

Apothecary

Fantasy Anthology

Copyright © 2013, 2017 by Thomas Fay

Second Edition

Smashwords Edition

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Cover by Yvonne Less (www.diversepixel.com)

Also by Thomas Fay:

A Mind Supreme (SF Short Stories)

**Table of Contents**

Apothecary (Flash Fiction)

Brothers (Short Story)

The Beast Within (Flash Fiction)

The Last of the Frost Giants (Novella)

Angel's Sin (Flash Fiction)

The Book (Short Story)

The Doorway (Flash Fiction)

Crystal Dragon (Short Story)

Darkness (Flash Fiction)

Finders Keepers (Short Story)

The Dryad (Flash Fiction)

White Always Moves First (Short Story)

Magician (Flash Fiction)

# Apothecary

My name is Samuel Tinkerbaum and I own the finest apothecary in all the land. In truth, it's the only apothecary. Well, the only _real_ one.

I offer cures for all types of known ailments and some that my customers haven't even thought of yet. With war and plague rife, business is booming.

'I need something for my blistered feet,' Mrs Black wails. A mixture of clove, garlic and wild mushroom should clear that right up.

'Do you have anything to help me lose weight?' asks Mrs Jones. Certainly, drink this concoction of lemongrass and stinkweed.

Then there are the more exotic solutions to life's little problems. The type of business that is usually conducted after the sun has disappeared from the sky.

'My neighbour has this annoying dog that won't stop barking,' a grey-haired man who prefers to remain anonymous whispers in my ear. Try this, I say, as I hand him a small vial of suitably dark and foreboding liquid. Essentially swamp mud and some charcoal.

My customers come in all shapes and sizes, ages and races. I don't discriminate. One person's money is just as good as another's.

'How about a love potion?' asks a shy, acne-ridden teenage boy from another village. Of course! Bat wing sprinkled with cinnamon and a touch of clover. Like that would ever do anything.

But that's the thing. _It works._ Everything I sell does exactly what I promise it will. So what's my secret, you ask?

Well, it's certainly not the ingredients or how I prepare them. They are exactly what I say they are; everyday objects I find in and around the village and on my travels throughout the surrounding woods. So how does it work?

To be honest, I'm not sure. It has something to do with the apothecary being located on a mystical intersection of cosmic energies. I wasn't listening that carefully when the former owner explained it to me one night after he'd drunk too much ale. It's amazing what people will tell you once the drink takes hold.

What happened to him you ask? Well, let's just say that he now resides downriver. About a day's walk and six feet under the surface of that river, to be precise. It's incredible how a good-sized rock can change your life. Thankfully, the former owner was kind enough to bequeath the apothecary to me before he moved away.

Kings and princes have offered me lands and riches to join their courts. I always turn them down politely. I know my place in life.

My name is Samuel Tinkerbaum and I own the finest apothecary in all the land. So if you ever need a cure for that pesky rash that won't go away or you just need a little help with everyday life, come and see me. Gold and jewels accepted. Interesting trades always considered. _No_ credit.

See you soon.

The End

# Brothers

A savage howl split the air. It was a vicious, primordial sound made by a creature long since forgotten. It echoed through the darkened woods carrying with it a forlorn tale of sorrow and loss.

Mary Latham shivered as the sound washed over her. Images of unspeakable horrors manifested before her eyes. A ferocious maw dripping with blood opened wide to engulf her, as flaming eyes bore into her soul. She fought to breathe as the sound reached a crescendo, engulfing her in a nightmare of her own imagining.

Then it was gone.

Mary took a deep breath. Releasing her grip on the tavern door she stepped out into the night. The door closed behind her. The light spilling out from the tavern disappeared to be replaced by silvery streams of moonlight filtering through the trees above.

Her breathing returned to normal as she walked down the path leading back to town. Rows of ancient oak trees stood on the edge of the path like silent guardians holding at bay the darkness beyond.

Mary quickened her pace. It wasn't safe to be outside the town walls after dark. Not that it was ever truly 'light' in Wood Haven. As far back as she could remember, the town and surrounding forest had always been shrouded in a never-ending veil of murkiness. It was said that not even the most gifted of mages could dispel the veil.

The path curved to the right and Mary saw the torches of Wood Haven burning atop its reinforced palisade. Town watch holding long bows moved silently along its perimeter. She was almost home.

As her sense of foreboding lifted, she looked closely at the distant silhouettes of the town watchmen. A smile blossomed on her face as she thought of her beloved Sam.

The sharp crack of a branch caused her to start. Casting a furtive glance into the woods, she quickened her pace. The trees were empty.

'Hello, Mary, I've been expecting you.'

Mary gasped as Jerome Blackstone emerged from the darkness, blocking her way.

'Jerome, what are you doing here?' she asked.

He moved closer to her, the stench of sour ale thick on his breath.

'Come on, Mary; don't pretend like you don't know. I saw the way you were looking at me tonight.'

He reached out towards her but she pulled away.

'Jerome, you know I don't think of you that way anymore. Besides, it's late and I need to get home.'

'Let me walk you,' Jerome offered. Despite the calmness in his voice his eyes betrayed his true intentions.

'I've walked this road many times before and do not require your assistance.'

Jerome lowered his head.

'It's because of Sam, isn't it?' he asked.

'Yes. I'm sorry, Jerome. What we had was special but it's over now. You need to move on.'

Jerome nodded and Mary felt a sense of relief as he turned away. Before she could take a step, he grabbed her arm.

'I can't let you go, Mary, I can't—'

'Jerome, stop it! You're hurting me.'

'Mary, I love you. Don't you understand?'

She knew Jerome was a decent man but he'd obviously had too much to drink and it was clouding his judgment. Freeing herself from his grip, she looked at the torches flickering in the distance. It was too far. No one would hear her scream.

'Jerome, I do understand but you need to realise that I've moved on.'

Something moved in the woods beside her. Risking a quick glance, she caught sight of a pair of blood-red eyes staring back at her. The eyes were enormous.

Jerome moved closer.

'No, Mary. You don't understand.'

She knew she'd never make it but she tried. Feinting to the left, she ran past him as he grabbed high and wide. Breathing hard she ran straight for the torches of Wood Haven. The distant fires swam before her eyes as she sucked down mouthfuls of cold night air. Her heart pounded in her chest. Something heavy crashed into her. Landing hard, she rolled over in time to see Jerome draw a knife. The moonlight danced across the blade as he raised it high above his head.

'I really didn't want to hurt you, Mary,' he said.

A terrible sense of anger washed over her. It was so raw, so savage, that her entire body shook with fear. Turning her head, she watched as the beast leapt out of the trees. Its gigantic form blotted out the moonlight as Jerome screamed. Then he stopped. His lifeless body toppled over as the knife fell useless to the ground.

Mary scrambled to her feet. The beast stared at her as its pitch-black body breathed in and out. It was the largest wolf she had ever seen.

Too tired to run, she watched as the beast moved closer. Its red eyes stared directly at her. Mary frowned. There was something familiar in those eyes. She had seen them before.

'Leave her be!' a voice called out.

The beast's eyes flicked from Mary to the woods. Throwing its head back, it howled once and fled the way it had come.

Mary turned to find Old John Dern standing on the edge of the road. His face was a mask of determination as he watched the dark wolf disappear. The moment it was gone his expression changed. He looked old and tired.

'Thank you,' Mary managed to say.

The old man waved her gratitude aside.

'What is your name, child?' he asked.

'Mary. Mary Latham.'

'You have your mother's eyes.'

'You knew my mother?'

Old John nodded.

'I never did,' Mary said, turning away.

'Come child, it is not safe for you here,' he said.

Leaning heavily on an ornate cane, Old John turned and walked back into the forest. Casting a final glance at the flickering torches of Wood Haven, Mary reluctantly followed him.

****

The fire cast its warm glow across the ancient library, revealing row upon row of leather-bound volumes. The dust of countless seasons weighed heavily on their spines, obscuring the wealth of knowledge hidden within. Mary sat in front of the fire in a plush leather chair. Old John sat across from her in a matching chair, his cane resting against the side. It was only now that she noticed the intricate wolf's-head handle.

She asked him about the beast.

'The legend of the two wolves dates back to before your time, child,' Old John said. 'You look surprised? Yes, there were _two_ once. In fact, they were not beasts at all but young men. Strong, agile and proud, they tested themselves in all things as young men do. So evenly matched were they that none could tell them apart.'

'Finally, they turned to the Forest Gods to set them apart. The Gods answered and set them a simple test. Each brother was sent into the forest alone without food or water to survive for ten days. The first brother hunted and killed animals to sustain himself. The second lived off fruits and berries, allowing the forest to provide for him. The Gods had their answer. They transformed the brothers into wolves: one dark, one light. Thus the balance was created.'

Old John paused and reached for a mug of water. Mary helped him pour from a pewter jug.

'Thank you, child,' Old John said. 'Now where was I? Oh yes, the balance. The Gods decreed that the brothers would take turns being man or beast. One to bring darkness, one to bring light. Night and day.'

'If that's true then what happened? Why is it always dark in Wood Haven?' Mary asked.

'Patience, child. I was getting to that. You see, despite their underlying differences they fell in love with the same woman. Her beauty captured both their hearts. The light wolf declared his love first and married her. The dark wolf secretly coveted her. Again the brothers were too similar and she could not choose. In the ultimate betrayal, she carried the dark wolf's child while married to the white wolf.'

Old John stopped, seemingly unable to continue. He stared at the fire as his hands gripped the walking cane.

'What happened to her?' Mary asked.

'She died during childbirth. Here again the brothers took different paths. The white wolf shed his animal form and became human. The dark wolf did the opposite, forsaking his humanity to become the beast you see today. The balance was broken. Darkness fell across the land.'

Old John stood up. Resting heavily on his cane, he walked towards the window and looked out at the moonlit forest beyond.

'What happened to the other brother, the one who chose human form?' Mary asked.

'He has remained hidden, unable to bear the memory of his wife's betrayal. Meanwhile the beast has cast its shadow over Wood Haven,' Old John replied. Looking down at the wolf's-head cane, he said, 'Tonight was the first time I have seen my brother in twenty years.'

****

Mary returned to Wood Haven at the break of dawn. Her sleep had been troubled, filled with vivid images of gigantic wolves tearing at each other while a helpless infant looked on. Despite the savagery of the visions she felt somehow comforted by the powerful creatures. There was something familiar about them, something in her past, a distant memory shrouded in the mists of time.

Casting the thought aside, Mary inserted a bronze key into her front door and turned it. The lock clicked and the door swung open. An aroma of dried jasmine, mushrooms and sage filled her nostrils. She closed the door behind her. Pulling her shawl off she draped it over a chair and crossed the room. Pulling aside the curtains, she opened the window. The sky was overcast. Old John's words echoed in her mind.

One to bring darkness, one to bring light. Night and day.

Looking up at the darkened sky, Mary knew his words to be true. Taking a brush, she combed her hair, removing twigs and leaves from it. Her hands began to tremble as she thought back to the night before. She could still see the hunger in Jerome's eyes and feel his hands roughly pushing her down. The realisation that if it hadn't been for the beast she'd be lying facedown on the forest floor brought tears to her eyes. Placing the brush on her dresser, she stared at it blankly.

'Mary?' a voice asked. Turning, she saw Samuel Forge standing in the doorway. He was dressed in his town watch uniform.

'Sam. What are you doing here?' she asked, wiping the moisture from her eyes.

'Looking for you. I was on duty last night and you never came home. I was worried,' he said.

'I stayed at Old John's mansion.'

'The Gods be praised. The morning patrol found Jerome Blackstone's body ripped to shreds not far from William's tavern. I feared the beast had gotten you.'

Mary smiled. Standing up, she placed her hand on his cheek, enjoying the feel of his rough stubble. Then her eyes narrowed.

'Jerome attacked me last night.'

Sam put his arms around her.

'I can only give thanks to the Gods for allowing you to escape unharmed before the beast attacked.'

'I didn't escape. The beast, it ...'

'Mary?'

'It saved me, Sam. Its anger was directed at Jerome, not at me. I believe it may have followed me from the tavern.'

'I think you're still shaken from your ordeal. That beast is the most savage creature that's ever stalked these woods. This latest killing has finally prompted the magistrate to take action.'

'What do you mean?'

'He's ordered the town watch to hunt down the beast and put an end to its reign of terror.'

Grabbing Sam's tunic, Mary shook him with all her strength.

'No, Sam! They mustn't. The beast isn't evil. It's part of the balance that affects this land. It's ...'

Her words trailed off as she thought back to the events of the night before and her dreams. The wolves were the force that held sway over the valley but they were so much more than that.

Despite never having known her parents, Mary had always felt like someone was watching over her. It was strange but she had never feared being alone. With a sudden sense of awakening, she realised that the dark wolf had always been there. It had watched over her since she had been born. Which could only mean one thing.

'Father!' she cried out.

'Mary? Are you alright?'

'When is the hunt to begin?'

'This morning. I was on my way to the town hall when I saw your door was open.'

Mary stood up. Wrapping her shawl around her, she headed for the door.

'I must speak with the magistrate. They cannot be allowed to kill the beast!'

****

The town hall was the largest structure in Wood Haven. Constructed of roughly hewn pine logs, it towered over the surrounding houses and cottages. A steady wisp of smoke spiralled out of its central chimney as black-clad town watch assembled in the main hall. The magistrate, a barrel-chested man named Kol, was addressing the men as Mary rushed in. She moved to one side while Sam joined the other members of the town watch.

'For too long has this monstrosity terrorised the men and women of Wood Haven. The legend of the beast and its curse has spread beyond our valley. Few if any now risk the journey. We have become cut off and isolated,' Kol spoke in a deep voice. The town watch nodded their agreement with his words.

'I, for one, have had enough. Today we put an end to the beast's reign of terror.'

'You can't!' Mary exclaimed.

Silence descended as all eyes turned to look at her.

'Who are you, child?' Kol asked.

'Mary Latham.'

'William's adopted daughter? Come forwards.'

Mary stepped into the centre of the town hall.

'Tell me, child, why we shouldn't rid ourselves of this plague upon our lands? Why we shouldn't see the sunlight again?'

Mary swallowed hard.

'You cannot kill the beast because it is part of the balance that holds sway over this valley. To bring back the light we must find the white wolf. Only then will the sunlight be restored.'

Kol scoffed at her words.

'No, it's true! The dark wolf saved me last night. It's not evil. It's simply forgotten how to be human.'

'I've heard enough. The hunt begins—'

'No, you can't—'

'Enough!'

Kol struck out with the back of his hand and sent Mary sprawling. Lifting herself up on one elbow, she looked at him through a haze of pain. A sudden wave of anger washed over her as the sky darkened outside.

'No,' she whispered.

With a vicious howl the dark wolf leapt over the wooden palisade. Landing in the town square, it launched itself through the open doors of the town hall and lashed out. Three town watch were sent flying into the walls. They landed at awkward angles, their arms and legs disjointed.

'The beast! Kill it!' Kol shouted.

'No!' Mary screamed as she struggled to her feet. The wolf lashed out again, felling two more town watch as the remainder formed up around the magistrate. The dark wolf let out a howl and prepared to strike again.

Mary saw her chance. As the wolf leapt, she moved in front of it. The blood-red eyes widened in surprise as it struck her. She dropped to the ground.

The wolf landed with a heavy thud. Releasing an ear splitting howl, it padded over to where Mary lay. Tilting its head to the side, it stared at her.

'Father ...' Mary whispered.

The wolf continued to stare at her as its form slowly changed into that of an old man. His transformation complete, he knelt beside her and placed his hand on her forehead.

'Forgive me, my child,' he said.

'Seize him!' Kol roared. The remaining town watch overpowered the old man who offered no resistance.

'Let him go!' Mary screamed.

'Stay out of this, child. This man has killed dozens of townsfolk. He must be executed.'

'No! Sam, please do something.'

The young watchman looked down, unable to meet her gaze.

'I'm sorry, Mary. I can't ...'

'But he's my father, Sam.'

'I'm sorry.'

Mary turned and ran from the town hall as fast as she could. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt light-headed. Through a haze of tears she experienced a vision of a gigantic white wolf throwing its head back as sunlight bathed the land all around it.

****

Mary reached the bend in the road where Jerome had accosted her the night before. Breathing heavily, she quickly located the forest path leading to the Dern family mansion. Ignoring twigs that clawed at her clothing and scratched at her exposed skin, she ran as fast as she could into the darkened forest. Reaching the mansion, she beat on the door with her fists. The lock slid aside and Old John greeted her, his face illuminated by a lantern in his hand.

'Mary? What are you doing here?' he asked.

'They've captured the dark wolf! The magistrate plans to execute him at dawn,' Mary said.

'What do you mean they've captured the dark wolf?'

'It's my fault. I tried to stop him and he changed back.'

'The dark wolf has retaken human form?'

'Yes and they're going to execute him!'

The lantern slipped from Old John's hand to shatter on the ground.

'My brother ...'

'Please, you've got to help me!'

'I can't...'

'I know who you are, Uncle.'

Old John's eyes widened in surprise.

'I'm sorry, Mary, but I cannot become that _thing_ again.'

'But they're going to kill him!'

'I swore an oath when your mother died that I would never retake animal form. I have kept that oath for twenty years. I will not break it now.'

Mary's eyes narrowed in anger.

'I see now that my mother made the right choice after all. You're a coward. Your brother needs you. I need you and all you can do is cling to the past.'

Old John covered his face with his hands.

'I can't. I'm sorry.'

' _Fine_. Stay here in hiding. I won't abandon my father,' Mary said, as she turned to leave. 'I came here seeking the white wolf but I see now that it died a long time ago.'

****

The prone figure of James Dern lay across a blackened tree stump. His body showed signs of having been beaten. Blood was caking over one of his eyes and through his white hair. He was dressed only in a pair of dark leggings, his bare chest was heavily muscled despite his age.

'You can't do this!' Mary screamed.

'Be silent, child. Justice must be had. We must put an end to the darkness that has befallen our land,' Kol said.

Dodging through a pair of watchmen, Mary managed to reach her father's side. Putting her arms around him, she held on as they attempted to drag her away.

'Mary, you must go,' her father pleaded.

'No, I will face the end with you.'

'No, child. Please, you must go, for both our sakes.'

Mary shook her head as a pair of watchmen grabbed her elbows and began to pry her loose.

'Let her go!'

Mary looked up through a wave of tears to see Sam fighting his way towards her.

'Sam!'

'Mary!'

Sam struggled valiantly but was overpowered by the town watch. Four of them held him down as another two pried Mary away from her father.

'No!' she screamed, as they managed to dislodge her arms. Tears were streaming down her face as she clawed at the air.

'Finish it!' Kol shouted. The black-clad executioner raised his axe high into the air.

Time stood still as Mary watched the axe descend. It cut a wide arc through the air, floating down from its apex to land gently on the nape of her father's neck. Complete silence descended over the town. Nothing moved.

Then time rushed back in and her father's severed head landed in the grass. A scream shattered the silence. It stopped only when Mary closed her mouth to breathe.

'It is done,' Kol said.

Mary fell to her knees. Burying her face in her hands she wept. Wave after wave of unbearable grief washed over her. She had not experienced such loss since the day she had been told that her mother had died giving birth to her.

'Good people of Wood Haven,' Kol addressed the townsfolk gathered in the square. 'Today we have put an end to the curse that has plagued our valley for so many years.'

Mary felt her grief turn to disbelief and then to anger. She had finally found her father only to have him cruelly taken away from her. She felt the anger rise up within her. Clenching her fists, she slowly stood up.

'Today we have rid ourselves of the beast once and for all!'

'Why is it still dark?' one of the town watchmen, a man named Eric, asked. As one, the townsfolk turned to stare up at the murky sky.

Old John Dern's words echoed in Mary's mind. They took on a new meaning, one that she had failed to comprehend the first time she had heard them.

One to bring darkness, one to bring light. Night and day.

The curse had not been lifted. The light had not been restored. Instead, the curse had been passed on from father to daughter.

Mary felt the anger within her rise to a fever pitch. With a savage cry she shed her human form. Her transformation into the dark wolf complete, she lunged at Kol, knocking him off his feet. Her gigantic maw locked onto his neck and squeezed. Before anyone could react, the magistrate was dead.

'Mary? What have you done?' Sam asked, backing away slowly.

She turned her glowing red eyes on him. Baring her fangs, she prepared to lash out.

'Stop!'

She turned to look at the town gate. There stood Old John Dern, leaning heavily on his ornate walking cane.

'Enough, child,' he said, walking towards her. 'You cannot begin to understand how sorry I am that you have inherited this burden. I was too caught up in the past to realise that I should have acted to save you.'

His gaze turned to where James Dern's body lay.

'To save my brother.'

Old John reached out and stroked the coarse fur on her head. Her red eyes widened. Then, slowly, they began to change. The dark wolf form receded until Mary was human again. Taking a deep breath, she felt tears well up in her eyes as she realised what she had done.

'I'm so sorry, I didn't—'

'It's alright, child. It's over. The will of the Gods will be fulfilled.'

With that the ornate wolf's-head walking stick landed in the dirt as Old John's form flowed upwards and outwards. With a savage howl the white wolf leapt into the air. High above, the murkiness parted and beams of sunlight rained down on Wood Haven.

'The Gods be praised,' the townsfolk murmured, as they sank to their knees. The white wolf landed next to Mary. She reached out and stroked its fur as Sam moved to stand beside her. He draped his cloak around her.

'What happens now?' Sam asked.

'We bury my father,' Mary said. 'Then we go home.'

Sam put his arm around her and pulled her close. Beside them, the white wolf stood tall, its coat shimmering with the reflected light of the sun. Casting its enormous head back, it split the silence with a savage howl that carried with it a forlorn tale of sorrow and loss.

The End

# The Beast Within

No matter where I was or who they were, they always made the same three mistakes.

They assumed I was _alone_.

They assumed I was _weak_.

And, worst of all, they assumed I was _human_.

I felt the change beginning as the first of them took a step towards me.

My breathing increased. My bones cracked and twisted, pulling against my skin. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as the change took hold.

My vision dimmed. My sense of smell intensified. My ears exploded at the faintest of sounds.

I watched them take a step back as they finally realised their mistake. Their eyes darted around looking for an escape. I could smell their fear.

One of them turned and ran. Then another. And another.

But it was too late. They were all dead.

They just didn't know it yet.

The End

# The Last of the Frost Giants

Thorin Icewind took a long swig from his mug. The ale was thick and bitter with a heavy aftertaste. Typical dwarven fare, it tasted like it had been forged rather than brewed. Smiling inwardly at the irony of that assessment, the frost giant turned his attention to the elf seated across from him.

His name was Darkon. Pale with gaunt features, he looked like a walking corpse. Yet when he spoke there was a forcefulness and determination that belied his appearance.

'You and I are two of a kind, Thorin Icewind. We have both suffered horribly at the hands of magic users. Your entire village was wiped out by the evil of magic. My body was shattered by their vile experiments.'

Darkon squeezed his fists tightly at the memory of what had been done to him. Thorin could sense the elf's pain. It mirrored his own.

'I have spent my entire life searching for the magic user who destroyed my village. I fear I may never avenge my people,' Thorin said.

'There is another way,' Darkon said. 'There is a way in which we can rid the world of magic once and for all.'

'How is this possible?'

Casting a nervous glance around the tavern, Darkon lowered his voice.

'While I was being held captive by the magic users, I discovered their secret. They would leave me unchained after their experiments, my body on the brink of death. That's how I learned that their power is not of this world. It is drawn from a different plane via three gateways.'

'You mean if we close those gateways there will no longer be magic in the world?'

Darkon nodded, his gaze never leaving Thorin.

'Where are the gateways?' Thorin asked.

'The first is in the Deep Forest, about two days travel east of here. The second rests on the Isle of Varak, deep in the Murky Swamps.'

'And the third?'

Darkon paused, seemingly uncertain. Thorin motioned for him to speak.

'The final gateway lies high in the Antares Mountains on the site where the frost giant village once stood.'

Thorin slammed his fist down onto the table, shattering it into pieces. The rage at his fallen brethren rose up within him as he finally understood why the magic user had slaughtered his people.

'Lord Vallas protect us!' a voice cried out in alarm. Silence descended across the tavern as humans, dwarves and merfolk all stared up at the frost giant.

'What's going on out here?' a deep voice demanded, as the kitchen door was flung open and a broad-shouldered dwarf leapt out. He held a heavy kitchen skillet in one hand and a handful of carrots in the other. Scanning the common room, he located the source of the disturbance.

'Thorin?' the dwarf asked.

'Well met, Stormforge. How are the kids?'

'Fine, thank you, lad. All grown up and running their own business in fact. Now tell me, did my table offend you in some way?'

Thorin looked down at the remains of the beautifully crafted oak table.

'Sorry about that. I can explain.'

'Never mind, lad. Come and see me tomorrow and we'll talk about it then,' Stormforge said, lowering the skillet. Turning around, he addressed the common room.

'False alarm. Apparently our giant friend mistook the table for an orc warrior. Please enjoy your meals.'

The dwarf's joke had the desired effect as the tension in the tavern subsided and sounds of drunken merriment resumed. Thorin took a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, he felt the anger draining away.

'Sorry about that, it's hard for me to...'

'I understand,' Darkon said.

'Even if what you say is true, we'd never get close enough to the gateways to destroy them. I've seen firsthand the power magic users wield and they would be foolish to leave the gateways unguarded. It's a suicide mission.'

'You are correct in assuming the gateways would be guarded. But there are ways of defeating magic users and those who would gladly challenge them.'

'You mean others like us?'

'Precisely.'

'How would we find them? We can't exactly go around announcing the fact that we're going to rid the world of magic?'

Darkon smiled. Given his deathly features, it was a grim sight.

'I have met others on my travels who feel the same as we do. With your help, I am sure we can convince them to aid us.'

'Alright, when do we leave?'

Darkon stood up. Reaching into his pockets he drew out a handful of copper coins, which he placed on the remains of the table.

'We leave at first light.'

****

Thorin was ten years old again. Cowering behind the ice wall, he watched as the magic user unleashed the power of lightning on the village elders. The jagged bolts of energy struck their unsuspecting bodies, flinging them to the ground.

With a savage cry his father led the warriors' charge. Once again lightning sprang to life from the magic user's fingers. The frost giants' screams echoed across the plateau as the stench of burning flesh filled the air.

Thorin stood up. The charred bodies of his kinsmen were strewn across the frozen tundra. Standing over them was the dark-robed magic user. His burning gaze locked onto Thorin. He threw back his head and laughed. It was a cruel and terrifying sound.

'Thorin.'

Turning around, he was confronted by a slain frost giant. Tears welled up in his eyes as he recognised his father's corpse, blackened from the magic user's attack.

'Release us,' Bale Icewind breathed.

The elders too had arisen, their shattered bodies animated by some unknown force. One by one each of the slain frost giants struggled to their feet. As one they spoke, their sightless eyes staring through him.

'Release us.'

'I don't understand? What am I supposed to do? Father, please help me!' Thorin cried. But they didn't hear him. They stared off into the distance as the wind picked up, throwing snow into the air. A white veil descended over the fallen frost giants, gently returning them to the frozen ground from which they had come.

'Now it is your turn,' the magic user whispered.

Thorin turned around just in time to see a jagged flash of lightning.

He woke with a start. Throwing off the covers, he sat up. Ever since his people had been massacred he'd endured nightmares. None had been as real as this.

'Father, forgive me,' he whispered.

Standing up, he walked over to a basin filled with water. Dipping his hands, he splashed the ice-cold water across his face, relishing its cool touch. Sitting back down on the bed, he pulled on his thick elk boots and checked the twin daggers hidden within.

The nightmare disturbed him. In reality, the magic user had decimated the frost giant village but had remained oblivious to his presence. It was almost as if some external force was affecting his dreams, twisting them in a cruel fashion.

Thorin packed up the last of his possessions into a shoulder pack and left the room. Turning right he walked down a flight of stairs and entered the kitchen. Inside, Stormforge was busily stirring a large cauldron of aromatic stew.

'I'm leaving today. Sorry about the table. How much do I owe you?' Thorin asked.

The dwarf turned to face him. His voice was like a rumble deep underground.

'For as long as there is breath in these old bones a descendant of Bale Icewind will always find free room and board in my tavern.'

'Thank you.'

'Aye, lad. Your father saved my life many a time during the accursed Orc Wars. He was a fine warrior and an honourable man. Now tell me, lad, what troubles you?'

Thorin slid down onto a bench.

'I finally know why.'

'Why?'

'Why that accursed robed creature massacred my people. Why they're all gone: the elders, the children, my father. Not a day goes by that I do not miss him. If only I could have done something.'

'Don't beat yourself up, lad. There was nothing you could have done against those damned magic users. They are a plague upon our lands,' the old dwarf said, as he sat down next to Thorin.

'What if I told you there was a way I could strike back at them?'

'Then I think you should tread very carefully. They are powerful and dangerous when provoked.'

'So you wouldn't advise me against it? Even if I told you the information came from an elf?'

The old dwarf chuckled.

'I know there would be no point. There is far too much of your father in you to ever listen to reason. As for the elf, I'll let you in on a little secret. The animosity between dwarves and elves is a ruse. It was propagated by both races to hide an ancient alliance. It was that alliance which saved Larkondia during the Orc Wars. That and the warriors led by your father. You are a truly amazing race, capable of unimaginable feats. I am certain you will find a way to avenge your people.'

Thorin managed a weak smile.

'Thank you.'

'Aye, lad, think nothing of it. Next time you're in town come by the house and say hello to Esmeralda. I'll cook some of my famous honey-glazed pig and tell you about the time your father took on an entire orc regiment by himself.'

'Did he win?'

'You're here aren't you, lad?'

Thorin nodded as Stormforge stood up.

'Safe journey, lad.'

'Be well, old friend,' Thorin said, shaking the dwarf's hand. Stepping outside, he braced for the warmth of the sun. To his relief it was heavily overcast and much cooler than the day before.

'We must leave soon.'

Darkon stood in the shadows of the stable. He was dressed in a brown travelling cloak that did little to mask his skeletal frame. The withered elf looked even more pale in the light of day.

'Good morning to you too, Darkon,' Thorin said.

'You will forgive my abruptness but time moves against us. With each passing moment the magic users' hold over this world grows stronger. If we are to succeed in our quest then we must move quickly.'

'Where do we travel from here?'

'There is a ranger who lives on the edge of the Deep Forest about a day's travel from here. He will be able to aid us in destroying the first gateway.'

'Let's get going then.'

****

They made good progress across the fields and foothills surrounding Beachwood. At first Thorin kept a watchful eye on the elf, who clung tightly to the back of a red mare. After they had travelled for several miles without incident, Thorin's concerns eased and he increased their pace. His height allowed him to take massive strides and even at full gallop he was easily able to keep up with the horse. By evening they could see the edge of the Deep Forest looming ahead of them.

'We should stop here,' Darkon said.

Thorin could sense the exhaustion in the elf's voice. Nodding, he led the red mare into a sheltered thicket.

'I'll make a fire,' Thorin said. Dropping his pack, he withdrew two flint stones and after a few attempts was rewarded with a steady flame. Leaning against a tree trunk, he took in the elf's appearance.

'Are you alright?'

'Physical activity is difficult for me. The magical experiments left me on the brink of death and I fear that I may never fully recover.'

'We should camp here. I'd rather not go wandering around in the Deep Forest after nightfall.'

Darkon began to cough. It took Thorin a few moments to realise the elf was laughing.

'What's so funny?' he asked.

'A frost giant that's afraid of the dark. In all my travels I have seen only a few creatures larger than an adult frost giant and yet you're afraid of something as harmless as the dark.'

'I am not afraid of the dark. It's just, given my size, I'd rather not go stumbling around in the dark.'

'Of course.'

'It's the truth. The only thing in this world I fear is—'

'Magic users,' Darkon finished his sentence. Both of them fell silent as they watched the fire dance across the dry logs.

'How will we find this ranger?' Thorin asked.

'We won't. He'll find us,' Darkon replied. Turning his head slightly, he addressed the darkened trees around them.

'Isn't that right, Koran?'

A patch of darkness detached itself from the surrounding foliage and resolved into a tall, broad-shouldered figure dressed in a dark-green cloak. Moments later, a second, slighter, figure, materialised beside the first. As one they lowered their hoods to reveal a dark-skinned man with heavy facial growth and a young woman with golden hair and blue-green eyes.

'Thorin Icewind, allow me to present Koran Longleaf, ranger of the Deep Forest, and his wife, Santelle.'

Standing up, Thorin absently sheathed his daggers. He didn't remember drawing them.

'Well met, Koran Longleaf. Darkon has spoken highly of you.'

The ranger inclined his head but said nothing.

'You'll have to forgive my husband,' Santelle said. 'Ever since the attack by the magic users he has been wary of strangers.'

'I understand. I too have suffered greatly at their hands. Now, I fear, I have the sad honour of being the last remaining frost giant in Larkondia.'

'You are the last of your kind?' the ranger asked.

'Yes.'

'Then it seems we have something in common. I too am the last remaining survivor of my people.'

Koran fell silent as frost giant and ranger appraised one another, sharing a moment of mutual understanding.

'Now that we have established our common bond we should take supper and make plans,' Darkon said.

Nodding their agreement, Koran and his wife joined them at the fire as Thorin leaned back against his tree.

****

The gateway stood in a sheltered grove on the eastern edge of the Deep Forest. Elliptical in shape, it was fashioned from polished black onyx and supported by a three-pronged pedestal. An intricate lacework of white veins crisscrossed its surface, pulsating with an unnatural rhythm. Four green-robed magic users moved about next to it.

'I thought you said it would be unguarded?' Thorin said.

Darkon shrugged.

'It would appear that we have arrived during a ritual. Either way, it makes no difference.'

'I'd say it makes some difference.'

Darkon's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Thorin held up his hands.

'I'm just saying.'

'Koran and his wife are in position.'

'How can you tell?'

'Despite their innate ability to blend into their surroundings, my elfish eyesight can discern the faintest of outlines which betrays their presence.'

Thorin peered into the trees on the other side of the grove but could make out only leaves and shadows. Drawing his daggers, he waited.

The faintest hiss of air betrayed the flight of arrows as the steel-tipped messengers of doom sped towards their targets, hitting their marks. The four green-robed magic users fell to the ground. No sound had escaped their lips.

'Now,' Darkon said.

Thorin leapt out of concealment and headed directly for the gateway as Koran and Santelle entered the grove. Their longbows were raised as they scanned the surrounding trees for any sign of movement.

Reaching the three-pronged pedestal that supported the gateway, Thorin sheathed his daggers. Bending low, he braced himself against the pedestal and pushed.

'Look out!' Santelle called out, as two magic users entered the grove. Koran loosed a pair of arrows only to see them disintegrate in mid-flight. Falling back a step, he notched another arrow as the first magic user levelled his arms at him. A ball of flame erupted from the tips of the magic user's fingers and sped towards the ranger.

Dropping his longbow, Koran rolled to the side as Santelle loosed another arrow. Once more the magic users disintegrated the arrow in mid-flight and hurled orbs of fire at them. Rolling backwards, Koran recovered his longbow and fired two arrows in rapid succession, forcing the magic users back.

'We can't hold them for long!' Santelle shouted.

Thorin dug his heels into the soft grass and took a deep breath. Then he pushed with all the strength that his eight-foot frame could muster. The pedestal shuddered.

'No!' a shrill cry resounded throughout the grove, as one of the magic users turned towards the gateway. Raising his arms, he unleashed a volley of fireballs directly at Thorin. The frost giant dove to the ground.

'Keep them off me!' he bellowed. Moments later, two pairs of arrows flew through the air. Three disintegrated but one found its mark. Seeing his chance, Thorin ran at the pedestal. With a savage cry he toppled the gateway. It shattered into pieces, releasing a burst of clear blue light.

'It's done, we can...'

Thorin's words died on his lips as he saw the prone body of the ranger lying in the grass. Koran's chest had a massive burn hole in it. The similarities to his father's death were not lost on Thorin.

'It's all my fault,' Santelle sobbed. 'If I hadn't stumbled then Koran wouldn't have had to shield me. Now he's dead.'

'I'm sorry. He was a brave man and he gave his life protecting the one he loved. There is great honour in such an act. Lord Vallas will look after him now.'

Santelle nodded but said nothing. Thorin slowly rose and looked around the clearing. His eyes came to rest on the hooded figure of Darkon standing over the remains of the magical gateway. The elf seemed to be lost in a trance as Thorin approached him.

'Darkon?'

The elf's eyes snapped open. When he spoke, his voice was rich and strong.

'This is a great day, Thorin. We are one step closer to ridding the world of magic. Already I can feel their influence over this region disappearing.'

'Koran is dead.'

'A terrible loss, for he was truly a great man. I fear our task will be that much harder now that he is gone.'

'What task? Every time I have encountered the magic users it has resulted in death and despair,' Thorin said. 'No, Darkon. We cannot continue on this path or we will all perish.'

The elf's eyes narrowed as he gripped Thorin's arm with a skeletally thin hand.

'We cannot stop. Now that we have destroyed one of their gateways the others will become stronger. They will also be alerted to our presence and will seek us out. We must go on.'

Thorin wrenched his arm free.

'A good man died here. Don't you care?'

'Of course I do. But his sacrifice will have been in vain if we do not go on. Everything we have suffered at the hands of the magic users has led us to this point.'

Thorin considered the elf's words. As much as he hated to admit it, Darkon was right.

'Alright, we go on. But first we bury Koran with respect.'

Darkon remained silent as the frost giant walked back to the fallen ranger's body. Placing his hand on Santelle's shoulder, he said, 'Lady Santelle, allow me to carry your husband into the forest so that we may give him a proper burial.'

Santelle rose. Turning her tear-filled eyes towards Thorin, she said, 'Thank you. He would have wanted to be buried beneath the trees he loved.'

Bending down, Thorin easily lifted the ranger's body. With Santelle holding onto his arm, he walked back into the Deep Forest.

****

It was not yet dawn when Thorin stirred. The nightmare of his village's demise was still fresh in his mind. Opening his eyes, he looked around the camp. Pale echoes of light filtered through the surrounding trees, casting ghostly shadows. Santelle lay huddled in a thick panther fur to his left. She had said her final farewells to her husband last night after which they had buried him in a secluded grove beneath an ancient oak tree. She had slept ever since.

Rising quietly so as not wake her, Thorin moved to the other side of the camp. He was surprised to find Darkon's furs empty. There was no sign of the elf.

Creeping through the trees, Thorin reached a mass of large boulders. Using his eight-foot frame, he climbed to the top with ease. There he found the elf, seated on the ground, facing the rising sun. His eyes were closed.

'What is on your mind, Thorin?' the elf asked.

'How did you know I was here?'

'Elves are blessed with incredible hearing and frost giants are hardly the stealthiest creatures in Larkondia. I heard you the moment you woke up.'

'Really? I was trying to be quiet so as not to disturb Santelle.'

The elf's eyes opened slowly.

'Did you require something of me, Thorin, or did you merely come up here to discuss your lack of stealth?'

'Yes, sorry,' Thorin said. 'What's our next move?'

'We'll need to make our way across the Stygian Marshes to the edge of the Murky Swamps. From there we'll buy passage to the Isle of Varak. The gateway is located in the centre of the isle, in the ruins of the Fregan Temple.'

'The _what_ temple?'

'Fregan. They are a race of amphibian swamp dwellers native to the Murky Swamps. I should say _were_. Only one remains.'

'Let me guess?'

The corners of the elf's thin mouth curled up.

'He's going to help us destroy the gateway.'

'This isn't a coincidence, is it?' Thorin asked.

'No. Only the last remaining survivor of each race can destroy the gateway. This is why they are crucial to our quest.'

Thorin nodded. Looking up, he saw the sun had cleared the horizon and was shining across the canopy of the Deep Forest all around them.

'We should get going. It will take us at least three days of hard travel to reach the Murky Swamps. I'm afraid the journey will be difficult for you as we won't be able to take the horse through the swamps.'

'I will endure.'

The elf rose and carefully climbed down the side of the rock formation. Thorin waited until he had reached the ground before following.

As they made their way back to the camp, Thorin considered what he had learned from the elf. He now knew there were three gateways, each in a distinct part of Larkondia; the Deep Forest, the Murky Swamps and the Antares Mountains. The magic users had decimated the native populations in order to create their magical gateways. Only one member of each race had survived. Why?

'Thorin, get down!' Darkon yelled, as an arrow flew past the frost giant's head and embedded into a nearby tree.

'What ...? Santelle! It's us,' Thorin called out, as he dove to the ground.

Santelle emerged from the trees in front of them. Lowering her longbow, she spoke.

'Sorry about that. I guess I'm still a little bit jumpy.'

'I understand,' Thorin said, rising slowly. He brushed dead leaves and twigs from his furs. 'Darkon and I will be leaving today. We will escort you to the nearest settlement first to ensure your safety.'

'We don't have time for this!' Darkon hissed.

Thorin turned towards the elf.

'We will not leave the lady alone in the Deep Forest. If it costs us a day or so of travel then that is the price for her safety.'

'You don't understand. If we don't leave now we may lose our chance to destroy the second gateway.'

'I will not abandon the lady in—'

'Do you two _mind?_ ' Santelle interrupted. Frost giant and elf turned to look at her. Satisfied that she had their attention, Santelle continued.

'First of all, I do not need your protection. I can take care of myself. Second, I'm coming with you.'

'Absolutely not, it's far too dangerous,' Thorin said.

Darkon muttered something unintelligible and walked over to his furs.

'I'm coming with you,' Santelle insisted.

'I said _no_.'

Santelle lowered her head. When she looked up again, her eyes were filled with tears.

'My husband is dead because of me. He was a proud man but he loved me and I loved him. He was my life. I gave up more than you could ever imagine to be with him. There is nothing here for me now. The least I can do is help you rid the world of the magic users who caused all of this suffering.'

Seeing the determination on her face, Thorin slowly nodded.

'Alright. Pack your things, we're leaving.'

****

The Stygian Marshes had to be one of the most inhospitable places on Larkondia. Thorin waded knee-deep through murky water covered with thick slime-green creepers. Blackened tree stumps protruded at irregular intervals from the marshes while a variety of carrion birds circled overhead. The air was hot and humid, causing the frost giant to perspire freely. He found himself longing for his frozen homeland high in the Antares Mountains.

'How much farther is it?' Thorin asked.

Darkon paused and looked around. The elf was submerged up to his waist in the marshes and didn't look too pleased about it.

'About another half a day's walk. There should be solid land near those trees on the horizon. We can make camp there.'

'Sounds good to me. I can't remember the last time I sweated this much.'

Turning around, Thorin looked at Santelle. She was up to her waist in the marsh and struggling to move while carrying her longbow and quiver aloft. Thorin admired her determination. She had not protested or complained once during their crossing of the Stygian Marshes. He could also tell that she was exhausted and at the limits of her endurance.

'Lady Santelle, Darkon tells me that we will be able to find solid ground in that grove of trees on the horizon. We'll make camp there.'

Santelle nodded as she stared at the distant trees.

'Are you alright?' Thorin asked.

'I...'

Santelle stumbled and dropped her longbow and quiver. Catching her, Thorin gently lifted her with one arm. With the other, he picked up the discarded longbow and quiver. Securing the weapons over his shoulder, he supported Santelle's head with his other arm.

'Thank you, I—'

'It's alright. Rest now.'

Thorin walked on towards the horizon, ignoring the smirk on Darkon's face.

****

The town of Blackwood was located on the edge of the Stygian Marshes where the Murky Swamps began. The town emerging as an odd collection of roughly hewn wooden buildings, its name was derived from the blackened wood used in its construction. The main street was on high ground while most of the buildings were constructed on stilts embedded into the solid bedrock underneath the marshes. A handful of children played in the street while stern-faced men and women watched from the houses on either side.

'Not a very welcoming place, is it?' Thorin said.

'The inhabitants of Blackwood do not look kindly upon outsiders. Best not to stare at them,' Darkon said.

They walked down the centre of the town. The children stopped their game of tag to stare at Thorin in wonder.

'Look, mama, it's a big blue man!' a boy exclaimed.

Thorin waved. The child laughed and ran over to his mother, who chided him. A bearded man dressed in a leather vest and dark leggings glared at them. Not wanting to provoke him, Thorin looked away.

'How do we get to the Isle of Varak?' he asked.

'We will need to hire a boat. But first we should find a place to rest as it's getting late.'

Thorin looked up. The sky was overcast to the point where very little light penetrated the dense clouds that hung over the Stygian Marshes.

'How can you tell what time it is?' he asked.

'I can see through the clouds.'

'Oh.'

They continued along the road until they reached a larger building constructed partially of stone. Smoke drifted lazily out of a chimney on the roof. A sign hanging over the front proclaimed _The Lonely Traveller_. Holding the door open, Thorin waited as Santelle and Darkon entered. Ducking under the doorframe, he followed them.

Inside, the inn was surprisingly hospitable. A large fireplace dominated the common room, surrounded by four thick oak tables and chairs. Two men sat at one of the tables, playing cards and drinking ale. A stairway above the bar led to the rooms upstairs and a door in the corner hid the kitchen. A grey-haired man with deep-set wrinkles and shrewd eyes addressed them from behind the bar.

'Welcome to the Lonely Traveller. My name is Sam Blackwood and I am the owner and operator of this fine establishment. What can I do for you?'

'We'll need three rooms for the night,' Thorin said.

The innkeeper looked him up and down before replying.

'Not sure if I've got a bed large enough to fit you, my friend, but I'm sure we can think of something. The lady will, of course, receive the finest room in the house.'

'I do not require any special treatment,' Santelle said firmly.

'I meant no disrespect, my lady. From the look of your attire and weapons I am certain you can take care of yourself. I simply offered it out of courtesy.'

'It will not be necessary. A standard room will suffice.'

'As the lady commands,' Sam said.

'How much?' Thorin asked.

'Twenty coppers sounds about right.'

'Does it?'

'Fifteen?'

Thorin opened his coin pouch and counted out fifteen pieces of copper, which he handed over to the innkeeper.

'Thank you, my friend. Now please sit down and enjoy the fire and I will serve you food and stout ale.'

'Sounds good to me. Lady Santelle?'

'I am famished and will gladly join you,' Santelle said.

'What about you, Darkon?'

The elf shook his head and moved towards the stairs.

'I am tired and in need of rest. I will eat in the morning.'

'Suit yourself,' Thorin said. He moved towards the closest table. Pulling the chair out, he waited until Santelle was seated before signalling the innkeeper.

'Two ales and whatever you have that's making my mouth water.'

'Coming right up, my friend,' Sam the innkeeper said as he disappeared through the kitchen door. He returned moments later carrying two mugs of ale and a large plate of roast pig. Setting them on the table, he returned to his station behind the bar.

'After you, my lady,' Thorin said.

'Thank you.'

She cut off a piece of meat with one of her daggers.

'I must say I am a bit surprised,' Santelle said.

'By what?'

'By how polite and good natured you are.'

Thorin took a swig of ale. It was surprisingly good, crisp and bitter with a mild aftertaste. Setting the ale down on the table, he looked at the woman seated across from him.

'I guess it's a pretty common misconception but just because I'm a few feet taller than everyone else doesn't mean I'm some sort of mindless brute.'

'I didn't mean it that way. It's just surprising, that's all.'

'I understand.'

They ate in silence for several moments, enjoying the taste of the food and warmth of the fire. Sam Blackwood proved to be an exceptional host, ensuring their drinks were never empty and clearing away the remains of their meals. They were on their third ale when Santelle asked.

'Tell me about your village. What was it like?'

Thorin experienced a sense of overwhelming loss at the mention of his home. Slowly, he began to speak.

'It was built in a frozen valley high in the Antares Mountains. A twelve-foot high wall of ice surrounded it, low for my people but then it was built as a simple village boundary not as a fortification. Our homes were made from blocks of ice carved with tools fashioned from elk horn. Each family lived in their own ice home while the elders dwelt in the large communal hall. The air was fresh and on a clear day you could see forever. It was truly a place beloved of our Lord Vallas.'

Thorin took a swig of ale.

'I used to play with the other children on the frozen tundra while my father and the warriors hunted for food. He took me with him once. We followed a herd of elk for two days until we finally managed to trap one.'

Thorin pointed to his feet.

'I fashioned these boots from the furs of the first elk I killed. My father and I then carried the elk back to the village. It was a simple life yet one that made us want for nothing. We were happy and secure. Until that black-robed harbinger of death appeared and put an end to everything.'

Thorin finished his tale and fell silent, staring at the inside of his mug. Santelle reached over and placed her hand on his.

'I'm sorry.'

Thorin nodded as he took another swig of ale.

'It's been over twenty years yet I still have nightmares every night. I know I won't be able to rest until I have avenged my people.'

'I know how you feel. Koran's people, the Deep Forest rangers, suffered the same fate. He would never admit it but I know he had similar nightmares.'

'For what it's worth, the world will be better off now that we have destroyed the gateway in the Deep Forest.'

'I know. I still miss him so much.'

'He was a good man and a fine warrior. I am sure he, as I, would have given anything to avenge the death of his people.'

'You're probably right but that still leaves me without him. Damn you men and your foolish pride!' she exclaimed. Thorin laughed and they both took a long drink of their ales.

'You've been honest with me; now I should tell you the truth about myself,' Santelle said, suddenly serious.

'I mentioned before that I had given up more than you could ever imagine to be with Koran. I was born merfolk.'

'I have seen several of your kind around Beachwood,' Thorin said.

'They would undoubtedly have been young merfolk enjoying their time on land during the Festival of Tides. You see, for a brief period when merfolk reach maturity they are permitted to take human form and walk among other land dwellers. Most see this as a time to savour the delights that land dwellers take for granted. They run, they drink, they fight and they fall in love.'

'That's how you met Koran.'

'Yes. He was in Beachwood purchasing supplies. I had just arrived on shore and was having a good time when my group was accosted by a band of scavengers from the north. Koran came to our aid and saved my life. We were inseparable afterwards. He took me to see the forests that he loved. I showed him the beauty of the oceans. The thought that I would eventually have to return to the water hung over us like a dark cloud.'

'Finally, the day came when I was supposed to retake my mer form and return to the underwater kingdom. Just when I thought that my heart would break from all the tears, a glowing being appeared before me. It gave me a choice: remain in human form and be with Koran or return to the oceans and reign as Queen of the Deep. I chose Koran.'

Thorin looked at Santelle with a newfound respect and understanding. For the first time in twenty years, he forgot about his own plight.

'Can you ever go back?'

She shook her head.

'No. I knew the consequences of my choice. I accepted them gladly to be with Koran.'

'I understand.'

'Forgive the intrusion,' Sam Blackwood said, as he brought over a plate of glazed buns and two mugs of ale.

'I thought you might enjoy something sweet after your meal and more ale, of course.'

Thorin popped one of the buns into his mouth. It was sweet, with a hint of spice, and tasted delicious. Taking another one, he washed it down with more ale. The drink was making him light-headed. He could only imagine what Santelle was feeling given she was half his size and had drunk just as much.

'Do you trust Darkon?' Santelle asked.

'What do you mean?'

'Do you believe he is genuine in his desire to rid the world of magic users?'

Thorin considered the question as a mild fog settled over his mind from the ale. His vision began to blur as the chairs and tables swam in front of him. It was not altogether an unpleasant sensation. Reaching for his mug, he took another drink and savoured its taste as it flowed down his throat.

'I believe he has suffered at their hands, as we all have, and wishes to see their evil undone,' he said slowly, trying to focus on Santelle. 'He has a detailed understanding of the magic users and thanks to him we have already destroyed one gateway.'

'But do you _trust_ him?'

'No, I guess I don't.'

Santelle smiled as she finished another mug of ale. Her right arm gripped the table for balance as her eyes glazed over.

'Me neither, I...'

The mug clattered to the floor as Santelle slid forwards and collapsed onto the table. Standing up, Thorin felt the world spin as he lost all sense of which way was up and which was down. Reeling forwards, he tipped over his mug, spilling the golden ale within. Falling backwards, he knocked over his chair and landed on the floor. The sound of breaking timber echoed around the inn.

As he stared up at the ceiling, darkness crashed over him like a giant wave. He failed to notice that the two men sitting next to them had stopped playing cards a long time ago.

****

The stench of stagnant water and rotten vegetation was thick in the air. Thorin slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on his side in thick mud, surrounded by swamp creepers and death blooms. His hands and feet were bound. Stifled groans alerted him to the presence of someone else nearby.

'Santelle?' he whispered.

'Is that you, Thorin?' Santelle asked. 'What happened? Where are we?'

'It seems you had a little too much to drink last night,' a familiar voice said, as Sam Blackwood strode into view. The two men from the tavern were with him. All three carried heavy cudgels.

'Now, it seems you two have found yourselves in a rather ponderous predicament,' the innkeeper continued.

'What is the meaning of this?' Santelle asked. 'Release us at once!'

'I'm afraid I can't do that, my lady. You and your large blue friend have caused quite a stir among the magic users.'

'Magic users?' Thorin asked. 'How can you serve the murderers of women and children?'

Sam Blackwood bent down until his face was inches from Thorin's.

'Because they pay us well. Besides, by serving them we are assured of their protection for our own women and children.'

'Then you are no better than they are,' Thorin said.

One of the other men stepped forwards and kicked Thorin in the back. The frost giant gritted his teeth but made no sound.

'Stop it!' Santelle shouted.

The men ignored her as they raised their cudgels. A large rock flashed past Thorin, making a strange whistling sound. Sam Blackwood screamed and toppled forwards. Straining against his bonds, Thorin tried to turn over. Another rock skimmed over his head and one of the other men fell backwards. Only one remained.

'Show yourself!' the last brigand shouted, swinging his cudgel from side to side. The strange noise repeated for a third time and the man dropped to the ground. The cudgel rolled harmlessly from his lifeless fingers.

Someone cut the bonds around Thorin's hands and feet. Standing up, he saw what could only be described as a large humanoid frog. It held a slingshot weapon attached to a wooden staff in its webbed hands.

'Thank you,' he said.

The frog creature turned its bulbous eyes on him. Its voice was stuttered and croaky.

'You Thorin?'

'Yes.'

'I Rigon. Last Fregan. Darkon send.'

'Darkon? Where is he?'

'Island. Magic users capture.'

Thorin helped Santelle to her feet.

'We need to get our equipment.'

'No time,' Rigon said.

'But—'

'Kill Darkon. Go now.'

Thorin nodded. They followed the Fregan to the edge of the Deep Marshes. The Isle of Varak was visible in the centre, several lights glowing faintly on its southern side.

'How do we get across?' Thorin asked.

Instead of replying, Rigon disappeared into a tangle of creepers. Moments later, he pushed a narrow raft onto the water.

'You sit. Rigon pull.'

Thorin turned to Santelle.

'After you, my lady.'

'Thanks. I'd feel better if I had my longbow.'

'Lord Vallas has guided us this far. I am certain we will find a way.'

'I wish I shared your belief,' Santelle replied, as she balanced on the narrow planks of blackened wood. Thorin eased himself onto the middle, careful not to unbalance the raft. Holding onto the rope, Rigon submerged his body until only his eyes remained visible. Kicking off, he pulled the raft after him.

****

The altar was located in the centre of the Isle of Varak, among the ruins of the ancient Fregan Temple. Half-a-dozen red-robed magic users knelt around the stone dais. Behind them, the second gateway pulsed with unnatural energy. Darkon lay on the altar. It was impossible to tell if he was alive or dead.

'This isn't good,' Thorin whispered. They were hidden from view by the remnants of an old fortified wall overlooking the magic-user ritual.

'I really wish I had my longbow,' Santelle said. She cast a suspicious glance at the Fregan weapon in her hand.

'Any ideas?' Thorin asked.

'Split up. Attack sides. Save Darkon,' Rigon replied.

Thorin shook his head.

'I don't think that will work. Not against the power that magic users can wield. We'll need to distract them and destroy the gateway.'

'What's the range on these things?' Santelle asked.

'Kill twenty paces. Wound thirty.'

'How far from here?'

'Thirty.'

'Good enough. Thorin get to that gateway. Rigon and I will distract them from here while you destroy it.'

'You're sure?' Thorin asked.

'I do this for Koran.'

'For Koran,' Thorin echoed. Turning towards the Fregan, he said, 'Thank you, my friend. I know you have suffered as we have because of the magic users. I wish our two people could have met under better circumstances.'

'Rigon fight. Kill magic users. Free Fregan souls.'

'Free souls?'

'Souls trapped. Gateway absorb. Keep open.'

Thorin was stunned. His father, the elders, everyone had died. But if what Rigon was saying was true then their souls had been trapped within the gateway ever since, preventing them from ascending to the Endless Gardens.

No wonder he had such nightmares. It was time for the nightmares to end and for his people to be set free.

'I do this for you, Father,' Thorin whispered, as he made his way back towards the edge of the isle. Cutting through the crumbling remains of the ancient Fregan ruins, he circled around the magic users' altar. Leaning against a moss-covered wall, he waited.

The air whistled with the sound of the Fregan weapons unleashing their deadly volleys. Startled shouts told him the magic users had been taken by surprise. He knew that would not last long.

Stepping out from behind the wall, Thorin ran towards the gateway. As before, its intricate lacework of white veins pulsed with an unnatural rhythm. The frost giant braced himself against the three-pronged pedestal.

'The sacred gateway!' a harsh voice cried out. Two of the red-robed magic users turned towards Thorin. Santelle and Rigon dodged in between the ruins, flinging sharp rocks at the magic users. They in turn unleashed torrents of liquid ice that froze whatever it touched.

'Do not allow the intruder to desecrate the gateway!'

Thorin pushed with all of his strength, the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining to their limit. Then the ice hit him. It encased his arms and torso, freezing him in place.

'Thorin!' Santelle screamed, as she unleashed a volley of rocks in rapid succession. The magic users fell back, sheltering behind the altar. With a garbled war cry, Rigon jumped down among them. His speed and agility were incredible as he ducked and weaved, swinging his weapon like a quarterstaff. Three magic users were knocked off their feet. Another was thrown backwards against the stone altar. Just as Rigon was about to finish him off, a blast of ice spun him off his feet. Landing hard, he tried to roll out of the way but it was too late. The two remaining magic users encased him in ice.

'No!' Santelle cried out as she watched the amphibian die.

The magic users advanced on her, oblivious to the fatal mistake they had made. Thorin Icewind was a frost giant. Far from killing him, the ice renewed his strength. He drew the cold into his body, feeling it flow through his veins. With a savage cry, he shattered the ice encasing him and lunged at the gateway. It crumbled into pieces, releasing a burst of clear blue light.

The souls of the Fregans were free. Now only his people remained.

A sharp crack of lightning echoed throughout the Fregan ruins as the two remaining magic users were struck down. Darkon leapt off the altar. His eyes burned with an unnatural fire as lightning crackled across his fingertips.

'Thank you, Thorin Icewind,' he sneered. 'You have helped me to get rid of the other gateways. Now I am the only remaining magic user in Larkondia. My power is absolute for, unlike these pathetic fools, I did not share my power with others.'

'It was you? You killed my people? Why? Answer me!' Thorin demanded. He had been waiting for this moment for twenty years. Only the shock of Darkon's betrayal kept him from lunging at the elf.

'It was necessary, I'm afraid. The gateways can only be brought into existence by an act of true evil. The eradication of an entire race was the only way to rip a tear in the fabric of reality and channel the subsequent energy into what you call magic.'

'Why did you leave me alive?'

'Haven't you figured it out yet? The gateways are sustained by the souls of those killed to create them. One must remain alive otherwise the gateway will fall. They are the souls' link to the world of the living.'

'That's why you let Koran and Rigon die, isn't it? Their deaths destroyed the gateways. It had nothing to do with me.'

'Yes. Having you involved allowed me to keep a close watch on you,' Darkon said. 'You seem surprised? I have been watching over you ever since I destroyed your village.'

'I still cannot believe that anyone would commit such an act, especially not an elf. Your race worships life. How could you turn your back on the sacred teachings of Elvas?'

' _Sacred teachings?_ They make a _mockery_ of life. My own people shunned me for experimenting with magic. They cast me out of the Golden Woods and proclaimed me a dark elf. So I have become just that. I have brought darkness into the world and gained true power. Now I will seek my revenge on those that expelled me. Then I will rise beyond this existence and challenge Lord Vallas himself,' Darkon said.

His right hand crackled to life with lightning.

'We are no longer inside the Deep Forest, Santelle. I can hear you sneaking up on me.'

Santelle stopped ten paces away from Darkon, lowering her weapon.

'You murdered my husband. You will die.'

'Not today, I'm afraid. The elf in me wants to spare your life, for there has been enough killing already. But the dark elf understands that you will not rest until you have had your revenge.'

The lightning around Darkon's hand expanded as he turned on Santelle. He raised his arm and pointed. Nothing happened.

'No!' Darkon screamed, as Thorin thrust the sharp rock deep into his own chest. The pain dropped the frost giant to his knees. His vision clouded over as he saw his father's face.

'I will be with you soon,' he said, as the stone slipped from his fingers.

Falling forwards, Thorin looked up just in time to see Santelle thrust the sharp end of the Fregan weapon through Darkon's chest. The dark elf grabbed the end with both hands, disbelief evident on his face. Dropping to the ground, he convulsed several times and was still. Santelle ran to Thorin's side.

'There had to be another way,' she said through a wall of tears.

'Do not cry. My people are free and so am I. My chance at a normal life ended the day Darkon destroyed my village. I could never marry or have children. I could never hunt, never grow old and never aspire to become an elder. This was the only way.'

Thorin's eyes stared into the sky.

'Father, I can hear you now. Tell Mother I am coming. We will hunt the great elk once more.'

Darkness was closing in all around him. He could no longer make out Santelle's face. In its place a glowing figure materialised.

'I know you,' he said.

'You have done well, Thorin Icewind. You have earned my eternal thanks. Now rest and allow me to guide your people's souls to the Endless Gardens.'

'Yes, I am so tired. But before I go, tell me, what is to become of Santelle?'

'She has made her choice.'

'No. I beg of you, allow her to return to her people. There is nothing for her here.'

The glowing figure of Lord Vallas hesitated for a moment.

'You have earned the right to ask this of me. It shall be as you wish.'

Thorin took a final breath and passed from the mortal world. Far away in the Antares Mountains the third gateway toppled. The souls of the frost giants soared into the heavens in a burst of clear blue light.

Santelle gently closed Thorin's eyes. Wiping the tears from her face she stood up and surveyed the ancient Fregan ruins. A bolt of lightning forked across the sky, followed by the distant crack of thunder.

'Damn you men and your foolish pride! What am I supposed to do now?' Santelle shouted into the gathering storm.

'I gave you a choice once: to be with the one you loved, or to return to the underwater world and take your rightful place as Queen of the Deep.'

Santelle spun around to be confronted by the same glowing being that had made her human all those years ago. Dropping to her knees, she bowed her head.

'Lord Vallas.'

'Rise, my child. You have suffered greatly to aid in ridding the world of the abomination of magic. Darkon was arrogant enough to think he could have become a god in his own right. Now I ask you again, do you still choose to live among the land dwellers?'

'No. I would return to my own kind.'

'Then it shall be so.'

As the figure of Lord Vallas glowed brighter, Santelle felt her body changing. Diving into the water, she revelled in her long-lost mermaid form. Breaking the surface, she began her long journey home.

The End

# Angel's Sin

The angel folded its wings as it landed softly on the crushed stone. It surveyed the ruined village, its crystalline eyes taking in every detail. Its eyes quickly filled with tears as it took in the corpses, the body parts and the blood. So much blood. And the smell. Its delicate features contorted as the stench of death assailed its nostrils. The angel felt unbearable sadness as it beheld firsthand the suffering of man.

Then it saw it.

An infant lying among the ruins. Lifting effortlessly into the air, the angel hovered above it. The child reached up with both arms grabbing at the air. It began to cry, its plea for help amplified by the ghostly surroundings.

The angel hesitated.

It was forbidden from interfering. It had been sent here to watch, listen and learn. No contact of any sort with mankind was permitted. Yet how could it ignore such a cry for help? Every fibre of its translucent being was drawn towards the child. It hovered closer, staring into its blue eyes, seeing itself reflected.

The angel made its decision.

Reaching out, its arms became corporeal as it picked up the child. The moment its hands made contact the baby vanished in a cloud of sulphur. The acrid smoke burned the angel's hands as it flailed around in agony. Then it felt the ground pulling it down. It fought to escape but the pull was stronger. Soon it found itself floating above a fiery pit. Within its depths millions of damned souls clawed at each other.

'Release me,' the angel spoke in a lyrical voice. 'No claim over me have you.'

A fiery being of incredible height rose up out of the depths of the pit to confront the angel.

'You have committed one of the seven deadly sins. You are _mine_ now.'

'No sin have I committed.'

'You took the child.'

'To save it.'

'No. You took it for your own gain. You thought you could save it, that somehow you were above the commands of your master. Your _pride_ willed you to take the child.'

As the angel realised its fatal mistake, the fiery being threw back its horned head and laughed.

The End

# The Book

The door closed with a deep, resounding metallic clang that echoed around the narrow stone corridors and faded into the darkness. Escorted by two heavily armed Imperial guardsmen, Johan took his first look around the ancient dungeon. The walls were solid rock, roughly hewn and slick with moisture. The air was damp. A palpable sense of despair hung within the narrow corridors, amplified by the low moans rising from unseen cells around them. Johan quickly gave up any hope of ever seeing the outside world again. Frankly, he didn't think he'd survive to see the next day.

'Johan Gladestone of Hamlet Birrogin, you shall spend your remaining days here, away from your kinsmen and the light of day,' one of the guardsmen proclaimed as they arrived at an empty cell. The second guardsman roughly pushed Johan into the cell. Johan stumbled on the wet floor and fell to his knees.

'Do you have any final words?' the first guardsman asked.

'I...' Johan began but fell silent.

'Then it is done.'

With that the two guardsmen stepped back into the corridor and slammed the door shut. An ominous silence descended around Johan as he slumped against the wall. His will to live slowly deserted him as the full weight of his predicament dawned on him. He was locked in a one-man isolation cell deep within the Imperial Dungeon.

For life.

****

'We'll check on him in a couple of days. Hopefully, he'll be dead by then,' the first guardsman said. His voice betrayed his weary state as he eased himself down onto a wooden stool in the guard quarters.

'Let's hope so. They say he's dangerous,' the second guardsman said.

'Don't worry about it, Gareth. It's nothing our swords can't take care of.'

'I sure hope you're right, Michael.'

'Have I ever been wrong?' Michael asked.

'Well...'

'What?'

Gareth poured two tankards of ale from a barrel located in the corner of the room. Handing one to his fellow guardsman, he sat down opposite him and said, 'There was that time when you thought that you could best Old John of the Hammer, remember?'

Taking a long swig of ale, Michael said, 'Aye, that was a sore mistake indeed!'

Both guardsmen burst into hearty laughter at the memory of an old challenge that had ended badly. Taking another swig of ale, they settled in to await the end of their watch as day slowly turned to night.

****

Johan had never really known his uncle. When the old man passed away, he found out from the Magistrate of Hamlet Birrogin that he was his uncle's only living heir and had inherited his house. Now, Johan was not exactly what one would call careful with money and had accumulated sizeable gambling debts. Some of those debts had come looking for him. Finding himself suddenly the beneficiary of a house in the centre of the Hamlet, Johan saw this as an opportunity to settle those debts before they settled him.

First, he sold off any items of high value that he found lying around the house: jewellery, watches, candlesticks, silverware and the like.

Second, he auctioned off the larger items of value. A grandfather clock, several beautifully carved pieces of furniture and a handful of oil paintings were disposed of in quick order to satisfy Johan's debts.

After several weeks, Johan found himself living in a sparsely furnished house with no adornments. His debts, however, had been repaid in full. This left Johan with a clean slate but no actual worth, other than the house itself. As he had nowhere else to live, he decided that it would be prudent to keep the house for the time being. So he set about searching the remaining parts of the house for anything of value. He started with the basement, finding a few pieces of silverware and two boxed-up paintings that he promptly lost in games of chance played at the local tavern.

All that remained was the attic. Johan spent a week searching through the dust- and cobweb-covered items hidden beneath the roof of the old house. He found many personal items that had belonged to his uncle. Nothing of any real value, though.

Then he found the book.

At first, he mistook it for an old family diary. It was covered in so much dust that he almost missed it. Yet something drew him towards the book. It felt warm to the touch when he picked it up. Curious, Johan brought the book down to the parlour and cleaned it. When he was finished, he sat down and examined it.

The cover and spine were inscribed with strange symbols that seemed vaguely familiar, for Johan had once studied ancient lore. As he tried to recall their meaning, he found that his hands had already opened the book. Flipping through the pages they finally stopped at a blank page.

Realising what had happened, Johan recoiled from the book, leaping to his feet.

'What trickery is this?' he whispered.

Eyeing the book suspiciously, Johan remained standing. Night had fallen outside and it was getting cold. Shivering, Johan walked over to the fireplace and lit a fire. A few moments later the soft glow from the fireplace flickered across the parlour, providing light and warmth. Johan returned to the book. Again he felt his hands being drawn to it. His fingers touched the pages. Caressed them.

That was when Johan realised what the book was. He had only ever heard of such things in passing, whispers in dark corners of taverns and tales from passing travellers. Books of power. Ancient tomes from before the dawn of man, containing secrets. Dangerous and unpredictable secrets.

With a supreme effort, Johan slammed the book shut and walked out of the parlour.

****

Johan woke the next morning to find beams of sunlight cascading through his window. Yawning, he got up and got dressed. Walking downstairs, he deliberately avoided the parlour and the book of power. Instead, he ate breakfast out on the front porch. Having finished, he made his way back up to the attic to continue his search for valuables. Several hours later, just as the sun was beginning to wane in the sky, Johan admitted defeat. There was nothing of value left in the house.

Then it struck him. The book of power!

Such ancient tomes, although dangerous and unpredictable, were also immensely valuable. Johan knew a merchant who dealt in such items. As Johan's mind began to fill with thoughts of riches, he suddenly realised the flaw in his plan. He would have to go near the book again. Already fearful of its influence on him, he was loath to touch it again. Perhaps there was another way? No, he would have to get the book himself.

As the sun sank low on the horizon, bathing the interior of the house in a warm amber glow, Johan walked over to the table where he had left the book of power.

'How did that happen?' Johan asked. The book was open to the blank page once more. He clearly remembered slamming it shut the night before.

'Who's here?' he called out, spinning around. But the parlour was empty. There was no sign that anyone had been there. A shiver travelled down Johan's spine as he realised that the book was even more powerful that he had suspected.

'What have you gotten yourself into, Johan?' he asked. 'This is not good, not good at all. Wait, what...'

Johan looked down to find that his hands were holding the book. As a flock of birds flew past his window on their way to the forest for the night, Johan stood locked in a struggle with an unseen force.

'Stop it!' he shouted. Sweat poured down his face as he fought to regain control of his arms. But it was no use. The book of power exerted its will upon him. Slowly, his arms lifted the ancient tome from the table. As the last rays of sunlight fell across the blank page, the parlour dimmed. Everything became deathly still.

A hideous visage silhouetted against flame leapt out of the page.

'By the gods, stop this madness!' Johan screamed.

The flaming figure vanished as quickly as it had appeared. In its place a series of symbols burned brightly on the page. One by one they extinguished themselves. Finally, the last one died down, the room returned to normal and Johan dropped the book on the table.

For a while Johan was unable to move. Fear and shock kept him locked in place. Eventually, he managed to calm himself and regain control. He risked a glance down at the book.

Where before had been only a blank page, now there were a series of symbols burnt into the page. Johan frowned as he tried to comprehend their meaning. There was something so familiar about them. If only he could remember!

Johan continued to stare at the page. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the symbols began to swim before his eyes. Soon they were floating around on the page, dissolving and reforming. Suddenly they stopped. The symbols had formed into words which Johan recognised as the ancient language of the Age of Flames.

Johan read:

A doorway lies on the edge of this world,

A doorway to another realm,

A realm of power,

A power forged of flame,

A flame forged of blood,

A blood figure drawn,

A five-pointed funnel,

A funnel bound by the blood of five.

A vision exploded in Johan's mind. A world made of fire, filled with heat and light unending, populated by incredible beings made of pure flame. Stained red. Blood red. Endless seas of blood flowed through chasms between flaming mountains. The sky rained fire and blood. A pair of burning eyes locked onto Johan. They bore into his soul. They burned him from within. He screamed a silent scream, unable to break free.

Finally, they spoke to him.

'Open the doorway, mortal. Free me!'

The vision disappeared. Johan collapsed to the floor, smoke rising from his arms and clothing. Staring up at the ceiling, he felt a smile creep across his face as his eyes glowed faintly with an inner fire.

****

The first body went unnoticed. The second, that of Bern Fireforge the blacksmith, caused a ripple in the small community of Birrogin. People began to talk. Suspicions abounded as a dark cloud of fear swept through the community. It didn't take long for the first body to be uncovered after that. This caused the level of fear and mistrust to escalate to the point where the magistrate was forced to call for Imperial assistance.

By the time two Imperial Emissaries arrived, a third body had been found: Sarah Wintersalt, a barmaid at the local tavern. Her body was discovered behind the old mill. Her throat had been slit and she had bled to death.

'Strange,' Imperial Emissary Darren Wolfbane said, kneeling next to the body.

'How so?' the second Imperial Emissary, Warwick Brightsword, asked.

'There should be more blood.'

'Maybe she was killed somewhere else and her body dumped here?'

Darren shook his head.

'No, she was killed here. There's just not enough blood. A wound like that, her throat cut from ear to ear, would have sprayed out in all directions. She would have also bled profusely onto the ground. Yet there is very little blood.'

'What are you saying? That someone or _something_ drained her of blood?'

Standing up, Darren scanned the old mill and riverbanks. Satisfied that no one else was around, he turned back to his fellow emissary.

'That's exactly what I'm saying.'

****

Johan had cleared a large area in the centre of the basement. Gone were the dust-covered shelves, chests and crates. A five-pointed star now dominated the confined space. A pentagram. Drawn in Johan's own blood. At the end of each point stood a heavy chalice. Five in total. Two were filled with a thick red liquid.

The third was being filled from an apothecary bottle Johan held in his trembling hands. Once the chalice was full, Johan placed the bottle on the floor outside the pentagram and stood back.

The blood of Sarah Wintersalt, Bern Fireforge and Samuel Woodstone filled three of the five chalices. Only two remained.

'Please, I cannot do this!' Johan begged the voice in his head.

'You have done well, mortal,' the voice replied. 'Bring me the blood of two more and I will open the doorway.'

'I can't...' Johan pleaded.

'Do this and I will reward you.'

'I...'

'Do this and I will _release_ you.'

Johan collapsed to his knees, his strength gone. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Then he let go.

'I will do as you ask, master.'

Rising slowly, Johan walked over to the table in the corner of the basement, avoiding the pentagram on the floor. Picking up an ebony hunting knife, he made his way upstairs.

He had two more chalices to fill.

****

The scream shattered the morning silence of Hamlet Birrogin. People reacted instantly. Some ran towards their homes. Others sought out their loved ones. The two Imperial Emissaries ran as fast as they could towards the sound.

Rounding a corner behind the town hall, they were confronted by a gruesome sight. A young boy, no older than twelve, lay on the ground. His throat had been ripped open, just like the other victims. There was also very little blood given the nature of the slaying.

Darren knelt next to the boy. Placing his hand on what remained of the boy's ruined neck, he felt for a pulse. Standing up, he shook his head.

'We're too late,' Warwick said.

'Yes, to save this poor soul we are. But whoever did this could not have gone far. Look, there's a trail of blood in the grass. I will bet a bag of gold that whoever did this lives in Hamlet Birrogin.'

'Can you track them?' Warwick asked.

Darren smiled as his eyes changed colour from brown to a deep yellow.

'Do wolves like to hunt?'

****

Johan bolted the front door behind him as he raced through his uncle's house towards the basement. Opening the trap door, he quickly went downstairs, locking and barring it from within. Reaching the basement, he poured the contents of the apothecary bottle into the fourth chalice. As the blood reached the brim of the chalice, the apothecary bottle tumbled from his fingers and a palpable surge of power ran through the pentagram. The doorway was almost complete.

Only one chalice remained.

The sound of breaking wood shook the basement as Johan looked up with a start. Someone had followed him! In his haste to free himself he had become careless. The young boy's scream had alerted the townsfolk. Now they had followed him here. Casting around the basement, Johan's eyes were drawn to the empty chalice. Walking over to the table, he picked up the ebony hunting knife. Rolling up his sleeve, he moved towards the pentagram.

Only one chalice remained.

****

'Follow me!' Darren shouted as he burst through the front door of Johan's house. He found himself in a narrow corridor. A parlour was ahead of him, while the kitchen was to the right.

'Where is he?' Warwick asked. He had drawn his sword.

Darren scanned the room. His eyes began to glow as he sniffed the air.

'This way.'

As one they ran through the parlour and stopped above a trapdoor in the floor.

'He's down there,' Darren said. Warwick raised his sword as the other emissary bent down and tried the door. It was locked. They could hear the sound of a heavy lock rattling on the other side of the trapdoor.

'Together,' Darren said. Both emissaries took a step back. Then, as one, they jumped into the air and came down hard on the trapdoor. One moment their feet touched the wood of the door. The next they were tumbling down a set of stairs into a faintly lit basement, fragments of wood all around them. Darren was up in an instant. He took in the scene before him. The pentagram. The five chalices. One chalice empty. Johan holding a large hunting knife poised above his wrist.

'Stop him!' Darren roared. Warwick reacted instantly. Dropping his sword, he grabbed Johan's arm, holding the knife at bay.

'Let me go!' Johan cried out, struggling against Warwick's vice-like grip. As strong as the emissary was, Johan was possessed by an ancient being from another plane. Even across the great divide between worlds, the fiery being was able to endow him with some of its supernatural strength. Johan broke free, sending Warwick flailing backwards.

'Now I will be free,' Johan said, drawing the knife across his wrist. As the blood slowly dripped out, Darren reacted. With a savage howl, he tackled Johan to the ground. Behind them, a single drop of blood landed in the fifth chalice.

The effect was instantaneous. A shockwave erupted from the pentagram, travelling outwards, knocking everyone and everything aside. The blood forming the pentagram began to pulse with a life of its own as a flaming tear appeared in the centre. Slowly, the tear expanded. An arm wreathed in flames reached out from the other world.

'The chalices! Knock one over before it's too late!' Darren shouted. Warwick sprang to his feet and kicked out with his heavy riding boots, sending a chalice flying into the wall. The blood contained within slithered down the stone wall. Warwick turned back towards the pentagram.

The flaming tear was wavering as the being on the other side fought to keep it open. But despite its power, such doorways could not be opened from the other side. With a final bellow of savage anger the flaming being withdrew its arm. The tear shrank to nothing.

'Is that it?' Warwick asked.

Darren struggled to his feet.

'Yes. The pentagram is broken. Whatever that was on the other side, it won't be able to open the doorway. We're safe. For now.'

'What about him?'

Both emissaries turned to look at the prone figure of Johan.

'We'll take him back to the capital where he'll stand trial for the murder of four people.'

'What about all this?' Warwick asked, gesturing at the pentagram.

'We clean it up before anyone sees it. There are enough dangerous and frightening things in this world without people needing to know about other worlds filled with even more terrifying things.'

Warwick nodded as both emissaries began eradicating any sign that the pentagram had ever existed.

****

Two days later, Johan was sentenced to life imprisonment in the Imperial Dungeon. The basement of his uncle's house was sealed off from the world and the house cursed for all eternity but the book of power was never found.

Somewhere, in a realm of fire and blood, a being of incredible power waits until the day it can open a portal to this world and return.

The End

# The Doorway

You stand before the mirror naked.

As you stare at your reflection, you clutch the smoothly carved elephant figurine in your right hand. Its weight and texture are reassuring. It is your key to unlocking the doorway.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. The trader of rare and wonderful commodities had promised that the figurine would allow you to step through the mirror into another world.

'What kind of world?' you had asked.

'It is different for everyone,' he had replied.

'How do I get back?'

The trader had smiled.

'The figurine will open the doorway from both sides.'

You open your eyes and breathe out.

You stand before the mirror naked. Nothing but you may pass through the doorway. You squeeze the figurine one last time. It is your way to enter the other world and also your way back. It feels good in your hand. Solid. Reassuring.

You take a final deep breath and say the words that will open the doorway.

'Open and allow me passage for I seek what lies beyond.'

For a moment nothing happens. After a while, you realise your reflection is moving. It swims before your eyes. Finally, it splits in two as a beam of light streams through the crack in the mirror. It bathes you in an azure aura. It enfolds you.

You disappear in a flash of light. The crack in the mirror seals itself, no sign it was ever there. Your journey is complete.

The elephant figurine drops to the ground in front of the mirror, for nothing but you may pass through the doorway.

The End

# Crystal Dragon

The mighty crystal dragon, Alzaar, stirred from its centuries-long sleep. Its eyes opened slowly, the scraping sound of its crystalline eyelids reverberating around its cavernous home. Its return to consciousness was a slow and cumbersome process. It drifted up through the centuries, reliving ancient battles, dark and powerful foes and the capture of riches. Finally, it was fully awake. It cast its enormous head around the inside of its cavern, making sure that its treasure remained untouched. Satisfied that no one had defiled its resting place, it was about to lay its head back down, when it realised that it was not alone.

A single human stood before it.

Alzaar shifted its incredible bulk, sending hundreds of gems and gold coins tumbling down the sides of its treasure pile. The sound of the coins striking each other echoed around the cavern as the crystal dragon lowered its head to get a better look at the intruder.

A human male, pale skinned, dressed in a light-grey cloak with a hood covering most of his face. He was small, even for a human. Insignificant, compared to the enormous Alzaar. The dragon was about to lash out with its crystalline talons when the human spoke.

'Greetings, mighty Alzaar,' the human said, bowing low. 'My name is Jonathan Arkenstone. I am an apprentice magician at the Tower of Farsight.'

Alzaar felt a shiver run through its gigantic body at the mention of the word 'magician'. Old memories of a fearsome foe, a black magician named D'Kathian, surfaced unbidden. He was the only foe that had come close to defeating the crystal dragon during its two-millennium lifespan. A spasm of pain travelled through Alzaar's body from an old wound inflicted by D'Kathian. The dragon instinctively shifted its weight to cover its one vulnerable spot, a handful of fractured crystalline scales on its stomach.

'Why have you come here, human? Why have you disturbed the sleep of Alzaar?'

'I beg your forgiveness, mighty crystal dragon. I am but a humble apprentice and I have heard many tales of your incredible deeds. I have come here to offer my services in return for tales from your past.'

Alzaar again considered ending the human's life. It would be so easy for it to reach out with its gigantic claws and crush the fragile figure standing before it. Yet there was something in the magician's determined stance that stayed its claws. After so many centuries living in isolation, the crystal dragon would at least entertain the idea of interaction with another living creature.

But it would not make it easy.

'I am Alzaar, the crystal dragon, born of the crystal caverns of the Glacial Isle in the Frozen Reaches. I have defeated dragons, magicians and warriors alike. I have levelled cities and battled entire armies. None has ever bested me in battle. My powers are unmatched, as is my wealth What use would I have for a human such as you?'

As if sensing the dragon's inner thoughts, the young magician replied, 'You are indeed all powerful, mighty Alzaar. But the world has changed while you have slept. Nations have risen and fallen. Ancient races of creatures have become extinct before the advance of mankind. Tales of old have fallen into distant memory. The world has forgotten about dragons. You have been left isolated and alone.'

Jonathan moved a step closer.

'Let me be your link to the world. I will spread the tales of the mighty crystal dragon, Alzaar, among the people. The world will know of dragons once again—will revere them, will worship them.'

Alzaar considered the human's words. In truth, some part of it wanted to return to its deep slumber. But each time its sleep was longer, the process of waking more difficult and time consuming. At some point it feared it would simply not wake again and would be transformed, taken back to its mineral origins, the aeons-old crystalline structure from which it was hatched.

'Very well, Jonathan Arkenstone. You will be the conduit of Alzaar's rebirth into the world.'

The young magician bowed low.

'Thank you, mighty one.'

'Now listen, and listen well, for the first tale of my deeds I shall bestow upon you will be that of the ancient battle of Razor Keep.'

As Alzaar relived its first battle as a hatchling, Jonathan Arkenstone sat down, cross-legged on the ground before it, and listened intently to every word.

****

Three months had passed and Alzaar was becoming accustomed to seeing the pale-skinned human in its domain. The crystal dragon had to admit that some part of it looked forward to their meetings, when it would relive its glorious deeds and ancient tales. The young magician in turn would tell the dragon about the world outside its cavernous home, a world that had changed much during the centuries it had slept.

'What is this _elevator_ you speak of?' Alzaar asked.

'It is a dwarven invention. Consisting of a series of pulleys and ropes attached to a platform, it allows for vertical travel of goods and people. All that is required is a team of strong horses to make it work.'

'The world truly has changed, young apprentice.'

'That it has, mighty dragon.'

'What of warfare? Tell me of the fearsome weaponry that exists now.'

Jonathan Arkenstone sat cross-legged on the cavern floor as he tirelessly answered the dragon's questions.

'There have been many new inventions over the centuries: towering siege weapons capable of throwing house-sized flaming boulders, many-wheeled armoured battering rams, piercing crossbow bolts capable of penetrating even the thickest armour. But the most fearsome of all is the explosive black powder.'

'What does it do?'

'It burns slowly when spread out thinly but when enough of it is combined together it explodes with the ferocity of an earthquake.'

Alzaar's eyes opened wide.

'You are telling me that the dwarven and human blacksmiths have managed to create a powder that mimics dragon fire?'

'Yes,' Jonathan Arkenstone whispered.

The crystal dragon rose up, fanning its great wings in anger. Thousands of gems, coins and bejewelled goblets were sent sprawling across the cavern floor. Jonathan remained as he was.

'How _dare_ they?' the dragon demanded. 'They have gone too far!'

'I beg your forgiveness, mighty dragon, but surely not even such ingenuity can overcome the power of a crystal dragon? I have never heard of any foe even coming close to besting you in battle.'

Alzaar felt a shiver run through its crystalline body as it settled back down onto its treasure pile. Folding its wings around its body, it stared at the young magician for a long time in absolute silence.

Finally, with great reluctance, the dragon recounted its darkest hour.

'There was one who came close to defeating me. His name was D'Kathian. He was a black magician of the highest order who challenged me at the height of his power.'

The pain flared up once more in Alzaar's shattered scales as it relived that terrifying battle centuries ago.

'Our battle destroyed the Keep of Ages and much of the surrounding countryside. I scorched his body with lightning, crushed his bones with my strength and used my crystalline scales to reflect his attacks back at him. But D'Kathian's powers were a match for my own. What dark and vile pacts he had made to render his body indestructible, I would not dare guess at, for each time I thought that I had killed him he rose again. He called forth the blackest of magic to strike at me.'

'We battled for days on end. Even my immeasurable strength began to wane as I expended attack after attack to weaken him. But it worked. I finally brought D'Kathian to his knees. Then the unthinkable happened.'

Here, Alzaar stopped, fearful of revealing its one weakness.

'What happened?' Jonathan asked.

The dragon remained silent.

'I swear that I will never repeat what you tell me to anyone.'

The dragon remained silent.

Jonathan stood up. Taking two steps forwards, he bowed low as he said, 'Mighty Alzaar, I swear upon my life and that of all my living kin that I will never breathe a word of what you tell me next to another soul, living or otherwise. I make this vow in the name of Demargis.'

Alzaar's eyes opened wide at the mention of the God of Vengeance. The vow was one that could not be broken without forfeiting one's life. The crystal dragon felt a sliver of respect for the pale human magician.

It made its decision.

'Very well, Jonathan Arkenstone. I will tell you that which I have never told another. As I rose up to finish D'Kathian, he frantically wove a wall-of-whispers spell around himself. Only his distorted magic amplified and heightened the sounds to a high-pitched frequency. As I struck at him some of my scales caught the full brunt of the spell and cracked.'

Alzaar fell silent, the enormity of what it had just revealed hanging over it like an impending cloud of doom.

Jonathan Arkenstone threw back his head and laughed. It was a vile, mocking sound that reverberated around the cavern.

'You dare laugh?' Alzaar demanded, rising up on its hind legs.

'Fool!' the magician spat. 'Do you not recognise your greatest foe?'

Jonathan Arkenstone's pale grey cloak slowly darkened until it was the colour of night. His eyes shone from the depths of his hood with an unnatural light as he faced the crystal dragon.

'Now it is time we finished what we started so long ago.'

Alzaar realised its fatal mistake as the dark magician D'Kathian raised his arms into the air, making it oscillate at an ever higher pitch. The crystal dragon tried to move but the vibrations in the air had reached an unbearable frequency. It felt like each of its scales was being torn off one by one. It experienced pain like it had never felt before.

Then the sound stopped.

Every single one of Alzaar's crystalline scales, its impenetrable armour, shattered. The tiny pieces fell like crystalline rain across the cavern.

D'Kathian smiled.

'I have waited centuries for this moment, Alzaar. I have given up everything for this one last chance to face you in battle again—you how once defeated me. Demargis demanded the ultimate price. My soul.'

Alzaar was reeling from the pain of its scales being destroyed. Flailing around, it finally fought through the pain to face the black magician. Physically, he appeared as he had all those centuries ago. Yet the dragon could clearly sense that he was only a pale shade of his former self. Demargis had taken everything, just as D'Kathian had taken everything from him. His mightiest foe. The final chapter in their encounter.

'To the death,' D'Kathian said.

'To the death,' Alzaar replied.

As the black magician summoned the darkest of magic the crystal dragon lit up the inside of its cavern with a burst of lightning.

And they fought one last time.

The End

# Darkness

The nightmare fades with the dawning of a new day. Golden beams of sunlight sweep through the bedroom window, chasing away the darkness. I open my eyes. The light fills me with a sense of wonder. It is uplifting. It is joyful, full of life. There is no place for the horrors of the night in the light of day.

Early morning light brings with it a rejuvenating energy. I stride purposefully along the main road through the centre of town, bathed in the cascading rays of white light. I wave to my friends. I smile. I am happy.

Midday, the light reaches its peak. The darkness has nowhere to hide. I share a tankard of ale with my friends. We talk. We laugh. If only they knew.

The afternoon sun penetrates the dusty glass of my workshop and finds me at my workbench. I look up, savouring the feeling that orange glow provides. It won't last. Darkness is coming.

Evening brings with it a sense of dread. The sun is setting, its final rays casting a rose-coloured glow across the town. The temperature is dropping. I can sense the night coming.

Night-time. The darkness is here. The feelings of joy and happiness are replaced by primordial instincts. Dark. Savage. I light the oil lamps, every single one. I even leave the outside torches burning.

Midnight. The absence of light. The nightmare becomes reality as I strike once, twice. The knife cleaves through flesh like it is parchment. The darkness hides the blood. I move on.

Pre-dawn twilight has arrived. It is not yet light as I finish cleaning my hands. The water drains a crimson deluge as I avoid looking in the mirror. My only solace is the light of day.

But darkness always finds me.

The End

# Finders Keepers

'Flas, come back!' Huras shouted.

His words disappeared into the forest as he skidded to a halt on the soft grass. His innate elven agility stopped him from falling over. Shielding his eyes from the sunlight, he peered into the thicket ahead. He could just make out the retreating figure of his friend.

'Flas, this isn't funny. You know we're not supposed to go past the light boundary!'

No response. Flas had crossed the light boundary and disappeared into the dark forest beyond. Casting one last look at the sunlit meadow and trees behind him, Huras reluctantly made his decision.

'Wait for me!' he called out.

The moment he crossed the light boundary everything changed. The sunlight vanished to be replaced by a murky twilight. The temperature dropped. The trees closed in all around him.

'Flas, where are you? I don't like this!'

Huras stumbled on the roots of an old birch tree. This time not even his elven agility could save him as he landed facedown in a pile of rotten leaves. The stench assailed his delicate sense of smell as he spat out pieces of vegetation. Fear gripped him as the murkiness closed in, obscuring his elven vision.

'Flas!'

'Over here,' his friend's voice drifted out of the darkness. 'You've got to see this.'

Huras rolled to a standing position and moved in the direction of Flas's voice. He found his friend on the edge of a clearing. It was ringed by gnarled and twisted trees that were blackened by fire. But that's not what caused him to catch his breath.

'What is that?' he asked, the words escaping his lips as he saw the object in the centre of the clearing.

Flas turned towards him, an impish smile spreading across his youthful elven face.

'C'mon, let's find out.'

****

Warwick ran as fast as his ten-year-old legs would carry him. Dodging and weaving through the crowded market stalls near the docks of Grey Port, he grinned despite the precarious situation in which he found himself. Casting a quick glance behind him, he saw three red-liveried town watchmen pushing their way through the crowds. One of them ran straight into a pair of burly dockworkers. That left only two.

'Watch where you're going!' a stall owner yelled as Warwick brushed past him. Rounding a corner, he sprinted down a side alley. The two remaining watchmen followed.

'Oi, you stop!' one of them shouted.

'You'll have to catch me first!' Warwick called out.

He dodged past broken crates and filthy puddles of refuse. Sucking down mouthfuls of stale air he looked around. The alleyway seemed familiar but then there were few places in the city of Grey Port that Warwick didn't know. These were his streets, his turf. Casting another glance behind him, he noticed with alarm that one of the watchmen was right behind him.

Warwick looked around for an escape. He was getting tired. In crowded markets and tight spaces, his small size was an advantage. In an all-out sprint he could not outrun an adult. They would certainly hang him if they caught him. The jewelled necklace tucked into his tunic was a valuable piece and the fat merchant he had liberated it from was clearly influential. The town watch rarely responded so quickly to such incidents. Warwick realised he was in trouble.

Then he saw it. Several irregularly fitted cobblestones in the shape of an 'L'. Anyone else would have missed it but he knew the alley like the back of his hand.

'Better luck next time!' he called out. Dropping to the ground, he rolled into an open grate and landed in the sewers. His senses were assailed by the stench of human refuse as he stood up. The two watchmen were too big to follow. Something they had clearly realised as their angry shouts drifted down after him.

'Come back here, you little cur!'

Smiling, Warwick checked the necklace. The large ruby at its centre glittered like fire despite the murky surroundings. Tucking it back inside his tunic, he took his bearings and struck off in a westerly direction.

****

The object at the centre of the clearing radiated an unnatural green light. Elliptical in shape, its bottom part was hidden in the grass. Flas was the first one to reach it.

'It looks like an egg!' he exclaimed with glee.

'I've never seen an egg glow like that,' Huras said. 'We should leave it and head back across the light boundary.'

'Leave it? No way. I'm taking it with us!'

'Flas, c'mon; we don't know what it is or who it belongs to. This is the dark forest; we shouldn't be here.'

'Well, I say finders keepers. I'm taking it.'

'Alright, but can we go back now?'

'Just give me a moment.'

Flas grasped the large green egg and lifted it. The moment his hands touched its surface, the egg stopped glowing.

'What did you do?' Huras asked.

'I don't know. It just happened when I touched it.'

'I really don't like this, Flas. I think we should leave it here.'

'C'mon, we've got it now. Let's get it back across the light boundary where we can examine it properly.'

Flas cradled the egg in his hands as they set off for the edge of the clearing. Reaching the blackened and twisted trees, Huras froze.

'Flas, did you see that?'

'See what?'

'I could have sworn I saw—'

A flurry of motion erupted behind the trees on the other side of the clearing as something large and heavy stampeded through the darkened woods. The trees parted and a giant lizard charged into the clearing.

'Reptiloid!'

'Run!'

'Flas, drop the egg!'

'No, c'mon, hurry—it's getting closer!'

They ran as fast as they could through the darkened forest with Flas holding onto the egg. They leapt over tree roots and dodged blackened tree stumps that seemed to materialise in their path. Huras risked a quick glance over his shoulder. The reptiloid was right behind them, crashing through everything in its path.

'Flas, you need to drop the egg—it's slowing you down!'

'We're almost at the light boundary. I can make it!'

They increased their pace as the sound of the lizard crashing through the trees grew closer with each step. A shimmering curtain of white light ahead of them denoted the light boundary. Huras looked back. The reptiloid opened its giant maw.

'Flas, dive!'

Curling around the egg, Flas dropped to the ground and rolled. Huras did the same. He could feel the moment his body passed through the light barrier. His eleven senses sharpened; he could hear, see and sense everything. He looked back just in time to see the reptiloid crash into the light barrier.

The result was spectacular. The light solidified around it, acquiring the density of crystal. The giant lizard fell back, flailing around in pain. Its beady eyes looked at them one last time before it turned and disappeared into the dark forest.

'That was close,' Flas said, grinning, as he watched the reptiloid leave. 'I've never actually seen the light barrier stop anything as big as a reptiloid before.'

'Ah, Flas,' Huras said.

'What is it?'

Huras pointed at the strange egg.

'Why is it doing that?'

****

Warwick was lost. The realisation dawned on him as he looked around the unfamiliar sewer tunnels, trying to get his bearings. He should have been directly underneath the Red Unicorn tavern. Instead, he could hear sea waves crashing against rocks. The air was heavy with the scent of sea water, salty and fishy.

'Where am I?' he asked.

The darkness provided no response. Feeling his way along the darkened tunnels, he decided to head for the sea. From there he would be able to find his way back to the Red Unicorn tavern. He was sure his tardiness would be forgiven when he presented the jewelled necklace to his master.

The sewer tunnels ended and Warwick found himself in a large sea cave. The far end was open to the sea, with the evening sun casting its golden rays across the frothing waves. The sound of the waves breaking against the jagged coastline echoed inside the cave, rising and falling with the surge. But that was not what caught Warwick's attention.

'By the gifts of Ralkien!' he exclaimed, calling upon the God of Thieves as his eyes found the object in the centre of the cavern. Resting on a small island was a large glowing egg. It radiated an unnatural blue aura. Warwick stood transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away.

Slowly, he waded out into the water. The waves were calmer inside the sea cave but he still had to fight his way to the island. Reaching it, he approached the egg cautiously. It continued to glow with a steady azure ambience.

'Here goes nothing,' he whispered as he reached out and touched it. The egg went dark. Warwick drew his hand back. Nothing happened. He waited for a count of ten. The egg remained dark and inert. Shrugging, he reached out and picked it up. Turning around, he swam out towards the cave entrance. Reaching the rocks, he pulled himself out of the water and stood shivering in the evening breeze. He turned the egg over in his hands, marvelling at its perfectly smooth texture.

'What is this?'

****

The egg had started glowing again. Instead of the eerie green light the elves had first seen in the dark forest, it now radiated a warm yellow glow. Flas placed it on the ground and took a cautious step back.

'Flas, what if it's a reptiloid egg?' Huras asked.

Flas shook his head.

'It's too small. I don't think it's an egg at all.'

'What do you think it is?'

'I think it's a magical gem.'

'A gem?'

'Yes. I've heard the elders talk about such things. Powerful artefacts from the Dawn of Ages which bestow special abilities upon their owners.'

Huras eyed the glowing egg.

'I don't know, Flas. It looks like an egg to me. A strange, glowing egg that changes colour for some unknown reason but an egg nonetheless.'

Flas looked at his friend for a moment, uncertainty playing across his face.

'What is it, Flas?' Huras asked.

'Promise you won't laugh?'

'Why?'

'Just promise, okay?'

Huras held his hands up.

'Alright, Flas. I promise. What is it?'

'When we were running through the forest and the reptiloid was chasing us, I thought—I mean, I felt—like the egg was helping me. It made me faster. Helped me to anticipate where the obstacles would be.'

Huras looked first at his friend, then at the glowing egg. Then back at his friend.

Then he burst into laughter.

'You promised!' Flas exclaimed.

****

The Red Unicorn tavern was built on an ancient pier at the far end of Grey Port. It was the oldest tavern in the city. It was also the busiest.

The sounds of drunken merriment spilled out of the tavern and onto the surrounding streets. Warwick listened to the muffled sounds from his concealed location underneath the pier. He had left the sea cave and made his way along the coastline until he reached Grey Port. He still could not understand how he had gotten so turned around in the sewers. The sea cave was only a short walk from the end of the main port, yet he had never seen it before. It was almost as if an external force had drawn him to the sea cave and the glowing egg.

Opening the carefully wrapped bundle he carried, Warwick examined the egg. It was still dark. Yet he could sense it was not a cold, lifeless object. It radiated a strange aura. Warwick was fascinated but he was also conscious of how late he was. Folding the bundle back up, he made his way to the rusted old staircase leading into the basement of the Red Unicorn.

A short climb later, he opened the trapdoor into the basement. The sounds of drunken merriment were louder and his senses were overwhelmed with the smell of ale, roast pig and potatoes. The cook, a surly man named Derk, saw him.

'You're late,' he said, not bothering to look directly at him. 'Father's been looking for you.'

'I know,' Warwick said, pulling himself through the trapdoor. 'I had to evade some town watch.'

'Save it for Father. Now get out of here before I forget you're one of us.'

'You'd have to catch me first, fat man!'

With a grin Warwick easily evaded a copper pot aimed at his head and stepped into the adjoining room. Here the sounds of the tavern where muffled by heavy tapestries draped across the walls and thick carpeting on the floor. A dense cloud of smoke hung in the air, laced with apple and cinnamon aromas along with a spicy, exotic ingredient Warwick didn't recognise.

'Our wandering pickpocket returns,' a deep voice announced from a shadowy corner. The speaker, an older man dressed in expensive clothes, sat in a wooden chair. In one hand he held an elaborately carved wooden pipe. In the other rested a razor-sharp throwing dagger. Two other men sat across from him. Each had drawn a dagger also.

'Forgive me, Father,' Warwick said.

'I trust you have a good reason for your tardiness?' the man called 'Father' asked.

Warwick reached into his tunic and withdrew the ruby necklace. A low whistle resounded in the smoky room as one of the men on the other side leaned forwards to get a better look. Warwick handed the necklace to Father.

'Impressive. You are becoming more and more confident in the art. But I understand that you are also becoming careless.'

'My mark was well connected,' Warwick said. 'He had an escort of town watchmen. They chased me for a spell but I managed to lose them in the sewers.'

'I am aware of your indiscretion. Your recklessness endangers us all,' Father said.

In an effortless display of skill, he spun the throwing dagger around his wrist. The blade rotated silently, reflecting the scant light in the room, sending it dancing across the walls. Snatching the blade in mid spin, he flung it at Warwick. The blade missed him by a hair's breadth and embedded itself in the doorframe.

Warwick dropped the bundle under his arm. The strange egg rolled out and began to glow with a pale red ambience. All three thieves sprang to their feet.

'By the skill of Ralkien, what is that?'

****

Flas and Huras returned to the elven village of L'thleen just as the sun began to wane in the sky. Built in the centre of a flowering meadow, its crystalline spires stretched far into the sky while a ring of majestic firs protected its boundary. Flas was about to walk through the main gate when Huras pulled him back.

'Flas, you can't just walk in with that thing glowing in your hands,' Huras said.

'Why not?' Flas asked.

'Because we'll get in trouble, that's why. The elders will want to know where we got it from.'

'So? We tell them.'

'Yes and where did we get it, Flas?'

'We found it in the dark...'

Flas's words trailed off as he realised that if anyone asked them about the egg they would have to reveal where they found it. By doing so they would admit to breaking the elders' rule that no children were allowed beyond the light boundary.

'Exactly,' Huras said.

'Well, I'm not leaving it. We've been through too much to get it this far.'

Huras looked around for anything that could be used to mask the glowing egg. His eyes settled on an elven lantern hanging in the fir tree next to the gate. He smiled.

'C'mon, help me get that lantern down,' he said.

'Why didn't I think of that?' Flas asked.

'Because if you were that smart you would have left the egg where you found it,' Huras replied. 'Now c'mon before somebody sees us.'

Stretching out his hand, Huras quickly realised that he was too short to reach the lantern.

'Give me a boost,' he said.

After two unsuccessful attempts, they finally managed to dislodge the glowing lantern from the fir tree. Emptying the pixie-dust from the bowl, Flas placed the egg inside. The lantern continued to glow with a warm yellow light. At a distance it looked the same as any other.

'That will have to do,' Huras said, admiring their handiwork. 'You'd better let me go first and try to keep it behind you if we run into anyone.'

Flas nodded. They walked slowly through the eastern gate and entered the elven village. The high cleric, Latholan, was leading the elders in song, while the other villagers went about their afternoon tasks. The song filled the air with a joyful and uplifting melody as the sunlight continued to fade across the horizon. The two elven children were walking past the courtyard of the main spire when the unthinkable happened.

Flas tripped on a sizeable stone and landed on the ground. The lantern slipped out of his hands and the egg rolled away. It came to rest near the high cleric's feet, radiating a rich golden glow.

'Oh, no.'

****

A tense stillness fell across the thieves' den as all four occupants stared at the glowing red egg. The smoke from Father's pipe faded away as the contents burned out. It did nothing to lessen the smoke in the air. Warwick tried to think of a way out of his predicament that would allow him to keep the strange egg.

'It's a trinket I liberated from a merchant near the docks,' he lied, reaching to pick it up.

'Take another step and the next dagger won't be high and wide,' Father said.

Warwick remained still. He looked at the other two thieves, Goran and Bailor. The first was a man he barely knew except for his reputation of indifference to children and those weaker than him. Warwick was unlikely to find any sympathy there. Bailor, on the other hand, was an honourable man, for as much as that could be said about a thief. He had shown kindness to Warwick on several occasions in the past. Warwick knew he had to try something before the egg was taken from him. For some reason he was loath to part with it.

'Father, I have brought you an extremely valuable piece of jewellery. I am prepared to waive my cut if you let me keep this strange artefact,' Warwick said.

Father's eyes flicked from the glowing egg to the necklace resting on the table next to him. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

'The necklace is indeed a fine piece but your acquisition was clumsy and attracted unnecessary attention. Your cut will be used to pay off the town watch and help erase this unfortunate incident from their minds,' Father said. 'The artefact remains with us.'

'Surely the child is entitled to some compensation for his efforts?' Bailor said. 'His theft of the necklace may have been less than perfect but he succeeded, nonetheless, and he has also brought us this clearly valuable artefact.'

'You would throw your lot in with this street urchin?' Father asked.

'Our rules are clear. Compensation must be paid.'

Father looked at Bailor, then at Goran. Finally, his eyes turned to Warwick. Reaching into a leather pouch at his side he drew out a single coin and flicked it to Warwick, who snatched it out of the air with ease. Opening his palm, he was startled to find a gold florin, the most valuable of coins in the land.

'Compensation has been paid and our rules upheld. The artefact remains here.'

****

The elven song faded away as all eyes turned first to the glowing egg and then to the two children. The high cleric, dressed in long silvery robes inscribed with glowing sun symbols, bent down to pick up the egg. His brow furrowed as he examined it closely.

'Great, now you've really done it,' Huras whispered.

'Me? It was your idea to use the lantern. If we—'

'Ssshh.'

The high cleric handed the egg to one of the elders and walked over to where Flas and Huras stood.

'Flas of the House of Rhymes and Huras of the House of Ballads,' Latholan said. 'I should have known I'd be seeing you two again.'

Flas and Huras bowed low. For once Huras was glad his adventurous friend remained quiet.

'I sense a strange aura around that glowing egg. Where did you find it?'

Huras cast a guarded glance at Flas as if to say _I told you so_.

'We found it in a clearing,' Flas said.

'A clearing you say? And where was this clearing?'

'It was in the forest.'

'You mean the dark forest where you are specifically forbidden from going?' Latholan asked.

Flas nodded, lowering his head.

'So, if I understand this correctly, you both ventured across the light boundary and into the dark forest, which is not only against my strict instructions but also extremely dangerous. Then on top of that you picked up an unknown magical egg and brought it back to our village. Is that about it?'

Flas nodded again. Then, he said, 'I don't think it's an egg at all.'

'And what do you think it is?'

'I think it's a magical artefact from the Dawn of Ages.'

Latholan motioned for the elder holding the egg to join them. Taking the egg back in his hands, he studied it carefully.

'No, young Flas. This is most definitely not an artefact. It is a magical egg.'

'What sort of an egg?' Huras asked.

'I don't know. It radiates a strange aura which I have never encountered before. Given where you found it, this could be the egg of any number of magical creatures which inhabit the dark forest.'

'High Cleric,' Flas said.

'Yes, Flas?'

'May I have my egg back now?'

Latholan smiled.

'No, Flas. We need to make sure of what it is before we allow it to remain in the village. It's simply too dangerous. I'm sorry.'

Flas's heart sank as he watched the elders take the glowing egg away. Then he smiled.

'I know that smile,' Huras said. 'What are you planning?'

'How to get it back.'

****

Warwick sat on the rocks below the Red Unicorn tavern and watched the sun sink behind the waves. His thoughts were filled with the strange glowing egg he had discovered in the sea cave. He could almost feel it calling out to him, drawing him towards it. He was acutely aware of the fact that it was only a few feet away inside the thieves' den.

With a blinding flash the sun vanished and darkness fell across the city of Grey Port. Warwick remained seated, his eyes fixed on the point where the sun had set. The sound of drunken merriment continued to echo from the tavern above, blending with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

The moon slowly made its way across the sky, casting its silvery light upon the docks. Just as it reached its zenith, Warwick finally stirred. He knew what he was contemplating was dangerous and would likely get him killed but he had to get the egg back.

Walking around the base of the Red Unicorn's footings, he located the secret entrance to the thieves' den, a rusted old chain hanging from a ledge. To any passer-by it would appear to be just a leftover from the days when the pier had been used for docking ships. But any thief in Grey Port knew it was a hidden way to access the back rooms without being detected. Warwick slowly climbed the rusted old chain, being careful not to make any noise.

He reached the underside of the tavern. Pressing his ear against the hidden door, he listened for a count of ten. He took a deep breath. Then he listened for another count of ten. Looking at the moon, he surmised it was well past midnight. Father and the other two thieves would be out scouring the homes of rich merchants and unsuspecting foreign travellers. There would be no guards. This was the one place in all of Grey Port that no thief would ever think of stealing from. Until now.

Warwick took another deep breath and opened the hidden door. It rotated soundlessly inwards and he found himself in the small antechamber adjacent to the thieves' den. Closing the door gently behind him, he padded over to the wall and listened. It was quiet. He risked a quick glance through the door. The room was empty.

He entered the thieves' den and moved towards where the egg lay on the table. It glowed with a steady red colour. Warwick picked it up.

'I knew you would disobey me,' Father said, as he stepped into the room. Warwick looked around for a way out. Goran appeared on the other side of the room, blocking his only means of escape. Warwick knew he was trapped. His heart raced with fear. As if sensing his distress, the egg's colour darkened and it began to pulse with a steady rhythm, radiating outwards into the room.

Father advanced on Warwick. Instead of his pipe he now held a jewelled dagger in his right hand.

'You have disobeyed me for the last time.'

****

Night had fallen across the elven village of L'thleen. The crystalline spires glowed faintly with the stored energy of the sun while the pixie-dust-filled elven lanterns cast their warm glow across the fir trees. Flas and Huras tiptoed through the orchard adjacent to the main spire.

'We're going to get in so much trouble for this,' Huras said.

'Only if we get caught,' Flas said.

Rounding a corner, he held his hand up. Huras nodded his understanding. Directly in front of them stood one of the elders, an elf named Yewon. He turned his head and seemed to look straight at them for a moment before smiling and walking away.

'I think he saw us!' Huras whispered.

'No, he couldn't have. Now c'mon, before he comes back,' Flas said.

They quickly ran across the open courtyard and entered the main spire. Here the crystalline glow was refracted in a million directions, causing the light to dance up and down the spire.

'Where is it?' Huras asked.

'It's on the second floor, in the Chamber of the Moon.'

'How do you know that?'

'I can feel it.'

Huras stopped.

'You can what?'

'I don't know how or why but I can _feel_ the egg. It's as if it's calling out to me.'

'I don't like this, Flas. I don't like this one bit.'

'It will be alright, Huras. I don't know what the egg is but I know it's not evil. In fact, it radiates warmth like nothing I have ever felt before.'

Huras said nothing. He motioned for his friend to lead the way. Flas quickly bounded up the crystalline steps. Flattening himself against the wall, he tiptoed down the corridor until he reached the Chamber of the Moon. Checking no one was around, he slipped inside. Huras followed him.

Inside, the light of the moon shone upon a giant crystalline altar located in the centre of the spherical room. Upon the altar rested the glowing egg. Flas reached out to pick it up.

'Good evening, Flas,' the high cleric said. He stepped into the chamber with the elder, Yewon, at his side. 'Good evening to you too, young Huras.'

Flas's hand dropped to his side as he turned to face the elders.

'I understand your curiosity and need to explore the world, Flas. It is something to be nurtured but also tempered with a measure of restraint,' Latholan continued.

'Forgive me, High Cleric, Elder Yewon,' Flas said, his eyes locked on the floor, unable to meet their gaze. 'I do not mean to disobey your rules but there is something about this magical egg that draws me towards it. I had to come here.'

The high cleric cast a guarded glance at the elder, who nodded. Turning his attention back to the young elves, he said, 'All the more reason to be cautious. We need to be sure that the egg is not dangerous before we can return it to you.'

'Forgive me, High Cleric, but I don't think that's going to matter now,' Huras said.

'What makes you say that?' Latholan asked.

'Because the egg is hatching.'

As one, they turned to look at the crystalline altar. A crack appeared in the glowing egg. It quickly grew across its entire length until it split apart with a loud cracking sound.

'By the light of Elovan!' Flas exclaimed, as he caught a glimpse of the creature within.

****

The glowing red egg had darkened to a deep vermilion. It pulsed with an unnatural energy that radiated outwards, affecting all those within the room. It was as if the egg was feeding off the malice and fear in the room and channelling it outwards at the same time. The pulsing reached a peak and the egg cracked.

'That's impossible!' Father exclaimed. A razor-sharp talon, the colour of midnight, reached out and shattered the remains of the magical shell. A pair of glowing red eyes appraised those around it.

'It's a dragon!' Goran shouted, backing away from Warwick. The two thieves held their daggers in a defensive posture.

Warwick watched as the magical creature stretched its wings. Although only a hatchling, he could sense its incredible power. It literally crackled with pent-up rage and magical energy. He suddenly realised that their actions had affected this magnificent creature. The egg had been blue, neutral for all intents and purposes. He had brought it into the thieves' den. Exposed it to greed, lies and malice. The egg had absorbed all those emotions. It had transformed the creature within. It had been born a red dragon.

'Back away,' Warwick said. He could feel the dragon's thoughts inside of his. Their bond had been established the moment he picked up the egg. Now, with its birth, it was complete. They were as one. He could feel the dragon's pent-up rage at his would-be assailants. He held it in check even as part of him wished to unleash the beast's fury.

'Do as he says,' Father said, backing away into the corner. The dragon followed his every move, held in check by Warwick's will.

Warwick began to back away into the kitchen. The two thieves let him leave. As his foot touched the threshold, he felt a gust of wind at his back.

The heavy cooking pot hit him on the side of the head, knocking him to the ground. The red dragon leapt into the air, its wings beating furiously as its body began to glow.

'No!' Warwick shouted as he felt the anger build to a breaking point within the tiny creature. Then it exploded.

Warwick closed his eyes. Salty tears streamed down his face as screams filled the thieves' den.

****

'How is that possible?' Huras asked, unable to take his eyes off the hatchling.

'I can only surmise that what you found in the dark forest was somehow transformed when you brought it across the light boundary. Our light magic shaped it into—'

'A golden dragon!' Flas exclaimed. He reached out and patted the tiny reptile on its scaly head. The dragon took a shaky step forwards and nuzzled his hand. Flas picked it up. The dragon promptly curled up in his hands and fell asleep. Flas realised he could sense its thoughts. It radiated an aura of contentment. There was also an undertone of ancient wisdom and unfathomable strength.

'Well, it seems I was wrong,' the high cleric said. 'Our light magic has transformed this creature.'

'Does that mean I can keep him?' Flas asked.

'Yes, Flas. This dragon is a creature of the light as much as you and I. It belongs here with us now.'

Flas smiled as Huras clapped him on the back. The baby dragon stirred in its sleep. One of its eyes opened briefly before it wrapped its wing around itself and fell back asleep.

'I guess it really is finders keepers,' Huras said.

The high cleric smiled and turned to leave. The elder, Yewon, joined him.

'Will there be others?' Yewon asked.

The high cleric considered the question for a moment before replying.

'Yes, of that we can be certain. I fear that many will be born beyond our light magic and may turn to evil. Those born near the human settlements will surely be affected by the humans' impatience and anger. We must find as many of these eggs as we can before they hatch.'

Yewon nodded. Then he frowned.

'What does their arrival now signify?'

The high cleric turned to him, a look of eternal wisdom in his eyes.

'The Age of Dragons has begun.'

The End

# The Dryad

You find yourself deep within the forest. It is dark. The canopy blocks out most of the sunlight. Only a few stray beams reach the ground. A gust of wind scatters dead leaves. You feel cold.

'Why have you come here?' a hollow voice asks.

You spin around, trying to locate its source. No one is there. The trees appear more ominous, pressing in upon you. You begin to doubt your reasons for coming here. The light dims.

'Why have you come here?'

You search for the speaker. Again, there is nothing. But, wait. There is something, a faint outline of a person. Yes! That's it. You move towards a gnarled oak tree. In its bark you can just make out the outline of a woman. She is old and wrinkled, her skin the texture of bark.

'Are you the dryad?' you ask, tentatively.

'I am,' she replies in that hollow wooden voice. 'Why have you come here?'

'I come to beg a favour.'

'Speak.'

You look at the trees around you. Have they moved closer or is it just your imagination? For a long time you stare at them. Finally, you turn back to the dryad.

'I would be one with the forest.'

'You are certain?'

'Yes.'

The dryad begins to chant in a deep voice. It is a voice that speaks for the trees, for the rocks and for the dirt. It is the voice of the forest. There is a blinding moment of pain. You scream as your legs grow longer and embed into the soil, seeking water. Your body too grows longer, leaner and higher. Your arms split into many branches. The branches grow leaves that absorb the sunlight far above. You can feel its warmth playing across your palms as water flows up your legs.

'It is done,' the dryad says.

The trees move back out into the forest. You follow them, slowly, still learning how to move with the forest. Your fragile human body is gone forever.

In its place stands a mighty redwood tree.

The End

# White Always Moves First

The white king watched and waited.

The first move was his. The black king could not move first. It was a sacred covenant since the dawn of time— _white always moves first_. Yet there was no scenario, no strategy, and no move that he could envisage that would not result in the deaths of at least one pawn and a knight or a bishop. A sacrifice he was not prepared to make.

So he continued to sit and wait.

'My liege,' a pawn declared as it entered his chambers.

Turning, the white king bade him speak.

'My liege, a piece has entered the playing field.'

'A black piece? Impossible.'

'No, my liege. It is a red piece.'

The white king half rose.

' _Red?_ '

'Yes, my liege. A red knight to be precise.'

'Inform the queen. I would speak with her. And summon my knights.'

'At once, my liege.'

As the pawn disappeared through the ornate white doors to the queen's adjoining chamber, the king turned his gaze once more to the window. On the horizon the black army stood ready as always. Yet something was different. Even at this distance, he could sense the disturbance in their ranks. It could mean only one thing.

They had spotted the red piece as well.

****

The white queen entered the king's chamber.

She was exquisite in her beauty, flawless and luminescent in white. Yet beneath it all lurked the savagery of a warrior born to dominate the battlefield.

'Your grace,' the two knights bowed in unison.

She acknowledged their presence with the faintest of nods as she alighted next to the white king.

'My queen, valiant knights, I have asked you here to discuss a unique and disturbing development,' the white king said. 'A piece has entered the playing field.'

'A black piece?' the white knight of the left asked.

'No. A red piece.'

'Impossible!' the white knight of the right exclaimed.

'I though as much but it is true. The pawns have confirmed it. A red knight has entered the playing field from the west.'

'We must investigate,' the white knight of the left said.

'If we move then the black king will be free to move also,' the white king said. 'We cannot intercept this piece without starting a war.'

'Surely we cannot allow this piece to enter the playing field unchallenged?' the white knight of the right asked.

'Yet we cannot move.'

The queen stood up and faced the knights.

'Leave us.'

The knights bowed in unison and left. The queen turned to the king.

'You must act.'

'I cannot.'

'You sit and stare all day unable to move. Even when the sanctity of the playing field is violated you do nothing.'

'I cannot risk starting a war!'

The queen's eyes narrowed dangerously.

'If a piece has entered the playing field then we are already at war.'

'No, if we move—'

'If you cannot act then I will.'

With those words the queen rose and swept out of the king's chambers.

****

The mounted white knight of the left leapt over the line of pawns.

Landing effortlessly two squares forward and one to the left, the knight surveyed the playing field. The menacing line of black pawns was only three squares away. The knight was reassured by the stoic faces of the white pawns at its back. Then the red knight moved into view.

'Halt!' the white knight of the left challenged.

The red knight stopped. Turning his visored head, he spoke in a deep voice.

'Who are you to challenge me?'

'I am the white knight of the left. Under the authority of the white king you are hereby ordered to leave the playing field.'

'And if I refuse?'

'Then you shall be branded an enemy of the white nation and destroyed.'

The red knight threw back his head and laughed.

'You dare laugh?'

'I do.'

They were interrupted by the arrival of the black knight of the right. Reigning in his horse, the knight raised his visor.

'Hail white knight of the left.'

'Hail black knight of the right.'

'A red knight?'

'So it would seem. Know you of his origin?'

The black knight of the right studied the mounted red figure. Finally, he said, 'No.'

'Where did you come from?' the white knight of the left asked.

'I am the first of many. I have travelled over land and sea, across the scorching deserts and over the frozen mountains to challenge the nations of white and black.'

'You would wage war on us?' the white knight of the left asked.

'I would.'

Catching a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, the white knight of the left smiled, as he said, 'Then you have made a grave mistake indeed.'

****

The white pawn shuffled forwards, its eyes downcast, hands gripping its spear. It moved with the desolate pace of one who had resigned itself to one's fate. Moments later, a black pawn on the opposite side of the field strode forwards two steps. No sooner had the black pawn reached its destination than the white queen flew from her perch. Streaking across the playing field, she knocked the red knight off his horse. One of her razor-sharp white daggers was poised millimetres above the gap between his visor and chest plate.

'Move and I will end you,' the white queen whispered.

'My queen,' the white knight of the left bowed as the black knight of the right shifted uncomfortably on his horse. The red knight began to laugh. It was a harsh and mocking sound.

'Fools!' he spat, struggling to free himself from the white queen's dagger. 'You sit here, staring at each other across your precious playing field—one side unable to move, the other unwilling to. You have grown weak and untested by battle. The red nation will make quick work of you both!'

The white queen looked about to end his life when she suddenly drew her hand back and sheathed her white dagger.

'Very well, red knight, you have my attention. Speak and speak quickly,' she said.

Before the red knight could utter a word, a black shadow flew across the playing field towards them. In a blur of motion, the white queen drew her dagger once more, just in time to deflect the black queen's attack.

The sound of the two razor-sharp daggers, one white, one black, echoed across the playing field as the two most powerful warriors stood locked in a deathly embrace.

'Hello, Beatrice,' the white queen said. 'I've been expecting you.'

****

Silence descended across the playing field as all eyes turned to the white and black queens. They stood motionless, staring at each other, neither one blinking. Finally, the black queen lowered her dagger.

'Elizabeth, my dear, it's been too long. I see that time has not dulled your reflexes.'

'Nor yours, Beatrice.'

The black queen's gaze turned to the red knight lying prostrate on the playing field.

'What have we here?' she asked.

'A red knight, from across the lands,' the white queen replied. 'Or so he claims.'

'Odd-looking sort of fellow, isn't he?'

'That he is. He also claims to be a scout for the red nation, which has threatened to invade the playing field and wage war on both our nations.'

The black queen leaned closer towards the red knight, who had remained silent during their exchange.

'Is that so? You would wage war on _both_ our nations? I dare say, that is a bold move.'

'It is the truth,' the red knight said. 'Your nations are no match for ours. We possess a power that you cannot hope to overcome.'

The black queen drew back. Then she asked, 'And what power might that be?'

'A power that allows all of our forces to move freely across the playing field in any direction.'

With that the red knight rose and reclaimed his horse. Pulling on its reins, he turned back the way he had come and disappeared from the playing field.

The white and black forces watched him leave in silence.

****

Only the two pawns remained in the open playing field, unable to move backwards to rejoin their forces.

The white queen floated into the king's chamber, flanked by the white knights. The white king stood near the window, staring out across the playing field.

'Your grace,' the knights said in unison. The queen merely alighted in an ornate white chair facing the king.

'What news from the playing field?' the white king asked, turning to face his court.

'We challenged the red knight on the playing field,' the white knight of the left said. 'He claimed to be a scout for the red nation, who has declared war on the nations of both white and black.'

'A red nation?' the white king asked. 'I have never heard of such a thing.'

'That is what the red knight claimed. He also claimed that the forces of the red nation were able to move freely in any direction across the playing field.'

'Impossible!'

The queen rose from her chair and moved towards the window. She stared out across the playing field, watching the nation of black. Her gaze shifted to the western end of the playing field. In her mind, she imagined the lands beyond: the frozen mountains, the scorching deserts and the savage seas. She pictured the nation of red mobilising against them. She saw them overrunning the playing field.

'What if it's true?' she whispered.

'My queen?' the white knight of the left asked.

'What if the red nation is that powerful and can dominate the playing field?'

The white knights stood tall, as they declared, 'Then we shall defend you to the last, my queen.'

'I fear that may not be enough. There is only one way that we can defeat the red nation.'

'Which is?' the white king asked.

'To join with the nation of black.'

'Never!'

The white queen turned her gaze to the unseen lands of the red nation.

'Then we are doomed.'

****

The white king watched as both his knights entered the playing field to deliver his message to the nation of black.

'This is unprecedented,' the white king said.

'Yes,' the white queen said. 'It is also unprecedented that we face invasion from a third nation. We must combine our forces to meet this challenge.'

The white king turned from the window. Uncertainty played across his features as he felt the situation rapidly slipping out of his control.

'I do not trust the black nation. They have been our sworn enemies since the dawn of time. This alliance is unnatural.'

The queen rose and approached the king. Holding out her hand, she placed it on his face.

'I share your distrust and I wish there was another way but you have made the right choice.'

'I wish I was as certain as you, Elizabeth.'

The queen withdrew her hand and turned to leave.

'Trust me, Reginald.'

And with that she swept out of the king's chamber, leaving him to stare at her retreating form. Turning back to the window, he watched the meeting of white and black knights in the playing field. The four champions sat astride their warhorses in the centre of the playing field. It was a historic event.

'Summon my bishops,' the white king ordered. A pawn, hidden in a side alcove, bowed low and ran out of the king's chamber to locate the spiritual leaders of the white nation.

****

Dawn brought with it a restless calm.

The two pawns, one white, one black, trapped in the open playing field had spent a sleepless night. The first rays of the sun found them in a ragged state, gripping their spears to keep from falling over. Exhaustion was etched on every part of their faces.

All of that evaporated when they turned their gaze westward.

Along the entire western border of the playing field stood the red nation. Two mounted knights commanded a sea of red pawns. Behind them stood towering rooks with flaming red banners waving in the breeze. But all eyes were drawn to the red queen. She stood tall, her gaze unwavering as she surveyed the playing field. A red bishop stood on either side of her.

The white king watched the red nation's forces materialise with the dawn. His eyes narrowed as he let out a weary sigh.

'Have you found anything?' he asked.

'I believe I have, my liege,' the white bishop of the right replied.

'Well?'

The white bishop, his hair tinged a silvery grey, rose from his chair and approached the king.

'It took most of the night but I finally located an old tome that contained a listing of covenants, including those which have faded into distant memory. Among them I found one that will allow you to reset the playing field. Once the red nation has been defeated, of course.'

'You mean _if_ they are defeated?'

'I have faith in our forces, my liege, and in your leadership. The white nation has stood strong for centuries. We will endure this challenge.'

The white king let out a long sigh, worry etched on his features.

'I hope you're right.'

****

The white pawns advanced one at a time. Each moved out one square further than the last, forming a staggered diagonal line across the playing field. Their movements were mirrored by their black-nation counterparts so that, when they had finished moving, the red nation's forces became a wedge surrounded by the nations of white and black.

Then the knights, white and black, leapt into action on their warhorses, forming up in front of the pawns. Behind them, the rooks, elemental creatures made entirely of stone, rose up and prepared to hurl themselves at the enemy, while the bishops on both sides called forth the power of God.

'It's time,' the white queen said. Her voice was deadly calm, brought on by the prospect of imminent battle.

'I am sorry it has come to this,' the white king said.

'Don't be. You have acted and acted decisively. You have made me proud.'

With that the white queen left the king's chamber and descended to the battlefield. Surveying the pawns' pincer formation, she nodded approvingly. She drew both her daggers and positioned herself behind the line of white pawns. Then she waited.

She did not have to wait long.

A single horn blast signalled the start of the greatest conflict the playing field had ever witnessed.

****

The white king watched the battle unfold before him as the red nation's forces flowed onto the playing field.

First came the red pawns, darting and weaving in all directions, unhindered by conventional pawn movements. They were quick and agile. But they had not counted on the black and white nations working together. Each red pawn was intercepted by a white and a black pawn. Their combined strength overpowered the more agile red pawns.

Second into the fray were the red knights, supported by the red bishops. As the black and white knights engaged the two red knights in a duel to the death, the bishops faced each other in a different contest. Theirs was a battle played out in the skies above, with elemental forces being brought to bear on each other. Ultimately, the forces of white and black once more prevailed.

Next came the towering rooks, gigantic creatures of stone, hewn from the very rock of the distant mountains. Theirs was a savage contest of brute strength. Stone blocks twice the size of pawns were hurled across the playing field. Shattering blows resounded as the rooks struck one another. Finally, the black rooks managed to hold down one of the red rooks while the white rooks did the same with their opponent. Together they cleaved the stone beings in two and watched as they crumbled to red dust.

As the dust settled the red queen advanced onto the playing field. She was tall and lithe, armed with twin curved blades with jagged teeth. She was met in the centre of the playing field by the white queen and the black queen.

'It seems your nation has been defeated,' the white queen said.

The red queen said nothing.

'You should leave here now and never return,' the black queen said.

The red queen said nothing.

'This is your last chance,' the white queen said.

Still the red queen said nothing. She stood still and stared at them.

'I guess this was only ever going to end one way,' the black queen said.

With a wild cry the red queen launched herself at the other two.

****

The red queen was fast. Her blades lashed out with incredible speed and agility. The other two queens were the most skilled warriors of their nations but they were hard pressed just to defend against the red queen's attacks. The three warriors became a blur of motion with the sound of steel striking steel ringing across the playing field.

Then the white queen misstepped. It was so minor, so insignificant, that any other opponent would not have made anything of it. But the red queen was no ordinary opponent. She seized on the advantage and pressed the white queen until she was forced to the ground.

The white queen could see that the red queen was so focused on her that it could provide an opening for the black queen to strike her down. It would require her to sacrifice herself for the good of both the white and the black nations.

She made her decision.

'Beatrice, it has been an honour to do battle with you one last time.'

'Elizabeth, no!' the black queen cried out as the white queen dropped her guard. The red queen surged forwards, lashing out. In so doing, she overextended her reach, locking her arm in an outstretched position. It was a clumsy move, one an experienced warrior such as the red queen should never have made. But fatigue combined with the expectation of an easy kill had made her careless.

The white and black queens had not lost focus.

As the white queen parried the red queen's all-in attack, the black queen leapt into the air and lashed out with her daggers. Both found their mark.

The red queen toppled to the ground. Her face wore an expression of complete astonishment at her defeat. The black queen bent down and retrieved her daggers. Straightening, she looked to the west.

The horizon was empty. The red nation's attack had been repelled.

A loud cheer went up from both the nation of white and the nation of black as they beheld their victory. It was interrupted by the arrival of the black king on the playing field.

'A fine battle,' he said. His voice carried across the entire expanse of the playing field. His gaze travelled over all of his subjects and then over those of the white nation. A thin smile spread across his face.

'Now it is time for another.'

****

The white queen leapt to her feet as she witnessed the black nation's dissolution of their temporary alliance. With the common enemy destroyed they reverted back to their age-old hatred of the white nation. All the pieces were already in play. It would be a brutal and decisive battle.

'Stop!'

All eyes turned to the white king who had emerged from his castle. Striding across the battlefield, flanked by his bishops, he stopped opposite the black king.

'Reginald, it is good to see you on the playing field after so many years,' the black king said.

'You won't be so happy once you hear what I have to say, Henry.'

'You have made the first move and all of our forces are committed. The playing field is open. The ancient covenants have been adhered to.'

The white king turned to the bishop on his right and inclined his head. The bishop strode forwards.

'Under the ancient covenants that govern the playing field, either side may reset all forces in play if, after fifty movements, neither side has defeated a single opponent.'

'This is madness!' the black king shouted. 'How can this possibly apply in this situation?'

'It does. Over fifty moves have been made across the playing field since the appearance of the red nation. And while all of the red nation's forces have been defeated, not a single member of the nations of either white or black has fallen. Therefore, the covenant holds.'

The black king fell silent as he considered what he had been told. The entire playing field held its breath. After a prolonged moment of silence, he finally spoke.

'Well played, Reginald. Where this old fossil dug up that ancient covenant, I'll never guess but don't let it be said that the black nation does not respect the rules of the playing field. There will be no more fighting today.'

One by one the pieces lowered their weapons and returned home. The last to leave were the two queens.

'A strange day this has been, Elizabeth,' the black queen said.

'That it has, Beatrice,' the white queen replied. Raising her dagger, she offered a salute to her counterpart.

'Until the next time we meet on the playing field.'

The black queen returned the salute. Then she turned on her heel and swept back towards the ranks of the black nation. The white queen returned to her side of the playing field.

The sun gradually set over the horizon as the white king returned to his tower. He sat down by the window and gazed out across the playing field. He watched and waited.

The first move was his.

The End

# Magician

The old man sat on the ground beneath the great oak tree. The tree had stood in place for centuries at the heart of the village of Storm Haven. It was gnarled and twisted with age. Just like the old man.

His cloak was a dusty grey. His face was a sea of deep wrinkles, his hair the colour of snow. His pale blue eyes stared off into the distance. In his hand he clutched a long walking stick, its handle an intricately carved dragon's claw. All around him the village of Storm Haven hummed with the day's activity.

Children ran to and fro playing a game of tag, their squeals of delight earning disapproving looks from their parents. Several men worked on repairing the roof of a nearby building, the sound of their hammers echoing off the shingles. Men and women of all ages bartered for goods among the market stalls, their voices rising and falling with excitement. A detachment of the town watch marched through the village square, their heavy leather boots kicking up a cloud of dust.

The old man sat perfectly still. His pale blue eyes stared off into the distance. All around him the cacophony of village life continued unabated. He sat motionless in its centre. An aura of silence surrounded him.

A child's voice broke that silence. It disintegrated like shards of ice shattering into a million fragments. The old man stirred.

'Excuse me, are you okay?' a young girl asked. She had pigtails and a freckly complexion. Her large green eyes stared at the old man, concern etched in her miniature features.

'What is your name, child?' the old man asked. His voice was like a whisper carried on the wind across a great distance.

'Maggie. What's yours?'

The old man seemed to consider the question.

'I had a name once. I don't remember it now.'

'You don't remember your own name? How can someone forget their own name?'

The old man focused his pale blue eyes on the little red-haired girl with pigtails. A spasm of pain passed across his face. His hand clutched the walking stick tighter.

'It is the price one pays for using magic.'

'Are you a magician?' Maggie asked, her eyes lighting up with wonder.

'Yes. At least I was but that was a long, long time ago.'

'Please, can you show me some magic?'

The old man coughed. It was a dry, hacking cough that wracked his body with spasms. He struggled to breathe. After a moment, he finally managed to take a deep breath.

'I fear the spark has left me, child. But perhaps a little still remains.'

His pale blue eyes looked directly into Maggie's. She stopped breathing for a moment as the old man held her by the sheer force of his will.

'Look at the palm of my hand. Do you see the baby dragon? Its red scales, its black talons. Its wings like a bat, its tail like a lizard wrapped around its body. Do you see it, child?'

Maggie slowly shifted her gaze away from the old man's eyes and stared at his open palm. Her eyes opened wider as she saw a baby red dragon sitting in the palm of his hand. It was tiny. Its flaming red eyes looked at her. It stretched its wings, fanning them out as its tail flicked from side to side.

'That's incredible! How did you do that? Can I touch him?'

'Look again, child. There is no dragon.'

Maggie looked at the old man's hand. It was empty. The dragon was gone.

'How did you do that? Where did it go?'

'It was never there, child. You saw that which you wanted to see.'

'So it wasn't magic? It was a trick. You can't do magic.'

The old man stared off into the distance once more. Another spasm wracked his body. This time he coughed for longer. His knuckles turned white from clutching the walking stick.

'Are you okay? Do you want me to get my mum? She's the town healer, she can help you.'

'No, child. She cannot help me. Only you can.'

Maggie stood still for a moment, staring at the old man. He appeared like some ancient statue, almost a part of the great oak tree. Then she realised that she could not hear the sounds of anything or anyone around her. She could see the other children running around, see the men working on fixing the tavern roof, the villagers bartering in the market. But she couldn't hear them.

'How did you...?'

The old man smiled. His pale blue eyes sparkled as he looked at her.

'Magic.'

'That's incredible!' Maggie exclaimed.

The old man continued to smile as he stood up. He towered over her. The walking stick in his hand seemed to take on a life of its own. It grew longer, the dragon's claw stretching upwards, curling around the beautifully carved wood. Symbols, strange and intricate, began to glow along its length. The old man's cloak became darker. It flowed around his body. His wrinkles receded. His hair darkened to a deep, rich raven colour. His eyes lost their vapidness. His voice was rich and strong.

'Farewell, child.'

With that the magician stepped through the wall of silence surrounding the ancient oak tree. The powerful spell had kept him frozen in place for centuries, unable to leave, slowly losing his power. Only another magician could set him free. Only one with the spark could perceive him and cross the threshold into the heart of the village.

As the magician disappeared into the throng of squealing children, the young girl Maggie stood trapped at the centre of the village. Her cries for help dissolved into the stillness of the wall of silence as her fate slowly dawned on her.

The End

### Author's Note

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