nothing and will not respond." Gorin said, wiping the rain from his forehead.

Hagan had not yet lowered his guard, remaining frozen and his sword at the ready.

"Gorin, I saw them." he said without turning.

"Hmmm ... yes. They are there. It is good that I returned when I did. This amulet is all that holds them back."

The bearer had sunken to its backside and stared about blankly. Strands of drool hung from its open lips and pooled upon the mud beneath.

"Hm. We must make haste. Windenn, come."

The Woodwarden moved on hands and knees toward the stunted creature. Its eyes suddenly followed her as she approached. Gorin stood to the side between the two, constantly monitoring the impenetrable rain outside the tarp.

"We must use as little as possible. I do not need to explain its value." the Troll said.

Windenn sat cross-legged next to the bearer. It now seemed to pay close attention to her and nothing else. As she raised the sleeve of her soaked tunic, it recognized the sign of Mournenhile's Kiss. It grinned, its crooked teeth becoming visible and its blackish tongue playing across them in strange glee.

D'Pharin looked questioningly at Gorin as if to say 'Is this safe?'

Gorin nodded although not entirely sure. He reached cautiously toward the bearer and carefully took the tarnished amulet in his hands. The leather thong that supported it had been repaired many times over the years. There were knots and frays all along its length. He turned it over once in his giant palm and located the clasp. It opened easily for him, revealing a seemingly glass vial, roughly half-full of thick red liquid.

Windenn stared in awe. She never thought to see such a sight.

"The blood of S'Darin ... " she gasped.

The bearer twitched.

A small golden stopper was pushed into the small opening in the vial. Gorin's fingers were too large for such a task, so Windenn twisted it loose. Electricity filled the area. The essence of power. S'Darins power. The horses screamed. There had never been a greater wizard. Never again had the land known such awesome sorcery.

With trembling hands, Windenn handed it back to Gorin and moved closer, her wound exposed. Its appearance had grown worse even in the last few minutes. It seeped a greenish fluid and let out a foul odor.

Gorin gingerly balanced the vial and tipped it slightly toward her arm. Slowly the blood moved, gradually making its way to the mouth of the small container.

Not a sound was made as they waited.

"One drop should be all we need." Gorin noted to himself.

The crimson drop fell.

The moment it touched the wound, Windenn howled the harshest of screams. She threw herself backward in agony, scraping at her arm with her fingernails. The amulet snapped free of its thong and skidded across the slick ground. It stopped several paces away. She curled into herself and thrashed in the mud as D'Pharin and Hagan ran to her.

Gorin took a step toward her writhing form, then hesitated. He turned to check on the bearer who now shrunk into himself in fear. It backed toward the rain and the darkness, unsure of itself.

"NO!" the Troll bellowed, bounding in the creature's direction. He had acted too late, he knew.

The bearer was snatched from behind and ripped from the shelter of the tarp by unseen hands. Gorin had met its pitiful eyes just as it disappeared into the storm. Then, over the pounding of the rain, they heard its screams of pain. Horrible sounds. They covered their ears but the sound still seemed to reach them. Rending of flesh. Snapping of bone. The sickening crunch of joints being pulled apart.

Lightning flashed and the three silhouettes could be seen hunched over the motionless mound of battered flesh. The tallest turned its empty face toward them and took a step forward. All grew dark again.

Hagan had since joined Gorin at the rain's edge while D'Pharin tried to comfort the now inconsolable Windenn. She had stopped thrashing and now lay on her side, moaning. One hand covered the wound, the other her grimacing face.

"They're coming." Hagan remarked, looking about for a good spot to fight from. He now had the amulet in hand.

"Hmmm ... " Gorin grumbled. "Poor creature. Perhaps it is better this way. Theirs was a misled cause. It is not as S'Darin would have wanted."

"Ah, Hagan. The amulet protected the bearer and should offer us protection as well. We must stay close. Gather around the Woodwarden."

They did so. They lay the amulet upon Windenn's chest as she had since rolled onto her back and fallen into a fitful sleep. The others sat around her, each facing the wall of rain.

They sat motionless for minutes and then the first ghostly shape appeared just outside the tarp. One of the Inquitis. It stood as a white statue merely paces inside the falling rain. It stood and stared, its thin wings dragging the muddy ground. Waiting.

Soon, the others appeared spaced evenly on the storm's edge.

Three frightening figures silently observing them with hidden eyes.

The downpour seemed not to affect them at all. They stood unmoving, no water touched them as if they were not part of the same reality. Not of this world.

"Damn." Hagan said, fingering the tip of his sword. "Do we wait here until each of us is pulled into the storm and torn apart?"

Gorin did not speak. He simply returned the stare of the Inquitis.

D'Pharin mopped the sweat from Windenn's forehead and face, more concerned with her than the watchers outside.

"I think she's coming around. She's gonna be alright." He smiled.

"Hmmm ... how is the arm?" the Troll asked. D'Pharin gently rolled her to the side.

"It's gone! There's no sign of it."

"Good"

Hagan huffed. "What's your plan?" he asked anxiously.

"We wait." Gorin said. "Obviously the power of the blood is keeping them at bay. Wait until Windenn is back with us."

Some two hours passed and suddenly Windenn sat upright, eyes wide. The others started, then reached to steady her. Hagan grabbed the amulet and kept it near.

"S'Darin ... " she whispered. Her face turned quickly to each of them, a final look of recognition covering it.

D'Pharin offered her water from his leather canteen and she drank deeply.

Gorin still had not taken his gaze from that of the Inquitis.

"How do you feel, Woodwarden?" he asked.

"Strange ... I think I was dreaming. He was there or I was him or - I don't know ... I think I'm alright ... " she said rubbing at her arm.

"Looks like that did the trick, eh?" she added.

"You had us scared there for a moment." D'Pharin said as he gathered the soaked cloths he had used on her.

She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts.

"I've never felt such fire. It burned but not as a flame. It burned inside. Inside my soul. I felt it. His power. It's no wonder the bearers were twisted. No one can contain that much fire." She lifted her eyes to the rain outside and shrank back.

"What-?" she blurted.

Hagan scratched his head and said, "They won't come in. The amulet keeps them away."

"W-What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Ask Gorin ... " Hagan answered, obviously agitated.

"What are they doing?" she said.

"It looks like they're waiting for something. But, what?" D'Pharin remarked.

"They are waiting for word from their master." Gorin said. "Most likely, they speak with him even now. I am sure they will be ordered to retreat. We have protection and there is no way around that."

"Gorin, what if we threaten them with the amulet? Could we chase them off?" Hagan asked.

"Hmmm ... I think it is best that we simply wait h-"

Then, they were gone and so was the storm. Quickly, rays of sunlight slanted across the sky and the clouds began to lift.

"Now, we go." Gorin stated and went to Windenn. He gently cradled her in his arms, finally allowing the emotion to come through.

"Grimandin ... " she said.

"Windenn. Hmmm ... For a moment, I-"

"I know. No more need be said, my friend. Once again, I owe you my life."

She raised a hand to his cheek, weakly and held it for a moment.

"Hmmm ... You owe me nothing, dear girl. Your friendship means much to me. If you had-"

"Shhh ... " she said and put a finger to his grey lips.

D'Pharin smiled, deeply touched and felt a slight pang of jealousy. Hagan moved to the horses and made them ready for travel.

"Let's hope this amulet helps us reach Harquinn without further mishap." he murmured.

He thought again of that once fair city, all in blue. Many balconied buildings and intricate stonework. And the council. Councilcrane.

Magic. Never had much use for it.

Never trusted it much either.

Roughly an hour after midday they rejoined the river, having met it at its gradual turn back east. They rode close together with Gorin striding tirelessly to their side. Though the pale sun shone down, its heat was hardly felt and their thick clothing still clung to their bodies, soaked with rain. They fidgeted uncomfortably in their saddles and complaints often filled the air.

Windenn rode hunched over behind Hagan, her cloak pulled tight and gathered under her chin, her head pressed against his back. She shivered now and then from more than her wet clothes. It was not unnoticed.

Gorin walked beside her, his head at level with hers.

"The Kiss is still with you?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"No, no. I think it is gone but I am weakened. This chill that has set in is not sorcerous. It is a natural sickness, Gorin ... " Her voice was pleading as if she tried to convince herself of its truthfulness.

"You need warmth and dry clothing or this will become worse." he said.

"I'll not argue with ye, Grimandin. I do not wish to slow ye down. If ye wish-"

He cut her off.

"Hm. Nonsense."

He glanced to the horizon, through the groves of trees and to the hills beyond. He stood for a moment in contemplation as the group halted, unsure. The brothers had heard nothing of their conversation, so were completely unaware of the situation.

Gorin turned to face them.

"Half a day's ride over those hills is the nearest human city. If we ride now, we can reach it by nightfall. The Woodwarden needs a healer and we will find one there."

Hagan shook his head.

"Are you talking about Overbrook? That is the one place we should avoid." he said.

"Windenn needs shelter, a warm meal and a bed. One night, that is all."

"Well, you can't show your face there. From what I've heard, that place is not too kind to the Elder races and most assuredly not to Trolls."

Gorin huffed.

"I am full aware of that fact. The three of you will go into the city and find the Wisp. I will remain in the hills above the river."

Hagan rolled his eyes and spat.

"All this for a cold?" he yelled, his voice echoing across the landscape.

"Lord Hagan." Gorin growled forcefully.

Hagan glared at him. He hated that title.

"Stop calling me that, dammit! Look, if I have to cross the entire country because Davaris wants to talk, fine. Let's get there! Look at her-" he motioned over his shoulder to Windenn.

"She's fine. Just a little sick." he shouted. Then, she slid limply down the far side of his horse and crumpled to the ground. Hagan froze, stunned.

D'Pharin hopped down and checked her. She was unconscious and her forehead burned his palm as he tested it.

"Wind." he said. He shot a glance at his brother. "She needs water."

He poured a swallow of water into her open mouth and she took it on reflex.

"Alright, Overbrook it is. I feel that there are still things that you are hiding, Gorin. This is still Mournenhile's work, isn't it? She's not completely cured of the Kiss, is she?"

"I had hoped that it was over, Hagan." the Troll answered.

"It seems that as the years have passed, his power has grown. Many years ago, Windenn would have been fully recovered by this time. We are in need of the Wisp."

"If she is still there ..." he added.

"Wind." Hagan exclaimed. He jumped down and helped his brother return her to Maelstrom's back. He sat her in front of him and supported her from behind. Her body was limp and she did not respond to their touch, her lids only fluttered as if in a frightful dream.

They struck out eastward across the dark green hills. The grass was tall here, nearly to Gorin's waist and dotted with bright wildflowers. Yellows, blues and fiery oranges. Now and then, the faint buzzing of honeybees would pass them as spring came to life.

They kept a swift pace, each sensing the urgency of the situation. Windenn made no sound and moved not at all. This was more disturbing then her convulsions of earlier that morning.

They were mostly silent, only speaking when a pack of wolves was seen far off on the northern horizon. The animals simply stared, as still as statues, but the horse's ears twitched nervously until they had departed.

The blood red sun had nearly sunk into the earth when Gorin stopped them at the base of another hillside.

"Hmmm ... This is where I leave you. Over this hill, Overbrook will be seen lying below in a deep valley. Find Twisting Way, an avenue buried deep in the center of the city. It is a confusing road, hence its name, however when last I heard a sort of path had been put in place. The street lanterns are all dead. All but a few. Follow these and you will find the Wisp. Near the very heart of Twisting Way, her old house stands, all others long since deserted. They fear her; the city-folk and they keep their distance. It is said, that even the Inquitis avoid that place but, that may be a tall tale."

"Please, Hagan. Do not tarry. Make your way as quickly as possible to the Wisp. She can help Windenn, but there are others there that would harm her. Speak to no one. Once inside Overbrook, do not stop for anyone or anything. Enter by the lower docks. Those are never guarded and will be busy even at this hour. I do not have to tell you to be careful. Under the city linger the worst of Overbrook. Keep your hoods up and cover your faces. You may not realize it but you are recognizable even here."

"The vilest thieves and pirates lurk there among the shipping crates and ships. Make your way into the city quickly. And Hagan ... the Woodwarden means much to me. I am charging you with her protection. I am entrusting you with her life."

Hagan loosened his sword in its sheath and tightened the strap that held it in place at his side.

"Don't worry, Gorin. If someone harms her, they must harm me first. She'll be taken care of." he said. His memory twinged as some of his former self returned in a flash.

He remembered 'Lord Hagan'. He had honor and protected his beliefs. He had been respected. He was strong, fierce and brave. Since leaving his hometown, the old Hagan was returning. Strange, it seemed.

"Hold it." Hagan said. "The amulet. If we take it, you'll be unprotected out here."

"That is a risk that I must take for Windenn's sake. Hmmm ... they are not looking for me, my friend." Gorin said.

"I don't like this, Gorin. What if-"

"Guard yourselves. I will meet you here at the same time tomorrow." The Troll turned and grabbed most of the saddlebags and sacks of belongings. These he dropped to the soft earth and seated himself next to them.

"Walk with the Wind." he said, smiling.

"Walk with the Wind, Gorin." Hagan answered and D'Pharin followed suit.

Together they climbed the hill, the last rays of the sun warming their shoulders slightly. D'Pharin took one last look behind, barely able to see Gorin in the darkening dusk.

The Troll raised one huge hand in a farewell gesture and smiled again.

Chapter Four

The river city of Overbrook was literally built over the Sheandre River. Huge stone platforms had been constructed long ago that held many buildings suspended above the wide water. The large boats that traveled through the city would spend many minutes in the arched passage below it and in perpetual shadow, finally returning to the outside world many leagues downstream. Even the largest of the Harquinn cargo boats could easily navigate these passages. From the Sheandre, the vastness of the city radiated out for leagues, finally dwindling into the hills above.

When trade between Elf and Man slowed, so did the economy in Overbrook. Many of the wealthy merchants moved off to other prosperous cities, some to Harquinn, Ar'Klaemen, some even to Faith.

Since then, the town had become a gathering ground for criminals, smugglers and thieves. A guild of assassins had moved in and was reportedly thriving there. These men were supposedly a small faction of the infamous Redmasks exiled from the elite group for unknown reasons. Because of Overbrook's location, the assassins had easy access to many places in the north and south. An assignment could be carried out in mere days, it is said.

"Hagan, do we have to go under the city?" D'Pharin asked as they approached the first outlying houses.

"We need to remain hidden. The docks are the most inconspicuous way to enter Overbrook. Most people in the underpassage mind their own affairs. Unfortunately, Windenn will draw attention even there, I'm afraid." he responded.

Along either side of the Sheandre was a well-traveled road that led into the docks. Luck was with them, for both roads were mostly shielded from onlookers by rows of strangely formed rocks, tall enough to hide even those on horseback. It seemed that they could remain somewhat concealed from the city but not from those taveling the opposite road. The darkness was their ally however and with the great distance, even interested spies would have trouble making them out. Hagan allowed himself to relax, feeling fairly safe for the moment. Another few moments and they would be below Overbrook. Then, he would heed Gorin's warnings.

Windenn hadn't moved since falling from the horse hours earlier that day. She still lived, but time was running out fast. Maelstrom constantly adjusted his gait to compensate for the Woodwarden's limp form. She would not fall again.

Hagan led the way. Together they decided to ride in darkness, no lantern or torch to reveal them to strangers. Soon, all became a grey landscape of shadowy forms as other travelers passed them on their path away from Overbrook. Most were merchants and traders returning with monies for their wares. One group of lavishly costumed men passed, laughing raucously and joking in a tongue strange to their ears. They carried a strong but not unpleasant odor of cinnamon and honey. Most likely spice merchants from somewhere far east. Across the Edge, possibly.

The Marindels did not meet the stranger's eyes, Hagan having warned his bother about the local customs. To do so, would certainly be read as some sort of challenge.

They were close enough now to make out the orange glow cast upon the underbelly of Overbrook's foundation. The many torches and lanterns of the docks reflected on the surface of the river, projecting strange patterns on the stone above.

"D'Pharin, stay right behind me. Keep your eyes on my back. We need to avoid trouble at all costs but we are in their territory. Some of these people would just as soon kill you than look at you."

"Right." D'Pharin nodded.

"And hide that sword." Hagan added.

Both wrapped the weapons among their bedrolls and pulled their hoods close. D'Pharin could see the many seemingly tiny figures among the crates and sailing vessels. This place was bustling with activity, much of it illegal he was certain. Boats were being loaded and unloaded. Prices haggled. Great wooden cranes swung out above the docks, their rope nets holding the precious cargo of Overbrook. Cloth and leather goods. Many types of foodstuffs. Weapons and armor. The spices could be smelled from where they rode.

"Here we go." said Hagan just as they passed under the immense stone platform. Their path became a worn reddish cobblestone road that led past each dock and the stone warehouses adjacent to them. Shipping crates were stacked three and four high and hundreds of workers toted them from here to there.

Then, the unpleasant aromas struck them. Fish. They slightly quickened their pace as they passed through the most recent catch. Strewn all about the docks were hundreds of fish of all sizes. Yellow drumskin, toadfin, sundevils and occasionally the rare rubyneck. Fishermen squatted everywhere, dressing their catch. The unused portions were pushed to the side to be gathered later by the crew and possibly used as bait. Ice-filled wooden barrels held the prepared fish, soon to be carted above to the city and sold.

D'Pharin marveled at the skill these men possessed. Their knives moved like lightning as they made perfect cuts. He counted. Seven slices per fish. One to remove the head. One up the belly. Remove the tail. One for each side fin. Two to remove the innards. One crewman prepared a dozen fish in the time it took them to ride by.

They passed out of the fishing docks and began to notice the stares of the workers. They were attracting attention. More precisely, Windenn was attracting attention.

Hagan spoke over his shoulder.

"We only need to make it to the first stairway. It's not far."

D'Pharin nodded.

The builders of Overbrook had indeed created a wonder of stonework. It seemed impossible, the span of the stone platform above. At regular intervals gigantic stone columns thrust up from the river bottom and met the underbelly of the city. These seemed tiny in comparison to the city itself but somehow it worked. The builders had fashioned several long stairways that led up through the platform at either side to allow access to the city from the underpassage.

Most decent folk avoided the underpassage after dark and kept clear of the stairways. It was not uncommon for a child to be kidnapped and shipped downriver to be sold into slavery. Just as often, robbery was the motive and unsuspecting city-folk would be dragged below and stripped of their belongings and released once again to the surface. Or killed.

"'ey! Didja haveta knock'er out to bed her? Heh, heh!" a near-toothless dockworker screamed directly to Hagan's right. He put his filthy hands on Hagan's thigh and laughed up at him. Spittle sprayed from his lips as he coughed out a chuckle.

Hagan did not respond. He only flexed his right leg, shaking the fool loose.

Unfortunately, this was enough to gather the fool's comrades and soon curses and jibes filled the air.

D'Pharin made for his weapon. Hagan caught the action and shook his head.

"Don't encourage them, brother. Just stay calm. The stairway is just ahead." he said.

"Stairway?" a loud pot-bellied man, wearing a golden nose ring shouted. "What makes ye think ye'll make it that far?"

The ever-increasing crowd burst into shouts and challenges. Several unsavory comments concerning Windenn reached them and Hagan's anger was beginning to rise. The old spirit of war. Twelve years ago, he would never have held his tongue. He was feeling that way once more.

Who do they think they are? I fought under the Black Sun, dammit!

His anger rose, his face growing hot.

They will not speak this way to me.

It was enough.

Hagan pulled Maelstrom to a stop and D'Pharin did the same.

All had become quiet.

He stared down at his hands. Slowly and deliberately he reached behind and pulled his sword from his bedroll, the metal glinting in the darkness. Many dockworkers backed away immediately, expressions of fear on their faces. Hushed whispers passed along the crowd and soon the remaining men reluctantly cleared a path for them.

D'Pharin thought he had heard the phrase 'Black Sun' among the whispers. It seemed Hagan's reputation had preceded him indeed.

Some of the ruffians sneered at them as they passed, wishing to challenge but uncertain. When they had ridden nearly out of earshot, one of them yelled, "Not to worry, lads! They'll have t'come back this way, won't they? I'll soon have that fancy sword hangin' next t'me bunk!"

They soon reached the first great stone stair, wide enough for two-dozen men to walk abreast but crumbling with neglect in places.

Hagan glanced into the shadows near them and the rickety shacks that stood close. His nerves were afire and his eyes jumped from place to place searching for new challengers.

None.

He kicked Maelstrom lightly in the flanks and sent him up the stairs. D'Pharin followed leaning close to his horse's neck. All was very quiet here. The sounds of activity down below had dwindled and they could only hear the steady clopping of the horse's hooves or the occasional falling pebble. Up above, the moonlight cast a bluish circle on the topmost stairs.

Five more steps and they were bathed in the moon's glow. They emerged and moved away from the stairs. They then surveyed their surroundings. They had come into the city near a relatively large cobbled street.

A huge dark-clad guard eyed them suspiciously but made no move to stop them. There was very little activity along this street and in the darkness Windenn was barely visible.

"Watch yourself, now." Hagan whispered. "The only ones out at this hour will be thieves and assassins. Or both."

The houses here were built of a rusty stone and dark wood and were once very beautiful. Now all was in disrepair and had been neglected for many years it seemed. Paint peeled here and stone crumbled there. Refuse littered the streets to either side and there were numerous huddled figures in the alleys around them. Things had obviously taken a turn for the worse. Nearly every window in their vicinity seemed to glow from the candlelight within as if to keep the bad things away.

They made for the center of Overbrook, attempting to follow Gorin's directions, although the streets and side streets confused them. Some had been blocked or walled up. Some seemed brand new.

Soon they spotted the first lantern and this hastened them on their way.

It seemed to D'Pharin that everyone in the city must know that they were there. The horses made an incredible racket on the stones below. They took turn after cautious turn following the path that had been marked for those that would follow. Fewer and fewer homes were lived in the deeper they traveled down Twisting Way. This part of the city appeared long since deserted.

"Don't do it!!"

A haggard old man in rags lurched into their path, his arms flailing about his head to bar their way.

"Fools. Wretched, wretched fools. Ye've no idea, do ye? She's there, all right. And she's waiting. She knows. Oh, she knows. Turn back now, fools ... "

"Stand aside." Hagan stated firmly.

The ragged man lifted an eyebrow and met Hagan's eyes. He seemed to study him for a moment, gauging his worth.

"As you wish, my Lord. As you wish ... I'm sure my Lord knows what he's doin'." His voice dropped to a near whisper. Just as all of the others did before they met their deaths at the end of Twisting Way."

His voice trailed off as he quickly melted into the shadows of an alleyway.

The brothers hesitated for a moment both staring at Windenn's motionless form.

"Are you sure about this, Hagan?" D'Pharin asked.

Maybe Gorin was mistaken. Maybe things had changed more than he knew. Perhaps the Wisp was no longer in the business of helping people.

Hagan looked first to the cobblestone underfoot and then to his brother.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

He heeled Maelstrom on.

At the next corner, a low fog had gathered, covering the ground and resting at knee-height to the horses. It was suddenly all around them. They looked behind and the fog had extended back the way they had come.

Impossible.

On a near rooftop, a raven called out, its black form visible against the pale grey sky. Oddly, it studied them as they rode, its head cocked at a strange angle.

They moved on, the horses cutting a wide swath in the ghostly fog like great warships in a calm eastern sea. It moved bizarrely, seeming to grasp and cling to their legs for one last caress.

"Look at that." D'Pharin called, his voice echoing in the emptiness of the street. He could see his breath now as he spoke. It had become much colder in the last few moments.

Hagan followed his brother's outstretched finger to the half-open door of a house across the street from them. A rust-colored handprint had been placed dead- center on it, its color running down the wood to pool and eventually dry upon the ground. Some sort of symbol or warning to passersby. Hagan spun his horse and rode over to the deserted home.

Three dark birds perched there, high upon the eaves, their eyes locked on them and unmoving.

"That's blood." he stated, ignoring the ravens as best he could. The windows were long since broken and all was black inside. There were deep gouges in the wooden frame of the door and other small signs of struggle.

"What is this?" his brother asked.

"I'm not sure ... Something bad happened here."

Something moved in a near alleyway.

"Let's get out of here." Hagan said, tightening his grip on Windenn's waist. She was so cold. As cold as-

No. Don't think it.

They rode back into the fog and continued on their way. They saw several more handprints along the street and the birds became more frequent and more numerous. One final fork in the road and there it stood without a doubt. The home of the Wisp. In the midst of the small cottages and outbuildings of Overbrook, stood a structure so unimaginable. It seemed to be forged from a dark, glasslike material, but cloudy and not in the least transparent. Its shape was stranger yet. As if an inverted black whirlpool had been frozen and stretched skyward, it spiraled in on itself and rose to a sharp point some seven or eight stories overhead.

And on every surface of it, the ravens were perched. Hundreds of them. Perhaps thousands.

Unmoving.

Watching.

Both horses snorted and began to back away. D'Pharin dismounted and gently took Windenn from his brother. They tethered both horses to one of the odd clumps of stones that littered the ground about this place.

"Wind. She's barely holding on ... " D'Pharin murmured peering at her pale face.

Hagan did not respond. Instead, he bit his lower lip and slowly approached the dark dwelling. He could make out no entrance. No door or window anywhere along its span. The house seemed to jut forth out of the earth itself, which was impossible, this section of Overbrook being built on top of the platform. The ground itself darkened as it neared her home.

A single iron pole stood ten paces from where they assumed the front door might be. Hanging there was a glowing street lantern; its light was strong but quickly absorbed by the night in an abnormal way.

"What the hell is this? Where is she? Where's the damned door?" Hagan's temper flared. "We managed to find the Wisp, the only one that can save Windenn and she's going to die because ... there's no door? Nothing angers me more than sorcery. Mages strutting around, all full of themselves. Better than everyone else because of their arcane arts."

A raven cried out, silencing him.

D'Pharin studied the darkness around them, searching for some sign, some clue to gain entrance.

"Wait ... the path up to this point has been marked by the lanterns. That's how we found this place."

Hagan wrinkled his brow. "And... ?"

"Maybe the lantern is the key." D'Pharin answered.

Hagan glanced to the lantern, then back to his brother.

"Alright. That makes about as much sense as anything else on this trip. " he said moving toward the iron pole, stepping slowly into its eerie light. He muttered under his breath all the way. "Murdered woman under the Arch, Inquitis chasing me down, Stone Trolls and Woodwardens ... "

He stood before the lantern. Inside, it seemed the flame danced and writhed unnaturally. Something rested there at the base of the flame. A silver ring tooled with roses along the band.

"Mother's ring? How?... "

He took one last look behind him and lifted the small metal latch. Opening the soot-covered glass, he reached for it, disregarding the heat. The flame flickered then died. His hand came back empty. For an instant, it was pitch black all about them. Then, Hagan could make out the glints in his brother's eyes a dozen paces away.

"Well? Do you see anything?" D'Pharin asked.

Moments passed, as they both studied the Wisp's home. Suddenly, upon the wall directly in front of them, a shimmering outline appeared. The door.

"Quickly! Inside." Hagan called. He ran to D'Pharin's side and helped to carry Windenn. She seemed much lighter now, the sickness eating away at her from the inside.

They approached the door and as they stepped toward it, the wall itself faded and they stepped through. Just as suddenly, the wall reappeared behind them shutting out the moonlight. All was very dark inside. Their eyes eventually adjusted and they could make out the unnatural corridor in which they stood. The walls, floor and ceiling were all of the same foreign glass, no corners or sharp edges, all curves as if a great river had cut its path here many ages ago. Somewhat transparent and altogether unsettling. They made their way deeper into the structure, the hairs on the backs of their necks on end.

Hagan sensed movement on his right side. He spun suddenly and studied the wall there. Within the murky depths, something was suspended there. Something vaguely manlike, yet most assuredly not. Something about the head was different but with no light he could make out no features. The thing inside twitched and he jerked his face away in shock.

"What is it?" D'Pharin whispered.

"There are things inside the walls all around us. Trapped inside or-"

"Creatures that the Wisp has captured?" asked D'Pharin glancing all about them.

"There's no way to know." Hagan said. "Unless we ask her." He forced a quick smile and pulled his brother on.

There were many other things within the walls as they passed. Mythical beings said to be long extinct in this world. Some were obviously alive. Demon and angel. Coralkretch. Unicorn and Talon. What power could contain all of these legendary creatures of magic?

They had become so frighteningly amazed at these sights that when the central chamber gaped before them, they both let out loud gasps.

A great circular hall stood before them, reaching four stories above. Large windows completely covered the highest reaches of the room, allowing the moon to shed a fair amount of light there. Once again, every surface seemed to have been polished smooth and the entire chamber seemed to be one immense piece of glass, no joints or seams visible to them. Hanging from the ceiling, were several long curtains of white silk, slightly waving in the subtle breeze. Seemingly pulled from the floor were many shapely pedestals, on which treasures rested. Each worth a kingdom. Everywhere there were objects straight from the ancient tales. Things thought to have been lost ages ago.

Symbillien, scepter of the High Elven kings.

Aerink-Ore, fabled Dwarven chalice. Present during the Morning of the World. The first of the Dwarven monarchs drank from it to celebrate the founding of the kingdoms of Pahn-Pirik, far to the south.

The rings and swords and suits of armor.

Had they been here the whole time?

"Where is she, Hagan?" the younger Marindel asked quietly.

Hagan shook his head and peered across the dim room. Upon the high windowsills, sat the ravens nervously watching. Hagan waited as long as he could and then called out.

"Hello? We are in need of your assistance. Our friend needs your ... skills."

He paused.

"Wisp?" he called.

No reply. No Wisp. Only silence.

D'Pharin could no longer restrain himself.

"Dammit! Stop playing games. She is dying!"

Then, like a cyclone of darkness, the ravens swarmed down and into the room. Black and feathery things were everywhere, brushing their cheeks and shoulders and the noise nearly deafening. The hard, hard beating of wings. No cries from the birds, only the wings. The brothers pulled Windenn toward the far wall, covering her head to protect her. The swirling black shape worked its way to the center of the chamber and came together. Each raven clinging to the other and soon the sound and wind had gone. Standing before them was a vaguely human form, composed of the ravens, their tiny eyes still gleaming from within the darkness. They recognized the face as female and it turned toward them. Hagan could see that as time passed the form took on a more human shape.

Two scarlet eyes took them in and the Wisp came toward them. A long ebon robe had grown from her shoulders and dragged the smooth floor behind her.

"Impatient. Callous." she said, her voice high and very otherworldly.

"Foolhardy and careless." The more she spoke, the more hypnotic her words became.

Her eyes immediately fell to Windenn's near-lifeless body. Her eyes widened, as she seemed to recognize her ailment.

"The Kiss?" she asked staring at the brothers. They nodded.

"It seems S'darin's blood did not wholly cure her. In fact, she may already be dead." she said, her head cocked to one side, birdlike.

How did she know about the blood?

"You must not interfere in any way, understand?" she asked. "My methods may at first seem cruel or profane but it must be this way."

Hagan and D'Pharin nodded once again and gingerly held Windenn out to the Wisp. As they neared her, they could feel the awesome power that she bore. Like electricity running up their arms and lightly tapping at the base of their skulls. They had to instantly back away.

Gently, the Wisp cradled Windenn's body to hers and sang. The voices of the ravens seemed to harmonize with her song and both women slowly lifted from the floor. Suspended above them, the Wisp began to chant in a tongue of sorcery. She threw her head back and shouted the words at the ceiling.

A force like the wind of a thousand storms threw the brothers against the wall, their clothes whipping about them. Together, Windenn and the Wisp now hovered near the ceiling, spinning in a slow circle. Then, it seemed as though the moon itself joined in the ritual. Light poured in from the night outside. Bright beams of pure white moonlight.

An unearthly wail reached their ears, louder than the howling wind. In moments, the realization hit them; Windenn cried. From deep within her tortured soul, she cried. The brothers attempted to cover their ears but the sound was not of this world. It reached inside; twisting and tears ran down their cheeks. Never had they experienced such anguish.

The Wisp's words took on an almost violent quality as she attempted to drive out that which possessed the Woodwarden. The struggle became a tangible thing with the air itself becoming a battleground. A sudden rush of icy air hit Hagan's face and the Wisp released Windenn who quickly curled into a fetal position there in the air above. Then the Wisp began to break apart. The ravens ripped loose from her form and began to circle the still-suspended woman. Soon, Windenn was obscured by the sea of dark wings but her cries were still very clear above the rushing wind. One final word was shouted into the room and the birds stopped. As one, they attacked the huddled body of the Woodwarden.

"What?" D'Pharin shouted. "What are they doing?" He began to gather his legs under him.

"Don't move, brother ... " Hagan replied. He drew D'Pharin's attention to either side of them where two great masses of ravens had gathered, watching them and preventing their interference.

"They're killing her, Hagan!" D'Pharin screamed, his cheeks still wet.

Hagan only gritted his teeth, seeing no course of action.

Above, the birds dove at Windenn's shoulder, the site of the wound. They dug into the flesh there, gouging and tearing with razor-like beaks. Blood spattered the floor below and Windenn's cries became harsh shrieks of pain.

It seemed to last forever, but eventually there was a change in the raven's behavior. They called out as in triumph and together dropped to the floor in a huge black group. A small struggle ensued, the ravens obviously fighting over something. Abruptly, they parted, a lone bird staring back at the others. Within its ebon beak, squirmed a grotesque insect-like creature. Many-legged and long of tail, it fought to escape. After a moment's pause, the remaining birds attacked and ripped the thing to shreds.

As the brothers stood astonished, the birds calmly fought over the remains, searching the slick floor for the tiniest scrap.

"Wind ... " whispered Hagan. "All of this time ... that thing's been inside of her all of this time."

D'Pharin was far too shocked to respond. He did notice, however, that while the ravens fought, Windenn had returned from above. She was curled childlike in a far corner among thick fur blankets and soft pillows. He decided to risk upsetting the birds and went quickly to her side. She slept deeply but her expression had changed. He moved as if to touch her face and the ravens spoke in unison.

"Leave her until morning. When the storm comes, she will stand fast. She will be ready."

D'Pharin withdrew and rejoined Hagan. They sat there uncomfortably for some time, staring back at the ravens in their surreal surroundings.

"You really care for her, don't you?" Hagan asked.

"What? Well-" D'Pharin stammered, suddenly red-faced. He cracked a smile and answered, "Yes."

"That's great, D'Pharin. I just want you to be careful." Hagan started.

"I know, I know." his brother answered. "But, you know as well as I that some things are beyond our control. I can't help how I feel. She ... well, she probably doesn't feel the same-"

"It's alright, brother. There's no need to explain yourself." Hagan said. "I've been exactly where you are." He smiled and grabbed him by the shoulder. "You really never know. Maybe she does feel the same."

D'Pharin snuck a glance in Windenn's direction and smiled.

"Right now, I would give almost anything ... "

Hagan chuckled. "I know, my boy. I know."

Together, they reclined against the far wall and eventually drifted off to sleep. Nightmares once again assaulted Hagan in the night. Fire and snakes eyes. Blood. A child calling out in the hollow darkness. An overall feeling of helplessness and hopelessness.

Someone's watching me, Hagan realized and his eyes popped open. Perched in front of him was a solitary raven, the others having departed during the night. A slight orange glow came through the windows above and he could tell it was near dawn. He lightly shook D'Pharin and got to his feet, trying to stretch the stiffness from his back.

"Uhhn ... is it morning?" D'Pharin groaned.

"Shhh." Hagan whispered and once he had his brother's attention, he nodded in Windenn's direction.

She stood before one of the strange glass pedestals and stared down at it, dreamily studying an ornate staff that sat upon it. She seemed almost childlike. Something was odd about her. Had she changed in some way? She slowly turned toward a dark hallway, the blood amulet in her hand. Out of the darkness came a stunted and shambling creature. One of the bearers. She gently handed the precious item to it and its face twisted into what could only be a smile. Once again, it melted into the darkness.

In the center of the room, a table had been laid out and a serving of breakfast had been prepared. The brothers did not disturb her, for upon reaching the table, it was evident that she had eaten and eaten well.

After finishing their meal of bread, milk and flaky pastries, they readied themselves to leave Overbrook.

"She's opened a door for us. T'get us on our way."

Both brothers started at Windenn's voice. They hadn't heard her speak for quite some time.

It was true. In the far wall, an opening had appeared while they had slept, allowing them easy access to the roadway.

"H-How are you feeling?" D"Pharin asked, somewhat hesitantly.

She flashed a broad smile in his direction

"Much better than yesterday." she said with another grin. "Really don't recall much ... and ye don't want t'hear that which I do."

"Good to have you back, Woodwarden." Hagan announced.

"Many thanks, Lord Hagan." she said and for the first time in years the title did not upset him.

I suppose I cannot escape who I am.

Once they had satisfied their hunger, they passed through the doorway and into the cobbled street. A damp chill was in the air and the low mist still played among the deserted alleyways. They had exited the Wisp's home near the rear of the building and so made their way back around front. The two horses stood where they had left them and turned to greet them as they strode up. Windenn opted to ride behind Hagan on this trip, producing a slight frown from the younger Marindel.

After studying the Wisp's home for a moment, they turned their steeds back the way they had come. A lone raven called out from the high turret of the Wisp's keep as if to wish them farewell. They rounded the first turn, the strange house was out of sight and all seemed to return to normal. However, only moments later, the sounds of an angry crowd reached them from somewhere ahead.

"Come out, Enrix! You've been marked! There's no goin' back now." someone called out. There were several loud knocks as of metal on wood.

"It's too late!" the voice bellowed. "They've found out. Your time is here. Why not make this easy on your family, Enrix?"

Just then, Hagan and Windenn rounded the corner with D'Pharin just behind them.

A large crowd of perhaps two-score Overbrookians surrounded a small cottage. Some carried torches, the others weapons of war. Hate was upon their faces and in their voices. They were all clad similarly; long black shirts with the hand symbol emblazoned upon the back. Their spokesperson took a step back from the locked door and Hagan could see that which he had surmised. The red hand was still wet on the wood.

He pulled Maelstrom to a halt.

"What're ye doin'?" Windenn asked in his left ear.

He did not answer.

What is this? What had these people done?

He could just make out two small faces behind a dirty window. Children. Two frightened little girls, the torchlight flickering in their round eyes.

From inside, a man's voice called out.

"We've done nothing wrong, Lavin. You know that."

Their leader answered as the crowd began to slowly back away. "You've been marked, Enrix! Nothing can save you now." he shouted with a crooked smile.

The crowd quickly disappeared into the alleys like mice smelling a hungry cat. Hagan withdrew into the shadows where they could observe yet remain hidden. Moments later, their horses became visibly nervous and the air began to feel charged with energy.

"We need to get out of here ... " Windenn whispered. D'Pharin nodded his agreement. "Something is coming. Powerful ... "

"Hold on." Hagan said. The children. What about the children?

A tall, white shape seemed to take form at the end of a far street, its hairless head reaching near to the eaves. At first, ghostlike, then a solid and evil being. Tattered and foul wings falling to the ground, bringing steam from the cobblestone below.

An Inquitis.

It did not walk as any man would. It seemed to float or glide toward the home; its posture never changing.

Windenn held her breath, her fingers digging into Hagan's shoulders. D'Pharin wanted to run. Anywhere but here, he thought.

Hagan only ground his teeth against the corporeal fear that accompanied the creature. The Inquitis moved slowly and deliberately toward the home. Hagan thought he saw the woman of the house cover the eyes of her daughters.

A low murmur began among the hidden crowd and it soon grew to a chant. One word was repeated over and over. It sickened Hagan and the others.

"Mournenhile."

The pale spectre now stood at the door, its presence sucking the light from the area. Night had fallen again in Overbrook and lightning split the sky. Inside, the woman screamed.

"Enrix!"

The door disintegrated. Splinters of smoking wood hit the street and after a brief pause, the chanting resumed.

Enrix stood on the other side, sword in hand. Hope had long since left his eyes but he would give his life to defend his family. And so he did.

He had no chance. The clawed hand of his attacker entered his chest close to his heart. The crack of ribs was audible to all that witnessed. Blood came to Enrix's lips and his arm twitched, his blade dropping to the wooden floor. With a sucking sound, the Inquitis pulled its arm free and its victim fell to the floor, across the threshold of his home.

His wife screamed a horrible scream. A howl of terrible grief and loss. Hagan could see both children now, staring in disbelief. Tears filled his eyes.

The Inquitis moved forward to enter the home.

"No!" Hagan screamed involuntarily.

"Hagan ... " D'Pharin cried, knowing they were in trouble.

The Inquitis stopped and all was suddenly silent.

"What have ye done, Hagan?" Windenn begged.

"Not the children, dammit." he yelled and jumped from his saddle. He wrenched his sword free and charged toward the cottage, his pulse hammering in his temples.

"Wind. What the hell is he doing?" D'Pharin said to himself. The people came rushing back to defend the Inquitis, attempting to stop Hagan's attack. Their leader was the first to reach him, dagger in one hand, torch in the other. Hagan took the left side of his skull from him as he passed, his sword chopping a vicious arc from overhead. He snatched the torch from the ground and sprinted on.

Two women reached him next, swinging long wooden staves. He had never much liked killing women. He took both down quickly without much bodily harm, using techniques he had learned so long ago, the fighting arts taught to only a select few. Tenmartis, the way of the invisible blade.

Someone vaulted onto his back, throwing a forearm across his windpipe. He spun his sword and slid it neatly behind and then between his attacker's ribs. As he threw the body to the ground, he reached the Inquitis. It still stood there framed in the doorway, its leprous back to him.

"Marindelll ... " it hissed.

Hagan was taken aback. It was true. They had been after him all along!

It spun incredibly fast and was immediately face to face with him. Hagan felt no fear, only hatred.

I will kill you.

The crowd had gathered round, with D'Pharin and Windenn among them.

"I've got to help him." D'Pharin said and hopped down.

"'Ey! Do ye think there's anything ye can really do?" Windenn asked.

He looked from her face to the cottage doorway. She was right. If Hagan could not handle this, what made him think that he could?

The Inquitis bared its brown and rotted teeth. Hagan reluctantly took a step back and it followed. The bloodthirsty crowd formed a half-circle about them, still chanting "Mournenhile".

Like lightning, the thing slapped the torch from Hagan's hand, sending it skidding and sputtering into the cottage.

Damn, Hagan thought. It's so fast.

It swung again, the movement filling the air about them with a fetid stench, but this time Hagan evaded it. He spun away and rent a large hole in the fabric of its ancient wing with his sword.

The Inquitis smiled.

It came at him with doubled force, both clawed hands cutting at the air about his face and neck. Wicked energy began to build all around them, sucking away the light and filling Hagan's lungs with darkness and immorality. He needed to end this fast before the thing's power reached its zenith.

Hagan quickly fell back into his old ways. The ways of the blade. He adjusted his stance and balance. He parried the attacks and when an opening came, he thrust his sword forward and drove it through the rank creature's chest to the hilt. Once again, they were face to face. Dark liquids bubbled through its teeth, yet it did not die.

It smiled and the air crackled about their heads. Its sorcery grew as the minutes passed. Tongues of black flame showed in its eyes but they were cold. A long dead cold.

No.

He noticed movement over the thing's shoulder. A flicker of light. It was one of the little girls. She ran toward them, torch in hand. Hagan tried to call out to her, to stop her. He could not get the words out. She touched the flame to the Inquitis' back and it went up like kindling. It released Hagan from its grip and howled in pain. The sound was unbearable to their mortal ears and all within earshot cupped their hands to their heads.

Hagan wrenched his blade free as the Inquitis staggered, enveloped by violent dancing fire. It was consumed by a flame with no light as if its very essence changed the laws of nature. It collapsed to its knees, its head still on level with Hagan's. Within the dark inferno, its eyes still held him as if it knew him. It showed its teeth once more and then its skull melted, joining the blackened remains that were its body.

All was silent.

The girl discarded the torch and ran to her dead father's side. A large group of ravens soon gathered about the doorway to seemingly protect those inside. It seemed the Wisp had chosen to guard these people, but for how long? They were marked and all within Overbrook knew it. Where could they go?

One raven landed upon the street in front of him and met his eyes. It appeared to say; "You need not worry. The Wisp will see them to safety." And Hagan knew it to be true. His safety, on the other hand was another matter. The crowd had grown extremely hostile, seeing the Inquitis destroyed and they wanted these three interlopers dead.

There was an instant swarm of bodies around Hagan, swinging and stabbing with their weapons. Men and women, their faces contorted with rage, attacked him blindly. Instinct took over and he moved and swung fluidly as in the old battles. Nothing could touch him. A smile came to his face at this realization. The years of training mind and body had not worn off. A dozen attackers fell to their deaths and those that remained withdrew. Hagan spun to face them with teeth clenched. For an instant, doubt crept in. He had sworn to never raise the sword again. Then, the two little girls flashed into his brain.

"Not as easy as defenseless women and children, eh? Cowards!" he screamed.

One of the surrounding group produced a small silver horn and sounded it. Its call reverberated for a moment and was soon answered in several other parts of the city. The alarm had been announced. A sudden pressure hit his chest. He spun to face his attacker and pushed the man away, looking down to his chest. A crimson handprint had been placed there upon his shirt, glistening in the torchlight. He had been marked. Witnessing this, the crowd was whipped into a wild frenzy. He savagely drove his sword into the man's gut.

"Hagan!" D'Pharin shouted as he and Windenn rode up.

Hagan slowly raised his eyes to him and then to Windenn. His brother and the Woodwarden were suddenly outlined by the newly risen sun. There was a sorrow in his eyes and blood upon his cheek. Something he had promised himself had just been broken. He seemed somewhat afraid of who he had once again become.

"Come on!" Windenn called out. She scooted back in Maelstrom's saddle, allowing him enough room to climb on. He wiped his sword clean on a trouser leg and leapt up.

"Alright. The easiest way out will be the docks, so ... let's go!" he said. They heeled the horses into a quick gallop and retraced their original path. The horse's hooves thundered across the cobblestones sending sparks flashing outward. D'Pharin shot a quick glance over his shoulder and saw no signs of pursuit.

Good.

Just then, they crossed a four-way intersection of streets and to either side there came a large host of pursuers, screaming and chanting and bearing arms. D'Pharin just made it through and they were on their tail. Several arrows whistled past their heads, narrowly missing their targets.

"We have to make it to the stairway again!" Hagan screamed over the sound of a hundred horses. People were beginning to come out of their homes at the commotion in the streets and Hagan had to avoid these new obstacles. He sent one merchant's cart careening into a side-building, scattering fruits and vegetables upon the ground. This slowed the mob down somewhat, buying them some time.

A hard left and the stairway gaped before them. Hagan pulled Maelstrom up short, nearly throwing Windenn from the saddle.

"Come on! We can't ride them down. We'll have to walk." he yelled and dismounted, helping Windenn to the ground. D'Pharin did the same.

They had just disappeared below ground when the pursuers turned the corner. They had descended nearly halfway down the stone steps when the first of the crowd gained the stairs. Those that chased them ditched their horses and came down fast. Hagan, D'Pharin and Windenn could not leave their steeds.

"We're not going to make it, Hagan!" D'Pharin shouted.

"When we reach bottom, you two take the horses and get out of here!" he responded.

"No!" Windenn and D'Pharin answered simultaneously.

Windenn bounded down the last three steps, drawn bow already in her hands. She took aim and dropped the first of their attackers. Almost instantly, she had another arrow nocked and released. Another one dropped, shaft in his eye socket and rolled downward.

The two brothers reached bottom and turned.

"Stay behind me!" Hagan screamed, slapping the horses on their rumps.

"I'm not going to let you fight alone. Let me help you." his brother said.

"D'Pharin, now is not the time."

A mass of men literally rolled over the two brothers. An avalanche of bodies, brandishing swords and spears. Both brothers were up and fighting at once and Windenn, her arrows depleted, joined in the fray with her short sword. She was near death a day before, but now a fire was in her green eyes. She cut a vicious path to her friends and soon they all fought back to back. Although her shoulder was still tender, it hindered her swordplay not at all.

"If we wait 'ere long enough, we'll 'ave the whole city to fight!" she shouted in Hagan's direction.

He had realized this as well. They had to make another run for it.

"Alright. Give it all you have. Take out as many of these bastards as you can and when I say, get out from under this damned platform!"

The others nodded and went to work. D'Pharin deflected two blows to his head and nearly decapitated his attacker. He threw his foot out, knocking the body to the ground. Windenn ducked under a spear and split open the man's belly. She then shoved her blade into a man's kidney to keep him from D'Pharin's back.

"Go!" Hagan screamed as he shoved two men back.

Windenn and D'Pharin bolted away and ran down the docks toward freedom. They soon reached the horses, which had lingered after a brief run and now stood awaiting their masters. D'Pharin spun to hand Maelstrom's reins to his brother. Hagan hadn't followed.

He still fought at the foot of the great stair. His face covered in blood, he was still surrounded by a score of men and his sword arm had slowed.

"Hagan!" D'Pharin shouted in fear.

A sudden change occurred. Nearly half of the men stopped mid-swing and backed away, their mouths hanging open. They had recognized the name and halted. The legend of Lord Hagan Marindel deserved respect. The hero of the Black Sun. The others paused long enough for Hagan's sword to reach them and so fell where they had stood. Hagan nodded to the others and ran.

They were once again on horseback and galloping down the wooden planking that made up the shipyards. The early morning fishing was beginning, the men readying their nets and the captains bellowing their orders. Dockworkers scattered as the horses charged past.

A large man with a golden nose ring barred Maelstrom's path and Hagan narrowly avoided him.

"Where you goin' with me sword?" he screamed as Hagan rode past. "Come back, hero! Let's see what you've got!"

Hagan's blood was still boiling as he shot a look back at the man. He then slowed his horse and jumped from the saddle.

"Hagan-" Windenn shouted.

"You two go on. Get out of here. I promise, I'll be right behind you." he said with a nod.

Her eyes pleaded with him.

"This won't take long. Trust me." he said, smiling up at her. He looked to D'Pharin and winked.

"Let's go." D'Pharin said and the two quickly rode away. He knew that there would be no arguing with his older brother. They could only trust in his decision, however foolish they thought it to be.

"Well, well, well ... " the large man chuckled as Hagan walked toward him. "Has the little man come to give me what is mine?" Those in the vicinity laughed and applauded their comrade.

Hagan's expression showed no emotion. In only a short time, something within him had changed. For better or worse, he was not sure.

The pot-bellied man toyed with his nose ring while the other hand caressed the hilt of a huge scimitar. He stood taller than Hagan and weighed twice as much, yet his opponent did not slow his approach.

"Now, you just hand me that trinket and don't make me pull 'Ole Cleaver here." the man said. Quickly, he surmised that Hagan would not stop and pulled his sword from its sheath. He swung in a wide arc in line with Hagan's throat, an attack meant to behead the opponent. A much slower opponent. Hagan deflected the blow and with an overhead strike, smashed his steel down upon the man's hilt, knocking his sword to the ground. He instantly reversed the move and aimed for the man's face.

"Ahhh ... ..alright, alright, my friend ... ." the man stuttered.

Hagan had hooked the tip of his blade inside the ring that pierced his opponent's nostril. He thrust up and forward until the man's chin was high in the air and his neck was stretched in a most uncomfortable way.

"I'd say your mouth is larger even than your belly, friend." he stated.

"Look ... it was all talk, ye know? T'impress me mates?" the man yelled out.

"This sword swung under the Black Sun, you bastard. It brought down men far above the likes of you. You-" Hagan began to lose control. He had to let go.

No more senseless killing.

A quick twist of the wrist and he ripped the ring from the man's flesh and sent it sailing out into the river. The man let out a yelp and then knelt there, both hands to his bloody face.

The dockworkers backed away as Hagan walked out of their midst. No words were spoken. He could feel the heat drain from his cheeks. Minutes later, as he passed out of the underpassage and into the morning sun, he saw D'Pharin astride his horse, waiting for him.

"I sent Windenn ahead to find Gorin." he said.

Hagan jumped up behind him.

"It'll be good to see a friendly face once more, eh?" Hagan laughed.

Chapter Five

"Grimandin?" the Woodwarden called out as she guided Maelstrom up the brush-covered hillside. Many large groves of trees spotted the horizon and she scanned them, looking for some sign of the Stone Troll.

Where was he?

"Grimandin? Ye up here?" she called.

To her right, a large form rose up out of the tall, yellow grasses.

Gorin.

"Woodwarden?" he whispered. He stepped cautiously toward her, studying her face. He moved up to her, his eyes nearly level with hers. They moistened slightly as he took her in and he swallowed hard.

"I'm alright, Grimandin. I'm alright." She could feel the raw emotion inside of her friend, the ultimate concern.

"Thank the Wind ... I-" he started. "Do you feel ... hmmm, well?" he touched her shoulder.

"Everything is as it was, my friend." she answered and together, they embraced, her small frame dwarfed by his mass.

"Woodwarden, I will never allow that to happen again." he promised, his dark eyes downcast.

"Grimandin ... Ye can't protect me from everything. This ... thing was beyond our control. You were never at fault, know that."

"Hmmm." was all that he said.

Soon, Hagan and D'Pharin joined them and the group set off quickly to the north following the Sheandre River. Eventually, they knew the river wound itself into the Elfwhere Forest. They were already several days behind and Gorin was obviously very anxious about it. Nonetheless, he had agreed on this slight detour and would keep his word. His promise to Councilcrane seemed less important after Windenn's illness and he was visibly more relaxed on this leg of the journey.

The morning wore away and the sun burned overhead as they skirted the banks of the Sheandre. They stayed out of sight for the most part, keeping to the trees and bushes when possible. There were no signs of pursuit from Overbrook nor did they expect there to be. The Inquitis had been destroyed. One thing was certain, however, Mournenhile would now be aware of Hagan's whereabouts but he would not know his destination. Mournenhile must know that eventually he would return to Harquinn, but by what route? He would certainly send the majority of his minions into the northwest, radiating outward from Overbrook.

Near midday, Windenn caught several pheasants in traps she had set and combined with the roots and herbs they had gathered, a suitable meal was prepared. They moved out of sight of the river and tethered the horses. They would reach the great forest in two days, they hoped and their provisions could be restocked. Windenn was back to her old self again and volunteered to scout the area.

Hagan offered Maelstrom to her and she was soon out of sight, promising to return quickly.

While Gorin ate, he scanned the western horizon through cautious eyes.

"I feel something. Hmmm. Not far to the west. A large group moves this way and Windenn is heading toward it." he said, his head cocked to one side.

"Can you hear them?" D'Pharin asked.

"Hmmm, not hear. I feel them in the heels of my boots. They are in the stone of the earth. The rock below us passes their presence on to me." Gorin answered.

"It is so with Stone Trolls. They are in tune with the earth and more specifically, rock." Hagan explained to his brother.

Scarce minutes later, Windenn rode back into the camp.

"A vast host from Greymander." she said pulling the horse to a halt.

"What? Greymander?" Gorin asked, staring at her intensely. "Are you certain? I'm sorry, of course you are certain."

She nodded.

"Not many have had encounters with those from the ancient wood. I am one of the few. Trust me, the legions I have just beheld are of the ancient Elves."

"This is disturbing. We must hurry. I must speak with them." Gorin said and immediately trod past her, heading west.

Windenn glanced to D'Pharin and Hagan with a frown and soon they were following the Troll across the field.

"Elves?" D'Pharin asked.

"That's right." Windenn answered. "But not just any Elves. Greymander."

"How are they so different? I've heard talk of them but never anything specific." he responded.

Hagan piped in as he stared at Gorin's leather-clad back.

"They are very secretive, brother. They never leave the forest. I myself have only seen a small group of them and that was at a great distance. They have huge eyes, I can tell you. Large even by Elven standards and I've heard that they do not sleep. Greymander is supposed to be the oldest living forest in all of Kirkaldin, born in the Morning of the World and home to creatures the likes of which we have never seen. You do not travel there unless you are invited and well-no one is ever invited."

"I was invited." Windenn stated from behind him. "When I was new to the ways of the forest, I was sent for. I was forbidden to speak of what I beheld there but it was wondrous and - frightening."

"Hmmm, quiet now." Gorin murmured over his shoulder.

They crested a hill and before them was a sight to take the breath away. Legions of soldiers marched northward and their brilliant silver helms glistened in the sunlight. Long banners of sky blue and deep green rippled in the gentle wind as they moved. Strangely, they made very little noise, though they moved swiftly across the earth. They sat upon the most regal of horses, proud and strong. They were all very dark of hair and bright of eye. The seemed to be roughly the same height as the average Man, though thinner. Hagan had been correct; their eyes were quite large within their faces, shining a greyish blue when turned in their direction. They could not be seen from here, but Hagan knew that another distinction between Man and Elf was the ears. The tip of the Elven ear ended in a sharp point and curved slightly toward the face. It proved difficult, he imagined, for one to hide their Elven heritage if need be. All in all, the race was purely magical. Their presence seemed to brighten even the darkest hour.

A small group of riders broke from the main column and moved toward them. They seemed to study the group intently, their eyes piercing into them, reading their souls.

D'Pharin could not return their foreign stare. He was suddenly very uncomfortable and felt exposed. Their leader, taller and somewhat broad for an Elf, dismounted and strode up to Gorin, his eyes never leaving the Stone Troll's face far above him. From this distance, his eyes swam with a silvery, metallic color and the depth of the darkest seas. His thin brows arched as he halted there and bowed slightly before Gorin. In an odd, lilting tone, he spoke in a language that only the Troll understood. It seemed the news was bad, based on his reaction. They conversed briefly, and then Gorin motioned to the rest of his group.

"My apologies, friends." the Elf said. "I sometimes forget myself in regards to the young languages. I am Ishaelen, commander of the Seventh Branch and son of Tethlyn, the Forest King of Greymander. Would that I could speak at length with each of you, however time will not allow. I will permit Gorin Grimandin to explain my haste. May we meet again under a happier sky. Farewell. Nemande Alder!"

And he was riding away.

No one could speak, their voices taken away by the pure beauty of the Elves. Once one met their eyes, they were lost or so it was said. It seemed to be true.

Ishaelen rejoined the long column of soldiers, turned on his horse and waved. Hagan and the others returned the gesture like sleepwalkers, still under the spell.

"We must make our way to Elfwhere with the utmost speed." Gorin stated anxiously.

The others shook free of the Elven magic and turned to him.

"What's wrong?" Hagan asked.

The Stone Troll began to walk away to the north.

"Gorin? What is it?" asked Hagan once more.

He turned and met his eyes with a dark frown.

"War has come to Elfwhere and ... the leaves have begun to fall."

Hagan's eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open in shock.

"No ... " he whispered.

That's not possible.

The leaves within the forest of Elfwhere had never fallen since the beginning of time. Autumn, as Man called it, did not exist in the communities of the Elves. And war? Who would dare attack Elfwhere? This had also never occurred.

They hurriedly gathered themselves and fell in behind the long line of marching soldiers. Many were on foot but kept a gruelling pace, their endurance never faltering. It had been said that the Elves, if needed, could march across the entire realm without halting. If this were true, then they had thus far been marching for at least seventeen days without rest.

Hagan's group had it relatively easy as they traveled a now well-worn path, trampled under foot by horses and booted feet. Their horses just fell in line and followed the overturned dirt. Gorin's calculations told him that they had at least another day before gaining Elfwhere.

"Gorin, who is it that attacks the forest?" Hagan asked after they had settled into the march.

"Those that you fought under the Black Sun, Hagan. Those that we had hoped to never see again. Mournenhile's creation. His vile spawn."

Hagan looked away across the hilly landscape.

"The Pith?" D'Pharin asked quietly. Still, the nearest Elves turned their heads at his voice.

"Hmmm ... the same." Gorin answered, his eyes scanning the ground at his feet.

"What are they after?" D'Pharin questioned the Troll. Gorin shrugged his great shoulders.

"Death. Destruction. The end of all that is good. Elfwhere hides nothing of value to Mournenhile."

"Not true, my friend."

One of the soldiers had fallen back and joined the conversation. He adjusted the bow on his back and drew closer.

"In recent years, there has been much renewed interaction between our people and those of Elfwhere. Before the coming of Man, we severed ties, as you know, unable to tolerate our differences. How like Men we had become. Deep within the earth they found her. Expertly hidden below the roots. She had promised, all those years ago, to return to us and unite our wayward people. We have waited for so long and many had long since given up hope but not I. As my father taught me, I have held fast to the faith, the belief that our savior would come. Wind bless us, for the Elfmother has returned to us."

Many of his folk gave a loud cheer as he uttered his last sentence, slapping each other about the back and shoulders.

Gorin wrinkled his forehead.

"Hmmm. Thank you for the news, my friend. It seems the Pith do indeed have a reason to attack."

The Elf once again joined the ranks, his spirit lifted.

Hagan shook his head in disbelief.

"Something wrong?" Windenn asked from behind him.

"This seems odd ... I mean, the Elfmother?" Hagan said. "That legend is so old and to be honest with you, I've always believed it to be akin to a fairy tale. Now suddenly their savior has returned and every Elf in Kirkaldin is running to Elfwhere to defend her. It seems all too convenient."

"Is he always so cynical, D'Pharin?" Windenn asked.

"Yes." he answered with a smile.

"I don't trust anyone or anything. I've been spit on too many times to run blindly into something." Hagan said.

Windenn thought for a moment.

"What about all of this, Hagan?" she asked.

"This is different." he answered. "This is all because of an oath that I took a dozen years ago. A young fool, that's what I was. I should have left them all on their own, to deal with their own troubles. Now I'm being chased across country, the Inquitis on my heels and nosey Woodwardens in my ear."

He paused momentarily and flashed a smile across his shoulder. Windenn only sighed.

"You always do what's right, brother. Even if you hadn't promised them, you would've stepped up and offered your sword." D'Pharin said with pride.

Hagan grumbled. "You don't know the half of it. No one deserves it, to be called 'hero'. No one I've ever met. It's an impossible thing to live up to. I fought and defended Harquinn. I killed the Pith. Many others did the same thing. Some died doing it. I just happened to be the one to square off with Malhain ... "

"What is it that happened during the War? Why do you feel this way?" asked Windenn.

Hagan was silent, watching the marching boots hit the ground below him.

"I- ... hopefully you will never know." he said.

Windenn squeezed his right shoulder.

"What could 'ave been so terrible? I'm sure you had reason, whatever it was." she said.

"No ... " he said and there the conversation stopped.

Their journey continued without rest into nightfall. The Elves needed no torches or lanterns to light their way, relying on their keen eyesight, so the march went on without slowing. Up ahead, Gorin conversed with many of the soldiers, gathering what information he could. It was apparent that he had had many dealings with them in the past and was comfortable in their midst. To D'Pharin, this was very foreign indeed. He could not get over their eyes. They seemed to swallow him in their depths and hold him fast, leaving him dumbfounded and speechless. He tried his best to avoid their stares.

Throughout the night, Windenn and Hagan had also struck up a few conversations with those around them and from what he had heard, D'Pharin took them to be a very decent folk. He had learned that centuries in the past, the Greymander Elves had left Elfwhere and traveled to the far west. The Elves had long been divided in their religious and cultural beliefs. Their use of steel, for instance, was a very important issue. Those of Elfwhere had banned steel and Greymander embraced it, using it for weapons and tools. Within the forests of Elfwhere, wood was used for everything. A strange woodland magic was used to pull and mold the wood into any shape without the use of tools. Thus, the resulting items resembled nothing else in the realm, as if the wood had become liquid for an instant and then frozen in place.

There had never been an actual conflict between the two factions of their people, only a polite disagreement and finally a decision to divide their numbers for the overall good of the Elves. So it had been, since before Man. Beyond the Sleeping Sea, the High Elves had gone, long before the forest had split. They were a separate creation, they told them. Not of the forest at all. They felt that they were the pure Elves and favored by the Wind. They were said to stare down their noses at all other races, especially Man.

"Wind, I'm tired." sighed D'Pharin, drooping in his saddle at the rear of the pack. His shoulders sagged and his mouth hung loose on his jawbone. How long had they marched, he thought. Since midday the day before? The Elves had not relented and showed no signs of doing so, their feet plodding along with that same steady rhythm, only assisting the weariness that threatened to pull D'Pharin down.

"They are tireless. We're lucky we've kept up this long." Windenn said, hair in her face, her own voice weary with exhaustion.

"Yes, my friends. The Elves are blessed by the Wind. They are long of life and light of heart. They seem to know no sorrow-unlike the other races of this world." Gorin said with pride and in truth, there were many smiles and jests within the ranks of soldiers. Even the threat of death could not destroy the joy within these people.

A tall, sparkling horseman broke from the main column and rode back to them, saluting with a flourish. It was Ishaelen. As he drew closer, he stood out in silhouette against the distant moon.

"My friends, this is where we must part ways, I am afraid. By custom, only an Elf may enter the forest on foot, all others must enter by water. At Sheandre's edge, you will find many small boats on the bank, awaiting you. Choose one and make your way into Elfwhere. Your horses will be well taken care of. They will be awaiting your arrival within the city of Nael Daren. I am certain that we will meet again. Walk with the Wind friends and farewell."

Hagan and the others stumbled out of the path and moved slowly in the direction of the river. They were somewhat puzzled with this change of events; however, Gorin and Windenn acknowledged the custom.

"Well, can we sleep now?" D'Pharin complained with a wide yawn.

"Let's wait until we're on the water, brother. Then, you can get your precious rest." Hagan answered with a laugh.

"I'm not used to this, you know. Marching and running and hiding and running some more ... " D'Pharin moaned.

"It's better than the ranch, isn't it?" asked Hagan.

"Oh yes. Anything is better than being treated like a child and ordered around-"

"Alright, brother. Relax. I didn't mean to get you in a fit. It won't be long now."

As Ishaelen had promised, many small and well-constructed boats were tied upon the bank and without much hesitation, they made their choice. Fashioned, it seemed, from a single piece of wood, these boats bore no seams. Smooth and very lightweight, they carried their craft to the water with ease and then climbed inside. Hagan and Gorin took to the oars and gently guided them out into the black current. D'Pharin gathered his bedroll, rolled it up tight under his head and was instantly asleep.

"Woodwarden, you should get some rest as well." Gorin said. She agreed without argument.

Soon, the horizon began to glow orange with the coming of the morning sun and all about them the river began to awaken. At first, a quiet chirping along the banks as the birds and frogs sprang to life. Then, at a distance, they began to see the Sheandre otters diving for their morning catch, a light cracking noise echoing out as they broke open the mussels upon their sleek bellies. Along a sandbar to the east, a family of Whiteheron stood in the shallows, spearing tiny fish with practiced precision. They reminded Hagan of the Inquitis momentarily, their stark white feathers seeming to glow in the distance. The largest called out, a loud and very shrill sound splitting the hushed morning. Windenn sat up from the floor of the boat, glanced around at Hagan and Gorin, then dropped back down to her bedding.

"The Pith would destroy all of this. Hmmm ... " Gorin stated, staring blankly at the water's edge.

"How can Mournenhile expect to take Elfwhere? No one can conquer the Elves within their own wood, everyone knows that." Hagan replied.

"Hmmm. His power has grown while the rest of Kirkaldin slept. We rested, thinking him long since gone or so weak as to never be a threat again. But, something has caused the trees to shed their leaves. Something killed the woman under Klaemen's Arch. It is black sorcery indeed. Mournenhile would not attack without the possibility of victory. He is hiding something. Something powerful, I fear. Something frightening."

Hagan nodded.

War has reached the Elves and we're heading to Harquinn." he said with a hint of sarcasm.

"We will not defy the council. Once you have spoken with them, my task is complete but until that time ... "

"I should not have brought D'Pharin along. This has all become too dangerous. Too big a risk. But, I could not leave him there either. Not with him."

"Your people differ a great deal from mine. Family is the most important possession to the Trolls. Each generation must understand the next. Everything must grow and become individual. A child must be taught and nurtured. They must become their own people with their own thoughts and goals and even their own beliefs. One's family is always connected to them through blood. This fact must be cherished. When that relationship is severed in any way, it must be quickly repaired."

"I believe it is the parent's responsibility to keep the relationship alive. My father disowned me when I left for the War. I did nothing to justify that. I helped save his life and all those around him-" Hagan added.

"Are you listening to your words, Hagan? Remember those words when you question your worth as a hero. When someone addresses you as Lord, you deserve it. You have earned the title."

"If only my father had believed that. Perhaps things could've turned out differently. Now, he has become someone I knew. To not know one's father is a terrible thing. That is why I question my bringing D'Pharin along. Now, his relationship is strained with Rhuvin." Hagan said softly.

"Your father has become bitter, Hagan. In you, he sees that which he could never be and he is jealous-not proud. He knows, as well as you, that D'Pharin will be more than he is also. Ah, parents. Despite my obvious shortcomings, I know that my mother and father are proud of what I have become. Hmmm, I must agree with your decision in bringing your brother. In these few days, he has become more of a man. In your presence, he grows swiftly into a true gentleman."

Hagan was touched by the Troll's thoughts.

"Thank you, Gorin. You are truly a friend. I ... I am sorry for the way I acted back home. I-"

"Not to worry. I will not hold it against you." Gorin smiled.

They sat together in silence for a time, within their own thoughts. It had been some time since Hagan had felt a sense of belonging. He looked to his sleeping brother and smiled. He had done the right thing.

Windenn awoke abruptly, the boat shaking slightly with her rousing. She gasped and dazedly reached for her blade. The others started at the sudden motion, D'Pharin bursting suddenly awake.

"Woodwarden?" Gorin asked.

Her eyes shot nervously around her, seemingly confused and frightened. She searched both sides of the river and then her companions.

"What was that?" she asked, biting her lip. "Something is out there ... watching us." Her lower lip trembled and beads of sweat ran down the side of her face as she pointed into the shoreline where the trees grew close.

They followed her hand and intensely searched the area with their eyes. They saw nothing. The leaves lightly rustled in the wind and the water lapped quietly at the outstretched roots. There appeared to be no threat.

"There's nothing there, Windenn. You were only dreaming, that's all." Hagan said, gently removing the sword from her white-knuckled grip.

She shook her head, eyes locked on the grove across the river.

"No. You're wrong. Can't you feel it? Wait ... " she paused and her finger shot out. "There! Within those trees ... see it?"

They once again followed the line of her finger. Still nothing. She looked quickly from face to face, aggravated with their disbelief.

"Dammit. They are there. I've never seen their like before. Ghosts or shades. They are vaguely manlike but with no definite form. They seem to float about like smoke. You truly cannot see them, then? There. Within the trees. They know that I see them. They are running away now ... "

"If the Woodwarden claims to see them, then they are there. She would not lie." Gorin stated plainly. "Wind help me, I see nothing."

Windenn dropped back down to the bottom of the boat and roughly drew her blanket around her. In disgust, she eventually drifted back to sleep. The others soon began to discuss the strange event. What had she seen if anything? They knew of no such creatures that inhabited the region. They decided to keep their guard up and could do little else. How to defend against something one cannot see? Soon they would enter Elfwhere. They would be safe there and among friends. Perhaps the Elves could explain Windenn's peculiar vision.

"No, no, I can't. No. I won't."

Two days out of Lauden and the voice within Trune's pounding head would not be silent. The soles of his rotting bare feet slapped wetly on the newly turned soil as he drove to the north and west, his boots long since discarded. He no longer noticed the swarms of gnats and flies that had gathered around his lower limbs like wolves to a fresh kill.

"I know, I know. Yes, I have to eat but I can't-What?" his words jumbled together and he shook his head to knock the voice loose but to no avail. "Of course I'm starvin' but- Alright! If ye shut up, I'll do it!"

As he crossed the field and topped the rise, he saw a small farmhouse below him with many outbuildings. Several men worked on their knees in the garden there and a small herd of cattle gathered around the water trough. Three children ran and played out back with a shaggy white dog. Trune guessed its name to be Ivory by the children's taunts. He stopped there and crouched looking out to the west. The sun would be setting soon and he would eat again.

The voice had told him so.

Hagan let out a wide yawn as he raised the oar for another stroke. They would be approaching Elfwhere soon; he could see the shadow of the forest on the horizon.

"Gorin, I'm exhausted. I was fine just a moment ago but now I want nothing more than to join D'Pharin and Windenn." he said.

The Stone Troll looked at him over his shoulder and smiled.

"Hmmm. I must admit, my eyes grow heavy as well. Very peculiar." He rubbed a palm across his skull. "You rest and I will guide us the last few leagues."

"You don't mind?"

"Nonsense. Now, grab your blanket and get some sleep. I'll wake you before we cross into the wood."

"Thank you." Hagan said and in scant moments, he snored along with the others.

Gorin fought the urge to sleep for quiet a while but uncontrollably his great head dropped to his chest and he slumped over, nearly capsizing their craft. It righted itself and moved back into the current, carrying its passengers toward the heart of the Elven kingdom. As the leagues wore away, their dreams soothed them. Dreams of peace and beauty. Of love and laughter. Of family and friends. And with joy in their hearts they soon came to the Arch of Elfwhere.

All about them the trees grew to an enormous size and twisted in amongst themselves, creating a fortress of living wood. Branches centuries old woven together in a complex and gentle pattern, creating a never-ending ceiling above. All along the shoreline, the gigantic roots spread out forming hundreds of smaller arches, nearly all large enough for their craft to pass through. None of these could rival the true Arch. Towering far, far above them; the huge trunks had bent and shaped themselves to create the immense structure. Like great and gnarled fingers, the limbs seemed to grasp one another and meld the many into one. Only the topmost branches bore leaves, creating a dark canopy overhead and casting the Arch into perpetual shadow.

They were not alone, those in the craft, for all along the Arch, windows had long ago been created and within these windows the sentries watched. Elven guards were hidden everywhere and with the magic of the Arch, they identified those in the boat as good and true of heart. Friend and not foe to the forest. They were allowed passage into the ancient forest and so they glided silently under the enormous trees and past the watchful eyes of their hosts.

As the river gently pulled the boat along, Hagan dreamed of the Wind. They walked side by side in a garden of unearthly flowers, covering the ground like a thousand tiny multi-colored beetles and as they passed, the power of the Wind made them dance. Just beyond the garden, the ground dropped away as if they walked at the top of the world, higher than any mortal had ever come.

"Why am I here?" Hagan asked, his eyes blinded by the beauty of the Wind. He tried to look into that face, but it proved impossible with his mortal eyes.

"You are here because I have made it so. Is any other reason necessary?"

"Wind ... I have so many questions ... " Hagan began with much hesitation. "Who am I supposed to be? I feel so ... lost. Am I Lord Hagan or simply-Hagan? Does any of it really matter?"

"Can you not be both?"

"I-"

"Child, you are many things as are all of the children of Kirkaldin. Some of the choices have been left up to you and some were preordained."

Hagan's cheeks were wet with tears. His heart bled. He felt the urge to fall to his knees and cry for help.

"It is so very hard ..., " he sobbed.

"There is more upon your shoulders than many, Hagan. This is true, but it would not be so were you not worthy and up to the challenge. You have your place in this world just as the miller or the pig farmer. Yours is simply a higher calling."

"What if I choose not to hear it? Can any of this be avoided?"

"I am sorry, son."

They moved together to a large stone fountain and staring into the rippling waters, a vision played itself out in its reflection. Images of what the future held for he and his companions. Great wars and death. Love and loss. It was too much to take in and Hagan turned his eyes away. Did he really want to know how it would all end? Would it change the course of his life? Would he choose differently when the time came?

"Wind?"

"Yes, child?"

All about was suddenly filled with a swirling darkness and his vision seemed to fail. He was falling. The roar of an ocean deafened him and he tried to cover his head. Bursts of light struck his eyes and his head ached.

He heard the voice of the Wind once more.

"Yes, child?"

"I'm not so sure ... that I believe in you."

His eyes opened to a sky of the purest and darkest blue and the tops of the tallest trees were visible at the very edge of his vision. The day was waning and night would soon be visiting Elfwhere. He breathed deeply the smell of earth and wood, the fragrance of the most rare of blooms. Something was digging into his left shoulder blade. D'Pharin's boot. He struggled to sit and in doing so, rocked the boat, jarring the others awake.

"Are we there? In Elfwhere?" his brother groggily mumbled as he wiped his eyes.

"Hmmm ... "

The boat tipped far to one side as Gorin got to his feet. The Elven craft had run aground as they slept and had come to rest on this gently sloping bank. A small clearing extended away from them and just as the ground rose into the hills, the huge trees took over. It seemed the sunlight barely touched the ground beneath the trees, the leaves and branches being so uncommonly thick. There was an eerie stillness all about them. Not silence. Something altogether different. A calming and peaceful magic that settled onto everything as a light mist might blanket the early morning grass.

"Indeed. This is Elfwhere. Trees of this nature grow nowhere else-except perhaps Greymander and unless we were blown far off course, I do not think we landed there. Take it all in, my friends. You may never be invited again to the home of the Elves."

Windenn seemed to be in better spirits now and after gathering her gear, she hopped out of the boat and out onto the springy grass.

"This place is so beautiful. Not at all like Greymander Forest but ... not unlike it either. The trees are different and it doesn't feel as ancient here, but there is the same sense of grace within the branches and leaves. It is as if an artist planted and tended each sapling as it grew. It is ... wondrous." she sighed, turning in a complete circle to take it all in. She made no remarks about her vision downriver and so the others followed suit and held their tongues.

Together, they pulled the small boat far up and out of the water, securing it the best they could within a clump of flowery bushes. They moved to the shelter of a particularly crooked tree and ate.

"Does anyone know how to find the city?" asked Hagan between bites of cheese.

"It seems we have been dropped here asleep intentionally. We have no way to guess where we are. Hmmm ... A good plan on the Elves part." Gorin stated as he stood.

Upon satisfying their hunger, they slung their packs on their backs and headed into the woods with no direction in mind. They traveled quickly across the spongy, moss-covered earth, winding their way through the immense trees snakelike. The sun approached the horizon, sending long, deep shadows across their path. Hagan imagined how dark this place would become once night had finally fallen.

They slid their way down a steep ravine, clambering over and around the curious blue stones that grew out of the earth like crooked dragon's teeth. They regrouped at the bottom, adjusting disheveled clothes and wiping the dirt from their trousers. Windenn heard the unmistakable sound of water from somewhere above.

"Hear that? There must be a creek somewhere over the next rise." she said, already climbing.

"Night's coming and that's as good a place to camp as any, eh? We can't travel in this place at night unless one of you can see in the dark." D'Pharin commented.

Everyone agreed and they slowly began climbing, using the low brush to help pull them along. The sound had grown very loud.

"That's no creek." Hagan said.

Gorin nodded. "A waterfall. Hmmm."

As they ascended the hill, a dark fissure loomed before them. A thin passage naturally cut into the hill from which the booming sound of the falls came. They cautiously made their way into the crevice, Hagan in the lead, their shoulders and packs scraping the slick stone wall as they passed. A dozen steps and the spray from the falls reached them, making it very difficult to see. Hagan pressed on, guided by his outstretched hands upon either wall, blindly moving toward the end of the passage. It came suddenly, the pale mist parting, revealing a crystalline pool before and below them. It splashed and churned as the enormous avalanche of water collided with its surface. They emerged very close to the great column of water and as they stepped out onto the slippery rocks, they could see the dark shapes of many robed figures seated at the far end. Hagan waited for the others to join him and was shocked as his brother parted the mist.

His clothing had been drained of color.

His shirt, trousers and cloak were now of the brightest white and as he turned his eyes on himself, Hagan realized the same about his own attire. The stain was gone from his chest and all of his clothing was dry. Windenn and Gorin had similarly been purified, shining like moonlight as they exited the mist with surprised expressions.

So it was that the party reached Faenenmist Falls, the breath of Elfwhere, one of the most cherished of Elven landmarks.

They carefully picked their way around the pool, gingerly crossing the slippery rocks toward the group at the far end. As they drew closer, the many figures stood, male and female, their long brown robes dragging the ground and their hoods drawn back. They were striking creatures. The wisdom of the ages was upon them and they held themselves proudly. Each lifted their hand and smiled in greeting as the party reached them.

"Welcome to Elfwhere, friends of the Wind." the foremost Elven woman said in a beautiful sylvan accent. "I am Ethylianea. You have been cleansed by the breath of the forest and now may accompany us into its heart." Her large, round eyes passed to Gorin. "It has been many years since a child of Rathnok has walked beneath these trees and we welcome you with much joyfulness."

"It is an honor, fair one. I am Gorin Grimandin. This is Windenn, Woodwarden and keeper of the hidden arts. Hagan and D'Pharin Marindel of Lauden. We are blessed by your hospitality." the Stone Troll formally announced.

Ethylianea raised an eyebrow and nodded her head slightly. Her long dark hair gently played about her narrow shoulders.

"Marindel, you say? Lord Hagan Marindel of the Black Sun? Defender of Harquinn and he who drove our enemies back into the West?"

Hagan nodded.

"The same."

The group of Elves shuffled amongst themselves and whispered hushed tones in their lilting tongue. This was news indeed!

"Then it is we who are honored. Your tale is legendary. It is our custom that every Elven child must learn of it at an early age. These are indeed unusual times, the Elfmother has returned and Lord Hagan Marindel walks within our kingdom."

An Elf at the back of their group stepped forward, clutching an immense book in his arms. In some way, he seemed older and somewhat frailer than the others did, his eyes in a permanent squint from poring over his papers for so long. His hair had been drawn back into a long ponytail that fell over his left shoulder.

"Perhaps, if you see fit, you may allow our scholars some time with you to fill in some of the missing elements. Many of them study the Elfmother, trying to solve her mysteries, but a few may be spared to take your statements I am sure." he stammered, his grasp of the language obviously not as strong as Ethylianea. "We of Elfwhere search for the truth and wish only to expand our knowledge of everything around us. This is an important day. I have long wished to converse with you, my Lord. Your heroism is unmatched in recent history. To take a first-hand account of the battle would be glorious. Ah ... I overstep my bounds, Lord and with the coming darkness, I am sure your services will be required elsewhere."

Hagan ground his teeth. Inside, he was battling away demons. The harsh realities of war waged against Kirkaldin's perception of him. He knew that the Elves meant no harm or disrespect.

"Your words honor me, fair one. It is true, I am afraid, that time will not allow my friends and I to dwell within your home for long. Matters in Harquinn require our immediate attention. I must speak with Councilcrane as soon as possible. We have come for Vasparian Grael. I must convince him to join me. Without his sword, I fear ... he is as a brother to me." Hagan answered.

Ethylianea bowed deeply and took a long wooden staff from one of the others. She once again drew her hood up and about her face, the lovely patterns of embroidery now very evident to the group.

"Come with us, my friends. We feel your need and an exception shall be made. It has been ages since one not born of the wood has made the woodwalk, however with the coming of autumn, darkness presses in and we must bend our set of laws. You will walk with us."

Gorin's eyes grew wide. He looked in astonishment at those in his party and only Windenn understood. The brothers bore a puzzled expression.

They followed the Elves deep into a dark and tangled grove. Near the center, a tree as straight as a fence post towered far above all others. The sun blinked out below the hills and for a moment all was blackness. The Elves halted momentarily, allowing their eyes to adjust to the night and then gathered around the tree. Ethylianea reached for Hagan's hand and without hesitation, he took it. An Elf took the hand of each member of his party and circled the tree.

"Do not release the hand that guides you. To do so, you risk your own mortal soul. Please do not fear, friends. Let the Elfmother bless us. You are safe. Let us walk."

And Ethyliane stepped into the tree. Her body simply passed into the bark and wood without halting, only her hand still visible pulling Hagan along. Hagan closed his eyes tight and stepped forward and the most bizarre of sensations struck him. They were inside the very essence of the forest. Another plane of existence. His eyes opened and all about was of a golden-brown hue, as if they floated through a honey-colored sky. He could feel the wisdom and strength of Elfwhere. The very tangible life that ebbed throughout. He could feel every animal. The birds and the great stags. The streams sparkling with energy. Ethylianea turned and smiled at him, her eyes alive with love for her heritage. She was beautiful and a small flutter of emotion stirred within his chest. There was something about her that he found very attractive. Could it be the magic of the forest?

Almost instantaneously, the walk was at an end. One moment, Hagan cried with joy for the vivacity of Elfwhere, the next he stood once again under the night sky, the great canopy of leaves overhead blotting out the moon. His heart ached at the loss and he wished only to return. The others soon joined them, their eyes wet with tears, their mouths stretched in smiles. One would never forget the woodwalk as long as they lived and one could never fully describe the experience.

As they looked about them and adjusted once again to the forest surroundings, they noticed many tiny orange lights in the near distance. Hagan gave a questioning look and Ethylianea spoke.

"We have come to Nael Daren, capitol city of the kingdom of Elfwhere, some thirty leagues into the forest." she said, her eyes shining brightly in the coming dark. They had traveled an incredible distance in mere moments. "Here you will find what you seek but please, wait until the sun rises. I am sure our King will wish to speak to you come the morn. Rooms and comfortable beds will be provided for you and hot baths if you so wish."

"I so wish ... " D'Pharin moaned. It had been many days and he felt like a muckhog on a hot summer's day.

The city of Nael Daren was an amazing sight, especially in the dim light of late evening. The fiery glow from the many windows highlighted the amazing curves and shapes of the wooden city. Trees of immense girth had been hollowed it seemed and within, expansive homes and countless other structures had been created. The bark of the great trees had been removed or perhaps smoothed in some way, giving every visible surface a polished sheen of golden brown and the wavy grain of the trees ran through it all. D'Pharin turned his eyes skyward and as far as he could see the golden circles of windows lined the heights of the trees. Far above, suspended walkways had been constructed and many of the woodland folk traveled to and fro, resembling small and busy little insects to his eyes. They began to encounter more and more Elves upon the ground as well who studied them curiously as they passed. These were not the average visitors to Nael Daren. Three humans and a Stone Troll? A small Stone Troll, but a Troll nonetheless.

It was all very alien in appearance, almost dreamlike to the group and they walked slowly into the heart of the city in awe. They discovered that the lights inside were not torches or lanterns but orbs of illumination held together with the Elves ancient magic. They gave light but not heat. Fire, they were told, was used very sparingly within the kingdoms of these fair people and with the development of their distinctive sorcery, was often not needed. Many of the structures were large enough to be castles within the human cities and some were much bigger, appearing to hold thousands of occupants. One felt very insignificant within a forest of such scale.

Through the vast interwoven limbs, they began to see glimpses of a structure that dwarfed even the largest of those within their view. Thousands of glowing lights covered its surface and many Elves moved along its walkways like ants.

"What is that place?" Windenn asked, her voice very small and trembling.

"That is Darendae, Mother's heart. It is the home of our king, Lyndremaene." Ethylianae answered, proudly. "That is our destination. Tonight you will rest beneath the boughs of our grandest achievement. Nurtured in the dawn of Elvenkind, it is the oldest living tree in our kingdom. Great magic flows through its heart. You will never sleep as peacefully as you will tonight, my friends. Come."

As they neared the massive front gates, intricately carved with ancient woodland symbols, they saw for the first time, several Elves dressed for war. They bore weapons of wood and wore layers of what appeared to be light leather armor. Upon their heads were dark green helms, ghostly white plumes sprouting from the crowns. Beautiful silver etchings covered the back of the helms, near the neck and these patterns were continued in their remaining attire. They appeared very similar to the Elves of Greymander, only their lack of steel and color patterns were different. They stood, unmoving, at either side of the entryway, their eyes unflinching until the party approached. As one, their eyes shot to Hagan and they quickly stepped forward to bar his way, long curving swords in their hands. A quiet word from Ethylianae and they were once again back at their posts.

Before they entered the great tree, the sounds of numerous people reached them. There appeared to be a bustling marketplace within and many were conducting business on the lower floors. The smell of cooking wafted down from up above, spicy and sweet. They all gazed up in hunger at the rows of windows several floors up.

"Not to worry, friends. We must pass near to the kitchens on our way to your rooms." their guide informed them with a broad grin. She placed a gentle hand on Hagan's shoulder and led him into the Market Hall of Darendae.

The sheer size of the place was intimidating. The ceiling arched far over them, spanned at regular intervals with natural supports magically drawn from the body of the tree itself. They could not help but feel dwarfed by it all. Elves bustled about all around them, male and female, purchasing goods and socializing in their odd tongue. Everything was bathed in the golden light cast by the sunglobes that hung everywhere. Many of the patrons stopped mid-sentence as the party walked in, most following Gorin with their gaze as he strode across the smooth and lacquered floor. The entire group stood out starkly, their newly bleached clothing a beacon, alerting everyone of their presence. Several groups of women dressed in gossamer peach robes held small white serpents wrapped around their wrists, speaking to them as one would a small child. The shapes of their bodies were very evident under their nearly transparent clothing and Hagan and Gorin turned their gaze elsewhere. It required a hard nudge to avert D'Pharin's stare. The women followed the group with their eyes, yellow glowing orbs in their pale slender faces.

"Who are they?" D'Pharin asked of their guide.

"The Addrefae. The Sisters of the Ashen Serpent. When a chosen Elven girl reaches adolescence, they take part in a holy ceremony held within Roothome, the great caverns that lie below much of our forest. They sit in a wide circle; each blindfolded and await the serpent. It is released at the center and it chooses one of the young women to carry its power. The girl of its choice is bitten and infused with the mysterious sorcery only known to the Addrefae. Only a handful of girls are chosen each year to join the sisterhood. They are veiled in secrecy and do not speak of their hidden knowledge and all know not to ask. It has been so for as long as I can remember. I, as you can see, was not chosen at the ceremony all those years ago."

D'Pharin's eyes wandered back to the scantily-clad women, but as he discovered his looks were not going unnoticed, he spun quickly around to face Ethylianae.

"Trust me, young friend, that is something you do not want to get involved in." she said, nodding in their direction.

Ethylianae did not halt long enough for the attention to become uncomfortable and instead pulled them along rather quickly to the grandest staircase any of them had ever seen. Each stair was easily wide enough for a full garrison of cavalry to ascend and the burnished handrail was as thick as a large man's waist, stained and polished to a deep bronze color. All along the gorgeous woodwork, vines and leaves had been carved, standing out in relief against the smooth floor and ceiling. The party marveled at the unbelievable control of the artisans, the details so tiny and precise.

"There's nothing like this in Lauden." D'Pharin commented as they reached the first step.

The others remained speechless as they began their ascent. They remained close to the outer wall, a strange feeling of vertigo gripping them, the size of the place bewildering their senses. There was, of course, no chance of falling, but it still seemed out of their control. They rose far above the first floor, taking perhaps seventy steps, before reaching the next level. Here there were many inner chambers, evidently places of business for the Elves. Formal offices and meeting halls. A large section of the second floor seemed to be an inn and at the thought the party began to feel their weariness. From around a distant corner, an armored soldier turned and headed in their direction. He wore the uniform of a commander, his helm in one hand and a small orange blossom in the other. It was Ishaelen of Greymander.

"Friends! How fare you? Did I not tell you we would meet again? Is this not the most glorious of all castles in Kirkaldin?" he said.

Hagan clasped his hand and bowed slightly.

"It is good to see you again, Ishaelen. Would that you had told us of the manner of our entry into Elfwhere, things may have been easier." he said with a grin.

"It is as it is, Lord Hagan. All things have a purpose and now that you have reached Nael Daren, I am sure you understand the reasons behind some of the Elven ways."

"Perhaps. How soon will your men travel to the front?" Hagan asked.

"Before the sun rises, I am afraid. We have had very little rest but time will not wait. We must provide aid where we can. With our might, nothing can stand for long."

"I do not doubt that to be true. Luck go with you. Walk with the Wind."

Ishaelen smiled and bowed. "Elfmother's blessing on you all as well. We will meet again Lord Hagan Marindel and under much brighter skies."

He nodded to the others and quickly strode down the staircase and out of sight. Though his army faced death in the days to come, he still seemed in good spirits.

Ethylianae moved on again, leading them down several long hallways and past many doors, some open and some closed. Countless turns later they came to the foot of a staircase in all aspects the twin of the one they had left behind.

"One more." Ethylianae said with a smile. She pulled the hem of her robe up slightly and began to climb.

"Wind save us." Hagan moaned jokingly as he followed. He had grown tired indeed, but hunger was his chief concern at the moment. He was uncertain of the Elven diet, but in his state anything would do.

At the top, they rested a moment, their host allowing them ample time to take in the view. This was obviously the most important of the floors. Fewer people moved about and the furnishings were priceless. Great flowing draperies hung along the walls and large porcelain vases, obviously gifts from some faraway land, were spaced out evenly down the arched corridors. Rare purple bouquets sprang from them, their heady aroma filling the air and calming all that came near.

"This floor is reserved for very special guests, such as yourselves. Our King's chambers occupy this floor, as do our council's quarters and libraries. Very few Men have set foot here. None while I have been alive, but then again, none of them have ever been Lord Hagan Marindel. By now, our King is aware of your presence. I will speak with him as soon as you are all comfortable. Now, to the bathing rooms?"

They agreed loudly together and headed after Ethylianae. After Windenn was shown to the women's room, the others were sent down the hall. As the doors closed behind them, they removed their clothing and placed it neatly folded on a low bench against a wall. Gorin withdrew somewhat, stepping away from the others and as he removed his leather tunic, pulling it over his head, D'Pharin could not help but gasp. From his left shoulder, running down to the middle of his broad back, were thin lines of frozen silver embedded in the stone flesh. The remains of the dark rain that fell in Tree Towers. All along his upper body, small pits stood out as shadows in the dim room like the face of the full moon. Hagan nudged his brother's shoulder and gave him an intense look. He had been staring. D'Pharin acknowledged his brothers unspoken advice and averted his gaze.

In scant moments, Hagan, D'Pharin and Gorin relaxed in steamy wooden tubs, eyes closed and breathing easy. The smell of lavender and rose floated about, caressing their senses and easing their souls.

After a short time, with only the sound of calm breathing, Gorin spoke.

"After the fall of Tree Towers, the remnants of that great fallen city came here to Elfwhere. They started anew, taken in as if they had always belonged with the children of Lyndremaene. It is said that they accepted new names and identities. Forgot their past. It is a travesty, the loss of that beautiful place and those that dwelled there speak not of its treasures. Our world will never again see its like." he said with a faraway look in his deep eyes.

"I wish I had seen it in its glory, Gorin." D'Pharin said, his wet hair hanging in his eyes.

"You would never have forgotten, young Marindel. The people as well, they were so pure and fair. I miss them dearly. I lost many a friend on that day. Many a friend ... " He let his voice fade into silence and together they drifted in their own thoughts for a moment.

"D'Pharin?" Hagan said. "You fought well in Overbrook. Very well. I was concerned at first, but you handled yourself expertly."

"Thanks, brother."

"Who taught you? I know it wasn't father."

D'Pharin laughed out loud.

"No, it wasn't. I taught myself, Hagan. I had to. Everywhere I turned, I heard them, the things they would say. I knew you weren't any of those things. You were a hero-are a hero. Eventually, I grew tired of hearing it and picked up a blade. I fought Y'radda Blunc for it. He said if I beat him, I could have the sword. So, I beat him. Since then, if they spoke ill of you, I shut them up. Let's just say, no one has spoken ill in years."

"I'm sorry, D'Pharin. I shouldn't have disappeared like that. You needed me then and I thought I needed no one. If I hadn't gone to the hills-" Hagan began.

"That's in the past, brother. You're here now and that's what's important."

Hagan thought about what D'Pharin had said and smiled. It was time to make up for the past. To get the memories out of his head, he changed the subject.

"Why don't we just forget all of this council nonsense and stay here? I could live like this." Hagan sighed, dumping water over his head with a great curved ladle.

"Hmmm. It is a tempting proposition, my friend. I haven't met with this manner of hospitality in quite some time. I was beginning to believe that I would never again be clean." Gorin answered, his huge chin at water level.

"I can't move ... " D'Pharin groaned, his head hidden by the high sides of the tub. "I ache all over. My feet are sore and my back is sore and-I know, I'm complaining ... "

"It's understandable, brother, but I noticed that you didn't mention it until Windenn was out of earshot."

Gorin laughed out loud and then caught himself, covering his mouth.

"My apologies, D'Pharin. I am tired. I meant no disrespect." he said.

"Now, I can't let the lady see her hero struggling to keep up. Can I?" D'Pharin laughed, poking a little fun at himself.

They all burst out in laughter, D'Pharin tossing a ladle-full of water in their direction.

"In a few more days, you won't even notice the pain. It doesn't take long. You'll see. You'll be keeping up without a problem." Hagan said.

"That is true." Gorin added with a huge grin.

"That, or we can ask Windenn to carry you." Hagan said, dropping his head below the water.

Their meals were served in their rooms, which were beautifully decorated and had the most comfortable down beds in their memories. Each room had a small wooden desk and chair and pages of parchment to write upon. There were several vases full of flowers and bowls of various fruit. Once their bellies were full, they retired, it now being far into the night. Each member had his or her own room and each slept very deeply. When the knock came, as morning returned, they were soon dressed and waiting in the hallway for Ethylianae to join them. They did not wait long, for soon she turned the far corner and quickly strode toward them. Her attire had changed somewhat. The design of the robe was the same but the colors were different. She wore an elegant white robe, the collar of which was a delicate lace woven together with thin purple thread. At the hem was also the sudden hint of color, dragging the floor behind her as she seemed to float in their direction. She had pulled her dark hair up and tied it fancifully, holding it in place with a tiny silver clasp. She was simply stunning. A truly noble Elven woman, full of pride and independence.

She led them into a new section of the third level, one where many more guards stood watch and music filled the air around them. Eventually, they came to a large set of doors with handles carved like soaring hawks. A sentry to either side pulled them wide, allowing them access to the king's inner chambers. A long burgundy carpet ran the length of the inner hall and they were reluctant to tread upon it, it's design so ultimately flawless. At Ethylianae's wave, they followed reluctantly. The walls at their sides were draped with aging tapestries, depicting scenes from Elven history. Images of the Elfmother and times before the Elves were divided. There were many battle scenes portrayed there upon the walls to Hagan's surprise. He had no idea that the Elves had been involved in so many wars. He knew of none within the recent past, that was certain. There were scenes that puzzled them as they passed, odd images that they could not easily explain. Elves in strange settings with strange beasts. It all added to the mystery of this wonderful culture.

The hall came to an end before a giant door more elaborate than all others thus far. Every flower that had ever existed seemed to be portrayed on its surface, set there in subtle relief.

"Lyndremaene is within. He is expecting you. He has promised not to keep you long and is aware of your situation. Please ... " she paused, smiling at Hagan.

"Enter."

As the heavy door was pulled aside, the king's huge throne room opened before them. Bright sunlight hit their eyes, white parallel beams of light slanting in from the walls and high ceiling. Lyndremaene was nowhere to be seen but as they moved forward into the room proper, they heard his voice. Somewhere within, he was singing.

There were many small alcoves and sitting rooms that branched off from this chamber and they followed his heavenly voice deeper in, drawn by the rich and somewhat melancholy tune. They rounded a curving column and on a wide balcony jutting out into the forest, the king stood, eyes closed. To his sharp nose he held a delicate white orchid, inhaling its fragrance. For the first time, the group had encountered an Elf that showed signs of age. Small lines crossed his high forehead and ran down from the corners of his thin lips. He wore a many-layered robe of sky blue that gathered where it hit the floor behind him. He was barefoot with skin as dark as the woodwork around him.

The hair of his head was coal-black and dropped to the center of his back like a curtain of night, gently swaying as he moved. He finished his song on an uplifting note and rested momentarily in silence. Only the sounds of the city outside were audible, birds and people sharing greetings. Then, he turned his gaze to them, his eyes flashing a deep amber color and history's wisdom shown within. He smiled then and bowed deeply before them to their surprise. Imagine a king bowing to his subjects!

He held the orchid gently, cradling it in both hands before them.

"This is the true beauty, my guests. Not that which we possess but that which allows us to share its life. We should be honored to exist in the same world as this life we sometimes take for granted. This flower, so fragile and so easily crushed in ones hand-yet it's structure, its perfection holds one's eyes like a dream one never wishes to wake from."

"I am sorry. Please, join me here on the terrace. Come, look upon the wonder of my fair city. Raeldarea vin Hael. The trees do speak."

His voice was very pleasant and warm but also somewhat haunting, echoing off of the ceiling. He quietly stepped into the morning sunlight of the partially covered balcony. Many lavishly decorated tables and high-backed chairs were set there, adorned with large baskets of fruit and fresh bread. Each of the group seated themselves close to the waist-high handrail that skirted the perimeter.

From this vantage point, Nael Daren was a singular work of art. The sheer size of the place amazed them, only outshined by the magical molding of the trees themselves, their shape and flowing lines woven together like a frozen dance. With their woodland arts, they had coaxed the trees in new directions as needed. The forest was never harmed in these acts, this being taboo among the Elven people.

They moved about the trees everywhere that could be seen, at some points upon the suspended walkways and at others on curving flights of stairs created within the very skin of the tree. And there was color and music everywhere. The Wood Elves, especially the women, seemed very proud of their appearance, dressed perfectly from head to toe, their shoulders thrown back as they walked. Hagan's gaze passed from one side of the city to the other and his vision settled on a familiar figure.

Ethylianae.

She stood below; several members of her council gathered about her, intently listening to her speak. She glanced up then and saw him, waving with a smile. He returned the gesture and for a moment felt childishly embarrassed, as if he had done something wrong.

What was that about?

"The city of Nael Daren has stood for thousands of years," Lyndremaene began again, lifting a goblet of liquid from the table. "Prosperous, the envy of all that have cast an eye upon it. We are a good and fair people. We respect what nature has provided us. Since the Morning of the World, we have sought nothing but peace with those that came after us and with that which was here before. You are welcome here, my friends. Welcome to Nael Daren."

"Hmmm. Many thanks wise Lyndremaene. We are humbled before you. We are honored to set foot within your borders. Let us wish you well in the coming autumn and aid you in any way we can. We have heard news of the coming of the Elfmother." Gorin said, his head bowed slightly.

"Yes, it is true. She has returned to us after so many years. If we can only discover the key. A way to wake her. For you see, she sleeps. She is closed to us. Soon, our wisest will wake her and the prophecy will be fulfilled."

"Once again, my King, we are deeply honored to walk in your forest during such a precious time." Gorin said.

The King drank from his cup, seeming to struggle to swallow the contents.

"The honor is mine, son of Rathnok. If only the circumstances were different and we could talk at length-" he paused then, a brief expression of pain on his face. He placed the goblet back on the tabletop with quivering hands.

"What is it, my King?" the Troll asked, leaning forward, hand extended to assist him.

From somewhere within the King's chambers, a young Elven woman quickly made her way to his side. She placed a palm to his forehead and the other upon his slumping shoulders.

"Lord, please, come in out of the sun." she whispered.

"As you wish, Mahnderia."

His eyes slowly opened with a glazed and faraway look. With her help, he stood and together they walked inside, Hagan and the others following. She led him to the tall wooden throne and helped him to sit. He fell back against the soft cushion, hands clutching each armrest. They noticed, then, the dark bruises upon his forearms as his sleeves drew up beyond his wrists. The king's aide motioned for the others to return to the terrace with her and soon they were once again seated, although now with much more concern.

"Wind, my lady. What ails Lyndremaene? In what way can we help?" Windenn asked, her voice shaking as she spoke.

Mahnderia closed her eyes briefly and then began her explanation.

"Our Lord's condition springs from an Elven custom that began far before the existence of Man. You may wonder how it is that even in times of war and great hardship, the Elven people show no grief or fear. You will see no frowns among those of Elfwhere. Part of an Elven ruler's chosen responsibilities is to bear that burden for his subjects."

"I don't understand." Hagan said and the others nodded.

"Look with me down upon the city. There, just beyond the doors of Darendae. See the fountain within that square?" she pointed to the area below that Ethylianae's group had previously occupied. There stood a large stone fountain surrounded by many Elves, some bearing flowers. As they watched, one of them stepped to the edge and gently placed a blossom upon the water's surface. Smiling, they went on their way.

"That is Rael Akis, Kingsdraught. There our people place their sorrow and pain upon the water in the form of the flower, relieving themselves of the pressures of worry. Each morning, a vessel is filled from Rael Akis and our King drinks of it, taking the burden on himself. It is a duty that he solemnly accepts and through his sacrifice, the good of the city is assured. Traditionally, these burdens are a simple matter for our Lord to overcome, but as you know, autumn is come. Fear has grown. No, it is not evident here ... " she pointed out across Nael Daren. "But, it is obvious in the eyes of Lyndremaene."

D'Pharin simply could not believe his ears. If this were true, imagine the amount of darkness that the King must take in each day. How could one person endure? How could he survive?

"It all lies on his shoulders? That's hardly fair, is it?" he asked with a hint of anger. To him, this seemed a silly tradition. Lyndremaene was senselessly suffering.

"It is our way, young friend. I do not expect you to understand. He does this out of love and would not relent were it possible. He knows the danger. As the forest fails, so too will our King."

"And if the forest dies?" Windenn asked.

"Then, there will be little left to live for." she answered.

"This is ridiculous," Hagan said. "Maybe your people should take on some of their own burdens, eh? Instead of killing their leader, they could do their share of worrying. A community survives best when everyone shares the burden, you must agree."

"I mean no offense, Lord Hagan, but the communities of Man are still floundering in infancy compared to that of the Elves." she said, nearly lighting a fire in Hagan's eyes.

He shook his head, eyes shut.

"It is our tradition, regardless of how ridiculous it sounds to you. Is it ridiculous for women to cower and obey their mates simply because they are women? This a tradition among the kingdoms of Man, is it not? Is it ridiculous for the wealthy to look down upon the less fortunate? Another human tradition. These beliefs do not exist here. Need I continue?"

Hagan could not respond. What she had said was true. His culture was certainly not perfect.

"Hmmm." Gorin interrupted, diffusing the growing conflict. "Is there nothing we can do?" he asked, his deep voice vibrating the very wood of the table.

"I am afraid not. Since the Morning of the World, no King has succumbed to the burden of the Kingsdraught. We can only make him comfortable until this time passes."

"You forget, Mahnderia, that autumn has never visited Elfwhere in the past. Your King may be in much more danger than you know." Windenn said with a glance into the throne room.

She did not answer.

Lyndremaene called to them, hoarsely, from within. His voice was weak and cracked as he talked. Once again, they joined him, standing before his gloriously wrought throne.

"I am truly sorry, my guests. These ... are trying times and my spirit is ill. Lord Hagan, the Elf that you seek is a day's ride to the north. You ... have my permission to seek him out and if he agrees, to take him from Elfwhere. He is my best and bravest, but I know your need is also great. I warn you, however, that as we speak he fights on the front lines. Matters have never been worse in my kingdom. You may encounter great peril. A small branch of my archers ride to the north soon and you may join them."

"Your steeds will be brought to you immediately, although I am afraid your reunion will be a short one. The only possible path out of Northern Elfwhere will be the Illdredge River. Your horses cannot accompany you upon the boat that I have sent upriver to deliver you out of the forest. Take what supplies you need and ... Wind save you all."

His head dropped to his chest and rolled to one side. Windenn quickly bounded up the five steps to his side and touched his hand, much to Mahnderia's surprise. The Woodwarden suddenly recoiled as if struck by lightning, her hand to her chest. It was as if Lyndremaene was inside of her head or she in his.

Wind. I felt his torment. For a moment, I felt it. All of it. He is dying. Oh Wind, there is no hope inside of him.

Hagan caught her as she staggered back.

"What's wrong, Windenn?" he asked, holding her upright.

Mahnderia cradled the King's head in her hands, while staring disapprovingly at Windenn.

"What did you do?" she asked through her teeth.

Windenn did not understand.

"No, I-" Windenn stammered in sudden confusion. "Hagan, let's get out of here. I need some air."

Together, they left the King's chambers; Gorin bringing up the rear and quickly walked down the long hall, unaware of the decorations this time. As they passed through the double doors, they ran into Ethylianae.

"Are you leaving us so soon? My Lady, what is it? What has happened inside?" she asked of Windenn, who held her head against Hagan's shoulder as she walked.

"My head ... I think I am just tired from traveling." she said.

Ethylianae brushed hair out of Windenn's face and touched her head with a frown.

"There is fever upon you. You should have rest."

"No, no. I'm fine and there isn't time." Windenn said weakly.

Gorin cleared his throat. "Are you certain Woodwarden?" he asked.

"Yes, Grimandin. Do not worry, old friend." she said with a smile.

D'Pharin wanted to comfort her but knew it would be obvious to all, his feelings for her. After the many jibes from Gorin and his brother, he had tried to keep his distance. To this date, she had not returned his affections and perhaps he should give up on the idea. He felt like such a child when it came to women. His brother had always made it look easy, being completely at ease with the opposite sex. He made up his mind to ask Hagan's advice as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

"We are to accompany the archers into Northern Elfwhere and need to ready our horses. Can you tell us where they are stabled?" Hagan asked trying to shift the focus of their conversation. Something was indeed amiss with Windenn, but the looks she had given him, told him she was all right.

"Lord Hagan, I had wished ... well, I had wished you would be staying with us a few more days." Ethylianae said, visibly uncomfortable. From the moment they had seen each other near Finnenmist, there had been an almost tangible connection between the two. Neither had spoken of it, but both knew it to be true. It was unexplainable but it was there nonetheless.

"It is times like these that I wish I was someone other than myself. If the occasion permitted, I would gladly remain within your beautiful city and-with much regret, I walk toward battle once more and leave possibilities behind. In another time, you and I-" he paused, forcing down a lump in his throat. He noticed the others fidgeting uncomfortably so he grabbed her hand and placed a gentle kiss upon its back. He fought the overwhelming urge to embrace her and only squeezed her hand lightly as he released it.

One of the King's guards strolled up to them and saluted. Hagan bowed his head. "Lord Hagan, I am Kraed of the first branch of Lyndremaene's army. It is my duty to direct you to your steeds and into the company of the Archers."

Hagan looked to Ethylianae's face once again and smiled. He turned back to Kraed.

"Lead on." he said.

"Lord Hagan ... Ah, it seems that King Lyndremane wishes you to bring someone else along with you, if you would be so kind." Kraed said as he walked.

"What? Who?"

"She is ... well, she is of the Graelund. A researcher from across the Sleeping Sea-"

"Wait. A High Elf? Are you serious?" Hagan asked. He knew of the Graelund's reputations. The term itself meant wanderer in the Elven language but may as well have been translated into 'spoiled and pompous'. This would not work.

"Kraed, please. I don't think-"

"Lord Hagan, I have my orders. These are the King's wishes and they must be carried out. Lyndremaene must have his reasons for wishing the Lady Shindire to accompany you-"

"But, we go to war, Kraed. You know that. What am I supposed to do with a researcher in the middle of battle? It's just one more person at risk." Hagan explained.

"Actually two more ... " Kraed said. "She also has an assistant."

"Wind. She doesn't know what's coming. You must understand-"

"There are no choices in this matter. I am sorry but she will accompany you into the forest. She is not your responsibility, Lord. She simply wishes to record the events as they transpire. To create a factual account of Kirkaldin's great history."

"As she sees it, correct?" Hagan added with no response from Kraed.

"That is she." Kraed said, pointing along their path.

Shindire stood to the side of the walkway, hands across her chest, her high-arching brows brought nearly together as she watched them approach. Her eyes shone an ice blue as she stared in their direction. At her side was a very thin, nearly skeletal Elven male holding a huge leather case. He struggled to support its weight, leaning to one side. He stood in silence.

She wore very elegant black attire, what seemed to be a silken shirt and trousers and long flowing cloak clasped at the neck. All about her wrists were countless pieces of silver jewelry and many beautiful gems graced her neck. Her hair hung to her waist, despite the large clasp that held it up and tight to the back of her head. It was straight and as black as night, her skin very pale in comparison.

"My Lady." Kraed said with a slight bow as they reached her. She did not respond, her eyes looking down upon him as inferior. With her assistant in tow, she fell in line behind Kraed, successfully taking Hagan's place next to him. He looked to his companions and they all shrugged their shoulders.

They followed Kraed away from Darendae to the north. They took a path between the giant roots that crossed the hilly earth. A group of children fed small fluttering birds nearby, tossing seeds into the air and watching as they dove from the trees.

'Do they know what's coming?' Hagan thought.

Soon, they approached a group of Treehomes surrounded by horses and mules. Several Elven men groomed and fed the animals in large fenced-in corrals. As they came to the great open gates, they recognized their two horses tied just inside. Maelstrom nickered a welcome as Hagan stroked his face. They had been saddled and stood ready for the ride. Kraed pulled the gate open and they stepped inside.

A small and spotted white mare had been prepared for Windenn, which she accepted graciously. She smiled broadly as two young stable boys gazed at her mischievously, winking and arching their eyebrows. She hoped one day to return to this joyous place that knew no sorrow. She tied her pack across the saddle and hopped up.

Shindire had also been supplied with steeds, one for her and one for her assistant, who still had spoken not a word. They gathered together, readied for the trip and rode out of the corrals following Kraed, Shindire moving her way into second position once more. He led them away and down a long hill to a creek. The horses splashed across, tossing their heads with excitement after their containment. After following the creek for some time, Kraed slowed and pointed toward a far grove of heavy trees. As he did, a lone Elf stepped into view, longbow slung across his back, waving in their direction.

"Here we are. That is Vedaene, one of the King's archers. His father was killed many years ago in battle and some say it is Vedaene's wish to follow in his footsteps. He is reckless but an excellent soldier to have at your side. Nonetheless, they await you beyond those trees. Wind go with you, friends and luck as well. It is dangerous in the north. None speak of it, but many of our people have perished in recent days at the hands of the Pith. It is information that I believe you should have."

"Thank you, Kraede. I appreciate your forthrightness. You have been most helpful. I hope we can visit Nael Daren at length in the near future. Walk with the Wind." Hagan replied and Kraed turned with a wave back toward Darendae.

After a short time, they had joined the ranks of the archers, riding near the rear and had gone some distance into the forest. Occasionally, a solitary leaf would float to the ground in their midst drawing long faces from the Elves. Their world was changing around them uncontrollably and they had nowhere to go. This was all they had known for so long. They had gone far from the city and only the sounds of the woods reached their ears creating a somewhat lonely atmosphere. They rode toward war. They rode toward the Pith, enemy of all that was good and pure.

Hagan and his companions had been informed that the trip to the front would take them until day's end. One more day and they would be in the middle of it all. Hagan felt his heart quickening in his chest. He mentally prepared himself for combat, recounting previous encounters and practicing his skills within his head. Strange how scant days ago, he had been a slothful drunkard. He could admit it to himself now and he felt ashamed. He still did not like the title of 'hero' but it sounded much better than 'drunk'.

D'Pharin and Windenn had struck up a conversation from the start of their trek and showed no signs of stopping. The topics ranged from wildlife, to D'Pharin's careful prying into the Woodwarden's marital status, which produced many a grin from Gorin and even a few of the archers. The High Elven Graelund still had not spoken, only shooting haughty looks in their direction. Hagan had remained fairly quiet throughout, sinking inward, going through his memories like old and discarded papers. His life before the war. His mother. Old comrades, some alive, some long dead. He found himself wondering once again about Deria, the woman he had left behind before the war. Before he had become 'Lord' Hagan.

I will not lose you to this war. Better I end it now and never know the outcome. It is your choice, Hagan.

Wind, how it hurt when he remembered that day. Where was she now? Had she a husband and children? Was she happy without him? If he had only chosen her over the Black Sun, but his world and everything in it would belong to Mournenhile. Why was it his fate to choose? Why was he put into that situation? These were the questions that kept him awake in the night.

Dammit. I have to stop this.

"Gorin, do you have a wife back home?" he asked to get his mind off of his past.

"Hmmm ... No, I ... " Gorin began. "None of the Stone Troll women will choose me. I lack the stature required, I believe. I sometimes doubt that I will ever have a mate. It is part of my disgrace in Rathnok. To be born small, is truly a curse to me. Others look down upon me."

"Are you certain? From what you have told me of your people, they seem very just in their ways. Male and female are treated equally, money does not cause prejudice." Hagan responded.

"I-"

"I do not mean to doubt you, my friend, but perhaps the way you see things is not the way it truly is. Maybe these are things that you have set upon yourself. Because you are small among your people, perhaps you feel a certain insecurity and do not display confidence in yourself. You seem to be a great Troll to all of us here. What hides inside of you is what is important, correct? Not outward appearances."

Gorin thought long and hard, chewing on his lower lip. For a moment, he seemed angry then, puzzled. His gaze returned to Hagan and he smiled.

"Perhaps you speak truly. I will consider these things and ... thank you, Hagan." he said, his smile never disappearing. This man truly deserved the title he had been given and in time, he would rise to that level once more. And Gorin hoped to be in his presence when that time presented itself.

Chapter Six

As the day passed, the company found the forest floor covered heavier with leaves, a darker green blanket upon the soft ground. The air around them grew hazy as they drew closer to battle, the trees appearing as tall and slender wraiths in the distance. The archers became gradually more nervous as visibility became worse and many of them had bows in their hands, arrows at the ready. They could smell fires burning somewhere in the near vicinity, which disheartened them greatly. Just the thought, made Hagan cringe.

Elfwhere burned.

Conversations had drawn to a halt and over each rise they expected to confront the enemy.

Vedaene drew in his horse and sat quietly for a moment, listening. He silently dismounted, dropping lightly to the earth and placed his open hand against the nearest tree.

"We are very close," he said with eyes closed. "Ready your weapons. A group is moving this way, running quickly. Friend or foe, I cannot be sure."

Swords were drawn and arrows nocked, their owners staring through the grey and soot-filled air, their eyes watering from the thickness of it. Vedaene returned to the saddle and they slowly descended the next hill. Instantly, they could hear branches snapping and the trample of leaves underfoot as many things moved toward them. Then came harsh shouts echoing eerily in the now ghostly forest. They could make out an officer giving orders to his men in the Elven language, but could not distinguish the words. High-pitched shrieks suddenly reached them as something beastlike pursued the soldiers. Shadowy figures appeared within the farthest trees, running in their direction. They appeared to be fleeing chaotically through the burning forest at a near-sprint.

"Regroup! Regroup! We cannot fight them alone!" someone screamed and then fell strangely silent. Hagan felt the urge to protect Shindire, he was not sure why but as he looked to her, he relaxed. She had produced a thin blade from somewhere within her clothing and by the way she held it, she could handle herself fair enough. He made up his mind not to worry about her welfare.

The figures came closer and the archers took aim over their heads. Then out of the smoke, large masses of darkness appeared with smaller masses astride them. From their location, they could not make out their true form but they knew it without question. Some two-score of the Pith rode hard toward them on the backs of their great, scaled war-beasts, barbed spears and scimitars in their claws. Like animals they growled and slobbered on themselves, hungry for blood and flesh. As they drew closer and their outlines solidified, the archers released their first volley. Seven of the creatures fell, shafts in their bodies. The second shower of arrows was not as productive, only dropping two more. They would only be allowed one more volley and the Pith would be among them.

They brought down three more of the black creatures, arrows in their chests and then shouldered their bows. At close range, they would rely on blade work. The company heeled their horses, launching into their enemy's charge.

A howling Pith warrior came down quickly on D'Pharin, eyes piercing points of ebony and the young man froze.

He could not believe the face of the Pith. Part wolf, part bat with great elongated ears that stretched back and away from its head. Its skin was dark, nearly black and its body was covered with a short coat of oily fur, except for its small leathery wings. It had large slits for nostrils that glistened with moisture as it breathed him in, twitching with anticipation. Its small black eyes followed his movements like a wild animal; it's only thought that of survival. Great fanged jaws spread wide, snakelike tongue playing behind its lips and it screamed.

It swung its wicked spear in a wide arc toward D'Pharin's unprotected head and he was paralyzed. Fear had taken hold and death was coming quickly. At the last moment, his horse reared, eyes wild with fright and took the blade across the neck. D'Pharin was thrown from its back as blood sprayed into the hazy air; the horse kicking frantically as it hit the ground. It bared its teeth in pain and drove its head into the forest floor.

Reality grabbed him suddenly as the horse died.

That could have been me.

He imagined himself, wallowing on the ground, his lifeblood spilling out all around him. This was enough to shake him awake.

He retrieved his sword from the ground and raised his eyes as his attacker bore down on him. It rode a great horned lizard, all scales and wicked claws. Its eyes held no color as those of a corpse. As D'Pharin's eyes cleared, his knees nearly gave as he truly beheld the beast's features. It was the face of a man. Somewhat twisted and deformed but shaped as a man.

What unnatural horror is this? This thing was simply wrong. It should not be.

The Pith's steed stood nearly to D'Pharin's shoulders and as it reached him at a gallop, rows of teeth gnashing and snapping at his face, its neck lurched out and D'Pharin jumped. He threw himself up and to one side, narrowly avoiding the gaping maw. At the same time, he cut a wide circle with his blade, his arm extended to its full reach.

His elbow shuddered as he made contact, the rider hunching in the saddle, bowels spilling into its clawed hands. It howled once and rolled from the lizard's back.

D'Pharin hit his knees and somersaulted into the low brush that grew nearby, his sword brought up in a defensive posture. Through the dense, grey air he could see two points of light moving toward him, swaying in a pendulous motion, back and forth. After a brief pause, the face of the beast was on him once more, hurtling toward him. Its long snout struck him hard in the chest, nearly shattering his sternum and throwing him far into a group of trees where he lay crumpled like a doll. It slowly padded to him, its stinking breath hissing through its nostrils. D'Pharin was nearly unconscious, unable to move though he tried ferociously.

This can't be it. No. Wind, no.

The shadow of the beast covered him and its ghoulish eyes lowered to meet his. For a moment, it studied him, sniffing his clothing and hair. It recoiled as if to strike and suddenly disappeared from his sight. It screeched as if in pain and he could make out the sounds of an incredible struggle. He heard bones breaking and flesh tearing. Then, at once it was over.

Heavy footsteps came closer and still he was unable to move. He strained to see what approached and went rigid with dread.

"Young Marindel, are you still with me, friend?"

It was the voice of a very familiar Troll. Gorin had saved him. Thank the Wind.

"D'Pharin?"

"Ah ... I'm still here, Gorin. I just ... I can't move ... "

Strong, stone hands reached under his arms and gently lifted him into a sitting position. Gorin's face was splattered with dark blood, small trails running down onto his chest, a strange contrast to the black tattoos that adorned him.

"Were you struck in the chest, D'Pharin?" he asked, his eyes covering him, searching for wounds.

"Oh, yes. Very much so ... " D'Pharin croaked. His ribs and back felt like hell. He was almost thankful that he could not move. He knew that when he did, it would hurt badly.

"Hmmm, then you are very fortunate. Most who are hit with the heartstrike do not survive. It will take many days to fully recover. You will be able to stand momentarily. I will watch over you until then." Gorin said, watching the haze around them. The sounds of battle had moved off to the south. There did not appear to be Pith in their vicinity.

"Hagan and Windenn?" D'Pharin asked.

"Swept away with the others. We had the upper hand when I saw you hit the ground so you need not be overly concerned. Hmmm ... "

D'Pharin only grunted a 'yes'.

"Now you see the horror that is the Pith, spawn of Mournenhile. Created far to the east to be his servants and army. Those that they kill are eaten if possible."

D'Pharin shuddered.

Gorin noticed this and smiled.

"The effects of the heartstrike are wearing off. It will not take long now."

"Good. I'd like to be on my feet. I can't exactly help from down here." D'Pharin said.

Windenn and Hagan fought back to back, three unmounted Pith assailing them at once. Two assaulted the Woodwarden and one, Hagan. Pick the weakest foe and eliminate them first. Hagan was having a hard time with his opponent, the Pith's strength nearly ripping the sword from his hands on several occasions. He wondered how Windenn was keeping two at bay?

She held two short swords in her hands and batted away attacks smoothly allowing the creatures to wear themselves down. She surprised herself at how easily she defended herself and allowed a quick smile to cover her face. Just as she did, one of her blades was stripped from her hand and the Pith jumped toward her. Instinctively, she threw her palm out, catching fire to the fur of her opponent's stomach. It cried out, recoiling in pain and ran.

What? Fire?

Her remaining attacker paused; staring over its shoulder at it's fleeing companion. It stared down at her empty hand and bolted away into the forest, soon becoming a blur in the void of smoke.

Hagan found an opening and soon dispatched his challenger, kicking it once in the back as it lay dying at his feet. He turned to Windenn and brought his brows together, puzzled. Both of her opponents were gone?

"What the hell happened?" he asked looking all around him.

"I'm not sure. They just ran off together. Something must've spooked 'em." she answered, not wholly telling the truth. She wasn't sure what had happened but she knew that she had been the cause of it.

"Strange ... " Hagan added as he stared back the way they had run.

A group of Elves ran up, panting from extreme exertion. Many were wounded, some severely. Some of them would not survive, Hagan knew.

"Where are D'Pharin and Gorin?" he asked, suddenly afraid.

"I saw the Troll run in that direction." An archer wheezed, pointing off to the north. He held his shoulder and seemed to favor one leg.

"Come on." Hagan called to Windenn. Together, they raced into the trees, their eyes scanning the ground as they ran. They called out their friend's names as they went, fear building in their breasts. Where were they? They knew the stories of the Pith's prisoners. If they had been captured, there was no hope.

Then, they heard the low call of Gorin. They turned somewhat westward, following the sound and in a small grove of crooked trees, they found them. D'Pharin now sat up, his back against a tree and Gorin stood waving them over. He had obviously seen his share of battle. As they hurried toward them, they saw the mangled form of the giant lizard off to one side, resting in the brush. Something had torn it to shreds. It's lower jaw hung from its skull, only tendons and strands of cartilage held it in place. One eye was completely missing and both horns. Along the side that faced them, an enormous hole had been punched, exposing row upon row of pale ribs.

"D'Pharin! Are you hurt?" Hagan asked, running to his brother's side.

His brother looked up at him weakly and groaned.

"Well, Gorin tells me it could've been worse." he said with a grimace.

Windenn let out a low whistle.

"Who did that?" she asked as she pointed to the lizard's remains.

"That is what did this to me. Luckily, Gorin came along just before I was eaten." said D'Pharin.

Hagan stared in astonishment at the Troll for a moment, then back to the lizard.

Wind. That was a lot of damage.

Windenn made her way over to Gorin, eyes wide.

"Let's get ye cleaned up, Grimandin. Ye all right?" she asked.

"Hmmm ... I am fine. I almost did not make it in time."

She helped him clean the blood from his face and shoulders, gently wiping with a white cloth she had pulled from her pack. It was a strange but touching sight, the giant figure leaning down, the slight woman tending to him like a mother. He closed his eyes as she wiped the grime from his cheek. When she had finished, she walked over to D'Pharin still sitting against the tree.

"Are ye gonna live? Grimandin tells me ye survived the heartstrike. Not many can make that claim. Ye should be proud but for the next few days, ye'll be in too much pain t'be." she laughed.

"Ye ready to stand?" she asked.

"No."

"Come on, give me your hand." she said, reaching out.

After much struggle, D'Pharin stood, still relying on the tree for support, clenching his jaw. It hurt, but it was already fading.

"The soldiers tell us that the front is just over those hills. Hagan wants to go in quickly and get out. He knows you cannot fight in this condition and now we've lost your horse." she explained.

"I know, I know. It's a shame. He was a fine animal. He shouldn't have died like that." D'Pharin said, glancing at his fallen steed.

Soon, the Elves had gathered around them in a close circle. Their numbers had dwindled considerably, only half of the archers remained. The others had the appearance of many hard days of battle, their faces blackened with soot and crusted with dried blood. Their eyes held little hope, but much determination. Though they feared defeat, they would fight until the end.

"The only chance we have is to get in and out as fast as possible. We cannot stand for long against an onslaught such as this." Hagan announced to all gathered near.

One of the weary soldiers stepped forward.

"We had them at bay, Lord. All along our trenches, we have spiked poles driven into the ground. Their beasts could not cross. They were forced to dismount and fight at our level. The odds were much more even until, their master arrived."

"Hmmm. What do you mean, master?" Gorin asked. They could not be speaking of Mournenhile.

"One of the Rone'pith. Their dark sorcerers."

Gorin breathed a sigh of relief and Windenn hissed under her breath.

"With his help, they have breached our trenches and scattered our soldiers. I fear they move toward inner Elfwhere as we speak. A small group of our force was cut off from the rest and was being decimated when we were forced to flee. Our only hope is that the might of Greymander can hold them. They await the Pith but a few leagues from here. They are our last line of defense. If they are overcome, then Elfwhere has fallen." the soldier broke into tears and turned toward his comrades.

Hagan stared at the ground and bit his lip.

"They will persevere. Elfwhere will not fall so easily. I only wish that I could remain and lend my sword to this cause. I have been ordered to Harquinn by Councilcrane and cannot stay. I must however find Vasparian Grael and swiftly. Do you know of his whereabouts?" Hagan asked of any within earshot.

The Elves murmured among themselves for a moment, looks of dread on their battered faces. At long last, one of them stepped forward.

"General Grael led the charge. He was among those that were separated from us. He must surely be- "

"No. Do not say it. If any still live, then Vasp is one of them. Who will show me the way?"

The Elf nodded, tightening his sword belt. He had long since lost his blade and the others offered their weapons. He quickly chose one and walked ahead.

"Any who would accompany me, come now. There is no dishonor if you choose to remain but it has been my unfortunate experience that if the battle is lost, there will be nowhere to turn. If you hide among the trees, they will come for you. If you do not drive them out now, then your home belongs to the Pith and to Mournenhile."

At the mention of that name, the Elves stood straight and proud. As one, they announced loudly that they would join Hagan. The decision was made to leave the few remaining horses, including Maelstrom in the care of the most seriously wounded of the soldiers. They would wait for their return or travel to Nael Daren upon the morn. Hagan tried to persuade his brother to stay behind with the others but knew it was futile. Gorin agreed to watch over D'Pharin as they traveled and finally Hagan gave in. Hagan looked over his shattered group one last time before they moved out. Many of them were so exhausted as to be little help in even the smallest of skirmishes but he was pleased to have their trust.

Just then, the silhouette of a thin figure moved from behind a tree and all spun to face it. It was the High Elven woman, blade still in her hand. She slowly walked up to them, large leather case slung across her right shoulder.

"Where's-" Windenn began.

Shindire simply shook her head. Her assistant had been killed by the Pith. No more was said.

"Move out." Hagan said and they hurried off to the north.

I'm coming, Vasp. Just hold on a little longer. If anyone can stay alive through this, you can.

"I can't go on. I haven't slept in days, ya know ... I don't care- Alright, alright." Trune whispered through dry, cracked lips. He lay on his back in a hayloft, staring up through a hole in the weathered roof. Below him, several cows milled about confined to their stalls. All else was silent. Far too silent for a working farm.

"I know, I know. Yes, I will do it. You promised me, too, remember? Well, you'd better!"

He wiped his slick hands across his chest, adding to the filth upon his worn over-shirt, crimson streaks appearing upon the brownish material. With a groan, he sat up straight; his body creaking like the open barn door that lightly swung in the wind. Clumps of matted straw stuck to his bare and decomposing feet, the stench of which he had long learned to ignore. He could not ignore the dull pain that shot up his legs and occasionally through his spine. The voice helped to sooth the pain. It promised to take the pain away when his task was through.

He had long since finished his flask and his senses were as clear as they had been in two-score years. At least as clear as one with the Rot could ever get. The voice promised and he believed. The voice promised food and he had received. The voice hadn't been too picky when it came to the source of nourishment however.

The children had sickened him the most. Adults were easy to take but the children always screamed. Always cried. Why did they always cry? He had needed sustenance. Why not the livestock? The voice would not allow it. The voice owned him now and until he fulfilled his promise. What the voice said was done without question. The voice could kill, it said. The voice could make the pain worse, far worse. He would obey.

"I will obey. But, I won't eat children again ... " he murmured as he climbed down from the loft and stepped into the night air. Bodies littered the yard around the old house and chaotic patterns of dark liquid punctuated the scene, here and there. He avoided the smaller bodies and the dog and drove those memories from his mind. But, his teeth still felt their flesh.

"Yes! I'm going, I'm going ... "

They heard the fight before they saw it, the air by now thick with dark smoke and stinking of burning wood and vegetation. They could hear the harsh clash of weapons and shouting in the near distance. It seemed the Pith had the Elves at their mercy.

"What is the lay of the land out there?" Hagan asked of one of the soldiers.

"Not far in front of us is a low circular hill surrounded at its base by trees. General Grael chose that location to make his final stand. A good strategy, I suppose, though they were outnumbered some twenty to one. I would suspect that the Pith have completely encircled the hill and attack from all sides. I can hear the General's voice! He is still alive."

"And it's our job to save him and all in his command. We must strike hard, create a breach in the Pith's line and run through, gaining the top of the hill with Vasparian. With our added numbers, we can drive them back." Hagan said. He only hoped his plan would work. It was difficult to develop a strategy without the benefit of a clear line of sight. He was blindly guessing.

The group gathered around him nodded in agreement. Their eyes appeared hollow in the false night, fear barely hidden by a mask of strength. They would never forget the ferocity of the Pith. They were as animals and knew no reason. They attacked savagely without hesitation, simply obeying commands. His eyes settled on Shindire's fair face and determined stare. She seemed very extraordinary to him. He had never met one of the High Elves though he had heard stories. They very rarely left their islands and when they did they were akin to outcasts. She fascinated him, he admitted. She met his eyes for a moment and he had no choice but to look away. Her eyes were so focused and cold.

"I want all archers to lead the way. Drop as many riders as you can, then the rest of us race through during the confusion. Their steeds are very unpredictable. This is my chief concern. If one thing prevents us from gaining the hill, it will be those hellish beasts. Gorin, you've proven that you can handle their like and I ask you to defend us as we charge."

"Hmmm. I will not let you come to harm." he said, his great black eyes hidden in shadow.

"Now, we work on the element of surprise. Silence will be or friend. Once your hear the bowstrings hum, run your heart out. Understood? Let's move."

The next few moments were tense with the ramshackle army lightly stepping across the grass, moving toward the growing sounds of conflict. Dim shapes took form. Shapes that could only be the Pith warriors. The remaining Elven army had dwindled to nearly nothing. Hagan guessed them to be less than two-score soldiers, but they fought valiantly, giving no ground. The archers, bows at the ready, moved ahead of the group and after a dozen more steps they drew their shafts back to their ears.

As one, thin black streaks sped away like lightning, many finding targets in the dark backs of the Pith. Hagan's group charged forward. Only the sound of their feet could be heard as they bolted through the smoke to the base of the hill. Four white eyes met them as they gained the Pith's front line and two of their great lizards leapt toward them. Gorin's gigantic stone fist crushed the skull of the first and his shoulder sent the other careening onto its side. He motioned for Hagan to continue up the hill and strode toward the lizard that still breathed. A spear caught the Troll on the left shoulder blade, ricocheting with a visible spark and sinking into the ground nearby. As Hagan started up the steep slope, the first sign of resistance came upon them. A large group of unmounted Pith swept in from the east and drove into them, pushing them back to the base of the hill. Windenn took their leader with a swift strike to its midsection and then chaos ensued. All about was black bodies, fur and spit. D'Pharin hung from Hagan's side as his brother fought his way up the hill with the others. The younger Marindel held a sword, but had not the strength to use it.

Three enemies leapt into the air and seemed to glide toward them, spears extended, their stunted wings not allowing for true flight. As they came down within the Elves, they drove many into the earth with their weight. Hagan spun to help them but it was too late. He killed two of the three and the other escaped into the haze, screeching.

Suddenly Windenn was at his back.

"The way is clear now. We must go! Up the hill everyone. Now!" she screamed.

In a mad rush, the remnants of their group charged up and past the Pith.

"General Grael!" one of the archers called out. "We are here! We are few, but we will drive these demons out of Elfwhere! General Grael!"

The general came into view, a Pith on his heels swinging a long blade. He raced by the archer, his blood-streaked eyes catching him momentarily.

"Welcome. Take care of this demon, won't you?" he yelled. His once bright armor was now coated with grime and blood. At some point he had lost his helm and he bore a large gash along one temple because of it. His long, dark hair hung limply about his neck, soaked through with sweat.

The archer ran his sword through the belly of the General's pursuer, dropping the creature to the ground.

Hagan was having a difficult time telling friend from foe in the thick haze and guarding his brother left him somewhat vulnerable. Windenn watched his back as they drove upward. Bodies flew across their vision, some in woodland garb others covered in thick dark fur. The ground had become slick with blood, slowing them further still. Hagan thought he could make out the dark form of Shindire among the combatants, dodging and cutting with practiced precision. He was impressed. Someone had taught her well.

Somewhere below, Gorin bellowed a war cry and the screams of the Pith reached their ears. Those enemies that drove up the hill turned toward the sound, unsure of their new attackers numbers and this gave the side of good the advantage. Together, they threw themselves against the dark attackers with renewed vigor, their swords crashing down upon the evil creatures. The Pith held momentarily, stubborn to the end, but could not withstand the Elves attacks. In scant minutes, the dark horde turned tail and fled away to the north, most of them on foot. The few lizards that remained behind were eventually destroyed and the army gathered at the top of the hill.

General Grael called out orders to his force, his voice hoarse and weak.

"To me, everyone. To me! We have driven them away but they were not alone if you remember correctly. The main body of their army headed into the forest and should have reached our brothers from Greymander. We will assist them as soon as possible, understand?"

Hagan and Windenn pulled D'Pharin to the hill's crown and sat him there, sword in his hand. As the Elves pulled together into a tight circle, someone bumped into Hagan's back. He turned to look and found himself face to face with his old friend Vasparian Grael. Vasp's eyes glanced over him quickly, looked away and then once again focused clearly on his face with sudden recognition. He recoiled in shock, his memories flashing through his mind like a waking nightmare.

He saw Hagan, as he was during the Battle of the Black Sun, his face streaked with red, his eyes ever watchful. All around them, the battle raged, death called for many in those days. Back to back they had survived, while all about them, bodies lie a dozen thick and more of the Pith came charging across. As they fought they were forced to wade through the bodies of the victims, some familiar, some foreign. Their eyes staring blankly to the dark sky, forever frozen in perpetual terror. The carnage was nearly unbearable; the harsh reality of it pushed down and kept at bay lest they go mad with fear. In the end, it had become like a dance. Simply avoiding the attacks of the enemy and finding their weakness. That was all. There was no life or death. Only the dance of the blade. Their bodies seemed to move of their own accord, so many days having passed with naught but endless bloodshed. For Kirkaldin. All for Kirkaldin.

Vasp shook his head almost violently, nearly swooning where he stood and grasped Hagan's shoulder. Once again, he met his eyes.

"Marindel? What ... What are you doing here?" he said, his voice rasping hard in his throat. He had blood in his teeth as he spoke and streaks of mud across both cheeks.

"Vasp. Let us tend to the wounded. I will explain in a moment." Hagan said, sheathing his sword. "It's good to see you, old friend." He extended his hand and Vasp hesitantly took it. He was afraid of what Hagan's presence meant. It could not be good.

Together, they looked over the remnants of the army, making the group as comfortable as possible. In but a few days, many Elves had perished and many trees had burned, the flames still raging wildly in parts of the forest. Soon, the entire company sat upon the hill and ate wild hare and vegetables that had been quickly gathered by those in good health. As he ate, Vasparian continuously watched Hagan with curious eyes, waiting. He sat with his soldiers somewhat apart from Hagan's group.

"Hmmm. Your friend does not know what to think, Hagan. I fear he suspects the worst, by the look of him. Do you think he will join us?" Gorin asked.

"He is surprised, that is all. I hope he will see the importance of this. If the council has called me back, then it can only be a serious threat to Kirkaldin. He will come. He will come." Hagan answered hopefully.

Vasparian stood and slowly walked away from his soldiers. He looked to Hagan and motioned for him to join him.

"Well, here goes." Hagan said as he hopped up.

"Hmmm. Good luck." Gorin said.

As he approached, Vasp had an unusual look on his face. One of confusion and anger and a flash of sadness. Hagan decided to allow him to speak first.

"Hagan, what is it you want? I-I am sorry but I had lost faith in you after all those years. You disappeared. Ran away from everything." he said, picking his words carefully.

"The council has called me back to Harquinn, Vasp."

"How does that concern me? I am now a General in the army of Elfwhere. I have commitments. Hagan, I have a wife and three children." Vasp said, pulling on the woven wooden necklace he wore. This piece of jewelry was the Elves symbol for marriage, exchanged on their wedding day. "You ran away, Hagan. A hero does not do that."

"Vasp, are you saying the Battle of the Black Sun didn't affect you? Do you feel nothing? How could you forget? The ... things we had to do. The killing. All of the senseless killing."

"How dare you say that to me! Trust me, I feel everything. The war affected me just as it did you, but I did not run and hide. I have forgotten nothing and no one! Wind, Hagan, Renzig died in my arms and Rungaard at my side. Do you think that because I did not let my life stop, that I had forgotten?" Vasp shouted.

"It hurt so bad, Vasp. I just wanted to let it go. Get it out of my head. I could not get the blood out of my head."

"Hagan, I bear the scars, of both mind and body. We did not have much chance, friend. Even the Redmasks were scattered. When Kinrahd fell, all hope fell with him."

"Do you think me a coward, Vasparian?" Hagan asked. He could not stand that.

"No, Hagan. I know that is not true. A coward does not survive the way you did. You have an uncanny skill with that blade of yours. I do believe, though, that you chose the wrong path after the war. You cut yourself off and what has changed? Do you feel better now? Has all the pain gone away? It hasn't for me, but I did not lose my life."

"In the night, I wake with nightmares of the dead, those that I killed and those of us that died. These will never truly go away, I am certain. If one does forget, one is not worthy of salvation. What kind of Man would you be if you actually forgot the war?"

Hagan was silent for a moment.

Damn. He's right. He usually is. What the hell have I done? I've wasted all this time and he's a general, still fighting for the cause of good.

He nearly burst into tears but stopped himself quickly. Heroes don't cry either, I suppose, he thought.

"I'm so sorry, Vasp. I can't explain what happened after the War. I just closed everything off. Everything and everyone. Hell, I even missed seeing D'Pharin grow up because I was too busy drinking. I haven't been a brother or friend to anyone for a dozen years." He paused momentarily.

"Can you forgive me, friend?" he finally asked.

Vasp frowned, staring at the dark sky. He had felt so alone all of these years wondering where Hagan had gone. They had literally grown up together in battle. One cannot remain a boy long with a sword in one's hand. He had felt such great anger toward his old comrade, wanted nothing more than to forget. Now, here he was in the flesh asking for help. What audacity!

"You have always been my brother, Marindel. That has not changed, you should know that. There is nothing to forgive. Many others that served with us did not fare as well as you. Many could not stand their inner demons and took their own lives. Some simply lost their minds. You would be surprised at how many veterans of the Battle of the Black Sun reside on Harrow Isle."

"Harrow Isle? That place is reserved for the terminally insane." Hagan whispered. The island had long ago been set-aside as a prison, surrounded by tall stone walls. Once a person was sent inside, there was no return. Some said that the inmates ruled the island but who really knew? It was a dreadful place, a place of evil and lunacy.

"If Davaris has once again called for you, this is of utmost importance. I will come, Marindel. You would never have come this far, had you not expected me to join you. You know me well. This silly thing, honor, never lets me be. I must send word to my family. My wife will never understand ... I hate to do this to her." Vasp said rubbing his temple with one hand.

"What is her name?" Hagan asked.

"What?" Vasp had been lost in thought.

"Your wife. What is her name?"

"Thylean. Wind, she is the most beautiful creature. You would not believe ... Remember all of those long nights when we talked about what our lives would be after the War? The women we would find? The plans we had made? She is that dream made real. This will hurt her so badly. There is not time for me to return home, correct?"

Hagan shook his head, no.

"How do I explain that when my home needs my help the most, I run off on some fool mission with my war buddy?"

Hagan had no answer.

"Go to your friends, Marindel. I will give the message to my captain, then I will be along. The archers tell me Lyndremaene has sent a boat for you. We must make haste if we are to catch it before the Pith. The Illdredge is some distance from here on foot. I will be along shortly, friend." Vasp said.

"Thank you, Vasparian. I could not do this without you." Hagan said with much emotion.

"Yes, you could, Marindel. It just might not be as easy without me. Whatever it is, we will handle it." Vasp said with the first smile Hagan had seen since their reunion. He walked away toward his soldiers.

Hagan rejoined the others. D'Pharin still sat on the ground, holding his chest. Gorin and Windenn conversed in a hushed tone and Shindire stood far away, almost melting into the haze.

"Vasparian will join us." he announced.

"Hmmm, that is good news. Now, we can fulfill Councilcrane's request and hopefully be there as soon as the Wind allows. How soon can we leave?" Gorin asked.

"He is passing word through his men back to Nael Daren. They will tell his family of his departure. I hate to drag him away from his home, but I trusted him with my life during the war and I know I can trust him still. It won't be long." Hagan answered, staring back the way he had come.

"He seems a good general." Windenn remarked, helping D'Pharin to his feet.

"That he is, Woodwarden, and a good friend. Has she spoken to anyone yet?" he asked, referring to Shindire who calmly made notes in one of her large tomes.

"Not yet. I'm sure she thinks us all below her. Did you see her during the battle, Hagan? She has some training. Her style is strange to me, but it seems very effective. She is not wounded. Not even scratched. Yes, someone trained her well. Someone across the sea I would presume." Windenn said, a slight pang of jealousy in her stomach.

After a brief pause, Vasparian returned. His face had been cleansed of the grit of battle and his hair as well. He wore it tied back and out of his face, his woven wooden necklace standing out obviously. Someone had supplied him with a new green cloak, his having been torn to shreds by the Pith.

"We have no horses left. Those that were not killed were driven off or taken away. To the south and west lies the Illdredge. If we move quickly, we can make it by nightfall but we must be careful, the Pith are still out there. I can smell them." he said squinting as he stared into the haze.

They fell in line behind the general and moved out quickly, his pace swift and gruelling. Through many dense patches of brush and weeds they struggled, barely matching his pace. D'Pharin, who was recovering at a fair pace, still had a hard time of it. The others took turns lending their arms and shoulders, pulling him along. For hours, Vasp did not turn back until D'Pharin asked a question.

"Why can't we woodwalk like before?"

Vasp pulled up short, his concentration broken. He turned to the group, his face slick and shiny with sweat.

"The woodwalk is not something to be done lightly. When it is performed, the power of the forest is weakened for some time. And-I am only one Elf. Whose hand would you take?"

D'Pharin grew silent once more.

"He is but a Man, cousin. How do you expect his like to fathom such things?" The soft yet bitter voice of Shindire cut through the air.

The entire group turned toward her in surprise. The humans among them held their tongues in anticipation.

"Comments such as those are not welcome, Shindire. Keep them to yourself or better yet do not think them at all." Vasp scolded.

She simply displayed a slight grin. Hagan stared at her briefly, letting his immediate anger subside.

She's one of those, is she? She doesn't like me because my ears don't end in a point. It is really no wonder that relations between Elf and Man are all but gone.

At the same time he realized that such prejudice existed in the minds of many of his people as well. Would thoughts such as these ever truly go away? Do not creatures of the same ilk flock together naturally? Questions such as these produced a slight pain in his forehead.

"In another league or so we will reach the river. If the Pith are hiding in ambush within Elfwhere, then Illdredge is a likely place. We can only hope that the boat is safe and waiting. If not, it will be a long, long walk out of here. There is no going back the way we came." Vasp said intensely.

Soon, an area of low rolling hills greeted them, covered with smaller varieties of trees and shrubs. Thick groupings of violets and fiery marigolds sprouted up everywhere, their bright and vibrant colors even showing through the thinning haze. The woods had become thicker the closer they had gotten to the river's edge. Even as they traveled to the south, leaves had covered the ground and still constantly fell from above. The air had grown clearer and breathing was easier though the smell still assaulted their nostrils. The group started suddenly as a large buck darted through the brush; its eyes round with fright, its tail mostly burnt away. It headed eastward, crashing through the low-hanging branches and then leaping into water. The splashing caught their attention, everyone turning their eyes to follow the path of the deer. Obviously they were closer to the river than Vasp had anticipated.

Just then, the low call of a horn bellowed out and echod eerily in the dark sky.

"Come! The boat awaits!" Vasp called out, rushing toward the sound.

Together they ran forward, wading through the tall grasses and weeds. Then, the trees parted and the Illdredge spread out before them. At nearly a league across it was the widest river this side of the Edge. In moments, they stood among the rushes, eyes squinting to make out the long shadow of the Elven vessel. No lights were visible, keeping the boat as hidden as possible. It glided slowly downriver toward them and they could make out the low thud of boots upon the open deck.

Vasparian reached into his pack, fumbling inside for a moment then stepping knee-deep into the river, he raised his hand into the air. Golden light grew there and expanded slowly outward as if the haze had been set on fire. The sunglobe pulsed three times and went dark but there was an immediate reaction within the boat. The hard splashing of great oars issued forth and the great shadow grew larger as it drew close. They heard hushed Elven conversation with a smattering of the language of Man as those aboard made ready for boarders.

Behind them there came a sudden commotion in the trees as something raced toward the group. Vasp quickly returned to the shore and drew his sword. Hagan joined him once again back to back with his old partner. Gorin stepped up next to them.

"We have to get the others on that boat no matter what is coming. I feared an ambush and now it appears I was justified." Vasp said with a sigh.

"Hmmm. Quiet for a moment. I hear Men. Those are not Pith out there." Gorin said.

"Men? There are no Men within Elfwhere other than Hagan and his brother. You must be mistaken, my friend." Vasp answered.

"Hmmm. I am sorry. I hear the language of Men coming from a woman. I assure you there is a female heading this way speaking the human tongue."

Vasp wrinkled his forehead in thought. This was not possible. The Elves always knew who entered their forest and this had not been forewarned. A human female? The armies of the Pith were merely animals without the capacity of speech and their leaders, the Rone'Pith would certainly not be mistaken for females.

Gorin tilted his head to one side, listening intently. He recognized the voice. Somewhere recently he had heard this female's voice. Suddenly, it came to him.

"Hagan, it-" he was suddenly cut off as a group of a dozen figures burst into their midst.

Many men led by one human female skidded to a halt in front of them, weapons raised in defense. The woman looked from face to face finally settling on Hagan. Her black hair was a tangled mess upon her head and as her eyes met Hagan's he noticed the silver necklace around her neck. He gasped in shock.

"Amitee? ... "

"Hagan, I ... "

"How ...? What are you doing here ... ?" he stuttered, slowly walking toward her.

She quickly composed herself and moved up to him, running her palm across his chest as she spoke.

"I ... I couldn't let you go, my love. These men agreed to help me find you. I paid them to find you Hagan and now we can be together again. Together forever as it should be."

He was confused and bewildered. He looked around at the men that accompanied her. They seemed no more than cutthroats and rogues. Swords for hire. Where had she found these ruffians? This all made little sense.

"You know this woman?" Vasp asked with his blade at the ready.

"Yes I do. She is Amitee. She had been my companion for many years up until days ago. I had thought her to be in Lauden where I had left her."

Amitee turned and gazed into the trees the way they had come. She seemed more than a little anxious.

"We are being pursued, Hagan. Those black creatures were right behind us. They outnumber us many times over."

Hagan grabbed Amitee by the upper arm and pulled her along to the edge of the Illdredge.

"We have a way out. A boat. We must go now." he said and then turned to the rest of the group. "Let's go, everyone. Quickly, onto the boat."

Vasp shook his head. There was no other choice, but something was not right. How did these men walk into Elfwhere unnoticed? He would be watchful, he decided. He joined the others.

As one, they waded into the water. Windenn helped D'Pharin to the rope ladders that had been dropped over the side and within scant moments they were all aboard. Amitee's men quickly moved off to the foredecks and kept to themselves. The crew appeared to be comprised of mostly Elves, but by the appearance of the passengers, they had picked up several members of other races as well. This boat had been many places, it seemed, rescuing people from the Pith.

Gorin took the ladder below decks and grabbed an oar. With his help, the boat quickly pulled away from the shore and moved into the center of the river. Harsh shrieks and growls were heard from the shoreline as the Pith reached the river. Orders were barked out by their commander, but far too late. Spears and arrows fell short into the dark water to his dismay. Their lizard beasts would not brave the current of the Illdredge, it being by far the strongest of the Kirkaldin rivers. Soon, the Elven craft was out of sight, its passengers safe for the time being. The Rone'Pith spat curses at the sky and ground his fangs into his coarse black lip. Mournenhile would be most displeased. He would blame his soldiers as always.

Now to continue the burning of the forest. Down with the skinny ones.

They spent the next hour speeding the vessel downriver with as much swiftness as possible. Once they could relax and take in their surroundings, they noticed that the air had completely cleared.

D'Pharin sat at the rear of the boat upon a large coil of rope watching the waves dwindle behind them. This boat was an astonishing craft, reflecting the beauty of the Elves in every curve. The prow and stern sat much higher off the water than the main section of the boat like a crescent moon gliding down the Illdredge. All along the outer rails, a pattern of Elm leaves had been carved. He had the urge to rise and run his hands along them. He had mostly recovered by now from his battle with the lizard steed, with only a hint of stiffness throughout his upper body. He could not overcome the feeling of extreme exhaustion, however, and soon his eyelids grew heavy.

Windenn and Gorin stood at the stern rail, each voicing their concern with the sudden appearance of Amitee. Neither trusted the woman and the circumstances were altogether strange.

"There's somethin' hiding behind those black eyes, Grimandin. She's hiding somethin', I can feel it." And it was true. Inside of Windenn a sense of danger had cropped up. Not a case of intuition, she had had those before. This was new. This feeling left no doubt. Make no mistake, she knew this to be true. Amitee had evil intentions.

"Hmmm ... things do not add up, do they? I find it difficult to believe that these men just happened through Lauden and she had the coin to hire them. Men like that do not take on search and rescue assignments. Theirs is usually a task of destruction or theft. I have seen their like many times. Be wary, Woodwarden. Be wary." Gorin said quietly.

Shindire had disappeared somewhere below decks and Vasparian had joined the captain in his quarters. The boat seemed filled to the brim with refugees, many bearing the scars of battle. A small group of Elven children played near the bow, occasionally scolded by a woman in a long golden skirt. All of the males on board eyed the shoreline on both sides, fearing ambush at any time.

Below, Hagan and Amitee were in the midst of an intense conversation. She covered his face with kisses and refused to let him go.

"Amitee, hold it a moment. Let me speak." he said, attempting to hold her at arm's length.

"Speak all you want, my love. How I've missed you. I cannot live without you, Hagan. Come back with me."

Her words were soothing and dreamlike to his ears and once again he remembered how she had held his heart all those years. He felt weakened, the energy falling from him and he lost the will to argue. She had always been able to lead him around like a dog on a leash. He had never cared. Now he did, but he was in her control.

"Come, Hagan. We will find a cabin. You need rest, my love." she whispered, brushing the soot from his cheeks.

She was right. He needed rest. Suddenly, exhaustion hit him like a stone wall and he could not fight it. Together, they moved down the narrow hall, he leaning on her. He wondered where her escorts had gone.

I suppose they have completed their task. They found me. Just how did they find me?

The remainder of the day was rather uneventful, the boat quickly slipping down the river, gradually departing the great forest of Elfwhere. There were no signs of the Pith along the banks, no smoke in the air. The passengers had long since calmed and settled into more mundane activities. Men played cards and swapped stories, women corralled children and prepared an evening meal. Wonderful smells encircled the vessel as the moon began to rise through the dense branches and leaves.

D'Pharin, Gorin and Windenn had gathered near a makeshift table at the stern, plates nearly overflowing with vegetables and bread.

"Where did Hagan get off to?" D'Pharin asked, his cheeks full.

"Hmmm. One can only guess." Gorin answered with a sly wink.

Windenn glared at the Troll and did not speak. The sharp pangs of jealousy jabbed her insides. She was confused. She did not want Hagan. What good could come of it? Then again, what was not to like? Especially now. More and more he had become the hero once more. It was there in his gestures and his posture. It was clear that he was a leader among men and she understood how so many had followed him into battle nearly a decade ago.

Ah! This is pointless. He does not feel the same, I know it. And now this Amitee apears and sweeps him away.

Her anger rose as she imagined the two of them together.

Damn it all!

She made the decision to sleep there on the deck that night. Gorin and D'Pharin remained there as well and talked until the moon was high overhead.

Hagan slept deeply, his breathing loud in the tiny cabin and Amitee watched. Her nude body lie close to his, her arm on his chest. She had always been able to seduce him and this time was no different. She watched his chest slowly rise, his eyes fluttering occasionally under his lids.

If the council had not summoned him, they would have remained together forever. That was how it was supposed to have been. But he had left with the Troll. Left her behind like a discarded toy.

And that is where she had failed. Keep him docile so that he would never rise up again. Keep him secreted away in Lauden until he died of old age. Now she must follow through with her task. There could only be one outcome. She felt a small twinge in her stomach at the thought but there truly was no other way. She had known that this was a possibility since the beginning.

Below the small wooden cot on which they lay, she reached, her hand finding its way into the large leather sack she had placed there earlier. She drew her hand up to her chest, now clutching a slim dagger with a blade the length of her hand. She breathed slowly, her eyes never leaving Hagan's face.

Carefully she raised herself up into a sitting position, disturbing the cot only slightly and tightened her grip on the blade's curved handle. She supported her weight with one hand and lifted the blade high over her head.

Sorry, love. It was nice.

The tiny cabin door flew violently inward, snapping the wooden frame and jarring Hagan into wakefulness. Windenn charged through the doorway, teeth bared, and hit the shocked Amitee in the sternum with her closed fist. A bright flame of white lightning exploded from her and drove Amitee into the far wall. Her mouth hung open. The dagger hit the planked floor with a loud clank. Her wide eyes stared out at nothing as smoke drifted from her throat. Face down she fell, her forehead striking the floor near Windenn's feet.

The Woodwarden stared at the woman's naked form in a trance-like state, her hand clenched in a tight fist and held at her thigh. The white-hot glow began to fade around her fingers and the room began to grow dim once more.

Hagan thought he could see a slight halo around her as she stood there. Power was all around her in the air. Power and fear. He was suddenly so afraid of her. And Amitee was dead? Killed by Windenn. What was this?

"Windenn?" he whispered slowly. "What just happened here?"

She slowly turned her face toward his like a sleepwalker just waking from her dream, still not truly seeing what was in front of her. One lone tear ran down her left cheek and dropped onto her shirt and suddenly she snapped. Realization came quickly to her face and her eyes shot back to Amitee.

"Hagan ... She was going to kill you ... I-"

"What? Why would-" he started.

Windenn stepped to the side to reveal the dagger that still lie near Amitee's lifeless hand.

"Wind. How is this possible? Why? ... " Hagan said, nearly in tears himself.

"Hagan, I felt it. From up on deck, I could nearly see her as she reached for the dagger. I don't know what's happening inside of me ... Something inside of me ... has changed ... "

"It's the necklace, Hagan. Her necklace is full of dark magic. With its power, she drained you. That is how she controlled you. I fear it was given her by Mournenhile himself. He is afraid of you and now that you are free of her-well, she was sent to kill you. Those men weren't hired by her, they are servants of Mournenhile."

Windenn cried out loud as she explained.

He must believe her. He must!

Hagan stared open-mouthed at Amitee's back, then at the necklace she still wore. She had never been without it, it was true. This would explain his sudden revitalization at his departure from Lauden. It made sense. She had kept him weak all of this time.

"I believe you, Windenn. I do." he said calmly. "It's just so hard to accept. I've been fooled. All of these years the enemy was in my bed."

She nodded and wiped her nose on her sleeve. She was so frightened of this. This thing that was building inside of her.

Please, Hagan. Don't be afraid of me. I could not bear that.

"Windenn, it's alright. Come, sit. It's going to be alright."

She hesitantly sat at the edge of the cot and could not take her eyes from Amitee. She had killed. Not with bow or sword, but something far worse. Something that seemed almost out of her control.

"You saved my life, Windenn."

She nodded.

"How long have you had ... this?" Hagan asked hesitantly.

She brushed hair from her eyes.

"Since the Wisp. Something happened. She did something to me." she said, her eyes cast downward.

Hagan put a hand on her shoulder.

"This is sorcery, Windenn and strong sorcery at that."

"I can't control it, Hagan. I don't know how-I'm afraid it'll kill me. Am I strong enough to contain this power?" She stopped abruptly, her eyes turning to his.

"No one else can know about this-"

"Windenn ... "

"No one! Promise me, Hagan. No one will trust me. I know how it is with mages. I've heard the talk."

"No one would treat you that way. We-"

"Hagan, you must promise me." she pleaded.

He exhaled and shook his head.

"Very well. How do we get her out of here without anyone noticing? What about her men?"

Just then came a loud knock on the cabin door. They both jumped.

"Who's there?" Hagan called out.

Gorin's deep voice came from the other side of the door.

"Hagan? Is everything alright? I cannot find the Woodwarden. Have you heard from her? She is nowhere on the deck."

"We need his help, Windenn." Hagan whispered. "You know you can trust him."

She squeezed her eyes closed tightly, then nodded.

"Let him in." she said.

"Come in, Gorin." Hagan called.

The door creaked open, the Troll's large head ducking to navigate the doorway. He stepped inside and immediately saw the dead woman on the floor. He looked to Hagan in confusion.

"Shut the door." Hagan said and Gorin quickly did so.

"Hagan, Windenn ... Hmmmm, what is going on here? What happened?" he stuttered, his eyes darting about in shock.

Windenn spoke up, explaining the details of what had transpired, all of the while pleading with her eyes that Gorin would understand. When she had finished, there came a moment of silence, the Troll searching their faces intensely.

"Hmmm. In the interest of secrecy, we must remove her body, however her men will come searching for her when she does not join them come the morn. When daylight comes and they do not find her, they will not be happy."

Hagan had been correct, they could trust Gorin. She should have never doubted her old friend. They had been through so much together.

A loud commotion reached them from above, the sound of booted feet moving quickly and muffled shouts of surprise. As one, their eyes searched the ceiling, straining to hear the cause. Then, from outside the cabin, Vasparian's voice.

"Hagan! There is something you must see, my friend. Quickly!" he shouted with much urgency.

"Just a moment, Vasp." Hagan answered. Windenn turned away as he stood and dressed. Gorin bent down and gathered Amitee's body, gently lifting her and placing her upon Hagan's cot. Her eyes were open, frozen in an expression of utter shock and disbelief. He placed a sheet of linen over her face and turned for the door.

Windenn snatched up the dagger and stuck it in her belt.

"What about the necklace?" she asked.

"Well, we know I can't touch it." Hagan said, his hands in the air.

"Hmmm. Mournenhile is aware of it. He most likely knows its whereabouts. Perhaps he will send someone after it. It would be best to discard the thing, don't you agree?" Gorin said.

Windenn and Hagan nodded simultaneously.

"However, if we get rid of it here, Mournenhile will send his minions into Elfwhere to retrieve it." Windenn added.

"True." Hagan said. "Let's hold onto it and turn it over to Councilcrane once we reach Harquinn."

"Agreed." Gorin said.

Together, they left the cabin and Amitee's body, heading for the ladder. As they neared it, shouts could be heard clearly from above. Were they under attack?

Vasparian ran up, sword drawn and eyes intense.

"Hagan. Get up here, man. Some dark sorcery is about us." he said.

They reached the deck and looked all about them. Near the stern rail, a crowd had gathered, staring down near their feet.

"What the hell is it, Vasp?" Hagan yelled, reaching for his blade.

Vasp did not answer. In moments, they had joined the crowd. D'Pharin was there, hand over his mouth. He walked away as his brother walked up.

As Hagan pushed his way through those gathered, he stopped short, puzzled. On the deck, strewn about like great wet leaves were several dark cloaks and pieces of a lighter pale material, nearly pink in color. The cloaks were familiar and almost immediately recognition came. Amitee's men.

Where had they gone?

The others appeared hesitant to get too close but Hagan could not resist. He knelt, his blade held out and lifted one of the soggy pieces from the deck planking. As he pulled it up and to him, small bits of pinkish material fell away and dropped heavily near his boots. He heard a quick gasp from those around him and gave a second look.

What was this? Is that ... a face?

He threw his blade to the deck and backed away.

It was their skins. They had not only left their clothing, but their outer skins as well. They had not been men at all.

"Wind!" he shouted as he covered his face with his hand.

He did not need to explain. Everyone understood. Several members of the crew grabbed buckets and washed the sickly remains overboard. It quickly sunk below the surface of the Illdredge but would not leave their minds for some time. Mournenhile's demons donning the skins of men. That such evil had easily walked among them unchecked disturbed them. They would all need to be much more careful in the future.

Vasparian put a hand on Hagan's shoulder, startling him and spinning him around.

"Your woman may not be too happy when she discovers this. I'm sure she paid them handsomely to escort the two of you back to Lauden." he stated.

"Vasp, let's talk. Somewhere more private." Hagan said.

The two moved into the wheelhouse, Vasp politely dismissing the captain and Hagan related the events that had taken place in his cabin. Vasp remained silent, only his eyes betraying his inner emotion. As Hagan's tale ended, he whistled quietly.

"You certainly know how to pick women, don't you? Who else but Hagan Marindel would end up with a servant of Mournenhile as a lover. Wind. Perhaps you should strike up a relationship with your savior, the Woodwarden. A woman that risks her neck to save yours is worth keeping around, eh?"

Hagan laughed.

"Amusing as usual, Vasp. What about Amitee? Her body, that is?"

"Do not worry. I will have someone take care of it."

"By the way, Vasp, where is Shindire? Did she vanish as well?"

"No, no, the captain has given her access to his logbooks. I assume she is hiding somewhere studying them. She seemed very interested but I suppose that is her lot in life. Thirst for knowledge and all that."

Hagan only grumbled. He still did not trust the High Elven Graelund. After Amitee, how could he trust anyone? She had fooled him for so many years. How had he missed it? A necklace. That's all she had needed to keep him down.

Never again.

Never.

Chapter Seven

The next night, they had gathered on the deck near the wheelhouse, supping on hot loaves of bread and beef. They had sailed nearly out of the territory of Elfwhere now and as the trees thinned, dark mountains appeared far in the distant east, the moonlight catching their soaring peaks. Harquinn would still be several days away but Hagan found himself anxious. He dreaded the council's request and yet a fire had been ignited within him. He yearned for a new cause. His life needed reason again.

D'Pharin looked at his brother and shook his head.

"What is it?" Hagan asked, placing his plate on the deck.

"Well, I don't know if I am the only one but I've had the strangest dreams the last few nights. Not really nightmares but very weird." D'Pharin said, staring at his boots.

"Trust me." Hagan replied. "You're not the only one. I dream of people that I have never seen before yet, they seem to know me. The same woman follows me, never speaking. She seems familiar." He told no one of his dream of the Wind. He was still sorting that one out.

"I dream of storms." Windenn said quietly.

"Storms?" Gorin asked, his interest suddenly piqued.

"Dark and distant storms. Deep, rumbling thunder rolling across the world. The sky churning like a black snake. I always wake before it reaches its full fury. I never see the rain ... " Her voice seemed strange and faraway.

"The High Elves see power in dreams. Learn to decipher them and you know yourself." Shindire suddenly added. The others eyed her curiously as she continued writing in her large journal, her eyes never leaving the page.

Vasp cleared his throat and stood, stretching his back.

"Very true, Graelund. Dreams can be interpreted in so many ways. How can one be sure they have deciphered the correct meaning? Is a dream of flying a need for freedom and joy or a dream of escape from some sense of peril?"

"I see your point, brother. You know of the many schools across the sea where this study is taught. Dreamlore has been researched for thousands of years. I am certain that our people have narrowed down the possibilities by now." she said, eyes still on her writing.

"We need not close our minds to all other avenues, correct?" Vasparian asked.

Her eyes suddenly met his, unmoving. With that look she seemed to say 'you dare question me?' She returned her attention to the journal, her quill scratching away.

"These dreams, Woodwarden ... " Gorin said. "Do they frighten you?"

"I ... not really. They captivate me and hold me fast. No matter how I struggle, I cannot take my eyes from the sky. It commands my attention."

"Very foreboding, Woodwarden." said the Troll, searching her face.

"Indeed." Shindire added and rose to her feet. She returned her porcelain dish to the wooden tray that had served them and departed, journal under one arm.

"Young Marindel, are you up to a little Elven night-fishing?" Vasparian asked D'Pharin.

"Sounds fun. Show me the way, General."

The two of them waved their farewells and made their way to the stern. They soon had long wooden poles baited and the lines cast overboard. The others could see their silhouettes as they reclined amidst coils of rope and conversed.

"Hmmm, we must discuss this secret of yours, Windenn. What is happening?" Gorin asked with concern.

She remained silent for a moment, her eyes closed.

"Let's leave her be for now, Gorin. This is obviously difficult for her. I cannot imagine what is going through her head right now." Hagan said.

"No, no. I'll try." she said softly.

"When did you first become aware of this thing inside of you?" Gorin asked.

"It's not a thing, Grimandin. It's magic. I'm certain. I've pieced together all of my thoughts and memories from the recent past and the only possible answer is this; S'darin's blood entered my system and started a change."

"But everyone knows it takes years, sometimes decades for magic to make itself visible." Hagan said.

"The Wisp, Hagan. From what ye've told me, her birds tore into me. Something of the Wisp dwells inside of me as well. S'darin is here." She laid a palm on her chest. "And the Wisp is here. Those combined powers have done this t'me. That's the only explanation that makes sense. From what I know of history and legend, this sort of thing has never happened. I am the first."

"Hmmm, it makes sense, yes. How can you be so calm and unafraid? No one can know where this will lead. What if you are not strong enough to contain such power?" the Troll asked.

"Then I die."

They all sat silently for a moment, staring up at the night sky.

"I don't want anyone else to know except D'Pharin. He should be told. It isn't right to keep this from him." said Windenn with another glance at the two fishermen. She wondered if they would all make it out of this. Some dark finale awaited them, somehow she knew, and harm would come to one or more of them. She knew.

"Vasparian can also be trusted. If he gives his word it is as iron. He will not break it." Hagan said.

"Then he is the last. Our High Elven companion has yet to gain my trust and at this time, I would rather she not know our secret. My secret. Agreed?"

Gorin and Hagan nodded. Hagan stood, clapping her affectionately on the back.

"I'll fill those two in. Who knows, maybe I'll catch a cinderfin. If so, you'll have to help me reel it in." He laughed at Gorin as he strode off toward the stern.

"Hmmm. If you catch one, I'll be glad to help." the Troll said with a grin. They both knew this to be unlikely, the cinderfin being largely a saltwater fish and fairly scarce in recent years. They commonly grew to a size that would dwarf their present craft; even Gorin could never land the beast.

Windenn soon sensed the Stone Troll's eyes searching her face. His concern was evident.

"Relax, Grimandin. I don't think I'd be given this gift, if it were simply plannin' t'destroy me." she said.

"It's a gift then, is it? Hmmm, I am not so sure."

"All I ask it that ye stop worryin'. Everything will turn out fine." She tapped him in the chest with the back of her hand. He was currently having a hard time seeing her as a war buddy and not a helpless child. She had changed. He wondered how much of Windenn was left in there. Perhaps he was being overly dramatic.

Hmmm. I have to stop this or I'll drive myself mad!

Together they sat and talked for hours, long into the night concerning many things. Hagan did catch a fish but only a suntail, not a cinderfin.

Two days later, Gorin was up just before the sun, munching a crust of bread and watching the southern horizon. His eyes could barely discern rolling hills that eventually led to Harquinn. They would soon leave the river and make the remainder of the journey on foot. Something troubled him. He could not yet see it, but his nostrils picked up the faint odor of smoke. Something burned to the south. He held his worry and trudged to the bow.

One of the Elven deckhands met him there, two mugs of dark tea in his hands and offered the Troll one of them. He graciously accepted, the warmth of the drink soothing his throat, comforting his belly.

The Elf looked to the south with concern, his brows narrowing as he contemplated something.

"Hmmm, you smell it as well ... " Gorin said.

"Yes. Something is not right in the hills." the Elf replied as he leaned against the rail. Nothing on two legs had the senses of an Elf, Gorin knew, and his worry grew.

"What do you gather from this, friend?" asked Gorin, draining his mug of all but the dregs.

"I cannot be certain." his companion answered and Gorin knew the Elf was hiding something. He chose not to press the matter. Together, they would find out soon enough.

Gorin sensed a presence behind him and turned. Shindire leaned there against the wheelhouse. Her dark hair had been pulled tight and piled atop her head, fastened with a thin silver chain. Her icy blue eyes met his and held them momentarily and he could see that she knew what awaited them as well. She smirked and continued to scribble in her book. Gorin had the sudden urge to snatch the thing and pore over it, learning all of her dark secrets. He turned away from her, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

He felt the need to wake the others, but resisted it. Let them have their rest.

Roughly an hour later, the others joined him, scratching heads and yawning, squinting their eyes against the bright dawn light. Vasparian said his hellos and marched off to the captain's quarters. The others gathered round and pulled up barrels and crates to sit upon. A quick breakfast was had by all, consisting of fish from the night before and dried fruit from the boat stores.

"How much longer, Gorin?" D'Pharin asked groggily.

"We will go ashore within the next hour. From there, roughly a few hour's march, I would say."

"Harquinn lies just beyond those hills, brother." Hagan added with a smile. Vast, deep green mounds covered the horizon, dotted sporadically with small trees and wildflowers. Like gentle waves, they slowly faded at the edges, giving way to lush vales hidden in shadow. Were it not for the hills, the grand city of Harquinn would be within plain sight. Hagan could remember every detail as if he had left just yesterday. The people of that fair city had a love for the color purple and it showed in nearly every aspect of their surroundings but most visibly in the great cloth awnings that sheltered nearly every door and window.

Most buildings within the city were of stone; the yellowish stone quarried nearby in Phaest and beautifully wrought. The most important buildings, schools, temples and government structures were all domes and high arches whereas the lesser structures tended toward the blockier styles. Together, the two manners of architecture meshed like a masterpiece.

He had missed that city from the morning he had ridden away and given up the heroic life. He did not want to be a hero but he realized that he wanted to be something.

Scant moments passed and he glanced up to the Harquinn hills again, his eyes searching for her high towers. There appeared to be a dusky haze over the area and he thought he could see faint trails of smoke in the distance, drifting toward the sky.

What?

Harquinn burned!

"What in hell?" he shouted and spun to face those around him.

"Do you see that? The city's on fire!" he shouted.

D'Pharin ran to the rail with Windenn, shielding his eyes with one hand. He turned to Hagan with a puzzled expression.

"How can that be?" he asked.

"This is not right. Something is not right." Windenn murmured, finger to her lips.

"Hmmm, yes. I sensed as much earlier but could not be sure. Something is amiss within the city. It seems that fires burn throughout. I cannot imagine why. No force could have reached Harquinn this quickly. Surely they would have met resistance in Mon Glaemen and Chur Linse. This is strange." the Troll said.

Moments later, they all stood upon the banks of the river, checking their supplies. The smell of smoke was now very obvious.

The boat continued on to the south and was soon out of sight around a bend.

Shindire strolled up, her eyes buried in her books, showing no outward concern.

"Why must Man destroy Man? They know little but destruction. That which they create lasts for but a blink of an eye." she stated simply.

Hagan glared at her through his brows. He had had nearly enough of her condescension. High Elf? Hardly. Luckily, she had nothing more to say, simply walking there among them as they neared Harquinn.

What had happened? In Hagan's absence, what had changed? Gorin was right. It could not be an attack. What then?

The march to the city seemed to go on forever. The group could barely contain themselves, the anticipation had grown so intense. They needed to know. Hagan had set out first, slowly pulling away until he was some distance from the rest of them. Shindire brought up the rear, seeming much too calm. What was it with her?

He had covered nearly half the distance when they reached the rolling hills, slowing a bit. His eyes never left the horizon as the others caught up to him.

"The smell is horrible. What has happened?" D'Pharin questioned just behind him.

"Whatever it is, it can't be good." the Woodwarden added.

"Hmmm. Rest assured, friends, the council still retains control. Let there be no doubt." Gorin explained.

"I agree." Vasp said, his face all too serious. "Had Councilcrane fallen, we of Elfwhere would have had news long ago. Mournenhile could not march across the land unnoticed. The fires that now rage, burn from within. This is some sort of inner turmoil. It has been building for many years and now ... "

The others turned to look at him but none spoke. They were all in agreement. Some sort of conflict had erupted inside of the city and they traveled toward it.

Hours passed and Hagan finally climbed the last of the hills. As he trudged up the grassy slope, the hard and choking air biting his lungs, the full view of the city suddenly stretched out below him. It was much as he remembered it, vast and intricately built but large plumes of smoke rose from various sections of the city. Harquinn was hidden in haze, preventing him from making out details. The cause of the fires still was not evident. One thing was certain, no dark armies had camped outside of her walls. The city was not under siege.

Far above everything, the great spires of the Hall of Councilcrane soared, their foreign architecture standing out starkly against the browns and purples of the other buildings that surrounded it.

D'Pharin called up to him as he began to climb.

"What do you see, Hagan? What is it?"

"Well, whatever it is, it's happening inside. Harquinn is at war with itself. Dammit, it was only a matter of time, I suppose."

In moments, the others joined him. Together they stood for some time gazing down upon their destination with a strange feeling of uncertainty.

"So this is Harquinn." Shindire said, her journal at her side for once. "Interesting ... "

No one responded. Instead, Hagan led them down the far side of the hill and into the lush valley that cradled the city. Gorin gradually moved up alongside of him, a subtle smile on his stony face.

"What?" Hagan asked

"Hmmm. Nothing, my friend. I am pleased that my task has neared completion. That is all."

"Right, only several days later than the council had requested." Hagan remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, that is true. It is my hope that my tardiness may be overlooked. Many thought it an impossible thing to return Lord Hagan Marindel to Harquinn, home of the Battle of the Black Sun." Gorin said.

"There you go with that 'Lord' garbage again." said Hagan with a shake of his head.

"That is something you should get used to, friend. Within Harquinn, you are a hero, a defender. Be prepared, Hagan. You will see much here that may prove uncomfortable." Gorin said.

Hagan only grumbled.

"I can't say that I look forward to it." he managed.

Gorin simply laughed and fell back to join the others. He and Vasp struck up a conversation concerning wizards and magic in general, producing many a glance from the Woodwarden.

Inside, Windenn hoped to learn something from the council simply by observation. She felt the need to gain every ounce of knowledge that she could gather while still retaining her secrets. She knew as all others did that a novice wizard was a target. Many would want her blood once her secret was revealed. To become strong enough to defend herself would be her immediate goal.

"Something troubles you, Woodwarden. It is written all over your face. Care to share your thoughts?"

It was Shindire who strode up beside her, sly smile on her face.

"I'm worried about what will greet us in Harquinn. Something is not right." Windenn replied.

"Very interesting. A lie, but interesting nonetheless." she said in a biting tone. She stared intensely at Windenn, who matched her gaze.

"What?"

"Do not be offended, girl. It is a gift, my ability to discern lie from truth. Perhaps it is simply intuition. Nevertheless, you were lying. I can see it in your eyes. It is not Harquinn that concerns you, of that I am certain."

"Go away, Shindire." Windenn whispered through gritted teeth.

Shindire smiled, bowed sarcastically and fell back.

Vasparian had caught most of the conversation and felt it his responsibility to ease Windenn's mind. He slowed, allowing her to catch up to him. They walked for a moment in silence, their eyes on the grey forms of the towers of Harquinn. They would be inside the walls within the hour.

"Do not allow her to anger you. It is her way of testing all of us. High Elves consider themselves above everything else, but they secretly want to be part of our worlds. This, they would never admit to, of course. She waits for us to prove our worthiness." he said with a laugh.

"She showed no concern or sadness when her manservant was killed. Do you remember?" Windenn said with a quick look over her shoulder.

"She dares not show emotion. It could be seen as a weakness."

"That's ridiculous. How can they be so different from you? How did that happen? Those of Elfwhere are the most precious of peoples. I have never seen more kindness and compassion than within your forest home. Her home must be without heart indeed."

"Not all of her people act as she does. Give it time. She may surprise you."

"I doubt it." Windenn remarked.

Vasp smiled.

"Don't give up on her yet, Windenn." he said.

Once again, they were silent for a time. To the south, dim in the distance, a long line of wagons was becoming visible. Most likely merchants and traders making their way from Pinaven Lake with massive loads of merchandise to sell. Regardless of the inner war, they continued their business. The smell of coin outweighed the risk. Their animals kicked up clouds of dust that eventually added to the thickness of the smoky air.

At the opposite end of the city, a group of what seemed to be soldiers made their way to the northern gates. Metal glistened in the murky light as they snaked toward the walls.

"Strange ... " Vasparian remarked and quickly walked up to join Hagan, Windenn on his heels.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Harquinn has no army to speak of. Unless things have changed in recent times." Vasp said.

"It has been scant weeks since my departure. At that time, Harquinn's soldiers numbered very few indeed. It seems that the old debate has become far more." Gorin added, his dark eyes squinting, attempting to count the distant figures.

"There are hundreds." Shindire said, eyes on her journal.

"Yes." Vasp agreed. Only one of Elven descent could have counted them from their vantage-point.

"Might I suggest that we enter the city from the south?" D'Pharin said.

"Hmmm. I concur." Gorin agreed with a laugh.

"All we must do is to reach the council." Hagan said, instinctively gripping his sword hilt.

"Wait."

Windenn grasped Gorin at the elbow, pulling him back. Her eyes held intense fear suddenly and the Troll turned to her.

"Woodwarden? Windenn?" he said.

"Grimandin, I ... we cannot go there. Something is wrong. Something dark." she whispered these words, concealing them from Shindire as best she could.

"There is nothing to fear, Woodwarden. Davaris waits for us within Councilkeep. Civil war or no, Davaris still holds control of Harquinn without doubt. We will be protected."

"Something is warning me, Grimandin. The voice sounds true." Windenn pleaded. "The voice in here." She pushed her temple with a finger.

"Woodwarden, you yourself admit that this is new to you. How can you be certain what any of it means? Perhaps it is just a warning to be careful. A sense of danger but nothing specific."

"I ... " she started.

"Stick with me. I would never let anything harm you."

This seemed to calm her somewhat but she did not release his arm. Instead, she allowed him to pull her along beside him. She had trusted him so many times in the past. She could trust him once more.

But the voice. So definite. Intense. What was it?

She traveled this way, her fingers white as they dug into Gorin's flesh until they joined the merchant train as it moved along Harquinn's southern road. The smell of fish reached them, coupled with perfumes and oils brought from some island in the Slatebreaker Sea, they surmised. The traders were comprised of odd-seeming peoples of foreign descent, dark of skin and sharp of feature. Their voices were high and their speech was very alien and came out in short, quick bursts. How they understood each other was a mystery to them.

Several bright wooden coaches bounced along behind them, painted with arcane symbols and perched dragons. Dreamsingers most likely, D'Pharin thought. A city the size of Harquinn would attract many with their particular gift. He wondered why they traveled here with the obvious turmoil that raged within the city. The promise of gold was worth the risk, he guessed. As he gazed around him, he suddenly realized how far from Lauden he had come. In mere days he had seen sights that his friends back home would never believe. Would he return to tell the tale? Was there anything for him to return to?

Directly in front of him, Gorin was all smiles as he trudged along within the caravan. He had been successful, proven himself. Then, abruptly, he found himself saddened. What now? This quest had been so important to him and it was at an end. He dreaded returning to Rathnok now and wasn't sure why. He had become part of something important. Something that could change the face of Kirkaldin. Had he made a difference? Bringing Hagan back to Harquinn was a great thing. If anyone could face down the armies of Mournenhile, it was Hagan Marindel.

Gorin wanted to stay. He wanted to remain part of history. He did not wish to leave this group but knew that the elders of his home wanted his immediate return. He had other responsibilities that could not be discarded. His face grew long at the thought of leaving the others. Hagan, D'Pharin, Vasp and especially Windenn. He had not realized how much he had missed her company until now. He must stop this. To think of defying the elders! He would not dare. A Stone Troll did not disobey an elder.

Upon reaching the southern gates, they discovered how far into utter chaos Harquinn had fallen. Several guards bearing long golden shields argued with a group of Dreamsingers, their faces contorted in anger and frustration. Something was strange about their uniforms as if they had been hastily put together. This was not the proper uniform for a city guard, Hagan knew. These men had been recently put in place and obviously were unaccustomed to such work. Eventually, the Dreamsingers in their painted coaches were led through and into the city and the rest of the caravan poured through the gates unhindered. The guards had evidently given up on keeping the order and did not so much as glance in their direction as they passed.

For the most part, Harquinn was much as Hagan remembered. The towering buildings dotted with balconies and high walkways of stone still stood proudly against the sky and of course every window bore the purple awning. All around, however, confused people milled about, some running and others sticking to the alleyways. D'Pharin and Windenn narrowly missed being knocked to the ground by a fleeing group of youngsters clutching a leather sack and soon pursued by a large merchantman gripping a wooden club in his fist. His lush, purple surcoat had become most disheveled as he chased the boys and he tried to straighten it, coming to a stop in front of Hagan's group.

"Damned thieves! How can a decent man make a living in this place? There is no law! You all saw that, didn't you?" he screamed out, yet no one in the crowd looked his way. Ignored, he shook his head and mumbled something about moving his business into the north. "What happened to that accursed council of ours, eh?"

Hagan moved up to the man cautiously.

"Excuse me, sir? What has happened here in the city?" he said and the man turned to him, face red with exertion.

"Happened? Those in power are having an argument, can't you see? Why, it seems no one agrees-" The man paused then, spittle on his lower lip and did a double take.

"Hey, aren't you-? No... yes, yes, Lord Hagan! It is you, isn't it? Oh, Wind! Lord Hagan Marindel once again in Harquinn!" he yelled to everyone that could hear. Hagan held out his hands in an attempt to quiet the man.

"Sir, please. Do not draw attention."

"Everyone! Lord Hagan Marindel has returned!" he shouted and every head turned. "No more civil war, right? You've come to straighten them out, right? This is a glorious day indeed! Must go home and tell the wife, yes!" With that he scuffled off through the growing mass of people that had begun to gather.

Hagan could only sigh and put his face in his hand. All around him, people stared and talked amongst themselves, pointing in his direction.

"Wind, let's get the hell out of here." he groaned as someone stroked his back, wanting nothing more than to touch him.

"So be it, Hagan." Gorin agreed. "We shall cut through Marindel Square."

"Cut through what?" D'Pharin asked.

"Oh, my apologies. I had forgotten, yes. They renamed the old Cathedral Square after Hagan had left for Lauden. There are many things in this place with your family name, inns and taverns, why there is even a brothel on the east side tha-"

"Alright, Gorin! Let's get moving." Hagan growled.

Together, they moved through the crowd into an alley. They made their way quickly across the stone roadways and were soon out of the busy gateway. Try as he might, Hagan, could not hide himself well. At nearly every turn, he was recognized, starting a new commotion and adding to his aggravation. Customers stepped out of shops and stood on the street watching as he walked by. They looked as if they had seen the Wind himself strolling down the lane. Hagan wanted nothing more than to hide his face but there was nowhere to go. Moments later, they emerged from a dim alleyway into what had now been named Marindel Square and Hagan froze, staring up above him.

"Wind ... " he whispered and the others followed his gaze.

There in the center of the square, towering over all that had gathered there, stood an enormous statue. It was solid bronze by the look of it and rose to the height of the nearest buildings, casting grey shadows nearly to Hagan's feet. Two figures loomed there, locked in mortal battle, one holding the other to the ground at the point of his blade.

"Hagan ... " D'Pharin whispered. "Is that you?"

Hagan shook his head, unblinking.

"Wind, what is this?" he finally uttered. "That is not how it was. Gorin, what the hell is this?"

"Hmmm. It is as the people remember it, Hagan. You defeated Malhain that day at the edge of a blade. This is Harquinn's representation of that fateful day."

"But ... look how huge I seem next to Malhain-"

"They flatter you. The statues physical size symbolizes your undeniable victory. Do not concern yourself with details, my friend."

Hagan shook his head in disgust.

"It's wrong. I-" Hagan's voice faded into silence as a crowd moved toward him, some glancing from his face to the statue high above.

People began calling his name and pointing, their eyes wide with joy. Some even wept.

This cannot be real.

Stop this.

"Lord Hagan. Is it you? Is it truly you?" one cried out, brushing his cheek.

"Lord Marindel has returned!" another shouted from a distance.

He stared at their faces, his mouth hanging open in shock. Gorin held the growing throng at bay, his great arms outstretched.

"Hmmm, please my good people. Lord Hagan has important matters to attend. Councilcrane awaits." he announced with pride.

With this, an audible hush fell over the crowd, low whispers springing up everywhere. They stepped back, allowing Hagan some room to move forward.

"What's happening, Gorin?" he asked.

"At the mention of the council, they seemed almost frightened." Vasparian offered from the rear.

"I told ye. Something is wrong here." Windenn added as she reached for Gorin's support.

The sound of hooves on stone abruptly filled the square. Several soldiers entered the area, helmets glistening in the sun. Hagan immediately noticed the lack of the crane on their breastplates as had been in the past. The balance of power had indeed shifted. The soldiers roughly moved their horses through the crowd, knocking people aside and stopped before Hagan. The foremost glanced down his nose at him and sneered.

"This is not Hagan Marindel." he spat. "Look at him. Does this look like a hero to you?"

Hagan took a step forward in defiance.

"Hagan ... " Gorin warned. He then addressed the soldier.

"Sir, it seems you are mistaken. For this is Lord Hagan Marindel, Defender of Harquinn and Hero of the Black Sun. Far from the west I have brought him at the will of the council. He has earned your respect, now pay it."

The soldier's response was cut short as a new rider entered the square and quickly maneuvered his steed toward them. A few short whispers and the lead soldiers demeanor changed, his face draining of color.

"Lord Hagan," the newcomer said. "Your presence is requested at Councilkeep. Welcome back to Harquinn, my Lord and I apologize for the pup." He nodded toward the now shrinking soldier to his left.

He stared at the ground, avoiding their eyes.

"I am truly sorry, my Lord. I ... I didn't know ..." he muttered.

"Now you do." Hagan answered and followed the others across the square and up a narrow street, the others just behind him.

"He nearly soiled himself, did you see that?" D'Pharin asked excitedly. "Hagan, this is wonderful. Look at everything that honors you. Street names, statues-Look there, Marindel Inn! And whose likeness is painted on the sign? You! A little more muscular than the real thing but it's supposed to be you, right?"

Hagan could not help but smile at his brother's attitude. D'Pharn would probably enjoy this were their roles reversed. Hagan, however, had never felt more out of place.

As they traveled toward Councilkeep, a large group of people accompanied them, kept at a distance by the armed men. Vendors were already working the crowd, selling anything with Hagan's name or likeness. It was an odd feeling.

The one thing that did not bother him was the young children. They pointed and imitated his fighting style with wooden swords and shields. An older blonde boy had assumed Hagan's role and the others pretended to be the Pith. It was all rather amusing.

Several large pieces of fruit suddenly sailed in Hagan's direction, the nearest narrowly missing his head.

"Go back into hiding, Marindel! It's your fault that the dark one has returned. You'll bring it down on us again!" someone shouted.

The soldiers barked commands and the offender was gathered up and escorted off of the street.

Hagan turned to the Troll.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"Hmmm, along with the many admirers you have attained, there are those who believe your presence will only bring down Mournenhile's wrath once more." said Gorin.

"That's ridiculous." Hagan replied.

"Indeed. It is a strange belief and I am unsure as to where it began. Of course, the residents of Harquinn are aware of Mournenhile's forces massing in the east. It seems to suit their theory, eh?" he said with a grin in his direction.

"Wind ... " Hagan said, rubbing his temples with one hand.

They rounded a sharp corner and stood near the great stone wall that surrounded the wizard's castle. The immense iron gate was shut and locked, barring their way. Odd, Hagan thought. This place was always open to everyone. A symbol of hospitality. Now secured against outsiders.

Above the rust-colored wall could be seen the thin and tapering towers of Councilkeep, seeming very out of place among the lesser buildings at its feet. Some ancient method of construction must have been utilized, for it appeared like no other structure in Kirkaldin, sharp, concave angles and nearly organic textures all along its face. The windows appeared as tiny black eyes across the upper reaches of the castle. Hagan knew that within the tallest of towers, near its tip, was the council's inner chamber. That place that most never visited and Hagan only once, just before the Battle of the Black Sun. If his summons was truly important, that is where they would lead him.

"Gatekeeper!" their escort called out and immediately the gates slid open slowly with a loud and grating sound.

"I was not aware of your impending arrival and am unsure of the council's wishes. You may follow me, Lord. The others must remain outside."

"I see. The hospitality of Harquinn has certainly changed. Without the aid of those that you see here, I would not have made it this far. No, they will accompany me. They will remain by my side." he said firmly.

The captain held his eyes momentarily, judging Hagan's resolve and then nodded.

"It will be as you say. In this situation, my orders are to allow only you inside but ... after all, you are Lord Hagan Marindel. If the council has summoned you, as you say, it must be urgent." he said with respect and led the group through the wall.

Inside, a winding stone path led away to both sides, finding its way around and between the tall, dark hedges that had been planted there. Armed guards stood at the ready at regular intervals as they made their way toward the main entrance.

The council has never used soldiers in the past. I do not like this.

The others were silent as they walked, taking in the majestic oddity that was Councilkeep. Shindire wrote feverishly in her journal as she walked, eyes darting from paper to the towers overhead. Even she could not hide her complete awe.

Something appeared strange and out of place as they reached the massive twin doors of the castle. Hagan recalled them as they were on his last visit, great oaken doors carved by the Elves of Greymander many years in the past. A brilliant ivory crane had adorned each, standing two times the height of Gorin and surrounded by scenes of woodland paradise. A gift from before the division of the races.

This was gone.

In their place stood rigid pieces of iron, somewhat reddish with rust and completely devoid of design or character. At chest level, the captain of the guard placed his outstretched hand on the metal surface and it glowed a pale yellow color. A moment passed and a loud click came from somewhere deep inside.

The doors swung inward.

Inside, the castle seemed radically different to Hagan. Once bright and airy, now the inner hall was dark and filled with a harsh-smelling smoke that drifted as they passed. The walls had once been a shining white, now turned to grey. Hagan wondered if they had been intentionally painted or had been gradually soiled by the presence of this wretched smoke.

Once they all had gathered within the inner hall, the doors once again swung shut, casting them in further darkness.

"Hagan ... " Windenn called, her voice quivering with fear.

"Relax, Windenn. We'll see the council soon and get some answers." he answered.

The captain dismissed the few soldiers that had accompanied him inside and turned to them, his face stern.

"If you will follow me ... " he said formally.

Down several long corridors they walked, the presence of the smoke never ceasing and soon even Hagan had become lost. He assumed they were somewhere near the kitchens but could not be sure. Suddenly, their escort halted in front of them and turned.

"Continue to the end of this hall. There, someone will lead you to the council." He then stepped to his left and vanished into the shadows. Some hidden passage or secret door, they presumed.

"Gorin, this is not how I remember this place." Hagan said softly.

"Nor I, my friend. In such short time, to have changed so much. It seems ... impossible." the troubled Troll answered.

Vasparian moved up to them, his eyes on the distant hall.

"What choice have we, then? Even I cannot recall the way back. Some enchantment is in this place. My sense of direction is completely gone."

"The council will help us, right?" D'Pharin asked. "I mean, Davaris can be trusted, can't he?"

"No one can be trusted in this place." Windenn snapped, her eyes moist and wide.

"I actually agree with the Woodwarden." Shindire added, her journal for once at her side and her face showing concern.

"Come on. Davaris will explain this. Stay strong everyone." Hagan said and led them down the hallway.

He nearly ran into the sentry that awaited them, so dark was his clothing. He pulled up short and straightened himself.

"I am Hagan Marindel of Lauden, here at the request of Councilcrane. These are my companions."

The sentry made no sound, simply stepping slowly to one side and waving his arm in a wide arc overhead. Before them materialized a circular stone doorway.

Hagan glanced at the sentry warily and then stepped through. Once inside, it was as if a veil had been lifted from their eyes and they were at once blinded by a bright light. Their eyes soon adjusted and they found that they stood at the top of several short steps and at the far end of Councilcrane's famed dining hall. Odd, thought Hagan, the dining hall is located high in the central tower and we took no stairs. Seated about the enormous table were many robed figures, some hooded, some not. Eight steps led down from where they stood and many other circular doorways led out of the room at different points along the walls.

Hagan surveyed those that were seated below. He thought he recognized a few of the mages but Davaris was not present. His mind began to race through the possibilities.

He should be here.

What has happened?

He who sat at the High Seat of the table, with crimson robe and hair of obsidian, spoke.

"Come, Lord Marindel. Join us. We have prepared a feast to welcome your return." he said, his voice reverberating throughout the huge room.

Hagan hesitated, his sword arm twitching with nervous anticipation. He did not know this man. He certainly would not trust him.

"Where is Davaris, Crest of Councilcrane?" he asked.

"Davaris has been called away. Affairs outside of Harquinn have required his presence. He has sent his apologies for having missed your arrival. I am Khienen. I hold the Crest in his stead."

Gorin nudged Hagan from behind, pressing him forward. Against instinct, Hagan descended the steps to the dining hall floor, his eyes moving to the shadowy figures in the doorways to the opposite sides of the room. He felt incredibly vulnerable here and looked up to Gorin for reassurance. The Stone Troll showed no sign of doubt as he met Hagan's gaze. He simply nodded and motioned to the table with a broad smile.

Hagan took the near-dozen steps to the center of the room, always conscious of his companions whereabouts. D'Pharin held close to his side with Windenn now holding his arm. Vasparian and Shindire stood together several paces away with Gorin moving to exchange greetings with the robed speaker.

"We extend thanks to the council for its gracious hospitality." he said, dropping to one knee beside Khienen.

"Rise, Gorin Grimandin. You have done well in your task. Very well. Please take your seat among us and rest. It has been a hard journey, I am sure." Khienen said.

"Hmmm, your kindness is appreciated, Khienen. Come, friends. Be seated." Gorin said and dropped into a chair to Khienen's left. The others reluctantly joined him, seating themselves close together at the opposite side. Khienen motioned to one of the doorways and several serving girls descended into the room bearing large silver trays overloaded with food and drink. The rich smell of seasoned beef filled the air and a slight aroma of wine. They soon deposited their burden in front of those seated there and took their places at either end of the great table.

Roasted fowl, ham, spicy potatoes and amberfruit steamed there before them and their hunger overwhelmed their senses. Against their better judgment, they ate heartily, some of them even having second servings. Hagan half-expected to collapse from some hidden poison but no such thing occurred. All was silent while they ate, but as they leaned back in the chairs, their appetites satisfied, Khienen began.

"So, Lord Marindel, tell us how you fared on your journey from distant Lauden. We did not expect so many guests to accompany you. How did you come to gather such a group." he said with an almost arrogant tone.

"The tale is far less exciting than you may think ... " Hagan said simply. The other robed figures looked to Khienen as if Hagan had somehow wronged him.

"Indulge us. How did you encounter the fair Woodwarden, for instance?" Khienen pressed.

Windenn stiffened in her seat to Hagan's left and met his eyes. She was near tears, her hand gripping her goblet until her fingers were white.

"If you please, Khienen. I am certain that I was summoned here for something more important. Can we not get to the heart of it? How soon do you expect Davaris to return?" Hagan asked.

"Oh, I do apologize, Lord Hagan. I am sure you have far more important things to concern yourself with." he stood abruptly, his scarlet robes whipping out about his legs. One hand smoothed the hair from his eyes as he began to slowly move around the table toward them.

Gorin fidgeted, unsure of what to do at this point. His eyes jumped from face to face, searching the council members for some sort of clue. This was not how it was supposed to be. Where was Davaris?

"Well now. Let us speak at length about your old friend Davaris, shall we? Your trusting ally through all of these long years since the Battle of the Black Sun. Too trusting if the truth be known. This civil war was largely his fault, you know."

"We all met many days ago, high in the tower of the Crane. A very special meeting, you see, for we had uncovered a secret. A secret we had long expected, although some wagered it would never come. A secret of enormous power. Power not known since the time of S'Darin. We sensed it, you see. Power that strong cannot exist on Kirkaldin without the knowledge of Councilcrane."

He said that name with utter disgust as he rounded the head of the table and came to their side. He had passed behind Vasparian before he spoke again.

"This was a power we needed. Knowledge has always been our goal, since the founding of the council. Alas, this was not a power easily attained. One could not simply rush in and take it by force. A certain degree of stealth would be required. Understand, none outside of the council knew of this plan."

This brought smiles to the other mages gathered there. Hagan began to quickly form a plan of escape. This was a trap. It had to be. He and his friends had been fooled.

Khienen stopped directly behind Windenn, staring down at the back of her head in a way that angered Hagan. He stretched his arms out and placed his pale hands on her shoulders. Windenn bit her lip in revulsion as he kneaded the skin there.

"You see, Lord Hagan, the Stone Troll's task seemed straight-forward. Find Harquinn's wayward son and return him here. Our prophets were privy to information that none other could know, however. They had foreseen the events of the near future. We knew the chain of events that would deliver this power into our hands."

Hagan gripped the edge of the table and made ready to rise.

Even if I die here, I will not let this bastard go on much longer.

"What are you talking about, Khienen? I have no hidden power. What is it that you wanted me for? Davaris would never have taken part in anything deceitful. I would say your prophets were wrong for I possess nothing of the power you speak. I cannot believe that Davaris would go along with you-"

"Davaris did not know, you fool!" Khienen shouted and Windenn let out a yelp as he dug his fingers into her flesh.

"Let go of her, Khienen. I warn you." Hagan said through gritted teeth.

"Warn me? Remember where you are, hero. Those seated here possess magic that most cannot imagine, but I know that you can. You have seen it in full display upon the fields of battle. Do not make empty threats, Hagan. You and your friends have no hope."

"If it's me that you want, then let the others go. I - " Hagan started.

"You still do not understand, do you? It is not you that we wanted. We sent the Troll on his quest because it had been foreseen that the Woodwarden would eventually join you. The visions of the prophets proved true. Thus, without his knowledge, Gorin Grimandin brought this lovely woman into our hands. She is the one we have sought and through your little group of travelers, we have claimed her. She is the one. She is the power."

The others stared at him, mouths hanging open. It was all too much to digest at once.

Windenn shook her head slowly.

"You know? You know about me?" she whispered, tears dropping from her cheeks.

"Indeed, child. Your buried powers will aid in the coming of the east." Khienen said, almost gently as he played in her hair.

"East?" D'Pharin asked.

"Mournenhile ... " Vasparian hissed, more to himself than those present.

In the shadows of a distant doorway, a darkness unfolded itself and began to descend. Its wing-cloaked form silently reached the dining floor and it waited just inside the shadow, the torchlight barely reaching its tattered ancient flesh.

"What?" Hagan asked.

Vasparian stood, pushing his chair back. The council members rose quickly as well, as the tension broke.

"They've turned to Mournenhile." Vasp said with anger.

Hagan jumped to his feet, his sword in hand.

"That's why Davaris is missing. He would never have joined Mournenhile. What did you do? Is he dead? " He paused momentarily. "No, he was far too strong for any of you. I know he's still alive but if I get to you first, you will not be for much longer."

Hagan shouted and leapt across the space between he and Khienen. Inside, he knew the attack was futile. His sword against a roomful of mages would prove useless. Like a sparrow shot in midflight, he hit an invisible barrier and dropped to the floor, stunned.

Khienen wrapped an arm around Windenn's slender neck and dragged her backward from the table. She let out a scream and fought to free herself. The dining hall soon exploded into action, Hagan's party doing its best to rescue Windenn while the mages hurled ebon flame against them.

Gorin had still not risen from his seat. He sat motionless in disbelief and wiped moisture from his rough cheeks.

I have caused this.

It was my quest that allowed this to happen.

How could I have led these good people into the claws of darkness? How is this possible?

Oh, Windenn.

"NO!" he screamed and with all of his strength he tossed the enormous dining table over on its side, splitting it in two and sending a deep tremor through the floor. Violently he brought both mighty fists down upon it and its center disintegrated, large chunks of stone flying in all directions. The combatants halted, staring at the enraged Troll. Nothing in Kirkaldin could command attention like the wrath of a Stone Troll.

Gorin lifted his chair overhead and hurled it at a group of mages, dropping several of them where they stood. With an animalistic howl, he vaulted the remains of the table and threw himself into Khienen. The red-robed wizard coughed loudly as he was brought suddenly to the floor. Windenn fell to her side a few paces away, her breathing fast and heavy.

Immediately a dark shadow fell upon them and skeletal hands gripped Gorin's broad shoulders, steam rising from the points of contact. The pain was intense and the Troll had no choice but to release his hold on Khienen. He was all but paralyzed by the surge of evil that enveloped his being.

"No!" Gorin yelled. "I will kill him. Betrayer! Traitor to the realm! He must be destroyed!"

"Woodwarden!" he cried.

The pain was too great. Gorin fell to his knees and slowly managed to spin and face his attacker. The Inquitis eyes held his gaze completely, digging its way into his mind. Working its way around his will where it would assume control.

Gorin began to weaken and he knew he hadn't much time. Then, the eyes of the Inquitis bulged, its mouth gaping wide in shock. Its yellowish eyeballs swelled as it screamed and its hands went to its face, releasing Gorin. With an audible pop, its eyes ruptured, the greenish fluid oozing between its skinless fingers. It fell to the floor, its dark blood covering its now ruined features.

"What in the deep?" Gorin gasped. He pushed himself across the floor away from it in horror. He wasn't sure what had saved him but he would not question it at the moment. All about the room fire shot and danced and miraculously his companions remained unscathed. He knew however that this battle was hopeless. He spun quickly to search for Windenn and found her gone. So, too, was Khienen.

"No ... " he whispered. He managed to stand, his shoulders screaming in torment.

"Hagan! Hagan, get out! We cannot win this!" he shouted above the crackle of sorcery.

Hagan searched for Gorin and finally found him. He saw the Troll motioning for the doorway through which they had entered. Hagan paused, pleading with the Troll to join them. He knew Gorin would try to save Windenn. When it came to honor, a Troll could never be swayed.

"Gorin!" Hagan uselessly called as mage's flame crackled just to his left.

"Go!" the Troll screamed and lumbered out of sight into the shadows.

Hagan grabbed Vasp by the shoulder.

"We've got to run! D'Pharin, let's go!"

Shindire had already reached the doorway and awaited them, slim blood-covered dagger in hand. Together, they exited the hall and ran down the dark corridor, hurtling past the lone sentry that stood there. He did not pursue them, only remained at his post. They could feel the floor rumbling under their feet as they ran and Hagan assumed the cause centered around their Troll friend. Somewhere, Gorin fought on.

Please make it out alive, Gorin.

They met no resistance on their way to the front gates. They passed groups of soldiers who seemed unaware of the situation within the keep. They simply cast puzzled looks in their direction as they ran past. At the iron gates, they stopped, the gates being locked in place. Slowly, the gatekeeper came into sight.

"Going so soon, Lord?" he asked.

"Uh, yes. The council has sent us on an important errand and cannot be kept waiting. Hurry and let us through." D'Pharin answered.

The gate was quickly opened and they stepped through into the streets of Harquinn. They were unsure of where to run. If the council had turned to Mournenhile, then who else in Harquinn had joined them?

"One of your party has gone missing?" a voice came from just around the curve of the stone wall. Several soldiers rounded the curve and approached them, at the forefront being the captain that had led them here.

Hagan hesitated.

"It is as we feared. We have suspected turmoil within the council for some time now. This proves it. Davaris bade us watch the keep and so we have." the captain added.

"Davaris? Is he - " Hagan asked.

"Oh, yes. He lives. I must take you to him. These men can be trusted. Come, we must move quickly lest Khienen send the dogs after you."

Chapter Eight

Of all the districts in Harquinn, Tumbledin was by far the roughest, being home to some of the seediest taverns in the Midlands. The soldiers had led them to The Wicked Virgin, home of Harquinn's underground rebellion and countless women of ill repute. Hagan and the others had been secreted below in the wine cellar to await one known only as the Red Lion, he who led the resistance and he who would lead them to Davaris.

So among the wooden barrels and crates, they sat, each wrestling with their thoughts and picking at the trays of victuals that had been brought some time earlier. The air was thick with the strong odor of ale and very warm.

"Gorin's going to be alright, isn't he?" D'Pharin asked in his brother's direction.

Vasparian answered.

"Not to worry, lad. It would take a lot to bring down a Troll from Rathnok, especially Gorin Grimandin. He will make it out, I am certain." he said with a forced smile.

No one wanted to speak of the Woodwarden. They all feared the worst. Eventually, Hagan rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth on the dirt floor.

"Hagan, relax. None of us knew. Our only course of action is to await the aid of Davaris and the remaining council." Vasp said.

"I cannot believe this!" Hagan shouted. "They used us. All of us. Now, they've taken Windenn and they're going to twist her and break her until she does what they want. Before long, she won't be the same person we now know. What do you think they are doing to her?"

"Just as you have said," Shindire said quietly. "They will use everything in their power to break her. I wager that she lacks the discipline at this point to resist for long. Her power is incredibly strong, it seems, yet she has not learned to wield it. In but a few days, she will obey their every command."

"Shut up, Shindire!" D'Pharin screamed.

She remained all too calm.

"It is simply my opinion, dear boy... " she said.

"We do not want to hear it! Tell it to your books." D'Pharin stated.

"Just as most of your kind. You will wait until after it happens to admit that it could happen. Typical." Shindire said with scorn.

"Shindire, please." Vasp said in an attempt to calm the tension.

"No, Vasp, she's right." Hagan said.

"What?" D'Pharin asked. He couldn't believe his brother was siding with the High Elf.

"We don't want to admit what is most likely happening to Windenn. Why avoid it? They will probably beat her into submission by the morrow. She may already be their slave."

D'Pharin shook his head and stared at the floor. Soon, he was quietly sobbing, his tears hitting the floor next to his boots. The others pretended not to notice and went back to their own thoughts.

Sometime later, the cellar door was thrown back, the sound of music and laughter following the trio of men that descended into the damp room. They were dressed in dark colors, hoods pulled close about their heads. Each thrust out their right palm, displaying the black tattoo that had been placed there, the silhouette of a crane.

"For the Crane and the Crest." they stated in unison.

The man at the forefront stepped forward while his escorts backed away to guard the ladder that led above into the tavern. Tussled, red hair nearly covered his bright eyes as he glanced around, throwing back his hood. He studied Hagan's face long and hard, then his attire, his eyes finally coming to rest on the sword hilt at his hip.

"They call me the Red Lion." He paused. "Is it truly you, my Lord?" he then asked.

"Hagan Marindel."

"Thank the Wind. The rumors are indeed true, then. You have come once again to deliver us." the man said excitedly.

"That remains to be seen." Hagan said.

"We are of the resistance. Those that would see Khienen destroyed and his followers removed form Harquinn. We are the hand of Davaris. He awaits you within the ruins of Paren-Rothe. By tomorrow evening, we hope to escort you and your friends into the new council's chambers. The Crest lives and he shall rise once more."

"How is my old friend?" Hagan asked.

"He is weakened and only days ago near death. His battle with Khienen bit deeply. They took him by surprise, my Lord. He never suspected their treachery. Minions of the East within Councilkeep? He is wounded in many ways. He will once again ask for your service. Will you offer it, Lord Marindel? Will you once again lead the armies of Good?"

Hagan did not respond immediately. Inside, the old battle raged. He had sworn to avoid this exact thing but now that he sensed the peril, the coming of Mournenhile, he knew only one option remained.

"I swore the oath." he said, simply.

"I was there, Lord. As a child. I remember it well for it was my fourteenth birthday. There was blue as far as the eye could see, everyone in formal dress. The sun shone brilliantly on that day. My father would have loved it. He had fallen the day before, you see, defending the southern wall. My mother and I watched from the balcony, high above it all. It was like a dream. The end of all the death and the beginning of a time of peace."

His voice grew quiet, his eyes somewhere far away. One of his men placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. He nodded.

"To think only a decade later, that time has come again and I will stand in my father's place and defy Mournenhile as he did." he said.

"I am sorry for your loss, my friend and I am certain you bring your father great pride. Let us hope that this battle is small compared to the Battle of the Black Sun. Such things should never be seen again. Red Lion, how soon can we leave this place?"

"Ah, yes. Soon, my Lord, very soon. Unfortunately, the roads in and out of Harquinn are now guarded heavily. We must disguise ourselves to leave the city. My plan is to depart with the morning merchant train through the south gate." he explained.

Hagan shook his head.

"I don't like it, we are too easily recognized. They will know what to look for. There has to be another way. I cannot risk the lives of my companions so easily."

"The only way is through one of the gates." The Red Lion explained, seating himself on a barrel in front of Hagan. "I have studied every map, spoken to countless people. Every other plan I devised was flawed. There truly is no other way."

"There must be... if we attempt your plan, we will surely perish."

The Red Lion begin to argue against Hagan, but was cut short.

A rustling of crisp parchment turned all of their heads in Shindire's direction. She had suddenly thrown her journal down upon a packing crate and was feverishly flipping through it in search of something.

"What is it, Shindire?" D'Pharin asked. She paid him no heed. Her silvery eyes intently scanned the pages, her mouth occasionally forming silent words and then she stopped, her forefinger frozen upon the script there.

"There it is." she announced, seemingly astonished with her find. "I had thought it was just a passing anecdote, another unimportant fact about the mainland, jotted down in haste ... "

"What? Explain yourself." D'Pharin urged.

"Here."

She grabbed the heavy book and placed it on the dusty floor in front of them. They crouched there, searching the pages but none could comprehend what had been written. It seemed Shindire wrote in only her native tongue, the flowing and graceful High Elven hand.

"It is here, in the section regarding Greymander and the Wood Elves that dwell within. 'Each Elven army shall be led by twelve captains and they by twelve generals. To each he gave the Windcall, to guard unto death and treasure until all the worlds light be vanquished. Those lost servants of the creator shall return upon that call. Return and render aid so that the darkness not fall upon the land.'"

"What does all of that mean, Graelund?" Hagan asked.

"Do you not see? In the Morning of the World, the Wind provided the Elves with his promise. Call upon my servants in time of darkness and they will come." Shindire explained, growing impatient with the human's lack of understanding.

"That's wonderful, but unless you happened upon this magical artifact out in the wild, we have no-" D'Pharin was suddenly cut off.

"Wait." Vasparian stood. His concern was etched hard on his face. "Shindire speaks truly. I know of what she speaks. It is the same in Elfwhere but ... Graelund, I dare not."

"If you dare not, then, who will, Vasparian Grael?" Shindire responded, meeting him eye to eye.

The others glanced about in confusion. It seemed only the Elves understood.

Vasparian backed away from the group to more easily address them as one. He cleared his throat, preparing himself and then began.

"When the Wind came to the Elves ages ago, there were two-score of these Windcalls given to our Generals. Years and years have passed with many of the gifts being lost in war or stolen in foreign lands. We cannot be sure of how many still exist, but we are sure of how many still rest in Elfwhere."

"How many, Vasp?" asked Hagan.

Vasparian held up two fingers.

"Lyndremaene wears one around his neck at all times. I learned of its true nature when I was just a boy."

"And the other?" D'Pharin asked.

Vasparian stood still momentarily, eyes fixed to the ground. He exhaled slowly and brought his hands to his neck. He pulled a long leather necklace up through his shirt collar and held the object at its end gently in his palm. He then revealed it to those gathered there, holding it out at arms length.

At the end of the leather hung a thin, tapering shell of gold. Like a tiny unicorns horn, it spiraled down to a sharp and delicate point.

"This is the Windcall." Vasp announced and the others gasped, for as he dropped his hand it remained there, standing out at the end of the necklace, floating at eye level.

"What ... what is it doing?" the younger Marindel asked, stepping cautiously toward it.

"I do not know. It is an odd thing, with its own will. I was charged with its keeping after the Black Sun came, but I have never been comfortable with it."

Vasparian reached out and pulled the Call back to his chest. It stayed there, reflecting the small amount of light like tiny white flames all along its surface.

"You see, with this power, Vasparian Grael can call upon the servants of the Wind. That which he requires, they will surely provide ... " Shindire said.

Vasp shook his head. Truth be told, he was very much afraid of the Windcall. What would happen should he use the thing? Is this how the Wind intended it? Would this action anger the Wind in some way?

"Vasp" Hagan said. "The fate of our world could be determined tonight. We need to reach Davaris and learn his wishes. There is no doubt that Mournenhile is coming. If this thing can help us then we should try it. Khienen's men are certain to find us here and soon."

"We do not know what will happen, Hagan. My people have never used its power. Even as the leaves fall in my home, Lyndremaene refuses to call upon the Wind ... "

"My Lord, this was a gift." The Red Lion interjected. "A gift that was to be used. This Call could have aided the Elves many times throughout the ages if they had only asked. Of course, such a gift should never be used in vain, but from where I sit ... this situation nearly demands it."

D'Pharin patted the Elf on the shoulder and smiled.

"Give it a try, General. If it is truly a gift from the Wind himself, then only good can come of it." he said.

Vasparian nodded in agreement.

"I will wait until this place clears out a bit, then we will summon the Wind, for you all speak truly. If ever we needed his divine help, it is now."

All gave a low cheer, smiles on every face.

"This will be a tale to tell, my friends!" The Red Lion said, dancing in place.

"Yes, I am sure it will be." said Vasparian. "But will I be hero or fool?"

Midnight came and went and the boot-steps and music had dwindled above. The majority of customers had gone home, tomorrow being another long day of work for many of them. Vasp had withdrawn, sitting himself in a corner and had succeeded in worrying himself nearly to death.

Why did I agree to this? I'll surely be struck down and rendered blind for my stupidity. No one uses the Wind's power so carelessly! I have no idea what will happen.

Once again, the cellar door was thrown back, bringing Vasp's attention quickly around to reality.

"Friends," the Red Lion called down. "All is clear."

Together, they climbed the wooden ladder up into the tavern. They gathered at the bar, each occupying a stool in silence. Several serving girls still worked, cleaning tables and removing rubbish.

"Do not worry, all here are of the Wind. They can be trusted." said the Red Lion.

The front door swung inward, turning all heads. A lone figure dressed in the same attire as the Red Lion entered and quickly made his way to Hagan.

"My Lord, soldiers are quickly making their way to this part of the city. It will not be long before they search this place. One of ours was captured and has since been killed." he said, his face filled with emotion.

"I am sorry for your loss." said Hagan with concern. "Vasp, it is time. Call upon the servants of the Wind."

Vasparian drew a long hard breath and moved to the center of the room, his boot-heels echoing on the hardwood floor. He turned his eyes once more to his friends, unsure and pulled his necklace into view.

Was there a ceremony to perform? A ritual he was required to complete? There was no time to question it.

He slowly placed the Windcall to his lips and blew. No sound came from the thing. None at all. He frowned and blew once more. Again nothing.

"I do not know what is wrong ... " he whispered as his hands traced the length of the tiny horn.

Shindire immediately drew out a journal and quickly thumbed through the pages. Perhaps she had missed something. She knew she had not.

"After all these years, maybe its power has faded." D'pharin said.

Hagan shook his head.

"Let's hope not. If that is the case, it'll be one hell of a fight out of here." he said.

Outside, the lanterns cast a dim yellow light along the near-vacant street. All grew silent, the crickets even withdrew and a sudden gale whipped up, throwing dust and debris against the tavern door. All eyes went to the windows.

"It is the call." Shindire announced in awe. "The servants have heard. Now they come."

The light outside became a deep indigo and a low fog moved in, swelling and writhing like a turbulent sea. Pressure filled the room as if an electrical storm approached, their ears popping in protest. The serving girls made for the kitchen, screaming in fright and throwing their dishes to the floor.

Vasparian's eyes darted from window to window. Had he done something wrong? Had he made the servants of the Wind angry in some way?

Several streets over, Apolenn barked orders to his frightened steed. Khienen himself had given him command of this particular group of soldiers and he would not let the wizard down. Many had before and not seen another day. His search for Hagan must be successful.

"What in hell is this?" one of his underlings called out. Hailstones the size of his thumbs had begun to rain down upon the cobblestones below, building to a thunderous roar. "It only storms upon us? Look up into the city, Apolenn! All is calm. This is sorcery! Let us return to the keep while we can!"

"Fool. Khienen would skin us all alive were we to give up so easily. Make for that alley. We will wait there until this infernal storm lets up." He nudged his horse in that direction; however, the animal refused to move.

"Damn you, beast! Get your arse over there or so help-"

He stopped abruptly as did his dozen men. The hair on their necks bristled and their eyes grew huge with fear. They looked up the small rise ahead of them, between two large clusters of stone buildings, their cloth awnings whipping and tearing free of their windows. Snaking white lightning erupted there upon the cobblestone street, alive with an inner fire. It did not dissipate, as lightning should. It held its form and danced eerily, slowly descending toward them. A whirlwind of pure energy, ghostly shapes seeming to emerge and then vanish within the flashing thing, like animals.

Apolenn gasped as he and his men dropped suddenly to the street, their horses collapsing under them. Baffled, they jumped to their feet, cursing. Their horses, however, did not. Their hearts had stopped in unison, the whirlwind too much for their simple minds.

"Hell! We've got to get out of here!" he screamed, but his men could not hear. The crackle of electricity and pounding of hail had become deafening. The movement of the shape quickened and the forms of ethereal horses could be seen, appearing and disappearing within the dark cyclone, galloping toward the men with great spectral manes flowing out from them like pennants atop a castle wall.

He felt the bitter cold, like an adder's deadly venom, pass through his flesh, then into bone. Then he died where he stood, face forever frozen in fear. The spectral horses shot through his men, ghostly harbingers of death, leaving naught in their wake but lifeless statues that were once animate things. Few, quick screams were heard and then only the hollow sound of hooves as they moved deeper into the city.

Hagan heard the screams even within the tavern. Something moved this way. Something unearthly.

"Vasp, get away from the windows!" he called out but the Elf was beyond his reach. He heard nothing but the approaching horses. They searched for him, he knew. He must make himself visible.

Small fingers of lightning danced upon all items of metal around them, sparking randomly. Hagan reached for his sword but withdrew his hand quickly, the hilt sending a shock through his arm and numbing his fingers. The pounding of hooves grew deafening as the deep blue glow from outside nearly blinded them. Suddenly all was silent. All was still.

Vasparian reached for the door without hesitation.

"Hagan ... " D'Pharin whispered. His brother paid no attention. His eyes were on the back of his Elven friend.

Vasp slowly drew the wooden door open, a long shaft of light shooting into the center of the room. Just across the threshold stood a host of some three-score magnificent horses of a breed never seen before, unbelievably noble, with an intelligence shining from their large, dark eyes. At the forefront, the largest of the horses snorted and tossed its huge head, its flowing mane thick and dark. The coarse hair there fell in slow motion, gently returning to its neck, reaching nearly to the street.

The taverns occupants were stunned in disbelief, many now backed against the far wall or hid behind the bar. What were these great spirit beasts?

Vasparian stepped through the doorway, one hand reaching out to touch the mare's nose. It gazed upon him for a moment as if once again meeting an old friend.

She knows me.

He reached up, grabbing a handful of lush mane and in one leap vaulted onto her broad back. Instantly, the substance of his body changed, becoming transparent and bluish in color, almost merging with the form of the mare. She stomped her hooves in excitement, her tail tossing wildly behind her.

"Choose a mount, friends. The Wind has provided as was promised." Vasparian said, his smile wide.

Very cautiously the others exited the tavern and approached the horses. It was all very unnerving for as D'Pharin drew near he could see the buildings opposite them through the bodies of the horses. As he wrapped his hand in mane, he saw his arm grow faint. Once upon his chosen steed, he looked about him. His eyes saw things differently as if the souls of things and not their skins were clear to him. Perhaps he did not see with his eyes at all but with some other part of his being. As he took in the animals around him, he felt their strength. He could sense their age and ultimate wisdom. They were as pure as when the Wind had created them.

He turned his eyes toward those in his party, first to his brother who shone with a golden glow that cast all of those around him in an orange hue. A heat like that of the sun emanated from within Hagan's chest. Honor. Courage. The hero inside.

The color of Vasparian Grael shimmered in a similar fashion. He and Hagan seemed woven of the same fabric with Vasp emitting a tinge of dark green representing his love of nature.

Shindire gave off a cool blue shade. As blue as the far western oceans that were her home. He could not feel her, however try as he might. Somehow she remained closed to him even in this state. He turned his eyes away as she became aware of his stare.

Once all had mounted, including the Red Lion and three of his men, Vasparian leaned forward and whispered into his steed's ear. She nodded in approval and whinnied loudly. She turned in place to face the southwest and the others did the same. Rearing up on her hind legs she kicked at the air and shot off into the city like a sparrowhawk. Vasparian nearly lost his grip but managed to stay on her back, squeezing her sides with his legs. He took his eyes off of his white-knuckled hands and looked ahead, his long hair whipping about his head like mad. The mare was traveling down the street impossibly fast, the buildings merely a grey blur at the corners of his vision.

Ahead of them, at the end of the street, stood a large stone warehouse.

She cannot stop in time.

He shut his eyes, tightly and braced for the impact.

There was none.

A strange sensation overcame him. It was not unlike when he looked upon Hagan and felt his soul, his mind going back to the Woodwalk in his home of Elfwhere. He felt the stone and timber as he and the horse passed through. They held an ancient magic, hidden from modern mortals. They were solid and strong and could be trusted. They stood unmoving, protecting for eons. Both stone and timber breathed with life though they seemed inanimate. Power still pulsed within, held together with the sweat of the beings of Kirkaldin.

Then, they had passed through. They shot through countless other buildings of similar structure and strength until finally they galloped into the open air within the southern gate. The horses pulled up short there, still a fair distance from the wall. There, barring their way, stood a deep shadow. A tall and thin figure seemingly woven from darkness, yet standing out harshly to their eyes. It stood motionless before the huge iron gates and waited for them to come. Vasp could feel the horse's conversation, silent though it was and sensed that they had come to an agreement. He felt the energy build within the mare and clenched her tightly. In the blink of an eye, they were rocketing toward the Inquitis. They closed on it quickly and it raised both skeletal arms before it to stop their passage. There came a tangible meeting of magics as one forced the other back. After a slight resistance, the horses ran through the servant of Mournenhile. For a moment, everything slowed to a crawl.

Vasparian's insides tightened as the presence of the Inquitis enveloped him. Never before had he felt so helpless and tiny. Evil overshadowed him, covering him like an ominous thundercloud. Wrapped about him, it caressed his body and called out to him. Such abhorrence for that which lives and casts light. It detests us and everything about us. Vasp felt the forests die and the rivers dry in their beds. The bleeding landscape cracked and buckled, fire bursting from the crumbling mountains as the children huddled below their mother's skirts. The creatures of Kirkaldin cried out and dove into the seas to drown lest they serve Mournenhile. Tears burned his cheeks and his throat tightened with utter grief.

"How can this be?" he mouthed without a sound.

The voice of the Inquitis moaned in his skull.

Come. Ours is the way. He is Lord. The only Lord.

His lower lip trembled as he began to lose control. His mind gave way, fell away from him, left his body completely for a moment. Then, all returned to normal. He and the others rode away from the city of Harquinn, free of the darkness and free of Khienen.

On a low hill, not far from the city, the mare turned, waiting. Moments later, her kindred joined her, casting the landscape all about them in a deep blue glow. As one, they reached her side and she nodded to each as they sought her out.

"Take us to Davaris, friends, for it is only he who can guide us in these perilous times." said Vasp and at once, the group struck out like lightning for the southern horizon.

"Do not be concerned, Ayanor. Lord Hagan is near. He and his companions will arrive very soon." The near-transparent form of Thyris spoke, staring with long dead eyes across the northern landscape. From this elevated vantage point, they could see nearly to Harquinn, although they were many leagues away. Together, they stood in the uppermost meeting chamber within Paren-Rothe, the ancient city of the first Council of Kirkaldin. Largely ruins in this day and age, the main structure still stood fast, constructed from the rock of the earth, nearly indestructible. The building rose high into the clouds culminating in a wide circular section, pierced its entire length with tall, dark windows. This section seemed to spin of its own volition, its power seemingly pulled from the ghosts of the mages themselves. In ages past, the council's mages held their most important assemblies concerning war and peace, issues tiny and overwhelming, within this part of the fortress and very soon another meeting would be held.

In this day, the people of Kirkaldin avoided this place for the most part, knowing it to be haunted by long dead councilmembers from every era of the past. No one could remain with the walls of Paren-Rothe for long, the presence of the spirits draining the sanity of even the most willful of people. The present-day council knew this and so would soon depart, garnering what wisdom they could from these ancient scholars in the little time allowed them.

In the century he had been of the council, time had not been kind to Ayanor and his tanned forehead bore the furrows of much inner turmoil. Of the current council, he seemed to force his worry inward more than the others and it seemed to constantly churn within him. He attempted to hide his worry, knowing he did this in vain. Thyris and the other residents of Paren-Rothe could gaze into most minds as easily as one gazed into the sky. They need only part the clouds here or there to find what they sought.

"Hagan does not realize how important he is to the future of this realm ... " he said, his eyes tracing the detailed scrollwork that covered the stone columns within the room.

"No, he never has. Even his deeds under the Black Sun, he would deny. His leadership turned the tide without doubt, sending Mournenhile back across the Edge." Thyris said, his faint voice fading in and out of reality.

"If he knew the outcome, do you think he would still see it through, Thyris?"

"You know I cannot answer that, my brother. Issues of the future are easily seen by us. We cannot interfere. Utter chaos would result. Mortal minds would crumble if they gathered such knowledge. There is a reason one's fate is kept a secret. Character can only be built in this manner." An odd smile crossed his grey face, somewhat unsettling his companion. Though he had been here before, Ayanor could not get used to conversing with the dead.

"I wish that I had been gifted with 'the sight', Thyris. Lorys almost seems to squander the talent she has as a seer. This plague. Elfwhere. The events in Lauden. The Runeglobe. To know even the tiniest fragment of what is to come. So much could be gained from this knowledge, yet ... "

"Ayanor, though you are aged as Men go, much of you is still childlike. That is probably why I admire you so. Lorys has the sight indeed and contrary to your belief, she does use it. Now, what she does with this knowledge, she keeps to herself but you can be sure that she is not squandering her talent." Thyris said with another crooked smile.

Ayanor brooded for a moment. He had always been the most average of the mages. He had power, yes, but a seemingly equal amount in all areas. He could not excel in any of the disciplines. Yet, for some reason he had been brought into the council.

"Childlike?" he said, with a laugh.

"Just a ghost's opinion." he responded with a wink and for a moment became more tangible, long enough to place a cold hand on Ayanor's shoulder. Movement on the horizon outside drew his eyes once more to the window. "Look there, they come."

As they topped the final dusty rise, the Wildmane herd slowed to a stop and gathered together about the mare. Her sides heaved from the exertion and her mouth frothed. She turned and gazed to Vasparian momentarily with a look as close to a smile as the equine face would allow. Vasp nodded, nearly in tears from the experience and climbed down from her back. The others did the same, straightening their clothing and weapons, their faces still holding a look of awe. The ethereal host turned as one and looked upon the group of companions, the sky behind them shimmering through their strong bodies. The mare reared up and kicked at the air, then bolted off to the west as fast as the wind. Her brethren followed closely on her hooves and like a glimmering blue serpent, they disappeared into the distance, gone from the land forever.

"Friends ... what has just happened?" asked the Red Lion. He shook his head, his long hair tossing about his shoulders. His eyes squinted, studying the horizon, still searching for the magical creatures that had saved them. "These were truly a creation of the Wind himself ... I will never again see such a sight."

As one, the group turned their eyes back toward the southeast just as a gale kicked up. Dust and bits of dried grass flew across their path as they gazed up into the rust-colored cliffs where Paren-Rothe stood tall and dark against the sky. Clustered all about the base of the main building were the crumbling shapes of many smaller structures, and not far to the east part of the old city wall still stood. Its orange stones defying both gravity and weather. This had never been a large city but had been one of the most important as the home of the council. High up in the Councilchamber, a yellowish glow could be seen through the many windows that covered its upper surface.

"Friends, I must admit that the thought of entering Paren-Rothe is rather unsettling to me. We have been told since childhood the stories of the haunted keep, of the spirits that walk the hallways. Must we ... ?" The Red Lion stopped himself short, looking at his men with uncertainty.

"It is your choice. You and your men may wait here if you like. Davaris would not have summoned me here, were there any danger." Hagan said.

The Red Lion nodded slowly. Something in Hagan's voice had convinced him. "It is as you say, Lord Hagan. I will put my fears aside and place my trust in Davaris and yourself. My men and I will accompany you."

"You are welcome." Hagan said.

Shindire finished her most recent entry, her quill scratching out the last few letters of Elven script and she latched the leather strap that held the enormous volume closed. D'Pharin had snatched a quick look over her shoulder and seen that in addition to the written entries, she had sketched several beautiful drawings among her paragraphs. She was quite the artist, it seemed. He chose not to mention it, fearing he would anger her at his obtrusion. Instead, he kept his questions more general.

"May I ask you something, Graelund?" he said, clearing his throat nervously.

"If you must." she answered, not turning his way.

"I noticed that you only wrote in your journal for a moment. How much information could you have jotted down in that little time?" asked D'Pharin, almost cringing in anticipation of her answer.

She exhaled in aggravation.

"The Elven language consists of nearly ten thousand symbols. Ours is a far more efficient language. Much more can be said on a single page of vellum with the Elven script than with the markings of Man. That which I have just written would take one such as yourself an entire chapter to scribble."

"Oh ... I see." he stuttered. "That explains it. Thanks." D'Pharin said, suddenly feeling very small despite the fact that he stood much taller than she.

"It has been said that those that dwell within Elfwhere and Greymander have an even more efficient language than yours." Hagan growled. Her condescension had gone unchecked for long enough. "They have taken the script that you are using and further adapted it. Write yourself a note on that page, Shindire, to study the new scripts of the Wood Elves."

Vasparian interjected once more, with both word and body.

"Stop this. There are things that must be accomplished here. Things much bigger than either of you. If our world does end in darkness it will most likely be because of the friction between all of our races. Elf cannot get along with Elf. Man cannot get along with Man. Let us not mention the Dwarves. They learned long ago to trust no one. They secreted themselves underground and forgot about the rest of us. Perhaps they were the smart ones?"

Shindire and Hagan stood silent, glaring at one another. Of course, Vasp was right. The group shouldered their packs and began the rough trip up the cliff-side, following the remnants of an ancient path seemingly carved by giants. Occasionally, they passed a huge chunk of stone marred by flame ages ago. These stones appeared to have been dropped from the sky above. Most likely, the explosion that tore apart Paren-Rothe randomly tossed these souvenirs all about the surrounding countryside, forming a haphazard perimeter, a reminder of the sheer destruction that had once taken place.

The path continued on for a short distance and then became a series of crumbling stone steps, the footing growing more precarious. As the group ascended the cliff face, the rock all about them slowly formed roughly-hewn walls, turning the stairways into darkened corridors running haphazardly up toward the towering keep. For nearly an hour, they trudged upward, carefully picking their way until the steps ended in a small rectangular courtyard. The floor of this place was a weathered circular mosaic, an odd yet beautiful pattern not unlike a coiled, dark serpent. In the center of the pattern stood the remnants of a small statue. The wings were missing but it was unmistakably a crane, its neck outstretched toward the newcomers.

Just behind the statue came a sudden flash of blue, two mages from the Council sent down to welcome them. Hagan recognized the eldest of the pair as Stahluk. His robes were singed about the sleeves and covered with black soot but still his bearing was proud. The other was a woman, evidently new to the Council and stunningly beautiful in Hagan's eyes. Her hair rested in golden waves on her slender shoulders and her round eyes betrayed an intense intelligence and understanding of their world.

"Hagan Marindel. I'm sorry, Lord Hagan." Stahluk said, taking a few steps forward.

"Hello, Stahluk. It's been a long time." Hagan replied, grasping the mage's outstretched hand as he offered it.

"Far too long, son. Let me introduce Dhyrin, newest of the Council. She is now in her fifth year with us." said Stahluk.

"It is an honor to meet you Dhyrin." Hagan said as he took her hand.

"The honor is mine, Lord." she said with a slight bow.

"Stahluk, how is Davaris? May I speak to him?" asked Hagan.

"The Crest has improved somewhat. He is still very weak but refuses to rest more than a few hours a day. Come, I will take you to him immediately." Stahluk said and then turned to address the others. "If you will all follow me ... rooms and nourishment await you inside."

They all began to move forward into the shadow of the ancient keep when the Red Lion pulled gently on Hagan's shirtsleeve. Hagan turned with a questioning look.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Lord Hagan, my men have told me they will not enter Paren-Rothe. Their old superstitions run deep. Too deep, I am afraid. They do not wish to disrespect you but they wish to remain here in the courtyard."

"Certainly. You too may stay if you like. I am sure we will not be inside for long." Hagan said.

The Red Lion shook his head. "Nay, my Lord. I will remain with you regardless. I share their superstitions however the honor of serving you outweighs it by far."

Hagan hoped he could live up to his reputation. It seemed many people saw him as near godlike and he could not get comfortable with the strangeness of it all. He simply nodded and walked on after Stahluk.

The old man lay quietly, unmoving but for the slow rise and fall of his chest, his long white hair and beard rested about his head, stains the color of rust standing out here and there. One hand sat upon his stomach, blackened by dark flame, the wrist far too thin for his strong frame. A thin shaft of light stretched across the room, reaching near the foot of the straw mattress on which he rested. The only other light being a small lantern whose flame had been set low.

Hagan stood in the open doorway for a long moment, looking at his old friend and mentor. He recalled the last battle that they had shared and how wicked Davaris' staff had proven, its blue fire lashing out and sending Pith to hell. He seemed very peaceful now, very unlike the Davaris of old. He moved silently into the room and knelt on one knee next to the mage's head. He could make out his high cheek bones and hawk-like nose as the yellow lamplight played upon his features. His skin seemed far too pale.

"These are dark, dark times my son." Davaris said, his voice dry and cracking. Finally, he rolled his head in Hagan's direction, his eyes slowly opening, squinting against the lamplight. His mouth raised in a slight smile as he saw Hagan kneeling there.

"These times seem to follow us, old man. Can we not share company in good times?" Hagan said, placing a hand on Davaris' chest. They laughed softly together and the mage tried to sit up. Eventually he managed it, his back resting against the stone wall behind him.

"Davaris, how did this happen? How have things gone so badly in Harquinn? The council ... the strength of Kirkaldin ... what happened?"

"I am far too old to govern this council, Hagan. Things have slipped through my grasp for I can no longer see in all directions. Khienen ... well, Khienen knew exactly what to say and when to say it." He paused for a moment and swallowed with some difficulty. "I suppose my mind is not as strong as it once was."

"Nonsense. You know that is not true." Hagan said. He stood and went to the small table that sat on the other side of the mattress. There sat a large pitcher and several wooden goblets. He smelled the contents and once satisfied that it was water, he poured Davaris a drink. Davaris took it and drained it quickly, but refused a second cup.

"Where did this Khienen come from?" Hagan asked.

"Scant days after your departure, he came to Harquinn and after much convincing, I accepted him into Councilcrane. His powers were great, his words were strong. Now I know that his strength was drawn from the darkness across the Edge."

He grew silent for a moment.

"The others have told me of your woman friend. Windenn, is it? This is something I should have told you about long ago." Davaris said.

"You knew as well?" asked Hagan.

"Yes, son. The rise of her power has been foretold for some time. It was unclear as to where the power would surface until recent times."

"How strong is she, Davaris?"

Davaris thought for a moment.

"Stronger than I. Stronger than Khienen. To be honest, I do not think her power has a limit. Her like has never been seen before." he said with a faraway look.

"I am not sure that she is ready for this. It is a power beyond her. She is too young." Hagan said.

"Do you not wonder why it is that you and your companions escaped the keep without harm? Did you think the mages to be that incompetent? Each of their flames missed its mark, did it not? Why do you think that is?"

"Windenn?"

"Of course, Windenn! Without being aware of it, she surrounded you. She encircled you with protection, my son, and let me tell you, there has never been a circle that strong. Nothing in the past could have ever withstood a score of mages. Never."

Hagan stared at the floor in astonishment.

Wind. More powerful than a score of the council?

"I have been in this bed for too long. Help me out of this room."

"Davaris, are you sure ... " Hagan began.

"Son, I have no choice. If I do not rise now, I may never rise again. This world needs me and whether I am strong or weak I will do what I can. If I were to die on my back, I would be disgraced. 'Leave this land, with staff in hand' as they say."

"Yes, yes, I remember, you stubborn mule." Hagan said, his arm outstretched to assist the mage to his feet. Davaris had a hard time of it and once he was standing, Hagan knew he should still be in bed. His legs seemed very thin and shaky and his shoulders slumped badly. Evidently his original robe had been destroyed. For now he wore blue, as did the others, instead of the traditional white of the Crest. Davaris exhaled loudly and adjusted himself, leaning on Hagan's shoulder.

"Take me to the meeting chamber, son. There is much more for me to do before I join the Wind."

Together they shuffled out into the hallway where they were met by Stahluk and Dhyrin, who also lent a hand. Hagan thought he could make out several shifting figures standing in the shadows but could not be certain. Slowly they made their way up into the highest reaches of Paren-Rothe.

The other members of the council looked up with utmost concern as they entered the meeting chamber high within the keep. The room was immense and though it continuously spun, the motion was undetectable to those inside. A huge circular wooden table sat in the center of the room with many high-backed chairs around it. Hagan noticed many empty seats in between the mages and knew that they would soon be occupied with unearthly guests. Palm to forehead, each of the mages saluted Davaris as he entered and carefully took his seat. Those not of the council stood against the far wall, for only mages were allowed at this table.

"My brothers and sisters of Councilcrane, I am aware of your concern for me and wish to dispel any thoughts of my demise. As you can see, I am well and fully capable of carrying out my duties as Crest. As you all know, we have been joined by Lord Hagan Marindel and his companions from the west. This is indeed a good omen, for his presence in the past has proven invaluable. We will now wait for the others to join us. They will be here shortly and we will begin."

The shadows within the room seemed to darken unnaturally and the air grew cool. The Red Lion's posture stiffened as he leaned against the stone of the keep. His eyes glanced to the ceiling. The cobwebs began to dance as an unnatural breeze moved about the room. They were coming. As though passing through a gossamer curtain, the transparent figures began to appear, walking in a single-file procession from the outer eastern wall. Each bore a carven staff of wood and each carried themselves with pride. There were near thirty of the spirit mages once they had all entered and together they seated themselves at their respective places. Gradually they gained more of a tangible appearance becoming nearly opaque and less unsettling to the newcomers whose eyes had grown wide.

Davaris tapped his staff twice upon the stone floor and slowly stood, his spine still in a stoop. All present snapped to attention.

"Welcome all, living and dead. Once more we come to Paren-Rothe for the aid of our predecessors, so great is their knowledge. Darkness is approaching. It is no secret. Together we must stop Mournenhile once again. As in our last battle, Hagan Marindel has joined us and from my converstaions with those mages from beyond, they believe that he will once again help us tip the scales in our favor."

"Harquinn has been taken by servants of the east and so too, Councilkeep. Many of our brothers and sisters are gone now, killed by those that were once considered trusted friends. Can we take our home back from Khienen?"

"We have received news that Mournenhile's armies are massing to the northeast. If we are successful in reclaiming the city, can we defend her against the Pith? Spies tell us that Malhain is once again leading their forces. That's right. He is alive, my friends. This does not bode well for our cause."

"Elfwhere it seems is under siege as well, autumn coming to the forest that never sleeps. We cannot expect aid from their armies. They have their hands full. I have sent word far and wide of our dilemma and I hope that some ally can be found, but it may prove too late. This plague also troubles me. Too many people are succumbing to it. There seems to be no explanation. Men, women and children have all contracted it, dying from the feet up. Where did this wretched sickness come from? Is it a creation of Mournenhile himself or some new evil born to Kirkaldin? It is one thing to fight the Pith and the soldiers of the dark and yet another to fight an unseen foe. One that strikes without warning. One that does not only strike at warriors but at innocents as well."

He paused for a moment and cleared his throat.

An otherworldly voice interrupted.

"Davaris, an ally has been found and is on its way here. They will surely be here before this meeting has been completed." the spectral figure said.

"Thank the Wind." Davaris said more to himself than his audience. "This helps matters tremendously."

"Now, then. An army of our own, that sweetens the aroma, does it not? So are we in agreement? Do we reclaim our city and then defend it against Mournenhile?" Davaris asked.

"What of the Inquitis?" a mage asked. "One of its ilk within the very walls of our city? Why were we not aware of this? How did Khienen conceal its presence from us? Can we defeat Mournenhile's spawn?"

Davaris frowned momentarily. "This is something that I have pondered as well and still have found no answer. Never before has such dark power remained so close yet hidden to our sight."

"Of course we can defeat it. We have done so in the past and must do so again now. Its power is strong without doubt, however, Hagan tells me that it is weakened from battle and should be easily vanquished. We cannot rest, brothers and sisters. There is no time for consideration. No time for hesitation. We fight now or our world dies."

One of the ghostly mages, a female, spoke.

"Our greatest wish would be that we could share our knowledge from across the veil. Secrets that only the dead may know. It is forbidden. Our hope is with you and our blessings. You must remember, fellow Councilmembers, when to fight and when to flee. There is a time for both. Let pride not defeat you." she said, her voice fading in and out as she spoke.

"Your words I have heard and their wisdom rings true. Your counsel is unequaled. Are we agreed? Do we return our city to her rightful owners? Many will perish, it is true, but Kirkaldin's needs far outweigh the casualties. Come, friends, lend your staves to me once more. Together we can drive this darkness from the land and ensure that our children grow in the light of the sun. In freedom."

Each mage present, from this world or the next, looked to each other. Doubt crossed many faces but also pride and defiance. In moments, without a word being spoken, they had agreed.

"Very well then. Harquinn will once again be ours. Khienen must be destroyed and his henchmen along with him. Hagan Marindel, will you offer your blade once more to the cause? Will you face Malhain when he shows his face?"

Hagan started and then fought the lump in his throat. He could never admit the urge to flee that had crept upon him. Fear and doubt. These were the things that occupied his mind. He forced them down and stood straight.

"My blade has always been yours to command, Crest. To serve Councilcrane and the side of good once more would be an honor." Hagan said as powerfully as he could muster.

Davaris and the others smiled but not as widely as D'Pharin. Could one ask for a finer brother than the hero of the Black Sun? He was simply beaming.

Davaris spoke once more, his voice louder and more confident than before.

"This news from Lauden disturbs me. You have all heard of the woman and her terrible death. What does this mean? What evil has been born unto our world? We can be certain that Mournenhile is behind it in some way for it seems the creature made its way toward the Edge. We must be cautious. No one is to be trusted."

"Some of you may not know of the Runeglobe. This strange artifact has rested within the city of Aka Brindor for some time now, being studied by the Tinkerers that reside there. Recently the globe has changed. The runes etched all about it have begun to- I suppose dance is the only word for it. The symbols swim about upon the surface of their own free will. No one is certain what this means, if anything. We are certain that the Runeglobe is important to the future of Kirkaldin, yet the puzzle seems nearly impossible to solve. What is the meaning behind all of this? How do these things all interconnect? I wish I could tell you. These times are most difficult for one such as I. The sight has left me and those that still retain it are clouded it seems. Only fragments of knowledge can be gained."

"First things first, I suppose. Harquinn must be fought for and taken. Once that goal is accomplished we can discuss the future. Now, mages, take the hand of the councilmembers that sit next to you. We will share our minds one last time. The strength of Councilcrane shall aid us in this time. Come, join together."

Each of the mages reached out to the others and clasped hands. It seemed at this time that the ghosts became more solid and the living mages became almost ghostly, both sides meeting somewhere in the middle of life and death. Each of their heads fell back on their necks and the council fell into a trance-like state, talking in odd whispers. A swirling whirlpool of bluish energy took form above the table, casting a pale glow on everything in the room. The energy seemed to pulse with an inner heartbeat of sorts that could be felt deep within the chest but not heard. Hagan and his group looked to each other for comfort, smiling with reassurance, waiting for the meeting's end.

After a prolonged silence, the mages opened their eyes and sighed as one. All had returned to normal.

"Go then, mages and shades. Go in peace and I thank you. Time-"

Davaris was cut short by one of the spirit men.

"Crest, I believe your allies have arrived."

The sky outside became dark as if an immense cloud blotted out the sun. A low roaring sound could be heard as the shadows deepened. As a group, they ran to the many windows and searched the ground below as far as the horizon, then a flurry of movement pulled their gaze skyward.

As one, a dark group of flying creatures moved toward Paren-Rothe. They were vaguely humanoid in form yet very alien to their eyes.

"Wind, the Talon have come."

Many quick gasps were heard.

Hagan could not believe it.

The Talon? They are real?

He had heard of them in his childhood. The mythic race that dwelled in the southern cliffs of Kirkaldin near the Sea, rarely seen and never encountered. To be honest, he had never actually lent any truth to their stories. To suddenly witness an entire army of the creatures as they descended into the outlying area was a wonder indeed.

A small group detached itself and glided gently toward the windows. As they drew closer, large feathery wings of gold flecked with sable could be seen sitting high up on their backs. Their faces long and drawn like a bird of prey ending in razor sharp beaks. Eyes twice the size of a man's sat deep in their faces, unblinking, taking in every detail of their surroundings.

A small group of them gracefully stepped across the window sills and landed within the room, their wings folding quickly to their backs. Each raised a clawed hand in salute to the council.

"Councilcrane is forever indebted to your people. Were the situation not so grave, we would never have asked. When the sun rises tomorrow, we will return to Harquinn and take her by force. Many will die, I fear, but the darkness comes and we must hold fast. Thank you, honorable ones." Davaris said, his eyes moist with emotion.

One of the Talons nodded and gave a shriek. His eyes met several of those gathered there as if to acknowledge their unity in the coming battle. Together, they exited through the windows and soon rejoined their kin upon the ground below. No one could speak for a moment. This news was too amazing. Then several mages gave a triumphant shout and clapped their hands.

"Harquinn is ours, my friends. With the Talon at our side, Khienen can have little hope. Not many creatures of our world are as fierce as they." Davaris announced with a grin.

Dhyrin added, "Let us rest long and well tonight. Tomorrow brings war."

Hagan and his companions filed out of the meeting chamber and took two flights of steps down to a small terrace at the north side of the keep. A group of tables and chairs had been placed there for a late meal and they sat themselves, their eyes always on the mass of figures below.

"Can you believe this? The Talon have come to help. Father always said that they weren't real." said D'Pharin, craning his neck to take in the entire army.

"Father has said a lot of things, D'Pharin. How would he know? He never leaves the ranch." Hagan responded.

"These are ill times indeed to call the bird men down from their homes." Vasparian said. "We are in for a dark, dark age."

Shindire retrieved one of her books and opened it upon the table.

"My notes show no mention of this race. Why have I not heard tales of these creatures? Somewhere, someone should have spoken of them. How odd ... " she said in agitation.

"So, you don't know everything, eh? Imagine that." Hagan scowled.

Suprisingly, she did not respond, only scoured her pages with a frown.

Vasparian drew Hagan's attention away from the Graelund. "With this army, we will easily return Harquinn to the council, but after this battle, what then? Mournenhile would not march into the Middle Lands without a sizable force. His army has probably grown ten-fold since the Black Sun."

"Ten-fold? I doubt that, Vasp." Hagan replied. "Could he create that many more of the Pith in so short of time?"

"My gut is aching, Hagan. Terrible times are upon us. Dread has crept up my back and is clutching at my throat." Vasp said.

Hagan frowned.

"We've come through terrible times in the past, Vasp. What choice do we now have? What choice does anyone ever have when put to the test? Run? Hide? You know those are not truly choices."

Vasparian nodded, his eyes closed.

"I know, I know ... "

"You are both legends." D'Pharin argued. "Heroes of the Black Sun. Have you forgotten that? Both of you have come through battles that killed nearly all present. If you cannot defend us, then who? Can I?"

It was then that Hagan realized how important his attitude had become. Whether he liked it or not, people looked to him for hope and inspiration. If he showed doubt or fear, others would doubt themselves. Others would be afraid. He felt like running home to Lauden suddenly, but he would not let his brother see that.

"Don't worry, Vasp." he said. "Perhaps you can fight Malhain this time. Your statue could grace the market square. Grael Square has a nice sound, does it not?"

Vasp looked in Hagan's eyes with all seriousness and could see his intent. He nodded and laughed his best laugh. Inside he was shaken. Outside he would not let it be seen.

Hagan laughed with him and soon D'Pharin.

Moments later a meal was served to them and they finished it quickly. Hagan and Vasp joked with each other, keeping the mood light of heart. They had all pushed themselves back from the table when the horns sounded far in the distance. An alarm of some sort. Across the hills to the northwest, came a group of riders draped in scarlet cloaks. Servants of the Red Lion. They surrounded but did not interfere with a large lumbering figure, plodding on giant feet toward Paren-Rothe.

"Wind! It's Gorin!" Hagan shouted, jumping to his feet. He ran for the staircase at a sprint.

"And he's alone ... " D'Pharin murmured slowly, his chest tightening. He was the last to leave the table, a lump climbing in his throat. Gorin had returned without Windenn. What did this mean? Was she - ? He would not think it. He must hear Gorin's story. He took a deep breath and followed the others.

Chapter Nine

The Stone Troll did not speak for near an hour. Once he had been gently escorted into the structure of Paren-Rothe, he had seated himself near a window and stared out in silence. Hagan and the others sat near him but did not prod. His face held a look that they had never seen, one of extreme sadness and loss of hope. His brow seemed more deeply furrowed and his eyes seemed near to overflowing as he wrestled with something inside. All along his stone flesh were raw and blackened patches; the scars of wizard's flame. His leather tunic had been torn and dried blood was caked in the crevices of his hands.

They were all startled when his deep, booming voice began.

"My brothers would have turned the keep to rubble. Pounded each stone to dust. They would have rescued her. Hmmm."

"Even a Troll from Rathnok cannot withstand the mage's attacks for long. You have the strength of mountain rock, but even a mountain can be broken. Nothing is eternal." Hagan said as he took a step forward.

"The Wind." Gorin answered.

"I am not even sure that I believe that." Hagan said. "I would like to think that when I die, the Wind will gather me up and take me to that heavenly place of perfection. Part of being alive is dealing with the imperfections."

Gorin only grunted.

"Hagan," he started, his voice beginning to crack. "I give you my solemn word that I tried. Wind help me, I tried. I could not find her. She simply vanished. Until I could no longer stand, I drove myself inward into the castle. Through walls and iron doors, yet ... "

"I know, Gorin. I know." said Hagan.

"Windenn. I am so sorry ... " Gorin said and the others stepped back as he wept. It was indeed an unnerving sight, such a giant in the throes of grief.

Many uncomfortable moments passed and Gorin gathered himself. He turned toward the group once more and smiled as well as he could.

"The Talon have come, eh? Hmmm, never did I think to see this event. With them, we will certainly overtake Khienen." he said.

"Yes and I am sure that Windenn will be fine once we reach her. You know her power. I am not sure that they could really hurt her. Her magic seems to have its own will." Hagan said.

Davaris entered the room then, somewhat hunched at the shoulders from lingering pain and supported by his staff. The others parted as he drew near Gorin and placed a hand on his back.

"So, Gorin Grimandin, it is you that gave us fireworks in the night. Such a display we have not seen in some time. The council sat in discussion as you assaulted the keep and wondered what manner of creature could cause such destruction. Now we know. It could only have been one of Rathnok. You honor your race, friend." Davaris said.

"I thank you, Crest." Gorin said quietly.

"Would you follow my steward to the upper levels of the tower? Your wounds can be tended and a place to rest can be provided. Before you disagree as you and your kin are wont to do, consider it an order from the head of Councilcrane. There can be no argument." Davaris said with a smile.

The Troll nodded and reluctantly followed Davaris' assistant toward the stone stairwell. He turned to glance once more at Hagan in apology and left the room. Hagan could only frown.

"Did you get a look at his fists?" D'Pharin exclaimed. "To cause that much damage to himself ... "

Vasparian nodded. "I can only imagine the amount of destruction he has left behind him. I fear that many now lie dead within the Councilkeep. They have surrounded Windenn with the most powerful of magics and Troll's fists, though they are nearly indestructible, cannot defeat sorcery."

"Davaris has said that it was Windenn's magic that protected us at the Keep, yet Gorin has wounds from sorcery..." Hagan pondered. "Perhaps her magic grew weaker after all of that chaos."

"Should Gorin not be dead?" Shindire asked. "In all of my studies of the Stone Trolls, I have found no mention of immortality. How can he still be standing?"

Davaris chuckled slightly as he turned to her.

"There are many things in our world that cannot easily be explained. The children of Rathnok are some of the most difficult. I have witnessed the most incredible feats involving the Trolls. Things that should not be possible. Yet, somehow they are. No, Graelund, the Trolls are not immortal but they are not altogether mortal either."

"This makes no sense. Where is the logic in this?" she asked with a frown.

"There is none." Davaris said, taking a seat near the open window. He rubbed his beard, smoothing it against his chest. "Does everything need an explanation? The priests of Faith have only one explanation for every event, large or small."

Shindire looked at him questioningly.

"The Wind has made it so. Simple, isn't it? Is it true? I do not know. I do not think anyone within this room knows. No matter how we try to understand this world around us, there are things that fall outside of our scope of reason. We tend to place things on shelves within our minds, to group them together as we see fit. When something will not fit upon a shelf, we want to force it. Be content in the fact that all things will not fit. Relish that."

She nodded, the wheels of her mind already turning. She brushed a strand of black hair from her face.

"My people live by logic. There is always an explanation. There must be ... "

Davaris smiled. "How long have you been Graelund, child?"

She raised an eyebrow and did not answer.

"The longer you walk upon the mainland, the more instances such as this will you encounter." Davaris said. He held her with his eyes for a moment then turned to address the others.

"We of the council have arranged a celebration to begin at sunset. Tomorrow brings battle and surely death, yet we must rejoice. We will raise our spirits and our cups and we will sing to the stars of Kirkaldin. It will be our battle call. In the lower halls we are preparing such a feast! The Talon have brought us beef and venison and are now gathering fruits within the forests. Let us rid ourselves of the long faces and the worry. Tonight we will laugh. Yes?" he said, his eyes alive with excitement.

Hagan and the others answered in the positive and were indeed infected by Davaris' enthusiasm, although Hagan could not completely hide his apprehension. War was war and he did not look forward to it.

"Hagan, come join us!" D'Pharin called out from across the dining hall. He and several of the female Councilmembers spun in a wide circle, their hands clasped. The loud chimes of stringed instruments filled the room, echoing from the rough stone walls and punctuated by large, booming drums.

Hagan had seated himself against a far wall where he, Davaris and Gorin had been involved in a lengthy conversation about the Talon. He found D'Pharin with his eyes and waved him off, producing a frown from his brother. All about them, the place had become nearly a festival, the tables decorated with bright wildflowers and the plates overflowing with victuals. Tall glass vessels of wine stood among the dishes and those in attendance had consumed their share. Despite the coming battle, there were smiles in abundance.

"Khienen will not give up Harquinn easily. He will surely fight until the last man stands." Davaris remarked, his posture much improved since Hagan first arrived.

Hagan frowned.

"Many of the Talon will fall, Crest. Dark sorcery will burn them to ashes. They refuse even to wear armor." he said.

"Yes. They are aware of this. They know the risks involved yet they also know the outcome were Mournenhile to rule. For the good of Kirkaldin, they will give their lives. Surely you remember a similar situation, son?" Davaris said.

Hagan nodded. He had done the same under the Black Sun. In the same setting, he would do so once more. He knew that to be true. How could he blame the Talon for running so headlong into death? It was all so confusing. Why did so many die in the quest for peace? To avoid death, they die. His mother had tried to reason with him as he left for the war all those years ago. Nothing she said could persuade him to stay. He knew that to save his land and his family he had to fight. How could he have lived with himself had he stood by and watched others die for him? It is a strange compromise. To save those that you love, you must lose yourself and become someone unknown to you. Seeing so much bloodshed changes a person. The pain and death no longer affect you in the same way. Your heart grows numb. Your instincts take over. The instinct to kill.

"Hmmmm, Hagan?" Gorin said. It was obvious that he had called him more than once.

"I am sorry, Gorin. I was elsewhere." Hagan explained, draining his cup of wine.

"Once inside the Keep, will you accompany me in the search for Windenn?" the Troll asked.

"Of course, my friend. Let none stand in our way lest they pay with their lives. She will be fine, you will see. Had she more time to control her powers, she would have blasted them all to hell by now."

"Yes, hmmmm. She is a feisty one to be sure." Gorin chuckled deeply and smiled.

"Let there be no doubt." Hagan laughed and refilled his cup. He raised it high overhead.

"To strength and courage in battle. The Wind guide your hand." he announced.

"The Wind guide your hand." replied anyone within earshot of their table and they drank to one another.

The morning brought a somber mood as the sun crept up over the horizon. D'Pharin had risen early, before first light and wandered out onto the terrace. The Talon were crouched there, their bodies hunched, seemingly asleep. Their great wings covered them from head to foot, enveloping them and keeping out the light. This seemed odd to D'Pharin. Odd and uncomfortable.

When the strange creatures rose, the wings simply folded back and they stood, eyes facing the sun in a greeting of sorts. They soon gathered into groups, several taking wing and heading for the near forests. Even from far above, he could make out the loud clicking noise that was their communication.

"Hmmm..."

Gorin joined him then, handing him a large mug of hot tea. They watched the activity of the Talon together for a moment without speaking. The rays of the sun slowly bathed everything in an orange glow, setting a sparkle to the morning dew.

"Gorin, how many will die today?" D'Pharin asked, his eyes on the sun.

"No one can be certain, son. It will be too many, whatever the number. Khienen has revealed his true nature and his kinship with the east. He does not dare give up Harquinn without a bloody fight. His master would not stand for it."

D'Pharin sighed.

"I'm not ready, am I?" he asked. "For battle, I mean? The fight in Elfwhere was nothing compared to this."

"You will not know until you are in the midst of it. You have a strong lineage. I am sure you have the hero's blood within. Do not fear, my friend. I will be at your back if you need me." Gorin encouraged him.

They slowly drained their cups, lost in thought; Gorin of his home in Rathnok, D'Pharin of his trembling hands.

Hagan and Vasp had already met with Davaris and the Red Lion in the upper chamber. Just beyond the borders of Harquinn they would be joined by the Red Lion's men, some several thousand well-armed soldiers. Near the western wall another contingent lie in wait. At a signal they would scale the wall, throwing Harquinn's army into chaos. It seemed that a handful of Harquinn's soldiers were on the side of Davaris and had been appointed important positions on this day. Many that were to guard the western wall were indeed a part of the rebellion. If all went to plan, in very little time the Talon would overwhelm Harquinn's defenses. Then would come the mages. No matter the strength of claw and beak, sorcery would drive them back. The task would remain with Davaris and the remainder of Councilcrane. Had he the strength? Hagan had tossed all night with this thought.

He had never known a man of such will and sheer presence. Few could meet his gaze, his intensity was so evident. His physical condition, however, was very poor at the moment. He could scarcely walk without aid of the staff and needed rest often. How could he face down Khienen at his full power? This was all too much.

Just days ago I hadn't a care in the world. Now the world is in my care.

Many hours later they pulled up short near a hilly rise in the landscape, their numbers still hidden from the city. Just over the ridge, Harquinn's walls would be in plain sight. No doubt, Khienen knew the Talon were there by now. They had to hope he had not learned of their plan at the western wall.

Hagan let out a long breath. All about him, the winged warriors perched, covering the landscape with multicolored flashes of feather. They eyed the sky nervously, eager to take flight. Davaris sat across from him, crooked staff across his lap and wrinkles upon his brow.

"Not a sound from Khienen..." he muttered.

"You find that odd, Crest?" Hagan asked.

"You do not know him as I do. Ever the showman, he. I half-expected him to shout boasts and challenge us from the battlements."

Hagan nodded.

"This is war. The enemies' best tactic is to do what is not expected."

"Perhaps he knows something we do not." Davaris said contemplatively.

"What do you mean?" Hagan asked.

"It is just a fear I have had. Something nagging at the back of my mind."

"Do not worry yourself so, my old friend. We have the force to take the city. It is up to Councilcrane to hold it."

Davaris smiled and nodded his head. His eyes held that strength that Hagan remembered so well. He still seemed frail of body, however, and Hagan bit his lip with worry.

Gorin sat with D'Pharin not far from them and studied the horizon. It seemed as if he could see the doom in the east. Somewhere out there Mournenhile waited and planned and worked his dark sorceries. Had he truly returned? That such a being could exist had always amazed him. A thing of pure hate seeking nothing but destruction and the enslavement of all that is good. Now his servants had Windenn and with her vast power, Mournenhile's siege would be much easier to accomplish.

Windenn.

She would be his main purpose. His heart pounded at the thought of her chained somewhere, tortured. Why hadn't he been able to protect her? He gritted his teeth against the urge to scream.

His eyes went to young D'Pharin whose hands were visibly trembling as he traced the length of his scabbard.

Gorin stood and went to his side.

"Hmmm... a young man's first battle is a rite of passage. It does not matter, the race, the culture. It is a very important step in one's journey to wisdom. War is never a good thing, but its test can teach you much about yourself and the hearts of those you fight beside."

D'Pharin looked up at the Troll with moist eyes.

"That doesn't stop me from wanting to run." D'Pharin half-laughed.

"Heh, this is indeed true. I am certain that your brother had a bit of a fright as well in his first moments of combat. It is perfectly natural."

"Is it natural to soil one's self during battle, for I feel that I may." D'Pharin added with a nervous grin.

Gorin chuckled, his deep eyes twinkling. "Hmmm, well it is not unheard of..."

"I miss my home, Gorin. It felt secure and safe. My father is a hard man but I still find myself missing him..."

"Family bond is a peculiar thing. If a child is treated badly by a parent, that child will still come to that parent seeking love and approval. In youth it seems that love is unconditional." Gorin remarked.

"Until we learn the reality of it all. A boy assumes his father can do no wrong." D'Pharin said, glancing out at the massed troops.

"Your father is mortal, however and as such, prone to mistakes."

There was a long pause.

"Gorin, do you have children?" asked D'Pharin.

This brought an uncomfortable moment of silence as Gorin fidgeted and searched for an answer.

"Hmmm. No, D'Pharin. I have yet to find a lifemate. My size makes it difficult." he answered drumming his fingers on his knee.

"I think that inside you are a giant compared to those close-minded fools. Do your women care for what lies beneath the skin?"

"In Rathnok, we have a very strict and structured community. Without her mother's and father's consent, a woman would never approach an unknown suitor. We have many traditions back home that we must follow." Gorin said.

"It must be hard to fall in love where you come from." D'Pharin said, his eyes to the grass.

"For some of us." Gorin muttered.

Shindire and Vasp were in the midst of their own discussion only steps away. It was a heated one and would soon undoubtedly draw the other's attention.

"This is foolishness, brother. You fight the minions of Mournenhile to save this human city and those that dwell here. Why? Rejoin your brethren and defend your homeland!" Shindire hissed.

"You are crossing the line, Shindire. Do not question my decision or force your prejudice on me." Vasp replied in a low and menacing voice.

"It is a sad day when Elf aids Man. One step closer to being driven from the land." she recited.

"That's nonsense and you know it!" Vasp said.

"I will not go. I will not take part in this human war." she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

Vasp leaned forward, his face only inches from hers.

"You will fight, little sister. You will fight or I will kill you myself. Men like these deserve your respect and your loyalty. I would weigh them against any Elven Lord in Kirkaldin. Believe what I say-you will fight."

Her eyes were wide and her fists clenched at her side. Her eyes dropped to her feet and her posture sank.

"Very well, General." she cursed and wiped his spittle from her chin. "Your orders will be carried out, my Lord."

Vasparian turned on his heel and marched off into the ranks.

She would never admit to being afraid.

Never.

The loud bellow of a horn sounded suddenly from within Harquinn. Hagan and the others snapped their weapons from their scabbards prepared for any attack. One of the Talon approached Davaris and spoke quickly in its peculiar tongue. Harsh whistles and slight whispers.

"It is time, my friends. Khienen's men line the walls of Harquinn. They know we are here. We will hide no more. Come, let us take what is rightfully ours."

Davaris then marched up the hill and stood tall atop it. Stretching his arms skyward, he shouted. Lightning flashed wickedly above him and then the land grew dark. Where the air had been calm before, a hard wind kicked up sending his ivory hair all about his head. He dropped his arms and as one, the Talon took flight. Their wings slapped the air with an ungodly might and those on the ground had to cover their ears for the noise.

The Red Lion topped the hill as the Talon swept away. With sword in hand, he cried, "For Council and Crest!"

His men repeated the oath and in flashes of crimson, charged past him toward the city.

In moments, screams could be heard from the battlements, for the Talon were deadly foes. Soon came the sulfurous odor of mage's fire. Several groups of Talon were blasted to cinders as Khienen's council made themselves known, but Councilcrane struck as well, beating them back with fire of their own.

As had been planned, after their initial attack, many of the Talon fell back and then descended. Grasping one of the land dwellers by the shoulders, they soared over the walls and took them to the ground. Once inside, the chaos began. Khienen tried to control the situation, but his soldiers were soon scattered. Unsure where to go, some ran down to the courtyard and some remained above. At once, high atop the southern tower, Khienen dropped to his knees clutching his head.

"Get out, damn you! You dare assault me? You do not have the power!" he screamed, veins protruding harshly from his temples. His pain quickly turned to anger and he stood looking in the direction of those members of Councilcrane still hidden beyond the near hill.

He gritted his teeth and extended his hand toward his unseen attacker.

"You are no longer." He gathered his will. "Die." he called.

Outside the walls, one of the mages fell to the grass, still. The backlash from Khienen's counterattack had been too much. Davaris stood near and sighed. He drew his hood over his face and touched his chest.

"With the Wind, my brother..." he said and walked down the hill.

"Crest, no. It is too dangerous!" Lorys cried, pulling at his sleeve. "Please wait until the soldiers do their work. Please!"

Davaris shook her off.

"The longer I wait, the more will die." he shouted.

"You may die as well." she said, pleading.

"Very well. I will not stand and watch."

He marched forcefully for the main gate, eyes locked on the tower occupied by Kheinen.

After the Talon had dropped them across the wall, Hagan and his companions were quickly in the center of fierce combat. Each fought for several moments and finally drew back together, thus far unhurt.

Gorin glanced over his shoulder toward the heart of the city. Figures ran to and fro across the streets, panicked.

"Hagan?" he called.

Hagan knew what the Troll intended.

"Very well. Take great caution, my friend and go with the Wind."

Gorin did not respond. He was off before Hagan had finished. Suddenly, D'Pharin felt very alone. The Troll had promised to protect him, yet he had gone in search of Windenn, leaving him in the heart of danger.

"Gorin!" he called out. Almost immediately, the Troll had returned with a broad grin.

"In my haste, I nearly forgot my oath to you, young man! Hagan, I will take D'Pharin with me. I have sworn to watch over him in this battle and cannot break my word."

D'Pharin nodded to Hagan his consent. Hagan considered for a moment.

"Be careful, both of you. Gorin. Guard him well." Hagan said just as more of Khienen's men attacked.

Vasp easily defeated three soldiers as they lurched clumsily toward him. His sword cut three times and no more. His eyes found Shindire in the crowd. She fought hard, short silver blade in hand. He moved to her side and dispatched another attacker.

There was a loud clamor of metal, shouts, and then Hagan joined them.

"These soldiers are unprepared. This is far to easy." Vasparian remarked. Above them, on the walls, Khienen's men turned tail and as one, retreated. The Talon followed closely behind with beaks and claws.

Just then, another horn sounded from the vicinity of Councilkeep.

"What is that?" Hagan asked.

For a moment, nothing changed, then the ground began to shake. A low rumbling, like that of thunder, moved their way.

Davaris stood before the outer wall, at the great iron gate and glared. His strength new no bounds. His magic tingled through his arms and flitted about his fingertips with a bluish glow. He had seen this gate erected and supervised its construction many years ago. Now he would see it fall.

At his own hands.

A deafening crack filled the air like a great tree ripped asunder. Blue smoke and the smell of ozone filled the area, flickers of electricity slowly dying as the immense doors groaned and fell to the side. Davaris stepped forward and passed through the opening where the gate had stood.

Clashing soldiers parted as he made his way slowly and deliberately inside. He did not stop, heading straight for his destination.

His home.

Councilkeep.

Gorin tossed the guards like dolls at the doors to the keep. Behind him, D'Pharin marveled at his strength. A man could never be that powerful.

With a single kick, the doors flew open and they rushed inside. A dozen men ran at them, weapons drawn. Gorin threw one arm out and toppled seven of them. A spearhead shattered on his chest, its wielder grasping his stunned arm. Gorin crushed his ribcage with his fist.

Unable to overtake the Stone Troll, a handful of men leapt at D'Pharin. Lightly stepping back, he parried two attacks, spun and caught one guard in the eye. Spinning again, he slashed down hard, severing an arm from another.

A boot came from nowhere and slammed into his belly, doubling him over. A heavy-set guard raised an axe above his head and swung it. At the last moment, D'Pharin threw himself backward as the axe head glanced off the floor. He kicked the man violently in the nose, the blood splatter blinding its owner, and finished him with a lunge to the throat.

D'Pharin stood back, for the moment free of attackers and grinned. Other than the mild remnant of pain in his chest, he seemed ready for combat.

That wasn't half-bad.

Then he was struck from behind in the head and fell to his knees, stunned. He heard Gorin roar and felt a body fall next to him. Stone hands helped him to his feet.

"Hmmm. There is your first lesson. Celebrate when the battle is done. Were I not here, you would be dead. Understand?" Gorin asked.

D'Pharin simply nodded groggily. His vision was blurred and his head throbbed.

"Now to the dungeons." Gorin said and dragged him along beside him.

Soon, they descended several flights of stone steps. Gorin had taken a torch from the wall and lit it, casting an orange circle of light about them. Beyond the torch's reach was naught but midnight black.

They heard voices below them, perhaps two flights down, but none of them belonged to Windenn.

"The torch light will give us away. There cannot be more than twenty of them." Gorin said quietly and handed the torch to him.

"How will you see?" D'Pharin asked.

"I am a Stone Troll from Rathnok, D'Pharin. The torch was for you." said Gorin with a broad smile. "Wait here. I will call to you when my work is done."

D'Pharin nodded in embarrassment and the Troll disappeared into the inky darkness.

In no time, the sound of a scuffle drifted up to him. It didn't last long and soon he heard Gorin's call. With torch held high, he made his way down several score steps and met the Troll at the bottom. The place was fairly well lit and in every corner of this small room lie a heap of guardsmen. In one wall, an impression had been made in the stone roughly the size of a man's head.

"Wind." D'Pharin gasped. "That is something I will never be able to do."

Directly in front of them stood a door with a large metal lock. Gorin wrapped a massive hand around it and squeezed until it crumbled. He tossed it to the side and pushed the door inward.

All was pitch black in front of them.

They walked cautiously into a long, low hallway carved from the earth. On either side was a row of iron doors with small windows of rusted bars. The hall seemed to continue as far as Gorin could see.

"Which one is it?" D'Pharin asked, his voice echoing eerily down the corridor.

"Windenn?" Gorin called out. D'Pharin grimaced at the loudness of the word.

No reply.

"Windenn! It is Grimandin. Where are you, child?" he called out again. Before the echoes had died, a sound behind them spun them on their heels. One of the guards was coming to.

Gorin stepped back into the guardroom and drew the man up roughly by the neck. The man's hair was wet with blood and cheeks severely bruised.

"Where is she?" he asked. The room shook with the force of his voice.

The man quivered.

"Where's who?" he replied.

"Where is the woman, Windenn? You know of whom I speak, muckhog."

The man looked into the great Troll's face and found no compassion there. Yet he held his tongue.

"You will show me, vermin."

The man shook uncontrollably.

"I dare not. Khienen is the eyes of Mournenhile himself. Do you know what he would do to me? Do you?"

"Yes. And do you know what I am about to do to you? I will drive my fist through your chest and crush your heart slowly to mush." Gorin whispered.

"Wind, no!" the man howled, tears streaming down his face.

"Do not speak that name, servant of the east. You are not fit!"

Gorin lowered the man to the floor and shoved him into the corridor. He staggered a few steps forward, looked back once.

"This way." he said reluctantly. He led them many paces down the passage and turned to the north. The corridor descended at a gentle slope and finally leveled off. At the third cell on the west wall, the guard stopped. He reached to his belt and withdrew a large ring of keys. He soon found the one he searched for and poked at the keyhole. He was shaking in such a way that he could not drive it home.

"Move aside!" Gorin yelled and pulled the door from its hinges with a groan.

"Windenn! Windenn, I am here!" he shouted, but there was no response. He stepped hesitantly into the dank cell and D'Pharin joined him, torch held high. As they scanned the room from one side to the other, it was soon obvious that it was utterly unoccupied.

Gorin growled and lowered his eyes. D'Pharin's horrified tone snapped him once more to attention.

"Wind, no...Gorin." he whispered.

The Troll's eyes rose to where the torchlight shone on the wet stone wall. Scrawled there upon the rough surface in blood was a short message.

I have gone.

The letters were still fresh it seemed.

Gorin snapped. With an insane howl, he leapt through the doorway and snapped the guard up, hand on throat. Eye to eye, he growled into the trembling man's face. "What have you done to her, worm? That is her blood. Is she dead?"

The man went limp, no longer struggling. All hope within him faded.

"I swear to you... she was livin' when we left her. Some of the lads knocked her about but-I know she weren't dead..."

"Silence!" Gorin screamed. "Where in the deep is she?"

"What?" the man asked, trying his best to peer around Gorin's immense head. "What do ye mean?"

"She's not here, you fool." D'Pharin explained as Gorin threw the guard down within the cell.

"What? Wait -where did she go? Oh, Wind. Khinenen's sure to have us all boiled in oil." he stammered.

Gorin stood confused. He slowly walked to the wall. The bloody sentence stood out harshly.

I have gone.

He fell to his knees, the dirt floor shaking from the impact and lightly ran his fingers along the graceful letters there. He let his forehead fall to the wall and quietly wept.

"Windenn, where are you, girl? I am too late. By the Wind, I am too late to save you."

Both friend and foe stepped aside as Davaris strode through the gates outside of the keep and into the vicious fray. None dared approach him for in his eyes was a white-hot fire. It seemed that even the dull smoke and haze parted as well as the mage made his way toward the keep itself.

He stepped through the ruined doorway and walked to the center of the circular mosaic that covered the floor. The clusters of fighting soldiers unconsciously moved away and took their battles into the long halls that ran into the heart of the fortress.

"Khienen!" he shouted and all within the sound of his voice recoiled in pain. Sorcery ran along the word as he screamed it and the fabric of reality seemed to splinter for a heartbeat.

Hagan, Vasp and Shindire stood in awe at the mage. All frailty, all signs of weakness had vanished. What remained was power.

"Hagan, look there." Vasparian said and motioned to the opposite side of the entry hall. A large force of guards burst through one of the corridors and charged toward them, three-score strong. They avoided the wrath of Davaris and held to the wall as they came. The white-haired wizard paid them no mind as they passed, his only concern being the traitor Khienen.

"We are too far outnumbered. We must flee." the Wood Elf called, the dozen men behind them looking to Hagan nervously. Hagan nodded, then Shindire led the way down the hall at a sprint. They navigated several turns and reached a wide set of stone steps. Behind them came the sounds of close pursuit.

"Go!" Hagan called. He knew these steps led to the roof and that his choice had been wrong but they had little alternative. They took the steps two at a time, their weapons clattering as they ran. Many flights later and they had gained the roof.

They had emerged at the highest part of the keep, a low wall barely waist high separated them from a fatal fall to the courtyard far below. They had ample room to move, but no escape route.

They gathered into a rough circle and faced the stairway.

"Alright. Let us see what you men have in your souls. There is no second chance. We live here or we die here." Hagan shouted, his face now slick with sweat.

"Hold together and watch each other's backs!" Vasparian called out. He glanced at Shindire and she met his eyes. She was visibly frightened, her lip shaking.

The stairway erupted suddenly and guards poured forth, a torrent of shouts and steel. They were on them quick, smelling of sweat and leather. Their initial lunge sent Hagan and the others back several steps, dangerously close to the roof's edge. They fought back hard, beating away the stabbing blades, forcing themselves forward into the enemy.

"Give no more ground!" Vasp cried out, his sword passing through the ribs of his opponent. To his left, he saw sudden motion and turned to look.

Then, their left flank collapsed, sending man over man. Chaos exploded, both sides suddenly split down the middle.

Hagan heard the cries of men falling from the wall, but he could not tell if they were his or Khienen's.

A splatter of blood hit his face as the soldier to his right took a lethal blow to the head.

This is useless. Our formation is broken. I have to-

Just then, he saw Shindire. Six of the enemy had her up against the wall. She was off balance and close to going over the edge. Her left leg was bloody and she slumped as she fought them back.

No!

Hagan ducked under the shaft of a jabbing spear and dove away in her direction. He could hear her blade slicing through the air, occasionally meeting steel and flesh. More men joined in the attack, pressing her farther. Her breath was coming fast and loud and Hagan knew she did not have much time. He caught one of the attackers in the back of the neck with the pommel of his sword and kicked another aside. He fell against the wall at Shindire's side and spun to meet Khienen's men. As he turned, a large man wielding a broadsword lunged in with a wild fury. He threw himself between Hagan and the Elf and blocked Hagan's view of her. He heard her cry out.

"No!" she screamed.

He's throwing her over. Wind, no.

He thrust his blade into the man's midsection and vaulted over his body just as Shindire was forced over the low wall. Her wide eyes met his, her arms flailing at the air and her legs went out from under her. Hagan hurled himself toward her, continuing to fend off blows with one hand. The reaching fingers of his other hand barely wrapped themselves in her shirt just below the neckline.

"I've got you!" he said.

The weight of her body pulled him roughly and suddenly up against the wall, knocking the breath from his chest and wrenching his arm nearly from the socket. Shindire screamed in fear. Far below, the sound of her dagger could be heard hitting the cobblestones.

Khienen's men attacked then, viciously. Hagan fought on, holding Shindire with one arm and swinging his sword with the other.

"Hagan, don't let me go. Hagan..." he heard her cry.

Never. I will not let her go. If I have to die here, I will hold on until I fall.

Metal rang on metal, blades darting in and out all about him, yet he fought them back for what seemed like ages. Sweat ran into his eyes and his right arm was on fire. He fought on. The anger of his attackers was increasing as Hagan successfully avoided their weapons. It became like a dream in slow - motion. He saw nothing but his enemies' blades and evaded them all, his vision narrowed to the space directly in front of him.

Then a sword found home.

Searing pain shot through his thigh and dropped him nearly to his knees. Shindire called out as the jolt sent her swinging against the wall. Hagan quickly regained his feet, but he knew it was hopeless. No one could hold off such an attack with one arm. He could not defend himself against so many.

Then several of Hagan's men jumped into the fray, screaming, "Hail, Harquinn!" and the enemy turned to face these new foes. Hagan threw his sword to the roof and reached for Shindire with the other hand. She gripped his wrists and pleaded to him with her eyes, her face ghostly pale. With everything he had, against his screaming arm, he pulled. The muscles in his back and neck knotted like rock. With much struggle, he finally pulled her back to the roof. After checking her for serious wounds, he collapsed against the wall. She fell next to him and buried her face in her hands, weeping openly.

Hagan's trousers were soaked with blood and his right arm was all but useless. He closed his eyes and laid his head back, longing for an end to the pain. All went black for a moment as if he were sinking in a cool, flowing river. The current gently tugging at his consciousness. Just as suddenly, the harsh sounds of battle snapped him awake and the agony returned two-fold.

He heard Vasparian shouting orders to the men.

"To me! Hail the Red Lion!"

Red Lion? So that's what turned the tide.

Then, Vasparian was running to him, a look of worry on his face.

"Hagan? Hagan, are you wounded, my old friend?"

"Vasp," Hagan croaked. "Stop shouting. I'm still here. My leg..." Blood seeped between his fingers where he gripped his upper thigh.

The Elf looked closer with an expression of concern.

"It is deep, Hagan. You need a healer. Now."

"Just tie it off, Vasp. Stop the bleeding for now. Davaris needs us."

Vasp shook his head in disapproval. He tore a long piece of leather from his scabbard and wound it around Hagan's leg, pulling it tight. Hagan winced, pounding a fist into the stone of the roof next to him. He noticed Shindire, still crying into her hands.

He reached out to her and put an arm around her shoulders. She stiffened at first and then relaxed into his arms, putting her head to his chest.

"You're alright. It's over, Shindire. Just relax..." he said calmly.

She did not respond, only sniffled into his shirt.

"Vasp. Help me up."

Vasparian pulled both of them to their feet and grumbled something to himself. Khienen's men had been driven back down the steps to the keep. Many of Hagan's group had fallen, some at the end of a blade, others upon the cobblestones below.

"I am here, Davaris." Khienen's voice called out as he stepped from a dark hallway and into the room. "There is no need to shout. After all, in your weakened condition, you may expire." He flashed a wicked grin and took a step forward.

"You are within the fortress that I designed and had built many years ago. This is my home." Davaris said in a calm tone.

"No longer. This entire city now belongs to the east and to Mournenhile. You and yours have no hope. Flee while you can, Crest. Mournenhile does not take prisoners." Khienen said, standing proudly, staff in hand.

"Khienen. How did one such as you, strong, proud, how did you become a slave to darkness? He controls you now. You have become a pathetic lap - dog with-"

"Silence!" Khienen shouted and the keep shook. There at Davaris' feet, cracks grew in the floor and surrounded him, stone grating on stone.

Wind and Ashes. His power has become awesome.

"You must be destroyed, Khienen." Davaris said. "I regret that, in the past, I have called you friend. I was blinded. Now you grovel at the feet of your master."

Khienen smiled.

"Old man, can you not see the limitless power that he commands? With a word, I have shattered the floor around you. One word. Not a spell. A word. I drew no power from my staff to aid me. What will happen when I do? How easily you will fall, defeated. Lying dead in the very keep you once ruled."

"I pity you." Davaris replied shaking his head. "You have been corrupted and with that corruption, stricken blind as I was by you. Once you have outlived your usefulness, you will be discarded. The power is not yours to keep. You must know that."

"I will outlive you!" Khienen screamed and thick fingers of lightning burst forth, striking Davaris in the chest, throwing him to the far wall. He lie there a moment, the front of his robe smoldering, fighting back the agonizing pain.

The earth shook, sending Gorin and D'Pharin nearly to the floor. The Troll helped D'Pharin to his feet, brushing dirt from the back of his shirt.

"The mage's battle has begun. We must get back upstairs quickly!" Gorin said, bounding up the steps. D'Pharin ran behind him, torch held high.

Twice more they were forced to their knees by the rumbling of the keep, small stones falling from the walls and ceiling then bouncing down the steps past them.

A group of soldiers ran headfirst into Gorin as he rounded a corner. They stopped and brandished their weapons, hesitating.

"Run away, little men. I have no time to play." stated Gorin with a growl, his eyes intense.

As one, the soldiers bolted, running chaotically back the way they had come, some dropping their weapons altogether.

Gorin and D'Pharin ran into the hall, covering their eyes as Magefire assaulted their vision, flashing in all directions. The Troll noticed the smoke wafting from Davaris chest and frowned.

I must help him. He must not fall.

Davaris' forehead felt as if it would burst, the fire within pressing outward like a swollen river.

Wind. Never have I been attacked so. Can I defeat him? Has Mournenhile grown so strong?

From within, Davaris drew on the power of his staff. He could feel the heat flow into his palm and up his arm. He had always loved the ecstasy of Magefire.

I will not die on my back.

"Ar' Vaenen Iraene-bre!

Ea sar' Vaenen iraend'ess!

From the Wind, I was created!

And through the Wind, destroy!"

Instantly, he was on his feet, arms outstretched. The room filled with an intense light, comforting at first, then wrenching at Khienen's insides.

Khienen doubled over, holding his stomach, clenching his teeth. A trickle of blood dribbled from his ear and soaked his shoulder.

"Davaris..." he hissed.

"I will not stand by and watch his dark fist crush this world." Davaris said, walking toward his enemy. "There truly is no hope of steering you off of this path you have chosen?"

"No, Davaris. I choose to live. Without Mournenhile, life is short."

Davaris thrust his staff out before him and shouted, the force of it sending those within the room smashing into the walls. Many perished instantly, friend and foe. His will could be felt by all in his presence, a crushing entity pressing hard upon their minds, forcing them to the ground.

White fire erupted from the floor along the newly formed cracks and like a snake it swiftly traced its way back to Khienen, setting his robes afire.

The dark wizard laughed as he was engulfed, obviously unaffected.

"You do not understand, old man." he said, his face ghostly behind the sorcerous fire. "Through Mournenhile, I have evolved far beyond your reach. I have been given Mournenhile's gift. The gift of blood. And though you may be the Crest of Councilcrane... Your blood is weak!"

Blood.

Something nudged at Gorin's mind. He was missing something. He knew it. There must be a way to help the Crest but magic was something the Stone Trolls of Rathnok knew nothing of.

Like a great cat, Khienen shot through the air and tackled Davaris, falling to the floor on top of him. The flames swallowed them both in a burst of unearthly light.

The agony inside of the Crest was unbearable, as if his soul was pierced by countless blades. He knew nothing but pain, could see nothing but empty white. A tortured howl came out of him as he began to lose consciousness.

Distraught, Gorin lowered his eyes to the floor and just caught a glimpse of his hands, still wet with Windenn's blood.

Windenn's blood.

The Stone Troll charged forward into the room and dove at the mages. With all of the might given him, he drove his hand into the white fire that surrounded them. Every muscle burned as he fought the magical resistance.

Pain! Wind, the pain!

He stretched his fingers, reaching.

Agghhh! Push!

Nearly there. For an eternity he forced his hand into their midst as if through the current of the mightiest river. At last his fingers grasped Davaris' staff.

A deafening blast of energy threw the Troll across the room, clear of the battle.

Many moments passed and he did not move.

Wind. Am I alive?

He finally lifted his head and looked for the mages.

Both stood, feet at the edge of the mosaic, facing one another. Khienen's face held a new expression, one of doubt and fear.

"Yes, Khienen. The blood of the very one you held prisoner, Mournenhile's prize, will now destroy you." Davaris announced.

"No. How...?" Khienen asked and moved as if to flee. "I forbade the guards to draw blood! Mournenhile bade me cherish each drop. Save it for him. Her power and that of my master will be invincible! I must use her now to defeat you. My master must understand."

He ran toward the hall that led to the dungeons below.

"No, Khienen."

Khienen pulled up short and spun to face the Crest, his face contorted in fear and confusion.

"She has gone."

Khienen laughed but it was full of desperation. "What? No. She is below in chains. I put her there myself." he stammered.

"No. Her power has saved her, taking her far from here. Far from you or your dark master." Davaris stated calmly. "I feel her. She is very much alive, but so very far away."

"It cannot be. She is but a child, unable to understand-"

"The power of the Wind, Khienen. It has kept her from harm and spirited her away." Davaris said.

And somehow Khienen knew it to be true. He searched the keep with his mind and found no trace of Windenn. All hope quickly left him. Fear soon gave way to anger and one thought came into focus.

Kill the Crest.

He launched a vicious attack, staff held high above his head. Black arms of sorcery sought out Davaris but could not approach him, instead it faded as it drew near.

Davaris shone as bright as the sun, the Wind's power filling him completely. He closed his eyes and smiled, cherishing the feeling, the Wind within him. When he opened his eyes again, they were aglow with one purpose. He had to remove this servant of Mournenhile.

"Come, dog." he said and Khienen's feet began to slide across the floor, pulling him toward the Crest. Khienen turned and fell to the floor, his fingers searching for a hold, but nothing could stop his forward motion.

"No! Davaris, no! Release me! Mournenhile will devour your soul for this! No!" he screamed.

Khienen stopped at Davaris' feet. The Crest looked at him with something akin to pity. Khienen raised his face to Davaris, his cheeks now wet with tears.

"I beg of you, my Crest. I was seduced..."

Davaris placed a hand gently on Khienen's head and brushed the hair from his eyes.

"Poor soul. Yours is a story that has played itself out so many times." He briefly smiled.

"Now your story must come to an end."

Khienen's eyes popped open.

"Crest, no!" he begged.

White flames caressed Khienen's face, then, tracing its lines and encircling his skull. It then drove inward. His mouth went wide and his body went rigid. It was apparent that he struggled for a moment, arms and legs flailing. His fingers clawed at his eyes. His body suddenly straightened and then went limp. Davaris let him fall to the floor.

As the body settled, war drums suddenly thundered outside the walls of Harquinn.

Chapter Ten

"Crest! It is Mournenhile's army. They are here and they are tens of thousands strong!" a soldier shouted as he ran into the keep, his head bloody from battle.

"Wind, no..." Davaris whispered to himself.

How could they have gotten here so quickly and undetected?

He looked slowly about him to the faces of those that had served him so well. He knew that, if asked, they would answer the call again. He could not ask this of them.

"We will abandon the city." Davaris said, making for the ruined doorway. His mind raced. What other option was there?

There was a momentary silence.

"Crest, no!" Ayanor pleaded, running to his side. Others in the room cried out in disagreement.

"My friend, we have no choice. The dark army far outnumbers us. Do we stand and perish? What purpose would that serve?" said Davaris.

"But, Crest, what of the libraries? All of our lore will be lost. We cannot allow Mournenhile to capture it!" Dhyrin added.

Vasparian stepped up, his face full of emotion.

"Crest, there must be another way. Since the birth of Kirkaldin, much of the land's knowledge has resided here, with the council. There are things here that simply cannot be lost. Secrets of the Wind. Even my brethren from Elfwhere have turned to you for answers in the past." he said.

"Indeed. Mournenhile cannot obtain our knowledge. Upon departing, I will bring the keep to the ground. There will be naught left but cinder and memory."

All present knew that the decision had been made and many stared at the floor, tears welling in their eyes. Ayanor was affected the most, it seemed. He had spent nearly his entire life within these walls researching. Uncovering things that had lain hidden since the Morning of Kirkaldin.

"All of you gather what horses you can find. We make for the north gate immediately. Be careful, there are still fragments of the enemy within the city walls... " Davaris called out.

Just then, several of the Talon landed outside of the keep and moved to Davaris, speaking in their high-pitched voices. After many moments of conversation, they took to the air once more.

Hagan turned to the Crest with a questioning look.

"Malhain is here. He has stopped his men at the horizon. It is one of his old tactics. He will let us sweat, waiting for the charge. His is a twisted mind. Twisted by Mournenhile. The Talon have informed me that the army stretches from north to south as far as the eye can see. There are creatures within it that we have never before encountered. These are more of Mournenhile's unholy creations, I am certain. Hagan, to flee is truly the only way. Were we to remain and defend our home, we would all perish and who would be left to defend Kirkaldin? Who would come forward?" he said.

Hagan simply shook his head. He could not believe this. Soon, Malhain would occupy Harquinn, the city that had held back his armies for countless years. The city that Hagan had nearly died defending under the Black Sun. Was this truly the city's last free day? Were all those lives in vain? His friends and fellow soldiers?

"Hagan, where will we go? Where can we hide from Mournenhile?" D'Pharin asked coming up from behind. His eyes held an obvious look of fear and anxiety.

"I am not sure, brother. Davaris will lead us somewhere to the north. Surely we must avoid Elfwhere lest we run into thousands of Pith on our way." Hagan answered, his mind in shock. Weakness was coming over him, his wound draining his body of strength. "Come on, let's find some horses."

As a group, they exited the Keep, quickly making their way through the outer courtyard. Hagan's eyes lifted to the burning rooftops within the city and his heart ached. Damage was clearly visible everywhere within Harquinn and to think, Malhain had yet to arrive. Luckily the stables had not been raided and enough horses were rounded up for all. They mounted and turned their steeds toward the north, Davaris in the lead. Just as they were spurring them forward, Ayanor called out.

"My Crest!" he called. They all spun to face him in confusion.

"What is it, Ayanor?" Davaris asked, holding his horse steady.

"I cannot, Crest. I will not allow Mournenhile to take the keep."

"Do not be foolish, Ayanor. We will fight another day. There is nothing left for us here." said Davaris.

Dhyrin called out, "Ayanor, do not do this." She had always known of Ayanor's feelings of inadequacy.

"Davaris, you must let me do this. My entire service to Councilcrane has been one of mediocrity. I excelled in nothing. You must allow me to defend our home. I will remain behind and protect what is ours." Ayanor said, his eyes filling with tears.

"Ayanor, please. There is no hope in defending her. The city belongs to them now. Please, my old friend..." Davaris pleaded. He could see in Ayanor's face that arguing was futile. He dismounted and walked to Ayanor, nodding slowly.

He stared into his frightened eyes for a moment, tracing the creases that ran from their corners down his cheeks. He had known him nearly all of the younger mage's life.

"Very well, Ayanor. Know this, within you is a boundless strength and perseverance. That is why you were chosen. You excelled in your loyalty to Councilcrane... and to myself."

Ayanor was openly weeping and reached out, embracing Davaris.

"Thank you, my Crest."

Davaris pulled back and took Ayanor in once more.

"I will miss you, Ayanor. As a brother have I loved you."

"And I, you, Davaris. Goodbye."

Ayanor then slapped his horse's rump sending it running off into the city. He nodded once to the group of riders and walked back toward the keep.

"What-?" D'Pharin started.

"Let it be." Hagan said. He motioned for his brother to follow him. Together the group rode off toward the northern gate, winding their way around fallen soldiers and rubble. D'Pharin glanced over his shoulder in time to see Ayanor disappear through the crumbling doorway of Councilkeep.

They spurred their horses on into the city, the sounds of battle still ringing out among the smoking buildings. They took to a small, dark alley to avoid a group of Khienen's soldiers and ended up in Marindel Square. The dead lie everywhere, the ground now slick and stained. There, near the center of the square, rested the statue of Hagan, the head now broken from the body.

This took Hagan aback, seeing himself shattered in this way.

Is this an omen of things to come?

He stared at his stone replica, the lifeless eyes seeming to warn him.

"Hagan." Davaris called out.

Hagan closed his eyes and heeled the horse forward past the statue.

"That must be an odd thing." Vasparian said, allowing his horse to fall back a bit.

"Yes. It is peculiar enough to witness a stone replica of one's self but to see it demolished in your path..." Hagan answered.

"Pay it no mind. It is only stone." the Elf replied. "You are made of sturdier stuff than it was."

Hagan silently nodded.

From an eastern street, a group of the Red Lion's men joined them.

"Crest, we must make haste. Malhain is at the southern gate and will surely be inside the walls in moments. My captain will meet us outside and together we will hold your pursuers at bay. " a scarlet - clad warrior announced, his breath coming in quick gasps.

"Very well. Give the Red Lion my regards. I hope to see him again. Ride, my friends!" Davaris screamed forcing his horse into a gallop.

Soon, they gained the gate, which stood wide open. A flood of city folk poured out, running in every direction. Women and children screamed as the crowd pressed forward toward the gate.

Davaris knew that most of these people would never survive on foot. Malhain would hunt each of them down out of spite. There was no way to save them. Wind, why? How had it come to this? Had he made the right decision?

Of course he had. To stay would mean certain death. No, the decision had been correct. One thought nagged at him. If they escaped and made it to safety, what then? Could they ever hope to defeat such an army?

There was no time to dwell on it.

Davaris moved his horse into the crowd, pulled along by its current. Faces looked up to him in desperation. Save us, Crest, they all seemed to say. You are our hope. Tell us all what to do.

He had no answer.

He wanted to shout out, 'Run, you fools! Run for the hills!'

Hagan had much the same experience. He was the savior of Kirkaldin, after all. Hadn't he returned to rescue them? He was invincible, was he not?

He ground his teeth and waited as the throng neared the gateway. Behind him, the Red Lion had joined his soldiers, now some several hundred strong. His face held a look of worry and of utter sorrow.

Just as he turned to face forward, they broke through the opening and into open air. They gathered around Davaris, who scanned the horizon.

"Make for the ridge. We can follow it into the foothills and lose them there." he shouted to Hagan. He spun to face the crowd.

"Listen to me, all of you! All hope is gone! Take yourselves northward. Find a place to hide. Our city is lost and for now, darkness has won. I hope to see you all again in better times. Please do not tarry. Get you and yours away!" The people stood, mouths agape in silence and fear.

With that, his horse bolted across the open field toward higher ground. Hagan and the others followed, heads bowed against the wind.

D'Pharin allowed himself one last look over his shoulder and gasped. The Red Lion's men were in formation outside the gate and a swarm of blackness was quickly making its way around the city's burning walls. He could see the Pith, their oily wings flitting at the air, their wolf-like faces baring jagged fangs. The Red Lion had no chance against such a foe, yet his men held together, their heads up and chests thrust out with pride.

Run, he thought. It's not worth it!

He turned back, his eyes moist.

Ayanor dropped the large timber in place, barring the southern entryway to Councilkeep's ancient library. He scanned the entire room, taking in the vast amount of literature there that lined the wooden shelves from floor to vaulted ceiling far above. Some of these volumes, he knew, were so fragile as to crumble to dust at the lightest touch. As old as the Wind, it was often said.

Lining the topmost shelves and kept behind locked glass were Klaemen's own spellbooks. Magic of a different and untested sort. Thus far, nearly impossible to comprehend and only the foolish would try to master the incantations contained therein. His precious staff rested there as well on an ivory pedestal, slightly charred from battle but still intact.

Standing out in stark contrast upon the western wall, was the deep red leather of the Imgyarr, a dozen volumes of Dwarven lore. Only these copies existed above the earth.

"How can I allow this to be taken? Destroyed?" Ayanor muttered aloud.

"There must be a way."

He searched his mind for some manner of sorcery that could whisk the entire contents away to safety, but a spell of that magnitude was far beyond his power.

His life's work would be gone soon, he knew.

The southern door shook suddenly with a violent force, dust raining down from the ceiling. On the other side, he could hear shouts and shrieks, the ravenous voices of the Pith.

I'll bring it all down on their heads! If it must be destroyed, then I will kill as many of them as possible.

His anger rose and his mind raced. The original spell he had intended would suffice but it would not be enough for him now. He wanted more.

"I'll bring the whole city to the ground..."

He grabbed a wooden ladder and climbed toward Klaemen's case, leaving his staff there against the wall. Fifteen steps later and he had reached the legendary mage's collection. He shattered the glass with the back of one hand and carefully reached in, retrieving the crooked staff displayed within. Grabbing it in his now bloody hand, he quickly climbed down, the pounding on the door incessant and growing increasingly louder.

As he once again reached the floor, he held the ancient weapon at arms length in awe.

In the early days of every mage's training, they learn a simple rule; each wizard's staff is tuned to its owner and none should ever try to wield another's weapon. To do so would end with catastrophic results. Knowing this, Ayanor reached for his staff and held the two together at his sides. His heart thudded loudly in his chest and his breathing grew rapid.

"This was not your way Lord Klaemen but I am sure you would not object." he said to the ceiling.

I just hope the others have escaped the city by now.

The door cracked down its center and hung crookedly on its hinges for a moment, then exploded inward. Like a raging black river, the Pith poured into the room, their fangs biting at the air. Upon seeing Ayanor with the staves, they hesitated, knowing a mage's abilities.

Through the mob of black faces, came a taller, less animalistic creature. The Rone'Pith. It moved to the front and met Ayanor's eye, its long ears twitching. In stark contrast to its naked brethren, it wore an ornate black robe. Many arcane symbols had been woven into the thick fabric. It wrinkled its nose and stepped forward.

Ayanor smiled.

They have no idea of what is coming.

Suddenly he was doubled over in pain, both staves falling to the floor, the dark shaft of an arrow jutting from his stomach. Another ripped into his left shoulder, hurling him backwards.

"No!"

Flame shot from his hands but without the aid of staff, its power was diminished. Several died but still more came.

In the blink of an eye, the Pith were all over him, teeming like ants on a carcass. Their claws and fangs bit deep, throwing him to his back. His screams reverberated from the ceiling, joined by the shrieks of glee from his enemies.

Against their weight, he rolled to his side, the pain from their attacks unbearable.

You will not take this place.

He managed to climb to his knees, seven of the creatures hanging from him and he saw the Rone'Pith casually crossing the room toward him.

It must not reach the staves!

He muttered an incantation and the clinging group of Pith dropped from him as cinders. He scrambled to his feet, pools of his blood beneath him, and dove across the floor. His breath left him as he landed, one hand around Klaemen's staff. Spinning, he made for the other and stopped. A slathering Pith held the thing curiously in both hands, studying it.

"Foolish beast. Die."

And the creature erupted internally, its innards running from every pore. Ayanor seized the staff as it fell and turned just as the Rone'Pith joined him.

"Demon. Our end is here. I am only one, but many of yours will perish this day." Ayanor said quietly.

His opponent squinted its slitted eyes, puzzled.

"You will understand in a moment..."

With that, he brought the staves together. He could smell the hair on his arms burning.

"Regrae Iraend'ess!"

Instantly, he felt his being tugged in all directions chaotically. Limitless power flooded him, his eyes bulging. White heat covered his vision.

"Klaemen?..."

He sensed the ancient mage's presence all about him.

The Rone'Pith realized far too late what Ayanor intended.

The Keep pulsed. Everything of flesh dissolved. The ancient structure crumbled in on itself then in a flash of silent, blinding light, erupted in an immense explosion of stone and wood. The ground splintered and cracked, toppling all that stood upright.

The heart of Harquinn melted and was no more.

Several leagues form the city, a steep ridge led up into the Dragonrun Mountains. For many years, traders had used its precarious path to travel to Ar'Hollow, cutting off many days with the shortcut. It was certainly not suited to be taken at full gallop, but this was the party's intention.

In moments, their horses scrambled up the rocky incline, struggling to reach higher ground. It proved difficult for the riders to hold on as their steeds picked their way up the ridge.

Davaris rode like a man possessed far ahead of the rest, his horse snorting and frothing at the mouth. He was determined to get them out of harm's way.

"Come on!" he yelled. "We must reach the pass of Th'krade unseen!"

Gorin charged on behind him, lumbering up the slope with hands and feet. He called out to Davaris, asking him to wait, but he was ignored. Shindire and Vasp came next, shouting to one another in Elven while Hagan and his brother brought up the rear.

"Keep her under control, D'Pharin." Hagan called.

D'Pharin, it seemed, had gotten the most skittish of steeds and she was having a difficult time of the small stones under her hooves. He was an accomplished horseman but this mare was terrified.

As they ascended, a thick cover of trees hid them from view, giving a sense of safety for the moment. D'Pharin cursed as the mare's right rear hoof gave way, sending him sliding in the saddle. He righted himself and took a tighter grip on the mare, shifting his weight toward the ridge.

Just then, she went down.

D'Pharin and the mare slid suddenly off the ridge, the loose stones giving way and tumbling down below. They were now far above the tree line and a fall may prove fatal.

Hagan spun and dismounted when he heard the gravel give way.

"Hang on, D'Pharin! I'm coming for you!"

D'Pharin's horse screamed, its legs frantically searching for solid ground.

"Whoa, whoa..." D'Pharin said, trying to calm her. He could tell that in her present state, there was no controlling her.

"Hagan..." he called out through the dusty haze that had arisen.

Hagan had nearly made it down to him, sliding slowly into a sitting position.

"D'Pharin, you may have to leave her. I don't think she can make it. Here, reach for my hand."

D'Pharin did not wish to leave the mare, knowing she would surely fall if left to her own devices. Reluctantly, he reached for his brother's hand. Their fingers nearly touched and the mare panicked, falling to her side. D'Pharin tried to jump free, but his leg was trapped beneath her. He grunted under the weight as they slid farther down.

Hagan watched as the two of them slid and tumbled down the steep rocky slope, far out of reach.

"D'Pharin! D'Pharin! Are you hurt?" he shouted unable to see through the dust.

Vasparian appeared above him, high up on the ridge.

"What has happened?" he called out. "Where's D'Pharin?"

"I've got to go after him." Hagan answered and began to descend.

"I'm right behind you." Vasp called out and climbed down from his horse.

D'Pharin coughed and spit out bits of gravel as he rolled to a stop. He and the mare had fallen near to the forest floor, D'Pharin having finally been thrown free. He could hear the horse crying out but could not see her for the dust cloud they had created. Then, within the trees just below he heard another horse whinny.

He squinted, trying to pierce the haze and made out several shadowy forms moving toward him from the forest floor beneath the ridge. He heard Hagan calling for him from above and cursed under his breath.

Quiet, brother.

The dust began to clear and the shapes became dark - clad warriors. Mournenhile's soldiers.

The foremost spurred his steed forward and dismounted. A great black helm sat upon his head, hiding much of his face, huge horns jutting from its sides. He seemed completely covered in armor.

Something seemed familiar about this man.

"Having trouble, little one?" he called out in a mocking tone. "Your precious Wind must have blown you from your perch, no?" His men chuckled in response.

D'Pharin reached for his sword and found it missing, knocked free during his fall. Defenseless.

Hagan was coming close, picking his way down and called out again.

"D'Pharin! Where are you?"

Please, Hagan. Keep quiet.

D'Pharin stood and began climbing up the slope backward, his eyes on the tall figure below.

"D'Pharin Marindel! Answer me!"

The figure suddenly paused in thought. He burst out in loud laughter, his eyes wide like a madman, his soldiers grinning along with him.

"Marindel, eh? Luck is certainly with me on this day. You are a Marindel? That must make you...brother?" He turned to peer up the slope through the haze.

"Hagan Marindel!" he called out. Hagan stopped in his tracks.

"Come down, old friend. Come and witness this historic event. Your brother is going to die by my hands. Surely you wish to be present."

Hagan wrenched his sword from its sheath and began bounding headlong down the rocky incline. Anger and fear gripped him hard.

"Malhain!" he shouted. A gust of wind parted the dust cloud and suddenly cleared his visibility. Not far below, D'Pharin tried in vain to gain higher ground. Malhain grinned up at Hagan and went to his saddle. Slowly, deliberately, he removed a long javelin, black in color. He hefted it to his shoulder, apparently testing its weight and once satisfied, he began to pace back and forth, all the while eyeing D'Pharin.

"No, Malhain! Leave him out of this!" Hagan cried out, sliding closer in a frantic.

"Oh, Hagan. After all, this is what I am." Malhain laughed.

D'Pharin suddenly found solid ground and was able to climb up several steps. He stretched out a hand to Hagan who was now dangling precariously just above on a small outcropping.

"Come on, D'Pharin! Reach!" he called.

"Move closer, Hagan! I've almost-"

Their fingers touched but the rock beneath D'Pharins feet tumbled away and he slid down, once more just out of reach.

"No!" Hagan screamed.

"This day belongs to me, Hagan Marindel." The voice of Malhain called out from below.

Malhain stared at D'Pharin, judging the distance, planting his feet.

I cannot leave him helpless, Hagan thought.

He threw all caution to the wind and leapt from where he crouched. He dropped through the air toward his brother. At the same time, Malhain loosed his javelin, its barbed head whistling as it cut through the air.

As Hagan landed, D'Pharin was frantically scrambling on all fours toward him, terror in his face, ghostly pale. His body blocked Malhain from Hagan's vision.

"D'Pharin! Down!"

Just steps away, D'Pharins body went rigid suddenly. A thin black blade jutted from his chest, dark rivulets of blood tracing a path down his shirt. He mouthed silent words for a moment and fell into his arms, the javelin piercing Hagan's left side as he caught his mortally wounded brother. He quickly rolled to one side, resting him on the rocky slope next to him, oblivious to the pain in his abdomen.

"D'Pharin! No! I..." he screamed.

"NO!"

D'Pharin's eyes met his for a moment and then looked to the sky. Blood appeared on his lips.

"Hagan... i - it doesn't hurt. Hagan," he started, his eyes intensely meeting his brother's once more. "Do not deny what you are."

"A hero."

The sentence came out as a whisper and his eyes slowly closed.

His body went limp, a last exhalation rasping from his chest.

Hagan ran his hands shakily over D'Pharin's head and shoulders trying to coax him back to life. Then he put his own head in his hands.

This cannot happen. Wind, please.

Quickly his thoughts went to his youth and his brother being born. Then, to running through the forest, pretending to be soldiers. Then, Hagan leaving Lauden for the Battle of the Black Sun.

"Why did I go? All of those years away from you. I know it was hard, D'Pharin. Wind."

He screamed as the tears flooded his cheeks. In the end, he couldn't protect him.

Then, Vasparian and Gorin knelt beside him, faces drawn with sorrow.

"How?" Gorin asked, searching the trees below, seemingly now empty. His eyes had become black caverns of shadow.

"Malhain." Hagan whispered.

"Hmmm...I will destroy him!" The Troll howled and began to descend.

"No, Gorin." Vasp said calmly. "You would perish as well."

"I must honor him. Avenge him!" Gorin said, his face avoiding their gaze.

"Carry him away from here. Honor him in that way. Malhain has gone. This is all part of his wicked game. Rest assured, we will see him again." Vasparian said, his eyes wet.

Shindire stood at the top of the ridge for a moment. Stricken with grief, she turned away and motioned for Davaris. He was just now returning down the path, a confused look upon his face.

The blue-robed mage dismounted and was among the others quickly.

"In my haste I have cost him his life. If I had held back and remained with you-" he began.

"No..." Hagan said. "You did nothing wrong. He should never have been here. He should be at home in Lauden, saddling up the horses with his father."

He brushed the hair from his brother's blood – streaked forehead.

"Hagan, you are bleeding." Davaris said, pointing to his side, now a dark crimson.

"Malhain's blade." Hagan answered weakly and collapsed into darkness.

