 
### Ferral's Deathmarch Army

### Book Two of

### The Erinia Saga

### Tod Langley

Ferral's Deathmarch Army

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 Tod Langley. All rights reserved.

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Originally published by Wheatmark®

www.TodLangley.com

### For Allison, Victoria, and Eric

### Acknowledgments

### A special thanks to Ernie Laurence, Jr. who has been a strong supporter of my endeavors since the publication of Prince Kristian's Honor. Thanks for the constant encouragement, feedback, and superb editing. I also want to thank all of my family and friends that supported my writing; your constant enthusiasm and questions about what would happen in the second book motivated me to make it the best book I could possibly write.

### "Silent, shuffling, mindless things,

### Follow your new master,

### Remind our enemies of what war brings,

### Show them what awaits all non-believers,

### For we bring death, misery, and disaster,"

### —Ferral, Sorcerer-King of Belarn prior to the invasion of the western lands

### 1

### Ferral's Deathmarch Army

"But it's so cold. I don't want to go any further," Jacob pleaded.

Ferral's corrupted wind swept down from the Merciless Mountains, over the Utwan Sea, and continued east toward the capital. The snow was so thick that it formed a wall blocking everything from Jacob's view.

"I can't see anything, Father," the boy called back to his parents again. Jacob continued on a few more steps but then stopped, defeated. "I don't know where to go."

"Just keep moving, Jacob," his father urged. "We can't stay here. We're too close to them. We must hurry."

Jacob pulled the hood of his coat down further, trying to keep out the biting wind; he focused his attention on his feet one more time, looking for the strength to keep moving forward.

It's no use, Jacob gasped. The boy started sobbing, thinking of his brother and sister. His father had left the children's bodies under a tree next to the road yesterday. Pauly and Bridgetta were too young to make it through Ferral's evil storm.

"They'll be at peace now," his father had said without conviction. Jacob knew what might happen to his siblings; everyone in Belarna had heard the stories, even if Jacob had not seen the creatures for himself.

The ground had been too frozen to dig; the storm was so fierce, and the cold so deadly, that Jacob's father could do little more than scratch at the ice, which covered everything. They had wanted to make shallow graves for the children, hoping that dirt, rocks, and snow might keep anything from disturbing their final resting place: it was as pointless as his father's attempt to escape Ferral's cruelty. Jacob had looked back one last time at the snow piles that hid Bridgetta and little Pauly, praying that Ferral's god, Belatarn, would leave the innocent children be. Jacob prayed that he would not see his siblings again.

"Why did we leave?" Jacob cried as his father and mother came up next to him. His mother would not answer. She had not said a word to either Jacob or her husband since the deaths of her two younger children. Only Jacob's father seemed to understand what was happening and still have the strength and will to keep running from the city and its evil sorcerer-king.

Jacob's father looked around to determine where they should go. The footprints in the snow from the family ahead of them were quickly vanishing beneath a blanket of fresh snowfall. Behind his family, Jacob could just make out the other families also struggling to put some distance between them and the homes they had fled. Few families remained. Some had died from the cold or illness; most had simply given up and turned back toward Belarna.

Ferral had formed the blizzard into a dark, swirling mass of hate. Jacob was old enough to understand the reasons for leaving Ferral's city, but the way behind them seemed clearer. The boy could see nothing in front of him, but behind him Jacob could see the last member of the last family stop and turn back toward the black citadel.

"I can't go on!" Jacob shouted. The boy shivered violently and hugged himself.

His father cursed and then said, "Alright, we'll go back and see if there is shelter in the woods we passed." The man hugged his wife; she said nothing and stared out into the storm.

The storm diminished enough for Jacob and his parents to find their way back, but when Jacob looked over his shoulder he could see the dark mass of clouds looming behind them. It reminded Jacob of the tanner leading cattle to the slaughter house. Jacob often saw the tanner and his apprentice near the docks; the man prodded cattle toward a small enclosure with a row of posts in the ground. Jacob knew that was where the tanner slaughtered the cattle. This storm was just as forceful as the apprentice with the ropes, and Ferral was the cruel master waiting with a long, sharp knife; the storm was pushing the surviving families back toward Ferral, constantly steering those that veered off the road back toward the black-walled city. Jacob only hoped that he would not share the same fate as the many cattle he had seen butchered at the docks.

Several families began to stay close to Jacob and his parents, fearing the darkness of night coming on. They kept silent, grief and despair washing over all of the survivors.

The boy saw the remains of one of those that had not survived. A corpse's frozen limb jutted out from a snowdrift near the road. One hand reached out toward Jacob's boot, the blue fingers stretching out toward the trail the families walked along. The boy felt mixed emotions at seeing it; Jacob thought the hand seemed to be reaching out for help, as if it only needed someone to grab hold and pull, and the hand with the body attached to it, would be set free of the cold death that had ensnared it. It also seemed as though the fingers clawed their way toward the road and the living, hungry for the souls just outside its reach. Jacob started praying he had enough time to get far away from the corpse before the sun went down behind the dark storm clouds. Jacob hoped the dead, including his brother and sister, would stay hidden under the snow.

Jacob and his family dug into the side of a snow bank and huddled together for warmth as soon as they reached the woods. It could have been within the same forest where they had left Pauly and Bridgetta, but Jacob could not tell for sure. Jacob did not sleep that night, the cold reaching too deep within his body to allow him to do anything other than shiver and try to stay alive.

"It will be alright, Son," Jacob's father promised. "We'll soon be back in our home. We'll be warm and safe." He hugged his silent wife and son fiercely. Jacob thought his father was trying to smile, but then he shivered and pulled Jacob and his mother into an even closer embrace. "Then we can think of a different way to escape this madness."

The next morning, the storm came upon Jacob and his parents again. Jacob cried in warning as the wall of wind and darkness swept toward him like a giant wave.

"It's chasing us," Jacob shouted.

"We're close to the city now," his father shouted back, encouraging his son. "We will be there well before dark." Jacob nodded and started walking along what he thought was the road back toward Belarna. Many other surviving families came crawling out from hastily dug shelters and started shuffling through the snow.

All day the storm harassed the families. The light, faded and gray, permitted no shadows; the malice of Ferral's magic absorbed everything, forcing Jacob, his parents, and the rest of the families back toward the sorcerer-king.

Finally, Jacob could make out the silhouette of the walled city ahead, a dreadful and oppressive fortress. The boy knew his father did not want to go back in there, but at least Jacob and his parents would finally be warm. At least Jacob would live.

His father pointed off toward the fishing piers. "We'll go back through the smaller gate where we came out," Jacob's father said with confidence. "The guard will let us back in, and hopefully, we won't be noticed as much as those that are trying to get in through the main gate."

Jacob nodded.

When they got there, Jacob found the gate and portcullis secured, and no guard appeared above them on the wall to help his family back into the city. No one heard his father's shouts for help, and Jacob could find no way in. Jacob's father looked worried and glanced around.

"We'll have to try the main gate, then," Jacob's father concluded.

As the three of them made their way around the city, the storm hit them full force again. The wind forced Jacob up against the fortress wall. Had the wall not been there, the wind would have blown the boy into the sea. It took Jacob and his parents twice as long to get around the city as it should have, but Jacob knew they were close when the boy heard the pleading and shouting voices of the other families.

"Please, have mercy. Forgive us," some shouted.

"Let us in!" others demanded.

More than a hundred people gathered around the ruined gate. Jacob could see holes in the crude barrier erected by Ferral's guards after the great battle, but the gaps were too small for the families to crawl through. Many people started reaching their hands through the holes, begging for someone to let them in.

Jacob's father grew more frantic, his worried face still visible in the growing darkness.

"Oh God, what have I done?" his father asked. "We shouldn't have come back!"

Jacob saw his father's face; there was a look of regret, mingled with fear and dread, in his eyes as he scrambled forward to join the others at the gate shouting for help. Jacob became more frightened. The boy looked from his mother to his father wondering what he should do.

Jacob guided his mother toward the crowd, climbing over the mounds of snow that dotted the recent battleground. He could sense the panic in the shouts of the people at the gate. Jacob and his parents were almost out of time.

A man started pulling on the boards of the barrier trying to make a hole large enough to fit through. The frantic man reached in through a gap and pried at the wood with his fingers. Others saw what he was trying to do and joined in. The barrier began to creak as more and more people started tearing at the obstacle.

The man suddenly screamed in shock and pain. His eyes bulged and his mouth gaped open, his stuttering cry echoed louder and louder against the black walls of the fortress. A woman next to him screamed as he fell away from the barrier. His arms were bloody stumps, warm blood flowing from his wounds onto the snow and those close to him. Another man screamed as a spear darted out from a different gap in the barrier. The metal tip pierced his chest and heart: the man fell lifeless to the ground.

Jacob and his family cried in shock, backing hastily away from the wall. Others started cursing or begging for admittance.

"We have to leave," someone shouted.

"What do we do?" Jacob asked his father, frightened. The man with the amputated arms still rolled around on the ground shrieking horribly. His blood pooled beneath his body, but quickly froze and mixed in with the snow. His screams became moans and his thrashing ceased. Then, the man started weeping.

Jacob wanted to escape the madness, to run out into the storm.

A woman screamed in terror. Jacob looked over at her and saw a cold, blue hand grasping her ankle. It jutted out from a snow bank next to the road.

Jacob looked around, puzzled for a moment, before he realized what was happening. He stared at the other clusters of mounds all around them. There were hundreds of them, thousands.

"Run, Mother, run!" he shouted. Jacob pulled hard on his mother's hand, but she refused to move. She sobbed, shaking with grief and terror, but his mother would not leave. Jacob dropped her hand and looked around for a way to escape.

The snow mounds shifted. Shapes started to emerge and stand. Ferral's dead creatures were waking. The rest of the mob started to realize it now and tried to escape. Some made it beyond the reach of the hands but not many. Soon, more than a thousand of the creatures surrounded the panic-stricken families.

Some of the living tried again to tear down the barrier. Spears poked through the gaps and slew them. Jacob heard a familiar voice shout and turned to see several dead creatures pulling at his father's arms and legs. Jacob backed away, horrified and unable to do anything. Then his mother screamed. Jacob did not want to see her death, but he could hear her moaning as the creatures tore at his mother's body.

He gasped and ran for the gate, forgetting about the spears. Jacob was small enough that he might make it through.

They've got to let me in. I'm just a boy, Jacob thought, but he could not get close to the gate. Everyone was panicking and trying to get through, despite the spears.

Jacob climbed over the wounded and dying. The boy clambered over those that banged against the barrier. The man that had lost his arms stumbled toward Jacob, his eyes now faded and dull. His mouth hung open, slack, but with the same expression of shock and pain it held just before death. Jacob tried even harder to reach safety.

Jacob's small hands found nooks in the barrier, and he climbed higher. A spear thrust out from a gap beside Jacob's face, piercing his cheek, but he did not fall. Jacob knew what would happen if he fell. The boy could hear the screams and shouts diminishing in number. Few people still lived.

A few feet higher, and Jacob would be out of their reach. He looked for something, anything, to grab a hold of.

Jacob's right foot slipped, but he held on. The boy reached for the next piece of wood.

Then a sharp, icy pain ran up his leg as one of the creatures grabbed Jacob's ankle.

Jacob screamed and grasped the wood as hard as he could. The boy screamed again, looking down. A smaller creature, a dead girl with brown hair dug its ruined fingers into his leg. Was it Bridgetta?

"No!"

Jacob fell heavily on his back, flailing his arms about and kicking the dead creatures nearest him. It did no good. Jacob screamed one final time.

The dead searched for more living but found none. They ambled about with no clear purpose. The only clear life force hid behind the barrier, but their master had ordered the dead not to attack the gate any more. The dead stumbled around waiting for Ferral to tell them what to do.

Then the creature that had been Jacob stood. Blood covered its face and chest. It looked around for a moment, searching for survivors, and then joined Ferral's Deathmarch Army.

### 2

### Trapped

The demon watched the macabre scene from atop the black walls and felt only a fragment of remorse. She could hear the boy's screams, as he fought for his life, but the demon knew it would not be enough: she chose not to help. The demon brushed loose strands of golden hair from her face, letting the biting winds hit her exposed cheeks. She hoped it might cool the anger that boiled beneath her skin.

The demon looked down again at Ferral's mindless creatures that still tore apart the wounded that had not yet transformed. The dead knew even less of mercy than the demon did; the dead obeyed Ferral with no ability to show concern or hesitation for the innocent.

The dead were as easy to control as any living fanatics; the creatures were manipulated by the dominating will of just one man and obeyed orders regardless of right and wrong—of good and evil. The demon realized, however, that there was one main difference between Ferral's followers and other zealots in history: the sorcerer's creatures were too difficult to destroy. Dismembering a single creature took too long, and by the time anyone finished destroying one dead soldier, ten others had taken its place. Unless Ferral was stopped, his followers and his new Deathmarch Army would subjugate the entire continent. Ferral could then focus his powers upon the kingdoms of the Old World. The sorcerer-king would do what no other man had been capable of. Ferral would destroy the world.

The sorcerer had used the demon to create winter storms and control the dead before, but Ferral was becoming more adept at using his new found powers. The deadly scene below the demon, one that had taken place nightly for the past week, was all Ferral's doing. The sorcerer could use his dark magic to control the dead far beyond his line of sight. His unique brand of fanaticism would spread quickly across Erinia.

Ferral needs me less every day. It is becoming harder to bend the sorcerer to my own will.

"And now Ferral has his own way of controlling the dead," the demon reminded herself. General Derout was now an automaton through which Ferral could extend his control to regions far beyond the borders of Belarn.

The question is ... is the sorcerer doing this to send me a message? the demon wondered. Does he think he no longer needs me?

"I could help the boy," the demon said, looking down upon the child's final struggle. "Ferral would not be pleased."

Whenever Ferral's people tried to flee the sorcerer-king became furious and took control of the winds to push people back toward his citadel, back toward the Deathmarch Army. Ferral knew the people would be murdered, but that did not concern him. In life or death, they would serve Ferral and his causes, both religious and personal.

Ferral may believe in Belatarn, but he is increasingly addicted to his new powers. Powers that are making the sorcerer stronger ...

The demon decided to wait a little longer before challenging Ferral openly.

"No!" the demon heard the small boy scream again from below her vantage point before the dead swarmed around him, obscuring the boy from her sight. His blood pooled around the feet of the dead creatures, mixing with the blood of those that had already transformed. Ferral had just added another one hundred servants to his Deathmarch Army.

The dark silence surrounded Allisia once again, its oppressive nature strangling the captive princess. The sorcerer-king and his demon had left her, alone and frightened, wondering how long it might be before the next time Ferral came to torment her.

Allisia sat on the edge of her bed trying to understand what had made Ferral's mood toward her change so drastically. He had walked in smiling, pushing the dusty doors open, letting in much welcomed light, warmth, and fresh air. Despite the extravagant trappings, Ferral liked to ensure Allisia was reminded of her captivity. This time he was in an unusually good mood. He acted rather pleasant in a way that made Allisia sick to her stomach.

Allisia saw the hunger to molest her in his eyes and looked away.

Ferral's moods changed with the wind. One moment, the sorcerer-king would act as civilized as any ordinary person, but in the next moment, Ferral threatened kingdoms and murdered innocent people. Now, Ferral wanted her as he wanted any other thing not in his possession. The mad man wanted to take Allisia and be the only man to have her. It actually surprised Allisia that Ferral had not tried to take her earlier. Allisia would never allow Ferral to touch her in that way, of course, and she was ready for him to make his move.

It will only be a matter of time, Allisia convinced herself.

Allisia had the knife now but was reluctant to use it. What good would it do to strike him with it? Allisia had seen what Ferral had done to General Derout and the servant girl and thought it better to keep the knife hidden under the blankets. Allisia could reach it quick enough if she needed to defend herself. Or if Ferral threatened Allisia's purity she could take her own life.

Perhaps, that would be better anyway, Allisia thought, dismally.

"No, he would just bring me back ... like the servant girl. There are things worse than death," Allisia murmured.

Perhaps, Allisia thought, he wants me to give in so that his twisted pleasure will be even greater. And knowing I surrendered to him would make him feel as though he had completely conquered Duellr.

"I'll kill Ferral before I let that happen ... no matter what might happen to me," Allisia declared.

Ferral had entered her chamber and poured a glass of wine for himself. He seemed at ease and confident, but Allisia knew Ferral's cruelty could emerge without warning. She patted the long knife under the blanket next to her as the sorcerer spoke casually of his successes to the east.

"Erand is in ruins, its people flee through the snow from my army. Burned, impaled, frozen ... they have nowhere to go," Ferral said. The sorcerer then teased Allisia about his plans to ensure the western kingdoms could not interfere until he was ready to crush them.

"Why are you doing this?" Allisia had asked many times before. She used it as a stalling tactic: Ferral liked to talk about himself.

"I'm not that difficult to figure out, Allisia," Ferral said. "I'm a man that ardently believes my god calls upon all people to worship him and only him. Those that follow another god shall be shown the error of their ways by the actions of my holy army."

"There's only one God, Ferral," Allisia risked telling him, fearful of an immediate retaliation.

The sorcerer-king smiled at this and paused before saying, "Maybe you should start worshiping my god, then. Your God doesn't seem very helpful." Ferral shook his head sadly, treating Allisia as a child too young to comprehend his vision.

"This continent has been influenced by Erand and Duellr for hundreds of years. You could prosper and enjoy life, but," Ferral suddenly shouted, raising a finger righteously, "only if you followed their customs, their laws, their God. If you wanted to live your life your way, take pride in your own culture and beliefs, you were shunned, neglected."

Ferral stood then and started to pace. Allisia grew more wary; he typically lost control at times like this.

"Belarnians are a proud people, people banded together loosely by the need for trade and the desire to worship in a different way. The Erandians tell us that our way is wrong, that our way is evil," Ferral reminded her.

"Who are they to judge us? Who are they to tell us that our culture and religion are less than theirs?" Ferral asked.

She dared not answer him.

"The holiest of my people soon realized that we could not, that we did not, worship the same god. Our god was benevolent to those that were loyal. Belatarn gave us what we needed to survive when Erand and her allies cut us off from the rest of the world. Our god would help us climb out of the desolation that Erand was forcing upon us. Belatarn would help us defeat them and show the whole world that our god was the god."

Allisia could only shake her head, confused. "How can you think that God wants death? How can you accept that your violent ways are justifiable as a holy quest?"

"Don't you think that your father and his naval forces have killed people before? Isn't your betrothed, the pitiful excuse for a leader that he is, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people?" Ferral glared at her.

"They were protecting their people from harm," Allisia said, pretending to reason with the mad man, feeding his ego in the hopes of staying his hand.

Ferral sneered at Allisia and said, "In that case, I'm only protecting what rightfully belongs to my god."

Allisia did not understand what Ferral meant. The princess continued their debate, offering honest challenges to Ferral's points, because that was what the mad man expected, and because that kept him calm. Allisia and Ferral continued like that for half an hour.

A guard entered and handed Ferral a sheaf of parchment. The sorcerer-king paled as he read. Ferral crumbled the parchment in his fists, screaming in fury.

"Make sure the survivor dies slowly," Ferral shouted at the messenger.

"Sire, the scout is the one who informed us of the fugitive's location and warned us of the Spirit Folk," the guard stammered.

"If the scout had done his job, I wouldn't care about where the Erandian was hiding. Kristian's head would be stacked along the wall of my throne room!" The menacing look Ferral gave the guard was enough to ensure his command would be carried out. "And bring the demon to my chambers. I'm done with incompetent fools. If the Black Guards can't do Belatarn's Will, then I must find another way."

"But," the guard mumbled, "they were spirits, magical beings, whose powers were too great for the patrol."

"Fool," Ferral shouted. The sorcerer-king raised his hand, pointing at the man. The guard backed away, eyes widening. "They are humans hiding among trees like fairies. People so afraid of the sun they sit under a roof of leaves. They have no magic. They lost their powers centuries ago. Only I command the arts now." The guard quickly nodded his head in obeisance. Ferral reached out with his power, grabbing hold of the man's collar with an invisible hand, and dragged him closer. Ferral's face was close enough that the guard could feel the heat of his king's fetid breath on his cheek.

"I don't want the Erandian survivors killed. I want them obliterated. I want no sign of their bodies to ever be found. Now get out!" The guard ran for his life. Ferral picked up the crumbled message as the doors clanged shut and threw it into the fireplace.

Ferral noticed the princess fidgeting out of the corner of his eye.

Ferral sensed Allisia's heart racing, his new powers made him sensitive to others ... he could feel their fear. Ferral scowled at Allisia and felt her worry increase. Allisia breathed heavily trying to keep her emotions in check, but it was too late. Ferral looked her up and down, licking his lips.

"My god has given you to me, Allisia. It's a sign of his faith in me, that I will purge the world of the non-believers." Ferral started toward Allisia slowly.

"Belatarn is merciful and benevolent to those that follow his edicts. You will be the first of many beautiful wives, Allisia ... wives that Belatarn will give me for establishing new temples and schools devoted to his commandments," Ferral said.

He reached out a hand toward Allisia's cheek, but the princess turned away in disgust. Ferral's smile turned to hatred. Allisia did not know what Ferral would do next.

Just as Ferral was about to make a move toward Allisia, the demon entered the room. "I heard you were looking for me," the demon said with a slight grin.

Ferral stopped, his fingertips only inches away from Allisia's face; his hunger for the princess changing into frustration, then anger. Ferral hit her with the back of his hand, not as hard as usual, but the sting would remind Allisia of his control over her.

"Why is it so hard to kill those two fools?" Ferral demanded of the demon. "I am the most powerful sorcerer in the world. Yet, I can't kill the one man I want killed."

The demon shrugged. "Our master is not the only power in the universe, Ferral," the demon replied. Ferral laughed and then glanced over at Allisia, who nursed her swollen lip. The princess still feared the demon and tried to get as far away from the monster as possible.

Ferral knew what Allisia did not, that he was now more powerful than the demon that he had raised. It would only be a matter of time before the demon was no longer needed. And then the demon might become too difficult to control. Ferral would show Allisia who she should fear more—who she should show respect to. Ferral would destroy the demon by his own power or send her back to Hell. He would then make Allisia grovel at his feet and do his bidding as his lover: she was already his slave.

But in some ways, Ferral acknowledged, I still need the demon. She is craftier than any of my advisors.

"What would you do? Tell me what should be done to rid the world of all those that oppose me," Ferral said.

The demon smiled. "Only when you have rid the earth of those who serve the Pure One," she hesitated, "can our master become strong enough to enter this world."

"And how do I accomplish this task?" Ferral asked.

"There is a race older than this continent that lives south of your kingdom. You have dealt with them before."

"You are speaking of the so called Spirit Folk?" Ferral barked a laugh. "They are nothing more than inbred fools. Perhaps they were great a thousand years ago, but now they are pathetic."

"Yet they," the demon continued, "protect the secrets of an ancient world within their citadel. Those secrets are powerful enough to destroy you and your plans. Destroy these people. Destroy every last one of them. Leave no building standing. Ensure nothing remains of them. With their destruction you keep their secrets safe for all eternity and begin to tear down the walls that separate mortals from God's Kingdom ... and our god from this world. He promises to seat you, as his champion, at his side to rule over the pitiful subjects of this world, but only if you succeed where the others have failed him."

There's something the demon is not telling me. There's a reason she wants me to move forward. She's always had her own agenda, Ferral realized.

"You've wanted me to destroy them ever since I brought you here," Ferral said. "I've divided my forces in order to deal with them and the Erandians at the same time, and look what it has accomplished ... nothing."

"That is why you re-created General Derout," the demon reminded him. "Use your powers to control Derout, and through his body, you will gain greater control over the Deathmarch Army. Kristian cannot discover the same knowledge you now possess. He cannot be allowed to convince the Atlunam to join his cause against you. Use me and Derout to destroy all of your enemies before they have a chance to unite."

"It would be a glorious battle. A final battle between those that serve Belatarn and those that stand in my way," Ferral mused. He glanced at the demon and caught her subtle grin.

Ferral wondered whether the demon cared if it was Belatarn or God that won the final battle. He would have to keep a more careful eye upon her.

"I could destroy them. I would then gain enough power to control all things on this continent, just like I control Derout and the servant girl. Belatarn would reward me, and we would rule together," Ferral said.

"Call him what you wish, Ferral. He has many names, but do not think for one instant that you will ever be allowed to rule with him. He will never share his throne with anyone."

"Perhaps. It shall all be as Belatarn wills. Maybe our god doesn't want me to attack them," Ferral said, intending to provoke her.

The demon's smug grin vanished.

"At least ... not yet," Ferral added.

Ferral smiled, knowing he could manipulate the demon just like he manipulated everyone else.

"You asked me for my advice and I gave it. Do as you see fit," the demon said.

"Maybe attacking the warrior clans to the west would be more appropriate," Ferral suggested.

The demon laughed. "Your pitiful Black Guards can't even find two Erandians. I seriously doubt they could do anything to the Holtsmen."

"Bah!" Ferral snarled. "The Black Guards have their uses, but you are right, they are becoming less reliable." Ferral walked toward the fireplace, absently brushing his beard. Then he turned and smiled. "I'm thinking of my new army, the Deathmarch Army. The mindless creatures see only what I want them to see. They do only what I want them to do ... and their numbers are constantly growing, thanks to my storms. Thanks to you."

The demon's eyes narrowed, calculating. "What will you do?"

"I shall call a Chura Council, a meeting set in the tradition of the old ways. I shall gather the priests of Belatarn and my generals ... you can come too, if you wish. I will let them give me advice, and then I shall unleash my full power," Ferral announced.

The demon acted as if she did not care about the council and left them. Ferral, too wrapped up in his own delusions, forgot about Allisia. With a distant look in his eyes he followed the demon out of the room.

Allisia lay there, in the corner with her chin on her knees, wiping the tears from her eyes with a tattered sleeve. She sobbed, remembering her father and brother.

"They're gone," Allisia reminded herself. "They're all gone."

Then, Allisia remembered what Ferral had said. Who was he looking for? Who was out there and still alive that made Ferral so furious? It had to be Kristian, Allisia reminded herself.

The thought consoled the princess little. Allisia knew the only way she would ever escape was on her own. Even if Kristian were a better man, even if Kristian was the kind of man that could really stand up to Ferral, he might still fail.

"Even God has abandoned me," Allisia whispered. "I'm on my own."

### 3

### The Chura Council's Edicts

Ferral welcomed each of the advisors into his upper sanctuary with open arms and strong embraces, treating them like brothers. The invited priests, magistrates, and officers milled about the room, doubt and concern etched clearly in many of their faces. Some looked around themselves, fearfully, while a few fanatical priests seemed ready to fall prostrate before the newest Prophet of Belatarn.

The usually musty room was clean, but Ferral was sure those that had been summoned did not think it inviting. Servants had neatly stacked the paraphernalia normally strewn across the floor into makeshift altars that flanked the gathered members. The advisors could not turn their heads away from Ferral without seeing the grizzly reminders of the world he would create.

One altar consisted of an ornate wooden stand and tray. A red cloth covered the tray, and an ancient bone dagger and cup lay atop the cloth. The advisors had heard the stories of how Ferral had killed his father and raised the demon. They knew about General Derout. The wiser, more cautious advisors were now warned. He would allow them no more mistakes.

On the other side of Ferral rested a stack of books and a scroll. The parchment looked old but well preserved. Ferral had intentionally placed the articles throughout the room so the advisors might wonder at his source of power.

None dared break the silence to ask Ferral that question.

The advisors looked above the books and scroll at the dead man Ferral had nailed to the five-pointed frame and knew they were here to listen, not to speak. Barbed spikes anchored the dead man's wrists and ankles to the wooden beams. The creature tried without success to reach those below it. The dead man could not shout or scream; it could not show any emotion—neither could it ignore its new purpose, to kill the living. The creature would not stop trying until it was destroyed.

Ferral looked up at the dead man. The sorcerer-king motioned toward the creature and its struggles ceased. Ferral smiled at it and then looked at those he had summoned.

Ferral motioned for the advisors to sit on pillows spread about an ornate red and gold rug and then had the dead servant girl, Julia, pour each of them a strong cup of tea. Ferral sat last, taking a cup for himself from the tray. He smiled, motioning for Julia to leave. The advisors sat there, sipping their tea without speaking, except Derout, the dead general that now served Ferral as a member of the Deathmarch Army. The creature stood there ominously at the other end of the rug from Ferral, waiting.

Few men would have challenged General Derout to a fight even two weeks ago. Now, Derout's armor sagged on his rotting body. In life, the general's muscular frame and armor made him look more intimidating, but now, the black armor had lost its shine. Derout's skin was a hard, cold gray color. The body had already bloated and now thinned, most of the fluids gone. The skin beneath had begun to shrink, growing tighter. Large purple bruises covered the once massive arms. Derout's eyes were dull and lifeless. They retreated into the skull as if the general could not bear to look at the advisors or its new master, Ferral. It was hard for even the priests to look upon the general without shuddering.

The wide cut across his throat was now closed. Thick thread stitched the gap together and prevented further tearing. All around the wound, the effects of decay were evident. The stench coming from the creature was repulsive, almost causing the man who had replaced Derout, General Leone, to vomit; he swallowed hard and tried to look at Ferral.

Leone was not a devout follower of Belatarn; most of the hardened soldiers of the kingdom were not. The officers obeyed Ferral because he demonstrated more power and cunning than any other man in the city. The sorcerer-king talked of the greater Erandian oppression Belarnians had felt for centuries. Ferral spoke of the uncaring Duellrians and their tight purse strings. He told them that, because of the arrogant and brutal repression of those allied kingdoms, Belarnian prosperity had withered and died. Ferral promised new hope, and that after they had defeated their enemies, the kingdom would have more riches than ever before.

Ferral promised recognition, money, and women to all of his soldiers. He promised them eternal salvation and personal heavens where each of them would be treated as kings themselves—if they did his bidding, the bidding of Belatarn.

And the poor and uneducated will believe my promises because they've never known anything better than what they have right now, Ferral realized.

Leone knows better, though, Ferral thought. He knows he must do as I command or end up like Derout. I hope Leone plays the game better than the others. Derout didn't know how to play at all ... his pride cost him everything.

Ferral looked at one of his priests. Orolien was his name. He wore robes of the new priesthood to Belatarn and a thick, golden ring with a large ruby on his right hand. Ferral noticed Leone's snicker as he also stared at Orolien. Is the general jealous?

Ferral enjoyed pitting them against each other. The sorcerer-king could not wait to see which one of the advisors would attack the others first.

The High Priest of Belatarn, the spiritual advisor to Ferral, had never received recognition or reward before. Orolien had held his secretive meetings in cellars and long abandoned temple ruins. Orolien's followers had never numbered more than a thousand, among a city that numbered twenty five thousand. Ferral remembered Derout and Leone used to make fun of the deranged priest and his quest to rebuild the ancient cult.

The generals grew cautious when they noticed Ferral taking note of the cult's activities, its history—its use of dark magic. Derout became fearful of the sect once Ferral openly admitted that he followed the god, devoutly. Leone distanced himself from Derout as the general continued to scoff at the religion.

Leone was not as fierce a warrior or leader as Derout, but he was more cunning, more subtle. Derout failed because of his own ambition and pride.

Ferral put his cup down, sat up on his knees, and then closed his eyes. The advisor's murmuring ceased as they tried to figure out what was happening. Then Ferral started to chant, his words barely escaping his lips. The gathered advisors leaned forward, paying close attention.

Ferral opened his eyes and looked at each one of the gathered men.

"May Belatarn bless us and grant us wise council," Ferral said before crossing his arms over his chest. He waited until each of the others made the same gesture, taking note of who was the first to move and who was the last. Orolien was the first, of course.

The man's a sniveling idiot, but he is a useful tool. Ferral had worked with and through Orolien for ten years, learning about Belatarn and the secretive link to magic. The priest could tell him little; Orolien was a fool leading other fools. The priest's followers were insignificant. The zealots followed the priest because they did not have the intellect to do anything without someone telling them what to do. Ferral used Orolien only as a first step toward a partnership with Belatarn. The sorcerer-king believed in the god, but Ferral also believed in the power of man—man's power to subjugate others through the use of magic.

When Ferral had learned as much as he could from Orolien, he sought out others that could help him understand even more. Then Ferral found Rebenna, the beautiful, seductive witch that dabbled in magic and the ancient religions. The fiery temptress had taught Ferral many things, prophesying Ferral's rise to power and guiding him further down the path toward Belatarn's Will. Ferral used Rebenna until he had no further need of her. Then he killed her.

Ferral remembered the taste of Rebenna's blood as it gushed out from the gaping slit he had cut across her neck. He remembered feeling as though he were taking Rebenna's life force from her, sucking away her soul. It was the purest, simplest act of control Ferral had ever felt. The feeling gave him greater strength and control over the magic and established a greater bond between Ferral and his god, Belatarn.

The sorcerer-king smiled and bowed again.

"May Belatarn help us to see his wisdom and give us the power to destroy those that oppose his will," Ferral said. The advisors bowed quicker this time, but Ferral continued to keep mental notes of those that he suspected most of treachery.

After several more prayers, Ferral sat back and grabbed his cup of tea again. He smiled at them and then took a sip.

"I have consulted the High Priest to Belatarn," Ferral said. Orolien prostrated himself again claiming Ferral as the earthly representative of their god. Ferral nodded at Orolien, smiling, and then continued, "and I have decided to reinstitute more of the old ways. Belatarn showed us the way to survive the harsh treatment of our subjugators. He showed us how to communicate with him, and through our god, we guided the people along a more righteous path." The assembled men looked at him in confusion.

"I am calling the first Chura Council of the new Belatarnian Age," Ferral announced. "You gathered men each represent a different aspect of Belarnian life. Together, your advice will help me determine the best course of action to take to better rule our country ... and our new lands."

The advisors bowed in understanding.

"General Leone," Ferral called out, his tone pleasant and inviting. The officer seemed somewhat surprised to hear his name spoken out loud. "Please give us a brief update on the status of our armies and their conquests."

Leone cleared his throat and took in a deep breath. His words came out slow, as if the general was unsure of how much information to give. "My Lord, the dead, I mean the Deathmarch Army, continue to grow and wait outside the walls. A large number arrived last week. They wore Duellrian uniforms and many still carried weapons. My men estimate the Deathmarch Army's number is close to twenty thousand, but the dead no longer attempt to destroy the ruined gate. The creatures will attack anyone that is caught out in the open, but they await your orders for anything else.

The expeditionary forces we sent to Erand attacked a border fort and destroyed the small garrison defending it in a very short amount of time. Our scouts have moved into central Erand and are forcing people out of smaller villages. Our men in Erand have met some resistance, but it has not slowed the advance of the main force." Ferral disliked the way Leone had already grown so accustomed to his new authority. He gave him a stern look. "With more men I could take all of Erand, and we can start determining the best way to conquer Duellr ... with your consent, of course, My Lord."

"And what about the two Erandians seen running into the forests just after the battle? What about the skirmish with the Spirit Folk?" Ferral already knew the answers but wanted to remind Leone just how delicate his new station in life really was. Leone was much easier to read than Derout.

He's a sniveling, conniving idiot, but he should be able to handle the simple task I plan to give him, Ferral thought.

"There has been no additional word, my Lord," Leone said carefully. Ferral frowned at the continued failures of his elite guards. "We suspect one of the survivors is King Kristian. My men believe Kristian is running away from Erand, rather than toward it, because of our constant patrols and attacks in the southern part of his country."

"Or perhaps, because Kristian is trying to raise a new army by uniting the kingdoms to our west," Ferral said forcefully, reminding him of the threats the sorcerer-king still faced.

"Y-yes, Lord," Leone stammered.

"What do you know of those kingdoms that might oppose us, Leone?" Ferral asked. "What are the Black Guards and the remainder of our forces prepared to do to prevent them from attacking us while we focus on the Erandians and Duellrians?"

Ferral smiled inwardly at Leone's sudden panic, "No one in Erinia knows as much about the Spirit Folk and Holtsmen as I do. We left the people to the west alone and forgot about them out of fear. The east forgot about the west, hoping the Spirit Folk and Holtsmen would never leave the sanctuary of their woods and mountains."

The council stirred, unsure of what to make of this news.

"Will they pose a threat to your plans, Great Prophet?" Orolien dared ask.

"Most certainly," Ferral immediately responded. "Their numbers are dwindling, their societies have weakened, but they are still powerful. The Spirit Folk and Holtsmen would be even more powerful if they decided to unite against me, but that is unlikely. That is one of the reasons I have called this Chura. I need to decide what to do about them."

"Give me command of all of our forces, My Lord, and I will crush whatever enemy you desire," Leone said.

"You can hardly maintain control here and push into Erand at the same time, Leone. How can I expect you to defeat the Atlunam when you can't even get into the woods with a scouting party?" The general's countenance fell.

"Before I make a decision I must also understand how our people are doing," Ferral told them. "It is, after all, for my people that I am forcing the world to take note of us. I want every person to know the power and benevolence of our god ... even those in our newly conquered lands. What is the status of the people in the lower districts? What are they saying about all of this?"

Jaquolin Denali, the minister of health, spoke first, "They were awed by the power you wielded against those that tried to attack us, King Ferral. They've never heard or seen anything like that before and now realize you must have been sent by your god to exact revenge for all the centuries we suffered."

"But do they really believe in Belatarn? What must we do to win them over?" Orolien asked.

"I don't care about kindly persuasion, Orolien," Ferral said. "The people of Belarna will obey our new laws or they will suffer. They will learn that there is only one god and only one way to worship him. The people of this kingdom will become devout followers or they will join the Deathmarch Army."

"I know they fear the king and his demon," Denali reported. "They know what will happen if they defy him. Many are stepping forward to join the ranks of your new priestly orders."

"Yes," Ferral nodded, "the Birds of Paradise and the Order of Belatarn's Cubs were excellent ideas. I've heard stories of young children coming to our new temples. They want to know how they can learn magic, also. We are already training the next generation of Belatarn's warriors and priests."

"What would you have us do to please you, King Ferral?" Orolien asked.

"I want you to develop new laws for our city and for all the lands under my control," Ferral said. "These edicts should be based on the religion of Belatarn ... and they should be strict. After all, this kingdom was one of the greatest in the world when it followed Belatarn. We were better off when we followed his commandments explicitly."

"The old days shall return, Orolien," Ferral promised.

"These are my first commandments. You will enforce them among all the people. First, they must acknowledge that Belatarn is the supreme god and fall prostrate before me, his prophet." The men nodded, assuring him they would carry out the command.

"Second, everyone must worship Belatarn at least once per day in the new temples. Anyone caught not attending is to be hanged." Leone barely hid his frown but bowed with the rest of the council members.

"Third, men and women should be segregated, except in their homes. Women are secondary to men in all things and shall obey their husbands and fathers. Men will be responsible for their women and should punish them whenever they are disobedient." Some of the advisors, including Denali, began to look at each other. They were unsure of how far Ferral intended to go with the revival of his religion.

"As a reward for any selfless act that is done to uphold the values of Belatarn or to secure our lands, men shall be given additional wives. These second wives shall be awarded by Orolien and his priests." Ferral said, looking over at the High Priest. "Orolien has the authority to appoint who the wives will be. Women can be wed after they have reached the age of thirteen, and no man will deny my priests, unless he first comes to me.

"I want you to start bringing back women and children from the lands you conquer, Leone," Ferral commanded. The general nodded immediately. "They will be integrated into our culture and become secondary wives and house slaves. Orolien shall have the power to make other edicts as we meet and determine what further should be done.

"Finally, anyone caught disobeying any law shall be executed immediately. In life or death, these people will serve me," Ferral said with a tone of finality in his voice.

Orolien was beaming with pride and excitement. Ferral had never given him this much power; new laws, that would ensure the people prayed to Belatarn, raced through his mind.

The High Priest fell forward on the carpet. "Great Prophet, you are wise and caring. Through you, our god's will shall be done." The others felt it was better to join the priest than to be seen as a skeptic.

Leone was the second man to prostrate himself before his king.

Ferral was glad for this meeting. It brought several things together at once. Before, the religious aspects of his plans had only provided justification for his continued attacks. Now, the Chura Council was giving him the conduit through which he could change the daily lives of everyone he controlled.

Ferral would succeed because he had surrounded himself with advisors that were easy to control—zealots and fools, the corrupt, wicked, and cruel. They would herd those too poor or uneducated to understand.

That's all that's needed, anyway, Ferral assured himself. I just need to empower those that have never had anything and push them toward my enemies. They'll exact their own justice with little encouragement.

"Excellent," Ferral motioned for the council members to sit up, pleased with their current level of obedience. "We must turn our attention back to the campaign plans. Where should we focus our efforts? Against Erand and Duellr, or the woods folk and the mountain men?"

"Only the Atlunam have the knowledge and skill to defeat you, Ferral," the demon answered from behind the king.

"I thought you had chosen not come to this council, demon," Ferral snapped without looking at her.

"I am more knowledgeable and powerful than all of your pitiful men combined, and yet, you continue to ignore my warnings," the demon said walking onto the carpet and standing directly in front of Ferral.

"Perhaps that is because I am not always certain where your loyalties are," Ferral shot back.

"I serve both you and our dark master. You know that," she said, her anger growing.

"And yet, the Deathmarch Army is more obedient than you are. They do what I command them to, and they do not hesitate," Ferral reminded her.

"The dead creatures commit atrocities because you make the hard decisions for them," the demon said. "When you re-animated the dead, you took control of their bodies but let their will and souls go. You move them where you want them, you tell them when to stand and wait, and you tell them who to kill."

Ferral followed the pacing demon with his eyes, a smile appearing on his face. The sorcerer-king used to fear and loathe the demon, but now, he saw her for what she was. The demon was just another tool. A special tool from Belatarn, perhaps, but just a tool.

"Look around at this Chura council, demon," Ferral challenged. "These men are not dead. Well, all of them except Derout, of course."

"Your cronies? The incompetent fools that nearly lost the battle a few weeks ago? The men that nearly let the city burn to the ground? The men that can't find Kristian for you?" The demon smiled as she added that last taunt.

Now Ferral became angry. "You've had plenty of chances yourself! Why does my most powerful asset also appear to be one of my most reluctant? What are you afraid of, woman?" Ferral demanded.

The beautiful demon lost control, no longer able to contain the monster within. The woman's skin started to bubble, marring her pale, perfect complexion. Her eyes turned yellow, the pupil's becoming narrow slits. She screamed at Ferral, but her scream quickly changed from a high shrill voice to a deeper, more powerful howl. The demon's finely sculptured body became rigid with massive, corded muscles. Wings pushed their way out of her spine, tearing her skin. It screamed again in pain and hatred.

Ferral simply smiled at the monster now standing before him.

The demon snarled at him before turning toward his men, her shredded cloak falling to the carpet. If she could not kill the sorcerer, then she would make an example of one of his underlings. Each of the advisors shrank from the demon, skidding backwards along the floor toward the opposite sides of the room.

The monster started toward Denali, laughing, eager to tear him apart before Ferral's eyes.

"No!" Ferral commanded. The demon only shrugged, taking another step toward Denali. Then she stopped, the demon could get no closer to the man. Despite all her monstrous strength, a stronger force held her back. Her throat tightened, as if a noose was choking her, pulling her away from the cowering man.

The demon looked back at Ferral. He was holding his hand out toward her. "No," Ferral said, smiling.

Then the demon knew she could never defeat Ferral. He had learned much from the scroll since she had arrived. Belatarn truly protected the sorcerer-king.

The demon growled again but turned away from Denali. It saw the dead man nailed to the cross and immediately leaped at it. The dead creature could not escape. The demon reached out with its massive clawed hands and ripped the dead man down. In one swift, effortless motion, the monster pulled it apart. The demon howled at Ferral again in defiance, slamming the two parts down onto the carpet, again and again.

"Are you finished?" Ferral asked calmly.

The demon crouched, sending Ferral such a hateful look, that all the other men in the room panicked. Ferral did not move.

I have won, Ferral knew. The demon would have to obey him or face even greater pain in Hell than she had endured before. Belatarn wanted Ferral to succeed, and the god would not allow his demon to interfere.

"You will lead part of my Deathmarch Army, demon," Ferral ordered. "You will ensure that it grows in numbers until they can no longer be counted. You will move west and destroy everything in your path ... leave no one alive. Make them a part of my army. Find the Holtsmen and destroy them."

The demon raised its head and cringed. It let out another growl, this one of pain, as the woman's face began to take shape again. "But what about the Atlunam? I want to destroy them!"

"I will use my powers to control General Derout; he will lead a smaller group of the dead into the woods," Ferral announced, standing taller. "I still want to kill Kristian and his friends, but I don't trust you to do it."

The demon-woman could not control her anger and began to shift back into the monster. Ferral added, "When the time comes, I shall let you be the one to destroy the Atlunam."

"Once I have Kristian," he promised.

The demon froze for a moment as it thought about the plan. It forced itself to calm down, taking deep breaths and bowing its head.

Golden hair returned to the bald, gray-green scalp. The bumps and horns faded back into the skin. The claws retracted and the woman's alabaster color returned.

She crouched naked before them, heaving from the transformation for a few moments. Then the demon stood straight, raising her chin and giving Ferral a thin smile. Casually stepping past the smashed, but still animated body parts, she went to stand only a few inches away from Ferral.

"I hear you and obey, O Mighty King of Belarn," the demon said with a sneer.

Ferral nodded in approval then dismissed her.

### 4

### The Defiant Demon

"I may be used by evil, but Ferral is evil, and much crueler," the demon said as she strode down the hall away from Ferral.

The demon thought she was brought into this world to guide and control Ferral. She now sensed she was a pawn in a much larger game. One that seems to go on forever, the demon reminded herself. The demon found it hard to accept her role in Ferral's schemes and wondered if her fate would ever be revealed.

Will I suffer like this forever? Am I really evil or am I being controlled by evil? she asked.

The demon smiled bitterly.

"It's a little of both, I suppose," she said.

"I hate Ferral," the demon swore aloud.

"But I hate myself more," she whispered.

The demon had killed Allisia's father because she had been commanded to. Ferral wanted his enemies destroyed as soon as possible so that he could focus on his grander schemes. It was nearly impossible for the demon to oppose Ferral's will now. The demon had never defied Belatarn before, and he wanted Ferral to succeed. She despised them both but knew that refusing either Ferral or Belatarn meant humiliation and pain beyond anything a mortal mind could comprehend.

Besides, the King of Duellr and his family meant little to the demon. She was the warrior of darkness and the champion of the evil forces that wanted to destroy the world.

When Belatarn sent the demon out to destroy, her hatred at being a minion of Hell empowered the monster within her with superhuman strength. The demon had torn the weak King of Duellr apart in front of his children and subjects showing everyone gathered the power of both her worldly and other-worldly masters. She had also killed Allisia's brother, a young and insignificant man, freezing Justan and the Duellrian army on the road as they marched toward Ferral's citadel. The demon was alive with awesome power and ancient hatred, and yet, she could not help but take pity upon Allisia, the heir to the Duellrian throne.

Kristian's betrothed.

Ferral's prize.

The demon had the power to defeat any mortal. She could raise legions of the dead and command those she raised, but there remained a human part of the demon that still felt sorrow and grief. She tried to bury her past beneath centuries of hatred and servitude to her dark master. The demon had, at least, succeeded in burying those memories that would destroy her mind and soul if she thought about them for too long. Now, after centuries of serving the dark purposes of Hell, there was little left of the demon that had once been human, but for some reason, she still clung to a shadow of her mortal past.

"Who was I?" the demon often asked. If the answer was locked away within her mind, then it was buried too deep for her to ever find again. The demon had searched for the answers to her enslavement for a thousand years and nothing she had done or seen had ever reminded her of her former life.

Occasionally, the beautiful demon comforted the princess; when she wanted to feel more human, when she wanted to remove the stain of her sins. It helped balance the cruel treatment Allisia received from Ferral, who took great pleasure in tormenting the princess physically and mentally. The sorcerer-king liked to torment Allisia by playing out twisted mind games on the young girl, promising the princess she would not be mistreated, and then terrifying her with his unnatural creations. Sometimes, Ferral would beat the princess, but most of the time the mad man preferred torturing Allisia's mind.

The demon would never be able to make Allisia understand her reasons for having to kill. She did not understand the reasons herself. If she was meant to be a demon with the power to destroy thousands, then why did Belatarn make her feel the suffering of every person she killed? How could the demon revel in her evil powers one moment and try to ease the suffering of those she harmed the next? The demon constantly fought these emotions, the conflicts threatening to tear her apart. Knowing her enemies despised her as a hideous monster made it even more unbearable.

How much comfort can I give to someone who hates and fears me? the demon asked.

This must be a part of my Hell. Part of my punishment, she thought.

"What could I have done to deserve this?" the demon cried out. Then she looked around to make sure no one had heard her outburst. The demon struggled to remember even just one fragment of what her life must have been like, but no one called down from Heaven to remind the demon of her transgressions.

The demon tried to forget about the young princess, pushing the tortured girl's sad stare out of her mind. Her thoughts went instead to the mysterious man that accompanied Kristian, the young cavalier from Erand. The demon had not known his name or why she was even drawn to the cavalier. When she had the opportunity to kill the man, the demon half of her had resisted its primal urge to tear the cavalier apart, something she could never control before. He stood defiantly before her in the Duellrian palace, prepared to die protecting Kristian. The cavalier had the same stare on his face as all the others, one of terror and loathing. Yet, like few others, the cavalier held his ground. The man's face and mannerisms seemed familiar to the demon, and in that instant, she knew she could not kill the man, the cavalier that traveled with Kristian.

The demon had thought little more of him except in pleasurable daydreaming until the night the cavalier stood beneath Belarna's black walls. As defiant as before, and just as willing to die for what he believed in, the young man burned down the wooden doors, personally challenging Ferral. The demon had seen Ferral's anger at the cavalier's actions and it made her smile. Through the night, as the Army of the Dead destroyed all those it encountered, she had flown across the battlefield watching over the mysterious soldier. During the hours of battle that followed the burning of the gate, she had learned his name.

"Mikhal," the demon gasped, full of electrifying emotion.

The sound of his name filled the demon's mind with the buzzing voices of prophets, but she disregarded them. A powerful force was drawing the demon and Mikhal together, and the chance of seeing the cavalier again excited her.

She had also seen how Mikhal protected Kristian, even though the fool did not deserve it. The demon would have killed the sniveling, young prince then, had Ferral ordered it, but the sorcerer-king had wanted the boasting Erandian to see his army destroyed, and to know Allisia would forever be a captive within these walls. Ferral had caused the terrible storm that had blinded his enemies as Kristian made his last stand on the hill overlooking Belarna, but the demon had kept the dead at bay long enough for Mikhal and Kristian to escape.

It had only been for a few moments, the sun had been about to rise and she knew what would happen. The demon used her own powers to hold the dead back from Mikhal's hiding place until the creatures fell lifeless to the ground. Yet, her power alone had not saved Mikhal.

Something else, perhaps God or Fate, had also intervened. Mikhal deserved some measure of divine intervention. The cavalier had sworn to protect his prince despite everything that had happened, proving his loyalty and duty to ideals much bigger than himself.

In some way, the demon had formed a connection with Allisia, Mikhal, and the new Erandian king, Kristian. They all hated Ferral and would do whatever they could to destroy him. That gave the demon common cause with her enemies. The demon feared she would suffer an eternity of pain if Ferral failed their master.

Surely, I can do something to make the scales more balanced, she thought, desperately.

Kristian seemed determined to prove himself anew, to become a better man and leader. The demon laughed at the absurdity of it, but then she stopped.

Kristian certainly seems destined to confront Ferral again, she admitted. The demon did not care about the Erandian king or his troubles, but she was bound to Ferral, just as the sorcerer was bound to her, through the will of their dark master.

The important question is whether Kristian will ever be reunited with Allisia? Who will win the fight over her? Ferral or Kristian?

"Poor girl," the demon said, "having to rely on such men."

But if there were a way to help Allisia, she wondered, wanting to test the boundaries of Ferral's control over her. An image of a man and a fishing boat suddenly entered the demon's mind. She was not certain where the image came from but sensed a greater power at work. The force of the will behind the image almost made her weep. The demon bowed her head in sad acknowledgement.

"I will find a way," the demon promised. She smiled, her new commitment giving her feelings both exhilarating and frightening. The demon was pleased at her new resolve to defy Ferral even if it meant angering their master.

### 5

### Respite

Kristian sat on a small wooden stool, huddled within a blanket before a warm fire. He stared blankly through the flames at the bricks beyond trying to remember what had happened the day before. The young Erandian king did not know how he had survived but was grateful for the chance to rest after so long. He looked at his surroundings for the tenth time reassuring himself that he really was safe. Kristian appeared to be alone; his few possessions, other than his clothes, were piled neatly in one corner. The pile included the Belarnian broadsword Kristian had taken during the battle against Ferral. He had lost the jeweled sword his father had given him and the old cavalry saber he had carried since his youth.

Kristian sighed.

He was losing his good memories: his hopes and dreams, his few good deeds, his admiration and love for his parents—just like he had lost the swords. Memories of having acted out in anger, frustration, and ingratitude blocked out his few remaining good recollections at a pace too overwhelming for Kristian. Kristian felt dull and blunt like the Belarnian broadsword and his resolve wavered. The young king felt he might shatter, like a sword striking granite and exploding into thousands of razor-sharp fragments.

Kristian shuddered and tried to wrap himself better in the blanket, but no warmth could keep out the cold, dark thoughts that enveloped him. Kristian closed his eyes and tried to think of a cause worth fighting for—something worth the continued struggle to prove to Mikhal that he could be a better man.

He looked deeper into the fire, and as he mulled things over, Kristian realized that Mikhal's thoughts did not matter. Being an honorable man doesn't matter. I'm not doing any of this to gain respect. I'm doing this to save Allisia.

Kristian looked at the room again. He had only been awake for a few minutes. He had found soup on the stool next to his bed and eagerly devoured it, but so far, no one had come in to let him know how he had arrived here. Few personal touches decorated the room other than an upside down garden of herbs and roots hanging from the rafters to dry. Kristian found the simplicity of the room inviting.

He took another sip of the hot broth left for him. It brought a dull aching feeling back into his muscles, reminding him of how hard he had pushed himself since the battle against Ferral. Kristian welcomed the soreness; it reminded him he was still alive—it also reminded him of his failures. He tried to smile despite his brooding mood, realizing this was the first time he had been under a roof in a month.

"Has it been that long?" Kristian asked. His shoulders slumped as an image of Allisia being carried off by the demon flashed into his thoughts. The young king sighed and then got to his feet, looking for his clothes.

"They're hanging out back to dry." Kristian spun around startled by the voice. A young man with brown hair and plain features stood in the doorway looking at him. "Your clothes, I mean. I washed them."

"Thank you," Kristian said, he could force little else out of his sore throat. The young man relaxed and came further into the room. He reached out with his hand, eager to introduce himself.

"I'm—" He tripped on the edge of the rug and nearly fell. Cursing under his breath, he caught himself and pretended that nothing had happened. Kristian tried to keep from smiling. Reaching out his hand again, the young man said, "I'm Maurin. You're in my home. Welcome."

Maurin shook Kristian's hand roughly, making him wince. "Thank you for saving me," Kristian said. "What happened to ... my friend?"

"He'll be alright, though it will take him a bit longer to recover," Maurin said. "He was delirious when I found the two of you. Your friend's leg needed some stitching from a bad fall and he needed more rest than you, but he's much better now." Kristian relaxed a little, smiled, and sat back down, weary just from the short period of standing.

"How did you find us?"

"I often walk out that way," Maurin answered. The man hesitated, adding, "I walk out there to find herbs and roots, things that will be useful in curing the sick and injured. Though I have to admit, I've never stumbled upon two dying men before."

Kristian smiled.

"Would you like more?" Maurin asked, pointing to Kristian's cup. When Kristian nodded, Maurin took the cup and went to the fireplace, where he ladled soup from a large pot.

"Ow!" Maurin hopped about shaking his foot. The pot had slipped out of his hand and fallen with a loud clang, smashing his toe. Kristian wondered if this clumsy man was the village healer or fool.

Embarrassed, Maurin bowed his head. "Actually, my friends call me 'Maurin the Unmaker.'" He looked down at his boots as he handed the refilled cup to Kristian. "Because if you give me enough time, I can break just about anything."

Although he continued to look sheepish, Maurin laughed at his own clumsiness and Kristian soon joined in. Kristian knew right then that he liked Maurin. He was thoughtful and had a special way of making his awkwardness seem funny. He appeared only a little older than Kristian but much thinner, like a long piece of rope, tall and gangly. His hair fell across his face, making it even more difficult to take him seriously. It was easy for Kristian to see that this man always meant well, even if he rarely got anything done without breaking a valued possession.

"Come," Maurin invited, still chuckling, "let's check on your friend." The two walked out of the room and down the darkened hall to another bedroom. Maurin lent a hand to help steady Kristian as he hobbled along. The healer knocked and entered without waiting for a reply. He beamed at Mikhal, leading Kristian to believe that Maurin rarely had guests, but Mikhal was sitting on the edge of his bed staring at his open palms and did not look up when they entered.

"Did you get any rest?" Kristian asked, concern showing on his face.

Mikhal continued staring at his hands but did not say a word.

The next evening, the three sat on the front porch drinking warm cider and enjoying the gentle evening breeze.

"You can imagine my surprise at finding two men unconscious in the middle of the plains, only a league from the village," Maurin said.

"So close to shelter," Kristian shook his head in disbelief. "We were so close." The Erandian looked down the dirt path that Maurin called the main street. There were many homes and businesses, but all of the shops appeared to be closed; everything was quiet. At first glance, everything seemed peaceful in the village, but Kristian sensed an undercurrent of anxiousness. People had closed and boarded their homes because they were afraid.

The few villagers Kristian did see stared fearfully at him. What kind of dread do they think I brought with me? The frightened looks on their faces mirrored those in his dreams. Their eyes reminded him of his failures, of the countless people that had died and of those still dying every day because of him. Kristian quickly looked away from each person that passed by, ashamed of what he had done.

Mikhal concerned him even more. His companion had not been the same since Maurin saved them. Mikhal had further distanced himself from Kristian—even more than before their trek across the plains. He rarely talked, did not eat much, and continually excused himself from their company. His eyes stayed bloodshot, and he looked exhausted despite the care Maurin gave him. Even now, as they sat on the steps to Maurin's house, Mikhal held his cup of cider loosely in his hand and stared out into the night.

"So, why did I find two young, exhausted men on the plains in the middle of nowhere?" Maurin asked them. Kristian had no idea what to tell him. He tried to push the question off by asking one of his own.

"How far are we from the forest?" Kristian asked.

Maurin shrugged. "Not far. Less than a few hours' ride. Why do you ask?"

"The people that live in those woods," Kristian continued. "Do you know of them? What are they like?"

Maurin shrugged again. "I know little of them. I think few people really know them at all. They keep to themselves, always hidden within the solitude of their forest. They rarely visit our small village. They've enough to worry about, I suppose. They've been at war with the Holtsmen for hundreds of years. I've never seen the mountain warriors myself, but they must be mighty warriors indeed to fight for that long with the Atlunam. There has been much slaughter on both sides—and not all, I hear, justified by war. You can see the sorrow in the eyes of the woods folk that come here to trade. They have seen too much death, but they refuse to make peace. I think they'll keep fighting until they're all dead." Maurin shook his head in disapproval.

"You've seen them before, then?" Kristian asked, amazed.

"Of course," Maurin replied. "From time to time, one or two of them will come here to trade or get news of what is going on to the north. Why are you so surprised? They might be a little eerie, but there is nothing magical about them. Though, I'm sure many Northerners see them that way. They're just ordinary people like you and me. Actually, Mikhal looks a lot like them. I would have assumed he was one of them had you not said you were from ..." Maurin paused in confusion. "Where are you from?"

Kristian had been trying to avoid the question ever since he woke in Maurin's home, but Kristian realized he would have to give the healer an answer of some sort.

"Erand. We're from Erand," Mikhal answered. The words came slowly from his lips. He struggled out of his dark mood trying to join the conversation. There was an anxious look on his face as he turned to Maurin. "Tell me, Maurin, these fair-haired people that look like me ... are they tall, also?"

Maurin nodded. "Mostly. I mean they're not all identical, but ... yes, most of them are of a height with you."

"We must go there. I must see them for myself," Mikhal declared, attempting to stand. He acted as if he wanted to leave right at that moment. Mikhal turned his head when he heard Maurin scoff at the idea.

"What?" Mikhal demanded.

"If you want to try and find them, be my guest. But you never will," Maurin snorted, amused by Mikhal's determination. "No one finds the woods folk, the Atlunam. They would just as soon use you for target practice. They are the best hunters in Erinia. In a few weeks, we would find your body with a score or more arrows sticking out of it."

"What about this place?" Kristian asked trying to lead Maurin away from their current conversation. "For such a peaceful village that wants nothing more than to be left alone, there seems to be a lot of tension." Kristian waved his hand, taking in the houses surrounding them. "Why are their windows boarded up? Who are they afraid of?"

Maurin shrugged. "Nothing. Nothing real, anyway." Maurin leaned closer to explain in a hushed voice. "There have been reports of large armies to the north. Men in armor walking all night in silence. The army is always just out of sight of the people that hear them, but they know something is there and they become afraid."

Maurin shrugged again as though the stories meant nothing more to him than tales told to scare children. "They're just rumors, half truths. People around here live very boring lives and make up fanciful things to occupy themselves—you know—trying to add some excitement."

Kristian stood and took a few steps down from Maurin's house and into the street. His voice was full of grief and desperation.

"He's using them to search for me, isn't he, Mikhal?" Kristian asked.

"You don't know that. He may just be sending them out to conquer someone else," Mikhal replied.

Kristian shook his head. "No. I can feel him bearing down on me. And Allisia is running out of time." He turned to face Mikhal and Maurin. "We're all running out of time." Kristian focused on the healer, a pleading look on his face. "Maurin, will the people of your village listen to me if I tell them something of great importance?"

"What are you going to do?" Mikhal asked, raising an eyebrow.

Maurin shrugged and then answered Kristian, "I don't know. Most people here think I'm a fool—always collecting herbs and reading books. I doubt they would believe I even had guests unless they saw you for themselves."

"Well, please try," Kristian begged. "I must speak to them immediately. Your village is in great danger. We must warn them." Maurin nodded, seeing the concern in Kristian's eyes. "And Maurin, you're definitely not a fool. I would know. You have been nothing but kind and selfless since we met. Thank you." Maurin smiled shyly and nodded before he got up to rally his townsfolk.

Kristian and Mikhal stood apart from the growing crowd. The towns' people gathered in small groups around the center of the village. Most of them spoke in hushed tones fearing this meeting had to do with the strange tales of an army to the north. A few of the older villagers grumbled about being woken in the middle of the night while others scratched their heads. Maurin herded in those that continued to stumble toward the gathering place. Cursing, a large man with thick arms and a bushy, black mustache threatened to hit Maurin over the head if he did not settle down. Maurin tried to order the big man to move along. "Eroly, just hurry up. My friends have an important message to tell all of you."

"The only thing that would surprise me is if they really are your friends, healer ... or should I call you a poet, now?" the big man asked. Maurin ignored Eroly's jibe, ushering him toward the front of the crowd.

Soon, over a hundred villagers stood in the town square. Kristian scanned their faces, searching for those that might be supportive, but few seemed friendly. Kristian was nervous and did not know how to begin.

Mikhal approached him. "It's time." The words could not have been more appropriate if they had come from an executioner.

Kristian looked at him, nervous. "I don't know what to say. I thought I would, but I can't find the words."

Mikhal shrugged. "First time I've ever seen you speechless." The cavalier's words stung, but Kristian was getting used to them. Mikhal nodded toward a bench, prodding or daring his king to tell the villagers what was coming toward them. Reluctantly, Kristian climbed onto the bench looking at those gathered around him. He raised his hands in an effort to quiet those nearby. Kristian's mouth was dry as he started to speak.

"Thank you for coming," Kristian started. "You have to understand that what I am about to tell you is of the utmost importance." The towns' folk became still, waiting for Kristian to continue.

"I have come from the north and bring terrible news. The King of Belarn has raised a nightmare army and plans to subdue or destroy all of Erinia." The people began muttering among themselves. They talked in frightened tones about what might happen to them.

"How do you know this?" Eroly, the blacksmith, asked.

"We've seen this army ourselves. It's made up of thousands of soldiers and they march west to destroy all those that oppose Belarn," Kristian answered, choosing his words with care.

"Then we have nothing to fear. We're just a small village and threaten no one. This king will not waste his time sending an army here," another villager called out.

Kristian shook his head in disagreement. "No, I'm sorry, but he will come here." The Erandian hesitated a moment, afraid to tell them more. "Ferral will come here because he is searching for survivors of a battle that was fought a few weeks ago. We fought to defeat him and rescue Princess Allisia of Duellr.

"Ferral is the King of Belarn and a sorcerer. He holds Allisia prisoner in his fortress. An army of her countrymen, along with the Prince of Erand and his escort, attempted to free her. Their army was destroyed through treachery and magic. Ferral used this magic to create an army that will do anything he commands. That army now rides west to destroy everyone in their path." Kristian paused to gauge their reactions.

"That doesn't explain very much," one stubborn, old man shouted back. "We care nothing for what happens to the kingdoms north of here. They've never bothered us before. Why would they start now? We're not a part of this army that fought against him."

Kristian grimaced not wanting to give a more detailed account, but he had no choice. "Ferral will come here looking for me. I was a part of that army." Kristian could hear them gasp, shocked by the news. Fear grabbed hold of many of those standing near Kristian and Mikhal.

"Then you have led them here! We are doomed," voices cried out from the crowd. Panic had taken hold, and none of the villagers appeared to know what to do.

"Maurin, you always were the idiot. Now look at what you've done!" another man shouted.

"It isn't his fault," Kristian said. "Maurin was only trying to help us. He didn't know. I had no intention of putting you in danger. And there's more. I haven't told you everything. This army that Ferral has raised is ... an army of the dead." The Erandian king heard several men laugh, but others gasped terrified. Many had heard the rumors of the silent army to the north that only moved at night. Kristian's words only confirmed that evil walked the land.

Eroly spoke out again. He was less confident, now, but still seemed to represent most of the villagers. "Who are you? Why does this king seek out just two men with an entire army? And how do you expect us to believe stories we only use to keep our children in line?"

Mikhal saw the look on Kristian's face: he was faltering under the pressure of their questions. Kristian looked out at the crowd, speechless. Mikhal jumped up beside his king then, sensing that things were about to get out of hand. Mikhal knew the villagers had to be warned; they had to flee before it was too late.

I won't let them end up like my friends, he swore.

"I'm Mikhal Jurander. I was an officer with the cavaliers that escorted the Prince of Erand. Everything he has told you is true. I saw the evil magic that Ferral used to destroy the Duellrian army and my companions. As Ferral began to lose the fight he called upon the darkest magic imaginable. I saw hundreds of men with ghastly wounds stand up from where they had died. I even saw a woman thrown from the walls of the black city stand and rush my prince and me. The fall was nearly sixty feet; she had a deep cut across her throat. No one could survive something like that, unless through some dark magic. These dead creatures rushed those still fighting, ripping them apart with their bare hands. They surrounded and destroyed us."

Mikhal lowered his head in grief. "Only three survived the battle that we know of. Myself, another soldier, and our prince." Mikhal gestured to indicate Kristian. "This is the prince that fought against Ferral and his evil plans. His father was killed by Ferral's treachery. He is now the King of Erand. Our people have been scattered across Erinia by Ferral's evil forces."

The villagers' mood turned ugly, afraid of what would happen to them if Ferral learned that the King of Erand hid in their town.

Kristian called out again trying to quiet them, "It's true. I am the King of Erand, and I am sorry. I never intended to involve those that did not wish to help us."

"What do you mean? What do you want?" It was Maurin that had spoken.

"We have come west searching for those that would help us in our cause," Kristian asked. "The princess Ferral still holds captive is my betrothed. I fear he will kill Allisia soon if I don't help her. But I do not ask you to help me because of some private quest. I ask you to help us because Ferral threatens every living person in Erinia. He is a madman who will not stop until he controls everything or has destroyed what he can't control. Surely, you know that Belarn has never been a kind neighbor. Now that this madman is king, I promise you will not be safe from him." Kristian paused afraid to ask the question.

"Will any of you help us?" Mikhal asked. "We need supplies, but mostly, we need volunteers. We need all types of people to help us rebuild an army to stand against Ferral. Will any of you help?" The crowd stood silent. Not a single person moved or said anything.

Finally, Maurin came forward. "I will help you if I can. I can't fight, but I can help with the sick and injured." Kristian smiled, thanking Maurin, and then looked out at the crowd in expectation.

Several men walked away, mumbling that they wanted nothing to do with the King of Erand or his quest. Some even shouted for him to leave, now. Most stood around, sheepish and not sure what to believe, not wanting to make a decision. Finally, Eroly the Blacksmith came forward and spoke.

"I've heard the stories of the silent army to the north," Eroly said. "I don't know what their intentions are or whether they are the terrible creatures you speak of. But I know that this is my home. My wife and business are here. Everything I have is here. I can't leave my wife, and I will not put her in danger by following you." Kristian nodded, understanding perfectly. The blacksmith left then and most of the villagers followed.

Kristian and Mikhal stood looking around at the few still gathered. None of them would look at him. They stood in small circles discussing what might befall their village in worried tones. No one else came forward.

Once all of the villagers left, Maurin approached the two Erandians and bowed awkwardly. "Sire, why didn't you tell me you were the King of Erand?" Maurin began to kneel before Kristian, shaken by the turn of events. He had never met a king before and had no idea how to react now that his friend turned out to be a king.

"Please, Maurin, get up," Kristian said. "I was only a man in need of help when you found me, and you gave me that help not realizing who I was. It really doesn't matter. I have no kingdom to rule, and my countrymen are scattered. My father is dead." Kristian paused, reprimanding himself. It was all too easy to resort back to those habits that he found easier—to complain and argue, to doubt the words of others.

He saw the face of one of the cavaliers that had rushed toward the swarming mass of dead creatures the night of the battle. He had wanted to fight and die by the side of his comrades. That, Kristian began to realize, was a courage and nobility that I have never been capable of.

He then added, shaking a bit, "Call me by my name as any true friend would." Maurin did not know what to say. He looked to Mikhal for guidance. The young cavalier nodded.

"Thank you for all you've done, Maurin," Mikhal said as he stepped forward to shake Maurin's hand. Kristian noticed a pained and distant look flashing across Mikhal's eyes.

"But," the clumsy healer stammered, "but what are we going to do now?"

Kristian shrugged. "I don't know. I hoped more people would join us. I'm afraid they will die if they don't take our warning seriously."

Maurin snorted. "They never listen when they should. And listen far too often when they shouldn't." He threw his hands in the air. "Lord, save these poor, ignorant fools."

Kristian was only half-paying attention to his companion. He noticed a large figure edging through the shadows. The stranger looked around, furtive, ensuring no others were close by. Then he stepped quickly into the square.

It was Eroly.

The big man stopped in front of Kristian and his friends. He bowed. "Forgive me for not being supportive earlier. I have much to look after here in the village, as I said. My wife, my shop, they are everything to me," he pleaded.

"There is nothing to forgive. Everyone must choose their own path. But, I warn you, danger is close and may come this way," Kristian said.

The man frowned thinking hard about the warning. "I know. I know, but ... I can't go with you." He acted nervous, anxious to speak his mind. "Still, I can't just let you go on with no help at all."

"Humph. I volunteered didn't I? My skills in healing will come in handy in the battles to come. So would yours, Eroly. You are the best blacksmith the town has ever had." Maurin pointed at Eroly saying, "Why, you could turn out the finest weapons. You could furnish the sharpest blades to cut down the enemy."

Eroly snorted. "I wouldn't give you a blade for fear you might trip on it and cut yourself. Then the one who would really need healing would be you." Kristian choked on a laugh. Mikhal said nothing. Apparently, their first recruit was well known in the village. "I don't know why they even accepted you on their quest, Maurin the Unmaker." Eroly paused a moment, thinking, then asked, "Why are you willing to leave everything behind any way, healer? You may be a clumsy fool, but you know we respect you. You're one of us, after all."

"Really?" Maurin challenged. He looked around at the plain colorless homes and shops that lined the one dirt road cutting through his village. The healer lowered his eyes, murmuring.

"Humph, first time I've not been able to hear what you've had to say!" Eroly goaded him.

Maurin's temper got the better of him, and he shot back, "just go back and hide behind your wife and forge then."

"Now you just wait a minute. I have something I want to give you ... all of you," Eroly replied, hurt. "Please, follow me." He turned motioning for the three to follow. Shrugging, Kristian started off after him with Maurin and Mikhal right behind.

Kristian patted the muscular neck of the horse Eroly had given him. The fine black steed nickered enthusiastically sensing the journey ahead. Eroly had given them each a horse from his stable. Mikhal noted that they were as good as any of the horses the Erandian cavalry had used.

Kristian tried to find some personal belonging to give the blacksmith in return, but he had nothing. Eroly would not have accepted it anyway. "These are my gift to you. I would come with you if I didn't have a family to look after."

"Your kindness is more than we expected, Eroly. I will not forget your help. And if I survive this war, I hope to return and give you a better thanks than this," Kristian responded. Eroly bowed, uncomfortable now and ready for them to get on their way. Kristian and Mikhal nodded in return.

As he prepared to leave, Eroly said, "It would probably be a good idea to tie that clumsy oaf to his saddle. You won't get out of sight of the village before Maurin falls off, hurting either himself or tripping my fine horse and causing even more harm."

Maurin stuck out his tongue but had no remark to shoot back at him.

"Good Fortune be with you, gentlemen. And Maurin, if no one else in the village will thank you, then let me be the one to say it. Thank you." He reached out and shook the healer's hand. "G'luck to you, healer and poet," the big man said, smiling. "Watch your step."

His heartfelt thanks warmed Maurin's spirit. He smiled proudly and tried to give the big man a hug, but Eroly would have none of that.

Eroly frowned at the healer. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. "I know you never felt like you fit in, but you don't have to prove yourself like this. You've saved more than a few of the townsfolk. Despite what they might say, they know what you've done: they will miss you."

Maurin sighed. "I'm not doing this to prove myself to anyone, Eroly. I just want to see more, do more ... I want to be a part of something bigger than just what I see out here on this lonely, boring plain."

Eroly shook his head. "What will you do if you have to fight? You don't know anything about swords. You can barely ride a horse."

"I'm not a fighter and they know that," Maurin nodded toward his new friends. "I'll just stay out of their way when there's fighting to be done."

Eroly argued, "And when the wounds are terrible? When there is blood everywhere? When there are limbs missing or guts spilling out? What then, Maurin? Are you ready for that?"

Maurin stepped back a little, unsure of how to answer. "I'll be ready." Eroly nodded then, knowing he could not talk Maurin out of his decision. Eroly came close, hugged Maurin fiercely for an instant, and then left them.

### 6

### Unexpected Allies

Kristian felt the sun rise behind them as they plodded on through the open plains that separated central Erinia from the Merciless Mountains and the Great Forest. They rode westward slowly because they were unsure of what to do or where to go. The hills undulated for miles in all directions, the long, yellowed grass moving with the wind. Nothing else was visible.

Kristian had scanned the distance ahead several times just hoping that something might appear that would force them into action. There was nothing. He looked at the hills again. Had they been riding hard and suddenly looked up, Kristian might have thought they were on some strange sea.

It would have been beautiful, Kristian thought, now the endless slopes only reminded him that they had no real plan. One of the ceaseless, rolling hills loomed before him and threatened to wash over him.

The mass of that one earthen wave would be enough to crush him and his comrades—it would smother him and remind him of his failings, of the mistakes that had cost the ones he loved so much. If Kristian did not find a way to get help for Allisia and his people soon there would be nothing worth saving.

"Even the hills remind me of my mistakes," Kristian muttered.

Maurin's brief words to Kristian the day they left about another kingdom, The Ten Holts, somewhere ahead of them, had sparked a small measure of hope in Kristian. Perhaps, those living beyond the Great Forest would help. It was a dim hope, but it kept Kristian going. He knew of no other place to go.

"They must be powerful ... to wage war against the Atlunam for centuries. The Atlunam are fierce and skilled, at least from what I know of them, and so their enemies would also have to be fearsome to be remembered out here on the plains. They must be a tribal people because they only band together to fight the Atlunam." Kristian nodded thoughtfully at Maurin's comment.

According to their new companion, it would only take a few more days to reach the edge of the forest. After that, they would be in the land of the Holtsmen, the enemy of the Atlunam. "But hopefully our allies," Kristian hoped silently.

He turned over his shoulder to look at Maurin. The poor man was obviously not accustomed to riding long distances, if at all. "Maybe we should have taken the blacksmith's advice," Kristian tried to joke with Mikhal, "and tied him to the saddle."

Mikhal looked back, as well, and smiled before remembering images half-buried in his mind. He stared back down at the ground. Mikhal's smile disappeared faster than it had come.

Maurin had nearly fallen from the saddle twice, more because he had fallen asleep than because he was clumsy. Kristian knew Maurin was tired, but the healer was too proud to ask for a break. They still had a long way to go before they could think of stopping for the night.

Ever since Maurin had found out Kristian's true identity, Maurin had tried to prove that he could make the journey without complaining. It made Kristian smile to see their first recruit riding along, trying so hard.

"He will make an excellent soldier," Mikhal replied, still looking down, "if we can keep him from falling off his horse."

"What did Eroly mean when he called you a healer and a poet?" Kristian asked Maurin, waking the man before he fell again.

Maurin shrugged and then tried to shake off the weariness. "I like to read and I'm curious about all of the roots and plants that are around us. Many of them have medicinal qualities. I've acquired some knowledge about how to use these herbs and roots to heal the more common illnesses among my neighbors."

"And what's this about being a poet?" Mikhal pressed.

Maurin sighed. "I like to read and write stories, but I'm not good at creating poems. Eroly likes to make fun of me for that."

"You could tell us one of your poems," Kristian suggested. "We have the time."

"I don't think you would like any of them. They're stupid," Maurin replied.

Just then, Kristian noticed a small column of dust rising in the distance behind them. The dust came from the east, from the direction of Maurin's village. Kristian took a minute to realize what he saw as he turned to look at Mikhal.

"Mikhal, behind us," Kristian said.

Mikhal spotted the faint signs of pursuit. They spurred their horses on urging them to run. In moments they had outdistanced Maurin, who did not understand what was happening.

"Maurin. Let's go," Mikhal said.

"Hey, wait for me," Maurin called out in desperation. He held on for dear life as his horse sensed the race and sprinted to catch the others. Maurin wailed in fear as he leaned dangerously to one side of the saddle and then the other.

Hours later, the three took a brief rest on a small rise out in the open plains. Mikhal looked back toward the east for signs of the Belarnian patrol while the other two drank some water and let the horses catch their breath. They had ridden hard all day, but they still had not lost their pursuers.

"They're gaining on us," Mikhal said, watching the dust column grow bigger.

"We've got to rest. These horses will be no good when we really need them if we wear them out now," Kristian said.

Maurin rose to his feet, still shaky from the ride. "Actually, I think I am the one slowing us down the most. I'm sorry. I never really learned how to ride."

Kristian placed a reassuring hand on his new friend. "It's not your fault, Maurin. You're doing a great job keeping up."

"I am?"

"Yes. Why, in no time, you will be an accomplished rider and as good as any Royal Cavalier."

Mikhal climbed up onto his horse in a way that made Kristian think he had said something wrong. "Mikhal, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." Kristian thought he might have accidentally mocked the cavaliers and their recent sacrifice to save him.

Mikhal shook his head. "It's not that." He pointed behind his companions. "They're much closer than I thought. Only a few miles back. We have to go." The other two jumped into their saddles. Maurin cursed as his sore muscles settled back into the all too familiar curves of the leather saddle.

Mikhal smiled and said, "After all of this riding, you may indeed become a cavalier."

"What's a cavalier, anyway?" Maurin said as he rubbed his neck and arched his back. Mikhal's mouth opened wide in shock.

"It saddens me that you don't know of the world's best cavalry and their heroic deeds." Looking back over his shoulder one last time he added, "However, I shall have to tell their story to you later. We'll have to ride even faster if we want to outrun them."

"Maybe I could write a poem about them?" Maurin offered.

"It would have to be the best poem ever written ... to do them justice for all of their sacrifices," Mikhal responded.

Maurin could only nod, wondering what had really happened the night of the battle.

As they spurred their horses down the small hill Kristian said, "It must be a small patrol. Shuffling their file, sending the more rested riders and horses forward, to keep contact with us."

Mikhal agreed. "But five are more than a match for us." Mikhal grimaced as he bent forward urging his horse to go even faster. Only their speed kept them out of direct sight of the Belarnian patrol.

The Belarnian scouts spotted them an hour later, Kristian could just make out the edge of the forest as the sun started setting in the west. The Erandians spat and cursed as horns blared in the distance, calling even more Belarnians to the chase. Kristian and his companions could have made it past the boundaries of the Atlunam, but it would have made little difference. They would not be able to outrun their pursuers much longer. Kristian needed to find the tribal people Maurin had mentioned, whoever those people might be or wherever they might be found.

Then Maurin fell from his horse, the wind knocked out of him. Terrified by the echoing sound of the horns, he gritted his teeth and sprang back up into the saddle.

"We're spent," Kristian admitted.

Mikhal grunted. He stood in his saddle looking at the relatively flat terrain ahead. After a moment, he pointed off toward the forest. "There! Just at the edge of the woods, a stony hill. It's a good place to hold off ten times our number."

"I hope there aren't that many," Maurin moaned. The Erandians looked at him and shook their heads.

The three again pushed their mounts on, racing for the rocky outcropping. They did not waste time looking back again. They knew the Belarnian scouts saw them, calling to the rest of the patrol.

"If we can hold them off until its dark, we might be able to escape them again," Mikhal said.

They reached the rocks with little time to spare. Mikhal helped Maurin up onto the boulders and then grabbed their belongings from the horses.

"I'm not going to risk losing our provisions again," Mikhal exclaimed. "The last time I let you lead us we ended up in an icy river and almost froze to death. Then we almost starved to death."

"It's nice to see you've regained a sense of humor. Too bad we might not get to enjoy more of it," Kristian retorted.

Mikhal finished getting their gear and then scared the horses off.

"Whoever said I had a sense of humor?" Mikhal scrambled up onto the rocks with Kristian's help. The three looked out to the east and saw a lone rider in black armor standing atop a small rise. Soon, another rider joined him. Then two more appeared. Within a few minutes, there was a small band of Belarnians not more than half-mile from their rocky position.

"Twenty. I count twenty," Mikhal said.

Kristian said nothing as he looked in dismay at the patrol taking its time to prepare for a charge. He counted them again and sighed.

The Erandians nodded to each other, putting aside their differences for the moment. They pulled out their swords, knowing they would have to trust each other to survive.

Maurin cursed.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Kristian asked.

"I just realized that I don't have a weapon. How am I supposed to fight without a weapon?" The two Erandians laughed at the absurdity of their situation.

"I suppose you'll have to throw rocks," Mikhal said.

Maurin almost said something in reply, but the blaring horns of the Belarnian patrol cut him short.

"Here they come!" The black riders spread out in a single line riding hard toward the companions. Their shouts of hatred and bloodlust preceded them across the plains.

Kristian and Mikhal separated, taking cover behind smaller boulders. Maurin, shaken by the sight of the charge, climbed higher, seeking refuge in the scrub trees that grew along the sides of the hill. He was frightened but picked up a hand sized rock, ready to hurl it at anyone who attempted to climb up after him.

The Belarnians stopped directly below the rocks where Kristian crouched, stirring up dust by their abrupt halt, making it difficult for him to see. They cursed and jeered, making fun of the Erandian, as they jumped from their horses to the boulders.

Two of the scouts held back from the rest of their group. They grabbed small crossbows from their saddles and drew back the thick cords.

"Watch out for the bolts!" Kristian shouted to his friends.

The first soldier to ascend the boulder barked a laugh at Kristian, but his toothy smile ceased as he clutched at the steel penetrating his stomach. Kristian stood before him, his broadsword jutting from the soldier's midsection. The rider fell back off the rocks onto his comrades.

Another soldier made his way up to the Erandian's position, but a rock raced by Kristian's ear and crashed into the soldier's face. He fell unconscious to the ground. Kristian could hear Maurin higher up on the slope cheering. The Erandian king did not have time to congratulate him. Another Belarnian climbed up on the rocks off to his left. Kristian hopped from one boulder to another leaving a large gap between him and Mikhal. He sent the soldier back to the ground cringing in a pool of his own blood.

Mikhal fared worse in holding off the invaders. They swarmed around his position forcing him back toward a rocky wall with their spears. The cavalier side-stepped one jabbing spear and smacked another away with his sword, but there were too many of them. He kicked one of the Belarnians hard in the thigh, forcing the attacker to fall away from the hill, and then swung down mightily with his sword at another.

The man crumpled on the rocks at Mikhal's feet, his skull shattered by the heavy blade. Still, more came at him.

Kristian came back to help just as another Belarnian sprang from his horse onto the rocks. He was too late; six of them had ganged up on Mikhal and tried to push the cavalier back enough to get more of their comrades over onto the rocks.

From his higher position, Maurin could see everything that happened. He watched Kristian push the soldiers back off the rocks around him. The Erandian king was a berserker, his movements and sword attacks overly violent. Maurin had not seen or expected this side of Kristian. He fought with an all consuming rage, cursing and shouting at his opponents. He ignored feints and jabs and rushed those nearest him. They fell or jumped from the rocks back to the ground. Some of them saw the fury raging in his eyes and decided to go after Mikhal.

The scouts had found an easier way up on the cavalier's side of the hill. They trapped him between their growing numbers and tried to take him down with spears, but Mikhal's skill kept them at bay. He dodged or parried each spear thrust at him, but Maurin could see that it was only a matter of time before they cut him down. There were too many attackers for the three of them. Most of the Belarnians knocked off the rocks were only slightly injured by the fall. Cursing the Erandians, they started climbing back up.

Maurin fumed. He could do nothing to help his friends. Then he saw one of those still mounted moving closer to the fighting. He raised his crossbow and aimed it at Mikhal.

"Mikhal, watch out!" Maurin shouted. The scout pulled the trigger and let the bolt go. It raced toward the cavalier, but Mikhal had heard the warning and was ready. He stepped to the side at the last moment, pulling on the spear that a Belarnian jabbed at him. The scout, caught off balance, stumbled toward Mikhal right in the path of the bolt, which hit him in the side. The sharp barb penetrated his leather armor, and he cried out in pain.

Maurin shouted in triumph then dropped to the rocky surface as the other crossbowman launched a missile at him.

The bolt bounced off the rocks behind Maurin's position. Maurin cursed and stood again, looking around him for something to throw in retaliation.

As Maurin picked out another, larger rock and prepared to push it down on top of the horse and rider, he sensed someone behind him. He spun around feeling the rush of an arrow passing by, narrowly missing his throat, as it raced toward its target. He ducked, throwing his hands over his head. Maurin heard someone moan and looked out from behind a bush to see a Belarnian clutching at an arrow in his chest. Puzzled, Maurin spun around again. He did not see anyone, but more arrows came streaking down from the top of the outcropping.

The missiles found their mark with deadly accuracy, knocking soldiers from their saddles or off the rock face. Those still mounted turned to flee, but too late. The last remaining Belarnians fell to the ground with several dark green arrows protruding from the gaps in their black armor.

It was over in an instant. Maurin stood motionless unable to comprehend what had happened. A lone figure jumped down from rock to rock past him toward the Erandians. Maurin looked down at his friends trying to warn them, but shock kept his mouth closed.

Kristian jumped across a gap that separated him from the cavalier. He grasped Mikhal's shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

Mikhal brushed himself off and checked for damage. "No, I'm fine." Kristian and Mikhal surveyed the bodies below with caution, unaware of the newcomer descending upon them. A shadow fell over them, and they raised their swords in defense.

The black-cloaked figure stood motionless and calm. "It's good to see you again, Kristian, Mikhal." The stranger pulled down his hood revealing a familiar, scarred face.

"Cairn," Kristian gasped. The swordsman nodded once as several men came out from behind rocks at the top of the hill. The Erandians did not know what to do. Cairn's companions were armed with long bows and swords. They moved without a sound down the rocks to surround them. Kristian noticed that these men were different. They were slender and had long blonde hair tied back from their shoulders by cords. Many of them wore their hair tied back in a pony tail or bun, and each of them wore loose fitting grey and green trousers. Kristian was apprehensive, wondering what would happen next.

Mikhal was the first to break the silence. "Cairn, what are you doing here?"

"Saving the two of you again, apparently," the swordsman said.

"How did you find us?" Kristian asked astonished. He shook Cairn's hand after the swordsman jumped down to the rocks where the Erandians stood. "I mean, I don't know how you were able to get here or who your friends are, but I'm very grateful. You've saved us again. Thank you." Cairn simply nodded in return. He waved his hand indicating those behind him.

"They are the Atlunam. The people of the Great Woods, Spirit Folk, as you Northerners call them. They know me and decided to help you. At least, they agreed to help you this much." He paused sensing more danger close by.

The Atlunam also appeared to sense something wrong. They crouched, like wary tigers, preparing for the unexpected. A few started climbing back up the rocks toward the top of the hill. Others knocked arrows to their bows and moved to both sides of Kristian and his companions.

"We can talk more of how I found you later. That was just a small patrol. There is an army approaching from the northeast that marches only at night. We don't want to let them catch us. Follow me." Cairn climbed back toward the top of the rocks.

"But we have to get our horses back," Kristian said.

"We already have them. Now hurry, before more come."

Puzzled, the two Erandians scrambled up the rocks. They were not nearly as graceful as Cairn but reached the top. They grabbed the dumbfounded Maurin on the way.

The Atlunam, dressed in their brown cloaks, hurried past them, still making little sound. The enigmatic hunters pushed through a few bushes and disappeared. Cairn beckoned for the three to follow him.

He, too, disappeared just past the bushes. Kristian pushed the limbs and thorns aside to find a small hole in the ground between the rocks and roots of the bushes.

"A cave," Kristian shouted in surprise. Maurin and Mikhal came over to see. It was dark and the three could see nothing of what lay below, but they could hear the sounds of people inside and decided it was better to hide within the hill than stand outside and wait for more Belarnians to arrive.

One by one, the three dropped down into the dark cave. They stumbled around waiting for someone to tell them what to do. The situation worsened as someone slipped past them and covered up the entrance to the hole with some sort of stop. The cave was pitch black; Kristian felt his head swim as he tried to keep his balance. Suddenly, a light flickered just ahead. Someone lit a torch and Kristian could see the small chamber clearly for the first time.

The three of them looked around. All of the Atlunam were gone. They had vanished as quickly and silently as they had appeared. Only Cairn had stayed with Kristian and his companions. Kristian then saw where they had gone. A small hole in the cave floor opened up to them like a hungry mouth. A thick rope secured to the ceiling hung down in the hole.

Cairn came closer, speaking almost in a whisper. "Other scouts are approaching. They probably won't find the cave, but we should hurry just in case. I will have to put the torch out, so make sure you have a good grip on the rope as you go down. It's a long way to fall." The three nodded, understanding.

Mikhal slid down first. Hand over hand, he lowered himself into the darkness. Maurin reluctantly went next. Kristian reassured Maurin, giving him the confidence he needed. Kristian waited until after Maurin was out of sight. As he hung onto the swaying rope, Kristian looked up at Cairn and whispered, "Thank you, Cairn." The young man nodded in return, and then Kristian followed his friends down into the darkness.

Cairn was left alone in the upper cavern. He extinguished the small torch and waited there for a few moments, listening for signs of movement above. Hearing nothing, he prepared to climb down but then stopped. Cairn was suddenly aware that he was smiling. He could not explain his good mood; it was rare that he ever felt this way. It was even rarer that he enjoyed himself. Cairn could not understand what made him feel such strong emotions, but he was sure that his sudden excitement was connected to finding the Erandians again. Maybe it just feels good to help someone else for a change.

"Yes ... help them, my love," Julia whispered. The smile faded from his face, and Cairn started down the rope into the darkness.

### 7

### Allisia's Chance

The demon had just left after checking in on her again. Allisia despised the foul monster even more when she appeared as the beautiful woman. Her smiles and charms were a facade that hid the ugly and violent demon lurking beneath the perfect skin. The demon had killed her father and brother. Allisia could not understand why the monster even bothered showing concern or taking care of her.

Did Ferral plan out the demon's actions as some perverse form of torture to make me lose my sanity?

"Well," she murmured, "it's working."

Allisia no longer counted the days she had been a prisoner. She was still confined to the beautiful room, which now seemed to only hide evil in its shadows. As Ferral continued his pursuit for greater power in the dark arts, he often forgot about her. When Ferral did visit, he always brought the demon along. It seemed as if he wanted someone there to enjoy Allisia's torment along with him. Ferral normally threatened to let his dead creatures loose on Allisia, but he had not forced her to play that game for over a week.

Sometimes he would push her around or slap her; the first time Ferral hit Allisia she had cried out in shock. Ferral had liked that and hit her harder. Allisia quickly learned to show no emotion when he tried to humiliate her. Lately, however, Ferral had abandoned her altogether. She was left alone, except for the demon's infrequent visits. Alone with her nightmares and feverish thoughts of what life was like before she was brought to Ferral.

A week later, Allisia's room was a mess. No one had come to clean it in a long time, and she was never allowed outside of it to wash or relieve herself. In fact, no one had come to check in on her at all, except to occasionally give her food. The demon was away, carrying out one of Ferral's orders, and when the demon was gone and Ferral's mind was focused on his experiments, no one thought of even her most basic needs.

Allisia began to weaken, mentally as well as physically. The wine she was given reminded her of blood. And in every dark corner she imagined the remains of Ferral's victims. She would stare from her bed, too afraid to move, wondering if a monster lurked in the corner or if she was just losing her mind.

Allisia had endured much in the month that she had been held captive, the murder of her family, the destruction of her kingdom's army. It all seemed as though Ferral's schemes were working out just the way he wanted them to. No one could stop him. Not even Kristian seemed capable of stopping the mad sorcerer; her betrothed had eluded Ferral's men for a long time, though.

"I must be going crazy to put all of my hope in Kristian," she said.

But thinking of Kristian was one of the few things that made her feel better.

"Even if Kristian escapes why would he come back here to challenge the sorcerer again?" she asked herself out loud.

"After all, why would Kristian keep risking his life for me?" Allisia's confused mind vaguely remembered that the two of them had argued bitterly when they first met.

"There is little hope of us ever falling in love," she tried to convince herself. There is no reason to cling to false hope.

"But we talked again after that argument!" the other side of her mind insisted. The internal argument was the only diversion she could think of to keep her from falling into the darkness. Allisia had to have something to distract her from her suffering.

"Kristian didn't give up then, maybe he won't give up now." Fresh tears started falling down her dirty cheeks.

"It was so long ago and I can't remember everything he said to me." Allisia stood and began pacing. She listed the facts out loud.

"We argued by the fountain."

"Well, at least, you can remember that," she mocked herself.

"Kristian means well," Allisia argued back, "but he always says the wrong thing. He's quick to anger, letting his emotions run their course. Kristian lacks the qualities that I want most in a husband: humility, courtesy, kindness. That first conversation in the garden left the matter of our marriage unresolved.

"You wanted nothing to do with him, but he seemed determined to start over and make your relationship better." Allisia nodded, remembering.

Just a day before the formal announcement of their marriage and the alliance between Erand and Duellr, she had seen him in the Fashion District.

She had spied on Kristian for over an hour. Kristian tried on several different pieces of clothing. Nothing seemed to please him and he finally fell defeated onto a bench outside one tailor's shop. Allisia saw the disappointment in his eyes and it moved her. Without thinking she approached him. From then on, things had become much more pleasant between them. After their last private talk together, she had come to understand Kristian the way no one else did. He certainly could not blame all of his actions on his upbringing, but Allisia had been able to see past his faults after their talks. Kristian had been trying so hard to interact with others, trying to figure out how to be a good prince, leader, friend, and betrothed all at the same time.

"We're by no means the perfect couple. Nothing like what I had always dreamed," Allisia admitted.

As her days in captivity marched on, Allisia thought more and more of Kristian. "He risked his life for me. He wasted no time in deciding to lead thousands to Ferral's gates to rescue me, demanding my release," she argued against herself in the latest heated conversation.

Allisia smiled, remembering the one bright moment of that entire dark night. In the darkness, shivering in the harsh winter storm, she watched Kristian struggle to reach her, and her heart leapt out to him. She knew nothing good could happen that night, though. Allisia was next to the sorcerer, as he called upon the darkest evil imaginable. She watched as the remnants of Kristian's army made one last stand on the hill overlooking the black city. It was not until much later, and after several episodes of hysteria, that she learned that Kristian still lived.

"He's still alive," Allisia told herself constantly over the isolated days that followed.

"He's got to be dead by now," another part of her mind insisted.

"Ferral would have come in gloating about it if he had killed Kristian," Allisia argued back.

Allisia found herself smiling despite her dismal surroundings. "Oh, Kristian," she moaned out loud, "if there was ever a time that I needed you to be thinking about me, it's now." She pulled her knees up to her chin as she sat on the elegant but dirty bed.

She was so alone.

Allisia pulled on her long, dark hair, twisting strands of it around as she thought of Kristian. In her mind, she pretended that they were the closest of friends. She daydreamed that Kristian was with her in the room to fight her constant boredom and fear. He sat in the chair next to the fireplace smiling at her. Kristian would start awkwardly, not knowing exactly what to say, afraid of hurting her feelings.

As they continued to talk of their favorite things, he would lose himself in her and openly share his feelings. They giggled, poking fun at each other. Allisia smiled, sitting there alone on the bed, watching herself and Kristian on the far side of the room. Then Allisia's smile faded, and she began to cry. She was losing her mind and any thought of hope.

"God, please help me. Please help me." Allisia would soon go mad if she did not find a way to cope with Ferral's twisted games and the loneliness. She knew that she was failing and that she would have to take action soon or die. No one would save her; Allisia knew that already. She was on her own.

A muffled grunt outside her door interrupted her daydreaming. Another, sharper sound quickly followed the first. It was the unmistakable sound of bones snapping.

Allisia panicked.

She grabbed Derout's dagger and hid it behind her back.

The door creaked open. A lone figure stood in the doorway. His head bent forward, eyes glowing yellow in the candlelight. The man smiled and stumbled into the room dragging a heavy burden.

Ferral.

In one hand he carried a bottle. In the other, Ferral had the foot of one of the guards she had frequently seen outside her door. Allisia muffled a cry when she saw the guard's head. It was twisted completely around. Thin wisps of smoke curled up from the empty eye sockets.

Ferral laughed in genuine pleasure, seeing Allisia's expression. "You sssee ... he moved too slowly when I commanded him to open the door. I chastised him, but ... it did no good," Ferral stammered, obviously drunk.

"So I told him to ... fall down to the floor and beg forgiveness. But again," Ferral said, laughing, "he moved too slowly. So, I helped him."

"What do you want?" Allisia demanded, frightened.

Ferral let go of the corpse and took a long drink from the bottle. "I have been drinking. Drinking and thinking. Thinking and drinking. And then drinking some more."

"What do you want," Allisia repeated, already knowing what was on his mind. She could see it in his eyes. The demon was not with him, though, and that concerned her even more. Ferral had no one to keep him in check.

But this might also be my chance, Allisia thought. She scurried off the bed to the farthest side of the room away from Ferral.

"You know, Allisia, it has been a long time since poor Rebenna fell from the ramparts and I ..."

"You threw her down after you killed her!" Allisia shouted.

Pausing to let her words sink into his muddled mind, Ferral stood up straighter. He rubbed his chin, his thoughts a blurred fog, and then smiled.

"Yes, I did. And I enjoyed that ... a little. I miss her often, though." Ferral stumbled toward Allisia, stopping for a brief moment to play with one of the sheets on the bed, teasing her.

"You know, the only reason I got rid of Rebenna was because I knew that she would be too jealous of the love we were going to share. She had to die because she could not have endured the sorrow." Ferral placed both hands over his heart.

"My love, my beautiful princess," Ferral said with a sneer.

Allisia showed Ferral the dagger, waving it in front of her. She backed herself into the corner, shaking her head in panic. Ferral grinned.

"To Hell with waiting another month. I am, after all, the king!" With a speed that shocked Allisia, Ferral rushed forward.

He smacked the dagger out of her hand and pinned her against the wall with his body. With one hand, he held her to the wall by the throat. With the other hand, Ferral pulled at her gown. His hand grabbed at her breasts, desperate and rough, forcing a scream out of her. Then Ferral's hand moved lower. Allisia tried to twist her body sideways, pulling herself as far away from his hand as possible. She could not let this happen; she had sworn not to let this happen.

Fear and repulsion swelled up within her, she could smell his breath. Allisia got a hand free and scratched at his face with her fingernails. Ferral screamed in pain and fury. His grasp on her throat loosened for a moment, and she pushed him away. She tried to run for the door, but he caught her by the dress. Pulling back sharply, Ferral threw her to the floor, tearing the clothes from Allisia's shoulder and raking the skin on her back.

"When I'm done playing with your body, you'll wish you were dead, but I'll still keep you alive to do my bidding ... in bed. You will scream for mercy, but no one will hear you, ever!"

Allisia lay in a heap on the floor, sobbing. She was frantic. As she tried to push herself off the cold floor she cut her hand on something sharp. Derout's dagger.

Ferral rushed her again pulling her up by one arm. He never saw her grab the blade or the anger in her eyes as she screamed a curse at him. He dropped to the floor, groaning, the blade buried deep in his left side under the arm. The pain was severe causing him to moan weakly, while trying to breathe.

He looked up at Allisia in shock. Ferral tried to laugh, but the pain was too intense. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Demon," he whispered. "Demon, help me."

Allisia stood mute for a moment with no idea of what had happened or what she should do now. Still crying, she finally turned to run away, but the doorway was blocked. The demon, in her fine red gown and blood red cloak, stood there waiting patiently. Allisia screamed in panic and began sobbing, certain she would die now.

The woman removed her hood and looked at Allisia. She gave what looked like a reassuring smile and beckoned for Allisia to come closer. As if in a trance, Allisia's body moved closer and closer to the demon. Allisia tried to resist with every fiber of her being but failed. The woman's deep blue eyes engulfed her, and she could do nothing to break the spell.

Allisia stood there, motionless for a moment, before the demon raised her large cloak and hid both of them within its folds. Blackness surrounded them and in an instant they were gone.

Allisia shivered as she stared at the crashing waves of the Utwan Sea. A chill spray hit her face. Weakness and fear suffused her body as she wondered what the demon would do next. The demon stared at Allisia's back. They had just stepped out of the darkness onto the shoreline outside the black walls of Ferral's citadel. An uneasy silence hung between them.

Confusion and anger warred within Allisia. Isn't this the same evil monster that killed my father and brother? Didn't she help destroy my people and drive the Erandians from their homes in terror? Why is the demon helping me?

Allisia found the strength to turn and face her. "What are you going to do to me?"

The demon stepped up to her, the wind whipping its hood away. "I do what I must. No mortal, neither you nor Ferral, can understand my actions or motives." The demon lifted its head to feel the strong winter wind on her face. Her golden hair flew out behind her head, and the demon smiled. "I'm a prisoner just like you, Allisia. I am trapped by my own transgressions. I am a tool for evil and am forced to watch the suffering I have created. I am forced to feel every pain, every sorrow for all eternity." The demon laughed out loud, the sound like a beautiful, yet sad song.

The laughter ended sharply as the demon turned cold, hard eyes back to Allisia. "What did I do to earn this punishment? Was I ever half as bad as that mad man?" The demon threw her hands into the air, reaching for the heavens. "Oh God, what did I do to have to bear this torment? I do what I am commanded because to do otherwise would mean obliteration. I do not like it ... any of it, but you do nothing to intervene for me. How much longer must I go on like this? Tell me!"

The demon pleaded for perhaps a minute more, but no one answered. She looked back to Allisia, but the princess could only offer her a wide-eyed stare. Allisia had no idea what the demon was screaming about.

"I have been the Servant of the Dark One for centuries. Forced to destroy beauty and create chaos for the purposes of Evil. I cannot remember how I first became what I am. I remember the great pain and torture I endured from refusing other sorcerer's commands. I remember how I became more grotesque and loathsome with each task that I chose to do and how my heart turned blacker with each deed. I have forgotten much of my humanity, nearly everything. Yet, sometimes, I remember being alive and the beauty that surrounded me. I remember ..."

She stopped talking and stared out beyond the dark sea. The expression on her face reminded Allisia of someone remembering a lost lover. The demon remained silent, head bent low in deep grief, but no tears would come. The scene moved Allisia so much that she almost forgot who the other woman was. She started toward the demon reaching out a hand in comfort.

"Do not feel remorse for me," the demon said with renewed resolve, lifting her head again to stare at Allisia. "I have committed the most gruesome acts and I will do so again. The monster's desire to kill must be constantly satiated. I will kill again. I will keep killing until Oblivion comes to wipe us all away. In fact, plans are already in motion. The west will soon see destruction like they have not seen in a thousand years." The demon grasped Allisia's hand, a delicate, gentle gesture contrary to everything Allisia knew about the monster, and guided the princess away from the shore.

"This will be the last time we speak, Princess Allisia. The one chance I have to help you. You have dealt Ferral a crippling blow. He is unconscious and near death. As soon as you leave, I must go back and heal him. My master is not finished with the mad king, and I must help him. And yet, neither of them recognizes that there is another player: someone with infinite power ... if He chooses to help." She released the girl's hand and pointed to a dim light shining in the distance to the north. "It is a boat. A small one, not as far away as it looks. A kind, old man waits there for a passenger. He will take you to a place of safety."

Distrust crept back into Allisia's mind. "How do I know that I can trust you? How do I know that this isn't just another twisted game to drive me crazy?"

The demon wheeled on the girl, snarling. "Do you mock me? I have served Hell for so long that I do not remember why I am there to begin with. I know that I no longer want to do their bidding, and I will do anything I can to break my ties to them and this world. Anything."

Allisia took a step back, frightened and shaking her head. "This is your one chance to escape. Ferral is becoming more powerful, and when he recovers, he will scour the kingdom to find you. He may send me out to bring you back, and I will have to obey. If you do not get far enough away, Ferral will find you. Then you will wish that you had not questioned my help." The demon seemed to glimmer. Red energy, the color of glowing embers, reflected off of her gown and hair. As swift as it appeared it faded, along with her wrath.

After a moment of silence, the demon said, "Go, Allisia. The one who waits for you will take care of you." The demon-woman frowned. "Pray to God that he saves you and keeps you well."

With that final farewell, the demon concealed herself within her long red cloak and vanished. Allisia had seen the other woman's eyes just before she disappeared. A deep sorrow had replaced the anger in them; there was a sadness there that Allisia had not seen before and would not forget.

A strong gust of wind brought the princess back to herself and her situation. She was alone again, standing on snow-covered rocks with only her torn dress to protect her from the harsh weather. Hugging her arms tight about her body, Allisia turned north and headed for the faint light.

### 8

### The Hunters of Shuru Kaithep

Kristian watched Maurin trip on another half-buried root and fall flat on the floor, the wind knocked out of him. One of the woodsmen picked him up but did not say a word. The way the hunter averted his eyes confirmed Kristian's belief that these men were uncomfortable interacting with outsiders. Maurin thanked him, but the hunter had already moved away.

The twisting paths, turning in every direction, disoriented the newcomers. They depended entirely upon the instincts of their rescuers in the dark and gloomy tunnel.

Kristian turned to Cairn who walked right behind them. "How did you find us?" Kristian asked.

Cairn described how easy it had been to follow them south toward the forest. "When I finally reached the edge of the woods, I talked to some of the hunters and discovered that I had just missed you. I also knew that you were in considerable danger," Cairn told him. "The Atlunam fought off the Belarnians when they had charged into the forest. They won't suffer fools or invaders."

Cairn ducked his head under an exposed root and continued. "They spotted other patrols moving further west and heard strange reports of an army moving silently during the night. The massive force had not yet tried to enter the forest, but the size of the army concerned the Atlunam scouts," Cairn said.

Kristian bumped his head on a protruding clump of roots. He looked around him in discomfort. The passage was narrow and cramped leaving barely enough room for one person to walk through. Everyone had to duck constantly to keep the dangling roots from catching on their cloaks or equipment. Kristian worried that the earthen walls might collapse with any extreme movement or sound.

"Don't worry. These hunters have used this tunnel for centuries. There is a cavern ahead. We will probably stop there and rest," Cairn said.

Soon the tunnel widened, opening into a large cavern. The woods folk, or Atlunam, as Maurin and Cairn called them, fanned out and dropped their packs to rest. One of the Atlunam pulled a few hunters to the side, speaking in low tones. When he finished, the two hunters pulled out their canteens, took long drinks of water, and then trotted down another tunnel out of sight.

The one who had spoken watched the hunters leave and then turned to meet with Cairn. The man was so much like the others that Kristian had a hard time differentiating between him and the other Atlunam hunters. The hunter was tall and slim. Loose strands of blonde hair fell in front of his face hiding his eyes, but Kristian knew they were almond shaped and dark blue, like all of the woods folk. The only significant difference Kristian saw was the green and gray sash he wore around his waist.

The hunter stopped in front of Cairn, speaking in a strange language Kristian had never heard before. His voice was deep and resonant, and the words that he spoke seemed almost like a song. Kristian struggled to distinguish individual words from the smooth, flowing cadence. Kristian was surprised when Cairn nodded and said something back to the hunter in the same language.

After they finished and Cairn looked up, Kristian gave him a puzzled look.

Cairn gestured toward the hunter saying, "Kristian, this is Hin'cabo un Kaithep. He is the Chief Huntsman of Shuru Kaithep." Hearing his name, Hin'cabo nodded curtly. "He does not speak our language very well. He has never spoken with anyone from the north before. I was able to find Hin'cabo and his patrol just as the Belarnians picked up your trail."

"Cairn," Kristian asked, "how do you know these people? How did you find us? How did you—"

"Slow down, Kristian. We can talk about all these things later. Take a few moments to rest. We will be leaving again soon. Hin'cabo has agreed to take us to his village where you can speak to the Council about Ferral's army."

Cairn saw Kristian's confused look. "Remember when I said that the best place to look for help would be with the woods folk? You'll never get the chance to speak to their king if you can't even get into the trees."

"Thank you, Cairn. You've saved my life twice now. I won't ever forget that." Cairn turned his head away from Kristian, spotting Mikhal sitting beside Maurin. The would-be healer inspected a small cut on the cavalier's arm. Hin'cabo was also looking at Mikhal.

"Uba kha Atlunam, khrub," Hin'cabo said to Cairn. The two continued staring at Mikhal, studying him.

Cairn nodded, agreeing with Hin'cabo.

"What did he say?" Kristian asked.

"He commented on how Mikhal looks like one of his own people. There is a resemblance," Cairn admitted.

Kristian gave him another puzzled look but then turned to face Mikhal. He had not thought of it earlier, the similarities were obvious now. Most Erandians were broad shouldered with thick chests and arms. They were stocky people, not short by any means; Erandians had strong backs and arms. Centuries of farming on the central plains of Erinia had conditioned them to hard work.

Mikhal had strength but in a different way. His frame was taller and slightly thinner, his muscles were leaner, more defined. His hair was dark blonde, not quite the same as Hin'cabo's, the color of gold metal, but close. Kristian also remembered the casual, confident way that Mikhal always stood, even when no one was paying attention to him. Hin'cabo's stance echoed that. Kristian had to nod in agreement; Mikhal looked and acted more like an Atlunam than he did an Erandian.

After a brief rest, they departed down another tunnel, heading south, as far as Kristian could tell. It was hard to keep any sense of direction in the dark, winding tunnels. This tunnel, however, was much more comfortable to walk in. Timbers shored up the walls, and the ceiling was high enough that none of them had to duck.

In time, they came to another chamber. It was much larger and lined with cut rock. Lit torches lined the far walls revealing three doorways for the group to choose from. Cairn came forward and told him that they were at a 'quaotop ghai', a meeting place for the scouts.

"The Atlunam hunters meet here with other patrols to share information about their enemy, the Holtsmen." Cairn pointed to the tunnel on their left and said, "That path leads deep into the forest. Eventually, it stops at a road that leads to the capital, Jai-Quinn. The second tunnel leads to another village, Ni'imsuko Jurai, which is further to the south. The tunnel on the right is the one we will take. It leads to Shuru Kaithep."

"You know a quite a lot about these people and their land, Cairn," Kristian claimed.

Cairn shrugged indifferently. "I have known these people for some time. I've never been to the capital, but I've been told it is one of the most impressive places in the world. To my understanding, no one from outside the forest has ever seen it. It's a great honor for you to even be taken to one of their villages. It is their home and considered a sacred place to them."

"If they are showing any respect to us then it is only because of you, Cairn. We would have been killed by the Belarnians, back on the rocks, if you hadn't spoken on our behalf," Kristian reminded him.

"Perhaps, but it isn't just because of me that they've decided to help you. I think they're curious about you. They know who Ferral is and wonder why the Belarnian king hunts three fugitives with an entire army."

Kristian leaned closer to whisper. "What do you think they will do with us?"

Cairn shrugged. "They'll probably take you to their council. They'll want to hear everything you have to say about the Belarnians, and I'll have to act as a translator. I'm sure this is the first time they've ever allowed outsiders into their village."

"What about you? Haven't you been in the village before?" Kristian asked.

Cairn remained silent for a moment and then shook his head.

"I was allowed into the forest a long time ago but taken to only one place." He nodded in the direction of Hin'cabo and his men. "They were just as surprised to hear me speak their language as you were."

"Why were you with them?" Kristian pressed.

"I needed some training that only they could help me with." Cairn turned away, obviously not wanting to discuss it further. "It was a long time ago."

Kristian tried to change the subject, "I never told you the truth about who we were and what happened to us. I'm sorry we didn't get the chance to tell you more." Kristian hesitated, unsure if Cairn even cared. It was difficult for Kristian to figure him out.

"I'm Kristian, heir to the throne of Erand ... what's left of it any way," he said. "Mikhal swore an oath to protect me, but his entire unit was wiped out by Ferral's dark magic. Thousands of men were killed, and the sorcerer won't stop until he finds me."

Cairn nodded. "I thought you were someone more important than just a soldier ... or merchant," Kristian smiled, remembering the lame story they had given the swordsman.

"I just want you to know what you're getting yourself into," Kristian replied.

"It's just as good. I was running out of scores to settle." Cairn surveyed the chamber again and then called out something to the Chief Hunter in a tone that sounded like a question. After a pause, Hin'cabo inclined his head in approval. Cairn then turned back to Kristian to explain. "I've asked that we stay here to rest for a little longer. The sun has already fallen; it would not be appropriate to enter their village at night, so it is better to wait until tomorrow morning. Hin'cabo's men will keep watch over us."

Cairn pointed to a dark corner to their left where steps led up to a cistern. A wooden and brass handle protruded from the wall beside the small pool. "Move the handle up and down a few times to start the water moving. It will take a while for the water to come out."

Cairn smiled, seeing the puzzled look on Kristian's face. "Don't ask me how it works. The Atlunam have discovered many wondrous inventions. They're an amazing people, intelligent and solemn."

Kristian thanked him and moved over to talk with Mikhal and Maurin.

"What do you think of these people, Mikhal?" Kristian asked.

Mikhal frowned, not wanting to talk. Finally, Mikhal said, "I don't think I'd want to get into a fight with them. They are definitely skilled fighters ... and disciplined."

"Who is your friend?" Maurin asked. "He's kind of quiet."

Kristian and Mikhal looked at Cairn. The swordsman sat in a corner away from everyone else, running his fingers lightly over the scars on his face. The three red lines started near his temple and ran down his cheek. Whatever had happened to Cairn had permanently affected him.

"We don't know much about him," Mikhal answered. "He was the first person to help us after the battle. He's the one that suggested we seek out the Atlunam."

"He seems to know a lot about them," Maurin conceded.

"I wonder why," Kristian thought out loud.

Mikhal shrugged. "It's none of our business. If he wanted us to know, he would have told us."

Kristian almost snapped back at Mikhal. The cavalier's attitude toward him had not improved any since the battle, but Kristian expected that; the young king deserved it. But now, Mikhal was starting to treat others in the same manner. Whatever had happened when Mikhal passed out on the plains continued to haunt the cavalier.

"I think I heard about a man stumbling through our village many years ago. I was out and didn't see him, but Eroly said the man's face was a bloody ruin," Maurin continued, ignoring the dirty looks the Erandians gave each other. "He was delirious, weak, and starving. He refused everyone's offer for help and only demanded one thing."

"What did he want?" Kristian asked, pulling his attention away from Mikhal.

"He wanted to know the fastest way to the Atlunam," Maurin said. "Could it have been your friend ... the swordsman?"

Mikhal's disgusted smirk put Kristian on edge, again. Kristian feared another rude comment directed toward Maurin. The young king changed subjects, hoping to keep Mikhal quiet. "Maurin, you've mentioned that you like poetry. Have you written any of your own?"

Maurin shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Well, I've made up a few poems, but they aren't any good."

"I'd like to hear one anyway, if you don't mind. It would be nice to think of something different for a while," Kristian encouraged, glancing at Mikhal.

"You can't order him around like a servant, Kristian. Just because he volunteered to follow you doesn't mean he's here for your entertainment," Mikhal snapped at his king.

Kristian gave him a hurt and angry stare but kept his mouth shut.

Maurin looked away for a moment, but then the healer cleared his throat.

"Seas of golden grass and gleaming blue streams,

I look up to see falcons gliding by.

Majestic mountains and dark green forests fill my dreams.

I want to leave this gray life and join them in the sky."

An awkward silence pervaded the space between the three of them.

"I told you I wasn't any good at it. I just like to read ... I like what words can do to lift someone's spirit," Maurin said, looking at Mikhal for a moment.

"Well," Kristian started.

"It was good," Mikhal said, interrupting.

Then Mikhal turned to Kristian. "Sometimes I say things," he hesitated a moment, not sure what he wanted to say or how to say it. "I didn't mean what I said." Then Mikhal stood abruptly and walked over to a darker corner by himself.

Kristian looked away from his countryman. He did not want to make matters worse between them by telling Mikhal that his words were like poisoned daggers or that he was trying to make amends for the decisions that had caused the deaths of so many. Kristian sighed, accepting Mikhal's small apology, wondering how much longer the cavalier could hold back his emotions—before he finally erupted.

Something has changed within Mikhal, Kristian thought. The battle, the loss of his friends and fellow soldiers, the fear of death, his duty to protect me, his desire for revenge. Kristian did not know which one of those things haunted Mikhal the most, or if it was all of them combined. He wondered if his companion was visited by the same accusing spirits that haunted him, or if something completely different hid within Mikhal, ready to remind the cavalier of the past as soon as he fell asleep.

Kristian shook his head. Mikhal was the one person that the young king had to prove himself to. The cavalier represented the model of discipline and leadership that Kristian had pretended to understand but had never really attained. Despite Kristian's recent efforts, it seemed as if Mikhal drifted farther from Kristian rather than closer. It occurred to the young king that he might never gain Mikhal's trust or respect.

The snow fell, a silent cascade hiding everything from Garin's sight like a veil. There was, thankfully, no wind to increase his misery, but things were bad enough already. For over a week, the Erandian cavalier had evaded Belarnian patrols as he moved east. On more than one occasion, he narrowly escaped being captured. Only by staying far away from the roads that the conquering army used to move supplies back and forth between Belarn and Erand had the cavalier stayed alive. The cavalier was forced to hide from those that hunted down his fellow countrymen. It also added considerable time to his journey.

Even Kristian and Mikhal would have a hard time recognizing him now. Garin's skin was dry and cracked where it had been exposed to the harsh weather. He limped from the pain associated with the frostbite in his toes. Garin carried a small pack and a staff, the latter he used to check the depth of snowdrifts and to help give his weakened body support. Had the cavalier been able to find more villagers to provide him with shelter, his infiltration past the Belarnian front lines, and arrival in Erand, might have gone better.

As it was, Garin had only found two settlements where the inhabitants had not been killed or forced to abandon their homes. He had to sneak into those few places at night and cautiously ask for shelter. When they let him in, Garin saw the appalling level of life his countrymen had quickly been reduced to. All of them had stories to tell of the abuses they had seen or suffered. It made Garin's heart break each time he heard them.

Both nights the survivors took him in, he told them the story of what had happened at the Battle of Belarna. The cavalier related the bravery of the Duellrian army, of King Justan seeking to rescue his sister. He told them of the personal sacrifices of the cavaliers that stood defiantly on the hill overlooking the black city, cursing Ferral and his dark magic. Those that listened to Garin bent their heads even further, their despair deepening. Then Garin would pull out the torn Erandian and Belarnian flags that he carried. He showed them to give his countrymen hope.

"Prince Kristian is alive. He grieves over what happened to his country, he especially grieves over the loss of his father. Your suffering is constantly on his mind, and he wishes to return to help you, but Kristian also knows that he could do little to aid you. The entire Belarnian army searches for him. I'll wager that Kristian has eluded them all, and that Ferral is furious because his inept army can't find him. Kristian is determined to end this invasion by destroying Ferral himself. Even now, he and Mikhal Jurander are raising an army to march against the sorcerer again."

"Why are you here then?" the ragged survivors would always ask. Garin would smile a little, straightening.

"To give you hope. I will continue on into the heart of our country and let all those I meet know that we still have a chance to survive; all is not lost. I will find the scattered remains of the Erandian army, and we will drive these murderers from our country."

Not all of them believed him. Some would continue to bow their heads refusing to hope. Little food remained for any of them. The winter storms had come so fast that nothing could be done to harvest crops or stock up on goods. The people that had lost hope complained to him of their condition.

"The prince is a selfish boy that can eat and drink what he likes while he sets out on his noble quest. Meanwhile, we're starving waiting for someone to save us. We've all heard stories about Kristian ... if he's all we've got left, then there's no hope left at all."

Garin would shake his head emphatically. "He has suffered as much as you. He has lost his father. His betrothed is the prisoner of the most evil man to ever live. His entire army was slaughtered by Ferral's deceit. And he walks the countryside as I do, with few possessions and even less to eat or drink. Much has been said about how Kristian the Prince was never the man that his father was, but I tell you Kristian the King is a different man. These tragic events have transformed him into the man our kingdom needs. Kristian has vowed to help us. And I believe he will."

Garin would eventually stand and thank the few that listened or gave him shelter and food. They gave him what they could spare, extra food, water, and warmer clothes. It wasn't much. Garin reluctantly took the supplies, thanking them on behalf of the cavaliers and their king. Before he would pass through the door and out into the frigid weather, he would always say, "Do not lose hope. Fight the best way you can ... by preparing yourselves. Tell all Erandians you see what I have told you."

Most people's moods brightened a little at those parting words. They smiled at him promising to retell his story to others so that the deeds of those that died at the Battle of Belarna would never be forgotten.

The last village Garin visited had told him a story about Erandian soldiers hiding close to the Forsian Sea. They were supposedly ambushing supply trains, moving along the roads leading to the Belarnian encampments. Constantly moving to avoid detection, they would be difficult, if not impossible to find, but Garin had to try. Those fighting for survival had to know that there was something worth fighting for. He stopped and looked out over the snow-covered plains of southern Erand. This land used to be so beautiful, Garin thought.

Now it's a desolate wasteland.

Garin estimated the sea was less than a day's walk to the northwest. He could see nothing around him that his countrymen might use to hide their camp, though. There was a small fort another day's journey northeast, but he doubted anyone would still be there. It would have been the first place attacked by the Belarnians.

Garin continued walking. At one point, the cavalier tripped in the deep snow. Rolling down a large snow bank, he cursed in frustration. Garin was starting to lose hope; everywhere he went he saw death and destruction. The cavalier had seen entire villages wiped out; many of the people strung up from porches or impaled along the side of the road. These people had done nothing wrong and only wanted to live in peace. He asked himself what they had done to deserve any of this. Garin was not sure how much more he could take.

As Garin tried to pull himself out of the snow, he noticed motion in front of him. He froze, hoping they could not see him in the storm. The motion soon turned into twenty riders which approached and surrounded Garin.

With little choice, Garin crawled out of the drift and rose to meet them. If they turned out to be Belarnians, his only chance of escape was to convince them that he was just a wanderer. He had little hope they would believe that, especially since he carried two army standards, but Garin could think of no other story.

The men eventually came within shouting distance and stopped. Their cloaks were wrapped closely around them, hoods hid their faces. Garin could see that they held swords and spears in their hands, ready for action.

One of them stepped forward. "We've heard that a Royal Cavalier is seeking those that fight the Belarnians."

"I have not heard this news." Garin had no intention of revealing anything until he figured out who these men were.

"Perhaps we are the men being sought." The man pulled back his hood. He was big, likely from the southern farmlands of Erand. "You're not a Belarnian. So, if you're the cavalier seeking those that oppose the dogs ravishing our country—you have found them."

### 9

### Ferral's Deathmarch Army

The demon walked at a slow pace for a while, not caring how long it took her to complete the next part of the journey. For just a brief moment, the only thing she wanted to do was feel the wind on her face, touch the high grass that surrounded her, listen to the quiet of the night. Those were simple pleasures that she rarely noticed any more. They were memories she often tried to forget, no longer wanting to remember.

Tonight was different. The demon did not feel like obeying Ferral. She did not want to move these mindless creatures westward, but she could do little about it. The demon had done the one thing that she could to defy Ferral and their master. Now, Allisia was in better hands. The demon could no longer shape the future, at least where Allisia was concerned. Ferral was on guard now against her disobedience, though he was too injured to understand how she had helped Allisia. His magic and power were growing, and she could no longer resist him. If he called for her, she would have to obey.

The demon knew she was closing in on another settlement when the dead started walking with more sense of purpose. For most of the westward journey, the army required her to exert her willpower to herd them along, but whenever they sensed the living, the dead moved with quiet efficiency straight for their prey. She had seen it many times over the last week and knew what would happen. The dead were drawn to the strong life-force of those secure in their future, to those that had much to lose. Though they showed no emotion, the demon thought the dead somehow resented the living for being alive. Since they could no longer enjoy life, the dead sought to destroy anything they could not have. Ferral manipulated his living minions in the same way, the Belarnian officers and priests that followed the sorcerer-king killed for him because they hoped to obtain things they did not have: money, power, recognition, and their assured survival.

The echo of dogs barking reached her long before she saw the village.

She could even hear the frightened people whispering to themselves.

"What's out there?"

"I don't know. Whatever it is sure has gotten the animals agitated."

"Do you think that king and his friend were right? Do you think they're coming for us?"

"Bah, we've got more important things to do than listen to ghost stories. Come back into the house, Margie. It's probably just a pack of wild dogs or something. It's nothing that'll bother us."

The demon heard their door shut and the bolt slide into place.

There was no reaction on her face. The demon was beyond sympathy, beyond rage. Thousands had joined Ferral's army since she started guiding it away from Belarn and toward the Holtsmen. Thousands more would join it before she left the plains.

The demon crested the last rise before coming to the village. The dogs barked much louder now. She could even hear some horses in their stables, begging in their simple language to be let loose. Their misery would end soon enough. Animals were not subject to Ferral's curse; they did not return to do his bidding. Only humans would be raised, creatures with minds and souls that should have been strong enough to never let something like this happen in the first place.

The dead detoured around the demon as they continued forward toward the village. Even the dead acknowledged the evil forces at work within her, and respected it. They had little left within them still human; they could only feel an intense hunger—not to feed but to destroy. They could see, hear, and hold simple objects. And the dead could sense an overwhelming, evil power controlled them—like Ferral's power, like her power.

They're not much different than others throughout history, the demon supposed. It doesn't take much for a cruel man to manipulate his fellow men, convincing them to do murder and worse. The dead are just another form of mass hysteria.

She watched a man look at the approaching army from his porch. He stood frozen for a few moments, not trusting his eyes. Shaking himself out of his shock, he hurried back into his home. The demon ignored the sounds of panic coming from the house. The dead already tore at the doors and windows.

Someone, a woman, screamed as the first creature broke through into the main room. A man shouted, and the woman pleaded for mercy, but then their agonized screams filled the night. Those that had not yet seen the dead knew something was wrong. No human could block out the screams of the dying. Still, the demon ignored the individual scenes of murder surrounding her.

She continued down the single, dirt road past small homes and neatly trimmed yards. She passed shops, barns, and a blacksmith's forge. This was an ordinary, quiet place, a place that had never done anything to deserve such injustice.

None of the towns we have entered have done anything to deserve this, the demon reminded herself. Ferral was wrong. You can't change the world by forcing others to worship the way you want them to. You can't murder innocents in the name of a god.

That logic would not stop the dead; they were beyond reason or caring. They were inhuman machines that could serve only one purpose.

Now, the screams rose from a hundred different homes. A few of them caught fire, casting wild shadows across the street. Some villagers tried to escape into the open plains. A few of the dead started toward them at a lumbering pace but almost immediately turned their attention back toward the living trapped within the village. The demon always found it interesting to watch the creatures. They seemed to have some sort of built in gauge, some way of telling which of their prey was closest even if they could not 'see' them with their necrotic eyes.

Perhaps that is because it is easier for them to surround their victims, ensuring they cannot escape. She watched those lucky enough to flee into the night. It really doesn't matter. The army is so large that they are bound to stumble into more of the creatures before dawn. In the end, they will all serve Ferral.

By the time the demon reached the other side of the village, hundreds more had joined the Deathmarch Army. They stumbled toward her, regrouping after the clumsy attack. Still giving her a wide berth, the dead waited for her next command.

Without looking at them, without taking notice of the new faces that had joined Ferral's Army, she lifted her hand and pointed west. The dead hesitated only a few moments before returning to their shuffling march toward more victims. As their ultimate objective grew nearer, the demon knew she would not have to direct them as much. The life force emanating from the mountains to the west grew stronger with every step. Soon, the dead would know where to go without her.

The demon suddenly stopped. Beyond the sickening stench of the dead, a familiar scent lingered in the air. She lifted her head and took in a deep breath.

Mikhal was here, maybe less than a week ago.

She felt an immediate desire to go to him, to spy on him and learn as much as she could. The demon could not understand why she was drawn to the cavalier. He had done nothing special to merit her attention, yet she could not help but think of him.

The demon tried to push him out of her mind. She did not need or want to be haunted by dreams of things she could not have.

I am a demon of Hell. I have only one purpose ... to destroy what is good.

She pulled the hood of her cloak back over her head and started walking west among the dead that could feel nothing—that could care for nothing.

The demon rarely dreamed. Sleep did not give her rest, but her mind sometimes wandered while she guided the dead. She remembered the first time she saw Mikhal. They caught each other's eye inside the Duellrian palace. His face was full of honesty and concern, and even desire, she thought. She also remembered how he reacted after she transformed into the monster. Mikhal was fierce and determined as he stood his ground to protect his prince.

The demon thought Mikhal must be of a proud lineage the way he led others and tried to protect Kristian from harm. She imagined what it might be like to have his love. She already felt an intense desire for him. The simple thought of Mikhal kindled a heat within her that burned more intense than the raging anger she felt as a demon. It left her wanting to see him again, to be with him, to feel safe and secure. In that moment, the demon thought she might be capable of loving Mikhal, not just with physical desire but with the kind of love that sought the best for the other person. The kind of love that transcended all bonds and oaths.

Her feelings of safety and love evaporated then, replaced by feelings of disgust and self-loathing, separation, and a lack of hope. She felt the black, empty loneliness that was her personal hell. Mikhal would never return her love. They both knew her nature, knew the things she had done and continued to do.

Night after tormented night, the demon marched Ferral's army until they reached their destination. Once there, the demon raised her hand and the thousands of dead halted their stumbling advance. She stood at the crest of a hill and stared at the massive, solitary wall of granite that erupted up into the night sky. The mountain, at least five thousand feet tall, stretched for miles to the north and south. A wide, rock strewn valley would lead her and the army up the final slope toward the gates of the Holt.

The defenses impressed even her. With her massive army and her own enormous power, it would still take time to destroy this fortress. The walls connected two jagged ridgelines that came down from the solitary peak, covering the last portion of the valley. The ground was rugged; the sixty foot stone wall followed the contour of the valley floor, like a deceptively beautiful wave. At regular intervals, squat, round towers jutted up from the wall.

She could see sentry fires and a catapult on each of the towers.

Beyond the towers and walls was her prize; the first clan of the Holtsmen—the Chieftain of the Cougar Holt and his people. A single, columned entry allowed access into the holt—a doorway into the heart of the mountain, but to get to it, the dead would have to breach the walls and gate.

Ferral wanted the Holtsmen destroyed so that they could not stop his plans, but the demon also wanted them obliterated. She no longer remembered what her grievance against these people might be, but the hatred in her boiled to the surface. She would finally let her inner-monster loose on these mountain warriors.

The demon commanded the dead to stay hidden in the darkness while she approached the single gate.

"Ostuglaitia klub!" a harsh voice barked at her from atop the wall.

She continued a few more steps before stopping but did not lift her head to look at the guard far above her. The demon just stood there, her red cloak hiding her face and body within a curtain of darkness.

"Ktoi tubai klub? Chtoi tubai nuzha?" the guard demanded of her. Who are you? What do you want?

She called out in their language, "My master wishes me to pay homage to the great clans of the Holtsmen. Ferral, King of Belarn, proclaims himself the Great Prophet of Belatarn and wishes for all people of Erinia to acknowledge his god and Belarn's supremacy over the other kingdoms of this land.

"Open your gates embrace Belatarn and join his army," she declared.

The man laughed at her. He then echoed her words to his companions up on the wall, and they laughed also. The guards did nothing to her, confident that she could do nothing to harm them.

The demon smiled and raised her hand.

The guards watched her carefully seeing no danger in a single woman. Soon, they heard the shuffling of thousands of feet and the jingling of armor and weapons.

One of the guards cried out a warning. In response, fires sprang up all along the wall. The shadows around the demon receded, and the first few lines of dead emerged from the darkness.

She heard the surprised gasps coming from the walls. Even if Ferral's Deathmarch Army were human, its numbers would be enough to send fear into any man.

One of the guards launched a stout arrow. The steel head penetrated the soft, leather armor of a dead Duellrian soldier, making a soft, sickening sound. The dead thing barely registered the impact of the missile and continued toward the wall.

More and more arrows flew toward the creatures that passed to either side of the demon. None of them had any effect. The demon compared the dead to ants that have identified an obstacle between them and a source of food. They swarmed the gate and towers and started climbing over each other; their rotting hands grasping for the living above them.

The Holtsmen realized then what they faced. Many of the younger warriors retreated from the wall, but sergeants barked orders and they moved back into position. The stalwart captain of the guards motioned for a ballista to fire into the seething mass below. The larger missile slammed into several of the creatures, tearing two of the creatures into pieces. Otherwise, it had little effect. Those knocked down, even the ones missing a hand or arm, stood again and continued toward the wall.

Finally, one of the guards loosed an arrow at the demon. She sensed its approach but let the missile hit her. The steel tip bent away from her skin, and the shaft shattered in hundreds of splinters. Several more arrows flew at her, all of them bouncing away, doing no damage.

By dawn, the men on the bulwarks were exhausted. Nothing had repelled the creatures. They swarmed over each other until their mounded bodies threatened to reach the top of the wall. Only fire and oil seemed to have any lasting effect, but the warriors already knew they did not have enough to destroy even a tenth of the army. They looked down, dumbfounded, at the creatures that stared blank-faced back up at them. There was nothing for them to do but wait for the corpses to reach the wall and push them back down.

The light of the morning sun spread across the valley floor inching toward the wall. With its touch, the creatures fell to the ground motionless.

The Holtsmen looked out across the valley counting the creatures, but the size of the army made the endeavor impossible. Some estimated more than twenty thousand dead at the walls of their fortress.

Only the demon, in her simple red cloak, still stood before the gate, as silent and motionless as she had been through the entire attack.

The gate opened after long discussion, and a band of Holtsmen moved out in a protective wedge. They were impressive in their gleaming, decorated armor and shields; their swords and axes were long and powerful—made for strong and fierce men. The demon did not move. The men were of no consequence to her.

The Holtsmen avoided her, having heard the reports of how arrows, and even ballista missiles, shattered when they hit her. Instead, they hacked at the dead creatures lying on the ground.

The demon then understood their strategy. They will hack off the limbs of the creatures so they can no longer climb or hold weapons. She could not allow this to happen.

As she transformed into the monster, growing to overshadow them, the men shrank away from her. The demon laughed and then growled at them. Then the growl grew into a howl of rage and bloodlust.

One of the Holtsmen charged forward. Calling out the name of his clan, he chopped at the monster's abdomen with his axe. The blade shattered on its scaly hide just like the arrows. Some of the shards of metal ricocheted back toward the man and into his face. He barely had time to register this, though, before the demon grabbed him by the head with one massive, clawed hand. It twisted the Holtsman's head completely around and then flung the body back at his companions.

Infuriated by his death, the remaining warriors charged. Some lunged at it with spears while others tried to get close enough to use their swords and axes.

Their attacks failed utterly. The demon ignored the strikes upon its back and legs. It grabbed the men at will and pulled them apart or threw them back over the wall.

When the demon finished, one hundred warriors lay dead around her. It snarled at the guards' lifeless bodies and then roared up a challenge to those watching in horror from the walls. The men shrank away from her, fearing for their lives.

The demon returned to her human form, pulling the shredded remains of her cloak back over her body. She decided not to continue the attack but to wait for the sun to fall behind the solitary mountain. Then the dead would again rise up and continue their relentless assault.

### 10

### The Fisherman

It took Allisia much longer to reach the light than she thought it should have. She was weak from her fight with Ferral and what strength she had left the frigid winds had sucked out of her. She stumbled in her torn dress across the rocky shoreline toward the small light the demon had pointed to. Any doubts she harbored about this being another trick evaporated. Now, she just wanted the walk to end and to find a warm place to rest. For as many hours as it seemed she had walked, the light did not appear to get any closer.

Allisia often fell on the sharp rocks near the water's edge. The freezing cold made the pain in her feet and knees even worse. She was ready to collapse when, after coming around a large rock, she saw the moored boat.

The harsh weather did not affect the small cove. The water was calmer and the chill wind was gone. Warm, golden light streamed from the lamp hanging from the mast of the boat, inviting, comforting. Allisia's fears dissipated as she approached the vessel with eagerness

Then movement on the boat caught her attention. A bent figure hobbled out of the cabin on the deck. His white hair hung down in his face, but even from where Allisia stood, she could see him smile. And in that smile she could see no deception, only a warm, open welcome.

Allisia climbed the rope ladder up to where the old man stood. Disheveled, her elegant dress hanging in tatters, she stood before the man not knowing what to say. He felt her uncertainty and gestured for her to go into the cabin. His calm eased her mind, and she moved quickly toward the door. Once inside, the old man pulled out a chair and blanket for her. Allisia fell into the wooden chair exhausted by her escape.

The man still had not said a word as he began pouring her some broth from a small pot. He laid the steaming cup in front of her and waited for her to take some. Allisia began to look around in apprehension as she recovered from the cold.

"Shouldn't we leave? They will be looking for me," Allisia said.

The man smiled. "You are safe in my hands, Allisia. No one will harm you while you are in my care." His voice was as calming as the cove and as warm and comforting as the soup and blanket.

"Who are you? How did you know my name?" Allisia asked.

"I am no one, just a humble fisherman," he answered her casually. "And I know your name through a mutual friend." Allisia's anguish returned, but the fisherman eased her fears. He shook his head saying, "she is not the one I am referring to. There is no need to fear her now. The demon is but a tool of evil and cannot harm those under my protection."

"I don't know who you mean then. No one else has helped me. Who has sent you?" Allisia pushed.

"Someone who is gravely concerned about what is befalling this land, Child. And do not feel so alone. You are not forgotten. Others struggle to fight Ferral and see you safe."

Sighing, he struggled out of his chair. As he opened the door to leave he said, "I must see to our departure. We will talk again, but now you must rest. Have no fears, sleep and forget some of the horrors you have seen. There is a bed behind that partition." With that said, he left Allisia to make the boat ready for their voyage.

The girl's sleep was deep and peaceful. No nightmares disturbed her rest, only faded memories of playing along the shores as she had often done as a child. A man, another fisherman, watched over her as she played and regained the strength needed to go on. The fisherman was young and strong, and he smiled often at Allisia. His brown hair and beard framed a warm, happy face that emanated peace and love.

He was deeply troubled. She could see the pain and sadness in his eyes. He guided her along the rocky beach warning her of dark pits that she had difficulty seeing. He cautioned her that to fall into those holes would spell certain doom. Allisia would cautiously step to the side, but then start playing again, no longer caring about the dangers that surrounded her.

"Be careful, Allisia," the fisherman warned her in a soft voice. "These holes are deeper than they look. It will be hard to pull you out if you are lured into them."

He would remind Allisia as she began to skip along that he was the only one that could guide her down the path and that she better be careful. The princess would stop her skipping to seriously think about what he said, but only for a moment. Deciding that the path really was not all that dangerous, she risked disobeying him. His brown hair would hide his face momentarily as he shook his head in sad understanding.

The fisherman had seen countless others pay little heed to his warnings. He had shed tears of grief for all those lost, enough to fill oceans. He wished there was more he could do to help those poor souls, but he could do little. The fisherman hoped that Allisia would understand, and that maybe this time, there would be a great victory for the righteous. The fisherman hoped that this time the important information he had to share with those he desperately wanted to help would be used. Every great once in a while, the fisherman was allowed to provide a few with guidance and hope during the darkest of times. Perhaps, this time Allisia would be the one.

The fisherman would do everything he could to help her. He turned his attention back to the girl's dreams showing her visions of a fiery mountain and a churning sea. The sea was as black as night.

The Utwan Sea was still calm when Allisia woke. It seemed to Allisia that some of the cold had returned. She was comfortable and well rested, but the chill winds reminded her that evil was still in control of her world. As assuring as her dreams had been, she was disheartened to awaken to the same dismal situation she had tried to escape. Allisia sat up on the small cot unable to see more than what was close by. A make-shift curtain, hanging down from the rafters, divided the small cabin. The old cloth was probably intended to give her some sort of privacy, but right now, all Allisia wanted was to be close to someone.

As she stood, her tattered dress fell off her shoulder reminding her of last night's struggle. Allisia could not see them, but she felt the deep scratches Ferral had left when he grazed her back with his fingernails. They made her feel ashamed and vulnerable. An uneasy feeling crept up within her as she thought of the things Ferral wanted to do to her. Allisia had not thought of how bad her situation really was when she fought him off and escaped. Her struggle to reach the old man and his boat had so focused her mind that she forgot what could have happened. But now, she saw Ferral's eager eyes in her mind. Allisia saw the terrible lust that drove him to hit her and force her against the wall. She remembered the harsh grasping feel of his hand.

Allisia buried her head in her hands and wept. She sobbed as the memory of her ordeal replayed itself in her head.

"I'm alone ... I'm completely alone," Allisia gasped. She knew that if she had not stopped Ferral on her own, she would never have escaped.

"What is going to happen to me?" Allisia asked. "Will I ever be with those I care about? Who is left for me to care about, anyway? My father and brother are dead. My people are frightened and will do nothing ... thousands of them are dead creatures serving that madman."

Then she realized something. "Kristian might still be alive." Allisia's emotions ran unchecked and tears fell freely, but that one image of Kristian defying Ferral at the gates softened her sadness with hope.

When Allisia was finally able to control her crying, she took a moment to look beyond the partition. On the chair she sat in earlier there was a fresh set of clothes and a thin, but inviting, blanket. Allisia felt the torn fabric of the dress she wore and decided to change. The new clothes were a little threadbare, but extremely comfortable, and the blanket immediately made her feel warm. She looked at the garment she had just discarded, and the image of Ferral smiling at her while he ran his hand along her body sprang into her mind.

Shuddering, Allisia picked up the tattered remains of her old dress and walked out of the cabin. The old fisherman was there in front of her, securing a line to the boat's single mast. He turned to look at Allisia, seeming to already know and understand the suffering she had been through. The old man reassured her with a smile; his concern warming her and giving her a renewed sense of confidence.

She smiled back at him.

Allisia walked directly to the side of the boat and did not hesitate to throw the once beautiful dress into the sea. The small wake of the boat gently rolled over the garment, sinking it. Allisia looked down on the scene with more than a little remorse. The dress represented a part of her life she knew she would never have back. There would be no more ceremonies full of tradition and beauty. There would be no more decorated halls filled with handsomely dressed men or elegant women. There would be no more music filling the palace with the sounds of merriment. The realization that these luxuries, like so many other parts of her life, were gone caused her heart to ache, but Allisia refused to cry. She had cried too much. As the dress finally sank under the water, she sighed in quiet resignation.

Still looking out over the sea, Allisia asked the man, "you said that I was not alone, that some still sought to rescue me. Who did you mean?"

The old man did not hesitate to tell her. "Kristian is still alive." Allisia let out a deep sigh of relief. "He has fought hard and undergone much. He constantly thinks of you. Unfortunately, the evil sorcerer has focused all of his resources on finding and destroying him. The young king is constantly pushed farther away, but he has not forgotten you."

"Kristian knows that his father is dead, then?" Allisia asked.

"He knows and has reluctantly assumed the responsibility of being a king."

When Allisia turned to him full of questions, the man raised his hands to calm her and continued, "Do not ask me how I know these things. Accept that what I tell you is true, because it is. I am only fortunate that I have found someone with whom to share that knowledge ... this time.

"He has changed much, Allisia. He has seen the worst of himself and hates what he was. The horrors of what has happened continually haunt him. A part of him will never forgive himself and that is as it should be. Men, and women, entrusted with the responsibility of leading others should never forget their mistakes lest they make the same ones over again. Now, he strives to be a better man, a better leader." The old man laughed a little, "Oh, he is not perfect. No, not at all, but he is trying."

"Does ... does he love me?" Allisia asked. "Or does he do this for other reasons?"

"Both." Allisia's puzzled look made him smile. "Kristian loves you, and more importantly, you are his closest friend. He does not want to let you down. Kristian also realizes that thousands depend upon him. If Kristian fails, he knows that no one will be left to face Ferral."

Allisia shook her head. She did not doubt the truth of the man's words but wondered how he knew everything he professed.

In response, the old man said, "I am old, much older than I look. And with all the ages and events that I have witnessed I have gained much knowledge and wisdom. Dark times have befallen the world before, my child, and dark times will come again."

Allisia snorted. "If there is ever to be another good time again, you mean."

The man shrugged. "Ferral and the master he serves will not win. Not if you and Kristian stand against them."

"How can we possibly stand against them?" Allisia asked. "Ferral has incredible powers. He controls the dead and demons from Hell. These powers can't be beaten." She lowered her head. "It seems as though God has turned away from us, and the Dark One has free reign."

Sadness filled the fisherman's eyes. "Do not say such things," he said with a sternness that reminded her of her father when she was a young girl. "God is more compassionate than you can possibly fathom. No one can see what He has planned." He placed his hands on her shoulders in a fatherly way. "You have called on God to help you often in the past few weeks. Do you think that all of your pleas to him went unheard?"

Allisia felt ashamed. The last month had tested her faith to its limits and maybe beyond. "I prayed many times while Ferral tormented me, while I sat in that dark cell waiting for the dead to tear down the door. As I heard him laugh about the cruel pleasure he took in torturing and killing innocent people. I prayed when the demon carried me away from my home. I prayed when Ferral killed my family. I prayed even harder when the men in the battle were slaughtered by the dead, forced to join the mad man's army." Allisia turned to look back toward the shore that was beyond her view.

"How has God helped me?" Allisia asked the fisherman with sarcasm, her anger rising. "Will He ever help me?"

The fisherman lowered his head in disappointment. He sighed, frustrated. "God will help you, Allisia, but it will take great sacrifice from you to understand those gifts and use them to fight Ferral."

"When? When will He help me," Allisia pleaded to know.

"It will be soon, child. You are not yet ready to receive the gifts God wishes you to have."

"I can't understand how anything that I or Kristian, or even God, will do could bring Ferral down." Allisia sighed, resigned to defeat.

The fisherman gave her a stern look. He pointed at the blanket wrapped around her. "That blanket was made with a bunch of loose thread, but it's warm isn't it?" Allisia touched the blanket wondering where the old fisherman was going with this, but the blanket was indeed warmer than anything she ever remembered wearing. It gave her a small measure of confidence and security when she pulled it snuggly against her body.

"Loop after loop, knot after knot, stitch after stitch, even with added patches from where I mended it ... that blanket could snuff out a flame quickly if I wanted to use it for such a purpose. But I didn't make the blanket in one day. Each time I used the needle and thread to make that blanket was a new action that helped create a strong fabric. It's the same with God's work, Child."

With that said, the old man went back to the tiller to adjust their course. Allisia remained where she was, trying to sort out what the fisherman had told her.

### 11

### The Darkness Underneath

The Erandians rested at the Gathering Chamber. Cairn and Hin'cabo had agreed that the three needed a few hours to rest and regain some strength, so Mikhal and Kristian moved over to a small cove where they could lie down. The cavalier watched Maurin trying to communicate with the Atlunam hunters; the healer was too excited to sleep, but Mikhal was exhausted. No amount of rest seemed to cure him of his haunted dreams.

Mikhal was curious about the Atlunam but kept his distance, unsure if he should approach them. They were a quiet folk, full of pent up emotions that they would not express.

Mikhal began wondering how much like them he might be. Eventually, the cavalier drifted off to sleep. Mikhal dreamed of her ...

The beautiful young woman is the focus of his dreams once again. She stands on a marble dais before a large crowd dressed in white robes that barely hide her graceful figure. The people, dressed in similar fashion, kneel before her in a dark temple. The only light in the hall comes from elaborate candelabras that hang from different places in the wall. The orange light casts dark shadows through the white stone temple. Mikhal knows this place is normally peaceful and bright, but the darkness has transformed it into something else.

Mikhal stands at the entrance to the place, looking in on the scene. He knows he is dreaming but is unable to break the spell that forces him to watch. His love, for that is how he has begun to feel for her in these dreams, is saying something he can not quite hear. Half illuminated, half-covered in darkness, she raises her hands in praise. As she does this, the people before her do the same. She feels Mikhal's presence and looks out past the gathered worshippers to him.

Her excitement quickly vanishes when she sees the confusion written on his face. The young woman lowers her head in shame. Blonde locks hide her beautiful face, and Mikhal moves into the temple to find out more. As he steps over and around kneeling worshippers, the people become restless. The ceremony has been disrupted by his presence, and they grow worried that their prayers will not be heard. Murmuring further disrupts the dedicated gathering.

Mikhal is concerned for his love. What role does she have in all of this? Why were the people looking to her for guidance? He does not understand what is happening, but apparently, his love does. Slowly, she raises her head looking at him with great sadness. Her look freezes him. Something is different between them now. There is a distance between them that cannot be explained, but Mikhal feels it. Then two dark and naked servants, like the ones he has seen in a previous dream, carry out a small creature that Mikhal cannot see. They place it on the altar before his love and hold the thing in place. An old priest, dressed in flowing green robes, comes up to his love and holds out a ceremonial bone dagger for her. Its handle is embedded with many jewels. The priest waits patiently a moment before she takes the blade. He smiles in reassurance before taking his place behind her.

The creature is a white tiger cub. Frightened, the young cub struggles to get off the altar, but the two naked servants hold it down. It mewls pathetically as she raises the bone dagger over her head. Mikhal sees great reluctance in that movement.

He gasps in disbelief. "No!" he shouts. It is too late. The knife comes down in a single instant.

The sight of blood makes the people hysterical. They grovel on the marble floor, praising their god. Mikhal's love wipes blood from her hands and looks down at him with a sad, determined look. As he turns to leave he sees many more animals being brought out to her. Mikhal shakes his head in disgust ... and the dream fades.

The dreams were becoming so vivid that Mikhal began to believe they were real. He hungered for more visions of the demon, wanting to know why she had done the things she had done. They had been lovers once before and perhaps would be again.

Mikhal shook his head to reject that kind of thinking. He knew his fascination with the demon was sick, but why was he having the visions? Somehow, he was connected to Ferral's monster, and as beautiful as she might appear in his dreams, Mikhal knew what she truly was. They shared a terrible bond and nothing good would come of it. The idea made him shake uncontrollably. He felt many emotions like horror, disgust, and hate swelling within him, but he also felt compassion, desire, and love.

Rest eluded Mikhal as the visions pursued him for the remainder of the night.

Kristian noticed that Mikhal was in another one of his dark moods. The cavalier packed his few belongings away while staring at the stone floor, hoping no one would speak to him. Kristian could see the far off look in his eyes and decided to leave him alone. Mikhal had become more and more reclusive since his nightmares began. Kristian sensed that Mikhal did not wish to discuss what bothered him, but he hoped the cavalier might confide in him, someday.

Why should he? Kristian asked himself. We're both haunted. I can no more ask him to share his nightmares with me than I can share mine with him.

Kristian's muscles were stiff, and he felt exhausted despite the rest. He had to force himself to stand and stretch. Mikhal was obviously not in a friendly mood, so Kristian looked at the hunters in the midst of preparing to leave and decided to talk to Cairn. The man was a mystery that never ceased to fascinate Kristian. He saw him talking to the one called Hin'cabo and walked over to join them.

Cairn inclined his head in silent greeting.

"How was your rest?" Cairn asked. Cairn smiled a little as Kristian responded by stretching to get the soreness out of his back. "Hin'cabo and his men are ready to take us to the village. We will leave as soon as you and your companions are ready."

"How much further is it to the village?" Kristian asked.

"The sun is just now rising, and if we hurry, we will be there by noon," Cairn replied.

Mikhal and Maurin went over to where Kristian and Cairn were standing, packed and ready to go. Without waiting, the huntsmen started off in the direction of their village. The scouts Hin'cabo sent ahead earlier had already lit sconces along the wall, and Kristian could now see many of the engineering details of the tunnel. The walls were mortared stone, and the ceiling arched over them with no additional bracing. The sconces were recessed into the walls and provided just enough light to see, not that there was a real need for them. The floor was made of smooth stone, and Kristian could not find even one crack.

Traveling in the large tunnel will be easy, Kristian thought. He was right and the pace set by the hunters was brisk.

Three hours into the walk, Kristian began to feel the speed of their escort's pace in his legs. They had just increased their stride again. Kristian bit off a curse as he tried to keep up.

"We might as well be running," Maurin joked. Kristian nodded and trotted off to find out what was going on. He found Cairn running next to Hin'cabo.

"Why are we going so fast?"

Cairn did not look at him as he responded in a hushed voice. "Something isn't right. Hin'cabo told the scouts to tell the council that we were on our way. Then the scouts were supposed to return and let him know if it was all right for us to come into the village. They haven't returned, and we're nearly there."

"Does Hin'cabo think something is wrong?" Mikhal asked, coming up beside the two of them.

Cairn shrugged not knowing. "It's possible. He's definitely concerned. Atlunam hunters are disciplined fighters and would not disobey their leader's orders unless they could not help it."

Hin'cabo seemed to gather what they were talking about and said something to Cairn. Kristian saw Cairn nod in understanding. "There were rumors of Holtsmen near the village just before Hin'cabo left. Those men have never been so bold as to attack a village inside the forest before, but relations have worsened even further in the last ten years. Hin'cabo is worried and wants to get to Shuru Kaithep as quickly as possible."

"How long has this war been going on?" Mikhal asked Cairn.

"I am not sure if anyone knows the answer to that anymore. It's been raging for at least five hundred years. The people of the Ten Holts live in the mountains to the west of the forest. They control all access to the mines in the hills."

"What is so important about those mines to cause a war that has lasted five hundred years?" Kristian asked.

"Precious ores ... minerals, gold, silver, copper. They hoard everything and deny the Atlunam access to the mines. Some of the battles were fought over things as trivial as granite and marble. Many people have died."

Kristian fell back to let Maurin know what was going on. By the time he had finished explaining it to him, the Atlunam were practically sprinting. They ran silently, determined to get to their village quickly, but rested enough in case of a fight.

After a short time, Kristian could see a faint ray of light filtering down from above. A stone stairwell led up to a trap door in the ceiling. The stone door was unlatched and it hung loose. Daylight streamed in to illuminate the gray steps below the opening. Kristian was thankful that it was not much further ahead, but when the hunters saw the open door they stopped. Each readied his bow by notching an arrow and pulling halfway back on the drawstring.

Cairn moved over to Kristian and whispered in his ear. "That door is never left open or unattended. Stay at the rear of the column and in a tight circle. I will call when it is all right for you to come out." Kristian nodded, passing the information on to his companions, and then pulled out his sword with as little sound as possible. Mikhal did the same.

The Atlunam hunters moved past them as quiet as ghosts, ready for action. Hin'cabo sent two hunters up the stairs. The rest knelt down on either side of the tunnel waiting for the scouts' return. After what seemed an eternity, Hin'cabo became restless and signaled for the remainder of his men to move up the stairs. Cairn walked cautiously up with them. Kristian and his companions moved closer to the trap door but waited at the base of the stairs as instructed.

They waited a long time. They did not hear any sounds of fighting. Everything seemed calm. Then Cairn returned and, in a hushed voice, said, "It is not a pleasant sight. You may come up if you wish." Then he left.

"I don't understand," Maurin said. "What's happened?"

Kristian swallowed hard before he answered. "I guess we'll soon find out." Then he and Mikhal moved up the stairs with their swords drawn and ready.

### 12

### Shuru Kaithep

Kristian was not prepared for what waited above. The tunnel exit stood on a small rise overlooking what had once been a beautiful village. There was a large clearing nestled within a forest of massive trees.

The village might once have been impressive. Perhaps, fifty homes made of wood and stone had neatly filled the clearing. In the center of the village, a pavilion stood on top of a small rise. Two white stone columns supported a third from which a decorated bronze symbol hung. Simplistic, yet beautiful, the Atlunam villagers had once gathered here. Scorch marks scarred it now. Smoke rose from the ashes of several burned out homes around the small town. Carts and wagons lay overturned. Debris covered everything.

The bodies of the villagers, their escort's families and friends, littered the ground.

From where Kristian, stood he could see more than a hundred Atlunam, their ghastly wounds shouting at him over the distance that separated them. More than the villagers' bodies filled the clearing. Their livestock had died with them. Kristian and Mikhal stood there dumbfounded. All around them the Atlunam escort sank to the ground in shock. None of them wanted to go into the village to find the remains of their loved ones.

Only Maurin seemed ready to act. He ran down the hill, tears streaking his face. Arriving at the first body, he started reaching for bandages and medicines from the pack he carried.

"No," Maurin moaned. "This isn't right. This isn't right!" He stepped from one body to the next checking each for signs of life. Maurin stopped at the body of a small girl and paused. Her wounds were so horrible that Maurin could not keep from retching at the sight of her torn body. He walked away from the scene, sobbing. Kristian watched him continue through the village hoping to find someone still alive.

"This is likely the work of the Holtsmen," Cairn said. Kristian sighed, not knowing what to say. The young king stood there, silent, looking from one ruined home to the next.

One by one, the hunters stood and walked down toward their homes to find their families. Hin'cabo shouted from the top of the hill. Facing to the west, his voice full of emotion, he screamed, "Pre ul maut'i, Holt khrubai! Hin'cabo ub Jurai, maut'i khrubai!"

"What ... what did he say?" Kristian asked Cairn in a hushed voice.

Cairn continued scanning the forest for signs of danger as he answered him, "Pray for death, Holtsmen. I am the Hunter, Hin'cabo, and I will kill you."

The hunters worked without a word, gathering their loved ones' remains. Kristian, Mikhal, and Maurin watched from a fallen log close to a river on the far side of the village. The more they watched the Atlunam the more puzzled they became.

"We want to help," Kristian insisted. "We want to show our respect and help them with this burden."

"Hin'cabo will refuse. It is the responsibility of each Atlunam to care for his own dead and it must be done before the first night. That is their custom," Cairn replied evenly. Their rescuers had shut away all emotions as they walked through their village picking up the bodies of their families and friends. Quietly, they collected everything including the debris. Kristian saw Hin'cabo take a young female body, and then two elderly bodies, into one of the less damaged homes. He made several trips back into the house carrying broken possessions that he neatly arranged around the bodies of his loved ones.

Kristian could not help but watch as the hunter gathered keepsakes from amid the ruin of his home. His hands shook and his breathing was ragged, but Hin'cabo pulled strength from his anger and continued. When he was finished, the Hunter of Shuru Kaithep knelt in the doorway and faced his loved ones. Hin'cabo bowed his head and started praying and humming a soft melody.

"The song seems familiar to me," Cairn told Kristian, "I think it's a song about love and family." Hin'cabo swayed slightly from side to side, repeating the tune over and over again.

One of the weapons lying in the dirt drew Kristian's attention. "By the looks of that broken sword," he told the others, "whatever happened here did not take them by complete surprise."

The brutality of whoever did this disgusted Kristian.

Perhaps Ferral isn't the only evil man in the world, Kristian thought.

"How can anyone murder innocent children, regardless of their cause?" Mikhal asked.

Cairn replied, "Tragedies like this have happened before. Atrocities are committed by both sides." He shook his head to keep the Erandians from speaking. "Don't try to understand it. These people are different. Their cultures are ancient and so is their hatred for each other."

Kristian sat on the log shaking his head in disbelief. So much life wasted, he thought.

"I've forgotten what life was like before all this happened," Kristian declared as the hunters started taking long, wooden poles toward the edge of the forest. The poles had markings covering their highly polished surfaces. Bits of cloth, tied around the ends, floated gently in the late afternoon breeze. Kristian surmised they were markers letting others know what had happened here.

Mikhal nodded in agreement taking a step toward the Atlunam procession. Kristian thought that the site of the massacre affected Mikhal more than him or Maurin. He thought Mikhal felt a special connection to these people, but Kristian did not understand why. Mikhal studied everything the hunters had done on the way to their village, and even attempted to emulate their movements. When Mikhal came up out of the tunnel, his reaction had echoed those of the Atlunam.

Kristian tried to break Mikhal's silence. "I can't understand why they hide their emotions. They have lost everything, and yet, they carry out their tasks without saying anything or even weeping."

"They are very passionate people," Mikhal snapped back. "They choose not to show emotion now because there are more important things to be done first. Look at what they're doing. They're turning the entire village ... their homes ... into a graveyard."

He stood frozen, silent and attentive, watching the Atlunam hunters finish their sad work. "This place will forever stand as a monument to the loved ones they have lost. And we don't have the right to question their actions." Mikhal started to leave, but Kristian stopped him.

"Mikhal, I'm sorry." Mikhal hesitated, nodding briefly, before trying once more to leave. Kristian stopped him again. "We have to talk." The urgency in his voice turned Mikhal around.

Kristian gathered his courage and spoke what had been on his mind for a long time. "You have been acting strange for some time. I understand why you avoid me, but you've changed."

Kristian paused a moment before going on. "I know we're not friends. I've made terrible mistakes. It would be hard for anyone to accept me, especially you. But I'm trying ... I hope to someday earn your trust." Kristian rubbed his arms, nervous, trying to find the right words to continue. "I guess what I am trying to say is that if you need to talk I would listen."

Mikhal did not look at him. He lowered his head and remained silent, his body swaying back and forth between Kristian and the Atlunam. He nodded to his king and then turned and walked away.

Maurin, too far away to hear the conversation, nonetheless understood the exchange. After Mikhal left, he approached Kristian. "I don't know him well. Maybe he's still trying to recover from the wounds he suffered on the plains." Kristian shook his head, disagreeing.

"No, Maurin. Mikhal has suffered many injuries, but the pain he feels now is in his head, or heart. He is haunted by something."

Maurin nodded. "We've all seen terrible things. I'll never forget this place or what I've seen. It's a wonder we're not all haunted."

"I agree, but somehow, everything we have seen affects Mikhal differently. The pain is deeper, closer. Anyway, that's only what I think, and my opinion is of little worth."

Maurin hesitated, unsure if he should ask anything else. "Why don't the two of you get along?"

Kristian frowned. He did not want to tell Maurin what he had done, but the king felt the healer had to know who he followed. Kristian sat Maurin down on the log next to him and described, in vivid detail, every mistake he had made as the arrogant Prince of Erand, as well as the terrible price the Duellrians, and his own escort of cavaliers, had paid to protect him.

"My pride and arrogance cost thousands of men their lives. Mikhal hates me for what happened to his comrades, but he remains dutiful. He has vowed to protect me because he believes the only way to get revenge is to see Ferral destroyed."

"It's hard to imagine you as anything other than what I have always seen. You have been brave, honest, and sympathetic to others. Why else would you have warned my village of the Belarnians?" Maurin stammered out his words, trying to reassure Kristian.

Kristian stood to stretch. He checked on the progress of the hunters while thinking about his response. He had no way of knowing if Maurin was right. Am I truly trying to warn people or do I just want their help for my own quest against Ferral? How long will it be before I make amends for my actions?

Will I ever be forgiven? Kristian asked himself. Will I ever be able to forgive myself? Kristian realized he could hate himself forever if it became the driving force that made him better. If that's what it takes for Mikhal to accept me, then that is what I will do to become a better man, Kristian acknowledged.

It seemed more important than ever to win Mikhal over. Kristian could think of no one that was a more competent, professional soldier. No one deserved a better life than the man that served his country and king regardless of his own feelings. Kristian also realized that no one disliked him more than Mikhal.

Cairn's sudden appearance interrupted his thoughts. The man is too quiet, Kristian cursed. He seems to just appear out of thin air.

Cairn nodded in his usual manner of greeting, but Kristian knew the man was waiting to hear what was on his mind.

"Well, Cairn, what do you think we should do now? I'm not sure that the hunters will take us anywhere else. And I don't know how to get to where their king is ... or whatever he is called."

"The Atlunam have a king, though I doubt you would ever be allowed to see him, especially after this incident. They will become even more remote, but we have more immediate concerns." Kristian and Maurin looked at him in question. "It's obvious that Hin'cabo and his men blame the Holtsmen for this massacre."

Maurin spoke out. "Didn't you say earlier that they heard about a patrol in the area?"

Cairn nodded, continuing, "Yes, but I no longer think they're responsible."

"What makes you think that? Who else hates them enough to do this?" Kristian asked.

"I don't know, but the Holtsmen would approach from their strongholds to the west. Their access to the village, if they ever succeeded in scouting it out, would have been across the river."

Cairn pointed out the waterway that separated the village and the clearing from the western portions of the Great Forest. "There is only one bridge, and it is always guarded by hunters. I inspected it just now and found no signs of recent use, and the embankments are very steep. It is a long fall into the water below. So, whoever attacked Shuru Kaithep had to come another way. The Holtsmen would never be able to get enough men on the far side of the river before they were spotted by a patrol. I checked the surrounding forests and found numerous tracks to the north. There are a few pieces of armor and cloth, a couple of broken weapons, enough to determine who caused this."

Kristian saw, for the first time, what Cairn was holding out in his hand. It was a piece of black armor with a small splash of red upon it.

"I think I know who it was." A sudden rush of panic flooded Kristian's senses. He looked around the edges of the forest, almost expecting Ferral's creatures to rush out at him.

Will I never escape them? Kristian complained.

"Holt patu ul waila! Holt patu ul waila!" One of the hunters came running across the bridge from the far side with his bow in hand. Hin'cabo ran to meet him near the center of the village. The hunter had obviously been scouting out the opposite side of the river and pointed back in that direction. Hin'cabo gave orders for his men to assemble. They donned leather armor and short curved swords, as well as those lethal bows they all carried. Hin'cabo directed them toward the bridge where they took up positions hidden among the trees near the bank.

Mikhal ran over to where Kristian and Cairn stood. "What's happening?" Mikhal asked.

Cairn pulled his slender sword free and said, "I think the Holtsmen found us a day too late." He moved behind another tree waiting to see what would happen next. Cursing their constant bad luck, Kristian and Mikhal also pulled out swords and crouched behind a log.

Maurin reacted slower. "This is truly a mad world. How can people be so ruthless? How can people hate each other so much?" Maurin asked.

Kristian looked back at Maurin, giving him an admonishing look. He motioned for Maurin to get down and be quiet, then looked back toward Hin'cabo just in time to see the hunter draw his bow and let an arrow loose. The missile streaked past the bridge to the far side faster than Kristian could track. In the distance, he could hear a sickening thud, signaling Hin'cabo's deadly accuracy. A muffled groan followed after.

"Pre ul maut'i, Holt Krubai!" Hin'cabo shouted fiercely as he pulled out another arrow. Shouts and curses answered him from the trees on the other side of the bridge. The hunters raised clenched fists in salute to their leader, glad to have begun repaying their enemy for what they had done to their loved ones.

Kristian could not see anything on the far side of the river. Those on the other side must already know how capable the Atlunam were with their bows. No one dared rush the bridge.

A voice suddenly shouted back from the other side. "Khlat atlub! Dang lukt harba!" The language was as new and different to Kristian as the sing-song words of the Atlunam. Whereas, the words of the hunters seemed like a beautiful, rhythmic song, the words of the Holtsmen sounded sharp and guttural. The man's gruff voice continued on in its broken manner completing a long declaration.

Hin'cabo shook his head adamantly. He replied by sending another arrow across the bridge. The man on the other side cursed loudly, "Atlub dashamn!"

A long shout by many more voices broke out from the other side. Kristian jumped back from his crouched position as hundreds of armored men ran out from behind the trees on the opposite side of the river; they rushed the bridge. He had never imagined that there would be so many of them. Kristian began to sweat, fearing that there would be no way to stop them from crossing over the river.

Hin'cabo's men did not let them get very far. Those that reached the bridge fell, slender Atlunam arrows sticking out between the gaps in their armor. A constant rain of arrows forced the Holtsmen to abandon their charge. Cursing, they limped back to the cover of the trees.

Mikhal stood, excited by the initial victory of the Atlunam. He raised his sword high cheering them on, waving his blade around and shouting loudly. Hin'cabo and his men also shouted. Kristian did not know what they said, but they sounded like insults. He forced himself to look over the log to see what would happen next but nothing did. The Holtsmen likely were regrouping after their losses. Kristian looked back to the bridge and saw a dozen men crumpled on the ground. Not a single one had set foot on the bridge leading into Shuru Kaithep.

Kristian saw Cairn move over next to Hin'cabo. He wanted to go over to them and find out what was happening but decided to wait. He had not seen any of the Holtsmen armed with bows, but it was not worth risking. Kristian knew that Cairn was trying to explain what had truly happened to the village. Hin'cabo shook his head in obvious disagreement.

Whatever Cairn was trying to say to the hunter was not convincing enough to get him to change his mind. In sudden anger, the hunter raised his hand and pointed toward the east. Cairn stood a little straighter and finally shrugged. He calmly walked away from the Atlunam and headed to where Kristian still knelt behind the fallen tree.

"He is too angry to listen. The hatred between these people is immense, and Hin'cabo and his men will not leave this place until all of their enemies are dead." Cairn looked over at the hunters in regret.

"If the Holtsmen were not the one's responsible for the massacre of these villagers ..." Kristian started.

"It doesn't matter, now. There is only one reason the Holtsmen would be this deep in the forest to begin with. They were looking for the village themselves. The Atlunam know this. The hunters will not let them leave the forest alive ... if they can help it."

Mikhal looked across the river and saw nothing that would give away signs of the invaders. "How many are there?"

Cairn shrugged. "I know little of the Ten Holts. Whenever the Atlunam talk of a battle they speak of the ferocity of their enemy. Regardless of how many there are on the other side, I wager that there will be much bloodshed on both sides before the end of the day."

Kristian's panic would not subside. He had a nagging feeling that made him shudder. "What if it's the army of dead?" he asked. "What if the Belarnians are still in the area?"

Everyone's response to Kristian's question was different.

Mikhal looked at the ground and sighed deeply. He had faced many Belarnians, both the living and the dead. They had killed all of his friends, and Mikhal had vowed to destroy Ferral and his dark army. Kristian knew that fighting them would give Mikhal a chance to ease some of his pain, but he also feared his comrade's haunting memories would eventually tear him apart.

Maurin had only recently encountered Belarnians, but the healer had already begun to understand their ruthlessness.

Cairn's reaction completely took Kristian by surprise. By the gleam in Cairn's eyes and the half smile on his lips, Cairn seemed to relish a chance to engage Ferral's Deathmarch Army. Kristian knew that Cairn did not believe their account of what had happened during the battle at the gates of Belarna. He very much wanted Cairn to believe the story but not at the price of being surrounded by the creatures again.

Cairn responded first, "Hin'cabo and his men will not leave. They will not guide us any further regardless of the results of their fight with the Holtsmen. If they win and kill them, they will continue west killing any of their enemies they find. If they die ... well, death is what they truly seek."

Maurin asked in desperation, "Are we trapped here?" They all looked to Cairn for advice.

Cairn saw their looks and fidgeted, uncomfortable with the amount of attention he was receiving. Finally, he shrugged.

"I could probably lead us out of here, but what would we do then? I don't know the way from here to the Atlunam capital. I would likely lead us all right into the Belarnian army."

Kristian replied. "I thought that you wanted to see these creatures for yourself?"

Cairn shook his head trying to determine his own position on the issue. "Only on my terms; I like to choose when and where I fight and fighting my way through thousands of Belarnians, especially those as fierce as you claim, would not be my first choice." Kristian was not so sure about that statement, but he chuckled at the comment, anyway.

Kristian thought that staying together was a good idea. Whatever happened, facing it with these three men made him glad.

Nothing happened after the Holtsmen first charged. They remained on the other side of the stream cursing the Atlunam hunters. Their numbers certainly dwindled, however. Every time one of them stood out from behind a tree or tried to move to a better position, a hunter's arrow would find its target and another one of the dark figures on the opposite side of the water would fall, groaning.

Then Hin'cabo's situation worsened. They were running short of arrows and their enemy knew this. Soon, they would make another charge under the cover of growing darkness, and the Atlunam would not be able to hold them back.

Kristian saw the determined look in the hunter's eyes. Sadly, he knew how they felt and what they planned to do. The cavaliers had the same look in their eyes as they had made the decision to defend the hilltop. As thousands of the dead moved closer and closer to their line of defense, the cavaliers knew they would all die. They also knew that the sacrifice was necessary to ensure the safety of their prince. Their belief, at that moment and while facing certain death, was that the only way to ensure the safety of their kingdom and their loved ones was by giving up their lives so that Kristian might survive to fight again.

The anguish Kristian had felt so many times in the past month welled up within him. Why had they believed so strongly in him? He had completely failed them, and their lives were forfeit because of his mistakes. Despite that, they still made the sacrifice, perhaps hoping he would someday be the man they all needed. The young king shook his head in grief remembering every foolish mistake he had made.

"Father," Kristian pledged quietly, "I swear to become the son you always wanted me to be. And Allisia, I have not forgotten you. I will find you." Looking around him and assessing his current situation, Kristian smiled at the irony of it all. "If I ever get out of this mess."

### 13

### The Battle for Shuru Kaithep

The sun began to set behind the western tree line, and Kristian and his comrades knew that the next assault would come soon. Cairn had come up with the best plan that any of them could think of. When the Atlunam could no longer hold their position and the two enemies fought hand-to-hand, they would move east through the village and into the forest. There, they would hide just out of sight of the village and try to move around the battle toward their escape route. Their plan was to find the abandoned tunnel and head back the way they had come. Cairn reminded them they had rested at a place where a tunnel had broken off toward another village. They could get there and, using Cairn's knowledge of the culture and language, persuade the elders to give them a chance to speak.

Only Mikhal spoke out against the plan. The cavalier felt a connection to Hin'cabo and his hunters and leaving made him feel that they were betraying their new friends. "They saved our lives, remember? How can we leave them when they face certain death?"

Cairn spoke first. "They did not save your lives out of some sense of compassion. They did it because they needed something from you. The Atlunam wanted information. If you had not carried with you vital news of what was going on in Belarn, they would have killed you as quickly as they killed your enemies." Cairn nodded toward the hunters who, even now, prepared for the attack. "The Atlunam do not want you here. They do not feel this is your fight."

Kristian hesitated, afraid that what he was about to say would push Mikhal further away from them. "Mikhal, remember why we came here to begin with? We came here because we pledged to save our people. Don't you remember Ferral and what he has done?"

Mikhal flushed, full of anger. "I remember many things, O Mighty King of Erand. Don't try to guilt me into doing what you want by turning my words against me." Mikhal wanted to say more but hesitated. He lowered his head in disgust, swearing, and then he nodded in defeat. "Fine, let's go, before it's too late," Mikhal snapped back at them.

Mikhal's words hurt.

I should have expected it, Kristian thought.

A part of Kristian needed to hear those words; either Mikhal's constant reprimands or his own guilt would ensure the young king never forgot what he had done. Kristian never wanted to forget his mistakes.

Mikhal stood after a moment and walked away from him.

Maurin could not stay silent after Mikhal's outburst. He stood, full of anger as well. The healer looked at Mikhal and asked Kristian, "How can you let him talk to you like that? You're his king, and what he just said should never be allowed." Even Cairn seemed to agree, but Kristian shook his head.

"I will never be able to earn his respect as a king. He stays because we share a common goal, Ferral's death. Mikhal wants Ferral dead as much as I do for what happened to his comrades. But he will never bow to me."

Maurin tried to understand but could not. Kristian added, "His comrades are dead because they chose to save me. They chose that, even though every one of them knew that I was the one that had led them to their doom. Mikhal is justified in hating me because he was ordered to be the one to protect me. It is the hardest task he has ever been assigned."

Kristian had barely ended his words when a great shout arose from the Holtsmen on the other side of the river. Kristian ran back to his position at the outskirts of the village to see what was happening. The Holtsmen had finally lost their patience. They charged the bridge with reckless abandon, hoping to reach and secure their only way across before the arrows started flying. Hin'cabo and his men were ready.

For a second time, deadly Atlunam arrows streaked by Kristian and his comrades, finding small chinks in their targets' armor. A score of men fell right then, never reaching the bank of the river, but the attackers' momentum did not slow. They continued on, suspecting the Atlunam had few arrows left. The Holtsmen reached the bridge and continued on despite losing several more warriors. Then the arrows stopped. The hunters dropped their bows and pulled free their short swords.

Hin'cabo's men moved into a loose wedge blocking their side of the bridge, crouched and ready to meet the charging Holtsmen. With a triumphant roar, the warriors ran headlong into the Atlunam. The fighting was fierce. Yet, few fell. As deadly as the Atlunam had been with their bows, the Holtsmen seemed equally matched in hand-to-hand combat.

For the first time, Kristian could clearly see what the Holtsmen looked like. They wore steel chest plates and helmets and carried heavy broadswords and axes. Each of them had long braided beards. Their movements were slower than the forest hunters, but they were more powerful. Each time they swung at the Atlunam they forced them further back away from the bridge. The hunters would gracefully parry the blows and respond with a series of attacking cuts. It was harder for them to find the gaps in their enemies' armor with a sword than it was with a bow, however. Slowly, the Atlunam gave ground.

Hin'cabo suddenly gritted his teeth refusing to go another foot backwards. The hunters' wedge changed into a protective circle that gradually tightened as more of their enemies crossed over the bridge.

Mikhal's anxiety was plain to see. It was taking everything he had to stay out of the fight and remain with his companions. An inexplicable commitment drew him to the hunters.

Cairn had already started off toward the far side of the village. Maurin pulled Kristian in that direction, yelling at Mikhal at the same time. "It's time to leave. Now, before it is too late!"

Reluctantly, Mikhal turned and followed them. They reached the forest edge leaving the sounds of battle behind in the distance. Cairn led them over a small ridgeline and into a depression where he motioned for them to conceal themselves in the undergrowth. They sat there silently, barely able to hear the fight that still continued in the burned-out village of Shuru Kaithep.

Soon it was even too dark to see the faces of the others around them. Kristian looked from one silent figure to the next. Though unable to see them, he could easily identify each of his companions. Maurin was barely able to keep silent. The healer fidgeted as he waited, as if he wanted someone to tell him it was all right to speak. Cairn was immobile, seemingly aware of everything around him and comfortable with waiting forever, if necessary. Then Kristian turned to look at Mikhal's dark form. The cavalier was nearly as still as Cairn, however, Kristian could feel the anger emanating from within Mikhal.

Suddenly, there was the sharp snap of deadfall breaking under someone's foot. The sound came from behind them. They turned to see who was there. Kristian could not see anything, and he was not sure where the sound had come from.

Then the sound came again. They all turned toward the sound of movement. Then they heard it again but from someplace entirely different. The sounds were getting louder and closer. It sounded like many men were approaching them.

Cairn silently drew his sword. The others stood, looking in all directions for those hidden within the darkness. Then the hairs on the back of Kristian's neck stood up. Chills ran from his neck and shoulders and then down through his arms and legs. He had felt these same feelings before. The others also felt the same eerie sensation. Kristian had felt it the night Ferral raised the dead—when his entire army was destroyed. He felt it on the snow covered road back toward Singhal—when he found Allisia's brother and the rest of their army frozen. Now, Kristian felt it again and knew the dead were coming for him.

Kristian stood and walked carefully back out of the woods, slow at first, and then he yelled, "Run, quickly! Back to the village!"

Not even Cairn stayed to see what was coming for them in the dark. Kristian sensed, more than felt, hands reaching out for him, and he ran even faster. He could smell them as they ran back toward the village. It was Ferral's Deathmarch Army, and the foul smell of rot emanated from their corpses. The four soon outdistanced the dead as they sprinted through the ruined homes. They passed the center of the village and stopped to figure out what to do.

"We must reach the tunnel quickly," Cairn warned.

"What about the fighting?" Maurin shouted. "We'll be cut down by the Holtsmen if they catch us."

Kristian shook his head adamantly at Cairn. "I can't go without warning them of what is coming." Cairn shook his head, not understanding. "No one deserves to die at the hands of those creatures." Kristian ran ahead of his friends toward where the Atlunam hunters and the Holtsmen still fought.

"What were those things?" Maurin asked. "I've never been so scared in my life!"

Mikhal answered him. "They're the dead, forced to serve Ferral." Then he turned to look at Maurin. "What did you think we were trying to warn your village about?"

Maurin shrugged. "I never thought that I would see them. I never thought they were real." His white face showed that he was now a true believer.

As Maurin and the others watched, the dead loved ones of the Atlunam hunters started to crawl out of their homes. They were stumbling out of those places that Hin'cabo and his men had just laid them to rest in, reaching out desperately toward the companions.

Kristian and the others sprinted on toward the river. They came around one of the burned out homes of the village to where a single Atlunam hunter stood defiant against fifty Holtsmen. They formed a circle around the hunter, holding torches high, providing plenty of light for the two men still locked in combat.

It was Hin'cabo. His friends lay on the ground around him wounded or dead. Just one Holtsmen warrior faced him. Kristian could see the eternal hatred in both their faces. They sought to finish the battle with one last fight to the death. A shout broke the silence as they both raised their swords and snarled at each other.

"Stop! Stop," Kristian yelled. He could hear Cairn shouting something in the native language of the Atlunam.

The warriors turned to face him, their stances wary, their swords and axes raised high.

Kristian did not stop but kept coming at them, pointing back behind him. "Cairn, tell them death comes for them out of the forest. Tell them that the sorcerer of Belarn has sent his army to destroy us!"

Cairn said something to them, his voice calm, but threatening at the same time. The crowd started laughing; they did not fear Kristian and his friends or heed their warning. Kristian looked at Cairn waiting for a translation.

When he finished, Cairn looked over at him and shrugged. "I don't know their language very well. I did the best I could."

Kristian was furious. He had lost his patience with all those who scoffed at him every time he tried to warn them. He pushed himself through the warriors to the middle of the circle. Several of them tried to grab him and pull him away, but the man facing Hin'cabo barked something and they let Kristian through.

The Atlunam hunter eyed Kristian with caution. Scratches and wounds covered him, including a terrible gash across his right leg. His heavy panting revealed how hard Hin'cabo had fought and how close he was to defeat. His eyes, however, showed that the Holtsmen still had much to account for. Hin'cabo did not plan to go down easy.

Kristian stepped between Hin'cabo and the Holtsman. He again pointed toward the forest where they had just escaped the evil lurking in the darkness. Hin'cabo shouted, motioning for Kristian to get out of his way. Cairn stepped into the circle, as well. "Hin'cabo says that this is the leader of these murderers. He must kill him to let go of some of the pain he feels."

Kristian shook his head in disgust. "We don't have time for this." He pointed his finger, first at Hin'cabo, and then at all of those around him. "I warned you!"

"Leave, young man," a gruff voice said. "This fight will take long enough as it is. I do not need you further delaying it with your nonsense." The voice belonged to the warrior that faced Hin'cabo. Surprised, Kristian turned to face him. He was tall and had broad shoulders. His dark brown hair fell out from around his helmet hiding many of his features, as did his long beard. Kristian noted that his finely wrought armor had many dents in it.

"It isn't nonsense," Kristian retorted as he pushed his way back out of the circle, "and you have very little time left." He cleared the ring of warriors and headed toward the small rise where the tunnel was located. Kristian's companions followed, eager to leave.

Mikhal added, "It's true. Leave while you can. You can't destroy them." Suspicious, the warriors looked around them for signs of attack. Kristian and his companions left them behind and headed for their escape route. Many of the victorious Holtsmen laughed at Kristian as he fled up toward the hill and escape.

### 14

### Dancing With Death

As the laughter died out, the spectators turned back toward their warrior-captain and his opponent, Hin'cabo. They raised their torches high, shining light down upon the combatants within their small, makeshift arena.

"Hark tanzatzi, krup?" the Holtsman said to Hin'cabo. He waved his sword around in an easy manner suggesting they continue.

Hin'cabo did not respond, but his eyes narrowed in hatred; he moved his injured leg back and raised his sword into a high attack stance.

The Holtsman smiled before rushing in, jabbing at Hin'cabo's middle with his heavy sword. Hin'cabo held his ground, twisting to the side and parrying the thrust away. Then he lunged, swinging diagonally with his short sword toward the Holtsman's head.

Hin'cabo's movements were fast, despite his injuries but not fast enough to catch his opponent off guard. The Holtsman ducked under the strike and kept bowling forward. Hin'cabo, seeing his initial attack miss, dodged to the side. The Holtsman sliced again, his experience and size belying his speed. The Holtsman's tactics were not as graceful as those of the Atlunam, but they were just as effective.

He shouted in fury at Hin'cabo and chopped with his sword. Hin'cabo had no choice but to block the attack. A loud clang echoed through the clearing as their swords crashed together; the force of the blow hard enough that Hin'cabo thought his smaller blade had shattered. The hunter took precious seconds to check his sword and saw that it remained whole, but neither he nor it could take much more.

Gasping for air, Hin'cabo limped away from his enemy, trying to circle around him, looking for an opening. He found none. The Holtsman shouted again and swung his sword in an arc that would have cut Hin'cabo in two. Hin'cabo rolled underneath the attack but had trouble getting back up in time to meet his attacker.

They locked blades again, pummeling each other's face and shoulders with their free fist. The bigger man dropped his sword and grabbed Hin'cabo's sword arm with his right hand while reaching for the dagger belted to his left hip.

He drew it and sliced at Hin'cabo's side. Hin'cabo saw the attack just in time and jumped back, but the warrior still held his sword arm. The long dagger pierced his clothing and jabbed into the right side of his chest. Hin'cabo grimaced but did not hesitate. He kicked the warrior in the groin with all of his strength.

The two remained facing each other for another few moments before they let go and cautiously backed away. Hin'cabo limped and held his side. The Holtsman bent over, gasping for breath.

Then they both heard shouts coming from the back of the ring of spectators.

Kristian climbed the small hill that overlooked Shuru Kaithep and felt the same eerie feeling creep over him. "Hurry. They are closing on us!" The four ran harder up the hill. Cairn reached the top first. He stopped, frozen. Kristian knew immediately what was wrong. The young king reached the hilltop a moment later. Less than one hundred feet from them the army of dead appeared from among the trees.

"It's too late!" Even as he said this Kristian saw forms emerge from the tunnel. It never would have mattered, Kristian realized. They had gained control of the tunnels. If they had made it down the stairs, they would have been trapped between those already occupying the tunnel and those that were above them.

The dead ambled forward, sensing the large group of people in Shuru Kaithep. Some wore armor while others were not even clothed. Many had ghastly wounds where bones or rotting organs jutted out. Maurin nearly vomited from their stench.

"The bridge," Mikhal shouted. "We must use the bridge!" Maurin and Mikhal ran back down the hill. Kristian pulled at Cairn, but he would not move. Puzzled, Kristian looked at his friend. Cairn did not see him. The swordsman focused on the dead creatures, now very close. A little smile appeared on Cairn's face.

"You can't destroy them all. Remember what you said earlier about choosing when and where you would fight?" Kristian pleaded.

Cairn pulled himself free of Kristian's grasp. Without saying anything he walked forward to meet the dead. He raised his sword and cut into them. Kristian stood and watched for only a moment. The Erandian already knew the outcome of the battle. No one could stand against the dead. He wanted to stay and help Cairn but knew the hopelessness of that course. Kristian ran down the hill, hurrying to catch up with Mikhal and Maurin.

The swordsman disappeared in a sea of corpses.

Cairn wanted to fight them alone. He attacked the creatures using every skill he knew. Even though he had avenged Julia, emptiness lingered within him. Cairn thought killing those involved in her death would give him peace, but nothing had replaced the anger. He needed to understand why things happened the way they had so long ago.

Cairn could not accept the fact that his love was dead, that she had been taken from him. The bitterness of having to live without Julia consumed him. He did not fight the dark feelings inside him—he used them. Cairn knew his hatred might destroy him, but he did not care. He could never forget what had happened and did not want to. Cairn was torn between keeping the memory of Julia alive and burying the past. He wanted closure but needed to know the purpose of his existence.

His graceful dance with the blade took him to a place of strange silence and gratification. Cairn had undergone years of training to ensure he could avenge Julia. Ever since he had finished off Garnis and his men, Cairn had asked himself one question over and over: what do I do now?

Cairn obtained some peace of mind in helping Kristian and Mikhal, but the feeling of uncertain destiny continued to haunt him. The pondering never did any good. It left him with more questions than when he started. In the end, Cairn always condemned himself for not saving her. Julia's beautiful face was the center of every dream he remembered. Cairn still saw the long, dark curls falling over her pale shoulders even after all these years. He still remembered the sound of her voice filled with joy and the brightness in her eyes.

"You do still remember me," Julia's smiling voice whispered.

Always. Forever, Cairn assured her.

In a series of actions and counteractions, Cairn sprang from one place to another. Each time, his blade cut into the walking dead. At every step, Cairn remained just out of their reach, knowing that once they grabbed him they would swarm in and tear him apart. So, he kept moving, scything them down like wheat in an endless field. His work had little effect. The dead kept coming for him in their slow, but determined, manner. Even the ones Cairn cut down rose again to continue the assault. Those missing limbs, thanks to his strokes, continued to crawl, reaching out for him.

In the distance, Cairn saw one figure stand out from the rest. The armored thing sat atop a horse motioning for others to join the fight. The rider was dead like the others, but for some reason, it did not act like one of Ferral's mindless tools. Cairn took stock of the rider as he blocked and parried attacks by those carrying weapons. Then Cairn got to a spot with a better view. He had seen the man before somewhere. It was Derout, Ferral's personal bodyguard and leader of the Black Guards.

Cairn could not remember exactly when or where he had seen Derout but assumed it was while spying on one of his targets. General Derout still wore his black armor with the trademark blood smeared symbol across the breastplate. The armor seemed battered and rusted now. Despite his more animated actions, the visible gash that stretched across the general's neck indicated he was among the walking dead. Blotchy purple bruises that could no longer heal covered his skin and his eye sockets were empty. In their place, glowing embers burned. A chill ran through Cairn as Derout looked directly at him. A booming voice emanated from inside the general, though his mouth did not move.

"Destroy him!"

Cairn quickly jumped away putting some distance between him and the dead. The voice continued to resonate through the trees near him. Cairn paused, discouraged and a little bewildered. Hundreds more poured out of the forest and Derout's eyes frightened even the skilled swordsman.

Cairn ran down the hill to catch up with his comrades. Arriving, he saw mass confusion where Hin'cabo had fought the Holtsmen. The living ran everywhere, trying to stay alive. In the gloomy distance, Cairn could see the dead moving in on the village from all sides except from the west near the river.

The men cursed and shouted as they fought the army of dead. Nothing slowed the creatures' advance, and they continued to pull people from the defensive perimeter the Holtsmen had established. Then, small groups of Holtsmen began breaking off from the main line of defense to protect themselves. Cairn could see that few would survive.

"Cairn!" someone shouted from the bridge. He looked over and saw Kristian and the others standing on the wooden structure that led to safety. Cairn ran over to them, dodging grasping hands that reached out for him.

"You're insane," Kristian exclaimed more than a little angry. "Now do you believe me?" Cairn looked back over his shoulder at the fools still fighting in the village. The Holtsmen were nearly finished. A few ran toward them, realizing at last that the bridge provided the only means of escape. The companions saw the desperate nature of the situation and moved across the water to the far side. When they reached the other side, Cairn noticed Hin'cabo was with them. Limping and breathing heavily, the Hunter of Shuru Kaithep was nearly unconscious. If it were not for Mikhal holding Hin'cabo up, he would never have made it.

"Bhalia," Hin'cabo said weakly, pointing at one of the posts next to them that supported the bridge. Cairn came closer to hear him. "Bhalia ... Bhalia mafi dundera." Cairn looked from the hunter to the post and back again. He finally seemed to understand what Hin'cabo wanted and moved over to examine the post.

"He said to destroy the bridge," Cairn explained as he examined the wooden post. Strong ropes, used as handrails, were secured to the post and then staked into the ground to keep the ropes taut. As they all continued to look for a way to bring the bridge down, several of the Holtsmen ran across to safety. They continued on into the forest ignoring Hin'cabo and the others.

Cairn was puzzled; he looked back over at the hunter. Hin'cabo moved his hand up and down in a chopping motion.

Without hesitation, Cairn used his sword to cut the rope between the post and the stake. Kristian did the same to the rope secured on the other post. The handrails sagged slowly before the entire bridge collapsed. Some built-in design had caused the entire structure to fall all at once.

Just as it fell, one last warrior made it across by lunging for the opposite bank. He landed on his chest, half of his body hanging over the edge of the embankment. Others fell to the water far below, shouting curses.

The warrior scrambled up by grabbing hold of exposed roots. "A true warrior would not stand there when another warrior requires assistance," the man said between gasps for air.

They recognized him as the same man that had fought Hin'cabo in the village. "You didn't want our help before," Maurin accused. The man nodded amused by the rebuke.

He stood up, saw those standing around him, and then spotted Hin'cabo. The Holtsman reached for his scabbard, but it was empty. Hin'cabo's friends raised their swords aiming their points at his throat. Seeing his predicament, the Holtsman raised his hands in surrender.

"Perhaps, we should have listened more closely to your warning," the Holtsman offered calmly. The Holtsman looked back over his shoulder to the fallen bridge. The dead were content, for the moment, to destroy those trapped in the village. "Dashamn! Kabileh jugandar o fleih! Run or fly, my Holtsmen!" He pounded his fist against the side of his leg, cursing. Fuming, he turned back to those who still held swords against him.

Then his shoulders sagged, and he shrugged in a gesture of capitulation. "I am Balhir, Firstborn of Vortah, the Chief of the Cougar Holt. I am at your mercy."

Hin'cabo looked at him in contempt, his words slurred so bad that Cairn could not understand him.

"He said that I deserve no mercy. He said that none of my people deserve mercy." Balhir's brow furrowed in hatred, his lip turning upward on one side.

Cairn broke the silence. "It won't take them long to find a way to us."

"They're able to find people over long distances. It's as if they can sense the living," Kristian added. The group backed away from Balhir with caution, lowering their swords. Their mercy had a two-fold purpose. For one, if they killed the Holtsman, he would just come back as one of Ferral's minions. Second, no one deserved to become one of the walking dead. Keeping an eye on Balhir, they turned and ran, as best they could with Hin'cabo, into the woods.

They did not go far before they heard someone shout, "Wait!" It was Balhir again. He came running up to them almost as exhausted as Hin'cabo.

Panting, Balhir offered, "I have no love for your friend. He is my sworn enemy." He looked from the wounded Atlunam hunter back to Kristian. "But you tried to save me and my men. Thank you."

Kristian stood there for a moment unsure of what to do. Finally, he nodded. They turned to continue their escape, but Balhir called again, "please, wait. What are your names? Where are you going?"

Without looking back Kristian said, "I am Kristian, and we have no idea where we're going."

"But we know better than to stay here," Maurin added. By this time Balhir had caught up to them again.

"My father would speak with you. He would surely offer you comfort and aid for saving me."

"We did not intend to save you," Mikhal exclaimed. "If you hadn't jumped, you would be in the river with your comrades."

Balhir hesitated and then smiled. His mustache curved upward as his grin widened. He laughed. "That is true, friend. But you did try to warn me, and you did not kill me when you had the chance. I am sure that if the Atlunam traitor had his way my throat would already be slit."

Agitated, Kristian turned away.

"Please, come with me. Let me repay your act of kindness. Not many people will stand between an Atlunam and Holtsman as they prepare to kill each other," Balhir pressed.

"How far is it?" Kristian asked, giving in a little.

"Not far. We could be there in less than two days." Seeing that Kristian still seemed doubtful, Balhir added, "It is an impregnable fortress. You will be safe."

"What about Hin'cabo?" Mikhal asked.

Balhir shook his head emphatically. "No! He cannot come!" He looked at the now unconscious hunter and shrugged. "Leave him. He will die soon anyway."

"He will not," Maurin shot back. "He lost a lot of blood and needs water badly, but he'll survive."

"Not on this side of the river," Balhir stated. "This land now belongs to my father. We have claimed it as part of the debt owed us for the slaughter of the villagers that were under our care." Balhir pointed an accusing finger at Hin'cabo. "Innocents that he and his men helped murder two nights ago. We found them in a mass grave not more than a day's journey from here. The hunter will die as soon my father sees him. That I promise you."

Kristian was disgusted with the warrior. "Hin'cabo has been our friend much longer than you. He and his men saved our lives on the same day you are speaking of. There is no way that he could be responsible."

"Then he will die for another atrocity he and his cursed woods folk are responsible for. The men of Cougar Holt do not forget that their ancient enemy, the Atlunam, want what we have. We will not give it to them."

"I don't know what happened between your two people. I can't imagine anything so bad to have caused such hatred that people could go at each other for hundreds of years," Kristian shot back.

Kristian walked away from him motioning for his companions to come with him. "As I said, Hin'cabo is our friend, and we will not leave him. We are leaving you."

Leaves started to rustle all around them. They raised their swords, waiting. The dead could not have come across the river that quickly, Kristian thought. Balhir looked around him, worried. Having lost his sword, he picked up the largest branch he could find.

At least thirty men emerged from the brush surrounding Kristian; they were the surviving men of Balhir's war party. The Holtsmen were gasping for air, muddy and bleeding. When they saw their leader surrounded, the warriors immediately snarled and raised their weapons.

Balhir laughed at his turn of luck. "Ha!" he exclaimed. "Now please, lay down your swords. You seem to know quite a bit about those creatures that attacked us. My father will want to know about these potential threats."

"They are definitely a threat, Balhir. That, I can promise you," Kristian said as he lowered his sword. He was in no mood to fight. Mikhal also seemed to see the futility of struggling and lowered his sword, as well. Cairn relaxed his stance, a little. Not because he appeared afraid of the men, but because he seemed interested by the turn of events. Balhir's men came down then and took Hin'cabo from Maurin and Mikhal.

"What are you going to do to him," Mikhal demanded.

"Vortah will decide his fate," one of the Holtsmen called out in a gruff voice. Kristian looked at Mikhal uncertain of what to do. Mikhal shrugged. They let Balhir's men take their weapons.

A brief moment of conflict caused the Erandians and Maurin to believe they might die after all. Cairn did not seem willing to part with his sword, and Balhir's men surrounded him. Kristian gave Cairn a pleading look, wondering why the swordsman had become so unpredictable. Maybe he has always been unpredictable, Kristian thought.

The look the young king sent Cairn was a strong warning not to provoke a fight. Cairn nodded calmly but with a little disappointment. Then he, too, let down his guard and allowed the Holtsmen to take his sword.

### 15

### The Holtsmen

Balhir moved them as far west as he could that night. Cairn and Kristian had destroyed the bridge, but Balhir and his men took no chances. The macabre and terrifying events in the village filled the Holtsmen's minds; they were glad to keep moving. As dawn broke, the exhausted men of the Cougar Holt and their prisoners dropped to the ground.

Mikhal and Maurin moved to check on Hin'cabo. The Atlunam hunter had faded in and out of consciousness throughout the night. Their injured companion slept now. Maurin could hear him breathing more regular, if a bit shallow. Maurin's eyes were filled with worry as he looked at Kristian.

"Other than the stab wound in his side, most of his wounds are minor ... I think he has a punctured lung." Maurin showed Kristian the bandaged wound. "It has stopped bleeding, but ... I don't know what else to do. I've never had to treat battle injuries. I wish I knew more."

Kristian tried to smile. "You're doing fine. He would not have made it this far without your help." The words held little comfort. Neither of them wanted to see Hin'cabo die.

Balhir hobbled over to them, his own injuries making it difficult to walk. Dropping his helmet and shield he sat down wearily next to his prisoners. Balhir wiped sweat and blood from his forehead and then looked at his former opponent with unusual compassion.

"It may be better if he dies now. My father will take little pity on him. The hunter fought well and showed great courage. He was a worthy opponent."

"His name is Hin'cabo," Kristian stated, barely holding back his anger. Balhir nodded.

"This wound is more serious than I thought. Hin'cabo will die if he does not get better help," Maurin added, staring with defiance at his captor. Balhir struggled back to his feet, stretching his sore limbs.

"I offer you this then. I care nothing for this heathen or any of his people, but I will not forget that you tried to warn me of those creatures." Balhir turned to leave, then added, "If you want my assistance, I will do all I can to help him ... until he stands before Vortah."

Later that morning, Hin'cabo opened his eyes while Mikhal watched over him. The hunter drank some water, but refused food, and grabbed firmly on to Mikhal's hand. Hin'cabo looked determined, stubborn, and the Erandian officer knew that his Atlunam friend could survive—if he wanted to.

Mikhal thought he knew what might motivate Hin'cabo. "You must fight hard to get healthy again, Hin'cabo. We must get back and warn your people about the dead invading your land, but it is going to be difficult. None of us can speak your language except Cairn, and I doubt your king will listen to an outsider. Your people will need to hear it from you." Mikhal leaned close, whispering. "I swear that I will lay down my own life before I allow them to take yours." Hin'cabo must have understood. He smiled faintly and gripped Mikhal's hand as hard as he could. Hin'cabo, the Hunter of Shuru Kaithep would survive.

Mikhal smiled back, hoping he could keep his end of the bargain. He must survive, Mikhal thought in desperation, because I need to understand what is happening to me. I must understand why I am tormented by the demon.

Mikhal stayed by his side the remainder of the day, giving Hin'cabo water, a little food, and protection. The cavalier continued west with his companions, toward Balhir's stronghold, acting as a personal body guard to the injured Atlunam. Even without his sword, Mikhal carried himself with a presence that forced the Holtsmen to reconsider any plans they may have secretly had about killing their prisoner.

Balhir was true to his word. During their second break for the day, he had Maurin re-dress the wound, applying a salve to prevent infection. He also shared his limited knowledge of treating wounds.

"Maybe I should wrap his chest to prevent him from breathing too heavily and hurting himself more," Maurin said to Balhir, asking more than suggesting.

Balhir shook his head in disagreement. "It is a small puncture wound, and I do not think his lung has collapsed. Wrapping may do worse harm than good. Shallow breathing, associated with a wrap, often allows foul air in that can't be forced back out. Your friend could get worse." Balhir's words made sense to Maurin. He did not wrap Hin'cabo's chest but contented himself with cleaning and re-bandaging all the other wounds.

The healer had little time to finish his work. The Holtsmen were eager to put more distance between themselves and the Atlunam village and convinced Balhir to leave by mid-afternoon. They made a litter for Hin'cabo out of strong branches from the surrounding trees and started out again as soon as they had finished.

The Holtsmen treated their captives well, surprising Kristian. They walked in the middle of the small band of Balhir's men talking freely. Nor did the Holtsmen bind them in any way. In fact, Balhir often came up to Kristian to ask him questions about the dead. Kristian told him what he knew. Cairn told of his own encounter with the creatures and their leader, General Derout.

"This general that spoke with another's voice must be Ferral's link to his army of dead soldiers," Kristian thought out loud.

Cairn agreed. "I'm pretty sure I have seen him before, but I'm not sure where." Cairn shrugged, pushing it out of his mind for the moment. "I would never have believed any of it had I not seen it for myself. I'm sorry I doubted you, Kristian. Ferral has a lot of power, but I will help you defeat him by whatever means I have at my disposal."

Speaking with Cairn reminded Kristian once more of his quest. He swore, shaking his head in defeat.

How many more times will I be forced further away from Allisia? How much more can she endure as Ferral's prisoner? Whatever else Ferral had said or done, Kristian felt the sorcerer would do little to physically harm her. Ferral had said he would claim her as his own to make Kristian's defeat even harder to endure. As awful as it sounded, it was better to hope that Ferral wanted her for himself rather than use her as a sacrifice and murder her.

"How far is it to your father's stronghold?" Kristian asked.

"One more day, at least," Balhir replied. Kristian lowered his head in frustration.

That night Balhir did not risk a fire, afraid the Deathmarch Army might still find them. Mikhal told him that it did not matter. "The dead can find you whether you are shining as bright as a star or hiding in the dark. They seem to sense the living, craving our souls or something like that. The creatures need no light to help them." The Holtsmen grew visibly distressed by this revelation but still decided that it would be wiser not to light a flame.

Mikhal checked on his friend again before lying down. Hin'cabo seemed improved, and the hunter slept fitfully. Mikhal lay down next to him, somewhat comforted, and after spending time pondering what would happen once they reached Vortah's stronghold, he fell asleep.

Again, Mikhal dreamed of her.

He sees no beauty, feels no lost love. She is the demon monster and leads an army of the dead through the night. Thousands march under her direction as they silently move onward toward some distant objective. Mikhal fears and loathes the demon. The dead surround her, their wounds and rotting features as horrible to look at as the monster she has become. She wears black armor beneath her blood red cloak, the personification of pure hatred. She lifts her hand, pointing toward distant hills in the darkness and the army moves onward ... silent.

She laughs and the sinister sound makes Mikhal hate her even more. He does not care how beautiful or mysterious she appeared to him before. The demon is a destroyer that has to be killed. The demon turns to look at Mikhal, sensing his anger and hatred through his dream. She looks into his soul and whatever she sees there frightens her. Mikhal can see it in her glowing yellow eyes. The look of fear breaks her hold on his dream, and the demon and her army fade away.

The next morning the small band of Holtsmen and their prisoners left the seclusion of the Great Forest. Before them was an expanse of rolling plains covered by long, brown grass. Kristian and Mikhal pulled Hin'cabo on the litter, but they stopped to take in their surroundings. A few, solitary mountains dotted the horizon. They jutted from the earth like the knuckles of a clenched fist. Balhir indicated the closest of them was their destination. They would have to hurry to reach it by nightfall.

On a hilltop, not far away, pennants flapped in the wind. Kristian looked at Balhir, puzzled. The big warrior scowled at Hin'cabo's sleeping form then looked back to the hill.

"Come. This will not take long and it is something you need to see. Now, I will show you who the true monsters are," Balhir promised. With reluctance, the prisoners marched toward the hill.

Banners marked the corners of a large open pit. Kristian looked down in disgust at the remains of at least a hundred naked bodies, arms and legs bound by leather straps. Balhir's muscles tensed, his eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into an angry snarl as he came forward and pointed down into the mass grave.

"I suspect my brother is somewhere within that heap," Balhir claimed, barely holding back his anger. "He and his men did not return from their patrol nearly a month ago. The nearby village under my brother's protection is deserted." Balhir stopped, unable to go on.

The Holtsman shouted, "I'll wager there is another such pit nearby, and in it, we will find many more bodies." The Cougar Holt warriors turned as one to stare at Hin'cabo. "Whether he is to blame or not, we do not care. He is an Atlunam hunter and shares the guilt of all his people."

Mikhal took a step forward. "And what were your plans, then, for the Atlunam village? How many times have your warriors been responsible for killing innocent people?"

"Nad nun induce isa harba ... there are no innocents in this war. Both our peoples are raised knowing that the other is a sworn enemy." Balhir's men nodded in agreement.

"For centuries, these arrogant people have thought they deserved more than what they had. The Atlunam somehow felt they were a chosen race, that they were entitled to certain rights and resources that weren't theirs." Balhir gestured to the plains that surrounded them. "The dominion of the Atlunam ends at the forest line. Our people have settled in this area for two hundred years. But every so often, a raiding party from the woods sneaks out, in the middle of the night, and kills a lot of innocent people. They are afraid of our expanding influence. They fear what they can't control and have decided it's better to kill and try to subjugate than to reason.

"Yes," Balhir added, "we were invading the woods to find the village. If the dead had not beaten us there, then we would have done the same thing. The blonde fairies deserve nothing better."

"Even the women and children?" Maurin asked.

"My brother is in that heap, healer," Balhir yelled in Maurin's face. "Do you know what it is like to live, knowing that another group of people want you dead? That they are willing to come at you in the middle of the night, capture you, slit your throat, and then toss your body into an unmarked pit? They were slaughtered like sheep. Their hands are tied behind their backs. Their throats are slit." He sobbed unable to hold back tears.

Kristian shook his head, confused. "I don't understand why Ferral even bothered sending the dead after either of your people. You'll destroy each other with little of his help."

They left soon afterwards hoping to reach the Cougar Holt before it got dark. None of them wanted to guess at how far Ferral's control over the dead extended, and they did not want to be anywhere near the dead come dark.

Kristian and the others stood, staring at the chaos ahead of them. In the darkness they could see hundreds of flames wavering from bulwarks on top of the distant stronghold. Holtsmen struggled to repel a seething mass threatening to bring down the walls of their mighty fortress.

The keep was carved out of the granite cliff of a single mountain jutting up from the smaller foothills surrounding it. The massive promontory loomed out over the valley five thousand feet above the rocky floor, with two sharp ridgelines running down either side of the valley. The fortress looked extremely well protected despite the vast number of invaders. The walls were high and tied into the natural defenses of the cliffs and ravines of the mountainside. The approach to the Cougar Holt was steep; the canyon littered with boulders that prevented heavy siege weapons from getting close enough to the fortress to do any damage.

Balhir was right, Kristian admitted. The fortress seems impenetrable.

An outer wall stood nearly sixty feet tall, and every two hundred feet along the perimeter, a tower overlooked the approach to the fortress. Now thousands of struggling forms surrounded the wall. Ferral's dead creatures had beaten them to the Holtsmen and begun their attack. Kristian could barely make out the warriors that stood atop the wall, hiding behind the defenses, but their sharp cries came to him on the wind.

The image shocked Balhir and his men. The size of the invading army was enormous, far beyond anything they could have comprehended before. Even Kristian and Mikhal, who had seen the creation of Ferral's new army, realized this force was much larger.

"How many do you think there are?" Maurin asked, dismayed.

"Enough," Cairn replied. Kristian knew the swordsman was right. Ferral's Deathmarch Army did not rely upon technology to aid them in their assault. The creatures used their massive numbers to swarm defenders and would eventually prevail.

"The dead are mindless creatures obeying Ferral. They do not require any justification from him ... they have no ability to reason," Kristian told Balhir. "Ferral tells them to attack, and the creatures attack, because it is his and Belatarn's will. That's all they seem to require.

"We will have to wait until light to move closer. They can't harm you during the day," Kristian said. Balhir began to move toward his home. He motioned for the others to follow.

"There is a way into the fortress from the far side of the mountain. It is small and extremely well hidden. We will not wait."

It took Balhir most of the night to find the secret entrance. As they approached, Kristian could hear the sounds of war echoing through the foothills. Men cursed and shouted orders. Weapons clanged and echoed through the ravine but eventually faded.

A few of the dead sensed the small party's approach and came to investigate. With difficulty, the living destroyed them. Balhir and his men hacked at them with their heavy swords and axes. When all of their limbs and heads were removed the bodies became still again. Kristian suspected the spell recognized when a corpse had no more chance of reaching the living and returned that portion of potential control to Ferral for use on other corpses.

Balhir rushed Kristian and his companions away from the scene.

Balhir is wondering how many are out there attacking his people and how long it will take to destroy those creatures. He knows there is no way they can survive, Kristian thought.

Balhir led them past something that Kristian would have overlooked. Someone had etched a small marker into the side of the mountain face, a circular pattern carved into one of the rocks, a cougar's face. The signal reassured Balhir, who called everyone close to him. He guided them up a small, narrow draw that turned sharply to the left, and then to the right.

Balhir disappeared after a few turns through the narrow defile. One by one, the party moved behind a large boulder into the concealment of an entryway little more than a crack in the side of the draw. The Holtsmen had concealed the passage so well that no one, unaware of its existence, could discover it.

"What is the fascination with all of these secret passages, anyway?" Maurin asked. The Holtsmen shot him a warning look, and Maurin lowered his head in silence.

Balhir used flint to light a torch that he found on a makeshift shelf along the rock wall. He handed more torches out to his men and then moved deeper into the crevice. Balhir gave no words of warning as he squeezed through an even smaller crack at the back of the entryway.

Kristian watched him go, wondering if they would end up stuck with no way back out. One of Balhir's men grunted for them to move. Kristian looked at Mikhal who only shrugged. Kristian led his companions through the second crevice. They struggled to assist Hin'cabo through but managed without injuring him further.

After the tight squeeze, the passageway opened into a larger chamber. The Erandians and their companions could see preparations for a long defense all over the room. Kristian realized this tunnel had been man-made using precision tools for both the walls and floors. A massive round stone sat on a slight incline next to the entry Kristian had just come through. A small pin prevented the boulder from rolling down into position in front of the crack, permanently blocking the entryway. Kristian also saw several pikes, axes and swords lining the walls, as well as additional blankets and torches. The room served as a repost for patrols headed in or out through the secret path.

Balhir went to one of the racks and inspected several swords before choosing one. He slid it into his empty scabbard then pulled two of his men over to him.

Kristian and his friends waited uncomfortably for a few moments while the rest of Balhir's' men entered. Balhir conversed in quiet tones with the two soldiers pointing at the large round rock. They nodded determined to carry out his order.

Balhir turned to Kristian to explain. "Halig and Arilton will stand watch. If the dead attempt to come through here, they will either destroy them or block the passage." He paused to look back at the two men making sure they understood the importance of their mission. "If they block it we may end up trapped inside the keep until this battle is over. If they fail to block the entry and are overwhelmed we will certainly be trapped." Halig and Arilton nodded with confidence and turned toward the entrance to start their watch.

Satisfied, Balhir started off toward the opposite end of the chamber. A metal door stood ajar separating the guardroom from a passage that climbed into the darkness. Smooth stone steps cut around a central column made climbing easier for them. Kristian was glad they would not have to climb the outside face of the mountain. With the pace that Balhir set, and with Hin'cabo in tow, they would find themselves hard-pressed to keep up.

An hour later, Balhir stopped on a landing. He stood, looking back down toward Kristian with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot. Kristian climbed the last step and bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

At least, I didn't fall too far behind, Kristian thought. Kristian panted as he moved to the back of the landing to make room for his comrades, light headed and heart racing. He was glad to see that Mikhal and Maurin had just as much trouble climbing the last step as he had. Thankfully, Balhir's men had carried Hin'cabo up the stairs because Kristian was not sure he and his companions had the strength to do it.

Balhir handed Kristian a flask of water. "Drink this and rest. We will continue again when you have caught your breath.

"Continue?" Maurin asked, afraid to hear Balhir's response.

Balhir grinned, pointing off to his left. The companions could see even more steps winding up into infinity. A low moan escaped the healer's mouth.

Kristian was sore when they finally stopped at the top landing. Another iron door, this one secured from the other side, blocked the way forward. Balhir banged on the door with the pommel of his sword. He waited a few moments then began banging on it with more force, cursing someone on the far side. A small view port in the door slid open. Balhir banged on the door again shouting at the man. The guard on the other side glanced around at Balhir and his group then he shut the view port. A moment more passed before they heard a muffled clank. A stream of light followed as it opened.

Balhir moved to grab the shoulder of the guard with one massive hand. He pointed back toward the stretcher that carried Hin'cabo into the room. "Importu moi pad, Vortah, nuzshna goboreet ohn. Nuzshna gustans ee Atlube!" He translated for the benefit of Kristian and his friends. "Inform my father, Vortah, that I have to speak with him. I have brought guests, as well as ... an Atlunam prisoner."

The guard's eyes widened in surprise. He quickly nodded, saying something that must have meant compliance before he darted out of the room.

Mikhal moved to hover over Hin'cabo. "What will you do with him?" Mikhal asked.

Balhir looked at all of them, raising his hands to placate Mikhal. "My father will determine the Atlunam hunter's fate. I promise to do what I can. He will receive treatment until he is ready to stand against the accusations." Balhir motioned for some of his men to take Hin'cabo out of the room.

Mikhal stood in front of them, fists planted firmly on his hips.

"Somehow, Balhir, I don't think your word is good enough protection to ensure Hin'cabo remains safe," Mikhal said.

His words set Balhir off. "Mother of Goats! You think my word is worth less than yours?" He was so furious that spittle flew from his mouth landing in his beard.

"When Balhir says that he will be taken care of, then it will be so, young fool. I am the son of Vortah, First of Cougar Holt, and my word is a promise that all in the clan must obey." Balhir stood there, challenging Mikhal to say anything. They stared each other down, the tension building between them. Finally Mikhal nodded, satisfied, and stepped aside.

Hin'cabo could not understand what they said, but he seemed to comprehend what had just happened. The hunter raised his hand, resigning himself to whatever fate Vortah decided. He was still too weak to fight his enemies, anyway. Hin'cabo waved in silent farewell to Cairn and Mikhal as the Holtsmen took him away from his companions.

"Come," Balhir said. "I will take you to a place where you can rest for awhile. I must speak with my father about what we have seen. I am sure that he will want to speak with you also." Balhir led them out of the guardroom and into a dark corridor. He turned to his right and moved around another corner to his left. Only small torches, unevenly spaced along the walls, lit the hallway. The number of turns the Holtsman made soon confused Kristian's sense of direction. If Kristian later had to navigate on his own, he would easily become lost.

Balhir stopped in front of a small staircase that led upward. Maurin moaned, "Not more steps?"

Balhir did not bother to reply. Their climb was short, only two flights. They walked out of the stairwell into a larger hallway. Sconces, set with regular spacing along the walls, lit this hall better than those below. Kristian also noted the walls and ceiling were better maintained. Everything was made of the same rock as the mountain.

Mikhal gave voice to Kristian's thought. "Are we still inside the mountain?" Balhir nodded as he continued to guide them down the hall. "How long did it take to build this place?"

"Cougar Holt was one of the first strongholds established to protect our mines from the Atlunam. That was roughly eight hundred years ago. We continue to carve into the face of the mountain as our Holt grows."

"How many people live here?" Maurin asked, astonished by the size of the stronghold.

"There are over four thousand people living under the protection of the Cougar Holt. One thousand of them are battle-hardened warriors that have fought many campaigns against the Atlunam." He turned to look at Kristian. "Though we are the oldest Holt, we are one of the smaller ones. The Dakir, Bear Holt, is where our king, Chandahk the Second lives. There are over nine thousand under his protection."

"Why would the Atlunam come all the way out here to attack you?" Kristian asked. "They seem to have everything they need within their forest. It doesn't make sense."

Balhir smirked. "You can't make sense of the Atlunam, Kristian. They're inbred fools still clinging to the empty promises of power from a forgotten empire."

"But you said they wanted the precious ores and minerals that you mined," Mikhal interjected. "I don't see why you can't work this out ... why you can't trade peacefully with each other."

Balhir shook his head, emphatically denying Mikhal's logic. "We've tried all of that before. Concessions have been made and there has been peace before ... not for very long but there were chances." The warrior hesitated, unsure of how much to tell the outsiders. After a moment of internal battle, Balhir threw up his hands. "The damage was done a thousand years ago and they can't be trusted—your kind will never understand!"

The big warrior stormed off, leaving them there in the hallway. Several of his men motioned for Kristian and his companions to move down a different corridor. They had no idea where the Holtsmen led them.

### 16

### Visions

There is only darkness. She tries to fill the emptiness with her voice, which she can barely hear, and knows no one else will come to her rescue. She screams as loud as she can, terrified now that she might never escape the void, and still, no one comes. She can feel the tears running down her face. She can sense the weight of the darkness all around her. She fears that this might be her world, forever.

Startled by the realism of the nightmare, Allisia sat up quickly trying to remember where she was. She slowly opened her eyes to another world of darkness. This was, she hoped, the real world. The light from small glowing embers in the fireplace projected shadows onto everything, but now Allisia remembered where she was. She was safe, for the moment.

Allisia closed her eyes again remembering the terrible dream, knowing that it was the kind of world that Ferral was trying to force upon all of Erinia. She tried to remain calm despite the vision, but the terrible image of what would happen to the land if Ferral was not stopped was burned into her mind. Allisia wondered, as she lay staring at the rafters, if there was any possible way to stop him before it was too late.

The fisherman had brought her to the shore of the Utwan Sea late last night. It was midnight and pitch black when they climbed down onto the sandy beach. The old man patiently waited until Allisia was ready to travel, and then he took her a short distance through some trees to a small cottage. As they approached the porch, the wooden door slowly opened. A soft, warm glow emanated from the house. Allisia was not surprised by the presence of a man even more bent and old than the fisherman standing on the porch to greet them.

The cottage owner smiled, approaching the fisherman and hugging him as though they were family who had not seen each other in a long time.

"May God bless me ... it has been so long since the last time I saw you," the fisherman exclaimed. "It always brings great joy to my heart to see you, Nicodemus. You are one of God's cherished and he surely watches over you."

Nicodemus let out a small chuckle. "He must indeed. I don't know how I'm still able to stand, as old as I am. I'm not sure why I haven't been called to Him, yet. I'm impatient to leave this world and find my place in His Kingdom."

The fisherman smiled, saying, "Nicodemus, God has one more task for you." The cottage owner turned his head to look at Allisia. Until the mention of a task, Nicodemus had not even noticed her standing behind the fisherman. He looked back and forth between her and his friend skeptically. Allisia noticed that Nicodemus had a nervous habit of biting his lower lip.

Nicodemus chuckled again and motioned for them to come inside. "Welcome, young lady, welcome. I'm not used to receiving people, but," he looked to the fisherman giving him a sad, knowing look before continuing, "you need not worry about a thing. Please, come into my home. We will share some hot soup together." Nicodemus went halfway through the door, and then he turned back toward his friend.

The old fisherman smiled warmly, saying, "I cannot stay. This is a dark time, Nicodemus, and others need my help. Do you know what it is that God intends for this child?"

Nicodemus nodded in response. "He has shown me glimpses of what He intends. I will show her the way." The fisherman nodded giving thanks and blessings of safety for the two of them. He hugged Allisia with a deep, abiding love, giving her a newfound feeling of confidence and security. Then the fisherman stepped off the porch and headed back toward his boat.

"Thank you ... I don't even know your name," Allisia stammered out as she lost sight of the fisherman in the darkness.

"I'm just a simple fisherman. My name was never important," his voice called back from among the trees. "It's the message that I've tried to bring to the people of this world that's important ... not who I am or who I was." Nicodemus placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and guided her back into the cottage.

Once inside, she could clearly see Nicodemus's features. He was very small, nearly doubled over by age, which Allisia guessed to be close to one hundred years. Tufts of wispy hair protruded from various places on a mostly bald scalp. A long white and tangled beard fell from his chin and face, hanging below his waist. Nicodemus's clothes were like the fisherman's, threadbare but neat and clean. He motioned for the girl to sit close to the fireplace as he hobbled over to a cupboard in the corner and fetched two bowls.

Allisia looked around, uncomfortable with the silence. Finally, she said, "My name is Allisia. I was a prisoner of Ferral, the King of Belarn. The fisherman helped me escape him."

The old man did not bother to turn to face her. Instead, he continued to pour hot soup from a bowl he had pulled out from the fireplace. "Yes, yes. I know all about you, Princess Allisia of Duellr."

"How do you know who I am," she demanded. Nicodemus turned back toward her carrying the two bowls, shuffling his feet across the wooden floor. "How do you know who I am?" Allisia repeated a bit softer this time.

The old man sighed unused to the impatience of youth. "Do you know that I have said more to you than I have said to anyone, well, besides God, in forty years?"

Nicodemus held up a hand to quiet her. "I see things. I see many things. Sometimes the visions God grants me are glorious and sometimes they are terrible prophecies." He stopped to blow on his spoon before putting some broth into his mouth. Nicodemus slurped loudly.

Allisia was getting frustrated. He's avoiding my questions on purpose, she thought. Nicodemus grinned confirming her suspicions. Then his mood turned serious.

"Allisia, what I have been shown of your experiences was not good. Your terrors fill my mind. I have felt your suffering, and I no longer sleep at night. I have known for some time that you and I were to meet. God told me in my dreams."

"God has told you who I am?" Allisia asked in disbelief.

"After what you have witnessed, how can you not believe in God," Nicodemus countered.

Allisia's shoulders slumped forward, a heavy weight replacing the feelings the fisherman had left her with. "I believe in God. I just don't understand why he has abandoned me." She looked to Nicodemus for answers, but he did not reply. He looked at her for several moments, not saying a word, and then he went back to his bowl of soup. When they finished eating, Nicodemus pointed to a small room toward the back of the cottage.

"There is a cot and some warm blankets in there. It has been a long night for you, Princess Allisia of Duellr. You should rest. The next few days will test you sorely and there is no need to begin anything immediately." Nicodemus collected their bowls rinsing them in a bucket of water. He replaced them in the cupboard and then moved behind a blanketed partition at the opposite corner of the common room.

He did not bother to look back over his shoulder as he moved the blanket aside. "Good night, sweet girl. I hope you get some well-deserved rest. Tomorrow you will need all of your strength." Already down on his bed, Nicodemus called out, "Don't worry about the fire. Good night."

Allisia did indeed struggle through the next day, fretting over all of the tragic events she had put aside while with the fisherman. She had not slept well despite Nicodemus's wish. Allisia turned constantly, caught up in her blankets, as she tried to fend off Ferral's continuous attacks. She had finally awakened just as Ferral pinned her to the elegant bed and begun tearing at her clothes.

Allisia dressed in a hurry, not wanting to be alone. Nicodemus was not in the main room, so she opened the door and looked around the front porch for him. The cool sea air felt refreshing on her face and it eased her troubled mind, but she would rather have had his company for reassurance. Only half realizing what she did, Allisia walked out of the cottage and down the front steps onto the snowy ground. She immediately lost her footing, falling backwards. Allisia caught herself just before her head smacked into the corner of the lowest step.

"You must always be aware of the pitfalls around you, young princess." Nicodemus said, rounding the corner of the cottage. "To ignore the dangers of the many traps around you will certainly spell doom." He gave her another one of his low chuckles, not really a laugh Allisia decided. It was more deliberate than that.

"You have much to learn," Nicodemus reminded Allisia.

"What must I learn?" Allisia asked. "Why must I learn?" She stood cautiously, wiping the snow from her dress, and then turned to face the old man. He was carrying a sack full of twigs and limbs, which seemed too heavy a burden for such an old man. She hurriedly moved over to help. Nicodemus gently refused to let her take the bundle of wood from him.

Shaking his head, he said, "Allisia, the burden you will have to carry will be much heavier than mine." With that said, Nicodemus moved with great care up the steps and into his home. As Allisia began to follow him, a sudden dizziness overtook her. She fainted, falling back onto the snowy ground.

Allisia was dimly aware of what happened. She could not move but was somehow able to see things in her mind. They were images she could not control. She saw the black walls of Belarna. Lightning streaked across the sky as snow fell heavily upon the citadel. A large thunderclap echoed through the region and a portion of the palace roof flew outward. As pieces of wood and slate fell, a figure silently rose from the gaping hole. Ferral, Allisia realized. The mad king hovered above the palace for a moment to look at her. He grinned and then flew away to the west.

Allisia's eyes opened slowly. Her head spun and she shut her eyes again, trying to hold down the feeling of nausea. She was unsuccessful. After retching, the princess slowly stood, bracing herself by keeping her hands on her knees. Allisia's breathing was labored, but it soon returned to normal. She felt more than saw Nicodemus standing in the doorway. Allisia said nothing, too embarrassed by what had happened.

"So," Nicodemus said. "It has already begun."

Ferral knelt in the altar chamber at the very top of his tower, the same chamber where he had first raised the demon by killing his father. That was a necessary and justified killing, Ferral reminded himself. They were all justified in the name of Belatarn. He had always known that he was chosen for some awesome and terrible purpose. The prince had realized at an early age that his siblings and father would try to stop him, and nothing could be allowed to turn him from his destiny. Now all of them were gone, their deaths pleasing to Belatarn. But there is something else, Ferral had come to realize. There is more that I can have ... none have come as far in the dark arts as I have. I can have total control, total power.

Darkness surrounded him. The only sound was the high whine of the wind flying in through a crack in the window's shutter. Ferral rose, crunching scattered bones under his boot, and walked toward the small window. The place had fallen into disrepair since the demon's arrival. Ferral often allowed the demon-woman to use the place as a sanctuary, and he surmised that she brought victims back to the high tower to feed upon them to keep her beautiful form.

Ferral smiled and pushed open the wooden shutter. He looked west toward the sea and the mountains beyond.

Hatred filled his soul; hatred for everything that lived, especially for the Princess of Duellr. He had been tempted to keep her as his pet, even perhaps as his consort, bearing his heirs but that was before Allisia's treachery. The knife wound had been deep, puncturing an organ. Ferral remembered the pain of trying to summon magic to heal the wound. If the demon had not come to his aid, Ferral would have died.

He was unprepared for his encounter with Allisia. He did not foresee her defiance and was too weak from controlling the Deathmarch Army to defend against her attack.

But how did she escape the city? Ferral wondered.

"That will teach me to drink too much," Ferral told the demon sourly. The woman had simply smiled, enjoying his pain. Ferral had put much at risk. After killing Derout, Ferral could not afford to be seen needing help from anyone, even the demon. He spent the next few days in bed focusing his will on healing himself and understanding the magic better.

Ferral then put his total concentration on the Atlunam. They were sheltering Kristian. He saw it through the eyes of the creatures that tracked them through the plains and to the boundaries of the forest. Ferral decided to use Derout to control a small part of his dead army, to personally hunt Kristian. His pursuit of Kristian, and the destruction of those most likely to bring him down, took all of his concentration and power.

It is better to strike while they are weak than to wait.

Through Derout, Ferral had watched one of Kristian's followers battle the dead at the edge of the Atlunam village. The man was quick and efficient, darting back and forth among the dead, but the creatures had almost overwhelmed the swordsman dressed in black. He was lucky to escape. Ferral had been close to getting them all, but a small band of warriors had gotten in the way. It was easy to guide Derout and the rest of the dead toward the large life-force in the village, but he could no longer sense Kristian among them. Ferral was momentarily confused by all of the fighting, and it had bought his enemies just enough time to cross over the bridge and flee into the woods.

Ferral still smiled, though. The young king and his friends were now trapped between his forces. They had few places left to hide. His plans were going well, but he grew more cautious. Ferral's schemes could still go wrong.

Ferral decided to go to his secret chamber high in the tower to call upon his god. The anger he felt at losing both Allisia and Kristian gave him a boost in will-power that allowed him to summon one of Belatarn's lesser servants. The sorcerer pleaded with Belatarn to grant him better understanding and more power.

The black mass quickly appeared in the air in front of him, and the chamber filled with dark laughter. The demon entered his body filling him with new powers and completely healing his wounds. Ferral smiled with greed, feeling stronger and more aware.

Now he had more than enough power to control both Derout and the rest of the dead. Yet, while he was entertained by personally controlling the dead and forcing his enemies to cower, it did little to further Ferral's objectives.

He had special need of the demon. She seemed more than capable of controlling the creatures, and Ferral wanted her to take direct control of the Deathmarch Army. With her in control, she would quickly destroy any opposition to his plans. She seemed to have a more refined control over the creatures. They obeyed her without the sluggish clumsiness that was all Ferral could manage.

The demon would lead his new army to destroy the Cougar Holt in the west while he focused his own efforts on the Atlunam to the south. The remains of the Erandian and Duellrian kingdoms to the east could wait. There was nothing there of importance. What he sought was ancient knowledge that the demon claimed was protected by a descendant of the Atlunam. The demon promised the arcane knowledge would greatly aid Ferral in his plans to alter the world for Belatarn. She had not told him where to find the knowledge, as if she preferred to keep that from him. It made the prize seem that much more valuable to Ferral.

The magic was something the demon either feared or desired. If it was something she wanted, then Ferral wanted to find it first. Besides, the Atlunam knew too much of his designs already. It would be better to eradicate them now before the Atlunam decided to leave the safety of their forest and challenge him, or give the information to Kristian. If Ferral destroyed them now, there would be no one left on the continent to oppose him.

The demon would be busy for a while trying to get at the Holtsmen. They hid in their mountain like ants beneath an anthill.

Ferral grinned, "The demon will not be able to interfere, and I will not have to wait for her to decide to help me." The demon often grew defiant, trying to break the bonds that forced her to stay on this plane.

Could it be that something of her past still remains, that something more terrible than our master frightens her? The sorcerer knew she would betray him if she could.

She might even defy Belatarn if there were a way, Ferral guessed.

He could not ignore that the demon was a powerful ally, albeit a reluctant one. If Ferral found the additional power that she hinted was hidden among the Atlunam and learned to use it before the demon, he would have greater control over her and the rest of the world.

First, Ferral had to find Allisia. The missing girl pushed all other thoughts from his obsessed mind. Once Allisia was found and brought back to him he would be able to concentrate on his grand scheme. Ferral's anger at failing to find her pushed all other goals aside. He would not rest until she was brought back to him. She would pay the price for her attack by becoming another servant, like the dead girl. Ferral would bed her when he pleased, knowing she could do nothing to refuse him. Ferral hoped she would feel every torturous moment of it.

He stood in his high chamber looking out over the dark waters of the Utwan Sea. The side where she had stabbed him was stiff, and the memory of the pain made him furious. "I promise that your transformation will hurt. You won't be dead or mostly dead like the others. You will be alive, and you will feel every agonizing part of the transition. I will control your body; you will be forced to watch, helplessly, as I command you to do my bidding. I swear it."

Where are you, Ferral wondered.

He closed his eyes and prayed to Belatarn. Then he began to recite words from the ancient scroll that he had memorized. Ferral had not understood part of the text until the lesser demon filled him with new knowledge. Now, he fully understood the meaning of the spell and was ready. The sorcerer exhaled a slow, deep breath, a dark mist escaping his mouth. The mist became a shape as black as the night sky, a winged serpent that hovered near Ferral's window. It waited silently for instructions.

"Find her," Ferral whispered. "Find her!" The spy slowly curved away, arcing toward the shoreline of the Utwan Sea, and then it turned north.

### 17

### The Cougar Holt

The Holtsmen took Kristian and his friends to a chamber several floors above where they had first entered the stronghold. Locked inside, they had little to do except wait. The room was sparsely furnished with two bunk beds and a few stools placed along the walls. A window set in the wall faced east toward the great forest. It was dark and the trees were too far away to see. Instead, Kristian's attention was drawn to the flickering torches thousands of feet below him. The faint sounds of battle echoed up the side of the mountain fortress.

Holtsmen ran frantically back and forth between the walls and the entrance to the mountain fortress. Kristian knew men struggled to keep the dead from breaching the walls and main gate. It seemed as though the warriors were prepared to defend their home for a very long time. But how long can they really hold out against the dead?

He sighed and then turned to look at his friends. Maurin sat cross-legged on the bed biting his fingernails. Cairn sat motionless on one of the stools lost in deep thought. Mikhal paced the small room.

"How long? How long will they keep us here?" Mikhal asked them. No one could answer. "I can't believe they will decide Hin'cabo's fate without allowing him to speak."

"They will let him speak," Kristian assured Mikhal.

"Hin'cabo won't speak even if they give him the chance. He would rather die and join his fallen comrades," Maurin commented.

"Do you think they'll allow us to speak for him?" Mikhal asked.

Kristian could only shrug.

"I think we're about to find out," Cairn replied, staring intently at the door. The companions looked at him, confused. A moment later, the outside bolt on the door slid back and the door swung outward. A guard came in talking in the Holtsmen language. None of them understood. The guard looked at them, frustrated, and started motioning for them to follow.

They followed the guard through several twisting hallways and down stone steps to new levels lit irregularly by torches set deep within the walls. The narrow halls eventually gave way to large open breezeways. These areas were better lit and highlighted the stone-working ingenuity of the Holt. The walls were cut perfectly smooth and slender granite columns supported the vaulted ceiling lost in the darkness above. Shields and banners with crests hung from the walls. Everywhere Kristian looked he saw paintings of a great cat, a cougar. He also saw women and children for the first time since their arrival. They walked with a sense of purpose, moving quickly through the hallways. Everyone worked to help the warriors as best they could, but Kristian sensed their anxiety. The people of the Cougar Holt were afraid.

At the junction of two major corridors, a large, circular chamber with a high ceiling had been cut out of the mountain. In the center, a small fire rose out of the stone floor. The flame's glow reflected off the polished walls and floor filling the chamber with a soft light. On the far side of the chamber, the companions could see a large stairway leading down. Stone guardians flanked the stairs. Granite cougars, poised to attack, stared across the chamber at the Erandian king. Kristian had seen few sacred places that could compare with the splendor of this room.

He felt the pride and heritage of these people here. They were fierce and noble. Kristian just hoped the Holtsmen were not also arrogant.

Their escort strode across the chamber and down the stairs. Kristian and Maurin looked at each other with uncertainty. Mikhal followed the guard with eagerness, concerned about Hin'cabo's fate. The rest of them hesitated a moment longer before joining Mikhal and their escort.

The stairs did not descend very far. They entered another grand chamber after passing the cougar statues. This new chamber was also circular with columns along the circumference. Between the columns were stone benches filled with Holtsmen. A man sat on a granite throne on a dais at the far end of the room.

The guards bowed to their chief and moved to either side of the stairway. Kristian's eyes locked on the man across from him. He sat upright, one gnarled hand resting on the stone arm of his throne; the other hand stroked a black beard with almost as much grey in it. Bushy eyebrows furrowed as he surveyed Kristian and his companions. Kristian could see that their chief was a severe reminder of the men and the life his people lived within the mountain. After a moment, he crooked a finger, motioning for Kristian to advance and be recognized.

Mikhal moved forward without hesitation. Kristian joined him while Cairn and Maurin stayed back. Kristian and Mikhal stopped just short of the dais and bowed their heads to the Chief of the Cougar Holt, Vortah.

"Quiergh presoon tuh mai?" Vortah said. Kristian looked around, hoping to find a way to communicate. Balhir stood up from one of the benches and answered the chief.

"Mai presook," Balhir responded, "and forgive me, Father, for speaking in the vulgar, but they do not understand our language."

Vortah's son turned, waving his hand at the companions. "May I present King Kristian of Erand, Lieutenant Mikhal Jurander of the Cavaliers of Erand, Cairn, and Maurin. They have traveled far and bear critical information that I think you should hear."

Vortah raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"If you think their words are important, Son, then I shall hear them." Vortah pointed at Kristian. "How does a king come to my Holt? Why does he come with no retainers or guards?"

Kristian lowered his head and spoke softer than he intended. "My kingdom has been shattered, Chief Vortah. My people are in hiding."

"What does the great kingdom of Erand hide from?" Vortah challenged. "They claim to be the greatest power in all of Erinia, but they've been stepped on and crunched under the boot of the Belarnians like a fat cockroach." Kristian heard the mocking tone in the chief's voice, and it took all of his willpower not to snap back at the chieftain.

"We hide from the evil magic that Ferral has unleashed, the same mad man that has unleashed this army upon you."

The old chieftain snorted. "This freakish army is no match for my men. Even were their numbers twice as many they would not have enough to breach even the first wall." Several heads around the chamber nodded in agreement.

Kristian raised his arms, conceding the point. "Your fortress truly appears ready for such a trial, but I would warn you of Ferral's trickery. He has become a great sorcerer and surely plans something." At this, some of the gathered Holtsmen shifted uneasily. "And from what I have seen this army could continue the siege endlessly."

A Holtsman on Vortah's right stood then. "He is right, Vortah. At best, we are held hostage in our own home. How will we defeat them?" Others grumbled their fears also.

Vortah slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. "Enough! We are Holtsmen! We are the Cougar Holt. Kabileh Kloogai! We have never been defeated, and we never shall be defeated. I will not speak of these matters in front of foreigners."

Vortah calmed himself before continuing. "Our scouts have already revealed that there are no more than twenty thousand of these ... creatures out there. I have sent word to our neighbor clans, the Bear and Ram Holts. Holts' warriors are fierce in battle. Reinforcements will arrive within a week, and then we will counterattack and destroy the army of the dead."

Kristian shook his head knowing their numbers would never be great enough to defeat Ferral's creatures.

At this, Cairn moved forward. The swordsman nodded slightly to Balhir and Vortah. "These creatures are a great danger. As you hack at one, to prevent it from attacking you, several more of the creatures surround you and close in for the kill."

Someone shouted at Cairn. "We know this already. A few of our best warriors have already fallen from the walls. Tell us how we can destroy them." All of the gathered Holtsmen shouted in agreement.

Mikhal offered, "Their magic fails with the rising of the sun. Wait until they have fallen and then send your men out to hack at them. Cut them into small enough pieces and they can do you no harm. The spell is lifted and Ferral's control over them ceases."

Vortah sighed, waving his hand dismissively. He did not want to talk about it any longer, but Balhir argued, "They have already tried that. A lone creature stands over their corpses by day. This accursed demon, in a red cloak, has torn some of our best men apart."

Mikhal turned to look at Kristian. Despair and desire contorted his face. "She is here?"

Vortah stood to stretch his old joints, sighing, "The thing stays out all damned day, just standing there in front of the gate. It does not move ... it does not attack as long as we do not try to leave."

A broad man with a long, black beard and curly hair stood. "I sent one hundred of my warriors out to kill that demon. They swore to send it back to Hell, but it tore them apart in less time than it took them to put on their armor."

"And it laughs cruelly at us, mocking us," another Holtsmen claimed.

Vortah sat back down wearily. He sighed again and said, "Enough of our troubles. When our Bear and Ram brothers arrive, we will have enough men to destroy even that monster."

Vortah waved his hand at Kristian. "These are our worries, not yours. My son, Balhir, has told me of how you tried to warn him and his men. I thank you. I would also be interested in all you have to say about these dead creatures and their master, but not today. My council and I must formulate our continued defense." Kristian knew a dismissal when he heard one. He looked at Mikhal and could see the anxiety written on his face. Kristian decided to confront Vortah before Mikhal said something that got them into trouble.

Kristian cleared his throat. "Might I ask about the fate of our other companion?"

Vortah raised an eyebrow. He must be pleased at having a king under his finger, Kristian thought.

"The Atlunam shall be dealt with according to the Laws of Kutodahk. His fate will be decided tomorrow."

"And when can we leave?" Cairn asked.

Vortah was becoming impatient. He answered quickly, "Go when and where you like. Once I have learned what I can from you I have no wish for any of you to stay." He motioned for Kristian's guards to escort them out of the chamber. The Holtsmen stepped forward, motioning for Kristian and his companions to leave.

"Farewell, Kristian, King of Erand." Vortah smiled at the younger man.

One of the council members sneered and said, "How could they have been such a great country if they didn't even know about us or try to understand the other cultures that share their continent?" Many other Holtsmen grumbled in agreement.

Kristian and his companions bowed and left. Most of them had more questions now than when they entered the council chamber.

Balhir caught up to them as they walked through the chamber with the fire in the center of the floor. "Wait, Kristian."

Kristian turned, not sure if he wanted to hear what Vortah's son had to say. He gave Balhir an annoyed look. "My father speaks in haste because of this siege. Were times different—"

Kristian would not let him finish. "I tried to warn you. I also spared your life and let you go when I could have just as easily killed you. And in return, you hold us prisoner, drag us to your Holt, and threaten the life of one of our friends." Kristian threw his hands into the air. "This trouble is yours now. Let Hin'cabo go and we will leave in peace."

Balhir's' downturned eyes was all the response Kristian and his companions needed. "I cannot. He is Atlunam and—"

"We've heard this before," Mikhal cut in. "We don't care about your stupid feud."

"What about my brother, Delihn? Does his death go unanswered? Does he not deserve the same justice that any victim should get?" Balhir shook his head in frustration. "If you only knew how deep the hatred between our people was, you would understand. The Atlunam hate us as much as we hate them. It is a part of the code. Our way of life, our Taqaleb."

Maurin interrupted. "Your father spoke of these laws, the Kuto ... something or other. What are they?"

Balhir looked at them and sighed. "The Kutodahk are our ancient laws. Ever since our people arrived here, almost a thousand years ago, we have been the enemies of the Atlunam. So strong is this hatred that it is written into our laws. We are forbidden to speak to the Atlunam, let alone trade with them or make peace. They are the descendants of aristocratic fools. The Atlunam selfishly hoard resources hidden within their trees. Though they have plenty, they still try to force their ways on us and take our valuable minerals and ores. Their very culture threatens our way of life. The Atlunam have always threatened us."

"Sounds very dramatic, Balhir," Mikhal replied, rolling his eyes. "Surely, you see that your own actions have been as cruel as any the Atlunam may have done?"

"What do you mean?" Balhir asked, his eyes narrowing.

"What about Hin'cabo's village? What did they do to deserve annihilation?"

Balhir's' eyes widened in shock then narrowed just as quick. His voice was low and angry. "We did not destroy the village. We only arrived as you and your Atlunam friends fired at us from across the river gorge. As I have already said, we were looking for those responsible for the slaughter of my brother and his men."

Kristian joined the argument, "And if you had found the village unguarded? Would you have left without dealing out your own retribution? How many innocent people would you have slaughtered to get your revenge?"

Balhir looked at all of them confused and angry. He finally responded when Kristian and his friends started to walk away. "Just like the great King of Erand and his friends to side with the woods folk!" He brushed Mikhal's shoulder as he passed by them, grumbling to himself.

### 18

### Mikhal and the Demon

Mikhal could not help but think of her as he lay on the upper bunk. Why is she here, he asked himself. Why does it always seem as though she is following me? Isn't it enough that she haunts my dreams?

Mikhal had been able to put the demon out of his mind for a while because of his concern for Hin'cabo. Now she was back. He saw the demon in his mind, standing in front of the fortress's gates silently mocking him. There were bodies everywhere; the remains of her challengers so easily defeated and torn apart, piled up, like a grotesque gift for the defenders to see. None of them could match her strength. She was vile and evil, yet Mikhal was still drawn to her.

Mikhal fought his attraction to the demon-woman, but the struggle took all of his focus. Thoughts of her always soured his mood, causing even greater problems between him and Kristian. Mikhal tried to convince himself that it was only a twisted fantasy, something from a darker part of him that he could not help but embrace. Mikhal knew he could never have any real connection to the demon, but it was hard for him to focus on her as the monster for very long. The image of the woman Mikhal had seen so clearly in the Duellrian palace always came back to him, helping to erase his memories of her as a monster. She was a welcome savior that helped take away the nightmares and made everything seem alright. Beautiful, hypnotizing, her long golden hair falling down in front of her goddess-like face—Mikhal began, again, to fall asleep looking into her deep blue eyes, a habit that grew more dangerous and intoxicating with each passing night.

There they both are, Mikhal and his demon lover, enjoying a strong embrace. He sits on a couch while she leans on him. Mikhal's arms wrap around her protectively. She smiles as he runs his fingers through her soft hair. Mikhal can even smell the fragrance of some beautiful flower still clinging softly to his finger tips as he pulls them through a strand of her hair. The love he feels for her is so strong that his stomach aches. It is a deep pain tinged with sadness, as if Mikhal does not expect the love to last. Sensing his discomfort, she turns around to look at him. There are no words. The demon-woman looks into his eyes with concern and sees the doubts.

Mikhal sees the taint of her sins reflected within her eyes. Her actions within the temple are so disgusting to him that he loosens his hold on her. She grabs hold of Mikhal's arms and tries to keep him there, snuggling in under his chin, but he is too disturbed to stay. He forces himself off the couch and away from her. Mikhal walks over to the balcony to look down on the city below. Below him, perfect, white columned buildings and tall statues reflect the sophistication of their society. Beautiful people walk through the streets oblivious to the sickness taking hold, but Mikhal sees the chips in the columns, the tarnish growing on the statues. Sharp, green colors, mold, Mikhal thinks, stand in stark contrast to the deep, golden hue on their empire's heroes and gods. Their once thriving community, that has carried the standard of freedom and equality, is decaying.

How much longer do we have, Mikhal asks.

In a rush, Mikhal turns and grabs his lover by both arms forcing her to look at him. His stare is enough to convey his emotions and desire. She is to have nothing more to do with these terrible worship practices. The demon-woman nods in understanding.

Mikhal is relieved. He hugs her tightly, fearing he might lose her. She hugs him just as strongly.

The dream changes from one of peace to something much more evil. Mikhal walks through the temple again, through the mass of kneeling people that pray to the new deity. The place is dark and musty and filled with the acrid smoke of incense. Through the haze he sees the blood stained altar at the far end of the temple. A slave lays bound atop the altar. He struggles against the chains but cannot break free. The anguish and fear on his face makes Mikhal's heart pound. Mikhal's lover stands over the slave.

There is sorrow painted on her features, she does not want to be there in front of these people, and yet, she will not leave. Her breathing becomes labored as she struggles to lift the ceremonial bone dagger high above her head. She gasps, trying to decide what to do, and then plunges the dagger deep into the slave's heart. As the slave's struggles slowly end, Mikhal sees the flood of emotions that run across his lover's face. First there is fear, joined by loathing, and then slowly, they are replaced by a blissful sense of release.

An old, smiling temple priest hands his love a goblet, which she uses to collect the blood of her sacrifice. The demon-woman holds the cup high, and then she pours the blood down the front of the altar. The fervent worshipers sway, chanting and praising her, as well as their god. She holds her head high, enjoying the crowds' attention. Then she sees Mikhal standing there. The dagger falls from her hands as she gasps in surprise. She starts to move down from her place toward him, but then she stops. She knows it is too late. She has made a decision that Mikhal cannot live with. The majority of citizens might accept what is happening within the city, but Mikhal never will. He knows many others feel the same way.

Mikhal sees a single tear roll down her face as he turns to leave. She has never looked so beautiful, and he knows that he will never see her again. He walks back to his home and gathers up his belongings. Most of his possessions are already packed. He has planned this for some time. Mikhal hoped that he would be able to convince his love to change and that they would leave together, but with or without her, he is leaving today.

Over the past several weeks, Mikhal has seen the signs of impending doom. Their world is changing, decaying. He knows their society is about to be destroyed. He and many others are convinced that there is little time left, and that they have to leave the island now. So, they planned an exodus. Seamen speak of a new land, a vast, unexplored continent to the north. That is where they plan to go and start over.

Most of those going are from the middle class, those that have worked hard for their society only to watch it destroy itself. They pack what they can take while encouraging others to join them. Some do, but most remain, scoffing at the idea of leaving. The ships they are to take number almost a thousand. Aboard are many other people like Mikhal, he is a soldier he thinks, but there are others of various skill and trade as well. There are even escaped slaves and nobles. They have all agreed that it is time. There has been enough warning for any sensible person to understand that their island home is in great danger.

Many ships have already left. The number of those remaining dwindles, and Mikhal has only stayed to try and convince his lover to come with him—he has failed. Now he hurries through the streets toward the docks.

When Mikhal arrives, he looks back at the city sprawled out among the hills overlooking the peaceful bay. It is beautiful, like his love, but rotting like the demon. He can feel the tension all around him. This perfect nation, founded on freedom and equality, is going to destroy itself.

Mikhal closes his eyes in silent grief and then boards the last ship. As they row for the open waters beyond the protected bay, he does not take his eyes off the city. He somehow hopes that his lover will run down the street and onto the pier begging for forgiveness and passage. She does not come.

Later that evening, the seas grow rough. Mikhal feels underwater tremors as he stands on the deck looking at the silhouette of his homeland. Suddenly, a fiery glow engulfs the island. The light is faint and hard to see, but it looks like a crack has opened on the island, and a raw energy from another world reaches out to touch their own. Then a loud thunderclap rolls out across the water like the sound of a thousand avalanches. It is so loud, even at this great distance, that it deafens Mikhal for several long minutes.

A visible wave of pressure follows the sound. The wave drives the water and wind before it and overcomes the ships. Mikhal is thrown to the deck. The main mast cracks and falls into the sea, the rigging snaps and whips at the other passengers, throwing them off the ship. As the chaos begins around him, Mikhal's gaze is drawn back to the island.

His home, what is left of it, is engulfed in flames. Even with all of the people screaming and moaning around him on the ship, Mikhal swears he can hear the pleading cries of those still trapped on the island. He knows his love is one of them. Mikhal closes his eyes, trying to block out the vision and the sounds from his mind, but he cannot help but imagine his love screaming out for him, begging for his help.

Mikhal woke, as always, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. He threw the blankets off of him and stood. He stepped over the still forms of his companions to look out the window. It was near midnight, and the air had a chill to it. Mikhal rested his hands on the open windowsill and looked down upon the siege.

She was the cause of so much pain and suffering. Images of Mikhal's fallen comrades, his family, even the pain of having to leave her behind on the island filled his mind. Buzzing, whispering voices kept him from being able to think. Frustrated, Mikhal slammed his fist down. He shoved himself away from the window and turned for the door. Kristian stood there before him wrapped in his blanket, concern and anxiety reflected in his eyes.

He wants to know what is happening to me, Mikhal knew. But he could not tell him, not yet.

"Don't worry," Mikhal whispered. "I'm only going for a walk ... I need some fresh air."

Kristian stood silent for a moment more and then stepped aside. He tried to reassure Mikhal with a smile, feeling awkward.

"Of course," Kristian said. Mikhal lowered his head and ducked out of the chamber.

### 19

### The Kutodahk

Early the next morning, Balhir came for them. They sensed his serious mood and kept silent. "My father requests your presence. It is time for the Ruling. Your companion's fate is to be decided."

Kristian and his friends followed Balhir back down the halls without saying a word. The Holtsman took them back to the chamber where the cougars stood before the flame. Once there, Balhir turned to Kristian, "to be here and witness this is no small thing. I have lost some respect in my father's eyes." Balhir hesitated, but then added, "I felt I owed you an opportunity to defend your friend, no matter who he is. You," Balhir pointed at Kristian, "and your friends have more nobility than I have been taught to expect of those from beyond the forests."

Balhir looked around with caution before adding, "My father would never want me to say this, but ... they penetrated the outer wall last night." The companions looked at each other in alarm. "We quickly blocked them from rushing in, but this early defeat means that our defenses are beginning to waiver. There must be over twenty five thousand of the creatures now, and I don't know how long we can hold out."

Balhir looked up at the dark ceiling taking in a deep breath before continuing. "We also received word this morning from the Bear Holt. They will not be coming to our aid. Nor will the Ram. They were ambushed by the demon and some of the creatures as they tried to reach us last night. The damned monster knew where and when to strike, and it was merciless."

Balhir was so full of emotion that he could barely restrain himself. The Holtsman clenched his fists tightly, his voice trembling as he tried to continue. "I have never seen anything like this. My father is proud and will not leave the holt. It is only a matter of time before they breach the outer wall again. And then there is only the inner wall to protect us. We will be trapped inside the mountain."

"How long? How long can you hold?" Kristian asked.

Balhir shrugged. "A month, maybe two." He looked at Mikhal reaching out to him. "I know how much Hin'cabo means to you, but my father is in a sour mood. I don't think anything you say will change his mind." Mikhal's lips tightened as he forced himself to remain silent. "Vortah will follow the Ruling according to the Kutodahk. He will state the charges and allow the Atlunam to speak on his own behalf. You will also be allowed to speak. He then will ask the council to decide his fate. Regardless of what the council decides, my father can overrule them." Balhir waited to see their responses.

Kristian nodded that they understood.

Balhir nodded back, and then he guided them down the steps to the Chieftain's council chamber. Vortah sat on his stone chair, a twisted staff covered in gold, resting on his lap. The old chieftain scowled, and his eyes narrowed as he focused on Kristian. Vortah watched his son lead the Erandians, and their companions, to the center of the chamber before stepping to the side. Vortah did not hide his feelings of disgust at having to preside over this affair.

The chieftain's son moved further to one side of the chamber and bowed his head. At a nod from Vortah, guards brought in Hin'cabo.

The Atlunam was barely able to stand. His chest was bare. Strips of cloth bandaged his wounds, dark bruises covered his torso. He limped to the center of the chamber, struggling to stand erect, defiant.

Vortah waved his hand before him, "Clansmen of the Cougar Holt, I call upon you to stand in council. You are to listen to the charges presented against this man, his defense, and then decide his fate according to the Kutodahk. Remember, the Laws. Times have changed, but we stand as a testament to the wrongs brought upon us by our eternal enemies."

The council stood. Kristian surveyed them. They were older men, battle hardened and surely supportive of Vortah. Things did not look good for Hin'cabo.

"Hin'cabo duk Shuru Kaithep duk Atlunam, tuk moot moi kensan. Hin'cabo of Shuru Kaithep of the Atlunam, you have killed my son. I charge you with the murder of my son, Delihn, and his patrol. They did not cross the border and did not threaten your village as has been agreed upon by the Pact of Rulers. Your attack upon them was vicious and unwarranted and simply proves that there can be no trusting the Atlunam." Vortah pointed a finger at the woodsman, "Speak now in your own defense."

There was silence. Hin'cabo raised his head to stare into the eyes of the chieftain, but he refused to say a word. Kristian waited impatiently, trying to force Hin'cabo through sheer will to say something, but the man would say nothing.

Kristian stepped toward the middle of the floor. "Chief Vortah, may I speak on his behalf." The old man looked from the Atlunam hunter to the Erandian before reluctantly nodding.

"Hin'cabo could not have done this. He and his men were protecting us. We were being chased by the Belarnians, and we were still north of the forest when this must have happened. Hin'cabo fought valiantly to save our lives even though he didn't know us. He planned to take us to his village where we could speak to his elders about the army of dead. He didn't know what happened to his own family, and Hin'cabo didn't know about the death of your son until days later. I stand before you as a witness to his innocence." Maurin and Mikhal nodded, adding validity to Kristian's claim.

Vortah waved his hand again. "It does not matter whether he was present at the massacre. Hin'cabo is a member of the village that is closest to the border. The cuts on the bodies of those thrown into the pit, thrown out like trash, and the fact that they were bound—all of this evidence indicates they were not killed by Ferral's Deathmarch Army, but by humans. The Atlunam do not stray far from their lair. Clearly, the Atlunam saw the opportunity to ambush our men, since they were so close to the forest, and attacked.

"You are ignorant of our laws, and I am not going to take the time to explain our ways to you, young king. It is acknowledged by both our peoples that the territory between the Holts and the forest are neutral. My son was," Vortah paused, obviously upset at having to talk of his loss, "simply doing his duty. Delihn was patrolling our borders."

The chieftain's angry stare turned to Hin'cabo, "By the Laws of Kutodahk, Hin'cabo is guilty because he supported the decisions of his own village elders. He is an accomplice by virtue of his association to the village."

"But," Kristian tried to add.

"Enough. King Kristian of Erand, you do not know or understand our ways. We are far older and nobler than any of the new kingdoms. We have been here since before there was an Erand and have always had the Laws as our guide. A pact was made a few generations ago between the leaders of the Atlunam and the Ten Holts. This agreement was meant to prevent another war between us. Both sides understand that to violate this pact means death. There were to be no more raids."

Vortah looked to his council. "I now charge you to decide. You have heard both sides, now give me your decision." It did not take long. One by one the older clansmen held out a thumb turned down. All but one of the seven had decided that Hin'cabo should die.

As Vortah turned his gaze back toward Hin'cabo to deliver the sentence, Mikhal quickly stepped forward.

"I will take his place," Mikhal declared. Kristian turned to look at him in disbelief. He opened his mouth to argue with Mikhal but was cut short by Vortah.

"A noble gesture, young man, but unnecessary. Do not be so hasty to waste your life on something like this. Hin'cabo's fate has been decided, the decision stands. Hin'cabo duk Shuru Kaithep duk ..."

"How much longer do you think you can hold out?" Mikhal challenged Vortah.

"What?"

"How much longer do you think you can hold out?" Mikhal repeated. "Your outer walls have been penetrated. It is only a matter of time before your stronghold is destroyed."

Vortah glared at Balhir, knowing the dire news could only have been shared with the outsiders through his son. He then turned his anger on the Erandian. Vortah stood, full of rage, and pointed his staff at Mikhal. "These are separate issues. This man's guilt has nothing to do with our situation. How dare you challenge me in my own Holt?"

"It has everything to do with your current situation. As you sit here and deliberate the fate of one man, the fate of your people hangs in the balance." Mikhal approached Vortah. "When we were captured by your son we were on our way to the capital of the Atlunam. We were searching for help. We were searching for a way to destroy Ferral's demon and his army. We know that the other Holts are also besieged. No one is coming to help you."

Vortah sat grumpily back into his chair. "With this man's aid," Mikhal pointed at Hin'cabo, "we may find the key to the destruction of this army."

"I would never accept the help of those betrayers! They are the cause of all our suffering. They are the ones that brought death and destruction to us all," Vortah shouted. "The Atlunam are arrogant, greedy, and corrupt. Those poor qualities led to the destruction of everything we held dear. When it became obvious that we could no longer suffer under their rule, we left. They could not accept that and attacked us, trying to force us back under their control. The Atlunam wanted us as their workforce and treated us little better than slaves."

Vortah pointed at Hin'cabo. "If you do not look like one of the pure bloods of the Atlunam, then your birthrights are not the same. You're treated like a second-class citizen. Our people fought them to gain freedom and independence. We fought to establish our own way of life. And we won. Their nature worship is a farce. An ill-conceived notion of how to make amends for the past."

Vortah shouted, leaning forward on his hard throne. "It is another sign of their arrogance and folly. We are glad to be rid of the Atlunam and do not want their help."

Mikhal desperate, turned to face the council. "The answer to your survival may be hidden within the strongholds of the Atlunam. How long do you think you can keep the dead from getting inside your mountain? Every day hundreds more join Ferral's army. Soon there will be too many even for the brave warriors of your Holt."

Vortah looked nervously around at his council members. "You do not have to go to your enemies begging them for help," Mikhal pressed. "I promise to find the answer you need and, once I have it, I also promise to return and aid you in destroying the dead."

Mikhal turned back to face Vortah, his voice lower. "If you kill Hin'cabo, you may also destroy your one chance to save your people. Without him, we will never be able to get into the Atlunam capital." Kristian was dumbfounded, his eyes opening wide in alarm. The young king could say nothing.

"Let him go, Father," Balhir said, stepping forward to stand with Kristian and Mikhal.

The Chieftain of the Cougar Holt looked from his son, to his council members, to Mikhal, then Kristian, and finally to Hin'cabo. Vortah challenged Mikhal, "How can one man, this one hunter, or even his entire people have the power to destroy the dead? What magic do they have that could do anything to save us that we cannot do on our own?"

Cairn stepped forward then and said, "Not magic, Chieftain, but knowledge. The Atlunam have amassed a great collection of knowledge from across the world, throughout the centuries. If anyone knows how to stop this evil, it is your old enemy. The answer is hidden in the forest with the Atlunam."

Mikhal added, "We aren't asking you to accept the help of your enemy, Vortah. We only ask that you allow us to find the answer to destroying the dead and the demon. I will bring that knowledge back to you." No one spoke. Kristian could see the tension between Vortah and Mikhal.

"I ask you the same question then, Mikhal Jurander of the Cavaliers of Erand. How long? How long will it take for you to find this answer and bring it back to me?"

Kristian looked at Mikhal waiting to see what damning answer he would give Vortah. Mikhal raised his hands in supplication.

"I cannot give you an answer, Vortah. I only promise to move as quickly as possible to find the answer and return." Mikhal licked his lips as they waited for an answer.

"You have been amazingly silent, King Kristian," Vortah observed with some amusement. "Are you willing to help me in return for the life of this one man?"

Kristian's heart pounded. He looked with doubt at Mikhal and then said, "I can't speak for Mikhal's pledge. I have my own people to look after. I'm searching for a way to destroy these creatures so that I can save my country." And save Allisia, Kristian reminded himself. "But it's obvious we share a common enemy. Finding the answer will help both of our kingdoms. Let Hin'cabo go and we will do everything we can to fight back."

Vortah was silent for a moment then nodded in agreement.

Outside the chamber, Kristian pulled Mikhal aside. "What are you doing? What about our own problems?" Kristian threw up his hands, exasperated. "You volunteered to help them when we can't even help ourselves!"

"I didn't volunteer us," Mikhal replied, defensively. "I volunteered myself. Besides, I haven't forgotten about Allisia. I will help you get her back, and once that is done, I will help them."

"What about our people, Mikhal? Even if we can rescue Allisia, we must still save them from Ferral." Kristian saw the pain on Mikhal's face. He struggled to answer but could not find the right words. "What about your family, Mikhal?"

"Stop it," Mikhal hissed. "Stop it! Don't council me, I am not the one ..."

Kristian finished the sentence for him, "You're not the one that ordered thousands to their deaths."

"What do you expect of me?" Mikhal shouted loud enough that the others turned in alarm to stare at him.

"I'm not some great knight. I'm not a hero, Kristian. I'm just one man," Mikhal said, trying to calm down. "Why do you expect me to protect you and help save our people when I can barely save myself?"

Kristian did not understand. "You've been through more than anyone I know, Mikhal. You've survived when no one else possibly could have. You stood before the demon and defied it. You saved my life when you didn't have to." Mikhal tried to look away, but Kristian would not let him.

"I know what I've done, but I told you that I would do everything possible to make amends," Kristian said. "I swore that I would save Allisia and our people. I will continue to do everything I can to fulfill those promises, which includes keeping the best people with me that I can. I need people that are not afraid to tell me when I am doing something wrong. I also need people that will not hesitate to fight along with me to see the wrong made right.

"I need your help, Mikhal," Kristian reminded him. "I want you to stay with me."

Mikhal breathed heavily. Kristian realized Mikhal had convinced himself that hating his king was the only way for Mikhal to continue, the only way to fight through the painful memories of their defeat and loss.

But I've changed, Kristian thought.

"I'm not a perfect man ... there is no such thing as a perfect man, but I'm trying to change my ways. I'm trying to make a difference," Kristian said.

"Why are you trying to save Allisia?" Mikhal asked in a soft, defeated voice.

Kristian stood a little straighter, surprised by the question. He paused for several moments before answering. "When I first saw Allisia, I was immediately drawn to her. It was as though there were a shimmering light surrounding her."

Kristian smiled, adding, "I sometimes think of her as an angel, an angel that God sent to help me change.

"I knew, even back in Duellr, that I wasn't the man or prince that people hoped I would be ... a part of me wanted to be better than I was. Allisia challenged me to be better. She expected it and encouraged me to try harder. I knew that I could be a different person with her help."

Kristian looked away for a moment, remembering all of the horrible details of her capture. "As soon as she was gone, I felt empty inside. That light that I had felt when I was around Allisia was no longer there.

"I don't know if Allisia loves me, but I love her ... I need her. I am not complete without her. In fact, I think I will be lost without her."

Kristian looked back at Mikhal, forcing the cavalier to look him in the eye. "Someone as special as that deserves better ... don't you think? Wouldn't you do anything for someone if you felt that way about them?"

Mikhal looked down, his face reddening. He clenched his hands tightly, digging his fingernails into his palms.

"I don't know what I feel about the monster," Mikhal said.

Kristian did not understand and leaned closer.

"She haunts me ... she has haunted me ever since that night in Duellr," Mikhal slowly admitted.

Kristian looked at him, puzzled. "I don't understand."

Mikhal lifted his head and took a deep breath. He looked around to make sure the others could not hear. "At first, I thought I started having the nightmares because of all the men lost during the battle, or maybe, because I feared my family was dead. She keeps coming back for me in my dreams."

"Who?" Kristian asked.

"The demon ... the woman. I mean the woman that becomes the demon. I have dreams about her."

"They will pass. We're all under a great amount of stress. I have nightmares, too. Look at what I have done to our kingdom. I may fight for the rest of my life and never be able to fix what I did," Kristian assured him.

Mikhal stepped away from his king in frustration. "You don't understand. These are not just nightmares. These are more like visions, but not of what is to come, but of what already happened. It's hard to explain. I think I love her ... no ... I mean, I know I despise her, but I think I used to love her."

"You knew this woman?" Kristian asked, incredulously.

Mikhal shook his head. "No, but somehow we're connected. I saw it in her eyes when we were in the ballroom. She was there before the demon came, and she looked at me and smiled. She didn't look at anyone else, just me. The demon could have easily killed me, but it did not. She singled me out."

Mikhal turned to look at Kristian. "She knows me, somehow, and I know her. In my dreams, she is my lover and we are so close that it's almost like we're one person, but something terrible happens. We have an argument, and I leave her. And she doesn't forgive me ... she has never forgiven me."

"You're right, Mikhal, I don't understand," Kristian admitted. "All I know is that you're becoming more and more withdrawn. I thought it was because you could not forgive me for what happened in Belarn, but I always thought you would stay and help me avenge our countrymen."

Mikhal laughed. "Sometimes you worry too much. I haven't been able to think that much about what happened. Hell, I can barely remember what happened yesterday. In fact, the more I think about that night, the more I wonder if I wouldn't have made the same choices that you did, if Ferral had my love." His eyes started to glaze over as Mikhal thought of the demon-woman again.

Mikhal sighed as his anxiety resurfaced. "But, I swear that she haunts me continuously. I can't stop thinking of her." Mikhal turned to look at Kristian. "If you want me to swear fealty to you, then I will, but I will never be rid of her. I must find out why she is in my dreams and find a way to make it all go away. I must find a way to destroy her. To me, this is even more important than going back to Erand."

Kristian let out a deep sigh. "I won't push any man to follow me that doesn't want it for himself. Those days are gone." Kristian sighed and said, "Do what you feel you must."

Mikhal nodded. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"I told you to stop calling me that. It makes me feel uncomfortable when you say it like that."

"This time I meant it," Mikhal replied.

Kristian had finally earned Mikhal's trust. He felt a sense of accomplishment but was still anxious about losing the cavalier. Kristian realized he had relied upon Mikhal ever since the initial battle at Ferral's citadel.

Can I do this without him, he wondered.

Kristian offered his hand to Mikhal, and they understood each other a little better.

"Cairn tells me that Hin'cabo will be ready to travel tonight, though I don't know how. The hunter promised to take us to his capital and meet the king. We'll pack soon and then rest a while before we make our break," Kristian said.

Mikhal nodded. "I'll be ready."

"And I am coming with you also," a voice called out from behind them. Balhir strode up the stairs from between the stone cougars and joined them. Before Kristian could object Balhir added, "I have lost some of my father's respect. I have not been banished, but you could say my ... presence is no longer welcome here." The Holtsman shrugged. "Hell's Palace, you could use me ... nine of my guards want to come with me."

"What makes you think that your welcome in Atlunam will be any different than what Hin'cabo received here?" Mikhal challenged.

Balhir laughed loudly. "True, friend, true, but Hin'cabo lives does he not? I will risk the same fate to ensure the answer you have promised my father is found, as long as you can guarantee our safety."

"We would never make such an agreement," Mikhal replied. "We can't vouch for your safe passage into a place we've never been before."

"I will speak for him," Cairn stated. The swordsman appeared from the shadows near a column. "Balhir knows more of this region than any of us, and their swords will be needed."

Kristian did not like it. What am I supposed to do the first time Balhir confronts an Atlunam and demands justice for his brother's death? Kristian wondered.

Balhir also seemed to understand the situation. The Holtsman nodded. "I ask none of you to protect me from the Atlunam, and I vow to act as an emissary for my people. I will not mention Delihn's death or allow my men to start a fight." Balhir raised his hands in an offering of peace. "Perhaps our common need to destroy the Deathmarch Army will temporarily prevent them from wanting to take my head off."

"What does Hin'cabo think about this?" Kristian asked. They all turned to the Atlunam hunter. Supported by Maurin, the hunter looked too weak for the journey. Cairn asked him in his native language what Kristian wanted to know. His response was terse, even in the sing-song language of the Atlunam; Hin'cabo's answer could not have been good.

"Hin'cabo says that nothing can stop one of his people from cutting off the mountain goat's head if they choose. However, Hin'cabo vows not do it himself and will speak on Balhir's behalf ... since Balhir helped save Hin'cabo from his father's wrath."

Balhir grinned, appreciatively.

"But," Cairn continued, "once this quest is over Hin'cabo wants first rights to duel Balhir."

Balhir laughed even louder. "Even after cheating death, the Atlunam hunter pushes himself closer toward the precipice. I accept the challenge and promise not to die before that day, wood sprite," Balhir roared.

Hin'cabo nodded, understanding the meaning of the words, if not the details.

"My men and I will be ready and we will pack extra supplies, clothes, and weapons for you. We will go the way we came ... when you are ready." Balhir turned to leave but stopped to say something, a large grin on his face. "And might I suggest a hot bath before we go? You may be the King of Erand, but you smell like something at the bottom of an animal pen."

After Balhir left, Maurin stepped closer to Kristian and whispered, "Did any of you understand that? First they try to kill each other, offering no mercy to the other. Hin'cabo is then taken prisoner by Holtsmen to stand trial when it is certain they will kill him anyway. The person that took him prisoner speaks out to save Hin'cabo's life and promises to go back into the woods to help people he definitely hates, but doesn't even know. Balhir's putting his own life at risk ... I definitely don't get it."

"We need all the support we can get, Maurin. Poor kings can't be picky kings. Besides, maybe this can work to our benefit. Maybe a new alliance can be forged from this." Kristian's situation was dire; he needed help and he would take it from whoever offered.

"Yes, but what type of wall can be built if the foundation has so many cracks in it," Cairn offered.

"He's right," Mikhal added. "I don't trust Vortah or his son. I think they have their own agenda and recommend we all watch them closely."

"It will take great skill and diplomacy to get these two kingdoms to put aside their anger and fight side by side, even against Ferral's creatures," Cairn said. They all stopped to look at the Erandian king. Kristian could see the expectation in their eyes.

Vortah was there to see them off despite his misgivings. He had not said a word to his son since the council meeting and stood just inside the guardroom at the bottom of the stairs. Balhir checked his men one last time before ordering the boulder removed. He had chosen nine of his best warriors. Each carried a long sword, as well as a war hammer or axe. Their helms covered most of their heads making it difficult to see their personal features, though most wore a long beard and mustache as was the custom of the Holtsmen. Chest plates, bracers, and grieves protected them. They wore padded tunics of brown, gray, or black with cloaks of similar colors hanging loosely from their shoulders. They did not dress too warm, knowing they would have to travel fast to cross the plains and get into the forest without being detected by the demon.

When there was nothing left to check, Balhir approached his father.

Vortah still did not look at Balhir and pretended to inspect the preparations of his clansmen. "You will be less welcomed there than the hunter was in our Holt."

"I know, Father."

"Yet, you go anyway. To aid foreigners," Vortah replied, tersely.

Balhir had to sigh deep to keep his anger down. "I go to find help for our people. Can't you see that we are losing this fight?"

Vortah stepped closer so that no one else would hear. He looked deep into his son's eyes. "Yes, I see it!" Vortah hissed.

The chieftain placed his hands on top of Balhir's broad shoulders and whispered. "The Atlunam bear us no good will, Son. They may take you prisoner just to prevent us from ever crossing back into the woods. They may just as quickly decide to kill you. The only one that is going to watch out for you and your men is you. Do not go into the woods unless you have to. The treaty may still hold enough to protect you on the plains, but if you enter their domain again the Atlunam will show no mercy."

"What about Delihn? What was my brother really doing on the plains? We have not patrolled that area in years," Balhir whispered.

Vortah shook his head in despair, "I don't know." Balhir would not accept the answer and stared his father down. Finally, Vortah sighed, "You know your brother, Balhir. Delihn never believed in the pact. Ever since the Atlunam killed his son he has wanted revenge."

"There would be no revenge to seek had his son not tried to enter the woods," Balhir responded.

Vortah nodded, "You made it into the woods. I'm proud of you. You are brave and cunning." The chieftain looked suspiciously at Kristian then whispered, "Don't expect this young king to have any more power in the woods than you. Do you understand?" Balhir looked down at the stone floor slowly nodding that he did.

"Then go ... if we can no longer hold Cougar Holt, we will join the Ram's. None have ever penetrated the walls of that strong mountain Holt. We shall wait there for you." Balhir hugged his father fiercely then motioned for his men to move the boulder aside.

The king whispered in his son's ear. "Remember, the Kutodahk and your heritage, Balhir. They may save your life. Many of the Atlunam want peace, but many more are too used to the wars to understand any other way of life. Watch the king and his children closely, they cannot be trusted. Remember the code." Balhir simply nodded, promising his father that he would be on guard.

The stone rolled away grinding against the grooves that prevented it from falling over. Kristian and his comrades watched as Balhir's men prepared for what might await them on the other side. The Cougar Holt's prince came over to ensure Kristian and his friends were ready. Kristian nodded that they were.

"We have horses standing by about five miles from here. We shall run as much of that distance as we can in order to keep the dead away. Let us know if anyone has trouble keeping up."

Maurin snickered. "I won't be ready to stop until we reach the forest, I assure you."

Balhir looked at him with a stern face. "More ill awaits us in the woods than you know. Keep a close watch because Atlunam arrows may decorate our corpses before the end of this quest."

The rest of the companions drew their weapons unsure of what would greet them on the other side of the doorway. They doused their torches and moved out.

### 20

### The Gift of Wine

Allisia sat on the bench staring intently at her stew. Nicodemus looked at her with concern.

"Do the dreams haunt you that much already, Allisia?"

Allisia nodded. It was easy for Nicodemus to see that she had not slept well. He collected their bowls, poured more stew for each of them, and then sat back down.

"I want to be strong. I want to find a way to destroy him, but I can't stop thinking about what will happen. Will I be destroyed by this gift? How will I receive it and when? Will the knowledge do me any good?" Allisia sighed in frustration, resting her chin on her hands.

Nicodemus smiled warmly. "I cannot answer those questions, but we are drawing closer to the end of our stay together. Before you leave my protection you will have the knowledge you seek. It will not be much longer."

His cryptic answers had, at first, angered Allisia. Now, she was used to them and did not push for more. Allisia simply nodded. She stood, clearing the table, until Nicodemus shooed her away. "I have been alone for many years, child. I can manage to clean this place on my own."

"I would like to know more about you," Allisia said.

Nicodemus looked at her, puzzled for a moment, and then he shrugged. "I was once a council member to a great race of people that are favored by God, but now, I'm just an old man."

"How did you get here?" Allisia asked. "Where are you from?"

"I am from the Old World. I traveled the seas with the fisherman for years, helping him. One day, I realized I was too old and weak to be of much good to him on the boat, so I decided to find a nice, quiet place to settle down. That was a long time ago."

Suddenly thinking of Kristian, Allisia asked, "Can a man change the way he is?"

"I once was blessed enough to meet someone. He was only a simple and poor man, and I was a highly regarded member of my community, but still, I was drawn to him. I called him Teacher because he taught me that it is never too late to start over. No matter what has happened or how old you are, it is never too late to start over. He was a powerful man of God," Nicodemus assured Allisia.

"We don't really know each other very well," Allisia admitted. "That doesn't sound very promising for two people that are supposed to get married."

"It would seem to me that it means you both get a second chance to make your lives better," Nicodemus said, smiling.

"What is this gift?" Allisia insisted on knowing. "I've got to understand what is going to happen to me, to Kristian, to our people. I have to understand why Ferral has become so powerful and what has happened to Erinia."

"If you cannot understand what has happened here in Erinia, how can you possibly comprehend what I want to tell you about Heaven's plans for you?" Nicodemus challenged. It was obvious that he was not going to tell Allisia anything useful.

With nothing better to do she stepped outside for some fresh air. Allisia wrapped the warm cloak tight about her and took a deep breath.

The peacefulness of the cottage should have been comforting, but she could not keep her head from buzzing. Allisia had seen many horrors. There were too many things that needed doing, and she felt small, insignificant, and not of much importance.

How am I to use this precious gift? Allisia asked herself for the thousandth time. She started to get dizzy again. Her vision narrowed as images of silent soldiers appeared in her mind. The silent ones struggled to climb up the side of a strongly fortified mountain fortress. Warriors from atop the battlements poured hot oil down on them. Some of the silent attackers fell, melted by the steaming liquid. Others ignored the damage done to their bodies by climbing over their brethren like ants swarming toward their prey.

Allisia fell to her knees on the wooden porch gasping for air. As the fog in her head began to clear, she had one last vision of the demon directing more of the dead up the wall toward the living. Then the familiar queasiness swept over Allisia, and she got sick.

A few minutes passed before Allisia was able to stand. When she did, her eyes were filled with tears. She quickly blinked and wiped them away with the back of her hand. A faint light beyond the trees flickered then, drawing her attention.

Allisia walked down the winding path through the woods out onto the sands of the beach. She looked out across the Utwan Sea at the lights she saw far out on the water. Her heart stopped. There was a ship approaching Nicodemus's bay.

How did Ferral find me so quickly? Allisia almost screamed as a hand grabbed her shoulder turning her around. Nicodemus signaled for her to remain silent. "They have come much sooner than I expected. I don't think you are ready, but we have no choice. They will be here soon."

Allisia could hear Nicodemus talking to himself as he pulled her back toward the cottage. "I suppose that is the way it always is. Isn't it? Yes, well, that is how we are all challenged, I suppose." Nicodemus chuckled, "Oh, but he must want you desperately, Allisia. Ferral is much stronger than I anticipated, but no worry, you shall be stronger than even him. It will challenge your mind and body, but you will have the power to counter that evil man."

Nicodemus left Allisia out front of the small home as he collected some items from inside. He quickly came out again taking her further into the woods. Nicodemus stopped under a large oak. They were close enough to still see his home, but from a more concealed spot. He motioned for Allisia to sit on one of the old roots, pulling out a flask and a small wooden cup from a deep pocket in his coat. Nicodemus pulled the cork out of the flask, poured the contents into the cup, careful not to spill a drop, and then handed the cup to Allisia.

"Do you accept this gift from God, this miraculous draught?" Nicodemus asked Allisia in all seriousness.

Allisia sat there without saying a word, staring at the cup. Voices inside her mind screamed, "No, don't take it!" She ignored the warning and took the cup from Nicodemus. It was thick and swirled slowly around the inside of the cup as she tilted it to get a better look. It looked red, was it blood? Allisia's eyes widened in fear; she had no idea what to do or how this would help her escape Ferral.

"It isn't really blood," Nicodemus answered, reading her thoughts. "It's symbolic of the journey you must take. God's power works through the draught. It will help you to see him and to understand what he shows you."

"Who will I see?" Allisia asked. Nicodemus did not answer her this time. He simply held out the cup and waited for her take it.

A lifetime could have passed before Allisia finally responded, "I do." She drank deeply.

Overhead, a dark swirling mass hovered, watching the entire scene. It briefly coalesced into the shape of a winged serpent before a gust of wind forced it back into mist.

The Endargo's crew had already suffered the loss of two Black Guardsmen. The storm that had almost sunk the merchant ship had thrown two of the guards overboard. They fell without a noise into the heavy waves, disappearing immediately. No time was lost in mourning them; the crew had to fight to keep the small craft from sinking.

Their captain, Telosep, had been afraid to undertake this mission. "My craft is too small for the task you have handed us, My Lord." He had tried to explain. "The waters can be very treacherous this time of year. I would recommend you try a larger merchant ship or a galley, My Lord."

Telosep was convinced to take the job after Lieutenant Inneskel, the Black Guards officer assigned the task of bringing Allisia back, struck him hard in the mouth. Telosep had spit out a few teeth and rubbed his swollen bloody mouth, but the captain said nothing. He knew what it would mean for him and his crew to disobey Ferral's men.

The Endargo was not that small. It had two separate cargo areas, each with enough room to house the lieutenant and his men. They secured their horses in the forward hold, and then the guards made themselves comfortable in the hold closer to the stern.

Telosep had tried to keep the shoreline in sight, but their luck had turned bad when they ran into a winter storm hammering the eastern shore of the Utwan Sea. The high winds threatened to throw the smaller vessel against the rocks close to shore. Telosep had no choice but to sail out to deeper waters. When the storm had finally abated, two soldiers were counted as missing; most of the horses had broken their legs or were so frightened they had to be killed. The storm had also destroyed much of the foodstuffs. Now, as Inneskel's men clambered into the rowboat, Telosep wondered what else could go wrong. This was one of the few times that the seaman was glad to be getting his feet back on solid ground.

As the Belarnians pulled toward shore, they hit something that raised the entire boat out of the water. Men shouted in horror as the small wooden craft capsized. One heavily armored guard sank like a rock beneath the water. He barely gasped out the word "help" before the current pulled him under.

Telosep hung on to the half submerged boat helping those close by. The water was too cold; if they did not reach shore soon they might all die. Exhausted, they finally managed to drag the boat up onto the beach. Telosep noticed a few more men missing.

Luckily, Telosep thought, none of them are my men.

Inneskel cursed, furious. He had lost four men and they had not even encountered anyone, yet. The Belarnian leader motioned for his remaining twelve men to spread out. They soon found the small trail leading into the forest. Inneskel signaled for two of his men to scout ahead. The guards hesitated, wondering what danger might find them next.

Inneskel swore at them, "Get moving, you cowards." Looking up at the night sky, he could barely see the black mist Ferral had told him to follow.

Allisia choked and gagged. She gripped a root of the old tree trying to fight back the pain that seared through her body. Images jumped through her mind in a jumbled mix of colors. Most went by too quickly to understand. Others stayed just long enough for her to recognize them.

She sees two armed men walking down a familiar path at night. They see a small cottage ahead. One slips on a wet rock and falls heavily. The image provides no sound, but surely his head made an ugly sound as it smashed into the rock on the ground. The look of disbelief from the other man she sees is enough to bring a slight smile to Allisia's face.

That isn't funny, Allisia reprimands herself, but she cannot help it.

More images flash by and she has a quick glimpse of Kristian. She strains her mind to focus on him and is able to get the image to stay.

Allisia sees him clinging to a rock near water, waves crashing all around him. He struggles to climb up. Gray and black marble ruins await him at the end of a long and dark tunnel.

More images began to flash by. She sees the demon and Ferral's army of dead warriors attacking the mountain fortress again. Vast quantities of smoke make it difficult to discern what transpires in any detail. Allisia then sees Ferral himself. He sits, brooding on his throne of skulls. The sorcerer tries to take a deep breath, but a pain in his side, coming from where she stabbed him, forces him to cough. He almost falls out of his seat. Allisia laughs again feeling no remorse for her attack on the madman.

She sees Nicodemus sitting at his table poring over several ancient scrolls. He is trying to teach her something.

"There are several scrolls, Allisia," Nicodemus tells her. "Each one is difficult to decipher and can take a lifetime to understand and master."

The old man pushes one of the scrolls toward her. "You must study and remember them," Nicodemus says.

"I can't read them," Allisia replies after taking one look at the paper. "It's in a language I don't understand."

"Read it," he urges. Allisia shrugs her shoulders and looks closer at the writing, still not understanding any of what is on the scroll.

"Some powers can be used for good. Others can only be used for evil. You must decide ... you must choose," Nicodemus warns her.

Allisia begins to concentrate on the scroll, but a sudden wind blows open the door and the scrolls fly everywhere.

She tries to understand what she has seen, the effort immediately futile. The scene changes once again and new images begin to fly past her uncontrollably. The colors swirl beyond her and through her; she thinks she might get sick again. Instead, Allisia laughs and keeps on laughing. She cannot help herself. This is too much to expect of her. Allisia knows she will never be capable of understanding any of what she sees.

The images stop. One scene stays frozen in Allisia's mind. She sees a cavern lit by a river of fire and blood, and she hears the screams of countless lost souls. Allisia screams at the image of her father chained to a pillar being tormented by little monsters. The small horned demons jump up and down, all around him. The king of Duellr kicks at the demons, pleading for them to stop. Every once in a while, one gets in under his fat legs and takes a chunk of flesh away with its razor sharp teeth.

The king cries out in pain and sorrow. Allisia calls out to him, but the scene jumps to another part of the cavern. She sees many others that she recognizes; all of them tormented in some different and twisted fashion. Then she sees a lone figure standing on an outcropping. The woman is beautiful; long golden hair falls down over her bare shoulders. She has delicate features that any man would desire. Her red lips glisten and her deep blue eyes can capture any man's heart. Allisia knows this is the demon, the one that has murdered her father and brother and destroyed Kristian's kingdom.

The demon watches all of the suffering around her in silence, tears falling down her face. She raises her hands to plead, and where her hands reach to, Allisia's gaze follows—up beyond the rocks, smoke, and cries of the damned.

Her vision becomes an image of a starry night sky. It is peaceful, with more stars in the heavens than Allisia has ever seen. One star shines particularly bright. It twinkles and appears to grow larger.

The star keeps getting closer until the sphere of light opens into a land of perfection. A walled city a thousand times larger than any Allisia has ever seen fills her vision. Tall buildings of marble and granite form plazas around beautiful hanging gardens. Rivers of deep blue water cascade down around the city separating it into different sections. All of the sections point toward a magnificent palace in the center. It is so bright that it is difficult to see.

A man in simple robes steps out of the palace to greet her. He is handsome, with short brown hair and a beard. His big brown eyes speak to her of peace. Allisia realizes it is the old fisherman that watched over her and protected her in previous dreams. This is the same man but he appears as he must have in his prime, strong and confident.

The fisherman raises his hands as if to give her a hug, like she is his sister, but then he stops. His eyes suddenly become sad, his smile replaced by a grimace of pain. The man points out toward the wall that protects the city. Allisia can barely make out anything through all of the buildings, but something does not seem right. As she focuses on the wall she begins to discern brown spots covering parts of the marble. Not just brown but gray and green spots, as well. It is decay, a sickness and rot slowly tearing at the walls of Paradise. As she watches, Allisia sees one discolored brick fall and smash on the ground.

The fisherman looks down in shame for a moment, but then raises his head to look at her. His smile returns and he calls out her name, "Allisia." The word is golden as it comes from his lips. "Keep faith, Allisia."

He reaches out to touch her, as if she is really there. As he gets closer, the city around him begins to swirl. The images fade in and out again, but the fisherman stays with Allisia. Demons of all shape and size scream at her, but she ignores them. Allisia can only stare at him; to look away will certainly mean her doom. The last image fades away, leaving her in darkness.

Allisia lay next to the old tree still clinging to its roots. She could not move or talk. So many pictures and warnings tumbled through her mind that she could not concentrate. Allisia never even felt the rough hands that grabbed her and dragged her back toward the beach. The Belarnians cursed at her and threatened to harm her if she did not cooperate. Allisia still could not move; she tried to move her arms but they felt like stone.

Allisia barely noticed the cottage engulfed in flames, and she did not see Nicodemus's body lying sprawled out on the porch. She looked into the flames that had been her refuge and saw an image of a fiery mountain. Uncontrolled images still continued to flood her mind wherever she looked.

Allisia laughed the rest of the way to the Endargo.

### 21

### Jai-Quinn

Though Kristian had looked over his shoulder every league, the journey had so far been uneventful. After Balhir led them to one of the clan's secret resupply points, a small cave in the mountain face, the party had quickly moved to get as far from the fighting as possible. Their mission was to get to the Atlunam. It would do no one any good to be surrounded by the creatures. Balhir had been able to provide them with fresh mounts and food. The horses were shorter and sturdier than the ones Mikhal and Kristian were used to. The Holtsmen kept them for their ability to travel through the mountains, but they handled the trek back across the plains just as easily. In just one day's time, the party had moved into the shadows of the great forest.

"Now, what?" Balhir asked as he stared into the depths of the woods. "We won't get very, bloody far before some hunter puts an arrow through each of our eyes." Kristian turned toward Hin'cabo. The hunter pointed toward the woods and said something to Cairn.

Cairn nodded in understanding and translated. "He says this part of the forest has little protection. A patrol from another village only comes by here once a week."

"Only once a week," Balhir exclaimed, looking at Hin'cabo. "If we had known that, then you and the rest of your hunter friends would have had little chance against us."

The hunter laughed sensing what the Holtsman said. Cairn smiled as he listened to the Atlunam hunter.

Cairn repeated, "It would have done you little good. This area is filled with traps. Pits, stakes, and trees that will fall on you. Your chances of survival would have been greater against an army." Balhir and his men were taken back by this. "Hin'cabo knows the paths that are safe. He says he can get us through the dangers in less than a day, but it is too late to start. It is suicide for anyone, even an Atlunam, to try and get through in darkness."

Mikhal scanned the edge of the trees and found a group of sturdy, older elms on a slight rise to their left. "Is it safe to camp there? The trees will help conceal us and our mounts, plus it looks a little more defensible." Cairn and Hin'cabo nodded in agreement. The group would rest as much as possible and move into the forest at first light.

As Kristian and his companions established their own sleeping area inside the perimeter, Cairn and Hin'cabo discussed the best route to the capital. Though speed was crucial, in the end it mattered little. Few roads passed into the interior of the forest, and only one road would take them all the way into the heart of the Atlunam Kingdom. Hin'cabo told Cairn that it would take at least two full days to reach the city. Cairn nodded grimly, and moved over to discuss the plan with the rest of the group.

Balhir returned from checking on his men and decided to listen in. Cairn translated for Hin'cabo, saying, "So, it will take at least two days, probably more like three, before we reach the capital."

"What is the name of this city?" Kristian asked.

"It is called Jai-Quinn, meaning Foundation," Cairn explained.

"Foundation? Is that it?" Maurin exclaimed. "For such a secretive race, I would have thought they would have a better name for their capital."

"It is hard to describe," Cairn went on. "Their language is very complex. There are several different words that could describe a foundation. Jai-Quinn would describe the 'best type' of foundation.

"Just like the Atlu-buggers," Balhir snorted. "Always thinking they are better than everyone else. Their arrogant attitude is what separates them from my people. If they ever got off their sacred 'foundation' and talked with other people, as if they were no better than anyone else, then maybe there would be no war between us."

"I'm sure it's solely their fault that your two nations have been trying to destroy each other for centuries, Balhir," Kristian replied. "Cairn, what can you tell us of the Atlunam's culture, their king? What can we expect when we enter their city? And what will happen when I ask them for their support?"

Cairn's brow furrowed, "Those are difficult questions. The easiest one to answer is about how well you will be received. I don't think you will be welcome in Jai-Quinn. The Atlunam are very distrustful of outsiders. It will be hard to convince them that they're in danger when there is no direct threat against their people."

"I thought you told us to seek their help," Kristian replied, suddenly losing hope. "Have we wasted our time seeking something that we know we can't obtain?"

"I don't think so. You have several things to your advantage. First, you are a king. There have been few envoys to these people, if ever. They may be interested in what you have to say because of your status. The fact that you also have the son of a Holt chieftain with you may also interest them. The Atlunam are not ones to be outdone. Also, I've had dealings with them before. Some of the guards, or maybe a person in the court, might speak up on our behalf if I can convince them of the danger they face."

"What about their culture, Cairn? What are the people like," Mikhal wanted to know.

Cairn took a long time before he told them what he knew. "They are restless. It's as if they're eager to do things, yet afraid to try. They are very intelligent, overall. I have never met one of them that could not read and write. Many of the Atlunam can speak more than one language, especially those from the better families. I don't think it will be a challenge communicating with the Royal Family.

"As for their culture, they seem to know so many things inherently. Their buildings are constructed in a way completely different from all the rest in the world. The homes and shops are more beautiful, but also practical. I think the capital will astound us all. It is supposedly set among the trees of a delta created by two large rivers, the buildings spread across the low hills overlooking the waters. Almost every home has a spectacular view of the surrounding forest and rivers. The rivers meet right at the bay to a warm water ocean. The capital uses the bay as a port, facilitating trade to outlying villages. And the entire city is protected by a wooden wall thirty feet high. The wall is so far away from the homes that you would never even know that the place was one of the best protected capitals in the world."

Kristian smirked. "You described it very well. I thought you told us you had never been there?"

Cairn nodded, hesitantly. "I have been there before. I didn't want to deceive you, but ... it is a part of my past that is hard for me to share."

Mikhal had the next question. "If these people are as mistrusting as you have said, then why did they allow you to enter their woods?" Everyone seemed to lean closer as they waited for Cairn's reply.

"I think they were curious about me. We eventually came to an agreement to help each other," Cairn offered. "I taught them to understand our language and in return some of them taught me how to deal with my problems." They all looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Let's just say, the Atlunam taught me a little about how to deal with anger. They taught me one of the Ways of the Sword, the Tarish'sa Shaif. It's not the highest level of swordsmanship you can attain, but the skills I gained were enough for what I needed to do; the Atlunam would not permit me to learn everything."

Entering the woods stressed the group to the edge of shattering, knowing that traps lay all around them. One wrong step could kill one or all of them. Balhir and his men fared worse than the others, having to trust Hin'cabo even though they had put him on trial only a few days ago. The Holtsmen feared Hin'cabo might lead them away from the correct path intentionally and kill each of them, one by one.

The trees towered over them creating shadows everywhere. The morning sun shone dimly through the branches of the trees to their front. Though most of the dirt path was engulfed in darkness, Hin'cabo walked forward with sure steps. The others walked with more caution. Several paths split off from the one that Hin'cabo chose; any one of those paths could mean disaster.

Hin'cabo pointed out some of the traps along the way just to prove they were real. The hunter showed Balhir a small, thin line of string crossing their path. Behind some brush next to the path, Hin'cabo pointed at a series of saplings pulled back and staked to the ground. The saplings were covered with sharp thorns. Cairn told them the thorns were covered in poison. The party carefully walked around the tripwire.

Balhir shook his head in disgust.

It took them the better part of the day to get past the traps. They knew they were safe when their winding path suddenly changed into a hard-packed road. A horse and cart could fit with ease on the straight, dirt road, which ran to the east far beyond their sight. Cairn spoke with Hin'cabo and then came back to his Erandian companions. He suggested they take a short break to eat and rest.

No sooner had they taken the packs off their backs than Hin'cabo signaled for them to prepare for another march. The Atlunam hunter raised a staff over his head that held a piece of yellow fabric attached to it. A strange red symbol marked the center of the fabric. Cairn had told them earlier that Hin'cabo planned to do this for their protection against those that would recognize them as outsiders or worse, Holtsmen. They started off with Hin'cabo and Cairn in the lead and the remainder split up walking on either side of the road at regular intervals.

Cairn turned back to Kristian as they started walking, "With good weather, a strong pace and no encounters, we could be in the capital before tomorrow night. It is about forty miles to the east and then south." Maurin groaned aloud at the thought of the painful walk ahead. The others simply nodded ready to get the journey over with.

Toward evening, the party encountered the first of many other Atlunam tribesmen traveling along the road. The first pair was a couple of elderly Atlunam carrying a bundle of sticks on their backs. Kristian and the rest of the group overtook them on the road, barely slowing as they passed by. Mikhal was the lone exception; his pace lessened as he looked at the Atlunam, but the couple pretended not to notice any of them until they saw some of Balhir's men. The man and his wife dropped their sticks as they stared in wide-eyed fear at the dull armor and long braided hair of their ancient enemies. They looked in bewilderment back and forth between the Holtsmen and the makeshift banner that Hin'cabo carried. They quickly gathered their belongings together and hurried off on a side road, keeping their eyes on Balhir's men the entire time.

Balhir came close to Kristian and said, "I just hope that blasted sign does not say, 'Holtsmen coming, please kill them'."

Kristian smiled, "maybe that's exactly what it says." Balhir glanced at the banner then snorted, showing his disgust while trying to hide his worry.

Hin'cabo did not slacken his pace even as the light of day failed. Upon returning to his homeland, the injured hunter had regained some of his confidence and strength. He knows the dead are coming, and his only chance to protect his people is to make sure the king knows what to expect, Kristian thought. Hin'cabo must have his misgivings about the Holtsmen, especially the chieftain's son, but there's little that can be done about it. The dead that threatened to overwhelm the Holts would soon turn their attention upon the Atlunam. Hin'cabo's wife and parents would not be the last victims to fall to the evil sorcerer's army.

Lanterns hung down among the trees almost every half mile of the route, and the road appeared well used. This seemed to worry the Holtsmen as much as the possibility of traps. Balhir knew this meant that the Atlunam surrounded them.

"How long have we been under the watch of those blasted archers and their deadly arrows?" Balhir asked Cairn. "Are they following us?"

"Probably," Cairn admitted.

Kristian could not help but smile a little. The distrust between the two people was as bad as the animosity between Erandians and Belarnians. These people might be totally removed from my situation, but it seems we're very alike. If I can convince them of this and the danger we all face, then maybe I can find the help I need to rescue Allisia.

As the moon began to rise behind them, Hin'cabo stopped and moved off on a small path to his left. Kristian followed and saw the path led them into a small clearing free of underbrush. A small pit ringed with stones for a fire sat in the middle of the clearing.

Hin'cabo came back to Kristian, saying something in his own language, and then added, "Safe here. Please rest, friend." The hunter smiled when he saw the look of astonishment on the Erandian's face. Cairn approached as Hin'cabo left to gather sticks for a fire.

"Hin'cabo has been asking me how to say something to you all day. He is much better with a bow and arrow than he is with words," Cairn said.

Kristian stammered out, "I'm honored."

"Yes, you should be. Rarely do they accept outsiders. You and Mikhal have proven yourselves. I don't think Hin'cabo will ever forget how you stood up for him against Vortah."

Mikhal had heard the discussion and added, "I hope that counts for something when all of their weapons are focused on us at the city gates."

That night, as Kristian prepared to lie down, the wind picked up around him. Dirt from the ground flew up and stung his eyes blinding him for a moment. Kristian squinted, trying to get the dirt out. Then he saw a vision of Allisia, of her beautiful figure outlined in shimmering silver; her features the color of the moon. Her eyes, dark and beautiful, had a new sadness in them. She stared at Kristian for a moment before speaking.

"Hurry, Kristian, hurry." Grief tinged her voice, but he could sense no hint of panic. Kristian thought Allisia sounded resigned to her situation, as though she wanted to warn him that she was running out of time but did not expect him to come to her aid.

"Allisia? Allisia, God, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I ..."

"Kristian, hurry." Then Allisia's image faded away.

Kristian stood there staring into the dark woods where she had appeared. He looked around for an instant to see if anyone else had seen her, but everyone continued preparing for bed. Kristian was the only one to see her. Confused, he shook his head wondering if he had really seen Allisia or just imagined her. The nagging feeling that Allisia was running out of time would not leave him, though. Kristian did not sleep the rest of the night.

The traffic on the road heading east worsened the next day. Atlunam stopped and turned to stare at them. It caused Hin'cabo and the others to slow down twice when crowds of angry villagers blocked their path. Kristian feared an incident, but each time Hin'cabo raised his peace banner the crowds dispersed, without confrontation or even a word for their fellow countryman.

Albeit reluctantly, Kristian believed.

The tension they all felt helped them through the miles. Sooner than Kristian expected, they reached the outskirts of the Atlunam capital. They had walked forty miles in a day and a half. Kristian had constantly pushed the party to move faster since the vision of Allisia the previous night.

Below them, the road widened and small clusters of homes appeared just beyond the bushes surrounding the path. The area had an eerie silence about it. The sudden noise of one of the Holtsmen clearing his throat jolted Maurin, who was already on edge. The healer's eyes stayed wide open, scanning the trees for the near-invisible hunters with their deadly bows. If the Atlunam hunters hid there, however, Maurin never discovered them.

None of them expected the sight that met their eyes as they climbed the final small rise. Kristian stopped next to Cairn and Hin'cabo staring in awe at Jai-Quinn. Though still a fair distance to travel, the capital sprawled in such a manner that it took up their entire view.

Kristian looked out over a great valley that stretched for miles to the north and south. Little communities and larger wooded areas dotted the valley. The smoke, from the homesteads and even a few shops, trickled up into the sky. A sparkling blue river flowed in a lazy fashion through the low ground merging with a wider, dark green river in the middle of the valley. The two waters joined for a while, and then separated, creating a small island before rejoining. Further to the south, Kristian could just see where the combined rivers broadened into a bay. Further out, he could see the light blue haze of an ocean. Dark storm clouds gathered far to the south, just at the edge of the horizon.

The natural beauty of the valley left the whole group speechless. Fields of wild grass covered the small hills. Everything appeared to be natural and unspoiled, making it difficult for Kristian to notice the palace and the other government buildings. They seemed a part of the scenery, as natural as the trees and the rivers.

The great wooden wall stood out from all of the other artificial structures. The timbers rose much higher than what Cairn had described. Each wooden shaft stood straight, smoothly finished. At the top of the wall, cut timbers formed bulwarks where guards could hide from arrows and spears. The wall curved with the surrounding hills and trees making it seem even more appropriate. After more consideration, Kristian noticed that the wall always seemed to be placed to the tactical advantage of the defenders. He could see few vulnerable points where attackers had a height advantage or where they could use trees and hills to cover the route up to the wall. Wherever an apparent weakness existed, the Atlunam had erected wooden towers behind the wall. It was impressive—in some ways it resembled the Holtsmen's fortress, practical and defendable. Where granite made up the majority of the Cougar Holt's stronghold, the Atlunam used wood for most of their capital. Kristian felt there was something different about the Atlunam lands, however. There was an overdone quality to the structures that, in some ways, reminded him of Erandian nobles trying too hard to convince his father of their importance.

The homes and buildings of the city were not organized into neat and efficient blocks nor did they appear random. Many of the structures took advantage of the surrounding environment. Kristian could see groups of cottages clustered around several stands of trees within the valley. He imagined much of the city looked like that. Some of the larger buildings stood out in the open; some of the wooden structures had three or more stories. Many had balconies and porches giving him a sense of tranquility and indicating the Atlunam did not take their surroundings for granted.

The only odd thing Kristian noticed was that he could not see any, "Roads. There are very few roads."

"You are right, Kristian. There are few roads in the city. The Atlunam feel they destroy the beauty of the scenery," Cairn replied.

"How do they get their heavier traffic from place to place? Where are the horses and carts? How do they move all of their supplies?"

Cairn had a knowing smile on his face. "You will have to see it to believe it. I could never explain it well enough anyway."

### 22

### The Royal Family

Cairn surveyed the area, as well. The city had not changed. He was sure the people had not changed either. Cairn grimaced at the thought of how difficult the challenges ahead would be.

But who would have thought the Atlunam would ever have accepted me, Cairn remembered.

There were certain past events that Cairn did not want to be reminded of, especially by those they journeyed to meet. If Cairn could have stayed hidden among the trees and waited for Kristian's return, he would have.

A slight breeze caught Cairn's attention and he breathed it in. He closed his eyes and tried to put his anxiety aside, for the sake of what had to be done. It was too hard.

"Oh, Cairn," Julia chided him, "you never were any good around others. You were always too shy."

Cairn sighed, Julia is right. I've never been comfortable around others.

"How did you ever find the courage to talk to me?" Julia teased.

"I knew you were my love, the first day I saw you ... even though we were only children. You were beautiful, and I didn't want to share you with anyone else. It gave me the strength to make you my friend ... and then my love," Cairn told Julia.

"You always made me smile, Cairn," Julia reminded him. "You always thought I was beautiful. But look at what that brute did to my special dress!" The immediate image of Julia lying bleeding on the road next to him changed the moment. The memories always seemed to haunt him like that. There was never a good one without it being immediately followed by a terrible reminder of how they had been separated for all time.

"Do you still remember me, Cairn, after all these years?"

How could he forget? Cairn would never forget.

Cairn seems distracted, Kristian thought, but soon the island drew their full attention. It was not much of an island, perhaps a quarter of a mile wide, yet ranking as the one of the most amazing places the young king had ever seen. The island gently sloped upward giving it a commanding view of the entire valley. The trees on the island grew the tallest and thickest within the walled capital, perhaps the oldest trees on the continent. The single structure on the island was constructed in and among the giant trees. The palace of the Atlunam King was majestic, rising three stories high with the upper two floors having decks and balconies wrapped all around it. It did not appear to dominate the hill, or the ancient trees, but share the space with what nature had already put there.

Mikhal's nudge brought Kristian back from his thoughts. The cavalier pointed down the road at the gate that lay before them. "I think their king knows we're coming." Kristian barely heard Maurin's moan as he took in the scene ahead of them.

Kristian judged the size of the crowd to be around seven hundred, including a large contingent of armed hunters. They stood in large linear formations near the road, lining the way the visitors had to go—up to a mile away from the main gate into Jai-Quinn. Gold and blue flags and streamers held high throughout their ranks added life to the otherwise motionless assembly. At the gate, a large group of Atlunam stood waiting.

Waiting on me, Kristian knew.

Those formed up outside the wooden gate into Jai-Quinn looked well-trained. Most carried bows and swords. They remained motionless as Kristian and his companions looked down at them.

"Well, we better not keep them," Kristian said. The young king straightened out his clothes, brushed the travel dust from his cloak and ran fingers through his hair.

"One wrong move will kill us all," Kristian reminded them. Mikhal seemed to have come to the same conclusion, and they both gave Balhir a warning look.

The moody Holtsman nodded in understanding and turned to give terse orders of restraint to his men.

Cairn came up to Kristian and pointed, "Those are the House Guard. None are better trained at the bow. Their colored banners represent the family member they have been assigned to protect. Purple are the king's own bodyguards. The other three, yellow, blue, and green, are most likely for his children."

Kristian guessed that the main entourage blocking the entrance to the capital must then be the Royal Family. "So the king himself has heard of us. Is this a good or bad thing?"

"There is only one way to find out," Mikhal replied.

Kristian nodded in agreement and motioned for Hin'cabo to lead the way. The hunter picked up his peace flag and descended the hill walking directly toward the gate. Kristian let out a deep sigh and started down the road toward Jai-Quinn.

As the party of Erandians and Holtsmen walked toward the awaiting Atlunam, the wall seemed to grow to an incredible height. "I had no idea it was that tall," Maurin exclaimed.

What appeared to be only a thirty foot tall obstacle now looked more like fifty or sixty feet. The wood was smooth cut and treated, making it impossible to scale without sharp tools. The wall did not look as though it would easily catch fire either. The top of the wall had crenulations to protect the guards as they shot their arrows down at invaders.

Kristian stopped for a moment as he noticed the House Guards for the first time. Kristian thought the expert hunters looked fierce in their mottled grey and green clothes. He figured that the colors provided camouflage to hide them in the woods, their preferred battle ground. All of them had a specially crafted ash bow slung behind them with an array of arrows. They also carried a short sword and hunting knife attached to their belts, their ability to remain as still as statues impressed him most. They looked ready for any fight, with their fists clenched and arms slightly flexed in front of them. As Kristian walked by, they continued to look straight ahead, unmoving, but ready to strike.

And as Kristian got even closer to the gate, he could see it was half closed. Is this a sign that they will let us in? Or is it simply to ensure that the guards can get the Royal Family out of harm's way quickly ... in case they decide to kill us, Kristian asked himself.

Then Kristian saw the Atlunam King. His face was wrinkled and his flowing blue robes hung from his too thin frame; his hair was so fine that Kristian could not tell if it was blonde or white. The king stood among an entourage of the Atlunam noblemen waiting for their arrival. The fiercest hunters Kristian had seen yet flanked the Atlunam king. Their bows were out and ready and their determined looks suggested the personal guards would not allow any altercations to be started by Kristian or his party.

Three young adults, presumably the king's children, stood with their father. A man, a younger woman, and a teenage boy gathered around the king and the personal guards. They wore varying colors of the forest, in shades of green and light brown. The royal heirs wore similar shirts and pants, their honor and rank differentiated only by a colored silk sash around their waist. All of them had straight golden hair and blue eyes.

All of Kristian's companions turned to stare at the king's daughter. She had long golden hair and a slender form. Her bright blue eyes sparkled in the sun, and her soft skin showed no sign of blemishes. The woman looked at each of Kristian's men with curiosity.

Then the oldest son stepped forward just as Kristian and his party came before the king. His long hair was tied back at the neck and he had a neatly trimmed beard that surrounded his mouth and chin. To the Erandian King's surprise, he did not address Kristian but stepped directly in front of Hin'cabo. Even in the sing-song language of the Atlunam, Kristian could tell the words dripped with anger. Hin'cabo stiffened, raising his chin a bit, as he replied back in a tone and manner much calmer than the Atlunam prince.

Hin'cabo turned then to speak with Cairn, but the Atlunam prince cut him short. "You are not welcome," the prince said, haltingly in the Erinian language. "You brought our enemies here under a banner of peace, when we know that they have slaughtered hundreds of our people in the last few weeks. It seems that the warning you received on the plains was not enough. You should have been killed the first time you tried to enter our lands, King Kristian."

"Yet, they were not," the king interrupted. "They were not killed and for good reason." He stepped past his guards despite the looks of concern from his children.

"I am Gun-Surow, King of the Atlunam people. I am not happy that you have brought these foul people into our land, young King Kristian. I am curious enough, however, to overlook it for the moment. There are many evil things happening beyond the walls of our forest. I must know what is out there."

"You already know, Father," his eldest son exclaimed. "The Holtsmen raided our villages and killed our people!"

"Enough, Te," The king ordered. Kristian looked back at Balhir to make sure he remembered his promise. The Holtsman looked very nervous.

"I assure you, Gun-Surow, that whatever else has happened between your people and the Holtsmen, they are not responsible for the attacks in the west," Kristian said.

"And that is why I allowed you to come here." The old king turned and started through the open gate. Kristian waited a few moments before leading his men after the Atlunam leader. Kristian noticed that the king's sons stared at him, as if greeting and making Kristian feel welcome were beneath them. The king's daughter behaved different. She looked intently at each of them, especially Cairn, and kept a slight smile on her face.

Kristian discovered the view from inside the walls was even more magnificent than what they had seen from the hill. The areas that had been blocked from their view by trees now opened up into beautiful, wide boulevards that branched in different directions from the main gate. Homes hid under the large branches near the shaded glens. The soft, yellow glow of lanterns hung from the lower branches making the scene complete. Kristian could not imagine a more peaceful place. Many people walked by dressed in the common attire of the forest people, simple tunics and pants or dresses in the various colors of the forest. Many of them stopped to bow to their king as he passed and to stare at those that trailed behind him.

Kristian and his companions passed quickly through the first small village, Gun-Surow leading them further down into the valley. Soon, they came to the waters of the dark blue river that flowed southward. There, Kristian came upon another village. This village stretched out before them, larger than any of the others Kristian had seen. In the center of the town, a small, white marble pavilion dominated an open air market. Roses spiraled up around the smooth marble columns toward the top where hand-sculpted, exotic birds spread their wings in flight. A young couple walked up the few steps of the pavilion and sat down on the marble bench inside. They sat there contemplating the serene environment and the beauty of the water and the bridge that crossed over it.

"This is Kal Tai Gu, River of the Snow Mountains," Gun-Surow proclaimed as they started across. "And this bridge is the oldest bridge we know of in the lands. The wood was taken from a single, great Silver Dukai tree. The story goes that the tree was the strongest and biggest Dukai tree throughout our kingdom. When it was cut down, the color of the wood quickly changed from its shimmering brilliance to blood red." Gun-Surow turned back and looked beyond Kristian to his children.

"That is when our people were reminded of their place in the grand scheme of all life. We had been wanderers for over two hundred years until we found this valley. We cultivated it, built in it, and used it, just like we had always done. We had never given a thought to what we were doing to the land, what we were doing to ourselves.

"Then we cut down the great Dukai tree. It caused a profound change in all of us. We became one with the valley and the surrounding forest. We would kill or cut down only what was needed for survival. And where we had scarred the earth we rebuilt it, nurtured it. The Atlunam are now one with the forest."

"Awfully good at killing people for being tree-lovers," Balhir said under his breath.

"So," Gun-Surow continued ignoring the Holtsman, "you can see why it is hard for us to accept strangers. We cannot bear to see strangers in our land that do not know our ways and will not respect our customs."

"I respect you and your customs, Your Highness," Kristian said. "We did not come here to change your ways. We came ..." A wave of the king's hand cut him off.

"We will talk of such matters later. I do not wish my people or my children," Gun-Surow looked at his daughter, "to hear troubling news from outsiders." He raised his hands gesturing at the beautiful surroundings. "For now, please enjoy the scenery and try to understand our 'Taquai Daiwela', our life's work."

Mikhal noticed the Atlunam Taquai Daiwela more than any of the others. He saw how well the Atlunam maintained the walks and gardens—how healthy the grass and trees were—how clean the water in the ponds and fountains was. Everywhere he looked the cavalier saw evidence of how hard these people had worked to create a paradise.

As they walked further along, the path improved. By the time they reached the third settlement, it was significantly wider. They stepped onto a smooth, flagstone walkway that showed no signs of wear.

Toward late afternoon, Kristian and Mikhal had already passed the place where the blue and green rivers met. The color of the water turned a murky green for a while and then gradually became clearer. A few waterfalls and moss covered rocks set in the middle of the river helped clean out the mud and sediment brought down from the northeast. Low overhanging branches from trees on the banks formed a sort of tunnel at one point where the river narrowed. From the vines of the trees, shiny green leaves and small white blossoms hung down in the water making a screen.

Mikhal noted the way pairs of Atlunam gathered in this place. Older couples relaxed everywhere. They sat on the grass near the bank, dangling their feet into the cool waters and enjoying each other's company. Younger lovers held hands or smiled at each other.

Mikhal felt more at home here than at any other place he had visited since leaving Erand. He could not imagine any place more peaceful than where he was standing. There can be no better Heavenly Garden on Earth than the one I see now.

The king interrupted his thoughts. "And where are you from?" Gun-Surow asked, looking directly at Mikhal.

"I'm from a small village called Hiefort, Sire. It's a day's journey from the capital of Erand."

"You do not look like an Erandian. What is your lineage? What do you know of your ancestors?" Gun-Surow pressed.

"Mine? Very little. They've always been farmers from the northeastern part of Erand. At least, that is what I was told." Mikhal's voice faltered as he remembered his recent dreams. What if they were more than dreams? What if they were a part of his life and not another's?

"You are troubled. It is plain to see that there is Atlunam blood in your veins. Though it is odd for someone to leave the safety of our woods, it is not unheard of," Gun-Surow admitted.

Mikhal stared at him dumbfounded.

As Mikhal wondered at the king's interest in him, they came to a large gate. It was an ornamental wooden portal, nothing more than the frame for a gate, signifying the entrance into another part of the capital. Beyond, the land sloped downward into a bowl no more than a half mile in diameter. The river they had followed dropped through a series of rocky ledges and finally into a pool at the bottom of the depression. The river split around an island before continuing south through the small valley.

As they passed under the gate, the king bowed and said to them in a formal gesture of welcome, "I am Gun-Surow. Welcome to my home, Jai-Quinn." He gestured with his hand indicating that everything inside the small valley was his.

Mikhal stepped forward along with Maurin. They gawked at the beauty they saw. The flagstone road they walked on now paralleled the river ledges very close as it led down into the smaller valley. It disappeared underneath a large copse of trees before reappearing at the water's edge. A bridge similar to the one they had crossed earlier provided access to the island, which was not large; mainly a modest hill that the river had to bypass. Massive trees covered the island, taller than any they had seen throughout the capital. The green foliage hid most of the land opposite the bridge, only the top-most floors of a grand house peeked out just above the tree line.

Delicately designed to enhance the beauty of the surrounding trees, the palace of the Atlunam King was simple, yet elegant. In some places, they could see the branches of magnificent trees climbing out from within the palace. It amazed Kristian when he learned that not a single tree had been cut when the Atlunam constructed the massive home.

"We will meet in my council room in one hour," Gun-Surow said. "You will be given some food and fresh water to clean up with. Make sure they clean up." He nodded toward Balhir and his men, who glared back at the Atlunam king. "A messenger will come for you when I am ready. And do not bring the Holtsmen with you."

"They are here because they pledged to help me. I will not show disrespect to them by leaving them behind," Kristian replied.

Gun-Surow hesitated, and then the king responded as if annoyed by the whole matter, "Bring a few, if it pleases you, but do not bring weapons."

Mikhal thought Kristian was about to say something that would make matters worse and placed a hand on his shoulder. Kristian looked at him and then nodded in agreement.

### 23

### The Atlunam Council

Cairn followed behind Kristian and the others, already uncomfortable at being asked to accompany them into the Atlunam council chamber. He remained at the back of their small group, hoping not to draw attention, knowing it would not work. They were surrounded by the old, wise men of the Atlunam. The council members sat in high-backed chairs in a semi-circle in front of Kristian listening to him recount the past month. A head did not move during Kristian's speech, but when the young king was finally finished, Gun-Surow stood and all attention turned toward the older king. "And now you have come here. Hoping that I might help you rescue your betrothed. You know little of us, King Kristian, if you expect us to become involved in the affairs of the northern people."

"This is not about helping me save Allisia. This is about helping yourselves," Kristian pressed. "Surely, you can see that, sooner or later, Ferral will turn his powers against you?"

"He already has," Gun-Surow replied. "We have killed several of his scouting parties trying to enter the forest, but we have seen no army of dead creatures. So, Kristian, why should I believe you or help you, especially since you come into my lands with my enemies in your midst?"

Balhir was with them and stepped forward. "I have come because I have seen these creatures myself. They are even now besieging my father's stronghold."

"Good, they'll do part of our job for us. Hopefully, there will be a lot less of you for us to kill later," Prince Te'lin said from the back of the room. Balhir turned toward Gun-Surow's son, ready to shoot back a reply, when Kristian stepped forward.

"I'm not going to go through this again." Kristian gave the Atlunam prince an exasperated look before addressing Te-lin's father. "I came seeking help. Not just for men and supplies, but knowledge. I've heard there are none more learned in the world than the Atlunam."

"And who has made that claim, I wonder?" Gun-Surow looked at Cairn and then spoke to him in his own language. "It has been a long time since you were here, Cairn. How has your own quest gone? Did you free yourself of the voices that haunt you?"

"I have dealt with the monsters ... the voice still lingers," Cairn answered. He looked over at Te'lin, Gun-Surow's oldest son, and noticed he was sneering at him.

Gun-Surow nodded, sadly. "There are still some monsters left, it would appear." Cairn raised an eyebrow in question but said nothing. "We will talk more later. I have to decide what to do about this foolish, young king."

"Kristian is young, Your Majesty, but growing out of his folly. I, too, have seen these creatures. They are real and there are many of them."

"How many?" one of the council members pressed Cairn.

"Countless."

"What does that mean?" Te'lin challenged.

"It means that there are more than I could count," Cairn replied evenly, staring back at the Atlunam prince.

"How many?" Te'lin demanded. "Or don't you know how to count? Perhaps you lost your brain, as well as your sanity when you came begging for our help, Tarish'sa Shaif."

Cairn smiled. This was the part that he had expected but had hoped to avoid. Cairn had never met the children of Gun-Surow, but Te-lin's reputation preceded him.

"At least twenty five thousand creatures are attacking the Cougar Holt. From what we encountered in Shuru Kaithep, I'd estimate there's at least another one thousand of the dead already in the forest."

The gathered elders shifted, worried expressions covering their faces. Even the self-righteous Te-lin could not hold Cairn's stare. He looked away.

"Yes, well, we already knew that Ferral was up to something," Gun-Surow replied as he sat back down. Cairn's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Gun-Surow evaded his stare and offered, "My own sage saw it in his dreams."

Gun-Surow let out a deep sigh, and then he spoke to Kristian. "I do not doubt your words or what has happened to those that have met you. So, I would be an even bigger fool to help you.

And why are you here?" Gun-Surow changed languages again to confront Balhir. Only Cairn and Hin'cabo could keep up with the rapid changes.

"I asked my father to let me come and find the answer we need to defeat this army that threatens my people," Balhir announced, stiffly.

"Do you honestly think that we would give that answer to you," exclaimed Te'lin.

"I was hoping ... I was hoping that we could put aside our own arguments in order to combat this threat together."

Even the king scoffed at Balhir's words. "Many offenses can be forgotten, Holtsman, but the Atlunam will never forget the butchery you caused that sparked the War of the Woods."

"That was five hundred years ago," Balhir replied.

"It could have been a thousand years ago, we will never forget," Te'lin cut in. "You should have let me kill him when I first saw him, Father."

Balhir started toward the prince again. "It isn't too late to try, wood fairy. My brother was killed last week by an Atlunam raiding party. I'm more than ready to start up the old feud again if you are."

Te'lin faced Balhir's threat, jabbing a finger toward the Holtsman, "Our kingdom was whole. We were united after a great tragedy, but your greed and desire for 'self-rule' stripped us of everything. You took everything: the seed, the food, the pottery, the manpower ..."

"We took what we needed to survive and nothing more. If we hadn't acted, you would have destroyed us all with your foolish attempts to control magic. Didn't you learn the first time," Balhir shot back at them in their own language.

"It was not the Atlunam that infiltrated the woods at night and slaughtered hundreds of innocent people," Gun-Surow pointed out.

"Ha! There are no innocents, especially in these cursed woods. Atlunam hunters killed my brother and hundreds of people under his protection. They were in the neutral area and protected under the truce. Your people slaughtered them."

"I do not know what you speak of. There have been no breaches of the pact since it was signed," Gun-Surow claimed.

"Their warriors have invaded the woods before, Father," Te'lin countered. "I wouldn't be surprised if his claims were made up just so they could have reason to do so again."

"We're not the ones that meddled with magic that was better left forgotten. We're not the ones that tried to bring back the old ways, the same old ways that destroyed our homes before. We had a duty to stop the magi, since your 'fair-haired king' would not," Balhir snapped.

"They were doing controlled experiments, trying to learn from the mistakes of the past so that we could have a future. We needed the magic to help us after you abandoned us," Gun-Surow said in a defensive tone.

"Our heritage and bloodline is thousands of years old. We flourished as an empire because of our ability to rule," one Atlunam advisor challenged.

Balhir laughed. "From what I have seen," he paused to look around the room, "your bloodline is greatly diminished."

"Stop!" Gun-Surow commanded. "I am not finished." His look encompassed everyone, threatening them and making sure they knew the discussion was over. "I will not allow these outsiders ... these Northerners to know of our history," Gun-Surow said so that Kristian could not understand. He looked at Cairn with a harsh expression making sure the swordsman understood how badly things would go for him if he told Kristian what he knew of their past.

"I will hold you to the Kutodahk, Balhir, son of Vortah. There will be another time to talk about this matter." Balhir chaffed under the king's scrutiny but nodded in silent acceptance. Gun-Surow then turned to Te'lin and forced his son to step back behind the council members.

Speaking to Kristian and his comrades, Gun-Surow announced. "I will not aid you with men or supplies. I will have enough problems of my own soon enough, thanks to you and your companions. This army and the sorcerer controlling them will surely turn their focus on us once they discover you are here. So, to get you out of my lands as quickly as possible I will assist you with knowledge that may help. I do not know the way to destroy these creatures. My lore masters have searched every tome and parchment we have in our archives and there is no mention of this type of devilry. However, there were two interesting facts that they did find out."

A scribe stepped forward and handed Kristian a rolled parchment. Kristian handed it to Mikhal without looking at it, his eyes fixed upon Gun-Surow. Mikhal scanned it briefly. "This is a layout of the Belarnian capital." Mikhal shrugged his shoulders. "I don't understand. How will this help us?"

"Look closely at the small bay to the west of the fortress," the scribe urged Mikhal.

Kristian and Mikhal did and noticed a small, man-made bay on the western side of the walled city. They saw a rock seawall with only a small entrance created to protect the harbor. On each side of the bay, the map showed a single watch tower. The Belarnians were masters of erecting defensive structures. No doubt they feared a naval attack against their vulnerable fishing fleet and had developed these towers to protect against Erandian attacks. Looking even closer, Kristian noticed dashed lines that started at the tower on the south side of the bay and ended inside the walls of the city.

"I still don't understand. What is this line running from the tower at the bay into the city? A tunnel?"

"It is. A tunnel that Belarnian guards used to get back and forth during a siege. The exit is marked under a temple that we know is no longer there. Just ruins now. It was built to worship Belatarn but destroyed after the overthrow of the cult."

"How do we even know it is still there," Balhir challenged. "It could have been destroyed or collapsed ages ago."

"That is certainly possible. In fact, that is most likely what has happened, but it is better than trying to tear down the gates. Would you not agree, King Kristian?" Gun-Surow asked.

"We have already tried that," Mikhal commented, remembering the moment he stood alone underneath Ferral's position setting the main gate ablaze. "It didn't work very well." Kristian lowered his head slightly.

"This path is subtle, possibly something Ferral has overlooked. He may not even know it exists. A small group like the one you have may be able to use it to get into the sorcerer's lair," Gun-Surow suggested.

Kristian thought about it a moment longer before rolling the parchment back up. "I appreciate the information, but the help you have given me is cryptic at best. I had heard that you are the wisest people in the world. I had heard that you know more than any other people. Surely you know of some way to defeat this demon or Ferral's army of dead creatures," Kristian implored.

Gun-Surow nodded with a smile. "I will have my chief historian meet you in the royal library. Much can be learned from history. Know your enemy and you may unravel the secret to destroying him. Perhaps you will find the answer in one of our ancient texts. Now, I will give you and your," the Atlunam king hesitated as he looked at Balhir with disgust, "party fresh provisions. I also understand that there is a would-be healer with you. My best healers are instructing him even now on how to better treat the wounded. I expect that you will be ready to leave in one day. You will be escorted north along the most expeditious route by my personal guards. We will not meet again, Kristian, so farewell."

Cairn looked to see Kristian's reaction. Kristian's face was red and his lips tightened into an angry smile. "I came here asking for help with nothing to offer in return so I expected little. And little is what I got," Kristian said. "Little courtesy, little hospitality, and very little help. Remember that it was I who came and warned you of the danger you are in. You may think that it will happen because I brought it upon you, but it would have happened anyway, sooner or later. Ignore Ferral and he will surely destroy your land and your people while you sit behind your wooden wall in your beautiful valley."

The Atlunam King looked down at the still hands in his lap and said in a quiet voice, "Perhaps. There is more to this than can be comprehended by you and the rest of the people of this world, Kristian. I wish you success in your quest."

Cairn hoped the king would say more to help them, but it was plain that Gun-Surow was finished with them. Frustrated, Kristian turned and left the room. Cairn hesitated a moment longer to look at Gun-Surow and his son; he bowed, showing respect to the king that had given him a second chance. Then Cairn followed his new friends out of the chamber.

That night, as the rest of the company restocked their supplies and washed their clothes, Cairn walked along one of the balconied hallways of the palace. As he turned a corner, the swordsman saw the Atlunam princess looking out over the canopy of the trees below her into the dark. She sensed his presence and turned to look at him.

The Atlunam princess had long golden hair that fell in waves over her shoulders and across her back. Her eyes were the color of ice floating in the sea, deep blue, yet touched with a piercing grey. Those eyes, sharp and intelligent, focused on him, studying him with an interest that made him uncomfortable. To Cairn, she looked small, thin, frail—a fragile treasure that should not be out of its casing. Yet, the way the princess moved indicated poise and grace. Her dress was a simple green garment that hugged her body; it revealed nothing but hinted at her perfect feminine form beneath.

Cairn stared a long time. He forced himself to look down, nodding curtly, acknowledging her. Cairn murmured, "Your Highness."

She stared back a moment without replying. Then she gave him a warm smile. "You are Cairn, are you not?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Please, my name is Vi-tonia. My brothers call me Vi." Cairn pried his eyes away and started looking for the nearest door. She started talking again, and he looked back at her despite his shyness.

"I have heard many people around the palace speaking of you. How is it that a northerner holds such esteem among the Atlunam?" Vi-tonia asked. Her emphasis on the last word, her apparent disgust with her own people, caught Cairn by surprise.

"I don't know, Your Highness. I spent some time among your people, with the lore masters of the sword, but I have done nothing that would be worthy of comment," Cairn replied.

"Being a northerner and being accepted by the great sword masters of the Tarish'sa Shaif, is definitely worthy of comment. Oh, I have heard many tales about you, Cairn. The Atlunam call you 'Malit a'Shaif', the Troubled Sword."

"I wasn't exactly welcomed by your people, My Lady," Cairn said.

Vi-tonia moved a little closer to him, the moon highlighting her face. Cairn compared Vi-tonia's beauty to that of Julia's, knowing there were few in the world that could be measured against such a high standard. The Atlunam princess reached out her hand to touch the scarred skin of Cairn's cheek.

"One does not get something like this without a story to go along with it," Vi-tonia said, her voice full of curiosity.

Cairn could not help but flinch at her touch. His movement startled Vi-tonia, and she withdrew her hand unsure of what she had done. A distant voice echoed in his head.

"Do you love me, Cairn?" Julia asked.

"Forgive me, Your Highness. I did not mean to scare you. I really have done nothing worth talking about. Please excuse me, I must be going," Cairn said, trying to get out of the awkward situation.

"I am the one that should apologize. I meant no offense. I am curious about you and only meant to find out more, perhaps we can get to know each other better," Vi-tonia offered. "I have always been fascinated by the kingdoms to the north."

Cairn gave her a half-smile despite himself. "Perhaps another time. Good night."

As Cairn walked by her, Vi-tonia whispered, "Until we see each other again, then."

As Vi-tonia watched the strange man disappear a voice emerged from the shadows behind her, "Vi, Kla to daishu Gun-Surow. Ni atlube."

Without turning to challenge her brother directly, Vi-tonia said, "I was only talking to him, Te. Surely, there is no harm in talking with a man, even to someone who is 'Ni atlube'."

Te grabbed Vi-tonia's arm, squeezing hard, and spun her around.

"Yes, Sister, there is harm ... and dishonor. Remember your place, princess. The northerner should never have been brought into the forest, let alone be taught how to use the sword. Our father was wrong to allow it." Te-lin's intensity always frightened Vi-tonia. He would hurt her if he felt justified. Te-lin had hurt her before, though no one knew it. Vi-tonia lowered her head in submission.

"Ni atlube, yai pamiu, kaa. No outsiders, I understand and obey." Something about the meekness in Vi-tonia's voice softened Te-lin's mood. He raised her chin with his fingertips. Forced to look her brother in the eye, Vi-tonia saw the other, viler side of Te-lin. The side she had discovered only a few years ago and hated more than anything. Vi-tonia had avoided him ever since.

Te-lin brushed away the strands of golden hair that covered part of her face.

"That is well, Vi. One day you will make a beautiful bride for someone. Someone that deserves your beauty. Certainly not an outsider or one that pretends to be an Atlunam sword master. Perhaps you are too beautiful to share with anyone ... else." With that, Te-lin left.

Once Te'lin disappeared, Vi-tonia let out her breath and tried to calm herself. Te-lin's last comment was more threatening and terrifying than anything he had said to her in a long time. A single tear fell from her eye as she tried to regain her composure.

"Stop crying, you idiot," Vi-tonia ordered herself. "You are a Princess of the Atlunam. You are stronger than this." She took a deep breath, smoothed out her dress and turned to look out beyond the trees again. Out there beyond the trees, beyond the valley, even beyond the Great Forest, there was a world of possibilities that Vi-tonia often dreamed of. Dreams she kept secret, longing for escape with the passing of each sun and moon. It only took a moment before Vi-tonia lost her composure again, smacking her fist against the railing, but she did not let another tear fall.

### 24

### Path of Vengeance

As Cairn continued on his walk another person emerged from an adjoining hall to address him. "Ah, Cairn. It is pleasant to see you again. I would not have thought to find you out here. It is fortunate. We should talk," Gun-Surow said.

Cairn grimaced, "Your Majesty, one thing I've learned about the Atlunam is that chance events rarely happen by chance. I doubt our meeting is anything other than what you wanted."

The Atlunam King sighed, "Cairn, if you only knew how true your statements really are." Gun-Surow guided the northern swordsman over to an alcove where they sat on a bench. "How long has it been ... four or five years?"

"Six, Your Majesty."

Gun-Surow was surprised. "Six long years. You're the only northerner that I've ever liked."

"I think that with time, the Erandian will come to show his true metal also," Cairn commented.

"Perhaps ... I hope so. Those kingdoms sorely need the leadership of strong willed and capable men. Don't you think so?" Gun-Surow paused for a moment before continuing. "When you came to us, you were near death. You ranted about the loss of your parents and your love." Cairn's head lowered. "It was evident that a great evil had been loosed. I allowed you to recover here ... I allowed you to be trained in our ways because you vowed to rid the world of this evil. Do you remember?"

Cairn nodded slowly.

"Have you completed your quest?" Gun-Surow asked.

Cairn was slow to respond; he hesitated to describe the nightmares that haunted him on a continual basis. "I thought it was over. I killed every one of the men that I remembered seeing that day. Even their leader, Garnis. He was the one that grabbed Julia. I ... I tried to stop him, but he left me with this," Cairn pointed at the three scars that ran down his right cheek. "I still remember the smug smile on his face as Julia lay there dying beside me. She died staring at me." Cairn took in a stuttering gasp of air before going on. "They took me into the woods to finish me."

"But?" Gun-Surow prompted.

"But they didn't kill me," Cairn answered. "They tortured me instead, making fun of my weakness. And then they left me to burn the dead. My parents, Julia, everyone. I passed out for a while. The cuts on my face became infected, and I got a fever. I don't remember much after that. I knew I could not bury her, though. I could not look upon her sad face again."

"Is that all that you remember, Cairn?" Gun-Surow looked deeply into his eyes. "My wise men tell me there is more to your story. More that you know but refuse to accept. Is there nothing else that you remember?"

"No, nothing," Cairn said.

"Then why do the dreams persist?" Gun-Surow asked.

Cairn looked up at the stars shaking his head in grief. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe it's because all I've seen is grief. Maybe it's because that is who I am now and that is all I want.

"I hear her voice in my head all the time. Julia is always with me. I've tried to let her go ... I can't. I'm so tired. Tired of this quest for vengeance." The last word came out with so much bitterness that it surprised even Cairn.

"The quest is not over, Cairn," Gun-Surow said. "If you are going to be true to it, look at me." Cairn hesitated only a moment before lifting his head to look at Gun-Surow. "There is one more thing that must be set right. One more person." Cairn shook his head in disagreement.

"No, no, there was no one else." Cairn searched his memory. He had killed them all. He had killed many others that had either supported the murderers or gotten in his way. Cairn could see all of their faces. He had killed more than fifty men.

Gun-Surow shook his head in understanding. "Well, Cairn, I have shared with you what I could. The rest is for you to figure out."

"If there is more that you know, then please tell me. I want to be at peace," Cairn said.

Gun-Surow stood slowly, groaning as he grabbed a rail for support. "I am sorry. Peace is something I could never grant you. You are more special than you realize. The key to what you want is locked deep within you. Only by figuring out the puzzle yourself will you find what you seek and complete your quest." Cairn stood hoping the king would say more, but their meeting was over. With a quick nod Gun-Surow left Cairn alone.

That night Cairn slept little. He lay awake staring at the darkest corners of his room.

"There is one more thing that must be set right, one more person to bring to justice," Gun-Surow had reminded him.

As painful as it was to remember, Cairn forced the memory up from where he hid it from everyone including himself. He went over every detail of what had happened six years ago. Cairn remembered sitting at a separate table with his father and mother ...

... he helps them set the food down.

Cairn looks up to find Julia in the gathering crowd, but it is difficult to find her; several families have already arrived and are mingling around the tables, talking. She senses his distress and stands to wave. Cairn sees her then. Even from across the town square Julia's beauty captivates him. Her long black hair falls down in front of her, hiding part of her face. When Julia looks up at him with that certain smile, she cannot hide her love for him. Cairn has always loved that smile; she shows it to no one else. There is a hint of sadness in her smile this day. Does Julia know what is about to happen to her? Cairn thinks about the simple blue dress with white trim she is wearing to the feast. Both of their parents are poor, and their children have never received extravagant gifts. Cairn realizes the dress is a special gift, meant for him as much as for Julia.

It is a special day and not just because it is the Day of Salvation. Today, Julia's father will announce that Cairn is betrothed to his daughter. Soon, they will wed and start a new life together, making their dreams come true.

The sound of charging horses breaks through his reflection on these pleasant thoughts. Cairn has just enough time to look down the road and see black riders bearing down on them, their swords and spears raised, ready to tear the villagers apart. Cairn's only thought is to get to Julia.

"We have to get out of the square!" Cairn shouts. He jumps over tables and people to reach Julia, but the Belarnians reach her first. Cairn sees her parents cut down along with several others. Julia backs up against one of the tables, scrambling to get out of the way of the killers. All but one of the riders passes her by. A helmed warrior grabs her by the hair and pulls her closer to him. He puts Julia onto the saddle in front of him. The man is Garnis, a new guard for the Belarnian prince.

He turns his horse around, shouting something as Cairn finally gets close enough.

Cairn leaps from the table diving for the rider, knocking Garnis and Julia off the horse. All three of them fall hard to the ground.

Coughing, Cairn tries pushing himself off of the ground, stopping when he sees Julia. She is dazed and calling for him, but for some reason, Cairn cannot hear her. As he climbs to his knees, several men surround them. Their weapons are leveled at him. Someone pushes him back down trying to keep him and Julia in the center of their ring. The Belarnians laugh cruelly.

Just then, Garnis steps into the circle. He pulls off his helmet and throws it to the ground in anger. Blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth. Garnis draws a long dagger and passes it to a subordinate before moving toward Cairn. Guards keep him locked in place with their weapons as Garnis approaches. At that point Julia tries to intervene.

Garnis knocks Cairn to the ground with a vicious backhand. The spiked, leather glove he wears rips through the side of Cairn's face, breaking his jaw.

Why, Julia? Why, did you step in? Cairn asked himself. They would have killed you anyway, but I never wanted to see your death.

The first sound that Cairn hears after his fall is Julia's sharp intake of air as the dagger slips deep into her breast.

Garnis had been surprised and annoyed by her interference, but it was the other guard, holding Garnis' dagger, that had killed Julia.

Garnis pulls his blade out of her and pushes her to the ground; Julia is staring at Cairn.

"Remember me," Julia pleads in a faint voice before she takes in a final, shuddering breath and then dies.

"No!" Cairn shouts. Over and over again he shouts it. He does not even look at Garnis. He knows his own death will follow quickly. Cairn just stares helplessly at Julia, praying again and again that it is just a dream. His last vision, before blacking out, is of tears trickling from Julia's deep blue eyes. Then her eyes fade, and Cairn closes his own eyes waiting for his death to come.

When Cairn awakes, he is in the woods and tied to a tree. Cairn cannot tell how badly he is hurt, fresh blood runs down his face dripping from his cheek onto his chest and then onto the floor of the leaf covered ground. Cairn blacks out many times as the Belarnians beat him.

Cairn forced himself to stop the images for a moment and bring himself back to reality. He tried to remember if anyone else had been involved in the attack on his village. No, Cairn had sworn that if he survived he would not stop until each one of the men that had killed Julia and their parents were dead. So, as they hit him, Cairn looked closely at each face. He had seen each one of those faces years later. Each one of them was now dead.

Gun-Surow was wrong. He had left none alive. Cairn simply continued to have the nightmares because he refused to let go of the past.

"I'll always dream of you," Cairn remembered promising Julia. The voice in his head was his own way of tormenting himself for not having saved her.

Cairn pushed the philosophical debate out of his head and thought a moment longer about his torture. He was close to death; he knew it and welcomed it. Garnis had even approached him with his sword raised high, ready to deliver the killing blow. Garnis then stopped, lowering his sword and sheathing it.

Why? Cairn thought hard about it. Why?

He had never thought much about it, blacking out as many times as he did—he simply did not remember everything. Cairn knew he could never fathom why men like Garnis would murder innocent people. He did not try to comprehend their motives for doing what they did. Cairn simply believed they had decided to let him rot tied to the tree or that it would be more amusing if they left him alive forcing him to bury those that he loved.

How did I ever get out of the ropes that bound my hands behind me and to the tree, Cairn wondered. He thought hard on the question. Cairn had blacked out again during the final moment, knowing that Garnis was going to cut him in half, but Cairn did not die. When Cairn finally regained consciousness, he was on the ground and at least one day had passed.

Suddenly, Cairn remembered something he had refused to accept before.

Garnis did not kill him because someone had shouted, "Stop ..."

Someone stops Garnis just as he prepares to bring his sword down on Cairn's head. Who is it? Cairn cannot see his face. His eyes are swollen shut from the beatings. He feels someone push dirt into his wounded face and hears them laughing—then Cairn blacks out again.

When he awakes, an entire day has passed. The swelling in one eye has gone down enough for him to see a little. There is heavy smoke in the air, as well as the smell of death. Thirst consumes him. His wounds make him delirious. Cairn's cheek feels like it is on fire. Through the fog of pain, Cairn thinks the creek must be nearby. If he can get to the water, get a drink, and possibly wash some of the dirt out of his wounds, then maybe he can make it a little further and find help.

Though the water is not far, Cairn will never accomplish anything more difficult. More difficult than any lesson the Atlunam masters will later teach him. Harder even than defeating any of his enemies. The crawl to the water is the struggle for life and commitment, the commitment to avenge Julia. Cairn gains a new desire to live after regaining consciousness. A part of him still wants to die and join Julia, but another part, full of anger and hatred, wants to live to see his enemies dead. Using his hands, Cairn pulls himself across the ground on his belly. When he finally reaches the creek, he finds the body of a neighbor floating face down in the water.

Cairn's body feels too much pain to grieve. He pulls himself further up stream to where the water is hopefully cleaner. He drinks as much as he can, and then he begins to scrub the cuts on his face. Cairn digs into the scabbing wounds with his hands to get the dirt out. He lets out one scream before remembering Julia lying next to him; he shuts his mouth in determination and continues cleaning his face. No sound escaping his lips, again.

There was someone else, Cairn now remembered. Who had hid in the shadows? In a way, it excited him to remember. He had found it hard to accept that his quest for revenge had ended. Now there was another enemy, an elusive enemy that had more authority than Garnis. It would consume his every thought until he found out the identity of that person. Cairn rolled over onto his side and tried to get some sleep knowing, however, there would be none until his quest was truly over.

"Good night, my love," Julia whispered to him.

### 25

### Three Days

That same night, Kristian struggled to get through all of the manuscripts that Gun-Surow had set out for him. Mikhal helped him scan those they thought most important. The tablets and scrolls were stacked in endless piles throughout the room.

"It would have helped if they had told us what we were supposed to be looking for," Mikhal commented. Kristian grunted in agreement. The young king had read only a few documents so far. It all seemed futile. Most of the parchments were in a language Kristian had never seen before and had no idea how to read. The task numbed his mind. Something kept nagging him, though. Something grew less and less clear to Kristian as he read.

"Have you read anything about how the Atlunam came to be here?" Kristian asked.

"No. Why?" Mikhal answered.

"I was taught that Erinia was conquered by settlers from Mesantia. That the new kingdoms sprang up in defiance of the old ones," Kristian said.

"That is what I was taught also," Mikhal replied.

"So where did the Atlunam come from? I mean, look at all of this material. All of this history." Kristian put another book aside and stretched for a moment. "Don't you think it's odd that these people have ten times more information available to them than we ever did? And what about the Holtsmen? Where do they come from? We always thought these people were just myths or fantasies. We thought they were stories to keep us from wandering where we didn't need to go. Now I wonder what sort of cruel game we've been pulled into."

Mikhal began to ponder this when an old, wise man entered the small study. He bowed low before saying, "I know of your situation and wish to assist you. I am a friend to the Atlunam and offer them counsel from time to time. I would do the same for you if you have anything to ask of me." The wise man stood there waiting for a response.

"That is very gracious of you, but it's hard to ask for help when we're not even sure what the right question is," Kristian commented.

"Perhaps what you seek is a way to destroy this army of the dead?" The Erandians nodded eagerly, leaning closer to the man.

"Unfortunately, I do not know the answer to that question," the wise man confessed. Kristian and Mikhal fell back a little, sighing. "I have heard that the army is controlled by a powerful daemon. Is this not true?"

"Yes," Mikhal said, almost shouting.

The wise man put a finger to his chin nodding sagely. "Yes, yes. Ferral has made a terrible pact. He will bring much ruin to this land and others if he is not stopped. In the end, his own evil will be his downfall."

"I don't think Ferral cares," Kristian answered. He was quickly losing his patience. Was the old man here just to interfere, Kristian wondered.

"I know something of daemons." The wise man grabbed a specific rolled parchment out from a pile, brushing the dust off of it. He put the document on the table. A picture of a fiery demon towering over an army of warriors covered the first part of the scroll. Flames surrounded the army.

"They're difficult to destroy," the man offered. "They take their power directly from the Dark One. They would seem almost indestructible ... almost."

"Then there is a way to destroy it?" Mikhal asked.

"Yes, but I do not know the specific way to kill this one. Each daemon has its own weakness." He sat down slowly before continuing. "Most daemons were servants of our Father, the Lord of Light. They betrayed him in some way, but God defeated them. They were cast down into the fire to serve the Dark One for eternity. Other daemons were simply humans that committed horrible sins. Whatever the reason for their banishment from Heaven, these servants were all transformed into hideous beasts. They barely remember their former lives and now they know only pain. What do you know of this daemon?"

Kristian described how the terrible creature had the strength of ten men. "Its hide is tougher than any shield. A sword was broken across its back. The blade didn't even scratch the monster. It also seems to be able to travel great distances quickly. It always arrives everywhere before us." The old man grunted in understanding.

"It also has a human form," Mikhal continued. "It's a beautiful female. Demure and fragile with the deepest blue eyes ..." The cavalier stopped himself.

"It would seem that this daemon clings to something of its former self. Part of it remembers that it was human and longs for what it used to be," the wise man claimed. "If you could find out who this daemon was in life, perhaps you would find its weakness."

Kristian laughed, shaking his head. "I know it sounds like an impossible feat," the wise man offered, "but her delicate features would suggest that she lived on the Isles. She may have been someone of importance, so there might be some records of her there."

"The Isles? Where are they?" Kristian asked, becoming suspicious of the man.

"The Isles are south and east of the Great Forest in the Restless Sea. The waters are treacherous. Storms constantly hover over the small islands."

"Of course. Thanks for the information, but your words do not appear to be very useful," Mikhal replied, sarcastically. "A mysterious island that no one knows of? How are we supposed to get there?"

The wise man grimaced disappointed in the cavalier's attitude. "You people and your younger kingdoms. Everything has to center on you, doesn't it?" The wise man sighed.

"Have you never heard of the Sea People? Haven't you ever wondered why the Tarin Ocean is always such a violent place? Didn't you just ask yourselves where the Atlunam originally came from?" the man reminded them.

"How did you know that?" Kristian demanded. Kristian was certain the wise man had not even entered the room when they were talking of that.

"Seek out the Lorais. They know those waters better than anyone on Erinia. They live in a dormant volcano to the southwest of the forest. They have no love for other people, especially the Atlunam, but if you can find them they may help you in your search." With that, the wise man got up to leave. The Erandians looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then Kristian spoke.

"I don't know. It may be helpful information, but it won't help us get Allisia out. I fear time is running out for her."

"Ah, yes. That was the second message I had for you," the wise man remembered. "I have friends everywhere, and they keep a very good look out for those that need help. Allisia is alive and on her way back to Ferral's fortress."

"Who are you?" Kristian demanded. "How do you know about Allisia or where she is?"

"Some call me the fisherman. I travel much, coming back to the newer lands only when there is great need."

"You said Allisia was on her way back to Ferral's fortress?" Kristian asked.

The old man paused for a moment and then said, "Allisia escaped Ferral for a time, but he has found her again. She was just recaptured and is on her way back to Ferral's city."

Despite his skepticism, Kristian took a step toward the man. "Is Allisia alright? Is she safe?"

"For the moment. I am not certain what Ferral means to do to her. Allisia will be back in his fortress before you can get there."

"How long before she gets there?" Mikhal asked.

"Three days." The wise man made as if to leave and then stopped. He approached Kristian and leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Kristian, you must be true to Allisia. She is not the same girl you knew in Duellr. Take care of her," the wise man urged before leaving them.

"Mikhal, I have to get there in three days," Kristian told him in dismay.

Soon after the wise man left, one of the Atlunam approached Kristian. It was the king's oldest son, Te'lin. He nodded to them, in a curt, impatient manner, and then dropped a map on the table.

"Te'lin, isn't it?" Kristian asked, trying to be cordial. The Atlunam prince only stared at the shelves in front of him. Kristian continued to wait, looking directly at Te'lin.

Finally, Te-lin said, "It is our road and rail network. Father has asked me to show it to you. When you are ready, I will have you taken to the closest home point."

"Home point?" Mikhal asked.

Annoyed at having to do this, Te'lin hesitantly explained. "Home point. It is what we call the place where you can start off on the rail." Mikhal began to ask what a rail was, but Te-lin shouted, "Stop! I will not stay here and answer your questions all night. I have other things to do that are much more important than assisting farmer kings. Now listen." He pointed at the nearest blue line that ended next to the palace. "They are large platforms that move on wheels ..."

"We call those wagons in the farm country," Kristian retorted.

"It is more than one of your simple wagons. There is no need for an animal to pull it. It moves by itself. We use them to transport supplies around the forest. It will cut your time down by half or more. From there, all you have to do is cross the plains and foothills to get to the Utwan Sea. You should be able to get a ship. It should take you three or four days to get back to Ferral's capital. The system will be ready for you before the sunrises."

Mikhal looked at Kristian trying to reassure him. "We might just make it in time."

"Yes, but then what," Kristian wondered.

Allisia did not struggle as they pulled her roughly up onto the boat. The rain continued to come down hard, making the deck slippery. It took a few moments, but they soon had her passed up onto the main deck. Once on board, the Belarnians pushed Allisia toward the center mast where they bound her hands together and then tied her to the large beam. As soon as the Belarnians completed that, the nervous soldiers backed away with caution.

Allisia looked at them with a cold, hard stare, not saying a word. A dark form stepped from among the soldiers to stand before her. He had a neatly trimmed black beard and dark eyes under a heavy brow. He wore a turban wrapped around his head and on his shoulders there was a black cloak that flapped in the wind.

"They fear you. My men saw something out there. What did they see?" Allisia did not respond. He came closer looking her body over. He smiled as he stared at the hint of her figure beneath the wet clothes.

He slapped Allisia across the face with the back of his hand. The force of the blow sent her reeling toward the deck, only the ropes held her up. Blood trickled out the corner of her mouth. Allisia wiped it away on her shoulder, looking up at this new adversary with anger and hatred.

"I do not fear you, little one. I am Inneskel, lieutenant of these men, and you are going back to your master." He stared at Allisia, glad to be on his way back home.

Allisia looked at him a moment longer hoping he would die, but then, slowly, she began to smile. A whisper in her head told her not to worry. The whisper said that soon these soldiers would not matter. Allisia laughed out loud.

The laughter unsettled Captain Telosep. He quickly left Inneskel's side ordering his men to get the ship out to deeper waters. Lightning flashed through the dark clouds over head.

"Look to the dark sky to find your death, Inneskel," Allisia warned.

Many of the sailors looked up cursing. "Lightning during a winter storm?" Telosep knew their troubles were far from over.

"Move! Before the storm pushes us toward the rocks," Telosep shouted, doing his best to ignore the girl. "Keep close to land in case it gets worse. And raise all of the sails. I want to be rid of this girl by tomorrow night."

### 26

### The Race Back

Gun-Surow and his family did not see them off. Te'lin sent one of his bodyguards in his place. Their inhospitable nature did not surprise Kristian at all. Cairn cautioned Kristian that it simply was not in their nature to welcome outsiders. Kristian viewed the Atlunam as the most arrogant people he had ever met.

Kristian turned his attention to the home station, eyes opening wide in confusion. A red canvas covering stretched across an obvious hole in the ground. Kristian guessed the diameter of the hole was at least fifty feet; he stepped closer to peek under the tarp and realized it was a shade-covering for a massive workspace some forty feet below him. Kristian descended the broad, stone stairway that brought him to the bottom of the large depression. Within the depression, Atlunam loaded two large, flat-bed wagons connected by thin wooden braces. Unusually small wheels, underneath the wagons, seemed fitted to a set of beams that ran parallel to each other. The 'rail', as Te'lin called it, ran into a dark cave.

The Holtsmen eyed the set up with suspicion. Balhir grunted. "Leave it to the laziness of these people to construct something demonic. Do you really intend to use this contraption, Kristian?"

Kristian could only shrug. As the others descended the stairs, he noticed that Maurin and Mikhal were already below supervising the loading of supplies.

"Careful, please, careful," Maurin urged Mikhal as the cavalier dropped a box onto the wagon. "The contents of that box could save our lives."

"Maurin, what are you doing?" Kristian asked.

The healer smiled awkwardly. "The Atlunam showed me many healing techniques. I have forgotten most of it already. They have given me some herbs and poultices to start the journey with. And a very interesting book on the workings of the human body."

Mikhal picked up one of the cloth bags inside the box, opening it to see its contents. An offensive odor reached his nose long before he saw inside. "Ugh! What's in there?"

Maurin grabbed the bag and held it protectively. "Maybe it's something that will save your life."

"Not if it smells so bad that it kills me," Mikhal replied, half teasing.

Offended, Maurin turned away to supervise the rest of the loading. When he thought Mikhal was no longer looking, Maurin opened the bag himself to take a small sniff. He closed the bag quickly to keep from gagging.

"I think I'll like your poems more than I like your medicines," Mikhal said to Maurin, and then he grinned at Kristian.

Hin'cabo was there with the other Atlunam. He approached Kristian and Cairn. Bowing deeply, Hin'cabo said something that Cairn translated. "It seems Hin'cabo is not welcome in the city. Since he was responsible for bringing us here, the king has decided that he will represent the Atlunam in this quest."

"Tell him that we would be honored, but we are not his responsibility any longer. Who knows what will happen to us? It would be better if he returned to ..." Kristian stopped himself remembering that the hunter's village had been destroyed. "Well, besides, Hin'cabo needs to rest more."

Hin'cabo interrupted. His accent was so thick that it was hard to understand him. "I choose. I go." Kristian recognized the determination in his eyes; he would not be able to dissuade the hunter. Reluctantly, Kristian nodded and shook Hin'cabo's hand.

"You are a true friend, Hin'cabo. Thank you for everything," Mikhal added. The hunter smiled.

"Is everyone here and ready?" Kristian asked. Balhir nodded, indicating his readiness, and then ordered his nine men onto the wagons. The Erandian king looked expectantly at Hin'cabo. "I don't suppose our friend knows how to use these contraptions?"

Cairn replied, "I know how to use them." Kristian looked at him, dumbfounded. Cairn pointed to the front wagon. "This lever must always be manned. It is connected underneath the bed of the wagon to a system that can slow us down."

"I doubt that we will need that. I can't understand how a wagon without a horse can go very fast," Kristian commented.

"It is dangerous to go full speed. These wagons can go faster than any horse." He could tell Kristian did not believe him. "They work on momentum. Jai-Quinn is at a higher elevation than the plains to the north. A series of small hills allow the wagons to maintain their speed, but if you go too fast over the hills, people are likely to fly off the wagon and get left behind, or worse. Since they require only a few people to keep us under control, most of us can rest. We will make a straight line for the edge of the forest where horses have been staged for us. If all goes well, we should be at the coast of the Utwan by tomorrow morning."

Kristian still looked confused, but Cairn told him to get on the first wagon and he would demonstrate. Kristian scanned the area. Mikhal, Maurin and Balhir climbed on the first wagon with him. The remainder of the men and supplies were on the second wagon. Confident that he had nothing left to do, Kristian signaled for Cairn to go ahead.

Cairn let the lever go forward and asked the Atlunam standing nearby to give them a shove. They complied in haste, hoping to get rid of the Northerners as fast as possible. The wagons moved slowly at first, confirming Kristian's suspicions that this was not the quickest way to get back to Ferral's city. They continued on into the cave at a crawling pace. Only a few intermittent torches mounted along the rail gave them light. The creaking of the wooden beams beneath them was an eerie sound; a slight rush of wind in the dark between torches unsettled Kristian.

As they passed the next lit alcove, he could tell they had picked up speed. He looked at Cairn, curious.

"The first few miles are a very gradual descent. It will get much faster by the time we reach the first hill, and we will need all the speed possible to reach the top. After that, there are a series of smaller hills that will check our speed, making some sick." Balhir looked back at his men wondering how bad it was going to get.

By the time they reached the first hill, they were racing down the rail faster than any horse could run. Balhir's men stayed far away from the edges. Many of them held the crates of supplies with death grips. The upward slope was gradual, but Kristian could tell that it slowed them down.

Cairn turned to them and said, "This is where you must pay attention. From now on, someone must keep a hand on the lever. Too much lever and we will stop. We will then have to push to get the momentum started again. Not enough of the lever and we will lose people." The last statement concerned Balhir so he made a few of his men come closer to watch.

They crested the hill, slowing to galloping speed, and then plunged down again. Cairn waited until they began to crest the next hill and then gently applied pressure using the lever. The wheels emitted a rubbing noise. They slowed just as they reached the next hilltop, and then he let go of the lever again. Cairn did this for a few more miles, until the Holtsmen were certain they understood what to do, and then he turned the controls over to them.

Kristian sat next to Mikhal talking about the problems he was sure their countrymen faced when Cairn sat down next to them.

"When we reach the end of the rail line, we will only have a moment to rest," Cairn said. "The horses will be fresh and ready for us as soon as we arrive. I suggest we get across the plains while it is dark. We don't know how many Belarnians or dead creatures are out there searching for us."

"You really think we will be on the plains tonight?" Mikhal asked. Cairn nodded in response. He then rummaged through his pack until he found several thin pieces of leather cord.

"What are those for?" Kristian leaned closer to get a better look.

Cairn shrugged. "I just want to be prepared for any chance encounters."

Kristian wanted to ask more, but Cairn put the leather cord back into his pack.

"Well, what are we going to do about this secret tunnel entrance?" Kristian asked them. "It seems better than any other option left to us, but who knows if it's even there anymore."

Balhir sat down with them then. "My men are warriors of the Cougar Holt. They know earth and stone. If there was a tunnel under this tower, then they will be able to find it."

"It would certainly make our entry easier if your men can get us in, but they will have to do the work quietly," Kristian said.

"And what about boats?" Mikhal asked.

"There is a small wharf town that the traders of the Mercies use to get supplies back to Ferral's city. The place is run down but there might be a few serviceable boats. I think it will be our best choice," Cairn answered.

Kristian had to laugh in spite of everything. "This is just how our first journey began, a fool leading brave men on a grand quest. We used boats and men before to secure a landing for our forces, and then we marched on the sorcerer's castle." His smile faded. "I hope we fare better this time."

Mikhal replied, "I hope the fool is no longer with us."

"I hope so, too. Not for my sake, but for Allisia's and yours," Kristian said.

They traveled for some time before the wagons began to slow. A light grew in the tunnel ahead of them. As they broke out into the forest, the wagons gradually slowed until they stopped next to a small way-station. Atlunam hunters wasted no time in checking out the wagon bottoms. They gave Kristian and his men some fresh water and food, but they had little time to relax. Soon the Atlunam urged them to sit down.

One said something to Hin'cabo that Cairn translated. "There will be fewer hills now. The slope is gradual and above ground the rest of the way. We are about halfway there."

"Halfway," Maurin exclaimed. "That's nearly two hundred miles in five hours. It would have taken even the fastest horse twice as long to get here."

"Yes, but we still have over two hundred miles to go," replied Cairn.

Kristian sighed and nodded. "Let's go." Balhir waved to his men indicating they should sit down. The Atlunam to either side of the rails attached poles to the wagons and began pulling the wagon up a small ramp. It took some effort to get the heavily laden cars to the top, but once they did, the hunters detached the poles and gave them one final push. Kristian looked back, but the hunters just stared at him. The Atlunam looked relieved.

Gun-Surow walked along his private balcony looking down into one of his gardens. One of his beautiful plants showed signs of wilting. The small blossoms sagged and some had already fallen to the ground. The Atlunam King frowned.

Te'lin walked in, disturbing his contemplation. "I cannot find Vi, Father. Have you seen her?"

The old man shook his head. "No, Te, I have not."

Gun-Surow could tell that Te-lin was full of pent up anger. "No one has seen her," Te'lin responded. "She seemed very interested in the Northerners. Her personal guards cannot be found either. And her hunting clothes are gone."

Gun-Surow was suddenly overcome with concern. "Are there any horses missing from the stables?"

"No. Vi-tonia is with them. I know it," Te'lin said through clenched teeth.

The king grasped the banister tightly. After a long pause Gun-Surow nodded, saying, "Vi-tonia must be brought back safely. She is precious to me."

"I care about her too, Father."

"Perhaps she is too precious to you, Te. I am concerned that you are closer to your sister than you should be," Gun-Surow said.

Te'lin laughed. "Father, she is my sister. I only want to see her safe. And ensure that our family and people are protected from harm. Harm that I know the Northerners will bring upon us."

Gun-Surow nodded again. "No, Te, you are wrong. This evil is something we brought upon ourselves. We should never have let Ferral's woman come here. We should never have let her consult with our historians. I don't know how Rebenna was able to steal that cursed scroll or dagger, but it is becoming clearer that Ferral used those artifacts to bring dark magic back into the world."

Te'lin looked away from his father for a moment. He caught himself and faced his father before the king noticed.

"How was he able to do what our people cannot?" Te-lin asked.

Gun-Surow shook his head. "We're cursed. Every time we meddled with that damn scroll we paid dearly for it."

"We should not blame ourselves for what the Holtsmen did to us," Te'lin urged his father. "They're the ones that brought this upon us. We were a strong people, and they abandoned us. They attacked us and stole from us." The anger in his voice alarmed the king. Gun-Surow looked his son in the face.

"Where did you go during your last hunting trip, Te'lin?"

The prince frowned and looked away.

"Please tell me you are not the one responsible for the deaths Vortah's son spoke of," Gun-Surow pleaded.

"And what about these upstart kingdoms? What about Kristian finding safety among the Holtsmen? Surely you can see that they formed some sort of alliance. That's dangerous," Te'lin blurted out, hoping to change the subject. Keeping his father ignorant of certain plans and events kept up the pretense of plausible deniability.

Te'lin had not used his sword in the last two weeks, and his men were getting restless. From time to time, Te'lin infiltrated the neutral area and raided the homesteads and villages there. His actions made the Holtsmen fear those in the woods. His plan called for the final war to start that way. Once Te-lin had assured his position as king, he would launch a final attack to defeat the clans and reunite their people. Once his father was dead, or too old and feeble to raise a voice against him, Te-lin would act.

"Kristian knows more of us than I wish any outsider to know," Gun-Surow admitted. Without turning to look at his son, the king spoke of his concern. "Te, I fear Kristian will soon learn what has truly happened. He, and especially Balhir, cannot know our part in all of this. It would cause a bloody war with the Holtsmen that would destroy us."

"Father, Vi does not know. She can tell them nothing that would make them suspect us," Te-lin assured his father. "And besides, I would welcome war with our enemy. I have always thought the Holtsmen hoarded the resources we all need to survive. We have every right to press our claims."

"Te'lin, sometimes I wish you used your mind as much as you used your sword." Gun-Surow paced the balcony. "If the Holtsmen rallied all of their warriors and decided to attack us, we would be wiped out. We barely held them back five hundred years ago during the War of the Woods. They have grown in numbers and strength since then, while we have weakened. We need to figure this one out carefully, Te-lin. Our empire and heritage is at stake." Te'lin bowed his head accepting the rebuke ... for the time being.

"And besides," Gun-Surow added, "Vi-tonia is much smarter than you give her credit for. She probably knows what happened, and apparently, she is more resourceful than we thought. I do not know how Vi-tonia convinced Iohn and Pak to go along with this. Bring her back, Te. Take your guards with you and some of hers, as well. I ... don't want anything to happen to her."

Te'lin placed a comforting hand on his father's shoulder. "What about my brother?" Te'lin asked. "He needs to get out and gain experience. I want to take him with me."

"He will remain here where it is safe," Gun-Surow said, accepting no argument.

A council member walked in then. "Your Majesty, there is disturbing news from the western frontier. There are strange reports of a small army entering the forest and attacking our villages."

"Holtsmen?" Te'lin asked, putting his hand on his sword.

"I do not think so, Your Highness. Reports make these people seem odd. One armored knight leads them from atop a ghastly looking horse. The scouts say that the army walks very slowly ... that they amble."

"Amble," Te'lin was confused and began to say something when Gun-Surow stopped him.

"Kristian was telling the truth. Ferral's Deathmarch Army is real, and the dead are coming for us. The fisherman also told me the dead were coming."

Te'lin spat at the mention of the wise man. "That means that the Holtsmen have fallen and we are next."

"Or Ferral has become much more powerful than we expected." Gun-Surow took hold of his son. "Find your sister, Te. Don't let any of the Northerners get in your way, including King Kristian. If any of her guards helped her escape, kill them where they stand." His grip became stronger on Te-lin's arms.

"Most importantly, Kristian can never find out the truth. Our hold on the woods is precarious enough. We've lost much of our power. With the Holtsmen constantly threatening us and our inability to regain control of any real magic—we are much weaker than we were a thousand years ago. Bring back the scroll Ferral took, and perhaps, we can still obtain the power."

Te'lin stiffened. "Kristian will never know about our part in this. I promise. And if anyone gets between Vi-tonia and me, they will die."

Gun-Surow nodded sadly. "Watch Cairn closely. He will be your true adversary. Perhaps it was unwise of me to allow him to train with our Kah Masters, but I took pity on him. He is dangerous, Te, and he's almost as skilled as you with the sword," Gun-Surow warned.

Te'lin grinned. "No, Father, he's only Tarish'sa Shaif. He is not a true Kah sword master. Cairn protecting them only makes my task more enjoyable."

### 27

### The Hidden Passengers

It was still raining on the Utwan Sea. Allisia lay next to the mast huddling underneath a heavy, wet blanket. The waters were becoming treacherous. Waves crashed over the side rails spilling water onto the deck. Many of the Belarnians fell, slipping on the treacherous floor, cursing. Allisia heard voices whispering to her; she looked up at the rigging supporting the main sail.

"Look up, Favored One," a soft voice encouraged. "Look up, Allisia."

One rope came into focus, sharper in detail than the rest. Stretched tauter than the others, it snapped. At the same time, the ship careened and the boom went flying. It caught one Belarnian unawares and knocked him into the sea. The howling wind consumed his cry for help in an instant.

Telosep shouted above the den of the storm. "Forget him. Take us out farther." One of the men shouted something back in fear.

"Fool, the whole ship will go down if we don't get clear of the shore. We've got to get further out, where we can navigate the swells better."

"I would not be so sure of that," the whispering voice told Allisia. She smiled.

Kristian and his men arrived at the end of the rail line just as the sun's lower edge touched the horizon. He looked at the plains that stretched north and could just make out the silhouette of the Merciless Mountains.

"With luck we could be at the village before dawn. We can use the darkness to aid us in stealing the boats," Mikhal said.

Kristian grimaced. "I just hope there are boats to steal. The last time we did this route it took us two or three days to come south. Now we're going to try and make it in one day?"

Mikhal laughed, "We were exhausted, had an old workhorse, and had no idea where we were going."

Cairn came up to them then. "You were also forty leagues further west of here. Following the river kept you from getting lost, but it took you longer to get to the forest then it would if you had just cut straight south from Belarn. And these are the fastest horses the Atlunam have. It should be dark enough to start in less than an hour. Perhaps we should eat a hot meal while we still can?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Maurin exclaimed. "I'm starving."

"You should be, healer," Balhir said as he came over. "You lost all of your food in the first ten minutes of the rail ride." They all laughed.

Suddenly, one of Balhir's men shouted in warning. The small camp quickly bristled with swords, everyone facing the second wagon car. Kristian rushed over to see.

Three Atlunam stood on the wagon. Two hunters with bows pointed their arrows at the closest Cougar Holt warriors. The third Atlunam held a short, curved sword and looked anxiously around her.

She wore tan breeches and a gray tunic, but she could not hide her golden hair. It was Gun-Surow's daughter.

"Stop," Kristian ordered. "Lower your weapons." He stepped between the two groups putting away his own sword. "How did you get here?"

"She was hiding under the tarp with the supplies," one of the Holtsmen argued. "This one was about to scratch me with her thorn." The Holtsmen pointed at the princess.

"I would have done more harm than a thorn," Vi-tonia shot back. She and her two hunters had not lowered their weapons. Vi-tonia diverted her attention as Cairn came to stand next to Kristian.

Cairn said in her language, "you bring danger upon all of us by doing this. Why are you here?"

"I came to help," Vi-tonia said in defiance. "We are coming with you."

"Thank you, but this is not your fight. I'm sure your father doesn't know of this. When he finds out, there will be Hell to pay."

"Do not speak to me of Hell," Vi-tonia responded in anger. Then her voice lowered, "I have been living in it for some time."

Cairn tilted his head and asked, "I don't know what you're talking about, but how can things be any better by coming with us?"

"Even death would be better than what is awaiting me back there." Her eyes softened then and she looked at Cairn, pleading. "I have much skill in the defensive arts. All of Gun-Surow's children are trained to protect themselves. I may not be Tarish'sa Shaif like you, or a Kah Master like my brother, but I can certainly do better than a half-witted Holtsman with a clumsy axe. We will not hinder you, I promise."

"I don't doubt you're capable, but think of the harm you're causing the Erandians by running away from your family and joining us. Your father will blame Kristian for your disappearance," Cairn argued.

Vi-tonia shook her head. "No. He does not know why I left, but I cannot go back. I can never go back."

She put away her sword and stepped off the wagon. The princess walked cautiously past the Holtsmen that still pointed weapons at her. She got close enough to Cairn that no one else, including her guards, could hear.

"Please, I beg you. There are some things that my father never told Kristian that the Erandian needs to know." Vi-tonia grasped Cairn's arm and asked again, "Please?"

Cairn smelled the sweet scent of Plumeria flowers in her hair. Abruptly, he stepped back. Cairn paused a moment, staring at the Atlunam princess, and then he turned to Kristian.

Whispering, Cairn said, "She says Gun-Surow hid the truth from you. She says she knows things that her father would never tell you." Cairn took a deep breath and said, "I believe her. The Atlunam King only gives favor to others when there is something to be gained for himself or his people. What she has to say is likely very important to your quest. Will you let them come?"

This was too much for Kristian to take in. Mikhal stepped forward. "I'm not sure what she would tell us, but I know it's not worth gaining a new enemy over. She can't come."

Kristian was silent for a long time.

"If you truly want to help me, tell me what you know now," Kristian said. Vi-tonia shook her head in defiance.

"Take me with you and once we are far enough away from my father's lands I will tell you," Vi-tonia promised.

Cairn whispered in Kristian's ear. "I think she's in some trouble. She didn't say as much ... I think she is trying to run away."

Kristian replied, "We don't need her tagging along, especially since there will be Atlunam hunters chasing after her." Cairn nodded. He understood Kristian's position.

"I have known the Atlunam King for a long time. He has never been an entirely honest man and may be playing both sides. Vi-tonia may have valuable information that will help you. Besides, we don't know if they know of her disappearance, yet. We don't know if the Atlunam will chase after her."

"Of all the things I don't have the answers for, that is not one of them. You know, as well as I, that Gun-Surow will send someone after her. And what are we supposed to do with her when we reach Belarn? We may all die before we reach Ferral." Cairn could not argue with Kristian, he knew the Erandian king was right.

Still, Cairn could not help himself. "Kristian, will you let her stay?"

Kristian looked at his friend in dismay. He finally threw up his hands in defeat. Kristian addressed the princess, "Your Highness is welcome to do as she sees fit."

"My name is Vi-tonia."

"Well, Vi-tonia, I hope you know what you're doing because I can see nothing good coming of this." Kristian turned back to Cairn. "Will you look after her?"

Vi-tonia interrupted, "I need no one to look after me." She gave an order to her guards. They lowered their bows and put the arrows back in their quivers. "These are my two best friends. They are my protectors and refused to be left behind. They are Iohn and Pak. There are no better Atlunam hunters, anywhere." Kristian nodded at them.

"How long before they are able to catch up to us?" Kristian asked Vi-tonia.

"They will have to wait for the carts to get sent back or pull another set off of another home station. Either way it will be at least a day before they can get here," Vi-tonia answered confidently.

"We have wasted a lot of time," Kristian told everyone gathered near him. "This may be the last chance you get to enjoy a good, hot meal in peace. Take some time to rest. We will be riding as soon as it gets dark."

They had enough horses for all of them, including Vi-tonia and her two hunters. They also had five horses loaded with supplies and five more horses to use once some got tired. Kristian stayed true to his word. As soon as dusk came, he signaled for them to mount up.

The Atlunam hunters tilted their heads sideways surprised by Vi-tonia's presence amongst the foreigners, but they knew better than to question someone of royal blood. They stood back as the party prepared to leave the safety of the woods.

"It feels good to have a horse underneath me again," Mikhal commented. "Even if it's not as fast as that wagon, there is definitely more joy in riding a well-trained horse."

"I doubt that," Maurin argued. "I still remember the last time we were riding on these plains."

Mikhal laughed as he remembered. "Any more poems for us?" Mikhal asked hopefully.

"I haven't had time to think of any," Maurin replied.

"Well, you've got all night. I'm challenging you to come up with something before dawn," Mikhal said, grinning.

Kristian noted that Mikhal's demeanor had improved notably since their confrontation in the Cougar Holt. Whatever was haunting the cavalier, whether it was the demon, the battle or something else, had less affect upon him. Is it because the demon is further away? Kristian wondered.

They left the safety of the trees at a trot. Cairn led the way for Kristian, claiming to know the fastest route to the village on the Utwan Sea. Hin'cabo, Mikhal, and Maurin followed closely behind them. Balhir and his men followed in a large group, and the Atlunam princess and her companions trailed with the supply horses. Maurin fell back with them hoping to strike up a conversation with the Atlunam. True to their nature, the Atlunam did not say much making the ride miserable for the healer.

The small band picked up their pace once the moon was high enough to give them some light. Their path took them toward the smallest peak in the mountain range on the western shore of the Utwan Sea. Kristian kept his eyes on that mountain all night, but the silhouette never seemed to get much closer. As the night progressed, the landscape around them changed. Snow sat in patches on the ground; the air had a chill to it.

By midnight, the horses had slowed back down to a trot, the snow up to their forelegs. They panted with the exertion of plowing through the white powder. Finally, Mikhal suggested they stop and change some of the mounts. It would do no good to kill a horse before they even got to the village.

Kristian agreed. The lead horses were changed out since they did most of the work clearing the path for the rest of the group. They removed the saddles and patted the horses, thanking them. A few Holtsmen brought up fresh mounts and took the tired horses to the rear. It had only taken a few minutes to change out the mounts but it seemed like an eternity to Kristian.

"We are not going to make it by sunrise," Kristian said.

"We might," Mikhal replied with hope. Though even the experienced cavalier knew it looked impossible with the snow slowing them.

They plodded on all night. The snow got worse the closer to the mountains they got. At last, as the sky became a lighter shade of gray in the east, Cairn shifted course and led them away from the mountains. He had found the road that served as a trade route between Belarn and the people of the mountains. It was fairly clear; all of the snow melted and the ground trampled into a muddy mess by the soles of thousands of boots.

"This must be the way the creatures came when they marched against my people," Balhir claimed.

"How far is this village from the road, Cairn?" Mikhal asked.

Cairn was about to reply when the same concern that bothered Kristian hit him. Without responding, he urged his horse into a run and headed east.

Kristian shouted loud enough for all of them to hear, "Keep in a tight group. There may be danger soon. Look out for the dead, and whatever you do, don't let them pull you down." With that one, brief warning trailing behind them, Kristian and Cairn soon outdistanced their companions. The rest of the party charged after Kristian, fearing the dead might be lurking near the road.

Less than an hour later, Cairn, Kristian, Mikhal, Balhir, and Hin'cabo knelt behind a hill looking over the crest. The village sat on the north side of the hill, next to the sea. The town was a collection of wooden, one-story homes and shops even smaller than Maurin's village. Vague shapes moved around in the grey dawn, but it was still too dark to see who they were or what they did.

When the figures started toward Kristian's hiding place without warning, they realized what they faced.

There was no need to crouch any longer so they stood to get a better look. Then a creature appeared on their left. More followed behind the first; five had gotten up the hill from an angle that none of them expected.

One of the creatures, a woman, wore the shredded remains of a dress, which hung loosely around her waist. The pale blue color of her naked chest caused them to look away in embarrassment, but only for a moment.

The creature raised its hands toward them as it reached the top of the hill. Balhir had no compunction about taking it down. He swung hard with his broadsword, and his blade cut halfway through the creature's torso.

The creature fell to the ground, staring at the snow for a moment before it put its hands down and pushed itself back up again. Balhir sighed and came over to hack the thing apart.

Cairn pulled out his blade and went to work. The Erandians pulled out their swords and raced to assist him. Hin'cabo notched an arrow to his bow and was about to let it loose when Cairn shouted back at him. "You'll waste that arrow. These creatures don't feel pain."

The swordsman stopped talking to demonstrate. With a practiced swing Cairn cut the leg out from underneath one of the creatures. The damaged leg crumpled and the thing fell to the ground. It tried to get up several times, falling back into the snow every time. Finally, it gave up and began to crawl toward him.

The men were busy with their swords against the other four creatures trying to cut them to pieces. One of the dead got around Mikhal and it reached out for Cairn. A soft thudding sound alerted him to the danger. An arrowhead protruded through skull of the thing, the force of the blow temporarily distracting it from attacking him.

That was all the time Cairn needed. He took the thing's head off and nodded thanks to Hin'cabo for the help. The Atlunam hunter seemed pleased that he had shown Cairn the usefulness of his bow. Then Hin'cabo shouldered it and pulled out a curved blade, similar to Vi-tonia's, and helped against the remaining dead.

Once they had dismembered all five they surveyed the area to better understand their situation. The Holtsmen had heard the fighting and charged up to their position. Their help would soon be needed. The rest of the dead villagers slowly made their way toward the hill. As Balhir's men dismounted and approached, the sun's first rays reached the village, and the creatures dropped to the ground lifeless once again.

Kristian bent over gasping for air, exhausted from all of the hacking. Mikhal put a hand on his back, "We need to check for serviceable boats."

Kristian nodded, standing back up. He wiped sweat from his face replying, "Let's go."

They found four fishing boats in good enough shape to make it out to sea. Each one looked big enough to hold ten people. There would be enough room for everyone, including Vi-tonia and her two guards.

Vi-tonia picked her way through all of the bodies that littered the village. Iohn and Pak were very close to her side, their hands on the hilts of their short swords. She pretended the scene did not affect her, but in truth, the ghastly image of corpses littering the ground horrified her. How could this happen? She might have been living in a sort of hell back home, constantly tormented by Te-lin, but the princess had always been protected from such evil as this.

Then she started to wonder whether that was entirely true. It helped her to think of her brother as just another manifestation of the same kind of evil.

Te'lin manipulates people to satisfy his own greedy ambitions, Vi-tonia realized. He is a merciless killer that justifies his actions as necessary to protect our people.

Once she thought of it in that way, the princess actually took pity on the creatures. They were lifeless puppets controlled by another evil man. Her brother exceeded their perversity by magnitudes.

Kristian saw her staring at one of the still forms and said, "I hope that I didn't bring these creatures into your land."

Vi-tonia shook her head. "They would come anyway. My people will refuse to see how dangerous the situation truly is. They will feel safe within their woods and walls, but it will not be enough to protect them."

"But still," Kristian continued, "it might have been much longer before it happened had I not showed up."

"Perhaps," Vi-tonia replied. "My people are slow to change. This is an ordeal they are much less capable of dealing with than even the Erandians. We have brought this upon ourselves."

Kristian looked at her closely, the need to ask her what she meant obvious on his face. "It is not too late for you to go back, Vi-tonia," Kristian tried.

She smiled a little. "No. My place is here." Vi-tonia looked around the village to see if everyone was there. She strained her neck to see beyond Kristian, looking for Cairn.

### 28

### The Black Citadel

Telosep reflected on the enormity of his mistake.

By the next morning, the Endargo struggled to make it back toward the shoreline. The storm had torn most of his sails. Only the foresail remained intact. Debris lay all over the deck; every man aboard had suffered some form of injury.

But not Allisia. She still huddled under the main mast, drinking a cup of hot tea. The merchant captain had hoped to appease her anger by cutting her ropes and letting her do as she pleased. After all, she had no place to go.

"I lost a quarter of my crew last night," the captain said to her.

"I'm sorry," Allisia responded.

"Why should you be sorry? I knew most of them and I'm not sorry, except that this has slowed us down a lot. Crippled like we are, it will take us all day to get back to Belarna." Telosep paused to look at Allisia intently. "How did you do it?" he asked Allisia.

"I didn't do it," Allisia replied. "God is not pleased with you, Captain Telosep."

He laughed for a moment thinking the joke good until he saw Allisia staring at him. Telosep's grin changed to a frown as he left her.

Allisia shivered from the sea breeze. She was completely soaked, and though the blanket had helped insulate her, a cold penetrated her skin and settled deep within her. Allisia looked out toward land hoping to see someone coming to save her, but she could only see water.

The voices in Allisia's head were silent, for the moment, and she had no idea what to expect. Her reunion with Ferral frightened her. Allisia missed the voices—anything to give her comfort, even if it meant losing her mind.

"Kristian, where are you," Allisia pleaded.

Allisia felt no connection to him. The voices did not respond. She was alone.

At that same moment, Kristian sat in the bow of one of the fishing boats staring north. He prayed that Allisia was still safe. He prayed that he would arrive in time. Behind him, Holtsmen rowed as hard as they could, hoping to make up for lost time. Their little triangular sails caught the wind and they made good speed, but it took them longer to get the boats ready than Kristian liked. He knew something terrible was about to happen. He felt as if Allisia was calling to him right now.

Kristian's concern grew. He feared they would not find the citadel in the dark. Cairn eased his worries by showing him the stars shining overhead. "If we stay to the right of the Timekeeper and continue north, we will reach the city." Cairn's words comforted Kristian until he noticed the full moon.

"That's the second full moon of the month." Kristian noted, worried. "This is the spring celestial of Belatarn."

"I have never heard of that," Mikhal replied.

"I guess something came from all of my reading," Kristian said. "When Belatarn was viewed as more of a peaceful god, this was a night for celebration and offering. Belarnians burned plates full of wheat and corn from the previous year's harvest hoping Belatarn would be pleased. They hoped he would grant them a bountiful harvest the following fall. Once Belatarn became a darker god, this became a horrific night. Many people were sacrificed to him during the spring celestial." Kristian sprang up, looking desperately to the north.

"How much longer before we get there?" Kristian asked.

"A few hours," Cairn said.

Kristian did not like the answer, but he could do little more than wait. He now feared that Allisia was completely out of time. If the wise man was right, Ferral had her back in his cruel hands. The historical significance of the night made Kristian worry even more.

Cairn moved further back in the boat to sit next to Vi-tonia. Her guards moved aside grudgingly to make room. Vi-tonia pulled strands of hair from her face and looked at Cairn. Cairn realized that her stare made him uncomfortable.

"What do you know that's so important that you're willing to risk your life to share it with us?" Cairn asked Vi-tonia bluntly. She shifted, uncomfortable with his directness.

"The Atlunam race is much older than you can imagine, Cairn. We have created and destroyed wonders the world has never heard of. My father knows much that he doesn't want to share with outsiders. He thinks I am too young to realize what he has been hiding, but I am cleverer than he thinks."

Vi-tonia turned toward Cairn then, a sad smile on her pretty face. "Our people are wasting away because they refuse to adapt. This new threat should be easy for them to defeat, but Ferral's dead will most likely destroy my people." She grabbed Cairn's leg pleading. "I don't ever want to go back. Please let me stay."

Cairn answered, showing little emotion. "Tell me what you know."

Reluctantly, Vi-tonia told Cairn everything. It took more than an hour for Vi-tonia to finish her story. Cairn was speechless at the end.

After a long silence, Cairn nodded. "A few weeks ago I would have laughed at what you just told me. Now, I don't know what to believe. Your story is at least important enough that Kristian should be told."

"But not now," Vi-tonia urged.

"No," Cairn agreed. "Not now. Let's get through tonight first and then see what tomorrow holds."

"Thank you, Cairn, for giving me a chance. You can't imagine what life was like for me back there. Te was ... he was." Vi-tonia could not finish. Cairn did not understand and felt awkward. He did not know what to say or do. He gave the princess a perfunctory nod and moved back toward the front of the boat.

The harbor was quiet when the Endargo slowly passed the broken towers at the entrance to the protected bay. The ship listed badly. The crew's apparent bad luck had continued to plague them throughout the day. Rocks just below the surface had torn a hole in the bottom of the Belarnian ship. They had lost all of their supplies, and they would have sunk if not for Telosep's actions.

Telosep had quickly assessed the damage and ordered the lower decks sealed. The hole was on the bottom most level. If they could seal off the upper decks, preventing water from getting higher, his ship would make it home.

Three crewmen had already died from the incident. When the Endargo hit the rocks the three, working below deck, were thrown against the bulkhead, each of them sustaining severe injuries that could not be treated.

When Telosep walked by Allisia later, he said, "I suppose God did that to let me know that he is still not pleased with me?" Allisia just looked at him, smiling.

They were finally able to dock next to the black walls of Belarna as the sun fell and the full, yellow moon rose up over the western horizon.

A few small warehouses stood out along the wharf along with many shabby homes and taverns. When the boat came into the harbor, sentries became more alert and rushed down to assist them. A party of ten soldiers stood waiting on the dock for Allisia when the Endargo arrived.

Telosep gently pulled Allisia to her feet. Allisia swaggered, weak from the lack of food and sleep. She shivered. Allisia coughed, unable to suppress the sickness beginning to affect her. "You were supposed to take care of her. Ferral is not going to be pleased about this," Inneskel challenged.

"Belatarn's Balls!" Telosep roared. "I lost fifteen men in one day. We're lucky to be alive. Tell His Majesty that I did everything I could to protect her, while all you did was slap her." Telosep gently handed her over to the Black Guards officer.

As they escorted her back into the city, a crashing noise turned them around. The main mast had snapped off and fell to the deck. A piercing scream and a loud crash echoed along the dock. The guards ran back, pulling Allisia with them. The crew was pulling rigging away from where the fallen timber had pinned someone down, Telosep. A sharp splinter of the mast had pierced him through the chest and nailed him to the deck. His eyes were wide open and blood bubbled between his lips. Telosep gasped for air that could not enter his shattered lungs. It took him a long time to die.

Four small fishing boats sat still in the waters watching a crippled ship enter the harbor. They were too far away for Kristian to discern the events on board, but he felt it prudent to wait for the activity to settle down before they moved to their proposed landing site

They could see the southern tower easy enough. Half of the crenellated top had collapsed, making the structure look like a finger pointing toward the sky. The ruined tower stood at the very end of a rock wall that rose about ten feet above the surface of the water. Dark and gloomy and made of the same rock as the city's walls, the ruined blocks stood as an affirmation of Ferral's rule.

"Are you ready?" Mikhal whispered.

Kristian sighed and nodded. They knew they had to take the tower fast but without any sound. The Holtsmen took every care to row without making noise. They had taken down the sails to make sure they did not give the party away. As the boats neared the sea wall, Kristian scanned the area for guards, but he could see no immediate threats. His heart pounded in anticipation of the battle sure to come.

They leapt off the boats and onto the rocks when they neared the shore. Hin'cabo and Cairn crept up to the tower to check it out. They waved back down to Kristian that it was safe. The tower proved much bigger than Kristian had thought. They had enough room for the entire group to hide on the opposite side of the tower, away from the walls of the city, and the eyes of any guards.

Balhir ordered some of his men to start searching the inside of the tower for a tunnel entrance. The men had to take off all of their armor just to squeeze through the small opening where the door used to be. There was rubble everywhere. The debris helped conceal them as they moved around the tower, but the cut stone also hindered them in their search. Three Holtsmen managed to get inside. They reported back to Balhir after a few moments.

"It looks like there might have been a storage area under the main floor, but the floor and access to the basement are buried under the remains of the roof," Balhir reported. "We need to clear this doorway and start getting the roof out of there."

"How long will it take?" Kristian asked, frustrated by yet another setback.

"Kristian, we expected this. Take heart. My men will work hard for you." Realizing Balhir was right, Kristian could do nothing more than nod and let Balhir and his men get to work.

The clearing operation took them an hour. Balhir came back to report they had moved enough stone out of the main chamber to see another floor beneath the main hall. Debris filled the basement as well, but Balhir assured Kristian his men were working very quickly.

The Holtsman came back with good news just a few minutes later.

"There is a tunnel," Balhir proclaimed with excitement. "I would never have trusted an Atlunam, but ... well, there is a tunnel and it follows the seawall back toward the city."

"We're ready then?" Kristian asked, standing.

"Not yet, give us a few more minutes."

Kristian paced back and forth, it did not take long before everything was ready. Cairn approached Vi-tonia and Maurin. "There will be much fighting tonight. While we are in the tunnel you need to stay at the rear of the column. Once we are above ground again, stay toward the center of the group." He looked directly at Vi-tonia's protectors and said in their language, "Make sure she stays safe."

The one named Iohn replied with a confident grin, "We would do nothing less, Malit a'Shaif." Cairn had not been called that name for many years. Before Vi-tonia had called him that, he had almost forgotten his nickname among their people. Cairn nodded and walked away.

The narrow tunnel felt damp and smelled like fetid salt water. Puddles reflected their torchlight all along the uneven ground as they continued down the musty corridor. Cairn and Hin'cabo again led, making sure the way was safe. The group did not travel far before they reached a stairway leading up. Cairn climbed up to investigate but stopped after only a few feet.

"The way is blocked," Cairn said.

Kristian cursed in frustration. He smacked his fist against the wall, his anger mounting. Mikhal grew concerned at this. The cavalier remembered too well what happened the last time they had attacked Ferral, and Kristian had lost his patience. Mikhal did not think they would survive a second time if Kristian made the same mistake again.

Balhir quickly moved his men to the front to assess the job. "It is not as bad as it looks. This is a small wall that was erected to seal the tunnel off. We can break through the bricks easily." One of the warriors used his dagger to chisel away the mortar between the bricks. He did this until he could pry the stone out.

Kristian could see nothing on the opposite side. It was deathly quiet on the far side, somehow darker than the tunnel they were in. At least they knew they had not alerted anyone to their presence. Balhir gave them the nod to continue. As fast as they could without making too much noise, his men removed the other bricks until a man could squeeze through. Cairn went through first, followed by Hin'cabo. Balhir passed them a torch so they could better search the new chamber.

The room was a crypt. Tombs lined the walls. An eerie feeling permeated the place unsettling both of the seasoned fighters. Cairn checked out one of the tombs and thought he heard the faint sound of scraping coming from within. Cairn backed cautiously away.

Hin'cabo scouted out the exit and returned. The way ahead was clear and led to a larger chamber. From there, Hin'cabo had seen the streets of the city. Soon the entire party stood in the crypt. Mikhal heard the scraping sounds coming from another tomb and pulled his sword free. People started to panic, but Cairn came over and shushed them. "They can't get out. The lids are too heavy for them." Cairn's opinion did little to comfort those with little experience near the creatures. Vi-tonia, Iohn, and Pak stayed as far away from each of the tombs as they could.

The next room was the main chamber of a large temple. Broken columns of marble lay strewn across the expansive floor; a large dais rose up next to them. A large column had fallen and smashed whatever used to sit on top of the raised platform. The black column crushed the marble tiles underneath.

Cairn looked out from the entrance into the city street. They were in a rundown section of the lower city, not far from the inner wall. Cairn knew that they had to get across the city and into the palace without alerting the guards.

"So, how are we going to get inside?" Mikhal asked Cairn.

"We'll move as quickly as possible," Cairn answered.

Mikhal thought Cairn was finally developing a sense of humor, but Cairn stepped into the dark street and ran toward the palace. Mikhal cursed and followed the swordsman. One by one, the rest of the group followed Cairn up the street.

### 29

### The Search

Kristian and Mikhal caught up with Cairn in the shadows of an alley. Their friend's aloofness frustrated them. Cairn acted different now, once more that silent warrior able to defeat his enemies with quick efficiency, the cold-blooded master of the Atlunam sword ready to deal out death.

Cairn was Malit a'Shaif.

As Kristian moved around a pile of refuse to stand next to Cairn, he tripped over a still form lying on the wet pavement. Cairn caught Kristian with no effort and pulled him back into the shadows.

Kristian looked down to see what had nearly tripped him and found the body of a Belarnian guard. "Where did you run into him?" Kristian asked, trying to remain calm.

"Just where you about fell," Cairn whispered.

Kristian knelt next to the body, fearing the corpse might spring back up and grab him. He felt leather straps binding its hands and legs behind its body.

"You tied him up?" Kristian asked.

"Do you want him coming back to life and attacking us?" Cairn whispered. The swordsman raised a finger to his lips and then nodded, indicating a well-lit area out in the adjoining street. Kristian frowned; he could not see whatever it was that held Cairn's attention.

"You are going too fast. We are losing the rest of the men," Kristian challenged.

Cairn continued to stare across the street paying little attention to Kristian. He watched a dark corner on the far side of the well lit street intently. Then he whispered something in the Atlunam language confusing Kristian even more. Kristian almost spoke again when the sharp twang of a bowstring forced him up against the wall.

The dull thud of an arrow hitting its mark echoed from across the street. Then a guard stumbled out of his hiding place, clutching at an arrow in his chest, before falling back into the shadows. Only then did Kristian see Hin'cabo step out of the alcove next to Cairn.

Cairn finally turned to address Kristian, "Then tell them to hurry."

Kristian noticed Cairn's gaze shifting toward the back of the column, something had distracted him. Vi-tonia was moving toward them. Cairn had relegated her to watching the rear of the column, but the Atlunam princess made it clear, on more than one occasion since entering the city, that she was tired of being ignored.

Some of the Holtsmen whispered curses at Vi-tonia, but she passed them by. Iohn and Pak followed right behind, their bows ready for any trouble. Kristian made eye contact with Vi-tonia, warning her to stay put, but she continued toward where Kristian, Mikhal, and Cairn were talking.

Cairn fidgeted for a moment before leaving his hiding place and crossing to where the guard had fallen. He checked for vital signs and then pulled more cord out of his pack; Cairn secured the dead guard's body, ensuring it could not get back up. The swordsman, that Vi-tonia called Malit a'Shaif, then moved out into the city at the same rapid pace as before.

"You're doing it all over again, Kristian," Mikhal said in an angry whisper. "You are making the same type of rash decisions that almost got us killed the first time."

The young king shook his head emphatically. "No, I'm not." Kristian pointed to a large wall that stood out on the opposite side of a courtyard. "That wall is thirty feet high. We don't have the time or equipment to wait for someone to go over it."

"And if we go through the door or try to take it by force, what do you think will happen?" Mikhal shot back. "Ferral has always had the upper hand. If we just walk up to the front door of his palace, we'll be surrounded and killed before we even get inside."

"Look. I don't know how else to explain it, but we're out of time," Kristian argued. "We have to get in there and find Allisia, now. There is no more time for discussion." Kristian looked directly at Mikhal. "I know what I did last time. I know what my actions brought upon all of us. I will not order you to go in there, Mikhal. You can make your own decision." Kristian turned away from Mikhal then, avoiding the cavalier's hurt look. Kristian loosened his sword in its scabbard pretending to be too busy to continue the argument.

Mikhal grew furious with his king. Regardless of what was about to happen to them, Mikhal had learned an important lesson along the way. For the cavalier, duty and selfless service had come to mean more to him than anything, especially now that they had come so far. He could not let anything happen to his king while he lived and could protect him, even if it meant death.

"You could not leave me behind even if you left a guard on me. I'm going to let Balhir know the plan," Mikhal said.

Kristian nodded.

As Mikhal passed her, Vi-tonia touched his arm softly. "What is happening? Are we in danger?"

Mikhal turned on her, annoyed. "Princess, you were in danger as soon as you got onto that wagon car." Then Mikhal added, "You're supposed to be at the rear of the column." Disappointed that she was not getting the answers she wanted, Vi-tonia started toward the back, but then Mikhal stopped her. "No, wait. We're getting ready to rush into the palace. You will be safer in the middle now. Just stay where you are."

Vi-tonia was getting very tired of this treatment. She drew her short sword, feeling for the perfect grip. "Uhb Iohn y Pak. Ready yourselves," Vi-tonia whispered to her companions. The Atlunam hunters indicated their readiness.

Cairn came back as silent as always with Hin'cabo trailing behind him. He found Kristian and said, "Things are strangely quiet inside the palace courtyard."

Old memories came back to Kristian. Events had rapidly gone from quiet to disastrous the last time he was here.

Cairn put him at ease. "We checked all around the wall. It's like I said earlier, there are no forces even close to us. And there are only two guards at the gate. The gate is closed, but we can get it open for you."

Kristian had to smile. "I won't ask how you plan to do that." A hint of a smile twinkled in Cairn's eyes. "But what then? What do you think we should do about getting inside the palace?" Kristian asked.

Cairn paused to think about the question. "Sometimes surprise and violence are better than the cautious approach."

Cairn's answer surprised Kristian. "You want us to just bust down the front doors?" Kristian asked.

Cairn simply shrugged. "His forces seem committed elsewhere."

"And what if everyone we kill rises back up and chases us while we're looking for Allisia? Do you have enough cord for all of them?"

Cairn looked back at the wall. "No, I only have enough for a few more, probably the two at the gate and that's it."

Mikhal returned then and reported that Balhir and his men were ready, though somewhat confused about what Kristian wanted them to do.

Cairn noticed Vi-tonia standing close to them, ready for combat. "What about her?" Cairn asked.

Kristian gave him a sour look. "She should never have come." Realizing that complaining about the situation now would not help, Kristian added, "Leave Vi-tonia here with her two hunters. They can watch the entrance to the courtyard and hopefully ensure the way is still open for us once we return. Make sure they secure the bodies or cut them to pieces so they don't attack us twice."

Cairn nodded, satisfied.

Vi-tonia turned toward Cairn as he approached, anxious. Even in the darkness, Cairn could see a faint light shimmering off of her golden hair. It was pulled back into a knot, the tail hanging over one shoulder. The Atlunam hunting clothes she wore outlined her slim figure. Vi-tonia's attitude changed dramatically, however, when he told her what they wanted her to do. Iohn and Pak seemed relieved that their job would be a little easier, but the princess fumed.

Vi-tonia looked at Cairn, pleading for him to reconsider but remained silent. Cairn stared into her eyes once more and then turned away.

Cairn, true to his word, casually walked up to the barred gate. A small window opened within the door. A Belarnian guard challenged him as Cairn approached.

"What do you want? No one is admitted here. Hell," the guard laughed, "no one would want to come in if they knew what happened inside."

"Fool," Cairn hissed at the guard. "The captain sent me to give you a message."

"Captain? Our captain was hanged and gutted two weeks ago." Cairn could see the man's eyes narrow in suspicion. Cairn drove his sword through the small window. The blade cut through the man's windpipe and severed his spine. Cairn would not let the man fall, the swordsman gradually pulled back keeping the guard standing even as he began to slump.

Cairn could hear the other man inside asking his partner if he was all right. Cairn paid no attention to him as he reached inside and undid the latch. The remaining guard figured out the situation at the same time that Cairn pushed one of the doors in. The guard watched the lifeless body of his companion fall to the ground as Cairn's dark figure stepped into the courtyard. The guard tried to pull out his sword, but an arrow penetrated the soft leather of his vest. The force of the missile knocked him to the ground. The Belarnian tried to shout for help but Cairn was already upon him, cutting through his neck with one quick flick of his wrist.

Hin'cabo stepped through the door, notching another arrow to his bow, and scanned the courtyard for other guards.

Cairn rolled the dead guard over, moving with practiced ease, and secured the man's hands to the back of his belt. He then rushed back to Kristian who was watching over the other guard's body. The two of them hauled the body over to a small guard shack next to the gate and secured his hands to one of the posts.

"That's it. I don't have any more cord," Cairn told Kristian.

Kristian nodded, "We'll have to ..."

The dead guard's leg kicked out.

Kristian and Cairn jumped back, raising their swords defensively.

"He can't get out of the knot," Kristian said.

Mikhal came up then with Balhir. "I'm not taking any chances," Mikhal said. They began hacking at the creature's legs and arms until its thrashing ceased.

A shout from the barracks on the far side of the palace reached them, and Kristian knew the sound meant trouble.

"Balhir, we need to get those doors open!" Kristian shouted, pointing at the main doors to the palace. The Holtsman barked orders to some of his men; they rushed forward with axes drawn.

"We need to form a protective circle around the door until they get it open," Mikhal suggested. Kristian nodded and let the cavalier handle their hasty defense while he watched the two Holtsmen work on the door.

Cairn noticed Vi-tonia and her personal guards standing among the other defenders. Her sword was out and she stood in a defensive stance, her Atlunam companions to either side of her. Cairn swore under his breath and walked over to Vi-tonia, pulling her out of the line.

The Atlunam princess stared at him defiantly for a moment and then looked at Iohn and Pak for support. They looked back and forth between the two for a second before stepping closer to Cairn. Vi-tonia's mouth dropped open in surprise at their betrayal.

"You are not here to fight," Cairn reminded her. "Stay in the middle of the group and take care of any attackers that get through the line." Cairn did not wait to see her response or give her an opportunity to argue with him.

Balhir and another Holtsman rushed over to shut the gate at the inner wall, bracing the frame and lock with a few pikes, then joined the defensive circle around the palace entryway.

Maurin stood next to Vi-tonia and Kristian and spotted the Belarnians rushing toward them first. The healer shouted in warning.

Hin'cabo acted first, drawing back his bow and letting an arrow loose at the guards. One of them fell with a shaft jutting from his throat. Iohn and Pak joined him and soon two more Belarnians lay on the ground, but more were coming.

These men wore the insignia of Ferral's Black Guards. They rushed the companions, cursing, some throwing javelins while others sprinted to protect their sorcerer-king. The Holtsmen met their charge with shields, axes, and heavy swords.

The Atlunam, side by side with the Holtsmen, decimated the Belarnians, launching arrow after arrow at the guards. Cairn reached in with his slender sword to jab at the faces of those Belarnians engaged in combat with their defensive line. Soon all of the Belarnians were dead or seriously wounded.

Then a sharp crack sounded as the brace behind the heavy wooden doors gave in, clearing the way for Kristian and his companions. They rushed in just as a squad of guards came running down the hallway toward them.

"They're starting to change!" Maurin shouted in warning. Kristian looked back to see the dead in the inner courtyard starting to rise.

"Balhir pull your men inside," Kristian ordered as Cairn and Mikhal met the next charge. The call came just as one of the Holtsmen shouted in pain. He fell to one knee holding onto a crossbow bolt that jutted from his thigh. Maurin moved over to him, forgetting about the rest of the fighting. He pulled out a bandage from his pack and started helping the wounded warrior.

"Pull him in, Maurin," Kristian shouted. "We can't protect him out there." Iohn and Pak sprang forward to help the healer. They dragged the wounded Holtsman inside the ruined door just as the fighting started in the hallway.

Mikhal felt new energy rush into his exhausted body as he faced the Belarnians. It was the cavalier's first real chance to exact vengeance for the deaths of his men, to face mortal men and not the demon that haunted Mikhal each night. The cavalier shouted "for Erand!" then attacked the first two guards. Cairn jumped in next to him, and together they made short work of the squad.

Cairn ducked under the swing of one broadsword and brought up his sword in a serpent-swift strike at his opponent's unprotected throat. The guard reached out with panicky hands, trying to grab the blood spitting out. Cairn was already past him, choosing his next target.

In seconds, the five Belarnians lay dead and Kristian's entire group was inside the palace.

"We have to hold these doors or we'll never get back out," Balhir warned.

"We don't have enough men," Mikhal countered. "We have to keep together while we search for Allisia or we'll never survive. Besides, they'll be getting back up in a few minutes. We can't stay here."

"He's right," Kristian agreed. "We have to stay together."

"Where do we begin?" Mikhal asked.

Kristian tried to listen for any clues, but with Balhir's men hacking at the dead coming at them from the courtyard, he could only hear the sounds of axes and swords cleaving flesh and bone.

"Kristian," Mikhal pressed.

Frustrated, Kristian motioned for them to follow him down the main corridor. Balhir kept his men back to protect them against the dead, while Cairn and Mikhal stuck close to Kristian's side.

They found the mad man's throne room, and his cells full of creatures in the lower levels of the palace, but no trace of Allisia.

When they turned to go back up the stairs and leave the dungeons, Balhir shouted, "Wait! The way is blocked. Give us a few minutes."

Cairn and Kristian tried to maneuver up the narrow stairs to help the Holtsmen but they were too far back.

One of Balhir's men screamed. A dead Belarnian crawled forward and clawed at the man's unprotected thigh. The warrior drove his spiked axe into the back of the thing's skull but he had lowered his defenses. Two more creatures moved in and raked his face with their fingers. He screamed again, blinded, swinging his axe left and right in vengeance.

"Look out!" Balhir warned. It was too late. The wounded Holtsman hit one of his companions in the face, the blade cutting deep. The two Holtsmen fell as more dead mobbed them.

Balhir shouted in fury and rushed the dead, his remaining Holtsmen, Cairn, and Mikhal joining the fight. Together, they destroyed the creatures by hacking them to pieces, including Balhir's two dead Holtsmen.

Kristian began to panic. He shouted as loud as he could for Allisia. "We have to find her, Mikhal. She's in danger ... I hear her calling for me."

Mikhal tried to calm him, "we will find her. We will. You must calm down. Your shouting and raving is not going to help." Kristian nodded, gasping for breath.

"You're right." Kristian clapped Mikhal on the shoulder and started off again.

"Here," Mikhal said to get Kristian's attention. Kristian grabbed the skin full of water Mikhal held out to him. They shared the water before they continued their search.

### 30

### Sacrifice

Priests dragged Allisia into Ferral's audience chamber. Other prisoners were now tied to the same columns used to hold her. The tortured prisoners had no spirit left in them; they had become used to their torment and stood silent, heads bowed in submission. The bones of the mad man's victims still decorated the throne and even more heads filled the pile behind the great chair. The smell of rotting flesh permeated the room and Allisia vomited.

Ferral sat in his chair taking a glass of wine from his favorite dead servant, Julia. His eyes glowed with hatred underneath a sagging brow, but his expression was slack and his skin looked mottled. The sorcerer's head and his shoulders slumped forward, too heavy for the weakened man to hold upright.

The price for his powers is too great, Allisia realized. Will I become like that? she asked herself.

Ferral smiled maliciously at Allisia when the acolytes brought her before him. "You have caused me much pain. Much pain. I thought about sacrificing you, but then said to myself ... isn't that what everyone does in these situations? So I thought I could throw you to the creatures that used to torment you in your cell. And I thought, no, that would be boring. I've already watched that a hundred times." Ferral indicated the listless prisoners that filled the room.

"And then, I had a brilliant idea!" Ferral got out of his chair and approached her. Allisia tried to back away but the guards held her in place. Ferral trailed a finger down her cheek. "How could I hurt you the most, Allisia? I mean, you have already hurt me. You have refused my love, my gifts. You stabbed me." His mood turned darker with every word.

Ferral shouted, "You stabbed me!" He slapped her hard across the face. Allisia gasped in pain.

"So, Allisia, what can I do to you to make you feel the pain that I have felt?" Ferral asked her.

"Torturing me is not going to give you any satisfaction, Ferral," Allisia said in defiance. "I have already faced you and all of your horrors. There is nothing you can do to me that will make me fear you any longer."

Ferral smiled at her. "We shall see." He ran his fingers through her hair looking her over. "This will not do, even I have standards. Make sure she is cleaned and then take her to the altar room up in the tower. We will make love once before you make your journey." He handed his empty cup back to Julia.

Then Allisia knew what he planned to do. She gasped. She had resolved herself to face death, she had even tried to prepare herself for torture, but Allisia had blocked out the possibility that he might make her like Julia. She shook her head desperately denying the truth and losing hope altogether.

"It would probably be better to bed you after you are like her," Ferral pointed at the raven haired servant girl, "but I know it won't be as much fun." He laughed as they took her out of the room.

Allisia lay naked, strapped to a cold slab of marble. She quickly lost any notion of modesty. Men had come in and out of the room several times. Then Ferral brought in Julia and told her to stand next to Allisia. The mad man tormented Allisia by showing her what he intended to make her into.

Julia stood there motionless, staring at nothing. Allisia tried to talk to her.

"What is your name?" Allisia asked, her voice wavering. The dead girl did not respond. She just continued staring at nothing.

Suddenly, images of Julia being murdered and transformed by Ferral entered Allisia's mind. She saw her life then and how happy Julia had been.

"Her name was Julia," the ghost voice told Allisia.

Allisia also knew that Julia's fiancé had never stopped loving her, and that he had never stopped searching for those responsible for his loss. The man was an angel of death.

Allisia smiled and calmed herself.

What will happen to me? Allisia asked the voice.

The ghosts, or angels, as Allisia began to think of them, did not answer her. Instead, more images charged her senses. She saw Ferral in the next room, kneeling on carpets and chanting along with his main priest, Orolien. Ferral wore a black and red robe. He bent over, touching his head to the floor several times. Then Ferral picked up something next to him. He lifted a ceremonial dagger up and admired it. The dagger was made of bone, with gold and jewels encrusted within its hilt. The sorcerer brought it to his lips, kissing the dagger gently, and then thrust it out in front of him with his right hand. Ferral laughed cruelly while Orolien continued chanting and bowing to his master.

Allisia's eyes narrowed in hatred, but then another image assaulted her. She saw four small fishing boats, next to a ruined tower and bay. I know that place, I've seen it!

The princess watched men get out of the boat and climb into the broken tower. The image followed them into the tunnel, the crypt, and back out into the street. They moved swiftly, but with care, as if they did not want to be discovered.

Please let it be Kristian, Allisia prayed.

She lay there for a long time before a file of men entered the room. They were dressed in red and black robes. Ferral's priests started chanting and swaying, praying to Belatarn. This continued for several long minutes before Ferral and Orolien entered and the lesser priests fell to the floor prostrating themselves before the sorcerer-king.

Ferral brought several vials and bowls over to the small table next to her. He then laid the bone dagger with great care on the table next to an open scroll. The sorcerer examined the scroll for a minute, nodding to himself several times, and then clapped his hands. Ferral smiled at Allisia, enjoying the moment.

He ran a hand down her body, tracing her breasts, and then stopped to tickle her ribs. The sorcerer laughed.

"Don't worry, Allisia, they say the first time always hurts. But isn't there always a little pain with pleasure?" Ferral had Julia move to an alcove and his priests come to assist him. "Spread her legs apart and hold her down. I don't want her trying to bite me or anything." Ferral rubbed his hands together, taking great pleasure in Allisia's situation.

"Who would have thought that I would ever get you back?" Ferral asked, extremely pleased by his good fortune.

"They're here. They're coming. Hold on!" the whisper in her head told Allisia. "Stay calm. Everything will be alright." Nothing could hold back her scream as the men pulled her legs apart. Allisia fought them as hard as she could, but in the end, Allisia knew that she was defeated. This vile man would rape her and make her serve him, forever. Allisia jerked one leg free and kicked a priest in the face when he got too close. They soon had her pinned down again.

Allisia screamed.

"I love a fiery woman," Ferral said as he began to disrobe.

"No!" Allisia shouted several times until her throat became raw. Just as Ferral began to undo his trousers the door to the chamber burst open.

Cairn, Mikhal, and then Kristian stumbled into the room.

"Allisia!" Kristian shouted.

When Kristian heard Allisia's scream, they were on an upper floor having searched almost the entire palace. The cry came from a chamber at the far end of the corridor. At the same time that they burst into the chamber, the guards had caught back up to them. By now the guards had opened the gate on the inner wall and a hundred more soldiers raced to protect their king.

Kristian heard the screams and shouts of the Belarnians echoing up from the lower levels of the palace. They were fighting some of the dead that lingered on the lower levels, searching for the living.

"More guards are coming," Balhir warned from outside the door.

Kristian feared the rescue was for nothing. He resolved himself that if they were all going to die, he was going to make sure the sorcerer-king died first.

Ferral cursed and stumbled away from the altar, confused and shocked by the presence of Kristian.

"How did you ..."

Ferral realized his predicament and shouted at his priests, "Kill them!" The robed fanatics pulled daggers free from sheaths that hung from their necks, shouted prayers to their dark god, and rushed the intruders.

The three rescuers were bruised, cut, and near exhaustion, but when Kristian saw Allisia he regained all of his energy. He and his companions charged the priests, swinging their bloody swords with all the pent up passion and frustration of the long months of their quest.

Cairn cut two of them down in the first seconds. Kristian killed one of the priests, and side-stepped the dagger thrust of another, but the priests soon had them surrounded. Many more priests stood between them and Ferral.

Mikhal parried the blow of a Belarnian guard with a long pike. The cavalier grabbed hold of the weapon just under the sharp point and swung down with all of his strength. His sword shattered the pole and bit deep into the man's head. Then other Belarnian guards charged into the room from a side door to reinforce the priests.

"They're bypassing us through another chamber," Balhir shouted.

"Get in here," Kristian ordered the remaining members of his party.

Ferral laughed. "This could not be better if I had planned it. Thank you, Kristian, for saving me the effort of hunting you down. I lost you in the woods. I don't know how you got here so quickly, but I will soon be rid of you and your friends."

Just as the Belarnians charged to finish off Kristian and his friends, arrows began flying into the priests and guards nearest the open door. Hin'cabo and Vi-tonia's hunters loosed arrow after arrow at the attackers. Then Vi-tonia stepped into the room brandishing her curved blade.

Orolien came after her with his knife, thinking she would be easier to kill, but she cut him down in a reflection of Cairn's efficiency. The skulking priest lay at her feet with a long gash splitting his face in two. Soon the odds began to favor the rescuers. They fought with renewed strength against the remaining guards. One of the Belarnians shouted for help and ten more armed men entered the room.

Iohn and Pak rushed in to protect their princess. Having expended all of their arrows they drew their short swords and went to work. Both bore cuts and bruises, but protected Vi-tonia fiercely, though it looked like she fared better than her men.

The remainder of Balhir's men entered the room then. Only four of them lived, including Balhir. Maurin came in last, watching the rear for other enemies, holding a long dagger in his hand.

Ferral was dismayed and filled with hatred. There was fighting all around him. His guards were unable to get beyond the Holtsmen blocking the narrow doors and his protectors were quickly losing their will to fight. He called upon his own powers to aid him. He began to chant, summoning the demon to him. By the time he ended his chant the remainder of his priests and guards were dead or wounded.

"Get up you fools," Ferral snarled at the dead priests and guards. They struggled to stand, arms and legs quivering after their unholy resurrection. Iohn, Pak, and the Holtsmen were upon them before they could stand. They cut off heads, legs, and arms so that none could stand.

Vi-tonia helped them by decapitating the priest that had attacked her earlier. She finished the task, stepped back, and then vomited.

They stood there for a few minutes to catch their breath and ensure that no others were approaching from outside the chamber.

Kristian and his companions stepped toward the sorcerer with caution, fearful of a last minute trick. Ferral looked beyond them seeking a way to escape, but the Holtsmen still blocked both doorways. He began to back away from Kristian and Mikhal, grabbing the bone dagger from the table next to Allisia as he did so.

"You'll not have her, Erandian scum," he growled. Ferral raised the dagger hoping to scare them enough to buy some time.

Cairn, the closest to Ferral, knew he could easily reach the sorcerer before the mad man could do Allisia any harm. The sword master moved slightly to his left, preparing to launch himself. Ferral looked at each of his attackers frantically, wondering which one might strike at him first. A revelation must have come to Ferral then. He stopped and looked directly at Cairn. Recognition slowly came to Ferral as he stared in wonder at the sword master's scarred face.

"You?" Ferral asked, surprised. Cairn stopped a few steps away, momentarily confused.

Ferral flicked his wrist and pointed at Cairn. There was a hint of movement from an alcove. A blurred shape flew past Kristian and Mikhal and attacked Cairn. The flash of a blade came down from a small hand hitting the sword master solidly in the back. The attacker's momentum took them both to the ground. Vi-tonia shouted in dismay rushing to Cairn's aid.

Everyone stared in amazement at the woman with black hair who lay over the top of Cairn, she held on to the handle of a dagger stuck in Cairn's back.

Then the demon came to answer Ferral's plea for help, its monstrous form crashing through the window. It stood, stretching its arms and back, howling, before moving to the sorcerer's side.

Kristian had thought that they might win for a moment—that they had defeated Ferral, but that hope fled now. Fear overpowered each of them as the demon stared at the rescuers with deep hatred. They all took a few steps back, even Kristian, until he saw Allisia lying helpless, bound and naked on the altar. Kristian started to approach Ferral again.

The demon snarled at him, jumping between the two kings. There was a moment of eerie silence, and then Ferral's laughter filled the room.

Cairn's back felt numb, but he was fortunate. The blade glanced off his shoulder and did not go as deep as it could have. He winced at the pain in his back trying to figure out what happened. Cairn looked at the person lying next to him and his world came to an abrupt halt.

The servant girl had pale skin, long hair the color of a raven's wings, and eyes of the deepest blue. Cairn gulped in deep breaths trying to comprehend what he saw.

"Julia?" She lay there, looking up at the ceiling. Cairn crawled over next to her to see if she was hurt. "Julia, it's me, Cairn." Nothing seemed to register.

Then Julia repeated her mantra, "Kill me ... Kill me." Cairn was confused and shocked. She is alive after all this time? Why is she here? Why did she attack me? What trick of Ferral's is this? Cairn looked into his lover's eyes and saw no life in them.

Cairn began to weep. "Why?"

"Because, Cairn. That is your name isn't it? Just because." It was Ferral that answered his question. Through watery eyes, Cairn looked at the sorcerer in dismay. "Those are nice scars you have there. Garnis and his men were pretty rough on you."

Images of fire and death raced through Cairn's mind. He looked at Julia lying next to him.

"Kill me," Julia continued to plead in a monotone voice. The full reality of what happened on that day so many years ago surged through Cairn.

Ferral was the one that had led the attack against Cairn's village. This was the man that had left him alive but near death. And this was the man that had taken Julia away from him. Worse than that, Ferral had used Julia even after death. He violated her spirit by holding her captive in a beautiful, yet broken shell.

"This has turned out to be the best possible reunion that I could ever have hoped for," Ferral said with confidence. Now that the demon had arrived they could do nothing to him. "Yes, Kristian, I was going to do what you've only dreamed of and take Allisia for myself. But now I am completely exhausted and she will die with you." Ferral casually stepped toward the princess.

"You will all die, just like your miserable excuse for an army." Ferral paused to focus back on Cairn. "And then there is the matter of these two lovers. I should have let Garnis kill you along with the rest of your neighbors. I thought it would be fun to spare your life. I often wondered what became of you and what you would do with the remainder of your life. Now I know and I must say I am impressed."

Cairn shook his head in disbelief. He could not comprehend how evil a man had to be to conjure up such terrible schemes. Cairn started to feel the throbbing from the wound in his shoulder. He pulled himself across the floor to his love and knelt over Julia's limp form. His tears fell onto her face.

"Kill me," Julia said.

"I never even knew you. She never knew you. Why did you do this to us?" Cairn cried out.

"She knew more than you think, Cairn. If it is any consolation, I never meant for her to die. I meant for the rest of you to die, but not Julia. I thought she was beautiful. Beautiful enough that she should be spared, but things didn't happen the way I intended," Ferral said, frowning as he remembered his plans that day.

Then the sorcerer-king laughed. "I honestly don't think there could be a better ending to all of my troubles than this. The man responsible for the deaths of my most loyal guards is helpless at my feet, crying like a baby. My enemies are gathered in one place, tired, battered, bloody, and ready to die for their cause. And I just happen to have my demon with me," Ferral snickered.

"Please, just leave her alone," Cairn begged.

"I can't do that. I've never understood how she was sometimes able to call out your name. I'm jealous and can't stand the thought of her choosing you over me." Ferral whispered something, and then he snapped his fingers.

Julia's body became rigid. Re-animated with life she felt the stab wound she received the night Ferral used her as a shield against Derout's attack. Blood began to soak her dress.

Julia looked around her in panic, wondering what had happened and where she was. Then she remembered.

Cairn cried with her as she began to fade again. He held her head in his lap looking into her eyes. She could sense his presence and tried to smile but could not—there had been too much sorrow. Julia weakly reached a hand up to touch his face. There was one light touch on her love's scarred cheek, and then her hand fell back down.

"Cairn?" Julia asked frightened.

"I'm here, Julia," Cairn said through gasps of pain and sorrow.

Julia tried to smile but it faded quickly from her face. A small sigh escaped her lips and then Julia died. Cairn buried his head in her hair and wept.

Ferral laughed, clapping his hands.

Cairn immediately stopped crying, his eyes narrowing to murderous slits. He sprang up from his lover's side full of vengeance. Cairn's scream of hatred was incoherent. He moved faster than even the demon could react. The monster swatted at him, but missed. Cairn rolled under the sharp claws and jumped up next to Ferral. His blade came down in a blur of motion, a stroke that would surely have cut Ferral in half.

The demon pulled the sorcerer back at the last possible moment. Cairn's blade missed his head but cut through the wrist that held the bone dagger. The severed hand fell to the floor, still clutching the sacrificial knife.

Ferral screamed in pain, falling to the floor as the demon let go of him. The monster struck Cairn so hard that it sent him flying across the chamber. He smashed into the wall and fell to the floor in a heap.

After Cairn's courageous act, the others were released from the demon's spell. Vi-tonia darted in to hack at the demon's abdomen. The only thing that saved her from being ripped apart was the sacrifice of her guards.

Iohn and Pak attacked simultaneously. Their short swords did no damage, but their distraction allowed their princess to move to safety. The demon tore Iohn's throat out with one swipe and then crushed Pak's skull.

Kristian moved around the monster to Allisia's side. He stepped between her and the demon, cutting the cords that bound her. His legs and arms shook badly from the continued fighting. Kristian had little strength left and relied solely upon his resolve to see Allisia safe. Even though Kristian had found Allisia, it did not look like either of them would survive.

"I'm sorry, Allisia. I've failed," Kristian told her.

The monster continued to roar in fury. A Holtsman jabbed at it with his sword. The demon jumped on him, tearing him apart in a matter of seconds. Everyone tried to kill the demon, but nothing worked.

It started to move back toward Kristian intent on killing him and Allisia. It moved past Ferral who sat there staring at his bloody stump. Just as it reached out to grab Kristian, Mikhal jumped on it from behind.

The monster reached behind it and picked him off of its back with ease. It looked at him for a moment, some form of recognition entering its dark mind. Its snarl vanished and the monster said something so garbled by its thick tongue that no one could understand it. It repeated the accusation, waiting for Mikhal to respond.

Mikhal struggled to get free of its grasp, but could not. Then Balhir chopped at the demon's back with an axe. The creature screamed in fury. It threw Mikhal to the floor and backhanded Balhir, knocking him down with a glancing blow. The monster heard Mikhal cry out in pain as he hit the marble surface and it paused, looking confused and concerned. The monster started looking around as if dazed.

"Come to me," Ferral called out weakly. "Come to me." He clutched at his wrist trying in vain to make the bleeding stop.

"Save me," Ferral pleaded to the demon. It scooped Ferral up and jumped out the window into the night.

Ferral's voice trailed out behind the two as they left. "This is only the beginning. I will rock the foundations of this world ..."

### 31

### The Retreat

The Belarnians at the doorway had seen the demon and ran away in fear. No one blocked Kristian's escape. Balhir shouted back to his friends, "This is the best chance we will have to get out of here alive. We have to leave right now!"

Kristian surveyed the group. Cairn was down and unconscious, his back a bloody mess.

Maurin knelt next to him. "He's badly hurt, but I think he'll make it. We will need some sort of litter to carry him." Balhir's remaining men began to assist Maurin with this while he gave Cairn something to drink. They tore a door away from its hinges and laid it down next to Cairn.

Mikhal slowly rose to his feet. A bad bruise already swelled on the side of his face, but he looked glad to be alive. He walked over to where Ferral's hand lay on the marble floor. Mikhal pried the dagger from the fingers and examined it up before putting it carefully in his pack.

Hin'cabo appeared to be fine. The Atlunam princess was relatively unhurt despite the claw marks that had torn through the back of her clothes. Both Iohn and Pak were dead. Vi-tonia knelt next to them, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

Vi-tonia wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, stumbling over to Cairn. The remaining Holtsmen gently lifted him onto the makeshift litter. Vi-tonia brushed the hair from his face, and Kristian could see her concern.

Kristian forced himself to think about Allisia's situation and pulled one of the cleaner robes off a dead priest. He wrapped the robe around Allisia, brushing loose hair away from her face. Then he ordered the survivors of his party to get into a tight wedge. With the remainder of Balhir's men carrying Cairn in the center of the protective formation, they prepared to leave the palace as fast as possible.

Cairn's eyes opened briefly to look down upon Julia.

"No," he demanded in a weak voice. "I will not let her serve him again. Please help me," Cairn pleaded, looking at Kristian.

Kristian looked around the chamber and found some lamp oil. He doused Julia's clothes and sprinkled the rest on some curtains he had torn down and placed around her. Balhir's men brought over enough wooden furniture to make certain of a large fire. Not understanding what was happening, Vi-tonia placed a reassuring hand on Cairn's chest as Kristian touched a torch to Julia's dress. Cairn passed out once the fires engulfed Julia's body.

There was little resistance on the way out. News of a deadly battle occurring in the palace had spread. Word that the demon was killing everyone inside the palace kept most of the soldiers garrisoned near Ferral's home inside their barracks. Several explosions erupted from the palace. The sorcerer's storerooms of deadly concoctions fueled the fire that Kristian had started. As they shuffled out the inner-wall gate, balls of fire rained down on the streets of Belarna. Flaming debris came crashing down around them just as they gained the safety of the abandoned temple.

Kristian and his party entered the tunnel. Shouts echoed throughout the city until they could hear nothing but the roaring of the waves overhead. They got into their boats and rowed for a little while until they felt safe. Then they all collapsed from exhaustion.

All of them except Kristian and Allisia.

Allisia stared at the black walls and glow of the fire that was once her prison. Flames engulfed the palace and much of the city. "You made it. They told me you would find me, but I didn't want to believe them. I didn't want to have any more false hopes. But you came. You saved me." Allisia's eyes darted nervously around the boat.

"Who told you I would make it?" Kristian asked.

"The Angels ... the Angels told me," Allisia answered him feverishly.

Kristian had trouble looking at her. "I've been such a fool, Allisia. Thousands have died because of me. I've caused such misery. There were so many times that I wanted to give up. It never seemed that I would find you. And every time I thought of you I found myself getting farther away rather than closer. But I could not ... I could not stop thinking of you."

Kristian leaned forward and kissed her. It was their first kiss. "I am so glad that I found you. Are you hurt?"

She did not say anything for a moment. Allisia just shook her head no, and then she started to laugh, uncontrollably.

"Where do you want us to go, Kristian?" Maurin asked.

Kristian did not know what to do. The king of Erand sat there looking at Allisia.

Thus ends the Second Book of the Erinia Saga.

### APPENDIX

### THE HISTORY OF ERINIA

Erinia is considered the land of the younger kingdoms. Only a thousand years before people from the old world of Mesantia had sailed out searching for new lands. A terrible cataclysm had shaken much of the world. Tidal waves and storms shook the western coasts of Mesantia and thousands had died. The people knew something terrible had happened far out in the restless ocean. Some even heard rumors of a land ravaged but quickly recovering. They heard this new, mysterious land was mostly uninhabited and rich in resources. People eager for a new life set sail in search of it. Those that survived the constant storms on the Tarin Ocean landed on a rugged coast that none from the main continent had ever seen. Most people, too exhausted by the experience of crossing the massive ocean to continue exploring, settled along the coast. They promised to maintain the ports necessary for trade between the Kingdoms of Mesantia and the new lands.

Only a few continued north looking for better prospects. A glacial wall a thousand feet tall covered most of the northern reaches of the ancient world and was not a place the people liked to venture. The ice sheets were dangerous, large chunks fell constantly causing significant changes in the land. Villages that had tried to eke out an existence in the shadows of the ice were either swallowed whole by the constantly changing wall or crushed under the weight of millions of tons of ice falling from above. Even the bravest and most experienced explorers turned back when they heard the moaning sounds coming from the ice cliff.

Some were still eager to make a new life, though, and they found a river in the shadow of the glacier. These explorers traveled west along the large waterway hoping to reach even better lands. For weeks they explored the area near the river passing mountains and woodlands until they finally reached a great inland sea. They called this large body of water the Forsian after their ancestors, a race of people known for thousands of years as explorers.

They settled near where the river met the sea farming the fertile lands on the south side of its banks. Soon a settlement was established on a small rise that overlooked the fertile valleys. News traveled back to the Mesantian Kingdoms of Khafalia and Sergia that there was plenty of land and opportunity for everyone. People migrated there over the next two hundred years.

A great village was founded where the settlement was begun on the east side of the Forsian Sea. People harvested wheat and corn; they shipped their goods on the river back to the ports along the coast. From the coastal ports, large ships took the supplies across the treacherous ocean back to Mesantia. The farmers on the plains and the traders along the coast were successful enough that their cities began to rival many from the old world.

The people who settled the coast expanded their ports north and south until they were finally stopped by rugged hills. They prospered as the place of exchange between the farmers to their west and the Mesantian Kingdoms across the ocean. The people became wealthy and influential. They found gold and iron in the hills, which came to be known as the Disam Mountains, and pearls in the shallow waters along the coast. The new territory quickly established itself as an independent kingdom from Khafalia and was called Duellr.

Hearing the claims of the people along the coast the inland farmers also declared independence and named their kingdom Erand. At first, the Mesantian Kingdoms refused to acknowledge these upstarts claiming the new provinces were merely territories of their kings.

Several wars were fought along the coast and even on the river and inland sea. Over one hundred years of fighting devastated the coastal area and parts of the farming lands to the west, but the new kingdoms of Duellr and Erand continued to resist.

Finally, a great leader emerged from the masses in Erand. His name was Salin. He was a natural leader and soldier among the more timid farmers and was chosen to raise an army and train it. Salin organized the farmers into a formidable army, which defeated the invaders on the central plains of Erand.

Pushing the invaders constantly back toward Duellr, Salin conquered new lands south and east of the Forsian Sea. Soon Erand became a mighty empire dominating the new world. When the invaders were finally pushed back into the ocean, Salin continued his campaign by marching northeast along a newly discovered land bridge that connected the new world to Khafalia; the ice wall was receding and new land masses were created by the tidal forces at work.

Salin's army successfully crossed the rugged mountains, losing thousands along the perilous journey, but they were able to surprise the Mesantians. For over a thousand years, Mesantians had abandoned the northern areas of their kingdoms. The ice cliff had become an obvious reminder that people did not occupy the colder areas to the north.

They did not expect Salin to use that vulnerability to his advantage. Swiftly moving south, he conquered them and prepared to move further through the old world. The Emir of Khafalia was forced to flee his capital and sought an alliance with Sergia. There was an uneasy peace between the neighboring kingdoms as they marched together against the Erandian forces.

There was a great battle. Yet, Salin won the day, just barely.

His success was short lived and he was unable to hold onto the lands he conquered. His men fought valiantly constantly holding the Khafali soldiers at bay while slowly giving ground to protect their leader. Salin was, however, killed in a battle against the Emir and his men were forced to retreat back across the land bridge. They buried their beloved leader in a secret tomb somewhere within the mountains.

To ensure threats from the new kingdoms would never cross over the bridge into Mesantia again, the Emir constructed the mightiest wall ever seen. He forced his frightened men to walk in the shadow of the glaciers back along Salin's route and find a suitable place to erect the mighty obstacle. The Khafali Wall runs north and south covering the gap between the mountains along the narrow land bridge. It has always separated the new world from the old.

Although the Erandian army lost its hero and was defeated in battle they still saw themselves as leaders of the new world. Erand continued to build up its strength and influenced the reconstruction of Duellr. For over three hundred years, Erand politically dominated the new lands and threatened Mesantia with its power. The new continent was, thereafter, called Erinia.

Five hundred years after the first settlement began in Erand, people continued migrating further west. Crossing the Forsian Sea settlers found rich farmland that no one had yet discovered. People continued exploring until they came across another great sea, the Utwan Sea. The land between the Forsian and the Utwan was not as large as Erand, but the soil supported all types of crops and trading relations were quickly established with the other Erinian kingdoms. The people gave thanks to God for the fertile lands they found and a great city was soon built along the eastern shore of the smaller sea.

Black marble was abundant in the region and used to construct palaces, towers and walls. Massive temples were built in an attempt by the zealous to show respect and reverence to God, but many priests were too extreme. Some priests began to thank the Earth itself for providing them with the bountiful harvests, claiming God was not the only one responsible for their wealth. Many flocked to these over-zealous priests, worshipping not just God but the earth, sea, and winds, as well. Soon, a new religion dominated the territories west of the Forsian Sea. It was a religion that required complex rituals and animal sacrifices several times a year to show thanks to the gods for their continued favor.

The leader of these new gods, Belatarn, soon replaced God. Belatarn was a demanding god exacting a great deal from his followers, but he also rewarded those that were most faithful. His laws demanded strict punishment of those that did not follow his edicts. Soon secret religious sects throughout the city-state took it upon themselves to hunt down the disobedient and non-believers to execute Belatarn's will. These secret groups also delved into the art of magic. It is not known how the priests rediscovered the ancient knowledge, the ability to use magic was lost over seven hundred years before.

Erand feared it would soon be threatened by Belarnian magicians.

At first, these apprentice sorcerers practiced common spells designed to enhance worship services. Priests used illusions to inspire awe and encourage followers to give generous offerings. After gaining more experience, these priests began to use illusions of their god to frighten people into submission. Certain their dark practices were for the greater glory of Belatarn, the more powerful magicians started experimenting with increasingly complex spells. Calling on powers they little understood, the High Priests of Belatarn used human sacrifice to enhance their powers. The blood of thousands of innocents ran off Belatarn's altars to further their power in the black arts.

Many noble families were threatened in the kingdom now named after the powerful, dark god. They were faced with the very real possibility that their sons and daughters would end up being sacrificed in the black citadel, Belarna. The only ones safe from the harsh laws enforced by these sects were those wealthy enough to contribute to the evil priests and their temples. Even the king found it better to support the fervor spreading throughout his city than to oppose it.

Concerned by the spreading religion, the Erandians closed off their trade routes leading into the lands under the control of Belatarn. The chaos continued to spread, however, as followers of Belatarn raided ships sailing the Forsian Sea. Merchantman, traveler, priest, man, woman or child, it did not matter to the followers of the evil god. All were massacred in his name. It soon became apparent to Erand that these religious fanatics would have to be destroyed. In the name of God, an army of ten thousand men was mustered to fight the Belarnians. The king of Erand was, unfortunately, not the great leader Salin was three hundred years before him.

The Erandian army sped across the sea to the shores of Belatarn's followers and then moved west toward the fortified city of Belarna. Reaching the massive, black-walled city, the Erandians prepared for a siege. As they constructed rams and towers under the dark curtain of an approaching storm, the Belarnian cavalry attacked the Erandians from the rear. Their king was captured and several thousand soldiers were killed in the surprise attack. Belatarn's High Priests called upon their god to aid them and soon horrible, maddening visions filled the sky. Images of the terrible god and his demons filled their minds. The screams of countless victims slaughtered by the religious fanatics over the years drowned out the calls to maintain order and in their panicked state, Erandian soldiers attacked their own comrades. Those not affected by the sorcerer's spells watched helplessly from below the city's walls as their king was hung from the highest tower and gutted. A massive chant to Belatarn rose from inside the walls and the Erandians quickly lost all hope and retreated back toward their homeland.

Licking their wounds and swallowing their pride, the Erandians swore to never be defeated on the battlefield again. By order of the new king, a well-trained army was formed to replace the decimated forces. They constantly drilled, preparing for the next major battle. An elite cavalry force called the Royal Cavaliers was also created. Guarding the trade routes and sea-lanes the new army was successful at holding the Belarnians at bay until the Erandians were ready to strike back.

For another century the power of Belarn grew, terrorizing the neighboring lands with their dark god. They spread fear and misery throughout the continent. There were, however, a few strongholds where even the dark magicians feared to go. The Spirit Woods to the south was a mysterious and haunted forest where no one from the north traveled. Scouts reported there was nothing of value west of the Merciless Mountains so the priests focused their campaign to the east. Erand was constantly raided and many of Duellr's territories were ravaged.

Belarnian forces were finally halted as they attempted to march directly against the Erandian capital. Even though they faced a superior force consisting of heavy cavalry and foot soldiers, the Erandian companies used bold and aggressive tactics to gain the initiative and keep it. Their priests, unable to call upon Belatarn for aid so far from home, caused the Belarnian army to lose hope. The Erandian soldiers fought bravely, constantly forcing the worshippers of the false god to retreat back toward the Utwan Sea. Soon the Belarnian army retreated in all out panic toward their capital.

After their embarrassing defeat, the High Priests of Belatarn called for a mass sacrifice of citizens for the benefit of the kingdom. The priests claimed that only the blood of those that had failed their god would appease his anger. Not wanting to kill anyone that could be pressed into service as a soldier the zealous worshippers hunted down those people that could easily be condemned as infidels to burn in their sacrificial pyres. Hunts in the great city of Belarna for these unbelievers became common and most people quickly fled the capital. Left unchecked, the priests continued to hunt down anyone that opposed them. In the end, the king himself was accused of heresy. Temple guards, dressed in black robes with blood smeared crosses upon their chests, arrested the king and brought him before Belatarn's High Priests.

Enraged by the priests' actions, the people finally fought back. They stormed the black temple where the king was held and killed everyone inside. In the riot and chaos that ensued, the King of Belarn was mistaken for a fanatic and executed. The temple and everything that represented Belatarn was destroyed.

Since Belatarn's overthrow the people have struggled to maintain control throughout the kingdom and retain some of the dignity they had gained when they controlled much of Erinia. People focused on the great skills they used to be known for. After all, Belarn had the most skilled craftsmen in the new lands. They offered their works of art to their former enemies. Most of their adversaries were willing to accept the uneasy peace in exchange for quality goods. Many Belarnians were gratified to find a task they felt was important and appreciated throughout Erinia. Some of the more precious treasures found throughout the world were originally created in Belarn. The newly established mines in the Merciless Mountains also helped to improve sour trade relations. It took two hundred years, but eventually, the Belarnians regained a measure of their former prestige.

Others, however, were ashamed that Belarn had fallen into obscurity so quickly. Belarn had beaten most of Erinia into submission through the use of its army and black magic, including Erand. People throughout the lands had feared the High Priests that dressed in red and black robes, and many people in Belarn still dreamed of a world controlled by the once great kingdom. Some of them still believed Belarn would be a great and powerful force again and that their ancient enemies would be destroyed.

Ferral was the most ardent of these believers.

### About the Author

Tod Langley was in the military for many years and served on three combat tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. He is the recipient of two Bronze Stars. His love for Fantasy fiction started when he first read Robert E. Howard's Conan stories as a boy. He never lost interest in tales of epic adventure and the authors he admires most include Stephen R. Donaldson, George R. R. Martin, and Terry Brooks. He married after graduating from Purdue University and moved across the country while he was in the Army. They now live in Indiana with their three children.

### Discover other titles by this author:

### Prince Kristian's Honor, Book One of the Erinia Saga

### Coming Soon:

### Neope's War, Book Three of the Erinia Saga

### You can find out more about this author on Facebook at The Erinia Saga.
