Darius
Chapters Sixteen
© 2007, Patrick Hester - All Rights Reserved.


Darius Recap: For everyone who doesn't remember it cuz It's been so long since I've done anything with him.

The Wizard known as Darius wakes one day to find that two travelers have come to his keep seeking help and guidance, both with their own tales to tell and with trouble fast on their heels.

Min, a warrior woman from the East who has traveled thousands of leagues in search of the Wizard, tells a tale of a mysterious attack on the monastery where she grew up. Everyone was killed to the last, except for her, so she took on the mission of finding the Wizard, and telling him that a 'child of destiny' and a sword were both taken.

Agden, a warrior with a mystery of his own, a past shrouded and unseen, he tells of starting over with a new family in a new village. Returning from a trading run, he finds the village deserted, the inn burnt down and left in ashes. Then he sees them; bones. The village isn't deserted, they have all been killed. Including his family. He seeks the Wizard after a meeting with a Fey named Moya, who sets him on his path and marks him as a wolfbrother.

Together, they defend the keep from an attack, and Darius tells them they must seek the visions of an old human woman, who may be able to shed more light on all that is happening, since she is as human as they are and share their blood, something he himself does not. He does not tell them that something tugs at him, even before they arrived, a current, a tide, faint and elusive, but always north.

Traveling through the Haunted Forest to see the Seer, they discover that she has been mutilated by the local villagers, her sight taken from her while she is left as a mere husk. Her granddaughter, though, is said to have the sight. Only she has been taken to the village to be burned as a witch. Darius and his companions set out to save her, but are sidetracked when they meet someone who has been waiting for Darius, someone he does not want to talk about.

Talon.

Our story picks up from there.


( Darius hesitated only a moment before kicking his gray forward and up the hill, following Talon as he turned and lead them down the other side. ... )

((All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2007 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

Chapter Fifteen



“You knew her well?” Min asked when they were outside again. She stood just in front of her horse, stroking her nose and scratching her ears. The other horses saw this and stepped up for some attention of their own, which she gave them each in turn, a small smile on her face.

“I did,” Darius replied, then added almost to himself, “We were bitter enemies.”

Agden stopped dead in his tracks. Of all the mysteries she’d encountered in this strange, new land - he was the one she was most determined to puzzle out. She’d known men before, but none as tall as he, nor as strange. He had large, wide shoulders and strong looking legs that appealed to her in a way she couldn’t describe, even if someone were around to talk to about such things. Not for the first time, she wished her sisters were here so she had someone to talk to. She let her eyes linger on those legs one more moment before she realized the conversation was moving forward and Agden was angry.

“Your enemy?! Why in the name of all the gods would you bring us into the heart of your enemies camp?!”

“Hush, boy,” Darius reproached him, and Agden flushed red either in anger or embarrassment, she couldn’t be sure. He was difficult to gauge. But then, all of the people she’d met on this side of the Dragon’s Wall appeared strange to her. What passed for courtesy here would have you beheaded as rude back home. Still, some had their strengths, and her heart told her Agden was among those she could rely on. She almost wanted to say there was a noble quality to him under all that hair, which made her wonder once again, why did they insist on so much hair on their faces? Did not their women explain how unattractive it was? Not to mention the mess when they ate… At least Agden had the good sense to keep his face clean, but the rest of that hair? All those braids? He should have a proper, single braid down the back of his head.

Before Agden could say whatever he held on the tip of his tongue, the red headed young woman stepped out of the house and stood just under the shade of the overhang. She did not motion yet Darius somehow knew she was there and he turned to face her, his back to Agden. Again, the man turned red and she decided it was definitely anger that made him change color.

“Wizard,” the young woman addressed him. There was a hint of fear in her voice, and awe as well, though she tried her best to cover both. “Gran always said, he be waitin’ for you still, just outside the Forest. I seen him, not two week ago, a wanderin’ still. Gran would want you to know.”

Darius stared at her for a long moment, and Min couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. That he was very wise, she had already decided. His body showed his age as ancient, but somehow she thought that as old as he looked, he was older by far than anything she could imagine. Had he not known the woman who had come to the Temple four thousand years ago? What did he look like then?

“Thank you,” he said, voice husky. “We will take that fork when we come to it.”

Without another word, Darius mounted his horse and clicked it forward with a noise from his teeth – Min wanted to learn how that noise was made and reminded herself to ask when next they stopped for a rest. As she mounted her own horse, and Agden his, the cat jumped from the balcony above and landed on the same spot behind Darius as it had rode from the Keep. She could only stare at it as she and Agden trotted their horses to catch up to Darius. How did it manage such a landing?!

When she looked to see if Agden were as shocked as she, his face was all twisted up as if he’d just eaten something decidedly sour. He leaned over and whispered, “I grow to dislike magic.” Straightening, he called out to Darius before them, “Will you be telling us who is waiting for you? Or where we are going? Or how you intend to rescue this girl from the flames?”

Without so much as a pause, Darius called over his shoulder, “Talon. Clarion. No idea yet, but it will come to me.”

If Agden looked as if something had soured his stomach before, now he looked as if he were ready to sick up right then and there. Min did not think that he expected any sort of answer at all. Urging her horse forward as they followed the path, she came up beside him just as they passed the well where the women were drawing the water for their homes.

“Talon? Who is Talon?” she asked, noticing that the women here carried a single clay jar of water or a leaky bucket on a rope of some kind. Much different from back home where two buckets would be suspended on the ends of a beam carried on the shoulders. She thought her way more effective, but did not have time to discuss it, as Darius appeared to be in a sudden hurry.

“Talon is… a long story,” he replied quietly, eyes locked on the forest ahead of them. “I do not think we shall be stopping until night fall,” he said, smiling at her. “So I can tell you part of the story while we ride. I mean to be outside the Forest before the sun sets.” Looking over his shoulder at Agden, “We shall camp outside the Forest tonight.” Agden nodded but said nothing. Still, she noted that he was trying very hard not to appear as if he were listening to she and Darius.

They passed the last of the homes, their design so dissimilar from anything she knew back home that she couldn’t help staring at them as they passed by. She would love the opportunity to study one closer, but as Darius was in hurry, she no more had time to study them then she did to speak with the women of this village.

Darius said he would tell her about Talon, yet as they passed beneath the ancient canopy once again, they each fell silent. There was something about this place she could not put her finger on, something that both disturbed and awed her. She had never seen anything like it back home, and nothing quite like it since crossing the Dragon’s Wall so long ago. The trees were so thick you could carve boats out of their trunks and still have shavings to warm the hearths of a hundred homes for a year, or so it seemed to her eye. Branches from one seemed to twist and inter lock with the others forming a canopy above so intricate in design that it looked like the pattern from one of the tapestries hanging in the Temple of her birth. And the floor of the Forest saw just as much growth and meshing, if that was even the correct word – all the roots she could see as the horses picked their paths carefully, seemed to run from tree to tree without break or interruption, giving the illusion, to her eye at least, that the trees were all one massive tree and not the thousands which made up this forest.

It was some time before she came back from her thoughts and asked him about Talon again. He chuckled quietly, tugging on the brim of his wide, tall hat as if to make certain it was securely in place. She marveled at how, even in the saddle, he somehow managed to lean against the staff for support. How he managed to keep it in the stirrup with his boot was beyond her.

“How to explain Talon…” he mused. She did not press him, knowing he would speak when he was ready and had formed his thoughts properly. Agden had once again closed the distance between them, content to let Darius lead them through the Forest while he took the rear guard, but now she knew he wanted to hear the tale just as she did.

“Like the both of you, Talon came to me looking for help,” he said after a long pause. “Unlike you, he cannot enter the Forest.” Then he added, “This was many, many years ago, of course. He thought that I could help him with his problem. Sadly, I could not.” Darius clicked his tongue again, and pulled on his reins to steer his horse around a tangle of roots and vines that looked treacherous even to her.

“What? He cannot enter the Forest?” Agden asked, just as Min asked, “And he still waits?” steering her horse around the same tangle of roots. Agden gave it a large berth.

“I do not doubt that he does. He did not believe me that I could not help him. He thought that I was withholding my help instead. He is no doubt angry and bitter.” Turning in the saddle, he fixed his eye on Agden, “He cannot. It will not allow him entry,” then he turned again, clicking at his horse.

“Did you try?” she asked, blinking. How could the Forest stop someone from entering? Agden didn’t press the question, and Darius lapsed into a silence that enveloped each of them. They rode on in silence for some time before he finally answered her.

“I did try,” he said in a husky voice, coughing to clear his throat. “There was nothing that I could do, and that, my dear, is saying much.”

She nodded, studying the Forest with a new eye, wondering how it might hamper someone from entering. It was difficult to tell the time of day while under the canopy of thick limbs above, but she judged it as nearing dusk when Darius reined his horse in and leaned over in his saddle as if to see better. Before them, she saw only the same endless rows of trees as they had seen all afternoon. Riding up beside them, Agden sat rigid in his saddle, left arm scratching at his right shoulder.

“A wolf nearby,” he said quietly.

“Hmmm,” Darius said with a nod, then urged his horse forward. Min followed him through the suddenly dense and leafy limbs, shielding her face with one arm, then the other – guiding the horse with pressure from her legs. When she no longer felt the limbs against her arms, she lowered them and found they had left the Forest completely, tall grass all around them and a hill before them.

On that hill stood the darkest man she had ever seen in her life, and next to him, a black wolf as tall as her horse. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn they were waiting for the group to emerge from the Forest, only, how could they have known where they would emerge? And where had the rows and rows of trees gone?!

“Talon,” Darius said softly, and she found that she’d forgotten all her questions.

((All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

((All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))


Chapter Fourteen


“There is someone I must talk to. She lives on the edge of the forest with her grandchildren. We will have to ready the horses.”

Darius announced this as they finished their breakfast, a simple meal of eggs and bacon he had improved upon with bread, fresh butter and some preserves from his storage.

“Who is this woman?” Agden asked, then started. “Horses? There are only two – which did you imagine would carry you along with its master?”

“Two?!” Darius said with a start. “If you have somehow allowed my horse to escape…” he was up and out of the kitchen without finishing the thought, Agden and Min both in tow as the cat raced ahead of them all.

“I assure you, there have only ever been two horses in that stable the entire time I have been here!” Agden called after him, then sprinted to walk next to the Wizard, who shuffled along spryly for someone who’d been bed ridden for three days. Agden held the door for both the Wizard and Min, before following them in.

“You see-“ he stopped dead in his tracks. There were the two stalls he and Min had stabled their horses in, still occupied. But to his utter shock, a third horse stood in the stall across from them, a stall he would have sworn was empty and had been empty, the entire time he’d stayed in the Keep. Yet here was a horse who turned it’s head to eye him up and down, letting out a ‘whuff’ in his general direction.

The old man walked up to the horse, speaking calmly as it stepped forward to receive his hand on its nose. He petted it and talked to it and fed it some grain and all the while, Agden just stood there staring. His only comfort was the look of surprise on Min’s face that must have mirrored his own.

The horse, and he blinked several times to ensure that it was actually there, was a dapple gray well into its years. Where it came from, where it had been all this time, he could not say, but there it was and for all he could tell from where he stood, the animal looked like it was as well cared for and groomed as the others.

Darius turned and smiled at him. “We’ll leave as soon as the horses are ready, yes?”

* * *

Min leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “That horse was not there before.” She smiled as well, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

They stood in the courtyard waiting for Darius to finish readying his horse and join them. He’d tasked the two of them with gathering supplies for the day trip, and specifically for them to bring the makings of ‘a proper lunch’, which they had done. When the old man finally came out of the stables leading his gray, it was midmorning and Agden was not looking forward to having to open the gates it had taken so much effort to close when Min had arrived with swords on her heels.

“Shall we?” asked the old man as he walked past them and towards the back of the Keep, his horse in tow.

“Not heading out the gate?” Agden called after him, turning his horse to follow.

“Heaven’s no! This is a shortcut.”

Darius lead them back behind the keep, down past the tower where he sat on the balcony, and to the back wall Agden had seen before. It was covered in so much ivy you could not even see the stone beneath anylonger.

“Here we are!” Darius said, clapping his hands together. “Shall we?”

Min and Agden exchanged glances, each taking in the ivy covered wall. Darius followed their gaze to the wall and smiled.

“Ah! I see the problem.” Dropping the reigns of his horse, Darius stepped up to the ivy and cracked his knuckles, wiggling his fingers in the air. With a great flourish, he made a parting motion in the air as if splitting the ivy down the middle. Nothing happened. Frowning, he closed one eye, looking at the wall while tilting his head a bit to the side. The old tabby came running up and rubbed itself against the Wizard’s leg, distracting him.

“Hmmm?” he said, looking down at the cat. “Oh! Of course. How silly.” Darius cleared his throat, then made the parting motion with his hands again as he said, rather loudly, “Appree!”, and to the shock and surprise of the two Humans standing behind him, the ivy did indeed split right down the middle to reveal a great gap in the stone wall larger enough for five horses to ride through side by side.

Agden could only stare as the old man took up his reigns, smiling ear to ear, and lead the horse through the gap in the wall. Why had he nearly killed himself pushing that gate closed when they could have simply rode in through this chunk of nonexistent wall?!

“Silly boy! Because they didn’t –know– about this chunk of nonexistent wall,” Darius answered his unspoken thought, which only made him growl to himself. Then he heard the cat hissing as it shot past him and over to the Wizard. The Wizard just stood there as the cat stared at him, tail whipping about. Grumbling, the old man climbed up into his saddle, pulling his staff up after and resting the butt in his right stirrup.

Agden and Min mounted as well and the cat began to meow incessantly. The old man gave a great big sigh.

“Fine. You can come too, why not?” The cat hopped up and onto the back of the Wizard’s saddle, where it settled in, eyes watching Agden as the gray was urged forward and into the Haunted Forest. As he kicked his own horse forward to follow, he heard something behind and turned to see the ivy resetting itself and the gap in the wall disappearing once more. Again, the wall looked solid and simply covered in the ivy.

“Do you think it all related this morning?” Min called out as she urged her own mount into a trot to catch up with the Wizard and ride beside him. Agden closed the difference between he and the others so he could listen as well.

“Hmm? Oh. Yes, more than likely it is,” Darius replied as he steered his gray around a stump and up a little hill. “But how, that is what concerns me.”

“How far to this woman you want to see?” he asked. He scanned the forest like a hunter might, watching for anything that might be looking to turn the tables and become the predator. This Forest had too many tales about it for him to be comfortable taking a leisurely afternoon ride to see the scenery, not to mention all the Wizard’s warning about venturing into it.

“Not far, not far. There and back before dark, I assure you.”

Agden noticed that the tabby had dug its claws into the leather of the saddle to maintain its perch. He wondered, and not for the first time, just what that cat was all about. He’d heard stories of Magekind taking on pets as familiars, and wondered if this were not such a situation except for the fact that Wizard’s were wholly different from Magekind. Wizard’s were immortal beings, whereas Magekind were Human’s who had been taught the ways of magic.

His thoughts trailed off as the Wizard turned in his saddle and winked at him – winked at him!

“Why do we seek this woman?” Min asked.

“Hmmm? Oh, she has the –sight–. As a Human, she is wont to see things that I might not simply because of her blood.”

“It sounds very complicated,” Min replied.

“It can be,” Darius said with a nod.

As they rode on, Darius and Min continued chatting while Agden concentrated on the forest around them. He couldn’t let himself relax here, despite the beauty of the trees, with their thick branches stretching high into the sky and their moss covered trunks, some giving home to wild blooms of red, yellow and white, awed him. The scent of flowers and trees filled the air along with a musty scent that bespoke of age but not decay. As he scanned around, there were patches of shadows no sunlight seemed able to pierce, and it was these he watched like a hawk as they passed slowly.

Agden could smell the cookfires of a settlement of some kind long before they broke through the trees and into the clearing. Squat, round houses with thatch roofs were spread out forming a little village just on the edge of the Forest. Trees could still be seen all around and one large one still stood in the center of the village, it’s branches as wide as his horse’s torso. He marveled not only at the tree, but the fact that anyone would try to carve out an existence inside the haunted Forest.

A few children, all girls by the look of them, squealed at the sight of them, and ran off in the direction of the great tree. Darius clucked his tongue at his gray and it continued forward and onto a dirt path that wound down and into the heart of the village. A few heads, mostly redheads, popped out of the round houses to see the passersby but none questioned them nor attempted to stop them from proceeding. They reigned to a halt in the center of the village where the great tree cast a shadow across them, the houses, and the well.

Several women, all red heads, were congregated at the well, drawing water up and filling pitchers and buckets laid out on the ground before them. The children who had seen them stood close to one of the women, quite young, who smiled and bent over to shoo them on their way. Straightening again, she took in the three with an unreadable face, eyes lingering the longest on Darius.

“You’d be him then. She said you’d come fer her one day.”

“Did she?” Darius replied rather lightly.

“Yep. Too late though.”

“Too late?” he snapped. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I be showin’ you. Come inside,” she replied, walking off towards the great tree. Darius motioned for them to dismount, and then he followed the girl, pulling his horse behind him. Agden and Min followed as well. Agden scanned the village, noting that he saw many girls, but not a single boy child anywhere. Nor did he see any adult men. Rather than ask the Wizard about it, he simply filed it away for later and kept his pace even and his sword arm free should he need it.

The red headed woman lead them to the base of the great tree, where a large house stood, at least three times larger than all the others he had seen in the little village, and whereas they had thatch roofs and squat walls, this one looked like it had been taken straight out of any town he’d seen and dropped here where it did not belong. Plank walls and clay roof tiles made up the exterior of this two story home. There was even a covered porch and a place to hitch their mounts.

Inside looked just as out of place as the outside. The furniture was good solid oak, sanded and varnished and made to shine and look pretty with patterned cushions. The floors were clean and shiny and the walls papered like an inn – he would have expected this in the fanciest inn in the largest city, not in some backwater village nestled in the middle of nowhere. None of it made sense to his mind.

The Wizard didn’t appear fazed in the least as the red headed woman lead them up the stairs and onto the second floor, no less lavishly decorated than the first. Down the hall and to a set of double doors she lead them, knocking once before opening them and moving inside. Darius and Min followed, and after a moment, so did Agden.

A four post bed stood on the far side of the room with netting and sheer cloth decorating the top and hanging or drooping down in spots. Fresh flowers were arranged in a vase on the bedside table, and other, smaller arrangements were spread throughout the room, filling it with the fresh, clean scent. Windows on opposite sides of the room allowed a gentle breeze to pass through, cooling off the room and it’s occupant.

She sat in a rocking chair looking ancient beyond his reckoning. Her thin hair was as long as her body, falling behind her and touching the floor as she rocked slowly back and forth. Her skin was creased with her age, and mottled as well, but none of this is what caught his breath when he first laid eyes upon her frail looking form. No, what made him pause were the two empty sockets where her eyes should be.

“What happened?” Darius asked softly, using his staff for support as he knelt beside the old woman. The tabby came out of nowhere, circling the room as if inspecting every nook and cranny while Darius knelt before the old woman.

“Townsfolk came. Said Gran be a witch. Gran said they be wrong. They bring weapons, take Gran and put out her eyes – say it be Devil’s work what she See.”

“What utter nonsense,” Darius mumbled.

“Left her tied to a stake for days, waitin’ fer the sun ta kilt her. We got her down and brought her home when they weren’t lookin’. Ain’t been the same since, though. Babbled the first couple days, but she don’t ever speak no more.”

“I’m so sorry,” Darius said to the old woman, patting her hand as it gripped the arm of the rocker. The tabby came and curled around her legs, purring. Agden thought she almost smiled at the touch, but then it was gone so fast he wasn’t certain it had ever happened. The old woman rocked back and forth in the chair, a blank expression on her face as if she were unaware of them in the room with her or that they even talked about her at all.

“Come back a week later and kilt or drug off all the men and boys what rescued Gran.”

Darius looked up. “What? And they’ve not been released?”

“Were kilt and put on spikes.”

Darius pulled himself back to his feet, Min sweeping in to lend him an arm for support. “What the devil is going on here? What town? Tell me everything child.”

“There be a new Preacher man up to Clarion talkin’ bout devils and gods and witches. Say we be witches an such cuzin’ we live in the forest an all. Say Gran be a devil cause she See. Gets them all stirred up and then come put Grans eyes out, then come back and take all the men and kilt em. Then come and take Sister cause she start Seein when Gran stop.”

“What? Your sister? She has the Sight? Which one?”

“Yep. Be Lorna. An they come and took her last night. Gonna burn’er at the stake on Sevenday so’s we can’t save her first.”

Darius looked to Agden and Min. “Tomorrow night,” Agden offered, and the old man nodded. Darius laid his hand on the old woman’s once more and gave it a gentle squeeze, “I won’t let that happen.”

((All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))


Chapter Thirteen

The tabby was the only one in the room to move as Agden fell silent, stretching and yawning before rearranging itself once more on the bed covers, curling up into a little ball with one paw stretched out before it, purring as it closed its eyes. Darius wondered at the silence. ‘Marked’? How and to what purpose? He wanted to see this mark and quite frankly, meet this Moya. The Fey were fickle creatures at the best of times, and cared little or nothing for Humans who they felt had harmed the land in their pursuit of better roads, more farmsteads, villages and towns and taking sed farmsteads, villages and towns from their neighbors in war. Yet here was one that not only took an interest in a Human, she’d helped him slaughter the Draka, tended to his wounds and then somehow had set him on a path to finding answers to his questions?

( He wanted to meet this Moya very badly, oh yes. )

((All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))


Chapter Twelve


Agden fell to his knees in the center of the camp, breaths coming in great, gasps and gulps. He was covered in bits of blood and gore and not all of the blood belonged to others. Wounds he’d not known about as the battle raged were now beginning to burn and ache, letting his mind know they were there and needed tending to. His hands grasp on the bow slipped and it clattered on the fallen Draka before him, it’s head still being shaken in the jaws of the great gray and black wolf known to him now as Wolfbrother.

( Everywhere he looked, other wolves were similarly dismembering the bodies of the Draka... )

(I made some cosmetic changes to this chapter that were bugging me. as always, I reserve the right to make some more later if it STILL bugs me.

If you don't remember where we left our story - I have figured out how to use tags, and have tagged all the Darius Pieces as 'darius', so just click the link and enjoy. As stated before: All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved ))

Darius - Chapter 11


Agden dipped the cloth into the cool water of the stream, wiping away the dust, dirt, sweat and grime from his face. For three days and nights he'd tracked the group as they traveled further and further South until they now lay at the edge of the Barrens near the coast of the Blue Divide - a vast sea with hundreds of villages dotting the shoreline where fishermen and traders made their living on the calm waters.

( A small part of his mind recalled the story of... )

( What do you think?! OMG TELL ME! )

(( All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

Chapter Ten


Darius wiped the tears away, a smile creasing his face quickly enough. He allowed himself a brief moment to remember a different time, when the world was still new, and everything was yet to be discovered. Agatha and he were explorers when the world was as young as they themselves were. For millennia they were inseparable, sharing an insatiable curiosity rivaled only by their passions for the world around them, and eventually that led to a passion for each other, and they found there were still mountains and valleys untouched and waiting for them.

Although many things remained the same over the millennia, just as many had changed. To say they had drifted from each other was an understatement. His last conversation with her had, to say the least, been one of heated debate and they had parted in anger. He'd not seen her since, though his thoughts often turned to that last argument and his own stubbornness.

Tapping his lip with a wrinkled finger, he considered the time frame - four thousand years ago they were still close, still spoke and sought out the others opinions whenever possible, but she had never mentioned any of this to him, and he doubted she would receive him if he turned up on her doorstep to discuss it now. Upon further reflection, it was more likely she'd send a hail of fire down on him and blast it! She was the stubborn one, not he!

"Do you know this woman?" Min asked him.

"What?" he snapped, feeling his blood heating. "Of course I do! What a ridiculous question." The old tabby whipped its tail, and Darius blushed, casting a look in its direction that would have melted steel. "Don't you start..." he said in a low growl. The tabby stretched lazily on the bed covers, then rose and clawed at them to rearrange its little spot more to its liking before curling up again, eyes closed to mere slits. Darius snorted.

"What I don't know," he added in a softer tone, feeding it with a smile for the young woman. "Is why she didn't come running once the scroll was opened." As he thought about it, Darius liked that less and less. A chill shot through him. Could something be wrong? Something that kept her from responding? That thought made him pale.

"I have been moving quite a bit, never two nights spent in the same campsite. Perhaps she could not find me?"

Darius shook his head. "No, if she wanted to find you, she could. No, this is something different," he added, biting his lower lip. "I don't like this one bit." Although the tabby did not move, his eyes shifted to it nonetheless, waiting. After a moment, he looked to the young woman again. "It's not like Aggie to let something like this go unattended."

"She did say to seek you out," Min offered.

"Yes, yes she did, and I like that even less. It bespeaks of Prophecy, as if she knew she would be unable to respond."

"What of the rest? 'Child of Destiny'?"

"Hmmm? Yes, well, Prophecy is often cryptic. That could mean anything. I'll have to think on that." An Emerald Sword, she'd said. That alone was enough to make him shiver to his bones. What if the others had been found as well? Again, his blood heated. He'd told them, begged them to destroy those foul swords when they had the chance, but he'd been outvoted by Eight. Even Aggie had voted against him, and that had hurt more than all the others. And this 'Child of Destiny' business made his stomach turn sour. He recalled all too well the rede that went along with those words.

The room grew quiet, each lost in their own thoughts, the only sound that of the wood popping and cracking in the hearth. Throughout all of this exchange, Agden remained silent, his hands gripping the now empty cup until his knuckles grew white. Darius became aware of the tension radiating out from the man and spoke softly.

"Are you ready to tell us your tale now, my boy?"

"What?" Agden asked, clearly startled. He tried to recover, refilling his cup from the kettle hanging over the fire. When he offered, Darius let him freshin his own cup more so to have something warm between his hands again, rather to have more to drink. Retaking his seat, Agden took several quick sips of his spiced wine and Darius allowed him the delay.

"It is a long tale," he began.

"We have the time, my boy."

Agden nodded, then began to speak.


* * *


The trees along the Old Road had already turned by the time Agden led his horse drawn wagon across the bridge spanning this turn in the Snake River. The water was down from when he last saw it, some six weeks earlier, but no less dangerous to cross anywhere but at the bridge. That water would be cold this time of year, fed by the early snow melt from the mountain tributaries, and he was glad for the old stone work bridge built centuries ago when men spent their time creating such structures instead of tearing them down. The stone roads connecting the Five Cities to each other were built during that time, in what some now called the 'Golden Age'. Making trade easier and the movements of troops to protect the realm possible, they had helped the High King maintain his rule in those early years. But that was all in the past. For Agden, he appreciated the roads, league upon league of quality craftsmanship, and how they got him to and from his home without having to move upon the countryside and could care less about the High King and his Realm. Even the eldest member of his village could not remember a time when the High King's troops came down the road to help them when the raiders came from the coast. Only tax collectors came from the High King these days, and they far too frequently for his taste.

Trade had been excellent this year, his goods having sold more quickly than he could have hoped, and at good profit. The purse filled with gold and silver, hidden well inside his tunic, spoke to the willingness of people to purchase his wares. Everything they, Marion, Leann and himself, had crafted in the workshop last winter had fetched more than a fair price this season. From the small daggers and tools he had forged with the ever present help of Leann to the clothing and leather goods Marion crafted - everything had been in high demand.

Just the thought of Marion and Leann brought a broad smile to his face. Had five years truly passed since he first laid eyes on the woman, on her long golden hair and crystal blue eyes? Five years since he met the curly-haired Leann, who at four proclaimed that he must marry her mother for she desperately needed a father? Marion had been working as a tavern maid at the time, barely squeaking by, making enough coppers each week to provide bread and cheese and milk for Leann, but little else.

Agden had taken to them immediately, finding something in the eyes of a woman and child that he thought he had lost forever, something he saw only when his image was reflected in their eyes. They looked at him and they saw a man and a future, something he had not let himself see in a very long time. He'd been a hired sword at the time, drifting from land to land and taking money from whoever paid the best, quickly drinking it away at night to chase away the dreams. What Marion offered he thought he could no longer have. It had woken him up, gave him purpose again, and so he stayed with them and built a home. He was happy, and he had not thought it possible after all that had happened in his life.

The morning passed slowly, but by midday, he knew he was just a few miles from Devonshire and so decided not to stop for lunch. With luck and if the weather held, he could be home in time for a late dinner and the thought of seeing the two ladies in his life served to sustain him better than food ever could. Soon his mind filled with visions of hearth and home and he barely noted the passing of the sun across the clear blue sky. He didn't even mind the thought of slopping the pigs and cleaning out the stables - which made him chuckle as he recalled hating such when he was a youth. Today, if it meant he was home again, he didn't care what chores awaited him.

The road grew quiet as the day drew on and the sky began to darken. The only sound became the steady clip-clop of the horse's hooves upon the road, the creak of the wagon's wheels and the tap of his walking staff upon the stone. Something about the quiet stirred him from his visions of home and he felt his hackles rise and the grip on his staff tightened instinctively. Suddenly the shadows within the trees to his left and right took on a sinister cast and he found himself scanning them intently.

His sense of unease grew and grew until he stopped the wagon, placed his staff in the back and took up his bow and quiver full of arrows. He strung it quickly, fitting one of the arrows loosely to test the draw before moving on again. He couldn't put his finger on what was bothering him, but something just didn't feel right and he thought it would be better to be prepared. When he started down the road again, his pace had doubled.

The village of Devonshire lay midway between the Cities of Castledown and Sunridge. It was a good two months from either even on the road, and two weeks from the nearest village. Nestled within the Broken Forest near the banks of the Secca River, Devonshire was home to some three hundred people and had another hundred spread out on farms in the surrounding countryside. For five years, Agden had lived among these people, had helped with crops and livestock, and new families build homes and the older ones make repairs. He'd been happy here, had come to call this place home.

When he crested the hill, he found it unusually dark and quiet.

Every home, every building had a palpable silence that increased his wariness. He scanned every doorway, every shadow for any signs of movement. There was none. Evenly spaced along the main road, the lamp poles were cold and dark; the first time he could remember Darby failing to light them at dusk. He approached darkened homes at random, knocking on doors only to find them unlocked or completely open with some being broken and splintered as if forced, never going more than a step or two inside and always with his bow half bent and ready. But he found nothing; no people; no bodies.

Soon he gave up and made his way down the road, scanning it for signs of the villagers but finding it difficult to make out anything in the crisscrossing tracks and failing light. Except for the lack of people, everything looked perfectly normal. He decided to head for the one place everyone would gather in times of trouble, the one place they would all meet to organize if there were a problem that needed to be solved; The Pony.

The Pony stood in the center of the village, an inn and tavern renowned for the ale brewed and served by Horatio Snupple, the portly owner and long-time friend to Agden. He had even managed to talk Agden into taking four barrels of 'Snupple Brew' with him to 'spread the word' up North. He was also head of the Village council and wore the Mayor's seal around his neck during the Yuletide and Beltide festivals. The Pony itself was a two-story building with a dozen rooms and a large common which doubled as a council chambers on seven-day. Normally it was full of light and noise with men enjoying a tankard of ale and Claudie singing and playing the harp.

Tonight, he found it had been burned to the ground.

Only the blackened chimney's and door frame were left standing - everything else had been reduced to ash. Agden stared at the smoldering remnants in shock. He climbed the stone steps slowly, scraping away bits of ash and blackened wood with the bottom of his bow. Where the doors once stood he stopped. A thick chain and large lock lay in the ashes at his feet, the metal blackened but not damaged. His mind reeled with the possibilities. A number of burned and blackened bodies could just be made out amidst the rubble inside. ...but the chain and lock were on the outside of the door, which meant...

Adgen turned his head away and began to vomit.

The realization of where all the people had gone struck him like a blow and he fell from the stone porch into the dirt and mud below. He imagined how they had been herded like sheep to the slaughter, all the people he had come to call friends, and his stomach continued to empty. They must have come in the night, dragging people from their homes and bringing them here to die. Devonshire would be easy pickings for any armed force with nothing but pitch-forks and staves in the hands of farmers to defend themselves. But why? Why attack Devonshire? It made no sense. They were far from the borderlands where raids by Draka or Gwear were commonplace; this was the heart of the kingdom! And the houses he had seen, they showed no signs of being ransacked - everything of value was still here. Only the people were gone. It made no sense. There was nothing here except, except...

He vomited again and again.

After a time, his stomach empty and his mind fleeing into the dark places he dared not tread any longer, instinct took over. In a handful of breaths, he'd wiped his mouth on his sleeve and began freeing the horse from the wagon. He retrieved his saddle from the wagon bed and quickly placed it on the horse, tightening straps and adding his saddle bags. He refused to let his eyesight linger on the Inn, refused to let his mind wander to lost friends. Instead, he focused on getting to Marion, on seeing Leann look up at him again with total love and trust in her eyes. He pictured them safe in his mind and willed it to be so. They had come for..., no, he shook his head - they could not know - they could not know!

Saddled and ready, the horse refused to move, its nostrils flaring at the smell of so much death. Agden kicked, driving it forward forcing it to obey him. Down the road they went, Agden urging the horse into a gallop as the village passed in a blur of empty homes left dark and lifeless. Agden saw none of it, his eyes focused on the road ahead, on the farm and his family alone in the darkness.

The turn-off was a dirt road running north-south to the Old Road. North it branched into seven different places, Agden's among them. To the south there were more, but Agden cared little for raising the alarm, turning north at a dead gallop, his horse ragged for having to run so hard after such a long journey. Normally it took an hour to make the trip between the village and the farm, but Agden pushed his horse hard, hoping to cut that time in half. The sun had dipped so far beneath the horizon the last rays had long since turned from red to purple and he wanted to come home before full dark enveloped it in shadow.

But he could not outrun the sun and by the time he came to the farmstead he shared with Marion, the sky was dark. Within sight of the house he pulled back on the reigns, bringing the horse to an abrupt stop. Breathing hard and covered in lather, the horse was too tired to resist as he tied it to a tree. Scanning the darkness, he could just make out the silhouette of the house in the starlight. His heart thundering in his ears, he made his way across the darkness and to the back of the house. The door was ajar.

He searched in the dark, making his way from room to room, seeing without feeling. The back door was splintered as if it had been kicked in. The kitchen had been tossed as if someone in a hurry had flipped the table out of their way. Pots, pans and foodstuffs lay on the floor, ripped from the shelves. The common room lay in shambles, the furniture broken and the few books he owned shredded. The small trapdoor leading to the hiding place beneath the floor had been smashed in from above. Up the stairs he found clothing torn, beds cut to shreds and goose down everywhere.

His family was gone; taken.

Downstairs in the common room, he took the broken leg from his rocking chair and wrapped a strip of cloth around the end. In the kitchen, he found a jar of lamp oil intact and soaked the cloth. With flint he lit the torch and made his way out to the barn and the workshop. In the torchlight he could see that the corral next to the barn was empty, the fence broken in several places. All the livestock had either been taken or had fled in terror or hunger. The barn was empty too, the workshop torn apart just as the house had been, almost as if someone were looking for something.

Feeling as if a cold hand had gripped him around the throat, he made his way back out into the night and began to sweep his torch low across the ground, looking for any signs or tracks leading toward the house. After an hour, he found them - imprints in the grass leading from the forest to the house and from the house they led to the road and on to the village. The tracks looked like booted feet but he couldn't be sure in the torchlight, they looked odd but he couldn't place why. All he knew was that they came here first. They came here, took his family and then went to the village and killed them, along with everyone else who lived there.

By torchlight he made his way back to the workshop and lit the lamps, one by one until the room was filled with light. Through rage and determination, he shouldered the massive work-bench he'd built with his own hands aside some five feet until the trapdoor beneath was revealed. From within he pulled out several bundles wrapped in leather and cloth, tossing them aside until he found what he wanted.

He pulled the sword from its hiding place, hand grasping the hilt as if no time at all had passed since last he held it. The wrappings wound tightly up the blade and around the hilt gave way when he worked the knots free to expose the blade to the light of the lamps. Made by a master years before he was born, it still held the same keen edge as when he hid it here five years earlier. Rumor and legend within his family held that the blade had been forged using the blood, sweat and tears of the forger, and the spells of an Alchemist.

Setting the sword aside, he continued to pull his belongings from the space beneath the floor; soft leather pants, chain mail armor, padded leather shirt, oiled cloak, daggers, yew longbow, quiver and arrows, boots - all of it black as night.

The rest of the night is spent working the leather, sharpening the blades and fletching arrows. Visions of his family dying haunt him through the night, their cries fill his ears until tears flow from his eyes. Fire takes hold in the pit of his stomach, slow to burn at first, then roaring in his ears.

With the first rays of sunlight, he intends to track them and kill them to the last man. No mercy. No quarter.

The morning can not come soon enough for him.

(( All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

Chapter Nine



"I'll be all right," Darius sputtered. The spiced wine had been warmed well enough but the young woman seemed determined to force the entire cup down his throat. He had to push her away with both his hands and a half-hearted glare that only made her smile the way young people did when they were humoring you, even when you knew they were humoring you.

"Agden said it would do you good, yes?" Her accent sounded strange as her tongue wrestled with the name. The common tongue was a second language to her and from what his own ear told him, one she had learned only a few short years ago. She still had trouble with things like names and double meanings from time to time, as she had quite openly said a moment ago. He tried to place her accent, but he had never spent as much time in the far East as the Others had, so he found himself unable to place it to any of the names he'd read on maps.

"And he was correct," Darius admitted. "But I've had enough, thank you," he announced firmly, then thought better of it and smiled to take the sting away. She seemed pleased and returned to fussing about the room, straightening his covers and giving Agden a look that had the man up from his chair in a heartbeat, stoking the fire. Interesting, that.

Three days he'd been bedridden. He played the grumpy old man on the outside, but within, Darius felt the fool. Not preparing for what was needed, becoming overextended by such a simple illusion and then having to be carried back to the Keep like an invalid. It was the kind of mistake he could no longer afford to make, not if he planned to survive long enough to see this through to the end. Suppose he hadn't been able to control his power at all? Then what? A catastrophe, that's what it would have been, a mistake to echo through the ages.

From what little he had seen from his visions on the balcony, he knew that he must see this through to the end or else watch the world suffer for a thousand years while he waited for the time when he could again be of some use. He could not let that future come to pass, no matter the cost to himself.

The cat whipped its tail on the bedcovers as if to agree, and Darius stuck his chin out stubbornly, about to comment when Agden, retaking his seat, spoke first.

"What happened out there?" the man asked in a husky voice.

Darius found his interest in the mug of wine renewed and began turning it, slowly, between his hands as if to warm them, avoiding the intense stare coming from the man. There was so much uncertainty in the world these days, so many things he'd failed to take note of or had let get away from him as he wasted away here in the Keep, waiting for the release of death and the ecstasy of rebirth. He'd already decided to trust these two, looking into their hearts he had found enough good to allow for some measure of trust, but how far should that trust extend? Wizard's had to use people, that he knew, and it grew more difficult to do so when emotions became a part of it all.

"They followed me for two of your months, now," Min said as she sat down. She had a cup of green tea and sipped at it as she settled into the chair. She had stated her full name but like Agden, Darius had settled for simply calling her 'Min'. "Every time I thought that I had lost them, they reappeared a day or two later, back on my trail as if they were, how you say? 'Bloodhounds'?" she grimaced, taking a sip of the tea as if to drown the memory.

"Two months?" Darius asked, eager for the distraction. She either didn't realize that the question was meant for him, or she did and meant to break the tension and divert Agden's curiosity. Whichever were true, Darius was glad for her presence. He was not yet ready to explain the Forest.

"Hmm, yes," she swallowed another sip of tea. "I first encountered them in a village named... Cromwell, I think."

"Cromwell?" Agden looked over at her for the first time. "Near the base of the Dragon Wall?"

"Yes. I had just crossed those mountains-"

"What?! You crossed the Dragon Wall? At Cromwell?"

"Yes."

"That is a difficult pass, frozen more than half the year. If you crossed two months ago, that would have put you in those mountains during the worst of the winter season. That's not possible."

"It was difficult, I agree, but not 'impossible'," she said, giving him a cool look while adjusting her clothing the way women often did. "I lost my pack mules and the two week journey I had planned for took three and a half, but I was able to cross the mountains."

"What would possess you to cross the Dragon Wall out of season?"

"Him."

Darius had both of them staring now and he felt it was the right time for tales to be told, if not by him then at least by the two of them while he considered the matter. His own curiosity was muted by his concerns, but he still needed to hear their tales in part or in whole as they saw fit to share. And, there was something about her, an element of Power that he could not finger...

"Go on, my dear. It is time for you both to reveal your tales."

"Very well," she nodded, cocking her head to the side rather like a bird.

She took another sip of her tea, then set it aside on the small table, closing her eyes as if to collect her thoughts before she began.

"My tale begins four thousand years ago, when both the sun, and the moon, shone blood red in the sky and dark things crept from the shadows of the earth, destroying all they touched and corrupting even the purest of hearts to commit evil acts upon family and friend alike. This was the end of time, or so many feared, except for a small band of men living at the Temple School high above my village on the side of the mountain.

"Here, the men fought the Shadow things the only way they could, filling their halls with light day and night, driving them away, creating a sanctuary where all would be safe. There was so much light in the Temple those four days that no Shadows could be seen at all, and the Temple blazed like a beacon in the night. The people of the village fled there, along with those from the countryside as well, all seeking the safety the Temple had created.

"Four days and nights, they huddled together, the Shadow things calling to them from the walls, trying to entice the people to come out. Many heard those calls, and began to heed them, trying to put out the candles and the torches, snuff the light that protected them all. The men of the Temple, scholars all, saw that they needed not only the light to drive the Shadows away, but also a way to block their evil whispers. One of their number suggested that they chant to drown out the whispers of the Shadows. So they began to chant. The people joined them, their voices becoming stronger and soon, all those within the Temple walls were chanting, and the whispers could no longer be heard.

"They were safe.

"And on the fifth day, the sun rose, and it was no longer covered in blood. The people and the students and teachers of the Temple cheered and celebrated. The sun climbed higher and higher, and all the Shadows had been driven away.

"In the middle of the celebration, a shadow passed across the sun, and the people screamed and fled from the Temple, fearing that the Shadows were not, in fact, gone. The students and teachers remained, staring up as a great winged shape appeared in the skies above. Body like a serpent, a Great Green Dragon spiraled down and down until it landed, softly, in the courtyard of the school. Those assembled were either too frightened or too stunned to do anything but stand there and stare as a cloaked figure sitting atop the Great Dragon's back spoke:

"'The men of this school fought the Shadows when few others in the world had the courage and the conviction. Who began the chanting?" the voice was that of a woman, and many in the crowd were surprised. A young student stepped forward, ushered forward by his teacher, a wizened figure, stooped with age and leaning heavily on a cane. The young man ducked his head, bowing again and again, and She of the Dragon laughed brightly.

"'Well done!' she said. 'A blessing on your family for a thousand generations!' And then, addressing the entire group again, she asked, 'Would you continue that fight?' the young man stepped back, a grin on his face at the blessing placed upon him, his teacher stepping forward to speak for all, 'We would,' he said. 'Ever is the struggle between Light and Dark, Good and Evil. When the battle comes, we will stand for Light.' And the figure on the Dragon was pleased. A bundle, wrapped tightly in silks and skins, rose from the place behind her and floated down to the young man, who took it and reverently touching it to his forehead.

"'From this day forward, it is your charge to prepare for the coming battle, and to keep this safe from harm. Never let it fall into the hands of those who worship the Darkness. Keep it forever bathed in Light.'

"She then gave them a sealed scroll, instructing them that it should never be opened unless that which she placed in their charge should be stolen or lost. The Great Dragon reared its head and bellowed, a sound that shook the school, forcing the men to their knees in fear. When they looked up again, the Dragon and its rider where high in the sky and soon disappeared."

"Did anyone ever open the scroll?" Agden asked.

"Yes, they did. I will get to that in a moment.

"The school was transformed on that day. It became the Temple of the Emerald Dragon. That which they were charged with protecting was placed in the heart of the Temple and heavily guarded day and night, ten thousand candles surrounding it at all times. A shift in education occurred, adding training of the body to that of the mind and the spirit. They were taught how to think, how to heal, and how to kill. It has been so for four thousand years, with the son of the Master accepting the charge of protecting the relic and training the Monk's for the coming battle."

"What was in the wrapping?" Agden asked.

"An Emerald sword."

Darius' grip on his mug tightened, but he tried not to let any sign of his distress be known by the two warriors before him. The implications of an Emerald Sword, especially one tendered into the care of these Monk's by a cloaked woman riding one of the Great Dragons, Ssslekoth, by the description of it, frightened him more than he wanted to admit.

"And this sword was stolen," he said quietly.

"Yes. But there is more. My father, he was the Master of the Temple for sixty years. I am his eldest child, a disappointment as were all my sisters."

"Your father was disappointed in having only daughters?" Agden asked, and her face immediately softened, a small smile spreading across her face.

"No. My father was an enlightened man, and he loved his children with all his heart," her expression changed into a grimace. "It was the Temple Monks, and the townsfolk who considered each and every one of us to be a disappointment. The Master, they said, needed a Male heir." At this, she paused, sipping at her tea. Darius was not about to force her to continue, and nor was Agden. If all he knew and all he suspected about the man were true, he would be all too aware of the pressure to produce only male children, the men of the North had ever been obsessed with their heirs.

"I had three younger sisters, each born little more than two years apart. My mother died while giving birth to my youngest sister. Although heartbroken, my father had no choice but to remarry, pressured as he was to produce an heir. The Elders gave him two years to mourn, then they chose a woman for him to marry and within a year, she was pregnant with child. I was twelve years old when my half-brother was born.

"There was much celebration when the boy was born; a chubby child, always smiling and laughing. My sisters and I adored him.

"But the woman chosen to be my father's wife was cold to my sisters and I, never bonding with us and this bothered my father greatly. He was proud of all his children but try as he did, he could not force the woman to accept us. Then, when he presented his son to the Elders of the Order, Master Xou, oldest and wisest of the Elders, refused to allow the child near him. He said the he would not accept the child as the next Master of the Temple, and would not elaborate as to why.

"Devastated, my father didn't know what to do or say, so he took his leave, returning my brother back to our quarters where he left the baby with his mother while he went to the chapel to meditate. When he returned, both his wife and the child were gone. He searched everywhere for them and could find them nowhere within the Temple. At the gates, the Guards said that a man in black had come with two horses and that my father's wife and son had left with this man. They could not describe him nor explain why they allowed the man inside the Temple gates in the first place, let alone why they let him leave. He went to the Elders seeking guidance, and found all twelve dead, though no marks or wounds could be found on their bodies. But their chamber, normally flooded with candlelight, was dark; every candle but a handful had been snuffed out. My father raced to the heart of the Temple, only to find the relic still bathed in Light, wholly untouched and unmolested.

"A search party was sent out immediately to find the Black Rider and my father's wife and child. They tracked the horses for five miles and then the tracks simply ended in the middle of a rice field. No other trace of them could be found."

"How long ago was this," Darius asked.

"Sixteen years."

"I see," he leaned back, wishing he had his pipe nearby, his fingers positively twitched with the need. "Go on."

"My father never recovered from these events. He refused several more marriage proposals and broke the rules of the Temple by taking his finest student, and naming him heir while training me secretly as he would have trained his own son. He was determined to pass along his knowledge to one of his own blood, even if it meant his death should it ever be found out. Li Shen and I often trained together, alone with my father.

"We trained in secret until three years ago, when we were discovered. My father was proud of my skills and one night, while drinking with one of his oldest friends, he boasted of how his daughter had learned faster and better than any son. I was pulled from my blankets that very night, exiled from the Temple, never to see my father again.

"I remained close though, finding work in a nearby village, collecting herbs for the local healer. I was able to see my sisters from afar from time to time, but never talk to them or find out my father's fate; they were always under the escort of the Temple Guard. Li Shen had been my, how do you say? 'Sweetenedheart?'"

"Sweetheart," Darius said with a smile.

"'Sweetheart', yes. Five months after I was exiled, he managed to sneak out of the Temple, delivering to me a letter from my father. It said that he was still as proud of me as he would be of any son, and begged forgiveness for a foolish old man who could not hold his drink. I was overjoyed to learn that he was all right, and that he continued to train Li Shen, but there was a standing order that any who had contact with me, would be exiled as well. I made Li Shen promise to never sneak out to find me again. I could not bear the thought that he might be exiled because of me."

Min blushed at the memory, and for a moment, Darius caught a glimpse of something terribly private in his minds eye, clearing his throat quickly and taking a long pull off his wine. Strong emotions often projected themselves...

Still blushing, Min took several sips of tea before continuing. Agden's face was unreadable.

"Perhaps two months following Li Shen's visit," and she still managed to blush, "I was hunting herbs deep in the forest, and I kept catching whiffs of smoke on the breeze, but could not place where they were coming from. As I continued deeper, I heard the sounds of a battle being fought, steel against steel, men crying out in pain and anger. I dropped my basket and ran as fast as I could.

"Six warriors from the Temple were locked in combat with men wearing odd armor," and she looked, briefly, at Agden before continuing. "Black, it was, and they wore helms that covered their faces, each helm decorated oddly, with faces of animals locked in snarls or roars - I had never seen its like before. They greatly outnumbered the Temple warriors, and I knew that I must do something to help. Their leader sat high atop his horse, black as night and covered in scaled armor as it was. His helm actually looked like a wolfshead with yellow/gold eyes, the snout long and the fangs colored red with fresh blood - I shuddered as I stared at him, but I knew that he had to fall.

"I circled around, cutting a bamboo stalk with my knife to use as a bo, but when I had made my way to where I had hoped to take him by surprise, I found that he had turned his horse to face me. He sat there, chuckling in a raspy voice as I planted my feet. Everything after happened so fast." She sipped her tea again, color fading from her face.

"Go on," Darius said softly. "Nearly done now." Nodding, she continued.

"He drew his sword in a blur, and I saw that the very steel of the blade was black. Kicking his horse forward, it reared and then began to charge. Doing honor to my father, and to those who came before him, I stood my ground, remembering all of my training through the years. When the sword cut, I was no longer there, the bo whipping around and up, striking the rider between chin and chest, sending him falling from the horse.

"On any other rider, this should have been a killing blow - but not on this one. He stood, staggering, hacking and coughing to face me, sword still held firmly in his hand. The fight was more difficult than any I had known, he moved like lightning, forcing me to dodge that sword time and time again, landing blows with my bo that should have broken bones and yet did not, his armor was so strong. And then I managed to knock the helm from his head, the thing falling away and bouncing off into the tall grass. It was at this moment that I discovered the true nature of my foe.

"He was a Demon."

"Demon?!" Agden asked, and she nodded again.

"There is no other word for what I saw. Beneath his helm, he had skin so pale that I could see through it, sunken into a face that seemed to cling to the bone it was so thin - there is a wod. . . "

"Emaciated," offered Darius. She seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded.

"Emaciated," she agreed, then continued. "His eyes were red and they glowed faintly, his teeth were more like fangs, all sharply pointed. And he grinned - he always grinned." She shuddered.

"The Qar," Agden said quietly. "Shadow Spawn - the walking dead."

The blood had drained from Agden's face as he spoke. His hands shook as he reached for his mug and took a long, slow drink of the now cold spiced wine. For his part, Darius was disturbed as well, knowing that the Qar rarely crossed the Dragon Wall, preferring to remain in the dark places they had carved out of the wastelands there, feeding on the foolish and unwary traveler. They only ventured forth when they were driven to do so by something worse then they themselves, something they truly feared, like the Orcs and their ilk.

"Qar," Min said, testing the word.

"Yes," added Darius. "They rarely leave the wastelands of the North, well beyond the mountains called the Dragon's Teeth. For them to have traveled so far is ominous, to say the least. You bested him, of course?"

"I did. Once his helm was knocked loose, a pair of strong blows to his head, broke the bones inside and he collapsed in a heap. But I still needed to help the others, and there were so many of the enemy and so few of us."

"They feed on the blood of the living, you know," Agden said, emptying his cup.

"Not now, my boy," Darius said softly. "Go on," he said to Min. Agden stood and refilled his cup.

"I started attacking those on the outer edge of the battle, stripping them of weapons by breaking their hands - which seemed to work well enough. It was enough of a distraction to rally the warriors for a time, but there were just too many of the creatures, these 'Qar' and I knew it was only a matter of time before we all fell. I had hoped that help would come from the Temple, but it never did. When a young warrior fell I took up his weapons, the same as I wear now, and continued the fight until the leader of the group, wounded and dying, called to me. I knelt before him and knew him at once - my love, my life, Li Shen. He clutched at my shirt, telling me that I must take on his quest or all will be lost.

"'The Temple has fallen,' he told me. 'Late in the night they came, creatures like these, led by two riders all in black. They could not be stopped. They took the sword.' I was torn. 'My father?' I asked and he could only cry. 'It's all gone - it burns now! There is no Temple! They destroyed it! Take this and go!' he shoved a bloodied scroll and a purse of gold into my hands, pushing me away. 'It has always been your quest, not mine. Go! We shall buy you time with our life's blood. GO!'

"I helped him to his feet again, placing his sword in his hand. There were black shafted arrows in his chest, but still I hugged him for I knew that I must do this thing and that I could not save any of them. Then I ran, and I ran, until I could not hear the sounds of battle anymore, the cries of the dying. And then I ran some more, on and on, until I could not bear it any longer.

"I found a cave and took shelter from a storm gathering in the sky. I am not too proud to admit that I cried for a time, how long, I do not know. Eventually, though, I had cried enough and so built a small fire. From the light of that weak and sputtering fire, I read this scroll."

As she placed the scroll upon bed, Darius let out a sigh. He'd sensed something ever since he'd seen her upon the road, something ancient and powerful but couldn't place it or identify what it was. Now he had. Agden stared into the fire, no longer paying attention, his eyes lost in some memory, the refilled cup forgotten in his hand.

She unrolled it gently, reverently spreading the parchment as she began to read: "To the bearer of the scroll do I place a terrible burden, but I do not apologize for it. The Darkness comes again. The Emerald Sword has been taken and a Child of Destiny is lost. As you open this scroll, I will know but I may not be able to help you. There is one you must seek, a Wizard of some repute. This scroll will guide you to him, revealing a map to your eyes, if you hold it before you and speak his name, Darius, each night as the sun sets and the stars begin to shine. Find him and he will know the way and guide you upon the path.

"The Sword must be found. The Child must be found. Or all is lost.

"So sayeth I, Agatha, Wizard of the Ancient Power, Keeper of Prophecy."

"Oh, Aggie..." Darius sighed, unshed tears in his eyes.

(( All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

Chapter Eight


For three days and three nights, the old man - the Wizard called Darius, lay in bed, in and out of consciousness. The old fat tabby sat at the foot of that bed, most of the time, watching the comings and goings of the two guests turned nursemaids very carefully. Agden found himself quickly taking orders from the tiny woman who had arrived with the soldiers so close on her heels; running to fetch water for the bucket in the room, or wood for the fire, which she expected him to keep blazing. The old man was cold, she said, even as she wiped his brow with a damp cloth or spooned a weak broth between his lips.

She'd introduced herself soon after they had managed to get the old man into the Keep, finding his room and placing him in his own bed so he could rest and recover in comfort. Only, try as he might, he couldn't pronounce her name, so they settled on 'Min', a nickname her siblings had used nearly all her life. He got the feeling that she was used to being in charge, and to having people do exactly as they were told without question. For the most part, he was willing to let her have her way - he didn’t know what was wrong with the old man and wasn’t keen to have to take care of him. He was much more comfortable seeing to her horse, placing it in a stall near his own, feeding and grooming it, trying to keep his mind from wandering to 'other' distractions. . . .

The Mist continued to haunt him, and the Keep itself seemed hell bent to do the same.

On the second day following the old man's collapse, he managed to screw up enough courage to go back up on the wall above the spot, take a look with the midday sun high above.

To his surprise, his eyes could catch nothing on the ground below that told of a battle just two days before. The dry, brown grass looked completely untouched, not even giving away the tell tale signs that horses had stood there, prancing nervously. There were no indications of fire; no burn marks or charred grass as there should be. His eyes tracked to where, he was sure, the leader had sat atop his horse. His mind flashed to his arrow striking the man in the chest, his body instantly engulfed in flames and thrown back to. . . there. He was sure he stared at the spot where the body had struck the ground. Only, there was no sign of it. It was as if the entire area had never seen a battle or a fire or any of it.

A sudden chill at that thought and he turns away to find the tabby sitting atop a merlon, staring at him, eyes wide, face nearly smiling. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, then the cat spun around and raced down the stairs and across the courtyard, disappearing into the Keep through the half open front doors he swore he'd shut as he left. The chill shot through him a second time, wondering what that cat was all about and how the doors had opened.

Aside from the encounter on the wall, to the best of his knowledge, the cat never left the old man's side, and that only deepened an ongoing mystery - The Keep itself.

After placing the old man in his own blankets, building up the fire, starting a broth for him in one of the smaller kitchen pots, Agden had taken Min up the stairs, carrying her things for her, searching for the room he was sure Darius had prepared. Every door he tried, with the exception of his own and the bath, were locked. While he tried to find a way to open them, or find stairs that, perhaps, lead to another level, Min walked slowly down the hall, pausing in front of a door he had already tried.

"This one," she said, and he shook his head 'no', the words 'I tried that door and it was locked' on the tip of his tongue as she reached down and turned the knob, opening the door with a grin for him that left him mute, his jaw snapping shut with a click. Shaking his head, he followed her into the room, a mirror of his own, and deposited her bags on the bed before showing her the bath, staring at the fire in the hearth and the water in the kettle, neither of which were his doing.

Leaving her to freshen up, he made his way back down the stairs to the little room the Wizard kept just off of the kitchen, checking that he was still asleep and that the broth had not boiled over, giving it a quick stir with the wooden spoon he found, before heading out the back and around the keep to see to her horse. She was a fine animal, in his opinion, a dappled gray with a gentle enough demeanor, taking a proffered carrot from his hand greedily, which elicited a stomp from Fury in his stall down the row. Grinning, he took another carrot to the warhorse, whispering something about jealousy as he stroked his nose before returning to the gray, pulling off the saddle and grooming her, filling her water and spreading a little fresh hay.

By the time he had finished, Min stood in the doorway, watching him. She nodded her approval upon seeing all he had done for her horse, which she hadn't bothered to name. He tried explaining how wrong that was as she lead him back to the Keep, up the stairs and to her door. When he realized that he had been jabbering enough to not notice where they were going, he shut up again.

"Open this door," she said. Shrugging, he took hold of the doorknob, twisting and pushing - the door didn't budge. Nodding to herself, Min opened it easily, then closed it again.

"Which is yours?" she asked, and he led her down the hall to the door with the odd looking rune on it. She took the doorknob and twisted it, shoving against the door - it didn't budge anymore than hers had. Mystified, he tried it and it opened with little effort.

"As I thought," she said.

"What's this all about?" he asked.

"When I returned from my bath, all of my things had been neatly folded and put away." The small hairs on the back of his neck had gone stiff. "I thought you had done this for me, but you cannot enter my room, so, who folded my clothes and put them away?"

Agden had no answer for that, except to tell her that the same thing had happened to him, only he'd been in the room, asleep, at the time.

This was not the only odd thing that happened in the Keep those three days. As he and Min worked in the kitchen, preparing meals, the spoons and knives would move when they turned their backs - he was sure of it. Put a spoon down, turn your back for a moment, and it would suddenly be hanging back on its peg rather than sitting on the table where you had placed it. As if that were not bad enough, they had been in the kitchen, Min making flatbread while he built a stew, and Min stepped out into the little garden looking for some fresh herbs for him. She called to him and he stepped out to help her carry in a few tomatoes and three onions, all of which were ripe and ready for picking. When they returned, the kitchen was clean. Where she had been working with the flour to make her bread, the table had been cleaned and where he had been chopping vegetables for the stew, the leavings and juices on the board were gone.

He'd never seen anything like it.

The last encounter for him, had been late on the third night. He was tired but his mind raced so much he could not rest, so he made his way into the great room with the overstuffed chairs and started a fire in the cold hearth. They had found a supply of wax candles, he'd been happy they were not tallow as he so often found the further he got from 'civilization', along with candlesticks so he lit several and placed them around the room. That's when he noticed the bookshelves along the walls and began running his fingers across their spines, the number of them he recognized far outnumbered by the ones he'd never heard of. Sliding two out of their places, he blew the dust off of them before retreating to the chair closest to the fire.

The Lay of the Dragonslayer was the sort of epic poem he had enjoyed in his youth, and it was always a little different depending on the skill of the bard singing it. As he read it that night, he heard several voices relating it, picking and choosing from his own memories the one who had done the sections better, the youth with the curly gold locks singing about the destruction of the village, and the old man, singing with such passion as the Dragonslayer discovers his family and friends all gone, killed by the Dragon in a fit of rage.

At that, he decided it hit too close to home and closed the book, sitting up and reaching for the second on the table before him only to find it gone. Letting out a sigh, he looked all around the table and chair, trying to see if maybe it had dropped to the floor somehow, but it hadn't. Pushing himself up from the chair, he knew where it had to be. Making his way back to the shelf, he found the second book, back in its spot on the shelf as if he had never moved it.

He decided that the Keep must be haunted, making a warding gesture against evil even as the thought passed through his mind. Replacing the book of poems in its place, he went to check on the old man and give Min a chance to rest since he would not be sleeping that night.

Min was something of a mystery herself, and one that he tried from the start to puzzle out.

She spoke slowly, carefully sounding out words and would often repeat, to herself, things he would say to her, almost as if she were testing them on her own tongue. He realized soon enough that the Common tongue was new to her, though how new he wasn't sure. There was an unspoken agreement between them that they would not speak of why they were here until the old man was up again. To accommodate her, though, he would speak slowly, and she seemed to appreciate it. She would get a small smile on her face when talking to him. On anyone else, he would have thought it a smirk, but somehow, on her it wasn't; there was something about the way it touched her eyes that made it different and caused him to be flustered and warm all at once.

The meals they prepared were far more pleasant, despite the odd ghost moving something, as she had no stomach for the spicy fare the Wizard had turned out, instead working together the would fix food that was more palatable to both. She was fond of fish and rice, of which there was little of the former, and only slightly more of the latter, but he got her to try a few simple stews he made and she managed a flatbread that was both soft and sweet. For the Wizard, it was always just the broth, carefully spoon-fed.

Always his lips were moving, the old man dreaming while he slept, speaking a few words now and again just loud enough for them to hear. Never coherent sentences, never anything that made sense, until the morning of the third day, when he whispered, "He waits for me still." Agden was alone at the time, only the cat there watching him. Min had gone off to stretch and get some food to break the old mans fast.

"Who?" he found himself asking, but the only answer came from the cat, who whipped its tail on the bed covers, giving him a reproachful look. Darius seemed not to breathe for a few seconds, and Agden was ready to call for Min, but then he exhaled and began breathing normally again. Min arrived a minute later with some broth and began to feed him, so Agden excused himself, but he couldn’t help but wonder who the old man might be talking about. Who was waiting for him? Where and why?

There were always more questions than answers, this he knew. Three years he had been searching the wilds for this place, this 'Wizard's Keep' and the one called Darius. Three years to find the answers to questions long since burned into his very soul. Three years since the life he had built for himself slowly, hesitantly, had been ripped away in a single night. Three years since she came upon him in the forest, he covered in the blood and gore of his enemies, she bathed in twilight, and took pity on him, setting him on this path.

Three years.

"He is awake and is asking for us," Min said to him early on the fourth day.

Pushing himself up out of the chair, he nodded, following her, wondering would Darius have any of the answers?

(( All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

Chapter Seven



Agden woke in a panic, reaching for the dagger at his side only to find it gone. In a blur of motion he jumped from the covers and stood with his back to the wall, eyes blinking in the light coming from the window above the bed. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he scanned his surroundings. By the stonework of the walls he judged that he'd spent the night in a castle, in a plain room with little in the way of furniture or trappings. Both his sword and dagger, resting in their sheaths with the former in its baldric and the latter on his belt, hung from iron pegs in the wall behind the door. His unstrung bow leaned just beneath them with the quiver of arrows lying on the floor beside it.

The memory of the previous night returned to him as his dreams slowly faded. He was in the Wizard's Keep, the home of the Wizard Darius, with the Haunted Forest all around him and he trapped with a strange old man and a cat inside. He relaxed, but he did not delude himself into believing that he should feel safe by any means. Had not the Wizard warned him that the Keep was in itself a dangerous place? The chamber pot beckoned and he answered the call, thinking back to the night before as he relieved himself.

Strangely, he remembered his climb up the stairs to this room in a sleepy haze, but was sure that he simply fell into bed fully dressed, yet his dagger now hung on the wall and his saddlebags, which he'd dumped on the floor, lay stacked neatly in the corner near the tall chest. Hesitantly, he opened the top drawer and found his clothing folded and freshly cleaned. Opening the middle drawer he found more of his things neatly arranged, and the same with the bottom. Angry, he slipped the baldric over his shoulder and the belted dagger around his waist before wrenching the door open-

The door stood fast, remaining closed. He pulled again, to no avail. Confused for a moment, he noted the bolt thrown closed and slowly slid it back. Gently he pulled on the door and it opened. The door had been locked from the inside, and in the haze of his memory, he remembered locking it. Yet if it were locked, how had the old man cleaned his things and put them away?

Any sense of relaxation he'd felt fled his body quickly, leaving it cold and shaking. He looked around the room again, his eyes narrowing, searching for any sign of another entry point. Working slowly, his rough hands feeling their way across the chiseled rock walls, he searched for any crack or flaw that might indicate a secret passage of some sort, tapping now and again with the hilt of his dagger, listening for the telltale echo that indicated a passageway or tunnel. He knew of other castles honeycombed with them, secret tunnels used by the lords of those manors to spy on guests, murder rivals and visit a mistress or two, but he could find no such tunnel entrance here. Still, he supposed it could be hidden with magic.

Turning from the room, he made his way downstairs, determined to speak with the Wizard about concepts of privacy. The downstairs was cold and dark except for the kitchen, which was warm and smelled of fresh bread. His stomach growled as he pushed through the swinging door and found three large loaves of bread cooling on the table and another stew bubbling in the pot above the flames. In his heart he wanted breakfast, the thought of scrambled eggs and bacon causing his mouth to water, yet he saw no evidence of breakfast stuffs at hand and knew not where the food stores might be. He did find fresh milk though, and along with a chunk of warm bread he pulled from the nearest loaf, his appetite was better sated than it had been in a long time.

Stepping outside into the daylight he finished the bread and swallowed the last of the milk, heavy with cream, and froze where he stood. The sun was far into the western sky. He'd slept the day through, something he'd not done in years uncounted. Growing more confused and disturbed with each passing moment, he continued his search for the Wizard, finding him almost immediately.

Somehow, Agden knew the old man would be in the chair on the balcony of the North Tower he'd seen before. Huddled beneath a tattered wool blanket, hunched down in his chair, he looked to be asleep from where Agden stood in the courtyard. But after carefully picking his way up the stairs he found that the old mans' face was pinched in concentration, his eyes mere slits as he stared intently North. So intense was his gaze that Agden considered not bothering him at all, but his curiosity made him reach out to rouse the old man from his reverie. The cat hissing at his feet prevented him from doing it.

The old tabby had never looked so fierce the night before as it did now, its back arched and tail straight and stiff as it hissed and clawed the air in front of him to drive him back a step. Agden found his hand straying toward the hilt of his dagger before he realized the foolishness of the situation – a cat driving him back in fear?

"What’s this?" the old man asked. He shook as if just waking from an unpleasant dream, his eyes lowering to the cat defending him. Chuckling he scratched it behind the ears before patting it lightly on the bottom. "Now, now, behave. He is our guest. I trust you slept well?" he said to Agden as the cat rubbed itself against the old man’s legs, purring loudly with each pass.

"Slept?" Agden asked, "Yes, I slept well. Too well, since I’ve apparently slept the day away."

"Hmm? Yes, well, this day and the one before it as well."

"What?! I-"

"You look a strong one, good strong arms and legs, eh?" he said, reaching out to pinch Agden's leg as if testing a horse. "Have you broken your fast?"

"Yes, but I don’t-"

"Good! Good!" The old man stood quickly, letting the blanket fall to the ground atop the cat. He chuckled, a gleam in his eye as the cat tried to extricate itself from the wool. "You can close the gate behind her," he said as he retrieved his staff from where it rested against the wall before starting down the stairs. "Don’t want them getting in, no, we don’t want that."

"Of course I could close the gates but when you say that I slept-"

"You’re not carrying your bow?" the old man interrupted him. "That won’t do, no, not at all. Run and fetch it! Quickly, now! There’s not much time left, you see. You nearly slept too long."

Grumbling about senile old men, Agden hopped off the stairs and raced into the Keep to retrieve his bow. From what little the old man had said, he gathered that the second visitor they awaited had someone pursuing her. And that he'd slept TWO days straight through?! Taking the stairs two at a time, he considered the probability that he and the old man could defend the walls with his sword and bow and whatever magics the old man could muster. From what he'd seen so far, he didn’t like the odds. As he pulled a fresh string from his pack and bent the bow against his knee, he tried to count the number of places he considered vulnerable points along the walls and how difficult it would be for someone to exploit them. After identifying ten as being easily penetrated with little effort, he started running down the hall, quiver in hand.

"Hurry lad!" the old man called from the arch above the gate. "Quickly now!"

Agden could hear the hooves of a horse running at full gallop up the road. He threw himself into the right gate and began to push. The hinges screamed as it slowly began to move, foot by foot, until just as the rider burst through the other side, a blur all in white, the gate lurched into place. "The other side!" the old man shouted from above. Cursing under his breath, Agden threw himself at the left gate, his feet sliding back as he pushed. He could hear other riders now, the sound like thunder coming up the road. Spinning, he put his back against the gate and pushed again, screaming in frustration as his feet again slid. "Help him!" the old man bellowed, his voice echoing across the courtyard.

A soft thud reverberated through the gate as the rider added her strength to his, he could feel it begin to inch forward ever so slowly. With every inch the thunder grew louder and louder in his ears and Agden roared defiantly as he realized it was the beating of his own heart and not the sound of the horses on the road. Sweat poured down his face and his muscles were strained to their limits when the gate finally slammed home. Panting, he slid down and let his head fall back against the gate to catch his breath.

"The bar!" cried the old man from above. "There's no time, the bar!"

Nodding to himself, Agden jumped up and found the oak cross bar resting just inside the gatehouse. The woman followed him in and together they set the bar in place with a little grunting under its weight. Turning, he saw her clearly for the first time. She was small of stature, with skin the color of pale gold and eyes shaped like almonds, so much like those of an Elf that he blinked - until he noticed that her ears held no point. She wore a simple long sleeve shirt and a pair of trousers, both light blue in color along with soft, padded leather knee-high boots on her feet. A cloth belt cinched the shirt at her waist and others spiraled up her legs to hold the boots in place. The shade of blue was so light it almost appeared white. Her hair was jet black and pulled tight behind her in an intricate braid. A white fur cloak covered it all, opened by the wind with the hood thrown back.

What stopped him in his tracks, though, were her eyes - they were a startling shade of green and that was rare in the land of his birth. He couldn't remember ever seeing a woman with green eyes before.

Her beauty had taken his breath away.

And then she smiled......

"Quickly, children!" the old man called, breaking the spell.

"Follow me," Agden growled. He led her up the stairs of the gatehouse, through the trapdoor opening to the sentry walk above the gate where the old man waited, staring intently down the road. The cat sat atop a merlon, tail swinging free behind. Looking up and down the wall, he noted that none of the merlons rose any higher than his chest. He could fire his bow from beside or above any of them. Agden's muscles burned from the effort at the gate and he hoped the force following her would be either small or willing to give up and go away. He didn't think he could last long in a prolonged fight at the moment. Especially when he didn't know what he was fighting for or how many were coming.

"A dozen on horseback," the old man answered the unspoken thought. "Can you draw your bow my boy?"

Agden tested the draw on his bow. "Yes, but the sooner this is over, the better. The gates-"

"I understand," the old man nodded. "And you my dear? Can you draw your bow?"

For the first time Agden noticed that the woman carried a curved bow, very small yet of the type he'd seen used very effectively in the past - especially from horseback. She also carried two swords in sheaths crossing on her back, each slim and thin compared to his own sword. He'd seen curved swords with thin blades but never the like of these before. He wondered whether a strong blow from a proper sword wouldn't snap one of the little blades in two.

"I can," she said confidently.

"You will take the leader, my boy, whoever speaks for the group. It need not be your best shot, only to hit him - I will take care of the rest. You, my dear, will take anyone else and then quick as you can each of you take another. By then, they should be running for their lives."

"I don’t understand-" Agden began.

"The Forest, my boy. It's nearly dark now - remember my warning?" He smiled wickedly and winked, "Just do as I ask."

Agden nodded and took up a position ten paces to the right of the old man while the woman stepped lightly off to the left and tested her bow. The sun was setting as the riders approached, a dozen men wearing mail shirts and livery of black and red. As they drew closer, he could just make out the Red Wolf emblazoned upon their tunics - the sight of it nearly choked him.

All of the riders looked haggard, covered in dirt and dust while their horses were lathered from the chase through the Haunted Forest. As he expected when he saw their livery, the men seemed the darkest sort, mercenaries from Sandropar and Duskeeth where tribal tattoos and ritual scarring were tests of manhood. It resulted in half these men looking frightful with their blue patterns etched across their skin while the other half had faces so scarred he wondered if their own mothers could recognize them anymore.

The leader wore scars that made his face look like a patchwork of skin crisscrossed with white lines outlined in puffy red. His head was shaved except for a topknot of pale brown. Squinty eyes of brown scanned the wall as a raised spiked gauntlet called the men to halt. Another hand signal and they spread out in a line before the wall, several setting arrow to string in bows up and down the line.

"Go back!" shouted the Wizard, and such was the volume of his voice that the very stones beneath their feet shuddered. "You are not welcome here!"

The horses shied away from the sound, some rising up and pawing at the air until their riders could again regain control. Agden kept his eyes on the leader, his bow half drawn with an arrow already nocked. He scanned the others briefly, saw the uncertainty there and felt the first stirrings of hope that they might actually run away.

The leader laughed, deep and heartily, and his hope melted away. The others were startled at first, and then they too joined in, all laughing at the private joke. The leaders' horse skirted sideways, spirited by his riders mood. Wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, the leader spoke.

"What hospitality is this?" he cried. "We are travelers, weary from a days ride through this accursed forest. It feels hostile, as if the very trees are watching us and wish us ill. We seek only a warm place to rest for the night, a roof over our heads to shelter us from the forest and perhaps a bit of food to fill the empty place gnawing away inside."

"You seek guest-rite here?" the old man asked incredulously.

"Yes!" the leader laughed. "Unless the world has become so skewed that good people no longer observe common courtesy."

"Only a fool gives shelter to a snake within his own blankets," the old man said quietly. The smile melted away from the leaders face. Rage replaced it, contorting into a snarling rictus.

"Give us the woman, old man, and I may let you live when my men and I are done with her."

"Begone, fool! You’ll not step one foot within these walls. I give you this one chance to depart with your dignity, and your skin, intact."

"Or what?" the leader laughed again. "You’ll kill me?" He laughed and his men laughed with him, enjoying the ridiculous threat for what it was. "Two men, one of them ancient and obviously senile, and a woman will hold the castle against the twelve of us?" Again he and his men laughed.

"This is a Wizard’s Keep, fool. I alone could hold it against the likes of you. I allow these others to help simply to sate their own sense of honor. Attack and the Forest shall feast upon your remains this night."

Whispers ran through the men gathered before them. Some even backed their horses a few feet, eyes nervously scanning the darkening trees around them, before the leader shouted and cursed at them to return to their positions. He held a riding quirt in his right hand and he used it without hesitation to repeatedly whip the riders next to him, forcing them back into place.

"Do not react in surprise," the old man whispered in his ear, though Agden knew he still stood ten paces away. "We need only occupy them a moment or two longer."

"Draw!" the old man commanded, and Agden did as he was told, drawing his bow taut and aiming for the heart of the leader. He heard the sound of armor plated feet on the stone around him as dozens of Elf Warriors in shining silver mail appeared up and down the wall. Each held a long bow drawn taut and aimed at the men below. Agden's chest constricted, he found he couldn’t breathe, and the very air around him seemed to tingle.

Of all the men below, he kept his attention on the leader, whose eyes had gone wide with fright at the site of so many warriors aligned against him. His head snapped left, then right, eyes tracking, mind calculating the new risk. Agden wondered if this man was the fool the old wizard named him, prayed to whatever gods were listening that he would be fooled by whatever magic the old man had conjured. Even as he prayed, he took note of a mist forming in the Forest behind the men below, slowly rising from the ground, wrapping itself around the small bushes and shrubs, clinging to the trees. He felt his body go cold and numb with the sight, fear striking through him.

"No reaction..." whispered the old man, and Agden struggled not to cry out and run away.

"It's a trick!" the leader shouted. He drew his sword and raised it high, ready to order the attack.

"I give you one last chance," shouted the old man. "Leave now, before it’s too late."

"I'll have your head!" sneered the leader.

"Fire!" commanded the old man, and Agden let his arrow fly, exhaling the breath he'd held burning in his lungs. The world around him slowed to a snails pace. He saw the arrow slowly close the distance between archer and target while dozens more were launched from the bows of the Elves up and down the wall. Midway to the target, as his hand moved down to the quiver at his side for a second arrow, the first volley flying toward the men below burst into flame.

His first arrow struck the leader square in the chest, the force of the blow throwing him backwards off the horse, the fire of the arrow engulfing him. His scream resounded off the Keep's walls. The other arrows struck the dry dead grass or fell at the feet of the horses, causing fires to erupt all around the riders. That he could see, only one other rider was struck and killed, his body engulfed just as the leader had been.

Agden loosed his second arrow, ignoring the chaos and targeting an archer trying to nock his own arrow. Again his arrow burst into flame midway through its journey and impacted with a force ten times what he would have expected, even from his long bow at this range. The archer was thrown from his horse, body on fire, voice rising in a shrill shriek of pain and suffering.

The grass surrounding the Keep, dry, brittle and overgrown from years of going untended, quickly erupted into an inferno. The remaining riders, eight that he counted, noting absently that at least one other had been killed, were panicking. They kicked at their horses' flanks, the animals already fighting the reigns and wanting to flee, and raced into the Forest at breakneck speed.

The Mist rose to greet them.

In all his years, Agden had seen nothing like it - the Mist he judged to be no higher than his knees, seemed to jump and expand with frightening speed, engulfing the trees and undergrowth, then the tops of the heads of the Warriors upon their horses. In a split second, they simply vanished within the Mist. Even as he realized this, he became aware of the silence – not a single sound reached his ears from the Forest. The horses hooves upon the ground - gone. The cries of the men - also gone. The Mist had swallowed them whole. ....and the fire had died everywhere it had been raging.

Now, the Mist was moving toward the Keep.

"Help me!"

Agden turned and found the woman struggling to keep the old man from falling. His staff lay on the stones at his feet, his eyes had rolled up in his head and his breathing came in labored gasps. Agden dropped his bow and lifted the man into his arms, resting his head against his shoulder. He feared he wouldn't be able to manage the weight after his effort at the gate, but the old man was surprisingly light - almost to the point of having no discernable weight at all.

"Bring the staff," he told the woman. Racing down the stairs, he carried the old man to the Keep, trying not to think about that Mist, yet remembering the old mans' warnings. Suddenly, a gnarled hand clutched at his tunic. "Do not venture beyond the walls of the Keep this night," the old man wheezed. "It will be more dangerous than before. Leave the dead where they lie. Promise me. Promise me!"

"I promise," Agden said. The old man nodded once, settling back against his body, eyes closed, breathing slow and labored. Agden raced into the Keep with both the woman and the old cat in his wake.

(( All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

Chapter Six


Darius watched the warrior leave, tapping his lower lip with his index finger while the man tried to reach his bed before sleep took him into its gentle arms. The cat hopped onto the table and watched the man as well, head cocked to the side, eyes closed to slits. A sense of unease was growing in his heart as he watched the warrior leave, something that raised the small hairs on the back of his neck and rumbled the stew settling in the pit of his stomach. Pushing himself up from the table, he shuffled his way across the kitchen to his staff, making his way slowly from the kitchen. The cat silently padded behind him.

"Have I grown so old?" he muttered to himself. The Great Hall was cold, colder than normal with the hearth empty and only a handful of torches sputtering in their sconces. "Have my senses dulled?" The door creaked as he pulled it open and stepped out into the twilight, the sky in the West orange, red, purple and blue as the setting sun slowly sank into the horizon. "I know I still have my wits." The cat raced ahead, bouncing up the steps of the tower two at a time.

"Yet I have become blind and deaf to the world around me." Bits of dust and pebbles fell away as he carefully picked his way up the crumbling steps. The chair groaned as he sat and shook out the blanket he wrapped around his legs. North called to him seductively; he averted his eyes. The cat sat curled upon the other chair, eyes closed peacefully. He scratched at the fur between its ears and got a purr for his effort.

The warrior calling himself Agden had dismounted from his horse and woken something that had long slumbered in the old Wizard. Tall, dark and proud, the man carried himself like the kings of old. Over six feet tall with dark hair and dark eyes that marked him as surely as his accent did to be a Northern man, though they did not consider themselves as such. From their point of view, the 'North' was a place beyond the Dragon's Teeth where the Wretched fought side by side with men of golden hair and pale skin who worshipped the Shadow Lord and his Queen. His face was clean-shaven, his hair long yet straight and falling well off his shoulders with braids intermixed, kept from his eyes by a braided strip of leather. The braids within his hair harkened back to ancient customs, dozens, each ending with a blood red bead and meant to mark a battle fought and won, an enemy vanquished, a death avenged.

This was the old way, something he'd not seen in a thousand years.

And again, the North beckoned to the Wizard and he averted his eyes.

The cat looked up, unblinking, staring at him for a long moment. "An omen?" Darius whispered. "A thousand years," he said quietly. "What did I tell the man? 'You cannot run from your past.' Another omen, you think?" he asked the cat. The cat sniffed, its tail indicating its displeasure. Harrumphing, he continued, "I dislike this, I dislike this more than I can say."

If his other visitor carried as much pain as this one, he wondered if he would be able to help either one of them. Yet, he did not regret the suggestion of sleep he placed upon the man, he did need his rest. He doubted the man had slept more than a few hours here and there in years.

A man running from his past, embracing the old ways yet shaving the beard from his face? That was the strangest thing about his appearance. For one who cloaked himself in traditions dating back a thousand years, he kept his face clean shaven when his ancestors would have grown full, rich beards and braided them just as they did their hair. Darius could see them now, proud, strong men with hearty laughs and a rigid code of honor. They did nothing in half-measures, as he recalled. Somehow, that fit with his impression of Agden - he would give his all, no matter the cost.

The cat twisted onto its back, paws lazily extended, eyes peering North. Darius followed the movement, letting his eyes gaze far off unfocused. The world slipped away as he let his mind wander, attempting to find the source of his uneasiness. "Sunset, two days from now," he whispered. The cat sneezed.

(( All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

Chapter Five



The old man held the giant wooden spoon over Agden's bowl, offering to fill it again with the stew he'd prepared. Agden waved it off and instead tore another chunk off the loaf of bread, quickly shoving it into his mouth, which was on fire. The old man must have used every pepper in the world when he made the stew, and now seemed amused by Agden's discomfort. The cheese had gone quickly and only the bread remained to quench the fire.

There had been little in the way of conversation as they ate, the old man attacking his meal with a passion while Agden found himself having to take it slow lest the liquid fire burn straight through him leaving naught but a smoldering pile of ash where once he'd sat. The cat lay in the corner of the kitchen, watching him with half closed eyes, tail whipping across the floor. Normally one to embrace silence, the quiet of the kitchen bothered him, yet he was afraid of what might be said if he began the conversation, so he waited. Patiently.

He had again become used to his solitude these past two years, used to having little contact with people as he traveled the wilds searching for this place. And though he hadn't realized it consciously, he had become used to the fact that the past was the past, his sins forgotten as long as he stayed far away from the lands of his youth where someone might recognize him, see something in his face that made them think and remember. That this man could look at him and simply know shook him to the core.

"You wonder how I know your father’s name?" the old man asked suddenly. With a grunt he retook his seat across from Agden and leaned back, a gleam in his eye. He lightly grasped his mug of wine, slowly rotating it as he waited for Agden to respond.

"I do and I don’t," Agden replied warily. "After all, I came seeking a Wizard. I expected some show of magic, I suppose."

"'Magic', is it?" the old man frowned at the word, as if it tasted bad. "If it is parlor tricks and conjurings you seek here my boy, you will be sorely disappointed."

Agden took a deep breath, his tale on the tip of his tongue as he spoke. The thought of telling it all, for the first time in years, compelled him on. "What I seek-"

"Wait!" the old man said as he thrust his hand up. "It is not yet time for you to tell your tale." He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. He seemed to be looking...through Agden. "Two days," he announced loudly, slapping his hand on the table. The cat jumped and hissed at the old man; he turned as if seeing it for the first time. His eyes narrowed as they stared at each other.

"A day and a half," he grumbled, returning to his original position in the chair, sipping at his wine. The cat began licking its forward paw, sweeping it across its ear after each lick.

"Until what?" Agden asked.

The old man looked surprised. He chuckled. "Until you can tell your tale, my boy. We must wait, you see, for the other traveler. She will arrive in a day and a half." He looked down to find the cat rubbing against the leg of the table. Bending down, he scratched it behind the ear eliciting a low purr. "Yes, yes," the old man grumbled. "Near sunset two days from now, she will arrive."

"She?"

"Surprised?" the old man chuckled. "Wait until you meet her. That will be something to witness!" he laughed loudly. "But as to your question," he said solemnly, then paused, noticing his cup empty and the bottle as well. Rising with a grumble about aches and pains, he shuffled across the kitchen and pulled another bottle of wine from the rack near the door, bringing it back to the table. He sat, pouring another cup while nibbling at the last of his cheese.

"You wonder how I know things about you, like your father’s name?" Agden nodded. "I am a Wizard, my boy, one of the Nine. Not some Mage, Alchemist or Sorcerer born of mortal flesh and trained at that edifice of stone and mortar," he waved vaguely, "they call an 'Academy'. A True Wizard, born of the Power at the dawn of time. You wear your pain like a shroud and I can sense it, catch glimpses here and there. You might say that I am sensitive to it, and your father was present on your mind when we met. I know that your past is a great burden on your shoulders; it weighs you down and drives you ever on, away from the lands of your youth and the memories that haunt you to this day. But I do not judge you, my boy. That is not my place, nor is it my wish to drag your pain out into the sunlight for all to see."

The old man bent forward, leaning against the table. "But the name 'Agden' does not fit you, and any of my order would know that simply by looking at you. The colors surrounding you, that which some call 'aura' but that I see as shifting, undulating masses of color and light faint against the background, they do not match that of someone named 'Agden', the name is harsh and grating against the grain of what I perceive. Few others can see the truth, so have no fear that your secrets are blatantly obvious to those around you. You have your reasons for leaving the name given to you by your father behind and I will not press you to reveal them to me nor pry them from your mind. That is not my way.

"But I will make a suggestion that I hope you will take to heart. You cannot run from your past. No matter what you have done or think you have done, eventually you will have to face the consequences for your actions. Whether that means returning home and facing those you left behind, or confronting the man reflected in the looking glass, it must be done or you will never find peace and will be forever running away."

The old man smiled. "However, you need not do either tonight." He yawned and Agden found himself following suit. "I can see in your eyes that you are weary." Agden yawned again, every ache and pain he thought he’d soaked away starting to nag at him. "Your road has been long and hard in getting here. Tonight you will sleep and wake refreshed." The room seemed to be growing dark. "I ask only that you do not wander the castle alone and never enter a room I have not first shown you. There are dangers within a Wizard’s Keep that you are unprepared for. We will talk again tomorrow."

"I am tired," Agden yawned. It had come on him suddenly, while the old man spoke, a need for sleep unlike any he'd felt before. He started to rise when the old man caught his wrist in a vice grip. He was astonished at the strength in the old mans' hands. Looking at him, he thought that a strong breeze would have knocked the old man over, but he couldn’t move within the vise grip of the old man.

"A warning, and I cannot stress this too strongly. Do not, under any circumstances, leave the protection of the Keep's outer walls after sunset! Do you understand?"

Agden nodded and the old man smiled, releasing him from his iron grip. Yawning uncontrollably, Agden made his way up the stairs and to his room, sliding the bolt into place to lock the door. He barely had time to push the saddlebags from the bed before sleep took him and he drifted off.

(( All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

Chapter Four


"You know-" Agden paused, the curry brush halting as he worked at grooming his horse after the long ride through the Haunted Forest. He let his eyes rise beyond the brush, finding the old man in the same spot he'd claimed since first guiding them to the stable, just across from Agden and Fury. The stable had proven cleaner than he would have thought, as if it were cared for daily, though he saw no evidence of anyone beyond the old man and his cat living within the castle walls. There was new straw in the stalls, fresh, clean water in the trough with plenty of oats for Fury. The horse had seemed comfortable enough after he had been unsaddled, feasting on the oats Agden set out for him.

The old man had said nothing while he'd seen to Fury's needs, only standing off to the side with his staff in his hands, idly scratching patterns into the dirt with the butt while the old fat cat chased rats and shadows. As he met the old man's eyes now, he saw a spark of anticipation reflected there and wondered at it. The old man seemed to know so much, yet was not at all what he had been told to expect.

Agden cleared his throat and began again. "You know my father's name."

"Yes," the old man said, smiling. "And I know that he never named his son 'Agden'."

Agden nodded once. Moving quickly, he finished his work with Fury and left the horse to his oats.

"You've seen to your horses needs," the old man said. "Now how about seeing to your own?"

Agden nodded and the old man led him from the stable, out across the courtyard, the cat racing ahead of them, chasing after things only its eyes and ears could see and hear. He let himself study the castle, pushing his fears aside, trying not to think that this man could know his secrets - that he might know all of his secrets. It was a simple design, copied a thousand times over by minor Lords across the land. From a distance it would seem no more than a great gray block four stories tall with crenellations along the top, surrounded by four walls with small towers in their corners. The difference lay in age - this Keep was ancient. It had cracks running up the walls in several places where the vines and moss creeping up had found ways in and exploited them over the long years. And the outer walls were crumbling in spots, leaving gaping holes in the sentry walks. A tower stood in the north corner, a steep stair leading to a balcony and a doorway. Like the rest of the place, the tower was covered with creeping vines and the stairway looked chancy at best. It reminded him somehow of the old man.

The old man stood stooped, his back bent with age, leaning heavily on his staff for support. Agden judged him to stand at least six foot tall in his prime. His brown robe looked made of stout, homespun wool with a hood for protecting his head from the rain, the cold and the harsh noon day sun. It covered simple clothing cinched with a frayed piece of rope and boots of soft leather that stopped just below the knee and were held in place with leather strips. Silver hair, stretched to the small of his back, had a few dark streaks near his temples in contrast to the gray beard flowing down his chest.

And this man knew his secrets. Did he also know his shame?

He pushed the thought aside, concentrating on the castle before him. The Keep was larger inside than he imagined. A stairway directly in front of him led to the second level, its faded carpet looking dusty and gray where once he imagined a vibrant red stood out brilliantly under the light of the great chandelier of crystal hanging from the tall ceiling above. Now the chandelier was cold and dark and the room illuminated only by the dying light peeking in through tall thin windows covered in dirt, grime and cobwebs. A few torches sputtered and spit in every other spot along the walls, adding their faint light to the failing daylight. To his left he could see a great room, empty except for a few overstuffed chairs arranged near a cold fireplace. He could see two large, polished doors in the far left corner of the room. To his right a long table of oak with nine high backed chairs stood before another cold hearth, with a well used door on swinging hinges in the far right corner of what he assumed was the dining room.

The old man bade him follow as he shuffled up the stairs. No outside light reached the corridor the old man led him down, the only illumination provided by a torch burning in a sconce midway down the hall, though there were spots where others once rested, each now empty and dark. They passed three doors on the left, each with a strange rune carved into the wood. Agden strained to see in the dim light, but he had never seen their like before and knew not what they meant. He knew most of the Western forms both old and new, and even a few of the Elvish scripts, yet these were beyond him. They came to the end of the hall and rounded the corner, stopping before a door adorned with another of the strange runes. Agden noted that each door had a different rune, and his looked something like a 'G'.

"Your room," said the old man as he pushed the door in. "Bring some fresh clothes," he added as he shuffled back the way they came. Agden took a quick moment to see the rooms contents; bed, chest, porcelain bowl with a matching pitcher and a chamber pot in the corner. A tall, thin window stood above the bed on the far wall but offered little light. A candle burned on the small table next to the bed, giving off the bulk of the illumination for the room. He rested his bow and sword against the wall, placed his belongings on the bed and pulled some fresh clothing out of his pack, rushing to follow the old man, wearing only the dagger on his belt for protection. He found the last door they passed open and the old man inside - it was a bath.

Three large copper tubs sat evenly spaced in the center of the room. A hearth on the outside wall of the room blazed, heating a cauldron full of water. A cistern nearby held cool water. The old man pointed to a pile of towels and a cake of soap, smiling.

"Use the soap generously before you come downstairs for dinner - you stink to high heaven. You have at least an hour before I expect you in the kitchen."

With that the old man left and despite his initial misgivings upon seeing the broken down castle, the old man living within its walls and the way he was greeted, Agden found himself relaxing for the first time in over two years. He had come seeking someone else, but perhaps the old man could help him after all. He filled the tub closest to the hearth with steaming water, stripped his clothes off, tossed the soap in and slowly lowered his tired and worn body into the water.

The hour passed too quickly.

(( All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

(( since you asked so nicely - Chapter 3 :-) ))

Chapter Three


It was four hours later when the old man heard the first rumblings of a horse cutting through the twilight quiet of the Haunted Forest. The steady clip-clop of hooves upon the road reached his ears as he stood in the courtyard with the cat at his side. He had swept the majority of the dust and dirt from the castle steps and now stood just inside the main gates. The portcullis was up and the gates were open wide - which wasn't unusual. They were always open these days. There was no need to close them as no one visited the Keep anymore, and the old man could hardly work the winch on the portcullis nor budge the heavy wood gates these days.

The old man drew patterns in the dirt with the butt of his staff as the sound of the horse drew closer. With the patterns came sensations; a war-horse, he felt as he listened with both his ears and his mind. Well trained and cared for, walking proud and steady, speaking volumes about his or her owner. Most of the men he'd known to call themselves Knight cared little for the beast they rode, giving such care over to squires and peasants rather than to do it themselves. Yet he did not think that this man would give such duties to another - this man understood the bond between horse and rider to be an important one. After all, it could mean life or death to the rider should the horse resist him during a battle. This rider did not style himself as a Knight.

No sound did the rider make which touched his ears. There was no rattle of chain or plate, no chink of spur. If he wore mail of any kind, he wrapped it in leather and cloth so it made no sound and caught no light from sun or torch. He was used to being unseen, staying to the shadowed paths other men feared to tread. This disturbed the old man. One did not stay in the shadows and come away untouched and unharmed. Dark things lived in the shadows, corruptors of souls.

The old man erased the pattern he'd drawn with a sweep of his shoe and began another. The cat sat staring at the gate. His eyes closed, the old man listened deeper for the rider. Black was the garb that covered him from head to toe, and dark was the mood surrounding him. Cold were his eyes and he wrapped himself in death as tightly as he wrapped himself in leather and wool. Yet he did not feel unclean, as someone touched by the darkness would. There was pain, both physical and emotional, deep within him and raw upon the surface, but he was not evil. Nor was he entirely good either. The old man realized that the rider skirted the edge, and it would take but a feather's touch to send him spiraling down into the darkness of the abyss.

The cat's hissing broke him from his reverie, signaling that the horse had come to a stop just outside the castle gate.

"Hello the Keep!" a deep voice bellowed.

The old man erased the new pattern he'd drawn as he moved forward to greet the rider, stepping out to where he could be plainly seen. The cat fell into step beside him and for a long moment, he and the rider simply stared at one another. As he'd sensed, the horse was war trained and stood tall and proud in the failing light of dusk. Black was his color and his spirit shone, fidgeting under the control of his master, nostrils flaring and tail whipping as he caught sight and scent of the old man and his cat approaching. The rider was garbed in black, as the old man had sensed, an oiled cloak with a hood drawn close around his face hiding his features. Yet the old man thought he saw a frown.

"You are welcome to my home," the old man said. "Come forward and let me look upon you. There is a fire and food to warm you."

The rider hesitated only a moment before urging the horse in under the portcullis, lowering his head slightly as he passed beneath its rusted iron spikes. The old man watched as the rider's head moved side to side, taking in the Keep and the walls surrounding it. He could still make out the hint of a frown within the shadows of the hood.

"I come seeking someone," the rider began.

"And you have found someone. I welcome you, Agden son of Jonas, to the Wizard's Keep. My name is Darius, and this is my home. You are expected."

(( All works created by me for this site, including literary works, musical works - including any accompanying words, dramatic works - including any accompanying music, pictorial, graphic, motion pictures and other audiovisual works and or sound recordings are © 2006 Patrick Hester. All rights reserved. ))

(( I offer you the first two chapters of 'The Chronicles of Darius', a 'sword & sorcery' epic fantasy story I have had in my head for some time now. If it's well received, it wil become an ongoing series like Odyssey. ))


Chapter One

The wind begins far to the north, in the land named Aetherian by the Elves, and Kistane by the Men of the west, and Juk by the Dwarves under the mountains of stone. Over the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the endless mountains known as the Dragon’s Teeth does it swirl, gaining strength and ferocity, turning chill and gathering unto itself ice and snow before hammering down on the white towers of Arador, home to the High King of a once great nation. Across the grasslands it loses most of its potency, dropping the remainder of snow and ice on the farms scattered here and there across the landscape before sputtering on to the golden trees of the Elven forest Aeon, rustling it’s leaves with its passing. Even that fabled land, dark and foreboding in its silence, cannot completely diminish the winds power. Slowly it crosses the rivers Thebadeon, Argos and White Water as they are known in the Common tongue, to come at last to the top of a broken down tower near the Blue Sea, nestled within the Haunted Forest, called by those who live near it the Wizard’s Keep; a name rarely spoken without some warding gesture to protect ones’ soul from evil…..

There it stirs the moustache of an old man, all its power and strength reduced down to a breath, yet still enough to wake him from his slumber. Beneath bushy gray eyebrows, wrinkled eyelids crack to reveal keen blue eyes still sharp and bright from a fire burning within. Long does he stare North, some elusive shadow of a threat present upon that wind, awakening instincts too long unused and mistrusted. Yet even as far as his sight extends, there is naught to see. Yet, something nagged at his mind, something he couldn’t place - something that stirred memories.

Slowly pushing himself up from the rocking chair, his woolen blanket falling away as he stands, his movement wakes the old tabby cat curled at his feet. He clutches his robe tightly as he steps to the low wall at the towers’ edge while the cat extricates itself from the blanket, stretching lazily, completely ignoring the old man, concerned more with some odd bit of dirt found and working loose in its paw. Out beyond the broken down castle wall, past the brown field that once held crops and farmers though not even the ground remembers them now, past the trees of the Haunted Forest, old and thick with vines and moss, the old man stares. Something has changed suddenly and irrevocably. Sorrow, he can sense; pain and suffering. Death.

The old man sighs heavily, the weight falling on his shoulders again. How long ago had he stopped his travels? How long since the aches and pains of his aged body had become too much to bear upon the open road? Ten years? Twenty? After a while, days turn to weeks, weeks to months and months blur into years uncounted. He had been so sure that his time was over, had convinced himself of it when he had come to this place, the Wizard’s Keep, to live out the remainder of his years in peace and solitude, well away from the troubles of the outside world. And now the world was calling to him, awakening him from his much earned slumber.

With that, he realized that company was riding to his door once again.

Gnarled hands grasped at a twisted cedar staff as the old man carefully picked his way down the crumbling stairs that snaked around the tower, grumbling to himself as the old tabby lightly hopped down the stairs with ease, pouncing on a dried weed at the base of the tower – obviously a dangerous threat that needed killing. He kept close to the tower wall, hand grasping vines here and there for support, avoiding the more decayed edges even as his mind wondered about his approaching guests. They were there now, at the edge of his mind, slowly moving closer. Who they were, he wondered, and what lands did they call home? What events had forced them upon the road in search of him? Such thoughts had once fueled his travels and the prospect of company began to stir his mind again. The cat met him at the base of the tower, quickly circling his feet back and forth as he rested for a moment against the tower wall to catch his breath. Damnable cat, he thought even as he reached down to scratch it behind the left ear – a favored spot. The cat purred in response and the old man sighed.

Shuffling across the inner courtyard, leaning heavily on his staff and already planning a dinner for his guests, the old man let part of his mind consider again who they were and where they came from. A small smile crept slowly across his face as he entered the keep.



Chapter Two

“Two!” the old man announced to the cat as he held a carrot out over the cook-pot. He searched the table for the knife he’d had just a moment ago even as the old cat ignored him, curled up on the kitchen table, basking in the only sunbeam creeping in through the kitchen window. The shudders were broken and would not open, so only a few shafts of sunlight peeked through the gloom of the little kitchen. He found the knife on the smaller table to his left and grumbled to himself about kitchen tools moving of their own volition before quickly slicing the carrot and adding the pieces to the bubbling stew. He followed it with a bit of wild onion he’d found near the south wall.

“Imagine it,” he continued, searching through the spices on the shelf above the sink. He wanted the red container and he was sure he’d replaced it the last time he’d used it, some three weeks before, but now it wasn’t where it should be. “Two visitors when we’ve not seen a soul in –“ he paused and looked at the cat. “How long has it been?” The cat didn’t stir, but he noticed the red container sitting on the table next to it. “Ah! There you are!”

He set the knife on the large table and grabbed the spice container. The cat stood suddenly and stretched, front paws extending out first followed by the back paws before it lay back down, now stretched out on its side, one eye watching the old man while the other slowly closed. The old man saw none of this, his attention drawn to the mixture of spices within the red container as he sprinkled first a small amount and then a whole handful into the stew. He took the larger wooden spoon from the hook on the wall and slowly stirred the spices in.

“Hmmm,” he said to the cat. “This is starting to smell very good.”

The cat whipped its tail against the table.

“Twenty-three years?” he asked the cat. “Has it been so long? Yes, I suppose it has. Twenty-three years. Hmmm. That incident with the Dragon Egg and the Slayer, as I recall.” He continued to stir the stew, absently staring at his bubbling concoction. He saw many things within the steam rising from the stew – a city in the trees, a burning building, a severed hand, a man with no future, a mask of steel, a broken crown, a mewling baby, a wolf walking like a man and feasting upon the blood of the living. He blinked and the images faded. He sniffed at the stew and frowned. “Not too soon,” he said absently. Steadying himself with a hand on the table, he bent over and blew on the fire below the cook-pot and then watched as it lost some of its intensity. Another breath and the fire cooled until he was satisfied, only a few licks of flame now emerged from the glowing embers of the wood.

“Much better,” he announced to the cat. “Now for the cheese.” He had already fetched the cheese from the cellar and placed it on the table. It wanted only to be sliced and he reached for the knife, only to find it was not on the large table where he thought he had left it. Instead, he found it on the small table to the left of the cook-pot. Shrugging, he grabbed it and made short work of the cheese, piling the slices neatly on a platter for his first guest.

“More than enough,” he said. “Only one tonight, you see?” he asked the cat. “Very sad, this one. There is much tragedy in his past, and I fear even more in his future.”

Again, the cat whipped its tail on the table.

“An hour,” the old man said quietly. “Perhaps two.” He sighed. “Definitely before dark.” He clapped his hands clean and the cat jumped and stared at him with wide eyes. The old man ignored it and pulled the cork from the wine bottle pouring himself a cup. He drank it slowly, savoring the flavor as it slid across his tongue. He fell into his chair and watched the cat for a moment as it began to clean and groom itself.

“There is much pain in him,” he said absently. “And yet I sense a coldness akin to steel. He’s wrapped himself up in the pain, walling away his emotions to protect himself. The questions are: what is he running from? What is he protecting himself from, hmmm?

“Sunset,” he said more confidently. He stared at his half-raised cup, the red wine inside suddenly looking too much like blood for his taste. The ill mood faded as quickly as it came and he finished the wine with a gulp.

“A room must be prepared,” he said to the cat. “How I let that slip my mind I’ll never know.”

Taking up his staff, he quickly shuffled out of the kitchen, the old tabby cat hopping lightly off the table and following after. The knife slowly rose and floated to the small table to the left of the cook-pot – neither cat nor man saw it move.