

By A. Foster

Aka Annette Foster

A Legend from the Great Wood

This is book three in the series.

Written By: A. Foster, aka Annette Foster

Copyright by: A. Foster 2019

Illustrated by: C.A.F.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recoding, or buy any information storage, retrieval system, in any manner whatsoever, without the written permission of the Author. This includes but is not limited all images and photographs,

written permission by C.A.F.

or Ann Foster directly.

Contact for such requests, via c/o BooksbyAFoster.com.

"This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, and incidents

are the products of the author's imagination or are used "fictitiously".

Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,

living, dead or undead, is entirely

coincidental."

If things were different...

Thank you.

Seasons Change.

I know that now...

clearly.

In reference only

to the lost!

Arrel

The far "North"...

Dedicated

to old friends and new...

The heroes...,

that never let me down.

You know your names...!

Legends of the Great Wood

Book One: Runner

Drellin lives in a place, a land where just being alive is a crime. She is mixed blood. Marked and hunted, she bears the burden, "RUNNER!" That defines everything. No friends, no family, no one to connect to. Drellin tries to find her place in the world.   
Everyone wants a place. Everyone needs a place.

Book Two: Paladin

Our hero, from the previous story, "Runner" has no choice but to move on, after the death of his love.

Annon, Prince to the Isle of Kings, knight of the City of Tamdrac, fighter and more, but not enough. His true desire to revenge Drellin and become a Paladin of the Light. After losing his love to the evil of this cold world Arrel, the man continued north. He went to find Shendar the teacher and learn the ways of runners, half-humans, and breeds. When he left his homeland it was for honor and glory. Now it was for something more. He had a true purpose, a far greater cause.

Because of accident, fate or design, the big man saves and befriends Glenfel. She is the most unusual runner he had ever met so far. Come to find out she was not human at all but something different, special and unique. The future of their world Arrel may hang in the balance of both their futures.

Book Three:

Armilander, "The Dragon"

Our story picks up again

in the tower of...

Qualer!

Nothing, good comes from there...

If you had all the power in the world

And the only price to use it,

was the death of everything

that meant nothing to you

in the first place...

Could you,

would you,

be..., tempted?

Table of Contents

Preface - A Beginning

Chapter One - The Dragon

Chapter Two – Onara

Chapter Three – Baby

Chapter Four – Qualer

Chapter Five – Marale

Chapter Six - All things Change

Chapter Seven –Just a Stone

Chapter Eight – Lessons

Chapter Nine – The Task

Chapter Ten – Arrel

Chapter Eleven – Inside

Chapter Twelve – Tan

Chapter Thirteen – Klar

Chapter Fourteen – A Book

Chapter Fifteen – A Poet

Chapter Sixteen - A Hand

Chapter Seventeen – Ships and Sand

Chapter Eighteen – Alin

Chapter Nineteen – The Rise

Chapter Twenty - Dawn

Chapter Twenty One – Ever After

Notes and Acknowledgements

Poems

Books

Coming soon...

A Beginning...

The sound of footsteps echoed softly within the stone, towers' near pitch-black darkness. Trath's heart beat hard, fast, and altogether too loudly in his own ears. He was sure that the sound of it too, echoed against the very walls like thunder, or at least it seemed so. Trath was not a thief. He was not an intruder by his standards at all, but a seeker and a true adventurer. That gave him a kind of free reign in such matters. That is, in the way he thought of "such things." Trath was respectful of the history and legend of this tower, this place and yet mindful that he was an outsider. That is something he did not want to be. That is also something he intended to change.

Qualer, an ugly past it held throughout the land, here in the cold, deep north. The silence of this great citadel had been unbroken for ages without number. The mysteries, Trath sought to possess for so long, were here, all around him. The hungry, greedy man could feel them in the air as if he could tangibly breathe them in. Somehow he strongly felt that he could and would know them all soon. It would be due to his own will and desire. A lifetime of planning, researching, and seeking was going to pay off, no doubt. It was that physically empowering. That was his dream. It had always been. Now Trath intended to manifest that yearning into a reality. No matter what it may cost, the price would be worth everything. Trath would pay gladly.

The ancient place was not as empty as it appeared. It was not...

The small but sturdy horse that had brought the wizard to the courtyard had been let loose. Trath thought he was a good beast. He had served him well. Maybe the animal would find his way to the lowlands or not. Freedom is what you make of it, he guessed. Trath had no intention of leaving. In fact, this was to be his new home forever, one way or the other. It was also a show of his commitment to his destiny. The way forward was now the only way.

The huge, double doors that marked the main hall stood menacing in their magnificence. They were carved with the features of a thousand races, most of which were long since gone from the face of this world. Time was a great leveler. The empty eyes of those similes beckoned to Trath eerily, drawing him on. It was a soundless invitation. Pictures and objects have strong meaning at times, and these were clear. Unmistakable, the motives were not hidden. They were not friendly or happy, either. They were strange and odd. In some ways beautiful, but in others... not.

The man gathered his wits. He took a long, slow deep breath and made his way across the open expanse of the promenade. It was at least a hundred paces or so. The floor was a mosaic of pictures. Water creatures. It glittered oddly and appeared to change. Of course, that could not be true. It was solid, and he was walking right on it. Carefully the man moved. He did not stumble. The shade tried to be at one with his surroundings. He kept his pace precise and measured with meaningful intent. The interloper also kept an open eye over his shoulder, but no one followed. He was alone. To the man, it did not feel that way. His instincts warned him to beware. The traps here would be lethal of course.

Beyond the opening was another larger hallway with several possible path choices. There was one to his right, two others to his left. Lastly, there was one straight on. It was the most, grand appearing. Anyone standing in his shoes would surely believe it was the correct direction to take. The walkway continued, lined with old tapestries, rotted in places, or laying on the floor. Decay. Then he would walk by others that were perfect. Sewn, embroidered scenes of mythical monsters and heroic knights, the work displayed in each, all of superior quality indeed, was everywhere. This was a bizarre place. One moment he felt it had been totally abandoned, and time had taken it to rest. In the other, it was ancient and striking, beyond all reason? Nearly timeless it appeared untouched, yet tainted.

"An enchantment?" Trath wondered if some power of persuasion and illusion was in force here. Some piece or fragment of a; leftover protection to keep trespassers away? That was not uncommon in tombs and places of the dead. Qualer was abandoned. Why? There were stories. Was it dead? Hum? Trath was counting that it was not. The power here was real enough if he could just...reach it.

The man did not care. He walked on with purpose. He shook off the funny feelings and refused to be deceived or misled by moving floors or both timeless and rotting tapestries. This was the summation of his finest...achievement. Trath believed he had potential and importance. Qualer was going to bring that talent to fruition. The thought of it made the evil man smile. Why evil? Because his heart yearned for power, he did not earn. He knew it. That also did not matter. Trath believed he would use everything in the end for good so it would be okay. Right?

"It" is what one does with "it," not how 'it' is acquired. The end ever, being more valuable than the means. The man had a plan. He was unstoppable. A goal does that.

The corridor opened up into a large room. It was a meeting hall of some kind, with a grand table and chairs. That in and of itself was not abnormal. The size of them, that was the important part. They could easily accommodate a giant man of fifteen or even twenty feet tall. The wood they were made of was old and rotted. A thick layer of dust covered everything. The farther end of the hall had a giant fireplace with carved lions at each end. The beasts were as big as they would be in real life, but these were only statues. Their empty eyes followed the stranger. It could not be true, but it gave the man a chill. The fireplace itself would hold logs. Of course, it all fit, perfectly, if you were a titan. Otherwise, in comparisons to everything here, Trath was a mere child.

Beside the huge, stonework of art was another massive stairway. It was again leading up. The tower was high indeed. Trath moved slower here, as not to disturb the eons of fine sediment. It floated easily as his boots moved from step to step. He left little dancing dust devils in his passing. Slowly they died and fell back. Regardless he traversed the room with care. Was he being watched? Was he really alone? His mind focused on the moment. He was trying to hear and see everything with such care, as not to miss a detail. One small item, overlooked, could make him fail. The prowler in the dark continued upward to the main walkway.

It was so hard to control his excitement Trath could not stand it, but he did not want to make a fatal error now. He did not want to allow even the slightest chance of a mistake to occur. The energy that builds from waiting your whole life for something, and then it is close...changes, the way you think. Mistakes are made. The man knew that. He scolded himself silently and continued forward. "Patience." The one word echoed back and forth in his mind.

The floor, the onyx beneath his feet was fine-looking, like everything else in the tower. Yet he paid no attention to the elegant craftsmanship. Beyond the color and flawlessness of its hard exterior, images danced. There were shades of things just below the surface. What those were, had no names. Just forms trapped in the very stone used to make the awe-inspiring, grand tower of Qualer. There were rumors, bad ones mostly. It was just a trick of the light. That is what Trath told himself and dismissed all concern. The warnings of this place were many, but the wizard did not put much weight in them. Yes, there was power here, no doubt. Whatever else? did not matter to the man. It especially did not matter to the wizard, Trath longed to be. He had always been small. This place was going to change all of that forever.

Then there was the door. Right there. It was at the top of the landing. A good twenty feet across and again that much high. All by itself. Nowhere to go to the right or left. Just the landing, and the sealed chamber. Its surface was gray and metallic. Trath had never seen anything similar. There were stones, placed in its surface, randomly? But, yet upon further examination, precisely. Not just stones, precious diamonds and rubies, used for mere decoration? It seemed so. The boldness of that revealing the makers desire to express the importance of the entrance.

Hanging onto the momentum of his actions, Trath, closed the distance. The man had arrived. Exactly where he planned to be. With all his might, he grasped the great bar that locked the opening and pulled it free with an ominous, whoosh sound. It swung wide, and Trath saw a lifetime of his imaginings come true in the space of a handful of precious moments. The room before him was full of enormous expertly polished mirrors from the floor to the ceiling. Even in the near-complete blackness, he could just make out the actual outline of his own shape. It danced across the surfaces, reflecting and re-reflecting back and forth upon their tremendous, magical façade. The room was an enormous circle. It, of course, mirrored the tower in construction style.

Trath took his first step inside, unhurriedly. Then, his second. Suddenly, with growing confidence, he went quickly forward. He stopped close to the center and stood ever so still. He waited.

He waited!

Time crawled by. Nothing. Somewhere outside, he knew it was getting darker and darker. The night was coming. The sky was full of clouds when he came in, dark, and foreboding. He was sure it would be raining by now as well. There would be a full moon, the first of the New Year. Just as Trath thought the place must be vacant and powerless, a light blinded him. It came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. With lighting speed, the panels along all the walls came instantly to life at the same, exact moment. It was incredible, a sight beyond words. The mirrors were like facets of a giant diamond. They made it appear that everything was light, and dark had nowhere to be.

Slowly, the brightness subsided. It returned to a level where the man's normal sight was restored. Boldly now, Trath glanced about the room. There was a huge chair in the center. He had not seen it before. Had it just appeared? It was a throne. A seat fit for a sovereign, a leader of men, just waiting for a body. It was the focal point of the chamber. It called to him. His heart raced, and his mind whirled with greater excitement than before if that were possible. Trath advanced and seated himself with the pomp and presence of a real lord. He was now a man above other men, coming into his own...position of authority. To rule and reign over those that could not think for themselves, by his standards. The small people that needed his guidance would get it. Trath did not have to try hard to give the proper impression. He was important; it was how he had always felt. This was the realization of a lifetime spent searching, wishing, and above all, longing for in his deepest dreams.

It was owed...to him. He was Trath.

Brilliant colors danced across each mirror in turn. He watched for a thousand heartbeats. The wizard savored the moments. He let the reality wash over him. Trath had arrived. The long pilgrimage just to get here had nearly killed him. There had been moments, few but still. He had wavered, but in the end, he had remained strong. This was happening. Right here, right now.

Trath spoke low, in a very commanding tone. It was just as he had been taught so long before. Ren had been his teacher. The crazy old man had been his benefactor in more ways than one. He had raised Trath like a father. They had lived together in this wild, lawless land of the Maralan Forest also called the North Country. He had grown up with the man, not knowing or remembering any of his past. The geezer had taken Trath in as a boy when he had been left to die in the woods. It was thought that the "normals" had done it. Again why? That was less important than the fact. Whoever it was thought it better the boy's fate was left to the wild wolves.

The elves had found Trath. They took him to the old man out of compassion. It was a weakness among their kind in Trath's eyes. The reason...No one knew who had left him, abandoned, or why? In the first place. So, Trath's heritage being of a skeptical nature, the tribe would not do more than save his life. They would never take him in. The old man, now that was a different story.

In direct defiance of the "common folk" Ren, had given Trath a life, a home, and all his knowledge before he died his untimely death. Like all good and ambitious sons' Trath had helped him find peace at the end of the road. Perhaps it had come a bit sooner then Ren would have liked, but the outcome was the same. Trath now put those studies to his own use. "They will be sorry they cast me out. They will pay when I have learned all the lessons this place has to give. I will know all the secrets, and then I will rule." Smugly, Trath laughed out loud, low. It was perhaps the irony of fate that Fandran had spoken much the same sentiments.

"Show me the Armilander!" Trath commanded with authority and gestured toward the first mirror. The colors stopped swirling, and with great speed formed a brilliant picture. The dragon of dragons', created of myths and rainbows, the Armilander stood before him. The clarity of the image gave the impression of actual reality. A ripple of fear passed down the back of Trath's neck, but then it was quickly replaced with the force of his horrible greed. It was just an image. Not a real breathing individual. Yet, the clarity and visual effect were deceivingly alive.

Turning to the next mirror, Trath hesitated for a moment. Who next? Who would give him what he wanted, what he needed? The little man again gestured. "Now, show me the past. Show me, Shendar. He will be my new teacher." The last statement was another unfortunate turn and major-twist of the fates. Shendar had stood for the Light his whole life, now his memory and image would work to serve Trath's personal desires. The adage regarding the drunkenness of power would lay the path of Trath's future into the dark. The mirror complied and moved at his command none the less. Once more, the desired surface brought forth a magically, created image, this time of another old man. He could be the brother of Ren. They looked so similar. It shook Trath to see him. Was it a cruel trick? A joke? He had killed Ren. Now in this place, he admitted it to himself. The word "Killed" could not be replaced with anything else, except perhaps "Murdered."

Again, Trath brushed all of the ugly feelings away, in favor of his heart's desire. What did it matter to him what Shendar appeared to look like? He was the right teacher. He would know all that was needed to rule and reign. That is what Ren had told him. That is what he believed. Now he was going to claim it. All of it!

"Show me the ending of magic and the beginning of all things new. Show me the Armilander's birth." The third mirror shifted and whirled for a long time in response. It finally revealed a beautiful golden dragon and a small clutch of eggs. They lay safe in a huge cavern. Thereupon a wide-open space, a huge circle of sand, warmed by a live volcano, they rested. It was far beneath the surface of the land.

Glancing about; there were still four mirrors yet awaiting Trath's command. To look upon them sent a silent message through the man's body, a thrill of power that coursed into his very being.

"Seven!" Trath thought to himself. "Seven towers, seven mirrors, and seven worlds within the shadow of a single sun, I will rule them all." Trath smiled wide, an unpleasant grin indeed. "Shendar, you will now instruct me. I want to know of the Armilander and the magic that they bring. Teach me of dragons!"

The face of the old master starred back at Trath from the surface of the mirror and began as ordered. The image had no choice because it had no real life. It was merely an echo of the original, lost in the memory of the past. Now, however, it was also the slave of the future.

The castle rumbled, the world moved, and the lessons began...

Home

Chapter One

The Dragon

The night was cool and silent as the dragon clan awaited the newest clutch to hatch. The beautiful, golden mother lay restlessly by the small hard eggs, breathing ever so softly upon them. She glowed with pride, and her sharp eyes watched for the slightest movement, equally intent upon each small package before her. The promise of life and a new day for her breed was at hand. This was her crowning moment. The golden dragon had assured the survival of her race, with a new generation. That was her purpose and privilege. The massive beauty had been born the top of her line. Majestic in color, intelligent of mind, there was no other that could match her. She was perfect for her task.

Krale, the great bronze father, had perched himself upon the highest peak overlooking the Penal Valley. That was his post. Protector of his family. His eyes were glued intently as well. But for him, it was not to peer upon his children. Instead, they followed one small figure on the tight, footpath far below. It was the only thing that moved within the narrow, gorge. The worst part was that it approached without fear. Krale knew that by its gate and stride. This startled him for Krale, the oldest and firstborn to the Armilander; was not easily taken off guard. He had no knowledge, of anyone brave enough to travel this far into the vale on purpose. That is except those in his own ancient memories. Images passed to him by his line were vivid. They gave him the answer. He knew trouble, first hand.

A wizard of great power or a total fool were the choices. Who would willingly come into a dragon's realm? He preferred to think fool, but something worried Krale badly and made his own heart all too heavy. Wizards always brought bad tidings to dragons. A magic-user coming at a time when the hatching was so close meant only the worst. Krale tried not to dwell on that thought, but it consumed him none the less.

The huge beast's keen, sharp eyes slowly revealed the figure below to be human after all, or at least that in appearance. It was also a male by the scent of it too. The stink of the stranger was heady upon the air. It made Krale's own, stomach turn slightly. The giant lizard debated if it would smell better, all burned up? The intruder wore a long flowing robe of midnight blue, nearly but not quite black. There was not much else to say. Dragon's as a rule barely noticed humans or cared. But this was different. Here, in his realm, and at this time? It was unheard of.

The little figure drew close to the ground entrance of the main caves. There the stranger suddenly passed out of Krale's sight. Even from this great distance, the colossal bronze dragon could hear the intruder's footsteps still. The beast had many special and unique abilities. None of which was helping him at the moment, sufficiently with this new addition. The man continued his approach. Krale also had no doubt that "it" was with purpose. The definition of "it"? Evil was high on the list of possibilities if history was any indication.

"Mornt will be at the entrance." Krale thought to himself. It gave the ruler of dragons a moment's respite. "For your sake, human, you had best be a wizard, yet for mine, I would rather welcome and honor a fool." Krale breathed deeply and tried to blow out the smell of the man's scent, but it lingered. It perfumed the air like; a carcass left too long in the hot sun, not good eating. The bronze hated humans. In all his life and that of his past ancestors; there were few encounters or actually none, that benefited his breed.

A few moments passed by in agonizing slowness, as Krale awaited the piercing scream he expected from the individual. The shriek of death as the man was surely torn apart by Mornt would be forthcoming. It would be a good sound, a beautiful sound. It was not that Krale was particularly brutal in matters concerning men as a whole, but this was hatching time. The most important time for his kind. His mate even now laid waiting for the moment far below. She would give the signal of a new life. It was her right. He would then fly to the heights and trumpet the news. What news would that be? Krale pondered. Who was the unwelcome visitor that dared to disrupt the quickening?

Abruptly the world erupted in sensation. It was the tremendous scream of accomplishment directly from his mate, Sech. He could hear her; he could feel her. They were attached and joined in ways undefined by basic natural laws. They were special and unique. Dragons, on the whole, did not grow old in the same way as humans. Krale, however, had lived longer than was normally expected. He was from a first clutch. Even with the deficit of age, he had out powered and outmaneuvered all the younger males, to win his golden, queen.

Dragons, all dragons lived their lives able to fly up until the very end. That was the way of their kind. Krale was aged. But even still the power in his body and his wings could rival a hurricane.

Sech was special too. She was gold, pure gold. That was rare. Extremely uncommon, indeed. It had been a long time since one of her beauty and power graced the skies. She had not been easy to catch. Krale liked to think about that. His wild beauty, now the matriarch and co-ruler of their clan had made him earn his place at her side. She was pure command in motion, a dance of energy, and gale-force held in check by will alone. Their flight to be bonded had been unbelievable.

Where Krale's beloved Sech was from this world, and this time, the same was not totally-true for him. He had been a leftover from the last. Being a hatchling of the Armilander put him on the outside. He was a dragon, yet he carried the history of his race. The birth of their hatchlings together, the next generation of their kind would be a monumental event. They were two different times, two different worlds connected. He had always thought that to be a good thing. The best of both worlds? Now with this new ripple, this interloper, it gave him a deeper, more profound concern. Why was this being here at this time? It was too soon.

"Joy." That was all his sweet love knew about the moment. The first of the six eggs had cracked. Then more triumphant roars from the deep inner caves echoed in response. The original, glorious annoucement continued on; to the outer reaches of the territory. The magnificent news spread like fire. The deafening sound increased in volume quite quickly. The rejoicing would have been like music to Krale's ears if it were not for the man's existence. The celebration of the coming hatchlings birth had begun. Krale's demeanor grew black and heavy. He could not ease the grip of the darkness that had clutched his enormous heart like a vice.

"Mornt, do your job. You are swift, strong, and agile. You are surely a match for any human." Krale spoke out loud to no one but himself. He had great confidence in Mornt, but a deep fear told him the man below, was not a fool. That only left one other possibility. It was not a good prospect.

Krale did not join the others in the celebration but instead steeled himself for battle. Things were wrong, very wrong, and there would be blood spilled because of it. He held his voice silent and continued to strain with all his being to hear only one thing. He needed it. The beast waited for the shriek that would signal the human had been dealt with, as was expected. The giant was desperate for it, to give him back his calm. Krale closed his eyes and used his inner senses. The great bronze cleared his mind of everything and focused only on the entrance to the cave. The dragon could feel the magic, dark, and brooding in every shadow. The human had to be a wizard. That fact was more than clear now.

The wailing of young dragons echoed across the sky; the other eggs were hatching. Again, Sech would wonder why her mate was not with her. Why his voice had not joined the others? Knowing this, Krale leaped forward from the peak and headed without further hesitation down. He flew to the opening in the side of the mountain. The beast. power-dove to his destination. He landed just outside the gaping hole in the rock. It was...home. A prowler had passed freely into the warm keep beyond, and that was not acceptable. Krale folded his broad wings and walked cautiously forward. He headed down into the inner lair and straight to the nesting chamber. The heated ground at the base of the volcano was his destination.

The passage meandered back and forth a couple of times before it opened up into the first large cavern. There were glowing stones here, embedded into the walls by the ancients. In the dim light, Krale noticed the frozen figure of Mornt. He was completely, utterly still, like; one of the huge statues that decorated the Time Keeper's Palace in the deep, south. Krale did not smell blood, and he could not see any signs of a wound on his friend. The position of the huge grey beast told him that Mornt had reared up on his back legs to attack. Krale's blood ran cold. The human was not just a wizard, but a wizard of some power to be sure. The spines on his broad back rose.

Krale continued down the passageway. Behind him, the glow of the rocks dimmed. It was as if the stones only responded to his entrance and then his passing. It did not matter because Krale saw well, even in pitch-dark. There was nothing he could do for Mornt. He was not sure the dragon was dead, but it did not matter. Krale had to get to his mate and protect his family. Everything inside him wanted to rush forward, but too many veteran seasons of fighting told him to take care. Each heartbeat, each step that carried him closer to his mate, carried the foreboding of the man, the intruder.

The giant bronze beast entered into the next chamber and stopped short. There were no lights in this room, but Krale sensed the human. The wizard could see him just as clearly as he saw the man. The stranger stood before him as if coming face to face with a bronze was an everyday event. The man's feet were spaced slightly apart. His head was held high, and his shoulders were straight. Worst of all, the human spoke with authority, and there was not even a hint of fear in his tone.

"Forgive me, Krale. I know dragons do not usually speak to humans, nor do humans often come traipsing into the affairs of dragons. I have come to do us both a great deal of good. Will you speak?" The calm voice echoed against the cavern walls only slightly, like water nearly turned to ice.

After a long moment, Krale sat back upon his hind legs. He was sure that this human could quite possibly do to him, the same as he had done to Mornt. There was a chance that fact was wrong. In his deep memory of humans and magic long past, Krale recalled that magic users usually cast a difficult spell only once a day. Stopping Mornt in his tracks would have been hard, he was sure. None the less, he needed to help his mate, and it was wiser to move cautiously. Krale replied in a low growl. "I could easily take your life human."

The stranger bowed in earnest. Then he continued. "Yes, that is true. However, to do that would mean ending your race in time." Trath's voice stayed strong, with his pre-decided determination and resolve. This was a huge turning point in his life. In-a-funny-way, he was helping the dragons, while helping himself. That is at least how he liked to think of it. The facts of the situation worked in the wizard's favor. That was just a coincidence. Or good planning? Trath liked it either way.

Krale starred directly at the man. His blazing red eyes took in every inch of the human's stature. The father dragon was close by proximity. Perhaps he could kill the man swiftly after all, and thereby end the matter at hand now. That idea had a great deal of satisfaction in its content. However, the wizard's words held a haunting threat. "End my race?" Krale questioned out loud. The words left a foul taste in his mouth. He did not like the tone of that at all. Was it a real threat? Was it just a ploy to save the man's life? He could have done that himself, by simply not coming here. Finally, Krale continued, not waiting for his other questions to be, answered. The bronze had a suspicion he was not going to like the answers anyway. That is, even if the wizard did give them to him.

"Who are you, magic man? What brings you to the dragon's lair?" a long drawn out hissing sound followed. It was not pleasant at all. Like a thousand nails on an echo-stone, it made Trath's teeth hurt.

An ever so slight sigh of relief escaped the wizard. At least, he would have his chance. Any opening at all was worth taking. The bronze may still kill him in the end. For the moment, he was alive, and that meant much. Trath had not dared to consider his good fortune, not to have met death already. There was no time for that. He kept his attention on the task instead.

"I am Trath. Yes, I am a wizard. I have come for the un-hatched egg." There it was, in the open. Trath had said it out loud, standing in the deeps of the dragon's lair, only a handful of steps from the king of his kind. That was not only taunting fate, but it was also downright dancing with death. Either the wizard was extremely brave to the core of his heart, or his being was so set that nothing else had meaning. Time would make that clear.

Krale showed no signs of anger or surprise at the outrageous request. He did find swallowing harder then it should have been. The giant lizard was cold to the bone; in this warm place, he had called home his whole life. All he could do for the moment was ponder the evil man's words. He could not make his body move right away. It was not a spell from the wizard. It was more in reverence of the topic. A beginning? Now? This man had come for an egg. A very special hatchling with a future to reset the season? He, had come for one of Sech's eggs specifically? It crossed his mind to laugh at the very idea. Krale did not, however, do so. Instead, he gathered his memories of the past, reclaimed his voice, and posed a terrible question. "How do you know magic-user? How do you know of a birth that has not happened?

"I know. That is enough. More importantly than that, you know I tell the truth. You have that ability to read me. I am not lying." Trath's voice grew a bit louder to be heard, over the growing roars of celebration. There was a true sense of urgency to his tone as well. It was not lost, on Krale. If the intruder was correct, time was short. Something beyond thought gripped Krale's. It was the memories of his past, the ancient memories that guided his kind from the root. If the wizard was right, then this could mean the death of all dragons now alive. Krale knew the danger was real. An immediate decision was made. "Take the egg and leave this place...human!"

Startled by his own, success, Trath turned toward the lower caves. He did not wait for anything else to be said, by Krale. He had wasted too much time already. His steps increased to a jog. The growing insanity of the celebration at hand told the wizard everything that he needed to know. Just as he saw the entrance up ahead to the birthing chamber, the man dared to glance back over his shoulder, one time. He saw Krale as he knew he would. The bronze was following close on his, heels. Would he change his mind? No. Trath did not think that would happen. The beast knew exactly..., precisely, what was at stake. More roars made him push on harder still.

The enormous crater was at least the space of a thousand feet across. In its center, the golden mother glistened with pride at her new young drake-lings. All around were dragons of every shape and size, perched upon the rocks. They had gathered from far and wide. Their, variety a unique mixture of lethal, rainbow colors. White as snow, with fierce ice breath. Green as winter trees, with extra-sharp, keen eyes. Red as blood and fire with acid as a weapon. All well represented in honor of the queen. This was the most important event of their kind.

The surface of the nesting ground was white sand. It was composed of tiny perfect, round grains. Heat... came from beneath its face. There had to be a hot spring or even lava, running through the core of this burning mountain. A volcano, even a semi inactive one, if there were such a thing, was a perfect home. A harsh mountain surrounded by harsh mountains was even better for protection. If you could fly, what difference did it make? Trath did not fly here.

There were dozens of glowing rocks embedded in the chamber walls here too. They were spaced, in a half-hazard manner. Maybe not? But there was no particular pattern that Trath could find. They had been put there by the ancients on purpose, clearly. Yet, it was uncertain as to why? Other than to provide light. Adult beasts could see well in the black. However, the young did not especially at birth. That was also not commonly known by humans. Maybe it was for aesthetic value alone. Trath doubted it. The old ones seldom did things for no "precise" reason.

Trath slowed his pace only slightly as he approached the virgin, white sand. He stepped forward upon its surface with respect. However, he did not stop. Trath saw the egg he had come for laying out in the open. The golden dragon bristled at the sight of this new intruder into her domain. Silence came to the cavern instantly, except for the newborn young who continued fighting and screeching among themselves. The other adult and young dragons about the chamber immediately took a fighting stance. They could not conceive of a human in this place but feared to take action, lest the golden mother, be harmed. The last egg was slightly apart from its brothers and sisters. Un-hatched, it lay there on a pillow of white granules like a giant pearl washed up on the sand of a beautiful inland sea. A treasure, it was there, for the taking.

Now Trath continued toward the un-hatched egg, casting any remnant of his own, fear aside that he may still have harbored. He focused on his goal and nothing else.

Golden dragons were dangerous in more ways than just physically. Trath dared not let his eyes meet hers. It could cost him everything.

The huge mother began to move. She rose up on her haunches. It was obvious that she would act to defend her brood or die in the effort. However, Sech did not attack. Krale had entered the chamber on the wizard's heels and spread his wings wide. It was a significant sign to his mate to hold fast. Sech was more than confused; she was mystified and bewildered by Krale's presence. The fact that he had not attacked the human, but by his actions stood ready to defend him was enough to bring her to complete panic. "Why had her mate not already disposed of this man?" The mother puzzled it out in her mind. There had to be more here then she could see.

"Sech, be still. Do not move to stop him." Krale spoke directly into his mate's mind. "You are the swiftest and most beautiful of all the golden dragons born, but this is something of the Armilander." He tried to soothe her with his thoughts but knew that was useless. Krale could only succeed in projecting the importance of the moment, nothing else. It held her from taking action, barely.

"No! He may not take any!" Sech could see that the human's intentions were clear. She then started to move forward and place her body between Trath and his treasure. The other baby dragons were screeching in terror. All around the chamber's walls, the other adult dragons were adding their own, voices of hostility. The younger dragons present were desperately taking their cues from their peers. Trath began to run rhymes back and forth in his mind to hold his own, calm. Sanity was at risk.

"Sech," Krale tried again. The bronze could see this would be a battle, fought not by physical means. It would be in the old way. He drew on the past to save the future. The father focused his thoughts and slowed his mate's movements. There was pain, given and received, then returned tenfold. Krale desperately tried to reason.

"Sech, my queen. I am born of the Armilander. I am a long-lived bronze of the first hatching. There is no choice in this matter, my, love. I will kill you, mate." The silence that followed was tangible. Then Krale continued one last time. "I have no choice if you interfere."

Startled, Sech visibly stared at her mate across the cavern. It was like looking at him from across a much greater distance. Perhaps it was an illusion or a trick inside her own, mind on herself. It did not matter. Krale had used the old ways on her. He had betrayed her in the most profound sense possible. Yes, he could kill her. She knew that to be true. Krale was old but still faster and stronger than any dragon yet born. Sech was sure it had been the Armilander's bloodline that had made him so. That bloodline had drawn her into mating with him above all the other younger dragons. She wanted that strength for her children. Now it seemed there was a price for that blood.

Trath had gone around the golden dragon carefully. He had reached the small egg, there on the ground. He leaned down and easily lifted it within his arms. It was much smaller than any of the other eggs he noticed. Trath cradled it close for a moment. The life within represented the sum-total of his wants, desires, and dreams. He then placed the egg ever so carefully within the soft, cladic fur, sack he had brought for only this purpose. The egg, to survive, would have to be kept very warm. "It" must not get cold for any length of time. "It" must be kept in the same warmth found within the cavern. Cladic fur would keep that warmth. It would keep the child alive.

Trath placed the sack in his backpack. It was heavy now, with his new burden, but the wizard did not mind. He felt very light of heart, consumed by his success. Trath immediately started back toward the entrance. He dared not slow or look, back. In fact, he dared not look any further in any direction than the actual ground just in front of his own feet. Trath made his way across the hatching grounds and continued past Krale as if the bronze father did not exist. Up and out of the caverns, he now hurried, lest there be a change of heart by anyone.

Krale waited long enough to know the man had gained a measure of safety. Then he pulled his wings close to his body and lay down flat on the hot, white sand of the hatching ground. Sech hated him. It did not matter if he was right or wrong, only that her egg was gone. In the manner of her kind, she leaped across the relatively short distance and sunk her talons into his neck. The golden mother slowly tore the bronze apart, gradually at her own pace, with pleasure. Krale could never bring himself to kill Sech. Yes, he could have physically, but he loved her too much. He could even have saved himself and left the chamber altogether, but her fury had to be, calmed. For the loss of her young Sech demanded a sacrifice, a death. Yes, he could have stopped her, but something also seemed to make him want to die.

"An Armilander, born out of time," Krale spoke quietly within his own, mind with wonder. Then he died. His blood, soaked the sand and pooled in places. The hatchlings drank deeply and ate, of his flesh. Sech had mixed emotions in the end. Her hate had consumed her, but in her own way, she had loved the bronze. It was fitting that his death should feed his family well.

Home

## Chapter Two

Onara

Gigantic, waves crashed upon the rocky shore as if to drown out the sounds of the storm in the dark sky above. Again and again, they repeated. It was like some ancient contest, a battle of both strength and endurance. The titan lords of the past would surely have been proud of the fight. Perhaps they would have even wagered on the outcome. The dark castle walls seemed to thrum in harmony with each opponent in turn. There was no referee in this unnerving game. It was a terrible night for man and beast alike. The promise of daylight to come was a vague dream, indeed. That is to anyone that listened too carefully to the battle. The ugly rhythm continued. The unsettling chaos gave no sign of ending.

Marina Onara waited patiently within the great hall of knowledge. The room was huge. There were dozens of shelves in every direction. A long, wide, table and nine chairs for patrons' use were situated, in the main area. Also, a snow-white, marble stairway had been built near the middle as well. It led both up and down to more of the same offerings. It was hard to say how far they went from this vantage in either direction.

Everywhere was stacked and lined with books and scrolls, written by the very hand of yesterday. Perhaps that was a romantic way of looking at the place indeed. The sons and daughters of both peasant and noble alike had once contributed to this lost trove. It was a collection of literature and pure...information: facts, valuable facts. The grand chamber could and did hold a million books easily, and most likely even more.

The old, woman was seated on one of the many, high backed chairs. She had used great fluffy pillows stuffed with the softest down, to make her self more comfortable. The seat itself was perfect. It had been hand carved meticulously from the entire base of an Eldrin oak. The ruins from a long-forgotten race ran the length of its surface and told a sad story in a language elapsed. Not unlike the craftsman himself, which had been erased, by time. The artwork was amazing and one of a kind. Even though the actual story was now beyond interpretation and therefor gone, the carvings were lovely all the same.

This was the woman's favorite chair. It allowed for a good vantage of the main entrance. That being a giant double door at the far end of the chamber. It was at least fifteen feet high and fifteen feet wide. The surface was black as the floor, and disturbing faces appeared in its outer facade. The woman had seen similar things before in the old buildings. Marina not being easily fooled believed the shapes were only an illusion and gave them no further mind.

This place was full of things, beautiful things, and stuff from centuries past. There was fine artwork on every wall that did not have a shelf. Sculptures and antiquities on tables and pedestals, to highlight heroes and heroines of this world's history. Arrel. Incredible, wild Arrel.

'The land of many".

That is what the Time Keeper had called it, the first Keeper that is. Now it was the standard of this place. A great, silver, sundial emblazoned on a field of black. What that meant exactly was veiled, like everything the keeper's ever said. They could not give you a straight answer if it meant their own death. Did keepers ever die? Well naturally? Of course, they could be murdered. That was an odd thought. Marina pushed that away. Too much right now. Focus was important.

The chamber was more than a library. However, even trove fell short of the true description. Priceless things, created by the hand of man, were everywhere. Well, the term priceless was only valid if you understood the exchange system well. Everything had a price. Supply and demand were often based on blood. Marina knew that part sure enough.

How or what was "paid?" that changed with each situation. The buyers and sellers varied as well, but the common denominator; power and control. Both could be used for good or evil, depending on the wielder. That has always been the story, since the beginning. The people and places changed but not the essence.

Marina smiled to herself and prayed out loud, "Father, protect this world of unbelievers, they have not the knowing." She crossed her body in a quick gesture, and held her palm open for a few beats, pressed firmly against her own heart: faith and respect. Service to the Light meant everything. It was a joy and honor, but deeper still, it was personal.

The grand doors swung open wide. Surprisingly well balanced, they made no noise. A whisper of air, moving and nothing else. They gave way to allow the brightened expression upon Trath's face to say what his own voice could not speak fast enough.

"She lives!" He crossed the space between him and Marina in a few long strides. "She lives, do you hear?" He pranced like a peacock the woman thought to her self. His fine clothes were brilliantly colored. He looked more clown than, ruler. Marina did not voice her impression to him, however. "She lives!" The wizard kept repeating as if he simply, could not believe it himself. Trath was absolutely elated. He nearly outright danced in front of her. His plan was going to work. Everything was falling right into place.

Pondering his words for but a moment, Marina finally sat up straight in her chair. "Trath, before you go back to see her, may I ask what plans you have for the child? This world is very young by her grandmothers' life. Will you again kill the dragons off?" The tone of her voice was not angry but suspicious. It was hard not to let her doubts show through. The man paid her no mind. She glared at him squarely, deflating his moment of enthusiasm. There was a certain delight in doing that.

Marina was not the true keeper of this realm, "time" had been damaged. But she was a keeper none the less. She did not believe this man had any idea of what he was truly dealing with. His attitude was more like a kid with a new toy than a man that could change the face of Arrel. Surely the fates had made a mistake if he were their choice in any of this? Marina did not like this power-hungry human. No matter what good he thought he was up to, the woman knew better. She had his number. Marina was here for the baby, nothing more.

"There is always time." He responded quickly. "We will talk later, you and I. Together. There will be plans within plans I assure you. All to be made, to make a better world." The wizard smiled from ear to ear. It was not perhaps as reassuring as he meant it to be.

Then a serious, grim look took his demeanor. "I know that you will not like what you hear, but then it is not about you. It is all about her. At this point, I simply came to tell you about the good news." His face, twisted. The smile had changed if it was ever there at all.

Marina did not respond to him verbally. She waited.

"I want to hold on to that thought for a moment. The fact that the Armilander is alive at all is a wonder. Can you not be glad of that at least?" The wizard scowled at Marina. "I must return and enter the room where she has taken her first breath. It is a good sign, and I will not let you change that for me." He made a "hur-ump" sound under his breath.

Of course, he knew what he was doing. He had been with Shendar many times, to ask questions in the mirror room. He had spent years in Qualer before taking steps to make this happen. How dare she question him? He was superior in ways she could not imagine. Trath did not like to be second-guessed. If there was a way to leave her out?...no. Things must be as they are. He stopped thinking on it any longer.

"Remember your place, woman, and stay out of my way." His final words hung there in the space between them like some kind of, unspoken challenge. Trath turned abruptly. His ornate robes swirled and made swishing sounds. He stocked back the way he had come. His cloak flared out wildly behind him as he left. The totally, unbreakable smile of happiness was still bright upon his face. Marina did not think it would remain there long. Nothing good would come from his schemes. Time had variations like a spider web. Consequences often interfered when least expected. Everything was ultimately connected.

"I have succeeded thus far." Trath patted himself on the back mentally, as he did not expect much from Marina. After all, she was just an "in case." Being of her race was important. A "keeper," had ways of working time, that had zero to do with magic. She was nothing more than a plan within a plan. That is how Shendar had shown him to lay down the framework. All was well, so he took a slow, deep breath.

Then, the wizard spoke low to himself as he walked on, back down the corridor. One step in front of the other, he tried to measure his gate. His ornate, boots making small tapping sounds as he walked. The man paid it no mind. Like everything else he wore, it was all about "show." His complete attire would rival that of a blood born king in the far southern reaches. Well-loved by their subjects, they were always covered with jewels and bobbles to mirror their pomp importance. Such pageantry had become second nature to Trath. He deserved it, after all. He was going to be great. He was great. He was also obtaining more, much more, soon.

Marina was not going to take this moment from him. He restated the harsh words out loud. The man had risked so much, and his goal was now within his reach. It was impossible to entertain any of her doubts. Besides, Trath was simply not in the mood. He hated the woman. She was just a maybe, a possibility, but hopefully not a necessity. It took an experienced hand to raise a child. Especially a unique child as this one would be. Marina would be useful. That made putting up with her worthwhile, for now. A new grin fixed to his face, one of contentment.

The man could feel it. The energy in the air. With every fiber of his very being. He knew without seeing that the dragon was awake. It excited him and made his heart pound like a huge drum, just to dwell on that alone. All of his plans were taking shape. He was going to win. His dreams were going to be real. A wizard, yes, but no. He was going to be a ruler, a king, an emperor. He was going to be loved and adored. It was his destiny.

Marina stayed, sitting where he had left her, for a long time. An onlooker would have thought she had simply turned to stone. More time passed. She did not move. She did not blink. Inside, she debated with herself as to what to do next. A great war similar to the storm outside was waging inside her. This was a huge turning point in time, and the scale of it dwarfed the woman's lifetime of wisdom. So many paths to take and so many were obviously wrong. Changes that would alter and even hurt people for generations were at hand. What was her place in all of it? It was hard to be clear. Marina needed to find the right path.

Quite suddenly, she got up from her position and stood. The answer was not going to be found here, just sitting here. That was clear. She straightened her long gown from having sat, smoothing the wrinkles carefully. She took her hands and ran them through her dark gray hair. Funny, she wanted to look her best to see her new charge. The baby was alive. The baby was awake. That is what Trath had been spewing about. Well, she already knew that. The storm told her that much. It was just that at this point, Marina was unclear if that was good or bad?

The woman made some inner decision and walked from the table. She crossed the big room slowly, but with purpose. Unlike Trath, her steps were soundless. There she stepped out the great chamber doors. Automatically the woman turned to the left, which would lead deeper into the keep and down. The nursery was that way. The walls were lined with portraits of beautiful people on both sides. They were kings, queens, knights, and nobles from all over the world, all throughout time. They represented stories and legends from "a history," beyond these walls. Most of the faces in them were humans, but there were a few that were not.

All the time she moved forward, the woman was busy recalling the nursery songs she sang to the baby's mother. That had not been so long ago. She had sung the same songs to drake-lings for time without end. She would continue to do so, forever if she could. Having a purpose was a good thing. Following the Light was a higher purpose, a thousand, thousand times over. Marina continued on one step decisively placed in front of the next. She would have to give things time to see how to react. Change was always difficult, but this was not simple, but complicated too, in other ways.

The hallway was empty. Marina Onara walked with intent. The way was not long, and it was not her first time to the playroom. Would it be her last? That thought had also crossed Marina's mind. It gave her a sick feeling. This was not as it should be. This was wrong, all of it. All because Trath had interfered. Yet, did he? Did he do what was always supposed to be done?

Destiny itself awaited her, this world's future. Marina listened intently to the storm outside as she walked. It raged on and on with a deafening force. The ocean danced with the wind to build waves high as mountains. They crashed again and again against the walls, fruitlessly trying to bring them down. The sky above lit up, bright as noonday, followed by swift black. Thunder rolled and rolled. It seemed fitting to Marina that this night should be full of turmoil outside. She knew this birth here, would be havoc also, to her whole world, Arrel. It was clearly right somehow, for the baby to be born on such a night as this. It was right that the baby be born at all, regardless. It was life. Life was important and precious. To think otherwise was insanity.

Irony and reality were always close, family relations. Marina thought she heard the lord of chaos himself call the child's name. Right out loud within the gale wind again, and again, it echoed a mock song. It was the equivalent of a lullaby by a wicked stepparent or other "not truly close" relative. Anyone could have heard it. That is if they had but listened to the echoing vibrations. Beyond the sound, crashing on the walls of the ancient building, not to be considered less important, fanatical energy trailed across the sky above. It was a light show not seen in centuries.

Marina pushed all that aside. Attention only on the baby, and all would be well. The woman knew that for now. There was no need to think further ahead.

The large stair ahead was solid black, made of onyx. No faces in its surface, just hard, beautiful stone. Marina liked real rock. Carved by masters..., it could be made into anything. She loved real things. That is what made her a good caretaker for drake-lings. The woman was like granite too. She was hard and immoveable when she needed to be, and could be carved and changed only by an artisan. That being her charge, the baby in her care. The process of moving from a child to becoming an adult. The point that people concerned about you are supposed to let go, and all that she could be or would be has come to pass.

At the beginning of the banister, the woman stopped. She stared down for a moment. Fate was that way...unfathomable at times, unreliable at best. Lingering here an instant gave her a chance to ponder a different direction. Second sight, wishful thinking, were worthless, it came down to only hope. That was why she had agreed to be here at all.

What would that be like? Taking-matters-into-her-own-control. Changing what she knew was probably going to happen. That did not mean it was going to happen; only that was the history of the cycle. Could this be different? Would that be good or bad? Was this her decision? It would be wrong. No. Marina knew it was not her way. She was more a servant than a leader, in such matters. Regardless of the timetable, or what was to come, she would do as she always had. The woman continued onto the banister and stepped downward. One, two, three, four flights. Then, a little further below, still.

Home

## Chapter Three

Baby?

"Mazan, how does she fare?" Trath's voice was low here in the nursery room. It was a space designed for the care of nobles and royalty. Like everywhere in this place, it was opulent and even bordered on vulgar in its grandeur. He stepped right in as he was in his own domain. The wizard ruled here. However, the man did not want to disturb the child. So, he controlled himself from shouting his question. Yet that is exactly, what he wanted to do; roar. Roar like a dragon. That made him want to smile. Sing, bellow, and yell at the top of his lungs. He could barely contain his enthusiasm. The smile was still plastered to his face, surreal somehow, like that of a court jester.

The old nurse stood not more than ten paces away from him. She looked Trath squarely in the eye. The man felt uncomfortable, held in that stare. Her semi-reptilian features seemed to stand out further within the half-light of the wall torches. She repulsed him in ways he could not totally describe. However, he was more than willing to overlook her hideous appearance, because she was best suited for the job. She made an excellent nurse. Mazan's lineage gave her special talents one did not find in human caregivers.

She will live, Trath. She will live to hate you!" The response from the ancient hag was more nearly a hiss, then a voiced response. "You are meat walking, a meal to the ancestors. They will come for, you." Her last words a curse or a warning, it was hard to tell.

"Shush old woman." He snapped angrily at her. "I don't need your short-sighted wisdom. More specifically, I don't need yours, and I don't need Marina's. I am tired of all the half hazard interference. I brought you here for her, and that is all." Trath raised his right hand and pointed to the black, antique hand carved crib in the corner. The wizard found he had raised his voice a bit during the exchange of words with the caretaker and the excitement. His embraced "calm" from moments before was all but gone now. It had been replaced with a sense of anxiety mixed with a deep disquiet about the future. That made him all the more, annoyed. Together the two women had brought him down off his cloud. It was the best he had felt in a long time, and they had taken it all away.

"Are you afraid of the truth?" The old woman hissed between tightly clenched, black stained teeth. "Someday that one..." the nurse pointed to the crib. "She will know you for what you are, not what you pretend to be." Then there was a short pause. "She will find out what it is you have planned for her. Then if she is the true dragon I believe her to be, she will rip your heart out." That made the old woman smile. Her long fangs were clearly, visible. "She will eat you. She will do it slowly in front of your eyes while you stare on helplessly, taking in the last few breaths of your life. When she does all these things, I will be there to watch. I will be there to cheer her on. You can count on that Trath." The evil grin that consumed the reptilian features gave tremendous weight to the ugly words.

"Shut up, I said!" Trath bellowed the harsh command straight at the nurse. He had drawn closer to the old woman as she finished her long speech and had even brought his hand up high to strike her gaunt face. Yet he did not do so. Trath had intended to shut her up himself if she did not heed his warning, but something inside told him it would be a greater mistake to hit the woman in the end. Slowly the wizard lowered his outstretched arm, careful not to give the appearance of weakness. It was important that he did not lose what ground of authority he still held.

The whole situation had to appear as if he was still in total control and simply changed his mind. It had taken him so many years to gain his powers and manipulate the real magic of this place, yet both Marina and this so-called nurse taunted him at every turn. They pushed hard to see him fail. If he did not need them so badly, he would rid himself of their presence without, a further thought. The child, however, was a different matter. She needed them, and therefore Trath needed them too.

The nurse moved out of his reach. She anticipated the possibility of his attack and countered faster than human reaction could possibly follow. The old nurse ducked and rolled, to one side with both stealth and grace. It was extremely out of character and unexpected by anyone taking only her looks and age into consideration.

There was much more to the old hag then met the eye to be sure. The woman gained her balance in one long, yet dignified, movement, belying her aged appearance completely.

"Wizard, you forget too easily you are only human. Remember that well, only human." She nearly spat the last word out in disgust. After a few long awkwardly silent moments passed, the nurse continued, "I am here to care for the child. I am not here to help with your plans for any future. The child deserves to live, to know what will be, has been and is now. It is her heritage. It is her legacy. The true fact, it is even your doom." The old woman's eyes met his with an unspoken dare of defiance.

Trath turned away from her and faced the large crib in the center of the room. The exchange for him with Mazan was going nowhere, and he had grown more than tired of being pushed around by underlings. He walked briskly with intent to the crib side and leaned over the edge. Trath peered into where he knew the baby lay, seeking to view his prize. In his haste and anger, he had thrown caution to the wind to be sure. The wizard's eyes burned at the sight of the child. He saw it as he had expected, but it also gazed back at him. Trath found he could not even focus clearly upon the baby. In fact, the whole room had become blurred and distorted. Pain shot through his mind like bolts of lightning, resounding back and forth against the inside of his very skull. Trath covered his face with his hands in a poor attempt to ward off the spell. The problem was it had not been a spell at all. The Armilander was magic, pure in every form. He had not been ready to face that power.

Hysterical laughter from the side of the room where he knew the old woman watched assaulted his ears. "A human may not look into a dragon's eyes. That is unless first ridding themselves of all emotion. You are a fool Trath. The only smart thing you did was to bring me here to care for her. Leave now, wizard. Leave while you still can, and perhaps you will save your sight. I will tend to the baby."

Blood spread across what vision Trath still retained. He did not have a choice. The man stumbled dumbly from the room. He wanted to lash out at Mazan, or someone to vent his anger, but she had been right. The incident could have been avoided altogether. Trath knew what he had to do if he wanted to gaze upon the child, and he let himself be sidetracked. The old nurse had played him, and he had fallen into the trap. It was his, own weakness in the end. His emotions had hurt him badly.

Outside the chamber, he found breathing easier. The further he went on down the hall, the less the pain became. Soon, even his vision began to clear. The blindness would not be permanent after all. Trath had been more than lucky. He had been downright blessed with a second chance. In a low whisper to no one but himself, he vowed not to let the old nurse get under his skin again, ever! He hated Mazan and Marina both and would have been more than glad to be rid of them. The only problem was that the child needed them to survive. There was no choice.

The old nurse moved to the side of the crib slowly. Taking her time and knowing what to expect. This was not her first.

"Little one," Mazan's voice was tranquil as she looked down into the crib. With her right hand, she stroked the child's cheek gently. Then she adjusted the coverlet to make sure the baby was warm and comfortable. Being a nurse to the future was a heavy responsibility to be sure. "Remember him. His name is Trath. That one loves you. He will love you; he has always loved you. Remember he also loves power as well." The woman's words were somewhat cryptic, but then prophecies were often like that when spoken out loud.

It did not matter really. The infant did not understand the woman's words, but more the tone of her voice. It was comforting. Well, that is what Mazan thought anyway. No one would know for sure for years to come. The effect of her words?

Home

Chapter Four

Qualer

The lonely towers of Qualer seemed to stress what the wizard, Trath felt inside a thousand times, over. The main structure and the surrounding cylinders were all empty, and so was he. Empty like a shell, washed up on a forgotten beach. They, of course, had been that way off and on for centuries. They were old, very old, indeed. Parts of them were beautiful, but that was nothing to him. Other parts were not..., the wizard centered only on his needs and his span, but the intensity was the same. For nearly all the many years of the old man's entire life, he had wandered their depths for the knowledge of the lost ages.

After the birth of the baby, the wizard had left the two women to raise his treasure. They were safe enough in the Time Keepers Palace, at the farthest end of the world. As for Trath himself, he returned to this ancient place, this deep cold structure in the great north. It had called him back. In some ways, he thought it was alive. It felt that way at times.

Trath had been down every hall and explored every chamber, more than a dozen times over. The wizard had read every book and scroll he had come upon and found every hidden clandestine he could come by. Nothing was overlooked. If the tower would not let go of its secrets freely, the evil man took them by the sheer force of his own will.

Now Qualer had become more of a tomb, then a place of mysteries. Its unique beauty was lost on the man. Trath had not even revisited the room of mirrors in countless seasons. The problem was that the one thing the wizard desired most to see he could not. It was beyond his own power and the enchantment of this place too. The dragon eluded him like a shadow in the dark. Only movement could be sensed, knowing they exist. Dragons that is... Their images were blurred in the reflections if at all. Sometimes he had even seen glimpses, but not directly in any mirror. It was infuriating, but the wizard could not figure out a way to make it better. He had tried. Oh, yes... he had tried...!

The Armilander would be about twenty human seasons of age by now. He had used the Time Keepers tricks and bent the flow of things to meet his requirements. Trath had slid between the "days" and changed strategic events. He had maneuvered actions and proceedings to suit his necessities. Now the teacher of Drellin the Runner, Annon the Paladin and even Glenfel the last Armilander was also to be Laryn's. That is and was her name. "Laryn." The mirror had made that clear. Like ripples, the wizard could know things about her, but he could not see her.

When the baby had come of, "runner age"... Marina had traveled to the Great Wood. There Shendar, the old master had taken the little girl. The time spent in his care would be good for her. Shendar had become the next stage in Trath's grand plan. It had happened many turns past.

The arrangement, the handoff, had not been easy. Yet in the end, the ancient elder had finally been persuaded. After long discussions and even arguments, Shendar accepted the dragon born out of time, as a student. He agreed, he would teach her the rules and laws of this land, Arrel. That was after all his place. It had taken some effort to be sure.

Shendar had not been totally willing, because he vaguely understood that her history was not true. Yet, it was not his place to question. He was a teacher only. The baby was alive. In the final conclusion, it was the right thing, for both the child and Shendar's world. She had nowhere else to go. She was a runner. The old man, the elder of the Great North Wood, knew that there was a higher force at work. He believed in the Light. The scales would be, leveled.

Trath had never liked the idea of letting her go at all. "She" was his. After all, the man had bent time and space carelessly to obtain her. He had cheated the natural order of things and stole the future of another world's "season" recklessly. Lastly, the evil wizard had murdered in cold blood, more than once just to get this far. The usurper was only satiated that everything happening for the child now was temporary.

The man had not wanted to consent to the arrangement, but Marina told him he had little choice. That is if he desired the adolescent to be the same woman in adulthood as the painting in the grand hall, it was a given. The image was reflected in the mirror room only once, but it had been unchanging in every view. The vision had left its brand on the wizard. It had been a representation captured on canvas, that ignited the man's deepest passions. Not of love, but power, and that is what the Armilander would bring him in all ways.

Marina seemed to be helping him... but he never let himself believe that actually, to be true. Yet, in the area concerning the small one, she had been repeatedly correct. It was maddening. Based on all he had learned, he relented. His gut told him it was the right move. He tended to follow that most often. That did not make it better to swallow. It was a means to achieve his desires that is all.

When he had first come to Qualer, Trath had used all the information he had acquired from Ren. First dealing with the man as his benefactor, then later helping him die. It is what "good" son's do. They take from their father and grow. That is how the hungry man viewed it. Ravenous for power, he had no morals at all. What matter... that Ren was not his real father? A father was a father, regardless. All of Trath's life led to this end. From the beginning until now, had been the harvested fruits of his frigid, methodical obsession. It had been enough to get him to the room of reflection in the first place. That was just the commencement of his dream. That also had been the right move, listening to his inner voice.

The ruins on the outside of the doorway, read;

"Place of Reflection."

The words had been hand etched beautifully by a craftsman woodcarver. Of what race?..., it did not matter. It was just a lost memory like all the rest in this tremendous, holding place of yesterday. The filigree work was intricate, but the importance evident. Time had not diminished its message. Trath knew that now as he had learned several of the old languages since, in his time here. At first, he thought it was a poetic way of saying "room of mirrors" which of course, reflect. Later now, that he had more time to consider, he believed it was about "reflection on the inside" not the out. Was that a flicker of wisdom? Trath did not like to do that. Evil rarely liked to look directly at itself. It was better to dwell on how he perceived he should appear. So, the man preferred his first definition. The one that only allowed for reflections of images he could see. That was not so deep to think about. The wizard decided it was after all the best purpose. Surly, the maker and designer had planned it that way?

The painting. he had viewed a thousand times. That was also the image he had come to live for in his own thoughts for his own life. Marina was usually right on point with her visions of tomorrow. In fact, she had often been easier to obtain information from than the room. The refracted surfaces showed the future to be sure, but he rarely understood the entire trail of events. Things that led up to all the many possible tomorrows the visions encompassed were simply too numerous. Was he guessing? No. Trath was in control. That is what he told himself. He was never wrong.

The wizard had hated Marina nearly as much as he despised his self made prison. She, however, had controlled Mazan, the nurse. The lizard woman was the only one capable and fit to handle the drake-ling without being blinded or driven insane. It had been a relationship of need, never of friendship. Marina's attendance in the Time Keepers Palace and then later here in Qualer directly had been a desperate move. It had been to keep the little girl safe and alive. He had paid a high price in his own mind. If he had it to do again, he was unclear if he would have. He could have taken a few more chances...?, but that was passed. It was not wise to second guess himself, so he moved on.

The self maid ruler had agreed to share the knowledge in the giant library. The man was sure the woman had ulterior motives concerning the Armilander for herself. He simply had never been quite able to figure them out. Yet. That at least had kept him alert over the years, to tricks and treachery Marina may have contrived to ruin his vision. So far he had found no plans revealed, and he was doubly sure she had not succeeded. The wizard would continue to make sure that remained true.

The fact was that Trath had not even seen Marina since the little girl had left that day with the forest elder. It had been at the ruins near Mayir or what was left of it. The destroyed pilgrim settlement was barely discernable from the forest now. Just pieces of buildings really. However, it was still traditionally the place of gathering for runners. That is what Trath had learned. It is how the teachers assembled their students each year. He wanted the process to be the same for the Armilander as it had always been through the generations of her species.

It was there in that place that Marina had disappeared mysteriously. He felt very sure the woman had not gone with the child. She had just been there one minute and vanished the next. No, good-bye at all. That was okay. He would have felt better if he had found a way to end her as he had Ren. It was better not to have her loose. However, there had not been a chance. Trouble in the future? Maybe.

Marina had made too much of the importance Shendar would have in the girl's life, that of the dragon's really. For she was only a child at that time, but the change would come. When the little one grew up and took her place as she was meant to do. Being so agreeable about the "best for Laryn" made Trath wonder...It was suspicious. Perhaps the woman had just been caring for the innocent?, but Trath doubted it. Everyone had personal motives. That was human nature. The man was unclear just how human Marina Onara was, but the premise was the same.

Possibly, even conceivably it was Marina's own, longing for home that had drawn her back into the sea? That is where the wizard had found her in the first place. Swimming with dolphins and wasting her talents on useless things, how stupid? He had done her a favor giving meaning to her existence. She should have been more grateful.

"Low life...breed." His words whispered around the room. Then louder, "So, shallow not to stick around and see the seeds of today, grow to be picked tomorrow."

Trath had taken to talking to himself from time to time. No one noticed. He was alone..., right?

The tower was empty..., and it echoed.

Trath preferred to accept that one notion, Marina had gone home. The vacant headed, always arguing, temporary guardian, was only now a tiny drop in the big ocean. He liked it. She had gone back to her dwelling place. That explanation, above all others, was the best. The confidence in his own, magical prowess gave him leave to relax. Marina could not hurt him, or so he liked to think. The wizard was invincible.

That same day Mazan had also disappeared. Trath had found he was somewhat relieved at the lizard's absence. She had always made him feel so uneasy, just to look at her face. It had been her eyes; he was sure now. They pulled at his inner being, like a mythical succubus feeding on his life energy. There was also her grating, highly irritating, unforgettable voice. Hissing sounds mostly. Only a handful of times exchanges with her were made, but they remained locked in his recollection. Like tiny barbed reminders. She had quoted curses and threats again and again. They had become a looping, audible circle, buzzing in the background of his life. It was there still.

Trath had avoided her gaze time and again out of fear. He dared not admit it even to himself. So, it was good she had moved on. He had no desire to look, as to where.

That terrible day the Armilander left, Shendar had been clear about his own, intentions in the matter. Not like Marina at all. The old man said he would make sure the child learned all that his kind could teach. He was also plain and open in his views. He then would not tell the little girl of her past, or where she came from, by birth. The master of the woods was not a herald of danger and bad tidings like Marina. Well, maybe that was too harsh. She had good instincts that had been useful. But that was the limit of her influence. The elder simply wanted no part of any greater or far-reaching campaigns, and that was plain.

Trath was sure in his way that the girl would find her own, road back. Back to her beginnings, and back to him. That would happen when it was the right time. So the wizard had agreed to Shendar's statements then and now.

The malevolent man's thirst for supremacy and hidden secrets had done one thing for him. It had increased his life span, but he still would not live forever. Inside he felt old, even if he did not look so, on the outside. Age had not come to his body yet, but that was not indefinite. The reality was that her life was his life. The Armilander's youth was also his. She was the power of magic itself. That was the unseen energy her kind used just to exist. Trath had tapped into that and would never willingly let it go. Everything had a price, and for Trath, it was currently his freedom. He could not leave the towers at least until her return. Once here, he could make sure that changed. He would be, liberated.

The Tower of Qualer was his alone through all the lonely empty years, from then until now. All the time that followed since Shendar's departure was like one long-vacant, draining dream. It was not restful, just continuous. Not good or bad, only abandoned and unfulfilling. No one came, and no one went. Day and night, and the reverse, all without significance.

Finally, once again, Trath found himself in the seat. The center and true control of the "Room of Reflections." That made him grin. It had been a long time.

In a loud, firm voice;

"Shendar? You warned me of the longing, but it still eats upon me, each and every day. It's harder than I thought it would be. More difficult than I imagined by far, your warnings were insufficient."

The man carelessly played with a loose tooth in his jaw. Working, the molar back and forth, finally it fell out. Rotten. Like the rest. Power was expensive. He pulled it out and looked at it, grasped firmly between his finger and thumb. The surface was pitted and black. With no more consideration, he tossed it over his shoulder absently. It bounced on the floor once, twice and then rolled into the dark.

The living wizard spoke to the reflected image of the teacher. It was now displayed in the grand mirrors prominently, one time in each, all around the hall. The circle gave an odd sensation of being surrounded by one man, and all of his blood brothers. However, it was not real. They were only shades, images, and reflections, not genuine at all. Trath had come to know that at least. It had taken a while to understand, and perhaps there was more to learn. Trath had gleaned enough for his purposes. The room was like an incredible recording and storage device that could be viewed. The best part the wizard had found, it could be erased and changed. Carefully.

How the surface provided such clarity from anywhere, anytime and anyplace, the wizard could not figure? The fact that it worked, and worked well at his command was adequate. Why concern yourself with the details? When you are reaching for the stars, anything less is just unacceptable. The wizard's passions and desires culminated in one grand scheme. Personally, the cost was not a consideration. If others got in the way, well..., that had already happened once, or twice...and had been handled.

Trath did not expect a response from the mirrors, as this time he was just talking out loud. The representation was still listening. Not being the same elder as the one that now had the dragon, did not mean he was not interested. The real teacher that held true-sway over Laryn's very life and existence were in fact, far from here. Could they somehow communicate with each other? That was a crazy thought. Trath re-focused.

It had taken a great deal of his own, magic to find the right "place in time," the right "point of connection." It had more than tested his patience. A single moment to create a change significant enough to end one world in favor of another was prized. What did it matter to Trath? Other lives..., they don't even know they ever were supposed to exist. It was as if "they" never happened. So it was not really murder. It was just, change.

The image he really wanted was still of Laryn's's face, but that was not going to happen. Relying on his sense of destiny, he resolved to wait.

"How can I kill what is part of me?" Trath's dry voice echoed through the huge chamber with no real, living person to hear it. The image starred back at him, empty. When the Armilander did return, Trath would take her life. It was after all the reason he had saved her at birth in the first place. Power, real power is what he desired most! Her death would give him that and more, the wizard was sure. Trath thought on it until it consumed him. It would not be just any death. There were things he must do..., to prepare. He would be ready.

"With her, I could be and will be invincible. I could travel the worlds and all the plains between them for eternity itself. Immortality will be mine." That would not relieve the empty ache in his life. The man propped his chin up with one hand on the arm of the chair. He made a kind of harrumph sound, deep in his throat.

He suddenly smiled. "All this time wasted! How stupid can I be?" Trath stood up so fast he nearly fell out of the chair rather than gain his own feet. "The Dragon Stone! That is the answer. It worked for others in the past why not now, for me. I could use it to control her. I may not even have to kill her!" That last part swelled his heart with excitement and desire at the same time.

Trath steadied himself. "I command the reflections. Teach me. Give me what I want to know." Real power, not his own, surrounded him and swirled to respond on the surface of the glass... Mechanically made by lost artisans or some other unsolvable mystery, the room was useful. Shendar's image faded and after a few moments was finally gone. The last specter of his visage had not been a kind one. Regardless, Trath felt renewed at the prospect of taking action after such a long time of stagnant decay.

The wicked wizard had learned the images changed and merged back and forth for a reason. There was no pattern, and yet there were several all at the same time. They were random pieces of possibilities that only focused when guided by the master. He was that master. He had made himself so. No one was around to challenge him. It had taken him most of his life, but Trath had succeeded. Yes, he had. Trath was perfect and fit for his rewards.

Perhaps, his time here had not been, squandered after all. He would have overlooked the stone, the very idea. It had not come to him until now. The man set his will, cleared his mind, and gained control of his emotions. Loudly, in a strong voice, Trath commanded the enchantment to do his bidding.

"Embrel!" The first mirror stopped spinning and suddenly became a vividly real picture of an old man. He was dressed in fine silks, expansively, embroidered with golden threads. They were Time Keeper robes. "Embrel, teacher of the past, tell me of the stone?" Trath was powerful and commanding. The wizard wanted more. He did not want to kill her, and now he had a "way," a new possibility, a brilliant plan. Success on a whole new level was exhilarating.

The vision of the aged individual flickered a few times. Trath found that had happened before. Anytime he spoke with a Time Keeper; the similes were unstable. Yet, over the years he found their race to be the best, at factual information. They were not big on emotions. That is probably why Marina, being of their race, even distantly, had done well with the newborn.

Embrel was an important Keeper from the past. The archives had spoken his name many times in the beginning. So Trath had gone back to him often.

"Old man, tell me again all there is to know of the openings between the worlds, where time crosses paths with itself?" The wizard knew the image would have no choice but to obey. The keeper would speak and reveal his most coveted knowledge. The wizard was delighted to have found an answer to his dilemma. Trath wanted everything, and he was going to get it.

Then just as all was in reach, his plans were dashed.

"The stone is gone!" The aged man replied. The image was so clear. If Trath had not known better, he would have been sure it was factual. The timekeeper was right there, right there in the room with him. Well, that is how it felt to the wizard's senses. It was uncanny. An illusion that promoted and provided a surreal reality to his own, unstable sanity. The most, creepy feeling about the situation was Embrel's voice. It was far away and hollow, without depth. It sounded lifeless, in a way that made your skin itch unnaturally. As if the strength of the creature was empty yet breathing?

That is why Trath had not spent even more time here in the room. It played tricks on the heart, seeing people that were from the past, alive and yet not. The past and the future were "one" here, and it tainted the present with a bizarre, unnatural, ugliness." Trath held his revulsion and continued his interrogation of the ghost-like image.

"What do you mean gone?" The wizard set straighter in the huge chair. He pushed with all his will to control the man before him. If he could just figure out what really made this place work, he would not have to guess. So far, only his will and concentration, but the builders were very smart. There was a whole level of "real" beneath the surface of every mystery.

"That is all. I know not, where it is. As for the gates that you seek, there are many. They change places and are hard to map, but it can be done."

The image flickered once, twice. Embrel spoke on other subjects. As if someone had switched the question. Trath asked again. The image took the same path. In one manner or another, the Keeper refused to comply in a new evasive manner. When confronted, the image would simply use the same tactic repeatedly. He would not return to the subject of the Dragon's Stone, but he did drone on. In fact, he refused to quit talking about other topics for several days after. The room was locked in some kind of, glitched loop.

Trath did not even stop to eat but sat and absorbed all that he could. The wizard also knew as time passed here in the chamber; eventually, a new chance would come. He would be able to gain the information regarding the stone. It was like that you see. Time washed over the moment and changed the path of learning. It happened with each breath taken. If he waited long enough, Embrel would tell him everything to be sure. At least it gave Trath focus once again. He may have lived a long time, but just living was not enough. This new train of learning gave him purpose as well.

Home

Cold is the north...

A teacher of life and death to the unwary.

Then... only the Keeper remembers better days.

Chapter Five

## Marale

Marale shifted his weight upon the saddle of his huge horse, and thereby gave himself a better balance on the steed. It was a black Acaassian mount and well accustomed to war. The animal had taken many riders than its fair share into the fray during its long lifetime. It was, however, prepared to do so again, willingly. Marale had been a good master, and the beast was proud to bare him. His name was Lotin. It meant "sturdy" in common. Not just like a tree that could still be uprooted in the wind, but a rock that forever refused to relent. The animal had proven time and again to be more than his fellow animals by far. He had the blood of the old lines. That was easy to see.

Across the open plain before the great fighter were dark shapes of hideous creatures brought from another world. They were unnatural and opposed the very fabric of this realm. There were so many that they were truly uncountable. Ugly, misshapen-ed forms, mockingly human in stature, but that was where the parallel ended. Size and number of extremities, two arms, and two legs. A head, eyes, and teeth, but nothing like you would expect. Things small children fear in the night, real, tangible, and ferocious.

Istabar, the long sword of his ancestors, lay loose within its scabbard at the big man's side. His father had passed it to him on his death bed. Marale was the beloved son of Allannin, son of Annon, a true Paladin of the Light. The historic, legendary fighter was still highly spoken of even now. The grandson was more than proud to bare the responsibility of its weight at his side. It had been an act of faith that Allannin had in his son. Passing on his weapon and all that it stood for was a turning point for Marale. It made him want, to stand taller, and strive harder to carry on in the service to the Light.

Marale was Allannin's only, son. His burden was two-fold. He had the weight of both proving himself worthy by blood as well as the greater yoke of his heart. His courage would be tested. All men and women that wish to follow the Light were tested and harshly so. To be everything that he needed to be was going to take all of his strength and determination. He could and would hold back nothing.

Marale wanted to make his father proud. It, Istabar, the blade, had completed the perfect image of the man's, own vision. He looked the grand hero already. A man prepared to fight and die as needed in the face of complete evil and certain death. The first part was okay, but if he could avoid the second, that was acceptable with him as well. One way or the other, the outcome of his life was equal. He would die a hero or continue to fight until he died, in this or the next battle. Evil always grew, and good men must be ever vigilant. That was Annon's mantra. That was the gift he gave his grandson. Marale embraced his chosen life.

The strong leader's small band of men, the last warriors of the Elderar, closed their ranks. They were gathered to both Marale's right and left side. He did not have to see into the eyes of his followers to know their allegiance. They were all ready to fight and die as needed. The sad fact was that it would be required. Well, at least it looked that way. There was no lack of bravery to be found anywhere among them. Yet even if there had been, they would still be with Marale. Their fate had been sealed. They had to fight, or there would be no chance to save even the remaining refugees. That was mostly their own families still fleeing these lands to seek safety in the south.

This ground had seen generations of war in one foul shape or another. This was the deep north. The disputes covered everything from discrimination to squabbles for ultimate power. Rulers, warlords, upshots, and slavers were winning. Now, higher more dangers creatures had joined the battle. Things were extreme. The tide of evil was expanding. Men, of all races, were even helping.

Marale was sick of it all. He was ill from judgmental beings, humans and mutants alike in their own right. The man hated wicked wizards seeking supremacy, twisted clerics maneuvering and manipulating the weak and various petty warlords grasping and clutching for their chance to rule. All of which gained their positions by blood spilled upon the land, not their own. The precious lives of others, primarily the innocent, to be sure. Then there was the common enemy of this world, the darkness. It fed all the hungry egos and ravenous dreams of such tyrants and dictators. It was at the core of everything.

Evil had a heart. It had to have! It was surely, black as well in color, with gray tones that had hidden meaning. It overshadowed things that accepted it, and embraced them like a close friend or loved one. It was itself a taint, a virus on all things confused by the truth. In the darkness only lies flourish.

The courageous man believed that he could drive it back. He could damage it. He could make it want to die. His thoughts wandered; "Could he kill it? Could it be killed?" He swallowed hard. "What would be enough?" Marale found his mind pulling at the edges of things, trying to find a crack in something, that made sense. Anything he could use to fight the "unknown" in front of his eyes.

Marale carefully calculated the enemies' strength and lines of defense in a vain effort to find a weakness. It was an ocean of insanity. Perhaps there was none to be found. It was going to be bloody, every step of the way. They would earn this victory, if they succeeded, by sheer force. The man breathed a prayer under his breath. It was not his first; he hoped it would not be his last. He would not be alone. He fought for the Light. The man knew in the end, nothing else mattered.

The Thunder Whip was strapped tight, but ready. His father's black, steel-tipped whip was firmly bound, tight on his left side. It was counter to his ancestor's sword. The black leather of the weapon was aged, but strong. Its length was studded with tiny barbed prongs. By itself, it could be formidable when used. Magically, enchanted? Maybe. It was unclear. Marale had taken the time to learn its typical uses, at least the physical ones. Anything else was irrelevant to him. He had taken after his father and his father's father. He was a man of action. The fighter was not someone that depended on illusions and misleading tricks. They irritated him.

Drellin had used the mighty whip her entire life. It had been given to her by her father. He had been a famous paladin in the early times. The history of his adventures was long and complicated. The Time Keeper had written volumes on the subject. His daughter's life had been much shorter, but by far more important. Like her father, she was a brave fighter, indeed. The runner had risked her life to bring back Balor's Ax from the south. The ancient weapon had been extremely important to the future of her kind. The real war waged, against pure evil. Her success had cost everything, including her life.

Drellin had also been Annon's dearest love. Her loss had been epic. It had forever broken the fighter in some ways. In others, it had made him stronger than before. Her death had driven the man mad with anger and caused him to reach for higher glory. The paladin found "it" in the end, at least in part. Annon spent his remaining years defending the weak. He fought and killed many to keep others safe and followed the Light with his whole heart. The paladin lived long enough to know that there were more important things than just going through life. Living with purpose meant everything, and serving the Light an ultimate honor.

From that point, the death of Drellin, the mighty whip passed to Annon. The paladin used it often until he gave it to Marale's own, father. From there, to his side now, it was waiting and ready to hand. The Thunder Whip, was an incredible weapon of power. The burden, to live up to all those before him, in its use, was no small weight. Yet the man favored his father's sword overall. Not to diminish the value of an artifact, but to compliment the trust and bond he held with his father.

Marale respected Drellin's past and what he had been, given. The whip was a weapon from the legends. Paladins, their history was long indeed. This day Marale would need all the unique and special armaments he could gather. He required and intended to use anything, and everything which would help him. His struggle was at a climax. This battle would determine the future of many, too many. What would be left...? fugitives.

The helm Marale, son of Allannin, wore on his head, was significant too. It had the royal colors of both blue and silver, along with the symbolic markings of his great grandfather's house. That was a silver trident in waves of ocean blue. He had never been able to travel, back there, to the Isle of Kings. That did not diminish the pride Marale felt to wear the emblematic, and symbolic colors of his kin. The warrior's from the Isle were legendary. His grandfather a true prince of that realm. Marale had strong lines.

Unlike most warriors, he did not carry a shield. The man had learned to fight from the best teachers this land had to offer. He would be on the offensive in every way, a shield would only hold him back, and that would not be his tactic of choice. Marale continued to gaze down into the valley intently. He had to find the best path to obtain the most damage to the enemy. If successful, it would give some hope to the remaining men. That is even if it were a vain effort indeed. True leaders are required to lead with uncommon bravery, dignity, and nobility always in the face of death. If they do not flinch, others will not either. One man, good or bad of heart, can make or break the entire force at arms.

The ugly sky above gave the coming darkness of night the impression of endlessness. It drained the will from his men and gave Marale real doubt that he would ever see the sunrise again. Moments passed, no more than a handful of heartbeats, but still, Marale waited.

"There will be a sign." Mazan's promise rang like a loud, clear bell. Not one that other's could hear, but Marale alone. "Laryn will be there, in the valley." That was exactly, what the old one had said again and again. The old hag was never wrong about anything, in all the years Marale had known her. She had raised Laryn from a tiny baby. There was no one closer to the Armilander, born out of time, to be sure. What that meant was even harder to explain. Not here, not now... this moment was about living and dying. Tomorrow would be time enough for all of that if it came.

Mazan had been a constant, vigilant nurse, and caretaker except for the short span-of-time Shendar had taken over. During that period, the old woman had still drifted in and out of the young girl's life. She had been mostly a watchful guardian, but ultimately, she was always a quiet protector. Laryn loved Mazan. They had a truly, special bond, for being so different. Caring for someone had no bounds, that was true. The wisdom of that thought was not lost, on the fighter. He had grown up around all kinds of breeds and runners. As far as he was concerned, they all carried blood in their veins. Red. Well, mostly. And that made them all equal to him.

Marale remembered the first time he had seen Mazan. The ancient creature, an aged woman... with clearly runner traits, had come to his father's castle. It had been years ago. It was back when he was just a young boy. She had brought the news of Laryn's birth. It had been done in secret. That was the "important" fact, not to be overlooked. Only the royal court had been present that day. Marale, the man, did not know then what it all meant to his own life. He did not know how he fit, into the scheme of things. He had not been, enlightened either. Instead, it was made clear always; he would do as he, was instructed. Otherwise, was to be...what?

Yet, that one instance, that single event stood out in his mind as if it had only happened yesterday. He tried to push it back. What use would that be now?

The Light led him here to this place, and he would stand, firm.

It came back again. Clearly! The images and memories pressed around him. Mazan stood before his father, the king. She told a long story, a tale of history and legend intertwined. It was about a dark wizard living in the Tower of Qualer. That was bad news indeed all by itself. Yet, she had more.

The old woman spoke of the Time Keepers Palace. Marale had no idea where or what that was, yet it sounded mysterious and ultimately dangerous. She, Mazan, had been taken there to nurse a baby. The woman was wise enough to know and recognize who the baby was immediately. "Laryn." She was special from that first moment, and the nurse knew it. The lizard laid eyes upon the child and ultimately acknowledged who she was going to be. That would mark the end of one season and the beginning of the next. Too soon in a world already young. There would be bedlam, chaos, and great confusion on the land.

The old woman stated, "That was and is the plan, your highness. The preparations for the destruction of everything held dear is at risk." Her voice hissed between words as if her breathing was labored. "All of these problems are by one man, careless of repercussions, or consequences. It has already been set, into motion. His name is Trath." Her eyes were unblinking.

The mutant nurse had further warnings. She said there would be a need one day for Marale's bloodline. That blood was of the "Selnz." He had never been, told what that meant. Not from that day to this. No one would speak of it. Yet, it was important and even essential to Mazan. It had also been crucial to his father; obviously, the boy had memorized his facial reaction. She stated it was the only defense against the future. Otherwise, they would all be at the mercy of the evil man in the tower. What he had in store for Arrel was not limited to one kingdom. It was "World" dominate.

Lastly, "You know what that means Allannin, son of Annon." Mazan had drawn her body up to its full height. She was nearly seven foot. Still lower than the king's dais, but obviously, an important gesture. It was not a hostile move, but one of great respect.

Marale's father had listened well and without reservation. The prince had been just a boy at that meeting. So many questions had filled him, but there were no answers forthcoming ever. Instead, Allannin sent his only son to the Elderar the following spring. There it was quickly arranged that he was to be taught by Shendar, the prized master of the wood. Ultimately Marale and Laryn would meet while in the master's care as his father and Mazan knew they would. That meeting would lead to a friendship. That relationship would move forward to be so very much more.

In those days it was not uncommon for kings to send their sons and daughters to the elders of the wood. That was the whole idea behind Mazan's plan. Allannin had simply agreed that it was the right move to make. His reasons were more than just an education for his son. That had not been made clear then or now.

Regardless, no one thought it odd to send the boy away. On the world Arrel, there were no better schools in the land to be had. It was the place to learn all that was needed to rule and reign, to live and survive. Only Mazan and Allannin shared the truth behind their actions. Together that same night, they planned carefully for the ultimate defense of Arrel's future. Even then, Marale was set upon a path that had no chance of change, though he knew it not.

Home

## Chapter Six

All Things Change

Marale continued to watch the enemy below in the valley intently. Odd forms and ugly things, half here and half not, trapped and released, all hostile. The darkness itself was also an enemy too. Even more hideous, visible, and invisible in its wake. Like wind moving through trees, you could sense the motion. It fed the followers of its clan. With each moment's passing, it devoured everything it could. It replaced the warmth of any possible sun rays with its cold, deadly blanket. The clouds above deepened. The black grew blacker.

Finally, Marale spoke out loud, more to himself than anyone else. It was an attempt to give a sense of reality to the whole horrible dream. Everything had become all too surreal. That was not okay. He needed his wits to be about him. The man refused to let illusions and stupidity rule his decisions. Marale resigned to be calm in the face of anarchy.

"Where..., where was she?" He wanted to charge down the mountain and kill something. Slay anything that moved. It would help him to focus on the physical instead of the haunting mental images that plagued his thoughts. That was the power of the darkness: trickery and deceit.

Laryn was here because Mazan said she would be here. That was enough. The chances of Marale winning the day or in this case the night were so small they were not worth considering. Rescuing the love of his life was simply a whim of the heart. Yes, Laryn was Marale's love to be sure. Mazan the hag, Annon his grandfather, and Allannin his father had planned it all. It had turned out exactly as they expected it would. In fact, it had gone way past that. Marale had met Laryn while under Shendar's care. They had spent time together as students. They grew to be friends. A love, had blossomed, the kind only written in legend — the special, uniquely forever kind, sung reverently of, by skilled bards in high courts. Yes, the "ever after" kind.

Marale had a better chance of holding the sun above the field throughout the night and thereby driving back the dead things that sprang from the shadow, than finding Laryn at all. Waiting was torture, and the idleness of hanging back would soon consume him completely. The old woman had said there would be a sign. What sign? It was maddening.

"Where was Laryn? Where should I even begin to look?" He asked out loud, no one answered. Marale's second in command, Klar, sat on the horse to his right a few paces back. A seasoned fighter himself, he stayed respectfully silent. Perhaps he did so out of fear, but that was doubtful. It was way more likely; it was a matter of steadfast loyalty. All of Marale's soldiers, all of his followers, regardless of race, would lay their life down for him. They never questioned. More than once, he had seen them through. This was not likely to be the same, but that was all the more reason to stand strong.

The brave leader could not be sure where the Armilander was, as he was still just a man. He had made his choice, but not gone further as yet. But, he knew who to ask. He could demand the knowledge, the information he needed from Klar. He hated to be dependant on anyone, but this was different. It was necessary.

Klar was a big man, a fighter that knew how to get things done. He never hesitated in battle. He could kill an enemy in a thousand different ways without breaking a sweat. Marale had seen it happen more than once, beside him against dark foes. Yet, strangely, the more useful trait was his odd ability to "feel" Laryn. They had found by accident that there was a connection somehow...? It had something to do with his rage. That also had something to do with his lineage. It was a rare thing to discuss "traits" among runners that thought little of their gifts, beyond the curse of running. Klar was a wild man at his very core and could feel emotions at times. The Armilander would be hard to miss. The beginning of anything was full of emotions. By definition, her very existence was a beacon in the dark.

"Klar, be useful. Does Laryn still breathe?" Marale looked hard, toward the slightly younger man who sat upon the dark-colored horse to his left. The warrior met Morale's gaze and then looked away, out toward the distant fields and ultimately to the structures beyond. His keen eyes missed nothing.

The leader continued..."I need to be sure; you know that. Gladly I am here, but I must know. Do I fight to save her or avenge her death?" Not that there would be a difference in his ferocity, in dealing out mayhem to the evil they faced, but hope lifted the spirit. That was especially true at the edge of a cliff, facing overwhelming odds. Marale had the "sight" too, in... a "way". Not at all like Klar. His worked to see into the hearts of men. It was a discernment of feeling, more like "not" accepting darkness, as there can be none, mixed with the Light. Maybe that was because his focus was on the Light and nothing else. It was the only important part, to any of this in the final outcome.

Klar had served the Prince well for years; he would not stop now. The runner was just a man or appeared mostly so to onlookers. He could sense power. That was his gift. Although to ask him directly, he would not boast. Like a rod to find water in the wastelands, he was ever drawn to energy. When his emotions were high, it was even easier.

The runner could feel Laryn, the force of her life, close by. It was something to do with a time break in the fabric of space. The Armilander appeared as a brightness, in the distance, vague in form, yet not an illusion. She, the woman herself was an interruption, like a rock in an unseen stream. That is how the man had described his skill to the Prince in the beginning. How he could track her and how he knew she still lived. That is also, exactly how he viewed the world at this moment as well.

The leader, Marale, did not really care how he did it, only that he could. The Prince did not like "powers and talents." Yet, they were useful. What he really needed now were more men. That was not likely.

His left hand strayed to the small pouch he carried.

Marale's own, mother Tolona had skills. She had come from a distant kingdom, located in the southern reaches. It had been an arranged marriage, by Annon, his grandfather directly. However, his father had not objected. At that time it mattered little. Annon was older and wiser, in such matters and his son respected him. Besides, Allannin thought, "How could marrying, one woman over another make a difference?" That was especially true since there was no promise of peace between nations at war, great riches offered or lands gained. Only the woman herself. However, having to marry a lovely woman, because your father said it was the best future for everyone, well okay. He could make the sacrifice for the sake of a greater destiny. That made the king smile, indeed. Tolona was lovely. Agreeing had not been hard at all.

Allannin had loved Tolona dearly, from the first time they met. Her skin was soft bronze; her hair was spun-gold. She smiled like the first rays of sun in the morning. She laughed like a song that should be written down. Everyone loved her. The kingdom fully accepted the woman from the faraway land as their queen. She was taken immediately to heart by the people.

When Marale had been born, a few things change. The queen had been sworn to silence. That, she had not expected. It felt wrong. Her heritage, beyond what was already known, was now kept quiet. It had been so for years. There was no reason to change it. Or was there?

Annon had confided in the end before he passed, that there was a greater plan at work. A hope where there was none. The king, hearing the truth, was angry, as Allannin had only one son and feared for his only heir. It was a tremendous burden. If his son's future was revealed too early, all would be lost. The possibility of true success was so slight; Allannin did not wish to take chances.

Tolona did not agree. She had tried to keep her word. All mothers' try to do what is right. Faced with the fear, if she did not prepare Marale, he would be caught unaware. That was not acceptable. Lack of information could be deadly. No mother would willingly accept that.

Tolona started with history lessons at first and then gave him something else, something more. She taught Marale the "knowing," healing, and helping others. She had been a Palanill, a high born of her tribe. She was considered gifted in many areas concerning the arts. Her hands had often taken the pain from wounds and brought peace to the stricken. She was well versed in vast amounts of curative knowledge. She was also just simply good at it. It had been found that Marale had the same gifts. Tolona made sure he would at least benefit from her as she could provide.

Later, in direct opposition to her husband and king, Tolona had prepared her son further. She did it more each year. Little by little, from the beginning until now, he received all the information he could understand. It helped him find his own stance in the river of time. He had been taught the history of his bloodline through her. The "Selnz" kind! They were an ancient race unto themselves, nearly as old as the first dragons. There was an ultimate reason Annon had retrieved Tolona. The man hoped he had found the counterbalance Mazan and Marina had warned him was needed.

Selnz were human in appearance but carried a line of special... unexplained traits. They were a unique people in ways nearly forgotten by the Time Keepers. It would be that blood that made him fear death just a little less. The combination of real faith and solid truth often made fear tremble. His mother had pounded that knowledge into the boy that had grown to be the man, Marale. Tolona was a Palanill, a daughter of the south, but her ancestral procession was much older. The Selnz were, unique and now lost. No full-bloods left. But Tolona was the direct line of all that remained. That made Marale the same.

In Klar's case, he would be clear. Two reasons. Not just because of his abilities, but they had been friends a lifetime, and that was enough. There would be too much respect between them for Klar to lie, even to save Marale from grief. The fighter was a mutant of unusual talents, true enough. His bloodlines included strains from the Armilander, even if distantly. It gave him certain knowledge that no other could have in such matters. That is again why he was ultimately chosen to be part of the Prince's life. His unbalanced rage, served a purpose, greater than he knew.

From the moment the news was made clear that the "Seasons" had changed, Marina Onara had contrived to bend the future. Mazan, Annon, and Marale's parents had worked as one in the end. The first two because it was their belief and way of life. As for Annon, he had never stopped serving since the death of Drellin. Allannin, of course, wanted an heir. He had been convinced by the fact if all else was taken over; his kingdom would not be left long, untouched...

Tolona always knew any child she had would be different. She appeared human but lived too long to be so. That had been a surprise at first until Annon came for her. He told her the rest. He filled in her history and gave her purpose. That was important.

All those involved may not have wanted to be, but there was no other choice. This event was greater than any other to their world, Arrel. Marale's life was the sum total of every effort. He knew this. When he came of age, he had been told. How does one accept fate? For Marale, it was easy. The man loved Laryn. When you truly love someone, nothing, nothing..., nothing else matters.

Klar spoke. "Yes. She is still alive. Laryn has joined with the darkness. It is like one cloud joining with another in the wind. It is not of her, own choice. Laryn is blinded. I can see no more... through her eyes, my friend." There was real sympathy in the man's reply. Klar had been with him for time without end. They had faced many battles together and lived to tell the tales of each, over pints. This battle, however, did not promise a tomorrow for any of them. They all knew that from the beginning. It did not matter, here on this cliff or anywhere else, they all followed Marale. He was their leader, and more, he had become their only possibility. He had saved their families and their homes, again and again. Now, they would share his end.

The last rays of the sun finally left the evening sky. Marale still had not seen any special "sign" as Mazan said he would. "Old woman, I will open Laryn's eyes once and for all. I will push back the darkness from her heart." The man took a great breath, in. Then let it out slowly. "I will make her remember me!" The brave leader spoke to the open air, knowing Mazan had no way of hearing him. It felt right to declare his thoughts.

Marale had not seen his love for more than two full turnings. The story of her capture had hit him hard. They had been fighting the ever-growing hoards for a long time. That was nothing new by itself. It was the sheer numbers that had changed. They were winning by default. There was just no end to them. An ocean had been unleashed upon dry land. It was the waters of death.

On that fateful day that his love was lost, destiny played its hand. A small group of runners and elves were attacked. Laryn had been with them. A handful of survivors had come to Marale with pieces of information. Together, they told him of Laryn's fall. There had been a skirmish of sorts before the great white gate to the south. Marale had never been able to obtain an exact accounting of the incident from any of them. The only fact, she yet lived. Laryn had been taken. She had been made a prisoner of the hoard that day. It had nearly driven Marale mad knowing that she lived, in the darkness.

The fighter slipped his hand into a small leather pouch at his waist belt. He pulled a small round, deep red stone from its depths. "I have chosen. I accept." He spoke out loud, but only to himself. "Shendar, my teacher, my friend. I remember your warnings well, and I have selected my fate." Marale gripped the tiny jewel. "Annon my grandfather, you pledged to serve the Light. I, too now and forever pledge to serve as well." He opened his palm again and starred at its surface. This was a step that could not be re-taken. Once done, it was done.

In a strong tone, he spoke out with a roar, like those in his line before him. "The Armilander faces a Cathanel this night." His sturdy, determined voice echoed. The words understood by no one, spoken in the ancient language, nearly lost. Yet the meaning, poignant and felt by all his followers to their core. His small army cheered back with brave voices, ready to shed blood accordingly.

The stone within his hand began to glow and change. It turned from a deep blood red to a bright sea blue. It swirled beneath the surface like a storm; a tempest set free with words. Marale was locked in place; he could not move. Then, before he could question or reconsider, the man was set free again. He placed the tiny brightness in his left hand, clenched it tightly in his fist. Then with his right, the leader pulled Annon's great, sword, Istabar.

The burly man held the weapon high above his head and yelled out loudly, to all around him, the command to his men. "We ride!" Then Marale spurred his huge mount forward. "We ride!" Marale belted out again, the order even louder the second time.

The horses and their riders leaped forward in response to Marale's defiant war cry. Similar shouts from his brave men filled the air, to be overshadowed by the howls of evil. The courage of his men was unshakeable. The choice of death in service to those you love was always worthy.

About halfway across the great plain below, the creatures around the outskirts began to move inward. Their, own leaders were making ready for the imminent attack, which was now at hand. Ugly screeches and yelps of challenge went up from all corners of the dark hoard. It was going to be a gory battle, and few would live to see its end.

Home

## Chapter Seven

Just a Stone...

For Marale it was all still just a bad dream, a nightmare in proportion. The battle he understood. Well, the physical part anyway. Fighting and dying that was simple. The brave prince had ridden toward death time and again. That was nothing new. Marale's father, Allannin, had taught him the art of war well. Art? Well, that was not really a good way to put it. How to do it well, the killing part...that was more specific.

The king had also taught his son about peace, yet Marale had never seen it with his own eyes. If he lived or died in this battle, it did not matter. It only mattered that he did so with honor. The long line of fighters, warriors, and paladin's that came before him set the stage. He wanted to live up to their historical feats, and save Arrel. Looking out over the land before him, that was not likely.

The fear that threatened to engulf his very being was a new and altogether unexpected foe. Marale's eyesight blurred and cleared in the space of a handful of short breaths. Only to his surprise, he could see three times the distance. His whole body tingled and then throbbed as if he had been hit repeatedly by a mace. He wanted to scream out but did not. The feeling passed quickly. The change was harsh and violent but necessary.

Marale glanced down as he rode. The man could see the "choice" had far-reaching consequences. His body reeled with a flood of adrenalin. He wanted to yell out but refused to do so. It was swift, indeed. There were claws that had replaced his hands and fingers. He knew it was his body because his hand still clutched his ancestor's sword tightly. There were, however, scales which had replaced his Selnz skin. He dared not consider what his face must look like now under his high helm. Thankfully, the headgear would draw the attention away from all else. Onlookers would simply see the colors and standards of his father's house. The closer enemies that faced him one on one would know what it is to look into the visage of their demise — no need to scare his own men with his personal choices. Marale had confided in his closest people only. But not all. This was a monumental step with no turning back. The apprehension was too strong. Knowing a thing is going to happen is not always sufficient preparation.

"Do not fear. To fear is to die!" Marale screamed voicelessly within his own mind. He had to hold onto his sanity. It had been his choice to hold the jewel and claim its power. Shendar, the old master of the wood had warned him time and again. Even Mazan had dared tell him of its authority, and the costly price. Exchanges had to be made. To get something, he would have to give something. Marale had given up his own bloodline. He had given up everything he knew in his life, to fully accept his fate at the whim of the stone. He had done so to save his people and to save Laryn. It would not have worked if it were not for his Selnz legacy. The energy, which was the essence, the part of true magic that coursed within his veins had heightened the possibilities. It was exactly, what Mazan had spoken of to Marale's father, Allannin in the beginning. It had always been part of her plan and Marina's plan as well.

Marina Onara, daughter of a Time Keeper; that was her true lineage. Trath had bent time and space and pulled her from her own home. So in return, she had spent years of her own life searching through the ancient library for an answer. An alternative to the wizard's goal is what was needed. The young keeper realized early on that she could never confront Trath and win. Her enchantments were based on a different realm completely.

All of her life, Marina had served the Light, and she was not about to change. This world or hers, it was still the Light. Because of that, the young woman pretended to work with the evil man for a while. Through her, with the help of Mazan, the child dragon had lived. That also had served the Light in a, way. Evil had tipped the scale, and she was going to do her best to correct it. Marina knew that Trath had planned to use the Armilander for his own gain. She was not going to allow that to happen, no matter what the cost.

Deep in the library, Marina finally found an answer in the "legend of the dragon stone." The day Laryn had left with Shendar; Marina had traveled back to the Palace of Time on yet another Arrel. She had risked her own life to traverse the doors between the worlds and recover the magic jewel. In the end, Marina had succeeded. The cost had been high, but the goal was attained. She had met and killed one of her own reflections. What that action would cause was hard to say? The idea of killing your mirror self was a chilling prospect. One action never created just one variance. Regardless if it were in the cause of good or evil, it would be felt, like a soft breeze that vanishes or a wave that drowns, all across Arrel. No way to tell, where or when or if it had already happened. In later days, the teachers that still survived would debate, the trip to obtain the stone, may have caused the Armilander's creation. A loop in space, acting and reacting to unseen, yet always felt; cryptic- forces.

As agreed in their secret plan, Mazan had waited for her friend at the edge of the colorless, wastelands. That was the barren desert that surrounded and protected the place. She had waited there for days, far past the meeting point they had set. When Marina had still not returned, Mazan became concerned and even worried. She then traveled on to the great Keepers Palace herself, which was no easy task. There she found Marina near death.

The journey had not cost the woman, the Keeper, her life yet. It had taken both her sight and mobility. It also left her rampaged by a wasting sickness. Mazan gathered her long-time friend up and took her to a safe place in the north wood. It was all that she could do.

The lizard could not understand everything that had happened, but she did find the stone. It was in a small bag which Marina had attached to her belt. The Keeper had not been able to tell her friend anything of what had transpired. How or why she had paid such a physical price? However, it was unnecessary to there own plan. Instead, Mazan waited patiently for her friend to pass. It did not take long. At least she was in the peaceful wood, not a far off place.

Mazan then buried her in the way of her own, kind. Not knowing the "Keepers" ways, it was the highest honor she could bestow. Marina Onara would be missed, at least by "one."

Mazan having done all that she could do took the bag and delivered it to Shendar, exactly as the two women had intended. She knew it would pass to Marale when the time was right. It had, and it did.

Shendar accepted the huge responsibility of the stone from Mazan. He kept it safe for years thereafter. It was not until the news of Laryn's capture that the old man had chosen to give the bag to Marale. Even the old master knew that by doing so, he had sealed the fate of the young man forever. The stone would take all that Marale was and change it to something completely different. The price would be high, but the value for that payment in return may yet be the safety of their entire world.

The battle began. With a thundering crash, the warriors met the first wave of dark-lings, head-on. The screams of men, as well as monsters, filled the air. The sound was deafening to be sure. Blood covered everything. Marale welded Istabar back and forth. He hacked through both flesh and bone with ease. His new body had brought him new strength. It was an adrenalin rush that made his heart thrum. The warrior felt as if he had drunk from the very well of youth, as spoken of only in ancient songs. Each time a sword met with his, Istabars' blade would shatter its opponents.

Marale soon felt drunk on the blood of his enemies. It was good to see their faces fill with terror. It was even better to see them fall before him. It gave confidence to his own, fighters to see how easily he took down the enemy. They, themselves fought with greater tenacity, spurred on by their leader's actions. If they all died this night, they would take many of the enemies, with them. That would be a satisfying end, to Marale's way of thinking.

The prince continued hacking and thrashing his sword back and forth with a vengeance. Then, he glanced up just in time to see the Black Warrior not far from where he held his ground against the minions. It was their leader to be sure. That was a good sign too. Marale would finally have a chance to take out his hate on more than underlings. The Black Warrior was only a short distance away, not more than fifty paces. Marale spurred his mount on in the right direction. He left a trail of bodies behind him as he closed the gap to the mighty foe at hand. Then Marale realized that the fighting around them both seemed to be slowing down somewhat. Space was clearing, for himself and the warrior he intended to attack. The enemy had spotted Marale too and had moved toward him with the same terrible ferocity.

By any normal standards, the brave leader should have been exhausted by now, but as a cathanel, his strength felt limitless. That was what he had traded. His life for Arrel. His life for all that he loved. His new body surged with physical power, and he had already grown drunk on the changes. It had not taken long at all. That is on the changes that he knew of, and Marale dared not consider the ones he was yet to find out about.

The stone had done everything that Marale had been, told it would. He had become new again. The gem had transformed him into a male dragon. More than that, Marale was now the counter mate of an Armilander. His shape was still somewhat human, but that too would not last forever. The legend said he would continue to change until he was a beast of the sky and a creature of a thousand tomorrows. As a mere man, Marale could never have truly understood what he had done, but he did realize he had given his men a chance. Some may yet live and walk away from the field of battle this night. For the moment, that was enough to make the sacrifice worthwhile. Marale would deal with the rest as it came.

The brave prince stopped some twenty paces from the leader and hero of the dark army. The warrior waited. They seemed to size each other up, not really looking for weakness as much as trading a moment of respect. Both realized this was to be a battle to the death, and that no quarter would be given. Marale raised his ancestors' sword, Istabar, and called the formal challenge. His only answer was the sounds of his own, horse's hooves as both riders charged each other. The blade of the Black Warrior met Marale's with a terrible ring. It did not shatter. It was curved, in-a-shape to resemble a tooth rather than a weapon. The blades of both met in the air again and again. The clang and bang of metal filled the heavens like terrible instruments, played to create a piece of ominous music. Marale held tightly to his steed for the sheer force of the interaction nearly threw him to the ground several times.

Then there was an opening. The Black Warrior had grown careless somehow. Marale sliced sidelong into his opponent, into his enemy. He took advantage of the only chance he'd been, given. Istabar struck home. The warrior fell from his own mighty steed and hit the blood-covered ground, hard. He did not stay there, however but rose quickly to face Marale again. Even injured the Black Warrior was not going to be an easy target to take down completely. He did sway slightly, Marale noticed. The wound must have been deep for sure. It did not matter because this fight was to the death.

Marale slid from his own, mounts saddle, to meet the dark one on the ground, face to face. He never let his eyes stray from his enemy. Wounded or not, Marale was not going to make a stupid mistake. Marale lifted Istabar menacingly, "Warrior, I will spare you, heed I am the victor and keep your life!" He knew his words would fall upon deaf ears, but it was not in him to kill without mercy. In fact, only silence was his answer, as Marale expected it would be.

The prince and leader of the last remnant closed the space between himself and his opponent. Only a few well, placed strides and he was in position. The man attacked full on again. The Black Warrior stopped each blow with more force then Marale would have believed possible under any circumstance. The evil music of the two blades banging together, again and again, was haunting. Then Marale brought Istabar up high and hit his enemy's blade with the full force of his strength and will.

The strike was a sure victory. The blade came down to claim the blood of the warrior before the Prince. He felt it. It no longer mattered which side they were on, but that they fought with the primal instinct to win. That, coupled only with the temperament of honor, it was a horrendous clash!

Marale's mind suddenly reeled back in pain and horror. Waves of the new sensation and emotion broke against his very being. He was unable to stop or slow his own arms reaction. The best he could do was to move Istabar's blade a fraction off, the lethal mark. He had succeeded to be sure in winning the battle and thereby struck the warrior. He had won! However, Marale had also lost in that same moment. At the same time he tasted victory, the fighter also knew the deception for what it was and found a new kind of hideous defeat.

"Laryn!" Marale yelled out loud. "No! No!" He dropped Istabar to the ground. His teacher's warnings from the past came flooding into his memory, "Dragons talk without words!" Shendar had been extremely clear. In the last moment, he had heard his own, name whispered in his mind. It had been a plea from a great distance. It had been a call for help! It had been Laryn. Trapped!

Hatred filled Marale, pitch black and ice cold like the dead of winter. He fell to his knees and removed his helm. The dragon that was just a "man", knelt beside the Black Warrior's body and lifted it gently into his arms. His heart had been stabbed at the exact same time. Marale's hand shook as he opened the visor that had covered his enemies face. He really did not have to see, he knew. It was her. It was Laryn! She had been controlled by some unknown power of deception. She had been swayed and used by the wizard until her essence was all but gone. Only in that last moment was she able to touch his mind with hers. Hot tears rolled down the man's cheeks.

"Laryn, do not die! Please, do not die!" Marale spoke the words again and again, with his voice and in his mind. He tried to reach her. He desperately wanted to comfort her. Marale loved her.

The battle continued on all sides of him. The island of space that had been made around the prince and the Black Warrior during their fight was all but gone. Thal, the son of his good friend Retan, was close at hand. The younger man had been trying to protect and defend Marale's right side and show the courage of his own ancestors. He wanted to make his own, father proud, and far more than that, to save all those he loved. Life without them was death just the same.

Marale called him by name, "Thal!", and motioned him to his side. The younger man said nothing when he gazed upon his leader's face. There was a moment of fear that Marale could read in his stance, but it passed quickly. "Take her from this place. Do it now. I charge you." Marale's solemn voice was sufficient to carry the weight of this burden. "I have another task." His words were strong, but for the fighter alone. Marale released Laryn to his care.

Thal immediately responded.

Marale, Son of King Allannin, Grandson of Annon, Prince, fighter, warrior and now? Now, cathanel. What did that even mean? He would have little time to find out. The battle was not over. The man reached for Istabar, his fallen blade. He gripped the hilt in both hands. Then he stood up tall once again. His new shape no longer found the helm necessary. Sadly, it was stifling and would have to be left, there on the field. Who and what he was becoming was now evident to all.

"Laryn! Trath will die!" The threat was more than a call of confrontation to an enemy. It was a vow, a promise of fact. The distinction of his words and frequency of their pronouncement, the quality historians write down, and bards make songs of... He whistled loudly, and his horse responded accordingly to the demand. Marale mounted and returned back into the fray, renewed with a rush of energy fueled by passion, fanned by revenge. Power coursed through his core and limbs as he had never known before. He embraced the change. A level ground to fight and kill what otherwise could not be put down was welcome indeed. Trath had tipped and cheated the balance and would be made to pay. It was time.

The creatures that had drawn back from the spectacle of the two warriors, now pressed in, even more forcefully. They had no idea that it was not the leader of the elves, but a dragon which had been set loose among them: a cathanel, an ancient beast. Like the first of its kind to begin the season, Marale had righted the first wrong. It had cost him his very humanity, but the sacrifice had value. The last Selnz had chosen well, to fight for the Light and drive back all else.

Only Marale's desire to remain in human form kept him so, that would remain for now at least. He needed it in order to hold his father's blade as a man. He wanted just a little more time to find the wizard. He wanted to kill Trath personally. That would be harder as he was sorely tasked on other things. Ugly faces before him danced. The man would swing, heads would roll. The fierce members of his band mirrored his actions, without a sign of relief. The changing would continue, but it served now to add fuel and fire to sinew and bone.

"Trath!" Marale yelled at the top of his voice. "You will die for the death of Laryn. Cower down in your hole vermin, for I am coming for you." Marale spurred his horse's flanks hard and forced the battle on.

The dragon inside grew insistent to "be", free, yet Marale refused. There was still more death to be dealt from his mounted position. The men consumed the blackness, like locusts to green grass. They fought like the warriors of old, that had no fear at all. They were true men in every sense of the word. It mattered not if they were human, elf or runner, only that they were one. They were riding the tide of war, and their leader was winning. Blood, the precious liquid of life, was everywhere, and still, the insanity continued. Marale moved forward and carried them on.

He held the appearance now of a reptilian man outwardly and completely. His humanity was gone. The men that still fought by his side feared him nearly as much as those they killed on the field. It did not stop them from fighting by his side, however. The numbers of dead things grew, but their desire to fight had dissipated much with the fall of the Black Warrior. It did not matter to Marale; he continued to hack the enemy to pieces as he rode through their ranks. There were not enough lives to take in this evil army before him, to pay for the death of Laryn.

Home

Chapter Eight

## Lessons

"In loneliness, a dragon may not see through the plains. They never fly or leave their lairs much. In fact, they often sleep during such cycles." The teacher wheezed a little. "They can even starve for lack of food, as they become listless and lethargic. It is a bad time for them, and their whole world often suffers from their sickness." The old woman droned on. She had taught this class too many times to too many students. None of her pupils had ever seen a real dragon, and she sincerely doubted they ever would. The headmaster, still insisted that the subject be covered each-and-every year regardless.

"Teacher?" The voice was young and obviously, full of wonder.

The aged professor looked about the small room and found the questioner. She focused her black eyes on the young girl intently. It did not surprise her in the least to find that it was Tan. "What is your question?" Eeann was not happy to be interrupted, but that had never stopped Tan in the past. There was no reason to think it would now. It was not that the girl was a poor student, as much as a bit too inclined to dream and ponder over the romantic stories... She only focused a moderate amount of attention to the everyday magic and history that truly affected life. That is especially true here on this world and of course on her own.

"Ma'am? What happens when a world is without an Armilander? What happens when there is not one, born in time?" Tan always saw things from a slightly different view than her classmates. She needed more than surface information to meet her needs. Her curiosity was boundless. It was a source of constant concern among her masters. She would either go far or be a serious problem in a short time. It was difficult to predict which.

Eeann thought the question over for a few moments. The teacher was not altogether sure how much she wanted to breach the subject at this point in her lesson. In fact, she actually feared to speak of such a thing to any great extent at any time. However, she also knew that Tan would not let it rest. Eeann was sure of that. In the end, the old woman figured the plain truth was always best. She would answer, out loud and before the whole class, at least one time.

A funny thought. Eeann played with the idea, that if she hid nothing and easily spoke of the subject, or at least sounded like it was simple, then the pupils would not become intent on the matter. There would probably be words later between the professor and the headmaster over this whole subject. The way the old woman had chosen to teach "it", was not to hide. That might not be okay, but that would be later. This was now.

"Listen and weep to the sounds of shadows, my young pupils. A world without beginnings may only grow old. The "manee" or magic in common tongue is, was and will be, unstable. The sun will become dim too. That will affect the plants, the animals, and the people in ways that can only be imagined, all bad."

Eeann stopped for a moment and looked around the entire room, carefully.

"It is during such times; even brave men grow cold within. They grow ugly and angry easily with each other. War and hatred of anyone not part of their own tribe or clan are common occurrences. There is no spring; thus, there is often famine in the land." Eeann paused. She contemplated stopping there. If it was enough information to silence Tan's thirst for knowledge, then it was a good place to halt. She dared a quick glance at the young girl but did not let her eyes linger.

The teacher took a longer, deeper breath and tried to act as if it were all just part of the normal lecture. The teacher had not wanted to scare them, only to cover the material necessary for the class subject. That, of course, was "Ancient Myth and Historical Significance."

Ma'am?" The new questioner was a tall young girl, by the name of Bera. She was a pupil of average standing scores but came from a well-bred, family background. It surprised Eeann that the youth had even spoken at all. She usually kept silent. Not necessarily because it fit her lineage, but more that she feared asking questions, it would make her presence in the room a bit more pronounced. It was a common fact that if you asked questions of the teacher, then the teacher usually asked questions of you in return. Being put on the spot was not the girl's favorite place to be. It was easier to ride along with the crowd.

Bera was in the school because of parents, and their strength, power, and influence. During the time she had been within the school walls, it had become obvious that it was not by her own desire. She hated the place and wanted to go home. Clearly, her question was a rouse to gain points. Perhaps points of good standing among her peers, in some confusing battle of wits. Whatever the reason, there was an undertow to the comment among the students themselves. There was a kind of emotional edge in the girl's tone, perhaps even an unspoken rivalry of sorts. Between Tan and Bera? If that were true, Eeann had not been fully aware of it. The old woman made a mental note to be a bit more on the ball in the future.

"Yes, Bera?" Eeann was glad however to have a break in the otherwise tense discussion. Several other students were trading awkward glances back and forth between Tan and Bera. Eeann felt more, sure than ever that there was a brewing problem. It would be forthcoming in the future between the two. They were extremely different in a number of ways, and Eeann had seen that fact alone, prove to be problematic. Clicks and power struggles were discouraged among the pupils, but they still existed. Eeann was old, but not slowwitted.

"Is it not also true that certain magic can gain power? Creatures..., maybe, can be... called to our plain with ease? The laws that we know and follow are changed, if only for a time?" Bera's eyes were wide with the possibilities. It shocked Eeann that the subject had so taken the young girl's interest, especially in the wrong direction. "There are stories in the old text about such things." Bera's voice held an obvious, ominous tone.

Eeann recovered quickly from her own surprise. Actually, several questions, all at once had been spoken. It left the teacher with a terrible taste in her mouth. There was a bad shadow near Bera that the master felt more than saw directly. It was disquieting. In fact, this whole lesson had gone too far amiss to be saved.

"It is time we went to the evening meal." Eeann thought it best to ignore the girl altogether. Any answer that she gave now would, only further insight the others. Instead, she turned and went back to her high teaching chair at the front of the room. She hobbled slowly over, traversed the five steps to the top and sat heavily. With her left hand raised high, she dismissed the class. Several of the students picked up their slates and books, then shuffled quietly out of the classroom. Bera and Tan were the last.

"Stop, Tan." The old woman demanded just as the young girl was about to step outside the door. Bera stopped too, being only a pace behind her classmate. It was fine with her that Tan stood between herself and the door at this point. Bera wanted to know what was going to happen next anyway. Either from beingsimply too nosey or to satiate her curiosity, the girl had hung back on purpose. Bera thought that with a little luck, her planned delay was going to pay off.

"No Bera. You go on with the rest." The teacher put a swift end to the whole idea quickly. Bera had little choice but to comply.

Eeann had received a note from the headmaster earlier that day. The outside of the scroll had Tan's name upon it, but until this moment, Eeann had not had the chance to look it over. She carefully unrolled the document and pondered the words written therein..., dark ink. Tan was nervous at being called out of the pack. She shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot, back and forth. Being still was not in her makeup. Eeann finally lifted her gaze from the parchment, "Tan, go to the tower and wait!" It was an order, and Tan dared not ask why. She barely had the will to swallow hard. Without a response, the girl spun on her right heel and headed out of the room. Tan went to comply as instructed.

Bera dared to glance back at her classmate, from just down the hall. In fact, she stood her own ground until Tan passed close by. Anger was clearly visibly upon Bera's otherwise plain-looking face. Tan did not respond in any fashion, to her classmate. She had more to think about then bullies to be sure. Bera turned away finally and stepped out and down into the main doorway toward the eating hall. It was obvious that Tan was not going to tell her anything about what Eeann might have wanted. That inflamed the girl even more. She was important. She should be better respected.

Tan was a trouble maker, everyone knew it, but why did she get singled out this time? It grated on the power-hungry girl. She had tried to be the teacher's pet in the class. It had not happened. Nothing worked. The professor always leaned toward the other girl. Bera's parents had been let down by her school reports. The last visit they had made that extremely clear to the girl directly. "MORE" was expected of her.

The upstart no one, from no family lines, always one up-ed Bera somehow. When it came to any subject that she really found interesting, Tan exceeded in the subject. It was maddening.

The unhappy student felt a chill down the back of her neck. It was a fleeting idea. She would follow Tan secretly. It would be exciting to do something so against the rules, but she just could not go that far. Well, at least not this time. It was going to take some working up to things to go against the masters that far. Yet, it might be the perfect answer. She just needed more courage to go with her ambition.

Tan walked on up the great stair at the end of the long hall in silence. It led to the north walkway and ultimately into the main tower proper. There was a damp smell to the air, all down the passageway that made it hard to breathe. The young girl found that her hands were damp too. That, however, was from being nervous and had nothing to do with the air quality.

Obviously, the master Eeann had been angry by her question earlier. Tan was sure by the woman's responses. Yet, she had asked other questions and never been sent to the tower? What about that scroll Eeann had been reading? Tan was referring to the note from the headmaster. The contents themselves had remained hidden to her. What was that about? Why this time over any other time was she being punished? Question on question swirled through her thoughts. Did the master seem more concerned about her questions, than usual? Perhaps she had asked the wrong question. Or worse yet, the right one!...

The young woman walked on slowly. Each step felt heavier than the last. There was no rail on the right side, so Tan stayed close to the wall on the left. The structure was very high, and an open stair was impressive, if dangerous. Tan walked ever upward. At the very top, there was a large platform area and a single small chair. To her surprise, there was no wind. It was, in fact, uncommonly dead. There was an open door way with another stair leading down into the center. Tan noted. So there were two entrances or exits to this impressive place.

Prekelt, the ancient master standing to the side of the wood seat, was not a welcome sight. He motioned to the small stool, and Tan crossed the short distance than sat. Respectfully she starred at the floor in front of her feet.

"What is your name?" Prekelt spoke with calm authority. He was scary in his own way. Of all the masters this man was best known for handing out punishments. The high teacher's robes were deep blue like the quiet ocean. Tan swore she saw creatures swimming in their depths. They were animals without eyes, only shapes in the darkness. The odd part is that if you looked directly at them, you could never see them at all. Yet, if you let your eye play across the material lightly, they became all too distinct. It was, however, easier to dare a peek at his robe, then his face. There were several ugly scars across the man's features. No one ever asked how he had acquired them. Rumors were enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

"My name is Tan." She waited a handful of moments to see if that was enough. Prekelt just looked at her. "My father was Bracanth the Enchanter." Tan tried again, hoping that was enough. There were times when you had to be careful. That was one of the lessons from Germal, her main guardian. He had said many times over, again and again..., to give only enough information, but not too much. The reason for that lesson had not been specific. Yet, Tan had learned that every tutorial had underlining importance. It was safer to follow the rule than to throw caution to the wind, at least when possible.

"Where does your allegiance lie?" Prekelt finally continued.

"With the Tafte, Sir, of course. I do not understand the question, teacher?" The Tafte being the sworn keepers of the past, present, and future. The very reason she was here — the commitment and pledge to the Keepers and forever itself. Tan dared to glance up at the man directly. She quickly pulled her eyes back to the floor. It was safer there. Her heartbeat loudly in her ears. The master was silent for so very long; Tan wondered if he had lost interest in her altogether, or if this was part of some odd punishment.

Then, the girl could bear it no longer. Patience was not a strong suit of the young. She gathered her courage and asked her own question. "May I ask Sir, my reason for being here?" Tan found the sound of her voice a bit shaky. Her throat was too dry. Her hands were no longer wet, either. She felt like the room was draining her life source ever so slowly. It was a unique place, good or evil both? Difficult to tell. The perception, you could see out in all directions, yet you were inside. It was unsettling, especially if undefined space and great heights were an issue. Thankfully, Tan did not have either of those problems.

Prekelt ignored the girl's question completely. He went on with his own. "Are you a "Keeper" of the Light?" The very fact that he had doubts regarding her loyalties made her want to panic and run screaming down the stairwell. Why did he distrust her? Why was she here at all? The thought in her head raced. Did he mean to expel her from the school? She had no place to go. Tan had no family left in this land. That gave her very little chance of survival. The odds, were high, not in her favor.

"Yes, Sir." Tan finally stammered an answer. "All who are of the Tafte know and keep the Light." She wanted to shout or plead or beg. Instead, she just sat there. With every effort she could muster, the girl kept her tone even. Perhaps, in the end, it did not matter. The man was her judge and jury and whatever verdict he came up with, would be the final say. She would not be allowed to defend herself from his punishment, whatever it may be.

"We have an errand. We want you to go for us." The voice changed. Tan dared once again to glance up and away from the stone floor. It was the master Canth who had spoken this time. Not Prekelt at all. He was one of her favorite teachers. Tan had not seen him enter the room. She was more than a little glad to see him now, however, regardless. Out of respect, Tan starred back at the floor. She dared not relax too far. The final say on anything would still come from Prekelt. He was by far more powerful than any other leader here.

"Your bidding master is my will." Tan meant that with her whole heart. She loved this place, and all it stood for in this world. It was a school to teach Time Keepers their task and post. Few came here altogether willingly from the outside. That was hard to explain, but it was true. But once here, to fail was to be sent home in shame. To be put back in your own world, in your own time, and in absolute disgrace, was a death sentence.

The vast wilderness that surrounded the structure, the masters used for the school was harsh on purpose. It was meant to be a place to encourage learning and discourage escape. The reality was that to become a Time Keeper was a glorious honor. To not be one, was a mistake. The masters seldom made mistakes. Corrections were more than embarrassing; they were always fatal, at least so far.

"You will go through the gateway to one of our sister worlds. You will search and find for us the Armilander that is there now. Tan..." He wavered for a moment. Then continued, "You will bring her back." There was another long pause. "This is necessary. The Light of this land recedes, and our world is dying." Canth, let his words seep in. It was a lot to digest for one so young, the master knew. The seriousness of the situation, however, demanded swift action. For Tan, that would mean growing up too quickly. The real world did not care about innocence. Most times it feasted on the carcass of the unwary and the inexperienced. Tan did not want to be either. Yet, this was not a request. It was a charge. One that she would not take lightly.

Startled, Tan looked up from the floor and openly starred at Canth. "Why me, master?" She finally asked in a small voice. It was all she could think to say in response. Tan was thankful that she was sitting down. If she had not been, she would have surely fainted and fallen to the floor.

"Two reasons child. The first is that you have Bracanth's blood racing through your veins. He was a Selnz. They were a mighty race. That makes you special indeed. The second is that you are the only one of his bloodline left. You are of the few left alive anywhere throughout time, that can travel between the plains. You can go and live to see another world. You exist as one in all worlds. You have no double image. Further, you need no spell to command the gift." Canth spoke with assurance in his tone. He needed her to understand. He needed her to accept all that he said immediately for the sake of many.

In her wildest dreams, Tan never conceived that she would be here in the tower for this reason. Tan gathered her wits about her the best she could, and dared a long deep breath. Tan had learned much while she had been under the masters' teaching here within these walls, but would it be enough? A thousand questions came to mind; all needed an immediate answer. The top on the list, "How will I find the Armilander?" The question was so very matter of fact, the depth of its meaning was not lost on the master's that stood nearby. She, did not need more information on why it was simply a matter of where? The teachers now knew she would go willingly. There was, however, a sense of desperation in the tone. It was hard to discern, but it was there. Canth could feel it, more than hear it. He would have to prepare the girl quickly. Tan measured her own breath and tried to remain calm. There was always time for the sheer panic she felt to come to the surface, after.

That would be the "after" if she lived that long.

"You will not fail us, of that I am sure." Eeann had joined the others. She had done so noiselessly. Tan now dared a quick look in her direction. She thought well of this woman, if yet still a little afraid. The teacher had been the closest thing to family Tan had found in this world. Eeann had not been particularly kind to Tan at all, but she had put up with her questions, time and again. That was more than the other professors for sure.

"You will be taught now all that we know of the next world. You will find the Armilander. You will succeed." Eeann's words were filled with unquestionable finality and confidence. Tan wished she felt that way inside.

Home

## Chapter Nine

The Task

Tan's agreement to go was already known to them before this meeting ever took place. She could not refuse. This gathering was actually just a formality. Oh, and to inform Tan. As Time Keepers of varying degrees, they had all seen it happen, at least once in the future. In every case, Tan had accepted. What other, course of action could there be?

"Go now and prepare." Eeann dismissed Tan gently. She touched her shoulder softly as the girl passed by. Was that a token of concern? Tan did not believe it to be. Instead, she made no notice of it and moved quickly on her way. Tan wanted to be clear of the room. She went to the stairwell and started down to the main halls. There was no reason at all to look back.

Inside, Tan could feel the press of a great, weight upon her shoulders. She walked even slower down the tower's steps then when she had come up. It was a long way to the main floor. Her thoughts began to gather together like beads on a string, and her heart lifted somewhat. When she finally stepped out onto the bottom level, a sure feeling of purpose came over her. It filled and warmed her insides. Perhaps Eeann's words had some hidden magic to them that had not been detected. More than likely, it was simply that Eeann and Canth had faith in her. Either way, the outcome was the same. She had been released from this place. That was incredible! Yes, given another mission in life too, but still. Dangerous? They would not have been so serious if it were not. So. The answer was clearly, "yes" on that account.

Tan changed direction suddenly. She headed directly toward the south garden instead of the sleeping chambers. She began to hum to herself as she walked too. It was an almost forgotten melody about knights of old. Where did that come from?... some lost piece of memory. It felt strangely comforting.

Then, Tan remembered. It was a song from her mother's world. That had been a world of oceans and icecaps. They danced under two moons, and the stars were very bright. The temperature there was very hot and extremely cold. The time of planting was always short and the time of rain, too long. Some would have thought it harsh indeed, but there was a true and certain beauty to it. A land that demands more from those that live there has a unique beauty untarnished by the multitudes.

Tan could still see flashes of the mountains in her mind. That was all she had left of her mother, flashes. That world was gone. She lived here now. With the new information and the quest before her, Tan would set foot on yet another land, soon. The very idea was scary and exciting at once. New places had new rules. People, things, and ideas were also different, some more than others. What would Arrel be like? Where Tan was to go?.

It was late. The young student knew that dinner time would be almost finished by now. She did not feel hungry. Packing would not take long. She had very little to take with her. Tan wanted one last look at the huge Barg tree at the end of the walk. It was not worldly things she cared about. She wanted to remember "beautiful," and all that it meant. She would never see it again; Tan was sure of that. She did not want to miss her chance now.

"There are so many things I wanted to do." Her voice was low, barely a whisper. "Alas, a Time Keeper has all the time in the worlds, but a student such as I must grasp at the fragments desperately." The words were wisdom beyond her years. A great sigh escaped her body, which echoed the sentiment nicely.

Tan walked a bit faster toward her goal. The weight of the task, the full responsibility ahead of her returned tenfold. It was just now really seeping in. "An Armilander? A creature of dreams? They want me to go after an Armilander?" She stopped in the hallway.

Instead of the tree, her thoughts changed and refocused onto Mer, "He will be alone. If I leave, he will be totally alone." He was not really her little brother, but she had adopted him since the day she had arrived here. He was about eight seasons of age according to the Time Keeper of this land. Like her, he had no remaining family too. They had only known each other about six full turns of the seasons, but that was enough. She did not measure her love by time anyway. He would be a great leader someday. The little voice inside her head had told her that much. Magic had not been his calling, yet the magic masters still had let him stay within the great halls of the castle, Toran. Now that she thought back on it, she was sure they had done so for her benefit.

Mer had been left alone and abandoned in the time keeper's palace. The master's had taken pity on him and let him stay. The essence of her bond with the boy had remained the one basic fact that both had no family. They were alone. Tan recalled the day they had met. It was in the hallway to the south garden. He had been in such a hurry he had nearly knocked her down. There were a dozen books cradled in his small arms that went in a dozen directions during the encounter. It dawned on Tan quite suddenly. When she left, he would be more alone than ever in this place. Tan had never asked anything of the masters. She had been so glad to have been chosen in the first place, that she never questioned them before. That is before now. They wanted something from her. A piece of her soul grew strong swiftly with the surge of power. She was going to ask. She was going to ask something from them because it was the right thing to do. Mer would be safe. Fate had given her a chance to make that happen, and Tan was going to take it.

Another thought surfaced. Perhaps it was a memory that she had chosen to forget because it was too painful. It did not matter now. The problem was the clarity of that moment nearly forgotten was upon her. The Shadow Marn, which was the great beast ruler of her world, was in power. Bracanth, her father had sworn to kill him. She remembered all to well that her father could not be burdened with Tan. He had to focus his magic, power, and abilities to win the battle for his land, for their homeland. That was the last she had seen of Bracanth, her father. The master's had never told her the outcome. They had sidestepped her questions with grace and persistence. Funny, the same masters that had taken her to this hall, where now asking her to risk everything to help yet another world?

Tan's steps had taken her back to her own room. Her original destination changed with the whirling of her thoughts. She entered her small abode quietly. The place still provided a sense of security to some minute degree. Tan had lived here for several seasons and knew every corner and every shadow well. Here she had lived, really lived without fear. Tan knew it would not last forever. However, the masters had given her a longer period of peace, longer than she had ever known. Tan looked about her home for the last time. She retrieved her heavy cloak and riding gear. Then the girl dressed for the journey ahead without regret. There was no point to do otherwise. Control over her destiny was not possible. If she had learned anything from the Time Keepers and masters, was that the will of tomorrow his stronger then any personal desire. Tan pressed her dark tunic to flatten the wrinkles out the best she could and turned back toward the tiny window. There was little to be seen from its vantage point out across the black lands beyond this place, but she had enjoyed the stars. They had kept her company in their own fashion.

"It is time." The girl spoke out loud to herself. "Father, I need the gift." Tan moved now with a purpose to the small chest at the foot of her hard bed. There were no locks or bars upon its surface that one could see, yet Tan alone held the key. It was not a piece of metal cut to fit a hole, but a remembered fragment of a memory spell. She wrung her hands together in a funny, somewhat odd criss-cross manner. The chest vanished altogether, and the contents suddenly lay upon the granite stone floor. Tan scooped them up without hesitation. First, there was a small bag which held a worn leather book inside. Then there was a stone of clear blue no larger than a cat's eye. It was warm to the touch and tingled every so, slightly as she placed it into the bag with the book. Blue was good. Sometimes it appeared differently.

Without slowing, Tan tied the bag itself to her waist belt. "Clota Mer the king, Arrel monar." The words resounded very low back and forth across the chamber; then the chest reappeared as before. Tan was as ready now has she could be. There was nothing left here that belonged to her. She turned toward the door. Then she stopped short in her tracts. Canth now stood just within the chamber. How long he had been there, Tan did not know.

"Master?"

"Will you listen to an old man one last time?" He leaned against the door, but his easy manner did not make Tan relax. She had known him long enough to realize that he did not do anything with ease. There was a purpose behind his every move. In fact, it was under his direction and many lessons that she had learned about the race of man. Body language was a complex part of that study to be sure, and Canth had drilled her repeatedly in its forms. He himself was not altogether human, but that had not made it less important to her study.

"Always will I listen, to my Master." Tan bowed very low. She kept her eyes glued to the stone squares just in front of his feet. Whatever she did in the next few moments, Tan wanted to make sure she showed the proper respect. Tan also found she was nearly overcome by a great sorrow that filled her heart. Canth had not been particularly close to her by any direct, outward expressions, but he had been kind in his own way. Parting from him, parting from this place, was hard indeed.

The torchlight from the hall outside, cast an odd shadow across the scene. It was not good or bad, but eerie in some, odd specific way. "No, not a master. I am an old man. I have one last lesson for you." There was a marked tone of hesitation in his choice of words and manner.

"Master?" Tan could not help but raise her eyes to stare up into his. The word held out there in the very air, a question and statement both at the same time.

Canth cleared his throat and swallowed hard. "Before man learned to use the gifts of magic, or dared to tread the paths of shadow and light, he was still a man. He lived and breathed the way he, was made too. That is, without the help of resources other than those he acquired for himself. He was free. At least in the beginning. It is also true that men, at least most men, are cold inside. They traded freedom for power when they were given, a choice. Yet I challenge you to remember the lesson of the mirror. There are two sides. You have only to find the crossing point. But remember too the mirror teaches that although you do or do not know both sides, each side is true unto itself. It is also the opposite of its own, image."

"Canth, you don't want me to go?" Tan spoke in a low whisper. His words puzzled her and his presence here through her way off balance. She tried desperately to listen to his message, but like always, his riddles had many layers. More then anything, she desired to be useful. Canth had been good to her in his own way. Harsh perhaps at times, but always fair.

"No child, I want you to go. In fact, we all need you to go. You must. There is no other choice to be made here. I simply want you to remember the lesson of the mirror and your path will be sure." His old face cracked into a smile. Well, at least it looked close to a smile to Tan's reckoning. It was the first she had ever seen.

"I will try to do as you have asked." Tan pulled her eyes away from his and focused on the floor. She had dozens of questions to ask, but fear and respect mingled together in her mind and locked all her words in her throat. Tan calmed her breathing and gathered the strings of her questions together quickly in an effort to make sense. Then, she found her voice. "Canth, why do you call yourself an old man instead of a high master?"

"To be a man can be a proud thing. Just as proud to me as being a master in this place." Tan realized he looked tired and older then she had ever noticed before. It took a huge effort on her behalf to stare at the floor and not seek his eyes directly. The color of his robes changed slightly. Did they actually get darker? Tan was not sure if it were a trick of the lights or real magic of some kind. It did not matter.

There was a long silence between them. Tan feared at some point that she had offended him. Then it struck her in a funny way, that maybe, just maybe he had gone to sleep, there, right there lien-ed up against the door arch. "I will go now. I am ready." Tan decided that she had to break the moment for his sake as well as her own. She held back tears that threatened to fall, of their own accord. "Good-bye master," she hesitated a moment then continued, "man." I will yet return, perhaps..." Canth did not move, and Tan feared she should not wait. Ever so slowly, she walked past him and out through the door into the hallway beyond. The teacher did not follow, yet she knew his heart and thoughts did in some way. She did not, however, look back. Since he had not responded, Tan did not want to force the issue.

In the darkness behind her, where the man still stood without moving, Canth dared to allow himself a moment of regret. A single tear, unnoticed by any, fell from his old withered cheek. He was not sure if it was for the girl or for himself, but the pain was intense. He had never had a family of any kind, and Tan had come as close to a daughter to him as was possible. Magic often took a heavy toll. Family life and even real friends got in the way. They clouded the issue and prevented true greatness. Well, that is what he wanted to believe anyway. Canth was great in his own right. That had value.

Tan wasted no more time. She increased the speed of her walk to nearly a run. There was still so much to do before she began the journey. To her relief, there was no one else waiting in the halls, or in the main chamber to talk, say good-bye or add their own words of wisdom to her pending adventure. Tan made haste for the stables. When she arrived, they too were all but empty. Lal was waiting in his stall. He fidgeted a bit as if he knew something was going to happen.

"We leave my friend. A true journey is at hand. It is a quest by the masters we have been given to be sure." Tan patted the little brown horse affectionately on the nose. He liked that and nuzzled her back.

"Tan." the call came from the entrance to the stable. The young man hesitated only a moment then continued to Lal's stall directly.

"Proda?" Tan was more than a little surprised. The beat of her heart quickened. It sounded like a heard of horses passing close by. "Who told you I was here?" She tried not to sound excited or nervous, but she was both.

"No one told me. I've been looking for you for an hour or more. Where are you going?" The handsome young man motioned toward the heavy cloak she now wore. "You are going, aren't you?"

"I am off on an errand for master Canth. I should not be too long. No more than a few days, to be sure." She retrieved the gray blanket and leather saddle for her horse from the far wall. It was good to keep busy. Tan told herself that if she acted naturally, she would appear the same way. It was a good plan. Well, that would be the desired effect anyway. Somehow she was not sure that it would work. By the look on Proda's face, she was failing miserably.

The young man, cut straight to the point with his questions, Tan liked that about him most of the time. At the moment, however, it was very inconvenient. "You are lying. I can tell. You don't do it very well." Proda's tone was more than a little accusing. "Please, let me go with you."

Tan looked across the short distance into his eyes. That was her worst mistake. Tan met his gaze, and it locked. The stare was like falling into a deep, warm pool. It filled her with feelings she did not have time to be contemplating.

"I am sorry, but I have to go alone." Tan squared her shoulders back and tried to add power and authority to her words. "I won't be long, truly," Tan added when it became apparent she had hurt him. The girl continued putting the bridle and saddle on Lal. Proda stood very still and watched in silence. Finally, she grasped the reigns, put her foot into the stirrup, and mounted. Tan barely kicked Lal's sides with her heels, and he moved forward to leave the stall at her command.

Yet, Proda blocked her path. He placed his right hand on Lal's neck and starred up at Tan one last time. "Where are you going? I will follow unless you tell me!" The clear intent in his eyes added weight to his words.

Tan was sure he meant to do, exactly that if she did not stop him now. "Please let me pass."

"Then tell me. I do not play games here. I know that you like me. Not as I do you perhaps, but I can not and will not let you go this way. I will take the vow of silence. I will give the oath and die if necessary, but do not leave this way." Proda groped for more words that just would not come. He could not express any harder how he felt. Young love was like that sometimes.

"Proda, I do not know how I feel at this time in my life. Things are changing too fast. I do care for you, but more than that?... I can not say." Tan hesitated for a few breaths. "Come with me for only a short way." The quivering tone of indecision was not missed by the young man. "I can not say my task out loud, but there is time yet."

"I will saddle my horse." He accepted her invitation but knew it would indeed be short. It was at best a sliver of a chance at all. It made him very happy to join her at least for now. She had caved once; perhaps she would do so again? He tried to contain himself and hurried to make ready.

They rode out together. It was late and very dark. No one stopped them. Canth had already said whatever was necessary. There was no further need for pomp and splendor. It had been serious and life threatening, no reason to celebrate. Perhaps when she returned? Would she return? That came to her clearer than before. What in the world was she doing? How did she get here, now?

Tan swallowed hard and kept riding. Porda was quiet and kept his horse even with hers.

The huge citadel grew small in the parting distance as they rode out. It was not far to the gateway, the entrance to the plains. Tan knew the path well. Why? Because she had been fascinated by it since she had come to the Keepers domain. It was beautiful and mysterious, the whole area. She had come this way every chance she could repeatedly. The energy and lights drew her close, like a moth to a flame. Yet, there was fear. So much in one place, and few answers led to trepidation. It was only courage and conviction that calmed the moments that threatened to overwhelm.

Tan did not speak of the journey at hand, but lightly of small things. She wanted this last ride to be a good memory for Proda. It was late in the evening, and the countryside was warm for this time of year. There were even a few stars in the heavens above to make the ride pleasant. Tan did not want to say too much. Canth had been afraid. That fact was scary in and of itself. He was a veteran teacher, how old she did not know. But, powerful surely. Yet, the man was scared. She had gathered that by his tone and manner. Her silence regarding the quest to Proda was the safest choice she could make. Tan did not want to put him in the way of danger unnecessarily. Knowledge of a thing can do that, even with the best of intentions.

Proda soon knew, all on his own, however. It was easy to figure out from the path they followed, where they were headed. He refused to believe it. The trees grew thick about them. The dense foliage had a heavy smell of moisture. It was as if it closed them off from their own world, and began to pull them into the next. The limbs above soon covered the sky almost completely. The young man fought the desire to turn around. It was a strange struggle between his love and his very life. Harder yet to explain, the process was draining — the physical feeling, like blood drawn out from his body, an unseen seeping wound.

Then, quite suddenly, the trees gave way to a large clearing. There before them was Torand Torak. The last buildings made by the hand of man on this side. It was once a large fort, now just an outpost. It had been originally built near, in case of attack from the other worlds. Intruders, invaders, and... the Shadow-Marn, "it" and its minions threatened the essence of forever, in all places. Tan knew that, more clearly than most. Her past, her whole world was gone. Evil had many names. That was only the first one she learned, and lived to tell about.

Why was Torak now empty? Not, guarded? Well, Tan knew that was not the question at all. It was not empty, and it was guarded. That is why she never went all the way to the entrance. She could feel something to the marrow of her bones. There was no doubt, a constant battle between good and evil, light and dark, mixed in the air. Yet "Light" was ever stronger. Tan was grateful and bowed her head in respect. Whatever kept things safe here would not hurt her. The teachers had sent her to do this task. That, however, did not make it less monumental in any way.

Proda slowed his mount and then stopped. He felt strange and weak. He valiantly shook his head and kicked the flanks of his steed slightly. The man moved forward again. It was a testimony to his devotion.

Together the riders continued. Not into Torak at all, but passed its furthest gate. Then, they were there. It was about fifty paces across and about the same or close to that, wide. In reality, it was much further, much larger, but the shimmering, twisting effect was not as clear. Proda shivered slightly, as he watched the surface of nothing and something? He was not exactly frightened, but this place demanded revere.

"I do not know your task, but I know you don't have to go. Teachers can not make you." Proda knew his words would not affect her decision. Tan was a good student and loved the teachers and masters, especially Canth. He did not know why they would send her away, but he was sure it was gravely important. Yet, so important to risk her life?

"You worry too much. I must go. We both know that. Promise me now that you will watch over Mer. He is important to me and is yet very young. I will feel better knowing that you are his shadow." She kept her tone as light as she could. Tan was thankful Canth had mentioned Mer at all. Yet, Proda was a better choice; he understood what friendship was. The boy needed that. She had come to realize Proda was perfect. In fact, she was sure he needed it too. It also had the added advantage of taking the uneasy pressure between them off and placing it in a more useful direction.

The ever changing surface of the huge wall at the far side of the clearing was unnerving to be sure. "I can do this," Tan spoke out loud. To Proda?..., probably not, more likely to herself. Bolstering her courage and focusing on what was necessary. "I can do this." She repeated. Then Tan turned to look at her companion.

"Do as I ask.?" Time was out. Now, this point right here would set all the rest in place. She held her breath for his answer.

"I will watch out for him. I will do it for you." He tried to sound calm in response. He dared not show his real emotions any more than they already were visible. There were too many lessons about this gate, and too many tales told in the dark of night between the students. The reality was, of course, far more intense.

"I thank you." Tan reached over and touched Proda's hand softly. She could feel the finality of their parting. Canth told her on more than one occasion that she had the sight. In this case, she did not want it. Tan smiled again, bravely, and looked directly at Proda. Then she took back her hand.

The young woman turned to face forward again, this time to address destiny. She sat up very straight in the saddle, inhaled deeply and kicked her horse's flanks. Lal easily bounded forward. It took less than a dozen strides. Then, he leaped through the undefined indiscernible connection to...!

Proda watched her go, with sorrow in his eyes. He did not have the sight, but in this case, he did not need it. She was simply gone.

Home

Chapter Ten

## Arrel

The noisy clatter of her horse's hooves echoed through the hall as Tan entered the next world. She pulled hard up on his reins to avoid running into the opposite wall suddenly in front of her. If she had not been watching so carefully, and ready for just about anything, they both would have smashed into its stone surface full force. That was the problem with jumping between the realms. You never knew, precisely where you would come out. If she had been an educated Keeper, it might have gone better. Yet, here she was...alive. That was not bad considering.

Lal yielded to her command swiftly, and obediently. Then he stood quiet. Tan quickly took in her surroundings. Speed was important at this point. The woman had to make sure they were relatively safe and get their bearings before anything untoward happened. The trip itself was extremely disorienting, to be sure. She estimated what time, place, and even, what world she must now be part of, fast enough. She did not know her exact position, however, yet. All those many hours of study in the time keeper's palace had not been wasted.

Tan kept her head bowed slightly, and her back hunched over for the ceiling was close. It was only inches away, uncomfortably near. Seated upon her mount; the enclosure felt cramped. It was a dark, long hall of thick black stones. The floor, the ceiling, and the walls were all the same material. There were no torches to light the way, and only a gray half-light coming from nowhere specific, to cast an eerie glow on the whole uncomfortable situation. Tan guessed she was in a castle of some kind. That was easy enough, but which one exactly, would take a little more effort on her part to find out.

Tan took out the small stone from her secret hiding place, which was stitched into the seam of her cloak. She had tucked it safely there earlier. Tan's father had given the thing to her just before he sent her away. She was sure he had done so, as a parting gift, the kind you give to say good-bye forever. It was after all the only thing she had left of Bracanth.

Although it was not large, Tan knew it was indeed powerful. To her, it was not the magic, but the memory that made the tiny item her most valuable possession. She did not know how Bracanth had ever come by it in the first place, but it was hers now.

Then, with great respect, Tan held it out in her right hand, palm open. Carefully, she looked into its depths. It was an ancient "Ticar" stone. That is what she had learned from the library of the keepers during her stay in their domain. In the common tongue, it would be called a dragon's stone. The history of the Ticar's was long and corrupted from the real truth by long-winded storytellers. However, the essence of the energy they held had different effects for different users.

Using a low, but strong, and commanding tone, Tan spoke to Lar. "The dragon is near! Perhaps my quest will not be very difficult, after all. We need to move swiftly. There is something about this place that feels bad. I can not quite put my finger on it, but the small hairs on the back of my neck are seldom wrong." Tan closed her hand tightly over the ticar and placed it back into safe keeping. Then Tan dismounted. It would be easier to walk Lal then ride at this point.

"I too feel it. However, leaving here may not be easy." Lal replied softly back to Tan's statement. She had not really asked a question. If there was or had been anyone listening near by. They would have thought it a funny incident indeed. The young woman was continuously making odd noises, and her horse was actually returning them. That was not an everyday site, nothing close to normal.

Tan was gifted. She spoke to animals and had no idea that was unique or unusual. They sometimes replied, but her bond with Lal had been the strongest so far. No one else knew of this gift she had, and that is the way she preferred it. To be special and stand out, was not always a good thing. Sometimes quiet was better and safest.

"We must." Tan continued her conversation. "There is no choice if we are to succeed in our quest. Master Canth made that extremely clear." She paused listening and tried to get a fix on where to go or what to do next. "I can feel the magic of this world growing even as we stand here. It is very powerful. Perhaps a master is near by? A keeper? Or? It feels like the very air is charged with energy."

After considering their possibilities, Tan grabbed Lal's reins and led him own down the hallway at a measured pace. She noticed that the sound of his hooves echoed against the walls quite prominently. That would not do at all. She stopped for a moment, turned and gestured with her left hand. Then without hesitating further, they moved on together. This time, the sound was gone. The silence was safer, Tan thought. She did not want to take any chances. Besides, if there were a magic-user around, they would probably not notice such a small disturbance. That is what Tan preferred to think anyway. It made her feel a bit less exposed. The better part of the situation is that everyday guards would not hear them coming. Those that were not "common", would be using other means to detect intruders.

Marale burst through the huge main gate to the grand towers beyond. At the same time, he could feel the strange quake within the field of manee. That was the energy curtain, the veil between here and there.

Air, water, time and..., coalesced together. A huge gap or hole within his world had opened for only moments, then abruptly closed. The memories of ancestors the Cathanel never knew, converged on his mind. That was the product of his quickening and his ultimate change. They, the memories, gave him explanations and possibilities as to what had just occurred. He did not have time to consider any of it at this point, so he simply blocked them out. Marale's business was with Trath, the evil wizard. He had not come this far to be side tracked by anything else for any reason. The seething hate he had for the man had pushed him close to insanity.

Marale hefted his grandfather's sword to bring him self a solid sense of reality. He dove back into the fray, back into the ugly battle against the dark-lings. The creatures of the shadow lands fell away one by one as Marale, and his elfin, runner and human fighters pressed forward. They were not losing the battle. At the beginning of the skirmish Marale would not have given much for their chances, but the balance had shifted. That only served to prove to the man that he had made the right choice. He had given up much, but he had given it up for all the right reasons.

Blood covered the ground so completely it pooled in places and refused to be soaked up. The very smell of death thickened the air and choked both Marale's people and the minions of Trath.

Again the wave of creatures drew back in retreat, yet this time was different. The ground suddenly rumbled beneath Marale's feet. His band of men wavered in doubt. They could fight what they could see, but this gave them pause. Then ever so eerily, the red ground parted. Right there, before them all. A black pit formed in the courtyard beneath the towers of Trath's domain. First, a huge claw complete with black talons reached over the rim, then a fur-covered arm followed, eight hands in length just to the elbow joint. The rest then appeared at the edge of the abyss.

The fighters around Marale gasped but held their places. They were brave, he thought. They were courageous, like none he had seen. Or perhaps just set in their minds with desperation, that this was their world's only hope. They had to make a stand. They had to kill Trath and his creatures. A terrible, eerie silence came over them all as they waited for the rest of the monster to appear.

Tan had walked some way down the hall without incident. That was about to change. She could hear a battle close by. Perhaps outside in the courtyard, was her best guess. It was not her fight, or at least that is what she tried to tell herself. Yet, Tan was still drawn in that direction. She soon came to a small window which would allow her to confirm what she feared. Men were fighting and dying.

The woman could see the valiant men, pressing the struggle with ever growing intensity. She could also see Marale. All the books in the master's library had not prepared her for the real thing. Tan did not know his name, but she was very sure what he was, a Cathanel. The fascinating fact that he seemed to be leading the mismatched group of heroes gripped her heart. A thousand questions came to mind, and she had no time or chance, to voice a one.

Then Tan too felt the quake in the ground. The rumble echoed through the walls of this castle like a drum. Something was coming. Something big and very, very bad was about to change the scales. They were being tipped drastically toward the dark. It was an awful struggle she now bore witness too. Lal could not see out the window, but his nose flared wide and he shook all over. He did not have to see what was happening to know danger was at hand.

Tan watched the thing rise from the pit. She could not tear her eyes away. It was a creature of Tabrnar. That was the dark place. A kingdom or world, where things went or more likely were sent. They were supposed to stay gone. A better definition was the "Keepers Hell".

"We must help the men, or they will all be lost." The girl was never more sure about anything.

"You cannot help anyone." Was the immediate reply! "You are here to do one thing. Remember that." The conversation continued. "If you do anything else, it will give us away. Whoever is within this tower controlling that, what ever it is, will turn on us. We may risk never finding the Armilander." Lal did not sound very convincing even to his own ears. It had never been in his blood to hide from a fight. He would do anything she wanted to do, willingly.

"Whoever it is controlling that thing also must know of the Armilander. They may already know we are here too and have not had time to bother with us as yet. If not, maybe getting their attention is exactly, what we need to find her." Tan made her decision. It felt right inside, and that was enough. Besides, Bracanth's blood rushed through her body and demanded action. The young woman dropped Lal's reins, moved to her saddle, and opened the pack.

Swiftly Tan pulled out the small leather bound book she had taken from the chest in her room. It was her father's journal. It had complete instructions on various hand gestures. At least the ones he had bothered to write down. It was not magic or ticks, but the use of energy. Bracanth and his line were descended from the Selnz. A totally different force, combined with the makeup of her body chemistry. That is why she could walk or rather traverse so easily the walls of time and space. Even the keepers could not, without years of practice and education in the process. Tan was a natural.

"Arrel," Tan spoke in a high pitched whisper, soundless unless you had the hearing range of the animal kind. "Wake up. All an tor...!" Then she repeated the words again, louder in common. "Listen to me! You are strong. You are..., you are not reality. Show me shadow, reveal you're self. Apan!" The last word was a command in the high tongue, nearly forgotten among even the white wizards.

Bracanth had liked using the old words because so few remembered their true meanings. Words had importance. The Selnz race knew it. The Tabrnar kind did not forget either. The power of words could contain energy, but when combined with the proper tone and strength, truth prevailed. Lies were released. Often they were dispersed like dead leaves on the wind. That is how Bracanth would have explained it. That made Tan smile, even in this, dark place.

Smoky soot colored clouds clung to the beasts form, casting an unworldly shadow about it. The higher it rose from the pit, the darker the murky covering became. It encircled the beast like a lover and gave it a surreal outline. Soon the thing was out and rose to its full height. It had a mane, not unlike a lion, but it was not beautiful but black and coarse. The eyes were red like the fires high in the Valor Mountains. The mouth gaped open to reveal mighty fangs which dripped venom like a snake. The roar it made caused many of the fighters to drop their weapons and cover their ears to keep from going deaf. Even a cathanel of the line of dragons looked on in awe at this indomitable beast.

Tan starred in disbelief. The words written in her father's book were true enough. She knew it with all her heart. The fact that it had no effect at all on the thing in the courtyard gave her an unexpected epiphany. "Horse, that thing out there is an illusion." She nearly screamed with joy. "Tath Ta Patica Illsisionar!" Tan voiced the fact out loud in the ancient tongue. A spark appeared, and then points of light jumped from her hands. They flew out the window like a small mass of shooting stars, straight at the creature below. Once it touched the beast, it did not take long at all. Before Tan's eyes, the creature began to melt like warm butter in a hot pan.

Marale and his men starred in trepidation as they watched the tremendous foe dissolve away, diminished into nothingness before their eyes. Soon, even the hole in the ground it had sprung from had closed up and disappeared completely. There was no trace left that the beast had ever existed at all.

"The victory is ours!" Marale shouted at the top of his lungs. The remaining fighters converged upon the main tower. Trath's minions had lost heart as soon as the creature had vanished. They ran before the blades of the fierce heroes like fools, easily cut down at every turn. Marale, nor any of his men dared to question they're good fortune. They had somehow been blessed to win the battle. Regardless, they were not letting up on the enemy.

Tan dared to breathe a sigh of relief. An illusion she could handle. The problem was that it was perhaps too soon to count on a streak of good luck.

A dark, menacing voice resounded, up and down the hallway. "Who dares to enter my domain?" The challenge echoed for many beats. A wave of cold, ugly, hate carried it along like a ghostly messenger. Tan was absolutely sure that Lal and she, were both in big trouble. The wizard of this palace, or castle, whatever it was, knew there were intruders. They also, whomever they were, obviously became more than a little angry at her interference. Sounded, like a man? A human? A what? No time to consider.

Tan stuffed her father's book back in her pack. "We must hurry before we are located. It will not take the warden of this place long to find us." She whispered low into Lal's ear. With her left hand, she reached into her belt pouch and brought forth a small pinch of lavender colored dust. She bent close to the stones and dropped it to the floor. A few seconds passed. It was hard to wait. That voice had left her chilled and more than a little anxious.

The powder stirred, as if within its own light breeze. It shifted randomly at first and then floated down the hallway. Master Talana would be proud. Tan had picked the special flowers and dried them well herself. She had prepared them more than two seasons ago under the garden teacher's direction and had kept them safe until now. It had never occurred to her, a good use for them, before. At the time, there had been some explanation of a lesson. It covered springs and "Saza" flowers. Something funny about them, always knowing where the sun would come up.

It did not matter really how the process had worked. Tan knew the path now. She knew which way to go. The wisp of color and fragrance led the way to freedom from this horrid place. That direction did more then please Lal, he was ready to see the bright sun even if it were not the one from his own, world.

They turned several corners and walked for a long time together. The hallway narrowed once but became generally wider overall. The two companions took that as a good sign. It also tended to go down, toward ground level.

"I don't think the Armilander is here any longer. The magic that I felt before, the echo of her being is gone. There is something else in its place." Tan spoke more to herself than to Lal. But as always he listened respectfully. "There is a chamber up ahead. I can see the light; I think it is from torches. Perhaps we have found the owner of this tower?" That last statement hung in the air like bad news always does. It is never quick to dissipate, like a foul smell. Instead, it lingers and makes you breathe it in for a while.

They drew nearer with care. Tan did not expect to find a friend in this place by any means. It had already proven to be an unwelcome abode. Enemies abounded. The companions moved cautiously. It made excellent sense to take things extremely slow. The men in the courtyard below had no idea that Tan had helped them. If they came face to face, there was no telling what would happen. They would not know her to be a friend or enemy either. She suspected they would guess the last, as she would herself. The one in power, the one that had controlled the illusion outside, was also close. Whomever they were, had already let her know they were not pleased. "Enemy" was the proper description there.

In either case, she had not successfully made friends of any kind. While it had not been her intention to make enemies, Tan was sure she had succeeded well enough. The wizard or illusionist would be out for her blood. Their trickery was based on lies and deceit. But they could make you hurt yourself. That part was very lethal. Tan hoped that the amount of energy it had taken to create the creature would have drained the monarch of this abode. That would probably be the only reprieve her and Lal would get, to allow time to escape. If "he" was indeed powerful, that timetable was going to be extremely short.

There was a sudden, ominous clacking noise from the room up ahead. It echoed back down the hallway upon the air toward Tan and Lal. "It" had come from the chamber. Tan was sure. Without a chance to take cover or react, Tan, screamed.

It was coming. It!

She could not warn Lal; it all happened so fast. In the back of her mind, she heard the echoing of "old" words. The spell, the twisting of air and light by the unschooled, had been swift and powerful. An explosion blew the great tower roof apart, in a million pieces. The force knocked both Tan and her horse to the floor. Huge beams came slamming down from the ceiling in the aftermath. Many large stones were turned to rubble and pieces of debris fell from the sky. The roof was gone, or a huge chunk of it anyway. The outside was open. Fine dust floated everywhere and chocked both companions. The particles of debris, making it extremely difficult to gain clean air.

High above the remains of the tower, a mighty bird circled. After a couple of passes, it finally landed on the remains of the broken west wall. Marale watched from below in the courtyard, helpless as his enemy escaped his grasp. If hate could bring him wings, he could surely fly, but it was not to be. The tremendous animal lifted up into the air effortlessly. Trath was safe upon its back. The thing flew southward into the night. Each beat of its gigantic wings carried the wizard farther away and guaranteed his freedom.

Marale watched until he could no longer make out the form of the beast. Even with his new sight, there were still some limits. They had won a victory, but the battle was no nearer the end for any of them.

"Gather the dead. We will burn them all. Help the wounded, the best that way you can." The sound of his voice gave strength to his followers. His simple orders woke the fighters from their stupor. They were back in action, and as always their commander was not to be questioned.

Home

Chapter Eleven

## Inside

In the meantime, Marale had continued walking toward the main entrance of the inner tower, or at least what was left of it. Trath was gone, but the Cathanel felt the remaining power. Whatever, was causing the feeling, was still here. The place radiated, like sunshine on water, but in an unnatural, way. The place was old, very old and it was even beautiful once upon a time. Not now.

"I'm going with him. Be ready upon our return." Klar did not exactly order anyone, but the strong request was apparent. Retan nodded assent. Two of the others that now held high posts, having been promoted by the chain of death, also nodded. Retan would have followed Marale too, but that would not be as useful.

The men loved Marale, but this new creature he had become, was going to be hard for any of them to get used to. Klar had made the right choice, of course. Both Retan and Klar had fought beside their friend, time without number, and there was no jealousy between them. Neither cared about the physical appearance of their commander. They were aware of the plan, or as much as Marale could have shared. It did not make it easier, only more understandable. The sacrifice had been for the right reason.

All who had gathered for this fight had never expected to live through it. Perhaps it was the magic Marale embraced that turned the tide. The relic he had used to bring a change to himself, and thereby intentionally becoming a Cathanel. Or, perhaps fate had simply smiled on all of them this time. Next time, who knew?

Retan turned his attention back to the remaining party of elves, a handful of humans and a dozen runners. They were tired, but there was still much to be done. They could rest soon enough when the sun once again took the sky. In the meantime, he gave a few brisk, commands. The remaining fighters set themselves to do the work. The dark creatures that still lived had scattered as the tower blew apart. At least that had offered a respite of sorts for the moment. They would now need to hunt as well as fight.

The entrance to the tower was damaged, but the great beams had held in place to some degree. It looked safe enough. The first main hall anyway, allowed for easy passage. Marale stood just on the outside of the threshold for a long time. His new eyesight was much stronger, but Trath's evil lingered like a murky gloom. It made the normal darkness inside, deeper and somehow even thicker. The brave fighter took a long slow intake..., and stepped forward. Nothing happened. That was good. He took another step. Nothing happened. That was better. Well, if there was a trap left, it was just going to have to be sprung. Marale had made up his mind that he was not going to back down. There was a reason for everything.

The monster that had risen from the ground could have killed them all, yet it had been destroyed instead. Marale was smart. There were questions that needed answers, and they were to be found here in these walls. Trath had run because the balance of power had changed. The shift Marale was sure had not been by Trath's design. That added weight to his guesswork concerning the tower. He needed to know what happened! That knowledge could help him again in the next round.

Inside the first hall, everything seemed to be deserted. Marale knew it was not. The key was "seemed" deserted. His new senses, sharpened as they were, told him what he desired to know. There was something or someone here. It drove him on.

Klar stepped into the tower only a few paces behind his friend. He too did not like the dark and thought it felt thick to breathe. Klar started to say something to Marale, to find out what was so important in this empty ruin? Their enemy had fled. All the fighters had seen him go. Klar was not overly concerned with the "Why?" of things. Why not accept the gift of victory? Klar held his tongue when he caught Marale's eye. His commanders face told him there was danger here even if Klar did not feel it, himself.

Looking at his leader's face gave Klar pause too in a different way. The man no longer resembled the Marale, he knew. The prince, son of Allannin and grandson to Annon the Paladin, looked nothing like before. His boyhood friend was gone. Klar's heart could and would accept that in the end. It was just going to take a little bit of time. At the moment he focused on the new possibility of an enemy lurking still in the dark.

Marale continued forward gradually, measuring each pace with care. He crossed the main room and headed down the hall. At the end, there was another huge set of doors. One of them now half ajar and the other was flat upon the floor lying outside the room. Both were ornately carved with a thousand faces of people and animals. In a different situation, perhaps, Marale would have even thought the craftsmanship beautiful. This place was aged, and by all accounts, there had been numerous rulers and wizards in residence at various times. Not all of them were good or bad. The place felt alive in some odd way, perhaps in its very foundation somehow?

The fighter stepped right on to the wood and continued across it through the entrance. The great hall was filled with murals of tremendous battles and pictures of places Marale had never dreamed existed. The floor was mirror blue, like crystals from the far sea. It was cracked in several places, but the splendor had not been completely lost. The pillars, holding the great weight of the tower itself were a normal man's height six times over at the base alone and five or maybe six times that high, easily. There were two stairwells leading to the second story, which was a long open balcony that disappeared into distant hallways.

Lastly, there was a throne. The tower had been damaged to be sure, but the throne did not look the worse for wear. It had been cut from a single Eldren oak tree, whose roots were still within the ground under the tower. The designers, creators, and makers of this place had chosen to build their magnificent structure right over the tree, and thereby incorporate its very life essence into the structure. Marale was in awe at the sheer simplicity and majesty. He stood still, trying to figure out which way to continue on.

"Lal, I cannot see!" Tan's words echoed slightly. She coughed hard and sputtered a bit to clear her throat from the fine dust. The damage from the explosion must have been intense indeed. Debris was scattered everywhere, and both her and Lal struggled to make sense of the last few moments. Tan's head hurt, too, badly. She could not tell if she was bleeding or if something had simply hit her hard, from the ceiling when it fell.

What about Lal? Her heart, beat very fast. The horse was so important to her in ways she could not begin to enumerate. Tan used all the calming methods she had learned in her relatively short life to grasp the moment and push back the ever-rising panic. A few long, slow, deep breaths helped. Then, "Are you alright, Lal?" Tan tried to sound in control. She was blind, and she knew it. Her eyes hurt almost worse than her head. Tan tried to rub them and clear her vision. They hurt even more, and the darkness did not recede. Tan's first panic-filled assessment had been..., correct. It was not the darkness of this place nor the fine dust and debris. The problem was really her, own eyes.

The panic she had quailed heartbeats earlier, now reared its ugly head like a horrific monster. "Blind!" It sounded like someone else had said it. She could not believe it. "Blind..." The word came out like a whisper this time. Inside, Tan screamed. If she had been hurt that badly, then what might have happened to Lal? He could be dead. That brought Tan's feet back to the ground. He was her responsibility. Where was her horse? Several long moments passed. Tan could have groped around, but her ears served her much better. She could just barely hear him.

A low rumble from Lal's stomach of all things gave Tan a clue to where the horse stood. "Un-injured Tan." Came, the answer. He was not far away, perhaps only eight or ten steps to her right. She could hear his hooves moving toward her. That was a very comforting sound. That also meant that her silencing the problem, had dissipated.

"There is someone in the larger hall up ahead." His tone was low and extremely serious. Instead of responding to his words, the young woman reached out and grabbed his neck. She put her face to his fur and wrapped her arms about him. Tears came unstoppable. Finally, they passed. Tan was lost for the moment. She gathered her courage, her thoughts, and her dignity. It was not easy.

Just a short space away, the leader and Klar were still exploring, slowly. Methodically making sure they missed nothing. Klar did not follow Marale exactly but stepped a bit closer to the murals. They were mesmerizing even if damaged in places. They depicted tales of wonder and beauty, like nothing the fighter had ever seen before.

Marale however, went straight toward the throne. The seat of power called to him. Perhaps it had called to the others who had come to the tower at various times? In some way, the fact that it was a living tree? May have enhanced its enticing character. He was sure that there was power, energy still left in the roots. A small part of him thought about mounting the few steps of the dais and trying it out. Marale did not let that part win. Instead, he simply drew a little closer to get a better look. Then he turned his attention back to the rest of the room once again. Time was short, and he would have to indulge his curiosity another day.

Klar heard voices. The closer he drew to a seascape mural near the north wall, the clearer they became. The fighter pulled his blade slowly and quietly from its sheath. He dared a glance over his left shoulder to make sure his friend and commander knew his intention. Marale had indeed realized Klar's position. The voices continued, low but definitely there. Were they minions left to guard this place, or lay a trap? Klar did not know, but he wanted to be ready. Marale came up to his friend's side, using great stealth. He had already drawn his father's sword, and the two comrades now stood together.

Marale suddenly saw a ripple in the mural. It looked like a breeze had touched the very surface of the water on the wall. In turn, it had moved like the waves of the ocean had washed up against the sand. "Illusion," Marale whispered. It is a hallway or a hidden walkway beyond." He made a slight gesture with his left hand to Klar. They had fought side by side so long that they worked as one. This battle would be the same. Marale gave the final sign, and they jumped through simultaneously.

Tan's horse rose up swiftly on its back legs. Steel shod hooves made very effective weapons. Lal would use them to fight and die in Tan's defense.

"Bestari Nadia!" The words resounded loudly, and the horse disappeared. Both fighters swung at empty air. Startled, Marale recovered quickly. Klar however, cursed under his breath and fell to the ground, carried by the strength of his swing. The leader stood back and took in the scene. He found he was about to laugh out loud. It was hard, not too. One of his best warriors had just been bested by a horse. Well, the lack of one was a better description. You can not win against empty air; it is a fact. Marale, of course, did not want to admit that it was only luck that he too had not stumbled.

The dust cleared, and the dim light returned to reveal Tan. That is why Klar had actually stumbled. He had accidentally tripped over the girl. "I have found Trath's woman!" Klar was elated. "This is not quite a hollow victory." He stood up with his self-respect only slightly bruised and grabbed Tan by the upper arm. Klar then pulled her brutally to her feet as well.

"Wait, Klar!" Marale could see well even in this light. The female did not look very ferocious. In fact, she looked rather pathetic to be sure. Her clothes were dirty and disheveled. They were not the rags of a peasant, nor the garb of a castle woman. They looked like plain riding threads, nothing more. A bad gash on her brow had mostly clotted up, but it oozed slightly..., as he watched. More than likely she received that wound from the explosion. Nothing about her smelled of the wizard, or of his kind of followers. Marale was absolutely sure. She had no bad taint.

"Wait? Wait for, what? Let's bring her back to camp. There we can figure out what she knows and what we should do with her." Klar did not want to let go of his prize. He was still extremely angry at losing their chance at the wizard, and he was not about to make friends on a whim.

Marale starred hard at their prisoner. "Girl, where is your horse!" She did not respond. He tried again in elfish, then again in several other dialects. Still, she just stared into nothingness. His patience was rapidly growing thin. The only thing that held his course was the equally intense gaze he saw in his friend's eyes. Klar had a great desire to hurt someone for all the pain and death his people had endured by Trath. What he did in the next few moments would surely mean her life or death. Why Marale bothered or cared, he did not know.

Tan perceived by the tone of the man's voice, he was angry. She did not understand his words, but the intention was clear. Her whole quest was at stake. In a desperate effort to save herself and gain a second chance for her world, she pled, "Lethdar murdoil fan tau."

"Marale, she is trying to cast a spell." Klar clamped his hand tightly across her mouth. Tan could taste blood salty and warm, from her lips as they hit against her teeth. Klar pulled her head back forcibly and placed his blade across her neck. "You will not speak nor make any attempt at evil, magic. If you do in any way, I will slay you without mercy." The man's hot breath on her cheek made Tan sick. She could not see his face, but the twisted ugliness of his meaning..., was not lost in the translation.

Tan shook her head. It would take her a bit longer to learn what she needed to know if she was to survive here. The question was if she would have the time? Tan could not yet fully understand the language, but the man's hate was plain enough. Tan could feel it rolling off of him, and covering his inside as thoroughly as his outside. There was no "ithca" energy in the man, only disgust and loathing. "But why?" Tan thought to herself.

"Bring her!" The command was short and to the point. Marale turned away. He had spent enough time on the girl. Klar would follow an order no matter how his personal feelings consumed him. The Cathanel had not understood her reply, but it had not felt like magic. Deep in his memories or at least the memories of the dragons' he had gained by way of the stone; there were references to the word "murdoil". She had a unique accent on the word but the meaning, very likely meant, "Mercy." It did not matter. If he was right then, he could bother with her later. If he was wrong, he could still let Klar have his obvious vengeance. Instead, he refocused his attention back to the tower. He explored a bit more just to satisfy himself that Trath had left no trace of his destination.

Klar removed his hand from Tan's mouth and replaced his sword in its sheath. "You need to be quiet." He spoke very low, the menace in his voice easy to understand regardless of what language. The man then pulled her arms hard, behind her back. He tied her wrists with leather straps. Not at all kindly, Klar pushed her toward the main chamber. Tan walked only a few steps before she tripped and fell forward into the aftermath. The fighter was not ready to drag her the whole way. He would obey Marale, but he did not have to like it.

Klar jerked Tan back to her feet hard. In doing so, her clothes ripped in two places. He shoved her once more angrily. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, but she held them back. A few more steps and Tan tripped again, this time landing hard on the stone floor and the remains of ceiling tiles. Tan struck something sharp as she landed too. It punctured her right leg cruelly at the upper thigh. Klar made an angry noise and lifted her to her feet. He started to shove her forward again and only by chance noticed the bloodstain spreading down her pant leg. The girl said nothing and had made no sound regarding the wound. The light was better in the main chamber so he could just see the object that had caused the damage. She had landed on a twisted piece of metal. It had done the same kind of harm as that of a small dagger.

The young girl looked suddenly small, and Klar found he felt slightly ashamed at his actions. She was still the enemy, but she had shown courage and defiance in the face of possible if not imminent death. In a swift, decisive move, he pulled the object from her leg. Again, she did not cry out, but he did note her swift intact of air. Tan's body began to tremble uncontrollably. Klar ripped a length of cloth from the girl's own cloak and tied it around her wound. Then he swiftly grabbed her up like a rag doll and tossed her over his shoulder. Wasting no more time, Klar headed back out of the evil tower, into the welcome sunlight beyond. He wanted to end his time here, now. He proceeded to the courtyard outside. The dawn had come.

The morning clouds had parted a short time ago, and the light of day was welcomed by all. The fighters had followed their orders to the letter. They had burned many thus far, both their own kind and that of the enemy. Retan was still directing the men and trying to keep them busy. It helped at times like these. He knew his fighters well, his people. They needed to rest physically, but mentally, they needed to be finished. They needed to be gone from this place quickly.

The man noticed Klar's approach and the burden he carried. At first, he figured it was just another body for the flames to devour. Retan just watched. Instead of tossing it onto the heap, Klar dropped it onto the blood-soaked ground in a half hazard manner. Tan did not move. Pain consumed her for the moment, and drawing attention to her self would only make it worse. She was a prisoner. Most likely, she was a captive of the same men she had helped. The facade of danger, the monster, designed to trick and even kill had been bested. Oh, by her. That was huge. However, they did not know that.

Tan could still not see where she was, but she could remember. The view from the high window in the tower from earlier had provided her with a vague map of sorts. The horrible smell of flesh already dead and decaying or burning into ash mixed together. It was a tremendous nightmare. The tears she had held back so long now fell freely if quietly down her dirt-stained cheeks. Tan wanted to go home. Master Canth could not have known he had sent her into this? None of the masters and teachers would have been that cruel!

The Time Keeper must have known what lay in her path. Why had he not told Canth and the others? Home! It was so far away. Tan knew she would have better luck reaching it in a dream then any reality she was ever likely to live now. Tan tried to pull her thoughts together. Her head ached badly, and the gash in her leg thrummed in turn. She was still upon the field of battle, of that she was sure. Death was so thick upon the air, and it was so hard to breathe, Tan could no longer remember the smell of clean air in the old forest.

Several hours had pasted, blissfully unnoticed by the young woman. She was sure she had either fainted or passed out. It did not matter; it was the same outcome. The best part was that she could not remember any of the hurt while in the sleep realm. However, the warm sun was now gone. The day had melted away in time, and it was close to the evening hours. This world was cold, especially at night. Tan hated the cold. It crept into her body and made it stiff and numb.

Tan dared not move to even stretch for fear that her captor would return, angry as before. The burial fires had done their job well. The sick smell was still pungent on the air, but not as bad as before. Tan dared to open her eyes slightly. "Nothing!" She was blind, for sure. Permanently?... maybe. Her quest was over before she had a chance. "What a failure!" Her mind echoed the words several times until her heart was consumed with sadness. Perhaps if she had not interfered with the monster in the courtyard or helped the men, things would have been different? Bracanth would not have liked that path.

Her father, Bracanth, had never chosen the easy way. However, by not doing so, she had traded away her own destiny. Maybe that of Mer's and all those she cared about, even a little. Worlds that had no idea their fate was even in the balance would be affected. "Epic fail!" She wanted to yell but did not.

It was a very long time before the fighter returned for his prisoner. Klar would have left her lay there, but Marale would not have been pleased. Tan heard the man's anger in the tone of his words at the mere sight of her. Thankfully, several other voices had joined his as they all had come nearer. Tan relaxed. She closed her eyes and pretended to-still-be-out. It would make her dead weight to be, carried, but perhaps the hard man from earlier would not be so annoyed. That is if she were unable to respond. Strong hands grabbed her up and tossed her again over a shoulder. This time was different. It could not have been the same fighter. He smelled like an elf. There was something, a deep perfume of the woods that permeated his clothing. After all the ugliness of the day, it was a welcome scent. Whoever it was, did not hate her either. The hands were strong but not intentionally hurtful.

Then there were horses. She liked the sound of animals. Horses of any kind were generally friendly, and some even talked. Well, at least the handful she had known from her father's stables. That had been where she first found out she could speak with the beasts.

The fighter that carried her stopped for a moment. He lifted her high and then placed her over a saddle. In one practiced, experienced move, the fighter mounted as well. It was not easy to lie across their quiet and still and bring air to her lungs. The pain in Tan's head rivaled her leg. In the end, everything was a blur, and she passed out for real.

How long they had traveled, Tan had no idea. The smell of death was nearly gone, except for what still clung to the fighters themselves. The sweet perfume of pine and moist foliage smells filled her senses. It was a tonic to her spirit. The voices of many men were all around her. They were riding on a trail going someplace at a swift pace. More importantly, they were traveling further from the gate and her home. She would likely never find her way back. It caused a large lump to form in her throat. There was no other response, as even that was reflexive.

Desperately, Tan dared to open her eyes to mere slits. To her elation, she could see a bright color in the center of her vision. "So I am not..., totally blind." The relief that washed over her was not unlike a cool drink of water. If she could see there was still a chance. It was a tiny one, but hope did not count on percentages. In fact, it stood against the numbers like a warrior, without trepidation. It was rock-solid in the face of adversity.

The fighter again stopped his mount and slid to the ground. Tan thought she heard several of the group, stop. They must be halting for the night. That was a blessing to the woman, for if she had to fight for one more breath of air hung over the saddle as she was, it might have been her last. The man leaned close to her and said a few words that were probably meant for Tan's ears. She still did not understand. This time he lifted her somewhat more gently from the animals back. He carried her to a large stone in the clearing. Then the man sat her down next to it, on the ground. He just left her there.

She lay quiet. The surface was hard but blissfully unmoving. Tan's body ached badly, and she was shaking all over. Try as she would, she could not stop the reaction. Tan could not also remember when the last time she drank or ate anything? Distantly she heard angry voices exchanging words. Thankfully the argument did not draw nearer. A strong arm lifted her head back and put a flask to her lips. Desperately she tried to drink, but most of the precious water drained down her chin and across her shirt. Patiently the elf tried again and again. Finally, the man succeeded. Tan dared to whisper a word to thank him, but he did not respond. Instead, he laid her back down against the rock and left her there.

The sounds of men making a more permanent camp were all around. It was good to-not-be moving. The leather thong that held her hands had cut deep into her wrists. Vaguely Tan was concerned because it had left them completely numb. She could not move them well at all. Tan's body hurt beyond belief, but the painful wound to her head at least had lessened somewhat. She dared to turn slowly over. The wound in her leg throbbed, but the blood did not run as before.

As Tan suspected they had built a fire. The best part was that she saw the bright spot at the center of her vision.

"I am not totally blind." Tan kept telling herself that over and over. It brightened her spirits and gave her that important boost of "will to survive" and succeed. Mercifully, sleep soon took her back into the land of dreams. Rest, blissful healing for the moment was a pleasant respite. So far, this world had been in short supply of all things decent, in matters of hospitality. That made Tan smile, inside only. Hanging on to every good thought was an advantage. It helped to make the burden ever so slightly, lighter.

Home

Chapter Twelve

## Tan

Inside the largest pavilion, Marale held court. "You would have me kill her? She is only a girl." Marale spoke softly, debating in his own mind the hard decision to be made. His own hate was strong, but the fighter still did not believe the girl had anything to do with Trath. His new body had unique gifts to be sure. Marale's sense of smell was extremely acute. Coupled with it was a strange feeling about magic. It was like a mix of instances, and memories combined. In the end, it gave him a sure knowledge that the prisoner was no more than that, a girl. Perhaps she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but fate and destiny were not kind.

"That girl would have cast an evil enchantment upon you had I not stopped her." Klar struck his own, fist into his opposing right palm with force. He needed to make a point to his commander and friend. It was not a wise move to allow anything from that tower to live. Sure, the fact was that she looked helpless, but he had been, tricked before. Magic, deceptions, and shadows, all bad equally in his mind. The terrible power and sting of malevolence, combined with both open and hidden lies. All of it, an illusion.

Marale decided not to tell his friend that it was doubtful, the girl could have cast any such thing. He also did not believe Klar was listening well. He had lost too many men and been too many days without rest. Dragons were the very stuff of magic, according to the commoners of this land. That was wrong — just superstition. The real truth was their underling energy. It was tangible because of their race directly.

The life source they possess in their blood was real. Maybe that was not the perfect explanation, but it was the best one he had. They were not deceptions at all. Only a race, different than others, the same as elves and men. Their unique structure allowed for greater possibilities in the reality of time, here and now on this Arrel. What else that meant, would take time; he did not have to find out.

The dragon stone had changed him in ways he could never understand. He could not expect Klar to grasp that to any real degree of understanding either. What he could not do himself; he felt he could not expect others to do. It would just confuse his friend further. The use of the word "magic" was not right. But it was still energy. Enchantments were not often successful against either armilanders or cathanels. Dragons were not attacked easily in that fashion. Like a hard shell, similar to a turtle, the energy they used just being alive, was resistant to assault.

"The words she spoke were not a charm. You will have to trust me on that, my friend. Therefore I cannot just kill her." He had grown tired of the subject. There were so many more things to consider. The small part of him somewhere deep inside, still holding a fraction of his humanity, wondered a little at his friend's intensity. Klar seemed almost near a rage regarding the prisoner since they had first found her. The dragon inside him had to wonder if it was the change to himself that had made him slow to condemn? As a cathanel, did he possess more mercy than as a man, or simply did not place enough importance on the decision to care? That scared him. Had he lost his own, humanity in the mix?

"Why?" The blatant question was filled with defiance. "I can. I can just kill her! It is enough for me that she was in the tower. Only bad things come from that place." He stepped back a couple of paces. This was getting him nowhere. Klar could not fathom why his friend, much less the leader of this band, did not want to kill the enemy. Perhaps the girl had done something to him after all? That would explain much. Perhaps she had succeeded?

Marale sighed heavily. "You are wild with the blood and lust of battle, my friend." Marale captured Klar's eyes with his for a long moment. It was hard for Klar not to turn away. Marale had changed so much, and that alteration was still proceeding on. It was not as pronounced as in the beginning, but Marale's body was not finished morphing. Klar finally could not defend against that open stare any longer and glanced away. Marale continued to try and sooth over the moment and ease the tension of the situation.

"My dearest brother in life, wait till morning. We will decide then what to do with her. That is only a few hours away. Or even better, I will deal with her after my errand. I must leave this night for the Tembre Cliffs. I received a message. That is where Thal has taken Laryn. If she is dead upon my arrival, I will return and kill this woman myself, with my bare hands. I will choke the breath from her body with pleasure. Then I will hunt and kill Trath along with any who aid him. That has been and will always be my sworn quest." Marale became quiet as he thought of Laryn. "Thal, should be near the edge of Morak River by now. Tembre is a short ride from that point. He will be waiting for me as I believe Laryn will be as well. I will return, Klar."

Marale rose from his seat and headed for the tent entrance. "Keep the girl alive until I return. Remember if she is as you think, Trath's woman, she may also know how to find him. That would be valuable." Marale stopped for one more moment and looked back. "You have the camp command. I am taking Retan with me. He has expressed concerns for his youngest son." Marale smiled with that comment. "I told him that I would never have trusted my love to just any fighter, Thal is a good man, not a boy." Then he turned again, pulled the flap back, and disappeared beyond.

Klar sat thinking and rethinking about the long day's battle. He pulled the stopper from the heavy wine sack which hung on to the main tent pole, with disgust. The fighter half-heartedly glanced around for a cup or mug and finally shrugged his shoulders. Swiftly he placed the open end to his lips and drank deeply and heavily. It warmed his insides as it washed through him. Then, again and again, he drank.

The fire from the little lamp hanging just inside the tent soon appeared to dance a kind of erratic pulse of its own. The warm liquid inside Klar's belly mirrored that same pleasant rhythm after a fashion. Klar had watched only half aware of the darkness outside and the passing of the night. He did hear the voices of the fighters, talking between themselves close by. He knew them all and their families too. That is at least what was left of their families. They had all fought together for so long that home, hearth family and friends were distant memories, turned to dreams. All gone now.

Klar stood with some effort. The wine had taken its toll on his reactions. He had been drunker many times before this, but passing out into the oblivion was not his goal. Klar could just not let go of the all-consuming anger and rage he felt from the prior day's battle. With his right hand, he grasped his sword where it lay on the blanket and buckled it into place at his waist.

Marale had changed in too many ways to suit Klar. They had lost their chance at Trath for the moment, but blood was blood. Marale was just as much a creature now as any they had killed, he thought to himself. "I will show you." Klar's eyes were red, bloodshot from the heavy drink, ashes of the dead and tears he would not let fall. The wine had given him a new kind of courage. It had fueled his rage and gained an uncontrolled power over him.

The night was cold and getting colder. Several of the elves and the handful of humans that remained had gathered near Tan. The band had lost many of their group, but they were still strong. She listened to them speak among themselves and remained curled tight into a ball. It was the only way to stay warm. Fear made her stay very still, too. They were not very different as a pack of wild wolves. It would not take much to insight them to attack. These fighters were not like the elves or humans she had known in her world. They had seen too many battles, and the blood that stained their clothes had stained their hearts. "Listen." That was the only command she could focus on. "Listen." Tan needed to grasp their language quickly. She pushed back all the other burdens of her body and tried to concentrate.

Then her own heart sank like a rock. Tan knew the sound of the footsteps clearly that approached. They were from the one named Klar. Of all things, she had learned that much. Fear was a wonderful motivator to be sure. The language of these men was slow in coming to her, no matter how she tried. The problem now was that her time had run out. Perhaps if she had not been so overcome with pain, exhaustion, and the awful cold, Tan could have changed the situation. Maybe she could have even avoided the fate she now knew was coming. The cold invited sleep..., but it was the sleep of death. A big part of her would have gladly accepted the invitation, but to do so was also to accept the same for her world. That terrible thought alone was enough to make her hold on.

Hard rough hands grabbed her arms tightly. Tan felt her body being pulled upward to her feet. Desperately she mumbled a plea, not for herself, but for all that she loved. Tan could no longer speak the words clearly. Her voice was gone. Chapped broken lips and a dry, dust-filled throat made language nearly impossible. Tan opened her eyes but still could not see the faces of her captors. In the end, that was a good thing. Tan would have given up even the tiniest thread of hope, to witness the hostile hate first hand, mirrored in their eyes.

Klar gave a few brisk orders. His intention was ominous in tone. The wine had done its job well, and his vengeance had been freed from restraint. Trath had killed too many, and he was going to exact a price. A handful of the fighters refused his directions. The one that had carried her over his saddle to this camp stood against Klar's orders. He was just a simple fighter whose name was Luyon. He did not mind fighting and dying in battle to save his family, but this was altogether different. It did not matter because Klar had enough support to carry out his plan. Two men pushed Luyon back and away from the girl. The man was torn between defending a possible enemy and becoming the enemy himself. Luyon knew that without mercy, he had lost everything. He was young, yes, but not stupid.

The madness that Klar had ignited was contagious. Too many had suffered too much under the black minions of Trath. They jumped eagerly to the sport at hand. An enemy was an enemy, and the façade of innocence was to be ignored, this night. Luyon looked on in horror. This event would never be forgotten. His people had misplaced something valuable. The man realized then that the enemy had taken it and his fellow fighters had no idea it was gone.

"I will kill anyone who tries to stop me," Klar spoke with authority. Tan could feel the warm fire close by. The bright spot at the center of her vision was the source. Two men held her between them. If they had not actually helped her to stand, Tan was sure she would even now be on the hard ground at their feet. Her unwilling body groaned a low sad sound. She could not help it. There was a bright side to the awful irony of the circumstance. The fire was welcome, at least for the moment. Ever so slowly, her limbs began to warm up. That made them hurt even more. In response to the pain, her body shook all over, harder than before. It was nearly unbearable. Tan desperately fought now to remain conscious.

"We will find out now where Trath has gone." Klar's eyes grew rock hard. He looked like a beast in the night with his red, flaming hair loose about his shoulders. The man had worked himself into a berserker rage. The memory of his sister dying at the brutal hands of the dark one's minions, four seasons past, was relived anew. It clouded his judgment beyond any chance of redemption. The wine had seen to that. The brave men he had watched die in battle this day also fed his fury. Around him, the other fighters were quickly caught up in his words. It was like a virus that passed one to the next until nearly the entire camp seethed with resentment.

"We will get what we need." A huge half-human, half elfin fighter stepped forward. He pulled his long sword from his sheath and placed the sharp end of it into the flames. Tan could not see what was happening, but she was sure there had been a decision decisively made that did not bode well for her. After several minutes passed the fighter pulled the weapon back from the blaze. It glowed brightly in the darkness of the night. The others watched mesmerized. "Hold her still." He stepped toward Tan, and two men held her fast. The intense, blistering metal drew near to Tan's face. Closer, then closer still.

Luyon could not take it. He gathered his courage, not to fight the dark-lings, but now to stand up against his own, fellow men. He drew in a breath and stepped forward. He had watched long enough. To do nothing was to agree with the mob. That was not his way.

Marale thundered, loudly, "Are you creatures or men?" his voice breaking the awful curse. Luyon glanced back over his right shoulder to see his commander had returned. Luyon was just a relatively young elf and did not fully understand all of the events concerning the change that consumed his leader, but the sight of him was a relief none the less. The insanity had been, stopped. Marale rode his huge mount right up to the fighter and slid from the saddle. He was in full view of all the men now. The fire cast a mysterious and magical shadow about his form. The legends had been correct. He had become something new, cut from the fabric of pure myth.

Klar turned and glared at his commander. He made ready by his stance to fight. What was going to happen? The wild-eyed first in command was unclear. The blood lust had consumed his common sense. Everyone around just watched and waited.

Marale did not pull his weapon in response. Instead, the man faced his brother in arms squarely. "Klar, it is I Marale. Put the blade on the ground. You believed I was affected by the girl. I believe the evil of that place touched you in a moment of weakness. It is still on you now. Come back from the dark." Marale studied his friend's reactions carefully. Klar's rage was only barely held, in check. The man's wild eyes shifted from person to person, trying to figure if the others around him would fight for him or the dragon?

"You are a foul creature; I know you not. You are just like the underlings Trath calls from the pits. I will kill you too." Klar's sword danced menacingly in the air missing its target entirely. Wild with frenzy, Klar tried once more. Marale darted back and away from the attack. Then because he had no choice, Marale pulled Ishtabar, from his sheath. In spite of everything, Marale only moved to counter, not to attack. The metal of the two blades met and met again. Once, twice. Klar then found himself on the ground, disarmed and starring up at leader.

The commander leaned over the man and spoke very calmly. "Klar, my brother, and my friend, I am not the enemy." Then he held out his free hand. Klar paused a few moments before accepting the offer. He then stood with his eyes glued to the ground. Marale did not want to take him down in front of the men. That was never a good idea. There had been no choice.

The commander was also very aware that Klar may have started this incident, but they all had a hand in it. Marale picked his words very carefully. "Go to my tent. Wait there. We must talk about our journey." Klar did not reply. He turned and obeyed. Then Marale shifted his attention to the girl.

"Dress her wounds and see to her needs." His command was without question. The two men that currently held her moved quickly to do his bidding. They did not dare; however, too look into his face. The fever Klar's words had generated, seemed to have passed over the camp and gone. There was an unnatural quiet among the men. The prince felt that he could do little to help at the moment. They had all been through too much, and it was far from over really. Battles, especially one as great as this, with the end in sight, to have it ripped away, was crushing. However, Marale had confidence in all of them. They would pull it back together and be ready to do what was necessary when asked.

"You are kind!" Tan formed words with great care. Her voice was soft, like the wind in spring. Marale was not sure he had even heard it. She had not lifted her head to speak, so her features, were hidden. Her dark hair had come loose from braids released from their bonds. It now fell about her shoulders in a cloud of tangles.

Marale did not reply to the young woman. She was nothing. However, the two guards, they may not have looked at him, but the commander glanced at their faces carefully. He knew his orders would be, followed. He could read them well enough. Marale started to turn toward the tent. At the last moment, he spoke over his shoulder, "Clean her up, and then bring her, after she has been, cared for." Then he walked away.

Home

Chapter Thirteen

## Klar

"My friend, my brother at arms, I need you," Marale spoke from just inside the tent. The lamp that still hung on the high pole at the center, cast odd shadows about the canvas walls. It was a few hours before first light. The cold bit hard outside, but the interior of the tent held a welcome kind of warmth. It had been too long since the fighter had been back to his real home. After all the adventures, quests, battles, and now the enormous changes to his very form, it was highly unlikely he would ever go there again at all.

"I failed you Marale. I have lost your trust. I am not fit to be here in your tent. You should kill me or at least send me away." Klar did not lift his eyes from the floor. He stood at the far end of the small space with his back to the wall, and his head down. I am not an elf or a human. You have known that from the beginning. I will not try to make excuses now. I am a mutant and runner. I am also a berserker inside. The rage of my father's blood runs through my veins. You were right about the tower. Just being inside that evil place gave my heart over to dark thoughts. Then there was the wine. It was just, the right key to unlock the inner door of my hate."

"I am not an elf, and I am not human." Marale's reply was flat but, serious. "That does not matter my friend. What matters is that we have always stood with the Light." The big man wanted to help his friend, but the aid would need to come from a higher source. The prince had struggled his whole life being of mixed blood. Now, as he stood in the tent, before his childhood friend, he was... evermore calm and assured of his path. He was sacrificing, everything in faith for the safety of his world. The one center to that was his Light itself, which continued to help him move forward. That is what he needed to express to Klar. The circumstances of our lives had to be, dealt with, but it was still, our live's.

Marale gathered his thoughts. Then he continued in a low, authoritative tone. "Together, we will continue to do so until the darkness is defeated." The leader paused mostly to allow his strong words time to seep into his friends thick head. "You have not lost my trust. I am angry at myself, not at you." He paused. Then, "I allowed my personal needs and desire to interfere with my mission." Marale walked further into the tent and sat down, heavily on the rough blanket. "Come, sit and talk with me. Together we will work a plan to succeed against Trath. That will be a much better way to spend both our time and energy. At least what we still have left on this world."

Klar stuttered, ashamed of his actions. "But I am a berserker. I am unfit to be among men. I am a mutant." He, shook with anger? Frustration? "The kind the human's of the south hunt or run from! Tonight I have even proven them right. They all have good reason to fear me." There was more than a hint of desperation in his utterance. "I have nothing to give you. I have nothing that can help you."

Marale knew this was going in the wrong direction. "I will not hear this any longer. You are who you are, true enough. This fact only, I know. I need you. Will you leave me in "need"? Your actions can be written off as exhaustion, the hatred we all feel and too much wine. We both can agree. Wine can set off anyone if given a right chance. When I entered the camp, you were not alone in your actions. You were the leader without doubt, but not alone. There is plenty of hate to go around. I know the faces of all my men. I also know their hearts. They are all willing to die, but before that end, each wants some kind, of a tangible answer to the suffering they have seen. What they have felt and fought to eliminate, requires addressing but they have no weapon sufficient. Because it is larger than any one of them, it is not exactly, vengeance, but more like a higher justice. The saddest part of it all is that in the end, it may be the same thing."

"No!" Klar's answer was flat sounding to his own, ears. "I will not leave you in need. My sworn service is to you until I die." He paused a few moments and then continued, "Or until you kill me yourself." Klar walked slowly, and with purpose, to the blanket where Marale had sat. Then without further comment, he too sat down.

"We must talk, and you must eat. You need a clear head when we do our planning." Marale called out a command, and a young fighter entered almost immediately. Toback was his name. He was a full blood elf and smart to be sure, for his short, number of seasons among the band. He had anticipated his commander's wishes and now carried a platter of food and two large mugs of freshwater. Respectfully he sat the tray down quickly and removed himself from the tent silently.

Marale watched the boy that was now a man, disappear. The darkness had no respect for age, and death was altogether too common in this land. All did their share in one manner or another. Holding a sword or gathering wood, they fought for the same outcome. Survival! Toback had come to them early on. His family slaughtered, the troop camp was now his home. The boy had been useful, skillful, and deadly when necessary. Some part of the Prince's heart was sad. Yet, Marale knew true bravery, loyalty, and above all, courage when he saw it. The reward for doing excellent was to be promoted, to the commander's tent. Was that safer than anywhere else? The man did not think so. In reality, he was counting on it not to be.

The leader turned his attention back to Klar. "Retan and I became separated on the trail. We were jumped by a group of black riders, not far from the shadow of the dark tower. I made it to the river, but there was no sign of Laryn. I did find Thal. His father's concern had been, well-founded. He was dead. Something had crushed every bone in his body. There was not much left." At that point, Marale took up his glass. He swallowed several gulps of clear liquid. He sat the mug back down. "I intended to keep looking for Retan, but I knew he would return here. Well, that is once he found his son's body. He will know the remains by clothes and armor. I could smell him. That is how I knew." A pause. "I think that is the last of his blood kin, his only family. You and I are all he has now." Marale let his words trail off. It was all too common a story.

The lamp grew dim as time passed. There was only a hand full of hours now until daylight. They had planned a long time. It took a while, but Klar came around. The man's thick head became clear again, and his rage subsided. The food had filled the emptiness in his middle, and the cold water had helped to renew his perspective.

"Sir?" The young fighter, Toback had returned and stood at the entrance to the tent. He did not want to interrupt, but Marale had ordered that the prisoner be brought before him earlier. It had taken some time to wrap her wounds and clean the girl up a bit. They had lost their own, healer earlier in the battle. It had happened sometime during that terrible nightmare. They had lost people before, but Bolon had been, very good at his craft. He would be, sorely missed indeed. Parag, the cook, had doubled in his place. He had not the skill level of his comrade, but his gentle ways had helped make up for the areas he lacked. Tan at least lived, and her wounds were clean.

"Yes?" Marale dragged his attention away from a map Klar, and he had had been studying. "What?"

"The girl is ready." Hesitantly the youth responded. Toback pulled back the flap and waited.

Marale rose to his feet. "Bring her in." Klar did not move but tried to keep his attention focused on the map. It still bothered him that Marale had intervened on her behalf, but he kept that thought silent. It was probably the berserker inside him, which would just not let it all go.

Toback entered at his command. The young elf guided Tan gently by her right arm into the tent, to stand before her captors. "Leave us now." The prince commanded, dismissed the youth with a quick hand gesture. "Come, closer girl," Marale spoke to Tan. Klar wondered why he bothered, speaking directly to her since she was deaf, dumb, or both. At least he had heard nothing that made sense. Nothing, since their first encounter anyway.

Tan could hear the guard retreat and the flap close once more. It was secured, into place. Tan's hair fell forward still and hid her face from view, but it looked much softer, and to Marale's surprise, brushed. Her own garment had been replaced with an elfin tunic. It did not exactly fit well. The clothing covered her but hung a bit too short. Her legs were exposed from the knees down. One of the fighter's had also given her a cape. It, on the other hand, was too long and dragged the ground slightly. Marale recognized the items to be Luyon's. He was an excellent fighter, and Marale respected his abilities in battle. The compassion he had shown, this enemy added a new depth to his character that was quite, unexpected. Tan stepped forward awkwardly. She tried to feel each pace out before committing her weight. She did not want to fall in front of this man. Tan could tell by his voice; he was the leader. Her very life and probable death were about to be decided, Tan was sure.

"Can you speak or not?" Marale demanded harshly. He wanted an answer. Whatever game she was playing had grown very tiresome. The fighter had important things to do, and this situation was simply in the way.

"Only some words," Tan replied weakly. It was the best she could do.

Marale noted the black bruises upon the girl's lower legs. He guessed they were all over her body. He also noticed her wrists had been bandaged. The commander was pleased that his orders had been followed well. "Why did you not speak before?" Marale needed answers, and time was short. He did not believe she was Trath's woman, but he was sure her presence was significant, and the timing critical, back at the tower. The man was not a believer in coincidence, by any means.

She did not hold back anything. Tan knew that this man could order her death at a whim. "I had to learn. I had to listen to you all speak, to learn." Tan heard Klar move on the blanket just in front of where she stood. She froze like a doe before a hunter. Her heart beat faster, and something inside told Tan it was the angry fighter. Her interrogator was not alone in the tent.

"It is a trick." Klar controlled his temper the best that he could. Just hearing his voice renewed her fear tenfold, and her body shook uncontrollably.

Marale noticed her reaction but pushed on. He did not reply to Klar at all. "Who are you, girl?"

Tan lifted her head, and her long brown hair moved back to reveal her eyes. There were no whites to them at all, only black pools of color. "My name does not translate into your tongue. At least I do not know it as yet. You may call me, Tan, if it pleases you. That is close enough." She tensed, waiting for his next question.

"Tan?" Marale tried out her name. It sounded good, not evil, at least on the surface. There was great power in knowing her name. Dragons, in general, did not speak the truth of their own, name, for there was power in words. That thought was an echo, a piece-from-his-past. The leader put that aside completely. It had no value for the moment. So he continued, "What are you and how do you know Trath." He cut straight to the issue.

"Master fighter, I am as your friend here already knows a user of magic. Well, that is what you call it sometimes. It is not. It is hard to explain..." She tried to gather words from the air, that would make sense. "Language" was difficult, and Tan was supposedly good at it. Sadly, some complicated ideas; were not easily expressed.

"I will know if you lie." Marale's tone was fierce. Not loud, but full of menace.

"I am not trying to deceive you. I am the daughter of Bracanth, a grand wizard of my homeland. He defends the Light of that world. I do not know the one you speak of, this Trath? From the tone in your voice, I know him to be an enemy of your camp."

Marale moved silently forward, using great stealth. He edged around Tan ever so leisurely, then stepped within inches of her face. At all times he was careful never to block the lanterns, light. Not once did Tan turn toward him nor follow his path in any way. Klar watched for reactions in their prisoner too, but there were none.

"I am going to kill you!" Marale whispered into her ear. "You tried to cast a curse on me." He pressed hard to obtain a truthful reaction.

As if Tan truly did not know Marale was so close, she jumped in fright, "No Sir. No, great fighter! I swear by the Lord of Light. Please hear me out." Tan had lost all pride, sacrificed in favor of her mission. She dropped to her knees; head bowed to his feet. "If I die, many others will die also. I plead not for myself but, for them."

Marale noted, never once did she look even toward him.

"You are blind?" Klar spoke up in surprise. It was more a statement than a question. She had not been deaf or dumb. She had not even been able to see him. The immensity of that knowledge weighed heavily on him. It was one thing to attack, torture, or even kill an enemy, but this? This was all wrong! He did not know, how could he?

None the less she answered. "Yes. The explosion at the tower blinded me." There was a distinct quiver in her voice that belayed her fear to them both. If she were an enemy, it would be easy to kill her. Now that they knew she was simply a helpless woman, would they not also kill her? In her land, helpless..., equaled a sure quick death. It was not so much a matter of good or evil, but the fact that no one had time to be bothered with an invalid. Life was too hard under the best of circumstances.

"What happened to the horse?" Marale continued his questions. He did not move to make her rise but left Tan there for now. The man could tell her words were true; he was sure. There was no point in letting the girl know he held any hope out to her, for survival. That way Marale was assured, the exactness would continue.

"I sent him back to my world. You would have killed him." The honesty of Tan's answers could not be denied. "He was my friend and well trained. Lal could not have stopped you, and his death would have meant nothing." A single tear fell from her eye and ran down her left cheek.

"Why did you not send yourself back as well?" Klar joined in with the interrogation. The man's tone had changed. It was lighter by far, and the anger had disappeared. She could not place the new emotion, because he was hard to read, by voice alone.

"I could only send one back. He, was my friend, as I said. My task has not ended here, so I could not return even if I wanted too." Tan concentrated on her body. She had to calm down. This was the most important meeting of her life, and one wrong answer could cost a high price indeed.

"Do not beg." Marale had come to a decision. "Lift your head. And do not call me "master" fighter. My name is Marale. Answer true. I will know if you lie. Did you stop the creature within the courtyard?" This one thing he needed to know. It would make the difference in everything else she had said so far.

A few moments passed in silence. She lifted her head very slowly. Tan remained on her knees. She moved her face toward the direction of his voice. If he were trying to read her, nothing would be, held back. Indecision did cross her features, Marale was sure. Tan knew to capture a magic-user of power was worth much when sold. Slavery was perhaps preferable to death, but it did not bring her any closer to her goal. Tan knew the man would surely kill her if she lied, thus killing her hope. "It was an illusion." Tan finally answered out loud.

"You lie! I see illusions." Marale became angry. He had almost believed her. Everything had told him that he should, but illusions? That had to be a lie.

"No, please listen; I speak the truth. The creature was an illusion. It was only real to you. It was real at another time, another place. It did, does and will still exist but not here. That makes it a very "special" illusion." The desperation in her voice was not missed even by Klar.

"If that were true, then how did you destroy it?" Marale was skeptical, but considering her treatment by himself and his men up until now, he felt generous to a point.

"I may not say...!" The shaking of her body renewed. Fear was a funny thing. It gave you away when you did not remain in control. Tan was far from being in "control" to be sure.

He wanted to press her, but in a very odd way, he understood. Like dragons and the words that they considered powerful. Some things had meanings that took concept understanding. Not a moment's desperate answer, flawed by misinterpretation. "Could it have hurt us, being only an illusion?" That was a better question in Marale's mind anyway.

"Yes, for you thought it was real, the pain would also be real. The death would be real too." The shaking stopped. Exhaustion had taken over. Whatever decision this man came to, would simply be the fate and destiny she was made to endure. That was a calming thought. In a way she liked it. Good or bad, Tan would not have failed completely. She had given over to the man everything he asked. The woman had told him only the truth. If that were not now going to save her life, then nothing else would.

There was a long, empty silence. "Then you have done us a great service." Marale moved back to the blanket on the floor next to Klar. He seated himself there.

"You do not believe this creature of darkness?" Klar restated his objections loudly. "How do you know she is not just lying to save her life?"

That was it. Tan's eyes flashed even in their blindness. "I serve not the darkness, but the Light. I have been honest in my answers." Tan rose to her feet before the two men. "I have spoken my quest out loud. I have shown you my fear. I have endured your hospitality." The last word was an open sneer of defiance. "This is a harsh world, with unsympathetic ways, but I will not let that change who it is, that I am." Tan seemed to straighten up before their eyes. She was a beautiful young woman to be sure. Klar was surprised that the thought crossed his mind. The girl's rebelliousness gave weight to her words that the men had not expected.

Tan had mentioned a quest. Marale understood that concept all too well. "What do you seek here in our world?" Marale asked.

"I seek the Armilander." Again, the revealed truth of the answer gave no room for deception. "My world will die without her. She is ours. She is here, and she needs to come home." Marale sat up a little straighter. If the girl had any idea that she now spoke to a Cathanel, he was sure she would not be so bold. Then again, maybe she did know.

"Klar, leave us for a while, but stay nearby." The commander could see his request was about to be questioned. He cut the man off in advance. "This is important. She can not harm me. Go now. Rest my friend, until dawn. You will need to be strong for tomorrow. That is actually for today when our mission begins again." He added the last, realizing that the dawn was close.

Klar knew that look reflected even in the alien face that was before him. It was strange to see Marale, the old and Marale the distorted. The shadow of the man was apparent still, to those that knew him from before. All others would only see the newer version. There was no argument that would change anything. He rose and walked out of the tent. Everything inside him wanted to continue the quarrel against the girl still, but the answer the Prince had given was, "No!"

Tan was glad the other man had gone. She dared to think of it as a good sign. Her throat was dry, but she continued brazenly. "Are you going to kill me?" Tan could just not hold the question back any longer.

"We leave soon, for the south," Marale spoke, dismissing her question without an answer. If he were going to do that, he would have already. He had more pressing issues on his mind at the moment.

"Take me with you." Tan faced the direction of the man's voice. "I can help you find the one you seek named Trath." This was her chance. This man of power was the key, Tan was sure.

"You are blind. What place would you have among us other than to be a burden? I can find Trath myself." Marale was already trying to figure out what to do with her. She had, after all, saved their lives, by her account anyway. The bruises on her legs were a testament to the thanks they had already given her for that favor. "Irony" was a terrible thing. Killing her was actually out of the question now. He could maybe leave one of his men here to watch after her. "Until, when?" Marale mumbled to himself. There was no place to send the girl, and he could not afford to lose yet another fighter.

"Please take me, and I will promise my "magic" as you call it, for you. I will be in your service. I can help! Return me to the tower where you found me. I must find something I have lost there. It has to be there. With it, I may be able to restore my sight. I will not be the burden you think I will be. I promise you. Please, help me now. Help me to help my world."

"No!" Marale spoke warmly for the first time. "You have helped me, and I thank you. The answer is still no!" He did not have the time to spare for such issues. A magic-user in his service was mildly entertaining. Dragon's, in general, had little use for such things, but the man Marale loved irony. It was a kin to a mind puzzle. Vaguely from the Cathaenl's past, an ancestor was speaking. It was a whisper, just out of range. The words were odd, unfamiliar at best, but held the essence, the wisdom of age. The message, "in time all things are answered." A piece, a fragment..., Marale brushed it aside.

"If you do not let me go with you, I will follow on my own. Without you, I will not find what I have lost within the tower; thus, I will remain blind. You owe me your lives. I spoke the truth, and you know that now. Will you leave me thus?" Tan's voice held a note of panic with the thought of her failure. "If that is your intent, I ask you to end my life. To do otherwise would be to be cruel beyond measure." Tan's voice did not falter as she made her final request.

"Klar," Marale commanded loudly. Moments passed before Tan heard the other man's familiar footsteps. Death was the answer then. Giving her back to the care of the angry fighter was signing her warrant. She said nothing. Tan waited.

"Take the girl," he hesitated slightly. "Take Tan, back to the tower. Aid her in her search for whatever she is looking for. Find whatever she has lost there. Then return here and follow our tracks. Catch up with us near the river." He spoke with a bit of force. "Bring her with you." The look on Marale's face told Klar this was not a request. It was a direct order. Klar had failed before and let his hate rule him. Hard as it might be, Klar would not let that happen again.

Realizing there was no alternative Klar nodded in answer. He stepped close to Tan and took her by the arm. Then he guided her out of the tent. She was still afraid of Klar, but she went willingly enough. Marale had complied with her request. Making this man her guardian, however, was more than scary.

The fighters outside were already packing for the days journey ahead. She could hear them and their horses all around her. Klar continued to guide her across the clearing to his own steed. Gently he lifted her lithe body up, and onto the broad, saddle. Then Klar climbed up behind Tan, in one swift, fluid motion. He then kicked the poor beast's flanks, and they moved off down the path, back toward the tower. The sun was just rising as they left the clearing, and the sky promised a clear, new day.

Back in the tent, Marale thought absently of Tan's eyes. The black pools of eternity itself are what they looked like to him. Even a dragon could become lost, in such. Marale shook the thought away and focused on the task. Laryn, his true love was missing. He believed with all his heart that she was back in Trath's possession. He hated having to leave her side on the field of battle. There had been no choice of course, but this new turn of events was hard to take.

Home

In the middle of nowhere...,

stands a tree, that lives, planted in faith,

that there will be a tomorrow!

Records, recorded

by the current Keeper

Arrel..., year of the beginning.

Chapter Fourteen

## A Book

The tower was cold and to all appearances completely vacant. At least that is the way it felt to Tan. There was no residue of magic or spells lingering in the shadows, left behind by Trath. That is nothing... detectable. That was fine by Tan, to be sure. Klar, on the other hand, was not as happy. He would have handled whatever came up gladly. In fact, to put his sword to work right now would help his mood. The hot-headed fighter did not like this errand, and the company he was with made him uneasy. Part of Klar still wanted to attack something or someone and claim a little vengeance. Yet, another part had calmed down enough to realize he had unwittingly hurt the girl without cause.

Tan had said nothing concerning any of last night's ordeal; she had gone through. Inside she had come to terms with the reality that her life was unimportant compared to the quest. Tan would have gone through it all again gladly if it put her steps on the right path in the end. She had succeeded this far. That was worthwhile. Marale, the leader had even allowed her to join him. From death's door to acceptance was a huge leap, and faith had favored her success.

The trip here had been uneventful. As the two odd companions now stood together in the huge hall, the morning sun rays burst through from above. It bathed the chamber in a clean, fresh glow. There were pieces of the roof everywhere, which had fallen to the floor. In a way that was a good thing. It made the opening for the warmth. The bright light of the sun touched Tan's face briefly, and she dared to remember an instance from happier times. Bracanth told her when she was very little to grab all the moments she could and hold them tightly to her. He talked as if they alone were what was really important. Tan had never thought too much about it until he had left her with the masters. Now Tan longed for those "moments" he had spoken of, like bits of treasure in a box, to be kept safe and near.

The uncomfortable quiet that ensued, pulled Tan back to the here and now. "Take me to the place you first found me." She was extremely careful to make it sound like a request and not an order. This man's temper was easily ignited. Tan tried hard not to let her own dread get the best of her. Marale had made him bring her, but it was obvious it had been under duress.

Klar grasped her right arm much more gently now than Tan expected. His rage had truly left him long since. Now the fighter found himself consumed with a kind of "shame". It bothered the man more than a little that the girl was not angry with him at all. He could tell that much by her quiet responses. She had ridden with him the whole way here, and never complained even once. Klar could see the damage he had wrecked upon her body, a constant reminder to obey Marale's order. As a fighter, he had never done well with words and especially with women. However, he was not completely stupid, only clumsy in such matters.

The man could feel her body shake just slightly under his touch. Yes, there was no doubt about her apprehension of him. He was not likely to change that any time soon, so he set himself to the task; he came here for. Klar guided Tan through the hall of murals and to the far passageway, beyond.

Just to be safe, he took her hand and put it down to his belt. "Hold tight! I want to have both of my hands, free just in case we are not alone." Klar's tone was rough, but his gallant action surprised her. The fighter pulled his sword from its sheath and stepped into the hallway.

It was empty like the main hall had been. The ceiling was mostly in tack here, so it was rather dark. It took a few moments for his vision to clear and adjust to the difference of the interior. Slowly Klar continued down the corridor. Rubble was thick on the floor, and a fine powder covered everything. He finally grasped his sword in one hand and reached back to take Tan's, to release her hold on his middle.

Together, they moved slowly here. Twice she almost slipped, but Klar steadied her. "You need to tell me what it is you seek. I will find it for you." His voice echoed slightly. Maybe it was the walls, maybe not. It was a strange, uneasy effect caused by the hard stones in the inner tower.

Well, regrettably Tan knew she was going to have to trust the fighter. It was not until now that she fully realized a new dread. The fighter could take her items and leave her stranded. The problem was that she was probably not going to find anything otherwise. Tan needed his assistance. That is unless she intended to crawl around on her hands and knees for the next several hours. That would help her cause? How?. Tan had no choice. "I search for a small pouch. It is a dark brown color made of soft leather. I would describe it as extremely plain looking to the eye. I had it with me, just before the tower burst apart. In the commotion, I must have dropped it."

Klar did not like the place yesterday, and he liked it even less today. "Wait here; I will search for your bag." He let go of Tan's hand. The fear she had of Klar was strong, but standing alone and blind in this place? That would have been a hard test for even the toughest individual. Secretly Tan renewed her dislike for this world ten times over in her mind. So far Tan had been buried in debris, roughly attacked, tortured and interrogated. Put them all together, and they did not make up a, "Welcome to our world" banner.

A vast pit of foreboding began to take hold of her stomach. Tan continued to stand in the same place Klar had left her, very still. She listened with her entire being. The fighter moved slowly and methodically. Yes, he was in a hurry, but he also knew he had to succeed. Tan could hear him grumbling slightly under his breath as he turned over fallen stones and moved beams of wood. "I found," Klar nearly shouted it out, then silence. He had not finished.

"Klar? What happened? What is wrong?" The fighter did not answer. The silence was maddening. "Klar!" Tan called out again. She held her own, breath, and tried to listen even harder. Nothing, there was no sound at all. Had he left her here? No. It did not sound that way from his tone. That meant only one possibility left. There was someone, something or a trap still here in this place. Tan dropped to her hands and knees. She swallowed hard and began to search. The young girl inside her wanted to cry and go home. Tan pushed that part of her away. She did not have time to be anything less than, to be the daughter of Bracanth. The fine dust made her want to cough badly, but Tan held back the urge the best she could. If there were an enemy here, she needed to be as quiet as possible.

To her shock and surprise, Tan's hand felt the soft leather of her father's pouch. It was right there on the floor all the time. It had only been a step or two away from where Klar had let go of her. Tan did not waste time. She placed her left hand within the bag's small opening. "Opra tu fa tani lear." Tan commanded in a low, nearly whispered voice. The mechanism responded. Tan then felt the contents, that which she needed. Carefully, her hand held the object tightly. With her other free hand, she touched her throat, "Clap thru Drogon Eas.". A band appeared about her neck. It was a heavy circlet of silver.

The ticar had become useful. Embedded within the slim mental surface was the dragon's eye. It would help her to help Marale find his enemy, Trath. She was sure that the evil wizard of this world held and controlled the Armilander. That firstborn dragon was exactly, what she needed. Serving Marale would be the right path. Their quests were parallel at this point.

"Vista!" The words came to her easily now. The tecar did not give her any special energy directly, but it helped to settle her insides down considerably. The bloodlines of her race gave her the rest. By doing what was needed, Tan was able to focus her own strengths. The fear that had consumed her in the past day and night, had wrought unexpected damage to her skills and abilities. She felt now that the mental wounds would heal and pass away. She would be well soon and complete.

The young woman unwrapped, her wrists cautiously. She could barely move her hands, but it would be enough. Tan touched her finger tips to her eyes. "Litha!" The power in her voice continued to grow. A sort of reddish glow filled Tan's sight. Her vision cleared a bit, and the heat of her own body became defined in the darkness. Well, she would at least not be totally blind. It was not the expected effect or the desired one to be sure, but better than total sightlessness by far. Her eyes would heal, and her normal sight should return. Tan was more, sure than ever. It would just take a little longer than she would like.

Again, Tan reached within the pouch. She searched, and searched the little space. Her book was gone. To be more specific, Bracanth's book was gone. Someone had taken it. The only thing that had saved the stone had been the special and secret command. The book was important to Tan, but the bag of holding could not remember much. The tiny enchantment to hide the jewel was its limit. She should have placed everything more securely back in her clothing. Thinking on that, and realizing now, that would not have gone well either. Who knows what would have been the result if Klar had come across her possessions? Would it have made things worse? Odd how it had worked in her favor, until now.

Of course Tan had been too busy saving lives, to consider her belongings. She had not expected to lose it in the first place, much less figure that anyone would have found it here? The little journal inside did not have much value, except to Tan. Who would have bothered? The book was not very appealing to the eye, and most of the words were unpronounceable now. The language was old. It felt like the fates had written her path to destiny straight into, yet another wall.

A high, hollow sounding laugh echoed through the passage, back and forth. Then again, it started and echoed away..."I have found you. It was so very, easy too." The villainous, evil woman's tone held an ugly note of sarcasm. "I despise you," echoing... "I have always loathed you." Echoing...! "This was just so...easy." A final deep laugh that sounded more like a honk from a gigantic bird followed. It went on and on until silence. It was not a cheerful noise.

"Bera!" Tan spoke out at a loud level of voice to reply. It was her rival from school. They had not been direct enemies, or so she thought. Tan knew Bera fostered a secret abhorrence for her among a handful of others. They had never spoken face to face of such matters, but rumors had come to Tan's ears. Bera had found school hard, the masters harsh and "time" study unpleasant to learn. Her lack of abilities in the first place was the essence of the problem. The discerning point that she hated at all, restricted her success. "Emotion" was a force, relating straight to energy. Negative ideas took away from positive actions. Bera's lack of talent was a complicated group of issues.

It was apparent to all that if it were not for her family, Bera would have left the school long before. However, it had not been a choice the young woman had been able to make for herself. Her powerful family had made significant demands of both Bera and the masters. Her shortcomings had fueled the girl's anger toward many of her mates that had performed well, leaving her further behind. She had been quiet about her feelings for the most part, but they had grown out of control. That brought everything back to the here and now, with an ominous circular way of thinking to it. Bera hated Tan!

"Missing something?" The delight Bera revealed in her own voice, spoke ill of her intentions. She had it. She had Bracanth's journal. Tan, did not know if her classmate could even use the book? Somehow Tan doubted it. It did not matter. In Bera's eyes, she had simply won some small victory over a perceived enemy. That was a good enough reason for anything she had done or would have to do, in her quest to be successful.

"Return my father's book. Then return your self back to the other world." Tan drew herself up and made ready to do battle. A rush of adrenalin helped to fuel her movements. Klar, Tan thought to herself. Bera had him. Tan turned toward the direction of the laughter she had heard. She could just see the red outline of her classmate's body. Just beyond that point, Tan could also make out Klar's form, prone, and still on the hard floor. "What have you done to him?" That accusation dripped with venom. Tan knew that if she did not return with Klar to Marale's camp safely, the leader would never let her go with him. That is to say, he would probably just kill her on the spot.

"Oh, worried about your little fighter friend?" Bera glanced back over her shoulder at Klar's stiff body. It pleased her to have taken him down. It had not even been hard. She liked this world and the way her power worked here. It all felt different. The masters had always put her down and held her back. In this place, Bera knew it would be dissimilar. That was exciting to think about. The door to this land had been easy enough to find and traveling through it, exhilarating. She had dared break most of the rules her teachers had pounded into her mind, in a matter of just a few hours. "Murder" was not even out of the question at this point. Bera was free of the teachers, her family, and the chains of an old life that simply never fit. The young keeper was going to be very happy here, or so she thought.

"What have you done to him, Bera?" Tan repeated with more authority in her tone. This was going to end badly. There was no way around it.

"Do not bother with the human. He is nothing. Like all the rest." Bera felt an unusual sense of supremacy. "I would concern yourself with your own fate at this point. You will give me the dragon's stone and perhaps I will let you live." Bera liked the band at Tan's throat to be sure. Bera had studied the scrolls just as Tan had. The fact was that the evil woman had loved history with enthusiasm. She had not been good at working with the "manee" directly, the energy "between". That was the only way to grasp the idea of its existence at all. But, most surely, she knew books. The story of the tecar was a favorite. A chance to actually own one was more than a little appealing.

"You know I will not give it to you." Tan gathered her wits quickly and prepared for the worst. "You also know you will die if you stay long in this world." That was the trump card that Tan hoped would prevent the battle between them.

"No! I will not die. I will kill my other "self" that is here in this land. I will soon be as you are..., free." Her eyes were wide with the idea of such complete power. "I know all about the mirrors; I read the scrolls." Bera could commit murder, even if it were the life of her own double. It was palpable in her words and actions. The fact that the other world and the masters would have no chance left did not even cross her mind. This was all about Bera. "Enough banter. If you do not give the stone to me, then I will take it from you. First I will kill the man, just for pleasure." Bera made a sign with her right hand.

While the stupid intruder talked, Tan planed. She geared up for the clash.

"No, wait, please. I will surrender the stone as a bargain for my life and his." Tan caved suddenly under Bera's threats. Her options were thin.

"Be quick, and I might agree to this. Give it to me now!" Bera was thrilled at the prospect of winning so easily. She never did believe that Tan was much of an opponent. If it were not for the prowess of her father's reputation, she would be nothing. Bera even contemplated going back for half a heart beat, just to destroy the masters' illusions and faith in such a looser.

Swiftly Tan brought both her hands up to clasp the band tightly at her throat. She spoke only one word with fierce intent, "Captar!" The band came away from her throat and disappeared almost at the same time. It appeared again in two pieces. One piece was on each of Bera's wrists. Like lovers that would not be kept apart, they pulled together to touch each other. Then they formed a single band once again. This time, however, they held Bera's hands strongly in one place. They were tight together, one against the other, and movement was now impossible.

Startled, Bera tried to part her hands from the metal. She screamed out obscenities and curses in several languages. All of her plans were dashed upon the rocks of wishful thinking in a matter of a few moments.

"Arrel, stone fire, rock made altie." Tan spoke the words, nearly forgotten, and moved forward at the same time. Bera screamed again even louder. Her feet turned to stone before her eyes, and the force rose slowly to engulf her entire body. The hideous look on her face in the last moments were, captured perfectly. Bera's grotesquely twisted mouth gapped open, half in a piercing scream and half in an incomplete, deadly curse on Tan. It had no power, of course. Like all Bera's life, things had not gone her way.

The echo of the bad woman's final moments hung like a dark cloud in the air. The half uttered words, spewed evil from her lips; like poison..., dispersed unhurriedly. "I will kill you!" a frozen utterance, locked behind Bera's granite eyes forever. The statue which had been Bera's body was already growing cold, fast. Heat and life drained away swiftly as a rule in wicked places. Bera's contorted, frozen grimace would have turned even the strongest stomach, so it was a good thing Tan could still not see well.

Bracanth's daughter reached out and grabbed her father's book from the hideous woman's outstretched hands. Tan then turned away and did not give her another, thought. Instead, she moved on immediately. Tan carefully felt her way to where Klar lay on the icy floor. His outline was not as dark as it should be. She knelt down. Tan placed her ear close to his mouth and nose. There was movement. The keeper felt a wisp caress her soft cheek. Her hand rested on his wide chest. It rose and fell with regularity. Yes, he was still alive. It was shallow and hollow sounding, but the keeper was sure Klar still drew breath.

The young woman then placed the tips of her fingers back to her throat. "Backtha." The command was simple. The silver band appeared again with the tecar brightly shinning in its place. The statue was just Bera now, and the enchantment finished. The bracelets were gone from the hands of evil. Tan had retrieved all things that belonged solely to her. Sad. Tan felt sad. Bera was short sited and had a personal agenda. The depth of her life was shallow. Stone was the right choice. Eternity to think about...? Maybe enough time to consider...

Tan focused on the man. "I do not know what Bera did to you. I have no counter agent." Tan sat down heavily in the dust and debris at his side. "I can not even see clearly enough to find any markings. If Bera left any clues, they are beyond me." Tan ran her hands up and down his body in desperation. There were no abrasions or abnormalities, no wounds of any kind that she could feel.

Speaking to her teacher, that could not hear her or help her, "Canth, I cannot leave him here. Marale will kill me, I am sure." It gave her some peace to speak out loud. She moved to a position to place the fighter's head into her lap. "Rest easy." She whispered. A long time passed as she sat in silence, watchful and vigilant. Nothing else happened. The day passed slowly outside. A few times there were sounds...?, that made Tan worried. Scavengers for the dead and the like. None came near. Still, she waited. Nothing else could be done.

The cold night outside had finally engulfed the tower. Tan woke from a terrible dream. She would have screamed out loud, but her senses quickly alerted her that she was still in the enemy's territory. How had she passed out in the first place? Exhaustion was a sneaky as well as brutal enemy indeed. If it did not claim your life one way, it tried another.

Tan did not know what had brought her out from the dark nether-land, but she was thankful. The junior keeper of time must have drifted off at some point sitting there by the man's side. The frightening had been horrible, but parts of it plagued her waking thoughts. Tan had learned much from her father even though she had been young. There were many memories that surfaced, only as pieces of a larger picture, obscured from the direct view except in imaginings. That is the way small children perceive the world, especially if it is larger then they can fit in a small bag. That made her feel better. Or almost smile. Sounded like something her father would have told her as a "story." Everything to him had been. He taught that way.

Bracanth would have lectured. A dream and or it's hideous opposite were sometimes the same or at least like twin brothers born out of desperate measures. Had there, been more than just ugly thoughts, better left forgotten?

A funny contemplation...? Could her memories be more useful here? It was worth a try. "I will!" Tan spoke out loud. In an odd way, she spoke to her father by doing so. Yes, he was not there with Tan, but his reminiscence sometimes served the same purpose. It helped her focus. She was not crazy, only heartsick on the deepest levels.

Tan placed her left hand on the Tecar and her right on Klar's forehead. It could not be that easy; she berated herself. There would be a cost. There was always a cost. It did not matter; there was no choice. "Tecar men falan life." More words, from the past, beyond normal measure. Heat pulsed from her own heart, traveled up to her shoulder, down her arm, elbow, wrist, and hand. She softly touched the man.

Nothing happened. Tan waited. Nothing still happened. Dreams, hidden messages in the dark, it all seemed a bit too far fetched at this point. Tan felt more than a little foolish. "Well, I can't go home. I can not return to Marale's camp, and I am not sure of which way to turn from here." Tan spoke to the darkness all around. What did it matter if there were enemies close by? If they found her and finished them both off, at least it would be over. That might actually be a welcome event.

"You make it sound like the darkness has already won?" Klar's voice was a low, uneven croak. The man tried to move. He tried to sit up. Tan was quickly pulled from her downward revelry by his glib interruption. She pushed him flat to the stone floor. He was awake, and it had worked. However, without her ability to see clearly, she could not tell if he were wounded still?

"Not yet. Rest a while longer, and then we will leave." Tan could not hide the happiness in her tone. Hope was like that. It hung out there just on the edge of the abyss, testing you at every turn. Finally when you were sure it was gone forever, there it was again. Hope was a miracle. The word held the essence of everything worth waiting for, or yet to come.

"What happened?" The fighter persisted. It was a rare occasion that anyone got the drop on Klar. He did not like the idea and wanted to get past it quickly. He needed to feel like he was back in command of his life, and especially not at the mercy of a "girl." Yet, she had proven to be more than that. She had saved him...? That was going to take a while to sink into his thick skull.

"You ran into an unexpected enemy of mine." There was a hesitation in Tan's words. How much should she tell him? What would he think of her? It was plain that he hated things he could not tangibly, physically understand. Would he just become angry again and shut down on her? That or worse yet, would he become violent? Well, there was little chance of every seeing home in her future. That fact decided everything. Honesty would have to make her friends for her.

"She was a minor foe. It was a woman like me that came across, from another world. Her name was Bera. She had intended harm to both of us. That threat is gone now." Tan tried to keep her answer, level and flat sounding. It would not be a wise idea to show weakness at this time. That was hard. Tan was both mentally and physically worn out, from the trip here, and then the battle with the evil woman. Time was running fast.

Klar thought it over. "You saved my life" his words were slow, "again." The statement hung there in the air between them. Tan was not sure it was a good or bad statement. The man was difficult to read. "I thank you. I am also," and this time he stuttered just slightly, "sorry for what I did to you." There it was out there in the open. Klar had never been sorry for anything in his life before now. To his shock, it felt good to say it. That was unexpected on several levels. If doing the right thing felt this fine, maybe he would try it a bit more often? No, he was not wrong enough for that. The idea made him smile, but that is as far as it went.

"You did what you thought was the right thing to do. You defended your home, family and ultimately your world. There is nothing to be sorry for, brave fighter." Tan did not want to take his strength away. She knew it had been hard for him to speak in such a way to her. The keeper did not want to cheapen the moment. Besides, she needed him to be very sturdy. They both needed it, to get out of this place, and back to Marale's camp in one piece.

In the near complete darkness, Klar finally saw the girl clearly for the first time. True she was young, but there was much more to her then first revealed. He told himself silently that he was going to make an effort to remember that in the future. "It is late and night has taken the tower. Did you find what you needed here?" Klar changed the subject the best way he could.

"I have found my father's journal and the gift of my ancestors." Her right hand strayed to the band at her neck for only a moment, "Yes, I have found all that I need to, in this place. I can also see now, at least the outlines of beings that are warm. The rest is still unclear, but it will come back soon." Tan realized that she no longer feared this man. Something extreme had changed between them. She did not know what, exactly? But, Tan was certain.

"Go back to sleep. Rest now, brave fighter. It would be dangerous to rummage around here in the dark. We are safe for the moment, I can tell. The morning will bring a new adventure, and we must both be ready." She could not see his face but figured he was about to object, based on his movements to rise from his position. "We need to rest. This place, at least this hall, is quiet and empty for now." She firmly pressed him back. "Sleep, I will wake you again soon." It was not really an enchantment exactly that Tan put on him with her words. It was more of a simple, intense, suggestion.

The fighter found his whole body felt heavier than before. Klar was tired, bone tired. He could barely hold his eyes open. He hated this tower and wanted to leave, but that was not going to happen. At the moment, his body demanded sleep, and he had little choice but to accept. A few moments passed, and Tan heard the man snore softly. That was a good thing. Tan did not want to tell him that she could not have walked out at this point. The power, "the use of it" had drained her badly. She had used it freely in the last hours. Tan needed to stay still herself. Rest. This place would have to do.

The bright morning sun pierced the broken ceiling of the main chamber. It was beautiful. The rays hit the blue-stone floor, and it looked to be alive in turn, like..., a real ocean. The master carpenters that built this place must have been true blood's to be sure. The workmanship was exquisite. Even all broken up in places, the beauty was unmatchable. It was also irreplaceable. It would never be as grand, by any previous standards.

Sadly the incredible surroundings were mostly lost on Tan. Her general blindness remained, but she could see the heat, driving back the shadows in the great hall. At first, it was a little scary. Tan thought there might be living things in those shadows. But it was only a trick of the situation. The holes in the roof would soon allow the harsh weather of this land to reek, havoc on the artistry. Then, all of it would be gone. The tower had stood years without number, but Trath had made sure its grandeur would not remain. Like all things the dark wizard touched, it had not escaped unscathed.

Tan could not help but be in a better mood. The fact that she and Klar had made it through the night was a gift of the fates. The fact that her blindness would not be permanent was a miracle made real. The keeper knew it would only be a short while before her sight returned. She was sure of it. The outlines of dark and light had already become clearer by many times over, in just a handful of hours.

Klar stirred and stretched on the cold stone floor. It took him a few moments to get his bearings and remember all that had happened in the hours prior. He pulled him self together quickly and sat up straight. Sleeping on the stones had made him very stiff. "Tan, where are you?" The young woman was nowhere in site. He did not want to sound overly worried, but Marale had left her in his care. The man had failed to follow one order in that regard; he was not ready to repeat that error again. Ever!

"I am here," Tan replied. She stepped into view from around a corner. "I have been trying to make sure we are still alone. There has been, no sounds other than our own." Tan could still not see Klar's face, but his voice was strong. That was a stroke of good luck. Things had gone so far the wrong way, that Tan figured they would never change directions again. It was nice to find that not to be true. Hope was still worth every chance.

Klar carefully scanned the surroundings. Bera was only a handful of steps away. The statue was perfect. It had frozen the young "would be" keeper, flawlessly. "What of that one? Is that the enemy you spoke of?" He could not help but stare at the bitter, angry, hard face. The menace that starred back at him, out from those lifeless eyes was the pure promise of death.

"She is held. Do not worry about her. There are other things to be concerned over. All are more important. We should leave this place soon. We need to catch up with your leader, Marale." Tan tried to continue to keep a level response at all times. It was the safest reply. She hesitated to push too hard. Tan was sure that the man could still become angry too easily, to ever let her guard down. She had made a note, however, that he used her name. It was the first time. Did that mean anything?

"The rock woman attacked me...! I remember bad dreams too. I was gone." There was a bit of hesitation, "I was dead?" Klar wanted to listen to Tan and leave this place, but he felt so very unsure of things. That made him want answers. The hideous statue had done something to him that disturbed his very being to the bone. That had never happened before. Klar had faced death many times in battle, but not like that, ever.

"I found you. That is enough, Klar." Tan used his given name to bring him back from his ponderings. That was unsafe thinking for one who had been too close to the edge so recently. "Please, let us go now." Tan needed to avoid his questions and get him focused back on the problem. She also wanted to leave for her own reasons as well. This place was empty of one kind of evil, but the young keeper had learned long ago, that places of iniquity were seldom the home of a single monster. The food chain had just changed. Dark places never stayed empty for long.

The berserker stood up uneasily. It felt like he had bad sea legs. It was also like he had taken a hard journey, he had not actually taken at all. His whole body throbbed as if battered by a gang.

The girl was right. Klar had a bad taste, in his mouth, and it was amplified by the situation. He pulled his eyes away from the terrible figurine. "Let us leave." Klar moved across the short distance that was between them. Tan stood very still. His mood was so hard to read from voice alone. She longed for her sight. Facial and body language often made up for a multitude of words not given voice. Klar stopped just in front of her and took her arm gently.

"Let us leave now. You are right. We have a long trek together in order to reach Marale's camp." He did not wait for her to say anything else; he simply turned and guided Tan back through the rubble. They went forward to the end of the hall. Then without slowing at all, they continued into the main chamber. Nothing moved, only dust and death were witness to their passing. Or at least that is all Klar took notice of. Shortly they were out, through the huge doors. He was insistent, but patient the whole way. The fierce strength in his hands was firm, but not forceful.

The sun was warm this day. That was a welcome relief. The site of the burned bodies gave Klar a moments pause. Then the big man whistled for his horse. It did not take long. The huge beast was well trained and had been close by in the forest outside the courtyard. Klar mounted the animal in one swift, experienced motion. Then he turned and extended Tan his hand. "Well?"

The young keeper did not hesitate. She grabbed it readily and climbed up in front of the fighter. This was a far better way to ride out of here than her previous experience. Tan nearly laughed out loud at that thought but did not. She would have had to explain herself. Irony was an acquired taste. It might appear that she was making fun of the berserker in some fashion. That was far from the truth. Tan was exhilarated to know hope was still alive. She was on the trail back to Marale and his band. Certainly, that would lead her to the Armilander. That would bring answers. The keeper had so many questions, not the least among them, those about the conflict between Marale and the evil here. It compared readily to be the same, as the evil she came to fight.

Bracanth's words rang in her head, true as ever. "The best path was, is and will always be, the one forward."

Klar placed his arms around both sides of the young woman. He held the reigns loosely, just in case. His horse knew the way back into the forest beyond, but he never left anything to chance. It still bugged him that the enemy inside the tower had so easily taken him down. They rode off through the gates. The place still smelled of overwhelming death. Both companions were more than a little thankful to put it all behind them. If it were not for the circumstances surrounding everything that made up their world, they might have appeared a friendly couple out for a pleasant ride? That was doubtful, ever. "Irony" was a mocking, queen of deception indeed.

The clean air of the great forest soon swallowed them up. Together they made their way down the path. The direction they took was toward the destination Marale had instructed. They were off to meet his remaining band of brave souls.

Home

## Chapter Fifteen

A Poet

The wide river lay before Marale like a long, lazy snake. It stretched over a thousand extended, paces at least at the narrowest point. It was not shallow. The fighter watched from his current vantage on the small cleft. The brave leader could not distinguish an end or beginning, in either direction. The great maps that Shendar had kept in his collection gave Marale the knowledge that the waters were mostly uncharted from this point. North from here was "uncertain."

This, this place was the edge of the Monarch Mountain range. Perhaps it was due to both the topography and the weather in equal measure. The further north a traveler dared the more intense and formidable the obstacles were alleged to become. Very few had thought the journey to map the area of any real value. The extreme possibilities of death were too high. Therefore it had not been worth the bother. A handful of unverified accounts were Marale's only reckoning of what to expect ahead. If there had been a promise of treasure or trade, their might have been a reason for rangers to risk life and limb. But that was not the case. Only death came from that direction. The "North." Not by evil men alone, but the forces of nature as well. Harsh was not a sufficient definition.

The leader had very little to go on other than his guts, but that was the direction he knew Trath had taken. Going past Qualer and the towers that surrounded the structure was lunacy. The true north held death and only death. Yet, that is where the evil had fled, and that was his path now.

Everything inside him told the fighter his quarry had run toward the top of the world. Trath would use the fear of those uncharted lands to dissuade anyone from following. His hate for the man and all he stood for, fed Marale's stubborn, steadfast will. There was no corner on this planet or any other that Trath could hide in for long. Marale would make sure of that, or die in the attempt. Besides, although he had no direct proof that Laryn was back in his clutches, it made the most sense. Based on that fact alone, he would never give up.

Thal's death had been a gruesome sight, even for Marale, a hardened warrior of countless battles. That kind of demise marked the evil wizard's ugly handprint well. Retan had never rejoined their war party back at the main camp. It was more than likely he had both found his son, and had enough! Marale knew the seasoned veteran had seen too much. Perhaps the death of his son had finished him off. If there had been more time, Marale would have searched for Retan. That was not to be if he wanted to have any chance at all to find Laryn.

As for the "South," that was the opposing direction of the great river. Here at this point along the shore, the compass was true. Few cared to follow the waters corridor, as it was widely known to wander. However, "South," it passed to, from where Marale sat watching. That way led first into the human held lands and then...? There were references on those same maps that led him here. Facts and gathered notations about a hot, scorching, desert beyond. Far passed the kingdoms and settlements of the perfect "bloods" was more...? It too was a nearly a no-man's land surely. It was further alleged; nomad bands lived in the far distant territories. Marale did not find it so different than the "North" in comparison.

That only left the midlands of this world, Arrel. A strange semi-green belted area encompassing human cities, farmland areas, and the rest. The highlands and rough mountains were always the lands of the lesser races. The lowlands and dead places also gave shelter to the unwanted. Mutants, mixed breeds, and others scrambled by, just to make a living, just to survive. Hunted, abused, and mocked, it was not a new way of life.

The lowlands and better places, rich in harvest were the dwelling sites of the pure "bloods", the untainted humans anyway. They had kings that ruled and kept down any that would challenge them. The fact that there was so little, true useable land, may have actually fed the hate between the humans and the rest. Resources were a common issue. Repeated, again and again throughout time, one group fighting for control over another. There was always an agenda, but for good? It was unclear. If the real populace became too short and too focused, there would be a shift. The "bloods" would feed the fire of resentment toward the unknown, and level the numbers. Slaughter of animals, was not considered to be murder at this time.

Marale pondered the idea for a moment. If that were true, it was only a part of a larger unpainted picture. Perhaps someday the artists of reality would fill in the blanks, and there would be harmony. The man nearly laughed out loud at his own, philosophical ramblings. That would even make Laryn giggle. A spike of pain like a skeletal hand clutched his heart fiercely. She was missing, she needed him, and nothing was going to stop his response.

"Soon, my love." The man spoke out loud. He centered his thoughts at the same time, to mean the same thing. She would hear him; she must. "Be strong. I am coming."

The water's surface from this distance mirrored that of the sky in mid-spring. Marale missed the real spring, and absently dreamed of better days. It was a wondrous cool blue, extremely appealing to the eye. It also had a very calming effect on himself as well as his men. They all needed that, no doubt. The river moved slowly by, secure on its way to its own, end? South. That idea would suggest that it had a soul. Marale laughed again; only this time, it was at himself directly for being a hidden poet.

On the far side of the river, lay an altogether different kind of terrain. It was an area of simple grasslands. The sweet green looked very inviting to the unwary traveler. The odd part of such a sight is that their party was on the very edge of the known realm. It was still winter here. To see such bright green color was more than a little unsettling. However, there was always a reason behind a name for a place, and this one was no different.

It was called the Follan Havens. In common that translated to be the Foolish Heavens. The reason was due to that..., "sea of grass." No one Marale knew had ever crossed and returned. There had only been notations and words gathered by Shendar. He had used his runners to listen to the words of strangers over the years. Everyone had worked toward the goal. It had only been minimally successful at all.

The maps in Shendar's keep had shown a huge gray painted horse over that whole area. The notes told about a handful of tribes, nomadic people that ruled. That too was not unlike the true southern regions he had just pondered. So many similarities. However, in the cold north...?, it was true green. Out of place, yet right where it belonged. The legend was, like all true deserts lack of water would set in, and inevitably you died. In this case, confusion would lead you in circles until your demise. Both led to bad endings. Marale thought hard. He needed an edge to get him and his men to where they needed to be.

In the Follan Havens a man got turned around, once he lost sight of the river. No one returned, they never found the right direction home, afterward. Since it was further implied that there was no water to be had anywhere in that area, a man would obviously run out of it quickly and die in green pastures. Actually, it was not an unappealing death to Marale's way of thinking. It was, after all, peaceful. Subsequent to all the blood, war, and death that had earmarked his entire life, peace was at best a fantasy.

A full day and one half had already passed since Marale had sent Klar and the girl back to the tower. The leader hated waiting, for it left him to much time to think about things. A small amount of self-indulgent turn of phrase and whimsical ramblings were okay, but too much usually led to depression. His body was still changing, seen and unseen, felt, and unfelt. His only concern was the effect it may have on those around him. Marale's choice had already been made and would always be the same. As for those under his command, loyalty could be tested. Yet, it was unimportant. Each man had to face their own destiny and hold true to their own belief. As for Marale, he lived for the Light. Like his grandfather the paladin, he would kneel in faith, and stand to fight. He would always be in favor of Arrel and her people. His change had been for Laryn, yes, but it was also the only way to level the field against true evil.

The time however had been well spent by his band of men. The leader had put them all to work. It was good for them. They needed at least two rafts to cross this wide barrier of water before them. Those rafts had to bare the fighters he needed and their horses, so it was not an easy task. The men had not stopped at all, except to eat and rest in shifts. Even now, many worked hard to finish. They may not have liked Marale's choice regarding the stone, or what it had done to him, but they still accepted that he was their chief without a doubt. Marale had ordered them to build the crafts to defeat the water, and they simply complied.

"Death!" Marale spoke the terrible word out loud. There was no one close by to hear it, and it was not after all meant to be, heard. The sound of it, was to bring Marale back to the here and now, away from thoughts of spring, or better days. The mind always reflexively tried to run, when faced with such turmoil — no time for that. The word, "death" held the past and future within its purest definition. There were only some fifty to sixty elves left from the total numbering nearly four hundred that had followed Marale into battle. The human men that had joined his ranks during that first assault were now significantly depleted. They numbered only about eighty or so out of a mass. All, just losses that would never know glory, but had found peace in stillness. They had killed uncountable numbers of the enemy and held their ground. Marale was more than proud of them all. However, that battle was not the last and victory was yet far from their grasp. The enemies had bodies, even if they were not all good fighters.

The men that had traveled from several parts of the southern lowlands controlled by the humans, and the outlining areas, had proven that their kind had honor. It was a tribute to his father. He had been a good ruler. Although he had not gone to war himself, nor chose to fight outside his walls, he had sent his only son. Marale. The sacrifice had been difficult, but the cause, worthy. It had not been missed by those that no longer embraced cowardice but assaulted evil to protect good.

Annon, his grandfather had always told him it did not take royal blood to have and show courage. When the call had gone out to the human kings and had been, ignored, that had been no surprise, they were all too busy embroiled in their own, petty squabbles to be concerned with the far reaches, of the "North." In their minds, it was all; wastelands, fit only for animals and not worthy of their attention. However, when the need had been, passed among the farmlands and small towns, the hearty sons of peasants, had shown real strength. They had flocked to Marale's ranks with the stout heartiness, mirrored only by their ancestors.

The men that had farmed the lands against all the odds in the harsh reaches had passed higher idealism down their bloodline, to their sons and daughters. That fact, the true blood kings had missed or chose to ignore, was harsh indeed. As it was now if Marale and his band of men, elves, and others failed? They would find out just how petty the threat truly was. Trath and his kind were only the beginning of a disease that sought to grip the land. It would test them all. It would test their very existence.

"So many; die? Nothing good ever comes to this land!" The big man fought off his downward slide. He gazed to the heavens. Then deeper, Marale looked to the sky with intent. "My sword is ready... let me serve to bring a finer, safer, better future to these men, their families, and their children's children." The leader whispered to the wind. It was the words to a prayer, a poem to the Light.

Marale's grandmother, Dalina, had told him when he was just a boy, that the wind carried wishes and dreams to the ears of fate. It would be so nice if all her fine stories from his childhood were valid. Surely the Light would hear Marale's plea and destiny would change his course to match the right direction. Marale followed the Light first among all things. It kept his heart true, his intent alert and..., acknowledged he was not alone, ever.

The Cathanel's ears suddenly fanned back flat against his head. He could hear the approach of Orn's steps long before the boy gained the cleft. Orn was yet another son of another fighter. Marale respected them all and valued them well beyond mere words. The men that served him sacrificed themselves and their own, blood, the blood of their sons and even their daughters, to the greater cause without reservation. It was heartbreaking to see first hand.

"Marale! Klar has returned!" Orn's chest was heaving from the exertion of his errand. It was not exactly easy to climb the steep rocks and traverse the narrow path to gain access to this small cleft. It was only a dozen paces or so wide at best, but getting to it...not easy. That is especially if the messenger were in a hurry.

The youth respectfully stood waiting, several steps behind the large man. It was strange Marale thought to himself, "I can see him within my mind without turning. By my ears, I hear his heart slowing to normal. I can smell his fear. It is a fear of me, yet there is excitement. The kind that we all embrace when faced with unknown possibilities. Not a bad thing, just new and uncertain." He did not speak out loud but harnessed his thoughts and centered back on the message at hand. Klar had returned.

"Sir?" Orn fidgeted after several long breaths. He shifted his slight weight from one foot to the other. Patience was a learned trait and a valued attribute. It was going to take time for this one to gain both. Marale silently prayed to the Light that the boy had that kind of time before him.

"Tell the men to continue with the rafts. We need to be ready soon." Marale commanded without turning to face the boy directly. I will come down shortly."

Orn did not reply verbally but wordlessly obeyed. He sped back down the cleft as quickly as he dared. Coming up, it had been hard but going down was going to be harder. Orn did not want to make a total fool of himself and trip. He was young, but he wanted to make sure his value was noticed. He had lost everything and everyone in the past few weeks. The fact he was alive at all was a miracle. Orn felt that he could not, but push for more. Death was not so scary when the opposing life had lost all merit. Orn swore he would do all he could to lend a hand to make evil recoil. Marale may look and appear different, but the young fighter had seen the leader's bravery. That was unquestionable.

Marale's thoughts turned back now to Tan, the strange woman, that somehow interfered with things. For his good? Saving his men? "Perhaps it would have been wiser if I had let Klar kill her?" Again he spoke to the breeze. If fate was listening in the distance, he had given the future more than enough to think about. Answers had not been returned. Well, none that he recognized.

Marale had wasted too much time on this high vantage point. He turned away from the beautiful view of the river and followed the narrow rocky path back down to the encampment. He took his time because he did not want to catch up to Orn. The boy was doing his best, but Marale found that his new body allowed him newfound agility over uneven surfaces. It would not do to make Orn look bad unnecessarily. After all, the boy was doing a most excellent job without a doubt. What more could a leader expect from any of his followers? Loyalty. Death was certain perhaps if evil won. Did certainty create less fear through acceptance? Marale struggled to understand things seemingly, just out of reach to him.

Klar met Marale back in the camp. They clasped arms around each other like family. "We were beginning to worry," Marale spoke lightly. He was very happy to see his friend and brother at arms. He had reservations about the errand from the beginning, but the girl had proved to be of interest. It had also pleased him that Klar did not hesitate at the embrace. His appearance had continued to change while Klar was gone, and Marale knew he must surely be a formidable sight. That is especially to take in all at once.

"I fear the tower was not quite as empty as we had left it," Klar replied evenly. There was a shadowy look in his eyes as they met Marale's squarely. There was a story to be sure behind that statement. Marale could not wait to hear.

"Come! You must be hungry." Marale grasped his friend's shoulder, and they turned as one back to the main tent. A few steps together and then Marale pushed him on ahead. Klar did not look back but moved forward thankfully. One foot in front of the other, with intent he obeyed. Soon Klar stepped inside the dark interior and felt a kind of relief. The simple canvas walls were also his home of sorts. There had never been a true time of peace of any real length since he was born. The travel and life of a soldier were harsh surely, but real. That made it comforting in a way only understood by those that protect and serve.

Klar had been so long on the quest that real walls would not have made him feel nearly at ease. Marale was right behind him, but just at the last moment, he glanced back over his shoulder. With one quick movement of his hand, he motioned to the girl. Tan had stood totally still and silent next to Klar's mount the whole time. She had been personally thankful to have been allowed this far and did not want to give anyone a cause, to dismiss her from the camp.

"You also come this way." Tan could not see clearly, but the outline of the man and the voice were, without a doubt, the leader, Marale. The young keeper shuffled forward and complied with mixed emotions.

Inside the tent, Klar found a blanket and threw himself down. The exhaustion of battle, compiled with the errand at the tower had more than taken its toll on his body. Normally Klar could set it all aside and draw on his mutant blood. The berserker within was tireless. But this time was altogether different. The energy had taken more out of him than he had ever faced before. Sleep was not a luxury but a necessity. He had held off, closing his eyes on the ride here. That was as far as he could go without giving in to his fatigue. Klar allowed himself to close his eyes now for only a beat, but that was long enough. Sleep claimed the man.

Marale crossed the short space inside the tent to the rug spread out upon the dirt floor. The great fighter sat with quite a bit more grace then his fellow fighter. The leader glanced over and saw that Klar was totally out. That was not an unexpected event. Marale could read him well and knew that he was close to falling over in the dirt when he first laid eyes upon him out by his horse.

"Sleep for a while, my friend. You have more than earned it." Marale turned his attention on to the girl.

Tan was just behind Marale by a handful of steps. She hesitated at the doorway for a brief moment then continued in. The last time she was here at the entrance to this man's tent, she had not been a guest. That memory was altogether too fresh to be set aside quickly. It did not matter, because guest, or prisoner, her path was set. Tan, therefore, forced her self to keep moving, even with her emotions in turmoil.

The darker interior was a blessing in disguise. She could make out the shapes of both men without any problem. Their warm bodies were bright against the canvas wall, background. It occurred to her that the leader, Marale's shape was much less defined. His blood ran colder than that of Klar's. Was he not human? Was he an elf? Tan was not sure of anything and did not want to make any mistakes. She could not afford to. Until her site returned completely, Tan would just have to be careful.

"Sit here." Marale gestured with one hand. Tan complied. It was not a large rug, so they were very close. "Bring food." He commanded loudly. It did not take long before Toback entered carrying another tray. The young man did not stay. He did not comment either. It was a bit unusual to see the girl he had led only a short time ago, in as a prisoner, now treated as a guest?. Toback knew that Marale was an intelligent leader and had his own reasons for his actions. It was not for him to question.

"Eat, and then I need to hear all that happened on your," Marale's voice hesitated slightly, then he finished, "adventure." His tone was not unkind and had no hidden meanings she could find.

Tan did exactly, as she was told. She ate and drank deeply. The food was simple bread and meat. The wine was a plain draught the human's made from dark berries grown in the west woods. It felt good going down and cleared the dust from Tan's throat at the same time. A warm feeling spread out from her stomach and made everything feel, softer somehow. Pleasant. Here in this place? Yet it was the first moment since she had come to this world that she felt at peace. Tan would take it, even if it were brief.

Marale was patient, but Tan did not keep him waiting long. The young keeper soon told him everything she could remember of the journey. He did not interrupt. She was well versed in speaking. He enjoyed the telling of the tale. Sitting and listening made him remember better days. It was a special time when his mother would spin yarns of great heroes, legends long past, and high adventures by brave, if nearly forgotten warriors. It felt soothing. In the end, Tan's story did not take long at all.

At some point, a small flash of light caught Marale's direct attention. The girl war a band at her throat that had not been there before. Embedded in its surface was a tiny blue stone, similar to the one he had carried before the great battle. It had been that stone which had changed his whole life.

"Tell me now and tell me true, where did you get the dragon's eye you wear?" Marale was sure that is what it was, without a doubt.

Tan stopped her story in mid-sentence. There was a bad undertow to the warrior's question. He surely meant the Ticar stone. What did he know of such things? Would he take it from her by force? Tan gauged that the chance of defending against his assault would not be in her favor. An honest answer had helped her with Klar, back at the tower. It was not now time to change that tactic. If the fates of her own world had set her on the right path, then she would simply have to trust in that road. If not, it did not matter.

She took a long breath, "It is the stone of my house. I am Tan, of the line of Bracanth. My father is or was a powerful keeper. I do not know if he still lives." Tan paused to gather her thoughts. It felt like the air in the tent had become thicker. "It is a stone from my worlds past, handed down for generations. It has power, which I can use to increase my own abilities." There she had told him. Now, Tan would see if he could be trusted or not. Marale stood up and stretched. Then he yawned.

"Sleep here for a while, keeper... You are safe." Marale was content that she had not left anything out. The history of the expedition with Klar had been well told. The information about the dragon's stone left him with even more questions. However, Marale did not believe the girl would know the answers. Even if it were another stone, it had obviously affected its user differently.

Without further hesitation, Marale then walked briskly out of the tent to check his men, and oversee that things were almost ready. Tan starred after him, with a measured gaze. That had been the kindest words the fierce fighter had ever spoken to her. "You are safe." It echoed in her mind. Unwillingly, Tan closed her eyes and lay down upon the blanket. She lay next to Klar. The big man was snoring softly. He was totally at peace. Tan envied him. The girl kept her eyes closed. It took a while, but sleep claimed her too like a dragon claims some piece of treasure as its own.

Several hours passed, the morning sun had disappeared in favor of new storm clouds. The threat of rain was growing quickly. It would swell the river and make crossing all that much harder. The need for speed was greater even than before. The remaining chiefs of Marale's band stood close around him. The mood of the weather was mirrored in their faces. However, the deep spirit to fight on was still strong, among them. Klar had joined the others, and even Tan was at his side. Marale sensed something basic had changed between them. The fighter and the keeper were no longer enemies. It was not exactly voiced out loud, but evident regardless, should anyone care to look.

"We split here. Myself, Klar and the keeper will cross." Marale motioned to his friend and the girl. Then to Retan's remaining band, he pointed at a few men directly. "you, you and you, will enter the wastelands with me." The corresponding men made no move to dissent. Marale knew. Clearly, he had wasted thoughts on questionable loyalties. There were none. All here would live and die at his command.

"Etarn, you will be the leader of those that remain until Retan joins the troop again." What Marale did not add, was the..." if ever"...part. He still prayed that his friend would find the road home or at least back. Etarn, the younger elf was proud to serve such a position of honor. "That is six in total", he spoke to no one directly. Marale's voice boomed with authority. No one in the circle would question him. That is how it should be.

Marale glanced hard at each captain, just in case, to check for any possible opposition. No, they respected him, and his word was still obeyed. "I lay upon you all, a task. Ponar, return to the city of Tamdrac." Marale glanced at the elder half-elf at his left. "Tell my father, the charn have been disbanded for now, but they are not gone completely. Trath needs time to gather them back. Tell him also that evil escaped us at the tower but that I will press the battle. I am following the trail."

The leader's eyes turned to the next chief. "Blak, gather all the breeds. There are some still in the hills. We will need them. Our ranks have fallen in number, and they must help. There is no choice. Make them listen, make them understand." The Prince was hard, has nails, and full of fire. The passion he felt for all concerned was clear. It no longer mattered what changes had occurred; Marale was still in command.

Lastly, Marale turned to Miran. One of his remaining older, but very trusted fighters. "Go to the cities of Litherine and Karal. They are both to the south of this place, but not far. They have seen the charn attack their borders more than once. Perhaps now, they have had time to see the folly of their closed minds and hearts. Appeal to them once more. They need to join with us. If you fail to make them hear your words, go then to the small villages to the west. Gather all the men that you can. We must help each other, all races as one. Continue the fight where you can.

The war was not won; it has only changed venues. When two moons have come and gone in the night sky, go back to the tower. With or without new fighters, it will be the last stand made on behalf of this land in our lifetime. If I too have returned, we will fight the evil together, but if I have not..." Marale paused, "Then I am most probably dead. If that is the case, you will need to work together more so than ever, as one to face the enemy. You must all do battle in my stead against the remaining darkness of this land. Do not let the "Light" die. If I succeed...," Again Marale paused, only this time to rethink his approach, "When I succeed at killing the evil man, Trath, it will leave the darkness that remains, weak and vulnerable. I do not believe it will be gone forever." The prince looked from face to face, fighter to fighter with fierce compassion. They were brave men all, indeed.

"You must hurt the minions that remain and tip the scales for years to come in our direction. That is why and how you must move forward. Then you must forever be vigilant that it never returns. You all carry and represent the Light now. All that is good, at this time, in this land is worth saving. We will not let darkness win. The responsibility is grave."

Marale..., why had all his days been dark? Fate was a terrible enemy to dreamers and long-suffering fellows. There was no easy answer. All the man could focus on was one step in front of the next.

That is all that could be asked, of any man, the rest was faith.

There was a horrible, long, empty moment as all the fighters came to the same certainty. This was a good-bye of sorts. True fighters seldom spoke of such things directly, but when they did, it was often prophecy. In order to break the moment into tiny pieces best absorbed by mere men,

"The rafts are ready, my lord," Miran spoke calmly. He continued on like the whole conversation was an everyday event. "There are two. Each will hold three men and their horses." He coughed slightly. "I request to be counted among the numbers of your party."

"Request denied." Marale's answer was stern. He crossed the short distance to face the man directly. He then placed his hand upon Miran's shoulder, warmly. "I depend on you the most now. Carry out the task I have set before you. It is not an easy one. You must make them see this time. They must put their petty prejudices aside. If we do not change them and gather them together as one, the darkness will win. We cannot let that happen." Marale felt that it was probably useless perhaps to try again, even this one last time. Yet, it felt necessary too. He remembered his grandfather's stories of Glenfell. The only difference between her and Miran was that he was a pure human. Miran could tell them of the enemy he had seen first hand. If they chose not to believe or answer the call, then, the fate of their people and lands were set, out of Marale's control.

"I will go then, my lord. I will go as you have asked." Miran did not look away but starred straight into Marale's reptilian eyes. The stone had changed his leader in ways he could never understand, but it had not changed his soul. Miran was sure of that now. The urgency of Marale's request could not be denied, or the command disobeyed.

"We will all go as you have asked," Ponar spoke for the rest of the men in the circle. It had been hard on each to see Marale as he was now. Yet, the legend of the dragon stone was a childhood story they all knew by heart. It was simply difficult to see a legend come to life before their eyes. Difficult that is, but not overwhelming for any of them. They had all seen more than their share of good and evil in the pursuit of Trath.

Marale looked at each man, in turn, one last time. The small band of elves and men were more then what they appeared to be on the rough outside. They were hardened fighters within as well. They were brave and determined to the end. The most astounding reality was that they were as one. A unit of men made up of humans, elves and even a handful of mutants that had grown past their race distinctiveness. They had all become something so much more it could not easily be spelled out in mere words. Marale was proud of them all. The twist of fate was that change among them was by far greater than the change he had made to himself. They could not see it for what it was, be the fighter did not miss it.

"Then, we leave." Marale gave them one final look and released them all to go.

Home

## Chapter Sixteen

A Hand

The strange, altogether out of place, grassy, plain, stretched on before the small group in three directions. It was eerily, unending to the eye. Perhaps it was some kind of surreal illusion. Yet, it appeared just as Marale had expected, a sea of grass.

"Things were what they are until they are not." It was some kind of dream fragment, a bit of knowledge from his mother..., perhaps? It put things clearly into perspective. Everything was changing fast, and nothing should be trusted easily. Was this real?..., or some natural trap?... or...?.

Moving forward was the only, sure, and right direction.

They kept the river in site on their right as a friendly guide, at least for a while. The trip north was going to be rough without a doubt. The band had spoken little since the river crossing. They had nearly lost one of the two rafts, with all the supplies. The water had been tricky, due to storms further away. The engorged water, swirled and dipped, the undertow was also, strong indeed. All had been drenched to the bone, before landfall, was sure and made. But safe, was safe. Supplies were a loss no doubt, but life, was far more important, at least to Marale. These men, these handful of people were his responsibility. Yes, they had come out of loyalty, or need greater still, but all equal in the end.

This was a bad place. Different in ways difficult to explain, as they must be felt. Kind of like static electricity before a great storm, everything was charged. The energy was funny. It felt sort of, or as if it walked around on your skin?. It oddly wakes you up to the intangible, when it hits, it becomes all too real. How the landscape affected his companions was hard to know. The changes that had overcome his own body were tough enough to consider. Yet, the further north they went, each would be tested differently.

There had been few good-byes among the men. They each, in turn, headed off to carry out their orders. That at least had gone well and blissfully uneventful. Men with purpose, make things happen. They were all veterans now. From the youngest to the most ancient, none had been spared the brutal trauma of war. It was not over, only prolonged. They had to stay vigilant. Too many counted on their continued efforts.

The need to cross the river quickly had proven an excellent decision, even at the cost of the items. No life..., had been sacrificed. All was well. The rain had already fallen hard, in much of the northern reaches, that was evident. The swollen, water was getting worse. It was closer to spring as to the time of year. But here? It did not matter. This was as nice as it was ever going to get. Random storms, sheets of ice, hail...all of it was still on the board. The raised waterline, therefore, had been expected. It was the speed at which it was happening that was telling. The north was indeed cruel.

Hours that felt like days they traveled, yet still, they faced the monotonous, dull green, unending plain. The Monarch Mountain range had long disappeared behind them. Now only the green remained. How could the cold north, be green? Not like a warm day, with lush grass to lie in, this was stiffer and could cut if you brushed against it just right. Traveling was slow. The color muted and grew grayer, uglier.

A couple of times, they had lost sight of the river's edge. That had a bad effect, especially on the handful of elves in their group. It did not last, because Marale knew the course well from studying Shendar's map. Well at least, this far. That is as much as anyone could know, after years of gathering rumors and whispers. In addition, the man himself was not easily given over to superstitions. Thus he found their way back to its banks safely, putting the "cursed" legends to rest. It had not magically or mysteriously moved. This place simply tricked the senses of travelers easily led astray by their own fears. In Marale's way of thinking, fear was a useless emotion. Forward was the only goal and forward would take him to his destiny.

Now, Klar stood watching over the small band as they rested, waiting for the new day. There was a light ground fog, but it did not obscure everything, only shrouded the distance in a thin veil. The night had been cool, but not cold beyond their means. They had no fire; the grass had proved to be resistant to incineration. It smoldered at best and produced a bad smell, like rotten eggs.

Many stars sparkled in the heavens above. Their bright points of light were always welcome. The black clouds that had threatened rain had passed them all by. Not so much as a drop fell on their group. Perhaps the reason..., they, the voluminous, bags, had spent themselves completely, further north? That would explain the tumultuous, ever-swelling river. Yet, they did not, look it. Now they were like a ring around the edge of a giant bowl. All were waiting in the distance..., fierce but weak and empty of threat, toward the leader Marale, or his group.

The fighter was afraid to count it all as a blessing. He dared not even breathe a thank you too loudly to the "Light" directly. Klar would just have to settle, to be thankful in general and let it stay at that. His temper was under control now, and he had rested much, from the battle of days before. The poison, drug or...? that lingered on him from Bera had lost its taint too. That was the best part about time. It had that effect on most bad things in the end. Now he had become Marale's shadow once again. That had been his place most of his life. It would remain his place now until he died. That is if he could help it.

Klar had journeyed far and wide across Arrel but never into the green wastelands. He trusted Marale, and if this was the path they were to take, he knew it had to be the right one. Marale had a way of knowing Trath, and finding him, no matter where the black wizard fled. The problem that remained was the word "fled." Did he run before Marale, or did he bait the brave prince forward on the trail he wished him to take? Enemies were slippery, and Trath had proven more than once to be multifaceted in his thinking. Dangerous also were animals when cornered. It all added a more significant layer of desperation.

Tan also watched this night over the camp in her own way. Something seemed to plague her senses. She slept lightly. Tan dreamed she was back? Within the school, yet all the halls and rooms were empty. No one stirred anywhere through the magnificent citadel. Her vision would fade and blur to blindness. Quickly she would repeat the proper hand gestures, and sight would return clear again. It was not a good dream.

If this were really her home?..., it was not she told herself. "This" was a dead place.

"Teacher?" Tan's voice echoed back. A single question plagued her like a shadow, at the edge of death. "What are the dragons?" Tan spoke to the empty halls within her nightmare. That one inquiry was more of a title to a book of questions, then a single inquest. A deep layer of dust covered the floors, thick with times passing. No one had walked this way for many seasons; it was obvious. Her own feet now disturbed that peace and left a trail of prints in her wake. She was not sure why she put the query out there in the air to "no one," and Tan did not expect an answer.

A thousand beats passed without a sound.

"Dragons are dreams. Even dead, their bones and innards are powerful. When they become powder as all things do, the remains may then be used to bring new life into over-farmed lands, heal fatal sicknesses and only at rare, and special times, cure man's failures." The voice was far away and close, at the same time. A mix of memory and dream, filling in pieces. Was she still asleep?

"All these are lies within a lie. Above all other things..., remember..., that men must live knowing they are men." The air grew very cold; her body suddenly felt immersed in ice-rain. Screaming followed. Was she the one screaming? Yes. No? Besides the terrible volume of noise, separate and apart, a calm, insistent influence continued. "Dragons are the myths we live by, and their reality gives our imaginings depth. They will always be with us, although perhaps not like we now, know them." The cold remained. The screaming stopped or became less evident and distant.

The man's voice sounded like one of the masters. Yet it was hollow and gloomy sounding, but firm. Tan wanted to shout out and find the speaker, to shake him until she woke herself up. The young keeper did not like the hidden messages of her own heart.

The deeper question that kept coming back; was she really here to help her world? The fact was "her" world was already gone. She had been, sent to the keepers and that was now home. Or was it? Why dreams? Why the unrest? Bracanth had always told her to trust herself. What or why was this happening?

In a way, Tan had succeeded. The young keeper had found that she was in fact, awake. She quickly glanced around at the others in her party. No one seemed to notice the conflict of her netherworld, in her present world. That was comforting. Her vision, had cleared much in the last hours or days? She was not sure of the time table. It did not matter the healing had gone well, regardless. Everyone except Klar was sound asleep. That is she thought they were anyway. It was hard to tell when it came to Marale. His eyes were closed, but that meant nothing. His changes were scary to watch, yet she held her tongue. He had made a choice; she could not fathom. Tan respected him. He had fought hard to help his people. She would help him now, in any way she could.

The voice of her teacher, perhaps Master Canth? She thought, was still fresh in her mind. Yet she was not sure it had been him. The words from the dream echoed; "A world without dragons is a cold world, but men are cold." Perhaps that was true, but men were still men. They had a path and freewill. They could choose right, or wrong.

Tan whispered softly, out loud to no one specific within the half-light of the new day. "The lesson of the mirror teaches that although you do or do not know both sides, each side is it-self. It is also the opposite of its own image." The last part of that, she silently mouthed but did not utter the sounds. They had been the final words at her parting with Canth. Tan was still not altogether sure why he had bothered to say them, but they must have been important. The part about dragons being cold had not been lost on Tan. Marale fit the description. Tan had found his appearance a bit unnerving when she finally laid eyes on him, plainly. Her path and destiny were on track together, after all. The man was a cathanel, and therefore an armilander would be the final goal to both of their quests.

The harsh ring of a blade escaping its sheath broke the predawn silence. Tan rubbed the last sleep from her own eyes and sat straight up. The other fighters came to full alert too. There were only three now. Elves. The rest had gone on with the other captains on different journeys. She was sure the entire band would all be back together in the end, one way or the other to fight the black wizard. The loyalty and love they had for Marale were obvious, no matter what his outward appearance looked like.

Klar was crouched, down some few paces away from Tan. His blade was out and ready. The keeper's eyes adjusted quickly in the half-light of morning. Tan could just make out the figure approaching from the south. The thin morning fog made the form a little sketchy in outline. It had to be a man of some kind, for its stance was far too straight to be anything else. That did make it a little less forbidding. The other men in their party were spreading out in a semi-circle line, first to protect Marale, and second to prepare for the intruders advance.

"Who comes unbidden? Stop and stand your place!" Klar spoke in common. His tone was harsh and commanding.

Marale had sat up but had not moved to pull his own blade. The man was content to watch his fighters do their job. They were all good men. It was better to let them be as useful as possible. Marale did not want to take any chance of hurting their pride. Each passing day his body became more alert, and stronger in ways he had never dared imagine, but that would have to remain his secret, at least for now. Marale had known for some time that they were being, followed. He chalked it up to just another ability brought on by his new state of being.

"It is I, Orn. I have come to join you." The young voice, was filled with hope. There was also a determination in the tone that was not going to be easily dismissed. The boy had followed them like a skilled hunter in a land that tricked even expert travelers into becoming totally, lost. How "it" had not claimed the young man was anyone's guess?

"Klar put your blade away." Marale glanced toward the man. Orn came closer until he stood within the small makeshift camp. There was again no fire because there had been no wood to burn. The only reason he knew he had arrived at the camp was the fact the men and their horses actually marked its boundaries. "You have disobeyed my command." Marale tried to sound angry. It was difficult because he admired the boy. This was not after all an unexpected event.

"Please, I want to join you, Sir. I had no choice." The man, little more than a boy, stood straight. "I remembered what Ust had said the day he allowed me to come with him. He said, that you," looking directly into Marale's eyes, no sign of hesitation or repulsion, "might need an extra hand. It just sort stayed with me. I know the battle at the tower has long since passed. Yet, you may still need an extra hand..." He let his words hang, then, "I had to come."

Giving the younger man a cursory inspection, the leader, wanted to smile but thought it might be taken, wrong. What bravery in the face of evil? This one would not easily be stopped. "How did you cross the river?" Marale was, more than a little surprised at the youth's enthusiasm. "Pain" was something he understood. This boy had been through much; it was clear.

"I swam." Orn's answer was so very flippant and matter of fact, that the entire group would have laughed out loud if it were not so audacious an answer. Somewhat startled by that response, Marale felt an..., odd and yet more profound respect for the boy. He thought it might have been hard for himself to do if he had not been different, as he was now. So it was not a simple statement by any means. The proof, the boy was right in front of them all.

"The river is a long crossing. You have journeyed far." He spoke more to himself than those around him. "You can ride with Tan." That ended the exchange abruptly. Klar wondered why he had not sent the youth back but did not question Marale's decision out loud. Marale wondered about that same thing, but somehow he still could not send the youth back. The boy had more than proved his ability, so far.

Every man has a choice. Orn had made his.

Home

The North in springtime is still, very cold.

The Keeper remembers better days...!

Still, locked in at the top of the world, safe!

Chapter Seventeen

## Ships and Sand

The band had traveled for the passing of six days and nights through the tall grasslands. There had been no further sign of water since they had left the river. That was going to be a problem, maybe.

Then the green, that drained of color slowly turned to brown. It was a welcome sight to have an alteration of any kind. By the seventh day, there were fewer patches of grass at all, and the brown areas had been replaced by fine, gray sand instead. It mirrored the sky, dull and lifeless.

There were no shells or bits and pieces of small things upon its surface like normal sand. There was just, the small gray grains. This new terrain proved harder then ever for their horses or their riders alike. The surface floated and drifted as it was stirred up by the slightest movement. The animals became hard to handle, and the riders were made, to walk instead.

It was still cold. That never changed.

On the eighth day, there was no grass at all. The fighters did not complain but stolidly tracked forward. There was a concern for water, but it was not discussed. The sky above was overcast, but the darker storm ring of clouds remained far away. Tan did not like the look of things regardless, but she had no voice in this party, of any consequence. Static electricity was building, and small charges spiked when skin touched metal. Klar might have said something to Marale, but he too held his tongue. The man did not want to show any lack of faith in their leader, in front of the men. Besides, to him, if Marale went on, then Trath was somewhere ahead of them to be sure.

"The grass, the sand, and now the endless gray, it is like a great ocean," Tan spoke low, but out loud. "The plains are like a great inland ocean." She repeated. It was a funny analogy but extremely accurate.

Like a salt sea, it was just as undrinkable.

"Look, with ships!" Marale replied excitedly. "There, in the distance." He pointed eastward from their present position. They had long since left the site of the river and now ultimately depended on his inner compass to trail Trath. He knew this and did not doubt his insides at all. It was just hard to convey that feeling, to the others. This was all new territory to be sure. A painted horse on a map was little information indeed. The reality was it should have been a picture of a watercraft, not an animal.

"I see no ships!" Klar broke in. He usually had great vision over vast distances, but he was after all very tired.

"They are there!" Marale spoke with assurance.

The band stood quiet and waited together. "I see them!" Orn almost screamed with delight. His youth was evident in his reactions. "I have never seen their kind before now. They are sailing directly upon the gray surface." The awe and wonder in his words were not missed by any of the party. "They are similar to land ships?" It sounded like a question, but it was more a statement in awe, evident by his facial features alone. A look of wonder filled his expression.

They were not small ships by any means. They were great galleons. There were three in number. They had closed the distance by quite a bit, in the space of a few breaths, between themselves and Marale's band. Soon the whole party could see them clearly, but it was a sight from another world to be sure. Eerily the grand crafts rode the surface like real water. Then, quite suddenly, they turned in upon each other. There were tremendous flags flying high on each ship's mast which showed the colors of their owners and for whom they did battle. Two were alike; one was not. Men screamed words of war loudly, as the two vessels converged upon the one. It was a fight to the death.

When the bullies turned, huge pointed metal rams could be seen high above the surface of the sand. They struck the third ship with shattering force and tore her hull in two. Outnumbered and now completely disabled, the third ship tilted awkwardly on its way toward its final, end. Men began to jump over the sides in desperation, fleeing for their lives. The attacking armada moved away cautiously, keeping their prey still in range for a second blow if necessary.

Without warning the beaten ship turned upon its side and rolled over several times. It finally stopped in an unwieldy position upon the sand. The action had torn the masts from the decks and left no sign of life on board that Marale or his company could see. The craft had half buried itself as well when it finally landed at a resting point. The enemy crafts moved off to the east. They had done their job and did not stay around to seek survivors or captives. Tan was not unhappy to see them go. It did not matter if they fought for good or evil, only that they had been cruel, precise, and accurate in their battle plan.

"Come!" Marale skillfully mounted his horse and kicked its flanks hard. The brave animal bounded forward toward the wreck in response. His mount still did not like the sand, but it did its best to comply. The others followed suit. They mounted their own horses and moved quickly along his path. Marale drew closer and slowed his beast of burden slightly. Before his eyes, the incredible ship burst into tremendous, flames. He was sad and angry all at the same time. Even wrecked as it had been, Marale would have liked to examine its lines. Annon had told him many times of the Isle of Kings and the ships of his great grandfather's line. He would have liked to bring back first-hand information of this new craft. Unique and boundless in its ability to cross land? Many would have doubted...if not all...!

While Marale's band had watched, on board the world was undone.

"Don't die, Skalin. I will mark the wind and raise the ship once more." The young woman was near tears.

"No, child. Leave before they return. The kiras will come soon. You will not be safe here." The man reached his hand up and softly touched the girl's cheek. "Little one, the path is long, leave now. You must live." His last breath drawn and silence ensued. Skalin died upon the hard wooden deck of the great ship, but it was the right place. He would not have had it any other way Alin was sure. The girl leaned down and kissed his brow gently and closed his empty eyes. She fought back the tears that threatened to engulf her with uncontrollable grief.

"I will live to see Harth die by my own hand." It was an affirmation of oath, an unbreakable vow. Alin rose quickly and ran toward the deck rail of the ship. The girl did not look back but dropped to the sand below with long-practiced ease. In a single heart beat, Alin chose the right direction. Northward was her destination. The pace she sat for herself would have been hard for any warrior to match. It was not out of fear, but determination, that the girl needed to make time. Perhaps if Alin had seen the travelers coming toward the craft on strange beasts, she would have chosen a different course. But that was not in the cards, nor the will of fate. She also did not see the "others" that also trailed close behind.

Alin was, used to the sands. She knew how to walk without making too much noise or leaving too many tracks. The young girl grew up with the rising and lowering of the land. That is of course what it was, an inland living sea. She passed one of the deck hands that had leaped from the ship in the course of the attack. Alin noticed quickly that his neck was twisted in a funny angle, far from normal. He had died fast. That was not too bad a way to go out here. She closed her mind to thoughts of the whispering breeze. It would have brought her words, of calm, but she did not want to feel that way. Alin did not want to lose her hate. It would keep her alive in the barrens.

All the time Alin walked north, the party on the other side, drew closer to the wreck. This was the first signs of "life" they had come across. These were the people of this wasteland. Marale needed to know more.

Too late, as what was left of the incredible ship now razed. Marale stood near by and watched as the ship danced before his eyes, consumed in flames. The others stood further away from the tremendous heat. He had left his own mount with them. He knew it could not stand the unbearable temperature too. Marale no longer marveled at the changes within his body, only accepted them. There was no turning back, so it was wise to accept and even embrace his new life. There was a part of him that regretted things, but that was a luxury he could not afford. The reality was that he could feel Trath. He could feel him close. Even as he watched the grand ship devoured and turned to ash, he was sure of the path. Everything had meaning. The two ships and now the one ship that lay waste before him told of the reality that evil had no bounds. The same wickedness he had followed from his home land was here too. Mental clouds seemed to hide the exact whereabouts of Trath, but Marale was perseverant.

Why had the ship enticed his curiosity so much? That is beside the obvious desire to see it on behalf of his grandfather, Annon. Marale wondered to himself, what more was there? He walked around the hull and noticed the markings. They were indecipherable even for him. Yet they felt familiar too. It was like a language that he had been taught to speak, but never to write.

The ram gave him a clear answer. Its shape mimicked that of a bull dragon. The maker, the artist, and carver had designed it beautifully. The head was solid bronze. The likeness was that of a male to be sure. The eyes were blood red stones that even as the ship burned seemed to watch Marale closely. Did the eyes move? Was the ship alive? Marale shook his head abruptly to clear it of such thoughts. Wood and metal had no feeling he knew. Marale continued around the far side of the craft. He could now feel the breeze, sweet, and cool caress his face.

"Marale!" Tan's scream pierced the air. It brought him to full alert and away from his curious explorations. He ran quickly back to the side where his band still waited. It took only a moment, and he saw the enemy. His father's sword came away from its sheath. Marale ran the relatively short distance between himself and the fighters. He joined them and prepared. The creatures he knew well from his father's stories. Sharks! Yet these were like and unlike, those monsters in the fables and yarns of his youth. These did not swim within the water but floated within the air. Marale could see no wings to hold them up, and he could feel no magic or unusual energy helping them move. They just did. They were huge, gray-blue colored beasts that measured at least eight to nine feet in length. Like the ones within the real ocean of his grandfather's homeland, they had long, sharp teeth.

Orn stood his ground. He fended off the beasts from both himself and Tan. His father would have been more than proud. Two of the other fighters had already lost their lives along with several of the horses. The blood on the sand from their bodies seemed to insight an uncommon fury in the creatures. It was like that of a frenzied, berserker rage. Tan weaponless, was speaking in a strange language, standing just to Orn's right side. Marale figured that her words were that of a keeper's abilities or simple prayer for their plight. She had helped before; if she could, she would help again.

Energy..., was gathering and growing, all around the remaining companions. Klar was close to both Marale and Tan now. He was trying to make sure they all lived. His blade had made quick work of two monsters, and the fighter wanted to add to the count badly. The problem was there were several more, and Klar was likely going to get his wish.

This was going to be bloody.

In the distance, Alin stopped in her tracks. She finally allowed herself to listen to the insistent words carried on the breeze. She had to calm her emotions quickly and clear her mind. Then, Alin heard the message. She knew without a doubt that the kiras were at the ship. The dying guardian was calling her back desperately, from its burning, bow.

"Strangers!" It screamed. She did not question the reason the guardian had called, to her. Alin accepted, directly without question, and turned back to the ship. She ran as fast as she could. The energy was intense, all around the craft, electricity sparked at the edges of metal in the rigging...! She could not see anything on the port side, so she continued on around. There, strangers before her eyes were fighting for their very lives. It was not going well. Two lay lifeless on the sand that she knew would accept their bodies, without question.

There were several wondrous beasts also, on four legs. Three stood near the strangers, fear radiating from their bodies. The others were either dead like their two-legged companions or ran into the distance in panicked desperation. The kiras continued to circle the group hungrily. Alin knew the enemy ships would return all too soon. That would not help these strangers. It would probably end the problem for them. The enemy would claim whatever remained alive or dead, that had not been taken, by kiras or the sand.

The guardian had called her, and that was enough to put Alin into action. She pulled the silver wire from her belt in one fluid motion. Then she screamed her challenge loudly. Alin entered the circle of kiras and joined the strangers willingly. She dropped one large beast with long-practiced ease. Marale cut the top fin of the next nearest one to him. It veered crazily toward the burning ship. Two others of its kind followed in its wake, lusting after the blood of the first. Their pack mentalities were against them. They ate their own kind.

Tan dropped her hands, her work complete. The air grew light, and funny feeling all around them. Breathing was hard and even harder for those who had been using weapons. Then the effect stabilized and the air returned afresh. The kiras began to move much slower. Marale watched but did not attack further. One by one, the land sharks dropped softly to the sand. He realized they were dying. One problem solved, no time to slow down.

Marale turned now upon the new stranger in their midst. He held Ishtabar high and ready. Klar also became aware of the girl's presence but did not attack. He had made a mistake in that area before and tried desperately to slow his first instinct to assault. Both men needed answers.

"Who are you? Why did you help us?" Marale questioned her loudly. He had made a mistake with Tan, in thinking she had been an enemy when they had first found her. The fighter was trying not to duplicate that incident either, the same as his long-time friend. In a world where enemies are everywhere, it was hard to let your guard down, even to a good thing. The girl had appeared to lend a hand in fighting the air-born menace. That, of course, seemed to be positive. However, Marale was no stranger to tricks and traps.

Alin answered immediately. She did not have time for common courtesies. She spoke in the language of the "port" people. They were the sailors, travelers, and traders that met at the gray lands, near the blue sea. It was a small town far from here, a place called the Edge. It was a gathering point; her people met and used to trade with other domains. Alin had been there a handful of times, but Skalin had made her learn the whole language, all the words regardless. He said repeatedly, knowledge was important. Nothing learned was, ever wasted.

Port. It was considered the "common" dialect of the people there. It was clear and familiar-sounding if a bit rough in the speaking of it.

"I was called back by the guardian to help. The black ships will return soon. We must hurry, or we will all die here. Please, we must help each other." Alin returned a hurried answer to his questions. She looked straight at Tan sternly. "Enchanter, I need your help?" Alin straight away moved out upon the clean new sand. She moved away from both the dead kiras and the wrecked ship. "Come quickly!" She shouted over her shoulder.

Marale glanced at the bodies of his brave fighters prone on the sand. Time was short, or the new outsider would not have been so intent. He could also just see the disappearing horses in the distance that had escaped in panic. Nothing could be done about any of it. Marale motioned the others to follow the girl into the open sand. Whatever she had in mind was better than being caught here surrounded by dead things and the pungent smell of blood. If the vessels were coming back, his group would not have a chance on the sand either. Marale silently hoped the stranger knew what she was doing.

Alin stopped, a little less than a hundred paces from the bronze guardian. She bent down and cupped a handful of sand in her left palm. "Father of the wind, the sky, and the sand sea, listen to me now. I speak the words. I need the Kren. I stamp my foot and pound the seafloor. I beckon out his name. Kren, come! I stamp once more and call you forth. Man and his ships, they mock you with their strength. The men within them laugh at your name!" The girl stomped her foot the third and last time very hard. Alin's tone had increased with the final statement, in an effort to be heard over the rising wind. It was cold, ice cold. Quickly, Alin broke into a dead run. Her path was a circle, ever-widening, and growing outward.

The girl stopped after she had made four complete rounds in the sand. She raced back to where Tan now stood. The others waited just a little further off, trying to keep out of the way, but remaining ready if needed. "Chanter, can you bring a great brightness? It will draw the enemy into our trap."

Tan shook her head and began without further reply. She made several hand movements and pointed. Light flew out from her hands, like a small rocket, into the sky above the circle, then burst like a bubble of fire. It grew and swirled there, a cloud of sparks, held together by giant, unseen hands. Tan worked well under pressure. She would have made her master Telnor very proud. He had worked hard to tutor her in illusions. Many of the other teachers had often scoffed under their breath at the importance of refracted light. They jeered and called it deceitful, and trickery actions taken by the "lesser" kind. That made her smile a little. Tan had found them completely wrong. In this world, they were quite powerful, for and against enemies.

Alin ran back to Marale and the remainder of his party. "You must be quick. I and the chanter alone will stay. Go now! Go at least the space of a thousand paces and cover yourselves with sand. Force your beasts of burden to lie down too. Be still upon the barren. I will try to keep the enemy...here." And she pointed clearly toward the circle's center.

"No. I will stay." Marale answered harshly. "Orn, you take the horses and do as she said. Then he looked at Maray. The last remaining pure elf from his original party at Qualer. "Go with Orn." He motioned. "Help with the horses." Then he looked toward his long-time friend. "Klar you are with me." The expression on his face did not allow any chance for questions to be asked or answered.

"I do not understand, but it is your choice." Alin eyed the odd-looking man with new respect. "When the sand rises, hold your breath, and stand very still. You must do exactly, as I have said. Do you understand?" she looked at them each in turn. "Do not take a breath, I warn." Alin tried to sound like she was in authority. The fact was that the girl had never done the "calling" before. Skalin had taught her well, so she felt it sure enough inside, but there were always things that could go wrong. Oh, and wrong was dangerous, not just to the enemies.

"We will do as you have instructed," Marale responded for all of them.

"You will need to spread out a little around the edge. Do not enter the actual circle. It will rise from there." Alin moved off once more to walk the circumference one last time. Wordlessly the others complied and spread out.

The bad ships were returning on the horizon just as Alin had said they would. It had not taken long indeed. As they drew closer, Marale could see creatures similar to those he and his fighters had killed on the plains of battle, before the tower. They had killed many beast lings in that fray, of all shapes and sizes. These minion's before him were slightly different, yet had the same feel. They were surely something called up from the dark side, probably more of Trath's handiwork. It would not surprise Marale at all to find this all connected to the wizard. Perhaps, Trath had not fled in fear to this land, as much as back toward yet another lair of safety.

They had skeleton heads upon half-human, half-beast bodies. They waived their swords and chanted a cry of victory as they came onward. That was proof enough Marale was on the right trail. These were Trath's ugly followers. His strength and reach were farther and more powerful than Marale had dared imagine.

The vessels entered the circle in the sand as expected, drawn by the colorful light in the sky. It was not unlike bugs to a flame. Then the sand around them rose like a mighty hand, grasped both ships tightly and stopped their motion completely. The creatures aboard the crafts screamed as if gone mad, some jumping to the sands while others held on to rails and rigging for life.

The heartless, ugly enemy had found themselves the prey instead of the hunters in the space of a single beat. Marale could have almost felt sorry for them if he had not seen the devastation they had left behind so readily. They were creatures and would always be monsters of the darkness. Mercy and leniency was an act of the Light. Sometimes there was no return to be gained on the investment of intent or purpose.

The things, the beast-lings that had jumped and hit the sand sunk from sight immediately. It was as if something pulled at them from beneath forcefully. Then the sand began swirling around and around like a storm glued to the surface. It was a maelstrom, confined in the circle of Alin's creation. It pulled the ships together and down within a whirlpool, a vortex of dark demise. Then, calm returned to the surface as the last mast was, virtually swallowed beneath the inland sea. The wind lessened, and the seafloor grew hard and stable once more.

Home

Chapter Eighteen

## Alin

Half buried in the sand, Alin began to dig her way out. The message was clear upon the gentle wind that help had come. Skalin would have been well pleased with her first attempt. She wondered how the strangers had fared against the Kren? If they had done exactly as she had instructed, they too should have lived. Alin would have to wait and see. The sand was quiet. That was rather nice, after the turmoil. Alin could see the one they called Orn, approaching with the beasts he led as "master." She liked the creatures. They looked friendly enough. The adventurer inside her, wondered what it would be like to ride one?

Klar shook the sand from his clothes and cursed to himself a little for his boots were full of it. He knew Tan had been close by before the sand had begun to move, but now the girl was nowhere to be seen. The fighter found himself worried about her?. That felt a little uncomfortable in a strange way. None the less, he focused on the moment. The man glanced around quickly and then spotted and the edge of Tan's cloak. It was just sticking out of the sand a few paces away. He rushed to the spot and began to dig. Before long, Klar had her free. He laid her flat on the gray-land and moved to position her neck, to clear her throat. Then the man bent and placed his mouth on hers. He breathed.

He pulled away, waited for a beat, and then did it again. Waited for another beat, then......! Tan's chest moved ever so slightly. The big man scooped her up close in his arms. Safe "again." She was unconscious and barely breathing but safe again! One last shout, in his head only..., "AGAIN!". Their lives were one battle after the next. He, should be used to it? But he was not, especially after he woke up in her arms, days ago, back at the tower. Things had taken a dramatic turn if an unexpected one.

At least Tan was alive, he found the news oddly, even comfortably, consoling. This was an altogether new kind of emotion. Not like the unwilling, wild rage of the berserker, he held in check by skillful experience, but deeper. A fury, a frenzy of gripping, numbing fear for someone else. Nothing he had ever known before now.

The fighter stared down at her face. He took a moment to see it clearly for the first time. Not that he had "not" seen her before, but "clearly" in a different way... The young woman's skin was soft, and her complexion slightly olive. Dust and travel had worn them all down, their small band, in all kinds of ways, but she was still uncommonly beautiful. Human perhaps, but Klar was not going to question that too hard. What did it matter? He was not. So her lineage meant absolutely zero to him. The truth, it would have meant nothing regardless. Every beat of his heart matched that of the woman in his embrace, total in sync.

Tan had pretty hair, or she would if she ever let it loose. It was tight in braids originally that no longer held well. It was messy, perhaps by some standards, but Klar found it wildly "real." Battle did that. Life was all that anyone focused on, after death called your name, too near the abyss. Or at least that is what he had always heard.

"Klar!" Marale called some distance away.

"Here! We are over here!" Klar replied quickly.

Alin heard the voices and soon spotted the others of the band. She moved toward them with practiced ease. The sand had always known her steps passing. She was home on the Gray. By that, she knew the risks. When Alin drew close, she was methodical. Not too fast or slow, as not to alarm or further complicate the situation. She finally stopped at a respectful distance. The chanter did not look well, but the man that held her seemed competent. She did not know if the man was a healer, but he obviously was trying to help her. Was he kin?

The affection was tangible to the newcomer. The woman's talents were vastly different from her recently found friends, but kindred in that they all fought evil. That being said, they had more in common than not. From her first assessment, the unconscious woman meant a great deal to the big fighter. He was a wild-looking man, well over six foot. His armor was strange, but his prowess easy to comprehend. His weapons were sharp indeed, at only a cursory glance.

"Is she alright?" Alin asked in her best, polite fashion. She continued to speak in the common words of the port people. These strangers had some value according to the dying guardian. That was sufficient reason to help them as she could. The essence of the bronze dragon had never led her astray. It was comforting to her to know that he had more than earned his right to be named. The beast would fly among the heavenly stars forever. His wisdom would guide others on the Barren in the days that followed this one. That is how her heart would remember him.

"I do not know," Klar spoke without looking up at Alin. His attention all on Tan. He tried to focus. He brushed the sand from the woman's face gently. "Orn, hurry up. Bring the water flask from my horse!" The boy had covered the distance quickly and now moved to comply with Klar's command.

The girl continued, "I owe you all much, especially her. I could not have stopped both ships without your friend's assistance. The guardian was right. There was a reason for my return." Alin tried to be friendly.

"Guardian?" Marale questioned as he stepped closer, brushing the sand from his clothes. He had joined them silently. "What guardian?"

Alin looked surprised. "You really are strangers to this land. The guardian is the ships headpiece. It called me back." She tried to sound matter of fact, but Alin was a little afraid to say too much. Perhaps they were a new kind of enemy to take her off guard? Alin doubted it. The bronze would not have led her into danger; she was sure.

"There is a ship approaching this place. It will come soon, drawn by the lights created by your chanter. There will be space on it for you and your party if you wish." Alin spoke more to Marale then the others. It was obvious that he was the leader. "The chanter needs to rest." Alin again motioned toward Tan. She stated the last words with sincere conviction. By her way of life, a great debt was owed, and she did not take it lightly.

The sands that bleed,

when there is water to be had,

are empty of shade.

Litany of the wind...,

Remembered verses

taken from Skalin's journal.

"Who were they?" Marale gestured toward the circle of sand. There was no sign left of anything now. Just gray and more, gray.

"They were Harth's minions. He picks my people off one by one to gain control of the sea. He would make all of us his slaves." Alin glanced back at Tan. "Will you come with me?" Alin hated owing anyone, anything, and she owed the chanter much. The girl was absolutely elated to have taken down two of the evil ships, straight to the hard stone depths. Skalin would have been more than a little affected. He would have been jubilant. Yet, the weight of the chanter now was her burden. The law was clear, in such matters, even where strangers were concerned.

Marale could just, barely see the sails of the fourth vessel on the horizon to the east. They were much smaller than the others, but the craft did not bare the black flags of the enemy. He turned back to the woman and answered. "We search for a wizard called Trath."

"I know of no wizard other than Harth. He is the cause of many deaths, and it is said that he plagues "all." By that, I would believe it means all the lands. I never closely pondered the boundaries of his reach. I fight him here, and I can not account for the rest." The girl swallowed hard. She was tired too. So much in such a small space of time, had happened. "I have never heard of any "Trath" before. I do not know if they are one and the same? Evil is tricky and wears many masks. Perhaps we fight on an identical side? Perhaps not?" The grief at losing her, own ship returned. It still burned a short distance away. It had not been taken by the Kren. However, just speaking of Harth made her angry and renewed her spirit to fight.

"My name is Alin." She forced her mind back to the situation and away from the dark thoughts of her dead friends. They would be claimed, as was right. Those below would eat. That was also, the way of the gray. It was still hard to watch.

"I am Marale. This is Klar." Marale gestured toward the fighter that held Tan close. The boy's name is Orn." He then pointed briefly at Orn. The younger fighter had just given his own, water flask to Klar and returned to his post. He waited patiently nearby. Orn continued his job, holding the reins of their mounts.

"The light bringer, "chanter," as you called her, is Tan." Nodding toward his friend and the prone woman in his embrace..., last.

At that point, the leader took a long breath. Slowly, methodically, he rescanned the surface of the area, for a great distance. He closed his eyes and searched with his new abilities as well. No one else survived. Even Maray was gone. Another good man lost. Marale glanced across to Orn.

"..." The younger man wanted to say something. He opened his mouth, and nothing at all came out — just silence. Orn had watched the elf fighter disappear in the gigantic wave of gray. He had personally seen it happen. Maray vanished as if pulled down by someone or something? And never, surfaced. What could he have said? Even if there were words, which there were none. That amounted to, even less to say, out loud.

There was also no blame in Marale's face. Just a kind of, knowing. Every time he looked at the boy, he saw less and less of him. The replacement man was already worn past years uncounted, yet had not even shaved. Evil stole innocence readily.

The leader returned back to Alin. " I do not know about this Harth, but I can feel the taint of Trath, on everything here, evil and black with menace. Your enemy may well be mine, and ours." He motioned to his remaining band.

The slight breeze returned, and Alin smiled inside at least. That was a good sign, any day on the gray. If you had the will, anyone could hear the song. The sound of the shifting grains, and kisses on droplets, that dry from the caress. It was a strange mistress, lover of none. The sands of her world were indeed impressive. Deadly no doubt, but still ominously, striking in unfathomable ways.

"We have a ride!" The girl smiled. The small craft drew close. They all watched, mesmerized by the uniqueness of the vessel. Not near as large as the others on any standard, as the other ships, yet beautiful indeed. Obviously a merchant craft of some kind? The hull was built, narrow, long, and fast for velocity with great sails spread like arms to heaven. The cloth wrung every gust from the skies similar to a real bird in flight, only sadly pinned to the ground. Her wide wings, parallel to the water, before striking at a fish that only lived in verse. However, there was no real fish beneath the gray, that was clear and evident. There was something else, but it was better left asleep.

Alin pointed toward the boat. "It is, Cort, flying the Alinkant. He probably saw the fire and the light. In this land, we depend on the wind, the sun, and the very smell of the ground. Each gives us important information to survive. I do not know how or what things are like for you where you are from..., I offer..., I will teach you what I can while you are here." Alin faced Marale. "We will have food and wind in our hair soon. Will you come? I may be able to help her too." Alin glanced one last time toward Tan. The burden was real; the proffer was genuine.

Given little choice, Marale agreed. "Yes, we will come with you." The big man answered a little hoarsely. He was suddenly thirsty and could not remember when last he felt clean. The sand had gotten into more than his boots. A ride sounded like a good idea. Orn was thrilled and could not help but show it on his face. Klar, on the other hand, was focused only on Tan. That was a little surprising to Marale, but not a main, concern. He was his own, keeper in matters of the heart. What advice could he give? He was chasing a woman, that was a legend for her world. How could he hope to be enough? The Prince had his own issues.

Klar himself wondered vaguely if the woman had somehow cast a charm on him? The funny feeling in the pit of his stomach matched the feeling he had just before any battle. It was not good, but it was elating yet heady. A unique mixture of thoughts, he refused to consider. So, instead, he pushed them all aside and physically kept holding her.

The ship slowed. The sails emptied of wind and then it came to rest upon the sand rather abruptly. The captain, a short, burly fellow, moved to the bow, "Hail! Alin, it must be you?" Cheers went up from the crew all around. Alin was a welcome sight to be sure. However, they quickly grew sullen and quiet when they saw her ship in the distance, still smoldering in the last stages of death. It was quite a scene, not soon to be forgotten.

"Cort, my friend, you are a real sight for sand lovers! Harth is two down, and he is sorely angry, surely. I have a long tale to tell indeed." Alin boasted loudly, so the crew could hear. "However, I thought we were going to have to walk out of here..." The last statement was a joke in pure irony. Both the sea merchant and Alin knew that few survived the Barren, especially on foot. However, the old captain was sure that if any were to make it back to port, it would be the young wind tamer. The effect was poignant on the crew. Their new friend on the "Gray", quickly rose with a mixture of awe to stardom or even near hero status. The crew again cheered loudly with the news. This was a great day by any account.

The captain pulled his gaze away from the dying vessel and concentrated his attention back on Alin and her party. They were, after all, a very interesting group. He stroked his dark, black, beard for luck perhaps, and decided that if they were with her than they were worth saving. He was a calculating man, a sheer, and shrewd, professional. He recognized an advantage when he saw it. In this case, it was more of a blessing from above. That was even better.

"Come aboard, and those with you are welcome." Cort gave several brisk orders to crewmembers, and the gangplank was lowered. Alin stepped up immediately. She never took anything for granted. In this place, friends and enemies ran close races. Usually, if not always, someone helped you off the sand, only if there was something to be gained. Surely Cort was no different. Yet she had much to offer and knew its worth well.

Marale followed her cue and motioned for the others to do the same. Klar actually carried Tan in his arms. She was still out cold but looked to be simply asleep, not actually hurt in any way. Orn followed last. He led the horses, which were more than ready to leave the sand behind in favor of, the ships deck.

The brave leader gave one, long gaze back across the sands. He had lost the last of his men and their horses to the kiras and this place. In some way, he had also lost his touch with the final remains of his Selnz heritage. The man he once had been would have or at least should have, felt more emotion at the deaths of so many. That hard fact crossed his mind leaving a deep, scar, that it did not. Marale continued up the ramp. His steps were sure and full of purpose.

Alin walked on past Telin the extremely tall first mate as if he were not even present. She figured the best course of action was to talk to Cort right away, one on one. Alin needed to make sure their passage was paid for, and the price was not too high. Telin would have probably been offended if it were anyone else. But he knew that Alin had a reputation, and let it slide. Some things were better left alone.

Marale was a different story. Telin stood in the stranger's path and prevented him from following the girl. Marale started to object when Alin heard the commotion. She swiftly looked back over her shoulder and gave a quick hand sign, to wait. Marale did not like the idea of losing site of Alin and being surrounded by about twenty deckhands, but there was little he could do about it, at the moment. That is unless he wanted to add to the death count for the day. The ship was a better place to be after all, far more so than the empty sand in comparison.

Cort had not been hard to deal with, as Alin suspected he would not be. Before long, she and her new friends were seated at the captain's table for a good meal, long overdue. Marale's small band listened attentively to the captain's tall tales and adventures. All of which was not near as exciting as Cort made them out to be. Good manners alone made everyone, all laugh, and cry at all the proper points.

It was different to act civil after handing out death to so many, so often for so long. Marale tried hard to remember what it was reminiscent of back at court. That time in his life, he was the Prince of his father's realm. A city on the edge of a lovely sea, far now from death. Marale's goal was high. Success for his quest would be a success for generations to come. Maybe, forever, if the Light ruled as was right...!

Funny, being a fancy prince, in a great hall, was so shallow. It had never felt right back then and was more like a dream even now. Besides, it was all gone. It had meant so little in the end, to his life. All fluff, and finery, unreal to what was truly important. Yet, the leader was grateful for the respite and tried hard to listen closely.

The best part was the food and drink. The wine was sweet, like warm honey. It cleared the throat from too much sand and brought a good feeling to the rest of the body. Tan had been left down below in a cabin, to recover. Klar had wanted to stay with her just in case, but Marale insisted he would be needed. Marale did not believe that Alin would have told him Tan was well guarded and safe if she were not.

Windtamer. That was the title; the crew had called Alin. It was not hard to figure out why?.

Alin had told the captain how they, referring to her new companions, had helped her destroy the dark ships. Cort had no love for the pirate vessels or their dark owner, so the whole story was excellent news to his ears. She especially played up Tan's part in the incident. Cort listened with a jovial smile plastered to his face. He was a hard man to read, even for Marale. Perhaps that is what made him a good captain of a commercial ship. He had to have excellent sailing skills and equal bargaining ones at the same time. His eyes told of the calculating mind just beneath the surface of the easy-going, slightly over round, happy facade.

The truth was that he had not readily been willing to take them west to the Rise, at Alin's first request. So she resorted to a simpler means of changing his mind. Alin had gambled against him and won. She had crossed paths before with the eccentric merchant and knew he had a weakness for "umbra" or cards. It had only taken two hands for him to see eye to eye to their passage. However, she still promised her service to the ship while she was aboard. It was fair in Alin's eyes, and Cort found losing easier to swallow that way. He secretly hoped he could talk her into staying, but doubted he would win in that endeavor either.

Cort's ship was indeed small compared to the other three galleons the party had run into earlier that day. However, she was very quick. The irony was in her name, Kola Kira. It translated to sand shark exactly. Marale enjoyed the odd joke. Fate had not chosen to let the sand sharks win and have them all for lunch. Instead, they now rode the sands in one, having dinner themselves. At least the current mode of transportation was a much more comfortable one indeed.

The vessels sails were powered by the use of a small red crystal, kept in a special box next to the ships stirring wheel. It was a stone, mined from the rocks at the edge of the world, and hard to come by. That is what Cort told Marale and Alin backed him up. One day it would fail, and the Kola Kira would be helpless on the barren. That was not a day Cort liked to think about.

The captain had grown somewhat tired with the evening and his guests. He stood up, held his drink high, and toasted fair sails to them all. Then he looked squarely at Alin. "Mark the wind and serve the ship." His eyes locked with hers' for a brief moment, then she stood also.

"Stay friends. I will return shortly." Alin tried to smile and lighten the mood. "Rides do not come cheap in these parts; the piper must be paid." The girl's tone matched her smile. She pushed her chair back and rose from the table. With purpose, she moved toward the door.

"Will you be okay?" Marale half rose from his seat. He had an odd mistrust for the captain, but nothing yet to back it up. He had shared the thought with no one, but it was there. Like, a smell, on the wind from a fire in the distance. You were unclear of the direction it sprang, or which way it traveled at times.

"I will be just fine. Do not worry. You see, I am a wind tamer." There was a kind of pride in her voice, subdued only by the attitude of humble service to others. "That is to say, I speak to the wind. I will ask it to fill the sails and take us to the "Rise." That is the farthest this ship can go at this point. It is also the best place to begin your trek again." Alin gave them all a reassuring nod.

Marale did not like being in debt, as that is how he saw things. Having the young woman work for their passage, did not altogether sit well with the leader. Yet, she had made it more than clear throughout the fine meal, that what "they," all of them, had accomplished, was a miracle of sorts. No one had ever taken down two ships?, "ever"! Especially a group of misfits, so outnumber and hope so absent from the obvious, the expected outcome apparent. Oh, and then denied! Instead, pure evil was sucked down into darkness. The captain was jubilant, the crew ecstatic, and the good mood was memorable all around.

"It will save Cort's stone a great deal of power. That is a fair exchange in these lands." Alin continued on out of the cabin. Her explanation would have to be sufficient. These strangers were new, indeed, which made her wonder about their lands as well? What were they like? How could they be so unprepared upon the gray, to have made it this far? They were all brave, no doubt, but foolish.

Luck or...!

The will of the Great One alone,

keeps you alive until the winds change.

Then it is a new storm.

The tempest visits often.

Required reading...,

Skalin's journal, "the last days."

Personally, she liked these new people. The guardian had been wise to send her back to help them. It had been an excellent outcome. The death of iniquity, fed to the Gray, was always a superior thing. That thought made her sad all over again. He was gone. The heart of the ship was no more. Skalin was gone too. Mentally, Alin's feet were on the sand still, and she had to find a new direction for her self. If not physically, at least in her own thoughts.

It was the first time in her life. She was alone and on her own. That was more than a little scary. Ready or not, she would have to be. Perhaps that is why the guardian had changed her direction and brought her around, to her current path?

Marale eased back down into his chair. Part of him wanted to follow Alin up onto the deck, but he held back. If the girl had wanted him to come, she would have invited him. They were guests here, on the reliance of this girl's kindness and generosity. It was not to be ill-mannered and push her but to listen to her closely. "Windtamer"? That was interesting. He would remember, when the chance came, to ask to know more about that...!

Klar and Orn both looked as if they were waiting for instructions. He glanced over to Orn. It occurred to Marale that the boy would be overlooked or dismissed as just a curious youth. He would have to be Marale's eyes, this time. That would serve a two-fold purpose, to keep him busy and keep him effective as well as useful. "You can go topside if you like."

The boy nearly leaped from his chair, stepped to the door with speed, and ran up the steps to the main deck. He was more than a little interested in what a "wind tamer" was all about. It sounded fascinating — youth, full of enthusiasm even in the face of final disaster. Marale envied him, a little. That made him smile in a pleasant way. Orn had proved his worth more than once, and having him around had been fine, also. Some part of him was glad he had not turned him back. Orn was young, yes younger than most, but in a war that meant little. All bleed and die the same.

As for Klar, he stood quietly from the captain's table, then waved his goodnight. He thought it a better idea to go and check on Tan. The girl, Alin, had put a lot of emphasis on the "so-called" chanter's abilities. He just wanted to make sure that their captain did not take advantage of that information. Tan had saved his life. She had proved to be valuable to the group. More importantly, she seemed to have become extremely valuable to him?. The uneasy feeling he had felt regarding that emotion, was slowly overtaken, by the power of his own spirit. When you no longer care about anything else, then you begin to know what it is to care. The man's center hammered, beats against his ribcage in an odd pattern. Music, unknown before now, drummed deep, down to his soul. How could he ever think, to feel this way? Klar was confused but happy.

Back to the captain, who was now on a mission, Cort led the way up. He was in a pretty good mood. The fates of this land had favored his travels with a wind tamer?!. That was, indeed, lucky. Dare he even, consider it, a blessing from the Light? Alin said she would not sign on, but she would at least save him a great deal of energy, this trip alone. That was precious. It meant that his incredible craft, the shark..., would sail like never before. Captain and crew were all, in a joyous mood.

Alin came up the steps beside him, yet slightly behind. She could feel the current of air, in her hair. It was like the caress of a lover. The captain's stone was strong and would last many trips. However, her gift by birth would enable this ship or any ship, to sail forever. That is as long as she was standing on her deck. It was a talent jealously treasured by all that sailed the gray.

The big burly, if yet round and not terribly gregarious man, moved to the upper deck. He stood by the wheel and turned back toward the bow. The girl had taken a different course and went straight to her, expected place.

"Alin," Cort glanced up at the girl from the ship's wheel. The moon was bright and lit up his face with a kind of white, luminescent, glow. "Mark the wind and serve the ship." The ancient command was given, strongly, loudly, and with power. It pulled Alin away from thoughts of the guardian, Skalin, and the preceding events of the day. That was all, now unimportant. Everything was centered on her, and Kola Kira.

"Yes, Captain." Alin complied accordingly. She walked forward a few more paces, to the bow. Orn nearly ran her down, not watching as he tried to come up from below, and get a good spot to sit and watch. He quickly mumbled a hand full of apologies, but Alin just smiled. She pointed to a large wooden box and motioned for him to sit. She did not have to say, "Stay out of the way!" It was obvious. Then she continued on, to stand right at the edge.

The girl raised her hands. In a loud, firm voice, she spoke, "Walar, wind mother!" The Kira creaked and groaned beneath her slightly. Then it swayed as if it hit an unexpected wave of water, but there was no spray over the bow. Alin felt the answer, as the wind grew. It went from the slightest breeze, barely moving, then soon filled the sails to their limit. Slowly the sands of the barren parted, and the course to the Rise was set. The ship moved, with purpose, and control, in answer to the tamer's call.

Alin took a deep breath and dropped her arms to her sides. She turned around and looked back at the captain. He stood watching from the upper deck, waiting. "Cort, release the stone, you waste its power." Her sturdy voice could be heard, even in the tough, blustery weather. Cort looked well pleased and brushed his hand over the red surface of his prized treasure. The stone grew dark and quiet, but the sails remained full. He said a few silent words over the box and closed the lid. Safe. The stone was safe, and his ship was moving. Cheers went up all over the vessel. This was a fine day indeed, even as it drew near its own end and favored a new one.

Alin continued to stand on the deck for many hours. She liked the feel of the wind around her. In some ways, it felt as if it also blew straight through her heart, down to her core. The wind was ever with her inside too. That is why she was able to work the unseen force. Tamer's, were not totally of Arrel, not totally at all.

Orn stayed where he had been told to sit. Yet his eyes never left the girl, the ship, the rigging and all that he could take in. Having been born in the woods, so far from this place; everything brought a sense of elation, and wonder. Never once was the young man sorry he had come.

"How long will it take us to reach our destination?" Marale questioned from just behind the girl. She had been, occupied with the changes of the sails, and thereby had not heard his approach.

Marale, the prince, had waited a long time at the table by himself. Finally, the captain had returned to tell a few more stories. Marale listened the best he could, but all he truly desired was to reach his destination. Time moved so quickly when he needed it to slow down, and so slow when he could not wait for the sun to rise. Cort, the captain, had tired soon enough and made his excuses to go to his own cabin. With that, Marale had grasped the opportunity to head up to the top deck.

The outside. There he was greeted by a sky full of sparkling stars. The ring of dark clouds was still evident in all directions, but above was free. Full of light, straight from heaven or at least it appeared so. It was an astounding sight to be sure. He passed Orn first, snoring lightly, curled up on a large wooden box. There he took off his own cloak and laid it across the young man. He did not need it anyway. Marale had long since passed being cold. His new body had many advantages, most of which he had not even come close to finding out. From there, Marale had continued on to stand just behind the girl that had saved their lives.

"Wind tamer? You are a gift, surely from the Light to my band. I did not have the chance to thank you." Marale's deep voice boomed, in a friendly manner.

Alin stumbled a moment over her words. She had not immediately noticed him. Yet, she also did not want to appear caught off guard. Her answer was not quite a stutter as much as sheer nervousness revealed. Marale was not easy to look upon too closely. He was a man, but not as others. Alin did not know how to accept him yet.

"The guardian told me you needed me, and I am pleased to have been of service." She pulled her attention from the horizon to face him directly. The ship continued on, as she had 'set the sail". It would remain until Alin released its taught hold on the canvas above.

"Where are we heading?" His question, a reasonable one.

"I do not know exactly how to answer you're "true" need, to accomplish your end. I am unclear about the way things are supposed to be, other than the guardian intervened in my own direction. So I have chosen the most perceptible path. I have plotted our course north and west, as that will take us to the Rise. I have never seen the place, only have I heard of it in the tales between ships." She looked across the horizon ahead for a brief moment. Then, back to the man. She caught and held his gaze. He was very handsome. "The bad man called Trath you spoke of, may be there. If he is the same as Harth, the one that plagues our land, he will be there as one in the mirror." Marale found her words odd at times, but her meaning deep. "It will take several days." Her tone was dour under the situation. She still felt a hole inside. Painful and ever-present, even when she tried hard to ignore it.

Yes, the girl had succeeded in obtaining a ride for all of them. She had also lost everything and everyone she ever cared for in one battle. It would not really set in, as "real" to her for many days. Alin liked having to focus on their course, rather than the emotions, that hit her like waves in a storm. Repeatedly striking, again and again, light and dark, wrapped together as the same, in nearly equal measure. There was no time for fear or second-guessing. The wind tamer would and did accept that this was the best path.

Marale followed her words directly, sifting through the many questions he wanted to ask. Their conversation that followed would take them clear into the morning light. It was pleasant to pass the time and feel calm. The ever-shifting, sweet breeze of dawn, welcomed a new day, in the company of strangers, now friends. That was the effect of the "Barren" on the true of heart, at least according to the Windtamer.

Home

"The Barren knows all names"...

Remembered verses

and re-remembered songs

taken from Skalin's journal.

Love

can never be

unlearned!

Chapter Nineteen

## The Rise

The days passed quickly by as the Sand Shark parted the strange ocean before them. It was not an up and down wave motion, but more like a sailboat, only. It split the surface like a knife across flesh, barely leaving a mark in its passing. The breeze, quickly erasing even that small smear in the gray, lifeless sand. The land looked exactly the same in every direction, regardless. The sense of aloneness was odd. It was extremely reflective of being on an ocean, only completely and utterly flat. Calm as in a Saragossa sea, yet the boat moved.

Marale, with his keen sense of smell, knew long before the call had been made, that true land and trees grew near. It was about time, to Marale's way of thinking. His small band was brave to be sure, but the strange landscape had a way of getting on his fellow traveler's nerves. The fighter had faith in Alin. She had long since proved herself a worthy and valuable friend. She had harnessed and held the wind with her abilities. It had taken the small ship forward over the ever flat plain with incredible speed. Marale knew now that if they had not run into her, his group might not have made it across at all.

The leader had enjoyed the short respite aboard the craft. There had been very little for him to do, but sit back and ride. That left the man time to sleep. He could not remember when he had time to sleep in ages. The luxury of closing his eyes and knowing that he was not still on guard, was long overdue. There had also been time to talk. He had many conversations with Alin. She was quite interesting and had been all over the "Barren" many times. That is the name the people of this land called the gray ocean they now traveled on. The other name, it went by was simply, the "Gray." The reasons were apparent by both descriptive titles.

Marale found himself very relaxed around the girl, mostly because she always looked right into his eyes. Since Marale had used the dragon stone to change himself, few people had been able to do that. Usually, they avoided his gaze at all costs.

The wind tamer had conveyed many stories to Marale about the guardians too. In her land, they were similar to real dragons in many ways. She could not exactly tell him how they came to be, but that they were the life of the Tomaar Ships. A vessel would not be built until another had been, destroyed. Thus there was always a set number and no more. It was almost as if they were reborn in the new vessel. That was not likely true, of course. Sailors were extremely superstitions on typical seas, and the Barren although unique, was no exception in this case. Unlike Cort, his crew and most all the others of this land, Alin had the gift. The talent and ability to harness the wind by way of her own bloodlines. There was only a handful that carried her strengths.

The special capacity to work the unseen forces was that of her mother's line. She passed it down to her daughter, just before she died. She had died giving birth to Alin. It seemed that was the case with all the wind tamers. The mothers sacrificed themselves to give their children their power and their ability at birth. It was a sad tradition. This new land was harsh by all the accounts Alin conveyed. Marale had seen much and lived through much too, but nothing quite as lonely and empty as this place felt. Yet, Alin was quite proud of her home, its people, and their traditions. Marale thought it ungrateful and unkind to judge them, never having lived under such circumstances. However, if it had not been their good fortune to cross paths with Alin, surely even he may have died on the sands.

There had also been a funny twist to their time aboard ship. Klar had actually come to be quite friendly with the keeper, Tan. She had recovered from their ordeal on the sand just as Alin said she would. Alin knew that the cost of using so much power all at once had simply exhausted the young woman. As the wind tamer expected, all was well before long.

It surprised Marale only a little that his immovable friend had dramatically changed his view about Tan. It only took the girl saving Klar's and their party's lives three times that he could count to make it happen. Klar had an extremely thick hide and getting under it took some doing. As for Orn, the young man loved being aboard the Kira. Each day he would work with the deckhands to learn all that he could of her workings. For a little while, Marale could see the elf become the easy, light-hearted kid that he should have always been.

Fighting Trath and his dark forces took its toll in ways Marale knew could never be fully measured or counted.

A few gray clouds had gathered early before dawn on the last day. It was not a good sign, Marale knew that. A deckhand had called from the crow's nest, and Alin had responded in kind. The ship slowed to an absolute stop, still some way from the final destination. That was a place called the Rise. Alin had told Marale, that region of her world was well guarded and protected by the dark powers of this land. If there were any place the wizard could hide, and feel relatively safe here, then it would be in the Rise. It would suit his needs best.

The truth regarding the area, Trath would be among others like himself. "Evil," that is the description Alin's people used, about all things that direction. The "Rise" was a dark place. Alin knew of no other like it. One bad apple, among so many, could and would be hidden well to her way of thinking. Trath was an ugly man by Marale's description in a thousand different ways. If he were not Harth by a different name, then he was surely related..., kindred.

Cort, the captain of the Kira, had told Marale more than once, that he did not feel comfortable sailing too close to that region. There were numerous bad rumors of unwary ships that had tempted the rocks. Marale had come to know the man and all his crew were a very irrational lot indeed. They spooked at very little, and although they supported Alin, were still afraid. They had not signed on as fighters. They were merchants, deckhands, and workers, and that was all.

The main reason Alin would never be permanent among them; she felt it was wrong. It was not the life of a wind tamer. The buying selling and trading of items were surely important, but fighting for a great cause, the safety of her people? Unparalleled. To do any less would be "to spit into the wind." Or at least that is how she felt.

Debating the issue with Cort would have done the fighter no good. So Marale had settled on the best he could get. Alin told him they would be safe enough on the sand here, where she would stop the ship. The wild kiras and most other creatures avoided the area ahead and around the region at all costs, same as all the humankind. But not for misguided reasons of "fright," but real ones, naturally created. The land was unsettled. Alin further assured Marale that they would be within sufficient distance to allow direct travel and be safe from such predators. It was not kiras that Alin told Marale to be wary of, but things she had never seen first hand. If the stories were true at all, Alin had no desire to find out the reality.

The plank was lowered quickly, and the crew all helped to unload the horses. Klar and Orn, followed by Tan, joined them upon the gray sand below. The sky above was a mirror of the same color. It was disturbingly solemn. All three had bad sea legs and wobbled a bit on the sand as they walked. Alin told them it would pass. The Barren was a unique sea by any standard, but sea it was, and therefore it would take its toll on any that dared to ride its wake.

"Good-bye brave warrior. I hope you find your journey's end soon." Captain Cort called from the high deck. Marale walked down the plank slowly to join the others. Alin was right behind him. Cort would not leave her, of course. He did not like the tamer exiting the ship either. There was no way to say anything or stop her. Alin was her own person. It was plain, on his rough face. He could not order her back, but the unrest behind his eyes was a direct window to his thoughts.

Alin moved close to Marale as they both reached the sand together. In, a half, hesitant manner, the girl took his hand in hers. They stopped, turned, and faced each other. "I wish you well Dragon Lord. Men will not remember any of this in the years to come for they have little faith. They are small and yet, worth saving." The girl's face beamed, warmly. "I tell you now that I will not forget you. I know also, I will be the last of my kind too." She squeezed his hand, reassuringly, even as she shook. There were several silent moments, in which the wind stole all sound.

"The mother has given me this knowledge. If your true love, Laryn, is the Armilander? The power of the Windtamers will live or die with your victory. I am unclear of the reason, but we are connected. The bronze would not have had me return otherwise. You and I would not be standing here now."

The big man started to speak. They had shared much in a short span. Real friends knew each other instantly. They only needed time to make the connections match. Their differences outweighed their similarities by multitudes, but their sameness was unique. "You..." Marale made to speak.

"No. Do not." The young woman glared. "Do not let anything change your trail." Then the girls face brightened "I will keep a vision, drawn my hope in my mind, to live and tell my children of our meeting. I will now trust, to see them grow up. I had not dared that possible?. Yet, it might be." She smiled wider. "That is not a bad thing." Then, her tone turned extremely serious. "I will." being more assertive in her manner. "I will tell them of your journey to save your land, and perhaps even to save our own. Who can tell the difference between Harth or Trath? If they are as one, the outcome of your success will be identical."

The look in her eyes told him volumes about everything. Alin had fallen in love with Marale, deeply. She had hidden it well until this moment. Marale thought her striking, but his own heart had long since been lost to Laryn. Alin was wise beyond her years to know that, and accept it. That is why she had not shown her open heart to the man until the last moment of their parting. In no way did she wish to pull him down with yet another burden of any kind. By speaking out, unable to hold it longer, it could be known and then released into the air. That was the best way to make it free. It would not fester and grow ugly, but instead, be a wisp of vapor. It was just a dream that never would be a reality. Yet somehow redefined and created again by her actions, then made more powerful, but less gripping even so.

Alin had made a decision. It would lead to nothing, but it was important. It was a question without the hope of a final answer. Expressing her honest feelings was more than a little dangerous in this world, and probably any other. Words she could barely breathe out loud, knowing once having said them, they could not be taken back, were indeed fierce. There was liberty stating the apparent and realizing fully, that it had worth and value, to no one. That way, a heart, her heart, could be liberated. Unfettered with unclear ties for the remaining years of her life.

"You too Wind tamer. I wish you well also. I will never forget you, your bravery and your kindness. May the "air stream that fills the unseen" ever listen to your words, and your songs ever be passed down to your children." That was important. "Yes, may you also be the one to pass them." It was an assurance of her safety. Not that he could promise

such, but that was his quest. The death of all darkness, in which Trath was only part. Evil was huge.

Marale realized that she had prophetically pronounced the end of her own line if it were all true. There would be no more wind tamers. How would that affect Alin's whole world, her way of life, her people? The small red stone, even now resting in the ship called the Shark, was limited. It would die. It would loose power, and grow cold, then still. A whole way of life would also pass away with it.

The woman continued in earnest, "Where there is a chance..., to risk "all" in favor of a better life for many, the decision is simple. To make it complicated is to become confused." It was not scary the way she said it. It was almost reassuring. In fact, by the quality of her voice, Alin sounded as if it were simply a new adventure to be grasped tightly and held onto with zeal.

"the law is clear; the burden is welcome"...

Remembered verses

and Re-remembered songs

taken from

Skalin's journal.

Together, the Cathanel and the Wind tamer took one last moment to say good-bye. No one noticed. The blustery weather was already building, without Alin. The sky was darkening slightly, giving it an odd reflective surface, which felt, wrong. The "Gray," meaning the name for the great, gray expanse of sand, was still full of mysteries to be overcome. Marale and his band were ready.

Then, it was time. There were no spaces left, for breaths to be stolen. It was the kind of thing done, when hearts are torn, without ever being blessed to unite. Painful and harsh, parting..., wrecking unseen damage on both, they would be forever changed. Life is short, and not all paths walk together.

...thoughts from the edge of nowhere!

Remembered verses

and re-remembered songs

taken from Skalin's journal.

The prince and wind fairy, let their hands drop away.

"My ship will sail now for the city of sand, a place called La Lima. I will join others against Harth's galleons. There will be a place for me. I am sure among the fighters. There will always be a place for me as long as I can still call to the wind. We must move now as one to survive the times yet to come. I will fight as I know, how. You need to go and fight as you know, how, also." Alin turned away with her head held high and walked back up the long plank.

Marale turned too, away from the ship and back toward his companions. He could not remember a time when doing anything was of "his own free will". The path before him was clearer and sharper than ever before. Trath may have gained a little time while Marale followed "too" slowly behind, but followed he did. His steps were full of purpose again, and it felt good to be able to progress in a physical manner. Perhaps he was getting his land legs again? The pressing need to hurry was tangible.

The Cathanel, the dragon in human form, joined his friends that now waited, a short space away from the Shark. Then he too turned back to watch the Kira rise, and move at the wind tamer's will. It was a miraculous sight. Marale could feel the breeze increase at her call. Rising in strength to become gale force, as the ship actually lifted from its resting place. Then it moved swiftly away through the sands, with surprising speed. Alin, beautiful, mysterious and wise was ever at the bow.

The wind speaks, words without sound.

"I wish that I had gone with him, somehow...,

if only to fight and die by his side."

A silent tear shed for a different course,

not sailed this day or ever..., the next!

Tan, Tamer of the Wind

Time of the dragon...,

Love can not be unlearned.

Newly remembered verses,

penned neatly along the edges inside;

and re-remembered songs,

placed forever in Skalin's journal

Starring back toward her companions, Alin could see the small band already receded far in the distance. They looked as if they stood on a nearly unseen line, that of the horizon versus the very edge of the world?. It was a trick of the eye, but it was an uneasy sight. Of course, the land continued on beyond the Barren, but that was also outside of the world that Alin knew. This was her place. That was enough.

Watching the ship depart was a sight not to be missed. Yet, hope suddenly felt as if it too had sailed off under the power of the wind. Of course, that was not true; it was only another trick of the Gray.

Now, together, the companions moved on as one toward the place known, as the Rise. They walked their horses through the sand at first to save the strength of their mounts. The solid, land in the distance did not look very appealing. Slowly the sand itself was broken up in places by patches of rough gravel and followed soon after by areas of solid rock. It was black, like the volcanic minerals and deposits of the deep lairs found in the high, Monarch Range. It was the same kind of stone, prevalent in the caves of most all true dragons. The special places where they birthed and reared their young, in the days of old would also be the same. Marale knew this from the memories that threatened to

overwhelm him once again. It was as if while on the Barren, the voices in his head had remained quiet. Now they assaulted his thoughts with a renewed passion. The closer he came to solid ground, the more rock-hard his own life had become.

Twisted, stunted trees had grown up between the cracks in the uneven surface. They had obviously weathered countless harsh storms at some point over the years, as evidenced in their trunks and limbs. There was an eerie kind of silence to this area too. It was kind of a dampening effect. While on the Land Sea there had been a soft, ever-present breeze which carried the shifting sounds of sand. Here, there were only the echoes to be heard of the traveler's movements and that of their mounts.

The sky above was a solid gray ceiling of cloud cover. It had been that way for hours. It was not likely to change for the better. Then they came to a stunted line of twigs. Perhaps they were trees? The ugly "trees" were even more deformed up close. All of them, his companions and himself, had longed for the forest to some extent while in these new lands, but this was not the welcome kind of place they had missed at all. This was just a different type of emptiness. It had the same feel as that of the sea, yet unfulfilling, or even draining in other ways which were hard to find words to express. Depressing.

Tan could feel the tension among her party build, almost tangible within the air. The place had a bad effect on all of them. They had best all move quickly or lose heart. Was there some special curse on the land itself that caused them all to be so subdued? She did not think so. Perhaps it was just the return to the stark reality of their situation. The time aboard the Kira had been grand. It had been a true chance to rest from the terrible veracity of the dark. The Kira had been a sanctuary in the storm of their world for, all of the small band. That was gone now, and only the future could give them the answers to all of their fates.

Marale had finished walking. "Enough!" He mounted his own horse and continued.

The others followed suit. Klar first and then he pulled Tan up to sit in front of him. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms about her and took the reigns. The young woman said nothing, but felt...,?

Lastly, Orn, trailing as always in the back, leaped to his saddle. This was a good thing in the boy's eyes. Sailing was incredible, but he was born to the horse. This was his second home, only less by the space of a single hair than that of being with his family. That which no longer existed was simply gone. He reminded himself not for the last time. Perhaps, now he was with family? The boy liked to believe as much.

The oppressive landscape did not give rise to many conversations. Hours passed and the day crawled by. The sky above became even darker, but the land continued to be flat, rocky and altogether ugly. A storm was coming of great intensity, the dragon knew. It was a storm that would manifest itself in the sky to assault the land, but it would be an ultimate façade. The true turmoil would be the essence of all their tomorrows. Marale could feel it clearly. The closer he drew to Laryn, the stronger the energy grew also. Trath was near, as Marale somehow knew he would be. Alin may have been correct..., the two villains may yet be the same. If they were not, Harth would have to die as well. It was the least he could do for Alin, alone.

Laryn was in the wizard's grasp as the fighter knew she would be. Trath or his minions must have surely killed Retan's son and taken her at the river's edge. There was no other answer. It renewed his hate and energized his will.

Soon enough, Marale came to a stop. He could have continued on but knew the others needed a moment to rest. Their mounts were tired and obviously afraid. The sky above would open up at any moment. Lightening in the distance had raced across the heavens in the far remoteness, back and forth in a terrible waltz. The music to that dance rumbled so hard that it shook the ground the party stood upon. When it finally arrived in full, it would be worth a bard's song.

Marale noticed before him, just off the path was a small grove of trees. They were oaks. Their trunks and limbs were twisted as the others, but there was a kind of calm to their symmetry. He led Klar and the others to them. Together they all huddled close and watched the storm gain even greater force. The air felt heavier even still and weighed down their hearts unnaturally. Then the wind came quickly, moving with force through the trees and chilling all of them to the bone. This place was harsh and cruel on the best of days. Now, it was insanity to believe they could still move forward. It would take "sheer will."

Waiting it out was not going to work. Klar and the others knew it. Marale knew it too, but the last remnant of his humanity feared for his friends. Even the keeper had grown on him. Should he have come alone? Did he really fear to die and therefore needed them somehow? For what? He did not know. Marale gathered his emotions and pushed back the voices of his ancestors.

No! He did not fear to die. He could have come alone, but the man that was Marale knew his friends would not have let that happen. Even Orn had proven that loyalty and love were strong forces. How else could he have crossed the river? He proved more than once he had what was needed to be here, fighting for all that was right. Young, yes, but age was relative.

"We must move on!" Klar, raised his voice to be heard above the storm. "You know we must!" The look in the berserker's eyes mirrored the hate in Marale's core. Trath was still ahead, and every moment they delayed gave the wizard advantage.

"You are right, my friend. Time is now against us." Standing up, Marale pulled his cloak closer around his body. The man was not cold like the others, yet it gave him a sense of worldly security. He knew he was very close to having, fully changed. That is until the completion, his final metamorphosis. It was hard not to face the regrets of his actions, but there had been no other choice. Marale repeated that a couple of times to no one but himself. There had been no choice. There had been no choice at all.

The man or what was left of the man took a long deep breath and commanded his band of followers. "Our destination is still to the north. The Armilander is alive. Laryn has survived. I know this to be true. Trath is using her somehow. As she grows in strength, he grows with her. We go now to stop him. Orn, release the horses. Set them free. They will only hinder us in this storm."

Marale held up a clenched fist, high, "Trath I come for you now!" Moving off together into the growing hurricane, they continued on....

Home

## Chapter Twenty

Dawn

The storm raged outside, battling endlessly against itself and the world of Arrel. The magnificent castle stood firm, mocking the vain attempt of the wind, the rain, and the sea, to bring down its ancient walls. It had been built in the beginning and would stand far past the end. Many, power-mongering royal rulers, evil wizards and groping tyrannical warlords had claimed its walls for their own, but none had lasted as yet. The power of each had been overthrown, taken away or consumed by its own user in the end.

Few knew that fact or the true history of this place, except perhaps the Daughter of the Grand Keeper. She did not share that information with anyone. Well, except pieces perhaps with Mazan, when it became unavoidable. That was the ancient creature that served as a nurse to the Armilander. The old, lizard woman had helped, repeatedly, in and out of Marina's life, ever working to stop Trath. That is until the woman buried her. That, of course, was only one line of possibilities. After that happened, Marina ould no longer contact her friend on this world. It would not be the same. If she had been thinking more clearly, it might have occurred to her; there was an answer. Right in front of her, if she were still alive, then the other woman, or even women, really did die.

It was not good to dwell, but better to move forward. Not all plans were perfect. They start out that way, or at least the designers think so, but rarely is it true.

Her name was Marina Onara, and she had waited long for Trath's return. Perhaps not as long as for the others that came here and died, but long enough. There was one very vital difference between Trath and all the rest. He had successfully bonded with the Armilander. That was the secret of his immortality and ultimately the secret of his strength. Marina had lived since the Armilander's birth only to find a way to stop this one last, wicked, malevolent man.

"Flakes of snow on hot rocks," kept repeating in her head — instances of places or events. A series of endless women's faces that looked just like her own would assault her senses, then vanish. The episodes would pass. Sometimes, there was a twin palace, another keeper and..., death, always death. It did no good to dwell. She was still here and had been successful, up until now. How exactly that occurred was still happening, here, and on the other world, where she killed who? Did that happen only once...? How could she ever know if the memory was the same? Would the Light ever forgive her of such evil? How much was too much?

It had taken much, but a plan had been created and put into place. It was more than dangerous; it was deadly. In the end, "It" had cost her dearly. How could it be explained? How could one life ever be more valuable than another, much less an entire world? A brutal piece of a larger puzzle had come together as a picture of death, her own. For a being that would live forever, that was monumental. The possibility was striking, an emotional ride of confusion and doubt. In the end, as always, the Light was all that held importance. Nothing at all to fear anymore.

The abstract idea that she was real, here and alive, even now was hard to understand. Travel through the mirrors cost something of value always, and never what you can afford to pay. That did not matter, as that was the answer. The quest, her quest had taken her back to Qualer, and further still. Parts were still forming, and yet disappearing, like a dream you can not write down, no matter how you try.

Now, within the study, overlooking the road to the main entrance, Marina sat watching the small party, approach. They were all there, just as she had seen in her dream. The plan had been flawless..., or so she cared to believe. It had to be the right thing! It just had to be for all of Arrel! If not, she was just a murderer and died for nothing. Many more would do the same and follow without hope. The tenses of yesterday, today and tomorrow swam in her head and made her stomach uneasy. Another episode came and passed.

The Time Keeper waited. She was used to that post in her long years of service, but this was harder than usual. There was much hanging in the balance on the scales of justice. The travelers were difficult even for her to see clearly as the storm hid them in the shadows, as well. Yet, Marina was sure of all of them. Brief glimpses of their faces still haunted her at times. Close up, in flashes created from images in the mirrors of Qualer.

Below, deep within the bowels of the castle proper, the Keeper knew Trath held Laryn in his grasp. He had not been here long, yet already she could feel his power growing as the dragon recovered. Marina had to heal the young woman for the wizard, upon his arrival. It had not been a request. That gift was beyond question, in her post as Keeper. It would have been better, however, to let Laryn die. It would have spared many from dying that would not otherwise face that fate. The evil man had the world by the throat, and it would take a hero or indeed heroes, to change that course.

"I can not and will not let you again bring pain to this world!" Marina wanted to scream out the words that hung in her mind. They were powerful and repetitive, like a litany just under her breath. She had stopped others of "supremacy" that had come to use this place and her, for their own ends. However, this one, this wicked man Trath, he was different. Perhaps this was the final test of her world? She tried to set her attention back on the matter at hand and be mindful of the moment. That was after all the tiny party of travelers, near the main gate. Marina stood, with determination and walked from the room. One way or the other she needed to be ready. After all, if Marina were not permitted to work against Trath directly, perhaps indirectly would be enough. The woman's chance may yet come by way of the strangers. The cards had been set up upon the table. She needed to tip them. They were the right people at the right time.

Beyond the study, the hall outside the door, felt longer than Marina remembered from all the years of her life. Each step brought her closer; she could feel to a "set path in time." A direction, the old woman was not going to be able to vary from by much, if at all. Keepers were recorders, and there were rules to her position. Perhaps she had already missed her opportunity to solve the problem of this dark wizard? Marina could not let herself believe that, no matter what. She was not going to go there.

Years ago, when Trath had called to her from the mirror, inside Qualer, she had answered out of fear. Mostly because she knew to stay close to the enemy was better than to watch from a distance. The wizard had thought her just another one of his underlings called forth to be worn out and discarded. The difference was unlike all the other images, shades, and shadows, she was real. Alive then and alive now, Marina being the daughter of a Keeper was immortal herself. It had been dangerous to be within Trath's grasp, as her immortality only extended to her life span, not her physical body. If she were killed by normal means, she would die. However, if left to live, she would do so, until the end of time.

By Marina's account, death had already touched her life, but still, she breathed. Yet, if Trath succeeded in using the Armilander to his own ends, all boundaries would be broken forever.

The nostrils of the huge beast flared wide, testing the air. A single, great yellow eye watched tirelessly into the dark storm. It, he, was the protector. "He," waited for any, who may try to pass. That was the animal's only reason in life to exist. Sharp, iron claws flexed open and closed, again and again, testing, stretching and preparing. The animal was hungry. It was always hungry. It had a name. Few would dare speak it in any language. But the essence of the word in all forms was the same. Rock. Fierce and extremely powerful, the being was only held at bay by the will of Marina alone. He sensed the lady's approach long before he laid his huge eye upon her pleasant form. He served her well as he served his purpose. That alone gave him life. It made him complete.

Marina stopped at the ledge leading to the gateway. Rock was a mere hand full of steps ahead of her. "Ke hali, Great One." Her voice was kind as it always was and always had been. "This night serve me loyally. Understand me now; you will let "all"... pass." The tone of her voice a song. "Believe in me. Obey me Ke Walki!" Marina stepped even closer to the giant animal and calmly reached up, her open hand. The beast bent down slowly, carefully, in response. She caressed the animal's rough face. "My long-time friend, do this for me now. It is important." She ended in a whisper. Yet, his great ears heard everything, including the beating sound of the woman's heart.

"Growling very low," the beast answered her. Affectionately, he nuzzled her, then rubbed his thick fur mane against her arm. She was so very soft and so very loving to a monster that all else feared to contact.

"Thank you, my friend. Thank you!" Marina continued in gratitude. She stroked him softly and made gentle, cooing sounds. Then she patted his high brow one last time tenderly and turned back toward the main hall. Her work at the entrance was done. Rock would do her bidding as he had always done before.

The band grew closer all the while. Marina realized it was only a matter of time. The gate would be clear. She had a plan. The woman continued back, out and up. Her destination, a place to wait in safety.

"I see a castle, a grand palace. There," Klar pointed ahead. "between the cliff and the dark." What words could he say? The "dark," the black, had no form. Klar had to yell at the top of his lungs to be heard. The storm had continued on for hours. Not always directly on them, but all around them. Brief at times, a black, rogue cloud would make life miserable, but pass to join its brothers and sisters. The sky above, gray and thickly overcast regardless. The sun had little or no chance here. Day and night were twins with the same face.

The edges of the sand ocean were ringed with the menacing potential of disaster. It was hard to be sure which would be the worse obstacle. A direct storm for a prolonged period where they were now or the ever burdening peril of the gray? It had unique, and extremely dangerous animals, with ships that refused to follow the natural laws of Arrel. The choice was difficult to be sure. It was best to focus on what was at hand, specific to this ever-increasing dangerous land.

This new place ahead? Was it better? Doubtful. Nothing was ever going to be "better" unless they succeeded. A wave of complete commitment washed over the fighter's heart. His life had little value, compared to the greater good. That did not scare him. It made him whole and complete. Klar had no clue that he had become a paladin. Titles and accolades were for the children of tomorrow, and the bloody, here and now was still changing. History would write the truth in the end. That is if any survived to take it down by quill and ink.

The group had traveled slowly, but steadily the whole way. The terrain had finally changed somewhat. It now holds more trees and bushes along the path. By no means did they offer any real protection. They were only stubs and shrubs, holding onto life. The sand had given way to solid ground for a while. Then it shifted to mud. It sucked at their boots and held them back as it could. There had been no rain here recently on this area of the trail, yet it was bogged. The sky above threatened to make sure it stayed that way or worse. A torrent would be on them, at any given beat, but there was nothing to be done.

Then without further admonition, it let loose. Painfully, making progress a battle, against a foe that did not bleed or feel pain.

Klar knew now that he had been correct. He had heard the true sounds of an ocean. It rang in his ears. The man loved the music of the waves. They stood out among the other noises. The song was pleasant and reassuring. Even if violent in nature at this time, the depth of its meaning was ultimately equal. The apparent fact, the musicians were non-existent, only simple water? That made it all the more wondrous and uncanny. It was an unreal orchestra, ever playing instruments to secret enthusiasts and passionate, clandestine admirers. Here, in this place? What sea could this be?"

The land, the terrible land of gray sands, was ending completely. That was a blessing, the way his heart thought. Anywhere from that place was a step up. Then, there was that incredible resonance just ahead. That gave him a calm timbre of expectation tinted with the strange and powerful flavor of anticipation.

The runner did not know his own past well. He was just a breed. Worse yet, a berserker. Klar's father, of course, was the same, like all the rest. The importance of his lineage was unclear if at all, of note. His mother? The stories were not plain, in that area. Only pieces of things were passed to him, snippets and remembrances. The man was told about her people; at least where they had came from. They had lived by the "shores." Perhaps that is why the water sang to him even now?

When it came to Klar himself, it had been a different story. He had grown up in the Maralan. Instead of sand and beaches, the boy had been raised, as all his kind had been, and would be. Under the masters and teachers of the great wood, the Maralan they served, as was fit. First, as near slaves, then pupils, some trained if gifted or if not, used as guards, guides, messengers, and underlings. Then later they were released as full runners. Freedom? To belong, and to be accepted? Not as a human would ever comprehend.

Klar was uniquely aware; the distance beckoned to him. Some kind of bond? In this hard land, he could not feel certain, yet recognized, an implausible connection to the waters. Odd?

Their small group had endured. It would continue. The gray sands, the deadlands, sharks, mud, and more had not stopped them. They moved ever forward. Klar grinned. The ocean was just ahead. How could that be bad?

It was getting late in the day. It all seemed the same, but Marale's inner clock told him as much. A change had come with every step nearer to their goal. The weather intensified. The drizzle continued, but there was more. Even larger, black billowing clouds were forming, rising like giants from nothing. This time, not moving away, but gathering. It appeared the odd ring of tempest vapors, held at bay along the outer-edges of the seen sky, was broken. The gaseous uproar was moving in too, gaining power and promising death. Was it controlled? Marale would not have been surprised. Either by trickery, of illusion or other mechanics of power, but similarly the same.

The rain burst from above, pouring on their heads. They were having an impossible time. Travel had come to a near stop. Even for a berserker, a true blood elf, or a keeper, it was not going well. As for Marale himself, Klar suspected his friend could see in pitch-black. It concerned him that their leader may try to leave them all behind?. The fighter was not going to let that happen if he could help it!. On the other hand, Tan's blindness had been a disability in the beginning, but her new sight gave her new possibilities. As long as Marale had any heat to his body at all, she could follow. It was a bit ironic that Klar had led her around, and now she may have to lead him? That is before the end of the journey.

Marale stopped suddenly. He called back over his shoulder. "Klar, are we close?" His eyes, dark and unblinking. They surveyed the path ahead with intense, abandoned. His own emotions were racing and hard to control. "The evil is here, but her? I can not feel." The agony apparent, even with the lack of his humanity. The prince had given all, for Arrel. More correctly, he had given all for Laryn, and Arrel reaped the windfall.

Klar answered. "Yes."

Then the man turned back to face all of his companions. Marale stared directly toward the girl. "Tan, do you feel her? You told me you came for, the Armilander. The fact is, you came for Laryn." In a funny way, he was glad to have the woman near. Marale was not sure why, but their destinies were linked. This odd keeper? This stranger now friend, that came from seemingly nowhere was important. Things happened for reasons; his faith would have to fill in the blanks.

Another world, another time, perhaps? What did it matter Tan's origin? She was here. The complications of that whole idea were too numerous to count. Marale, did not understand what it was to be a cathanel? He never would. In his changes, the one common denominator was how closely, the "man" now saw them "all" as one, connected. From the first of them to the last, humans, elves, runners, windtamers and all assorted other kinds as well. How clear..., and yet...?

"Yes! She is near. The Armilander must be in that place." Tan pointed toward the castle in the distance. Even though the clouds and semi-darkness of the day, it was still visible at least in part. That was not how Tan perceived it. The walls, pulsed with power, warm and probably volcanic. "It will be hard to reach, but that is where we must go." The girl screamed back to be heard.

"Then so will Trath. He will be there as well." Marale felt an exhilarated sense of well being. His blood raced faster, his heart pounded harder, and his wide chest moved mindful, of the newness, now in full effect of his body. The end of the quest was close indeed. If he could fight here, it would be over. The remnant of men and elves back in the south would continue. Marale would cut the head off the deadly viper, the sinister, ugly man, and only lesser things would be left. They would be nothing to deal with. Here, in this far place, the constrained limits and boundaries of his purpose had, function.

"What will you do Marale? When we find Laryn and Trath, what will you do? I can feel them. They are near." Then there was a pause. A full breath and then again, louder than before, "You can not kill him without her as well." The wind blew harder, trying to take her words away, unheard. "I know that you are aware of that fact. Do you plan to die with her?" The keeper continued. Her own, path unsure. Was she here to save or kill? So focused on just getting to their destination, faced with the "end" Tan was confused. Irrational thoughts and doubts about the outcome regardless of the final battle assaulted her consciousness. What world or worlds would live? What would die?

Marale looked down at his hands, gloved but still. Beneath the material was all different. It was him, but not. He no longer cared. His life made a difference, or it would, too many. The emotions of an entire race of memories flooded to the front of his thoughts. Each, wanting even demanding to claim the instant. All of them, just leftover echoes of another time.

"Can you kill her? Do you have that kind of strength?" Pain and fear, filled Tan's heart. She dared to ask a harder question, "Do you love her that much?" She could see the big man was struggling with something. What to do next? Or, ultimately, what sacrifice would have to be made to stop wickedness? Her own world needed the Armilander to survive. That, at least, is what master Canth had told her. Or is that what he really meant to say? It is surely what brought her to this place. Now? With all the suffering she had witnessed, what was the right path?

To bring her, the Armilander, back to the masters, to the place of teachers? To accomplish...what? The young dragon, may restore some missing component to their needs, but was that her right, or theirs'? The new creation, the baby, was born here. That meant there was a greater, higher force at work. More wild thoughts invaded her mind, giving rise to further confusion. Tan felt unwell, inside, to the bone.

They all knew it. They were very near the conclusion of their journey, Tan had to face the real possibility that Marale would not listen, and her quest would still fail. The keeper, not yet truly trained, had not spoken overly loud this time. She let her words drift off. Regardless, she knew that the Cathanel could hear, none the less. She had watched carefully as the final changes had taken hold of his body. He was not a man. A mighty, even miraculous event had occurred marking time. A point in history that should never have happened. Like the Armilander, "born out of time," meaning the timeline of a world. He too was now an anomaly. A Ticar had been used to create a new being. It was a catalyst, a force of change, brought on by his love of, and for Laryn.

Tan knew to be a male dragon of old; the man would be lost. Marale had asked about the stone at her throat, ages ago in the tent. At least it felt like "ages" past. The Ticar's were powerful stones by all accounts, but in all her studies, she had not believed the legend of the dragon. It had been master Canth himself that had relayed the tale.

"In the darkness of a world where a dragon is born out of sync, there is a hole. The Ticar may be used to provide an answer." Canth mumbled. What answer? The girl wondered. Secretly she wished she had paid a bit more attention. He was just so boring most of the time.

"The stones were created by the guardians in the beginning. Their very blood was used to make them. The energy they held inside was a promise of life. Only a handful of the tiny talismans existed. They were given to the first dragons for safekeeping. That is why they were called dragon's stones. Some also called them tears. Why is unwritten." Canth droned on for hours to Tan one night in his high study. The whole subject had been a true passion for the man, the history and lessons of Arrel, all of them.

The Time Keeper, even unqualified as she was, fully understood the splitting points and reflections that connected the parallels. Most importantly, Tan never told Canth she owned one, a stone that is. Did he know? Hum. The fact that she was the daughter of Bracanth should have already made that clear, by line-of-succession.

Most specifically, the morals and values of the different races left scars and changes to the world without meddling. The Ticar stones were important, yes, but not the whole answer. They were like reminders to those that kept faith with the promise of the Light. Tan was made to listen and understand and then forget. It was a funny way of learning. The highest knowledge and most powerful emotions were passed down to the young but only revealed as they grew old enough to understand and recall them.

Tan now remembered. She recalled the night clearly, and everything that Canth had said. The Ticar had interested Marale back days ago in his tent because it was a dragon's stone. No wonder he had trusted and mistrusted her all at the same time. The man must have had one and used it, to become the Cathanel. It was all so very clear to the young keeper now.

Here, standing in the middle of an unknown land, a huge storm raging all around, and almost certain death at hand before the next sunrise, all was clear. She almost wanted to laugh out loud to think that now she would be at the right point in time for the "remembering" to take place.

The recall of every word came sudden. Perhaps the stress and pressure of the moment, the need, or timing? For a Keeper that was a rich joke indeed, but not funny at all. All the information that she had thought lost was still hers.

Did master Canth plan it all that way? That was a jarring thought. Could he have known so far in advance where her path would lead? Tan thought not. It was more likely, chance. At least that is what she preferred to believe. Otherwise would attribute to much power to just a man.

"I do not know yet," Marale answered her question in a low voice, but it carried strong above the storm. "I will not know what I will do or can do until I have Laryn before me." There was just the subtlest hint of panic in his voice. She doubted anyone noticed except her.

That reply would have to do. Tan resigned herself to the reality that this was going to play itself out in the manner it was meant to. Whatever that might be would just have-to-be. Tan found there was a certain kind of calm in that epiphany. Instead of bending the moment, she let go. How could she know the right move to make? Except by acceptance. Moment to moment, trying to do the right thing, up until she could do no more, would have to be sufficient.

Klar took the lead. He did not really care what Tan had to say to Marale. It was all that he could do for himself to hold back his own berserker rage. The castle was close now, and he found he wanted to rush forward. The closer he came to the wizard, the harder time he had to just hold onto his sanity. Klar's animal senses were on full alert as they drew near to the main gate. He stopped suddenly.

"Marale, there is a beast nearby. I do not know what kind. I have never encountered the smell of such a thing." Klar stood very still, then after several beats, he continued, "It is large, very large."

The party slowed their movements at Klar's direction but unrelentingly continued on with extreme caution. The great gates to the castle proper were clear before them. The heavy rain still beat down upon their heads and drenched their bodies. Lightning flashed all around, and the rumble that followed was deafening.

Home

The Great Wood

A place where all are welcome,

no one asks questions

Of your past...!

Chapter Twentyone

## Ever After

In the courtyard just beyond the main gate, the beast could be seen in the next bright flash that filled the sky above. It was gargantuan. The size of it was at least thirty-plus feet, at the shoulder. The eye was bright if not brilliant yellow and glowed back at the strangers like a giant's lamp in the window of a distant tower.

The band continued forward even with the beast waiting. If they were going to have to fight to get by, then fight they would. Klar actually liked the idea. It was about time that he did something. Traveling, tracking, and questing were hard enough, drowning in pouring, ice rain for days, intolerable, but warfare he understood.

The beast was even larger than any of them had first thought. Huge claws glistened brightly, even in the darkness. Flashes made the surfaces shine, keenly. Black fur covered its body completely. The animal was similar to a boar, yet the head was not quite right. It would not be easy to take down. However, as the travelers drew even closer, it never moved. It just watched them with its one, intelligent eye. To all of their surprise, it did nothing. It let them pass.

"Bestar falon." Tan whispered. The keeper was cautious of an attack still. Carefully she used her talents to seek an answer. To her shock, the animal growled a short response. Tan could not quite understand, but the underlying meaning was sure enough.

"Marale, it will not move. I don't know why, but I know it will not." As for her self, Tan was glad they would not have to fight the thing. It would not have gone well. Something told her that the creature was very old, but that did not make it slow or weak. The idea that it let them pass at all, meant something important, but what? Tan had no idea.

Lightning lit the sky for several beats followed by a deafening roll of thunder. The storm was growing stronger if that were possible still?. The thunder continued to rumble and shake the ground with its power. The squall felt like it had arrived at the castle on purpose, as if alive, sentient and called. They now stood in the center of its ferocity. Normally the eye of a storm would be calm, yet this was the center of chaos. Tranquil or peaceful were never aligned with "unleashed" disorder.

"We will pass then," Marale responded in turn. The man continued forward. "The Light of this world is on our side. My father, my grandfather, and the line of my sons should there be sons at all, know and will know that we have a place within that brightness." He continued on never looking back. The words were spoken as a statement, to the history of time. There was no reply; the keepers of this Arrel were silent to his song. There were only his companions, offering their own lives to help the cause. That, in the end, was far more valuable.

The main gate was behind them, and the entrance to the castle proper was within reach. "The path is clear before us. It is clearer than ever. We must take it." The Cathanel walked forward, boldly toward the enemy. "I am here, Laryn." He called, as a man in love. It was not weak in tone, but full of ferocity for her safety.

Marale and then Tan led the way within the huge entrance. Klar and Orn followed now behind the other two.

Bright hot torches lit the main hall. They cast odd shadows upon the walls all around. It added to the dire mood of the night outside. Orn was pleased to be out of the rain, even if it were to be standing in enemy territory. He was tired of fighting the weather, and it would be a good feeling to fight a foe, he could perhaps win against.

The ceiling was high above their heads. It was easily the space of a hundred feet or more. It was also made of something clear, that one could see the dark sky above, outside. The flashing lightning filled the chamber repeatedly with its brightness. The rolling thunder was a bit more subdued here in the interior. Yet the strobe effect made it hard to see consistently. If it were not for the torches which remained steady, the effect would be disorienting. The brilliance of the "bursts of energy" amplified and reflected within the walls of the castle proper, the equivalent was nothing less than a light show at a royal court event. All shiny things sparkled when the light danced.

Between the short episodes of dark, followed by the grand cascades of natural fireworks overhead, it all served to help the small group see the walls of the main chamber. They were painted with grand pictures of beautiful beasts from the sea. That magnificence was not lost on any of the party, by any means. This place was old like the Tower in the south, which is where they had fought Trath, days ago. Perhaps it was even older by the measure of many lifetimes. It was sad that such a place was used as the common refuge of evil. Trath encompassed only a piece of something larger than himself and turned it ugly, to his own needs, yet it was enough to kill many.

Then again, the lightning streaked across the sky above. With its passing did not come the sound of thunder, but instead the reverberation of laughter. It was a terrible sound which echoed around the chamber many times. There was death mixed within the tenor of a skeletal wraith. "You are very determined I give you that Selnz." A long pause followed. "Your grandfather Annon was also determined, like you. That matters little." The voice was playful in a revolting manner, like a cat with a barnyard mouse, caught and awaiting the inevitable.

The companions all listened. Each knowing that they would probably never leave this place. Yet, none felt that to be worth considering turning back or changing their path.

"All men bleed and die. I will see your blood spilled upon my floor, and your body left for the wild dogs of my house to dine upon." The laughter, cold and malicious, the sound like shadows turned to shade, drifted as if tangible, then into silence.

Marale responded in kind, "Trath! Show yourself! I have not come to play games. You speak with me, Marale is my name. True enough, I am the grandson of Annon, the Paladin, but..., you are also wrong." There, his words gained muscle and authority simply by giving them breath. "I am not a Selnz but a Cathanel. Small men, who dare to meddle with the affairs of dragons, dare, also to risk the dragon's wrath." There were supremacy and command in the man's words. It was not the misleading rule of magic or trick illusion, but the kind of energy that feeds real truth and justice.

Silence, Marale's answer for many moments. Then finally, a low, ominous reply, "You can not kill me Marale, for you would be alone." The evil wizard waited for his terrible threat to sink in. "Alone." He repeated louder, in an odd accented tone. The word was weighted. Funny how fear always has a home in our head, when we thought it an unlikely resident. Like a tiny ant that found a way in, under the careful watch of the vigilant. Instantly, causing a single cord of disbelief in one's self.

More laughter followed. Some kind of exchange had occurred. A battle had begun, and although the war was not won, a terrible strike had been dealt.

"I will deal with you later. Leave now, and I will allow you to see the Armilander... one day, maybe." Trath felt good. His threats were real. Somewhere even darker, in the far reaches of the evil man's mind, he entertained the thought of controlling both the Armilander and the Cathanel. Such, incredible and volatile power had never been harnessed before. It was a wonderful, warm thought. He would be the most unassailable, ruler, to ever live on the world Arrel. Now that was worth considering.

"Loneliness!" It echoed within Marale's mind and memory. His ancestors called from the past warning of this line of thinking. They screamed at him from memories, not truly his. It made the present hard to hold on to. It made him question his reasons. Why was he here? How could he believe he could save her? Laryn, beautiful, timeless, and lost, she was everything. What evil words...?, led him into an odd spin, like a drug, taken unwillingly. Perhaps by touch or even inhaled in with the very air alone, somehow it had happened.

Trath had done it. The wizard had unleashed the voices from the past, and they were threatening Marale's sanity. A single word, a single thought? The bond of love was great, but for his heart, it was complete. The enemy had found the chink in the dragon's scales.

Tan realized, quickly that things were not going well. She moved off to the side a few steps away from the Cathanel. He seemed stopped in his tracks and was now fighting a foe she could never hope to see. The keeper removed the tear brought from her world, from the safety of her neck. In a small voice, she spoke only to her self. "I must use the stone to bring the Armilander back to my world." Tan could feel her close by. The young dragon, had changed the fabric of her surroundings, by simply being alive. Trath, the bad man had changed things that had consequences. Most would not even be known for generations. It was a symbolic box opened that held more than contents; it held ideas and emotions, greater by far than its boundaries. Malevolence, in any form cared little for effects, other than those, planned for that fit its own end.

Perhaps the young keeper dared to consider, "I can even save them both by doing that?" Marale loved Laryn, so here or there, back on the teacher's world? It did not matter. As long as they lived, Tan was sure Marale would agree. Then, having decided, Tan lifted her other hand to clasp the stone tightly and...!

Before she spoke the first word, she heard a familiar voice in her head as surly as in her heart. "Tan, your task is almost finished. Our time has come. Destroy the stone and the Armilander." The voice was strong. "The Ticar..., is nothing. Release it, and the energy will hold our world with life, to live by. Release the power all at once. Give Arrel back to man, to follow his path, not one chosen for him." It was Tan's father's voice, which echoed within her very being. A stronger memory than that of Canth. It replaced her goal in a new direction. "Freedom."

"No, father!" Tan pleaded suddenly out loud. "So many people will die if I do as you say now. A world without hope is cold." Tan felt trapped. She was not able to gather the power and pull the Armilander back to her world, nor could she destroy the Ticar. Now she understood why it was also called a "tear." The choice between what you know and the possibility of what you do not was indeed a mighty burden. Her heart cried on the inside, as she was locked in indecision on the out.

Tan hovered between two ultimate possibilities, two terrible futures. The one path that she knew from all of her training, and the other was the love and loyalty she had for her father. The remembering was complete. Master Canth had passed knowledge to his pupil, but the knowledge had not been his that had been a lie. It had been Bracanth's. It had always been the strength of her father, passed to his daughter as was the way. It had to have been, for Tan to hear his words now. The old teacher knew that. Yet, he too sent her to this place for a reason as well.

Some part Canth wanted her to do the bidding of the masters, yet another part left her wanting more, and questioning. The teacher had always done that to her, made her think for herself. So even if that meant the end of his own time, he had wanted her to follow what was right. That would quite possibly be the end of the teachers and all of their line as well. That was just part of the time procession. As a keeper, that had been the reason for her existence. Now?

Marale stood long, transfixed by Trath's threat, thinking of "loneliness." It was a hard and long way to die for his kind. He was by all intents, and purposes a true Cathanel.

Orn watched with Klar as his friends; both stood entranced.

Klar cursed beneath his breath and pushed passed his brother in- arms, Marale. He ran forward toward the opening at the far wall of the chamber. His berserker senses helped him now. All his life, they had been a detriment. Here in this place at the edge of the world, they were by far an unexpected asset. After so many years as a cast out mutant, the irony of the moment was not lost on his self-worth.

The hall beyond the main chamber was empty. Klar ran forward into the darkness, ever downward into the castle's very bowels. The man was fierce, fearless, and without regret.

The berserker's eyes dilated, and Klar could see clearly as never before. The stench of Trath and the darkness of his evil, his deceptions were an easy path to follow. Like wisps of lives, no longer at rest, because of the terrible wizard. They appeared as vapor and mist. Everywhere, and nowhere, they passed by the man and through the walls, in and out. "Unrest," in ways that should never be considered, had materialized into tangible forms. All, drifted, cast aside, and helpless in this world.

Finally, Klar found the right door. It was large and made of solid, heavy wood. There were beams of iron that held it together as well. Summing up the strength, the runner had never had except within his purest madness; he hit it. The wood splintered into a thousand pieces, and the way before him was open.

Instantly, Klar marked his target inside. He could feel the madness of the animal within trying to consume him, but instead, he reigned supreme. The man was Klar and the beast all at the same time. It had never been like that before! His focus had never been so intense and so perfectly apparent. The fighter, the warrior, the runner, was free! He pulled his sword in one fluid action and leaped in the same motion across the short space. Klar was no longer a berserker, wild, out of control and insane. Instead, he was a free man with a purpose.

At the same moment, the young keeper worked her way loose, from indecision and doubt t. Tan knew time had drawn to a close and chose a path. The stone before her, the ticar glowed brightly with life. The keeper spoke the words of her ancestors, "I, Tan, the keeper, believe only in the Light." The highest offering, to the greatest power, reflected clearly in her statement. Then she crushed the stone.

Simultaneously the blade held by Klar's hand slid into Trath's chest, and both the stone and the Armilander ceased to be. Trath's connection was powerful. His death was the death of Laryn. While the runner had no idea that was the repercussion, the paladin understood that more was happening than was before him, and yet his actions would have been the same. One man is not worth all those that still live. Marale would be proud of him. He had grown much from the untamed fighter to a selfless hero; no one would ever know about. Runners were just that and nothing more. That was okay with Klar.

Marale stood shaking, suddenly transforming beyond his will. The man's neck grew long, and his body expanded in size. The last hold on to his "reason" that Marale possessed, was slipping away with the death of the Armilander. Yes, he felt her pass; he felt the blade as if it had gone through his own heart. Down to his core, he wished that had been true.

Nearly inaudibly Marale, the Prince, the Paladin, The Cathanel, the simple man..., choked out the words, "An extra hand!" He dropped Ishtabar the sword of his ancestors, to the ground. He found his knees buckled, and the floor rushed up. With great effort, he pulled himself to be on his knees again as if praying. His mouth moved; no words came forth. His once handsome face, turned long ago into something new and different, now showing only jarring, intense pain.

Orn heard the "hurt" within his friend. It was anguish from the abyss itself. He so respected and loved the man; he dared not fail him now. With the agility of a young elf, Orn leaped and rolled across the short distance to Marale's feet. The changing animal did not notice the boy or the possible danger. Orn picked up the sword, retrieved it, and held it high.

Orn, the boy, now the man, swung Ishtabar with all his strength up and into the "beast." Marale was no longer a man; he was no longer anything that he once had been. The blade struck full force, deep. The thing, the creature one and the same. "It," and Marale screamed in agony; one lost to hopelessness, the other beyond his force to end. Deafened, Orn barely moved to the side in time, as the dragon fell to the floor to die in peace. He was halfway between this world and halfway to the next, but caught at a sad point where neither, is or was what it was believed to be.

Outside the storm lessened in strength. "A new dawn? Yes, new dawn!" Marina whispered as the clouds broke apart, and the sun tipped the horizon. She sat watching from the north tower, knowing that all was well.

These heroes had set the timeline right again. They had done what she could never do. A smile touched her lips for the first time since she could remember, and that was indeed a long while. She would go to them and help as she could, now. They deserved a great reward for their sacrifice and loss, but sadly nothing she could offer would ever fill that void.

There would be no more... "other timelines." Only this "one" would remain. That was okay as well. An uncomplicated life, with focus on the truth, and the Light, was the best any man could pray for...!

Marina rose from her chair, turned, and walked now with purpose across space, to the door. Then out and down the long spiral to the rooms and halls below. Then forward to her destination.

With Trath dead, her powers in this land should have returned as before. That too was not going to happen. She thought it would go that way, so it was no surprise. Tan had seen to that by her own faithful actions. It was a deed, a motion, an event, that had implications still unfelt even now. Again, that was okay with the old lady. She had lived long. Now she would die, a normal death after a normal length of time. That is not as scary has it might sound. Going home, the chance, the very chance..., that was a dream made real in itself. The remainder of her days, she would live and honor the Light.

Slowly she headed down. She was not that far from, all that had taken place. She had stayed safe, in case things had gone differently. Yet in the end, it would not matter. The woman would not have wanted to live in a world controlled by the "dark." Yet, it was not about dying and going home as this battle had been greater. The ultimate reality was that good had triumphed, and always would. That was true by the very definition of the meaning.

Tan would be okay. Marina ticked off the points of importance in her head. She would no longer be a "keeper" as that was passed, but she would still be okay. The difference would be more about finding a new way of life. That held a mountain of possibilities.

As for Klar, the death of his life's best friend was hard, but even he understood. Sacrifice was painful, often necessary. None of their party expected to survive. They should have died numerous times but did not. What he saw, when he returned to the main hall? It was not his boyhood companion, regardless. It was something very different.

He approved of Orn's actions, even if they broke his heart at the same time. The boy was every bit a good man. Klar liked that. By the stories that Marale would tell Klar as a kid, Orn would soon be called, "Paladin" to his face. His bravery beyond doubt his loyalty to the "Light" unquestionable, a title well earned. Klar would make sure he received the Thunder Whip, as he too knew its history. Marale would have liked that he was sure. The traditions of heroes would continue.

As for himself, he had a clear course of action. How long had it been that he was allowed freedom? What would it be like not to hunt the enemy every day from each dawn to the small hours of the night? This whole rush of emotions, mixed well with his inclusive future. Tan. Beautiful, ever mysterious, the woman from another world...! Thinking of that subject, left him in a very good mood. Something worth living for..!

Klar had a plan.

Notes and Acknowledgements

This Book received the

CAMP NANOWRIMO AWARD 2019

#CAMPNANoWinner 2019!

Brand New Poetry and Story Web Site

International Award Winning:

Ann Foster

Short Stories, Poems and Quotes

More Books!

Just wanted to thank you, for your time and loyal readership. Hope you enjoyed the adventure. May your days be safe and blessed.

I have more, new titles already started. The best part, they range from a penguin in space, back down to Earth with a hard as nails woman detective.

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All pictures reserved copyright by CAP

A friend in the Woods by A. Foster

A man crashes in the forest. The friends that come to help him out, may eat him instead? Well, the fact is the animals are Shifters. They are human scientists with genetically altered and upgraded DNA. The alterations allow them to become other forms. They are hiding out to stop the Company from using their Science to create Forever Soldiers. Slaves! But they may get more then they bargained for!

ISBN 9780463330166

Take a chance "Romance" by A. Foster

An evening out, never to forget!

Karen, returns home after over ten years, to the family farm. It was all due to the death of her brother. Tim. She finds herself working through hard emotions from loss and regret to hope and maybe even love? The little town of Last Stop is not very friendly at first, but acceptance of Karen into their lives is quickly evident.   
On Valentine's Day, Will the Postman for Last Stop delivers her an invitation, to take a chance. She just can not seem to decline it, no matter how she tries.

ISBN 9781370690107

Babbit the Rabbit by A. Foster

Babbit works for The Boss. He is a klutzy, left-footed, messenger and errand runner, nicknamed "The Rabbit". He accidentally loses the "Protection Book" at the Metro Library while there, with his nephew. The Metro happens to be the "Titanic" of all libraries. The "Book" could put The Boss away for life! In an effort to find the book, Babbit and The Boss's son Joseph, rope the whole crazy gang into going to the Library to find it, before Officer Maren or anyone else, lay their hands on it.

The adventures that follow are a recipe for havoc, chaos, and disaster.

ISBN 9781370799404

Thank you...

and God Bless!

Redneck Mustard Seeds, Poetry, Quote and Story collection.

Available in print January 1, 2020

"In God We Trust"

