Drums struck the air with a menacing rhythm, beating a steady cadence as six of the dark priests escorted a man with long gray hair and beard, dressed in rags and bound in shackles that chained his wrists and ankles together, toward the stone altar. His pale skin told of many years kept in darkness and he squinted in the outdoor light even though the sun’s full light remained cloaked behind dark clouds. He was malnourished, clearly, and despite it all he walked with his head held high toward the burning skulls. Steve found himself admiring this man who stood so proudly defiant.
Behind the altar, high above the courtyard, a man appeared on the balcony dressed in fine black silk and a full-length cape draped over his left shoulder. His long hair fell in a single black ponytail reaching to the small of his back. The prisoner below raised his eyes and met Azinon’s looming gaze. No sooner did he do so, however, than a priest struck him from behind and sent him to his knees. The bearded captive turned his head and spat defiantly, bringing a rain of blows down upon himself. The remaining five priests joined the fray and spent a full minute venting their maliciousness upon him. With barely any fight left in him at all, they dragged him forward and then chained him spread eagle to the altar.
The wind picked up then, ruffling the cape about the dark sorcerer’s shoulders. “How fitting,” Azinon called down. “It is within these walls you were born, and now within them you shall die.”
The bearded man ceased his struggles and turned his eyes up toward the man looking down upon him. A priest raised his fist but Azinon stopped him with a raised two-fingered gesture. “I may die,” the prisoner shouted, “but it is your death foretold. Even locked away within the depths of my own dungeons, word has reached me of the Third Power. And with his rise so shall you fall!”
His words left the young man astonished as understanding dawned. This dirty, bearded man was the Emperor himself!
“The prophecy?” Azinon asked, almost as if to intone he was hearing of some inconsequential side topic. “My how desperate you have become; clutching to the ramblings of a madman a thousand years dead, unable to see the inconsistency of your beliefs even as events unfold before your very eyes. You are the last of an ancient and royal line, old man.” The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed and he smiled showing teeth. “One that ends today.”
The last? Steve thought in sudden horror. But what about his daughter? What of her?
“When you die the prophecy will be nothing but words. Without you there is no royal line to ascend the throne, and I will rule all of Mithal.” The dark priest closest to the altar drew his dagger and poised it high above the Emperor’s heart.
“You cannot change what is destined to be!” the Emperor cried.
“My thoughts exactly,” Azinon coolly replied.
The dagger glinted in the waning light. The priest raised it a half inch higher and then plunged it downward in a swift strike.
“No!” Steve screamed. Thunder roared in his ears as his control slipped and his power lashed out wildly. The emptiness of the void enveloped him without warning and already he could feel the backward rush as he was returned through the fragile fabric of time. Steve fought to wrest the control back, no longer even knowing why, but his efforts were not enough to rein back the tidal wave unleashed.
Steven Walker appeared in the present with a suddenness that staggered him. He remained free of the flesh of his body, standing just a few inches above the ground in the middle of the camp, surrounded on all sides by the sleeping forms of a dozen soldiers. These were but tidbits of information that mattered little in light of the knowledge he now possessed. The Emperor is going to be executed! If the Imperial Princess is indeed already gone then his death means an end to the prophecy. Haldorum needed to hear of this at once!
“I trust you have a good explanation for this?”
Steve whirled in mid-air to find the spirit of Haldorum standing not more than twenty feet away. The old wizard remained in his same blue robe, his image glowing with an aura of royal blue, and he spoke with the voice of a shade that echoed with every word.
“Well, do not just stand there,” Haldorum pressed, “let us hear it.”
“You never told me you could do this,” Steve blurted in amazement.
“I do not recall the topic ever coming up. I cannot see the future as you are capable of, but I can leave my body when the mood strikes me. How do I look, by the way?”
Steve stood perplexed. “What do you mean? You look like you always do—except you’re kind of glowing now.”
Haldorum looked disappointed. “Pity. As I am sure you have already noticed, a man cannot see his own soul. I had always thought mine to look a bit more…I don’t know, grand.” Resigned, he dismissed the idea entirely with a wave of his hand. “But enough of that. What I want to know is why you are exercising your magic without consulting me?”
“Haldorum, we’ve got to get back to Shallows Crag immediately,” Steve said suddenly remembering himself. “I was right. The Emperor is still alive, chained in the dungeons of the palace, but that is going to change unless we get him out of there at once!”
The whites of the old wizard’s eyes grew larger in the orange light of the fire. “You saw him? He was there?”
“No, he is there—right now—but Azinon is going to have him executed very soon. Haldorum, I can’t see more than a couple of days into the future so we don’t have much time. Whether the plan is ready or not we’ve got to do it now!” He slapped the back of his fist into the palm of his other hand as he finished.
“Yes, of course. You are right. Get back into your body,” Haldorum said turning, then stopped. “Oh, and do not be surprised if you find Princess Vessla watching over you. I will begin the preparations immediately. We leave within a turn. Go now, my boy, we have much to do!”
Steve literally flew back to his body but the sadness at giving up the search for his friend so prematurely would have prompted tears if he’d had the ducts to shed them. It went against everything inside of him to leave, but he knew the fate of this world depended on it. All he could do was hope Scott could hang in there for just a little while longer.
Steve slowed as he approached his body. There he lay, his back against Kayliss, and Princess Vessla leaning against him in the circle of his arm. She slept with her head against his chest and Steve knew his body had to be inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume with every breath. With only a moment’s hesitation more, he returned to the corporeal form of himself.
Scott and Kurella lay together beneath the boughs of a maple tree. The young wolf-girl slept with her arms about him and her head against his chest with a slight smile on her lips. Scott remained motionless for a while, watching her as he wondered what she dreamed of. He finally closed his eyes and listened contentedly to the sounds of the forest. He listened to the sound of the nocturnal fliers as the wind rushed by their wings, and he reveled in the scents brought in on the gentle breeze that hushed through the trees and rolled along the grasses.
Scott’s eyes popped open when he heard the sound of a single twig snap not far off. He listened for a long time after that, and then he heard it again. With slow, careful movements, he slipped out of Kurella’s embrace and brought himself silently to his feet. Probably nothing, he told himself. He glanced once at Kurella and then decided he would let her sleep rather than bother her with something that might not be anything at all. If there was any real danger, he could always awaken her with the shout. Quietly he stole away from her and into the darkness, his eyes skimming the outlines of the underbrush and listened, fully expecting to hear the sound of a startled rodent fleeting through the underbrush away from him. He stomped once, then again, hoping to scare away whatever he had heard—hoping for confirmation for his paranoid nature more than anything else. The sudden appearance of a blade at his throat, however, told him this was no rodent.
“What have we here?” a smarmy voice said from behind. “It seems a young traveler has lost his way.”
Other men appeared fr
om the shadows then, most dressed in natural brown leather armor, a few of the huskier men clad in plate. It was the symbol of the full blood moon above their breast and the rank insignia upon their shoulders that worried Scott the most.
“Markell,” the man holding the knife said, “go back the way the boy came and see if there are any more.”
Markell, a slender man with a hawkish nose and brown shaggy hair showing from beneath his helmet, nodded once and then disappeared in the direction Scott had come.
“And what would your name be?” the man with the knife asked.
Scott swallowed hard, his adam’s apple briefly touching the edge of the blade. “Eric,” he lied. He was not altogether sure why but lying seemed the thing to do just now. “My name’s Eric. Wh-who are you?”
“We will ask the questions, thank you,” the man behind Scott hissed, pressing the edge of his blade even closer. “Tis’ a strange name you have, Eric.” Scott could feel the course hair of the man’s beard against the back of his neck as he spoke, and he was all too aware of the stink of his breath. Around him he counted twenty soldiers, with still more appearing and disappearing amid the shadows like spirits.
Markell returned. He shook his head once saying, “No one else from here to the lake. Seems he is alone.”
Scott suppressed his sigh of relief. His captor, however, gave a short bark of laughter. “I find that very hard to believe. What about you, boy? Alone and unarmed in a forest just crawling with all sorts of bad things. Why, you must be some kind of magic man. Is that what you are, boy?”
“No, sir,” Scott replied quickly.
“Then what are you doing out here? Where are your companions?”
“I have no companions. I came out here alone to—”
The blade pressed closer still, until a thin trickle of blood formed along its edge. “Do not lie to me, boy,” the man warned. “Lies just make me want to carve things up.”
Scott’s breath caught in his throat and suddenly his lungs burned for air. With concentrated, controlled efforts, he slowly brought himself to breathe in and out. “It’s not a lie. I’m alone. I—I just wanted to prove to myself that I could make it on my own.”
“With no weapons?” the man asked ridiculous.
“I didn’t think I would need them.”
With a laugh, the man removed his knife and shoved Scott away from him. “You must be the greatest fool to ever walk the Granar. But a confident fool, I will grant you that.”
“What should we do with him?” Markell asked. “We certainly cannot let him go. He knows we’re out here and if the Resistance finds him...”
The man with the beard scratched his chin as he sheathed his knife. Then, apparently decided, he shrugged indifferently. “Kill him. Leave his remains for the scavengers.”
“Wait!” Scott shouted, but Markell’s sword was even now sliding free of its sheath. “At least give me something to defend myself with!”
The bearded man laughed. “Right you are, Eric. Here.” With a deft flick he tossed a short dagger to the ground. “Best of luck to you!”
Scott picked up the short weapon from the ground and faced Markell at the ready. As the leather-clad soldier stalked him, the others formed a circle around the two. Scott knew he was at an incredible disadvantage—and not just because of his inferior weapon. He dared not let this man back him against any of his companions lest a similar blade find him from behind. Aside from that, there was also the small problem of winning; for even if he managed to kill the man before him his comrades were not about to let him walk away from it. No, this situation was lose-lose, but at least they did not find Kurella. At least she had gotten away.
With Markell’s lunge steel rang on steel as Scott parried the longer blade aside. It had been no real accomplishment, he knew. The lunge was half-hearted and thus easily seen. Markell was toying with him for the entertainment of his companions. The man feinted several times as though to attack and Scott jumped back each time, bringing a roar of laughter and cheers for them both. Scott circled around to give himself more room when the leather-clad soldier pressed him too close his fellows. He had to keep his measure on the longer blade or it would surely find him, but the distance effectively negated any chance to effectively riposte. He could only dance around for so long before Markell tired of this game and fought him in earnest.
And that time came all too quickly. In the near pitch-blackness, the soldier’s blade was barely more than a blur. Scott’s blade went flying from his hand with a sharp clang and he stumbled and fell. Markell’s lip curled in a sneer as he patiently advanced. “Not bad considering your odds, whelp,” he said, “but here it ends.”
Shouts of alarm erupted outside the circle of red-crested soldiers along with a terrible roar. Weapons appeared from their sheaths as they turned to face the unknown threat. Something huge flashed by Scott in the darkness, and then that terrible ripping sound amid screams and blood.
Then it was there. Standing before him like some nightmare come to life. It stood at least seven feet in height with the hair along its spine bristling like a wire brush. Blood dripped from a mouthful of teeth and in its two clawed hands it held the head of Markell, his mouth still trying to summon a scream of horror, pain, or both.
“Run!” the beast commanded.
Scott didn’t move, fascinated and terrified by the vision before him.
The monster pitched the man’s head away screaming savagely again, “RUN!”
Scott scrambled from the ground in a frenzy even as the beast turned to meet the oncoming line of redcrest soldiers. He ran blindly in the dark with his hands shielding his face, the horrific cry of the beast drowning out his footfalls as the battle commenced. Men screamed as the monster went through them like a scythe through ripe wheat, ripping limbs and tearing great gashes as it went. Scott still ran, not knowing, or caring which direction he was going, just so long as he put those terrible cries behind him. He came upon four horses—some of the soldiers’ mounts, no doubt—and he ignored the shouts of another man as he climbed into the saddle and then spurred the horse into a charge. More soldiers scattered as he galloped through their ranks, and two more gave chase. Where had they all come from? Scott cast the thought aside as an arrow whizzed past his head and vanished in the dark. He lowered his head and kicked his horse harder.
Steve stood nearby when a young runner, dressed in dark hose and tunic, approached Haldorum. The old wizard just finished opening one of the largest portals Steve had seen yet when the runner, Terin, reached him, heaving in near exhaustion.
“I carried the word of our withdrawal to the scouts,” he said between breaths.
Haldorum nodded. “Good. They will be the last to—”
Terin was holding up his hand as he paused to swallow between his breaths. “Forgive me, sir, but that is not all. They are reporting the sounds of combat as well. It is far off but, whatever is going on, it is making a great deal of noise.”
Kayliss!
The great cat bounded out of the dark in answer to the young wizard’s call. The tiger barely slowed as Steve vaulted to his back, and together as mount and rider they sprinted from the camp.
“Steven, wait!” Haldorum called after him, but Steve did not stop. “Blast that impetuous boy!” He whirled on his heel and gave orders to begin the withdrawal. “Haze! Lurin! I need men and horses. Now!”
Kayliss carried him as surely as any horse, with equal speed and twice the agility. Steve caught glimpses of the Resistance scouts as he passed them, some of which spurred their mounts to follow, others staying in place, unsure what to do. Steve did not care either way. As Kayliss ran, he called upon the crystal and channeled its energies into his voice. His lungs expanded as he inhaled deeply, and then focused the sound in a cone directly ahead with a powerful shout of his friend’s name. The force of that sound carried through the forest like a crashing wave, bending smaller trees like a physical force as it went.
He had to find Scott.
&n
bsp; Scott couldn’t believe his ears and his horse reared when the concussive force of the sound hit them like a physical blow. Startled from the trees, thousands of birds took to the air at once as Scott struggled with the reins to regain control of his mount. The redcrest horses behind him also reared, some panicking into a bucking frenzy from the thundering cry. Scott pulled hard and the frustrated equine ceased its rearing in lieu of an agitated prance and shake of its head, but under control once more. With only another moment’s hesitation, he turned his mount to the west and kicked into a full gallop, in the direction of the cry. Seconds later it hit them again, less powerful than before, but unmistakable in identity. Steve was somewhere nearby.
The thudding of the horses’ hooves and the shouting men behind him told Scott at least a few redcrests remained on his tail. He veered randomly amid the trees as he fled in the ill light, hoping to make a difficult target for any horsed archers who might yet be among them.
Then a horse screamed as claws raked its hide. The pain both surprised and panicked the animal into a wild, bucking torrent that dislodged its redcrest rider in seconds. The beast responsible never even slowed down. Scott risked a glance behind and witnessed a second rider’s dark silhouette go down. He did not care why, only thanked God for his good fortune.
“Steve!” he cried as his friend came into view. “Soldiers!” he called out. “Behind me!”
Kayliss came to a skidding halt and then turned tail back the way he had come even as Scott passed him at breakneck speed.
“More of them!” Steve shouted. Both from the north and south, mounted redcrests galloped into view in surprising numbers. “Not good,” Steve muttered nervously. He knew he could outmaneuver them on the back of Kayliss but he refused to leave his friend exposed. He glanced over his shoulder to assess the enemy numbers and then Scott’s triumphant shout brought him about again. Haze was there at the front of a torch-bearing charge of Resistance soldiers, his other hand drawing his sword as he steered his mount with his knees. Without need for command, the wave of freedom fighters split and the two young men rode safely down the middle of their ranks.
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