The Gathering

By
Ben Hale

Text
Copyright © 2012 Ben Hale

All
Rights Reserved

To my family and friends,

who believed.

And to my wife,

who is perfect.

Table of Contents

World Map of Lumineia

Prologue: Sacrifice

—Part I—

Chapter 1: The Oracle

Chapter 2: The
Power of a Prophecy

Chapter 3: The Journey
Begins

Chapter 4: Newhawk

Chapter 5: The
Strategist

Chapter 6: Battle
Plans

Chapter 7: Captain
Arrow

Chapter 8: Origin
of a Thief

Chapter 9: A
Father's Legacy

Chapter 10: The
Hawk and the Mind

Chapter 11:
Everyone Has a Purpose

Chapter 12: A King's
Choice

—Part II—

Chapter 13: A Light
in the Dark

Chapter 14: Rising
Walls

Chapter 15: Prince

Chapter 16: The Ocleon

Chapter 17: Ryazan

Chapter 18: Unknown
Hero

Chapter 19: Heroes
and Villains

Chapter 20: Azüre

—Part III—

Chapter 21: The
Flesh of War

Chapter
22: Unyielding and Undefeated

Chapter 23: Armored

Chapter 24: Amazons
and Barbarians

Chapter 25: The
Cost of Greed

Chapter 26: Whiteout

Chapter 27: The White
Dragon

Chapter 28: Hunger

Chapter 29: Unexpected
Allies

Chapter 30: First
Scars

—Part IV—

Chapter 31: Dark Tide

Chapter 32: All
Gathered In

Chapter 33: The
Hastening

Chapter 34: Dark
Valley

Chapter 35: Hope
Burned

Author Bio

World Map
of Lumineia

Prologue: Sacrifice

Siarra
advanced between the snarling fiends on either side of her, knowing they were
only held in check by their absolute fear of her—and that wouldn’t last long.

She just hoped it was long enough. With cautious steps she worked her way past
the various creatures trembling in their desire to tear her asunder.

Quare
dominated the bulk of the vicious army. The man-size fiends boasted a mane of blood
red fur that barely showed on their ink colored skin. Although they carried no
weapons, they had already slaughtered thousands with their bare hands. Rippling
muscles bunched and clenched throughout their bodies, and their manes flared in
anger as she passed. She knew they could tear a man in half, and they would try
to do the same to her.

Sipers, dogs
the size of lions, growled and snapped at the air swirling in her wake.
Lightning fast, they were the first to close off her path behind her, blocking
her in. The hard, arrowhead scales that covered their bodies shimmered from
pure black to a deep crimson as they sensed the kill. Opalescent eyes glittered
as she passed through a pack of them, and she did her best not to shudder.

In between the
sipers and quare, the kraka captains towered over the other fiends. Blanketed
in white bone armor that grew from their own flesh, they dragged massive
obsidian swords as if they were too heavy to carry—until they whipped the sword
through an elf faster than the snap of a whip. Earlier in the battle she’d seen
a single kraka annihilate an entire company of humans before being taken down
by a lucky ballistae bolt. A hundred dead in a matter of minutes, and there
were hundreds of thousands of krakas around her.

Then
Skorpians, huge beasts as large as a wagon with tails that grew black bone
spears in minutes, spears that could be launched with a snap of their tail to
embed into solid rock. If that wasn’t enough, their dual pincers could cut
through armor and bone like it was parchment. Their exoskeleton had prevented
all but the most powerful attacks from penetrating . . .

—A Siper
lunged at her, hatred surpassing its fear. As quick as thought she sidestepped
the lunge and lifted a spike of earth to impale it mid-flight. She turned from
the dying creature and stared at the black horde, until once again their fear
overcame their boiling hate. For one brief instant she relished in the feeling
of power. She had faced down an army of billions, and they had blinked first.

But the
thought was fleeting, and her courage waned, so she resumed her steady walk
forward. Slow and sure she moved as far from the broken gates of Azertorn as
she could. Each precious step moved her further from the city, but it wasn’t
distance she needed, it was time.

The cliff and
city had been under siege by an almost unlimited host of fiends for less than
six days. How could so many have died in six days? And they still had to
survive until the light fell on the seventh day. Part of her recognized it
wasn't her fault, but she couldn't shake the great weight that hunched her
shoulders. As the Oracle of Lumineia, she was the most powerful mage throughout
the kingdoms, and had guided the races to unite.

Somewhere,
somehow, she had failed.

Before her
thoughts could continue, a ripple coursed through the army and she came to a halt.
Like the wind had shifted, she knew. This was the spot of her last battle. On
all sides, fiends snarled and growled, roared and pawed the ground, each waiting
for her to attack. She stood firm, hoping the extra seconds might make a
difference. If she moved first it would only be a matter of time before they
overwhelmed her. She had to give the allies time to fortify, to prepare for the
next onslaught.

Deep down she
knew it wasn’t enough, that her desperate bid to give them time would fail. She
knew she couldn’t hold them off, but it wasn’t in her to give up. She knew she
would die, and then everyone in Azertorn would perish. Looking at the curled
muzzles and dark, bloodthirsty mass surrounding her, she wondered where the
allied races had lost, where she had made a wrong decision.

What in
heaven or earth could have turned aside this holocaust?

Siarra took
one last look at the vast cloud of black that had enveloped the sky, leaving a solitary
column of sunlight from the city to the clouds, piercing the encroaching
darkness and causing the heavens to shine on Azertorn. Even as she watched, the
black roiled and pressed against the waning light and she knew that it was
time.

Returning her
tired gaze to the rippling sea of black, she listened to the fiends gathering
their courage and readied herself for the fight of her life. The unnatural
peace lasted only a few seconds, until an enormous Kraka began to charge. From
deep within the legion he roared, a bellow of rage that echoed off the scorched
and broken cliff as he began to pick up speed. The entire evil host rippled in
anticipation, ready to strike when the armored hulk reached her tiny elven form.

Barreling towards
her, the massive fiend snarled in defiance and pumped its legs like a galloping
steed. Its obsidian blade bounced through the dirt behind him, kicking up a
spray of soil as he thundered across the ground. Fifty paces away . . . then
twenty . . . then ten, and finally the huge beast snapped the giant sword
high—but Siarra was quicker.

Lifting her fingers,
she raised the ground in front of him just a few inches, and tripped him before
he could get in range. The fiend’s roar turned to a cry of pain as he slammed
into the unforgiving ground and tumbled forward. Before the impending wave of
creatures could descend upon her she used a gust of air to push the dark blade
underneath the rolling body, forcing him to land on his own sword. When the fiend
came to a stop, it didn’t move . . . but Siarra wasn’t there to see it.

The catalyst
had come, and the sea of fiends flooded towards her, bent on erasing her from
existence. In an instant she became a whirlwind of action. Her hands blurred
into motion and air flew into enemies, knocking them flying. With a stomp of
her foot the ground exploded outward, thundering into anything nearby and
crushing them into each other. Clenching her fist she sent a wave of ice
missiles lancing through armor and bone alike. The sharp projectiles dropped
them where they stood, but more jumped over their twisted forms before they had
even stopped breathing.

Siarra spun
and twisted, blasting magical attacks into the bodies of her enemies. Fire
exploded and burned when she pulled heat from the air, lightning jumped and
arced as she gathered the charge from the sky, stone rose up to obliterate dark
forms at her command, and the very light from above scorched them where they
stood . . . but it was not enough.

Bit by bit the
encroaching wave pressed inward, over the bodies of hundreds of their dead
comrades. Each strike now came within feet of hitting home, then inches . . .
then it was too late.

—A Siper
dodged every attack and leaped at Siarra from behind, taking her down. Tasting
fear, she rolled and blasted him away, but other claws were already descending
towards her. She called on what was left of the forest of Numenessee and long
roots sprang from the ground to crush the surrounding fiends, but they came too
late. A claw had gouged into her leg, causing her to cry out in pain. Seconds
later her arm was almost ripped off by a Quare, and she burned him to ash. The
heat from the magical fire shimmered off her body before another form materialized
through the dark dust. Smashing into her, it sent her hurtling backwards.

Her frail body
tumbled through ranks of fiends, barely protected by a film of energy that blanketed
her skin. Desperately she poured her strength into its power, shocking anything
that tried to strike her—but it wasn't enough. Driven by bloodlust, some forced
their way through the shield, at the cost of their own lives. When she came to
a halt, her right side had gone numb, two ribs were broken, and she could feel
blood seeping from her body in too many places to count.

A giant kraka
stood above her as she coughed and fought to bring her magic to bear. Shrugging
aside her effort, he took a moment to cut down a Siper that had slunk past him.
Fighting for breath she squirmed as he raised his black weapon. His bellowing
challenge caused her to flinch and lose what semblance of focus she'd regained.

She had probably
killed several thousand in the last few minutes, but now she could do nothing
but scream and watch the blade descend towards her neck—

—Siarra awoke
thrashing and screaming with her blanket wrapped around her, cutting off her
air. She tore it away and gasped for breath, reaching to touch her throat. As
her death faded from sight, she realized that what she had seen had not been a
nightmare. It had been a vision.

It was her
future.

Part I

Six weeks and three days until
Draeken’s army reaches Azertorn.

Chapter
1: The Oracle

It took
several minutes for the images of dark fiends to fade from her eyes. Reaching
out she found the rock wall at the head of her bed and sat up, gesturing at a
flameless torch to lighten the room.

A spontaneous
shiver shook her body and she pulled the shredded covers, still damp from her
sweat, around her shoulders. Pull yourself together, she told herself,
and took a few breaths to steady her nerves. Once her heart had slowed she
pulled the covers tight and walked to the mirror.

The face
looking back at her was young for an elf, just days over fifty, yet the blue
eyes carried a weight that made her look much older. Her hand reached up and
began to work on her tousled blonde hair, straightening it into submission.
Angular in shape, Siarra's face was beautiful, but even she would acknowledge
that there was a harsh intensity to her look that didn't attract. Frowning, she
turned away and strode to the wide window. Drinking in the cool night air, she
surveyed the magnificent view.

The sky
glittered with stars in the cloudless night, visible from her room in the House
of Runya, and she pursed her lips in annoyance at the dark heavens. I
couldn’t have slept more than a few hours. She sighed and looked over Azertorn,
the capitol city of the elves.

Carved from a
thousand foot cliff, and situated between two waterfalls, the multitiered city
was shaped like an inverted cone. Beginning at two hundred feet off the forest
floor, the first tier housed a glittering pond and abundant gardens. From
there, each subsequent tier was shaped like a half circle, and became larger
the further you ascended through the city.

Rising out of
the lowest level, a great tree reached hundreds of feet skyward. Named Le
Runtáriel, the massive arbor served as a highway from one side of the city to
the other. Hundreds of thick limbs spanned the gap, providing shaped walkways
to and from the center. Other branches had been molded into spiraling
staircases that wound gracefully around the enormous trunk.

Vegetation and
waterways blanketed the rest of the city, creating green pathways and gurgling
brooks. Low hanging fruit and bright flowers added a sweet scent that caressed
the breeze, and thick vines climbed any remaining patches of stone. The variety
and volume of flora was a source of great pride for the elven people, yet could
not hide what lay beneath.

Slumbering
under the vibrant array of magically enhanced gardens lay a citadel unequal in
defensive design. Rarely tested, the fortifications of the city began at the
forest floor, where the city gates were backed by fifty feet of solid stone. Impossible
to breach by a battering ram, they stood next to the real entrance, which
appeared like any other section of smooth rock.

The truth of
the front entrance was a closely guarded secret of the elven people, but it was
not the only one. Behind the real entrance, a giant cavern housed the First
Legion of the elves, and above that a second cavern housed the Second Legion.
Even if the ruse behind the gates was discovered, an invading army would enter
into the teeth of the elven defenses, and be forced to fight through countless barriers
before reaching the city proper.

Above the
city, the Giant's Shelf formed a plateau that began in the western mountains,
and spread to the great Blue Lake to the east. A wide river, swift and
treacherous, ran south until it was split by the city. Its two branches then
formed an ever flowing moat that protected the high walls at the top of the
city, and fed the twin waterfalls.

In centuries
past, the city had been carved by the dwarves for the elves, and many
considered it to be the strongest fortress ever created—yet Siarra knew that it
would be destroyed. After ten thousand years, Lord Draeken had somehow
unleashed his army again. Thought to be destroyed by the hero Lakonus, the ancient
defeat of Draeken had caused the black army to be drawn back to the realm where
they had been created.

But the
legendary war had not been without consequences, and in the wake of the army's
disappearance, hundreds of thousands lay dead. Whole nations had been crushed,
defending armies of every race had been annihilated, and cities had been erased
from existence. Although every people suffered incalculable losses, some had
been hunted to extinction. Without remorse, the fiend army was on the verge of
slaying all life on Lumineia—until they had vanished.

With centuries
of time to dull their memory, the holocaust had faded from legend and into myth.
But then Draeken’s assassin appeared once more, and the death of heroes marked
the return of Draeken's army. A supreme killer, the specter of death had left
countless dead until Siarra’s half-brother Taryn and the thief Jack had
succeeded in slaying it. The act had saved Siarra's life as well—leaving her
with a quandary.

The
attraction—and irritation—she felt for the thief was difficult to ignore, but
as the Oracle of Lumineia she had responsibilities, even if she didn't want
them. For some reason it rankled for him to have saved her life . . . twice.
She blew out her breath and turned away from the window. The enigma that was
Jack Myst would not be solved now, and she didn't want to waste her time
trying.

As Siarra
moved to her clothes and began dressing, her thoughts returned to her vision. Her
dream had told her much about the coming war. The elven high council had met
hours ago, and already their plans needed to change. For one, she wasn’t going
to stay at Azertorn. If she stayed and helped defend the united races, they
would be defeated soon after she died on the sixth day.

Still fresh,
the image of her death caused a knot to sink into her stomach. Reaching for a
glass of water, she downed it before striding towards the door. On her way out
she grabbed a glass ball from a shelf before slipping into the shadowed
hallway. Sensing the route through her magic, she passed through corridors that
until yesterday were unfamiliar. Even inside, the magic of the elves grew
vines, flowers, and trees on every section of stone. Smooth hardwood creaked
underfoot as she passed, its dark grain absorbing any light.

Reaching her
destination, she tapped on the door. Within moments the door opened to reveal
Taryn with tangled red hair, blinking in the soft light of the hallway. “Siarra?”

A little
shorter than a human, her half-brother was obviously a fighter. Corded muscles
were visible even under his tunic, and the ready stance betrayed his training.
His dark red hair hung free to his shoulders, and his indigo eyes carried a
certain innocence that always made her smile. Although she could tell he'd
tried to hide it, it was apparent he had not been sleeping. She couldn't blame
him. He'd only found out a few hours ago what he was meant to do.

With the blood
of the elves, dwarves, and humans running through his veins, he was the one
prophesied to defeat Draeken. The strengths of the three races in one body was
unique, and created in Taryn a warrior unequaled in combat—but the extreme ability
came with a price that some of his other skills had paid.

“Do you know
if the riders to the other races have left yet?” she asked.

“Hm, I don’t
think so. They were going to depart at first light, weren’t they?” Then he
caught her gaze and his eyes narrowed. “What happened, what’s wrong?”

“We have some
work to do, before the riders leave.”

He nodded and
disappeared while she was still talking. Not a minute later he reappeared with
his weapons on his back, but didn't seem to notice her annoyed look. "What
do we need to do?"

"There is
something we must do, but first we need to speak to Braon and the queen,” she
said, turning down the hall.

“Wait!” He
lengthened his stride to catch up to her. “Why now? I mean, why tonight? Don't
you have a few weeks before the fiends arrive?”

She stopped
and faced him. “If I stay here, we lose. Everyone dies.”

He skidded to
a stop and his jaw dropped at her revelation, reminding her of their mother,
Ianna. She had always told her that she was too blunt. The memory of her mother’s
voice caused Siarra to wince. Would it be different if she were here?

Siarra took a
deep breath. “I have to come with you, to help you defeat Draeken.”

Taryn shook
his head, “But—”

“Either way
I’m pretty sure I die . . .” She paused and her expression darkened,

“. . . but not
without a fight.”

Chapter 2: The Power of a Prophecy

Taryn left
Siarra near Liri’s door and hurried to deliver her message. Threading his way
through the House of Runya, he managed to slip outside and into the night air. While
he worked his way to the Queen’s palace on the ninth tier of Azertorn he found
himself mulling over Siarra’s words.

It disturbed
him to hear her talk of her own death like that. In the few weeks since he'd
met her, his half-sister had become much more to him than he could have imagined—and
her power was unmatched in Lumineia. The idea of her at his side would be more
than a little comforting. Ever since she'd told the high council that he was
destined to defeat Draeken, he'd felt very, very, alone.

But if she did
come with him, then who would lead the defenses? He trusted her implicitly, but
at the same time it seemed impossible that someone else could match her skill. Her
foresight in the battle would be invaluable. Who could do better than the
Oracle?

Then he
recalled Siarra placing Braon in charge of the strategic defense of Azertorn. Was
it his calling to do this alone? It seemed like too much for a 15-year-old
human—but, Taryn had to admit, Braon was no ordinary human.

Young and
overweight, Braon still had the most strategic mind of any person Taryn had
ever met. He could outplan, outthink, or outwit anyone and possessed an uncanny
ability to read a person's intentions before they acted. If he were a fighter
he would have been invincible.

Taryn smiled
at the image of Braon with a sword and knew it would never happen. Where his
mind excelled, his body lacked. It just wasn’t his place to carry a blade. The
contrast between himself and the young man was too clear to ignore. Trained
from an early age, Taryn had taken to swordcraft as if it was breathing, yet
his talents in other areas were not quite so abundant. His abilities came from
his heritage; strength and stamina from the dwarves, speed and agility from the
elves, and cunning and fortitude from humans. His numerous weaknesses . . . had
yet to be explained.

Together,
Braon the mind, and Taryn the weapon, had to find a way to defeat Draeken and
his army. For his part, Taryn would cross the kingdoms in search of the Lord of
Chaos, and then pray he had enough strength to destroy him—before it was too
late. While he sought the source, Braon would deal with the army. With scarcely
six weeks to prepare, the eastern kingdom in ruins, and an enormous army headed
towards them, it seemed impossible to do alone.

Every
individual is necessary in the battle to do what's right.

Murai's words
came back to him and he shook his head. How could his adoptive uncle have known
how important that phrase would become? It was almost too incredible to imagine
what they were about to attempt—what they must achieve—to survive.

Every race had
to be gathered, prepared to fight, and then somehow be taught to fight
together. And they were still going to be defeated. Millions of people had to
be gathered together to defend their very existence, and every single one was
going to die . . .

Unless Taryn
destroyed Draeken in time.

The weight of
his own calling threatened to crush him until the doors to the Queen's palace
came into view. Welcoming the distraction, he hurried towards the nearest guard.

Before the elf
could say anything, Taryn said, "The Oracle has requested an immediate
audience with the queen. Please inform her at once."

The guard
hesitated for a moment before nodding and entering the large golden doors,
motioning for him to follow. Taryn fell into step behind him and frowned. He'd once
heard Liri use a similar tone, and this time it had the same effect. It gave
him a feeling of power that oddly made him uncomfortable.

Less than a
minute later they came to a familiar door within the Queen's home. It was the
same door that led to the room where Taryn and Liri had been tasked with
finding the Oracle—the same Oracle that had turned out to be his half-sister.

"Wait
here," the elven guard said and departed down the dim hallway.

He didn’t have
to wait long before someone opened the door and ushered him in.

"You may
sit," a guard said and moved to lighten the room by uncovering a flameless
torch.

"The
Oracle should be right behind me," Taryn said as he found a seat.

"We know,
she arrived just moments ago," the elf said and turned to leave.

As if on cue
Siarra skidded to a stop and slipped into the room. Out of breath, she plopped into
a seat grown from a living tree. Before Taryn could say a word another door
opened.

Ayame Ser'Tármaril
entered the room. Tired and worn, she appeared regal at the same time. An alert
guard followed her into the chamber, and Taryn felt his heart twinge as he
remembered Ren, the previous bodyguard of the Queen. They had traveled together
on the quest to find Siarra, and he'd given his life to save Taryn's.

How many
more will perish before this is over? Taryn wondered, his throat tightening
at the flood of memories. So many had died at the hands of the assassin, and their
faces flashed across his mind. Only the last image brought him a measure of
comfort, the one of the killer collapsing as it was vanquished.

The queen made
herself comfortable before speaking. "Siarra, my dear, what has changed
since our council not hours past?" Her tone made it sound like she clung
to a hope that the news would be good.

"We must
hold the riders for a few hours. There is something they must take with them if
they are to be successful."

From within a
pouch at her side Siarra drew a darkened globe of glass and handed it to the
Queen.

"What
is—" Ayame began, but Siarra cut her off.

"A
vision," She said, "one that you must see."

For several
moments she gazed into the globe before she gasped. Her serene face turned
ashen gray and she began to have trouble breathing. Her wide blue eyes took on
the expression of someone staring into the distance, and not a moment later,
tears spilled onto her cheeks.

"What
have you done to her?" Taryn and the guard asked at the same time, and
both made a motion towards Ayame.

"Don't,"
she said. "She needs to see this." Her tone softened as she added, "It
won't hurt her."

Taryn looked
back at the queen and reluctantly sat down, forcing himself to watch the queen
of the elves tremble. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she locked eyes with the orb.

For two long
minutes they sat in silence until the queen's breath caught and her whole body
jerked away from the ball. Siarra caught it as Ayame sank into the couch with
her eyes closed, wrapping her arms around her stomach so tight her hands shook.

Taryn sat
frozen in shock, trying to imagine what the queen had seen and at the same time
afraid to know. The queen had never lost control of herself. Even when she had
heard Siarra tell of the impending annihilation of her people she had held
herself together.

What could
cause her to act like this?

The shaking
abated until the queen relaxed. A single tear escaped from an eye squeezed shut
and trickled down her cheek. Then she sat up and brushed the moisture away.

"Forgive
me, Oracle," the queen whispered, working her jaw and swallowing hard.
"I was unprepared for what you have Seen."

Unable to
control himself any longer, Taryn asked, "What did you see?"

Ayame's
expression locked on his and he felt a shiver go down his spine at what he saw
reflected back at him.

She held his
gaze for a moment before answering, "I watched an endless tide of evil
destroy my entire race, and then I watched our beloved Oracle fight to the
death in a vain effort to let us survive."

Taryn sat bolt
upright. "So we lose!" He shouted into the small room. "No! We
cannot lose. I will not—"

Siarra's touch
stopped him, and meeting her gaze he found a measure of solace in her
expression.

"We may
not be defeated, Taryn. I simply dreamed what would happen if I stayed at the
city with the gathered races. That is all."

"How did
you put that vision into the sphere?" Ayame asked and gestured at the ball
in Siarra’s hands. "I felt like I was there, like this room was gone from
my sight and I was watching everyone I knew die in front of me."

As the queen spoke,
Taryn was glad to see most of her strength had returned. Her pallor had
improved and her eyes had lost the stark terror that had resonated there
before. The queen’s despair had almost overwhelmed him, and he realized that
her unwavering courage had bolstered his own.

Siarra held up
the ball of glass. "I combined the magics of mind and dreams into the orb.
By placing my dream into this reservoir, I was able to make your mind feel like
you were seeing it."

Ayame's gaze sharpened.
"Can you make more of these?"

Siarra 's
expression became expectant, "Of course, but why?"

"I want
each of the riders to take one." She grimaced and looked away. "If others
see this, they will be unable to refute the words of our message."

The Oracle flashed
a thin smile as she leaned back. "I was thinking the same thing."

Ayame gave her
a resigned nod and turned to the guard next to her. "Send word to hold the
riders until we can add to their parcel."

The guard
bowed. "My queen," he said, before departing.

Siarra rose to
her feet and motioned for Taryn to follow suit. "I will begin at once fashioning
the others. As soon as they are completed I will have the messengers
depart."

The queen
nodded in assent. "You must hasten, Oracle. If what I saw in your prophecy
is anything close to reality . . ."

"I know, Ayame.
If there is anyone that knows what is coming, it is I." Her words would
have sounded condescending, but her tone betrayed the weight of knowledge. For
one brief moment, Taryn considered the thought that Siarra hadn't shown her
everything. The idea caused his hair to prickle, and he wondered what would be
too terrible to share.

At a smile of
acknowledgment from the queen, the two of them left the room. For several
minutes Siarra and Taryn walked in silence down the flowering halls of the
palace. Uncomfortable at the imports of the conversation, Taryn brooded on the
various things they had learned.

As soon as
they were outside Taryn turned towards his sister. "You knew she would
want to send the orbs with the riders, didn’t you?

Siarra sighed and
met his gaze. "Of course I did. I knew she would see the merit as any good
monarch would."

"What else
did she see?" Taryn asked, his voice catching at his own hesitation to
know.

She pulled up
short and he turned to ask what was wrong. The moment he saw her haunted
expression his words died on his lips.

She took a
moment to compose herself before responding, "If you still want to see it
after we have finished making the others, I will allow it—but I promise you,
you might wish you hadn't." She stared hard at him until he began to shift
his feet. Then she added, "It doesn’t just show the war, it reveals
glimpses of your own part in that war . . . and perhaps those who you care
about." She broke eye contact and fell back into step beside him.

His mind leapt
to Liri, Trin, and Mae. They had been together since they had left training,
and he'd developed a sense of family with all of them. Liri's soft eyes and
mischievous smile flashed through his mind again. As always, his heart began to
thump awkwardly. Would he see her die in the orb?

Although he
had more questions to ask Siarra, he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth
again. The way she had looked at him left him the impression that she didn't
want him to see his future, but that she was still allowing him the choice. What
could he witness that would cause her so much concern? The scary thought was
that she might not know herself.

For the rest
of the walk back to Liri's home Taryn considered his decision, but as soon as
they stepped inside the House of Runya he forgot about it. Closing the door
behind them, they turned to see a very flustered Liri walking towards them with
her arms full of glass balls.

As with every
time he saw her, he felt a sense of heat rush through his chest. Trim and
blond, she carried all the hallmarks of her elven heritage. As a daughter of
one of the ruling houses of Azertorn, she was also fourth in line to the crown,
a kernel of information that she'd failed to mention throughout the time they
had been in training. Although he now knew the truth of her lineage, he had
seen no sign that it had altered their friendship.

Liri didn’t seem
to notice their entrance and tried to balance the difficult load until she
caught sight of them. With a squeak of surprise she took a step back. Taryn
closed the distance and caught the two fragile balls that had been dislodged by
her movement.

Liri glared at
Siarra and blew a stray hair out of her face. "Took you long enough. I
thought I was going to have to walk all the way to the palace with these."

"Why
didn’t you find a bag?" Taryn asked, stifling the involuntary smile. Was
he being rude?

Her expression
darkened, but the twitching at the corner of her lips robbed her voice of
anger. "Don't you smile at me. I couldn’t find a bag quick enough. Your
sister made it sound as if I didn’t have time to get dressed."

Siarra stepped
up and reached for one of the orbs. "Sorry, I didn’t have a whole lot of
time."

Liri glowered
at her but allowed the two of them to lighten her load. "Let's take these
to my room. I assume we will need some privacy for us to do whatever you need
with them." Her tone started out stern as she began walking down the
hallway but a yawn softened its effect.

Taryn moved to
follow her but found he couldn’t help himself. "Er . . . could we stop and
get a bag to carry them? I think I might drop one." Of all the people he knew,
why was it so easy to talk to Liri?

Liri whirled,
her eyes flashing, but then bit her lip to hide the smile and ignored his
comment. "I don't know why you had to go with her anyway," she said. "You
could have stayed to help me."

He grinned.
"Good morning to you too."

"Good
morning," she said, her smile winning the fight. "I hope you slept
well?"

He felt another
rush of heat and decided to change the subject. "Have either of you had
breakfast?"

When both of
them shook their heads, he said, "I'll grab some food from the kitchen and
meet the two of you in Liri's room?"

Without
waiting for an answer he turned down a corridor. Half a step away he heard Liri
protest, "Do you know the way?" Even with his back turned he heard
the smile in her tone.

He glanced
back with a grin and waited to turn a corner before trying to figure out where
to go. Directions weren't one of his areas of strength, but he didn't want to
admit what Liri knew already. He did remember the general direction and it
didn’t take him long to find the kitchens again. Grabbing some food and drink
he stuffed them into a leather bag and couldn’t resist putting the orbs into a
second pouch he managed to find.

Five minutes
later he was threading his way back to Liri's personal quarters and soon
arrived at her door. For a moment he hesitated. Should he knock? He shifted for
a moment as he considered whether or not making a noise would interrupt
whatever Siarra was doing. Sighing, he opened the door and slipped into the
large antechamber adjacent to Liri's bedroom.

In front of
him Siarra sat cross-legged on the floor holding an orb in her hands. Her eyes
were closed and she muttered incoherently while bands of light seeped from her
closed eyelids and entered the ball, brightening it more and more until it went
dark.

"How many
have you made?" Taryn asked, astonished at how withered she looked. Since
he'd seen her unbound when she came of age, he'd never seen her appear weak.

Liri answered,
her tone worried, "That's only the second."

Siarra smiled
weakly. "I have to trap my vision into the orb and add enough energy to
keep it there. Energy doesn't store very well you know. On top of that I also
added a touch of prophecy magic. It will make it so the person who activates it
will see glimpses of people they think about. I imagine they will think about
the people that mean the most to them, and briefly see what will happen to them
during the war." Her eyes flicked to Taryn, reminding him of her response
when he'd asked to see the orb.

Without
noticing his renewed consternation, Siarra continued, "This particular
piece of magic will work just once or twice before it's gone. To create a
permanent orb of prophecy would require decades of effort."

"So the
orbs have to be seen first by the ruler?" Taryn asked.

"Correct,
so I will have to make a few more. I believe eight will suffice. Other races
will be driven here on their own, or join groups that have been warned."

"Can
you make six more?" Liri asked.

Siarra looked
doubtful. "To do this right should take weeks or months." She glanced
at them and saw their concern, so she shrugged and added, "I have to. This
is the only way." Then she caught sight of Taryn and frowned, her eyebrows
twitching. "You need some rest Taryn."

"I'm
fine," he protested, but her scowl deepened.

"Don't
give me that. You haven't slept at all." She rose to her feet and ushered
him towards the door. "We will finish these."

"But—"

"Even a
dwarf has to sleep," she said, and shooed him out the door. "I will
see you in the morning."

The door
closed with a thud, leaving him alone in the dim hallway. Sighing, he trudged
towards his room. He didn't want to admit it, but he was exhausted. After the
wild rush to get to Azertorn, and then the disturbing revelations he'd heard
there, he could barely keep himself awake. Despite that, he wondered if Siarra
and Liri hadn't wanted his help.

Grumbling to
himself, he placed his swords on a dresser, but paused as his gaze lingered on
their hilts. The powerful katsanas were the sole legacy he had of his parents,
and would be his only weapons against his foes. Identical in design, the two
blades were remarkably similar, yet their enchantments couldn't have been more
different.

Engraved with
the name of his father, Mazer hid the magic to cut through almost anything. Its
blue gemstone in the hilt matched the one in his mother's weapon in size and
shape, but not color. Also inscribed with a name, Ianna carried an emerald in
its handle. Imbued with a morphing spell, it could shift into a magnificent bow
equipped with arrows of solid green light.

Taryn ran a
finger down one of the black scabbards, wishing he knew more about how the
weapons had been created. They had been with his mother when she'd died giving
him his life, but he hadn't discovered their power until the end of his
training. Although the long katsanas were two-handed weapons, he'd been driven
to wield both, and had shaped his technique to do so. Only after speaking with
Siarra did he learn that his dwarven heritage had given him the strength to
accomplish such a feat.

Sighing, Taryn
closed his eyes and rubbed his neck. Yearning for escape, he collapsed into
bed. To his surprise, he fell asleep in seconds, but it didn't feel like rest.
Nightmares of death invaded his dreams, so he was grateful when Siarra appeared
to aid him. Ethereal, she approached him with a package in her hand. Sliding it
into a pocket of his cloak, he felt something hard and round nudge against his
side. Then he heard a faint whisper as the dream evaporated into other images.

"Your
decision to look will affect us all Taryn. I'm sorry I don't know which choice
will save us . . . and which will doom us."

"Choose
wisely brother."

Chapter 3: The Journey Begins

Taryn
stretched again, trying to ease the soreness from his body. The previous
night's sleep had left him stiff and weary. It felt like every time his steed
moved, his body complained, and for some reason his horse was acting nervous.

Glancing
behind him at the now distant Azertorn, he guessed the reason. “Easy boy,” he soothed
and rubbed his horse’s neck. “I wish we could go back too.”

This journey
was going to be long and difficult, and it seemed he wasn’t the only one
reluctant to face what was ahead. He patted his horse and looked back once
more. From the north, the elven capitol sat at the fork of a large river, and
even in the pre-dawn glow looked magnificent. Soft light from magical torches
glittered on the tall battlements rising out of the river, and treetops could
be seen growing from behind its walls.

He sighed and
turned away, wondering if he would ever see it again. A few minutes later they
slipped into the shadowed forest and the city disappeared from view. Silence
wrapped around him as he followed Siarra’s black mare, plodding ahead. Trailing
behind him, the rest of their small party fell into line. Liri rode right
behind him, with Maemi, an exceptionally short elf, beside her. He was glad Mae
had decided to come with them. Her unparalleled speed with a short sword would
be invaluable against the fiends. He'd known Mae since early training, her quiet
reserve breaking now and again for insightful observations he had come to trust.

Trin rode
behind her. Tall and broad shouldered, he rode the large roan with ease, his
longsword strapped to his back. Witty with a sharp sense of humor, he seemed
subdued and somber today. Perhaps it was the memory of his home in the eastern
kingdom that held his tongue. Terros, and most of the kingdom of Griffin, had
already been destroyed when the fiends had invaded—a sight that Trin had
witnessed personally.

Jack Myst
brought up the rear. He’d mysteriously volunteered for their mission, and
because he’d killed Draeken’s assassin, had been allowed to join their group.
An exceptional thief, Taryn could think of no reason why he would choose to
come on such a dangerous journey. His sarcastic attitude irritated most of
those around him, but he'd saved Siarra’s life as well as Taryn’s. Even to
himself though, Taryn would admit that they knew little about Jack, or his intentions.

As they worked
their way along the trail to the northeast, the sounds of the forest rising
with the dawn drifted towards them. The view lightened as the sun continued to
rise, brightening the poplar and aspen trees. Beams of gold cascaded through
the canopy, glittering with warmth.

For most of
the morning silence stretched between them with each wrapped in their own thoughts.
Taryn found himself dwelling on what they had to accomplish. Siarra had said
they had just over six weeks before Draeken’s army would arrive at Azertorn.
During that time, they would travel north through the dwarven mountain range
before turning east. From there, they would journey around the Blue Lake and
attempt to find—and then defeat—Draeken. Along their way they would also warn
the northern races of the impending war and try to convince them to gather with
the elves.

Their first stop
would be the druid village. Humans with animal magic had been gathering at the
settlement for centuries. Nestled in the forest, it sat close to the Blue Lake
a couple days ride from Azertorn. It would be their first attempt to convince
someone to join the elves.

They took a
short break for lunch before pressing onward. In mid afternoon they reached the
Lake Road and turned north. With the forest to their left, and the cliff
dropping to the lake on their right, the Lake Road was the only large highway
that connected the elven kingdom to the dwarves. Wide and hard packed, it
provided enough room for wagons to pass with ease.

Spreading out
as they turned onto the highway, Taryn nudged his horse to catch up to Siarra.

“Do you mind
if I ask a few more things about my mother?” he asked, taking advantage of the
opportunity to continue their conversation from the previous evening.

She sighed at
whatever she had been thinking and flashed him a small smile. “You mean our
mother?”

He winced at
the oversight and nodded. Mentally chastising himself for the lapse he hoped
she didn't feel offended. She had known about him for longer than he had known
about her.

“What would
you like to know?” she asked.

“Why did they
take me to Sri Rosen?”

Siarra pursed
her lips before responding. “Before Ianna got pregnant with you, she foresaw a
future which I did not understand until we learned of Draeken. The last time I
saw her, she told me she had seen a shadow being cast on the world of Lumineia,
a shadow that could only be destroyed by the ‘races united.’ She then said that
this unity would come from the west.

Siarra sighed,
her tone sorrowful. “I thought she was talking about a coming battle, but I
have come to believe in recent weeks that she meant you.”

She glanced at
Taryn’s puzzled expression and her features softened. “I think she knew that
you were going to be someone special, and because she would lose her magic by
having you, you were going to have to be trained by someone else. I believe she
thought that Sri Rosen would be a place of freedom for you to be raised.”

Taryn nodded
and chewed on the new insight into his mother. It was hard to imagine her giving
up so much power to have him, but it did explain why she'd wanted him to be
trained. “What about Draeken?" he asked. "How exactly are we, or am I,
supposed to defeat him?”

Siarra smiled
knowingly at him. “I have an idea about that. Remember Sirfalas, the chief
historian for the elves?”

“The elf that
knew about Draeken during the elven high council.”

“Yes. When I
spoke with him, he mentioned something very interesting. He said that when
Lakonus went to kill Draeken 10,000 years ago, he had several allies. One of
which was a young white dragon.”

“An ice
dragon?” Taryn asked in surprise.

She nodded,
her eyes sparkling. “This dragon’s name was Israke, and he apparently fought a
couple of red dragons that had joined Draeken. While Lakonus entered the
fortress of Xshaltheria, Israke succeeded in killing both the reds.”

“Why should we
be concerned with a dead dragon?” Taryn asked.

“Because he is
still alive.”

“How is that
possible?” Taryn asked, his eyes widening.

“Dragon’s tend
to have a long life-span, and ice dragons live even longer due to their colder
environment. It slows down their growth. As you know, dragons never stop
growing, and they die when they become so large they can’t find enough food.”

Taryn heard an
odd tone from his sisters' words and asked, “Where is this dragon?”

“In the
northern mountain range above the desert.”

Taryn sank
into his saddle and pondered the new information. There was so little known
about the battle between Lakonus and Draeken. A first-hand account would be priceless,
and might mean the difference between success and failure.

“Do you think
we have time to find him?” Taryn asked.

“I . . . think
so,” she said. “I believe he lives in the high mountains to the north of
the eastern kingdom. Since we are going to pass there anyway . . .”

“We find out
where Israke is and stop if possible.”

“Exactly,” she
said with a smile.

Liri spoke up
behind them. “Won’t a dragon just eat us?”

“I am not
sure,” Siarra said, glancing back. “But he did help Lakonus, so whatever
motivation he had, he didn't ally with Draeken."

Liri appeared dubious.
“I don’t know, gambling our mission on a dragon that thousands of years ago
might have had a conscience? Seems a little risky.”

“But if he
can tell us how to defeat Draeken . . .” Taryn said.

She shrugged, unconvinced.
“I guess we'll find out.”

The rest of
the group rode up to join them and the conversation shifted to other topics,
but Taryn continued to mull over the revelations about Israke. If they could
find him, he wondered what he could tell them. The extra details might just
give them an edge that they desperately needed.

Trin’s next
question broke into his thoughts.

"Would
the druids know how to talk to a dragon?"

Siarra's lips
twitched but she answered doubtfully, "A dragon isn't the type of creature
that the druid's bond with."

Her tone made
Taryn think she'd sidestepped the question, leading him to wonder what she had
left unsaid. Recalling the tenor of earlier conversations, he frowned at the
idea that Siarra held back more than she revealed.

"What do
you mean bond?" Trin asked.

Siarra shifted
in her saddle to answer, “Long ago humans that saw energy in animals were just
good farmers. At some point someone thought to try to manipulate that energy
and the first joining occurred.”

“What’s a
joining?” Taryn asked.

“When a human
demonstrates the ability to see animal magic, they are traditionally sent to
live with the druids. Within the druid settlement of Keilera, they are taught
everything there is to know about animals. During their instruction there is a
point when they are sent into the forest by themselves. The youth will then
journey alone and make a solitary camp. From this camp they perform what is
called the summoning, where they mentally invite an animal to join with them.
Usually within a couple of days an animal appears and the two link their minds,
permanently. The new druid can sense that animal’s thoughts and has the ability
to communicate with them. Their joined one, or Joré, meaning ‘to be one,’ then
stays with them for the rest of their lives.”

Taryn shook
his head. “Wait, which animal appears?”

“Whichever
best matches their personality,” Siarra responded. “Many of the women end up
bonded with passive animals, such as deer. Men ordinarily join with animals
such as wolves or bears, or other predators.”

Liri smiled
and joined in the conversation. “It’s amazing how alike the Joré are to their
human companions. Many times the druids will take on physical characteristics
of their joined one, such as strength, speed, or agility.”

From behind
them Jack asked, “Does a joined one ever kill another Joré?” His tone caused
Taryn to look back at him, but the thief's expression was inscrutable.

Siarra threw a
sharp look at him. “It is expressly forbidden, and once a joining has occurred,
the animal can sense other Joré.”

Trin leaned
forward. “What about stories of druids turning into animals?”

“The tales are
half true," Siarra said. "There are cases where a joined pair will
become a Joreia, meaning ‘truly one.’ Usually later in life, a joined pair can
literally become of one mind. This means that the animal gives up its form and
joins the mind and body of their companion. It is considered the highest form
of devotion between man and beast.”

“What happens
to them after they become a Joreia?” Trin asked.

Siarra
answered with a smile, “If they do become a joreia, then they can shape-shift
into the animal form, but their mind is permanently linked to the mind of the
animal. It means they will lose some of themselves while gaining attributes of
the animal.”

“Why would
anyone do that?” Trin asked.

Jack Myst
replied before Siarra could, his tone bitter, “Because they love their Joré
more than anything else.”

Taryn wasn’t the
only one staring at Jack, and for several long moments they rode in silence. In
the entire time that Taryn had known the thief, he had never revealed much
about himself. Abruptly he seemed to be aware of their attention and sniffed, “That's
what I hear anyway.”

Taryn snorted
and listened to the talk turn to lighter topics, but his mind lingered on Jack.
The way he’d spoken had been too personal. Had a family member or friend been a
druid? What had happened to them? It would be a question to ask the druids if
he got the chance.

They continued
north until darkness began to fall and they stopped for the night. Lighting a
fire, they enjoyed a dinner of roast quail that Liri had brought down when their
passage had startled the birds into flight. As conversation began to lull,
Taryn slipped away and crossed the road. Settling into a comfortable seat at
the edge of the cliff, he let his feet dangle and looked downward.

Several
hundred feet below he could see the water brushing up against the rock and he
couldn’t resist dropping a stone. It took longer than he expected for it to
disappear into the waves. He chuckled to himself, recalling the effort required
to climb the cliff next to Azertorn.

A soft
footfall brushed behind him and he turned to see Liri approaching.

“Mind if I
join you?” she asked, and he nodded with a welcoming smile. Sitting, she leaned
back and said, "It's a nice view, don't you think?"

Bright silvery
light from the rising moon blanketed the lake and the plateau, and in the
distance an island rose out of the water near the horizon. Above them the stars
glittered in the inky night, twinkling around the few clouds floating past.

“What’s on
your mind Liri?” Taryn asked, feeling a rush of warmth at the proximity to her.

“What makes
you think there is something on my mind?” He heard a smile in her voice, but he
couldn’t see her mouth.

“You are
quiet, and that only happens when you have something on your mind,” he replied
with a grin, grateful that his inability to understand social nuances did not
always extend to her.

She flashed a
smile at him before returning her gaze outward. After a moment she asked, “Why
do you think Jack responded that way?”

He shrugged. “I
am not sure. Perhaps he had someone close to him that was a druid, someone that
may have abandoned him when he was young.”

“It was odd.
I have never seen Jack so unsettled. He always seems either bored or
mischievous, but never upset.”

“I know, but that’s
not as strange as him wanting to come with us.”

She chuckled.
“Oh, now that’s obvious.”

Surprised by
her response, he angled his body to look her in the eye. “What do you mean?”

Liri’s grin
widened and she blew out her breath. “Oh Taryn, that’s because you don’t see
certain things.”

“See what?”
Taryn asked, even more confused by her answer.

She laughed
again and then spoke in an undertone, “He’s here because of Siarra.”

Taryn’s brow
furrowed, “I don’t understand . . .”

Liri snorted,
her expression shifting to sad. “I’ll let you figure it out.”

Taryn shook
his head, still bewildered as she touched his arm. “You’ll see it eventually,
Taryn.” For some reason her tone kept him from pressing for more information. Instead
he let it drop and returned his gaze to the lake before them. He frowned, frustrated
with himself. Why would Jack risk his life for Siarra? What did he want from
her?

His annoyance
preoccupied his mind enough that he wasn't paying attention to the rest of
Liri's comments, so he was surprised when she rose and departed. The look she
gave him left him even more irritated. Did he say something wrong? It wasn't
the first time he felt he had, and just as before, he wondered what he should
have done differently.

He wished he
had Murai to talk to. His adoptive uncle and the other masters of Sri Rosen would
certainly be called in for the coming war, but Taryn would not be there to see
him. While Murai would be coming to Azertorn, he would be traveling to
Xshaltheria. For the first time he realized that if he failed, it would kill
Murai just as much as if he'd wielded the weapon that slew him. Then his mouth
went dry as another idea struck.

If he failed .
. . Liri would die as well.

Chapter
4: Newhawk

Taryn snapped
awake when Mae touched him on the shoulder. Alert, he scanned his perimeter to
find they were still on the Lake Road. Seeing no danger he yawned and checked
his weapons just in case. Around him the rest of the group were already
breaking camp.

Throughout the
morning Taryn listened to Liri share stories of her time before Sri Rosen—and
before the plague of fear that Draeken’s assassin had spread. The picture she
painted brought sorrow to his heart, even though he’d never seen it.

“This road
used to be a major throughway,” she said at one point, indicating the empty
road before them. “Dwarven caravans, brimming with weapons and armor, traveled
south to market in the human kingdoms. Humans from the south, so prone to
wander, traveled north and were welcomed into the druid and dwarven cities.”
She sighed. “There was a time when the three races mingled without fear, when
it was not uncommon to find a dwarf, elf, or human, almost anywhere.” Her tone
saddened. “It is a time I fear we may never see again.”

“Perhaps not,"
Siarra said. "When the races gather at Azertorn, they will be forced to
work together.” Her laugh was ironic. “If they don’t kill each other—and if
they survive—then I believe a time of peace could return.”

Mae agreed,
her tone pensive. “It would be good to see such a time again.”

Trin laughed
out loud. “I’d like to see elves and dwarves mingle with humans.” He threw a
sly glance at Taryn. “Although the sight isn’t pretty when they do . . .”

His laughter
was contagious, and Taryn couldn’t help but join in. Yet even as he chuckled he
found his eyes drawn to the east. The mention of his heritage served as a cold reminder
of who he had to face.

They took a
short break around noon and were on the road soon after. Liri continued to
share information about the surface races, as well as the ones that lived
underground or in the water. Taryn was especially intrigued by the description
of the black skinned elves that were the mortal enemy of their surface cousins.
Although they rarely came to the surface, when they did it was to pillage or
destroy. Liri also described the deep gnomes, who were rumored to be just as
vicious as the dark elves.

When Trin
asked how she knew so much about the different races, she flushed and responded,
“My . . . position . . . required that I learn of all the races.”

Taryn smiled,
recalling the conversation when she'd revealed her status in Azertorn. She had
been born a princess, and even though there were three elven women closer to
the Queen, she had still been groomed for leadership.

Liri changed
the subject and went on to talk about the dark skinned tribes of humans that
lived on the central islands of the Blue Lake. Constantly at war with each
other, they rarely ventured out.

"It is
unfortunate," Siarra sighed, "because united the Azüre people would
be one of the strongest nations. Ultimately, their pride prevents them from
achieving such a feat."

"What do
you mean 'their pride'?" Trin asked.

"Each
tribe is distinct, with their own hierarchy and leadership." She shrugged
and raised her eyebrows. "No one wants to give up their power."

"But
didn't we send a runner to them?" Taryn frowned, thinking of the elf's
chances.

"Indeed,"
Siarra replied, "But I fear his effort will be in vain. Even if there was
one leader he could deliver the orb to, it is doubtful he will make it onto the
islands." She paused and her voice tightened. "Outsiders tend to be
executed."

The Oracle's
tone discouraged further conversation, and for a while they rode in silence. As
the afternoon sun began to descend, Trin asked, “What about the races to the
north?”

Liri’s brow
furrowed and she shook her head. “Truthfully, I don’t know much about the far
north. I do know that orcs, gnomes, and trolls live in the large plains and
deserts north of the lake. I have heard that the gnomes live to the northeast
of the dwarves. I am not sure about the others.”

"Most of
the orcs and gnomes live together in Ryazan," Jack said, entering the
conversation for the first time.

Taryn swiveled
in his saddle, but Jack just shrugged and added, "They can be a rowdy
bunch, but on occasion the city is worth visiting."

The
disinterest in the thief's expression didn't match the ghost of a smile that
passed on his lips, causing Trin to snort. "Did you get anything
good?"

This time Jack
laughed, "Of course."

When he was
clear he didn't intend to explain, Mae asked, "Do you know anything about
the trolls?"

"They
don't have much of value."

Taryn hid a
smile and turned forward, recognizing that Jack's motivations were—at least on
the surface—fairly straightforward. After considering his words though, he
realized that Jack hadn't answered the question. Did he know more about the
trolls?

Trin was still
laughing at Jack's comment, but said, “We had quite a few problems with trolls.
They liked to travel through the northern foothills that marked the border
between our lands. More than half of our entire army was stationed in those
forts, my father and brother among them—” He blinked and spun towards Taryn
"—Wait . . . when we passed the refugees from Terros I didn’t see any
flags from the northern garrisons!” Hope infused his tone and he sat back in
his saddle, biting his lip.

Siarra
hesitated, and then asked. “There might be a way to find out if the northern
troops were killed—but not yet.”

Trin's mouth had
opened, but it closed with a click, and the light that had blossomed on his
face evaporated. "Why not?" He demanded.

"The
distance is too great. When we get closer, perhaps I can use my magic to
discover if they survived." Her brow furrowed. "But the fiends have
already invaded Griffin . . . so it may be too late."

Trin's eyes
brightened, but the set of his jaw betrayed his tension. The expression was
uncharacteristic for his normally light attitude, and it surprised Taryn. He
hadn’t realized how hard it would have been for Trin to see Terros destroyed
and not know if his family had been among the dead. Then he considered if it was
Murai, and the tightening in his throat told him exactly how Trin would feel.

“We have to
reach them first,” Trin said and Taryn echoed his statement.

“We will,
Trin,” Siarra replied. “If we hurry we may reach them in time.”

Trin's
expression hardened into determination, and he unconsciously flicked the
reigns. Taryn couldn’t help but smile and push his steed to catch up. Within
moments their entire party had picked up the pace and followed the road as it
curved away from the lake and into the trees. Now heading west of north, they tightened
the ranks to follow the narrower road. On either side the trees grew thick, and
their canopies blanketed the road in shade.

Taryn’s first indication
that they had found the druids was the sensation of being watched. Scanning the
area, it took several minutes to spot what was out of place. When he found the
first he continued looking until he found the others.

An eagle,
perched on a branch high above, sat too still and its position only gave a good
view of the road—not a place to hunt. To their side, a glimpse of the outline
of a jungle cat shadowing their path caused him to bite his lip not to smile.
Each of the animals watching them would have fooled almost anyone, but not
their group. Meeting the eyes of his well-trained companions, he saw none of
them were fooled.

When he looked
at Jack, he appeared . . . uncomfortable. There was no doubt that he'd spotted
the animals, but for some reason their appearance caused him to fidget.
Catching Taryn's raised eyebrow, his expression smoothed into an inscrutable
mask. It was the first time Taryn had ever seen the thief appear nervous, and for
some reason it made Taryn think it wasn't about thieving.

Siarra halted
her horse and raised her arm, which she’d wrapped in a piece of leather. A high
whistle escaped her lips and a hawk dropped off its branch. Gliding towards
them, it swept its wings out and landed on Siarra’s outstretched arm. She
crooned and said, “Why don’t you tell your Joré that we are friends and would
like to enter your village?”

In a very
non-birdlike manner, the hawk nodded before taking off. Within moments a man
strolled into view. His clothes were dark green and brown, and he wore a cloak
covered in blotches of forest colors. His face was remarkably angular, reminding
Taryn that druids took on characteristics of their companions.

Without
getting too close, the man demanded, “Who are you, and how did you speak to
Araz?”

Siarra inclined
her head in a short bow. “I am Siarra, the Oracle.” She then introduced each of
them before turning back to the scout. “We need to speak to the Guidrian.”

The man
hesitated but most of his concern had vanished. “My name is Agrial. Come with
me, but leave your horses. They will be tended to.”

Taryn
dismounted and gathered his belongings. Falling into step behind Siarra the
group disappeared into the forest following the druid scout. Fading light streamed
from above and Taryn noticed that the trees had opened up, leaving enough room
to walk unimpeded.

“Who is your
current Guidrian?” Liri asked.

The man
glanced back with an amused expression at her knowledge. “His name is Newhawk.
Haven’t you heard of him?”

Liri shook her
head. “I have been training with the elves for thirty years.”

The scout
smiled. “Then you wouldn’t know.” Then he turned to the others in their group,
“Do you know about the joining process?” His eyes lingered on Jack, and his
eyebrows twitched.

When each of
them nodded he said, “Sixteen years ago a young lad went into the forest to
summon his Joré. He was intelligent and strong, and speculation abounded as to
what animal he would bond with. A tiger, some said, a lion others
argued. It was even suggested a tigron would become his Joré. The speculation
became more intense when he didn’t come back. He was gone so long that the
clans began to worry that he’d been killed. Then he returned—not on land . . .
but from the sky.”

Agrial
appeared to enjoy their astonished expressions and waited for a moment until
Trin asked, his voice incredulous, “A dragon?”

“Better . . .”
he replied with a glitter in his eye.

“But what
would be better than a dragon?” Liri asked in puzzlement.

Agrial opened
his mouth to answer but Jack and Mae spoke at the same time.

“A phoenix,” they
said.

The trace of
rancor in Jack's voice caused Agrial's gaze to touch on the thief before
commenting. When he did, he spoke to Mae.

“How did you
guess?” he asked Mae, his eyebrows pulling together.

“A phoenix is
the only other thing big enough to carry a man,” Mae said, causing Agrial to
grin.

“Smart
thinking elf,” he said. “As you might know, a phoenix is just as large as a
dragon, and also sentient. Neither of these great creatures, incidentally, have
ever been joined to a human. I don’t believe anyone thought it was possible.”

Beside him
Siarra murmured so quietly that only Taryn heard, “Not the first time Agrial,
but the dragon joining was too long ago for you to know.”

Taryn was
about to ask her about it, but Agrial was still speaking and he didn’t want to
miss the rest of the story.

“When Newhawk
landed in Keilera on the back of a flaming phoenix, most of us just about wet
our trousers, but there was no danger. The phoenix had answered his call and
became his Joré.”

Taryn cut in
to ask a question that had been bothering him, “But why would a sentient being
join with a druid? Doesn’t the bonding last for life?”

Agrial nodded
soberly, “And phoenixes have far longer life spans than humans. It remains a
mystery why Reiquen joined with Newhawk. Maybe he knows, but if he does
he has not said.”

“How did he
become the Guidrian?” Siarra asked. “Surely there are older or wiser druids.”

Agrial bobbed
his head, “Perhaps, but he is unparalleled as a leader.” He smirked. “See for
yourself.”

With that he
brushed aside some branches and stepped into a large valley. Siarra, Liri, and
Mae all gasped at the sight before them, and Taryn took their response to mean
things had changed. From their description he’d expected a small village, but
the sight before him could only be called a city.

Most of the
vegetation had been cleared except for towering trees that gave shade with
their massive branches. Underneath their protective canopy, huts and small
cottages had been constructed in tight, organized rows. The entire settlement
looked to be in the shape of a star, with a small fort at each point, allowing
for excellent defensive capabilities. All paths in between the living quarters
led to the center of the star, where several large log cabins could be seen—but
not all the structures were on the ground.

Between the
trees, rope bridges spanned the distance to create an immense interconnecting
network of skyways. Tree houses, small and large, dotted the trunks and
branches at various heights.

“It has changed
so much,” Liri breathed.

Agrial's grin
widened. “Most of it has happened in the last fifteen years, under Newhawk’s
guidance.”

—A high
piercing cry echoed through the valley. At the same time threatening and
challenging, the sound inspired awe and fear in equal measure. Looking for the
source Taryn saw an immense red and orange bird drop out of the canopy near the
center of the settlement and bank through the trees towards them.

As it back
winged to land, it sent warm air billowing past them. Over forty feet tall, the
Phoenix shimmered in red, orange, and gold. In most appearances it looked like
a falcon, with a sharp beak and deep intelligent eyes that peered at each of
them. Never taking its gaze from their group, it settled low and allowed a man
to dismount. As Newhawk left its side, the phoenix ruffled its feathers,
causing small tongues of flame to streak down its back and sparks to cascade
off its wings.

The Guidrian
of the druids stopped a few feet from them and greeted them with a smile.
“Welcome, Oracle and friends, to Keilera. My name is Newhawk, Guidrian of the druids.”

As Siarra
responded, Taryn studied the man. Tall and broad shouldered, he appeared fit
and strong. His black hair had streaks of red, and hung long and free to his
shoulders. Intense blue eyes looked out from a square, handsome face and measured
each of them in turn. Rather than forest colors, he wore all black except for a
light orange cloak that looked to be made from phoenix feathers. A wicked
longbow hung on his back and was the sole weapon in sight, but Taryn guessed he
carried a hidden blade.

Then the man
laughed and Taryn realized why he had become the Guidrian. Newhawk exuded confidence
and charisma. Glancing around, Taryn saw every druid in view looking to their
leader with subtle adoration.

Newhawk blinked
and seemed to notice the audience. With a sweep of his hand he invited Siarra
and the others to his home. His change in demeanor bore a trait that Taryn rarely
saw in leaders adored by their people . . . humility.

Taryn shook
his head as he turned to follow Liri into the city. In another example of his
leadership, Newhawk chose to walk with them, rather than riding his Joré.
Leading them through the winding streets and paths of Keilera, he spoke of the
city with pride in his voice. When he reached the tallest tree at the center,
he stepped onto a staircase spiraling around its massive trunk.

As they
ascended towards the sprawling tree house above, Taryn felt apprehensive about
what Newhawk would do when Siarra told him of the gathering. Entering a cozy
sitting room and taking the offered seat, Taryn avoided eye contact, afraid he
would betray his concern. The conversation soon turned from light topics to
Draeken, and he hoped the Guidrian would accept the truth.

There was no
doubt that the man was a leader of tremendous caliber, but how would he react
to their warning? Would he gather at Azertorn? He was certainly capable of
bringing his people, but would he? If he was convinced, what role was he
destined to play in the battle? Whatever his purpose, Taryn sensed it would be
pivotal—if he could be persuaded to come.

He spared a
glance at Siarra's expression as she detailed what was coming, and caught an
odd glint in the way she looked at the druid leader. It was a look that he had
seen before . . . when she had told Taryn of his own destiny. The Oracle knew
what Newhawk was meant to do.

But would he
do it?

Chapter
5: The Strategist

Braon awoke
long before dawn but he didn’t get out of bed. Staring at the ceiling he
considered the heavy task assigned to him. The Oracle had said he must be the
high commander of all the races when Draeken’s army came, an impossible task
for anyone—especially a fifteen-year-old boy.

Releasing a
deep sigh he stood and dressed, but hesitated as he approached his door. Where
to begin? His question was answered as soon as he opened the door. An elven
guard stood ready and the moment he stepped into the hall addressed him.

“General Deiran
has requested your presence.” The elf bowed and indicated for him to follow,
but his tone didn't match the politeness of his words.

Braon nodded
and followed the guard out of the House of Runya and into the pre-dawn streets
of Azertorn. It seemed like ages since they had entered the city, and Braon had
to remind himself that they had arrived only yesterday to inform the high council
of the impending battle—the meeting in which the Oracle and the Queen had
placed the defenses in his charge.

Looking over
the city he wished he understood more of what he was supposed to do. With the
Oracle gone, he felt less than confident where to begin. He was glad that she
had stopped by his room before their departure, and her foresight that she
needed to leave, but he couldn’t deny the yearning for someone to stay and
guide him.

Then he
remembered the letter the Oracle had slipped him. She’d said to read it in the
morning. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew the folded piece of parchment and
read the short note.

Braon,

I know the next few weeks are going to
be difficult for you, and I am sorry I cannot stay to aid you. Trust me when I
tell you that this is what you can, and will, do on your own. I do have two
pieces of advice that I feel you must hear. The first is to trust your
instincts. When I first met you, I saw something in you I have never seen
before, a unique type of mind magic. It is what allows you to sense what others
will do—and what makes you a good strategist and leader. Always trust your
instincts.

The second piece of advice is to speak
with authority. You must do this immediately and consistently. Your mind is
strong, and it is vital that you expect others to follow you. You must be their
leader, at every moment, of every day. There can be no doubt in anyone's mind.
Always speak with authority, even if you don’t know what you should do.

Know that each one of us believes in
you. Good luck my friend.

Siarra

Braon reread
the note before pocketing it to consider its words. He was grateful for the
advice, and had to admit that they were exactly what he needed to hear.
Chuckling, he realized that the Oracle had known when she wrote the note, and
it had done what was intended. His confidence was bolstered and he knew what he
must do.

Ten minutes
later he felt even more gratitude as he walked through a pair of double doors
to find Deiran, the general of the elven armies, reclining behind his desk.

The weathered
elf rose to his feet and sauntered towards the young man. “Thank you for coming,
Braon. I was hoping we could settle a few . . . misunderstandings.” The general
glanced at Braon with false concern. “I know this job the Oracle said
you had to do sounds great and all but—.”

“No,” Braon
said, and Deiran looked at him in surprise. “General, I appreciate your
concern, but not your attempt to coerce me into withdrawing my command.”

Deiran’s jaw
dropped, but Braon wasn’t finished.

“I will not
have you question my leadership, or I will be forced to find a suitable
replacement to command the elven armies.” He said the statement with no trace
of animosity, so as to not provoke the elf’s pride, but Deiran’s mouth snapped
shut with a click and his eyes turned hard.

“If you think
for one moment I will allow some human boy to command me—”

“No.” Braon
exclaimed and Deiran once again stopped speaking, his expression now of
astonishment.

“This is not a
power struggle, general. You will command the elven army—if you choose. I
command the defenses for this single battle. I have my calling, and you have
yours.” He spoke in a controlled tone to not reveal weakness, but at the same
time not show overconfidence. For the first time Deiran lost his condescending
expression, so Braon spoke again to maintain his advantage. “We must work quickly
and efficiently. There is a great deal I must learn—and plan—if we are to be
prepared.”

Deiran pursed
his lips and he raised an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

Understanding
his question to be test of his leadership, or a trap if he lacked said skills,
Braon answered honestly. “Our first step is to show me the defenses in complete
detail. Then we find each weakness and make plans to turn them into strengths.
Last we lay out a system for how to combine the races as they arrive, including
company arrangements, training, outfitting, and particularly how to avoid
conflicts between blood enemies.” He finished and watched a flicker of respect
light the general's eyes.

“Would you
like to begin in the First Hall?” It houses the first Legion and—.”

Braon shook
his head. “I have already seen the defenses of the First and Second Halls, and
their defensive layout is, to put it lightly, beyond admirable.” He inclined
his head towards the general in a mark of respect, to which Deiran smiled
modestly. “I would prefer to begin outside the city. If we can ride west to the
end of the Giant’s Shelf and then to the east until the lake, I will be able to
get a look at what else we are dealing with besides the city. If we are to
defend the cliff, then we must see every section of it to be ready.”

Deiran’s smile
widened and he finally conceded—but Braon had no doubt that the judgment was
temporary. If he failed in anything, he would lose the general's respect.

“We ride
together then, commander. Let’s see what we are dealing with.”

Within an hour
they were riding west along the Giant’s Shelf with a score of armed elves in
tow. On occasion Braon would halt to examine the cliff. With the horses that
Deiran had chosen, they covered the ten miles to the high western mountains
before noon. Only once did the shelf drop below a thousand feet. The dip
occurred six miles west of Azertorn. At that point the edge sloped down a
shallow decline and lowered the cliff height to eight hundred feet. Deiran
informed him as they rode into the depression that it had once been a
waterfall, and the river had worn it down before something diverted the
waterway.

Turning back
where the plateau turned into a mountain, they picked up the pace on the return
journey. Pausing for a short repast in Azertorn, they continued east until they
came to the Lake Road. Throughout the day Braon spoke little, observing the
terrain but asking questions when necessary. Sparse vegetation dotted the
plateau's smooth rock, and spread from the cliff to the tree line several miles
back. Remarkably smooth, the stone of the Giant's Shelf rose and fell in gentle
waves of reddish rock.

As they rode,
Braon laid out some preliminary ideas in his mind, but chose not to share them
with Deiran until they were finished with the exploration. As dusk began to
fall, they reached the Lake Road. Stopping at a rocky knoll rising out of the
ground, they dismounted for a meal. The simple food of nuts and fruit tasted
delicious after the long day, but Braon did his best not to overeat. When
Deiran asked if he wanted to return to Azertorn for the night, he shook his
head and asked for a bedroll.

“I want to
see the Lake Road before we return,” he said, and eased his sore body onto his
blanket. As tired as he was, he took a moment to imagine the ground they had
covered, organizing it into an image in his mind.

The Giant's Shelf
was a thousand-foot cliff that ran over twenty-five miles from east to west,
with Azertorn in the center. Near the western end, the dip would be the only
weakness on that side. East of the city the vulnerability would be the road,
which he would see tomorrow.

The city
presented its own problems. Majestic and grand, the tiered city was shaped for
defense, with the smallest level two hundred feet off the valley floor. Each subsequent
tier meant the defenders would always have the high ground. The top tier
spanned the entire distance between the two waterfalls, and boasted additional
battlements that abutted the rivers above the cliff.

Braon didn't
expect the lush gardens and waterways to be a problem—except at the base of the
great tree. Covering the entire first level, the Gardens of Light and
Enlightenment would be the first place their attackers would climb to. In
addition, a pond called the Mirror’s Edge abutted the cliff, meaning there were
no fortifications there. Although two hundred feet above the valley floor,
Braon had no doubt the fiends would reach it. As much as he knew the elves
would fight the issue, the gardens would have to be removed, and the pond
drained.

Underneath the
city, caverns and passages formed the main barracks for the army. Built with extreme
defenses, the corridors formed a path of retreat for the elves in case the
city's main gates were ever breached. He felt a rush of gratitude at whatever
ancient dwarf had designed the entrance. The false portal, backed by a fifty
foot column of stone, strengthened one of the weakest points of any city. But
if the real doors were discovered . . . they would be finished.

Braon paused
in his considerations and stifled a yawn. He felt lucky that he had so much to
work with, and grateful that the board game of Stratos had taught him so much
about strategic planning. Now he just had to figure out how to get the races to
unite—and listen to him.

He blinked at
his tiredness, wishing he could remain awake so he could plan some more. There
was so much to consider, but his endurance was not extensive, a fact he was
careful not to reveal to his companions. He felt a flash of irritation that he
didn't have more stamina, but recognized it as a weakness he would have to work
around. Shifting his bulk on the hard ground, he succumbed to his weariness.

Rising early,
they broke their fast with dried fruits and headed east for a few hundred yards.
This eastern edge of the plateau dropped straight to the Blue Lake. Braon squinted
at the water below and then turned to follow the road heading south. At fifty
feet wide, the Lake Road felt narrow as it followed a rapidly descending path
between the cliff and the lake. To the right, the sheer cliff stretched up to
the plateau above. To the left, the road dropped to the rocky shore of the
lake. Barren, the highway boasted a low wall along the lake side to prevent
someone falling to their death. After five miles they reached the forest floor,
and turned onto a trail that headed towards Azertorn. Picking up the pace, they
arrived in the afternoon and entered the city.

As the general
and the commander stepped back into Deiran’s office, the elf’s attitude had
changed. It seemed that Braon’s few intuitive questions had shifted Deiran's perception
of him.

Settling into
his office chair he poured himself a bottle of light ale and offered some to
Braon, who gladly accepted. After they both took a long pull to quench their
thirst, Deiran broke the silence. “So what’s your plan?”

Rubbing his
forefinger against his thumb, Braon considered the best approach to tell the
general. In many ways, this first hurtle would be his greatest to overcome. If
he could not convince the general, his effort would be over before it began.
Feeling the pressure, he asked, “Do you have a piece of parchment I can use?”

Deiran nodded
and reached for a scrap of paper and a charcoal pencil. Once Braon had what he
needed he began sketching the cliff while describing what he’d seen.

“The cliff,
city, and road are too large to defend easily, so our first challenge is communication
between the command and the soldiers. We also need to break the area into sections,
each with its own general and command structure.” Finishing his rough drawing
he spun it to show the general, who leaned in to examine it. “West of Azertorn
we have three areas: The Gray is the furthest west and will run to the dry
riverbed, its cliff is slightly gray instead of red so it will be easy to
remember; the dip and the area to either side we will call The Deep, for
obvious reasons; and the length of cliff between the low point and the city
will be Western Falls battalion.

“The city of
Azertorn is the fourth area. Just as the west, the eastern side will be divided
into three areas. Eastern Falls is the five miles between the city and that
large crack we passed. Between the crack and the Lake Road is The Ridge. On our
far eastern flank is the Lake Road, which will have a command post at the knoll
near where we camped.”

Deiran was
bobbing his head and leaned back to ask, “So, what's next? You have the areas,
now what do we do with them?”

“We fortify
them. We need a wall built along the entire cliff, high enough so a man can
lean over and shoot an arrow, but no more than his waist. We already have the
high ground. We just keep our own forces from falling—or being pulled off.”

Deiran’s
expression turned dubious and he asked, "You really believe they can climb
the cliff?"

Braon blew out
his breath and shook his head. "I don't know, but I would rather be
prepared than not. Siarra numbered their army in the billions, so have no doubt
they will try. If they did and we were unprepared . . ."

“We would be
dead."

Braon nodded
and continued, “We can use cavalry to sweep them off the cliff if they find a
hole in the defenses. They will also provide the necessary reinforcements for
the front lines, and give the mounted divisions of the various races a useful
position.”

Deiran took
another sip of his drink and asked, “What else?”

Braon noticed
a spark of eagerness in the general’s eyes and smiled inwardly. He had him hooked,
and doubted there would be any more struggle for authority as long as he
continued to demonstrate strategic intelligence.

“There are
still three places that require special attention. The Lake Road is my greatest
concern. It is a highway to flank us and will be the easiest to attack. First
we will knock down the wall next to the lake to make the road more dangerous.
Then we need to build several walls along its length. Each needs to be thick,
strong, and high. The construction needs to begin immediately.”

Deiran was
nodding as he spoke and reached for another scrap of parchment to begin making
notes. Braon paused and waited while he scribbled the orders. When the general
finished and looked at him he added.

“The Lake Road,
The Deep, and Azertorn, are most likely to be attacked, and therefore must be
the most fortified. If possible, the Deep needs to have a wall built high
enough to reach the rest of the cliff. When the wall falls, and it will, we will
need to have pitch or tar prepared. I am hoping when the dwarves come they can use
their fire magic to prepare fire traps that will ignite the tar as it drains
down.”

Deiran was now
grinning as Braon spoke but didn’t stop writing.

“Last we have
Azertorn. We are truly lucky to have it constructed so well—but, if its gates
are breached, it will only be a matter of time. For that reason, we must do
everything possible to draw attention away from the gates. I believe they will
use a battering ram almost immediately, and continuously. At some point they
will damage the wood of the gates enough to see that stone is behind them and
they will look for secondary gates. When they find them—.”

“Don’t you
mean if they find them?” Deiran interrupted but Braon was already
shaking his head.

“If they
number so many—,” Braon couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of such
an enemy, “—as the Oracle stated, they will find the secret
entrance. Once they enter the city, the First Hall will be overrun in hours,
likewise the Second Hall, and the rest of the city will be destroyed soon
after. The Oracle told us the best we can hope to last is seven days, and if
darkness falls on the seventh day, it will be permanent. Because of this I
believe we must hold the gates at least until the end of the sixth day. If they
breach the city before then . . .” He let the implication hang until Deiran
nodded, his expression grim.

Deiran then sighed
and looked away. “Do we have a chance?” For the first time since he’d called Braon
commander, the general spoke with respect.

Relief washed
over him as Braon realized he'd passed his first hurdle. “I believe we do, general,
or at least I hope we do—and we will certainly do everything possible to
succeed. I, for one, am not going to lie down and be killed.”

Deiran snorted
and stood. “And neither shall I! I will get these orders sent out immediately.”

“Excellent.
As soon as you are done, I need to learn more about the city and make plans for
the arrival of allies. I believe the refugees from the eastern kingdom will
arrive first since we already know they are on the way. Send word to the elven
settlements to direct them here so we can begin their integration into our
defenses.”

Deiran nodded
and escorted him out of the office. Leaving him speaking to one of his
captains, Braon slipped out of the command center and headed back to the House
of Runya.

They had a
long road ahead but at least he’d seen what they had to defend, and more
importantly, he had a plan. Then an idea popped into his head and he turned
towards the palace. He was going to need the queen’s help for it to work, and
it would be best to put that part into motion first.

Braon’s pace
quickened as more and more thoughts came into mind of things that needed
immediate attention. Sighing, he worked to list them in order of priority and
forced himself to slow his gait. As he began fleshing out his strategies with
the critical details, he checked for gaps or holes that would bring them down.
With the magnitude of this battle, the slightest opening could make the
difference, and it was up to him to ensure there were no holes.

A single
oversight would kill them all.

Chapter
6: Battle Plans

Braon sighed.
This was going to be much harder than he’d imagined. Refugees from the eastern
kingdom had begun to arrive and the few leaders he’d met were . . . resistant
to follow his lead. The last group had thanked the elves for their hospitality
but said they had no plans as of yet, and had pointedly ignored Braon.

Sighing again
he watched them turn and leave, taking solace in the fact that some of his
plans were moving forward. The most important recommendation he’d put forward had
already begun, although the refugees from Griffin had no idea that he was
behind it. He’d asked the queen of the elves and Liri’s mother, Lariel
Tel’Runya, to supervise a critical portion of his battle plan, the women and
children.

Initially, he
needed the women and children settled into a secure location in the tunnels
behind the city. As soon as they were placed in their temporary home they would
begin their work. Fashioning leather armor, making arrows, and preparing food
were going to be their primary objectives.

Watching the
last of the refugees being led away by the queen’s men, he growled to himself.
He’d been composed and collected, exactly the way he wanted to be, but it was
proving . . . difficult to persuade stubborn men to follow a kid. What he
needed was a second in command, someone strong and a natural leader. The second
would need to be charismatic and possess the ability to draw men of every race
to him. If he had such a second, all the races of Lumineia would look to him,
while he was guided by Braon.

He smiled at
the wishful thought and pushed it aside. If Ero provided a second, then he
would take it. Until then . . . he would have to deal with the problems on his
own. Turning away, he threaded his way back through the city until he came to
an ornate structure one level below the palace, the magic guild for the elves.

Stepping
inside he politely asked to see Telerial Sur’Maegrian, archmage of the guild of
magic. The elf guard left to summon the archmage, but Braon found a seat.
During the war council where he’d been named commander, Telerial had
demonstrated remarkable pride, and not the good kind. He would consider himself
above Braon and would make him wait for an audience.

The young man
took the time to consider his checklist. He’d organized the women, an enormous
task and yet one of the easiest. The queen would perform admirably, and with
Liri's mother by her side, they would handle that part without needing Braon
for assistance. Relegating that to a position of his mind that would remind him
to check on them, he looked at the next item.

Communication
between his troops and his command center would be the greatest difficulty. In
his mind it comprised two components, seeing the battle, or messages from
the front lines, and directing the battle, or giving instructions to his
field officers. Because of the breadth of what they were going to defend, he
could not imagine doing either without magic, which is where the archmage came
in. Hopefully he would have some suggestions on how to tackle the problem. If
worse came to worst, he could always use flags to communicate with his
officers, but it would be time consuming and prone to error. He needed to be
able to react instantly to any surge in the battle, or he might hear of a breach
when it had become a flood.

He chuckled to
himself, eliciting a sharp glance from a guard. Stifling his humor, he realized
that a part of him enjoyed the challenge before him. He’d always liked
strategy, ever since he'd used it to avoid being caught and bloodied by the
other boys. He’d never been outthought by them, and he’d never lost a single
game of Stratos. Most of his ideas came from listening to captains complain
about problems in the field during a match, and whenever he’d played his
favorite game, he’d thought of them as a real army. Now he had his chance. Let’s
not choose this time to lose, he thought.

There were a
few minor problems to be solved as well. He had to choose a location that would
be his headquarters, and begin selecting his war command of generals. The
second problem, he believed, would solve itself. As races came, leaders would
present themselves, and he would know them when he saw them. He needed seven
primary generals to command the seven locations. Deiran, as the highest ranking
officer of the city, would naturally lead the city’s forces. He knew his
fortress well and he already trusted Braon. That left six, and if possible, his
second in command.

The location
would be a puzzle because he needed a very specific place. It needed to be high
in the city, and very defensible. It also needed to have a good view, which
ruled out the palace and any other structure directly behind the great tree. A
thought flashed into his head and he almost smiled. The dining hall of the
House of Runya would be perfect. Its walls and ceiling were enchanted as if the
room rested at the top of the great tree, giving an unparallel view of the
valley below. Lariel would no doubt agree to its use, so he added speaking to
her onto his checklist and moved on.

For almost an
hour he planned and waited for Telerial. Finally a guard ushered him to a room
at the very top of the tower. The archmage sat behind an ornate desk in a chamber
filled with books and rich tapestries. Trees grew along the walls and other
detailed decorations adorned the room. Braon allowed the guildmaster a moment
and then spoke first.

“Telerial,” he
said. “I know you have kept me waiting to satisfy your sense of importance.”
The archmage’s eyes bulged at his blunt comment, but Braon continued before he
could respond. “But we do not have time for such trivial massaging of ego.” He
kept his tone controlled and respectful so as not to overly provoke the elf,
and only waited for him to sputter before he added, “I have a task for you, one
that is supremely challenging and will require all your skill with magic.”

“What do you .
. ., No, I didn’t . . . ?” he blustered and settled on, “What task could possibly
challenge my skills?”

Braon resisted
the impulse to grin. Without waiting for the pompous elf to gain steam or deal
with his first comment, he’d managed to diffuse his pride and suggest a
challenge to it as well. He had hoped he would accept the challenge first, and
by so doing, unconsciously accept his leadership.

“I need your
help to create a means to see the battlefield, and it needs to cover the entire
cliff, the city, and the Lake Road. It needs to be detailed and accurate, as
well as adaptable for when I need to examine a particular location with a
closer perspective. I look to you to suggest a means to accomplish this task.”
He inclined his head towards Telerial and the elf took the bait in an instant.

“You have come
to the right mage, my young friend.”

“Commander,”
Braon said and the elf stared at him, locking eyes. The young man could not
allow even an inch of indecision within his command structure, and now was the
time to reinforce the subtle hint he’d already placed. Braon didn’t blink and
didn’t back down.

After several tense
moments the archmage frowned. “Commander then,” he said with a sneer. “I
do believe something might be possible to help with the dilemma.”

“What do you
have in mind?” Braon asked, ignoring the attitude.

“We might be
able to combine light magic with plant and water magic. Plants can capture the
light and transfer the images along roots to you, similar to the ceiling in the
dining hall of the house of Runya.” Braon didn’t miss the flash of envy in his
eye. “The tricky part will be to transfer that image to water, which would take
on the shape of the image. I don’t think that has ever been done before and
will be very tricky.”

Braon smiled
for the first time. “I do believe that would be perfect. The dining hall of the
house of Runya will be the location of the map.”

“Why not here
or the house of Keserian?”

“No.” Braon
responded but gave no reason. “You have six weeks, archmage. And I believe if
you are going to grow the roots from both ends of the Giant’s Shelf it will
take most of that time. Make sure the map extends five miles back from the
cliff, includes the Lake Road, and can view the first three levels of Azertorn.
If possible, a couple of miles in front of the shelf would be helpful as well.”

“Is that all?”
Telerial asked, his brow pulling together.

“Unfortunately
no, I also need to be able to communicate with my generals. It will need to be fast
and accurate.”

Telerial shook
his head. “I have no idea how to solve that one, but I will get started on the
map for you.” He sniffed. “It will require my personal attention as well as
many of my magi.”

“Good.” Braon bobbed
his head. “This is vital to our success against such an adversary. Any magi you
are not using, please send to me. I will have other tasks for them.”

Telerial
agreed a little too readily, so Braon added, “The billions we will
defend against will require our utmost preparation. Please do not fail to
complete this, or the blood of nations will be on your hands. If you have any
questions, please refer them to the queen or to me.” He knew the mage didn't
like him, and loathed the idea of serving under him, but he hoped the reference
to the queen would help him behave.

The archmage
furrowed his brow but took the warning well. “I will get started today.”

Braon thanked
him and left, not wanting to overstay his welcome. As soon as he was outside he
took a deep breath. He’d known Telerial would be tough, but it had gone easier
than he'd expected. For some reason his mind pulled to Deiran, and he wondered
if the elf general had spoken to him. Either way, he was glad to have him at
least partially on board, and even solving one of his problems. The elf would
work with him for now—but he would be seeking any opportunity to usurp his
authority.

Blinking
against the afternoon sun, Braon turned towards his next stop. He had the
wheels in motion as well as he could for now, so one thing remained to do . . .
learn about the enemy.

Threading his
way through the city towards where Lariel had indicated, he came to the elven
archives. On the fourth tier of Azertorn, a plain structure stood out from the
greenery-enshrouded buildings around it. Entering through a stone archway, he
was greeted by single guard blocking the way.

“State your
business in the archives,” the elf said, obviously bored.

“Braon, to see
Sirfalas. Is he available?” the young man asked and the guard nodded.

“One moment,
please,” the guard said and departed down a corridor.

Within minutes
the wizened elf that had spoken to the high council appeared, trailing the
guard, who passed Braon to resume his earlier position without further comment.

Sirfalas
approached and nodded at the young man, “Commander, I wondered how long it
would be until you came. What can I do for you?”

Surprised by
the elder historian’s expectations, Braon asked, “Did you know I would be
coming?”

The old elf
smiled, crinkling the lines around his eyes. “Any commander the Oracle would
support would surely come here to learn more about the enemy he would face. I
would even say you are earlier than I had expected.”

Braon chuckled,
pleased with the historians response. “Let’s get started then. What can you
tell me about the enemy?”

Sirfalas
nodded and beckoned for him to follow, heading back down the corridor. "It
is unfortunate that we know little about Draeken or his army, but what we do know
will be useful to you.”

“What do you
mean?” Braon asked.

Sirfalas
coughed and had to clear his throat before he could answer, “We have no
description of Draeken or his generals’ tactics, but we do have a description
of the army. I suspect you will figure out their tactics from that.”

Braon shrugged
and nodded, conceding the point. “What else can you tell me?”

“Let’s start
at the beginning, shall we?” Sirfalas answered and led the young man into an
enormous cavern lined with shelves. Scrolls and parchments were organized and stacked
into every available space in shelves that towered to the ceiling.

Braon looked
around in wonder and squinted into the distance where he couldn’t see the back
wall. “I had no idea you had so many records.”

The ancient
historian chuckled until he coughed again. “This is one of three archives, but
it is the oldest. We will have to go to the back to find what we need.”

Braon followed
the old elf into a maze of bookshelves. After several minutes they reached the back
wall and Sirfalas turned to follow it until he came to a cracked archway in the
stone. Through the doorway they came to a small room, with a single bookshelf
on the wall and a desk on the opposite side.

“These are all
of the records that mention Draeken. I have collected them throughout my time
here.” He shook his head. “I thought I was just satisfying my curiosity about
what drove the elves to migrate, but now I know it was for you.”

“Wait,” Braon
said, raising his hand, “I thought no one knew who forced the elves west.”

Sirfalas
smiled a sad smile. “I believe it was Draeken ten thousand years ago, but when
I shared it with the high council they thought there was insufficient
evidence.”

“Why don’t
you start at the beginning and tell me everything you know.”

Sirfalas
nodded and pointed to a wooden chair. “This might take a while. There is quite
a bit of material beyond the descriptions I sent with the messengers,” he
wheezed and pulled on a small rope hanging from the ceiling. A distant bell
chimed in response and he sat down across from Braon. “They will bring us food
and drink. The juice will combat the dust.” As if on cue the ancient elf
coughed again.

Waiting for
Sirfalas to finish, Braon said, “Tell me what you have learned.”

He nodded and
sighed. “Forgive me if I repeat things you already know. I tend to do that
these days.” He chuckled, gathering his thoughts. “In truth, there is little we
know of Draeken. Most believe that Draeken was a demigod of sorts, and many
called him the God of Chaos. The legend tells that his meddling into the races
of Lumineia caused too much havoc for Ero. Together, the gods imprisoned him in
our world, and that is when Skorn gave him a way out. ‘If chaos reigns in the
land of light, then your chains will be no more.’ I believe it was meant to be
an eternal mockery of what Draeken desired, but they had no idea what the God
of Chaos had been planning.”

The historian gave
a dry whispery laugh, and shook his head. "At least, that is the way the
myth tells it. With few facts, it is difficult to say otherwise, but I believe
that Draeken was just a man once. He may have even been an elf. The one thing
we know for sure is that he intended to slay every living soul in
Lumineia."

“He’d gathered
an army,” Braon said, and Sirfalas nodded soberly.

“It would be
more correct to say he created it, as the fiends are not natural to our world.
Comprised of four kinds, these dark creatures are each deadly. United, and with
so many, they are unstoppable.”

“What can you
tell me of the different types?” Braon asked.

Sirfalas stood
and searched for a scroll on the shelf. Finding it, he brought it to their
table. Unrolling it carefully, he pointed to the first drawing on the yellowing
paper. “This is a Quare, a man-sized fiend that grows a red mane. As you can
see, its fangs are like that of an animal, and it wields no weapon. Several
accounts describe the Quare as agile as panthers, and strong enough to tear men
apart. They are also the most abundant fiend, and comprise over two-thirds of
the entire army.”

Sirfalas then
moved his finger to another sketch of a large creature that resembled a
scorpion. “This is a Skorpian, and it is not unlike the poisonous
creature—except it is as large as a wagon. They can launch a portion of their
tail like a spear, making them the only type of fiend with a ranged attack.
Once thrown, a spear can regrow in minutes and is hard enough to penetrate
rock. Their pincers are also fast and as sharp as a sword.”

Braon nodded,
already working on defensive strategies. “What about this one?” He asked and
pointed at a creature that resembled a dog.

“Ah yes, a Siper.
They are enormous hounds, larger than lions if the recording is accurate, and can
be faster than a horse. There is one story of a score of Sipers that took down
a company of human cavalry.”

“Do weapons
not penetrate their skin?” Braon asked, peering at the picture and trying to
imagine the animal.

“Not easily,”
Sirfalas replied. “They have sharp scales made up of small triangular spikes,
which raise and change from black to crimson when they are angry. Their eyes
are said to be the color of the moon and they could see better at night.” He
leaned back and swept his hand at the wall of records. “There are several tales
of Sipers hunting men down and ripping them apart. Their howl even became known
as 'the call of death,' but few survived to describe it.”

Braon sighed,
wondering once again if he had the ability to do this. Drawing strength from
the Oracle's words, he focused on the last and largest drawing on the parchment.
“What is this?”

“Those are Krakas,
the largest and most dangerous of the fiends. Standing at over ten feet tall,
they towered over the human and elf defenders. They are the captains of the
army, and for good reason. They are the most powerful. Their skin is black, but
if you look at the sketch, they have white bone armor. It is written that they
dragged a massive obsidian blade and early in the war the soldiers assumed the Krakas
couldn’t wield their weapons with any speed. They were wrong. Dragging the
blade is a deception, meant to cause their prey to think they are weaker than
they are, but their strength is unparalleled in almost any race.”

“What race
could be stronger than a Kraka?” Braon asked, incredulous.

Sirfalas
shrugged his thin shoulders. “A rock troll would be similar in size and
strength. The record tells of a single rock troll that fought with the elves.
Aside from him, the ancients only killed a few of the fiend captains, with
legions of men or large ballistae.”

"What
about Draeken’s generals?”

They were
interrupted by an elf bearing food and drink. The ancient historian thanked the
bearer and reached for the glass pitcher. Pouring himself some amber liquid, he
took a sip and sighed. The elf gave a short bow and departed as Sirfalas returned
his gaze to Braon.

“Ah, to your
question. Draeken’s army is led by four supreme beings—one of which has already
been killed. Death, the assassin and wielder of fear, was slain by Jack and
Taryn. The other three will be just as dangerous, if not more so. War is the
leader of the army, the general that you will pit your mind against. From the
ancient descriptions he is said to be huge. Over twelve feet tall and completely
armored with sharp metal shards, he will be more vicious than anything in his
army. ”

“The other two
are forerunners, meaning they ride in advance of the army to weaken opposition.
Plague brings disease. Not much is known about what he looks like, except that
he unleashes widespread sickness. Much of his ability is governed by distance. The
closer he is, the sicker you become.”

“Can he be
killed?” Braon asked.

“I am sure it
is possible, but I don’t know how. I only have two accounts of soldiers that
survived an encounter. Both were archers, and they chronicled that anyone who
got within fifty feet began retching and falling to the ground. Then they grew
diseased and died. The two archers wrote that they shot him with several
arrows, but it didn’t seem to affect him. It is my belief that he is, in a
literal sense, a combination of ailments, and no conventional weapon can hurt a
disease.”

Braon took a
moment to mull that over and chewed on some meat. Sirfalas allowed his
companion to eat in silence, waiting patiently as he worked his way through
some bread. When Braon had considered several ideas he bobbed his head. “Who is
the last one?”

The historian
cleared his throat to answer and said, “The last being created by Draeken is Famine.
Crops withered and food spoiled if he came too close. Just like Plague, his
ability is also controlled by distance. Time seemed to be a factor as well. For
instance, soldiers rations wouldn’t spoil overnight, it took days for the food
to go rancid, unless he was physically closer, in which case the men felt
themselves get hungry, and then weaker, before they perished. Some bodies were
found in the fetal position, holding their stomachs as if they died in agony.”
He shuddered. “The drawings show them so skinny they looked like a skeleton
inside of a sack of skin.”

“Did anyone
get close and not die? Did anyone hurt him?” Braon asked. He did his best to
keep the creeping desperation from appearing in his voice.

“I do have a
single story of a survivor, although I doubt its word.” Getting up he moved
back to the shelf and perused the stacks of scrolls until he found the one he
wanted. “Ah, this is it.” Returning to his seat he gingerly unrolled the stiff
material and scanned the writing. “It is a story of an unnamed blacksmith in a
town where Famine passed through. Everyone in the village wasted away and died,
but this man did not.”

He paused and
mumbled to himself for a moment before he came to what he was looking for.
“Let’s see . . . that’s right, I didn’t remember.” Looking at Braon he pointed
at the parchment. “The author said the man was extremely overweight, and managed
to get to a horse. When Famine came after him he threw his hammer at the being.
It struck him on the arm, and the fiend appeared hurt and backed away, allowing
the blacksmith time to escape.” Sirfalas chuckled and took a swallow of juice.
“The report indicates that both the horse and the rider were much skinnier
after that.”

“Hmm,” Braon
mused aloud. “So perhaps he can be hurt, but no one can get close. Interesting.”
He stared off into space while he finished the meal, his mind reviewing
possible strategies against all he’d learned.

Suddenly aware
of his impolite attitude he blinked and looked at the kind historian. “Thank
you for all you have shared with me today. I have learned much, and will probably
return soon.”

Sirfalas
laughed, a soft wheezing sound, and smiled. “I researched extensively prior to
your arrival. I shall now devote myself to further study so we have more to
discuss.”

Braon smiled
in return and allowed his gratitude to show on his face. “Thank you again.” He
stood and inclined his head, sweeping his hand to invite the historian to go
first. As he followed him through the maze of records, he continued to examine the
different possibilities. Hardly noticing the departing wave of Sirfalas, he
exited the archives and headed towards the House of Runya.

Slipping
through the twilight city he arrived at his destination and hurried inside. Pausing
to leave a note for Lariel to request the dining hall as his strategic command,
he returned to his room and sat on a tree bench that grew out of the balcony.
Pondering, he didn’t see the sun set or the stars begin to twinkle in the sky.

Deep in his
mind he ran through the battle that was coming. Attack, defend, counter-attack.
Time and again he set the pieces and ran the battle until he’d found the best
placement for his troops—for now. A lot would depend on which races came, and
how well he was able to integrate them into his army.

Once again he
wished for a second in command. With a sigh he rose and prepared for sleep. His
eyes on the battle to come, he climbed into bed. As he lay awake trying to create
a better strategy, his heart began to sink. If nothing was added, the best he
could see them surviving was not seven days . . .

It was three.

Chapter
7: Captain Arrow

The afternoon
sun filtered through the thin canopy as Aroet wearily leaned forward and rubbed
the neck of the big roan. Zel tossed his head in response to the touch, but
lacked the energy for a more typical playful reaction. In that moment Aroet keenly
missed the spark of mischief in the big animals’ personality. He sighed,
remembering brighter days with his stallion.

Tall and broad
shouldered, Aroet carried himself in a manner much older than he appeared at
first glance. With brown hair and smooth skin, he looked more like a flag
bearer than swordsman. Upon closer inspection, others would notice the square,
firm jaw, and a certain depth to his brown eyes that only came with experience.
Over the last five years of his captainship, more than a few swordsmen had
learned to respect both his weapon and his leadership skills.

Seasoned
soldiers to the last man, the survivors of his five hundred rider command rode
dejectedly around him through the northern foothills of the eastern kingdom. So
many dead, he thought, once again fighting the despair that had threatened
to engulf him over the past few weeks.

Although he
fought it, the image of his father being torn from his saddle during the battle
at Terros sprang to his mind. With a supreme effort of will, he tightened his
jaw and shut out the image. There was no time for grief. He was down to less
than two hundred men, and he was lucky to have them. The black army had invaded
so quickly that few had been fast enough to survive their onslaught.

The eastern
villages had been struck first, and scarcely a handful had made it out of the
valleys to warn the middle cities. With just days to prepare, they had been
overrun in hours, and the black creatures had spread like wildfire. Without
mercy, the horde slaughtered everyone, and drove the entire population of
Griffin towards the great lake. Nearly half of the country, numbering over two
hundred thousand, had sought refuge at Terros, only to be massacred a few days
later.

Aroet had
never seen such courage as he had that day. His father and the core of the
griffin army had defended the city as thousands of ships sought the safety of
the open waters of Blue Lake. Every one of them had willingly perished,
granting their people time to escape.

So many
dead, he thought with a shudder.

Of the vast
country that had been Griffin, Aroet estimated a third had made it out alive,
mostly by boat. He still held hope that the southern villages had been warned
in time to flee to the southern kingdom of Talinor. Deep down he doubted they
could have outrun the speed of the invaders, but hope and luck were the only
reasons he was alive.

“Captain
Arrow,” his lieutenant said, using the nickname his younger brother had given
him when he was too little to pronounce his name.

Aroet faced
the man riding at his side. Of average build and older, his next in command
sported a week old beard that matched his salt and pepper hair. Brusque and
blunt, he had been a minor officer his entire life, mostly due to his inability
to restrain himself when a superior gave a stupid order. Aroet felt lucky to
have gained the man’s respect.

“Lieutenant
Fisk,” he said with a nod, ready for the day’s report.

“We are down
to one hundred and eighty seven men—.”

“Who did we
lose?” Aroet interrupted, wiping his forehead, and then realized he’d only
smeared the grime.

Fisk sighed,
“Baron and Holdr.”

Aroet bobbed
his head, placing the memory of the two men into the same vault that held his
father. Grieving would be a luxury . . . if he didn’t die first. “Understood,
continue.”

“Thirty-seven
are wounded, and three are in critical condition.”

“Will they
survive?” Aroet asked.

Fisk shrugged,
and the silence hung in the still air. After a moment, Aroet accepted the
likelihood of more losses and glanced at Fisk to continue.

“We have
rations for about a week, but are running low on water. We will need to restock
before we reach the northern fortresses.”

“How far are
we?” Aroet asked. Even though he knew the answer, he hoped it would be less.

“Eight days
ride,” Fisk replied, “Unless we run into enemy patrols.”

A horse
nickered somewhere to their left, and they both looked to ensure all was well.
They weren’t the only ones to do so. Since they had left the battle at Terros,
they had crossed paths with two of the black patrols. The sole reason they had
survived at all was due to incredible grit his men had displayed. Each battle
had cost them over a hundred lives.

So many
dead.

“Has our
runner come back from the northern forts?”

“Just arrived
a few minutes ago,” Fisk said, causing Aroet to swivel his head and fix him with
a glare.

“Why didn’t
you say so first?” he demanded.

The usually
dour Fisk grinned. “You always ask about the men first anyway.” Aroet’s lips
tightened in disapproval, but he couldn’t deny the statement. Choosing to ignore
the breach, he asked, “What did the messenger say?”

The grin
broadened. “The northern forts haven’t been attacked, and they still have nearly
ten thousand men.”

Aroet allowed
a small smile, his mind buzzing at the first good news in weeks. If they could
make it to the north edge of the kingdom and the untouched battalion, they just
might have a chance to survive. Unbidden, the question over who the invaders
were came to mind again, cooling his sudden rush of elation. Since they
appeared, the question had been unanswerable, and it had caused no end of
speculation in the days leading to the destruction of Terros. Someday he might
find the answer, but for now he shoved it aside as he had before, making room
for the glimmerings of a plan.

Escape to the
northern battalion. Identify their attackers. Find a way to destroy them.

Although only
the first step was clear, it was the first time that Aroet had any idea of what
to do—even though he would never have admitted that, even to himself. He smiled
savagely. Soon he could take the fight to them.

“How is
morale?” Aroet asked.

Fisk opened
his mouth to respond, but a cry of agony rent the air, freezing every man in
his saddle. An instant later, snarling rippled through the forest from the east
and the sounds of battle burst out.

“By Skorn’s
blade,” Fisk breathed, “another patrol. What do you want us to do Captain?”

Aroet wheeled
his horse to face his lieutenant, speaking fast. “Get five of our fastest
riders to me. We will lead them west before heading north. You call a retreat
and take everyone else north. We both know they fight the strongest first, so
make sure the men know not to fight, just run! This won’t work unless they
focus on us!”

Fisk frowned,
“I don’t think sacrificing yourself will do any good, Captain. The men need
you.”

“I don’t plan
on dying, lieutenant,” he growled, patting his horse. “Zel still has enough in
him to get me out of here. Now stick to your orders!”

Fisk nodded,
still frowning, but began calling out names and issuing commands. In moments,
horsemen took their places and the men of the east fell back towards their
position.

“I hope you
know what you are doing Captain . . .,” Fisk murmured from beside him.

“Trust me,” Aroet
replied with a confidence he didn’t feel.

The eastern
flank came into view as riders collapsed towards the center. Behind them, the
shadowy figures darted after them, howling for blood. So far all he could see
were the dogs, but he knew the others would be right behind them.

“Send a few
arrows into them to get their attention,” Aroet said to the five around him,
drawing his own bow as well.

At Fisk’s
command, the entire eastern flank broke north in a clean turn as Aroet and his
chosen men launched several volleys of arrows into the roiling dark mass. They
were rewarded with yelps of pain and several of the dogs crashed into trees.
Although a few followed the riders north, the rest turned with a fury towards
Aroet.

“Fisk,” Aroet
said in a rising tone, sending an arrow winging to take one down that was about
to leap towards one of his men. “Time for you to get going.”

“I will see
you after you lead them away Captain,” he yelled, yanking his horse north.
“Ride safe!”

Aroet nodded,
sending another shaft to bury into one of the hounds as it peeled off in
pursuit of Fisk. Then he turned his horse and slapped his rump. Zel leapt west,
away from the enemy patrol. The five riders followed him, and at a word, began
fanning out to present a larger quarry. Behind him, howls of anger rose as they
sped away.

“Give it all
you’ve got men!” Aroet yelled. “But pace yourself. We will go a few miles and
lose them in the marshes before regrouping farther north.”

Bending down
he tried to balance himself so Zel could have free range of movement, and the
big steed ate up the ground in great strides. The pounding hooves thundered
across the ground as the six horses galloped towards the great lake, gouging
the road as they wound through the trees.

Aroet threw a
look back to check on their pursuers, and saw that only one of his men was
close to him. The other four had begun to lose ground, unable to keep up with the
big stallion of their captain. Sensing the kill, the howling pack began to
close the distance. A slight pull of the reigns brought Aroet back to his men,
and as he fell into place, he drew his sword.

Five swords
cleared their scabbards in response, but they didn't slow. Thundering around a
curve, they flew across the patchwork of shadows created by the branches
overhead. Dirt clods filled their wake as the horses hooves tore at the gravelly
soil. With the hundreds of pursuers baying for their prey, each man rode for
his life . . . but the dogs were gaining. Bounding forward like charging lions,
they closed the distance until they were close enough to strike.

"Send
them back to whatever hell they came from!" Aroet bellowed, plunging his
weapon into a black dog leaping for his mount.

Blades
glittered in the uneven light, sending bodies tumbling behind them. More took
their place, darting over their fallen allies and pouncing on the rearmost soldier.
His horse collapsed under the weight of the spiked dog, and both rider and
steed fell broken to the hard earth. A whinny of pain mingled with the man's
scream, until both ended under a torrent of evil creatures.

Within moments
another of their group was slain, and then another. The fourth died when his
horse stumbled, and the two were swallowed into the dark horde. Down to two,
Aroet yelled his fury and filled the air with his longsword, striking any foe
that dared venture within range. Dogs yelped and snarled, but couldn't
withstand the onslaught. His space momentarily cleared of enemies, Aroet
reached for the last soldier.

"Jump
behind me. Your horse can't keep up!"

Jaron cast him
an angry look. "Are you crazy! Even Zel can't carry two."

"You have
your orders, Jaron!"

"And I
respectfully decline, Captain!" Jaron bellowed. Then he wheeled his horse
towards a side path. Sheathing his sword, he drew his bow and sent a quick burst
of arrows into the dogs. "Now get out of here!" he roared, peeling
away from Aroet and taking many of their pursuers with him.

Before he
could protest, Jaron had disappeared into the trees. Growling against the
helplessness and rage, Aroet gave Zel his head. Pulling away from the pack, he
sent a prayer to Ero for Jaron, and his family, who had been among the first to
perish in Terros. The man's bravery had probably saved Aroet, but the loss of a
good man's life wasn't a price he was willing to pay for his own.

So many
dead.

The fresh losses
nearly burst the vault in his chest, but he doubted they would be the last. For
now, he took solace in the fact that their lives made it possible for the rest
of his men to survive. It was now his duty to return his attention to his
remaining men, not the ones he'd failed to save. He knew that they had been the
bait, and too often the bait is lost in the catch. Closing his eyes, he allowed
a brief moment to miss the ones he had lost. Jaron, his father, his men, and so
many others.

Most of all,
he found he missed his younger brother, who had been sent to train with the
elves fifteen years ago. Trin my brother, I hope you survive this, he
thought. And I hope to see you before I die.

Chapter
8: Origin of a Thief

Newhawk stared
at Siarra when she finished describing the call to gather, and hardly blinked
for a full minute. Taryn watched the druid leader consider his options with a
furrowed brow and wondered what he would do. He could either throw them out,
laugh, or disregard their words—but a leader of such quality was certain to
weigh his plan of action carefully.

When Newhawk
did speak, he said, “You have told me that Draeken—the same God of Chaos from
the legend—is invading with an army hundreds of times the population of our
world. He also sent an assassin that was the source of the dark fear that was
felt in all nations. In addition, all peoples must gather at Azertorn if we are
to survive. We then must prepare to defend ourselves—without fighting amongst
ourselves—while you go to defeat him.” His voice resonated deep and strong, but
the way he summed up their situation made it sound like he may doubt their
sanity.

Siarra nodded,
her expression sober as Newhawk asked, “How can I believe you?” His tone held
no trace of sarcasm or disbelief, and his honest question left an opportunity
to explain.

Siarra raised
an eyebrow. “Would you like to see what is coming?”

Newhawk cocked
his head, hesitating for a moment before he answered, “Yes, if I can.”

Siarra stood
and moved to stand next to Newhawk, who even sitting was almost as tall as the
elven Oracle. She placed the tips of her fingers onto the side of his face.
From his temple to his jaw, each point where her fingers touched his skin
glowed and shimmered. His eyes closed in response and for a brief moment
Newhawk’s expression remained calm—then his breath caught and he gripped the
side of his chair so hard his hands went white. Swallowing, his expression
darkened as if he were in intense pain.

Liri, Mae, and
Trin all gasped at the sight of the druid leader and Trin whispered, “What is
she doing to him?”

“Showing him
the battle that is coming,” Taryn replied without taking his eyes from the
druid.

Mae threw him
a sharp look. “Did you see it too?”

“No, but I saw
her show the queen. I’ve never seen someone so devastated.”

For several
minutes they watched as Newhawk witnessed the coming future, until Siarra
separated the link and stepped back. The druid leader leapt up and stumbled to
the porch overlooking the forest. Looking upward he sighed in relief, and then
returned to collapse back into his chair.

“I saw
Reiquen die.” He looked at them with a haunted expression. “Is that what will
happen if we gather—or if we don’t?”

“That is the
battle if we gather.” Her voice dropped. “If we don’t gather it is far worse.
That is a future you do not want to see.”

Newhawk leaned
forward, his expression one of desperation, “So what I saw is going to happen?”

“No,” Siarra
replied. “It is not certain. For one thing, I have come on this journey instead
of staying with the gathered races. That has already changed the future. Some
of the things you have seen will come to pass, others will change.”

Newhawk blinked
and leaned back. Staring off into space his composure returned and his
expression became calculating. After another minute of silence he shrugged and
sighed. “When do we need to leave?”

“Tonight,”
Siarra said and Newhawk’s expression turned grim, but he nodded again and moved
to the door. Opening it, he spoke to a man outside and Taryn caught enough to
hear he was summoning a council.

When he was
finished he remained standing and smiled without mirth. “Will you stay for the
night? I have had a room prepared for you.”

Liri spoke up
first. “Thank you, Guidrian, for you hospitality, and your willingness to join
the gathering. We will pray to Ero for your safety.”

He nodded and
indicated for them to follow him out of his home. Sweeping from the room he
descended the spiral staircase that wrapped around the tree trunk until they
reached the forest floor. Leading them through torch lit roadways, he headed towards
a small hut.

Opening the
door himself, he said, “This is where you may stay for the night. Your horses
will be outside when you awake.” He started to turn and then stopped to add, “I
apologize in advance for not seeing you off tomorrow. When I speak to the
council it will cause havoc among our people, and we will be in the middle of
preparations to bring in the smaller settlements.” His gaze flicked to Siarra.
“I promise we will reach Azertorn within four days.”

Siarra gave
him an understanding smile and touched the druid’s arm. "Trust your
instincts, Guidrian, and when you arrive at Azertorn, speak to Braon. I have
placed him in charge of the defenses, but he will need your help.”

The man nodded
and turned away, but hesitated and turned around. "It was good to see you
Jack," he said.

Taryn eyes
widened as he looked to the thief, who didn't meet the eyes of anyone,
including Newhawk. For the first time Taryn realized that Jack hadn't said a
word since they had entered the druid settlement. When he didn't respond, the
druid sighed and departed, leaving several confused individuals staring at
Jack.

"How do
you know Newhawk?" Siarra demanded.

He shrugged
and said, "I will meet up with you tomorrow morning." With that he
spun on his heel and stalked away.

"Jack!"
Siarra called, but he didn't turn.

"What was
that about?" Taryn asked.

"He has
issues," Trin said with a shrug, and turned to enter the hut.

Mae, still
frowning, followed him inside.

"Something
about his past haunts him here," Liri murmured, and turned to enter the
hut.

Taryn and
Siarra stared at the darkness where Jack had disappeared until Taryn asked, "Do
you think he will come back?"

Siarra shook
her head. "I don't know, but I think it best for us to get some answers."
Tilting her head upward, she said, "Can you summon Agrial please?"

Confused,
Taryn followed Siarra's gaze and spotted a familiar hawk perched on a branch.
"Do you think he will know about Jack?" Taryn asked.

"I am not
sure, but I doubt he will tell us himself."

Taryn grunted
in agreement, and together they waited until the druid stepped out of the
shadows. "Oracle, how can I assist you?"

Never one to
mince words, she asked, "What do you know about Jack Myst?"

Agrial winced.
"It is not a tale that is mine to tell."

"Please?"
Siarra asked. "Something tells me we will not hear it from him."

"That is
probably true," he said with a wry smile. "He is traveling with you
for a reason that I cannot fathom, so perhaps it would be best if you know the
truth."

Looking away, Agrial
blew out his breath, "His father was a druid in one of the smaller
settlements west of Keilera. I was told he used to be a good man, and had even
bonded with a lion, a sign of strength and wisdom. Few were aware of his taste
for strong drink.

“At some
point the drink got the best of him and he began to . . . hurt Jack's mother,
who was not a true druid because she had no joined one. At the time Jack was
too young to do anything, barely fourteen if I recall, but he confronted his
father anyway. In response, his father gave him a thrashing that took months to
heal. I believe he still carries the scars on his back."

Agrial's gaze
flickered to Siarra before he looked away again. "In truth, we know little
about that time of Jack's life. What we do know came from his mother. She
shared a little with Newhawk, but not enough for him to understand the severity
of the issue.

"Soon
after that Jack came of age and departed for his joining, and Shadero came to
him. Shadero was a panther, strong and agile, and they were one of the best
matched pairs that I have ever seen.

"By that
time, Jack spent most of his time in the forest, and as a result, gained much
of Shadero's ability. As he drifted away, his father sunk deeper and deeper
into a bottle.

“Jack returned
one day to find his father once again striking his mother, and Jack leapt
between them. In a rage, Jack's father broke one of the strongest tenets of our
magic, and forced his Joré to attack his son. Shadero intervened . . . and died
at the hands of the lion. In the ensuing conflict—" He shifted his feet
and blinked away. "—Jack's mother was also slain." Agrial then shrugged,
his expression one of helplessness and regret. "We believe the drunkenness
had affected the lion as much as the father."

"What
happened after that?" Siarra asked in a hushed tone.

"Jack
ran, and once he made it into the trees, his father couldn't catch him. By the
time Jack returned, his father had become a Joreia in the night.

Startled,
Taryn asked, “Is that possible in such a state?”

“If the minds
are in sync, and both parties choose to, then it can happen—but the lion had to
agree. It must have been so twisted from his father’s influence that it agreed
to the joining.”

“What happened
to the . . . lion after that?” Taryn asked.

“He began to
attack travelers and tradesmen, but before anyone could find him . . . Jack
hunted him down and killed him.”

For a moment no
one spoke while Taryn struggled with what to say. Unable to meet Agrial's eyes,
he turned away and studied the darkening village. It seemed unimaginable that a
story so terrible could be true, and yet it explained volumes about Jack's
behavior.

"How did
he become a thief then?" Siarra asked.

"As to
that," Agrial shrugged, "I cannot say. After he slew his father, I
never saw him again—until today that is. We heard plenty though. When the tales
of a thief called the 'cheater of death' surfaced, we guessed it to be him. The
abilities of a panther are unmistakable if you know what to look for."

Agrial lapsed
into a silence that lasted until he turned to them with a grunt. "I hope
you have learned what you need to know. If you wish to know more, you would
have to ask him. I doubt anyone knows the full story of Jack Myst, except for
him."

Taryn didn't
hear Siarra's response. He couldn’t settle the mixture of feelings that swirled
in him. He felt anger towards Jack's father, worry for Jack, and frustration at
himself. He doubted there was anything he could do for the thief now, but he
couldn't dispel the desire to help.

As the druid
departed, he followed Siarra into the hut to find three bunk beds placed around
a clean room. A fire had been laid and burned in the corner, warding off the
cool night and brightened the cabin.

A bark of
laughter burst from Trin, startling them all. “I get the top bunk!” he crowed
and leapt to the top of one of the beds.

Liri giggled
and mirrored his movements, taking one of the other top beds. Somehow, Siarra
managed a warm smile as she accepted a bowl of stew from Mae. "OK
children, you win." She flashed a grin at Taryn. "But I get the last
one.”

There was a
warning glint in Siarra's eye that kept him from voicing what they had learned.
For some reason, she didn't want the others to know about Jack. Although he didn't
understand why, he trusted his sister enough to force a smile. "I don't
mind the bottom."

Mae downed the
rest of her stew without a word and took the bunk underneath Trin. Distracted
by her behavior, Taryn's thoughts turned to Mae. She'd always been taciturn,
but in the last few days she'd spoken even less than normal. Not for the first
time, he wished he knew more about her. Although he considered her one of his
closest friends, she had never volunteered information about her time before
Sri Rosen. The only thing he knew was that she'd come to the training island
two years early, an oddity that had never been explained.

He chewed on
the vegetables in the stew, wondering if the reason he knew so little was
because he'd never asked. Perhaps she'd opened up to Trin, or someone else.
He'd wondered before if he was a poor friend, and this time he found himself
believing it a little more. It was a thought that swirled in his mind for
several minutes as other examples from his life surfaced to support it.

"Taryn!"
Liri called to him, and he spun to look at her. The look she flashed him made
it obvious it wasn't the first time she'd said his name. "Are you done
with your dinner yet?"

With a start,
he realized that everyone was in bed except for him. Feeling guilty, he moved
away from the diminished fire and slipped into the bed below Liri. For a long
time, he lay awake, unable to calm his mind. Draeken, Newhawk, Jack, Mae, and
Liri bombarded him for attention in his thoughts. Each presented a puzzle that could
not be solved within the solitude of his head, so none of the voices got any
quieter.

Growling under
his breath, he rolled over and reached for his cloak, folded it, and stuck it
under his head in an effort to get more comfortable. Instead, he smashed his
cheekbone into something hard. Bruised and irritated, he unrolled his cloak and
searched the pockets until he found a small package hidden in one of them.
Unwrapping it, he found a glass orb and a note. A chill swept through him as he
recognized the ball. Avoiding eye contact he stuffed it back into his cloak,
leaving the piece of parchment free. Silently he moved closer to the fire to
read it.

Choose
wisely.

Siarra

Taryn eased
himself back to his bunk and stared at the fire. Siarra had left him a way to
catch a glimpse of the war and his own future. Once again, the tremendous burden
of so many lives settled down on him as Draeken pushed to the forefront of his
thoughts.

He threw a
look at Liri's bunk, and felt a stab of fear. The thought of her losing her
life was unbearable. The thought of her losing it because of him was
excruciating. How could he know which choice would save her? Was he doomed to
fail? He wanted to believe that there was a future where he could tell her how
he felt, and that she would reciprocate those feelings, but couldn't bear the
thought of voicing his heart—and then watch her be killed because of him.

What if he
told her and she felt the same?

The thrill of
excitement was short lived. He doubted she felt that way. Turning his mind back
to the prophetic orb, he did his best not to think of Liri.

He wrestled
with the choice until after midnight, but made no progress towards a decision.
The haunting thought was that by not making a choice, it was the same as
choosing not to look.

*****

Rising before
dawn the group was out the door within minutes, only delayed by Trin’s
reluctance to rise. Finding their horses outside and packed with extra food for
their journey; they mounted and began working their way to the road north. In
every direction a bustle of activity revealed that Newhawk had convinced the
council to join the elves. Druids and animals alike rushed past them carrying
supplies to join a small row of wagons that had already formed.

Nearing the
edge of the village they paused to look back. Taryn knew that the gathering was
necessary, but it still felt wrong to cause this. Families were abandoning
their homes, and the city would be vacant within days. Would there be anything
left for them to return to? Would there be anyone to return at all? The image
of the druids marching to their death was too much to bear, and he turned his
horse north. Within moments the forest enveloped them and the sounds of Keilera
faded behind them.

Taryn listened
to Trin complain about the early hour but his thoughts dwelled on the prophetic
orb. When they reached the road and turned north, the conversation lightened as
Liri asked Siarra to explain more about magic.

For the next
several hours they plodded northward listening to the Oracle describe different
types of magic and their properties. Grateful for the distraction, Taryn listened
to her talk about energy.

Around noon
they stopped for lunch before pressing on. Just as they mounted, Jack appeared
through the forest and without a word joined the group. If he noticed the
curious glances in his direction, he gave no sign. For most of the afternoon Siarra
continued to talk about magic as they followed the road north, occasionally
crossing small streams until the vegetation began to thin. Cresting a small
rise, they came in sight of a wide prairie. Aside from the high waving grass, a
few outcroppings of rock and scattered trees could be seen shimmering red as
the sun began to set.

“The plains of
Adbar,” Liri said, and pointed into the distance where the mountains reached
their summits towards the heavens. “Those are the Dwarven Mountains of Tyndrik.
We should camp here for the night and cross the plains during the day. Lions
and other dangerous animals hunt at night, and it will take most of the day to
cross at this point.”

“What do you
mean by other animals?” Trin asked.

Surprisingly
Jack answered before Liri could. “These grasslands are home to several kinds of
larger animals. Elephants, lions, rhinos, and many other beasts roam them, but
the most dangerous is a great striped cat called a Tigron. They can be as big
as fifteen feet long and as tall as you are, Trin—and are faster than the
quickest stallion.”

“How do you
know about that?” Liri asked. “Very few people have seen a Tigron and lived,
and they aren’t very well known.”

Jack shrugged
and lifted the sleeve of his right arm to reveal dual scars that ran all the
way from his elbow to his shoulder. It looked like two huge fangs had bitten
into his shoulder and torn downward.

“When did that
happen?” Liri gasped.

“A long time
ago,” Jack answered with a shrug.

After a moment
of silence, Taryn volunteered to collect some wood for a fire. Jack tethered
his steed next to Taryn’s and started unpacking food for dinner, commenting
that it was his turn to make the meal. Hiding his surprise, Taryn slipped into
the forest to look for dry wood. Enjoying the solitude, he took his time until he
found a dead tree and began to snap branches.

When he
returned, a small fire was already going, and the food above it made his mouth
water. Adding his wood to the small pile that someone else had gathered, he sat
down and accepted a plate from Jack.

"What is
it?" Taryn asked, reaching for a fork.

"Grilled
venison, spiced potatoes, and raspberry bread," Jack replied, his smirk
unmistakable in his tone.

"You
should cook more often," Mae said, flashing a rare smile at him.

Taryn had
trouble getting his next words out, his mouth was so full. "You should
take my turn. We all know I can't cook."

"That's
an understatement," Trin scoffed, taking another bite of the roll.

Taryn joined
their laughter. His lack of cooking ability was one of the weaknesses he'd come
to accept.

"Where
did you get the recipe?" Liri asked, licking her lips.

Jack paused
before he answered, "My mother taught me to cook . . . before she
died."

Taryn exchanged
a look with Siarra behind Jack's back, and almost missed Liri's next words.

"I am
sorry about your mother, but your cooking is divine. Is there any way we can convince
you to cook every night?"

A sly grin
flashed on Jack's features. "If you buy the supplies, then I will take
Taryn's turn."

At first,
Taryn couldn't understand why the thief had volunteered for the extra duty, but
as he watched everyone readily agree to his proposal, he had to wonder if it
was exactly as the thief had planned the conversation to go. As far as Taryn
knew, Jack had never volunteered for any kind of work. Then he caught a glimpse
of Jack dropping something into what he knew to be an empty pot. Within seconds
he lifted it off the fire and asked, "Anyone want seconds?"

Raising his
plate like everyone else, he saw Siarra give him a loaded look as she mouthed
'magic'. Realizing the truth, Taryn suppressed a smile. Somehow, Jack was using
magic to cook, which explained how he'd been able to prepare it so fast.

And perhaps
why it was so tasty.

Chapter
9: A Father's Legacy

Taryn rode
through the plains of Adbar in advance of his friends, squinting to see through
the waves of heat. Wary of danger, he kept his eyes on the swaying, waist high
grass. Although there had been frequent signs of lions, nothing else had been
spotted.

Nearing the
opposite side of the plains, Taryn began to breathe a little easier as the
grasslands gave way to rockier terrain and scattered trees. An audible sigh of
relief came from Trin as they rode into the first shade they’d had all day. Finally
out of the sun, they eased themselves off their sweaty mounts and ate in the
cool shadow of a great oak.

After the meal,
they continued their journey, veering east before the slope became too steep.
They followed the base of a mountain range until it curved north into a
depression between two towering peaks. Moving into the pass they followed the
road higher and higher as it drove deeper into the range.

Shaded by the
peak to the west, the pass felt considerably cooler than the plains, and as sky
darkened, Taryn donned his riding cloak. Despite the chill, he found himself
enjoying the ride. Thick woods grew tall on either side of the narrow but
well-maintained highway.

Occasionally Taryn
asked Siarra about their mother, or Liri about her home, but for the most part
everyone kept to themselves. Taryn was about to ask more about the dwarves when
the road straightened and a colossal wall came into view. Well over two hundred
feet high, the battlements spanned the two peaks on either side. An enormous
portcullis closed the opening in the ramparts and figures moved on the
battlements.

“Welcome to
the dwarven kingdom,” Siarra exclaimed with a smile.

“Land of the
shortest, ugliest people in Lumineia,” Jack whispered from the back and Trin
snickered.

As they
approached the fortifications, a rumble of thunder reverberated and the first
drops of rain began to fall. Coming to a halt, a gravelly voice called down to
them.

“Who are you,
and what business do you have here?”

Siarra
answered, her high voice echoing off the rocks around them. “I am the Oracle, Siarra
Elseerian, come to speak to your king.”

After a moment
the guard called down, “The Oracle never leaves the eastern forest.”

Before Siarra
could reply Jack said, “This Oracle does!”

She threw him
a dark look and added, “There was an attempt on my life, forcing my departure.”

At that
comment the activity on top of the wall increased, and the large portcullis
began to rise. Creaking in protest the iron barrier lifted high enough for them
to pass under without dismounting. They entered the tunnel under the wall and
rode for fifty feet before coming out on the other side, to be greeted by two
armor clad dwarves.

“I am sorry,
Oracle, for our reluctance,” he growled. “But the mist of terror only recently
departed, and many of our people are still wary.”

She smiled
warmly in response and dismounted to clasp the dwarf’s forearm. “I understand,
but it is vital that we speak to your king—tonight if possible.”

“I have
already sent word to the king. He will be expecting you.” Then he hesitated for
a moment. “Just you,” he added, his eyes flicking to the rest of their party.

Siarra frowned
but nodded. “I request your leave to bring Liriana Alasse Tel’Runya, princess
of Azertorn, and Maemi Sri’Lanya as my advisors.”

The dwarf
hesitated, glancing between Liri and Mae, but agreed. Indicating the dwarf at
his side, he said, “This is Faxon, he will take your companions. The three of
you, follow me.”

“Thank you . .
.” Liri prompted.

“Onix,” the dwarf
replied, “High Captain of the southern defenses and first stratum of the
engineering guild.”

“Thank you, Captain,
for you hospitality,” Liri said, and the dwarf nodded curtly. With a sweep of
his hand he gestured for the elves to follow him. Without waiting for a
response the black-bearded dwarf turned towards a guarded tunnel in the western
cliff.

Taryn watched
his sister and friends disappear into the dark recess before turning to Faxon. Just
then a flash of lightning crackled across the sky, followed by a thunderclap.
On cue, the heavens opened as great drops splattered the gravel courtyard.
Faxon ushered them into a different tunnel, and Taryn shook the water from his
cloak. The smell of rain and wet stone struck him, reminding him of storms on
Sri Rosen, where he'd been raised. It was a poignant reminder of better times.

“So where are
we staying tonight?” Trin asked, speaking loud over the rain as he removed his
cloak.

The guard
snorted and grinned. “I thought we’d invite you to a little fun and games, with
some wagering to keep things interesting.”

“I don’t know
if—” Taryn began but Trin leapt passed him.

“You’re on.” he
said and the dwarf’s grin widened. Beckoning to another guard to take the
horses, he led them up the tunnel. It didn't take long for Taryn to be lost in
a maze of corridors, stairs, and wooden doors. Metal striking metal echoed from
every direction, and Taryn listened in wonder to the hum of life within the
mountain.

After several
more minutes, Faxon strolled through a high archway into a large dining hall.
Dwarves dressed in armor or blackened leather aprons sat on benches eating or
drinking from large foaming mugs. At the back of the room, a long bar stood in
front of massive barrels from which other dwarves were filling drinks.

“Faxon!” someone
yelled from the right side of the room, and their guide turned towards the
sound.

Arriving at a
table with several other red-haired and bearded dwarves, Faxon said, “These are
me clan mates, Fignus, Bodor, Fesrac, and Gadlin.”

Each grunted or
grinned at the sight of Taryn, Jack, and Trin. “Welcome, boys, to our party,”
Gadlin said and raised his mug. Draining it, he only spilled a little onto his
smith’s apron. Then he pointed at Taryn’s red hair. “You look like you got some
dwarf in you, lad, but we all know that ain’t possible—what with those little
pointed ears showing your elf side.”

Offended, Taryn
was about to interrupt their loud laughter to tell them the truth when Jack put
a hand on his shoulder. Surprised, he looked at Jack and saw a knowing smirk on
his lips. “Don’t tell them,” Jack whispered. “Let’s have some fun with 'em
first.” Unsure of how to respond, Taryn reluctantly allowed Jack to take the
lead. Clasping his hands, the thief said, “So, what’s the game for the
evening?”

Bodor, dressed
in light armor and wearing an axe on his back, stabbed a finger at Jack. “So
you be thinkin’ you’re joinin’, laddy?”

Jack spread
his hands wide and grinned. “That is why you brought us here, isn’t it? To see
if you could lighten our pockets?”

Fignus, the only
one who didn’t join in the ensuing laughter, said, “You brought a smart one
this time, Faxon.”

Their guide
grinned and pulled some chairs to the table. “It’s time for some fun then.”

“What’s the
game then,” Trin said, sitting down and pounding the table with a fist.
"I'm ready."

Gadlin laughed
again, “It’s a drinkin game, but I don’t know if a human boy can stand
up to it . . .”

Trin snorted.
“Bring on the drink.”

All five of
the dwarves laughed and Fesrac stood to get more ale. A short, double sided
battle-axe shifted on his back as he strolled away. Not a minute later he
returned, hefting a large barrel on his shoulder.

Adding three
mugs to the table he said, “Fill yur glasses, but don’t drink until we explain
the rules.”

Trin reached
for the tap and began filling mugs as Faxon leaned forward. “The game is
simple,” he said. “One of us makes a bet if we think we can drink the next
glass without passing out—or throwing up. Then we circle the table matching it
or dropping out. The last one standing gets it all.”

Jack grinned
and slapped two copper on the table. “Let’s go then. The dust from the road begs
to be washed away.”

The dwarves
burst into rough laughter and watched him down the mug without batting an eye. Trin
went next, dropping the coins and draining his glass. Taryn watched him, but
had a difficult time getting his mind off what Jack was planning. He guessed
these dwarves had been doing this for a while, and would certainly be the
victors.

He also had
the nagging thought that this was delaying their mission. For some reason it
felt wrong to be drinking when the time was set to expire on so many lives.
Clenching his teeth, he tried to reason that what Siarra was doing was also
important, and she would likely be speaking with the Dwarven clan leaders for
some time. He glanced at Jack and caught a smug expression, so he did his best
to let it go. Seeing it was his turn, he dropped the coins on the table and took
a long pull of the surprisingly mellow drink. At least he could learn more
about his father's people, and nothing got a dwarf to talk like a full mug.

Three hours
and two barrels later, Taryn wasn't the only one having a hard time. Of the
dwarves, only Fignus, who the others said was an engineer and never drank, and
Fesrac, the soldier, had voluntarily dropped out. Faxon, Bodor, and Gadlin
still cheered every time Jack or Taryn dropped coins on the table and emptied a
mug.

Taryn shook
his head  to clear it and dropped five silver to finish the round that Jack had
begun. Emptying his glass amidst praise from his companions, he waited for it
to be filled again. Not for the first time he doubted if this was a good idea.
A glance at Trin, slumped and snoring on the table, only made him doubt it
more.

To make matters
worse, the dwarves had raised the stakes in the last few rounds, some even
slapping down a few gold coins. Taryn discreetly checked his money bag and
realized he was beginning to run out. His frustration mounting, he turned to
Jack to find him still somewhat sober and laughing as Bodor tossed out an
astonishing three gold coins. Then the dwarf threw back his glass like it was
nothing more than water.

Taryn was
about to protest the rising stakes, but Jack elbowed him and flashed him a sly
grin. Reluctantly he finished his turn, and then participated in another round.
Through the fog of drink, he caught the dwarves casting uncertain glances
between each other. Like he'd been waiting for their response, Jack finished
his glass to end the round and said, “Boys, I think we nee' a differen' game.”

Faxon leaned
forward. “Are you derpping out?” he asked, unable to hide his eagerness.

Jack yawned
and swayed, grabbing the table to right himself. “Not at all, but me think we
should make things a little more interestin'.”

Bodor laughed
and belched. “I have ne’er seen a pair of 'umans last this long,” he slurred.
“But I am up for anythin' intrestin'.”

Jack hiccupped
and said, “How about you throw some'ing special in the pot, and we will add some'ing
of our own. Then yur can present any challenge you like, and me friend here—”
He clapped a hand onto Taryn’s shoulder, making him start and stand up
straighter, “Will beat yur challenge.”

“Are you mad!”
Taryn hissed, but Fignus had already agreed to his terms.

“Give us a
moment to figure out the challenge, then we will talk about the wager,” the
engineer said, his expression shrewd.

As soon as the
five dwarves had stepped away, Taryn grabbed Jack’s arm. “What in the name of
Skorn do you think you are doing?”

Jack returned
his gaze without flinching and shrugged. “You aren’t too drunk, are you?”

Taryn shook
his head, confused. “Not too much, but enough to impair my senses. What does
that have to do with anything?”

The thief
smirked. “The drink has been watered down to make their victims last more
rounds. I’m actually surprised Trin didn’t last longer.” He chuckled. “They
think we should be unconscious, and have no idea you have dwarven blood.
Whatever task they give you will be well within your abilities.”

Taryn frowned,
noticing for the first time that Jack seemed completely at ease—and sober.
“Wait, why aren’t you having a hard time? And when you did you stop slurring?”

Jack’s snorted
like Taryn should know better. “I haven’t drunk anything.”

Before Taryn
could respond the dwarves returned to the table. “So what’s your challenge?”
Taryn demanded. He'd thought Jack was his friend, but now he felt betrayed into
helping the thief get more money. And how had he not drunk anything? Was it
magic again? Or something else? How many tricks did the thief have? The entire situation
left him feeling trapped.

Faxon managed
to wipe the smug look off his face before he said, “We thought we'd take it
easy on you because you’ve drunk so much.”

The dwarves
too seemed to have lost their difficulties in speech, causing Taryn to growl
under his breath. Did everyone have such tricks? He felt manipulated, making
him feel a rush of anger.

Fignus nodded,
his eyes glinting. “We want you to catch a mountain goat.”

Jack blanched
beside Taryn. “Have you lost your minds? You can’t catch a mountain goat. No
one can climb the cliffs to where they live!”

Fesrac
shrugged. “Oh, we do it all the time. Are you saying a dwarf can do what a
human can’t?”

Despite the
dwarf’s claim, Taryn got the feeling that catching a mountain goat did not
happen often, but Jack seemed to fall for the challenge.

“Humans can do
anything a dwarf can do!” Jack said hotly, but Taryn heard the note of
falseness in his voice. Few would have noticed the inflection, but this time
Taryn saw through him. Jack was just putting on a show, with Taryn as the
victim.

Despite the thief's
bravado, he added, “But it won't be easy for my friend here, so whatever you
wager had better be good.”

Faxon pointed
at the not-so-small pile of coins. “We’ll double the pot.”

Jack scratched
his head before he responded, “I think that will do. What do you say, Taryn?”

Taryn frowned
between the eager dwarves and Jack’s confident expression. He wasn’t pleased in
how things had developed, and he wished they were anywhere else. At least it
will get me out of this drinking game. Feeling cornered, he agreed with an
explosive sigh.

Faxon laughed
and drained his mug one last time. “I will lead you to the highest exit from
the fortress. It will take you closest to the goats.” He winked slyly. “But not
too close.

Taryn stood
and followed the dwarf away, throwing one last look at Jack’s smug expression
before it slipped from view. As their eyes made contact, he did his best to
convey every bit of anger he felt, but it didn't seem to faze the thief.

Several
minutes later, he stood before an open door, feeling the chill wind sting his
face.

“There you
go,” Faxon said brightly. “When you give up, come back to this door and tap on
this metal pipe.” He pointed to a bar hanging from the ceiling. “Someone will
come within a minute or two and lead you back to us.”

"Fine,"
Taryn said and stepped through the door and into the night air. Despite his
annoyance at Jack, the cool wind on his face felt wonderful after the hot
tavern. The chill brought a moment of renewed clarity, and a fleeting image
that made him smile. Why not forget the goat and make Jack foot the bill? He
chewed on the idea for a while, enjoying both the view and the thought of
teaching the man a lesson.

In the end, he
couldn't bring himself to do it. He sighed and let the image go with only a
little regret. There was no way he could let a friend down, even one such as
Jack. Frowning to himself, he set off along the trail, and guided by the bright
moon, began looking for signs of a goat.

Two hours—and
one goat later—Taryn sat down at the table amidst hearty cheers from many of
the dwarves in the room.

“All right,
Taryn,” Fignus said. “How’d you do it?”

“I saw a small
herd on top of the cliff next to the frozen waterfall—”

“But that’s
nearly five miles away!” Bodor exclaimed in astonishment. “And a thousand feet
up!”

Taryn shrugged
and continued, “It wasn’t easy to spot them standing in the patch of snow, but
once I had, I just scaled the wall behind them and dropped on one of them from
above.”

Faxon began
chuckling, and it grew into a deep belly laugh which his clan brothers matched,
even Fignus. “I can’t believe you did it. Dwarves rarely go after goats,” Faxon
said through his laughter. “We are strong enough to climb the cliff, but not
fast enough to catch one!”

Jack and Taryn
joined in their laughter, until Bodor calmed down enough to ask, “What’s your
secret, boy? We thought we were taking advantage of you.”

His question stole
their levity as the dwarves looked at Taryn, but it was Jack who drew their
gaze. His expression smug, he said, “He’s part elf . . . and dwarf.”

All five
stared at him with their eyes popping out of their sockets. Some of their
expressions changed from anger to humor and back again, until Bodor pounded his
fist on the table. “Cheat! Not a fair bet! You should have told us!”

Jack spread
his arms wide. “You didn’t ask.”

Faxon began
laughing again and his friends looked at him. “We thought we were taking
advantage of them, and they were taking advantage of us!”

His humor
spread as amusement overcame anger and Bodor relented. “Anyone who can catch a
mountain goat deserves a reward.”

The normally
quiet Fesrac asked, “Which side is your dwarf blood from boy? And which clan
did they hail from?”

Taryn shook
his head. “I don’t know what clan. I never knew my father, who was half dwarf
and half human, but his name was Mazer.”

If the dwarves
were shocked when he’d brought back the goat, it was nothing compared to now.
All five jaws dropped open and they stared at Taryn as if he'd begun to fly.

“Are you certain?”
Faxon asked, working his jaw to get the words out.

Confused by
their response, Taryn drew his father's sword and said, “This belonged to him,
and it says Mazer . . .”

He stopped as
all five leaned in and reverently touched the blade, whispering to themselves
in their own guttural tongue. Catching sight of the weapon, nearby dwarves
began to congregate, circling the table until the ones in the back were craning
for a better view. The dining hall emptied of sound as the crowd around the
glittering sword grew, their whisperings intensified by deference.

Taryn looked
at Jack with a raised eyebrow, but Jack just shrugged and shook his head. For
once, his puzzlement appeared genuine.

Faxon's eyes
snapped to look at Taryn. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

He shook his
head, his heart pounding in his chest as Fignus said, “This weapon is unique,
and was forged by Mazer, one of the best smiths our people has ever seen, and
enchanted during its construction, as well as after.”

Taryn’s heart
skipped a beat as he heard the insight into his father’s life. “What does that
mean?”

“This blade
was forged, not from steel, but from magically melted diamonds combined with a
mixture of steel and mithral,” the smith Gadlin said. “We use a similar process
to make rakion armor, where we use the same raw material and weave it into a
layered mesh to form the strongest and lightest armor possible. It’s beyond
expensive, and can take centuries to complete. In our entire history, only
three such armor sets have been forged successfully. What you carry is the sole
rakion sword ever created.”

Gadlin burst
into an excited laugh. “I never thought I’d see such a weapon again.”

Taryn shook
his head, frustrated that he still didn't understand. “What makes it so special?”

Faxon caressed
the flat side of the blade and stared at Taryn. “This sword took nearly three
hundred years to create, and was the life’s work of Mazer and several of
our best dwarven magi and smiths. They used both stone and fire magics in every
phase of its construction. The metal was magically formed, melted, and then flattened
and folded multiple times a day. With each layer the stone magi bonded the
material tighter and tighter to create a weapon that can only be described as
indestructible.”

“Why, what was
it for?” Taryn asked, stunned that his sword had been through so much.

“It was meant
as a gift from our people to the Oracle," Faxon said, "but sometime
after it was given to her, she returned it to Mazer—after adding her own
enchantments.”

Gadlin blew
out his breath and brushed his stubby finger on the sharp side of the blade. “A
sharpening augmentation,” he breathed. “The most intricate and difficult stone
magic, and the only known ninth-level spell. It shaves the blade down to the
smallest unit of the material, and then binds the remaining sliver together.
Drawing from the innate bonds within these tiny units, it keeps them eternally
connected and can magically cut even stone.”

Taryn
struggled to grasp the implications of the dwarves words as numerous questions
came into his mind. The most important popped out first. “Do you know anything
else about my father?”

Faxon’s
expression turned sad and he shook his head. “Mazer was raised among humans,
but came to us after his mother passed away. He kept to himself, training with
the smith’s but living apart from the clans. Even with his skill, many dwarves
did not consider him one of our kind.”

Gadlin nodded.
“It was due to his ability that he was selected to create this weapon, an honor
that many wanted. No one, however, could deny him the task. Even among dwarves,
he stood apart in the forge. After its completion, he was sent to deliver it,
but he never returned.”

Taryn fought
to control his emotions. Hope at finding more about his parents had swelled to
overflowing . . . and then evaporated just as fast. For one brief minute he’d
imagined learning about his dwarven heritage and joining a clan, and his heart ached
at the destruction of that future.

Jack bumped
into him and whispered, “You still have Siarra.”

Taryn nodded,
and grasped the lifeline with every shred of strength. He did have a
sister, a good and faithful one. Even if he didn’t have any more family, she
would be enough. Taryn swallowed down the rest of the negative emotions and
forced a smile.

“Thanks Faxon,
for telling me about my father, and this sword,” he said as he sheathed the
weapon.

Faxon grinned.
“I’m glad you could learn about your father, and that I had the privilege of
seeing his work again.” He looked at his brothers and they nodded. “If you ever
come by this way again, you will be welcome in clan Foehammer.”

Taryn choked on
the rising knot and accepted the generous invitation while helping Jack gather
up their winnings. Although the previous levity returned among Jack and the
dwarves, Taryn’s mind dwelled on the past as they said their goodbyes and
followed Faxon to their quarters, with Fesrac carrying the unconscious Trin.

Settling into a
stone bed, he lay awake for a long time. When the girls returned to tell them
the Dwarven king had been convinced, he pretended to be asleep. Even with his
eyes closed the revelations about his father wouldn't rest, and he found
himself craving more.

He’d found
more pieces to his heritage. Eventually he would find them all.

Chapter 10: The Hawk and the Mind

Braon rushed
to finish breakfast and hurried out of the House of Runya. Word had come that the
Druids had begun to arrive from the north, and Braon wanted to be there to
greet them. Slipping through the early morning he turned towards the first set
of ascending stairs. Taking them two at a time, the young man struggled to
catch his breath as he pushed himself to the battlements that comprised the
tenth and final tier of Azertorn. Just before he reached his destination, he
ducked into a darkened recess behind two trees and gulped down air until his
heart had slowed.

Stepping out
of the alcove, he strode around the corner and headed towards Keiko Ker’Isse, captain
of the home guard. Standing slightly wider than the average elf, he still moved
more like water than flesh and bone. As soon as Braon came into view, the
captain’s gaze flicked to him and back to the slow-moving caravan.

Braon gave
Keiko a respectful nod and came to a halt at his side. “Captain,” he said. “I
received your summons. What is the situation?”

Keiko’s mouth
twitched at Braon’s attitude, but he gestured at the line of wagons coming
towards them. “The druids have begun to arrive, and my scouts say the line
extends back into the forest for several miles. By my count there are roughly
five thousand druids in this group. We don’t know if this is all of them or
more are coming.”

Braon accepted
his report, “Has the Guidrian arrived?”

The captain blinked
in surprise at the young commander’s knowledge and shook his head. “No one in
the caravan has stepped forward.”

Braon smiled
and said, “You should not be looking on the ground for the Guidrian, Captain.
He will be in the skies.”

Keiko smirked
and Braon realized it had been a test. “How did you know?” the captain asked.

“It’s my job
to know what’s coming.”

Without
further explanation he leaned against the parapet and watched the group of men,
animals, and wagons. In truth, he’d been spending time with the queen, laying
preparations for the coming races, and had used the time to glean as much
information as possible. She had told him about the druid Guidrian and his
phoenix, a fact that few outside of the druid community knew.

A sudden
piercing cry echoed off the parapet walls, and elven guards reached for their
weapons. Keiko frowned at one of his elves and the lieutenant leapt to calm the
others.

Braon nudged
the captain and looked south. When he turned with a questioning look, the young
man said, “He will come from the cliff side.”

Keiko cast him
a doubtful expression as he pointed towards the wagons, “But his men . . .”

Braon flashed
him a faint smile, but continued to gaze south.

Keiko
hesitated, and then turned his back to the wall. As Braon scanned the southern
view, he hoped he was right. The queen had led him to believe that Newhawk was
an exceptional leader, and very smart. If he was, then he would not miss the
opportunity to approach even an ally from behind while their focus was to the
front.

He was not
disappointed. Not ten seconds after Braon and Keiko turned around, a massive
red bird burst into view from below the cliff. Screaming its challenge, the phoenix
circled once before back-winging to land on the east end of the wall.

Keiko chuckled
beside him as Braon said, “Let’s go speak to Newhawk.”

Braon threaded
his way through stunned elven guards and arrived just as Newhawk had dismounted.
Accepting a pat from its rider, the firebird launched itself into the sky and
winged north in the direction of the druid caravan.

Newhawk turned
and spotted Braon and Keiko. Striding towards them, he reached out to clasp the
captains' hand. While he greeted the druid leader, Braon took the moment to
measure what he saw.

Tall and broad
shouldered, he towered over the elves. His black hair hung free to his
shoulders, yet was streaked with a burnished red that matched his mount. A
firmness lined his jaw, which invited respect, but not to the point of
arrogance. Charisma burst from his handsome face and blue eyes like water from
a spring.

Beside him,
Keiko directed the phoenix rider’s attention to Braon, introducing him as the commander.
Newhawk’s eyes widened and he blinked as the two regarded each other.

Braon broke
the silence first. “Welcome, Newhawk, to the gathering. I am Braon, high
commander of the defenses, placed in service by the Oracle.”

The silence
stretched between them as Newhawk studied the youth before him, but his
expression bore no disbelief. Instead, he appeared less taken aback than Braon
would have expected. There was more understanding in the druid's eyes then
there should have been.

“Commander
Braon,” Newhawk finally exclaimed. “I am at your service, and formally place my
people within your command.”

His posture
and tone inspired shock in many of the elves around him, but the druid Guidrian
took no notice. “My entire people are in the process of collecting resources
for the coming engagement. I have brought a vanguard of six thousand to aid in
our preparations for war. Another eleven thousand will arrive within a few
days.”

Braon managed
to hide his surprise at the complete and total acceptance of his leadership.
“Thank you for coming. Will you accompany me so we may speak privately?”

Newhawk agreed
and walked past wide-eyed elven guards to follow Braon down into the city.
Without speaking, the young man guided him to the house of Runya and into the
now-empty dining hall. Behind him, Newhawk looked up at the magical ceiling in
wonder until Braon led the druid into a small room adjacent to the large
chamber.

Sitting down
at a desk that had been prepared for him, Braon indicated the seat opposite
him. As soon as he’d sat down, Braon asked, “What did the Oracle say to you?”

Newhawk
grinned. “What makes you think she said anything to me?”

Braon flashed
him a tight-lipped smile. “A leader of your level would not accept my
leadership so easily without someone they trusted preparing them.”

Newhawk grunted.
“The Oracle was right. You are the right person for the job.” Then his grin
faded and he sighed. “Do we really face what she showed me?”

Braon gave a
single nod and the Guidrian’s shoulders slumped. “How can we defeat so many?”

“We cannot.
But together we might survive long enough for Taryn and Siarra to destroy
Draeken and end the war. When he is slain, his army will be drawn back to the
realm where they were created.”

“She told me
that you were the only one capable of leading the defenses, and that you would
have a place for me.” He paused. “What would you have me do?”

The powerful
druid leaders' stark humility demonstrated to Braon the last characteristic he
had been hoping for. He almost grinned. The Oracle foresaw what I would
need, as always.

“I need you to
be my second in command,” Braon said.

“What does
that entail . . . exactly?”

“I need you to
be the face of our command, to be the figurehead that all the other races look
to. You have every characteristic of a heroic commander, strong, charismatic,
inspiring, and humble.” He paused and flashed him a wry smile. “The races will
gladly accept your leadership, where many will have difficulty accepting mine.
Together we might have a shred of hope.”

“Do you think
I can perform such a role?” Newhawk asked, looking away as he rubbed his
fingers into his palms.

“Your humility
is the most vital thing I required in a second,” Braon responded. “If you
lacked that, you would simply take command and—according to the Oracle—doom us
all.”

Newhawk took a
deep breath and nodded. “I accept your appointment, now what do we do?”

“First let me
catch you up on several things. Follow me.”

Standing, the
young commander moved into the large empty room that had been the dining hall.
“This used to be the grand dining hall of the house of Runya. As you can see,
the walls and ceiling have been enchanted with a view from the top of the great
tree. The view will give us an excellent vantage point during the battle. It is
for that reason that I have chosen it to be our strategic command center. All
the tree tables and chairs have been uprooted and moved elsewhere to give us space.”

“Space for
what?” Newhawk asked.

“The elven
magic guild is developing a map that will allow us to see the battlefield as a
whole,” Braon answered. “I am told it will stretch across most of the room.
Hopefully it will be detailed enough for us to see anything that is happening at
any one time. My role will be to remain here, watching the battle, and
directing defensive strategies. You will only need to be here when I am forced
to rest. Most of the time I will need you out there, wherever the fighting is
thickest, to bolster our army to push the enemy back.”

“How are we
forming the defenses?” Newhawk asked, his eyes peering at the enchanted walls.

“If every race
comes, we will have sufficient manpower to defend the entire length of the cliff,
as well as the city and the Lake Road. I have broken the defense into seven battalions.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a sketched map of the cliff and city,
with the mountains to the west, and the lake to the east. Pointing at each spot
in turn he said, “Starting at the western range of mountains, The Gray has gray
colored cliffs, The Deep has a large dip in the cliff that will be harder to
defend, The Western Falls is the area adjacent to the city. Azertorn will be
the fourth battalion and the center point. Then we have Eastern Falls running
from the city to a crack in the cliff a few miles out.”

“—I saw the break
when I flew in,” Newhawk interrupted.

“Excellent. East
of the crack is the The Ridge, and the last command will be the Lake Road.
Seven areas, meaning we need seven battalions and generals.”

Newhawk was bobbing
his head, his expression thoughtful. “Do we have any of the generals for them
yet?”

“We have one,
Deiran, the commander of the elven armies. He will lead the defense of
Azertorn.”

Newhawk smiled
and agreed. “He will know the city defenses best. It is a wise choice. What is
your defensive strategy along the cliff and the road?”

“A wall is
already being constructed. I also hope that the dwarves will be able to build a
few defensive siege engines that I have in mind. The goal will be to keep them
from gaining ground on the top of the cliff." He pointed to the map and
sighed. "Our weakest point is the Lake Road, which is a highway to
surround us. It is not nearly as defensible as Azertorn, and had no
fortifications as of a few days ago.”

Newhawk shook
his head, “Wait, shouldn’t the city be the weakest? I saw the doors at the end
of the bridge. They will try to break through them first.”

Braon smirked,
“I will show you the real entrance later, for now, just know that those doors
are backed by a stone column, and will never be broken down.” He grimaced and
his expression turned serious. “What is more likely is that they will find the
secret entrances. If that happens . . . it will only be a matter of time. The
Oracle said the best we can hope to survive is seven days. I believe that if
the gates to Azertorn are breached, the city will be lost in a few hours. We
cannot allow them to break through before the seventh day.”

“Agreed,”
Newhawk said, and then cocked his head to the side. “What about the women and
children?”

Braon nodded
and pointed to the back of the crude map. “Most of the women and older children
will be placed behind the lines, tending wounds, providing meals, and even
fighting if they are skilled. As few as possible will take care of the babes
and small children in the caves behind Azertorn, the most secure place
possible.”

Newhawk
grinned, “You have all this planned out, don’t you?”

“Not completely,”
Braon admitted. “But most of it. We still have holes in communication, as well
as how to incorporate each race or nation as they arrive. Some of those
challenges will have to be tackled as they occur, but communication remains our
greatest challenge. We need a means to send messages back and forth across a
twenty mile stretch—during the heat of battle.”

Newhawk
reached up and scratched his head. “I don’t see a solution to that problem, but
I think I can help with adding the troops as they come. If you tell me where
you want them, I will make it happen.”

Relief colored
Braon's tone, despite his effort to quell it. “Excellent. Many humans from the
eastern kingdom have already been driven out and have been arriving over the
past few days. They need to be formed into commands. I want you to break them
into groups they trust and begin setting up camps in all six locations—but
place the bulk of them at Eastern Falls. Start with The Deep, and the Lake Road.
Those need the most work. Also assign a sergeant for every hundred men or so.
If they already have a leader, then put him in charge—but don’t stick to the
exact number. With our short time frame we need to use any existing command
structure, not force one of our own. If you want to keep a large group
together, place a lieutenant over five hundred men, and a captain over two thousand.
Oh, and keep an eye out for anyone you think can be a colonel or a general.”

Newhawk was
grinning and when Braon stopped he asked, “Anything else?”

Braon flashed
a wry grin. “Of course, but you can get started on that for now.”

The doors to
the command center opened and an elven guard entered the room. Standing at
attention, he said, “The druid caravan has arrived and Keiko requests
instruction on where to place them.”

Newhawk
sighed. “That’s my cue.” Stepping towards the guard he stopped when Braon
called out to address the guard.

“Rokei, spread
the word through the command that Newhawk is now a second high commander.” Then
Braon inclined his head to his newly appointed second. “Good luck to you,
Newhawk. Rokei will see to it that you have everything you need, but return
tonight so we can discuss things in greater detail.”

Newhawk bowed.
“Commander Braon. Good luck to us all.”

As the druid
commander followed Rokei out, Braon looked at the enchanted ceiling above him
and took a moment to watch the clouds drift past the city. When the phoenix
flew overhead and cast a brief shadow over the room, he felt a rush of
confidence. He’d found a crucial piece that he needed. There was still a long
way to go, but at least now the actual joining of the races would go smoother.
Sparing one more glance skyward he sighed and left to check on his other
projects.

Things are
finally moving, he thought as he left his empty command center. But are
they moving fast enough?

Chapter 11: Everyone Has a Purpose

Braon sank
into a chair for dinner at the house of Runya, pleased and frustrated at the
same time. Lost in thought, he began eating the soup that was served him.
Newhawk was a godsend, and under his leadership every person that had previously
arrived had been organized. His natural leadership drew people to him as if by
magic, and the human people of the eastern kingdom already loved him. Fading
into the background, Braon pulled strings and maneuvered his forces into place.

Most things
had come together well except for two: the magical map still hadn’t been created,
although the roots from the recipient plants were growing well; and the means
of communication still eluded him. Every possible method had been discussed and
deliberated, but no good solution had presented itself. Braon frowned. He hated
to choose between bad options. He glanced skyward at the stone ceiling of the
temporary dining hall. If only Ero would provide a way—

“Are you going
to eat your soup, or just look at the ceiling?” a child’s voice said, and Braon
turned to look at him.

A small brown-haired
boy straddled the bench beside him and met his gaze without flinching. Probably
one of the refugees that had temporarily been housed in the House of Runya, he
was one of many that had arrived before a place could be prepared for them. His
clothes looked to be a size too big, so he would have at least one older
brother. Hand stitched, they showed the care of a mother. Glancing down, he saw
a stain on the side of his tunic. The boy of a fisherman then, well practiced in
gutting fish and wiping his hand on the side of his tunic—a fact his mother
probably didn’t appreciate.

Braon smiled
at the bold youth. “I was just thinking. What about you?”

The boy
grinned, a lighthearted expression that accompanied a mischievous glint. “I
already ate my dinner, faster than anyone in my family.” His pride at the feat
made Braon laugh.

“What’s your
name, and where are you from?”

“I’m Daq,” he
said, poking a thumb into his chest. “And I’m from a village south of Keese.”

“Where is your
fisherman father? Or your mother?” Braon asked, surprised that someone from the
southern kingdom had already come.

Daq’s eyes
saddened and he said, “My mother’s dead. Some pirates came and hurt her before
they took my family.”

Braon’s heart turned
into a knot, but the distortion in his voice seemed out of place. For some
reason, Daq thought it was his fault that it had happened.

“It’s not your
fault, Daq,” Braon said. “Sometimes bad things happen to good people.”

Daq shook his
head. “Uh-uh, the pirates came because I told someone about—” He stopped and slapped
a hand to his mouth. Through his hands, he said, “I’m not supposed to talk
about that.”

“It’s OK.”
Braon said, sensing he needed to talk but wouldn’t on his own. “I lost my family,
too, in the eastern kingdom. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Turning back towards his cooling soup, he waited for the boy to respond.

For a moment
Daq kept his hands over his mouth, then they dropped and he blurted, “I told someone
about our mind link.”

Braon froze,
his mind spinning for a moment before the pieces came together. Trin had
mentioned they’d rescued a family from pirates, a family that was special but
he didn’t say why. Later he’d also heard a comment from one of the sailors of
the Sea Dancer about pirates being unified under one leader. Then the captain
had said how sad he was they’d used an innocent family to do their dirty work.

A
telepathic family?

Hiding his
excitement with difficulty, Braon turned to the young boy and placed a hand on
his shoulder. “It will be our secret, Daq.” Then he steered the topic to other
things and waited for him to be called by his father.

Just as Braon
was finishing his soup, someone called out, “Daq, we need to get back.” Braon caught
the suspicion in his tone that referred to him, but Daq didn’t seem to notice
it.

“Can I talk to
my new friend a little longer? Please?” Daq pleaded, but the man shook
his head.

“Come along
now,” he said and Daq, pouting, stood and said goodbye before he plodded
towards his father, who cast Braon a wary glance before turning down a hall. As
soon as he was out of sight, Braon leapt to his feet and raced to Rokei.

“Follow the
boy I was talking to—and his father. Find out which rooms they are staying in and
then bring the father to me. I will meet you in the old hall.

Rokei nodded
and slipped from the room. Braon felt a chill go down his spine as he turned
towards his command center. This is exactly what I needed, he thought, but
I must tread carefully. Arriving in a rush, he fidgeted with his maps and
waited for the father to be brought to him.

A few minutes
later, Rokei appeared holding the arm of a very frustrated man. Braon nodded
and the guard ushered him into the room and closed the door behind them. Rokei
remained at the man's side.

“What is the
meaning of this?” the man blustered.

“I know you
are worried about what your son might have said to me,” Braon said, cutting
through the man’s frustration and going right for the heart of his worry. For a
moment, true fear swept across his face before he controlled his emotions.

“Who are you
and what do you want?” the man asked, his voice like granite.

“I admit that
I know your secret, and about your servitude among the pirates.”

The man’s eyes
went wide and he stuttered, “How do you . . .”

“Relax,” Braon
said with what he hoped was a disarming smile. “I will not force you to do
anything, and after you have heard what I have to say, you will be free to go. No
word about your family’s abilities will escape my lips, and you may forget you
ever spoke to me.”

Braon’s honest
tone seemed to pierce the man’s mounting tension, and he asked, “Who are
you?”

“My name is
Braon, and I was placed in charge of the defenses by the Oracle.”

“—but I
thought that Newhawk—”

“Is the
commander to everyone else, but he answers to me.”

The man shook
his head and snorted. Then he threw a look at Rokei. “Is he serious?”

“He is
the high commander," Rokei said, "and if you had seen half the things
he has planned you would trust him.”

Surprised by
the support, Braon inclined his head to the guard, and then looked back to the
fisherman. “Now, what is your name?”

“Er . . .
Thacker.”

“Well,
Thacker, why don’t you allow me to explain,” Braon said, and gestured towards
the pile of maps on his desk.

Thacker
hesitated, but then followed Braon into his office. With a sweep of his hand Braon
indicated for him to sit but remained standing to push a large map of the
Giant’s Shelf towards Thacker.

“Do you know
what is coming?” Braon asked.

“I know an
army is coming to destroy us, and that it is what made everyone afraid.”

Braon nodded,
“Close. The army that is coming is not of our world, and has been created for
the express purpose of destroying all life. Because of this, we are in the
process of gathering all the races of Lumineia to defend ourselves while
Taryn—you remember him—goes to defeat this evil.”

“Taryn?”
Thacker asked in astonishment. “He helped rescue my family."

“I know, and
it is his calling to defeat Draeken. I believe it is your calling to help here,
in a way that is just as vital as Taryn’s.”

“But what can I
do?” Thacker said, shaking his head.

“Not you,
specifically, but your family,” Braon said and pointed at the map. “Our
greatest challenge in the coming conflict is a means to communicate between the
field and here, for orders to be given and received quickly. The issue is
distance. Twenty miles of cliff, the city, and the Lake Road are too much for a
single commander to see and respond effectively. I have broken the areas into
several commands to simplify it, but I need a way to talk to my men, to unify
them during the battle.”

Thacker leaned
back and took a deep breath, understanding lighting his eyes. “You want my family
to be the means of communication."

“Yes,” Braon
said. “We cannot survive without it.”

Thacker took
several moments as he chewed on the thought and examined Braon.

Guessing his
next question, Braon said, “I am fifteen.”

Thacker
smirked and shook his head, blowing out his breath. “I can’t believe I am going
to say this, but I think we will do it. My wife always felt . . . that there
was a reason for our link, and it appears this would be it.” Several emotions
washed over his face before he settled on determination. “What do you need from
us?”

“How soon can
you gather your children?”

Thacker
considered for a moment, and then answered, “My oldest son and daughter, Seath
and Brynn are out in the city, the rest should be in our room.” Then he pursed
his lips and said, “On second thought, three of my sons are no doubt wandering
the halls by now, getting into trouble.”

“Just how many
children do you have Thacker?” Braon exclaimed, burying his hope in mock
exasperation.

Thacker
laughed. “My wife wanted a big family, so I have seven children, two daughters
and five sons.”

Braon smiled,
using all his will to hide the triumph that had blossomed in his chest. “Gather
them and meet me here. We have much to do, and little time to do it.”

“I’ll be back
in an hour," Thacker said, rising to his feet to clasp Braon's hand.

The moment the
telepathic fisherman had left the room Braon resisted the urge to shout. Ideas
and possibilities reverberated around his head of their own volition, plans
morphed to adapt to the new potential. For the first time since he’d understood
the extent of the calamity they faced, he felt hope pierce the shadow of fate.

We might be
able to survive, he thought.

An hour later
Thacker returned with the rest of his family and Braon had his emotions well in
control. Entering the room, Thacker lined his children up and began to
introduce them, but Braon raised a hand.

“Let’s start
with your oldest and go slower, I have a few questions for each of them,” Braon
said, and Thacker nodded.

“This is
Seath, my oldest,” Thacker said, and a tall sandy-haired youth stepped forward
to clasp Braon’s forearm.

“Nice to meet
you sir,” Seath said, and Braon allowed a small smile.

“Seath, how
old are you?” Braon asked.

“Seventeen
sir, almost eighteen,” the young man responded, straightening to his full
height. His expression demonstrated respect and willingness to serve.

Braon nodded
and moved to the next in line. Before Thacker could say anything, the young,
brown-haired woman stepped forward and took his offered hand. “Brynn, Commander,
and I am fifteen if you were going to ask.” Several of the younger boys
snickered at her use of his title but Thacker quelled that with a look.

Braon smiled
at her. “I was going to ask, so thank you.”

Her lips
twitched and her dark eyes sparkled at his response as she took a step back. He
was surprised by the stirring he felt for the fiery young lady, but he dismissed
it and moved to the next young woman.

Shorter than
her sister, she looked at the floor instead of at him, and waited until her
father spoke her name.

“Kitu,” he
said.

“But everyone
calls her Kit,” Brynn added, with a fond smile at her younger sister.

“Is that
true?” Braon asked, and she met his gaze with bright blue eyes. Immediately she
looked away and brushed her blond hair to hide her face.

“She just
turned fourteen,” Brynn said, and Thacker pursed his lips in disapproval.

“Let her
answer, Brynn,” he said and she sighed.

“Fine,” Brynn
exclaimed. “But she doesn’t like talking to strangers.”

“I’m OK,” Kit
squeaked in a small voice.

Braon held up
a hand to forestall anything further and moved to the two boys next to their
sister. Obviously twins, they looked identical, right down to their matching smirks.

“Jason—” The
first one began—

“—and Jake.”

“We’re twins!”
they said together and someone giggled.

“I can see
that,” Braon said in amusement. “How old are you?”

“Twelve,” they
said in unison, and then laughed at each other.

Braon grinned
at them. They were the type to cause problems, and would need extra discipline
to make sure they did what was required. Moving to the next in line he found a
pudgy youth that was trying to stand taller.

“Grian, sir.
Ready and willing for orders,” he exclaimed, but his comments elicited
smothered laughter from the twins and a snide comment about him being the good
one.

Braon nodded
at the overweight lad, “How old are you?”

“Ten sir, but
everyone says I act like I am older,” he said, his lips tightening at his
brothers’ words. Braon threw Seath a glance and saw the oldest brother flash
Grian an encouraging smile. So, Braon thought, Seath and Grian are
the responsible ones, and get along well.

Stepping to
the final youth, he came to a familiar face.

Daq, the
little brown-haired boy from dinner, practically danced on his feet as he
waited for his turn.

“Hello again,
Daq,” Braon said with a grin, and the boy exploded with words.

“Are we really
going to fight the bad things? I want to fight 'em, and I can too. Everyone
says I’m strong for my age and—”

Braon laughed
and said, “How old are you, Daq?”

He bounced
forward and most of his family laughed. “I’m eight. Can I have a sword? Or an
axe?” The boy’s eyes lit up at the idea of weapons and Braon crouched down.

“I will see
what I can do,” he whispered, winking. “But don’t tell your father." Daq
nodded and bit his lip before resuming his place in line.

His mind whirring,
Braon stood and moved to face the family. Mentally he ticked them off in his
head.

Seath,
responsible and strong, he could be placed anywhere.

Brynn, strong-willed
and beautiful, will rise to any challenge he put before her.

Kit, shy and
reserved, might require training or she won’t have the courage to issue orders
on his behalf.

The twins,
Jason and Jake were rambunctious to a fault, and would need the most work and
discipline.

Grian, young yet
mature, was more like Seath than any of his family and would also do well.

Daq, young and
boisterous, would be difficult to handle, but was still vital.

Braon eyed them,
his expression serious. “Do you know why I have asked that you come?”

Brynn answered
first, beating the twins by half a second. “To use our mind-link to help in the
war.” She glanced at Thacker after her blunt response. “Father told us you
needed us.”

“I do."
Braon couldn't stop the grin. "I need your help to talk with my generals,
but there are a few things you should know first. One, this will be hard work,
and you will get little rest. You will need to be trained to respond to orders
in an instant, and to transfer information accurately and quickly. You will
need to learn a great deal about our army, and help us organize the
preparations. Last, you will aid our efforts during the battle. ”

Several of
them were nodding, including Thacker, but Braon raised a hand in warning.
“That’s not all. Because of your vital role, I will do everything I can to
protect you, but you will be targeted by the enemy—if they realize what
you are doing. What I am asking you to do is very dangerous.”

Most of the
young men (and Brynn) appeared even more excited by the prospect of danger, but
Thacker and Seath both glanced nervously at each other and the smaller children.

“Thacker,”
Braon exclaimed, drawing his attention back to him. “I swear I will do
everything possible to protect your family.”

The man took a
deep breath and then looked at his children. “Do you want to do this?”

Some agreed
eagerly, others hesitated before nodding their assent, and finally Kit bobbed
her head last of all.

“When do we
begin?” Thacker sighed.

“Immediately,”
Braon said. “We are already behind schedule.”

Chapter
12: A King's Choice

Gaze sighted
down the torch-lit range and hefted the long spear to find its balance. Finding
a comfortable grip, he swept his arm forward to launch the weapon towards a
target. Flying true, it embedded a hands breadth from the center—but not close
enough to best the prince.

He growled and
tossed his head while Anders laughed.

“Hah! I knew I
could do it better,” the prince exclaimed and beckoned with his hand. “The
wager was five silver if I remember right . . .?”

Gaze grunted
and reached into his pocket, still irritated that he’d been beaten—again. They
had been at it for over an hour now, and Gaze seemed to be on a losing streak.

Many women
thought of Gaze, with his dark blue eyes, black hair, and sharp goatee, as handsome
for a human, but he’d never been good with the ladies—unlike Prince Anders, who
always seemed at ease around the host of women vying for his attention.
Stronger and more athletic than Gaze, Prince Anders was easygoing with a quick
wit and a constant smirk that gave the prince a boyish look, elevating his
appeal. Being the crown prince of Talinor may have been a factor as well.

In many
aspects, Anders was the superior—except for one. Gaze possessed an exceptionally
rare type of magic . . . lightning. In his youth, many had laughed at the dark-haired
boy who said he could see energy in the clouds—until he’d accidently caused a
fire with a lightning bolt. Their neighbors’ resulting fear had driven his
family to sell their small farm and look for a new home. With no school at
which to study his magic, his parents had forbidden him to reveal it. Despite
their efforts, they had been forced to move repeatedly to get away from the
incident, and few after knew his secret.

Prince Anders
was one of those few. Several years ago Gaze had happened to come upon a large
group of bandits attacking the prince. All of his guards had been killed and
the prince was wounded when Gaze had leapt to his aid. They would have been
killed if he hadn’t drawn on his magic. A single bolt had been sufficient to scatter
the thieves, and Gaze and Anders had been close ever since. After Gaze lost his
parents to the plague, the royal family had welcomed him into their home.

“You want to
try again?” Anders said, clinking the bulging sack in an attempt to entice
Gaze. “I’ll double the wager.”

Gaze sighed and
shook his head ruefully. “I think I am out of coin, my friend.”

Anders
pretended to pout for a moment before shrugging. “So what do you want to do?” His
eyes glinted. “Do you want to practice some more?”

Gaze laughed
out loud and sat down at the table across from the prince. “You know I can’t
practice in public, and besides, I don’t know why we do it anyway. Last time we
were almost killed because of you.” He stabbed a finger at the prince who
appeared wounded at the accusation.

“Me? I didn’t
do anything—except get you to call down as much lightning as you could.” He flashed
a wide grin. “You sure lit that field up though, and it did prove my point. You
are stronger than you think. By Skorn, you could light a five mile
stretch if you wanted to.”

“—If I
wanted to, but when would I ever need to?”

The prince
rolled his eyes and frowned at him. "Isn't it enough to know you
could?"

Despite his
efforts to quell it, a smile spread across Gaze’s features at the memory of so
much power. "Perhaps," he allowed.

The prince
burst out laughing and the two friends smashed their mugs together before
draining them.

“Come on
then,” the prince said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go . . .”

—A cry of
alarm burst from the front gate, causing both of them to rush to it. They
arrived just as the portcullis opened, revealing an exhausted and disheveled
rider entering the courtyard. Anders leapt to catch him as he slumped from his
quivering mount.

“An elf!”
Anders exclaimed in surprise and called for water.

The elf’s eyes
fluttered and he managed to speak, his voice raspy with fatigue. “The king, I
need . . . to see the king . . .”

Gaze locked
eyes with the prince and realized they were thinking the same thing. What would
cause a messenger to drive himself so hard?

Anders called
guards to carry the elf to the king and to care for the horse, which appeared
on the verge of collapse. Gaze stood rooted to the spot until Anders tilted his
head towards him, inviting him to come. Grateful to be included, he hurried to
follow as they wound their way into the castle. Moving through corridors and
climbing stairs lit by torches, they reached a small door that led to the king’s
study. The prince entered without knocking, and ushered the guards in behind
him. When Gaze stepped into the small library, he slid off to the side to
better observe what happened.

“Father,”
Anders said, his voice quick with urgency. “We have a messenger from the
elves.”

The king,
dressed in the cloak of his station, looked much like his son, except that his
hair and beard had gone white and his nose had a crook in it. Catching sight of
the limp form in the guards arms, he rose to his feet and rushed around the
desk. “Place him on the chair, and fetch water.”As the guards left, the king
knelt by the semiconscious elf. “You may speak,” the king said.

The elf
struggled to reach into his pack and withdrew a small round parcel. “Only works
two or three times,” he managed to say. “You must touch it first, your
majesty.”

His message
delivered, the elf succumbed to fatigue and slumped into the chair. No one
moved except the king, who rose slowly to his feet and unfastened his cloak. He
covered the elf with the thick garment and withdrew to his desk. He hesitated,
and then unwrapped the package to find a glass orb pulsing with energy. A note,
stamped with the crest of the elves, lay tied with another sealed letter beside
the shimmering ball. Lifting the note he read aloud.

“King Drayson,
touch the orb and look into its depths, and then read the letter.” He stopped,
his eyes going wide. “It’s signed by the Oracle!”

Anders took a
step forward. “This appears to be important, father. Should I summon Graden?”

The door slammed
open and Anders younger brother burst into the room. Shorter than Anders, he
looked just like him, with the same dark hair and boyish face, but he lacked
the facial hair. Not as good a soldier as his brother, he was still a better
leader—and they constantly teased each other about it.

“I heard there
was an important message from the elves?” he said, pausing to catch his breath.
“Did I miss it?” Then he caught sight of the elf in the chair and asked, “What
was it?”

The king shook
his head and pointed at the orb on his desk. “It’s from the Oracle, and I’m
supposed to touch it.”

“Then it
should be fine," Prince Graden said, stepping closer to peer at the glass.
"She has proven her loyalty, as her mother did before her.”

Anders readily
agreed and the king nodded before taking a deep breath and reaching for the enchanted
orb. Holding it like it might burn him, he gazed into it . . . and gasped. The
brothers rushed to their fathers' side but froze as the king’s face drained of
all color.

“What is
happening?!” Graden demanded.

“I don’t
know!” Anders responded, his fists clenching at his sides.

The kings
breathing became ragged, and tears glistened in his eyes . . . until suddenly
he snapped back and dropped the orb. Leaping to his feet, he wrapped his arms
around his son's necks, emotion wetting his cheeks.

Unsure of what
to do, Gaze shifted his feet as the brothers hugged their father and demanded
to know what had happened. Regaining his composure, the king took a step back.
Swallowing hard he said, “I watched you be torn to pieces before my eyes.”

Anders looked
at his father in surprise. “You saw us die? Is that all?”

The king shook
his head, his expression dark and foreboding. “Some sort of evil army swept
into our kingdom, destroying everything. You rode out with our men to try to
stop it, but were knocked aside like leaves in the wind.”

Graden shook
his head in confusion. “Is it some sort of prophecy?”

For the first
time Gaze stepped forward, drawing all eyes to him. “It must be a combination
of different magics, and is without question the work of the Oracle.”

The king
furrowed his brow and sank into a high-backed chair. “I agree Gaze, but I still
don’t understand. What does this message mean?”

Anders stabbed
a finger at the letter on the table. “Perhaps that has the answer?”

The king blinked
and reached for the envelope. Breaking the seal he unfolded the pages and read
it to himself. Gaze swallowed his impatience and counted the seconds until the king
put the paper down and slumped back.

Anders snatched
the scarp of parchment from the desk and Graden moved to stand next to him.
Together they read the note, their expressions changing to disbelief.

“Evacuate?!”
Graden exclaimed. “This is madness!”

At that moment
the door opened and two guards entered with water for the messenger. Flashing a
warning look at his sons, the king rose to his feet and moved to the elf's side.
“Take the elf to a secure room and have him rest." He frowned and added,
"And post sentries.”

Once the
guards were gone Gaze asked, “May I read it?”

Anders glanced
at his father, who nodded wearily and said, “You know we can trust him.”

Gaze inclined
his head in gratitude and moved forward to take the note. In smooth, flowing
script it read:

My dear King,

It is
supremely vital that you believe this message. We are fortunate that the Oracle
has created the orb of prophecy for you to see for yourself what is coming. In
recent months we have all experienced a plague of terror that brought many of
us to the brink of war. This unholy fear was inspired by an assassin of
Draeken, the demigod of chaos. Its purpose was simple; divide our races so we
would be easier to destroy. We have the Oracle and a few brave souls to thank
for the death of this assassin, and the return of our hope.

In its
wake we have come to the understanding that Draeken has gathered an army of
billions which will sweep the land, slaying all it encounters. You have seen a fraction
of this fiend invasion in the prophecy orb, and from one who has also received
the vision, you have my sympathy.

The Oracle
has informed us that we have a slim hope of survival. We are to gather the
races to Azertorn and the Giant’s Shelf, where we will defend our existence. We
will not win, for they are too many, but it has been foreseen that if we
gather, we might delay our extinction long enough for Draeken to be destroyed.
His ultimate demise will end his invasion, and will withdraw his army. A force
has already been sent to perform this task.

Our
prayers and lives ride with them, and our hope reaches out to you. If you wish
your people to live, you must evacuate and join us to defend Lumineia. Within
weeks they will invade your country from the east, and you will not be able to
stop them.

Evacuate,
and some of you may live. Stay, and all of you will perish. At best you have five
weeks until they begin to slay your people.

With all our hope,

Ayame Ser’Tármaril,

Queen of the elves

Gaze felt his
knees go weak and he sought a chair before he embarrassed himself. An
invasion? Evacuate? Billions?! The thoughts echoed around his mind as he
struggled to grasp the enormity of the information.

Graden broke
the stillness, “Do you think we should believe it?”

The king grunted
and scratched his beard. “I saw it, and . . . I think it's true.”

Anders frowned
and stood, beginning to pace. “Do you have any idea what this will take? How
are we supposed to evacuate hundreds of thousands on the claim of a letter?”

The king shook
his head, his voice haunted, “I saw them die, Anders, in the most terrible way
imaginable. I cannot allow that to happen while I sit on the throne.”

Graden rose to
his feet, his jaw setting into a line that Gaze knew well. “Are we doing it?
Evacuating our people?”

The King sat
and stared off into space long enough for Gaze to realize he was holding his
breath before he nodded.

“Call the
general and order the evacuation,” the king said to Graden. “If we are going to
do this, we had better do it right. Dispatch runners to the eastern towns and
villages first, and then send the warning to the rest. If they are west of us,
have them gather at the Blue River or Tallendale, if they are east, have them
gather here before joining the Gathering. Make sure they are told to bring food
and water for several weeks, but don’t let them delay. I want every eastern
village empty within a week.”

Graden nodded,
but didn’t move. After a moment Anders asked, “What would you like me to do?”

The king shook
his head. “We don’t have enough time to get everyone out. Anders and I will
ride with five hundred of our fastest cavalry. We will do our best to delay the
invasion.”

Shocked, Gaze
exclaimed, “Five hundred against an army that size?! You will be less than an
ant to them—”

The king threw
him a look and he fell silent. “I know, Gaze, but if we can burn forests or
destroy bridges it might give our people the time they need. A single hour
might mean hundreds or even thousands of lives." He flashed him an odd
look. "And you had better join us.”

Gaze’s jaw
dropped open at the order to include him, and Anders took a step forward to
protest, but the king smiled, “We may need your magic—” He ignored the gasp of
surprise from all three of them and continued, “Yes, I know about it, so don’t
act so surprised. We will need all the firepower we can muster.”

Anders
recovered and bowed. Whirling, he swept from the room, grabbing Gaze on the way
out. Gaze was about to speak but Anders held up a finger, waiting. After a
moment Graden stepped out of the room. Anders caught him and hugged his younger
brother. “Be safe, brother,” he whispered.

Gaze looked
away, uncomfortable by the personal moment. Then Graden caught Gaze’s arm,
pulling him into the embrace. “You too, Gaze,” he said, his voice thick with
emotion. “Be safe, and protect my brother as if he were your own.”

Gaze gave his
word and the three separated. Graden gave them a determined nod and departed,
his heels clicking on the stone as he strode away. Gaze and Anders watched him
disappear down the corridor and Anders turned towards Gaze with an explosive
sigh.

“I guess we
won’t find out who's the better spearman,” he said, and Gaze shook his head in
response. “Why don’t you go pack while I inform the cavalry?”

“I will see
you in the morning,” Gaze said, and left Anders standing in the hall outside
his father’s study. Moving through the castle, he felt an odd weight settle onto
his shoulders and he found himself moving faster to escape it. Bursting into
the night air, he took several deep, settling breaths.

How is this
possible? he thought as he swallowed and began walking towards the main
gates. Struggling to cope with what threatened his homeland, he came to a halt
next to the practicing range. Can anyone survive such a thing? he
wondered, but he was afraid of the answer. Like the wind had shifted and he
could sense the coming storm, he knew the truth.

In the deepest
part of his heart, a sinister voice whispered no.

Part II

Three weeks and four days until
Draeken's army reaches Azertorn

Chapter 13: A Light in the Dark

Two weeks had
passed since Gaze had watched the king look into the prophetic orb, and he had
passed the point of exhaustion days ago. Up before dawn and riding until dusk,
the king, Prince Anders, and the veteran soldiers of the fifty-second cavalry
had pushed themselves to arrive at the border between Talinor and Griffin,
warning every village they passed to evacuate. Marked by a range of squat bare
hills, the border sat a few miles west of the dark forest of Orláknia.

Picking up the
pace, they followed the road as it left a large strip of forest and began to
climb into the foothills. As it leveled out, they came to a low pass that
opened into the eastern kingdom. The king came to a stop at the highest point
in the road and squinted downhill, but the last glimmer of light had faded and
they could barely see in the cloudy night.

“We’ll camp
here for the night,” the king said, weariness robbing his voice of strength.

Easing himself
out of the saddle, Gaze followed Anders as the prince led his horse to a flat
boulder on the side of the road. With orders to forego a fire, he chewed on dried
meat as he rolled out a blanket and lay down. The prince was not far behind
him. Sighing in relief, Anders relaxed his body on his own bedroll.

A chill blew
through the camp, causing the men to shiver and draw their blankets tighter,
but Gaze and Anders were protected by the rock.

“You always
did know how to pick a campsite,” Gaze said, and he heard a weak chuckle.

“And you
always knew how to start a fire,” Anders replied with a sly grin.

Gaze laughed
and rolled over. Glad to finally rest, he was unable to shake the sense of
foreboding enough to sleep. They had seen no sign of anyone from the eastern
kingdom for days. No one had been fleeing and there had been no enemies to
prove the Oracle’s words. But the lack of movement had been more troubling than
comforting. Late fall always brought travelers from Griffin, tradesmen and
caravans arriving before winter snows blanketed the eastern mountains.

No travelers
could mean two things. Either they were being prevented from leaving . . . or
there was no one to leave. The latter thought gave disturbing support to the
Oracle’s description, and kept him awake for longer than he would have liked .
. .

—Someone
grabbed Gaze’s arm and shook him awake. Lurching to his knees, he scrambled for
his knife but Prince Anders restrained him. His heart hammering, he rubbed his
eyes and tried to orient himself. A glance at the horizon showed the pre-dawn
glow was just a glimmer above the eastern peaks.

“What’s going on?”
Gaze asked in a low voice.

“A sentry
spotted movement in front of us,” Anders whispered.

Gaze grabbed
his sword belt and stood up. “What kind of movement?”

“He said the hill
rippled.”

Rippled?
Gaze thought, and hurried to follow the prince through the already awake and
battle ready men to the front of their camp.

As soon as he
arrived he squinted into the darkness, trying to see anything in the shadowed land.
After several moments of searching he spotted what looked like a ripple in
water cascade across the darkened terrain. About to ask if anyone else had seen
it, he was stopped by the sudden appearance of the king. Covered in a dark
riding cloak and dressed for battle, the white-haired king nudged Gaze.

“Can you make
a lightning bolt strike the ground about a mile out from us?” the king asked in
a whisper. “I’d like to see what is going on without giving away our position.”

Gaze hesitated
and felt a flash of irritation at the king. Early in their journey, he’d told
the entire command of Gaze's magic, saying, “It’s important they know.” Few men
had been willing to ride beside him after that. Shaking his head, he realized
that at this point it probably didn’t matter, so he nodded and reached his
senses skyward. Searching among the clouds, he found the energy he needed.
Mentally he condensed it until it contrasted with the energy in the ground,
building it to a breaking point . . .

Bolts of
lightning arced down and blasted into the ground, launching debris into the
air. For a split second, the world flashed into view as the strobe of light
pierced the darkness—and Gaze felt his heart stutter to a stop.

Unmasked by
the light, an unending horde of dark creatures rippled into view. While some
were twice as tall as a man and appeared to be armored, others were man-sized. Still
others resembled dogs or giant scorpions—and their vastness left not a single
patch of ground in sight. The lightning itself had even struck the army, and
the flying debris had been the scorched bodies of fiends.

But the flash
of light had been enough to reveal their position, and the nearest were only a
few hundred yards away. As the strobe of light faded from view, a sea of evil rising
to their feet was the last thing in sight. Then black darkness fell, bringing blindness—and
fear.

The tremendous
roar sounded like a thunderclap, shattering the calm and unleashing the fiends'
fury. Howls rent the dark, rising in intensity as they betrayed an unearthly
hunger, merging with the snarls of beasts intent on their prey. Then the earth
began to rattle underfoot, vibrating bones and teeth as it increased in
strength . . .

"Get to
the horses!" the king bellowed.

Cutting
through the din, the order released the men from their terror, launching them
into a panic. Galvanized into action, they scattered to their steeds and rushed
to mount, stumbling in their haste.

Gaze raced for
his horse, struggling to hear the orders over his beating heart. As he leapt
into the saddle, Prince Anders snatched his leg.

“Gaze!” he
yelled, “bring down more bolts as we retreat so we can see them coming!”

Gaze fought
his panic with action, and wheeled his horse east. Looking back, he threw his
mind skyward until he felt the fingers of energy strike the ground in response.
Terror filled his soul as the flash of light revealed the chaos around him, and
he yanked on the reins to escape from imminent death. Men raced to mount,
horses bucked in fear, and dark bodies burst into the camp. Within moments the
entire company was galloping as fast as their animals could carry them.

Darkness
returned as the screams of those too slow crushed his ears.

Reaching
upward for more energy, Gaze sent it into an arc of lightning across the sky. Spinning
to look backward, he saw several dog-like creatures shimmer red as they growled
and surged after them. Sipers, he thought, recalling the description from
the elven messenger. Almost as big as his horse, the demon dogs overtook the last
of the stragglers. In moments, more cries of agony struck as the light faded
again.

—A roar of
rage bellowed nearby and Gaze called down a bolt to see who it was, this time
arcing it into the pack of dogs. Glancing at the result, he saw the bolt
blast into them, tossing them into the air, broken and lifeless. Another call
from the right and he looked to see the king rising in his saddle. His white
hair billowing behind him, he raised the banner of the fifty-second cavalry.

“Ride through
the forest—and burn it behind you!” he yelled, and the cavalry surged forward.

Gaze kicked
his horse and reached upward again, this time causing a sheet of lightning to
cascade across the morning sky. Looking back he felt his stomach plummet as he
saw thousands of Sipers pouring over the hill in an unending stream—and the
other fiends were right behind them. Screaming in rage, the man-sized creatures
bounded into view, and for the first time Gaze was able to see their blood-red
manes.

Quare.

Slapping his
horse again, he urged it even faster as all around him riders did the same.
Streaking forward, the faster horses took the lead, while the slower ones began
to fall behind. More screams lanced through his heart as the trailing horsemen
were dragged to their deaths, vainly trying to bring their weapons to bear. A
heartbeat later they were in the trees and dark trunks flashed behind them as
they raced west.

“Gaze!” the king
roared, “light the trees!”

Gaze gathered
himself and reached skyward once again. Bolt after bolt, lightning exploded
into the forest. Trees and fiends alike snapped and tore asunder as the powerful
energy struck, spending splinters lancing into black flesh. The ensuing
thunderclap almost knocked Gaze from his saddle.

But the forest
had begun to burn.

Now spurred by
the fire, the horses panicked and galloped even faster. Gaze fought to maintain
his seat as he cast a look backward. Thirty foot flames engulfed the forest and
blanketed the road in heat—but many of the dogs, and a few of the Quare—had
made it past before the blaze consumed the road.

Surging
forward, the cavalry burst from the trees into open country. Behind them the
sun had crested the horizon, but its rays barely penetrated the vast plumes of
smoke rising from the raging inferno. The light of the fire shimmered, casting
shifting shadows on the ground.

“That should
slow them down,” the king shouted. “Captain, send a hundred north and a hundred
south to flank the few that got through.”

In moments the
group split as a lieutenant peeled off on either side. Gaze, still in the
center group, wheeled his horse when the order was given and followed Prince
Anders. Fighting his mounting fear, Gaze drew his sword and raised it high with
the soldiers, joining in their battle cry and calling down three more streaks
of lightning into the center of the pack. As dark corpses littered the air, all
three cavalry groups attacked as one, dodging the rain of shattered bodies to
plunge into battle.

Gaze charged
into the fray, fighting his terror with a battle cry. Swinging his sword low he
sliced the back of a dog as it sprang for another rider and it dropped to the
dirt, but another flew over its body and smashed into the horsemen. They
tumbled out of sight and Gaze winced at the shriek of agony—but he was already
defending against a quare, its mane shimmering in rage. Snarling, it leapt
towards him with its fingers outstretched. On instinct, Gaze swung his weapon
with all his might, cutting into the attackers’ chest, wounding him and
knocking him howling away.

Without
warning, a massive dog crashed into his horse, sending Gaze tumbling to the
ground hard enough for him to see stars. Whinnying in terror, his horse
disappeared from view as the demon’s lunge carried it to the ground. A moment
later the horse went still and the dog whipped its snout in his direction. Its
silver eyes pulsed as it caught sight of Gaze and it whirled, lunging for his
throat with a snarl.

Gaze scrambled
to reach for his fallen sword, knowing it was too late—but then he heard the
dog howl in pain. Mortally wounded, the huge form brushed past him to crash
into the ground, a long spear in its side. Looking in the direction of the
thrower, he caught a fierce smile from Prince Anders before he was forced to
look away and deal with another threat.

Relief washed
over him as he snatched his weapon and rose to his feet, trying to get a
bearing on his surroundings. On every side dark forms leapt in the fire light,
clawing and tearing at the human riders trying to slay them. Unholy dogs howled
and lunged, dragging men to their screaming deaths. Men threw spears or swung
swords, piercing dark skin and leaving bloodied corpses in their wake.

Gaze fought
just as hard as his companions, fire coursing through his veins as he raced to
help a spearman fighting two Sipers. Coming from behind, he plunged his weapon
into the back of one of the hounds. The other dog flashed across the ground and
leaped. In a heartbeat the soldier fell backwards, throwing his spear up to
catch the animal in its belly and using the momentum to toss it behind him.

Before Gaze
could react, another tall fiend appeared, tearing into the now weaponless man.
Sprinting to his side, Gaze tried to strike the fiend down, but it angled its
body and tore his sword from his grasp, gouging deep cuts in his arm as he
clawed the handle free. Bellowing in rage, the fiend lunged towards him but
halted midair as the mortally wounded man grabbed its heel.

Gaze drew his
dagger and plunged it into the fiends chest. Screaming, the creature clutched
at the weapon and fell to the ground. Gaze dodged forward and snatched up his
weapon, grabbing a dented shield as well. Sparing a quick look at the soldier,
he received a reassuring nod before rejoining the battle.

Bodies of
fiends, horses, and humans were strewn everywhere, with some wounded, but most
dead. In the thinning crowd he spotted the king immediately. Still astride his
stallion, he swung his longsword valiantly at the dwindling fiends, the guards
at his side doing the same. Satisfied that he would survive, he looked for the
prince—but didn’t see him.

Panic gripped
him, and he raced through the thinning battle. He found Anders just as a demon
hound knocked him sprawling. Gaze sprinted across the battlefield and with a
roar drove his shoulder into the animal, leading with the point of his weapon.

At the last
second the dog shifted and the weapon, intended for his side, imbedded into his
hind leg. Yelping, it turned towards Gaze, yanking his weapon out of his hand
with its teeth. As it lunged, the wounded leg gave out, causing it to stumble
and knock Gaze down. Before he could recover, the Siper limped forward to stand
above him—its maw bared a foot above his throat.

Gaze yanked
his shield up and caught the open mouth before it could rip into his throat,
but the weight alone threatened to crush him. Wood cracked and shattered as the
animal chewed through the shield, sending sharp splinters lancing into Gaze's
cheek. With nowhere to go and only moments before the shield crumbled, Gaze
almost considered striking them both with lightning, but the suicidal thought
proved to be unnecessary.

A rope appeared,
and wrapped around the animals neck. Just as the shield gave way, the rope went
taught as it jerked the animal away. Gaze gasped for breath and watched as the
horseman dragged the still snarling dog for several paces before Anders walked
forward and plunged his broadsword into the animal's side, ending its life in a
quivering whimper.

Gaze looked
around him and saw that there were no more black creatures left alive, so he
dropped his head back to the ground and tried to catch his breath. For the
first time, the pain from his cheek and bleeding arm registered and he winced.
Looking down, he saw his arm had four long cuts that ran from his elbow to his
hand.

Anders appeared
and kneeled down to examine his wounds. “Your cheek looks fine,” he said, “but
we’d better get your arm bandaged. Lucky for you it didn’t hit something worse.”

Gaze shook his
head. “There are men with worse injuries, and you should check on your father.”

The prince
glanced around him and said, “My father is fine, and there are already quite a
few helping the wounded.”

Gaze cringed
as he felt the cloth tighten on his arm. “Thanks for the spear earlier. I knew
I’d be grateful for your spear skills someday.”

Anders snorted.
“You owe me five silver for that one.” Then his voice softened. “And thanks for
coming to find me.”

The sudden
sound of tearing cloth caused Gaze to look down and see the prince ripping the
sleeve off his tunic. Before he could protest Anders lifted his arm and began
wrapping another layer. Growling, Gaze clamped his teeth against the pain and
tried not to cry out. A moment later the pressure eased the pain and he sat up.

Looking around
at the carnage he asked, “How many did we lose?”

Anders shook
his head. “I’m not sure, but I would say . . . almost half.”

“They killed half?!”
Gaze asked. “There couldn’t have been more than a couple hundred of them!”

“I know,”
Anders exclaimed, worry stealing into his voice.

Gaze tried to
fight against the hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm him. Two hundred
and fifty experienced cavalry had been taken down by two hundred fiends—when
they were outnumbered—and there were millions more. How can we possibly win?
He thought, but a splash of red distracted him.

“Anders,
you’re injured!” Gaze said and was instantly on his feet.

The prince
winced as he lifted up the armor on his thigh to reveal a bite mark that had
penetrated both the chain link and the leather. Fortunately it wasn’t too deep,
and Gaze cleansed it with water from his sack. To his credit, the prince didn’t
make a sound until Gaze poured some alcohol into the wound.

“Ow! What was
that for?” the prince demanded.

“I don’t want
it to get infected, and the drink will help with that,” Gaze said, and tore off
a strip of his own clothing to tie a bandage. “I don’t think you want to risk
any infection that might come from these things.”

Anders winced
again as Gaze tightened the strip, then said heartily, “I can’t dispute that.
Now let’s go take care of the wounded.”

Gaze agreed,
coughing through the smoke that had begun to drift in their direction. “I’ll go
find some cloth and more water and ale.”

Anders nodded
his head, but before he could leave the king called out, “I need two volunteers
for a dangerous mission, preferably fast riders.”

“What’s your
father doing?” Gaze asked, but Anders just shrugged.

After a
moment’s hesitation, several men stepped forward in answer to his call and the king
selected two. “I want you to go south. Circle around the fire and get over the
hills to Orláknia. Get it burning at all costs. There is no way anyone could
reach the forest on the northern end, so it will be up to you.”

“But that’s a
suicide mission,” Gaze gasped, keeping his voice low so just the prince would
hear. “Orláknia is miles east of here—and deep in enemy territory now. They
will cut them down long before they can accomplish their mission.”

Anders spoke
with no emotion in his voice, “But it would delay them for days. The dark
forest is immense, much larger than that strip of trees you just lit.”

Gaze shook his
head but he couldn’t argue with the prince’s logic. It also explained why the
king had asked for volunteers instead of issuing orders. Each of the men that
had stepped forward knew what they were riding into, and they were doing it
anyway, to give their brethren a small chance to survive. He shuddered at the supreme
courage being displayed by these two men, and wondered if their sacrifice would
ultimately make a difference. As he watched the two men ride away from the
battlefield, he prayed fervently that it would.

All their
lives might depend on it.

Chapter
14: Rising Walls

Over two weeks
had passed since Braon had appointed Newhawk, and all the men and women that
had arrived were already placed into strategic commands. The druid leader had
been a godsend, and under his charismatic leadership a firm organizational
structure had been implemented. Even as the last of the Griffin refugees were
placed and humans from the southern kingdom of Talinor began to arrive, Newhawk
incorporated them into their defensive plan according to Braon’s instructions.
Few of the arrivals knew of the young man’s role, but every person benefited
from his guidance, and the six battalions along the cliff and Lake Road were
beginning to take shape. The framework had been laid, and not a day before
another race arrived.

Braon watched
from the battlements as the massive dwarven caravan wound its way towards the
city. More than ten thousand had already appeared and he’d been informed that
more than a hundred thousand dwarves would be there within the week. Heavy
footfalls behind him caused him to turn and find a dwarf walking towards him
with Newhawk at his side. About Braon's height, the dwarf carried a wide battle
axe and wore high quality armor. A long black beard fell from the dwarf’s chin
and had been braided and tied.

Mentally Braon
smiled, satisfied with what he saw. The dwarf was ordered, and would be of high
rank. His firm expression as he approached showed he was determined. A good
leader, Braon thought, maybe even one of my generals.

Stopping in
front of the young man, the dwarf evaluated him before grunting. “Braon, I’ve
been told that you are our commander.” His voice scratched in a deep gravelly way
as he reached out to clasp Braon’s hand.

Resisting the
impulse to wince at the stone grip, Braon smiled. “Welcome to the gathering. I
have been told that most of your nation is coming.”

The dwarf
nodded. “All except the commander of the northern defenses and fifteen hundred
from his battalion. They will remain to direct any more allies towards us and
shut the gates if anything else comes that way.”

Braon accepted
the report with a curt nod. “What is your name and rank?”

“Onix,” the
dwarf answered, “High Captain of the southern defenses and first stratum of the
engineering guild.”

Braon’s
eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I was under the impression that soldiers didn’t
gain ranks in the Stratas.”

Onix’s lips
cracked into a grin under his beard and he snorted. “You are well informed for
a human, and correct. Soldiers don’t learn engineering, but engineers are
allowed to transfer to the army if their clan grants special consideration.”

Braon’s mind
whirled at all the implications of Onix’s statement. Only a great warrior would
be allowed to shift occupations, and the fact that the dwarf in front of him
had become a first stratum revealed even more. Smart, ordered, and a good
warrior would be a deadly mixture as a general.

“Onix,” Braon
began, “where is the king?”

“I believe he
has not departed our homeland. It was his desire to make sure the evacuation
ran smoothly, and sent me ahead to prepare for our people’s arrival.”

Braon nodded
and with a sweep of his hand invited Onix to walk down the stairs with him.
“There are a few things I would like to talk to you about. Will you walk with
me to our command center? Newhawk will see to your people’s arrival.”

Onix
hesitated, but fell into step beside Braon, who began as soon as they reached
the Ninth Tier. “There are several things that we desperately need for our
defenses that I hope your dwarves can help with.”

“What do you need?”
Onix asked in his rough voice.

“Allow me to show
you,” Braon said and led the dwarf into the House of Runya. He guided him
through the now familiar corridors and into his command center. While it still
felt like a tree house resting at the top of the great tree, complete with a
brilliant sky in the ceiling, there were now people and desks all over the
room.

“Many of them
are Magi making a map so we can see the battle from here,” Braon explained and
led Onix into his office. Instead of sitting, he walked over to a small stone
desk that he’d had placed on the side of the room. He’d created a model of
various bulwarks and battle formations representing the Giant’s Shelf. Along its
edge, he had one of the water mages create some specific defensive structures
with a magical ice that didn’t melt.

Turning around
he asked, “Do you mind if I get right to the point?”

After Onix
agreed he pointed at the model. “According to the Oracle, we have less than
four weeks before Draeken’s army arrives. For us to be prepared in time, there
are several things that need to be built, and I believe the dwarves will be
able to accomplish it better than any other race.”

Without
waiting for a response he continued, pointing at the various models on the
desk. “The primary concern is the walls. We need to finish the defensive
barricades along the cliff. If possible, we need to construct several walls and
gates on the Lake Road.”

Onix frowned
and swept a hand at the models. "Do you intend to defend the entire
plateau?"

"Yes. We
must draw as much as we can away from our vulnerable points." Pointing at
each in turn he said, "The deep, the city, and the Lake Road."

Onix snorted. “Our
people built this city boy, and it is not vulnerable.”

“That’s not
what I mean,” Braon said, hoping he hadn't offended the dwarf. “If the city is
breached, our entire defenses will be lost. It is the center of our command,
and is by far the strongest and most defensible location. However, the Oracle
told us that the best we could hope to survive is seven days.”

Onix’s head
snapped back and he blinked in confusion. “How could anyone defeat Azertorn?” he
asked. “It is the strongest citadel ever constructed.”

“And that is
the only reason why we will last so long. It is vital that we prepare
every possible defense against the fiend army.”

Onix dipped
his head and sighed, a sound that rumbled in his chest. “As you say, but so far
the things you have told me aren’t too difficult. Even a human could construct
the walls.”

“Not the way I
want you to build them.”

For the first
time Onix’s eyes sparked with interest and he cocked his head. “The Oracle was
right about you, wasn’t she?” he said.

“That depends
on what she said.”

Onix bellowed
a deep rumbling laugh and said, “Fine, now tell me the rest so I can get to
work.”

Grateful for
the dwarf’s support, Braon pointed to one of the walls along the cliff. “I need
the cliff barricade to be built in a very specific way. Every hundred feet
there need to be two ballistae next to each other that point down the
cliff. They need to be secured in a way that the enemy cannot easily break them
off. In between the ballistae posts I want a long pendulum constructed. It
needs to have a chain about eighty feet in length, and fashioned of sharp
metal. The end can be whatever you deem best, but it needs to be heavy.”

Onix’s stone
face cracked again into a wide grin. “You plan on using the pendulum to knock
them off if they are climbing.” He laughed again and with a trace of anticipation
exclaimed, "You know that type of siege machinery has never been built
before—but I know some dwarves that could create it. Anything else?”

“I want the
walls on the road built with porous material towards the front, and then backed
by stronger stone. No matter how hard they hit it won’t crumble. Instead their
weapons will sink into the wall like it was . . . cheese. Eventually they will
cut their way through, but this will slow them down. From the description of
the enemy, they will be strong. Anything brittle will be crushed, so we have to
think smarter.”

Onix snorted
again and prompted, “And?”

“If your stone
mages are good, I want them to do two things. One is to create a series of
tunnels running from the back of Azertorn to various locations outside the
city. They will be a means of sending men back and forth, as well as striking
behind their lines if they surround the city, or as means of escape if we are
defeated. Also, along the cliff face I want your stone magi to burrow down and
create sections of the cliff that can explode outward.

“Last, there
is a section of the cliff in The Deep that dips to eight hundred feet.” He
pointed to the corresponding place on the model. “We need a wall filling it up
to match the height of the plateau, and painted so it looks like the rest of
the cliff. Then construct a system at the top of the slope that will allow us
to dump tar or pitch into the depression. Our first defense will be the
illusion that it is not a weakness. If it is discovered and breached, we will
pour pitch and burn it. Hopefully it will be a sufficient deterrent."

Onix was
shaking his head so Braon stopped. “I have to admit I doubted the Oracle, boy,
but you are everything she said and more. Who would have thought a fifteen-year-old
human would be my commanding officer.”

Braon allowed
a small smile. “I was hoping you’d say that, Onix, because I also need you to
be one of my generals.”

Onix grunted
and eyed him. “Where?”

Pointing to
the model just west of the city, he said, “You will be the general over the
West Falls battalion. It will be your responsibility to organize and train any
people that I send your way, as well as communicate with me what you need. Most
of your command will be your own people, but some humans are there already.
This is to give Newhawk and me versatility as we lead the defenses through
you.” His voice became formal as he asked, “Do you accept your new rank, General?”

Onix
straightened and exclaimed, “Yes, Commander.”

Braon smiled
and said, “Congratulations. Let me get your Link.”

The dwarf
raised an eyebrow at him but Braon didn’t explain. Instead he opened the door
and called for Thacker. When the man stepped into view, he said, “Summon Brynn.”

He nodded in
response and left the office. Braon returned to his desk, picked up a piece of
parchment, and scribbled a note on it. Just as he put it down Thacker’s fiery
brunette daughter burst into the room.

“You called .
. .?” she began, but trailed off as she caught sight of the confused dwarf.

Braon smiled
and again felt drawn to the young woman. “Brynn, this is Onix, general of the
West Falls battalion. You are to be his Link.” Turning to the dwarf, whose
mouth hung open, Braon explained. “They are a telepathic family. I am placing
one member with each general and myself so we can communicate efficiently.”

“But she’s
just a child!” Onix protested.

Brynn’s face
clouded, but she held true to her training and allowed Braon to answer. “We
both know that communication is critical in battle. Her mind is linked to her
fathers, so you can speak to her and the message will be transmitted to me
almost instantly. With our twenty-mile defenses, this is not only important,
it’s essential. From here on she is to remain by your side at every waking moment,
and close by at night. There are two veteran elves tasked with her protection,
but you will assign at least four of your own men, and you will guard her with
your life.” His voice was harder than he’d intended, but Onix got the message
and he bowed, a twinkle in his eye that almost caused Braon to flush.

“I will not
allow harm to befall her, Commander,” Onix said.

“Speak to me
through her whenever you need me, and be prepared for me to pass you messages
as well. When the battle nears, we will begin training with you and the other
generals so all of us may work together as a cohesive unit.”

“Are there any
other generals?” Onix asked.

“Deiran will
command the Azertorn defenses, but we still need five.”

The dwarf
nodded. “I have my orders, and I will begin at once.”

“Give me an
update through your Link at least once a day,” Braon said as his new general
turned to depart, and Onix gave a curt nod before strolling from the room.
Brynn cast Braon a worried look, but he smiled reassuringly and she followed
him out the door.

As soon as
they were gone, Thacker stepped into the room. “Brynn says she is grateful you
placed her with the dwarves.”

Braon nodded
and released a slow breath. He’d found one of his six generals, but it felt like
such a tiny step. There was so much to do and so little time, and he needed his
other leaders a week ago. Already each of the six battalions contained at least
twenty thousand men, with two boasting over fifty thousand. Women and older
children were working long days to make arrows and prepare food and clothing.

Sighing at the
complexity of his task, he said, “Go get some lunch, Thacker. I know you were
waiting for me, but go get something for yourself.”

The man
hesitated before shaking his head. “I am attached to you, every moment, of
every day, as you trained me. I will wait outside until you are ready.” He then
slipped out the door before Braon could argue with him.

A smile spread
across the young man’s features. It’s good to know some things are working,
he thought. For the past two weeks Braon had worked intensively with Thacker
and his children, drilling their role into them. Some of the more responsible
youths had taken to it well, and even seemed excited. The twins and Daq still
needed work though, and he hoped he had enough time to train them before he
found more generals. Each of them needed to be prepared before he assigned
them. More than the others, he prayed that Brynn would be watched over.

Glancing at
his makeshift model he felt a wave of gratitude. The dwarven artisans would do
a tremendous job with their stone working skills, and he had no doubt that each
of those defenses would be finished on time. “Never doubt a dwarven smith,” his
father used to say, and the thought made him sad. He still did not know if his
family had been killed when Terros had been destroyed, but he held no
illusions.

Grief would
come later . . . when they had time—and if they survived.

Chapter
15: Prince

Braon snapped
awake to pounding on his door and rubbed his eyes. Hurriedly he slid from his
bed and pulled on some pants. A glance at the window showed it to be before
dawn. For a moment his heart seized, have they come early? With a grunt
he shook the irrational thought from his mind and yanked a shirt on.

He opened the
door to reveal Rokei, who said, “Prince Graden of the southern kingdom has just
arrived. Newhawk is with him and wishes to speak with you.”

“Give me a
moment, and rouse Thacker.” Closing the door he tied on shoes and finished
getting ready, selecting a dark blue tunic and trading for black pants. He
needed to look his rank, but not overly so. A quick check in the mirror and he
frowned, his hair stuck up in odd places. Using some water from a pitcher, he
wet his hair until it stayed in place. Then he grabbed a piece of sweet fruit
and crammed a few bites into his mouth to take away any bad breath.

Ready to greet
the prince, he opened the door again and moved down the hall to Thacker’s room,
adjacent to his. As soon as Thacker joined him, they followed Rokei as he led
him out of the house of Runya and into the cool morning streets. Braon followed
the soft-footed elf and took the time to compose his thoughts, which were still
scrambled from the abrupt awakening.

He’d heard
about the southern kingdom’s royal family from the arriving humans. King
Drayson, renowned as a kind and intelligent ruler, had lost his wife to a fever
a year after their second son had been born. Prince Anders, the eldest, had
been described by numerous southerners to be an exceptional warrior, strong and
fast. Prince Graden had been depicted as shorter, but resembling his brother in
good looks. Smart and quick witted, he was not quite as good with a weapon, but
was far superior with his mind—and he played Stratos.

Strolling
through the First Great Hall that comprised the first tier of Azertorn, Braon
moved past the training rings and other practice gear. Even this early in the
day he saw countless sparring matches and training instructions all around him,
and as per his instructions, many human soldiers were participating.

Reaching the
First Pillar, a massive column fifty feet across and a hundred feet tall that
housed the captain of the first Legion, Rokei slowed and led Braon into the
first level. Weapons lined the walls and numerous guards were stationed around
the circular space. On one side, a curving staircase led upward. Across from
Braon a large, heavy portcullis had been raised and humans from the south were
streaming through the opening, splitting off to the left and right as the
guards directed their path.

Braon smiled.
Newhawk had performed exactly as they had discussed. As the people were
evacuated from the southern and eastern kingdoms, they were guided through the
forest of Numenessee, which spread south from the city. Arriving at Azertorn,
the guards outside separated men into groups of a hundred, and assigned them to
one of the six battalions on the cliff. Then they were led through the city to
the top of the Giant’s Shelf, and taken to their command to be presented to their
temporary commanding officer. Their families went with them.

Within hours,
the sister elves under the direction of the queen and Liri’s mother, Lariel,
took a count of men, women, and children as well as an inventory of their
goods. Small babes and a few caretakers for them were then selected and led to
the caverns behind Azertorn where they would remain during the battle. Although
many left the caverns and joined their families during the day, they were
required to return at night. Braon wanted every person to know the route to
their post intimately.

Nodding in
satisfaction at the smooth order before him, he turned and followed Rokei up
several flights of stairs to one of the highest rooms in the First Pillar.
Coming around the last corner, he saw Seath, Thacker's oldest son, standing
outside a door with his bodyguard. Nodding at Newhawk’s Link, Braon indicated
for Thacker to remain outside with his son. Opening the door, he stepped
through the portal to be greeted by Newhawk.

“Commander,
thank you for coming,” Newhawk said, and introduced him to the other person in
the room. “Commander Braon, this is Prince Graden of the southern realm of
humans.” Neither of them spoke after the druid finished and Braon waited for
the prince, who appeared confused, to speak first.

“But you’re
just a boy,” the prince said, and Braon was glad he heard surprise rather than
derision.

Braon flashed
a wry smile and said, “Fifteen actually, but called to the role by the Oracle
and placed in service by the queen of the elves.”

Prince Graden
shook his head as he tried to understand. “So you,” he pointed at the young
man, “are going to lead us to victory?”

“Unfortunately
victory is not possible,” Braon answered, his voice calm and composed. “But
delaying our defeat until Draeken is destroyed is what we hope to achieve. If
he is slain, his army will be withdrawn back to their realm.”

The prince
furrowed his brow. “That is what I have heard, whispered by strong men and
women alike. I also saw my father touch the orb sent by the Oracle, but I have
to admit I have my doubts.”

Newhawk
coughed, “The Oracle has stated as much, and I heard it from her own lips. I
also saw it when she gave me a glimpse of her vision. If I had not believed it then,
I would have after reading the ancient records of the elves. They describe in
disturbing detail the first time Draeken attempted to slaughter us.”

“Wait,” Prince
Graden said, raising a hand in astonishment. “The ancient holocaust that
divided the human kingdoms, it’s happening again?”

“From what we
have gleaned from the records," Braon said, doing his best not to fidget. "Draeken
sent his army then as he has now. East of the lake everyone perished, the elves
were fleeing for their lives across the southern lands and anyone too slow was
overtaken.”

“Yes, I know
the legend,” Graden said, “but no one knew who did it. The invaders vanished
without a trace and no one could identify the source.”

“Draeken, the
demigod of chaos, was the source,” Braon explained. “Few knew that a few months
prior to the holocaust, the oracle of the age sent a powerful warrior to
destroy Draeken. Lakonus, said to be born of elves, humans, and dwarves, was
prophesied to be the only one capable of slaying Draeken. We now know that he
did not succeed in his quest, but rather imprisoned Draeken in a manner we do
not understand.”

The prince
blew out his breath and moved to a window. Leaning on the sill for a moment, he
seemed lost in thought before he spun on his heel. “If the tales of the ancient
holocaust are even close to true, than we are all lost.”

Newhawk
chuckled dryly, startling the prince. “We have our own Oracle, and more time to
prepare than our ancestors had. There is also another person with lineage of
the three races that is on his way to slay Draeken.”

“How do you
know he will succeed where Lakonus failed?” the prince challenged.

“We don’t,”
Braon said, and then shrugged. “But it’s not in our nature to lie down and die.
I am sure there are a few that are foolish, and will perish because they refuse
to join the gathering. But most of the races will either be driven to gather
with us, or come of their own accord when invited.”

“Like us,”
Graden stated.

“The ones who
come early stand the greatest chance of surviving, and many of your people will
live because of your faith and foresight.”

“Because of my
father’s faith and foresight,” Graden corrected. “He is the one who
believed and began the evacuation of Talinor.”

“Where is your
father?” Newhawk asked.

“He and my
brother took five hundred of our best cavalry. They intend to delay the
invasion by razing forests and destroying bridges.”

“With their
numbers, it may not do much," Braon said, "but it is exceptionally
brave and will no doubt save many lives.”

The prince
sighed. “So what is the plan now, if I accept this young man to lead my
people?”

Braon studied
the man before him, trying to think of the best way to convince him to trust
him. His instincts told him that the prince was ideal for a general, and he
desperately needed a human one. The man demonstrated humility, and held no
qualms about relinquishing leadership to someone that he believed in. A flick
of his eyes to Newhawk when he’d said if showed he would follow
Newhawk—but the fact that the strong druid accepted Braon was not enough for
the prince.

While Braon thought,
the prince’s lips twitched as if he were resisting the urge to smile. The
movement seemed oddly familiar, and Braon sifted through memories trying to
identify what it reminded him of. A smile blossomed on his face when the memory
popped into his mind. “I hear you play Stratos, Prince Graden. Is that
accurate?”

“Yes," Graden
grinned. "It’s how I practice strategy like everyone else, but what does
that have to do with anything?”

“Are you any
good?” Braon pressed.

The prince’s
grin widened, but his expression betrayed his confusion. “I prefer not to
boast, but I have rarely lost.”

“Did you ever
lose in a tournament to a boy?” Braon asked, his voice quiet.

The prince
started and focused on the young man. “It can’t be . . .” he exclaimed. “That
kid did things on the board that I had never seen.”

Braon allowed
a small smile. “I have lost some weight since then.” Prince Graden stared at
him before bursting into laughter, and Braon didn’t miss the subtle appraising
look from Newhawk as well.

“It’s you! I
can’t believe it,” Graden exclaimed. “I saw you demolish my pieces like . . .
like you were inside my head!” He threw his hands in the air and shook
his head, adding, “I remember thinking that if you ever led an actual army you
would be unstoppable, but no one would ever follow you if all they saw was an
overweight boy.”

“That is why
we have Newhawk,” Braon said, sweeping his hand towards his second in command.
“Almost everyone believes that Newhawk leads the defenses. Few know that much
of what he does is under my direction.”

“Brilliant
again,” Graden chuckled in wonder. “You lead the army, but everyone sees and
follows him.”

“Exactly,”
Braon agreed. “However, there are key people that I need to lead the defenses.
Five more generals to be exact, one for each of the battalions I am forming.”

“Wait,” the
prince said, sobering and raising a hand. “You want me to be one of your war
council?”

Braon nodded
and waited for the prince’s response. At first Graden didn’t answer, turning
around and looking out the window at his people entering the city. For several
moments the silence stretched between them as the prince considered the offer. Then
he sighed and turned around.

“As long as I
may choose the men directly under me, as well as send another to finish the
evacuation . . . then I accept.”

Braon sensed a
certain level of reluctance in the prince’s words, so he took a step forward.
“If you have any doubt, General, now is the time to voice it.”

The prince
laughed dryly. “Inside my head again, Braon, but I was not doubting you. I was
doubting whether we will survive.”

“As long as
people choose light over darkness, then we will stand a chance,” Braon said.
“Now let’s get started.” Turning to Newhawk he said, “Take General Graden to
the House of Runya. Get him up to date on everything and explain his Link. Then
assign him Kit and direct him to his Battalion on the Eastern Falls.”

Newhawk
accepted his orders with a nod, and Braon turned back to Graden. “Do not reveal
my role unless it is to someone you trust. To everyone else, Newhawk is in
command. As soon as you assume leadership of your battalion, begin forming your
structure according to Newhawk's instructions. You are free to change them, but
stay within the parameters of our overall strategy. If I need you, you will
know through your Link. Good luck, General.”

It was clear
the man didn’t fully understand Braon’s words, but he tilted his head and
followed Newhawk from the room. As soon as he was alone, Braon smiled to
himself. Two generals in two days had been more than he could have hoped for.
With the dwarves arriving from the north, and humans now flooding in from the
south, he could begin fleshing out the battalions. Construction on the
fortifications would increase and their timeline would move up. Granted the
work would be more, trying to organize hundreds of thousands of people into
their places, but it was necessary.

Turning on his
heel he opened the door and addressed Thacker. “Wake up Kit and let her know
that General Graden is coming. She knows what to do.”

Thacker nodded
and smiled. “You have taught her well.”

Braon
sidestepped the praise and added, “Then inform Onix to go to the eastern falls
and introduce himself to Graden. Have him explain the details of the
fortifications they are building so he can begin training his men accurately.”

As Thacker
passed on the mental orders, Braon turned to Rokei and asked, “Can you send
someone to inform the queen of our progress?”

Rokei nodded
and disappeared down the hall to find a messenger. Turning back to Thacker,
Braon saw that he’d already finished, so he said, “Tell Deiran to meet us.
Since we are already down here we might as well see firsthand how his training
regiment is working.”

Stepping back
into the room to wait, Braon went to the window and surveyed the great hall. Elven
light magic filled the enormous cavern enough that Braon was able to see the
expressions of the humans entering the city below him. Many seemed scared, and
spoke little as they were directed forward. He couldn’t blame them. He
remembered acutely what he’d felt when he saw the annihilation of Terros. Being
forced to evacuate had many similarities to being driven out by an army, and
either way it meant you were abandoning your home.

Because the
human kingdoms were the most populous of the races, their coming would be
unequivocally necessary. Nearly half of the entire manpower he hoped to gain
from the gathered nations would come from the race of man, and having a strong
human prince become one of his generals would be political as much as strategic.
It would help them believe—especially with Newhawk’s overall leadership.

Several
minutes later, General Deiran and his Link, Daq, arrived. Greeting them, Braon asked
for a brief tour of the training and a report of its progress. The general
responded readily and led him down and back into the cavernous space of the
First Great Hall. Braon smiled and nodded in response while half his mind
absorbed the general’s words. The other half paid attention to Deiran himself.

The strong elf
general appeared tired, but alert. In his shadow followed Daq stayed true to
his training and remained silent. The youth also appeared worn, but his eyes
sparkled with excitement and his eyes lit up every time his father looked at
him. By his changes in expression, Braon saw that they were silently speaking
to each other, and he was glad to see the results positive. Deiran also threw
glances at the boy and Braon got the sense that the General had developed a
soft spot for his Link. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned the bulk of his
attention to Deiran’s report.

The elf
general had been tasked with developing a training schedule for all the
newcomers and he’d been challenged with getting the army into shape. To
accomplish the difficult task, Deiran had taken each battalion east of Azertorn
and brought them to the First Great Hall to train. Based on the rotation, each
command would train every third day, giving them two days to work on the
defenses of their area. The western commands did the same thing, and used the
Second Great Hall positioned directly above them.

As Deiran
concluded his description Braon smiled. “You have done excellent work General,
especially to accommodate so many inexperienced men.”

“Almost all of
our people and the dwarves do not need the training, as they have been working
with their skills for many years. I recommend the dwarves be taken out of the
rotation so they can focus on the construction of the walls.”

“Do it,” Braon
agreed. “The only thing I would add is to make preparations to move each
battalion’s training to their perspective field of conflict. Soon we will have
too many to move and it will be easier if the practice is done with less waste
of time. I can't explain why now, but place all training areas adjacent to the
cliff.”

“Understood,
Commander,” Deiran replied, giving a curt nod before departing.

Braon saw
Daq’s small hand waving and he allowed a half smile that brightened the little
boy’s face.

“Daq says it
was good to see you again,” Thacker said after they had departed.

“Tell him it
was good to see him, too, and tell him he deserves praise for holding to his
training. I know it was hard for him not to speak.”

Thacker
laughed."You have no idea how hard it is for him to not talk.”

“I know,"
Braon sighed. "But the generals have to get comfortable using their Link,
so it is second nature during the battle. If the Links talk at all, it will slow
our communication down.”

A hand clasped
his shoulder, and he looked to find Thacker’s eyes. “My family will do our part
to help you with your burden, and for what it’s worth, we believe in you.”

Braon
swallowed the sudden knot of emotion and forced a smile of gratitude. The
fisherman’s words had hit home. He did feel a weight that could not be shared—or
shown. At every moment he had to be in control, commander in every way. A
single crack and people would lose faith in him. It was a price he could not
afford, even if the pressure caused physical pain.

Chapter
16: The Ocleon

Taryn frowned
as he looked out from their hiding place onto the southern end of Ryazan.
Crumbling in disrepair, the city was inhabited by orcs and gnomes, racial
enemies of the dwarves. As short as a dwarf, orcs were quick to anger and slow
of thought. Gray-skinned and thick of stature, they were a superstitious and
suspicious lot that tended to fight at the slightest provocation. Gnomes tended
to be more intelligent and less warlike. Spindly little beings, gnomes were
easily identified by the yellowish hue to their skin—or their greed. At some
point in the distant past the two races had formed an alliance that had endured
for centuries, an alliance based on the gnomes becoming akin to a ruling class.
For an inexplicable reason, the symbiotic relationship seemed to work for both
races.

“Why do we
have to do this again?” Trin whispered in exasperation.

“I told you,”
Siarra replied in irritation. “At most this will delay our journey a day, but
if we manage to convince the gnomes and orcs to join the gathering, then they
could bring over two hundred thousand to the battle.”

Trin growled under
his breath. “I still don’t like it. This city is enormous, and there is no
order to the layout. It looks like buildings were added at random and many are
certain to be structurally unsound.”

“Sounds like
fun,” Jack said, excitement coloring his tone.

“Perhaps to
you Jack," Mae said, "but this will not be easy.”

Siarra nodded
and said, “I know it will be hard, but we have to try. I can feel that their
joining our cause is vital to our success.”

Jack snorted.
“You’re going to play the Oracle card, again? You need to come up with
another argument.”

Siarra's
expression darkened but Liri cut her off before a dispute could start again.
“You have been at each other's throats for the entire two weeks since we left
the dwarves. Jack, why don't you help us figure out what to do.”

Jack's frown
deepened, but he threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, there is a secret
entrance in the southwest side that will bring us to within a mile of the
palace.”

All of them
looked at him in astonishment and he growled in irritation. “What?”

“How do you
know that?” Trin asked with a shake of his head.

“I put it
there,” Jack replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Taryn stifled
a laugh and glanced over the top of the hill at the city. “We’d better move,” he
said. “There is a patrol of guards coming and it’s getting dark. If we are
lucky we can be in and out by dawn.”

As they began
leapfrogging through patches of trees to get around the city, Taryn heard
Siarra mutter under her breath. He caught the words "stupid thief,"
and he bit his lip to prevent a smile. Moving forward he knelt beside Jack as
he looked at the next stretch of bare ground, scanning for any sign of
movement.

“Do you annoy
her on purpose?” Taryn asked.

Jack flashed
him a grin. “Of course. Someone has to keep her humble. Besides, I think she
likes me.” He waggled his eyebrows and smirked, but Taryn got the impression
that there was a serious note to his words.

“You favor
her, don’t you,” Taryn whispered.

Jack flashed
an annoyed look at him. “Finally see that, do you? Took you long enough—but
then again you seem to be lacking the sight that notices when someone is
interested. Liri is a perfect example.”

Taryn, taken
aback by his comment, didn’t get a chance to reply as Jack bolted for the next
stand of trees. Taryn sprinted across the open ground and followed the thief
into protective darkness.

As soon as
they were hidden once again, Taryn asked, “What do you mean, Liri? We’re just
good friends.”

Jack laughed,
quiet and mocking. “Just pay attention to the way she looks at you, will you?”

Taryn’s mind
buzzed and he cast a look back at his longtime friend, who caught his glance
and smiled. He jerked his head forward so as to not give away his thoughts. Despite
his efforts to quell it, the idea that she might favor him back sent tremors of
heat through his body. He tried to remember conversations where she might have
alluded to it. Several comments she’d said over the past few months seemed
particularly noticeable now that he considered it—but he’d just thought they
were close.

Could it be
true?

Jack patted
him on the shoulder, his expression sympathetic. “Don’t worry, Taryn, you will
figure it out. Right now we have to get into Ryazan.” Pointing towards a
section of the tall wooden palisade that formed the outer wall he said, “The
entrance is right there.”

With an
effort, Taryn set his thoughts aside, resolving to think about Liri later. “How
does the entrance work?”

“The wall is
fifty feet or so, right?” Jack asked and Taryn nodded.

“Looks to be
that way."

“Halfway up is
a piece that swings inward and leads onto a roof inside. Do you see that
section of the wall that still has the bark on it right above the roving
patrol? Below it you will see that one of the logs has a little branch sticking
out of it. That’s the trigger. If it is lifted straight up and then moved right,
it will swing open.”

“Have you
stolen from every city?”

“Not every
city, but all the big ones. You have to move around or they might start to know
who you are.”

“What did you
take from here?” Taryn asked.

“Which time?”

“Whichever
time you want to tell,” Taryn grinned.

“Last time,”
Jack said and leaned in, “I took the Ocleon.”

Siarra materialized
at their side and asked, “What did you say?”

Jack’s eyes
flicked back and forth between Taryn and Siarra until he said, “The Ocleon.”

Siarra threw
her hands into the air and hissed, “Why didn’t you share this before?”

Jack put up
his hands in a vain attempt to placate her and said, “I didn’t think it
mattered.”

She growled,
but Taryn interrupted their exchange. “What’s the Ocleon?”

Siarra whirled
on him. “It's the most precious thing to the entire orc and gnome nation. It's
a large sapphire that supposedly their grand shaman uses to communicate with
their god. The dwarf king told me about it when I said we would be coming this
way—and told me that ever since that stone has been taken the entire nation has
been on the warpath.”

“So how does
that impact us?” Taryn said, confused, “besides making it more difficult to get
in.”

Siarra’s eyes
flashed in a mixture of anger and excitement. “We can use it to get the
king to join the gathering.”

Jack jumped in
with a shake of his head, “Hey, I stole it fair . . .”

Siarra’s look
at him could have struck down a giant, but only made the thief wilt a little.
“Where is it?” she demanded and a slight current of energy blossomed up her
arms.

Jack threw up
his hands and grumbled, “It’s in the city. I had to stash it when they were
about to capture me. They tried to execute me, you know, and it wasn’t easy to escape.”

Siarra’s expression
turned calculating and she said, “OK, let's go. Jack and Taryn will retrieve
the Ocleon and meet Liri and me at the palace. Trin and Mae can stay out here
in case something goes awry and we need a rescue.”

Taryn tapped Jack
on the shoulder as Siarra fell back to explain to Trin and Mae. “Don’t worry
about it, Jack,” he said, his voice full of sympathy. “We all know she is
impossible to say no to.”

Jack sighed,
his gaze lingering on her back. “She’s like a tornado, impossible not to be
fascinated with . . . but deadly if she comes after you.”

Taryn turned
his laugh into a cough as he saw his sister returning and said, “Besides, you
can always steal it again after this is over.”

Jack smothered
a laugh and brightened considerably, so when Siarra arrived and motioned for
them to move, he didn’t argue.

During their
conversation the patrol had moved on, so Jack sprinted down the slope in the
fading light of day. Reaching the wall, he scaled it to the point he’d
indicated and lifted the branch. A small portal swung inward and the thief disappeared
from view. Taryn checked the perimeter once more before following and moments
later he was inside the city.

As one by one
the rest of their party slipped in behind them, Taryn took the opportunity to
look around. Peering out from an overhang created by the walkway on top of the
wall, Taryn saw the city lit by countless torches. Ramshackle buildings,
scattered in every direction, seemed even more unstable this close. Although
some of the structures appeared to be made of wood or rough stone, most seemed
to be constructed with a sort of fragile brick. The lack of order was almost
overwhelming, but it wasn’t the worst part.

The smells and
sounds of the city’s occupants leaked up from every direction. Wrinkling his
nose against the motley collection of odors, he felt the urge to cover his ears
with his hands. Drunken yells and quick bursts of scrambled fighting pierced
the night as raucous laughter sounded to his left.

“It takes some
getting used to,” Jack said from beside him, and he turned to see Jack's grin
in the darkness. “Before I took the Ocleon, they used to allow outsiders into
the city.”

“So it’s
always like this?” Liri asked, closing the hidden door behind her with a soft
click.

Jack chuckled
dryly, “Except when they go to war. Then it's worse.”

“Which one is
the palace?” Siarra asked.

Jack squinted
in the darkness and pointed north. “I can’t see it from here but you can’t miss
it. It sits on the outer wall a mile north of here and is the sole structure in
the city that you would consider tall.”

“How long
will it take you to get the Ocleon and meet us there?”

Jack smirked.
“We’ll probably beat you there.”

Ignoring
Jack’s expression, Siarra asked, “Should we follow rooftops or streets then?”

“Rooftops
where possible, streets if necessary. Try to avoid taverns, too,” Jack replied,
one eyebrow rising as he looked at her critically. “Perhaps you should try to
avoid anything. We’ll meet you there in about thirty minutes unless we run into
trouble.” Without another word he slipped from the shadows and dropped onto a
lower roof. Taryn met Liri's reassuring gaze as he dropped from sight, glad the
darkness hid his flush.

Is it
possible?

As Taryn leapt
from building to building and shadow to shadow, he began to realize what made
Jack such a good thief. For a human, he moved much more like an elf. Or a
panther, he thought with a smile. Following him through Ryazan required
much more speed and agility than Taryn would have thought, and it felt like
trying to catch the wind itself.

Taryn jumped from
a roof to an adjacent building, but dodged behind a twisted chimney when he
heard a bark of warning from below. Holding his breath, he waited until he
heard an answering growl and then an ensuing scuffle. A sigh of relief escaped
his lips and he slipped out of the patch of shadow. Easing to the edge, he
dropped to the ground where Jack had disappeared. Landing in a crouch in the
darkened alley he moved to the side where he saw the dim outline of Jack’s body.

“How close are
we?” Taryn whispered.

“It’s here,”
Jack replied in the same tone. “I think it is anyway. Some of the buildings are
different, so I can't be sure.”

“Great,”
Taryn hissed, already wondering what to do if they couldn’t find it, but he
felt a nudge from Jack’s elbow.

“Relax, we’ll
find it,” Jack said and moved down the alley to the street.

Taryn frowned,
but followed him to the end where it opened onto a large square with a building
in the middle. Stopping just shy of the light, he looked out of the alley to
see four groups of orcs in view, huddled together as they gambled. A pair of
gnomes also stood at the front of the structure, with their short spears
leaning against the wooden doors as they talked.

“That building
is one of their places where they worship their god. When I took the stone, the
whole city flew into a frenzy and everyone flooded towards their temple next to
the palace. I ran by here and ducked inside when a patrol passed. It should be strapped
to a rafter inside.”

“So what do we
do about them?” Taryn tilted his head towards the score of orcs.

Jack thought
for a minute and then shrugged, “I say we pull a sneaky fox.”

Taryn’s
eyebrows pulled together. “What’s a sneaky fox?”

“You know the
old saying 'the wolf is in the hen house'?” Jack asked, and when Taryn nodded
he said, “While the wolf brings the farmer to the hen house, the fox takes the
turkey off the table.”

Taryn chuckled
to himself. “I would ask who is the fox and who is the wolf, but we both know
the answer to that question.” Jack spread his arms out wide, causing Taryn to
grin and add, “Should I knock them out or lead them away?”

“Knock them
out fast if you can. If it takes you more than a minute, lead them away or the
commotion will draw others here. If we get separated, meet me at the palace.”

Taryn accepted
the instructions with a nod. “Give me a minute.” Looking back at the courtyard
he planned his route and then wrapped his cloak around him before stepping out
of the darkness. Strolling towards the closest group, he waited until he stood
right behind them before striking.

In a blur of
action he brought the knife edge of his hands into the thick necks of two of
them. Even as they began to collapse he jumped towards the third and spun to
stand behind him. Wrapping one arm under the orc’s head, he placed the other
behind his bull neck, cutting off his air supply—and his cry of rage.
Struggling to breathe, the orc tore at his arms in a vain attempt to break his
iron grip. After a moment the orc lost consciousness and he lowered him to the
ground. A quick check revealed that no one had noticed the brief interchange,
and he hurried to position their forms. When he was finished, it looked like three
orcs playing dice, albeit with more leaning.

Moving to the
next group he stole up behind two of them and bashed their heads together with
a soft thud. The other two, clearly drunk, reached for their weapons but seemed
unable to find them. Before they got the chance, Taryn kicked one in the
stomach and spun to elbow the other in the head. Catching them as they fell, he
knocked out the one he’d hit in the stomach and moved to place them into a
circle.

Once again
he’d gotten lucky, and no one seemed to have noticed. Dodging to the back of
the building and its long shadow, he worked his way around until the last two
groups came into view. The largest group had seven orcs dressed as soldiers and
looked to be gambling, while the other had two orcs nursing a bottle.

Shadow jumping,
Taryn approached the smaller group. Just as he came within striking distance,
one of them looked in his direction, peering into his cloak as he tried to
identify him. In a flash Taryn closed the distance and grabbed both of them by
the throat. Slamming them back into a wall and out of sight, he lifted them off
the ground by their throats. With eyes bulging, they fought to breathe as Taryn
choked them until they passed out. As soon as he released his grip, they
slumped to the ground and began to breathe again.

Peering out of
his hide, he looked at the last group until he figured out an effective
approach. A glint of moonlight flashed off something on the ground. Curious, he
crouched to pick up one of the bottles that the two orcs had been drinking
from. Remembering how pretending to be drunk had worked at Keese, he stepped
out of the darkness and stumbled his way towards the soldiers. Tripping over a
stone he bumbled into the center of their game, scattering the dice. Rising to
their feet, all the orcs cried out in anger and one of them tried to kick his
tumbling form.

He saw the
large foot swinging towards him and rolled out of the way at the last second,
causing the orc to lose his footing and collapse onto his knee. Some of the
group started to laugh, while one of the other ones reached down and yanked
Taryn to his feet. Pushing off the ground as he was pulled, he amplified the
momentum and flew back into the orc, knocking him sprawling. Forgetting their
anger, the remaining five burst into laughter and jeered at the two that had
fallen.

Taking
advantage of the moment, Taryn swayed into the orc by his side and head butted
him as he pretended to fall. The laughter increased as a third member of their
party fell to the ground. Dropping the ruse, Taryn grabbed the next one in line
and tossed him into the other three. All four tumbled to the dirt with Taryn close
behind. On his way he knocked out the orc on his knees with a quick elbow to
the head. Before the others could rise he threw sharp punches into each of them
and stood to check that everyone had been incapacitated.

A slight
movement and a groan from the side brought him to the orc he'd knocked backward.
From the lump, Taryn saw that the orcs head had rocked into the hammer on his
back. As Taryn walked past he struck the back of his neck and he collapsed.

A familiar
chuckle came from nearby and he looked up to see Jack walking towards him with
a small package in his hand. Behind him, two unconscious gnomes slumped against
the wall, giving the only sign that he had been there.

“You make an
excellent wolf, Taryn,” Jack said and Taryn grinned.

“And you make
an excellent fox, Jack,” Taryn replied.

Jack smirked
and began moving towards the palace. “Let’s go before they wake up. Orcs can be
so cranky when they get out of bed.”

Stifling a
laugh, Taryn turned to follow the thief as he began working his way towards the
palace. They had a king to convince.

Chapter
17: Ryazan

Taryn and Jack
reached the palace after finding the Ocleon and found a hiding spot on a roof
across the street. Crouching in the darkness behind a double chimney, they
waited for the rest of their group to find them a few minutes later. A flash of
moonlight on fair skin gave them away and Taryn stood so they could spot him.
Siarra and Liri jumped between the two buildings and knelt in the shadows with
them.

“Took you long
enough,” Jack said at the same time as Taryn spoke.

“You girls OK?”

Siarra replied
first to Jack’s comment. “We ran into a brawl and had to bypass it,” she said,
her voice full of acid.

Liri's eyes
sparkled when she looked at Taryn. “We’re fine, thanks for asking.”

Jack nudged
Taryn and gave him a loaded look, reminding him of their conversation about
Liri. He turned away as heat flooded his face. Before he could think about it
further, Siarra pointed across the street at the palace.

“That’s where
the king lives?” she asked, her tone dubious.

Taryn
understood what she meant. The king’s home barely topped the outer wall and had
five levels of windows in it. Built of brick overlayed with broken plaster, the
palace looked in almost as much disrepair as the city, and it tilted to the
left on the upper levels. Where four grand columns had been attempted in the
front, only two remained, while the other two appeared to have fallen down at
some point and been carted off. Despite its appearance, it still looked
beautiful compared to the rest of Ryazan.

“Where is the
king’s quarters?” Liri asked Jack, but he shook his head.

“I’ve only
been in the place once. After they tried to execute me in the courtyard in
front of those steps, I escaped into the palace to avoid the mob out front. I
saw a bit of the first three floors until I went through a window on the south
side.”

“Let’s assume
it’s on the top floor then. How do we get in?” Siarra said.

Counting a
score of armed orcs in sight, Taryn glanced at Jack with a sly look, “Another
sneaky fox?”

The thief
grinned. “Unfortunately not. Those doors,” he pointed towards a pair of doorways
at each corner, “have extra guards in case of an intruder—or an escapee. There are
also locations nearby that contain hundreds ready if an alarm is raised.”

Liri tilted
her head towards the south side, shrouded in darkness. “How well guarded are
the north and south sides?”

“If they
haven’t changed, there should be at least a score, too many for us to risk
taking them down without setting off an alarm. Besides, there are no entrances
on the sides,” Jack replied.

Liri touched
Taryn on the arm. “You could cut us a door.”

“Too risky,”
Siarra said. “If anyone found it they would know someone is inside, but she
cocked her head to the side and looked at Taryn and Jack. “How far can either
of you jump?”

Taryn shrugged
and looked at Jack, who said, “Twenty or thirty feet— if I can get a running
start, but there aren’t any windows on the sides low enough to jump to.”

Siarra nodded
in satisfaction. “Then we will need a ladder.”

Fifteen
minutes later they stood on a roof forty feet from the side of the palace.
Siarra concentrated for a moment and bricks began grinding out of the wall to
form a ladder leading to a window on the third floor. She muttered to herself
about reshaping the mortar so the handholds would be sound, and then opened her
eyes.

Jack looked
doubtfully at the expanse and jerked his head. “Not possible, it’s too far,” he
whispered.

Liri glanced
at Taryn who raised his hands. “I don’t know. If it were a little less maybe—or
if I had help.”

Jack spun to
face him. Bending his knees he cupped his hands together and straightened his
arms. “How about a boost?” he asked.

Taryn grinned
and crouched, but waited for Liri to give the all clear before taking the few
steps in a rush. Just as he stepped into the cupped hands he leapt at the same
time that Jack launched him into the air. Flying outward, he watched the wall
jump into sharp focus. As he began to descend, he caught one of the handholds.
Before he could grab another the brick snapped and he began to fall. Dropping
the piece, he reached out and grasped two with his hands and pulled his feet to
the wall. For a moment he held his breath, hoping that no one had heard.

Hearing no
response he cautiously scaled the bumped out bricks, and found himself
wondering if Liri had seen him. Of course she had seen him, what else would she
be paying attention to? Regardless of his logic, he still felt the inexplicable
urge to look back at her. The feeling was maddening, and made him wonder if he
had lost his mind. And why was his heart pounding at the thought of her smiling
up at him . . .? Growling in an attempt to return his focus, he slowed as he
approached the opening.

Reaching the
window, he paused to peer into the darkened room. Scanning the space with his
senses he heard nothing, so he rolled over the sill and stepped inside. With slow
steps he searched the room, but found nothing except a broken bed covered with dust.
Satisfied, he turned back to the window and signaled that he was ready.

While he'd
climbed, Jack must have ‘scavenged’ a rope. Now he uncoiled the cord and deftly
tossed it up to Taryn. Snatching it out of the air, he secured it to a protruding
brick. One by one, Siarra and Liri pulled themselves up the rope. Taryn
breathed a sigh of relief when he helped Liri through the window. Looking back,
he saw Jack untie the rope and swing to the wall. He glided up the handholds
and slipped through the window.

“Excellent,”
Siarra whispered. “Now let’s go find the king.”

Jack darted to
the door with the rest of them mirroring his caution. As he eased the door open
it squeaked in protest and he froze. Moving to the hinges he withdrew a rag
from a pouch. As he worked, the scent of oil filled Taryn’s nostrils, but
before he could ask the thief had already finished. Sliding back to the other
side of the door, he slid it open again. Only a tiny squeak escaped the hinges
as he opened it enough to see down the hall.

“Two guards,
orcs, one stationary thirty paces down, the other a rover moving towards us.
Too late to close the door,” Jack whispered, his form melting into the darkness
as lazy footfalls began to sound. With no place to hide, Taryn watched Liri and
Siarra ghost their way to the wall behind where the door would open. Echoing
their movements, Taryn joined them and inserted himself between Siarra and the
door. He held his breath as he tracked the footsteps, getting louder with every
stride. Twenty feet, ten feet, five feet, the sounds stopped right outside their
room and a low grunt of confusion revealed he’d seen the opening.

The guard shuffled
two steps and swung the door wide, flooding the room with torchlight. A brief
moment passed with only the dim sounds from the street trickling in the window.
Taryn scanned the bare room, searching in vain for Jack’s hiding spot. Where
is he? he thought. Then the guard stepped into the room, his heavy form
causing the floorboards to creak. Still blocked from his line of sight by the
door, Taryn slid one of his feet forward, readying himself to leap around the
door if the guard moved any deeper.

Without
warning a dark shape dropped from above. Landing lightly Jack wrapped his arms
around the orcs neck, cutting its cry of alarm to a gurgle. Taryn darted around
the door to strike, but stopped short as he saw the full metal helm on the gray-skinned
orc. Understanding now why Jack hadn’t struck him, he stepped forward and
snatched the torch and the short sword from the guard’s grasp.

Extinguishing
the torch and plunging the room back into shadow, he watched and waited for the
thief to finish. Jack flashed him a grateful smirk before focusing on his
opponent. With his muscles bulging against his black tunic, the thief worked
his headlock until the orc stopped squirming and slumped.

“Where were
you?” Taryn whispered as he helped catch the guard and slide him to the floor.

Jack jerked
his head towards the top of the door. “I stood on the lip,” he replied just as
quietly, and Taryn spotted a thin piece of moulding over the door. Barely wide
enough for a toe hold, the only way he could have stood there without falling was
if there was a hand-hold. Looking up at the ceiling he saw a small hole in the
plaster that revealed a section of rafter. Taryn shook his head, wondering how
he’d gotten into the position without making a sound.

“It’s what I
do,” Jack whispered, fighting a smile as he read Taryn’s expression.

Taryn grinned
and used his chin to point down the hall as he helped Liri bind and gag the
guard. “What about the other one?” he said, but Jack inclined his head and
swept his hand out. Taryn’s grin widened at the invitation as he stood and slid
towards the door. Just before he could peek down the corridor, Siarra caught
his arm. Coming to a halt he looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“This isn’t a
game, boys,” she whispered, her tone laced with disapproval. “We can’t afford
to mess this up.” Although her comment seemed to be directed at Jack, her gaze
flicked to Taryn.

Taryn shrugged
and allowed his sister to pull him out of the way. Joining Jack and Liri, he peeked
down the hallway. Siarra stood with her back to the open door and leaned out.
Straightening, she closed her eyes and her breathing slowed. At first nothing
happened, but then the guard gasped and dropped to his knees as his gloved hand
clutched his chest. Wheezing, he fought for breath before he collapsed to the
floor.

Taryn looked
at Siarra in amazement and she allowed a small smile. “I slowed his heart down
so he couldn’t get enough air. He’ll wake up and be irritated that he passed out.”
Her eyes flicked to Jack, and the challenge in her faint smile was unmistakable.
Confused by the interplay, Taryn looked to Liri in bewilderment. His puzzlement
heightened as he saw Liri with an amused expression. Once again Jack’s words
about reading women came back to him and he frowned to himself.

How much
have I missed?

Gazing at
Liri's profile, he wished he could talk to her about it, but felt a reluctance
to do so. He'd felt an openness with Liri his whole life, but since he'd
realized his affection for her, this topic felt untouchable. But if not her,
who else? Mae was too closed, Siarra didn't like discussing emotional things,
and Trin would probably just laugh. That left only Jack, which meant sarcasm
and innuendoes he didn't understand. Was there no one he could talk to?

He sighed and shoved
the irritating thought aside before falling into step behind Liri. Creeping
forward, the four of them penetrated the halls of the gnome palace in search of
the king. Finding stairs, they climbed to the next floor.

The few
rambling orcs they passed were easily avoided, and a short time later they
found a guarded room on the top floor. After Siarra took the guards breath away,
they opened the door to find a lavish sitting room lit by a large fire and a
few torches. Dressed in a robe, a single gnome sat on the couch in front of the
fire with a book in his hands. At the sound of the door he looked up and rose
to his feet.

“Who are you
and what are you doing here?” the gnome king demanded in an oddly cultured
accent.

Siarra stepped
forward while Taryn and Jack dragged the two guards inside and closed the door.
“I am the Oracle, honorable king Talfar, and have come to speak to you on a
matter that is vital to your nation's survival.”

The small
yellow-skinned king stared at Siarra before saying, “Prove it.”

Taryn bit his
lip not to smile and caught Liri doing the same thing. Unabashed, Jack laughed
as Siarra took the challenge and stepped forward. “Allow me to show you what is
coming, Talfar,” she said.

The king,
taken aback by her easy acceptance of his challenge, hesitated before nodding.
Siarra approached him and placed her hand on the side of his angular head. When
he winced at her touch she said, “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Then she
transferred her prophetic images into his mind, causing him to go rigid. Taryn
watched the gnome king as he envisioned his entire people being wiped out. He’d
seen Siarra show this to other leaders and had talked about it a great deal
with her. At first he’d felt overwhelmed, but that had given way to disbelief. Now,
for the first time since she'd told the shocked high council of the elves, he
felt he was beginning to accept it. The gathering had begun, but, for all their
heroics, would likely end in the annihilation of every living person in
Lumineia.

Unless he
succeeded.

His uncle had
said that every life was precious and important in the battle to do what was
right. Now he understood. As he looked back at the people he had met—Braon,
Newhawk, and now the king of the gnomes—he realized that each had had their
role. Watching the gnome king struggle to draw breath, Taryn’s mind was drawn
to the small glass orb in his pocket. Perhaps it was time for him to admit to
himself the weight of his destiny. With difficulty, he acknowledged the
responsibility that was his birthright . . . and made the decision to activate
the prophetic magic—when the time was right.

The spindly
king collapsed to his knees when Siarra severed the connection and he gasped,
“What was that?”

“That is the
army coming to destroy your nation,” she said, “and your only hope is to gather
every soul with the other races.”

Talfar knelt
for a moment longer before he stood and squared his shoulders. “Is what I saw
inevitable?” he asked.

Siarra shook
her head. “No, what you saw is not certain, but it was a glimpse of what will
happen if you remain here.”

Talfar looked
at her with deep sadness. “Then we are lost.”

“Surely you
will try to save your people?” Liri said, stepping forward.

The king
looked at her and shook his head. “The balance between the gnomes and orcs is
good for both our races. We prevent the orcs from fighting amongst themselves by
giving them intelligent leadership, and they give us labor to build and grow.” He
sighed and sank onto the couch. “Unfortunately, there is no way to convince
these uneducated masses to leave. An attempt would be foolhardy and cause
someone to consider my rule weak. Another would most certainly attempt to
strike me down and take my place. It would not be the first time it has
happened in this city.”

Siarra gave a
small smile. “If we gave you a way, would you take it?”

Talfar leaned
back and looked at the ceiling, considering her words before he spoke. “Yes, I
believe I would. Unlike most of our two races I had the privilege of being
educated by someone similar to yourself, and believe in an oracle’s ability—but
my belief in your story is not enough.” He cocked his head to the side and
frowned, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “But what did you have in mind?”

“We have the
Ocleon.”

Talfar blinked
and leaned forward. “How did you obtain the sacred stone?”

“We, convinced
the thief to allow us to return it,” Siarra explained, causing Jack to shift.

The little
king smiled for the first time. “Well that might change things, if we could persuade
the high priest to go along with this.” Holding up a hand to forestall Siarra’s
next comment he added, “But he is not a good gnome, and has more than a normal
share of greed.”

“Is there
anything we can do to convince him?” Liri asked, but the king seemed lost in
thought.

After a moment
he laughed to himself and said, “Perhaps you could, if the Oracle is any
good with magic?” She bristled at his comment and he chuckled. “Good, then we
might have a way.”

Leaning
forward he began to lay out his plan. At first Taryn thought the idea was impossible,
but when he took into consideration the superstitious nature of the orcs and
gnomes, it appeared . . . plausible. If it were going to have a chance though,
they had a great deal to do before dawn . . .

*****

Taryn sank
deeper into the shadows next to the temple, wondering if their plan was mad. In
his life he’d known few superstitious people, and their plan banked on two entire
races believing an illusion. Grateful that his role was small, Taryn wondered
again how Siarra could perform what she and Talfar had concocted.

Glancing
skyward again he caught the first hint of daylight approaching and waited for
the signal. A sudden blast of wind swept through the city, marking the start of
their plan. Increasing in breadth and strength, the furious blast of air rolled
through the city of Ryazan, blowing out every open flame. As if timed, light
gathered on the horizon, but Taryn knew it to be Siarra simulating the dawn.

Cries of alarm
and fear echoed around the city as orcs and gnomes alike began to pray.
Glancing out from the darkened recess where he hid, he spotted several orcs in
the street prostrating themselves on the ground. Without warning the fake dawn
melted into darkness at the same time the wind ceased. Then a deep voice exploded
throughout the city and surrounding region. His voice amplified by Siarra’s
touch, Trin began to speak his lines.

“My little
children, a darkness is coming that will wipe out the flame of your existence
as easily as the wind.” Trin’s voice drifted across the area like a
dangerous caress. Not overly loud, it touched every ear and struck every heart.
As Trin continued to describe the impending destruction, the sound within the
city began to swell. Faster and faster the chaos of frightened orcs and gnomes
rose until it exploded into a fury.

Trin’s words
ended and the terrified people of the city rushed to the only place they could
think of for understanding, the temple. Flooding from all directions, the orcs
and gnomes scrambled into the large square in front of the sacred edifice. The
high priest gnome with most of his guards swept from the temple and raised his
hands for silence. From Taryn’s vantage point, he saw the high priest’s
expression as he looked around the mob crying out for direction. Somehow he’d
managed to hide his fear but confusion had leaked onto his features.

After several
minutes the noise began to diminish and the high priest stepped forward. In a
flash Taryn raised his mother’s bow and sent an arrow streaking over the
eastern wall, out of view from any onlookers. A second later Trin’s voice
boomed, more intense than before, just as the high priest opened his mouth.

“You must
leave my children, and gather with the other races in the west. Join them, and
survive the coming destruction, or remain in the north and perish.”

The mob erupted
into chaos with both races screaming for understanding. Some looked upward for
answers but most looked to the high priest, who opened his mouth again. With
his composure cracking under the pressure, he raised his voice and gazed to the
heavens, “How soon should we leave?”

Taryn thought
a moment, chose one of the predetermined responses, and then sent three arrows
over the wall in quick succession. After a moment the voice boomed over the
inhabitants of the city: “Immediately!” The crowd cowered to the ground.
“If you wish to survive you must evacuate this very day!”

The high
priest raised his hands skyward. “But how is this possible?”

Taryn almost
laughed at the response that came as Talfar had predicted, almost to the word.
Raising his bow once more, he sent two arrows over the wall.

“Fools!”
Trin cried, his voice furious. “Your king will lead you to the gathering!”

Just then the
rays of the real dawn broke the horizon and Trin’s voice boomed one last time.
“To stay means eternal darkness. If you need further proof you will find the
Ocleon returned to its resting place in the great hall of my temple. Go now
before you perish.”

Taryn grinned
to himself. Of course the sacred stone was back. Jack had returned it while
everyone had been distracted. A scrape on stone below him caused him to look
down and see the thief’s form scaling the wall. Reaching the top he said, “It’s
done. Now let’s be gone before anyone suspects this has all been a trick.”

Taryn agreed
heartily and the two of them darted to the back of the temple. Reaching the
ropes that Liri had tied to the battlements, they scaled the rough bricks to
the deserted wall top. As soon as they were over, they pulled the ropes up and
lowered them on the outside of the city. With a sweep of his hand Taryn looped
them over the tops of the logs that comprised the outer wall while Jack kept
watch.

Jumping over,
they slid down the ropes. As soon as they were both safe, Taryn shot two arrows
into the knots at the top. Jack leapt forward to retrieve the falling cords and
within moments they were fading into the trees to circle south. Picking up Mae
and Liri, who’d passed on the arrow messages to Trin and Siarra, they found the
Oracle and Trin ready to depart. Taryn glanced one last time at the city behind
him and sent a prayer skyward that their plan would work.

Mounting his
horse, he dug his heels in and galloped back to the eastern trail they had been
following. With the pace set by Siarra, they covered several miles before she
slowed them down for a moving breakfast. Reaching for his pack, Taryn grabbed a
piece of salted meat and began to eat.

Trin was the
first to begin laughing, but it quickly spread to all of them.

Chapter
18: Unknown Hero

Draif reached
for the brush and hurried to rub down his horse. At best he had another ten
minutes with the only thing that mattered to him. By then his father would be
home and make him do other chores. Not for the first time he wondered what he
would do next year when he turned eighteen and could leave the dank village
known as Desekrin.

Thin and
short, Draif was good at one thing, riding. Twice a year when the villages in
the southeast held games of sport, Draif won every horse race event—and had
won since he was nine. His skill with a horse had also been the sole reason the
people in the village hadn’t forced him to join their wretched talks about
dethroning king Drayson, but they never stopped trying to convince him. Just
yesterday, when smoke had billowed up to the north of them, three people had pressured
him to join their conspiracy.

“Draif, my
boy,” the blacksmith had said, “that smoke could mean that someone has finally
stood up to our fool king, and if we are to survive we have to join with
whichever party will be the victor—especially if it means destroying this
forsaken kingdom.”

Draif shook
his head, causing his brown hair to fall into his eyes. He just couldn’t
imagine believing such a thing, particularly when many of the villagers actively
promoted the idea of joining with anyone causing destruction. Draif didn’t
think Talinor was so bad, even if the taxes were a little higher than Griffin’s.
Unfortunately, his older brothers and father were principals in the
complaining, his mother having passed away when he was young.

Afraid of
being whipped, he'd kept his own thoughts hidden, but their sullen ideas made
him sick. There were many good things about Talinor, and its king, but the
people of Desekrin were too focused on the detractions to notice. He frowned
and wondered where he would go when he came of age. Bound until then, Draif
tried to enjoy the only thing he loved, his horse Bose. A huge white stallion
that he had saved for three years to buy, Bose was the fastest horse in the
southeast, and Draif believed, the entire world of Lumineia. Only the older
brother to Bose could have matched him, but Zel had been sold to a soldier in
Griffin years ago.

A sudden
squeak from the broken front door made him sigh and pat his horse. His father had
returned, and would be angry if he was still out here. Putting the brush away
he slipped from the shabby barn and strolled towards the leaning house.
Entering, he was surprised to find everyone in the front room, listening to his
father speak excitedly.

“Two men are
here, claiming to be from the fifty-second cavalry. They told us that an army
is invading and destroying the king's men. They should be here soon!”

The hopeful
expressions on his family’s faces churned Draif’s stomach but he fought to keep
the disappointment off his face, knowing it would cause an argument.

“How soon did
they say the army will arrive?” Draif asked, working to keep his tone neutral.

His father’s
face lit up. “They said they were only twenty or thirty minutes behind of
them.”

Like a
physical blow had struck him, Draif realized his family would never change. He
had tried to ignore the signs, and believe they could adjust, but for some
reason today it clicked. The family he belonged to was not a family he wanted.

Abusive, mean,
and sullen, they were rotten to the core. Looking back, he noticed that his
father and brothers had been tolerable only when Draif won races, and the glint
in his father's eyes as he took Draif's winnings hung in his mind. The
revelation caused him to stare at his father, and although he couldn't explain
how, he knew that this moment had been building for some time.

It was time
for him to leave.

He felt a
pounding in his chest. Was he ready to do this? Was he ready to run? His father
was not the type to let something get away, especially something that gave him
gold. Was he prepared to go as far as it took?  With a start he saw that he
was, and that the two soldiers might be able to help. If an army was coming, he
was going to need it.

“Are they
still here?” he asked, reminding himself that he wasn't free yet.

His father
gestured towards the village impatiently. “Perhaps. They decided to wait a
couple of minutes to speak to the mayor. Apparently they are on some mission
from the king.” His derisive tone when he mentioned King Drayson made Draif
almost lose control. You are all crazy! he thought. And it will get
you killed.

“I’m going to
go see them,” Draif said, and his father pointed outside.

“Take my horse
or they will want Bose,” he ordered. “They were demanding fresh horses.”

The young man
nodded and slipped out of the room. Sprinting to the barn he yanked his racing
saddle off the horn and threw it onto Bose. With practiced hands he cinched the
belt and grabbed a cloak. In less than a minute he mounted and wheeled the
white horse out of the barn.

A door slammed
behind him and he heard a cry of protest. Ignoring it, he urged his horse to a
faster pace. Normally at this point he would be enjoying the wind in his hair
and the feeling of the powerful animal carrying him forward, but not this time.
If his father had spoken truthfully, then only one emotion made sense,
fear.

Yet at the
same time he felt an emotion he had never felt before, the sensation of being
inside a trap that was about to snap shut. Urging Bose to greater speed, he
felt the powerful animal thunder across the ground and tried not to focus on
the feeling of foreboding.

In less than
five minutes he reached the town square and reined his horse in. Before Bose
had even stopped moving Draif was on the ground and inside the tavern. Scanning
the gloomy interior, he saw only familiar faces, so he dashed to the bartender.

“Where are the
messengers from the king?” Draif asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

“They left a
minute ago, heading east," he said, jerking his head in that direction.
"They said something about trying to get around the southern tip of the
army.” He growled and added, “They took two of my horses without paying.”

Draif leapt
towards the door, barely hearing the bartender’s parting words.

“We are going
to gather outside to welcome them if you want to join us . . .”

Draif stepped to
his horse’s side and yanked himself into the saddle. Grasping the reins he
stopped when he heard a bell chime. In moments villagers began gathering in the
street.

“Are they
here?”

“Who are
they?”

“Anyone see
them?”

The excited
voices bubbling up on every side made his insides knot, and out of the corner
of his eye he saw his father and brother ride into view on their own horses.
The black look clouding his father’s face meant a severe whipping for Draif,
but he found his terror of the attackers much more than his fear of his
father’s staff.

Someone
shouted from the northern side of the village and everyone began moving in that
direction, talking in excited tones. Momentarily forgetting his son’s
transgression, his father joined the crowd.

“This isn't
right!” Draif shouted in desperation, but received glares in response.

Moments later
he saw shadows flashing through the trees of Darkwood. Helpless, Draif sat rooted
to his saddle and could only watch as the villagers raised their hands in
welcome, many of them calling out a greeting.

A heartbeat
later their shouting turned to screams as twisted black creatures bounded out
of the trees and pounced. At first the people of Desekrin froze, stunned into
immobility as the foremost were brutally slain. Then the dark horde hurtled
towards the rest and they turned to run, screaming for their lives. If the
black beings heard the cries for mercy, they gave no sign. Near the end, giant
black dogs appeared, and darted through the massacre to drag the runners to
their deaths.

With each killing
Draif flinched, but couldn't bring himself to move. How had this happened? What
sort of creatures would slaughter like this? Even his family, so wretched and
cruel, didn't deserve such a thing. For a long moment, he stared at his father’s
lifeless form, and felt only sadness.

Then Bose stomped
his hoof, betraying his fear, and Draif snapped to alertness. He was the last
one alive, and burning eyes were looking in his direction. Just as they began
gliding towards him, Draif kicked his horse into action. In seconds the
snarling dogs were flooding towards him and he fought to keep his seat. He
threw a look back, but wished he hadn't. Many of the dogs were shimmering red
and howling in anger. Flying across the ground, the dogs closed on him—until
Bose accelerated and hit his top speed.

Relief flooded
through him as he saw the evil hounds losing ground. Thundering east after the
two soldiers, Draif lifted his rump out of the saddle and gave Bose his head.
Streaking down the road, he left his pursuers behind and caught up to the two
men in minutes.

Arcing around
a bend he caught sight of them and slowed Bose to ride beside them. Both men
looked at him in surprise and opened their mouths. Before they could ask, Draif
said, “Desekrin is gone."

The bald
soldier’s eyes went wide. “Are they coming?”

A howl rent the
air and all three kicked their horses. As one, they surged forward as the dogs
appeared at their backs. Draif kept Bose from going full speed to remain at the
two men’s side. “What are those things?”

“Fiends, come
to kill us all,” the bald soldier shouted. “The kingdom is being evacuated to
the west where the races are gathering to defend themselves.”

“Where is the king?”
Draif yelled back.

“He’s with the
rest of our company, trying to delay the invasion and give villagers more time to
escape. We volunteered to try and flank the enemy to light the forest of Orláknia.
It will slow them down.” He threw a look at Draif. “And what was with your
friends back there? They seemed delighted by the news.”

Draif shook
his head. “You don’t want to know." For some reason he felt guilty, like
he was responsible.

“How far is Orláknia
from here?” the other soldier yelled, glancing behind him as additional
pursuers came into view, his voice and eyes betraying his mounting fear.

Draif looked
back as well, and nearly lost his balance. The pack had swelled in size.
Instead of a dozen of the things, now there were hundreds in the road and
trees, all howling and shimmering red—and they were gaining on them. Swallowing
against the sight, he resisted the urge to speed up. “About ten miles to the
southern tip. At this rate we should be there soon, but what—”

—A dog burst from
the trees and dragged one of the soldiers to a screaming death. The other one bellowed
at his horse and struck its rump, causing it to whinny and drive itself even
harder—but the bartender’s horse was not a fast one, and it was already moving
at top speed.

The soldier's
eyes locked with Draif's. Full of pleading and panic, he cried, “Can your horse
go any faster?”

Draif felt
pride lance through his fear and he yelled back, “Of course.”

“If I don’t
make it, then ride as fast as you can and light the dark forest!” The soldier shouted
as his horse began to tire. “The winds are to the north and it will cause a
firewall all the way to the lake!”

The soldier turned
back and saw the hounds less than a stride away. All color drained from his
face as he shot Draif a look of pure desperation. “You will save millions if
you succeed! You must succe—”

One of the
lead dogs lunged across the intervening space and landed on the back of the soldiers'
horse. The weight was too much for the tired animal and its legs buckled. Both horse
and rider crashed to the ground under a pile of black and red.

The agonized
scream didn't last.

Stunned by the
death of both men, Draif faced forward and lifted the reigns. “Go Bose go!” He
shouted, and the long-legged horse gladly surged ahead. In seconds the distance
between him and the snarling pack grew, and their howls of victory turned to
dismay.

As he rode his
steed faster than he’d ever ridden in his life, his thoughts buzzed, trying to
comprehend the enormity of what had happened in the last hour. Struggling to
understand, his mind shifted to the question of what he should do. In five
miles the road split. There was no doubt that he could make the turn and escape
south, but the soldier’s eyes as he’d been yanked to his death burned into his
mind.

There had been
the expected fear, but his expression had pleaded for Draif to perform the task
framed by his final words. Escape? Or fight? Right up until the turn he
struggled with the choice to continue the mission—where his life would certainly
be in danger—or take the turn and increase his chances of survival.

When the fork
came, Draif found himself riding past with only a twinge of regret. Turning his
eyes away from the lifeline, he focused ahead and wondered why he hadn’t taken
it. Whether it was the soldier’s look, or a desire to atone for the insanity of
his village, he looked forward and drove his horse as hard as he dared.

Shoving all
other thoughts aside, Draif tried to plan the best route to accomplish the task.
If he remembered right, he would soon reach the abandoned mine at the end of
the road. From there, an old mining path should lead to a hill that marked the
edge of Orláknia . If he was lucky, he could reach the rise with five or six
minutes to light a fire before they found him.

His decision
made, he directed all his energy into making himself as light as possible. The
great horse pounded across the ground as if it understood the greatness of his
responsibility. Sharp hooves gouged the ground as Draif broke through the trees
and saw the crumbling buildings. Curving past the mine, he led Bose onto the
path north.

In seconds
they were on the trail and the young man had to use all of his ability to keep
them from running into brush or trees. Reaching a fallen log that blocked the
trail, the big animal leaped over it without breaking stride. Branches reached
out to scratch both horse and rider, causing a whinny of pain from Bose and a
growl from Draif, but they didn’t slow.

Finally the
rising ground leveled and Draif looked over the vast greenery of Orláknia.
Leaping off his horse as he skidded to a halt, Draif grabbed the flint and
steel he carried with him and raced to gather tinder. Once he had a sufficient pile,
he crouched at the edge of a grassy field and built the nest for the spark.

With shaking
hands he fought to strike the metal against the stone, but the strong wind that
would soon be his ally was a deadly enemy. Whistling through the trees, it
chilled everything on the top of the hill, including Draif and his attempt to
start a fire.

A distant howl
broke his concentration and he almost dropped his tools. Then a second call answered,
closer than before. In moments the forest rang with their baying as they found
his trail. Trembling with fear, Draif prayed with all his might that the wind
would stop for just one second . . . and apparently he was heard.

Trees stopped
swaying and as the wind abated. Draif’s hands flew, causing sparks to cascade
onto the small pieces of dead wood—until one of them caught. Bending low, he
blew on the glowing ember and a flame appeared. Hungry for more, it climbed
through the larger branches that he laid on top of it. This time when the wind
picked up Draif cast a look skyward in gratitude. Crackling, the blaze came to
life in the dead grass.

Draif stumbled
back as the heat intensified, all fear forgotten as he yelled in triumph—but then
he heard the dogs. Just seconds away he could already see their dark forms and
knew he didn’t have time to mount and escape. Lunging towards his horse he
wrapped his arms around the strong neck and whispered, “You are the greatest
horse to ever walk Lumineia, and I am so proud of you Bose.” Clenching his eyes
shut, he waited for the end . . .

Just before he
died he saw the fire explode northward, driven by the fierce wind. The field
had become a mound of searing death, and by the time it struck the tree line it
topped twenty feet. From tree to tree, the blaze spread across the forest as
quick as thought, killing thousands of fiends already moving through it. In
less than an hour, half of the forest burned, creating a massive firestorm that
raced towards the lake. Forty miles from southern tip to the water, the raging
inferno reached the water’s edge and began to spread east and west, engulfing
the entire spread of the once ancestral home of the elves.

Hundreds of
thousands of fiends leading the army of Draeken perished a fiery death, but the
blaze didn't stop. The deadly barricade caged the entire fiend army, preventing
any advance for almost three days. Less than fifty thousand fiends made it out
of the forest and into Talinor, while an innumerable host could only howl their
fury . . . and wait.

Chapter 19: Heroes and Villains

Braon nodded
at Rokei to usher in the next visitor and tried not to rub his eyes. With
people arriving from all over Lumineia, each day seemed longer than the last,
and the constant stress was taking a toll on the young man. Even though most of
the gathered people interacted with Newhawk or the other generals, there were
still countless leaders that needed to meet Braon. He couldn’t delegate it without
losing the faith of his men, even if his body yearned for sleep.

Turning from a
pile of parchment, he saw Rokei lead in a foul-smelling man dressed in dark
clothes. Countless rings and earrings festooned his body and clinked as he
strode forward. In addition, he sported a seaman's cap and a long saber at his
side. Striding up to Braon’s desk he opened his mouth to speak, but Thacker
stepped forward with his hands clenched.

“Raize, you
filthy scum! How did you get in here?”

The man
smirked at Thacker’s response and tipped his hat to him, causing Thacker's face
to cloud with anger. Rokei dodged out of the shadows and slid in between the
two, a dagger in his hand towards the pirate. The sudden appearance of the elf
seemed to amuse the rakishly dressed man even more.

“Oi Thacker!
It’s right good to see you again mate.” He winked at Thacker, whose face
reddened even further.

“This man
killed my wife and imprisoned my children!” Thacker shouted, straining against
Rokei's hold.

Braon rose to
his feet and said, “Raize is it? Where do you hail from, and why are you here?
Also, how many do you bring?” Even as he spoke he cast a warning glance at Thacker,
who didn't appear to notice.

“The great
western sea is where we berth, and me and my mates have nine ships with over a
hundred per ship,” Raize said, ignoring Thacker and sitting down. Putting his
feet up on Braon’s desk he added, “We heard about your little gathering and
figured it would be smart to join up, even if it was lead by a pygmy.”

Braon saw
Rokei step towards the pirate but he stopped him with a hard look. Cocking his
head to the side, he considered what to do. From Thacker he’d heard enough
about Raize to know that the man was charismatic for a pirate, and had somehow
managed to unify hundreds of pirates under a single banner during the time of
fear. Despite his choices of murder and plunder, they still might have a use
for him and his men. Every person is important, Taryn’s words echoed in
his mind again, and he added, even if they are not good people.

“Captain
Raize,” Braon said, deciding on his course of action. “I am Commander Braon,
appointed by the Oracle and the elven high council. As you have come willingly
to the gathering of the races I must allow you to join—“He held up a hand to
forestall the outburst from Thacker, but didn’t break eye contact with the
pirate. “—but there are several things you should know before you commit.” He
held his gaze until the pirate nodded, still smirking, but continued to wait
until his smile faded.

“We are
gathering for the express purpose of defeating Draeken’s army in four weeks.
Due to the shortage of time, no crime of any sort will be tolerated. Any
infraction will be punished severely. Any severe crime merits immediate banishment
or execution without trial. We do not have the time—or the manpower—to imprison
or hold men for offenses to any nation, kindred, or people. There are no
exceptions to this rule. However, any crimes committed prior to the gathering
will be temporarily ignored. This does not mean you have been
pardoned, or forgiven, by any race for any deed or misconduct. If we survive
the coming conflict, you will be allowed to depart unharmed, but may then be
hunted, arrested, or prosecuted for any past crimes. In other words, this
alliance is temporary, and is only in effect because of the common need.”

Raize cocked
his head and appeared serious for the first time. After a moment he said, “To
be blunt, your mate is right. We are pirates. I will do the best I can,
but many of my men are of the more . . . unsavory sort.”

Braon smiled.
“That is why I am placing you on your ships in the Blue Lake. Join the growing
armada there. I believe that as long as you stick to your ships, there should
be fewer problems and fewer . . . executions as well.”

The pirate
captain grinned. “Four weeks of relaxation until the battle huh? I can deal
with that—”

“No Captain,”
Braon interrupted. “We have no space for people not working. If we are to
survive, every one of you will labor diligently for our cause.”

“Doing what type
of labor?” Raize asked, his tone measured.

“Half of your
men will fish, every day. We need resources to feed the refugees from the
kingdoms as well as prepared food when the battle begins. I believe many of
your men have fishing experience, so use them for that task. Gather as much as
you can, and preserve what is not eaten.”

“And the other
half?” the captain asked, but his brow had furrowed at the work assignment.

“The other
half will fortify your ships as strongly as you consider possible. Gather wood
from the forest and fashion ballistae, bows, crossbows, arrows, and any other
weapons that you might need. If your men fail in this preparation, the army
will overrun your vessels. They will slaughter you.”

Raize frowned,
but rose to his feet before saying through clenched teeth, “We will do as you
have ordered, but only because it appears we have no choice.”

As he turned
to leave, Braon stopped him. “One more thing, Captain.” When he turned and
glowered at him the young commander surprised him with a smile full of
sympathy. “Regardless of your past, we welcome you to the gathering. Our own lives
will depend on your support just as much as yours do on ours. Thank you.”

After a moment
Raize bowed and departed without another word. As soon as he was gone Thacker exploded,
“Braon, you can’t allow that man into our forces! He is evil to the core and
you cannot trust him!”

Braon sighed
and rubbed his eyes, weariness crashing over him. “I don’t trust him, Thacker,
but we have to let him join. Your family’s lives may have been threatened by
him before, but right now he and his crew might save one of your
children because they are here.”

Thacker shook
his head and stalked from the room. Under his breath Braon whispered, “And he
is not evil to the core, or he would not be here.” Taking a sip of warm ale he
tipped his head to Rokei. “Send in the next one.”

For the next
hour Braon dealt with various issues ranging from problems in the construction
of the battlements to difficulties in organization. Finally there were only two
remaining and he stifled a yawn as they entered together. Before him stood two
elves who couldn’t have been more different. One wore robes signifying magical training,
and the other wore a long katsana on his back and a tunic of light mail.

“You are not
from Azertorn.” Braon guessed, and they both grinned.

“What gave us
away my young commander?” the mage asked.

He shrugged,
“Your skin has seen much more . . . sun . . . than the elves of this city.”

The warrior’s
grin widened, “As good as we have heard then.”

“Agreed my
friend,” the mage nodded. “I am Daiki, and this is Murai. We have come from the
island of Sri Rosen.”

“The training
ground for the elves,” Braon smiled. The masters alone would be very valuable.

Murai tilted
his head. “Correct again. The queen sent a message to the island and we left as
soon as possible. We have brought every soul with us. Together we number over
five hundred masters and four times that number of students, as well as horses,
weapons, and any other gear that it was possible to bring.”

“I bet your
ships were rather crowded,” Braon said with a chuckle.

“You have no
idea,” Murai said, flashing a light grin.

Daiki sighed,
“I wish it were better circumstances that brought us to this gathering, but it
is not to be. I also apologize for the late hour, but we just arrived and
wished to speak to you directly.”

“What is it
you need?” Braon asked, but both of them shook their heads.

“We are here
for our orders, Commander,” Murai exclaimed, inclining his head towards Braon.

The young man
wondered what had been in the letter or what they had heard that caused such
respect, but he hid his surprise. “For now, get some rest. In the morning I
will need you to do several things. Most importantly, select seven of your best
masters. Have them report here and speak to this man.” He motioned to Thacker.
“He and his children form a telepathic link that we are using to communicate
with our commands.”

Daiki’s eyes
widened. “A mind link! Astonishing! I never thought I would see one.”

“And fortunate
for our cause. Without it, we would be vulnerable—but with it—our organization is
far superior. Because his children are the Links that connect our defenses,
their survival is paramount. Your seven masters will be their personal
guardians, as well as trainers for the rest of their guards. Because of their
critical role in the battle, their survival is crucial.” His voice softened.
“You should also know that some of them are very young, but have risen to their
calling admirably.”

Daiki nodded,
accepting the orders, “And the rest of us?”

“Our defenses
cover seven battalions, three east of the city and three west. Spread your
masters amongst the six regiments outside the city and report to the elves that
are in charge of training. Do everything in your power to make sure every
member of the battalions is ready for battle, regardless of race. Also, send
your students to join Deiran’s forces in the city, unless they are too young to
fight, in which case send them to the queen to help with women and children in
the caves behind Azertorn.”

Murai’s lips
twitched into a smile. “Excellent. We will begin sorting tonight and seven
masters will be here in the morning.”

Braon nodded
and the two elves departed as Thacker re-entered the room.

“I apologize
for my outburst,” he said with his eyes on the floor. “I did not follow my
training.”

Braon stood
and moved to stand in front of him. “There is never a need to apologize for
wanting to protect one’s family.”

Thacker lifted
his head and swallowed. “I just . . . hate that man so much, and I can’t
believe we will have to work with him.”

“I know
Thacker, but keep in mind there are many others in your position. All of us
must stand together with once hated rivals. It is our only way to live, and
protect those we care about.”

After a moment
Thacker swallowed and sighed before straightening his back. “It is late, but something
tells me you are not finished for the day.”

“Correct, my
friend. It is time we took a brief survey of our progress. Summon Newhawk and
we will meet him on the roof.” Braon said, striding from the room.

Rokei and
several other guards appeared as they headed through the house of Runya and
Braon hid a smile at the sight. For the last several days his personal guards
had mysteriously increased in number, and now six sentries slid in and out of
the shadows around him. Rokei in particular appeared more wary and watchful, so
it seemed that he might be the instigator of the extra protection. Braon had wondered
if there might be an underlying reason for the increased vigilance, and reminded
himself to speak with Rokei on the matter.

Braon stepped
onto the roof of the House of Runya and took a deep breath of night air. Lush
gardens grew across the entire roof, and waterways gurgled on winding paths. A
partial moon in the scattered clouds lit the area and for the first time Braon
realized how late it was. By the height of the moon it was probably after
midnight.

A sudden gust
of warmth heralded the arrival of the great phoenix as it landed on the edge of
the roof. Before Newhawk could dismount Braon stepped forward and greeted the
druid leader and his Link Seath.

“Thank you for
coming. I was wondering if I might have the privilege of seeing the progress on
the fortifications.” Braon said.

It would be
my pleasure, a deep voice said inside his head, causing him to look around
in astonishment.

Newhawk
laughed, “Reiquen does not often speak to others, but I think he likes you,
Braon.”

The great bird
ruffled its neck and said in Braon’s mind, Of course. He is our commander
and we are lucky to have a good one, The mind voice turned affectionate
and he added, even if he is small.

Pleased by the
phoenix's confidence in him, Braon bowed and filed away the knowledge that the
bird could mind link to others for future thought. “Thank you Reiquen. You are
most kind.”

In response,
the massive bird bent down so Braon could mount. Smiling, Braon looked back to
Thacker and Rokei. “I will be back within a couple of hours. Thacker, go get
some rest. Tomorrow promises to be another long day. Seath will be my Link for
now.”

With that he
stepped forward and with the aid of Newhawk’s outstretched arm, climbed to a
seat between Newhawk and Seath. Spreading his wings, Reiquen launched them into
the air. As they rose skyward in the calm night, he felt warmed by his seat on
the giant phoenix.

Impulsively he
thought, Reiquen, if you could always hear me, why did you choose to speak
to me?

After a moment
where Braon almost doubted he'd heard him, the same deep voice echoed in his
mind, I heard the Oracle explain to Newhawk about you, but I had my doubts.
After seeing your plans for the defense of so many, and your devotion and
ability to bring people together, I began to realize the Oracle had been right.
This is your destiny, young one, even though few would have thought of you for
the role.

Braon
swallowed against the sudden surge of emotion and heard Newhawk’s low chuckle.
Realizing the druid had heard he asked aloud, “Can Reiquen hear every thought
of those around him?”

“Some mages
make it more difficult for him by trying to seal their mind,” he patted the
wide neck in front of him. “But Reiquen doesn’t have much of a problem with
that.” He turned to look at the young commander, “I’m actually surprised he is
speaking to you so much. I’ve never seen him do that with anyone.”

“He’s never
spoken to me,” Seath said in his ear, and by his tone Braon could tell he was
smiling.

I speak to those
I trust, Reiquen said, and even in Braon’s mind he could tell the phoenix
was amused. I almost trust a few of the telepaths, but only because
the commander has trained them to merit loyalty.

Braon smothered
a laugh, but in the back of his mind several questions popped unbidden into the
forefront of his thoughts. What have I done during their training to make
them more trustworthy? And why does he trust me? Last of all, the strategic
part of his mind whispered, How can I use this to improve our fighting?

A knowing
chuckle from the phoenix reverberated through his head as they flew west and
Braon realized that the bird knew what he would ask.

During the
battle, can you mind link to Thacker so I can communicate with Newhawk? Braon
mentally asked.

Is that an
order, Commander? the bird replied, his mental voice tinged with both
amusement and something else that Braon couldn’t identify.

After a
moment’s thought Braon replied, No Reiquen, it is a request. I do not believe
that I have the authority to order you to do anything.

The bird
underneath them rumbled and Braon heard deep laughter at the same time that
Newhawk leaned forward and asked if he was all right. Apparently Reiquen had
kept that part of their conversation private.

It took
several minutes before the firebird replied to his question. When he did, it
was better than he could have hoped. We’ll see, Commander. Before he
could reply he felt a separation as Reiquen withdrew the link and he knew his
mind was his once more.

For the next
couple of hours Braon flew with Newhawk above the growing walls and partially
constructed defenses. Even though he paid close attention to his second in
command’s report, a small portion of his mind continued to ponder the sudden
revelations about Reiquen. The idea of easy communication between them was
appealing, and would give him a Link that he could place somewhere else.

He felt like the
keystone of an arch had just fallen into place.

Chapter
20: Azüre

Braon looked
at the Azüre king, Emeka, but did not allow any of the apprehension that he
felt to show on his face. Emeka had arrived moments ago in advance of a fleet
of ships carrying his people, a fleet he’d proclaimed he’d gathered by fighting
every other tribe leader to the death—right before he’d challenged Braon for
the right to leadership.

Tall, ebony,
and muscular, King Emeka appeared as a model of the Azüre people. Shirtless, he
wore a leopard skin around his waist that hung to his knees. Thick white fur
banded his ankles, and gold bands wrapped his wrists. For weapons he carried a
long spear and a thin, oval shield made of wood and leather.

Resisting the
urge not to flinch at the fierce grin, Braon mulled over the challenge amidst
loud protests from several voices in the command center. In a calm voice he did
not feel, he said, “As I understand the terms of a challenge, the one
challenged has the right to choose the contest.”

The proud
warrior king’s lip curled into a sneer. “So the fat boy has some
knowledge of our people.”

Several voices
began shouting but Braon raised a hand and waited for his worried friends to
calm down. To him, the two of them were the only ones that existed, and he
considered his options carefully. He could decline, and risk losing the
confidence of all of the warriors in his command, or accept and somehow defeat
one who had bested far better than him. Unfortunately it seemed there was only
one option. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Newhawk twitch, and his worried
expression gave him an idea.

Smiling he
answered, “I accept, Chief Emeka.”

Several people
gasped and he heard a few men mutter about insanity, but he ignored them. Out
of the corner of his eye he also saw a few satisfied expressions from
individuals he knew doubted his leadership. Among them the arch-mage's eyes
glittered with anticipation.

“What weapons
shall we fight with?” the king asked, his confidence bordering on belligerence.

Braon pointed
at his head. “We will fight with our minds.” He heard a few chuckles in
response to his choice. For the first time the king’s smile faltered, and he
glanced at his guards in confusion.

“Do you wish
to withdraw your challenge?” Braon asked, struggling to keep the hope from his
voice.

The king
growled, “What are the terms, boy, so I may destroy you and take your men.”

“Simple,”
Braon stated. “There is a pool of water at the base of the great tree called
Mirror’s Edge. The first to fill their flask and return it to this room will be
the victor.”

The king’s
brow furrowed as he fought to understand, and then asked, “The rules?”

Braon allowed
a small smile. “None.”

Emeka smirked,
and Braon could already imagine the king waiting somewhere to strike him down.
With eyes now eager he asked, “When do we begin?”

Without hesitation
Braon reached for two water skins nearby and tossed one to the king. “Immediately.”

Emeka’e eyes
widened, and then he whirled and sprinted from the room while Braon remained
still. Ignoring the babble of confused voices he turned to Newhawk. “Mind if I
catch a ride?” he asked, and the druid started to laugh even as he began
running towards the stairs. Braon jumped to follow him and tried to keep up
with the druid’s long legs. In moments they reached the garden roof and together
they leapt onto Reiquen’s back. In a rush of wind the great bird dropped from
the roof and spread his great fiery wings.

Gliding down
to the bowl of Azertorn, they reached the pond in seconds. Braon slid from the
warm ride to the edge of the large pool. Crouching, he hurried to fill his
flask and cursed when he almost dropped it in his haste. Finishing, he remounted
the giant bird. Just as they sprang into the sky he saw the ebony king enter
the gardens, a look of dismay on his face as he caught sight of Braon.

Newhawk
chuckled in front of him. “Don’t you think this is cheating?” he asked.

“I told him
there were no rules,” Braon said, careful to keep both his pounding heart and
his pride out of his voice.

From inside
his head he heard Reiquen join in the druid's laughter that didn’t end until
they had returned to the House of Runya. Dropping from the phoenix's back he
paused only to express his gratitude to Reiquen before they disappeared inside.
Hurrying as fast as he could, he raced back to the command center. Just before
he entered, he slowed to a fast walk and turned the corner. Entering to cheers
from his friends—and to his surprise the king's guards—he returned to his
previous position and spun to face the doors.

It took
another full minute before Emeka entered the room again, to be greeted by a
hushed silence. Embarrassed and angry, he growled, “That was not right! I
demand a second challenge!”

Braon shook
his head and didn’t let a shred of condescension leak onto his face. “According
to your laws, you and all your men now belong to me, and a second challenge
cannot be issued for a full year.”

Emeka glowered
and had to swallow hard, but lost control and shouted, “But you cheated!”

“Name the rule
that I broke and you may claim victory,” Braon said, his chin rising in
challenge.

Emeka opened
his mouth to speak, but grunted instead. From behind him a thin figure
separated itself from the other dark-skinned guards. Stepping to the king’s
side, the beautiful ebony woman said, “I am Adaeze, and on behalf of my father
we accept your leadership.”

Braon inclined
his head to the woman’s controlled response. “Welcome to the gathering, King of
the Azüre people. I am glad you received our message, and even more grateful
that Chief Emeka had the ability to gather the tribes—a truly legendary feat."

Again Braon
gave a respectful nod to Emeka and held his gaze until the king reluctantly inclined
his head. Straightening, Braon asked, “How many do you bring?”

Adaeze
answered, “Over sixty-five thousand warriors.”

“And women and
children?” Braon pressed.

“Another
hundred thousand women, elderly, and children,” Adaeze answered.

“Who do not
fight,” Emeka added, his voice resentful.

“They will,”
Braon exclaimed. Then he took a step forward and addressed Emeka, “Great King,
I ask that you command one of our seven battalions, as one of my generals.”

Bewildered,
the king blurted, “But defeat means banishment or execution.”

Braon gave a
sad smile and shook his head. “You fought other chiefs, gathered thousands of
people, united many tribes to bring them here, and all because you believed the
messenger we sent you.”

Emeka shrugged
in bewilderment, but Braon continued in a quiet voice that pierced the room.
“We need you, Chief Emeka, to lead your united people into battle. Our lives
will rest on your shoulders, and our trust will rest in your men and
women as they help us defend ourselves.” Then he raised his voice to ring into
the large chamber, “You have a divine destiny, great Chief, as do the rest of
us. You will lead your people into battle, and I will guide you to that victory
as you fight alongside the other races.”

His voice
echoed around the room and Emeka straightened in response. “For me and my
people, I accept your command.”

Braon didn't
like the glint in the king's eye, but politically he was already committed. He turned
to Thacker. “Have Jake and his guards meet general Emeka and his chosen chiefs
at The Ridge.” Then he looked at Newhawk and said, “Join them there and explain
his Link, and instruct him on our defenses and strategy. Make sure he begins
training appropriately.”

Newhawk nodded
and moved to speak to Thacker. As Emeka turned to leave, Braon stepped forward
and raised his hand. “General Emeka, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

The chief
hesitated, then threw out a bark of laughter and took the offered forearm.
“Next time, I will know better than to let you choose the terms.”

Braon smiled,
but didn't miss the implied threat of the statement. He then clasped hands with
Adaeze, who unlike her father, seemed at ease as she looked down on his small
form. “I believe you will guide us to victory, young Commander.” She said with
a light exotic accent. “For all our sakes, I hope you do.” Without waiting for
a response she turned and followed her father and his guards out of the room.

Braon didn’t
move until they had exited, and then let out an explosive breath. Ignoring the
comments that burst out, he turned and entered his office. Closing the door
behind him, he poured himself a glass of water. Draining it, he wiped the sheen
of moisture from his forehead. He was ashamed to notice that his hands were
shaking, so he clenched them into tight balls.

After several
deep breaths he managed to calm himself enough to answer the knock on the door.
Opening it he saw Rokei and Thacker both standing outside with concerned
expressions.

“Are you OK, sir?”
the elf asked.

Braon forced a
smile and replied, “I’m fine, but it’s about lunch time. Do you mind having a
meal brought up here? I have a few plans to look at while I eat. Then I can
address the next concerns after.”

They appeared
uncertain, but turned away as he'd ordered. Before Braon could close the door
again Newhawk stepped into view and asked for direction on several topics.
Unable to send him away without answers, he allowed him into his office. Once
they were alone Newhawk broke into a laugh.

“I would have
expected nothing less from you, Braon, but it still came as a surprise.”
Newhawk said.

Braon sighed
and said, “I did what had to be done. Now can we focus on what you asked?”

Newhawk
snorted. “That was just to get me in here. All those problems I solved earlier
today, but I do have a more serious question.”

Braon couldn’t
decide whether to be angry at the manipulative tactic—and the fact that he’d
missed it—or grateful for his second’s concern. Settling on gratitude, he
asked, “What is your question?”

Newhawk leaned
forward, and his serious expression forced Braon to pay attention. “With such a
large army coming towards us, I believe the battle won’t be like a normal
battle.” Braon guessed where he was headed, but gave him a nod to allow him to
finish. “This won’t be a conflict where they attack during the day and stop for
the night . . . will it.”

“I don’t
think so," Braon replied. "It is far more likely that the assault
will be continuous. From what I have read, they will not retreat—or stop—for
any reason.”

Newhawk sank
into a chair and massaged his neck. “How can we possibly fight all day and
night? Sheer exhaustion will overtake us long before we reach the seventh day.”

Braon grinned
and pointed to the parchment in front of him. “That is why we won’t fight in a traditional
manner either.” Standing, he went to the model of the cliff that had recently
been updated. Pointing at the Eastern Falls battalion, he said, “A single
battalion will be broken into three divisions, the front, the reserves, and the
secondary reserves. Every eight hours they will rotate forward. The secondary
reserve will become the reserve, and the reserve will move to the front line
against the cliff. Then the front will move to the rear to become the secondary
reserve. Understand so far?”

Newhawk appeared
puzzled, but he gave a curt nod, so Braon continued, “Every person at the front
lines will be fighting every second during their shift and should be more than
ready to rest when it ends. While in the secondary reserve position, every soldier
will sleep for eight hours before moving forward to first reserves. The first
reserves will be called on whenever the front lines are hard pressed, or if a
breach occurs.”

“It’s
brilliant," Newhawk said, "but we can’t just make men stay up all
night and sleep during the day during the battle, we have to start training
them early.”

“That is why
you will change their training schedule starting tomorrow morning,” Braon said,
withdrawing the orders he'd drawn up days ago. “I wanted to wait until I had at
least four of my generals in place, and now that Emeka is here, we do. Use your
Link to summon all four to a meeting tomorrow morning. Summon the interim
generals as well. Explain what they need to do and tell them to begin this
rotation at once."

"It is
vital that each time a division rotates to the front, they need to be in
constant training for their entire shift. We need to build up their endurance,
especially for the weaker races, such as the elves. Also, have the first
reserve work on fortifications, fashioning weapons, or other work assignments.”

“What about
the dwarves?” Newhawk asked.

“There is no
exception to the rotation, but any dwarf that has the stamina to work during
their sleep time may work on their assigned task. No other race is to be
allowed that opportunity. In addition, you may exempt the dwarves from sparring
or practicing during their battle shift unless they choose to do so. Otherwise
have General Onix continue their work on the walls and other battlements. We
both know that few dwarves are not trained in battle.”

Newhawk
reached for a clean piece of parchment and scribbled down some notes, and then
handed the piece of paper to Braon for review. As Braon read the additional orders,
he checked to make sure they reflected the rotations and then signed the
bottom. Handing the orders back to his second he added, “One more thing. Make
sure the generals follow the same schedule, although they won’t rotate and
should remain at the rear of the front lines. It’s important they each select a
lieutenant general that will lead the defenses while they sleep. Ensure they
pick well, and not for purely political reasons. The lieutenant general will
replace them if they are killed.”

“I understand
commander, and will fulfill your orders with exactness.” Newhawk said. Then his
face split into a grin. “And excellent job handling Emeka.”

Braon allowed
a tight smile, but before he could return to the work on his desk, Newhawk added,
“You should know that word has leaked that you are in charge, not me.” He began
walking towards the door and added, “At first many were angry or afraid, but
anyone who has met you—such as your generals—has stood by you. They are
beginning to trust you, Commander.”

Braon leaned
back and replayed the words that Newhawk had said as he left the room, but it
did not have the desired effect that his second had wished. Rather than make
him feel buoyed, he felt more pressure. More and more lives were depending on
him. Mothers were placing their faith in his ability to succeed; fathers were
trusting that he would save their families. Brothers and sisters depended on
him to save their loved ones.  With his stomach in knots he prayed with all his
soul that he would not fail them . . . or himself.

Part III

One week and six days until
Draeken’s army reaches Azertorn

Chapter
21: The Flesh of War

Taryn’s eyes snapped
up as a shadow moved in the predawn light. Curious, he rose to his feet,
stretching sore muscles while covertly scanning the surrounding area. For the
last several days since they had left Ryazan, they had encountered no one in
the endless stretch of dry land north of the Blue Lake. Known as the Deadlands,
the blistering desert boasted little life. In every direction scrub brush and
small twisted trees dominated the uneven ground, leaving hundreds of places to
hide, and forced them to slow their pace to avoid detection. The gnome king had
warned them that if they were spotted by orcs, gnomes, or worse, trolls, then
they could be attacked.

A movement to
his left caught his attention, but by the time he'd looked it had stopped. His
quick glance had revealed a small outcropping of stunted trees and other
brush—small enough to be unobtrusive, but large enough for someone to hide.
Bending down to grab another bite of breakfast he took another look where the
movement had been. Within the trees he saw nothing, but kept his peripheral
vision attuned to the shadows as he turned away.

They had
chosen to camp in a small clearing next to a dry, rocky riverbed. With several
bent trees overhanging a section of flat, bare rock, it had appeared as an
ideal location to pass the night. Behind the ring of trees the stunted vegetation
grew thick. Tumbleweeds and other patches of brown grass somehow found purchase
in the barren soil.

Another side
look and a dark shape within the shadows began to emerge. A large head above a crouched
frame appeared behind one of the larger trees. Judging by the size, the thing
would be huge, at least seven feet tall if standing. Taryn calculated the
distance. Ten feet of bare ground stretched between him and the shape. He could
cover the distance in time, but a distraction would help.

As he shifted
his leg to make the leap he called to Trin, “Do you think you can get some
breakfast out of—”

In one swift
movement he turned and leaped into action, covering the ground in the blink of
an eye. His left hand snagged the tree beside the already moving shadow and he used
it to slingshot himself around it. Meaning to put his knee into the side of the
wraith’s head, he connected lower than intended as the thing straightened. Even
in the low light, he could see the huge form reaching for a weapon on its back.
As he straightened his body into the light, a towering rock troll came into
view. Realizing he was too big to take down with a single blow, Taryn let go of
the tree as he drew one of the blades from his back.

Twisting to
keep his front towards the intruder he bounced off the ground and arced his
sword in for a fast slice. He was faster than the troll, but not by much.
Speaking volumes of the troll’s skill, a massive sword was already swinging
close to Taryn’s neck when Mazer stopped just short of his opponents’ throat.
The troll’s enormous blade came to a halt as the huge troll saw that he would
be killed long before he could strike the smaller man.

For several
moments they locked eyes with each other, and in that second Taryn noticed
several things. The sand-brown troll was large, far bigger than they had heard.
Black curving tattoos crisscrossed his upper body, and his skin looked as hard
as the stone they stood on. Standing at over eight and a half feet tall, he
dwarfed Taryn in every way. Straight black hair hung free, nearly to his
shoulders, and framed a wide face that looked down on him with confusion. The
small black eyes peering at him were those of an intelligent creature, not the
dimness he would have expected.

Taryn sensed
the troll didn’t want to kill him, so he eased his katsana from the large neck
and sheathed it, but kept his weight on the balls of his feet to dodge just in
case. The troll appeared surprised and his monster sword didn’t move—even
though it hung a foot from removing Taryn’s head. Behind him he heard a sudden
intake of breath, and in his peripheral vision he saw other hulking shapes drift
out of the trees around them.

As they rose
into view and slipped into a ring around their campsite, he heard weapons from
his friends clearing leather. Surrounding their camp in seconds, they
congregated around Taryn and his immobile opponent. The standoff remained for
several intense moments until one more rock troll rose near Taryn.

Massive
muscles rippled under thick tough skin as he ducked a branch and rose to his
full stature—at least a foot taller than any of the others. The troll was
gigantic, towering at least twice as tall as a human and five feet wide in the
shoulders. Gliding in and out of the shadows, he circled the one facing Taryn,
blocking out the dawn as he passed the rising sun. When he came to a halt in
the light, Taryn swallowed against the urge to retreat.

Black tattoos
resembling barbed wire spread across his right arm, bare chest, and face.
Barefoot, he wore a belt with leather strips hanging to the knees. A wide strap
stretched diagonally from shoulder to waist, providing a loop where his weapon
hung. Sticking above one shoulder a massive hilt extended. Protruding below his
hip, the blade looked to be wider than an outstretched hand. Intelligent brown
eyes surveyed Taryn in what he took to be a curious—and cautious—manner.

He stood
motionless as he evaluated the small group of travelers, but by his stance he
was ready to fight in a heartbeat. Frowning, his eyes flicked to the one facing
Taryn and the troll withdrew his weapon. The giant returned his gaze to Taryn
and said in the common tongue, “A true warrior does not kill without a reason.”
His voice was deep and rumbling, reminding Taryn of rocks tumbling down a hill.
“You did not kill Meer when you thought he was alone, even though you had
defeated him. You have earned my respect. My name is Tryton, and I am king of
the rock trolls.”

Taryn inclined
his head towards him, keeping his hands open and away from his weapons. “I am
Taryn Elseerian. We travel with the Oracle to defeat a great evil.”

Tryton’s brow
furrowed and he straightened out of his ready stance, “You will come with us
then, and we will speak more of this great evil.”

At some
unspoken cue, the twenty rock trolls moved to positions on all sides of them,
leaving no doubt that it had been a command, not an invitation. As Meer led
their horses away, Taryn threw a look at his sister, wondering if they should
go with them. Catching Siarra’s comfortable expression he managed to quell most
of his unease. This was also a chance to speak to another race, and perhaps an
opportunity to bring more to the gathering.

Beside him,
Taryn heard Jack curse. "I hate getting caught," he muttered, and
then raised his voice, "And we didn't even do anything!"

Without
responding Tryton turned and began working his way across the terrain. Moving
in sync, the barricade of huge trolls circled them, forcing them to follow. As
Taryn fell into step with the rest of his group, he couldn’t help but admire
the grace and discipline of the large forms. Each of the rock trolls moved in a
manner that screamed training, with each step quiet and purposeful. Constantly
rotating positions to compensate for changes in terrain or vegetation, they
left no opportunity for escape. Like a net of flesh, they worked as a single
unit to keep their prisoners inside.

Taryn caught
Liri's eyes and saw her uneasy expression. “Not like Sri Rosen huh,” Taryn said
in a low voice.

She shrugged,
but her worried expression made him think he’d guessed her thoughts. In the entire
time they had lived and trained on the island, he’d never seen the supreme
discipline being displayed here. Turning his attention back to the intimidating
trolls, he began to notice other details.

Without
exception, every weapon carried by the warriors appeared different, unique
even. Some bore staff weapons, with shafts as thick as a man's arm and blades
on one or both ends. Others wielded swords that from edge to spine were as wide
as Taryn's head. Notched or curved, each looked distinct—and as he examined
them further he realized the weapons mirrored their owners.

Mae slid up
next to him, interrupting his examination. “What do you think the tattoos
mean?”

Taryn
shrugged, and for the first time noticed that the tattoos on each troll were
different as well. Although the style of the tattoos was the same, the quantity
and length of the lines varied significantly from troll to troll. As far he
could tell, all of them had at least a few on chest and back—but many had lines
spreading over their entire upper torso. On most of their forms, the tattoos
stopped cleanly before the shoulder, but a few had them spiking down one or
both arms.

Jack sidled up
to them, and for once his voice was serious, “Rock trolls are trained from
birth for a single purpose, war.” He paused and his voice dropped. “Every
tattoo signifies a kill.”

Taryn’s breath
caught in his throat as he understood the magnitude of victories being
displayed in ink.

“Why do only a
few have them on their arms or face?” Trin asked, worry creeping into his tone.

Jack let out
his breath. “A mark on their left arm or shoulder means defeating someone
considered weak, but a line on their right side means someone very strong, like
a hero. A tattoo on the face or neck signals that a leader fell to their weapon.”

Taryn
remembered Tryton’s right arm, neck, and face had been carpeted with black
tattoos, but not a single one had marred his left arm or shoulder. Oddly, his
back and chest boasted fewer lines than many of the other trolls. He assumed
the demonstration of such prowess was meant to intimidate foes—a conclusion
easy to come to as it was already having the desired effect.

Welcoming the
distraction, Taryn reached the top of a small rise and got his first good look
at their destination. For the last hour the trolls had been heading towards a
solitary rock formation that towered over the landscape. Although it matched
the terrain in color, the sandstone monolith seemed out of place in the desert.

Turning onto a
curving path through the scrub trees, they soon arrived at its base. Tryton strode
to a section of smooth rock and lifted a curtain painted to blend into the
stone around it. Feeling a sense of mounting dread, Taryn followed him inside
to a large winding corridor that sloped upward into the rock. With smooth stone
underfoot, the walls had been left rough to maintain the flowing essence of the
earth.

While other
tunnels or rooms branched off the main path, Tryton led them straight up the
curving corridor until they turned and entered a massive bowl on top of the
formation. Open to the sky, training equipment dominated the space.

Taryn
estimated they stood a hundred feet off the ground, but it was difficult to
tell since the top of the stone had been hollowed out to leave natural
battlements. The oval of flat stone in the middle stretched a hundred and fifty
feet at the longest point, and a hundred feet wide. As they entered the bowl, many
rock trolls were either practicing with their weapons, or manning the
battlements.

Silence
resounded the moment Taryn and his friends came into view, and he felt like a
bug that had gone into the wrong kitchen. One of the rock trolls, almost as
large as king Tryton, began striding towards him. A double bladed staff hung on
his back that was so long it almost went to his knees. Black ink blanketed
every available spot on his chest and arms, more than any other troll in sight.
Although his face carried only a few tattoos, the darkening cloud of anger
brought a white scar into view. Running from his left temple, it curved down
the side of his face and twisted the black lines on his chest. Another set of
four evenly spaced scars marred his right shoulder all the way to the elbow.
Thick and ugly, they bent and pulled at the host of tattoos, causing them to
look even more fearsome.

“You brought
them into Astaroth!” the troll exclaimed, his voice more like a deep raspy growl
than anything else.

“Calm yourself
Kaber,” Tryton said in his gravelly voice, folding his arms. “We should welcome
the Oracle with her friends, and hear them out.” He looked sideways at one of
the trolls that had been sparring. “Kell, find Kythira and bring her here. She
will want to hear this.”

Bowing, the
troll raced down a corridor and disappeared from view. While they waited, one
of the other trolls separated himself from those on the battlements and moved
to speak in an undertone to Tryton. Similar to Kaber, he stood almost as tall
as the king, and had just as many tattoos as Kaber except for his left arm. Only
three black lines curved just above his bicep, fewer than any other except the
king. A wicked spiked greatsword hung on his back.

After a moment
Tryton shook his head and answered, “No Solus, there is no need for that.”

Another moment
passed in silence and Taryn wondered why Trin, or Jack, had not said anything. He
spared a glance, but it only augmented his tension. Their expressions were stiff
and they stood riveted, waiting. Taryn’s stomach clenched as he saw the
heightened awareness painted on their features, and wondered if he looked the
same.

Another minute
passed until Kell returned with a shorter rock troll in tow, this time a female
with long black hair hanging freely in the still air of the bowl. Shorter than
the males, she stood well over eight feet tall and wore a one shouldered dress
belted at the waist. Made from a single piece of rich, brown material, it
covered her bosom and hung to her knees with no adornments. As she strode into
the arena, even more graceful than the male trolls, she exhibited a fierce
beauty that resembled a wild lion. The deference the other trolls paid her revealed
the position of respect she commanded.

Stopping next
to Tryton she asked in a light tone, “Which one of you is the oracle?”

Siarra detached
herself from their group and moved to the forefront. “I am Siarra Elseerian.”

Without
warning a massive blast of wind flew from Kythira straight at Siarra. Strong
enough to crush all of them into the wall behind them, it closed the distance
in half a second—but Siarra lifted her hand and the tunnel of furious air bounced
skyward to dissipate above them.

Kythira smiled
and said, “Impressive, Oracle, but I had to be sure. I am Kythira, high wind
cleric of the Soulstone Clan. Be grateful for your lives, for few are permitted
into this place alive.”

Siarra bowed
low. “Thank you, Kythira, for your hospitality.”

Tryton nodded,
getting right to the point. “What is the great evil that you spoke of?”

Beginning at
the start of their tale, Siarra detailed the fight and slaying of the assassin
known as Death, and then continued on to explain the revelations about Draeken.
She then told of the elven war council and the decision to gather the races. As
she went on to tell of the beginnings of the gathering, not a single troll
moved an inch. Each waited, stone faced, until she finished.

After a moment
of stunned silence, Tryton unfolded his arms and asked, “What is it you want
from us?”

“Join the
gathering,” Siarra said, “and bring every warrior you can, as well as those of
your people not trained in battle.”

“Rock trolls
are all trained for battle,” Kaber sneered.

“But some of
the lesser clans of trolls are not,” Solus said in response, and Kaber growled but
didn't dispute the statement.

Kythira chewed
on her lip, her brow crinkled in thought. “If we were to do this, it
would mean gathering the clans, which has never been done before, and leave our
homeland defenseless in order to help protect people who mean nothing to us.”

Siarra shook
her head and said, “You don’t understand. The people you have never met will be
protecting you, not the other way around.”

Furious, Kaber
threw his arms out. “Rock trolls need no protection from anyone, least of all
humans and elves!”

Solus jumped
in, sweeping his large hand towards them. “If what she says is true, then it
wouldn’t matter how much we have trained. We would be overrun.”

Kaber growled
and stomped a few steps away before he whirled with a triumphant expression.
“Then we must know if what they speak is the truth. If it is, we gather the
clans and leave. If it is not, then they will be thrown in the pit.”

His statement
sparked a wide variety of reactions. Most of the rock trolls seemed angry, or
at least irritated. Solus and Kythira appeared furious, with both launching
into a stream of the guttural troll language. The lone exception of all the
large warriors was Tryton, whose expression conveyed . . . sorrow.

After a heated
exchange between Kaber, Kythira, and Solus, Tryton stopped them with a single
look. “Kaber speaks the truth. It is the law.”

Kythira opened
her mouth to protest but Tryton’s deep voice rose in volume, “Bring the
hourglass.”

As Kell again
slipped out of the bowl, Solus moved next to Tryton and began speaking in his
ear with his back to them. His intense emotions overrode his attempt to keep
his voice low, so Taryn managed to catch snatches of his argument with his
sharp ears.

“—must be
crazy! By Skorn’s blade they don’t stand a . . . and if you fight one of . . .
just kill them. Then they . . . all die in the pit. It will be a slaughter . .
. you know it. Please . . . some other way—”

Tryton shook
his huge head and replied in a normal tone, “I’m sorry Solus, but our laws
maintain our peace.”

Taryn didn’t
get a chance to listen to the rest of the conversation as rock trolls began materializing
from every opening. In moments their hulking forms lined the battlements three
deep with the trolls that had been in the bowl backing against the walls. An
uneasy feeling settled into the pit of Taryn’s stomach as the host of people
looked down on Taryn and his friends, watching . . . and waiting.

Looking around
at his friends Taryn saw them shifting and swallowing, eyes darting in every
direction—even Jack. Taryn caught Siarra’s eye and saw her worried frown as she
shook her head slightly. This is not good, he thought. Even Siarra
and Jack are rattled.

Kell burst
into the bowl carrying a large sand hourglass and moved to stand next to
Tryton. The troll king nodded when he saw him and looked back at Siarra.
“Choose your finest warrior to be tested in single combat. Doubt is erased if
he is the victor, or alive, when the last sand hits the bottom. Defeat will
mean you have lied, and will cost the warrior his life.”

Siarra’s brow
furrowed and she took a breath to keep her composure, “Who will our champion
have to fight?”

Tryton reached
back and drew his massive sword. “Me.”

Chapter 22: Unyielding and Undefeated

“So who gets
to die?” Jack said as they huddled to talk.

“No one,”
Siarra replied. “Unless you are volunteering . . .”

Taryn’s breath
caught when Jack snorted and stabbed a finger at him. “He’s the only one
that might last more than a few seconds.”

Shaking his
head, Taryn said, “I don’t know. I’ve never fought something like this before.”

Liri nudged
him from the side. “I'm not sure this is a good idea.”

He threw a
look at her tight expression. Her thin eyebrows pulled together as she gave him
a tiny shake of her head. Then she swallowed and looked away.

Trin coughed
and swallowed. “I don't stand a chance. I mean, I know my skills, but there is
no way. His weapon would probably shatter mine on first contact anyway.” Then
he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “But I am willing if that is
what is necessary.”

Mae spoke
first, beating out Taryn’s attempt to protest. “Not a chance, Trin. You are
good, but I am better. I’ll take him.”

“Wait,” Siarra
said. “I think I could get us out of this fortress, but once outside we would
have to run, and we would lose our horses.”

As his friends
argued over that possibility, Taryn studied the king, looking past the battle
stance and huge weapon and into his eyes. The gaze returned to him held so much
sadness that he almost flinched. It came as no surprise that he had no idea why
the troll king would feel such an emotion. He frowned at the sudden sense of
irritation. Perhaps Liri could explain it? But they were too busy arguing. Then
a thought crossed his mind that he hadn't considered before.

He had been
viewing the king as a ruler, and not a warrior.

Understanding
someone as a person may not come naturally to him, but knowing a fighter
was the one thing he was good at. Setting aside what he felt and turning to the
few things he knew of the giant troll, one idea stood out more than any other. What
if Tryton's sadness came from a sense of honor? That would mean he felt sorrow
because he did not wish to do battle with one he considered weaker. If so, it
was possible that he would not fight with his full strength. The thought was tenuous
at best, and if he was wrong might cost him his life.

But he didn’t
think he was wrong.

“I’ll do it,”
Taryn exclaimed, and his friends stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Without
waiting for a response he looked at his sister. “If I should fall, get everyone
out.” Doubting his resolve, he stepped away from his friends before they could
try to dissuade him.

Ignoring the hissing
call to return, he strode towards the troll king. As he walked he reached back
and drew both of his swords, readying himself for the fight of his life. Concerned
about his opponents reach, Taryn came to a halt without closing the distance. Tryton
smiled, but the sadness remained in the brown eyes. Together, they inclined
their heads towards each other, and then Tryton signaled for the hourglass to
be turned. A hush spread across the spectators as the two combatants began to
circle . . .

In the blink
of an eye Tryton crossed twenty feet in three strides, and swept his huge
notched sword to cut Taryn down like midsummer wheat—but Taryn ducked at the
last second. Standing up he moved to strike, but Tryton’s attack had been a
deceptive ruse, and the massive weapon had already reversed. With no time to
move or think, Taryn did the only thing he could . . . raise both weapons to
block.

The clash of
the weapons striking boomed like a thunderclap—but Taryn wasn’t knocked sprawling.
With his whole body angled straight to his anchored feet, he stopped the strike
even though he slid two feet on the smooth stone. Already moving, he barely registered
the gasps of shock from the surrounding trolls.

Darting
towards Tryton he whipped Mazer out to strike—but the massive form spun and
brought his sword back from the other direction. This time Taryn jumped into a
flip over the blade and caught a glittering glimpse of the weapon as he arced
through the air. Landing on his toes Taryn bounced to the side, just as the
huge blade struck the ground where he’d landed, causing sparks to burst upward.

In a whirl of
bodies and blades the two clashed as the sand trickled down the hourglass. The rock
troll’s weapon moved faster than Taryn believed possible, and all he managed to
do was defend himself during the first minute. Every blow echoed in a
tremendous ring of metal on metal. With the mighty power behind the swings,
Taryn realized he would need to do something different. Instead of trying to stop
the attacks, he began deflecting them.

For the first
time in his life Taryn felt truly challenged in a fight, and he found
everything in him rising to the challenge. Within another minute he felt he had
a good feel of the rhythm of their duel. Tryton’s strength and deceptive speed
could only be described as awe inspiring, and his technique with his heavy
weapon defied comprehension. Unless Taryn used the magic in his weapons, he
doubted he could defeat him—but he didn’t need to win, he just needed to last
long enough.

The ring of combat
reverberated in the bowl of Astaroth as the massive troll and Taryn fought for
any advantage. Each warrior demonstrated discipline and training in every motion,
refusing to yield to defeat. Speed, grace, and ferocity on both sides elicited
murmurs of praise from the troll onlookers, and worried looks from Taryn's
friends. More than once Tryton’s gigantic blade streaked through the air,
narrowly missing Taryn’s flashing form.

A driving
lunge thrust the wide blade straight for Taryn’s midsection. With his weight
wrong to sidestep, Taryn twisted his body and felt the weapon pass an inch from
his stomach, piercing his cloak, which had not been quick enough to follow its
owner. Growling, Taryn struck the wide blade downward, and then darted towards
the large hand only a few feet away.

Just as his
left katsana descended to strike the troll’s hand it melted backwards,
withdrawing the thrust. Lifting the sword high overhead, Tryton brought it
sweeping down towards Taryn’s legs. Too low to deflect, Taryn leaned towards
the low flying blade and jumped over in a cartwheel—but didn’t touch the
ground. As his body whipped up and over, his head froze as time slowed. Looking
down at the ground, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the wide sword as
it passed below his skull.

His cartwheel
had carried him far enough that when he landed he faced a smooth wall and knew
Tryton would be charging behind him. Keeping his momentum he sprinted at the
wall twenty feet away. Reaching the vertical stone at full speed, he tipped
back and ran up the face—and felt his cloak tug as the heavy weapon of his
adversary tore through it.

His momentum
began to slow fifteen feet off the ground, and he launched himself into a slow back
flip, but immediately twisted when he saw the overhead chop streaking towards
him, ready to cleave him in two as he flew over the troll king. Contorting his
body and still flipping, Taryn blinked as he saw the metal flash by his face.
Still in the air, he looked down and saw Tryton’s tattooed shoulder below him
and his training kicked in. His father’s sword flicked out as he passed,
nicking a four inch line into the hard flesh, drawing blood.

Straining
through his aerial maneuver Taryn landed in a heavy crouch behind Tryton—but the
huge warrior was already in motion. Jumping high, he kicked off the wall and sailed
towards him, his sword raised. Muscles the size of bricks corded and knotted as
he accelerated the sword downward . . .

With all his
weight low, Taryn threw his body sideways and into a roll that brought him to
one knee. The ground vibrated as Tryton's feet smashed into it, and Taryn
thought he'd evaded the strike—but the hulk had twisted in the air to face him,
and his sword was almost upon him.

In a fraction
of a second Taryn’s arms blurred, bringing both his blades above his head just
as Tryton’s weapon hammered into them. The force of the blow nearly knocked him
senseless and he felt the stone under his knee give way, but he held on.
Straining with every ounce of strength he possessed, he pushed against the
troll’s effort to drive his sword through him—but the sharp blade continued to
descend. Gritting his teeth he fought harder, but the giant weapon and his
equally powerful wielder were too much. Inch by inch the blade drew closer to
his face, until he felt it caress his forehead and cheek below his eye. Then he
felt it split his skin and he tasted blood.

The knowledge
that he could activate the magic in his father’s sword flashed across his mind,
but deep within him a rebellion stirred and clawed its way to the surface. A
challenge had been issued, and a part of him refused to surrender. To activate
his magic now would feel like cheating, and even though he would live, he
couldn't live with that thought.

Every muscle in
his body bulged as he growled his fury . . . and Tryton's enormous sword came
to a stop, and then gradually lifted away from his eye. With adrenaline and
pure will roaring through his body, Taryn drove Tryton’s sword upward until he
managed to tip his weapons to the side and dodge out of the way.

Rolling to his
feet he heard a high pitched whistle and looked to see a stunned Kythira
standing next to an empty hourglass. His emotions threatened to boil over as
confusion, pride, and the urge to yell washed over him. The elation flooding
his frame lasted until he became aware of the host of frozen trolls. Before he
could say a word, he felt a massive hand press down on his shoulder and he turned
to face the troll king.

“Your words
have been proven,” Tryton exclaimed, his voice pleased, “And you have earned my
friendship.”

Taryn nodded, exhaustion
and the sense of triumph making him light-headed. Turning, he found his friends
sprinting towards him. Liri reached him first, concern written on her face as
she bounded to embrace him.

“Are you OK?” she
asked in his ear but he didn’t get the chance to answer before Siarra yanked
them apart.

“Nice job,
little brother," she said, her eyes rigid with concern, "but we need
to stop that bleeding.”

As she reached
into her pack he realized the various pains reporting from his body. A severe
stinging from his cheek and forehead registered first and he reached up to
touch it, but Siarra slapped his hand.

“You’ll get it
dirty,” she said irritably. “If I act fast you might not scar.”

Something
dripped in front his eye and before he could resist he reached up to wipe away
the sweat. He winced as the reflex brought his hand in contact with the open
folds of a cut. Grunting in pain he brought his arm down and saw it smeared in
blood.

Siarra shook
her head but didn’t scold him further. Instead she reached out and placed some
sort of herb against the cut as she began to murmur under her breath. Energy ebbed
from his body as Siarra worked to heal the wound. Drained, he had trouble responding
to what Trin and Jack were saying.

Heat blossomed
across his face, collecting on the open wound and he clenched his teeth against
the pain. After a moment the warmth shifted to a relieving chill, and then
faded to a maddening itch before disappearing.

“Thanks Siarra,”
Taryn said, and gingerly touched his healed face. The skin felt raw and tender,
but at least it was closed.

She smiled
with pursed lips. “I took care of your face because it was so deep, but your
arm will have to heal on its own.”

Her glance
pulled his gaze down to his right forearm where he saw a shallow but long,
curving gouge along his forearm. Surprised, he ran through the battle in his
mind, trying to find were he’d been injured but was interrupted by the deep
voice of Tryton.

“If you choose,
you may join us for our noonday meal,” the king said and Taryn looked to see
him smiling.

Siarra
accepted and they moved to follow the king and Kythira as they strode to a nearby
tunnel. As they entered the corridor, Taryn glanced back and saw Solus, Kaber,
and Kell fall into step behind them. Although Solus appeared calm, Kaber looked
angry, and Kell seemed confused. The moment they saw Taryn looking, their
expressions morphed into inscrutable stone. Once again Taryn found himself
impressed by the discipline of the rock trolls. As he considered everything
since they had met them, several things became apparent.

On the surface
the rock trolls acted as if they had been trained well, but there was something
deeper to their behavior. Before and during the challenge, none of the soldiers
had broken rank for even a moment, or even spoken to each other regarding the
fight. That type of discipline implied specific and enduring training. If he
had to guess, these rock trolls had been educated on war before they could
walk, and its perfection consumed their lives.

Everything
around him demonstrated their dedication to their warcraft. Each rock troll
they passed, moved with the grace and fluidity of an elf, and just as silently.
Their eyes absorbed everything around them, analyzing possible threats. Scars
and tattoos alike told the tales of even the younger trolls they passed. Battle
was easier than breathing to this people.

Ahead, Tryton
stopped and slipped through a high arched doorway to lead them into a large
dining chamber. Even here, the smooth walls bore massive oval shields made from
some kind of metal, interspersed by weapons. In the middle of the room, a huge
wooden table rested, already spread with food. Tryton indicated the oversized
stone chairs on one side and then sat at the head.

As Taryn took
a seat between Siarra, who sat on Tryton’s left, and Liri, he heard a low
chuckle from behind him when Jack climbed up to sit on the chair. Kaber took
the chair across from him, his gaze unusually intense on Taryn, while Solus and
Kell grabbed chairs to the left of their more tattooed companion. Kythira, the
wind mage, took the seat on the king’s right.

Tryton grunted
and swept his hand to them, “Eat, my friends. It is very unusual for us to have
a guest sit at our table.”

“Only because
you went easy on him,” Kaber grumbled, without taking his eyes off Taryn.

A hush filled
the room, but Tryton surprised Taryn by grunting in humor, “Just as he didn’t
use his full abilities. I have no doubt there would have been more blood spilt—by both of us—if we had sought to kill.”

The gracious
comment caused Taryn to face him and catch the partial smile as their eyes
locked. Then Tryton’s expression turned to one of puzzlement. “But there
remains the question of how . . .?”

From his left
he heard Trin answer, even though his mouth was already full. “He’s part human,
elf, and dwarf.”

Solus, Kell,
and Kythira all started laughing, but Kaber’s expression darkened and he rose
to his feet. “So he survived because of trickery!”

Before anyone
could respond, Tryton exclaimed, “Kaber my friend, the challenge has been
passed. He survived due to lineage.” A ringing silence passed until
Tryton added, an edge creeping into his voice, “It is reason enough for me.”

Kaber looked
at his king, and Taryn watched as the anger melted away, replaced by respect. “Yes
King,” he said with a bow. Then whirled and left the room.

Kythira
sighed, breaking the awkward silence after his departure. “Kaber is one of our
greatest warriors, and is fiercely loyal,” she said, her gaze touching on
Tryton, “And he did not like to see you without a victory.”

For a moment
the two looked at each other in a manner that felt strangely intimate, making
Taryn feel uncomfortable enough to turn away and reach for the mug in front of
him. Taking a cautious sip, he found it to be clean water that tasted of mint.
Unable to resist, he drained his glass. When he set it down and looked back the
moment had passed.

“Forgive me
for asking,” Liri began, “but why did he not like to see you without a victory?”

Solus
chuckled, “Because just two have defeated Kaber, and Tryton is one of them.”

“Who is the
other?” Trin asked, and the rock troll’s grin widened.

“Me,” he said,
stabbing a large thumb into his chest.

Kythira began
to break the loaf of bread on her plate. “For our people, rank is determined by
skill in combat as well as leadership skills. Part of advancement is
challenging a superior.”

Tryton cleared
his throat and the atmosphere in the room grew serious as he changed the
subject. “Oracle, I believe it best if I am forthright." Siarra gave him a
curt nod so he continued, “I believe your words about Draeken, and your
champion has proved your honesty, but gathering our people is not a simple
matter. How much time do we have?”

Siarra met his
gaze without flinching. “You have thirteen days before the battle begins at
Azertorn, and less than that before they reach here. You have ten days, at best,
before they surround your home.”

Tryton closed
his eyes and his shoulders hunched as he inhaled. Then he blew out his breath
and looked at Solus, his gaze intense. “Send messengers to every clan. It’s at
least a two-week journey to Azertorn, so we must leave tomorrow night. If we
hasten, we will reach the battle soon after it begins.”

Solus rose and
departed, flashing the ghost of a smile towards them as he turned away. The
anticipation in the troll's eyes was unmistakable.

Tryton returned
his gaze to Siarra. “I wish you luck on your quest, my friends. If there is
anything I can offer to aid you, you have but to ask.”

Siarra began
to shake her head but Jack impudently spoke up, “Some food for the journey
perhaps?”

Siarra threw a
sharp look at him but the king’s lips twitched upward. He glanced at Kell and
the younger rock troll stood, but didn’t leave. Tryton frowned, but his head
bobbed once.

“I wish to
travel with them, if you will allow it,” Kell said, his eyes straight forward.

Taryn glanced
back at Tryton but it was Kythira’s expression that caught his eye. A deep
concern flashed across her face before evaporating, but Tryton paused only a
moment before nodding. “You may go. Be safe and guard them with your life.”

Taryn’s head
swiveled to the king and he saw the current of emotion that King Tryton felt
written on his face. Before anyone could say another word, Kythira spoke up as
well, “There is one more thing I would like to add to this quest.” Rising to
her feet she moved to one of the walls and reverently detached a carved bow
that shimmered as she touched it. Returning to the table she looked at Liri. “You
are the princess of Azertorn?”

Surprised, Liri
said, "Of the house of Runya, that is correct."

Kythira smiled
and lowered the weapon towards her. “This is a wind bow, and I created it for
you. It is very powerful and very rare, but I was told it will serve you well.”

“I . . . I,
cannot accept this,” Liri stuttered, but Kythira held up a hand.

“The last
Oracle visited us long ago, accompanied by a human. She told me I was to make
this for the princess of Azertorn . . . who would be accompanied by a warrior
‘equal to a rock troll.' I must admit I doubted her words until today, but she
said it in a way that I couldn’t refuse, so I enchanted the weapon as
instructed.”

Taryn barely
heard the rest of what she said, his eyes snapping to his sister’s shocked
expression. Open mouthed, Siarra somehow managed to speak first, “Did the man
have red hair?”

Kythira
paused, thinking hard before replying, “You know, I think he did. I must say he
looked like a dwarf. . .”

A thousand
questions exploded in Taryn’s mind, but one managed to fight its way to the
surface. His mother and father knew that he would come here?

Chapter
23: Armored

Gaze dismounted
his trembling horse, stumbling when his feet hit the ground. Moving gingerly,
he tried to stretch the soreness from cramped muscles as he tethered his mount
and moved to the small fire that someone had started moments before. The open
plains could not be lit by the pinprick of light, and the stars were blocked by
the vast plumes of smoke from the forest they had lit that morning.

A sudden gust
sent a cloud of the noxious fumes swirling, causing him to cover his mouth and
cough hoarsely. Looking east he could still see the glowing remains of the once
beautiful tract of trees that they had destroyed to slow the massive army,
something that had proved to be almost impossible.

For ten days
they had fled westward, burning forests and villages or destroying bridges.
Time and again they had struggled to get trees burning just as the evil army
reached them, each time trading lives for time, but they were running out of
lives to give. Of the five hundred hardened men they had set out with, less
than thirty remained.

Grunting into
a seat on the hard ground, Gaze returned the tired nod from Anders a few feet
away. Dirty and smoke stained, the once handsome prince looked haggard, with
his clothes torn and spattered in dried blood. When Anders blinked at his
weariness, Gaze saw that his eyes were red from smoke and lack of sleep.

Gaze wondered
if he looked just as filthy, and involuntarily reached up to rub his face.
Pulling his hand away he looked down at his dark fingers, and then realized he
couldn’t tell if the dirt had come from his face or had already been there.
Sighing, he tried in vain to wipe them clean on his tunic.

“It’s not
going to help my friend,” Anders said, his voice rough. “You have no clean
spots left.”

“Speak for
yourself,” Gaze retorted, flashing him a thin smile as he darkened the last
bright section of cloth.

“Fine, now
you have nothing clean,” the prince said, a trace of his old humor lighting his
eyes.

Gaze snorted
and grinned half-heartedly. “I need a bath.”

Anders threw
his head back and started to laugh, but a cough broke through, stealing the
humor. “You and me both. Maybe if we make it to Herosian with an extra hour I
can dunk you in a tub.”

“I don't think
you would need to force me, but I doubt we’ll get the chance,” Gaze said. “We
are still a couple of days out from the city, and we both know we will be hard pressed
to get there before this fire line is breached.” He jerked his thumb at the
blaze behind him.

Anders sighed,
“I wish we were further than this. It doesn’t feel right being this close.”

The king strode
into view, dirty as the rest of them, but somehow it didn't rob him of his
strength. “We must rest for a few hours. Then we push to reach Herosian. The capitol
should already be evacuated and we can burn it before heading west.”

“Do we have
to destroy it?" Anders asked. "After this is over we might be able to
return to it.”

Fatigue leaked
onto the king's face as he sank onto a stone close to his son. “No son, they
would destroy it anyway, and we must delay them as much as possible.”

A sudden idea
sparked into Gaze’s head. “Perhaps we don’t have to burn it. Maybe leaving it
will delay them more.”

“What do you
mean?” the prince asked, leaning forward.

Gaze furrowed
his brow and rubbed the back of his neck. “It would take time for them to stop
and tear down the city, and if we burn it then they will just go around it.”

The king
scratched his chin, his brow crinkled in thought. “Perhaps you are right. It’s
a big city, and even with the size of their army it will take time for them to raze
it.” His decision made, he stood. “It’s settled then. We will stop long enough
to resupply before moving on.”

Anders threw
Gaze a grateful look and watched his father disappear into the dark. Hungry,
Gaze reached into his pack for a piece of dried meat. Chewing, he savored the salty
flavor before washing it down with warm ale from his flask.

“I didn’t
want to destroy my home," Anders murmured into the night, "but I
couldn’t convince him.”

Gaze swallowed
his food and shrugged. “I don’t think it will matter anyway.”

Anders
expression clouded in anger. “You had better not be losing faith!” he hissed.
“You may not know it but these men are counting on you, and if you lose hope
then they will.” He grunted. “The only reason any of us is alive is because of
your magic.”

Surprised by
the intensity in the prince’s words, Gaze held up a hand to placate him. “I
wasn’t doubting. I’m just worried, is all.”

“Me too, my
friend,” Anders sighed, “and sorry for that. I’m just grateful you are here.”

“I’m glad I’m
here too,” Gaze said, and then flashed him a sly grin. “At least to hear you
admit you can’t do this without me.”

Just as Anders
opened his mouth to protest, a crash echoed from the burning forest a mile
away, sending a flurry of sparks skyward. The sound caused them both to jump to
their feet and scan the distance.

“A tree
falling down?” Gaze asked, and Anders shook his head as a gigantic shadow moved
in the fire.

“We aren’t
that lucky,” the prince said.

The king’s
voice cut across their camp. “Mount up, let’s get out of here before anything
makes it through.”

Gaze exchanged
a worried glance with the prince and turned towards his horse. Snagging his
pack on the way, he hurried to mount, wincing at the protest from his aching body.
Urging his horse forward, he moved to the other side of the camp to wait for
the rest of the men . . .

—Fiend howls
shattered the night, close and from the west? Confused, Gaze spun and brought
down a bolt of lightning. His heart stopped cold as the blast of energy
revealed a flood of black hounds streaking towards them, barring their path. How
did they get past us? he thought, his mind in shock.

“They flanked
us!” the king bellowed. “Gaze, give us more light and try to clear a path. The
rest of you line up behind me, we have to break through their line!”

His rising
fear caused his skin to prick and tingle, but Gaze gathered every shred of energy
he could find, desperately trying to get the sky ready to make a path in time.
The men massed around him, their horses nickering and prancing in terror, their
movements mirrored by their riders. Drawing a steadying breath, Gaze brought
down powerful bolts in two parallel lines through the blockade.

Howls of pain
along the thin corridor were drowned out by snarls of anger and the black flood
pressed to close the gap. Again Gaze arced lightning to the ground, clearing the
way. “We must go now!” he cried. “There isn’t enough energy to sustain this for
long!”

The king
raised an arm—but a hulking form rose up behind him. Lit by the flickering
firelight that reflected off his bone armor, the twelve foot behemoth charged like
a demon. Before anyone could react, the creature slashed a massive black sword
through both the king and his horse. To a man, the remaining soldiers roared in
anger and attacked, but the fiend waded through the assault as if they were
summer wheat, knocking their strikes aside and cutting them down.

Gaze fought to
collect more energy and attack, but if he pulled any more the path would close,
and they would be wiped out in seconds. “Anders!” he shouted, his voice full of
desperation, “I can’t strike him or I won’t be able to keep the way clear!”

His words
reached the furious prince as he launched his spear. Flying true, the sharp tip
buried deep between two pieces of chest armor and held fast. Bellowing in pain
the goliath tore the spear from his flesh and flung it back at Anders.

Straight to
its target, it pierced the prince’s horse and nicked Anders side as he threw
his body clear. Dazed, the prince sprawled to the ground and tried to get to
his feet—but the hulking fiend wasn’t finished. From fifty feet away the
creature began to charge. Picking up speed, he whipped his enormous sword high
and roared as he plowed through the desperate attempts to stop him.

Gaze saw what
was coming and didn’t hesitate. Reaching skyward he channeled everything into a
single, blinding strike. Bone snapped and flesh burned as the super
concentrated energy coursed through the fiend's body. Still alive, it tripped
and went down, but its momentum caused his huge form to tumble towards the
prince.

Without
thinking Gaze leapt from his horse and raced to his friend. With all his
strength he barreled into him just before the large form came to a stop—with
its six foot sword embedded into the ground where Anders had been kneeling. Still
moving, Gaze began a stream of small lightning bolts to surround their small
camp. Just as the shield closed, countless demon dogs smashed into it. Reaching
both hands outward he looped the electric energy back onto itself, creating a
charged ring of crisscrossing bolts. Although he’d only practiced the technique
once, with disastrous results, it somehow managed to hold—but he knew it
wouldn’t last long. It drained the source too fast and they only had minutes
before it would be gone, leaving Gaze without magic for several hours in this
location. Maintaining the field he stooped and helped the prince to his feet,
but Anders stopped him.

“No,” the
prince growled, blinking as he fought to focus, “there is something I need to
do.”

Gaze shook his
head, “We have no time!”

Without
responding the prince stumbled towards the hulk that had killed his father.
Smoke rose from its charred form and broken pieces of the bone armor protruded
in odd angles, but it was still attempting to rise. Stepping close, Anders drew
his sword and put a foot onto the snarling head, forcing it to the ground.

“We will
defeat you,” he said, his voice shaking with determination. Then he plunged his
sword into a space in the armor. Quivering one last time, the huge fiend
relaxed and lay still. With a yank Anders tore his sword free and sheathed it,
calling out to the six surviving riders. “Gather any of the horses that are
left.”

The men raced
to collect the few that hadn’t been killed. In moments Anders stood in front of
the five mounts next to the six soldiers. He closed his eyes, and then looked
at the body of his father. Shaking his head, he said, “Two of you need to stay
with me. The rest of you will ride with Gaze and get to Herosian.”

Each of the surviving
men of the fifty-second cavalry exchanged looks, and then one of them shook his
head. “No, Prince Anders. Three of us will remain here so you may escape.”

Gaze fought to
keep the field of energy in place, but couldn’t help the tears that sprang to
his eyes.

Ignoring the
prince’s protest, the man that had spoken reached down and grabbed a bow from
the back of a dead steed. “I will do what I can to keep them off you as you
leave.”

All five men
nodded in agreement and reached for their weapons but the prince shook his head
in resignation. “Fine,” he said through the knot in his throat. “Which three
will ride with me?”

The remaining
five exchanged looks, but two of them, who looked remarkably alike, responded
first. “We will stay,” they said at the same time, and then one added, “We are
both good with a bow.”

The prince clasped
each of their arms. “Keep the way clear,” he exclaimed, “and know that every
son of Talinor will sing songs to your name.”

Gaze mounted,
still concentrating to maintain the thin fence of energy that kept the snarling
animals at bay. The others climbed onto the remaining mounts.

“I can only
hold for another few seconds,” Gaze said as he felt the energy begin to wane.

The prince
nodded and leapt into his saddle. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice dead and
toneless, kicking his horse towards the electric fence. Gaze followed, but
waited until the last moment before sending the entire force of the fence
blasting outward. In an explosion of thunder the trapped lightning detonated,
tossing the fiends like leaves.

In moments the
shield evaporated, plunging the plains into darkness. Blinded by the night, the
sounds of snarling and pounding paws cascaded towards them. Using the last of
the energy in the sky, Gaze struck a few bolts to help clear the way, and then
put his head against his horse’s neck . . . and prayed.

Driving forward,
the five riders raced to escape the path as it got smaller and smaller. Within
feet of freedom, Gaze watched as one of the faster dogs managed to distance the
pack and leap for his throat, its gaping maw reaching towards him. Exhausted
beyond measure, without ability to bring his magic to bear, he waited for the
end—but it didn’t come.

Out of
nowhere, an arrow grew out of the Sipers neck, and the animal tumbled to the
ground, lifeless. Two more arrows flew past him and brought down another pair
before they could kill the prince. Gaze looked back at the fire in the center
of the descending army and saw the smile and nod from one of the three soldiers.
Then the darkness swept across the camp and the fire went out. Without another
target, the entire pack turned towards them, howling as they gave chase.

For five miles
the dogs pursued them, their howls rending the night. Three times they drew
close, and each time one of the soldiers gave his life to slow them down. After
what seemed an eternity Gaze heard the sounds begin to fade. In a haze of fatigue,
he looked back and saw the huge pack had halted to wait for the rest of the
army.

Temporarily
safe, Gaze and Anders slowed their horses to a fast trot that would eat up the
miles. Immersed in his thoughts and emotions, Gaze couldn't find the words to
break the silence.

Chapter 24: Amazons and Barbarians

Braon wolfed
down his breakfast of bread and fruit so he could return to his mounting list
of duties. So much had happened since the Azüre people had arrived, some of it
good, some of it bad. Humans from the southern kingdom had been flooding in,
each group needing to be assigned a location. Tall dark-skinned islanders from
the Blue Lake had been filling the ranks and the long-bearded dwarves had
finished gathering their people at Azertorn.

Gnomes and orcs
from the northern plains had begun arriving just days ago, and their king,
Talfar, was now the general over The Gray, the furthest western division.
Although not strategic or experienced in war, Braon had given him the command
due to his obvious leadership skills. Any person that could keep order between
two volatile races would be looked to in battle, but Braon would have to pay
particular attention to that division through Talfar’s Link, Jason.

Despite the
growth in their ranks (Newhawk estimated their numbers at over seven hundred
thousand now) Braon still needed two generals for The Deep battalion and the Lake
Road. Aside from Azertorn’s gates, The Deep, with its low point on the cliff,
and The Lake Road, with its seven-mile rise to the shelf, were still the two
weakest points in their defenses. Without an extraordinary commander in both
locations, they were going to be in trouble. He’d even considered moving the
dwarf general Onix to the Lake Road, but his instincts told him the he should
wait to make that decision.

Downing the
last bite, Braon stood and hurried from the room with Thacker plodding silently
in his wake. The telepath had been invaluable in helping direct the organization
of their defenses. Although he hardly spoke, the fisherman had become adept at
passing on messages. Fading into the background, few paid him any attention
now, just as Braon had hoped.

As they
reached Braon’s office, now piled high with pieces of parchment demanding his
attention, Thacker cleared his throat. “Jair reports that barbarians and
amazons have arrived. He requests your presence due to the conflict they are
causing on the Lake Road.”

Braon nodded
and switched directions. “Have Newhawk meet me on the roof, and have Jair
explain further."

As he climbed the
stairs to the roof of the House of Runya, Braon considered the development.
He’d placed Jair, a human of massive strength that Graden had suggested could
be a temporary leader, to direct the Lake Road defenses. Over six and a half
feet tall, Jair towered over everyone around him, and although he wielded a
massive spiked maul, his heart held only gentleness.

With Seath as
his temporary Link, Jair had skillfully supervised the construction of the
special walls that Braon had commissioned. Braon had even considered placing
him into a permanent role as the commander of the Lake Road, but in his gut he
knew that the huge man didn’t have the ability to assume that command during
battle. He needed someone special for that post, someone warlike and
charismatic.

Arriving at
the roof he was surprised to see the great phoenix without Newhawk. Before he
could ask Thacker where the druid was, a voice spoke into his mind, Newhawk
said there is something he needed to attend to and asked me to deliver you.

Grateful again
for the mental link, Braon responded in kind, Thank you again for your
willingness to serve, great phoenix. Without hesitation, he mounted and
after a moment, Thacker joined him. In a small explosion of sparks, Reiquen
unfurled his wings and swept them into a powerful down stroke, launching them upward.
In seconds they were gliding eastward towards the Lake Road.

Braon took
advantage of the flight to consider what he knew about the amazons and barbarians.
Although bitter enemies, they were remarkably similar. Both lived in the deep
southeast in the ungoverned region below Talinor. The Amazon nation resided in
a tropical jungle along a large river. Renowned as some of the best female
fighters in any of the kingdoms, they were governed by a queen that ruled over
several large villages hidden in the jungle. Proficient in staff weapons, their
weapon of choice embodied a rod of wood encased in metal with a short, curving
blade on either end. The weapon could be magically linked at the center to
create a single staff, or separated to form two shorter, single bladed
versions. Known as a dreadstaff, it had a formidable reputation. Some were
rumored to be enhanced with magical modifications to make them even more
powerful.

For their
part, the barbarians lived in the highlands between the jungles and the
southern kingdom. Born and raised in rocky foothills and low mountains, they
prided themselves on their battle prowess. Although they were humans, most of
the men were taller, larger, and stronger than the average human and excelled
in a variety of weapons. Each warrior belonged to a tribe or clan that was named
after an animal and boasted hundreds of families. Once per year the clan
leaders gathered to determine a Grunden, or chief of chiefs. It was not
uncommon for a clan chieftain to die during the challenge.

Both races
were fiercely proud, warlike, and stubborn, and protected their territory
against any foolish enough to enter without permission. In reality, the only
difference was their belief about gender. In the amazons’ religion, women were believed
to be stronger, and females were the warriors, leaders, and hunters. Men in Amazon
villages were treated as anything from servants to slaves. Barbarians
considered this belief heresy, and that men were superior. The difference in
beliefs had caused numerous efforts to “convert” the other, resulting in
countless bloody battles and wars.

The giant
phoenix dropped out of the sky, pulling Braon’s thoughts back to the present.
Below him, the vast greenery of Numenessee rippled in the breeze, and the
endless deep blue of the great lake twinkled in the distance. Descending,
Reiquen glided towards the point where the Lake Road divided the lake and the
forest. Even from half a mile away Braon could see the commotion of battle
stirring.

Braon frowned
and directed the phoenix towards the disturbance. Approaching fast, he began to
make out several bodies struggling against each other. Frowning, Braon peered
into the throng, trying to identify the assailants. Several leather-clad women
were fighting three large bare-chested men. Naked blades flashed in the
sunlight as each party sought an advantage. The three barbarians, outnumbered
more than two to one, appeared to be holding their own against the ring of
furious women. Watching the small battle, a group of humans and dwarves stood
in front of an almost completed wall that extended out from the front of the
cliff to the water, and he spotted Jair and Seath in their midst.

“Jair reports
that he tried to stop the fight, but both parties turned on him. He didn’t want
to lose anyone—or offend them,” Thacker said in his ear.

Braon nodded
and furrowed his brow as he tried to sort out the more subtle clues that
revealed the temperament of each party, and how to respond appropriately. The
next moment they landed thirty feet from the combatants, and Braon slipped from
the neck of the giant red bird. Striding towards the swirling battle he came to
a halt twenty feet away.

“Enough!” he
called.

At first he only
caught a few scornful glances, but then they noticed the firebird behind him. One
by one they stopped fighting to stare at him. For several seconds the newcomers
gaped at him, glancing back and forth between him and the phoenix in confusion.

“I am Braon, High
Commander of the gathering. You wished to speak with me?” Braon said, hoping
his voice sounded full of confidence.

Several of the
warriors in front of him laughed, and one of the barbarians sneered. “You're
just a fat boy, not fit to command women.”

“Or men!” one
of the amazons retorted, raising her sword.

Braon ignored
their replies, focusing instead on the largest of the men. Huge by any
standards, he carried the largest double-edged axe that Braon had ever seen. Long
black hair hung like braided rope to his shoulders. His blue-gray eyes
evaluated the young man in turn. Obviously the leader, he had responded
differently than the others, and during the battle he had not taken several
opportunities to strike down the women. Even though his gaze measured Braon,
the look held no animosity. Braon could only hope that was a good omen.

He inclined
his head towards the large man. “Are you the Grunden?”

The man cocked
his head to the side, betraying his surprise, and raised a hand to stall his
companion’s comment.

“I am Golic,
Grunden of the southern tribes,” he said as he began advancing towards him. His
long strides carried him to a stop within a few feet of Braon—easy striking
distance for the huge axe in his hand. “Do you speak the truth?” he said, his tone
dangerous.

Braon resisted
the urge to take a step back, or swallow the sudden dryness in his throat.
Knowing he would be struck down in an instant if he demonstrated weakness, he
tilted his head upward and fought to keep the fear from his face. “I do. I am
appointed by the Oracle herself.”

Braon didn’t
flinch when the axe lifted towards him. “What would happen if I challenged you
for leadership?” the Grunden said, raising his voice for everyone to hear.

Braon did his
best to ignore the derisive calls from the other barbarians—and the amazons. A
challenge from a barbarian would not be like the challenge from the Azüre king.
It would be single combat, brutal and deadly, until one backed down, losing all
respect, or died. The young man’s face hardened and his eyes flashed. “I’d lose,”
he said. "But your victory would ensure your defeat, and the death of your
people."

The silence
stretched between them while Braon watched the Grunden consider his options.
The chief could either accept his leadership, which he might consider the same
as losing, or issue a challenge, which would cost Braon his life. Braon had
already played his strongest card, and could only hope that the reference to
the oracle would be strong enough.

The barbarian finally
relaxed and placed his oversized weapon on his back. “Then I accept your
command,” he said.

Before Braon
could question the acceptance, or breathe a silent sigh of relief, one of the
other barbarians strode forward, raising his sword high. “If you won’t
challenge him, then I will!”

In response to
his words, a huge wall of flames erupted from the ground, streaking towards the
astonished man. In the blink of an eye, they reached him and wrapped around his
body, encircling him in a ring of magical fire that began to shrink. The man shouted
in fear and swept his sword at his encroaching death, but the weapon glowed red
from the heat, forcing him to drop it in a cry of pain and fear.

Braon looked
backward and saw the wall of flame extending from Reiquen’s wing. A moment
later he heard a voice echo in his mind, white hot with fury. Fool human! Only
a chief may challenge a chief. A second will fight the second!”

Everyone in
view winced as if they had been physically struck, and the barbarian began
shouting panicked apologies. The ring of flames came to a halt inches from
consuming his flesh, and then melted backwards before evaporating, leaving a
smoking ring of charred earth. Stunned silence enveloped the onlookers and the
new arrivals. Then the phoenix screamed a piercing war cry that caused every
heart to stop, including Braon’s, and made the offending barbarian jump.

Thank you,
Braon mentally whispered, overwhelmed by Reiquen’s help, but unsure of how to
express it.

You are my
commander as well, Braon. Forgive me for assuming that I would be your second,
the deep voice replied, and he could hear the hint of humor stealing into
the tone.

Resolving to
consider the implications of Reiquen’s loyalty later, Braon broke the stillness.
“Welcome to the gathering, barbarians and amazons. Would you please come with
me so we may speak?”

He turned
without waiting for a response and walked towards Reiquen. Pausing long enough
to tell Thacker to have Jair clear the crowd, he continued to the cliff and
turned westward. Stopping once he was out of earshot from the workers on the
road, he waited for the newcomers to arrive.

He didn’t have
to wait long. The three barbarians appeared behind him, with the would-be
challenger still jumpy, and the amazons followed them. As soon as the ten of
them stood before him, Braon spoke. “The Oracle has told us we have less than
two weeks until the fiends arrive, so forgive me if I am brief.”

Raising his
hand to forestall one of the amazons that opened her mouth, he said, “Please
allow me to go first, then you may ask any questions you wish of me.” She gave
a curt nod, so he continued, “Which of you ladies is in charge?”

One of the
women stepped forward, tilting her head upward, “I am Krisrae, personal
representative of the queen.”

“Greetings
Krisrae,” Braon said with a nod. “Forgive me for asking, but why do you fight
differently than the others?”

Her eyes
flashed. “What do you mean?”

He gave her a
small smile. “You are better than your companions, but their skill appeared far
smoother. It’s almost as if you were born with no innate ability for battle,
but you trained hard enough to overcome it.”

One of the
other amazons coughed to hide a laugh, and Krisrae frowned in irritation, “You
are an observant one, and bold. Few have noticed the difference.”

Before she
could continue, another Amazon grinned and exclaimed, “Kris used to stumble all
over herself . . . until she began training twice as hard as anyone else.”

Krisrae
growled at her friend but the other woman's grin spread even wider. Out of the
corner of Braon’s eye he saw Golic flash a quick smile and nod in approval.
Filing the expression away for further thought, he addressed the women, “Which
is normal, innate skill, or requiring practice?”

In unison,
several of the women responded, “Innate skill.” Then one added, “Kris is an
oddity in several ways.”

Braon smiled
in satisfaction. He’d gotten the information he needed, while at the same time
giving the warriors a chance to increase their confidence in him. “Excellent,
now to a more important question. I know we sent you a messenger, but we didn’t
think many of you would be able to make it before they blocked your path. How
many did you bring?”

The Grunden
exchanged a confused glance with Krisrae. “All of us made it. We brought all
nine clans, and number over twenty thousand warriors with their families. They
should be crossing the Blue River now.”

All of the
women were nodding as well, and Kris added, “We also brought everyone.” She
flashed a smug look at the barbarians. “Over forty thousand soldiers, as well
as our men. They should be a few miles behind the barbarians. We rode ahead.”

Braon shook
his head, confusion written on his face as he struggled to figure out how the
math added up. It should have taken almost two weeks for the messenger to
get there, then at least a few days to find and convince both leaders. They must
have immediately gathered and sent everyone for them to arrive here now—but if
the fiends are only two weeks away, then they would have easily blocked them in
their path . . .

The Grunden
said uncertainly, “When we passed the forest of Orláknia , it was on fire—”

“All of
it?” Braon interrupted.

“I believe
so,” the big man replied and the women nodded in agreement. “But we only saw
the southern tip. We also hit some scattered patches of big black dogs that
attacked us, but we took care of them easily.”

Braon shook
his head and a grin blossomed on his features. “Orláknia burning would have
created a fire line large enough to stop the entire fiend army. It must have held
them for at least a few days.”

“What about
the dogs?” one of the barbarians asked, speaking for the first time.

Braon frowned.
“They must have been passing through the forest when it burned. A few must have
made it through before the blaze cut them off.”

The Amazon
leader shook her head. “What’s so important about Orláknia burning? It’s a big
black forest and should have been destroyed a long time ago, but what does it
have to do with us. So a forest fire took it out.” She shrugged. “Irrelevant.”

Braon smothered
a laugh and looked at her, “You brought forty thousand, correct?”

She nodded, pride
infusing her features until Braon said, “If the forest hadn’t burned, delaying
the enemy, you would have faced millions.”

“Their army is
that large?” the barbarian that had challenged him asked, his expression regaining
some of its earlier scorn.

Braon shook
his head, his eyes sparking with intensity. “It is a thousand times
larger than that. Both of you would have been slaughtered by just the
foreguard.”

Most of the
faces before him were dubious, but both the Grunden and Kris seemed pensive. Then
Braon realized why. “Both of you saw the orbs,” he stated, his eyes narrowing.

Kris and even
the giant barbarian paled in response to his statement. Smiling in sympathy,
Braon said, “I am sincerely glad you came—for your own sakes as well as ours.
The Oracle informed us that our enemies would far outnumber us, and would sweep
across the four corners of our world, destroying every shred of life. Gathered
as we are, we can last a week at best.”

The
expressions of the amazons and the barbarians ranged from incredulous to
surprised, except for Kris and Golic. Determination hardened their features and
they were both nodding, accepting the assessment of their situation. They had seen
it.

“Now,” Braon
continued, preparing himself for the disagreement he knew would be coming. “I
have a specific command of our defenses that I need you both to assume.”

“Wait,” one of
the women said. “Together?”

Braon nodded,
and frowned as a babble of protest rose up before him. Folding his arms, he
waited for them to quiet down, and then said, “Yes.”

“Why?!” Kris
choked out the question.

Braon allowed
a smile. “Because this is the most dangerous position, the most vulnerable
point, and I need someone strong to defend it.”

The obvious
compliment, although true, was not the actual reason Braon wanted to place them
together. He’d seen the way Golic didn’t want to kill the women, and also seen
the great skill and strength of the women. If they were placed next to each
other, each would fight their hardest—not just to survive—but to best the
other. Their sheer pride would cause the barbarians and amazons to fight harder
than ever, and on the Lake Road he needed men and women that would refuse to
back down. He couldn't imagine a better environment for the road, if they
didn’t kill each other.

First to
respond, Golic asked, “Where is our post?”

Braon gestured
back to the road they had been on. “You will defend the road. It is quite
literally a highway to flank us. If the road is lost, we are lost. Bring both
of your peoples to the section of the plateau at the top of the road. I will
have a man named Jair meet you there. He will explain to Golic,” he inclined
his head towards the Grunden, “the details of being my general in that
command.”

Kris and
several of the women opened their mouths, but Braon flashed them a look of such
coldness that their jaws snapped shut with an audible click. “I will allow no
fighting between your peoples. You fight, we die. We do not have time to settle
grudges, or determine which belief is right. We do not even have time to
prepare, but we will do what we must.” He alternated his gaze between Golic and
Krisrae. “Any person caught fighting will be severely punished—and possibly banished.
We do not have the luxury to deal with infighting. Keep your people in check,
so we have a chance to survive.”

He stared them
down until each of them blinked and accepted the instructions with a nod,
before finally softening his expression. “Report to your posts, and pray to
whatever God you believe in.

"The
battle will be joined soon."

Chapter
25: The Cost of Greed

A spontaneous
sigh of relief escaped Braon’s lips as he watched the barbarians and amazons
depart. Deep down he could admit that he had doubted he would survive the
encounter. Taking a deep breath, he walked back to Reiquen, once again in
control of his emotions.

The moment he
came into view of the great bird, Thacker pounced on him. “I thought you told
me never to leave your side!” he hissed.

Braon raised a
hand, fighting the sudden sense of fatigue. “I know my friend, but there are
exceptions to every rule.”

The man pursed
his lips in anger and opened his mouth to protest, but Braon cut him off with a
soft look. “I appreciate your concern, but it was important for me to meet with
them in a manner that expressed confidence, which meant alone.”

Although he
still held a doubtful expression, Thacker fell into step behind him, choosing
instead to change the subject. “While you were gone the queen sent word through
Deiran. She needs to speak with you.”

Braon pulled
up short and turned to him with a quizzical expression, which Thacker answered
with a shrug. “I don’t know what it is about. That was the entire message. I
got the impression that Deiran felt it was a problem they didn't want to voice.”
Thacker’s eyebrows dipped as he pondered the cryptic message.

Braon frowned.
The odd note undoubtedly meant trouble. Blowing out his breath he wheeled and
mounted the great firebird. “Come on Thacker,” he said. “Let’s go find out what
the newest problem is.” In his gut, he doubted that it was good news.

With concern
written across his features, Thacker climbed into place behind him. In minutes
they were gliding above the lush green forest of the elves. An idea crossed the
young man’s mind and he thought, Reiquen, would you mind taking us above the
cliff so I can see the fortifications?

The huge
phoenix banked upward, eliciting a squeak from Thacker as he grabbed onto Braon
for support, but the young commander grinned, grateful for the sentient bird’s
willingness to connect to his mind. Soaring above the expanse of trees, Reiquen
flew towards the top of the Giant’s Shelf.

They heard the
sounds of construction before they came into view, but once they crested the
edge of the cliff, the sight took Braon’s breath away. It had been some time
since he had been able to see firsthand the changes in the army. With Newhawk
as his feet, it had allowed him to work more efficiently, planning and preparing
without seeing—but it couldn't replace witnessing his plans unfold with his own
eyes.

Spreading away
from the cliff’s edge, hundreds of thousands of people moved about their daily
business, preparing for war. Dwarves and men lined the cliff, building and
fortifying the wall that Braon had described. Within the vast host he managed
to pick out several distinct races performing their assigned tasks. He was
pleased to note that the command on the front line was training, and the second
reserve was hard at work constructing the fortifications. For miles back, and
as far as he could see to either side, the army that had massed could only be
described as stunning, but Braon felt a stab of fear as he recalled how large
the enemy was going to be.

Someone waved
to him, and he glanced down to see the men working with the large ballistae and
pendulum that he had described weeks ago. At some point someone had nicknamed
the device a sweeper machine because it would brush the enemy off the cliff.

Seeing his
idea come to life took his breath away as a sweeper team launched a spiked ball
horizontally. Inches from the cliff wall, the ball sailed sideways and trailed a
heavy barbed chain. Then it reached the end with a snap of metal and began to
fall. Accelerating downward it swung in an arc, slowing as it gouged into the brown
stone of the thousand foot cliff, causing sparks to fly. Curving upward it
reached the top just as someone on the team pulled a lever. Clanking, the chain
began to pull inward as the dangerous weapon resumed its fall towards the
ground, this time on a shorter leash.

“I can’t
believe it,” Thacker exclaimed from behind him, pulling him from his
observations.

“What?” Braon
asked.

“I saw you
describe it back at Azertorn, but I have to admit I had my doubts. As you said,
it will sweep any climbing enemies off the cliff.”

Sidestepping
the compliment, Braon said, “I am impressed that the dwarves built it. Can you
ask Onix how many are operational?”

Thacker
nodded, and a moment later replied, “Onix reports forty percent of the sweepers
are working, and he has teams training on them now. He also wants to tell you
that almost three quarters of the ballistae have been built. He has utilized
humans that have knowledge of their construction, and it has helped him stay on
schedule.”

“Any
problems?” Braon asked, raising his voice over a gust of wind.

“Only with the
stone magi,” Thacker replied for the dwarf general. “They have had a hard time
rigging sections of the cliff to explode.”

“Tell him to
pull whoever he needs from the other divisions. Those defenses are vital.”

He saw Thacker
nod out of the corner of his eye and so he resumed his contemplations. On the surface,
the army appeared to be working smoothly, despite the variety of races working
together. In reality, a great deal of conflict between the more bitter enemies
had been difficult to quell. Every evening, each general reported on the day’s
progress and challenges. The nightly report had become a ritual of
communication between Braon and his key leaders, each connected through the
telepathic family. Once a week they met in person. It was Thacker’s favorite
time of the week, and the only time he was able to see his entire family.

Unfortunately,
the past week had not gone as well as Braon would have liked. Frequent fights
and disputes had broken out between different races. The resulting backlash had
fueled resentment and anger between different peoples. Quick discipline had
been the only thing preventing a full scale conflict that they could not afford.
A good byproduct of the engagements had been an increase in their preparation
efforts. It seemed no race wanted to be the last finished with their defenses.

“Finally,”
Thacker muttered, and Braon looked to see that they had passed the eastern
falls and were approaching the House of Runya. Back winging, the firebird
landed in the rooftop garden and allowed them to dismount.

Braon threw a
thankful thought to Reiquen and saw the feathered head dip in response. A
moment later a blast of heat signaled the bird's departure as Braon turned to
the business at hand. Ducking into the cool interior of the elven home, he
pondered the different problems that needed to be solved. The path was
familiar, so he let his feet carry him though the corridors until he exited onto
the streets, his mind buzzing.

With Thacker
and two guards falling into step behind him, Braon worked his way through the
crowded roads until he came to the palace of the elves. Just as he was about to
turn towards the door Thacker caught up to him and touched his arm.

“Sorry,” he
said, “I forgot to tell you. Deiran mentioned that the queen was in the first
women’s chamber.”

Braon nodded
and changed course towards one of the entrances to the caverns behind the city.
Finding the nearest portal, he moved into the well-lit tunnel, negotiating past
the many women moving in and out of the caverns. Most were human, although he
saw quite a few from other races. Carrying babies and followed by small
children, the mothers chosen to take care of the young appeared stressed and
anxious, and few cast Braon a second look.

The tunnel
sloped downward, heading straight into the plateau. After several hundred feet,
other corridors began branching off, each lit by countless flameless torches.

Stray sounds
echoed off the stone walls, babies crying or children playing mixed with the
subtle hum of clothing machines. The mothers cavern had become a hive of
activity in such a short time that the women hadn't been able to remove all of
the dust.

Reaching the
end of the corridor, the ceiling receded into the roof of the first cavern. As
high as it was, even the hundreds of lights could not reach it. Thousands of
women worked within the space chosen to be the place of safety for those unable
to fight. Women of various races could be seen working side by side to organize
and fill clothing and food requests. Others could be seen fletching and making
arrows that were then added to growing piles. At the sight of such order, Braon
smiled, and had to admit that the women had come together far better than the
men of Lumineia. The queen and Lariel had consistently reported no problems in
their area, allowing him to focus on more pressing matters—but seeing such
discipline made him wonder if the women should be responsible for more. They had
smoothed any conflict between races and fostered a spirit of hope and
dedication.

“Commander!” someone
called from the side, and Braon looked to see Erianna, one of the daughters of
Runya, striding towards him. Short and blond like her sister Liri, she had
volunteered to work with her mother in the caverns and had shown an aptitude
for organization. Similar to Liri in temperament, the beautiful elf wore a
plain, light green dress that in no way revealed her station as the high
princess of Azertorn.

“Eri,” Braon
smiled and bowed. “It’s good to see you. How goes the work in the caverns?”

Beaming, she
answered as she stopped in front of him, “Wonderful! We are on schedule with
both food and clothing orders, and even a little ahead with arrows.” She winked
at him. “I think the arrow women want to win the competition.”

Braon laughed,
and realized that the sound seemed unfamiliar coming from his lips. “Ayame sent
me a message…?”

Eri’s grin faltered.
“We have been having several problems with the merchants,” she said, spinning
and heading towards a small enclosed area that held a few makeshift offices.

Confused, but
knowing that Erianna would have answered if she wanted him to know, he followed
her. Her response had been odd, but the way her lips had pulled together had
told him much.

Ducking under
the tent flap he stepped into the queen’s neat workroom and looked towards Ayame.
To his surprise, she seemed worn. The shadows under her eyes made him consider whether
he'd placed too much on the elf queen. Doing his best to hide his concern, he
smiled at Ayame and bowed. "My Queen, what can I assist with?"

At his
entrance she had risen to her feet and moved to stand close to him. “Braon,” she
said affectionately, “it’s been a few days since you visited us. I hope all is
well?” Her soft voice sounded the same as always, yet he caught several
meanings from the subtle changes in her tone. The queen was worried, not much,
but a little. Perhaps she had heard about the conflicts? She was also glad to
see him, and not just because she missed him. There was something she was displeased
with.

Unable to
figure out more, Braon sighed and allowed a little of his emotions to show
through. “We have faced numerous challenges, but are working through them as best
as we can. I understand though that you need assistance with an issue?”

Her posture maintained
the tenseness that he'd noticed, but her expression took on a sympathetic look.
"I am sorry to have to add to your burden, but we are struggling with
supplies."

Braon's
eyebrows knit together before he could stop them. "Do we have insufficient
resources?"

Ayame
dismissed that with a wave of her hand. "We are fortunate to have enough.
The problem we are facing is that the merchants' guild continues to raise its
prices."

"They
want to make a profit off this war," Braon stated, not quite able to quell
the flash of anger he felt.

Eri caught his
attention with a quick shake of her head. "Not all of the merchants feel
that way, but the guildmaster and many of his masters do. The rest have no
choice but to follow their guild."

"What's the
price for a basket of flour?" Braon asked. He needed an idea of how much
the merchants were charging. In a typical harvest, a basket would cost a man
ten copper.

"Three
gold pieces," Ayame said. "They tripled their price this
morning."

Braon growled,
and again felt a rush of anger. A single gold piece was over forty times the
norm. Three gold pieces was a fortune. Doing his best to keep his voice even,
he said, "Are all their prices marked up in a similar fashion?"

"Regrettably
yes," Ayame said with a shrug. "Until this morning, I believed we
could still pay their prices without using every copper in the treasury. Even
with the added currency from all the gathered races, there is not enough coin
to cover the cost of this battle unless the prices are lowered."

"Have
you spoken to the guildmaster?"

"I
have," Ayame replied, and Braon caught the furious look that passed across
Eri's face. "He was . . . less than cordial."

"He said
she could pay it or go hungry," Eri muttered, causing Ayame to throw her a
warning look.

Braon was
appalled, and he tasted fury at the way the queen had been treated. He was
aware that the merchants' guild had raised their prices, but it was not what he
felt he had authority to remedy. The guilds had always been autonomous from nation
or people, and for him to interfere would be tantamount to declaring war on the
guild.

"There is
more," Ayame said.

"What
else are they doing?" Braon asked, unable to grasp what would cause a man
to jeopardize all life for the sake of coin.

"They
have begun selling charms that will protect the soldiers from harm," Ayame
replied, disapproval lacing her tone.

"And they
are fake," Eri added in a matching voice.

Braon frowned
and rubbed his forefinger into his thumb. He could not risk alienating the
merchant guild. If he did that, it would destroy the best supply line for his
army. At the same time, he couldn't afford not to. What he needed was a way to
circumnavigate a direct confrontation.

He doubted persuasion
would work with such a man, unless that persuasion came in the form of payment.
He grunted at that idea and discarded it, loath to support such behavior. Just
as easily he dismissed other positive motivators. Reluctantly, he considered
fear. It was not an incentive he'd used before, and was a line he'd sworn to
himself he would never cross . . . but some choices weren't always black and
white. This appeared to be one of them.

If he did
cross this line, there would be no going back, and he would be forcing men to
choose the right. It rankled that he had to make such a choice, and felt wrong
somehow, but he had no other option. They were at war, and the only hope they
had was of staying united.

"Thacker?"
Braon asked, and the man stepped to his side. "Have Newhawk gather a
detachment of guards. Then collect the guildmaster—discreetly—and take him to
the Lake Road." He hesitated, reluctant even now, but Thacker raised an
eyebrow and he thought of Brynn. In a toneless voice he said, "Have
Newhawk explain to him that he has a choice."

Turning away
from the surprise he saw reflected in their eyes, he said, "Tell him he
can fight on the front line . . . or lower his price. Then inform him he will
stop the trade of illicit goods—" He cast a chilling look back at Thacker.
"—or I will have him executed for fraud. It is time for him to decide if
he wants to join the gathering.

"Or fight
against it."

Chapter
26: Whiteout

Endless tracts
of white tundra sprawled away from Taryn, erasing any semblance of location.
Fortunately for all of them, Kell had a keen sense of direction and had
travelled in the northern tundra before. While Trin and Jack complained about
the cold and the fact they had been forced to leave their steeds behind, the
massive troll led the way.

Dressed in a
kilt formed of leather strips, sandals, and a brown cloak that bulged with the
curving sword on his back, the troll didn't even flinch at the icy climate. Only
Jack had been bold enough to ask if he were chilly. Kell had jerked his head
and grunted a negative, leaving Trin disappointed. Since they had departed
Astaroth the troll had spoken just fourteen words, and at that rate Trin would
lose the bet he'd made with Jack.

Liri shivered
next to Taryn, pulling her cloak closer to her body. “Blasted wind,” she
muttered. “Two days in the cold is three too much for me. I wish I was at the
beach.”

Taryn smiled
but didn’t respond, instead focusing on the darkening clouds overhead. For the
last two hours, the sky had taken on an ominous import, with black clouds moving
in their direction and then passing above them. The wind had picked up, driving
the storm with freezing blasts of arctic air. Kell had quickened his pace an
hour ago and had turned east of due north, heading towards a small collection
of hills. It soon became clear they had no hope of crossing the distance before
the storm broke.

Less than a
quarter of an hour later, the storm crashed over them with a fury. Wind howled and
lashed their clothes, forcing them to lean into the gale. Snow filled the air,
spinning and swirling before finding a resting place on the ground. Glancing
sideways, Taryn saw Liri struggling, so he reached out and pulled her close,
wrapping his own cloak around her shaking shoulders. Her body felt cold against
his side, but his heart sent a burst of heat through his body at the contact.
Matching the storm's intensity, he felt a barrage of thoughts clamor for
attention.

Does she
want me to hold her? What if she doesn't? What if she pushes me away? The ideas
were distracting and maddening at the same time, surprising him with their
urgency. Now as he pressed her thin body against his and felt his mounting
concern for her, he began to wonder if Jack had been right. Over the last few
days he'd examined every encounter he'd ever had with her, but still felt at a
loss. What if she really felt as he did? Was he wasting precious time? Or
would he lose his friend if he voiced his feelings? What was he supposed .
. .

—A piercing
sound lanced through the storm, animal and threatening. Taryn’s eyes snapped
up, seeking the source at the same time every member of their group stopped and
gathered inward. Kell turned his head, growling, “White tigron.”

Trin started.
“A white tigron?”

“Its hunger
will force it our way,” Jack said, serious for once. “They're more dangerous
than a southern tigron because of it.” Jack had already dropped his pack and
drawn his weapon, his eyes squinting into the blizzard.

Kell dipped
his huge head in agreement, casting Jack an appraising glance. “It will take
down someone separate or weak.”

“So it will go
after Jack,” Trin drawled with a straight face, drawing his longsword. "And
that makes twenty-five my friend."

"Twenty-four,"
Jack snorted and cast him a withering glance. “And I am still going to win.”

Taryn listened
to their banter as he studied the tract of land he faced, but he wasn’t fooled.
Trin always coped with fear in the same way. He’d once said that his sense of
humor was as good a mental armor as any.

“How are we
going to see it?” Liri asked, her teeth chattering.

“We won’t,”
Kell replied in his deep voice. “Until it attacks.”

“There!” Mae
raised her voice.

Taryn spun to
see her pointing to a boulder a hundred yards to the west.

After a moment
of silence, Jack said, “You don’t need to warn us about the snow, it’s not going
to kill you.”

She threw him
a blistering look but he only chuckled.

“I saw a flash
of movement,” Mae said, her voice a little uncertain now.

“It’s OK, Mae,”
Trin said. “What did you see?”

The small elf
shook her head, “I thought I saw something.”

Liri cursed
and the uncharacteristic behavior caused Taryn to blink and look at her. He’d
never heard her curse before.

Ignoring his
expression she grumbled, “This storm isn’t going to let us see anything coming
at us. I can't see a dozen yards.”

Before Taryn
could reply Siarra grunted, “I might be able to give us some room to see.”

Jack snorted,
his expression doubtful. “You can stop a full storm?”

She shook the
gathering snow off her blond hair and answered, “Not stop, but maybe . . . redirect
it.” She gestured at the wind driven snow swirling around them. “But with so
much wind it will require almost all of my focus to maintain it. If a tigron
attacks, I will be unable to help.”

The wind
whistled past them as they considered the trade-off.

“Let’s do it,"
Liri said. "Together we should be more than a match for it, even without
Siarra.”

Siarra addressed
Kell first, “Why don’t you take the eastern flank since that is where Mae saw
it. Taryn you take the north while Jack covers the south. Trin and Mae will
watch the west. Liri, you stick to the center with your bow. And spread out, I
am going to need some room.”

Without
waiting for a response she crouched and took a deep breath. Taryn took his
place but threw his sister surreptitious glances as the air around her began to
shimmer. Without warning she blew out her breath and spun in a circle, her arms
extended. Instantly the wind changed direction, spinning from the Oracle like a
tornado. Air compressed and popped as it was manipulated by Siarra, exploding
outward into an expanding dome of protective wind magic. Inside the magical
shield the remaining snow settled to the ground, and gradually the air cleared until
Taryn could see for two hundred yards. He caught a glimpse of empty whiteness before
he heard Trin and Mae cry out in alarm.

Whirling east,
he saw a massive beast spring from the snow. Just as Jack had described, it
looked like a tiger, only much, much larger. Broken by black stripes, its white
body surged across the snow in effortless power. Bounding towards them, it
snarled as it blew through snowdrifts with ease.

Taryn leapt
towards it as Liri shouted, “East side!”

Taryn, Kell,
and Jack reformed between the charging animal and their friends just as the
animal roared, a blood curdling sound that shook the very ground. In a flash
Taryn morphed his bow and drew back an enchanted arrow. From behind him, a
bowstring twanged and he glanced back to see Liri on the ground with her bow in
hand. He released his at the same time Liri sent her second missile. The two
arrows streaked towards the fearsome cat—but missed. Impossibly, the Tigron
dodged each arrow. In less than five seconds the beast had crossed a hundred
yards, and had closed the gap enough to strike.

Taryn morphed
his mothers bow back into a sword and braced his feet—but the tigron shifted
direction, and lunged past him. Unbelievably agile, the great cat carved a path
between Taryn and Jack, knocking them aside before they could bring
their weapons to bear. Tumbling to the ground, Taryn twisted his body and
landed in a crouch in time to see the beast wrap its huge paws around Siarra’s
tiny form—and carry her out of sight.

“NO!” Taryn
cried, his heart stuttering at the thought of losing his sister. With icy veins
he sprinted towards where they had disappeared, praying he made it in time.

“Siarra!”
Taryn yelled, plowing up a pile of snow. Picking up speed he leapt over the top
and skidded to a halt, dumbfounded.

In front of
him Siarra stood petting and soothing the fearsome cat while it sat back on its
haunches. Her short elven form couldn't reach his shoulder, and the tigron had
to stoop down so she could touch his enormous head. Behind Taryn the others
tumbled into view, while Kell bull-rushed right through the drift, sending snow
cascading in every direction. All of them came to a halt beside Taryn.

“What in
Skorn’s name are you doing!?” Jack bellowed.

“I tried to
tell you there was no cause for concern, but no one was paying attention to
me,” Siarra said.

“But it
pounced on you!” Liri exclaimed. “I thought you were dead!”

Siarra shook
her head and hugged the head of the huge cat, eliciting a deep purr. “No, she
wasn’t trying to kill me, she was just so excited to see me.”

“Wait . . .”
Mae asked in shock. “Excited?”

Siarra sighed.
“Tigraes is her name, and at first she meant to kill us, but when I spoke to her,
she seemed very happy. Apparently she knew my mother.” Her eyes met Taryn's,
“And your father.”

Taryn blinked.
“When did Tigraes know them?”

Siarra shrugged.
“She says that Ianna healed her once, and that a red-haired man was with her. They
told Tigraes that we would need her help, and tasked her with waiting for us.”

Taryn blew out
the breath he'd been holding, dumbfounded at another glimpse into his parents’
lives. Once again he found more about his parents, yet for some reason he felt
irked. Why hadn't they left more for him? A letter, or a journal perhaps?

“She says
there is a cavern not far from here that we can take shelter in.” Siarra said,
and the great cat purred at her words. Siarra looked at Taryn and opened her
mouth, but hesitated, glancing at the others before closing her mouth without
voicing the thought. After a final pat from Siarra, Tigraes stood and padded
past them, but stopped twenty feet away and looked back.

“Of course
she would be friends with deadly animals, and to think I was worried about . .
.” Jack grumbled, but the rest of his words were lost as he stalked away and
headed north.

Trin growled.
“Well, I guess our new guide is a cat.”

“You don’t
like cats?” Mae asked, sheathing her short sword and picking up her pack.

“I’m more of a
dog person myself,” Trin snorted. “Dog's have uses.”

Siarra
interrupted whatever sarcastic comment Jack was about to say. “We have to get
moving. The storm is getting worse and I don’t want to drain my energy
unnecessarily.”

“Getting tired
already?” Jack said, his tone sardonic.

Taryn missed
Siarra’s scathing response, his body moving to collect his pack. Woodenly he
fell into line behind his friends as they trudged into the drifts of snow.
Although Siarra turned the wind to sweep the air clear, they still had to hike
through the effects.

How much
did my mother know? Taryn asked himself, feeling a shiver run down his
spine. Did she know everything about me? The questions about his parents
seemed to be compounding faster than answers were appearing. His mother must
have known about their quest, or at least enough to know what they would need
to complete it. A sudden pang of regret stabbed his heart. I guess everyone
knew my mother better than I do.

His thoughts
were cut short as Siarra’s magic revealed a low cave. Slipping into the recess,
the huge cat padded into the entrance and reclined near the opening. Despite
Siarra’s assurances that Tigraes meant them no harm, Taryn wasn’t the only one
to give the striped cat a wide berth as he entered the gloomy cave. Kell
unloaded some of the wood that he’d been carrying in his pack and placed it in
front of Siarra, who lit a fire. Within minutes the icy walls of the small space
radiated the heat back, taking the edge off the chill.

Throughout
their dinner, Taryn’s mind buzzed, and he said little to questions directed at
him. Volunteering for the watch, he moved towards the cave entrance and took a
seat inside a small alcove. Situated across from the white tigron, the spot
provided a good view without letting the arctic wind reach him.

As comfortable
as the situation allowed, his friends spoke little and one by one fell asleep. Soon
after, he heard light footfalls and turned to see Liri striding towards him. He
smiled as she sat down next to him.

"Blasted
snow," she muttered.

"I don't
think it's so bad," Taryn said, extending his cloak to include her.
"It's . . . peaceful."

She snuggled
closer to him, and he tightened his arm around her shoulders. "Perhaps,
but my toes disagree."

He grinned but
didn't respond. The warmth he felt repelled the chill, and he watched the snow
curl and twist as it fell. After a few minutes, Liri said, "Your parents
obviously knew much about this quest. Why do you think they didn't leave you
more?"

He shrugged,
troubled by the question yet grateful she had voiced it. "I wish I
knew."

"They
could have written you a letter, or even left you a memory orb," she said,
her tone becoming indignant.

He gave a slow
sigh. "They prepared so much for our journey, but couldn't find the time
to tell me why?"

"It's
because she was the Oracle," Siarra answered, sliding into a seat next to
Liri. "We tend to hold information longer than we should."

"Why?"
Taryn asked. "When does guarding the truth ever help?"

She sparked a
flame in her hand and played with it for a moment, and then replied with a
sigh, "We see so much about people, their lives and their problems, their
dreams and their fears. If we shared everything we saw . . . it would rob them
of choice."

"Even in
the face of something like Draeken?" Liri asked. "Isn't the price
worth it?"

"Even
then," Siarra said, extinguishing the fire in her hand. "The ability
to choose is mankind's greatest gift, and it is not right to take it from
them."

The sadness in
Siarra's eyes was bitter, causing Taryn to ask, "What have you been
keeping from us?"

She swallowed
and looked away. When she looked back, her eyes were bleak. "I am losing
my sight."

"Is that
possible?" Liri spoke at the same time as Taryn.

"What do
you mean?" Taryn asked.

"It's
becoming clouded," Siarra said, her voice small. "The presence of so
many fiends is limiting my ability to see. It hasn't impacted anything nearby .
. . but my longer range senses are almost gone."

Fear flooded
Liri's face. "Did something happen?"

The shrill
wind gave a chilling backdrop to Siarra's answer. "Talinor has been
destroyed."

"Is there
nothing left?" Liri asked, her body rigid against Taryn.

Siarra
shrugged and wrapped her arms around her knees. "It was invaded before we
talked to the gnomes. Most evacuated in time, but the ones who remained . . .
didn't survive. The darkness is thick enough now that I can't see there
anymore."

"What
about our future?" Liri asked, her eyes flicking to Taryn's. "Can we
do it?"

She shook her
head and wouldn't look at them. "I don't know. Before I could sense some
things . . . but now I can't see anything beyond a few days."

The tremor in
her voice caused Liri to frown. "What's the last thing you saw?" Siarra's
silence hit her hard, so she spoke again, anger creeping into her voice.
"Who dies?"

Siarra
gestured to herself, and then hesitated. Then she jerked her head towards
Taryn.

Liri discarded
Taryn's cloak and rose to her feet. "I don't believe it," She said.
"You are wrong."

Spinning on
her heels she stalked to the fire. Climbing into her blankets, she pointedly
rolled away from them.

Siarra blew
out her breath. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, Taryn, but I didn't
realize the extent of my blindness until recently. If it's any consolation, I
don't really know what is going to happen to us. An oracle's sight is
rarely exact."

The faint
howling of the wind was the only sound for several seconds until Siarra said,
"There's more."

"What else
is there?" he asked, feeling betrayed, and not caring if his sister heard
it in his voice.

"Tigraes
knows where Israke is, and can take you to him."

Taryn looked
at the great cat, and she raised her head in response. “How far away?” he
asked.

Siarra hesitated
before saying, “A few hours.”

“A few hours
for who?”

Siarra grunted
and leaned back. “For you and Tigraes.”

“What do you
mean?”

“She says the
terrain is . . . rough, but by her tone I gather it to be more like deadly—and
steep. I might be able to keep up with you if I use magic, but I will tire and
it will slow us down. The others will just get fatigued, and we are running out
of time. Even Jack and Kell wouldn’t make it as quickly as you will have
to—especially with this storm, and Trin needs to find out about his father.
While you are gone, I can search for evidence that his family survived.” Her
voice became small. "You will have to do this alone Taryn. The choice is
yours."

“When would I
go?” Taryn asked, trying to contain his mixture of emotions. The information he
could learn might be crucial in defeating Draeken. Siarra’s news had made him feel
. . . mortal. Would the white dragon be able to tell him the fate of Lakonus?
Would he know what Taryn would have to face?

Siarra touched
his arm. "Please don't go, Taryn. I don’t want to lose my only family.”

For the first
time he saw her as a person, as his sister, and not as the Oracle of the world.
Since he'd found her, she had been strong, confident, and sure of herself. Now
as she sat beside him in the icy cave, she looked vulnerable and weak. It felt
unsettling to see her like this.

What if she
wasn't strong enough to survive this war?

The idea made him
hesitate. Then he placed his hand on hers. "And I don’t want to lose my
sister, so promise me when we get to Draeken that you will find a way to
survive.”

“But I can’t see
that,” she protested, but he cut her off with a jerk of his head.

“I don’t want
you to promise me as the Oracle, I want you to promise me as my sister.
Find a way to live, and I will do the same.”

She gave him a
sad smile. "So are you going?"

"I have
to," he replied. "Defeating Draeken is everything now. If I fail in
that . . . Liri dies anyway—and so do the rest of you."

“You had
better go then. The storm is going to slow you down, and the longer you wait
the deeper the snow is going to get.”

Taryn rose to
his feet. Careful to not disturb Liri, he grabbed his pack. Ready, he embraced
his sister and followed Tigraes into the driving snow. Striding into the storm
he looked back to see Siarra standing in the cave entrance. Then the snow
obscured her from view.

“I guess it’s
just you and me, right girl?” he said to the white tigron at his side. Tigraes
swiveled her huge head to look at him and he got the feeling she was smiling.
Lengthening his stride he broke into a trot that would absorb the distance
without tiring him and would keep him warm. “Let’s go find ourselves a dragon.”

The huge cat
bounded forward, and Taryn grinned to himself. He wasn’t the only one feeling
eager.

It was time to
get some answers.

Chapter
27: The White Dragon

In Taryn’s
life he could recall few times that he had felt tested. Among the short list he
would place the Acabi ceremony, climbing the Giant’s Shelf, fighting Death, and
battling Tryton. Each had forced him to draw from deep within to overcome
something impossible—and now he would add climbing the ice cliffs of Israke’s
lair during a blizzard.

By the time Taryn
had reached the mountain range, the cold had penetrated to his bones. Shifting
his feet to stay warm, he blinked through the flurries of snow and peered at
the towering peaks. Strung together like links in a chain, each mountain
pierced the clouds on their way to the heavens. Shorter than the rest, but no
less broad, the one he faced lay shrouded in snow and ice.

Shivering,
Taryn followed Tigraes around its base to the northern side, where the storm
slammed into the mountain as if it had the power to crush the stone. Rounding
snow-topped boulders the size of houses, the huge white cat came to a halt in
front of an icy wall that stretched upward into the dark. Because the cliff
faced north, layer upon layer of ice and snow had crusted the face as each
storm added to it. Driving winds had smoothed the ice in patches of treacherous
ledges, cracks, and dangerously deceptive handholds.

Soon into the
climb, Taryn took a short break on one of the wider shelves. Easing his cold
muscles, he had to admit that without the cat the ascent would have been
impossible. Tigraes, possessing enormous strength, would leap from one ledge to
the next, and somehow seemed to know which ledges were safe. Taryn would then
do his best to climb to the higher position, using smooth cracks and tiny holds.
Ten seconds was too long to stay in one place, or he risked plunging to his
death.

Taryn had
learned the hard way to follow the tigron. Only twenty feet off the ground,
Taryn had chosen a different route than the one she had taken. Grabbing onto
what had looked to be a strong section of ice jutting out from the cliff, he’d
felt an unseen crack give way. Then the whole shelf snapped, sending him tumbling
back to the base. Fortunately he’d landed in a snowdrift, but the lesson had been
a chilling reminder that this was not his territory, a lesson reinforced by the
irritated growl emanating from Tigraes as she returned to the base to find him.

After that,
he’d followed her without hesitation, even onto sections of the cliff that he
would have sworn were too frail to carry his weight. The very piece on which he
now sat had looked to be a thin film of ice from below, but had proved to be
solid enough to support Taryn as well as the far heavier cat. Shaking his head,
Taryn nodded at Tigraes and stood, once again ready to continue.

Although his
face burned from the unrelenting wind, and his whole body felt numb, he forced
himself to continue. Sliding out onto a forked section protruding from the
cliff, he reached up for a crack and found a grip. As he climbed, he thought of
Liri, Siarra, and the rest of his friends. Attempting such a dangerous feat with
millions of lives riding on his success was too much to bear. In the end, the
ones he cared about were the ones he was doing this for, and Liri’s face held a
prominent place in his thoughts.

After what
seemed like an eternity, Taryn rolled onto a broad ledge that turned out to be
an enormous opening in the cliff. Looking upward, he could barely discern the
top of the cave a few hundred feet above. Next to him he heard a throaty cough
from Tigraes that he hoped he understood. Whatever the cat feared, he should
fear as well.

“It’s OK girl,”
he said, patting her flank. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

A snarl in reply
left no doubt that she would remain at his side. He rubbed his cold fingers
inside his gloves, grateful for her presence. Somewhere in the dangerous climb,
he’d come to think of her as a friend—a thought he hoped was reciprocated now
that they had reached the dragon’s lair. The change had been subtle, but
Tigraes now sat on her haunches closer to him than before, and also seemed more
patient. Perhaps she had doubted that he would make it this far.

He sighed, and
realized his voice sounded hoarse from the wind. “Well, let’s go see what's in
there.”

Tigraes padded
forward, her back as tall as Taryn’s shoulder, and Taryn stepped into the large
cave behind her. On silent steps the two of them followed the massive winding
corridor as it wound into the cliff. After a few minutes, the twisting and
turning killed the wind and darkened the view. The silence and the ice tunnel
caused every sound to be amplified, and Taryn cringed each time he scuffed a
boot.

Turning one
last time, Taryn stopped as he saw a light further down the tunnel. Slowing, he
slid to the wall and ducked under a large overhang that would allow him to
observe without being seen. Tigraes glided next to him, filling the rest of the
space.

Fifty feet
ahead of them the corridor turned right, and whatever was around the corner
caused light to extend onto the end of the tunnel. The light didn’t flicker, so
it didn’t come from a fire, so that left magic. Frowning at the implications of
that, he slid out of his hide and followed the wall to the end. Stopping a few
inches from the corner, Taryn eased his head out to take a quick look.

Around the
corner, the tunnel opened into a tremendous cavern at least half the height of
the Giant’s Shelf. In one corner he saw the biggest beast he’d ever seen, the
white dragon Israke, sleeping. The tunnel they were in would have barely fit
the creature if he tried to leave by that route. Enormous white wings folded
neatly onto his back, while his tremendous wedge-shaped head lay outstretched,
revealing two enormous horns that curved back from the top of its skull.

Somewhere in
Taryn’s mind, a tactical voice told him to check the rest of the room, and he
managed to wrench his eyes from the dragon to examine the chamber. A quick scan
revealed several oddities that could not be explained. The huge space was lit
by several large glowing orbs, similar to the fireless torches that he had seen
in Azertorn. They cast a bluish light, and allowed him to see the rest of the
chamber.

He’d heard
numerous tales that described dragon lairs, and at some point they always
included piles of gold and jewels. But from his vantage point, he could see no
such valuables. Instead, he saw that the cavernous space had four sections. Israke’s
entire form dominated one corner, but the other three seemed out of place in
the home of a dragon.

One corner
contained numerous racks of weapons. Swords, staffs, shields, spears, and any
other weapon he had ever seen, including some he hadn’t, were placed along
frost covered beams. Many of them glimmered with hidden magic, and Taryn found
himself wondering where the dragon had gotten them. Glancing back at the hilts
of his own swords he guessed the unsettling answer.

Looking past
the weapons, Taryn saw what could only be described as a library. Row upon row
of bookshelves were filled with leather bound books of every size and shape.
The library seemed so out of place that he looked back and forth between the
dragon and the store of knowledge in confusion.

No ready
answer presented itself, so he eased himself out of the wall a few more inches
to see the nearest section of the cavern. His eyebrows shot up as he saw a
house in the last corner. Complete with thatched roof and shuttered windows,
the house in the corner of the dragon’s home sprawled over a large area. The
main house looked ancient, but several additions appeared newer.

His gaze on
the residence, Taryn’s curiosity got the best of him. He slid out into the
corridor and worked his way down the tunnel. After each silent step he looked
at the dragon to see if there was a response, but no movement caused him any
alarm. In moments he stood at the front door. Trying the knob, he found it to
be unlocked, and started to ease it open.

The resulting
protest from the frozen hinges caused his heart to thunder in his ears as the
sound echoed throughout the cavern. Taryn whirled, his eyes snapping to the
dragon as he held his breath and waited. For several seconds he froze, trying to
control his fear, but Israke didn’t move so he turned back to the house. He bit
his lip in thought. The door’s hinges were frozen, so there was no way he could
open it without making another sound. He’d been lucky on the first attempt, but
didn’t want to risk his life on a second.

A furred body
rubbed against his and he turned to see Tigraes looking at him. Dropping off
the porch, the tigron led Taryn around the corner of the house and to an open
window.

Smiling, he
rubbed the cat’s large head in gratitude, and then slid into the house.
Although dim, he managed to make out the small living room that he had entered.
Conscious of the time and place, Taryn searched the house for any sign of life,
but found none. Returning to the window, he realized that the only one with the
answers was the enormous white dragon.

It was time to
wake him.

Exiting the
house, he considered his options for several seconds before settling on one of them.
Boldness might cause the dragon to pause long enough, so he gathered every bit
of his courage. Striding forward, he’d just passed the center when everything
changed.

“Did you like
my house, Taryn Elseerian?” a deep rumbling said. Then the swirling orbs of Israke’s
eyes snapped opened and his head rose off the floor.

Taryn
swallowed against the sight of the fully alert dragon, but his question
penetrated his mind enough to force him to think. His house?

“How do you
know my name?” Taryn asked, hoping his voice sounded even.

The dragon
chuckled, a deep rasp that reverberated around the chamber with more menace
than humor. “I knew you would be coming a long time ago.”

My mother
came here too? Taryn thought, but before he could ask Israke continued.

“I have been
waiting ten thousand years for you to visit my home,” Israke said.

Taryn shook
his head, trying to comprehend the statement, but the huge white dragon
chuckled again. “Perhaps it would be best if I start from the beginning.”

Taryn opened
his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Before his eyes the white dragon’s
form had begun to shift. Wings were drawn into the body, long legs and neck
followed. Shrinking fast, the dragon became smaller and smaller, and within
seconds changed into a very, very old man dressed in a thin robe.

Then it
clicked in Taryn’s mind. “You’re a Joreia!”

The ancient
man coughed, and laughed. “Truly one, as the druids call it, yes.”

“But I thought
dragons were sentient and didn’t bond with druids,” Taryn said, too surprised
to voice any of the questions he’d come to ask.

The old man
laughed again, and then shuffled forward, wincing, “You are the seventh to ever
know, my boy—the first being the Oracle of my time. She was a smart one she
was, and the only woman I ever loved.”

“But—”

The man raised
a hand to forestall any more questions. “Help me get to my house? It’s always
hard to change into a human from the strength of a dragon, especially when a
human feels the cold! Oh, and bring your cat in as well. I am sure she would like
to feel some warmth.”

Taryn set
aside his questions and bounded forward to place his cloak around the tiny
man’s shoulders. Biting his lip against the torrent of thoughts threatening to
come out, he waited until they were inside the house and he’d started a blazing
fire in the hearth. Finding some blankets nearby, he placed them on a rack near
the fire to warm.

“Put some tea
on, would you?” the old man asked. “You should find it in the kitchen next to
the pile of ice blocks for water.”

Taryn obediently
fetched a pot and placed the ice inside it. Then he hung the container over the
fire. Returning a moment later he added the tea leaves and settled into a chair.

The man seemed
content to wait for the tea and had leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed.
Sighing at the delay, Taryn took the opportunity to study the man.

Bald except
for a ring of stray white hair, he more than made up for it with the snowy
beard. His skin appeared wrinkled from head to toe, and was white almost to the
point of being translucent. He also spoke with an odd accent, like the language
of common was not his native tongue.

When the tea
was ready, Taryn filled a mug for the man and placed the warm blankets onto the
man's lap. Nodding at Taryn in gratitude, he settled deeper into his cushioned
chair with a sigh. Then he took a sip of his tea and smiled. “That’s excellent
my friend, thank you.”

Fixing Taryn
with eyes of bright blue that gave no hint to his age, he said, “Let me tell my
tale, and then if you have any more questions, you may feel free to ask."

Taryn nodded, and
did his best to contain his curiosity. After another sip of tea the man began.

“My name is
Rake, and I was born just over ten thousand years ago in what was then the only
human kingdom. I was raised near the elven forests of Orláknia and quickly
found that I could communicate with animals. As was the custom, I was sent to
live with the druids. Although the druid people only had a few villages then,
they knew how to teach me until I was ready to summon my Joré.” His eyes lit up
as he talked about the days preceding his joining.

“When I entered
the forest to summon my Joré, many speculated about which animal I would join
with, for I possessed a rare gift to speak to any animal, large or
small. You cannot imagine my surprise when a young white dragon answered my
call. Isray, he said his name was, and he was nearly as young as I was.

“After our
joining, I knew that I could never return to my village or my home in the human
kingdom. Dragons were greatly feared, even among the druids, and my joining
would have been perceived as an abomination.

“Instead we
traveled north, and Isray flew me over the dwarven mountains. We never stopped
moving, for the few times we found a place to call home, someone showed up to
slay the dragon and take its treasure. Young as Isray was, he was small, barely
topping thirty feet, and was vulnerable.

“One such
time, a group of rock trolls, led by a bloodthirsty clan leader found us. They
were more than a match for us, and it appeared that I would lose my Joré. I
told him to flee, but he would not. During the desperate battle, a group of
them managed to tackle him to the floor, and tried to remove his head with an
axe.

“In that
moment, I wished with all my heart that I could be the one killed, and not my
friend, and in that instant we became one. We did not learn this until much
later, but a joining between a sentient being and a druid releases an extremely
powerful burst of magic. In our case, this froze everything within a thousand
yards.

“From then on
we became Israke, a Joreia.” The man paused to take a sip of his tea and Taryn
realized he’d been lost in the story. Standing, he refilled the old man’s mug
and allowed him to continue, smiling as the ancient druid absently stroked the neck
of the tigron at his side.

“After that I
flew wherever I wanted, changing to human form at will, and for a while we
lived the good life.” He paused, sighing, and for the first time appeared
serious. “One day I was relaxing in a tavern somewhere in the south, when a
beautiful young elf entered the room. Now, I wasn’t that far from the elven
forests, so that was not uncommon, but this elf walked right up and took the
seat at my side. She peered at me and asked, ‘How is life as a white dragon?’”

Rake laughed
at the memory. “I nearly fell out of my chair, and without answering I ran from
the tavern. She followed me and then told me she was the Oracle, and that she
needed my help. She was always so . . . intense, and I couldn’t resist
her passion. For the next few months I helped her search for the one that would
stop the invasion of Draeken, Lakonus.”

“What happened
to him after he fought Draeken?” Taryn interrupted, and Rake looked at him in
disapproval.

“I’ll get
there,” he said, drinking more tea before continuing. “Lakonus was a good man,
part elf, and as far as we knew, part dwarf. By the time we found him, the war
had begun, and that vile army had already crossed most of the south. I flew the
Oracle and Lakonus to Xshaltheria to confront Draeken. I fought two reds in the
sky while the Oracle defended the ground. Because my mind was not entirely
dragon, I was smart enough to defeat both of the red dragons, but caught this
as a souvenir.”

Rake raised
his cloak to reveal a burn scar that ran from under his arm, down his whole
side. “Believe me it looked worse in dragon form.” He chuckled to himself, his
eyes sparkling. “From the sky I looked down and saw the last few moments of
Lakonus’s battle.”

Taryn leaned
forward, hanging on every word as the story reached the point he wanted to
hear.

“In a perfect circle
of stone surrounded by the lava of the volcano, Lakonus fought . . . himself.
It was a flawless replica, but fought like a mirror. Every move he made, the
other duplicated. I couldn’t even tell which was which. Needless to say I dived
down to see if I could help, but the hole above the cavern was protected by
magic I could not penetrate, no doubt placed there to keep Draeken in.”

“What
happened?” Taryn asked, unable to contain himself.

Rake didn't
seem to notice the interruption, his eyes looking into the past as he finished
his story. “Draeken was chained to the wall, and kept telling Lakonus that the
only way to kill him was to slay the mirror—but the mirror would take his life in
return. He claimed victory would be his if he was willing to pay the price. Lakonus
knew people were dying, but he tried everything to beat the image. It was all
in vain. If he tried to cut the illusion, the illusion cut him, if he blocked
the strike, the mirror blocked his strike. Finally he resigned himself to his
fate . . . and slew the copy.”

“He gave his
life?” Taryn asked, stunned.

“The supreme
sacrifice,” Rake said, his head dipping.

For a moment
they sat in silence, and Taryn’s thoughts invariably tackled how to defeat a mirror
of himself.

“May I
finish?” Rake asked, breaking into his thoughts, and Taryn nodded, curious what
else the druid could tell him.

“After the
mirror died, Draeken screamed and faded from view, although the chains were
still there. At that moment, the portal on the outside of the fortress closed
in a violent blast of energy, and every fiend in Lumineia vanished. The war, as
we thought, had been won. I found the Oracle bloodied and close to death. She
had killed thousands of fiends to give Lakonus time. When we returned to the
elves we found the world in chaos. There were so many dead or missing, especially
of the ruling class of the human kingdom, that few knew what to do. In the end
the humans divided, and the elves migrated to the western forests.”

“And built
Azertorn?”

Rake nodded,
“Because Lakonus was raised as an elf, the entire dwarven nation built the city
of Azertorn to honor his sacrifice, or at least that is how history tells it.
Only the king of the dwarves and the queen of the elves knew the truth about
Lakonus.” He fingered his beard, his eyebrows knitting together. “Shortly after
the end of the war, we discovered that the mother of Lakonus had a cousin, a
cousin that had also raised a great hero. The cousin was part dwarf . . . and
Lakonus was not. Lakonus's mother had lied to him, because she wanted him to
have the honor. In the end, both of the heroes lost their lives, one by
sacrifice, the other by the hand of Draeken's assassin.”

Taryn leaned
back in his chair, stunned. So much had happened so long ago, and no one knew
about it except the old man in front of him. A thought crossed his mind and he
asked, “What happened to the Oracle?”

Rake sighed,
“For a while she traveled with me, but when the queen passed on, her successor
mandated that the Oracle never leave her own home. As a final show of defiance
the Oracle said her home was Orláknia, and so that is where she remained. Soon
the vicious war faded from memory into legend, and many began to pass it off as
myth. Since the queen of the elves never told anyone about the truth of
Lakonus, even the long lived elves and dwarves began to forget. I have
collected and studied everything I could to learn more, as the Oracle
instructed me to. She knew you would come and would need my guidance to know what
to do.”

“So she knew
that Draeken would return?” Taryn asked.

“Not at first,
but soon after Azertorn was built she began to sense his life force, weak, but
gaining strength. Then she realized that he had only been imprisoned once more,
trapped for another ten thousand years. It took her many years before she
understood, before she felt the magic that far ahead in time. That is when she summoned
me and told me when I must be here to receive you.”

“But how have
you lived this long?” Taryn asked.

“Dragons live
several thousand years because of their sleeping patterns, but becoming a
Joreia extends your life.” He gave a low chuckle that turned into a cough.
Draining his tea he smiled. “I do believe I am nearing the end of my time in
Lumineia, and will soon pass on.”

“Why don’t you
come and fight with us then?” Taryn suggested earnestly.

Rake gave a
deep belly laugh, and a twinkle sparked in his eye that made him seem younger.
“No my friend, I will leave that to the young. I fear I am past the point of
flight now. However, I will show you and your feline companion a way to the
bottom of the cliff. That climb is treacherous enough to deter most of the
foolhardy. I was told you would make it, but I am still impressed that you did
it during a whiteout.”

“Have there
been others?” Taryn asked.

Israke smirked.
“A great many, in fact, always losing a few in the ascent. Some had honorable
intentions, and those I spared. The others added to my fine collection of
weaponry.”

A pallor had
spread across the old man's' features, and Taryn felt like he should give the
ancient one some peace. "Do you mind if I look at your collection?" he
asked.

"Of
course. I will ready myself to guide you down."

Thanking him, Taryn
stood and left the cottage, moving towards the weapon racks. With his keen eyes
he saw many fine weapons, and drew several to test their balance. Many appeared
to be of exceptional quality, and a few were even enchanted with powerful
magics.

“Ready to go?”
Rake asked and he turned to see the old man dressed in warmer clothes. The
druid smiled, seeing Taryn with one of the weapons in his hand. “After I am
gone, you may return any time you like, and may consider anything in here
yours. If you do return, come and read from the library—or better yet—return
some of them to the elven archives so they can benefit the world."

Taryn promised
that he would and followed the old druid into the corridor that led to the
cliff, with Tigraes padding behind them. Taryn allowed the comfortable silence
to stretch between them, turning his thoughts inward to all that he had
learned. As they approached the opening he began to feel the icy wind on his
cheeks. Turning the last corner, Taryn saw the gaping hole that allowed the
storm to blow snow onto the floor of the great tunnel.

Turning to the
druid, Taryn asked, "Can the mirror be defeated?" He didn't finish
the thought, without sacrificing oneself.

Rake's bushy
eyebrows knit together. "I have spent my life puzzling over what Lakonus
could have done differently, but I regret to say I have not discovered the
answer. Perhaps it is your destiny to triumph where he could not."

The words were
insufficient to dispel the knot of dread in Taryn chest, but he thanked him
anyway.

Rake pointed
to a side cave that had been concealed to look like a small alcove, “That leads
to a secret exit at the base of the cliff. After I seal the main entrance it
will be the only way in.”

“But won’t
that trap you inside?” Taryn asked.

Rake smiled,
patting him on the shoulder. “I don’t think I will be needing it, my friend.
Good luck on your quest. I hope you survive.” Without waiting for a response,
Rake turned and ambled back down the corridor. Taryn watched him until he was
out of sight before turning to the large striped cat beside him.

“Well we
learned more than I could have hoped. Let’s get back to the camp,” Taryn said,
stepping onto the wide staircase. Descending he reached the bottom and departed
through a small opening hidden behind a large boulder. Bracing himself against
the furious storm, he started running behind the white tigron.

Before he knew
it, he once again stood in the opening to the small cave where Liri sat on
watch. Before he could say a word of greeting she stalked towards him. She came
to a halt so close he could feel her warm breath on his face.

“You didn’t
even tell me where you were going, Taryn,” she hissed. “What if something
happened to you and I never found out! I could kill you for being so
inconsiderate as to not even tell me—”

He didn't know
why he did it, but he didn't think to second guess the impulse. Taryn’s soft
kiss was only meant to stop her tirade and let her know he was sorry, but she
wrapped her slim arms around his neck and kissed him back. Despite the wind,
tingles of energy flooded his body. The sensation of fire blanketed his skin
and dried his throat. As her mouth moved against his, he began to feel light
headed. Dizzy, he pulled away at the same time she did.

They held on
to each other for a moment, and then he flashed a cautious grin. “That was
unexpected,” Taryn said, and she smirked.

“About time,”
Jack said smugly, and Taryn turned to see everyone standing in the cave
entrance. Trin crowed and the others started to laugh. Even Mae was grinning,
and Taryn felt his face flush. Glancing at Liri, he saw her sheepish smile and
couldn’t help but laugh at himself. As if of their own volition, his hands
reached out and took hers. Her cold fingers intertwined with his, sending
another jolt of lightning through his body.

As the
laughter died down, Taryn sobered and looked at each of their expectant faces
in turn. “There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

Chapter
28: Hunger

Gaze stepped
into the king’s antechamber and tried to rub the weariness and grime from his
eyes. It was the room in which the king had gazed into the prophecy orb, but it
felt like a different place. It felt like another life. Dirt and scattered
papers littered the floor, and in the morning chill the hearth lay devoid of
warmth. Dawn filtered through the windows and cast a dismal light onto the once
bright room, allowing gray shadows to overtake the floor.

“Spooky, don’t
you think?” Anders said beside him, flashing him a half-hearted grin.

Gaze nodded, looking
out a window as if he might spot someone in the deserted city of Herosian, but Prince
Graden had done an excellent job of evacuating the city. By now almost the
whole population of the southern kingdom had departed, abandoning the jewel of
the south to the invaders. From the moment they had approached the city Gaze
had felt out of place. Streets once filled with people were now littered with
trash rustling in the breeze. Doors and shutters hung open and storefronts
still contained molding scraps on the counters. At every turn the evidence of
the rushed departure glared at them, leaving the once bustling metropolis an empty
husk.

“How much time
do you think we have?” Anders said, searching through some papers on his
father’s desk.

Gaze walked to
the east side of the room and looked out another window. In the distance he
could see the massive dust cloud rising from the approaching army. Looking
skyward he saw the distinctive line of dark clouds that followed the army. His
forehead crinkled as he considered that phenomenon. For everything he knew
about magic he could not explain why every piece of sky above the fiends
billowed with darkness, as if the very heavens were blackened by the presence
of the creatures below. The cloud stretched in a distinct line from the lake on
the north, to as far as he could see to the south. On the one hand it allowed
him to mark the army at any time during the day, but it struck fear through his
soul at the host of foes it implied.

“An hour,”
Gaze said, hoping for more, “At best.”

Anders didn’t
reply. Instead he continued searching the desk. Snatching an open letter he
said, “Hey, this is from Graden.” He scanned the document and nodded in
satisfaction. “It says he got everyone out, and wishes us luck.”

“That’s at
least some good news,” Gaze said. “Does it say anything else?”

Anders laughed
as he scratched the scruff on his face, “I think so, it’s a few pages long.” He
flashed the sheaf of papers at Gaze before stuffing them into his pouch. “We
can study the note later. I need to keep looking.” Growling, he turned to the
shelves along the wall.

“What are you
looking for anyway?” Gaze said. “All you said was that we had to stop here.”

“Relax,”
Anders said, turning to another shelf. “We’ll be out long before they catch up.”

“I don’t
know,” Gaze said with a frown, his stare returning to the enormous cloud advancing
towards the city. “They always seem faster than we expect.”

Anders paused,
his expression resigned. “If I don’t find it in the next five minutes, let’s go.”

“Fine, but
what is it anyway? The only reason I agreed to stop was because you said your
father would want you to.” He spun to face to his long-time friend, an apology
on his lips. It was the first time he’d mentioned king Drayson since they had
watched him be killed by the fiend captain.

“It’s OK,”
Anders said, sinking into his father’s chair. For a moment the silence hung
between them, until the prince murmured. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

“Me either,”
Gaze said, leaning against the wall as his voice caught. He had to swallow to say,
“I . . . I'm sorry I didn't save him.”

Anders face
clouded in anger, “Don’t take that on yourself, Gaze. He knew what he was
getting into when he took us out there.”

Gaze looked
away, his throat too tight to speak. The king had been like a father to him
ever since he’d met the prince, and losing Drayson had been a stab in the gut.
He couldn’t imagine a world where the wise king didn’t live. Of all the deaths
he had seen, and of every brave soldier he’d watched die, Drayson was the
hardest to bear.

“Do you really
want to know what I am looking for?” Anders said, and when Gaze turned back he
saw that the prince’s expression was wistful. At Gaze's affirmation the prince
smiled. “It’s my father’s favorite ring. It’s just a simple band, but it has an
engraving that was very special to him.”

“What does it
say?” Gaze asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“I honestly
don’t know," Anders said with a shrug, "He always told me that it had
helped him in the bad times as well as the good.”

“I don’t
understand."

“Me either. He
used to say that it helped him in the good times to be prepared for the bad,
and it reminded him that dark days always come to an end,” Anders exclaimed,
reciting his father’s words as he returned to his search. “He told me when we set
out that he didn’t take it with him, but to return for it if anything happened
to him.”

A moment later
Anders crowed in exultation. “Found it!”

Gaze moved to
stand beside him and read what was on the inside of the plain silver ring. In
clear flowing script were the words ‘Remember the end.’ The phrase
resounded in Gaze’s mind for several seconds as he considered their meaning. As
understanding dawned on him of how the expression must have helped the king, and
he realized how many conversations he’d had with the old man where this ring
must have influenced his advice.

A low chuckle
came from Anders and he turned to see the prince with the first true smile he’d
seen since they’d been in the courtyard four weeks and forever ago. “Now are
you ready to go?”

Gaze flashed a
grin. “Let’s go.”

Their errand
completed, they hurried to exit the castle and get out of the city before the
army arrived. Stopping to swap their filthy clothes for clean garments and
refill their packs with scraps left in the storerooms, they exited the deserted
castle and walked into the hazy morning sun . . .

Gaze stopped cold
as he came through the gate and saw what waited for them. In a perfect semi-circle
around the main gate, twelve hulking Krakas stood like statues of impending
death. Although he’d seen one in the darkness, this was the first time he’d
looked at one during the day.

Each one stood
at least ten feet tall, and their heavy obsidian swords dragging behind them
were almost as big. On the outside of their black skin, white bone grew like
armor plating. Although there were several gaps, he doubted anyone could get
close enough to slip a blade through—or if it would even slow the massive
creature. His gaze crawling up their goliath forms, Gaze saw that the krakas
skulls were a sinister combination of bone, black skin, and red eyes. As still
as death, Gaze knew they moved far quicker than seemed logical, and that they
could close the gap in less than three seconds. His heart caved as he recognized
there was no way out of the ring.

They were
dead.

Anders whispered
something, too quiet for him to hear but he didn’t dare turn his head. “What?”
he hissed.

“They were
sent to kill us,” Anders said in a low voice.

“Why?” Gaze asked,
fighting to quell the panic bubbling inside him. “And why aren’t they
attacking? I have never seen them not attack.”

“They are staring
at you Gaze.” Anders said.

Gaze blanched
as he saw that his friend's words were true. Every single Kraka was looking at
him. “So why aren’t they charging?” Gaze demanded, his desperation cracking his
composure.

“These were
sent to keep us here.” Anders said, understanding coloring his voice. “We have
slipped through their fingers too many times, and I don’t think they want it to
happen again. Any chance you can strike them all at the same time?”

“Are you
crazy?” Gaze said. “It was hard enough to take one down, let alone twelve!”

“So what do
you—” Anders started to ask but then the Krakas shifted, leaving a small gap in
their center. Before Gaze could say anything, the most vile thing he had ever
seen filled the opening. Shorter than a human, the fiend looked vaguely like a dwarf.
Dry gray skin hung on a skeletal frame, giving the impression that the thing
hadn’t eaten in an eternity. Emaciated beyond the point of death, its stomach
sunk almost to the backbone, and each rib pressed through the flesh of the bare
chest. It moved slowly, as if it lacked the strength to walk, but a moment
later Gaze forgot all about his horror when the thing raised its arm.

Unimaginable
pain arced through Gaze’s body, and he doubled over, gasping for breath. His
stomach seized in the worst hunger he’d ever experienced and his whole body convulsed
at the demand. Involuntarily he clawed for his fallen pack and fumbled for the
food they had gathered, but the moment he pulled it into view he saw it molding
and wasting away.

He screamed as
the craving to fill his stomach arched his back, causing him to fall to his
knees and clasp his stomach with both hands. Images of bread, cheese, fruit and
every other edible food flashed through his mind, amplifying the craving to the
point of madness. Looking down he was astonished to see his stomach begin to
shrink, and for that brief second, despair engulfed him . . .

Then the
hunger stopped short, leaving a dull ache that left him in an agony of want.
Blinking at the sunlight, he fought to raise his head to see why. Forty feet
away he saw the wretched fiend that had caused his hunger, and he squinted to
see what looked different. As his vision cleared, he spotted something that
made his eyes widen. An arrow now protruded from the creature's thin arm, but
before he could focus enough to puzzle out where the arrow came from, the krakas
surrounded the fiend as arrows began to rain down on them.

An arm grabbed
his, hauling him to his feet and yanking him back inside the castle. Bleary eyed
and fighting the urge to gag he turned to see an armored elf dragging him half
stumbling away from the giant krakas. A few feet away another elf had already
succeeded in getting Anders inside the portcullis, and he shut the iron
barricade just before a kraka thundered into it.

The clash of
bone and steel caused the gate to shudder but it held—just. Its metal bars now
bent, Gaze doubted the barrier would hold against more than a few more
attempts.

“Get them to
the ladder,” his rescuer ordered with a light voice.

An elf maid?

He tried to
ask a question but couldn't get the words out. His throat was so dry his
question came out as a cough. Ignoring him, the two elves shouldered their burdens
and hurried to the north wall. Gratefully, Gaze began to feel his strength returning
as they rounded the northwest corner of the castle. Sixty feet away Gaze
spotted a ladder leaning against the courtyard wall, and the elves hastened for
it.

The wall ahead
of them exploded inward, the impact throwing battlement bricks like they were
pebbles and knocking them to the ground. Adrenaline spiked through Gaze's body,
and he somehow managed to get to his feet a split second after the elves. A
huge fiend captain now stood between them and the ladder to safety. Whirling
towards them, it bellowed its fury as the gap he'd created filled with Quare,
their angry challenges filling the air.

“Back!” the
elf captain yelled. “Inside the castle!”

Without
argument, all four of them hustled into the citadel, slamming the main doors a
heartbeat before they shuddered from a blow. The elf whirled, her gaze
piercing. “Is there another way out?” she demanded.

“No,” Gaze
said, at the same time Anders said, “Yes.”

Gaze stared at
him in surprise, but he winked at him and said, “The drain.”

Snorting, Gaze
spun and raced down a hall. “This way,” he called, sprinting when he heard the
doors shatter behind them.

The drain that
Anders had referred to was a large drainage pipe that led from the kitchens to
outside the castle. At some point when the prince was young, he had figured out
a way to loosen the bars that covered it so they still looked intact. For years
they had used it as a secret way of escaping the confines of the royal house
whenever they wished.

Racing past
the dining hall and into the kitchen, Gaze hurried to the corner and yanked the
bars off the hole. Sweeping his hand to the elf captain he said with a smile,
“Ladies first.”

She gave a
short bark of laughter, and then jerked her chin to the other elf, “Loken, you
first, make sure it’s clear on the other end. Then the prince and his friend. I'll
go last.”

Both Gaze and
Anders opened their mouths to protest but she gave them such a fierce glare
that their words died on their lips. Amongst snarling echoes of fiends
searching the castle, Loken slipped into the hole, followed by Anders. Just as
Gaze crouched to drop into the drain, two Quare leaped into the room, heading
straight for the elf captain.

Before Gaze
could even think to react, the elf darted forward. One of the fiends lunged for
her, but she side-stepped and struck it as it flew past her. Before the body
had even crashed to the floor she’d dispatched the other one. Returning to the
gate she demanded, “What’s the delay?”

He flushed as
he realized he was staring and dropped into the dark pipe. In the blink of an
eye, she followed him in, but still managed to replace the gate before several
other Quare entered the kitchen. “Go!” she whispered.

Turning, Gaze
hurried down the long tunnel. Reaching the end, he dived through the opening and
into a covered culvert. Three dead Quare bore testament to a short battle, but
no other fiends were in sight. Gaze breathed a sigh of relief as the agile elf materialized
through the opening behind him.

“Who are
you?” Anders asked before Gaze could.

She didn’t
answer until she had checked the perimeter and received a nod of assurance from
Loken. Satisfied, she turned to face them, “I am Lexi, Captain of the guard of
Lareith. It’s a small village in Numenessee. We heard about you trying to slow
them down and thought we would join you.”

“You were
sent? Or volunteered?” Anders asked, his eyebrows pulling together.

“We came on
our own.” Lexi said, her eyes going hard. “When the order to gather came, we
felt this was where we were supposed to be.”

“So how did
you find us?” Gaze asked.

“We saw you
enter the city, but we were too far away to catch up. By the time we got here,
we saw Famine and the contingent of Krakas setting the trap for you.” She flashed
a dazzling grin and added, “We discretely surrounded them.”

“Is that what
that thing is called, Famine?” Gaze asked, rubbing his stomach.

She nodded.
“His magic is the opposite of the kind farmers usually have. He spreads hunger,
a powerful draining spell.”

“So we are
lucky to be alive,” Gaze stated, and Lexi smirked.

“So what now?”
Anders asked.

Before Lexi
could respond, scratching and snarling echoed from the tunnel. Glancing towards
the dark opening, she said, “We’d better move. We have spare horses and the
rest of the Riverguard will have pulled back by now.”

She began to
move away but Anders raised a hand. “Hold on a second.” Then he looked at Gaze.
“Take down the tunnel, would you?”

Gaze nodded,
aware of the puzzled expression on Lexi’s face. Turning in the direction of the
tunnel, he raised a hand and clenched it into a fist. A bolt of lightning
streaked downward and struck the ground on top of the tunnel fifty feet away.
Muted cries of pain and a blast of air signaled the tunnel had collapsed and
Gaze turned back to Lexi with a satisfied expression.

Her thin
eyebrows were raised. “Lightning magic,” she said. “Impressive.”

Gaze shrugged,
a little abashed, but she didn’t seem to notice. With a jerk of her head she
said, “That won’t stop them for long. We need to get out of the city. They will
be flooding the streets by now, especially after one of my Riverguard injured
Famine.”

Anders took the
lead because he knew the city so well, but Loken followed close behind. As they
wound their way through the city, trying to avoid the increasing enemy patrols,
Gaze asked Lexi, “Who are the Riverguard? And what exactly is Famine?”

Her eyes
touched his before they went back to scanning doorways and alleys. After a
moment she murmured, “The Riverguard are the elven guard of Laraith. At some
point, someone named our village the guardians of the river, and our elven
warriors are some of the best. Famine is the name of one of the generals of
Draeken.” She glanced at him, her expression appraising. “The two of you must have
been quite a thorn in their side to merit a personal visit.”

Gaze felt his stomach
spasm at the memory of the magical attack. “I thought we were going to die,” he
said.

She threw a
sharp look at him, and he spotted a faint smile lighten her features. “He
appeared a few moments before we were in position. As it was, the only one
close enough to make the shot was a ranger, Arzai, and you had better thank him
for that later. He hit Famine from over three hundred paces, between
buildings.”

“Sounds like
a great bowman. You said he was your ranger?”

“One of
our rangers, and he usually takes the lead,” she said with a curt nod. “A true
Riverguard, you will never see him unless he wants to be seen, and with his
longbow he is supreme.”

“Sounds like a
good guy to have around,” Gaze said, hushing his voice as he heard footsteps
nearby.

“He’s the best
of us,” she said candidly, but Loken grunted. She frowned at him but he didn’t
say anything so she added, “All of the Riverguard are good.”

“Let’s hope
they survive this war,” Gaze said.

“We’re nearly
to the horses,” Loken said, pulling up short. “But there looks to be some Quare
between us and the stables.

Lexi glided
past him and peeked over the wall they were hiding behind. She nodded to
herself and ducked back. Looking at Loken she said, “Go south until the shop
with the green shutters. Get to the roof and signal the others to draw them
south along the road.”

He accepted
the orders and disappeared back down the alley. A minute later Gaze heard an
owl hoot and a few other birds responded back. Then the unmistakable challenge
of an eagle pierced the air. Lexi flashed a fierce grin, “Good, Arzai is here
too.” She whistled in a brief series, and the eagle screamed back.

They didn’t
have to wait long before Gaze spotted an elf dressed in tan and green clothes
that blended perfectly with city stride into the street. Lifting a magnificent
longbow, he began sending arrow after arrow into the pack of startled fiends
blocking their way. The shafts of death flew so fast and precise that several
perished before the rest could respond, but then they screamed in rage and the
whole group flooded towards the ranger.

Arzai didn’t
hesitate. In a flash he raced towards a wall and scaled the exterior of a
building almost as fast as he'd run on the ground. Just as he disappeared onto
the roof, the rest of the Quare reached the building. Some followed him to the
top while others bounded down side alleys in pursuit. In moments the street was
clear and Lexi led them across.

“Will he be
okay?” Gaze asked. He’d seen so many cavalry get killed by the agile Quare that
he couldn’t imagine a single person outrunning them, even an elf.

She smirked,
“He’ll be fine, trust me.”

He hid his
doubtful frown but followed her into stables that had been recently concealed
from the outside to look like a pile of debris. She gestured to one of the
guards and ordered a retreat as she mounted a brown mare. Pointing with her
chin, she indicated two horses off to one side. “Take those and follow me.”

Gaze leapt
astride the roan and urged him to follow Lexi. In seconds other elves appeared
and the whole group trotted out of the stables, heading west. “How many
Riverguard are here?” Gaze asked one of the elves next to him.

“Fifty,” the
elf replied, keeping his eyes on his side of the street. “We split up when we
entered the city.”

Anders
apparently overheard the answer because he pulled his horse closer and said in
an undertone, “Is it just me or are these elves like a special combat force?”

Despite the
situation Gaze grinned. “They seem pretty tough, and they certainly saved our
skins.”

As the road
straightened out Lexi picked up the pace. In unison, the entire command
followed suit. Hooves pounded the ground, casting dust into the sky and marking
their passage. Less than ten seconds passed before Gaze heard a series of crashes
coming in their direction.

The fiends had
heard them.

A wall
shattered as a giant Kraka charged right through a house. Seeing them so close
it lunged, its sword reaching for them, but their fleet-footed steeds were
already out of reach. Gaze threw a look back and saw the house it had plowed
through crumble even as the hulk turned to give chase.

A deep
rumbling began to build, increasing in intensity until it shook the ground. Then
buildings on their flanks disintegrated as Krakas thundered through them. Walls
exploded as giant fiends clawed for them. Squeaking through the narrowing gap,
they ducked massive swords and grasping hands with only one casualty. Quare and
dogs swarmed over buildings and through the holes, bellowing their anger. Like
a pair of shears tightening on a piece of cloth, the roaring horde closed on
them with a fury.

Gaze flinched
as more burst into view beside him, but fought to keep his focus on the clear
road ahead. His heart thundered in time with his horses' gait, and he prayed they
could stay ahead of the chase. Rounding a curve, he saw the city gates come
into view.

Feeling a rush
of relief, he kicked his horse to greater speed and spared Anders a glance. For
one brief second it looked they were going to make it. Then the fiends began breaking
through ahead of them and rushed to cut off their escape.

“Riverguard!”
Lexi called in a tight voice, “Hold them off!”

Several of the
riders peeled off and slowed, ready to give their lives so they could escape,
but Gaze felt his anger burst into rage at so many that had died to allow him
to live. Hate at the loss thundered through his body and he shouted, “NO!”

Hearing his
protest, Lexi threw a look back and saw his expression. Her face lit up as she
saw what he was going to do and her whistle cut through the din. The riders
that had slowed rejoined the pack as Gaze closed his eyes, gathering every bit
of energy he could find. Pouring his emotion into his magic, he did not see the
fiends begin to close the circle in front of them, nor did he feel the air
darken as the sky clouded over.

“Gaze . . .”
Anders said in a rising tone, and he opened his eyes. On every side the black
army chased them. From behind they followed, from the sides they crashed
through or climbed over buildings, and ahead they massed in the street. In
every direction they formed a sea of writhing enemies descending towards them.

Then Gaze
raised his hands and yanked the energy to the ground.

Streams of
lightning cascaded from the sky in a deadly waterfall, filling the air with its
heavenly energy. Fiends cried out as white shafts of magic lanced through their
bodies before coursing into the ground, detonating and tossing others to their
death. Hundreds of Quare died in a matter of seconds, Sipers were charred to
dust, and even mighty Krakas stumbled and roared. Ahead of them, the barricade
of flesh took the brunt of the magical assault, with most of them left smoking
in shallow craters. The few that survived were dispatched by well-placed arrows
from the elven warriors, and a moment later, their horses leapt over the ash
remains. Then they were through the gates.

Glancing
sideways, Gaze saw two other groups of riders fleeing the city from the north
exits. Beside him, Anders pumped a fist into the air and raised a cry of exultation
. . . but it shifted to one of despair as they saw the line of giant skorpians
to the south. Their huge pincers snapped and their tails whipped back and forth
in unison, sending thousands of barbed shafts arcing towards them.

Gaze, drained
and exhausted from channeling so much energy, raised his left hand and clenched
it one last time. More lightning answered his call. Although much thinner and
weaker than before, it crackled into a shield that knocked most of the deadly
rain out of the sky. Managing to dodge the rest, the elves’ horses carried them
to freedom.

Gaze looked
back one last time and saw the city crumbling and burning from the lightning. Relief
at their escape warred with the numbness of witnessing the southern capitol
destroyed. Turning forward he saw the blond hair of Lexi bouncing in the wind,
and felt a flash of comfort. At least we have friends. She looked back then
and caught his gaze, flashing an approving smile that he returned.

They had a
week of hard riding to get to the Blue River. Between them and the elven
kingdom, nothing remained except the emptiness of grasslands. Behind them, the entire
breadth of the once great kingdom of Talinor lay in ruins. Forests burned,
cities were destroyed, and an endless tide of black creatures marred the
landscape.

Gaze's
homeland was gone.

Chapter 29: Unexpected Allies

Wind whistled
around Braon’s face as he flew west with Newhawk and Thacker. Just moments ago
they had received word from the gnome king that a small group of dark elves had
appeared from the western mountains. The news had buzzed through the seven
commands like wildfire, and many of the soldiers were afraid of an attack.
Braon couldn’t blame them. Dark elves were said to be the most evil of any race,
and there were quite a few tales, most likely based in truth, that said that they
slaughtered without mercy.

By far the
most superstitious, the humans had needed firm discipline to keep their fear in
check, and once again Braon was glad that prince Graden was in charge of many
of them. The prince had kept his wits about him, and hadn’t bent to requests to
slay the newcomers before more could arrive.

Rubbing his
eyes, Braon looked at the defenses that were nearing completion in many places.
In the last week many of problems between the races had smoothed out, aided in
large part by the firm leadership of the generals. Even the barbarians and
amazons had thrown themselves into building the Lake Road fortifications. It
boded well for their efforts that those two groups were working together. The
few disagreements had been well handled by Golic. The large barbarian had
turned out to be exactly what he needed on that flank.

Reiquen banked
to the right as they approached the far western battalion. Commanded by the
little gnome king, Talfar, the section was comprised of gnomes and orcs and was
by far the least organized. Braon hoped that its distance from the city, as
well as the sheer number of gnomes and orcs, would prevent it being overrun. Talfar
had also developed into a competent general, and Braon had used the gnomes’
respect for their king to organize the defenses in The Gray.

Below him,
most of the cliff-top defenses were working well, and he pulled from his
musings to get a better look at them. Sweeper crews were training hard, and had
developed a rhythm that would be vital during the battle. Ballistae crews had
also honed their craft until they were proficient and accurate. Sweepers and
Boltmen, as the army called them, had started a rivalry that Braon had
encouraged. It had aided in the bonding process of the various races and would
further boost morale during the battle.

Behind the
cliff top battlements, the sequence of three divisions within the battalions
had become well established. He could see the front line training, which they
would do throughout their eight hour shift. Currently the front line was just
pulling back, as if being driven by the enemy. Just as the phoenix glided
overhead, the cavalry came rushing in, spears lowered to sweep the invisible
enemy off the cliff and close the hole in the defenses.

Farther from
the front, the first reserve waited for their turn on the front line. During
their down time, they prepared arrows and bolts and participated in classes to
teach them about the different fiends. At first, the information training had
caused significant resistance in the troops, but soon the knowledge that Braon
had learned in the elven archives about krakas, skorpians, quare, and sipers,
as well as the three generals of Draeken’s army, had proved its worth. The
veteran soldiers and new fighters alike had realized the value of knowing the
approaching enemy’s strengths and weaknesses.

Braon knew
that fear in the face of the unknown would be catastrophic to their efforts,
but it wasn't the sole purpose for the training. The classes had also helped to
quiet the doubters. Without physical proof, many of the less educated masses
still didn't believe the fiends were coming.  Of all the races, only the
barbarians and amazons had witnessed the fiends. After their arrival, Braon had
made a point of temporarily stationing barbarians with other divisions. The
tales had spread of their own volition.

“There,”
Newhawk said, pointing, and Braon turned to where he indicated.

They were
currently flying over The Deep, the middle battalion on the west. At the moment
it was staffed by dwarves. Working as only dwarves could, they were finishing
the defensive wall and preparing the oil. When Braon had first seen it, the
cliff dipped to eight-hundred feet at this section, but now a two hundred foot
wall raised it to the level of the cliff. Twenty feet thick, Braon hoped it
would be even stronger by the time the battle began. He still needed a general
and an army to place there, but only ten days remained before the fiends
arrived.

On the other
side of the dip, he could see a cluster of buildings that had been hastily
constructed a comfortable distance from the cliff’s edge. The command center of
Gray battalion, it housed Talfar, The Gray captains, and Talfar’s link, Jason,
the older of the two twins, and their respective guards.

A large group
of gnomes and orcs had surrounded a small cluster of people. As they neared, it
turned into four black-skinned elves, several gnomes, and Talfar with his
bodyguards. Next to the gnome general stood Jason with his personal guards.
Even from this distance Braon could hear the mob of superstitious orcs and
gnomes calling for the death of the dark elves.

Braon frowned.
There should be more discipline than this. He’d already ordered Talfar to keep
things under control. Reiquen, he thought, addressing the phoenix. Would
you mind giving them something to really be frightened of? The answer in
his head was a low chuckle, followed by the ear-splitting war cry of the giant
bird.

Silence fell across
the rabble of angry soldiers, and they were now close enough for him to hear
Talfar angrily command his troops to get back to their posts. As the phoenix
circled to land, many of the orcs trundled back to their training, casting
fearful looks at the firebird. The few that remained turned out to be higher
ranked gnomes that clearly felt they had the right to stay and watch the
outcome.

Reiquen back
winged to land, sending waves of hot air into them. The moment they were on the
ground, Newhawk jumped off the bird and stalked right up to the cluster of
smaller gnomes. “Is there something you require?” he demanded.

Most of them
looked at each other for support until one said, “We wondered why the dark
elves are here.” He glanced at the dark-skinned group and spit. “They are not
welcome he—”

Newhawk
stepped up to the brazen gnome captain as Braon dismounted. “You will fight
with whoever you are ordered to fight with,” Newhawk said. “Furthermore, you will
obey your commanding officer and return to your command.”

The gnome
began to protest but Newhawk raised a hand. “You already fight alongside the
dwarves.” The gnomes bared their teeth at the reference to their racial enemy.
“And they are proving to be an excellent ally for this battle, but I will make
this simple for you. You will fight with the gathering, or against the
gathering. Which is it?” Newhawk folded his arms and waited.

Finally the
captain seemed to understand and he backed off. “Yes sir,” he grumbled, and retreated
towards the cliff. The rest were quick to follow but the druid remained until
they had gone a hundred feet. Finally he grunted in satisfaction and strolled
to the group of dark elves, arriving about the same time as Braon. Just before
they stopped, Braon caught Newhawk’s eye and gave him a subtle nod of approval.

“Nicely
handled, although I would have dealt with it . . . differently,” one of the
elves, a female, said as she stepped forward. Her accent was rich, but she
still spoke common.

Newhawk smiled
graciously, “What would you have done?”

“Probably
slipped a dagger in his ribs,” she admitted.

Braon listened
to the druid’s response without saying anything. For the moment, the dark elves
considered Newhawk in charge, and it allowed the young commander time for a
quick study of the newcomers.

They looked
remarkably like their surface cousins, at least in body shape, and each was lean
and fit. The female wore a tight, revealing outfit and a cloak that hung to the
ground. Her black hair was pulled back and tied, showing an angular face
dominated by black eyes that glittered with deep intelligence. Everything about
her clothing and demeanor demonstrated superiority, and Braon recalled that for
dark elves, females were considered dominant.

The males, for
their part, wore thin swords. Their stance betrayed their skill with them. Garbed
in black cloaks and equally dark clothes, they appeared as blots of midnight
absorbing the light from the setting sun. Guards, Braon thought,
confident in his conclusion, but their looks towards the female revealed
something more. Not only were the guards nervous, which could have been
attributed to their presence on the surface, but they were nervous for the
female. Their apprehension could have been explained by any number of reasons,
but their behavior led him to think that she was of higher rank.

“Val’Trisian,”
she said, introducing herself.

“Newhawk,”
Braon’s second said. Then he tilted his head towards the phoenix fifty feet away.
“And that is Reiquen, my Joré.”

“A druid,” she
said with a nod, understanding filling her eyes. “And bonded to a phoenix.
Impressive.” Although the guards shifted, Braon could see no deception in her
tone or look.

“Did the elves
select you as the commander of the gathering?” Val’Trisian asked, and Braon
heard the slight inflection as she mentioned her surface cousins.

Newhawk smiled
and shook his head. “This is Braon,” he said, sweeping his hand at him, “high commander
of the gathered races.”

All of the elves
snapped to look at him in confusion, and then back at Newhawk as if waiting for
the end of a joke. Before they could decide what to think, Braon addressed them
in his most serious voice. “Welcome to the gathering. I am sure you have quite
a few questions, as we have for you.”

“You can’t be
serious,” Val’Trisian said, her voice incredulous. “He’s just a boy, a human
boy at that.”

“I am
serious,” Newhawk said, his smile gone. “This boy has more of a mind for battle
than anyone I have ever seen. The Oracle herself placed him in command, and you
would do well to listen.”

Her expression
displayed disbelief, so Braon decided to take a different tact. “While you
decide whether or not to believe him or trust me, do you mind if we get some
questions answered?”

She shook her
head, seeming about to protest again, but shrugged like it didn’t matter and
said. “Let’s hear it.” Her voice was patronizing but Braon ignored it. It was
hardly the first time he'd heard that tone.

“We did not
send a messenger underground, although we would have if we knew where your city
was. How did you come to know about the gathering?”

Val’Trisian’s
lips twitched as if she had expected the question first. “We didn’t until a ten-day
ago.”

She didn’t
offer further explanation but her expression was hard, with just a tinge of something
more. The anomaly was so subtle that it took him a second to recognize it for
sadness. Then an idea crossed his mind. It was a gamble, but if he was right it
would help her trust him. “The fiends are underground . . . aren’t they?” he
said and watched her expression twitch. Not respectful exactly, but surprised.

“They attacked
our cities and drove us out,” she admitted.

He nodded,
filling in the blanks. “You tried to fight, but there were too many, so you
were forced to flee. Who suggested you contact the surface?”

She flashed
him a tight smile, her chin tilting upward, “I did.”

Now that he
appeared to be gaining ground, he didn’t let up. “Magic or messenger?”

Her smile
widened. “Both. The messenger came out of a cave near the dwarves, and she
overheard some of them talking—but that wasn’t enough for most of the houses.
Mind magic was used and we discovered that many of the minds in Lumineia were
moving towards one location, driven by a vast collection of darkness. The
invaders resembled what drove our people out.”

“How long did
it take before you decided to come here?” Braon asked, guessing that it hadn’t
been an easy decision.

“Almost a week.”
She grimaced. “Our people were loath to leave the underground and ask the
surface people for aid.

“Especially
when the few times your kind have come to the surface it has been to pillage or
kill,” Braon said, making the statement with no rancor.

Val’Trisian
bared her teeth. “Yes,” she said after a moment, and he saw Talfar and the
other watching gnomes nod, as if she had confessed a sin.

Braon allowed
a small smile. “I understand why you are here. Now, what do you want?”

“We are here
to consider joining you.” She bit the words off and threw a look at
Newhawk.

“How many
warriors do you have?” Braon asked. Now that he’d gotten her to open up, he
settled into the usual queries.

“Thirty
thousand female magi and roughly the same number of male warriors,” she said,
but again, Braon saw that there was more she didn’t say.

“How many
slaves?” he asked.

She blinked at
his knowledge of their society. “Most of them gave us time to escape.”

Braon tried
not to think about their callous look at life. Instead, he said, “Are you
accustomed to the surface light?”

“We have been
using visible fire as much as possible, but none of us will be able to stand
full daylight.”

He nodded,
satisfied with the information he’d received. “We are grateful that you have
come. The Oracle let us know several things about the coming engagement. We now
have ten days before the vastness of Draeken’s army reaches this cliff. As you
know, we are outnumbered, and we will be killed.”

“Inspirational,”
Val’Trisian said, but Braon ignored her. He knew enough about the dark elves to
know that if he wanted them to trust him, he needed to be direct.

“The Oracle
departed several weeks ago with a force that carries our only hope. They will
attempt to reach Draeken and destroy him before we are wiped out. In the
meantime, we have gathered everyone we could, and fortified the cliff and the
city. All we can hope is to survive long enough for them to succeed.”

“How many are
already here?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Well over
nine hundred thousand now,” Newhawk answered, “from more than eight different
races and tribes.”

Val’Trisian's eyebrows
shot up, as did her guards, and their gaze flicked between Newhawk and Braon
like they were seeing them for the first time. Braon also saw the slight
tightening of her jaw as she realized that her entire race presented a fraction
of the forces commanded by the two humans in front of her. When she looked back
to Braon, a grudging respect was reflected in her opaque eyes.

After several
moments she said, “Assuming we decide to join you, and accept your
leadership, what would you have us do?”

Braon tilted
his head towards the dip in elevation that led to the wall being constructed.
“That area is The Deep Battalion. Your entire race would live in and defend
that area during any time the light is gone. Someone your people respect will be
my appointed general, per my approval.”

“That would
be me," she said with an edge to her tone. "I am the eldest daughter
of the house of Trisian, first house of our race. Our matron was one of those
killed during our forced exodus, elevating me to my new rank.”

Braon inclined
his head. “My condolences.”

Her expression
hardened. “It was an acceptable loss.” She spat the words out with such
vehemence that Braon almost flinched. “She was even more brutal than most of
our people.”

Resisting the
urge to frown, Braon continued, “Newhawk will give the details of our strategy.
How soon do you think you can get your people here?”

She jerked her
head in the direction of the mountains. “Two days.”

“Then I will
see you again in two days. Report to Newhawk if you have any questions or
concerns, and as soon as you understand our communication structure, use it
whenever necessary,” he said.

Newhawk
shifted, drawing their attention to him. “And a word on discipline. It would be
best for all if you keep your people from . . . harming any of your new
allies.” The hardness to his features made the suggestion sound more like a
threat.

She accepted
the warning with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We are glad to join your
gathered army, and I assure you we will do our part.” Her eyes sparked. “We
look forward to killing these dark beings.”

Braon nodded
and turned to leave but she asked one more question. “How long do you expect this
battle to last?”

When he looked
back he saw that she had no desire to stay a minute longer than necessary, so
when he replied he did so with pity in his voice. “After the battle is joined,
it will be over in no more than seven days.”

Her forehead
wrinkled as she tried to understand. “But why—”

“Because that
is the longest the Oracle said we could survive,” Braon said. “If Draeken is
not destroyed by then—” He shrugged. “—we will be dead.”

As he walked
away from the stunned dark elves, he hoped that his gut was right. They needed
the dark elves, and they would fill the last real hole in their defenses, but he
prayed with all his might that they wouldn’t ruin the tenuous alliance that the
surface elves had begun.

It would mean
their destruction long before Draeken's army arrived.

Chapter
30: First Scars

Braon mounted
Reiquen behind Newhawk, still pondering the exchange with the black elves. The
conversation had revealed much about a race shrouded in mystery, a race that
many regarded as pure evil. Although he had seen certain tendencies in
Val’Trisian that lent credibility to the legend, he’d also observed signs of
good in the head of the house of Trisian.

For one thing,
she had denounced the cruelty of her mother. For another she had been willing
to work with the surface races. This demonstrated that the dark elves were more
similar to the surface races than even they would care to admit.

In his
opinion, every race contained light and dark qualities, because both attributes
were inherent in every individual. The darkest days in the chronicles of
Lumineia where when the majority of a race succumbed to evil, or the few that became
corrupt were in positions of power. Either way, wars and oppression had been
the result.

Dark elves
were a perfect example. The tales of their raiding were common, yet it seemed
that many were variations of a few incidents. The discrepancy led Braon to draw
one of two conclusions. One possibility was that the dark elves had only come
to the surface to attack when a large portion of their people had chosen evil.
The second was that the surface attacks had been perpetrated by a faction of
the population, and did not represent the people as a whole. The latter
explanation appeared more likely, and if it was true, would mean that the dark
elves didn't merit their reputation. In truth, the history of Lumineia brimmed
with the atrocities of mankind, but the dark elves were still perceived as more
evil.

Indeed many of
the races that had joined the gathering had come only because they had been
forced to. The desire to live was a powerful motivator, and Braon knew that many
in his army would willingly choose to sabotage their efforts—or even join the
fiend army—if they thought they would survive. It was just as well that the
enemy they faced had a way of forcing inter-race cooperation. Fortunately, most
of the attempts at sabotage had been unsuccessful, and the results hadn't caused
critical damage to his plans.

“Commander,”
Thacker said from behind him, leaning forward to speak into his ear.

“Yes?” he
asked.

“Emeka is
reporting another group of . . . large reinforcements approaching his
division,” Thacker said. “Several giants.”

Braon
considered the report for a moment, then asked, “Friend or foe?” Giants were
not known for their kindness, and lived in hills or mountains. They could have
just wandered down here.

Thacker mentally
spoke with his son Jake, Emeka’s link, and then replied, “They appear friendly,
but, just in case, General Emeka has stationed several commands ready to repel
an attack.”

Braon nodded
in satisfaction. “Remind the general that we cannot afford bloodshed. Then find
out the giants’ intentions and report back.”

“Yes
commander,” Thacker said.

As they
continued to fly east towards the city, Braon reviewed his task list. He
considered several changes he wanted to make in the training schedule—but kept
his ear open for the situation with the giants. He also reviewed what he knew
about the large race. Although they were renowned as vicious, Braon tended to
believe most of the stories he’d heard were embellished with a generous dose of
fear.

Giants stood
well over thirty feet tall, with some topping forty, and had four sub-groups.
Hill giants were the most common, and were found in every region of Lumineia.
They were also the smallest type, and lived alone or in pairs. Fire giants were
the most rare, and lived in or near volcanoes. Larger than hill giants, they
were the sole type that lived in communities, although that was a rumor. Due to
a lack of encounters, little was known about fire giants. Stone giants, like
their hill cousins, traveled singly or in couples, and were considered the
largest and most dangerous of the huge race. Another rarity, the ice giants
kept to the far northern territories, but little was known about the blue-skinned
behemoths.

“Commander?”
Thacker asked as they were just coming into view of the city.

“Go ahead and
report the situation,” Braon said.

“Apparently
the giants are allies, and wish to join the defenses. Their leader is a stone
giant, Valdor, and says his home is near the dwarf citadels to the north. He
witnessed the dwarf exodus and somehow found out about the gathering.”

Braon’s forehead
crinkled as he considered the new information. “Ask Onix if he knows anything
about Valdor.”

After a
minute, Thacker responded, “Onix says he knows of him, and that to his
knowledge he has never attacked a dwarf.”

“Good,” Braon
said. “How many giants are with him?”

When Thacker
responded, his tone gave away his apprehension. “Valdor claims he has over
three hundred giants prepared for battle. The bulk of them are stone and hill
giants, but he was able to find two ice giants as well.”

As Reiquen landed
on the roof of the house of Runya, Braon leaned back and then dismounted with a
grateful thought to Newhawk. Turning towards the stairs, he realized that
Valdor must have understood the ramifications of such a gathering, and since
the dwarves had left their mountains weeks ago, spent the time collecting as
many of his kindred as he could find. The behavior bespoke intelligence and
foresight. Nodding to himself he stopped and turned to Thacker. “See if Valdor
is willing to split his people among all seven battalions.” He watched the
telepath send the message and receive the answer, wondering if his idea would
work.

Thacker’s brow
furrowed in confusion. “Er, Jake is asking me to pass on Valdor’s response word
for word.” When Braon bobbed his head Thacker closed his eyes and recited,
echoing the words of another. “I not sure good idea. Many of me people no speak
good, and some no like smaller people. Me think make dead. Better if stick
together.”

Braon hid his
disappointment. “Understood. Have Valdor take all his people to the Lake Road.
We could use some extra firepower there anyway. Also inform Golic that they are
coming and to prepare any under his command. I don’t want some frightened
soldier starting a fight we can’t afford. Further, have Golic work with Valdor
and figure out the best way to utilize the giants during the battle. I know
they throw boulders, but find out if there is anything else they need.”

Braon turned
down the corridor with Thacker falling into step behind him. He knew the
instructions would take a second to transfer, and he had work to get to. All
around him the house of Runya bustled with activity, with elves hurrying about
their business. Glancing out a window as he passed, he saw that the city was no
different. Azertorn had become a hive of activity as the elves raced to prepare
for the coming onslaught.

Braon allowed
a small moment of satisfaction. They had done well during the last few weeks,
and far better than he could have hoped. With the addition of each new race,
they had become stronger and more versatile, and Braon was proud to see the
races of Lumineia gathering on the side of good, even if they were only doing
it to survive.

Threading his
way through the elves, he turned into the battle center—and stopped cold. Elves
in robes lay scattered all over the floor while healers rushed to help. Some
lay sprawled and broken, and others sat crumpled to the floor where they had
been hurled against the walls. Some of the forms were too still . . .

—Energy
sparked from the failed map, causing everyone in view to flinch. Braon
swallowed hard as he realized that his orders had lead to their deaths. Before
he could look away, four faces seared a permanent image into his mind. For the
first time since his appointment he felt like a fifteen year old boy, looking
at consequences of his actions . . . and wishing he could undo them.

He blinked,
and the commander returned, once again in control. Spotting Telerial, the
archmage, leaning against a wall, he made his way to him.

“What happened
here?” he demanded, sweeping his hand at the unconscious and dead elves, suddenly
realizing that everything appeared inexplicably drenched in liquid.

Telerial squinted
up at him, and Braon saw a bead of blood running down his cheek. Although he appeared
dazed, he answered, “We were trying to create the map. All the roots from the
image plants have been grown to this location, and it was time to form the map
that would receive the image.” The powerful elf winced and pointed towards the puddle
at the center of the large room. “We thought we were ready to link the magics.
When we tried to join the light with the water magic, it exploded.” He swept
his hand at the scattered forms of his magicians. “I don’t know what happened.”

Braon’s
eyebrows knit together in concern. The map that the archmage had been working
on was critical to their success, and without it he would be acting blind. At
the same time, he hadn’t realized the sacrifice required to create it. For one
brief second he considered canceling the order, but the ramifications of that
decision were unthinkable.

Kneeling down
to be at eye level with the elf, he gripped his shoulders and forced him to
look at him. “Telerial,” he said, noticing that it was the first time that the head
of the magic guild appeared weak and not full of pride. “You have exactly one
week until this map must be finished. Without it, we will all perish.
Our survival hinges on your success. Whatever the cost, you must complete
it."

Telerial
blinked and focused on the young man, his expression hardening. “We will not
give up commander.” He bit the last word off like it was made of poison, and
Braon almost flinched at the acid in his voice.

He turned away
before his emotions could betray him, and after ordering more healers to the
room, departed. With an effort he kept his gait steady until he arrived at his
room and asked Thacker to remain outside. Closing the door behind him, he
leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. His round frame began to quake
in silent sobs as he fought to control the tears, biting his hand to prevent an
audible sound.

The order he'd
just given could cost more lives, and add to the blood he already carried. Was
it worth the price? Was it worth the cost of depriving families of their father
or mother? What if they could last the seven days without the map, and he was
killing someone unnecessarily? In his heart he knew that he couldn’t take the
chance. Too many lives depended on him. Too many people had placed their trust
in him. At the risk of needless loss, he had no choice.

But he hated
himself for it.

For a long
time he sat, his stomach clenching and his shoulders shaking. The pressure of
his role bore down on him as never before, and every doubt he’d heard someone
whisper assailed him.

He’s just a
boy.

He can't even
lift a sword.

We are all
going to die because of that fool.

Maybe the
Oracle was wrong . . .

Chubby kid
thinks he can command armies?

This isn’t
a game kid.

Wave after
wave of depression and doubt assailed him, and he allowed it to carve through
him until there was nothing left. Then he wrenched his mind clear with a single
word. Enough. Drawing strength from breathing, he cleared his mind of
all doubt and rebuilt the defenses around his heart. Brick by brick, he
replaced the barrier that would keep barbed comments out, and the tears slowed
as the wall got higher. Clenching his eyes shut he kept breathing until the
silent tears were gone, replaced by a renewed resolve to ensure the survival of
his army, even those that didn’t believe in him.

When he stood
and left the room, no visible trace of his emotional breakdown remained. On the
inside, the scar of ordering someone to die would remain forever. With what was
to come, Braon doubted it would be the last of its kind. He just hoped his
heart had enough space for all of them.

Part IV

Three days until Draeken’s
army reaches Azertorn

Chapter
31: Dark Tide

Taryn crouched
behind a tree, not daring to breathe as another mass of fiends passed by. After
they had returned to the northern deserts, they had worked their way east,
passing an unending tide of dark beings marching west. The only reason they
made it to the mountain passes north of Griffin was due to Kell’s knowledge of
the area—but every pass was clogged with fiends. To add to their difficulty,
they had been forced to leave the horses behind after a fearful mount bolted,
almost giving their position away.

The usually mischievous
and lighthearted Trin had become withdrawn and irritable. While Taryn had sought
the white dragon, Siarra had used her magic to search for Trin's father.
Extending her sight, she'd discovered that an army of humans was
stationed in forts at the north end of Griffin—but the fiends had already begun
their assault. Helpless, and miles away, Siarra was forced to watch the human
army get smaller and smaller . . .

By the time
they had reached the griffin border, little remained of the citadels except
broken battlements. As Taryn looked over at Trin’s expression, he wished he
knew what to say. The lack of Trin's humor made their journey feel heavier
somehow.

The last
rumble of the passing contingent quieted and Siarra whispered, “We have five
minutes before the next group. Let’s move.”

For the next
several hours they worked their way through the light forest that blanketed the
foothills north of the mountains. The stretch of peaks marked the northern border
of Griffon, and the passes through them was the sole way to reach Draeken. By
nightfall, they sat huddled on a ridge just east of the last pass. Throughout
the night they took turns watching the opening, hoping to find a way in, but by
morning it became obvious that there would be no break in Draeken's army.

“We are
running out of time,” Siarra said, her frustration rising. “In three days the
army will reach Azertorn and the battle will begin.”

“But there is
no way for us to get to Xshaltheria in three days,” Trin protested, “even if we
could get through the pass.”

Taryn growled,
“We have to get there. If the army reaches the city in three days, every soul
in Lumineia will be dead in ten. We cannot allow that to happen. There has to
be another way for us to get into the eastern kingdom.”

“Is there
another pass somewhere? Farther east perhaps?” Liri asked, looking at Trin.

Trin jerked
his head no, but then stopped and his head cocked to the side. “There might be
a higher trail a few miles east of here," he said, his eyes staring into
memory. "My father mentioned it once but said that it wasn’t large enough
for more than a few to get through. From the way he described it, it sounded
more like a game trail than a break in the peaks.”

“Sounds worth
checking into,” Kell said, his voice rumbling.

Taryn nodded
with everyone else and within minutes they were skirting the mountain range,
looking for any sign of a trail. It came as no surprise to Taryn that before an
hour had elapsed, Mae had spotted a path. The elf whistled to the others and pointed
with her chin to a faint deer trail that wound into the trees.

Turning onto
it, they picked their way through thick brush and undergrowth. Although they
spotted frequent signs of game, there appeared to be no trace of human or fiend
passing. Taryn kept his eyes on the trail as the sun reached its zenith and
began to descend, but his mind kept returning to Liri. During the past week she
had been at his side constantly, and her presence had been a great boon to his
spirits. In spite of their proximity to an army that hungered for their deaths,
she appeared content and happy.

Glancing back
at the serene expression on his long-time friend, he found that a part of him shared
in her happiness. As far back as he could remember he had always shared a
closeness with her, but it wasn’t until they had kissed in the snow that he’d
discovered the depth of his feelings towards her.

He felt the
urge to laugh and looked back at her, who caught his eye and gave him a crooked
smile, causing him to grin. Facing forward again he stepped over a root while
his smile faded. The hardest part about his emotions was the fact that most of
his heart was occupied with a more oppressive sentiment . . . fear. It wasn’t
anything he would admit to anyone, but his heart seized with a single question.

How many
are going die? The sinister thought echoed. After hearing the tale of Israke,
it had stuck in his mind like a bad song. Every time he saw one of his friends
eating—or smiling—or walking—or anything else—he found himself wondering if
they were going to die because of him.

The trees
began to thin, forcing him to pay more attention, and as they approached the
tree line they all took cover to view a rolling meadow. Rustling waves of grass
mixed with splashes of color from flowers gave the impression of serenity in
the wide field—except for the complete and utter lack of sound.

“What do you
think?” Trin whispered, not addressing anyone.

After a
moment, Siarra replied in an undertone, “Doesn’t feel right.”

Several
murmured agreements came from the others, including Mae. Taryn also found
himself agreeing. Looking at the still meadow leading up to a thin gap in the
peaks left him feeling unsettled. Something was out there, waiting.

“Feels like
battle,” Kell growled, and Taryn heard a trace of excitement in his voice.

“I have an
idea,” Jack murmured, and Taryn turned towards him. “Why don’t Taryn and I walk
up the field? If something is there, we are the fastest and can lead them back
to an ambush.”

Siarra
considered it for a moment, and then nodded her ascent, but Taryn thought he
heard a rumble of irritation from the giant rock troll at being left out. Taryn
shrugged and nodded at Jack. Gathering his courage, he walked into the light.
For several tense minutes they worked their way across the meadow until they
came to a tiny crevasse that split the stone. Tall and thin, the break would
allow a single person to pass through to the other side of the mountain, and
Taryn could see a column of light at the other end.

Jack caught
Taryn’s eye and shrugged. Taryn didn't see any sign of trouble either, but he couldn't
shake the growing sense of foreboding. Even after the rest of the group arrived
and they began filing through the corridor, Taryn refused to accept that
nothing was amiss. In his gut he knew someone was nearby, and he didn’t want to
be caught unaware. After a subtle glance at Liri, he slipped into the lead.

Their quiet
footfalls resonated in the tall corridor, and occasionally Taryn heard the
scrape of Kell’s rough skin against the narrower walls, but the stubborn rock
troll made no complaint. When Taryn approached the end, he slowed to get a
better look as the path began to widen. With his senses tingling, he reached
the light and stepped out into a small clump of trees on the edge of a broad
field—but Taryn’s eyes were drawn upward, where he saw a dark shadow rather
than the afternoon sun. One by one the others gathered around him, all of them
looking up at the sky as well. For as far as he could see south and east, a
cloudlike darkness hovered, giving a gray tinge to everything in sight. Only to
the west above the great lake did the sun shine.

“What is it?”
Trin asked.

“It’s the
effect of Draeken’s army,” Siarra said. “Everywhere their army resides, they
will block the light of day.”

“How is that
possible?” Liri breathed.

“You don’t
want to know,” she whispered.

Mae growled.
“Darkness will never be stronger than light,” she said with uncharacteristic
vehemence. Kell snarled his agreement.

“No choice but
forward,” Jack said, and flashed a ghost of a smile. “It’s up to us to pierce
the dark with the light.”

Siarra
snorted, but her eyes carried a trace of softness. “A thief with a cause?”

Jack shrugged
but the smile didn’t fade. “Let’s go.”

During their
conversation, Taryn had eased his way through the small stand of trees until he
could see the whole field. Although he’d felt uneasy on the other side of the gap,
the tightening in his chest had increased tenfold on this side. Glancing back
at his friends he saw that just Kell was still paying attention. Their eyes met
and the large rock troll inclined his head, his eyes glittering in
anticipation. Taryn thought he understood.

They are
here.

“My friends,”
Taryn said in a tone that drew all eyes to him, “ready yourselves for battle.”

After a
second’s pause, Siarra collected herself, seeming to draw energy from the very
air. “I am sorry I didn’t notice it before,” she said. “Now that I am paying
attention I can feel their presence.”

“Fiends?” Mae
asked.

She nodded. “A
full contingent of five hundred quare, along with a hundred sipers and two
skorpians, all led by a kraka. They are in the trees across the field, but they
don’t know we are here yet.” During the past weeks she had shared everything
she knew about the enemies they would be facing, so she didn’t need to
elaborate.

“Any way to go
around them?” Liri asked, but Siarra shook her head.

“They are
watching the open area. The minute we step out they will flood towards us."
She paused, her eyes clouding with concern. "We will have to kill them
all. If even one gets away, they will warn the whole army, and then our attempt
to reach Draeken will be over before it begins.”

Taryn slid his
pack to the ground and eased his mother's weapon from its scabbard. “I’ll take
the east flank,” he said, and Liri was quick to join him.

“I’ll cover the
west,” Kell growled, drawing his massive curved sword. Trin and Mae moved to stand
next to him.

“Then we will
hold the center,” Siarra exclaimed, raising an eyebrow at Jack, who nodded in
agreement. Seeing that everyone was ready, she added, “If anything happens to
any of us, it’s been a pleasure knowing you, and anyone who survives knows what
they have to do.”

“Find Draeken,
kill him,” Jack said, and she frowned at his easy tone.

“We know
Siarra,” Mae murmured. “We will do what is necessary.”

Siarra let her
breath out . . . and then strode into the field. Ten feet from the trees she
stomped her foot, raising a block of earth twenty feet across. Twirling, she
sent it careening across the field to shatter into the trees on the opposite
side. Cries of pain and outrage rang out, bearing testament to her accuracy. Then
the dark mass lunged from the trees, snarling and howling for blood. The faster
sipers took the lead, their lean dog-like forms leveling out into top speed,
but the quare were not far behind—all of them heading straight for Siarra.

Taryn sprinted
southwest with Liri at his side. On the other side of the stand, Kell, Trin,
and Mae also streaked away, heading to attack the northern flank. Behind him he
could hear Siarra sending magical attacks into the large group of fiends, but
it was her taunts that goaded them to come after her.

Taryn came to
a halt a hundred yards away and turned to Liri. “Bows out?” He asked and she
smiled at him.

“Of course,” she
said, her eyes twinkling.

Taryn nodded, lifting
his mother's sword. Morphing it into the magical bow, he sent a blistering
barrage of arrows into the front dogs. Beside him, Liri added to the volley.
One by one, the arrows sank into dark hounds, sending their lifeless forms
tumbling to the ground, but others leaped over their bodies, their jaws
snapping at the delay.

In a rending of
trees and snapping wood, two giant Skorpians exited the trees and came into
view. Snapping their monster claws, they whipped their tails back and launched
their black spears. In a blur, they streaked towards Jack and Siarra with an
accurateness that stunned Taryn.

Siarra reached
out and her hand smacked the air downward. A half-mile in front of her, both of
the black spears tipped to the ground and impaled a pair of unfortunate quare.
Taryn felt a wave of relief and reminded himself of his sister’s skill. Turning
back to the mass of fiends, he saw that nearly the entire contingent had come
into view. Then a single hulking Kraka charged from the rear, bellowing in rage
as it dragged a massive obsidian sword.

In his gut
Taryn knew that this was insane, taking on such a group of fiends by
themselves, but if Siarra's prediction was true, they had to. Even as he sent
magical arrows of green light towards the host of black forms, he dwelled on
the outcome.

Peeling away
from the main group, several Quare and a few Sipers headed towards Taryn and
Liri. The ground shook under Taryn’s feet from the paws pounding the earth, but
he found peace stealing into his heart. Whatever the result, he was committed.
This was what he'd trained his whole life for.

He would not
fail.

A hundred feet
closed to fifty, and then to twenty, and then Taryn blurred into motion.
Leaping forward he twisted through the two lead sipers, striking both of them
down. Before they’d struck the ground he’d slain another. In a deadly spin he
whipped both of his swords out, striking flesh and cutting through bone so fast
that corpses piled in his wake.

Behind him,
Liri caught the few stragglers that managed to get past his searching blades,
and her own sword quickly drew blood. In moments the twenty or so that had come
for them were dead, and Taryn began to run towards the pack even as another,
larger mass broke off and headed his way.

A wall of
stone burst into his peripheral vision. Tumbling down the center of the army, it
crushed into fiends until it cracked against the trees. Then a fireball began
gathering above the thickest mass, held together by a cord of flame that led
back to his sister. He glanced towards Siarra and saw her face furious, her
hair billowing as she reached towards the fire with a clenched fist.

At the same
time he caught a glimpse of Kell on the opposite side. His sword mowed down
fiends like wheat. Whirling at a quare behind him, he seized its throat and
lifted it off the ground. Roaring into its face, the huge troll cast him into a
knot of enemies, and then charged into them. Mae and Trin guarded his flanks,
but kept a healthy distance as they fought.

Taryn felt a
surge of pride as he dodged a siper’s lunge, cutting into it as it flew past
him. Its snarl turned to a wounded cry, but he'd already turned away. Sweeping
his swords towards the next group facing him, he picked up his pace. Dogs and quare
were so thick that he saw no opening in their line, so he leaped high. Coming
down on one of the dogs, he smashed both his feet into it, crushing it to the earth.
Before it could rise, Mazer’s tip found its neck.

Quare and sipers
alike jumped at him from all sides, but he bent low and leapt into a slow back
flip. Sailing over the furious group, a flurry of strikes killed the closest three
before he landed, and another two died as soon as his feet touched the ground. A
massive explosion signaled that the fireball had dropped. Avoiding the inferno,
he swept through the black horde like an avenging angel. Everything that came
close died under a blur of sharp blades.

Angling back
towards Liri, he came from behind to wipe out several that had gotten around
him. Once she appeared safe he spun on his heel—and sidestepped a skorpian
spear, its tip cutting into the sleeve of his tunic. Furious, he bounded
through the black fiends, his blades leading the way.

A trail of
corpses behind him, he reached the offending skorpian. Even as it grew another
spear Taryn jumped and twisted in midair to avoid a claw as big as a
wheelbarrow. Landing on the hard back, he dodged a strike form the tail and
swept his sword through it as it extended past him. Blood spurt as the severed
tail fell away, and the giant beast flailed in pain and anger. Fighting to stay
on its back, Taryn kept his seat long enough to plunge his swords through the
shell.

The flailing
became frantic, and Taryn jumped so he wouldn’t be hit by the bleeding tail.
Mortally wounded, the skorpian gave chase, stumbling and clawing his way
forward, but Taryn was too quick. Ducking under a quare’s outstretched hands,
he killed it with a high slash and then lunged to the side to avoid the
charging skorpian. As it passed, a lightning blow sliced a pincer off. A
gut-wrenching squeal of pain rang out as the skorpian crashed, but its strength
was gone. Feeble and weak, it clawed its way through the dirt until a curving
arrow from Liri struck it between the eyes and it collapsed.

Thundering footsteps
caused Taryn to spin on his heels. A thick mass of quare had charged him,
attempting to crush him by sheer weight. Both his blades blurred as he cut the
first row to ribbons. Then he bull rushed into the second line. Smashing into
them with all of his strength and force, his shoulder crushed the chest of the
first, and he smashed his forehead into the skull of another, knocking it flying.
His long katsanas snapped out, reaching to slay all those left standing, and then
seeking the ones struggling for breath. In moments the entire group lay still.

A blast of air
streaked past him, catching black forms and tossing them like leaves before
smashing them into the ground. Like a controlled weapon, the wind honed in on
the thicker knots. Fiends filled the sky, until the wind died and they fell from
hundreds of feet off the ground.

Without
warning a giant black blade smashed into the earth where Taryn had been a
heartbeat before. Whirling he saw the kraka already sweeping his sword low,
intent on cutting through his midsection. Ducking at the last second, he
managed to get underneath the weapon and flicked one of his swords outward.
Ianna struck the white bone armor at the fiend captain's side. The strike chipped
a piece off, but didn’t penetrate. Instead it succeeded in angering the twelve
foot behemoth, and he bellowed in outrage.

Quicker than
Taryn thought possible, the great fiend reversed his heavy sword and sent it whipping
towards his head. Ducking again, he rolled between the fiends legs and cut both
blades into the armor behind the ankle. Again his mother’s sword couldn’t make
it through, but his father's enchanted weapon glowed blue as it sliced through
the bone and penetrated flesh.

The Kraka
stumbled, but somehow managed to turn around and send its sword into an upward
strike that would have cleaved Taryn from knee to skull—but he side-stepped and
darted close. Sheathing Ianna, he grasped Mazer with both hands and plunged it
through the protecting thigh-guard.

The hulk bellowed
in pain but Taryn was forced to dodge again as the huge form dropped to one
knee, bringing a massive fist down to crush him. Anger at all the fiends and
their master flooded Taryn, and he struck the obsidian blade with all his
might. Blue magic cascaded across Mazer as it cleaved the great weapon in two.
Before the Kraka could recover from the blow, Taryn grabbed a piece of bone on
the fiend's arm. Launching himself into the air, he landed on the wide
shoulder.

Pouring his
fury into the strike, Taryn sank his father's sword deep into the back of its
neck. Cutting through the spiked bone, it penetrated the spine and the Kraka
stopped cold. Like a huge dead tree, it leaned forward until it smashed into
the ground as Taryn leapt free.

Landing in a
crouch, he came to his feet ready for more, but saw that only a few fiends were
left alive, and his friends were finishing them off. One of the remaining quare,
wounded but still mobile, began limping towards him. Taryn drew a throwing
knife and, without mercy, sent it winging it into his chest. Crumpling to the
ground, the quare died as Taryn moved forward to retrieve his blade.

Then he heard
a cry of alarm from Liri. Whirling, he saw what she had seen. A single siper
had escaped and was racing south. A blast of wind from Siarra reached out for
him but the distance was too great, and the dog managed to keep his feet.

Sheathing his father's
sword, Taryn drew his mother's and morphed it. Drawing back the magical arrow,
he sighted at the fleeing figure before releasing it. Like a streak of light it
flew through the air—but missed by a hair as the fiend disappeared into the
tree line. Crying out in frustration he made to follow but Liri appeared at his
side.

Her lean form
crouched and she drew an arrow back, sighting on the siper that was already out
of view and probably a thousand yards away. Letting out a slow breath she
released. With a snap, her enchanted bow straightened and sent the arrow streaking
across the gap. Taryn held his breath and watched as the arrow disappeared into
the forest. Several seconds passed as Liri guided the arrow with the wind magic
contained within the bow . . . until he heard a faint crash mirrored by Liri’s
grunt of satisfaction.

“Nice shot,
Liri,” Taryn said, and she grinned at him.

“I could see it
all the way to him, like looking through a distance viewer,” she said, pleasure
at her new weapon coloring her tone. Then she met his gaze, concern written on
her features. "How are you?"

He grinned.
"I took it slow."

"That was
you taking it easy?"

Taryn's grin
widened as he sheathed his sword. “And you? Did you get hurt?”

She grimaced
and pointed at her arm where the bleeding holes indicated a siper had clamped
its jaws. Taryn stepped forward in concern but she waved him off. “I’ve had
worse.”

“Nice shot,
Liri,” someone said behind them, and Taryn turned to see Siarra approaching,
picking her way through the numerous bodies around her. Jack, Trin, Kell and
Mae were behind her.

Liri grinned.
“It was a lucky shot, and farther than I have ever done before. The only reason
it was possible was because of the wind bow.”

“Don’t we look
pretty?” Jack laughed dryly.

For the first
time Taryn noticed how dirty each of them looked. Splattered with blood and
pieces of sand from Siarra’s magic, they looked like they'd been through
a massacre.

“I’m just glad
we survived,” Mae said, her voice tinged with relief, and Taryn spotted the shallow
wound on her leg. Trin nodded, echoing her sentiment.

“It was odd
how they fought, though,” Jack mused, and after receiving questioning looks he
gestured towards the bodies littering the ground. “A small group split off to
kill the four of you, and when Taryn began slaughtering them they sent a much
larger contingent. They hardly paid any attention at all to Trin and Mae and only
focused on Siarra after she used her magic—except when Kell,” he nodded towards
the rock troll, “joined the fight. Then the group split into three.”

“How is that
odd?” Liri asked, confused. “It was a good strategy. Taryn, Siarra, and Kell
were the biggest threats and they sent the greatest numbers after them.”

Jack shrugged.
“I guess I just expected them to be more disorganized, like a rabble of
ravenous beasts, not an organized fighting unit.”

Taryn looked
at the dead fiends, frowning at the thief's words. Perhaps there was more to
the enemy’s discipline than he’d first thought, and his mind turned to Braon at
Azertorn. He hoped the young man could handle it.

Mae cut into
his thoughts. “Thank you Siarra, for your magic. There is no way we could have
defeated them without you.”

Jack laughed.
“Kell and Taryn killed the rest.”

“I got my
share,” Trin said defensively. “Did you get any?” he said, looking at Jack.

Jack smirked.
“Every one that came close to Siarra.”

She turned and
flashed him a soft smile. “Thanks for watching my back.”

“Taryn, I’m
glad you took down the kraka,” Trin exclaimed. “I doubt if I could have.”

Taryn shrugged
without comment and asked, “Who killed the other skorpian? Siarra?”

She shook her
head and looked around at the rest in the circle. When no one answered, Liri
said, “I didn’t do it.”

Trin and Jack
said at the same time, “Me either.”

Taryn laughed
and looked at Mae. “You?”

She shrugged and
began walking away without response, but Trin grabbed her arm. Bug-eyed, he
asked, “How did you do it?”

Her lips
twitched as she stated, “I put my sword into him. He died.”

Taryn began
laughing, and before long everyone joined in. They had been victorious in their
first strike against Draeken, even if it was just a grain of sand compared to
what was left. As they bandaged their minor injuries, Taryn found his thoughts
drawn eastward, where innumerable fiends still lived with their master.

Their next
engagement would not be so easy.

Chapter
32: All Gathered In

Braon rubbed
his finger against his thumb and looked at the gathered group of generals
before him, nodding in satisfaction. Only his seven generals, their Links, and
Newhawk stood in the map room with Braon and Thacker, but the small collection
represented nearly every race and person in the land of Lumineia. Looking at
the seven men and women arranged around one end of the newly created map, a swell
of pride rose within him, closing his throat for a moment.

“Generals,”
Braon addressed them with confidence. “We have less than two days until the
fiends arrive and the battle is joined, so forgive me if I dispense with
formalities. There is simply no time for pride or custom.” He locked eyes with
each of them to make sure his message had been received, and then softened his
expression.

“Welcome to
the map room,” he said, sweeping a hand at the large magical map that dominated
more than half of the huge chamber. “This will be the location from which Newhawk
and I will coordinate the majority of the battle. I know that several of you
have questions to ask, especially about this wondrous map. Allow me to cover
the material that we have prepared and then we will answer any remaining
questions. For the moment, please take your place behind the section of the map
that you represent.”

As they sorted
themselves out and moved to take their positions, Braon once again marveled at
the supreme feat that the map represented. Sitting at over forty feet long,
twenty feet wide, and three feet tall, the water map of Azertorn and the Giant’s
Shelf had stolen his breath the first time he’d seen it.

Shimmering in
detail, the multicolored water had been magically entombed in the space to form
a flawless, moving map of the battle area. Even now he could see tiny pieces of
blue moving all over the cliff and city like thousands of ants, showing their
own army. Aside from the people, the rest of the cliff, city, and the forest
below appeared as they did in real life, except in miniature. Including the
features that he was about to demonstrate, it would be the perfect tool to view
the engagement. Despite its value, every time he looked at it the faces of four
dead elves flashed across his mind.

Forcing it aside
with a deep breath, he strode forward and walked right through the enchanted
liquid. A moment later he stepped out on the other side, dry. Astonished gasps
escaped the onlookers, causing a faint smile to cross his features before he
turned around. Now facing the city from the south with Newhawk taking a
position behind him, he looked into the faces of the generals he had chosen.

Farthest to
his left, the short spindly king of the gnomes, Talfar, looked very different
from his counterparts. Dressed in a regal cloak and belt, he was the only one
not dressed in some form of armor. In front of him was the gray section of the
cliff, and the gnome king’s eyes gazed at the tiny blue dots that represented
his entire people and the Gray Battalion.

Next to him
stood the whip thin form of Val’Trisian, dressed in a light vest that glittered
dully and a short skirt. The dark elf exuded confidence and menace while she
examined her area. Flowing in detail, she could see the low point of the cliff
that was her charge leading up to the wall. Despite her study of magic, her
eyes were wary, but he couldn’t blame her. Her people’s presence and her
appointment to general had caused a stir within the ranks, but until now she
had kept her people firmly in line with only minor altercations to report.
Indeed most of the scuffles had been members of the other races attacking them,
and Braon had all but discounted the rumors that they were evil to the core.
Even now her gaze searched the room, not in suspicion, but in cautious
preparation. Their eyes met and she tilted her head at him. At some point he
had gained her respect, but he had no idea when.

Onix, the
dwarf general, crouched next to the dark elf and studied the West Falls
Command, while casting occasional glances towards her. At first, he had been
one of the most vocal in objecting to her presence, and Braon had needed to use
all his skill to remind him that the enemy of his enemy was his friend. The
short, stocky dwarf still glowered at his neighbor general, but the two had
gradually overcome their differences, at least for the purposes of this engagement.

Behind the
city, Deiran gazed proudly at the magical rendering of Azertorn. Armored in
dark blue as usual, the elf fiddled with his fingers and leaned towards Onix to
whisper in his ear. Braon knew the elf was anxious for the coming battle, and
still secretly believed that his army could defend the city against all
attempts to take it.

Prince Graden
from the southern kingdom, now general of the East Falls Command, had knelt to
examine his area. He was also the only one who’d gathered enough courage to try
to touch the map. Braon almost smiled at the man, reminded once again of how
grateful he was to have such a good general from his own race. Over the last
several weeks, General Graden had worked harder than many, and the evidence of
the lack of sleep appeared on every inch of his face. He’d also become an avid
supporter of Braon and had silenced a brief campaign to remove him from command.
Making a mental note to order him to get some rest, he looked to the next in
line.

Dark-skinned
and tall, Emeka from the Azüre people towered over every other general except
for the barbarian at his side. His eyes glittered suspiciously at the harnessed
energy before him and he stood a little further back than the others, but his
gaze never left his men glowing in blue. As general of Ridge Battalion, Emeka
had taken some time to accept his defeat in the leadership challenge, but
seemed to have come to terms with it in recent weeks.

Golic anchored
the line, the massive barbarian crouching to look at the Lake Road. Almost to a
man, the other barbarians had protested Braon’s leadership, but after the tale
of the phoenix’s support had been spread, by Golic himself, the protests had
faded away. The Grunden of the barbarian people, and now leader of the amazons,
had inexplicably supported his young commander without question, for which Braon
was grateful.

Unable to
resist, Braon surreptitiously glanced at Brynn, standing several feet behind
Onix. She had apparently been looking at him, but she looked away when their
eyes met. Braon forced the surge of heat aside before he lost the confidence of
his men and raised his chin to draw attention to himself.

“Generals of
the gathering,” he said, waving a hand at the map. “This map has been
painstakingly created by the best magi the elves have to offer. It will allow
us to watch every corner of the battle and ensure we stay ahead of the enemy as
much as possible.”

“You can barely
see the men,” Talfar said, his tone confused.

Braon smiled
and walked into the center of the map. “This is not a stationary map,” he said,
and placed both hands into the cool water. Slowly he spread his hands apart. In
response, the map began to focus and everything grew larger in view, even
though the dimensions of the map remained the same. As he heard expressions of
astonishment from his generals, he continued to enhance the map into more and
more detail. Both ends of the cliff disappeared from sight followed by the next
two battalions, but Braon didn’t stop until the map only showed the city of
Azertorn. Finally stepping out of the water, he returned to the edge of the map
near Newhawk amidst exclamations of praise and wonder.

Before anyone
could say anything, he bent down and “grabbed” the water. Sliding both hands in
the same direction, the entire map glided west, and before long the entire city
was gone, to be replaced by the human battalion in crystal detail. Now
thousands of men could be seen training in the afternoon sun, since the view
looked near the cliff.

“Impressive,”
Emeka said, with grudging respect.

“Stunning,”
Deiran breathed.

“General
Graden,” Braon said, drawing their attention back to him. “Since this is your
command, please enhance the view as much as you can.”

The human
general hesitated, but nodded and eased his way into the map. After a moment’s
pause, he smiled, and placed his hands into the magical field like Braon had
done. As he moved his hands apart, the view became closer and closer, until the
entire map stopped. With only a few hundred feet visible, the men shown in the
fluid appeared about as tall as one’s hand. Swords struck swords with no sound,
spears flew through the air, only to silently slip back into the water when
they hit the ground. One man performed a complicated routine and disarmed his
opponent, eliciting scattered applause and praise from the entranced generals,
as well as their Links.

Braon caught Thacker's
eye and frowned, and before long his children reluctantly stepped back to their
posts. Suppressing the urge to throw Brynn an apologetic look, he said,
“General Graden, if you would allow Val’Trisian to place the view back to where
it was in the beginning?”

Nodding in
response, he stepped from the magical field as the dark elf entered. Although
Braon had not demonstrated how to cause the map to look broader, Val’Trisian
had no trouble guessing correctly. Her hands drew closer together and the view
became larger. She had to repeat the maneuver several times before the entire
cliff returned, and the last time she moved her hands so fast that the enchanted
liquid veritably flew to bring the Giant’s Shelf gliding into place.

Braon waited
until their conversation diminished to address them. “Generals, this map has
been created for the express purpose of this battle, and we are more than
fortunate to have it, despite the cost in its creation. With its help, as well
as the Links assigned to you, I believe we will have an effective means of
communication. The map lets us see the battle, and through Thacker we can order
you in what needs to be done. Any questions at this point?”

Golic was the
first to ask, “Even with the telepath and map there is no way for you to stay
in touch with all seven of us at once. What are we supposed to do when there
are no specific orders given?”

“Defend your
area to the best of your ability, with whatever means necessary. However, there
are a few specific rules that you must remember.” Moving forward, he pointed at
the three obvious divisions within West Falls. “Use your front division as you
see fit, as long as it doesn’t counteract our orders—but, do not send in either
the first reserves, or wake the second reserves without permission. If it looks
as if you are going to be overrun and we haven’t given you orders, send a
message through your Link and we will focus on your battalion.”

“Why can’t we
send in the reserves?” Val’Trisian asked, her expression annoyed.

“This battle
is going to last seven days—hopefully. What that means is that if you send in
your first reserves or rouse your sleeping second reserves to send them to
battle, the following day or days will be infinitely more difficult. Newhawk
and I will occasionally order you to send in the first reserves, but we will
avoid calling on the second reserves at all costs. If we ever do, you will know
that our entire forces are about to be overrun. Although we have gathered over
a million to this cliff, it is vital that we fight as a single unit.” The dark
elf lapsed into silence, but Braon noted that his answer seemed to have
satisfied her.

“What are you
going to do if there is a breach in the line?” Talfar asked. “Especially
between us and the city.”

He’d expected
the question and nodded. “Our first priority is to maintain the line, but if a
hole opens where we don’t want it to, we will call in the reserves, and if
necessary, the reserves of neighboring battalions. Our last resort will be to
fall back to the city and defend its walls. If I order a retreat, do not
wait. It means you must follow the retreat plans that you have been trained
on. If that order is issued, we will do so in phases, starting with the Lake
Road and The Gray.” He pointed at the two ends of the map to emphasize his
point.

“What if the
city is breached?” Emeka asked.

Braon saw the elven
general frown and begin to answer but he cut him off. "If the city is
breached, we will survive for less than twenty-four hours. Lucky for us, the
city gates are almost impregnable.” Stepping into the map, he expertly enhanced
the image until it showed the city, and then maneuvered it downward into the
ground. Deiran coughed in shock as the magic went subterranean, revealing the
interior caverns of the city. Once the city gates were visible, he focused the
enchanted liquid to the maximum.

“As you know,
the main city gates are false,” Braon said, pointing at the main gates backed
by a fifty foot column of stone. “I believe the enemy will attempt either a
battering ram, or try to tear the portal apart. During the last few weeks—” He
nodded at Deiran. “—we have further reinforced the gates with as many
enchantments as possible. If we are lucky, it should hold throughout the week.
If not, they will hammer the doors enough to see rock behind them and realize
they have been attacking the wrong place. Then it will only be a matter of time
before the real gates are discovered.” He slid his fingers through the map to
where the real entrances were located to the right and left of the false gate.
“Just in case, we have filled the entrance corridors with stone and debris and
the dwarves have added a few other touches that will discourage them from
entering.”

For the first
time Onix spoke. “What are our weakest points, besides the city gates?”

With nimble
fingers, Braon shifted the map and broadened it until they were looking at the Lake
Road. “Golic’s battalion faces the greatest weakness we possess. The Lake Road is
quite honestly a highway to flank us. Fortunately, it is just fifty feet wide
and a few miles long.”

Golic glanced
at Braon for tacit permission and said, pointing at the several new walls
adorning the road, “As you can see, there are seven special defensive walls
that have been built to defend the road. If one is lost, we will retreat to the
next, and so forth.”

“What do you
mean by special?” Val’Trisian asked.

From next to
her, Onix answered, “Our commander asked us to build the walls on the road so
that if they are struck, the impact will be absorbed. The stone will not
shatter from repeated blows.”

Her eyes
widened and she looked at Braon in confusion, “Why would you do that?”

Braon allowed
a small smile. “Those defenses are crucial to our survival. If they are lost
before day five, then we are all lost. Because of that, it was prudent that
they were constructed to take additional punishment and still stand. As with
most barricades, the simplest way to destroy them is to smash them, and our
enemies will certainly attempt that. In this case, if an enemy tries to crush
the stone, their weapon will sink into the wall instead. The material will take
quite a pounding before breaking.”

“How was this
done?” Talfar asked, his eyes wide.

Braon directed
the question to Onix and the dwarf looked at the gnome general, “We made it
porous by pulling sediment out of it. We have tested it and it will have the
desired effect.” He threw a look in Braon’s direction, and even under the bushy
eyebrows he could see the dwarf was pleased.

Braon inclined
his head towards the dwarf before continuing, “Because of our two weak points,
our entire strategy is based on fortifying the road and the city,” Braon said.
"However, I do consider it very likely that they will attack the cliff as
a whole, and there will be times they get through. If they do, use your cavalry
to sweep them from the cliff and close the breach. Also, don’t forget the dwarf
engineers attached to your command center. They have used stone magic to rig
many sections of the cliff to explode. When used, they should cause most
anything on the cliff to fall, and leave holes to make it more difficult for
the fiends to climb. I trust that you will be judicious in their use.”

“So you still believe
they will be able to scale the Giant’s Shelf?” Deiran asked with just a trace
of disbelief.

“I do,” Braon
exclaimed, his confidence in the enemy coloring his tone.

“Our people
fight better than you know,” Val’Trisian said. “We should be at the road, not
in The Deep behind a wall.”

Bowing to show
his respect, Braon said, “I placed your people there for a reason.” He slid the
map to The Deep and pointed at the wall. “When the wall comes down, The Deep
will become one of the most difficult places to defend, despite the extra
measures we have taken to help you. Because it slopes down, and the ground is
more rocky, it prevents us from using our cavalry, leaving only infantry. You,
however . . .” he raised his eyebrows and waited.

“—have lizards
as mounts,” she finished, understanding spreading across her features, “which
don’t need even ground to run.” Once again she appeared satisfied and returned
to peering at the map with renewed interest.

Before Braon
could continue, the doors burst open and Rokei darted in. “Commander,” he said
breathlessly, “you’d better see this.”

Braon
hesitated; he’d given orders that no one should disturb them, but he trusted
Rokei enough to listen. Nodding, he moved towards the doors, but the elf guard
shook his head. “All of you should come.”

Braon frowned,
and then turned and swept his hand for everyone to follow him. The entire group
swept from the room and followed Rokei as he hurried up the stairs. Behind him,
several of the generals were speculating about what was going on, but Braon had
a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Rokei’s expression had been unmistakable,
and that caused him to feel a rising fear.

Were they
early?

In moments
they reached the roof, and Braon stepped into the bright light of the late
afternoon. Blinking against the glare, he turned to Rokei to ask, but he
pointed south. Braon turned and gazed into the distance, and it didn’t take him
long to see what had caused the guard to interrupt the council.

His stomach
clenched as he saw a long, dark line along the horizon. Black and foreboding,
it was too straight and large to be a cloud. The shadow began at the lake and
stretched several miles to the west, and Braon knew instantly what it was.

“What is it?”
Talfar asked.

“The last
thing the oracle said to me was that Draeken’s army would bring darkness,”
Braon said, his voice tight. “I didn’t understand until now.”

“That’s the
army?” Emeka gasped.

“Above the
army,” Val’Trisian said, covering her eyes to shade the light. “When they
attacked us below, we knew it affected the light but it wasn't clear what.”

“How many have
we gathered?” Graden asked, his voice concerned.

Deiran
answered, his voice still confident, “We passed a million a week ago.” The elf
general paused and then added with a derisive snort, “With the gathering we
have put together, no army will breach the city or cliff.”

Several heads
turned to look at him, their expressions scornful, but Braon didn't turn. The
time to fulfill his role was nearly upon him, and the weight of so many lives
settled onto him, causing his knees to tremble. In his heart he knew that in
two days, thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, were going to die, and the
only thing standing between their survival and extinction . . . was his mind.

Turning to the
generals, he exclaimed. “Time is short, and there is more to discuss.”

Reluctantly
everyone turned to re-enter the house of Runya, each throwing glances at the
proximity of their invaders. Braon looked back once before descending.

Behind him,
powerful lightning began to flash, even though there was no storm.

Chapter
33: The Hastening

Gaze slumped
against one of the trees of Numenessee and looked south at the shadow that had
consumed the sky. It seemed like years since he’d been able to sleep, and the
last week had been the worst of it. Since they had left the capitol city of Talinor,
they had ridden with the surviving elves westward until they reached a deserted
Tallendale, but few had made it this far. Horses became tired, elves became
exhausted, and many could not keep up with the relentless pace set by their
pursuers. After a few small skirmishes with scouting sipers, just Arzai, Loken,
Lexi, and seven others had made it to the north side of the Blue River with
Anders and Gaze. All of them dismounted and collapsed in weariness, unable to
continue.

The only
possible thing left to slow the invasion was to burn Numenessee, something that
the elves had balked at. The forest name meant light of hope, and none
of the fair race wanted to see it destroyed—particularly since their village
would go with it. Anders had argued that it would be leveled by the fiends
anyway, and that hope might as well burn to give them time. Unconvinced, the
elves held out that the army wouldn’t raze their beloved home. Lexi had finally
settled it with a simple bitter command, “We burn it.”

Wearily, Gaze
looked south. Just as before, the dark cloud hovered a few miles behind them,
not stormy or rainy, just . . . blackness. Despite the proximity and the need
to hurry to Azertorn, all the elves had fallen asleep, and after two minutes
the only ones with their eyes open were Gaze and Anders.

“How much time
do you think we have?” Anders asked through cracked lips.

Gaze threw a
look at the dark line in the sky, and once again had the unspeakable idea that the
darkness was chasing the light. “Twenty minutes before the skorpians are in
range. Maybe thirty before they reach the river.”

“At least you
had a chance to meet a girl,” Anders said.

Gaze grinned
in spite of himself. Lexi and he had gotten close over the last week, and she
had even smiled at him a few times. He liked to think that she felt the same
for him as he felt for her.

“If we live,
maybe I can buy her a mug of ale,” Gaze said.

“If we live,
you should buy her more than a mug, you should buy her a barrel. How many times
has she saved us? Three? Four? I’ve lost track.”

“Hey, I’ve
saved her too, you know,” Gaze said in defense. “I’d say it’s about even.”

“Honestly
though, I can’t believe that elves survived this last week. I have never seen
one endure so much,” Anders said, his voice thoughtful.

Gaze snorted
and glanced at the unconscious elves. “They lost how many coming out of the
city? Twenty?”

“A little more,”
Anders said, “And more would have made it here if we hadn’t run into those blasted
dogs. I wonder how the Riverguard trains to build up such endurance.”

“If we live, I
will ask her,” Gaze said.

Anders
grimaced, “If we live—a lot of things.”

Gaze sighed
and watched the darkness approach. “We’d better go,” he said tonelessly. With a
grunt of effort he rose to his feet and went to rouse the elves. After several
tries he began to get desperate. “They aren’t waking up!” he said, glancing at
the now visible front line of the army.

Anders, who
was trying to wake Loken, growled, “Grab some water from the river.”

Gaze rushed to
the river and filled a flask, which succeeded in waking Lexi as well as Arzai.
With his heart beating faster, he raced to the river to refill the flask, but
as he sunk it into the cool, clear water, a shape caught his eye. Deep in the
river his eyes were drawn to the slime encrusted barricades at the bottom. “The
Danre,” he breathed, remembering that the river was once fast and
treacherous, until the earth magic guild had slowed it to allow commerce to
sail upriver from the ocean. The story about its creation was legendary—but
right now all he could think about was the possibility of destroying it. Hoping
with all his might, his mind reached down to see if the difference in energy
existed.

Then he leapt
to his feet and darted back to Anders still trying to revive an unconscious
elf. “I think I can use my magic to destroy the blocks!” he said, but Anders
just flashed him an annoyed look. “The Danre!” he said, grabbing the prince’s
arm, forcing him to meet his gaze.

It took a
second for the prince to understand, but when it dawned on him his eyes went
wide. “How,” he demanded, and Gaze saw Lexi appear at his side to hear the
answer as well.

A black
shafted spear grew out of the dirt next to him, cutting off his answer. “Get
the Riverguard out of here!” Gaze yelled, throwing an elf onto a horse and strapping
him down. In moments Lexi, Loken, and Anders rushed to place the other still
forms on their steeds. Then all four of them mounted, but Gaze turned west, “I
have to destroy the Danre!” he yelled as more spears sank into the riverbank.

Lexi appeared
about to protest, but a glance at her unconscious command and she growled, “You
had better make it to the city Gaze, or I swear by Ero’s staff I will hunt you
down and kill you!”

Before he
could respond she kicked her horse into a gallop and the other trained horses leapt
to follow. As they faded from sight Anders mounted. “Lead the way my friend.”

Gaze
considered arguing, but one look at his friend's expression told him he would
be wasting his breath. Gritting his teeth against weeks of exhaustion, pain,
and loss, he focused his magic on the river. With all his might he gathered
every drop of energy he could find, but held it fast until it threatened to
engulf him. Just before he thought he would explode, he released the most
powerful bolt of lightning he’d ever called.

Its impact
with the water was like nothing he had ever seen as it sent a geyser of white,
exploding with a thunderclap that rattled the teeth in his skull. Driving deep
until it hit the first barricades, it arced through them. The muted explosion
sent more water blasting outward. Chunks of slimy stone rained down, signaling a
breach in the Danre.

But Gaze
wasn’t finished.

Wheeling his
horse west with Anders at his heels, he plunged into the forest, praying that
his elven horse would find a route in its homeland. Almost blinded by the
energy swirling in the ground and air, he launched a cascade of streaking white
energy that penetrated the water as it sought more of the Danre. Thunder and
lightning pierced the sky as Gaze rode west, drawing on reserves of strength he
did not know he possessed, and blasting the Danre with supreme power.

In their wake
the river began to pick up speed. Unleashed after centuries of confinement, it
became a raging torrent as the fiend army reached its southern bank. Many
fiends plunged into the water, but were carried away by the churning white cauldron
of froth.

With his mind
filled with heavenly light, the giant trees of the forest streaked past in a
blur of green. Two miles, five miles, then ten, they galloped through the
forest as Gaze punished the bottom of the river with an onslaught of celestial
might—but the drain was starting to take a toll.

Gaze felt his
heart racing, his breathing become shallow, and his strength began to ebb. His
vision dimmed but he forced through hazy sight to continue. His soul felt like
it was about to shatter, but he didn’t stop. In response to his failing
strength, the lightning lost its precision, blasting the ground on both sides of
the river. Fiends were scorched and torn asunder on the southern bank . . . and
the forest of Numenessee began to burn on the northern.

Finally they
reached the bridge, where two krakas followed by countless quare had begun to
cross. In a primal roar of hate and rage, Gaze struck the bridge, charging the
stones, and then he threw a bolt so powerful that it carved through the arch to
the river below. Great stones hurtled hundreds of feet in every direction, and
the ensuing thunderclap knocked the weakened Gaze tumbling from his horse. He
felt a snap in his arm as he struck the ground, and cried out in agony as he
bounced to a stop on the road to Azertorn.

With blurred
vision he looked at the river and saw that finally, gloriously, the river was
racing towards the ocean. Enough of the Danre had been broken that the river
itself became a battering ram of furious water, plowing through every remaining
blockade as if it were kindling. White capped water frothed in anger as it
rushed to reach the sea it so longed to embrace.

Bruised,
broken, and nearly unconscious, Gaze rested his head against the ground, and
smiled. When Anders appeared in his vision a few moments later, he couldn't
hear what he said over the roar of the river, the burning forest, and the
echoing thunder. His long-time friend yelled at him and pointed at the
quivering body of the horse that had gone down when he’d fallen. Two spears
pinned it to the earth and Gaze knew that it was over. With only one horse left
there was no way the two of them could get to Azertorn ahead of the blazing
forest.

Gaze sighed
and closed his eyes, and saw the numerous faces of those who had died in the
conflict. He thought of the king first, and how he'd been like a father to him.
Lexi's elves flashed across his mind next, and he felt a stab of regret that he
wouldn't get the chance to know her better. Last he thought of the hundreds of
soldiers that had perished at the hands of the fiend army. Their heroism and
honor brought tears to his eyes, and he hoped his sacrifice could measure up to
theirs.

Sensing the
end, he fought to open his eyes so he could say goodbye to his friend, but before
he could find the words Anders hauled him to his feet. Through a dull fog he
felt the prince shove him onto the remaining steed.

"I'm
sorry brother, but the horse can't carry two," Anders said. "Take
care of Lexi and Graden for me."

Then he felt
the prince fumble with his hand and slide a ring onto a finger. A slap broke
his muddled thoughts when Anders hit the horse's rump and it began to carry him
towards Azertorn. Gaze bellowed as he watched the prince raise a hand in
farewell. Then he saw Anders turn and pull long spears out of the ground. With
deadly accuracy, he launched them across the destroyed bridge.

Anders looked
back one last time. Boasting the smirk he'd worn his entire life, his
expression conveyed only pride as black spears riddled his body. As he fell, the
lightning spawned fire consumed the area and the prince disappeared from view. His
heart tearing, Gaze screamed against the injustice, against the world, and
against the loss. Then he slumped in defeat as the horse carried him to the relative
safety of Azertorn.

Unable to
contain it, he clenched his eyes shut . . . and wept.

Chapter
34: Dark Valley

Taryn’s gut
tightened as he looked over the valley. As far as he could see, hundreds of
thousands of fiends stretched in a roiling sea of black flesh. Even from this
distance he could make out countless dots of red that marked packs of quare and
the white bone armor of the kraka captains. From their vantage point on the
northwest corner, most of the valley floor and neighboring foothills had been
cleared of trees. Like a last bastion of life, a thin line of trees ringed the
bowl, but there were constant patrols moving in and out of the remaining strip
of forest.

“There is no
way,” Trin said in a choked voice. “This is the first of three valleys that
used to hold the eastern villages. Beyond that is Xshaltheria, but there is no
way we are going to make it.”

“The battle at
Azertorn begins tomorrow,” Siarra said, her voice full of despair. “We have to
find a way.”

“Even if
there wasn’t a soul in sight," Mae said, her expression one of dismay,
"we would be hard pressed to make it before the battle starts.” Taryn shook
his head and threw a look skyward as if searching for heavenly guidance. Ero
save us, he thought.

He didn’t want
to see it anymore, so he slipped back into the stand of oak trees where they
had taken refuge. Just fifteen miles separated them from the ancient forge city
where Draeken was imprisoned, but it might as well have been a thousand.

Dropping to a
seat, he reached for his pack and grabbed a dry crust of bread. Chewing to allow
it to soften, he felt numb. He already had a headache from the effort to find a
solution, but he couldn’t stop himself. Of its own volition, his mind ran
through everything they had argued about in the last few hours.

They could
backtrack through the pass, and then follow the mountains east and hope for
another way in. In Taryn’s mind, it was the worst possible plan, for if they
found no opening, then there would not be enough time to make it back to their
current location for a different attempt.

The second
idea, suggested by Jack, was to use a series of diversions to draw the army’s
attention to one side of the valley and allow the rest of the group to slip
past. Although possible, the chance of survival for whoever provided the
diversion was below minimal. Taryn cringed at the idea of trading lives for
time.

Last, Siarra
had suggested that she use magic to allow them to skirt the valley. Her idea meant
working their way through the line of trees. If they encountered a patrol, Siarra
would use her power to create a hiding place. Although in theory it seemed plausible,
it would be slow. As of tomorrow they would have seven days to get to Draeken—and
defeat him, or all the gathered races of Lumineia would be exterminated at
Azertorn.

And thousands
would be dying every second.

“Don’t see a
way out, huh?” Liri said, sitting down beside him.

He shook his
head, despair stealing into his voice. “Is it over, Liri?”

She surprised
him by laughing, and when he looked at her he saw a sincere smile on her lean
features. “I have never seen you or your sister stopped by anything. You will
figure something out, even if it’s on the last day. The two of you—" She
searched for the words. "—are unbeatable. There is no doubt in my mind
that we will succeed.”

His lips
twitched into a smile at her confidence in him and Siarra. “I wish I felt the
same, but I just don’t see how we can.” He clenched his fist. “There are so
many people that are going to die because of me, because we didn’t get there in
time.”

She eased her
slim hand into his and leaned forward until he looked at her. “The people who
will lose their lives are going to die either way. You are going to save
more than you can possibly know.”

“If we
succeed,” he said.

“When
we succeed,” she corrected with a raised eyebrow.

The others
started coming back into the small clearing, ending their conversation. As they
filed into their camp with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes, the only one
who didn’t appear discouraged was Kell, whose expression could only be
described as elated. Taryn got the feeling he liked the odds, and wondered if
the rock trolls trained them to be insane. During the last engagement outside
the gap, he had killed nearly as many as Siarra without breaking a sweat or
being injured. Indeed the few glimpses Taryn had had of him, the rock troll had
been jubilant.

“Do you want
to take a walk?” Liri asked, the sound barely reaching his ears.

“Where?” he
asked, and she motioned uphill where the trees gave cover.

He looked
around at his silent friends, the feeling of discouragement so palpable he
could almost taste it. He nodded at Liri and the two of them slipped out of
camp. They took their time ascending the slope, for it became steep enough that
they had to use trees and rocks to help them. After several minutes they
reached a flat section of rock that overlooked the valley, but was just high
enough to give a view of the distant Blue Lake, where the sun was still
shining. Taryn had forgotten that it was still daytime. The shadow grayed
everything and time had lost its meaning.

Liri settled
next to him, still breathing hard from the climb, and for a moment they just
stared west at the light. After a while, she leaned against his shoulder,
shifting until she was comfortable.

She chuckled.
“Why couldn’t you have noticed me before? Now we might only have a few
days together.”

“What do you
mean, noticed you?” Taryn said, feigning innocence. Since he and Liri
and drawn closer, he’d learned a great deal about what he’d missed over the
last several years, much to his chagrin. She lifted her head enough for him to
see her knowing grin.

“Sorry,” he
said.

Her smile
turned sad. “I know Taryn. I don’t fault you for not being able to see when someone
favors another. I knew that early on.”

He barked a
laugh, but even during the brief moment of levity his mind still dwelled on the
task before them. Then a question he’d been meaning to ask her came to mind.
“Can you tell me what was it like to use the wind bow?”

She sat up and
pulled the bow off her back. Setting it in her lap she caressed the knotted
wood. “Like nothing I have every experienced,” she said, her voice gentle. With
her eyes still on the bow, but not seeing it, she went on, “I could see the
arrow, and in my mind I could feel the air around it. It seemed natural
to touch the arrow from any side I wanted, nudging it to go where I needed it
to.” She cocked her head to one side and added. “It was like I could see four
times as far as normal, like peering through a distance viewer and shooting an
arrow while knowing I could reach out and place it precisely where I wanted. It
was exhilarating.”

Taryn found
himself smiling, the war momentarily forgotten as he thought about his parents’
enchanted weapons. “I know what you mean,” he said.

“Is that how
it is with your swords?” Liri asked, turning to him with curious eyes.

He nodded.
“Wielding my father’s sword is like swinging contained, limitless power. It
seems to anticipate where I want it to go and already be on its way when the
thought crosses my mind.”

“And your
mother's?”

“Hers is . . .
different. On the one hand I feel its energy, but it is more subtle—no less
powerful, just less obvious.”

She gave him a
crooked smile, an expression that Taryn loved and which she rarely showed to
others. This close to her, he felt he had to confess something that rankled. “I
have to admit that in one way, fighting the fiends two days ago was . . . wonderful.”

“Really?” she
said, her eyebrows pulling together. “In what way?”

He took a
breath, unsure of how she would respond, “I have trained my whole life to
fight, and it has always come naturally to me.” He paused and looked away.
“With the exception of Draeken's assassin, I have never been in a battle where I
could use every skill I have honed. I felt such a fear of killing someone who
didn’t deserve it, like a father or a brother. You said once that there was
something in me that didn’t like to kill, and that piece of me saw good in
others. If that is true, then when I saw the fiends, I saw no hint of goodness.
I fought with everything I had, every trick I knew, and for the first time in
my life, I felt like I had a purpose. I just wish that purpose wasn’t to kill.”

He fell
silent, and didn’t have the courage to look at her. When he finally did, he
found her smiling. “When you fought the fiends, it looked like you were free,” she
said with a shrug. “You were born to do this, Taryn, to defeat this evil. You
weren't born to kill.” She leaned towards him, her eyes piercing his. "You
were born to save."

Taryn’s brow
furrowed as her words reminded him, for the first time in a while, of the orb
that Siarra had given him so long ago. She had told him that it would reveal
possible fragments of the future, and he’d been hesitant to look into its
depths for fear it would cause them to fail. He also recalled his decision in
the gnome city to activate its magic. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the
small, leather bound bag and emptied its contents into his hand.

“Is that what
I think it is?” Liri asked, her eyes going wide.

“The orb that
Siarra showed the queen,” Taryn answered in a small tone. “She said that it
would reveal possible futures for me, but she didn’t know if I should use it or
not. It sounded like one choice dooms us, and the other saves us. She gave it
to me to choose.”

She let out a
slow breath, and Taryn could see her thinking through the possibilities. “Are
you going to do it?” she asked, her eyebrows full of concern.

He shrugged.
“If there was ever a time to, it would be now. We are stuck, with no idea how
to reach Draeken. Perhaps this holds the answer.” He hefted the ball to
emphasize his point.

“Or it will
show you something that will sabotage us,” she said.

“What do you
think?” he asked. “Do you think I should?”

Her lips
thinned as she considered the ramifications of both choices, but then she shrugged
and her eyes met his. “Yes. As we are, we need direction. If we don’t get some
guidance, everyone dies anyway. At least this gives us a chance.”

Cocking his
head to one side, he thought about her logic. It made sense, and her words rang
with truth. His mind made up, he took a deep breath. “Here goes . . .” Before
he could change his mind he forced his gaze to the orb. At first there was
nothing, but a moment later everything around him faded into nothingness.

For one long
moment, all Taryn saw was black. Then he turned and saw Liri—but not the one
sitting beside him. Rather she lay as a still form on stone steps where she’d
been cut down. Blood ran from fresh wounds, and Taryn tried to run to her aid,
panic engulfing his soul. Just as he reached her the scene changed.

Now he stood
in a large stone circle, and in front of him he saw a mirror image of himself
staring back at him. He reached out to himself and saw the image do the same,
and suddenly he understood where he was. Looking upward he saw a figure
shrouded in darkness chained against a wall above him.

Kill him
and you kill me, it said. The voice penetrated his mind, the tone sinister
and dark. The words sank into his heart like black ink. Then he watched himself
draw his sword at the same time as the mirror of himself did the same. Though
he tried to stop himself, his sword reached out and pierced the mirage, but his
eyes were on the evil sword entering his own body, and the pain was excruciating.

Abruptly the
view shifted to Azertorn, and he saw Braon standing in the house of Runya. The
young man gazed skyward, his expression sad, and Taryn looked upward as well.
The enchanted ceiling of the house of Runya showed the sky, but all he saw was
the black shadow that hovered above the army. As he watched, the dark cloud
encircled a shaft of light that still existed above the city, and then
extinguished it. When he looked at Braon again, he lay dead on the floor with a
fiend standing over him. Taryn's heart wrenched, but before he could do
anything his form lifted into the air above the city and flew over the cliff.

Thousands of
bodies lay dead, and only fiends were left. In that moment the sky above him cleared,
the darkness washing away to leave the brilliant sunset, and when he looked
down again, the army of fiends was gone. Only the bodies of the dead races
remained. Even if I sacrifice myself I am too late, he thought, and pure
anguish tore through his soul as the view dissolved.

Now he stood,
again in the air, but this time the view was familiar. Hovering, he stood above
himself and Liri sitting on the cliff as he looked into the orb. Then he was soaring
through the air. Flying east along the mountain, he drifted down and landed in
front of an obscured opening in the mountain. His body glided in, leading him
into a tunnel that appeared to be an abandoned mine. At the first junction he
saw the shaft split into three directions. One headed east and he could sense
that the mine shaft would get them past the first valley.

One more time,
everything around him faded, and he saw himself in the stone circle facing his
mirror image once again. For several long minutes he stared at an evil copy of
himself. Then he looked upward and saw Draeken, almost fifty feet off the
ground, with a smooth wall underneath him. There was no way to reach him . . .
but then he felt his body somehow rise upward and cross the intervening space.
Raising his father's sword high, he plunged it deep into Draeken’s chest.
Mortally wounded, the Lord of Chaos arched his back and screamed before the
image faded to black.

Taryn blinked
his eyes open and saw Liri’s concerned face inches from his. “Are you alright?”
she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

He nodded, realizing
that his body felt fine while his head pounded with a dull ache. Before he
could forget, he ran through the images he’d seen so they would remain fresh in
his memory, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Liri’s dead form. In his
heart he refused to believe that she would die. He would not allow it.

“Did you see
anything?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

He forced a
smile and focused on her. “I know what we are supposed to do.”

Chapter
35: Hope Burned

“Deiran
reports that a rider from the southern kingdom has arrived. He is alive, but
not by much,” Thacker said from behind Braon.

He nodded to
acknowledge the report but didn’t turn. If he did, he was afraid his emotions
would betray him. “Inform me when he wakes. I would like to speak with him.”

Like every
person in the gathered races of Lumineia, he stood transfixed, watching the
forest of Numenessee burn. The fire only covered the southern half of the elven
forests, but the wind was driving it northward. Smoke and cinders flew thick in
the air, blotting out the entire horizon, and forcing many of their army to
wrap cloth around their mouths to prevent inhaling the smoke.

Like a hungry
beast, the raging inferno crept closer and closer to the cliff. Unable to turn
away, Braon watched from the roof of the House of Runya, listening to the great
outcry from the elven nation. Cries of rage mingled with despair as the fair
people watched their beloved forest disintegrate before their eyes, helpless to
stop it. Trees toppled in a shower of sparks, birds scattered and flew north,
calling their anger at the destruction of their homes. Each sight and sound
sent a blade through the heart of every onlooker.

Knowing it
would take a long time to burn, Braon wrenched his mind away from the terrible
sight and walked to his room to prepare himself for the impending ordeal. He
ate alone, washed the smudged ash from his face, and tried to sleep, unable to
ignore the lamentations of the elven race. At long last he fell into a
nightmarish slumber, where trees and people burned, and he ordered them to
their deaths.

Throughout the
night and the following day, the forest of hope burned bright. By the time the
flame had eaten its way out of things to consume, silence reigned on the Giant’s
Shelf. Numb disbelief on behalf of the gathered nations had no other way to
express itself, and soldiers of every race passed the day with barely a word.

Once again on
the roof, Braon watched the smoky landscape and charred remains of the once
lovely wood, and then stayed as dark shapes began to materialize in the haze.
Ghostlike, the small groups of snarling fiends turned into thousands . . . then
hundreds of thousands . . . and finally millions of roiling bodies advanced
towards the cliff. Thick smog obscured his visibility, yet it was still evident
that the fiend army already covered more than four times the ground of his
entire army—and still they poured out of the smoke like demons in a nightmare.

“By Ero’s
staff . . .” Thacker breathed, his jaw working in shock. Around him he heard
more curses as the fiends approached, close enough to make out the different
types.

Sipers, the
huge dogs with scales and silver eyes growled and snapped at the sparks rising
from their paws. Man-shaped quare, their thick manes shimmering red, bounded
forward, seeking blood. Giant kraka’s, marked by their bone armor and their massive
black swords. Then skorpians appeared in the gloom, their pincers snapping with
menace, and their tails twitching with anticipation.

The black army
of Draeken advanced through the scorched remains of the forest of hope, until it
came to a halt at the base of the Giant’s Shelf. For one long moment, utter stillness
stretched between the two armies. The united races of Lumineia, defiant in the
face of annihilation, readied themselves for the attack that would slay them
all.

“For seven
days the light will fight the dark,” Braon whispered to himself, remembering
the words of the Oracle. Then his eyes were drawn skyward, where the last rays
of daylight were fading behind the shadow that hovered above the evil throng.
Somewhere nearby he heard Reiquen scream a furious challenge, but the sound was
strangely muted. In that instant, all that existed to the fifteen year old boy
from Terros, was the light shining from above. Drawing on its strength, he took
a deep breath and looked back at the darkness he had to outlast.

The silence
shattered as skorpian bolts darkened the air.

###

For the epic
conclusion of the Second Draeken War, you can find Seven
Days on Amazon.

The
Chronicles of Lumineia

By
Ben Hale

—The Second Draeken War—

Elseerian

The Gathering

Seven Days

The List Unseen

—The White Mage Saga—

Assassin's Blade (Short story
prequel)

The Last Oracle

The Sword of Elseerian

Descent Unto Dark

Impact of the Fallen

The Forge of Light

—The Warsworn—

The Flesh of War

Author Bio

Originally from Utah, Ben has
grown up with a passion for learning almost everything. Driven particularly to
reading caused him to be caught reading by flashlight under the covers at an
early age. While still young, he practiced various sports, became an Eagle
Scout, and taught himself to play the piano. This thirst for knowledge gained
him excellent grades and helped him graduate college with honors, as well as
become fluent in three languages after doing volunteer work in Brazil. After
school, he started and ran several successful businesses that gave him time to work
on his numerous writing projects. His greatest support and inspiration comes
from his wonderful wife and three beautiful children. Currently he resides in
Florida while working on his latest writing and business endeavors.

To contact the author, discover
more about Lumineia, or find out about his other works, check out his website
at www.Lumineia.com. You can
also follow the author on twitter @
BenHale8 or Facebook.