Paladin’s Quest:

Into the Darkness

1
 Special Thanks
This book is dedicated first and foremost to Jesus
Christ, the One and Only Holy One. He is the Maker, the
Giver of Life, and the Creator. I am truly grateful that he
has called me into his service despite my very human
failings.
To my wife Dawn. I have been lucky enough to
marry my best friend, even if she doesn’t fully share my
tastes in stories. I love you crazy, honey!
To Vicki Morris. You are my muse, my advisor,
and my confidant. Your unfailing friendship and
unshakable faith have made me the author I am today. May
the Star Keeper bless your pen and your vision.
To those who walked along side me in my journeys
and adventures with many different characters in many
different worlds through the magic of Role Playing Games
and MMORPGs I say thank you for keeping the fire alive.
Chad, Toby, Don, Jason, Ryan, Joe, Ed, Brandon, Tom,
Justin, and many others I have failed to mention…my
memories still make me smile, and some of those
characters live on in these stories.
To those that have shared in the triumphs, tears,
battles, and laughter of these characters that I have grown
to love dearly. I thank all of you for taking the time to
walk in a different world and enjoy the suspension of your
reality for one that is magical and fantastic.

2
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Troy A Mepyans

All rights reserved.
Interior artwork copyright © Victoria Morris

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or

portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For information address Troy Mepyans 1415 Reed Avenue, Kalamazoo,
MI 49001

Printed in U.S.A.

3
 Introduction

Hail and well met, good reader! You caught me

gazing into the fire and deep in thought this chilly evening!
I see in your eyes that you are ready to see what is
happening in the realm of Aledress with Trenton, Availia,
Brisste, and Wahldon. By all means, pull up a chair by the
basin here! Make yourself comfortable!
I can tell you this, my friend, that it was a long and
hard winter followed by a spring and summer that saw
some of the most brutal fighting the frontiers of Aledress
have seen since this wretched war began six years ago now.
The Iron Horde has been steadily pushed back to
the mountains of Berlek Dur by the combined forces of
Aledress’ army and the dwarves of B’rith. The remaining
elves from the Council of the Four Winds have rallied in
the forests, becoming the hunters in the dark woods against
the orcs and gnolls that dare enter those forested lands of
Mourn Wood and Shadow Forest.
But that is history and you are interested in the well-
being of the companions you’ve come to view as friends, of
course. Wahldon has been placed in charge of a mixed unit
of dwarves and men tasked with actually striking the final
blow against the gates of Berlek Dur by King Morgan
himself. Many of the dwarves in this unit are exiles from

4
Berlek Dur, and are looking forward to the retaking of their
homes. Wahldon has also struck up a strong friendship
with his liaison officer from Berlek Dur, a stout dwarf
warrior named Grondragon Tinderstrike. The older dwarf
has been a wise advisor and mentor to Wahldon and so far
the young man has managed to keep his head firmly
attached to his shoulders. Wahldon was wise enough to
select his close friends as his command staff and let them
watch over that said same head when he’s too busy with
command to do so himself.
Trenton has proven himself to be an inspirational
commander on the battlefield in his own right, although his
bride, Availia, would rather he not put himself quite as
close to the front as he is usually inclined. Amazing, isn’t
it, how someone as fearless and – dare I say it – reckless as
our elven friend can expect someone she has fought
alongside to reign himself in? I can’t help but chuckle
sometimes at the ways the heart can change how someone
thinks about everyday circumstances even in war. Between
you and I, Availia has very little room to complain about
risks in battle, as she has become the chief scout and ranger
for Wahldon’s unit and has gotten herself into and out of
more tight scrapes than the other three have put together.
Young Brisste has probably been the one with the

5
most common sense out of the lot – undoubtedly due to my
expert training – and has taken her place as a war wizard
the likes even I haven’t seen in several decades. Her power
has increased even more than it was a year ago, and she is
able to call down magical support for the troops with
frightening ease and accuracy.
Sadly, life in a world tearing itself apart with
warfare isn’t easy nor is it pretty, and both of these young
couples have had to deal with long separations and fear for
their loved-ones when at their age they should be simply
exploring the wonders of life together and who should be
doing whatever chore needs to be done at the time. Even
the natural thoughts of bringing children into the world and
growing their families have brought heartaches and sadness
from the stresses and strains associated with running a war.
I will now place the scrying bowl on the table
before you. Make yourself comfortable and gaze into it,
letting yourself relax as the image takes shape. Again you
will hear my voice begin to fade away as you step into our
world from your own, but you should be familiar with this
by now. Take care, friend, for you will meet new friends
and foes that will take on forms you may find unusual and
even frightening. Do not let your eyes cause you to judge
the heart inside…not everything beautiful is good and not

6
everything monstrous is evil.

7
Map of Aledress

8
 Chapter One

“Lieutenant! Shift your men to the west and bolster up

Captain Broven’s flank! The orcs have decided that’s
where they want to focus their swordsmen and crossbows
in order to turn our line!” Wahldon’s voice rang out in the
headquarters camp, the icy cold rain pelting on the tent
overhead in a maddening rhythm that made the pounding in
his head even worse than it had been before. His plate
armor was well-polished enough that the water merely
beaded up on the shined surface, but his hair was dripping
wet and the wind was making it nearly impossible to keep
his maps and other papers dry for any length of time. In the
near distance he could hear the creak and snapping of the
trebuchets that had been brought up to support the assault
against the last and largest of the Horde forces in Aledress.
Orders were shouted back and forth by other officers in the
camp, and Wahldon looked up in time to see the unit he
had ordered to the western flank pass by the camp, their
pikes gleaming even in the dull and grey light of waning

9
day. Wahldon fought the urge to study the faces as they
marched by, having learned early on that he could not take
each and every death of these young soldiers on his heart,
lest he completely drive himself insane. Still, he thought to
himself, I’m the one that sends them to their deaths, even if
it is for the greater good. I can’t allow myself to lose sight
of that for any reason. The Holy One knows that we are
right in our fight, and I want to be able to acknowledge the
sacrifices made by these men and women when this awful
war is finally over and I can tell my children…his thoughts
interrupted themselves as he felt the familiar pain in his
heart. He and Brisste had lost a baby not six months before
while it was still in the womb, and it was an open wound.
Brisste had seemed to move past it, although she was still
hurting, but Wahldon secretly blamed himself and the
demands placed on her body by channeling the magic the
way that she had to daily.
“I dinnae mean to intrude on ye, Commander,” a dwarf
voice said gently, “but ye wanted to see Lord Silverblade
when he returned from the front.”
Wahldon looked down at the dwarf captain that had been
serving as his adjutant for the last eight months. His dark
black hair was pulled into a topknot and his beard was
tightly braided where it hung down his chest. The eyes

10
were as grey as the stone his people revered, and even his
skin had the cast of the bones of the earth.
“I’m sorry, Grondragon,” Wahldon sighed, running a hand
over his face and the week’s worth growth of beard, “I’m
just a little worn out, and there is a fight yet to win today.”
The dwarf reminded Wahldon of Elasimus, although it was
plain that he wasn’t as old as the cleric had been. The
particular styling of the beard and hair told Wahldon what
clan and stronghold any dwarf hailed from, although he
would still have to ask on occasion. Grondragon, for
example, hailed from Berlek Dur and was anxious to finally
free his home from the fist of the Horde.
Grondragon gazed up at Wahldon his eyes soft, “Ye’ve
placed a lot on your shoulders, if ye dinnae mind me
speakin me mind.” He let his eyes bore into the younger
human’s for a moment, “Yer officers are some of the best
I’ve ever seen in battle, and tha’s a fact. All ye can do now
is pray fer the Maker’s favor and see what Lyra’s rise
brings us.”
Wahldon nodded, too weary to argue with what he knew
was honest wisdom from someone that had been fighting
longer than he’d been alive.
“I know, my friend, I know.” He smiled in spite of himself,
“Trenton would tell me the same thing and that it’s all in

11
the hands of the Holy One.”
“You’re right, Wahldon, that’s exactly what I would tell
you.” Trenton’s voice said with a trace of humor from
Wahldon’s right.
Wahldon looked to the side, seeing the tall paladin standing
framed just inside the flaps of the tent, his armor dripping
with rain and his tabard soaked and mud-stained. Over the
crimson cloak on his back he wore a kite-style shield with
the golden sunburst of the Holy One etched on its surface –
a concession to his wife for added protection on the front
lines. On his hip hung a flanged mace, his new weapon of
choice against the orcs, gnolls, and undead that roamed the
no-man’s lands between the armies. The difference that
still turned Wahldon’s mouth up in a smirk was the beard
and the hair pulled into a ponytail. Trenton was just twenty
years old, and to someone who had known him since he
was thirteen, the facial hair looked somewhat out of place,
but Availia had insisted that it would make him more
credible with the troops if he didn’t look like “a baby-faced
recruit” himself.
Wahldon embraced his friend heartily, then pulled him into
the tent.
“I’m glad you made it back, Trenton,” he admitted as
Trenton took a seat on a field stool and gratefully accepted

12
a cup of hot tea and a hunk of hearty corn bread. “Your last
communiqué about warg riders on the south side of our
lines had me worried.”
Trenton nodded, finishing his mouthful of food before he
spoke, “It turned out it was a scouting party that Mul’drak
had sent out to see if there was a way to slip past us to the
north, but Availia and her scouts were able to intercept
them before they could report back.”
Wahldon caught the shadow cross his friend’s face at the
mention of his wife, but let it go for now. There would be
time to talk about personal matters soon enough.
“So we were able to stop our favorite warlock’s eyes and
ears from giving him any useful information on our lines?”
Wahldon amplified, reaching for his own mug of lukewarm
coffee and sipping it with a grimace.
Mul’drak was a name that had long been whispered in the
spring and summer campaigns as the one who was in
command of the forces of the Iron Horde in Aledress. An
orc of surprising intelligence and cunning, the warlock had
managed to keep the various races of the horde from
destroying themselves after the destruction of Twin Axe
Peak and the sudden absence of demonic power. It was
rumored that he was actually half human, though that was
more speculation than anything, and there were none living

13
in the army that had ever actually seen him except at a
distance. From all reports on the battlefield, Mul’drak
could whip his followers into a frenzy of fury and bloodlust
before a battle and still keep them under tight enough
control and discipline to be a real danger to a force larger
than his own. Wahldon had been shadowing Mul’drak’s
force for almost two months, fighting a series of meeting
engagements and steadily pushing them back toward the
barrier peaks of the mountains of Berlek Dur. It appeared
to be the warlock’s only tactical blunder, allowing himself
to be trapped against the mountains, but Wahldon
suspected there was a reason behind the movements and
was reasonably cautious with his troops.
Trenton sipped at his tea and let his eyes close for a
moment, the exhaustion apparent on his face before he
spoke. “I almost wonder if it was a feint.” He admitted.
“The idea of him slipping to the north just doesn’t make
sense. The only thing he could do would be to raise havoc
on the northern provinces of Aledress, but he knows he’d
be trapped against the forests and the army itself. What we
wouldn’t destroy the elves would finish off piecemeal.”
Wahldon was somewhat surprised at the clarity of the
evaluation. Trenton had never been formally trained in
strategy and tactics the way that he had, but the paladin was

14
showing a fair grasp of both with his experiences in the
army.
“I thought about that myself, but we’ve already cut him off
from the southwestern part of the country and the only
other place he can go is into the mountains. We’ll wind up
taking apart most of his army before he can get to Berlek
Dur and we have to dig him out.” Wahldon countered,
playing devils’ advocate.
Trenton thought for a moment, leaning back in his chair
and rubbing his eyes. “I know. I just don’t know what it is
he hopes to accomplish except to take as many of us with
him as he can when we finish him off.” He looked at
Wahldon, his gaze troubled. “If I didn’t know any better,
I’d say he was drawing us into something.”
Wahldon cocked his head, this was a new idea that he
hadn’t heard yet, and had to admit that it hadn’t really
crossed his own mind either. That being said, there was
nobody – outside of Brisste herself – that he would trust on
word alone more than Trenton. The paladin was incapable
of lying for its own sake and had an amazing insight into
what made people tick.
“You’ve got a hunch.” It wasn’t a question so much as a
prompting.
Trenton shrugged, “Availia pointed it out the last time I

15
saw her, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. She
said there is an old elf proverb that goes something like ‘If
your enemy is falling back without truly retreating, beware
of where he falls back to’ or something like that. The point
is, she thinks he’s falling back to a specific place for a
reason.”
Wahldon brushed the dampness off the table and
rummaged in a canvas bag next to his chair, pulling out a
scroll and stretching it out on the chipped wood and lying a
gauntlet on either end to keep it unfurled. It was a map of
the area that they were in, where the plains sloped up into
older mountains before giving way to the jagged and
massive peaks of Berlek Dur. There was a small village
near the foothills named Ebbon’s Grotto where the main
road in the area moved through, but there was no strategic
value to the town and it had long-since been abandoned
except as a resting place for Horde forces. Beyond that
were the larger foothills and then the mountains
themselves.
Wahldon and Trenton both bent over the map, each one
standing as if to get a bird’s eye view without even
realizing they’d done it. Wahldon rubbed his stubbled chin
and thought for a moment before he moved a finger along
the anticipated route that Mul’drak would withdraw along.

16
“Give Shadow a kiss for me when you see her next.”
Wahldon said softly, his voice betraying admiration and
astonishment.
Trenton leaned forward, “I’ll try and fit it in with all my
own.” he remarked, then looked up so Wahldon could
explain what he had seen.
Wahldon looked back at the map, tracing the line with his
finger again as he spoke, “The line of his withdrawal takes
him directly to the very steps leading to the entrance of the
stronghold of Berlek Dur itself. If he’s been pushed off
that line he has adjusted his movements to put him back on
that line. For whatever reason, he’s falling back to the
stronghold itself.”
Trenton nodded, it was obvious now that they knew what to
look for, but there was a single nagging question. “Why?”
he asked.
Wahldon shrugged, “If I knew the answer to that, I’d be
vying for Master Nosto’s position, but if I were to lay a
wager I would say that he either has friendly troops to
reinforce him in the stronghold, or there is an avenue of
escape for most of his force there in the mountain.”
Trenton sat back down, resting his elbows on the table and
his chin on his clenched fists. “So we either are going to be
dealing with more enemy troops or we will be dealing with

17
losing most of our enemy’s army and not really being able
to pursue him.” He summarized.
Wahldon nodded, “I’d say so, yeah.” He agreed, “I imagine
it could be for another reason, but I just don’t see it.”
“He’s an intelligent and skilled tactician, that much we’ve
seen,” Trenton remarked, “he knows what’s waiting for
him and we don’t.”
Wahldon shrugged, “Either way we have two options: We
stop him at Ebbon’s Grotto and hope we can force him into
attacking us, or we can keep doing what we’ve been doing
and hope that we can handle whatever it is that Mul’drak
has in mind.”
The two friends fell silent for a long moment, each staring
at the map and lost in their own thoughts. Trenton felt his
eyes drooping shut, the long weeks of near constant combat
finally beginning to win out over his grim will and
determination to see the job done. Wahldon saw it and
gently touched Trenton’s arm.
“Trenton?” he said softly, scanning his friend’s face, “Why
don’t you go ahead and sack out for a little while. Nothing
is going to happen much tonight. The action up front is just
a probing attack and we can turn that easily. By tomorrow
afternoon we’ll be near Ebbon’s Grotto and can decide
what to do from there depending on what the enemy is up

18
to.”
The paladin shook his head to clear it, blinking. “Sorry,
Wahldon, the last week or so has been almost nonstop
against Mul’drak’s skirmishers, and they love to attack
right at nightfall or just before dawn, so getting any kind of
rest isn’t very likely.”
Wahldon nodded, “I know.” He agreed, “I never believed
that the Iron Horde could stay this organized after
Cyrus…Dranattothrax – whatever his name is now! – left
Mul’drak in command and disappeared.”
Trenton’s countenance darkened at the mention of that
name. The very right hand of the Prince of the Abyss
himself, Dranattothrax had been allowed to escape the
destruction of Twin Axe Peak and the Horned Gate inside
of it for reasons known only to the Holy One himself. It
was something that Trenton, who had been lying dead on
the gate when the deal was struck, still had a hard time
grasping. He had been trained that when you had an enemy
in your grasp, you destroyed him, not let him go to create
more destruction and misery later. He sent up a silent
prayer for patience and understanding, but he could still
feel that dark cold spot in his soul that felt unnervingly like
distrust; something he never thought could ever happen in
the relationship between he and his God.

19
“I’m sorry, Trenton,” Wahldon was saying, “I know you
don’t like to hear that name.”
Trenton waved it off. “It’s not important, Wahldon.
Regardless of how I feel we have a weaker commander in
charge of the Iron Horde than we had in Dranattothrax, and
we’ll exploit it.”
The tent flap opened, and Trenton heard the voice even as
the female silhouette was framed in the entrance, the flow
of robes and the outline of curls in the hair identifying who
it belonged to.
“Wahldon?” it said quietly, then the head turned to the
paladin, “Oh! Trenton! I didn’t know you were in the
camp!”
Brisste came fully into the tent and hugged her tall friend
warmly, her concerned eye taking in the battered state of
his armor and tabard. Trenton’s normally strong arms felt
distressingly soft in the embrace, and Brisste’s thought to
Wahldon was He has to get away from the front for a few
days at least. The impression she got back from her
husband was that of helpless frustration and she knew that
it simply wasn’t possible yet. Trenton’s face was truly
alarming. Even on the quest to Twin Axe Peak she
couldn’t remember him looking so exhausted and ragged.
Of course then it had only been the four of them and not an

20
entire army that was depending on them. Five she
amended in her mind, sadly touching the memory of
Elasimus and his aromatic pipe that he would smoke in the
rare moments of downtime on that quest.
Trenton smiled at Brisste, she still looked so much
like the girl who would threaten to turn them into toads
when they would play jokes on her in the tower of the
castle where they came of age together; although he knew
full well the power at her beck and call when she needed it
as well. He had seen the sky boil with lightning by her
command, and gouts of flame spout out of the earth under
her enemies in the same battle; and he had seen her
command invisible forces to repel siege weapons and
archery barrages as well. He sighed inwardly, wondering
at the loss of innocence in so short a time.
“How are you, Brisste?” he asked, hoping he didn’t betray
his dark mood, “Are you here to make sure our
commanding officer gets enough rest for tomorrow?”
She shook her head, her eyes sparkling mystically and the
corner of her mouth turning up ever so slightly as she
remembered what she had come to see her husband about
in the first place.
“Not really, no,” she admitted, glancing at her husband,
“although he should probably take his own advice and get

21
some sleep before tomorrow.”
Wahldon looked at Brisste and saw the mischief behind her
smile.
“Alright, Bee, out with it!” he growled playfully, enjoying
the chance to smile for a moment, “What are you up to?”
She arched an eyebrow as if to say “Who? Me?” but shook
her head again. “I am up to nothing at all,” she insisted,
“although what I was going to tell you about the last report
of the evening should be that much more interesting.”
Trenton looked puzzled at Wahldon who simply shrugged
as Brisste leaned out the tent flap and called, “He’s ready to
see you now.”
The figure slipped into the opening like a wisp of smoke
under a door, making no sound at all, and completely
shrouded in a mottled cloak of grey and green and brown.
The figure was obviously a woman, with almost
exaggerated grace of movement and inhuman beauty.
“Availia…” Trenton breathed, his voice cracked with
emotion and his eyes wide.
The elf woman pushed her hood off her black hair and met
his eyes, her own brimming with damp joy before she
couldn’t hold back and fell into his arms for a tight
embrace mixed with tears and laughter.
“I didn’t know you’d be here!” she whispered fiercely,

22
clutching his face in her hands as if she couldn’t believe her
own senses that he was actually holding her.
Wahldon was smiling at his wife, who – for her part – was
beaming and wiping a tear out of her eyes.
The warlord asked gently, “Trenton wouldn’t have told me
if I had asked, but how long has it been since you two saw
each other?”
Availia turned to face her friend, visibly regaining her
composure with a ragged sigh. Trenton took her hand and
squeezed it encouragingly. “It’s been nearly a month and a
half since we’ve had more than a written communication
between us.” She admitted softly.
Wahldon squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his throat tighten
and a wave of guilt wash over him. He had Brisste close at
hand out of necessity due to her role, but his two friends
had been married only a matter of six months before they
had been required to part for their individual duties.
“You didn’t know because I didn’t want you to know,
Wahldon.” Trenton said, patting his friend’s shoulder.
“You already take too much onto your shoulders and I
wouldn’t let you take on something that you can’t help
anyway. We knew the sacrifices going into it.”
Brisste took Wahldon’s arm, “You have good friends to
watch out for you and I’m here too, Wahldon. You

23
couldn’t take it all on yourself a year ago, and you can’t do
it now.
Wahldon smiled at her, kissing her curls, “I know, Bee,” he
replied, “it’s one of the hazards of command though.
Right, Trenton?”
Trenton nodded with a sad smile, the faces of the dead
haunting the periphery of his mind. “One of many.” He
admitted.
Wahldon looked to Availia, “Before I turn you loose,” he
said, his tone indicating a return to business for a moment,
“Brisste said you had a report for me?”
Availia stood straight and stepped forward, handing
Wahldon a tied scroll of paper from her sleeve. “From the
ground I’ve scouted I would advise that we can use the
foothills as a screen to get around the northern section of
Mul’drak’s army and take up positions around the village
of Ebbon’s Grotto. That would cut off his retreat to the
stronghold of Berlek Dur and force him to come after us on
ground of our choosing. His supply lines are completely
gone, and he can’t sustain his army on the land since all of
it in this area is non-farming.”
Wahldon grinned tightly, “I’ve got to hand it to you,
Shadow, you keep this up and we may make a scout out of
you yet!” it was a long-standing joke with them, since

24
Availia had never officially joined the army or any military
order.
“I don’t like uniforms,” she replied, “too scratchy for the
way I dress.”
Brisste snickered and Wahldon took a moment to look
confused.
The mental image that Brisste sent him was enough to
make him blush even in the flickering lantern light.
“Just dismiss them, dear.” She told him, “I’ll explain it
later.”
Wahldon shook his head and threw up his hands, “Okay!
Okay! Get out of my sight and don’t let me see you in this
camp until sunrise tomorrow!” he barked, looking at
Trenton with a slight smile, “Am I clear?”
Trenton fought a grin, “Perfectly, sir!”
Wahldon looked at Availia and sighed with a final smirk,
“Make sure he sleeps, if you would please.” He said, voice
neutral, but his eyes twinkling merrily.
The elf bowed, her long black hair somehow still radiantly
shiny even after all of her time in the saddle.
“As you wish.” She agreed, then turned and led her
husband out of the tent and into the gathering rain and
gloom beyond.
Wahldon waited for the sound of their horses, then pulled

25
out a quill pen and scribbled a quick order on a piece of
parchment, rolled it up, and slipped it into a tube around a
swallow-tailed owlhawk’s slender leg. The little bird’s
head turned to look at him over its back, hooting curiously,
it’s crest of crimson feathers contrasting brilliantly with the
black feathers covering the rest of its body. A tug on the
string securing it and the bird exploded off its perch with
barely a sound, slipping out the flap and into the night.
Brisste blinked, “Who’s the message for?” she asked,
sitting across the table from him.
“Captain Omigawrsh.” He replied, using the misnomer for
Trenton’s Aide de Camp. The dwarf paladin’s real name
was Omi Garawsh – one of the few who hadn’t translated
his surname into human parlance - , but someone
mispronounced it and made it sound like Omigawrsh so the
name stuck. Thankfully the dwarf was good natured about
it and simply adopted the nickname Omi.
“Why him?” the wizard asked.
Wahldon chuckled, “Because, you ninny, I want to make
sure that Trenton and Availia have at least one night
uninterrupted, so I’m turning over command to Omi until
Trenton comes back in at dawn!”
Brisste leaned forward, her smile becoming soft, “And
now, Commander, we need to see to it that you take your

26
own advice and get some sleep.” She said, blowing out the
flame in the lantern on the table with a wave of her hand,
even as her eyes never left his.
“Umm, Bee?” Wahldon protested weakly before her lips
brushed against his and he figured that it wasn’t a bad idea
to take advantage of the quiet for however long it would
last after all.

27
 Chapter Two

The morning dawned bright and warm, the sun

casting the valley in an orange glow while the last remnants
of the rain clouds splashed the sky with pinks and pastel
blues. The ground was still saturated from a week’s worth
of rain, and mud-spattered horses pulled carts of food and
supplies behind the rows of men and dwarves that were
beginning to march toward the north and the hills that rose
like dark waves in the distance.
Wahldon’s command table was set up in the open, his maps
anchored to the surface with a mug of coffee and a steel
gauntlet. Grondragon was standing on a tree stump, talking
with his commander about the flanking maneuver around
the hills and how best to move the army with maximum
speed.
“Never underestimate the stubbornness of a dwarf.”
Trenton’s voice called even as Wahldon heard the animal’s
hoof-beats and the paladin guided it to a nearby post to

28
dismount.
The warlord fought a smile and decided not to look up from
his map lest he crack a grin.
“Trouble with Captain Omi?” he asked absently.
Trenton took the mug of tea that Grondragon offered him
with a grunt of thanks and sipped at it before answering.
Wahldon looked up and was amused to note that his
friend’s eyes were bleary and it looked like he had been
awake half the night, his usual pristine personal appearance
slightly disheveled. Well, I didn’t tell her how long to let
him sleep. He thought ruefully to himself.
“Trouble? Not at all.” Trenton replied with a smirk, “But I
think he enjoyed the idea that he could prevent me from
returning to the camp until just before dawn this morning,
to be honest with you.”
Wahldon couldn’t resist the smile, and even Grondragon
chuckled as he tore into a piece of dark rye bread.
“Aye, m’lord, that one can be a stubborn ol’ dwarf, he
can.” The warrior commented around his mouthful.
Wahldon raised his eyebrow and looked at his diminutive
friend, “Now that is the orc calling the troll ‘ugly’.” He
said with a snort.
The three of them enjoyed the laugh for the moment, then
turned their attention to the map. Trenton pointed to the

29
small pass through the hills that would take them around
and ahead of Mul’drak’s forces.
“Availia and her unit left well before first light this
morning to scout the area ahead of us.” He reported, “She
figured the whole of our force could make it through the
pass by mid-day. That would put us directly between
Mul’drak and Ebbon’s Grotto on a fairly level plain before
it slopes toward the mountains.”
Wahldon nodded. “The forward units have reported some
contact with enemy skirmishers already this morning, but
nothing more than normal.”
A rider galloped up to the commander’s table, pulling his
horse to a stop and nearly unseating himself in his scramble
to dismount and report. Trenton recognized him as one of
the few humans in Availia’s ranger unit.
“Lieutenant Ning?” he called, becoming alarmed, “What’s
going on?”
The young man was breathless as he got to his feet,
“Mul’drak’s army is moving this way through the pass as
we speak, my lords! Lady Availia is shadowing their
movements on the ridgeline, but she sent me back here to
warn you that we need to deploy our forces to meet the
assault!”
“Damn that warlock!” Wahldon snarled, slamming his fist

30
on the table. “He’s been using his skirmishers to fool us
into thinking he’s in front of us this whole morning so he
could come through the pass and catch us on the flank!”
He whirled to Trenton, “Mount up and get to the front of
the lines as fast as you can, Trenton! We can’t let them
catch us in road formation or he’ll cut us to pieces before
we can even mount a defense! I’ll send owlhawks ahead of
you to the unit commanders, but I’m counting on you to
turn the line and set up your battle formations right at the
mouth of the pass!”
Trenton bowed quickly and raced to his horse, swinging
himself onto its back after releasing the reigns. “I’ll deploy
two of my archer units on either side of the pass in the
heights,” he informed Wahldon, “if we can do that without
Mul’drak knowing about it, we may be able to actually
bottle his force in the pass itself before he can bring his full
power to bear on us.”
Wahldon nodded, “Good thought, Trenton,” he saluted his
friend and added softly, “go with the Holy One, brother.”
Trenton returned the salute and spurred his horse, causing it
to leap into a gallop and thunder through the camp like a
brown whirlwind through a wheat field.
Grondragon watched him go, “I hope he’s nae too late,
Commander.” He breathed.

31
Wahldon nodded and turned to Lieutenant Ning, “You just
saved this army, Lieutenant.” He told the youngster, patting
him on the shoulder, “Now I need you to go and save your
commander. Get back to her position and tell her to pull
out to behind Lord Silverblade’s front.”
Ning bowed, “Yes, sir!” he turned to his mount when
Wahldon made him pause.
“How old are you, Lieutenant?” he asked.
Ning smirked confidently, “Sixteen, sir. Don’t worry, I’ll
make sure Lady Silverblade gets the message.”
Wahldon nodded, dumbfounded that he was thinking of a
sixteen year old as a child when he was only four years
older. Am I really that young? He thought to himself for a
moment, then saluted the scout.
“Ride like hell, Lieutenant.” He growled in dismissal,
wondering fleetingly if he would see the young man alive
again, before he turned back to his maps and hoped that his
people would not be too late.
“She’ll get the message all right,” Grondragon pointed out,
“but will she actually listen to it?”
Wahldon chuckled in spite of himself, “The only time she
ever hid behind Trenton she was naked and defenseless,
and even then she killed a lizardman by taking Trenton’s
dagger.” He replied, “So I really don’t expect her to follow

32
my suggestion, but I had to offer the avenue of escape if
things get dicey.”
The dwarf chuckled, shaking his head, and Wahldon began
quickly writing orders on small scrolls to turn his forces
around.
________________________________________________

The sun was reaching its peak by the time Trenton

had his battle-lines in place. Only an hour before had he
personally placed the two units of archers in the wooded
hills on either side of the pass nearly a quarter of a mile
inside the narrow alleyway. Availia’s unit had made
contact around that time, letting him know that the lead
elements of Mul’drak’s forces would be reaching the mouth
of the pass by sometime in the early afternoon if they kept
their pace. He dispatched a rider with strict instructions to
the detached archers ordering them to hold their fire until
the Horde archers were in range, then let fly with two
volleys before pulling back toward the Aledressan lines lest
they become cut off and destroyed. To Availia he sent a
short message, “I can’t ask you to pull out with your
people, but I can ask you to please take care of yourself. I
want to be able to hold you again when this is all over.”
He turned his face heavenward, letting the sunlight

33
warm his skin even as he closed his eyes and tried to let the
fear and anticipation of battle flow out of him. He opened
his heart in silent prayer, pleading for wisdom to command
and strength to fight in what he hoped was their last fight
on the Aledressan frontier.
“May it be, Strength of all the Righteous, that this is the
victory we have so long fought for.” He whispered, “Grant
us courage, strength, and grace on this field of battle as
You have in all others.”
A gravelly voice next to him growled, “En shadda.”
Trenton looked down to see Captain Omi standing at his
side, his armor polished and gleaming in the sunlight, and
the great hammer slung easily over his left shoulder. The
dwarf’s red beard was twisted into a single long braid that
hung down to his belt, and his mustaches drooped beyond
his jaw line. Great bushy eyebrows shadowed eyes that
were the color of a dark cave deep in the mountains, and
his nose was the sharp angle of a craggy cliff-face.
Trenton smiled at his friend and fellow paladin, “En shadda
indeed, Omi.” He echoed the dwarven phrase meaning ‘Let
it be so’.
The dwarf looked fondly up at the much younger
paladin. The lad was a legend among those who had taken
up the mantle of paladin, sacrificing his life to close the

34
infernal Horned Gate, only to be given that life back for
some unknown reason. At age twenty he was a Knight of
Aledress and the field commander of nearly two thousand
dwarves and humans that had been fighting for a full six
months. What truly impressed the old dwarf was Trenton’s
willingness to listen and learn from those who had more
experience than he did, and then to apply it with great
success on the battlefield. He was becoming skilled at
surveying ground and choosing the right places for
engaging the enemy and leaving the army an avenue for
escape should the need arise. The beings under his
command loved him, as he led from the front and led by
example; he was not afraid to match his enemies blow for
blow if the fighting got close.
“Ye need to remember to let the lads do most of the fightin’
today, m’lord.” Omi reminded him gently. “They need to
know yer behind ‘em and doin’ what needs to be done, and
not worryin’ about carryin’ yer body out of the fight. “
Trenton smiled wryly, “Why do I hear the faint undertones
of my wife in your burr, Omi?” he asked.
The dwarf rubbed his nose with a chuckle, “The Lady
Availia is smart enough to know that live commanders are
more of an inspiration than dead heroes if ye don’ mind me
sayin’ so.”

35
Trenton snorted, “She’s a fine one for that advice,” he held
up a hand to stave off the inevitable argument, “but the
point is well-taken. I’ll try to direct things from the rear as
best I can…if I can.”
Both of them stopped for a moment and listened, filtering
out the sounds of the army around them to hear what
somehow didn’t belong. Trenton’s younger ears picked it
up first, the faint cry of a war horn and the thrum, thrum of
distant drums to the north. He looked at Omi and took a
deep breath. Mul’drak’s forces had arrived and were
beginning to make their deployment. Any moment and the
detached archers would make their strikes and run for the
lines.
“Stay close.” Was all he said as he spurred his horse to the
front of the lines where the infantry watched and waited.
As they rounded the end of the deployment, Trenton
could see the black carpet and glints of steel that was the
Horde army beginning to fan out and take up their own
positions. From what he could tell, the humanoids were
falling into an assault formation, determined to meet the
Aledressan line head on and blast their way straight
through it. The line wavered for a moment, the air went
hazy around the enemy, and a cry wafted in on the wind.
The first volley from the archers had gone in and taken the

36
Horde by surprise. Trenton watched, fists and jaw
clenched as tendrils of troops began moving toward the
bowmen and their wooded slopes.
“Get out of there!” he hissed to no one in particular. He
gritted his teeth, knowing there was nothing he could do
but hope that those men got out of harm’s way. Together
he and Omi rode to the front of the line and Omi took his
place at the center, formally saluting his commander, a
gesture mirrored by each unit commander down the line.
Trenton took a deep breath and shouted to be heard by as
many men as he could, slowly moving his horse from one
end of the line to the other as he spoke.
“My friends! Brothers and sisters of Aledress, B’rith, and
Berlek Dur! The time has come once more to take the fight
to those who would trample what is good and pure under
their dark boots! Beyond us, moving through the very pass
we were going to use to move around them, is the bulk of
Mul’drak’s army! It is only by divine providence that the
roles aren’t reversed and we are fighting our way out of
such a narrow passage!
“I fully believe that today’s fight will be the last major
engagement on the Aledressan frontier if we can drive the
invaders from the field today! All of you have lost friends,
loved ones, or even homes to the Iron Horde and their evil,

37
and now we have the chance to end that once and for all!
Commander Vaillance has complete faith in each and every
one of you here today to do your duty to the best of your
ability and carry the day when the last sword is sheathed.”
He felt the surge of love and affection for these people and
prayed he could convey it. “I share his faith and add to that
my sincere admiration for the courage and strength you
have shown me time and time again. The Holy One has
truly blessed me with the greatest soldiers ever called
together under a common banner, and today we will honor
the sacrifices of those who have gone before us by striking
the final blow for Aledress and our dwarven neighbors who
have stood by our sides!
“Now, look to your commanders for orders and guidance,
and look to each other and to the Holy One for strength and
courage! Let today be the day that all of those who follow
what is right and good look to as the day when the light
finally banished the darkness!”
Trenton held his mace high in the air, catching the sun with
its gold and silver highlights. The gathered soldiers roared
in thundering ascent to his words, and Trenton shouted as
he wheeled his horse to move toward the enemy lines.
“For the glory of the Holy One and for Aledress! For
Berlek Dur and for all of those we have left behind at home

38
and buried sleeping beneath the earth! FORWARD TO
VICTORY!”
Again the roaring cheer went up and the lines began to
move inexorably forward, the sound of their marching
actually audible, even in the rain-softened ground.
Overhead whistled the first giant projectiles from the twin
trebuchets on their deadly mission, plowing into the Horde
lines with scarcely heard cracks and the sight of bodies,
dirt, and small trees thrown into the air by the impact. The
Battle of Ebbon’s Grotto had begun.

39
 Chapter Three

Wahldon’s command post was set onto the tallest of

three hills overlooking the valley where his army had been
encamped. Directly across from his position, fully a mile
away, was the narrow opening of the pass behind the
foothills where Mul’drak’s army was desperately trying to
deploy into battle-lines even as the siege engines rained
down huge boulders into their midst, crushing everything in
their path. Grondragon handed him a strange pair of
copper tubes tied together with glass bubbles set into each
end of them. He had used the magnifiers before, but it
always mystified him as to how the dwarves were able to
create such an ingenious device in the first place. Placing
them to his eyes and sweeping the field, he could see that
the archer units in the hills were pulling back, using the
woods on the slopes to hinder their pursuers as they angled
toward the friendly lines. Dark bodies lay strewn about the
hillsides, and Wahldon felt his gut clench, realizing that

40
half of those that were sent in would never come back out
again. The tactic had been effective, but pricey. He moved
his vision to where the Horde lines were finally beginning
to get organized in the front as banners and pikes were
raised in defiance to the continual assault from the artillery
and archers. There were still gaps in the lines, however,
and Wahldon experienced a thrill of excitement as he saw
the first line of Trenton’s force break into a pikes forward
charge, slamming into the weak front and causing it to bow
inward and begin collapsing on itself. Heavy cavalry from
either side slammed into the flanks even as they attempted
to encircle the center of the line, preventing any kind of
reinforcement from reaching the focal point of the attack
except from the rear, which was already in near total
disarray from the artillery. A black rain of arrows began,
murderous crows filling the air and seeking to find
whatever flesh they could latch onto and destroy. Wahldon
turned to Grondragon, “Have the reserve units standing by
for Trenton’s orders or my own. I want them fresh and
ready when the time comes to reinforce that front part of
the line.”
Grondragon saluted and hurried to dispatch the message
and Wahldon turned his attention back to his men,
watching in expectant fascination the drama unfolding

41
across the valley.
“What’s that?” Brisste’s voice came from behind him,
sounding curious but also somewhat alarmed.
Wahldon scanned the battlefield desperately before he
realized the sky had gone from sunny and bright to a
boiling black mass of clouds filled with growling red
lightning over the field of battle. A cold wind began to
moan through the hills, sending chills down all of them for
the sound alone. Suddenly the hills on the sides of the pass
erupted upward, throwing great clumps of sod and stone
into the air even as horrifying humanoid forms coalesced
out of the debris, with crackling lightning as eyes and dark
tendrils of cloud and dirt reaching out toward the
Aledressan archers that were now in a complete rout. With
a swat of its black hand, the creature on the left crushed the
remaining troops as easily as they were flies under a roll of
paper, and huge boulders bounded down the slopes from
the impact.
“Brisste!” Wahldon shouted, “What are those things?”
Brisste didn’t answer, and Wahldon turned to look at her.
Her eyes were glowing white with power and her body was
standing arrow straight even as the wind whipped the
clothing around her. She held her staff in both hands in
front of her, the crystal set into it glowing almost painfully

42
in the gathering gloom of the day. A pair of silvery gray
beings, almost identical to the ones that were wading
toward the lines, descended out of the clouds, barreling into
their counterparts and pushing them away from the army to
the hills where they would not be as much of a threat.
Massive blow met massive blow, and these great elemental
titans began tearing at one another, each desperate to fulfill
their summoner’s wishes. One pair to destroy and the other
pair to protect, even as the battle raged on between the two
armies.
Helplessly Wahldon watched as the two armies fully
engulfed each other, breaking into an all out fight for
dominance that each knew only one would walk away
from. The clash of weapons, the sounds and cries of the
wounded and dying were carried on the wind, adding to the
chaos and terror of the day. The elements added to the
fury, sending a thundering rain down on the valley below in
concert with the carnage of earth, wind, lightning, steel and
flesh. It was as if the very heavens themselves were
becoming corrupted by the bloodshed and going mad from
it, even as parts of itself came to life and strove against
each other in grand scale to the smaller creatures fighting
beneath them.
“Wahldon!” Brisste’s voice came from between hard-

43
clenched teeth. “Send Availia to find where Mul’drak is
holed up! He’s the one creating all of this, but he shouldn’t
have nearly this kind of power! I can hold with him until
he can’t sustain it anymore, but if he tried again, I won’t
have the strength to resist it! We’ve got to find him and
distract him somehow or find out how he’s doing this!”
Wahldon whirled to see Grondragon standing beside him,
his eyes wide in fear and amazement as to what was
happening.
“Captain! Get a message to Availia as fast as you can!
Tell her to find that warlock and try to see what we’re up
against! Hurry!”
Grondragon nodded wordlessly and raced off as fast as his
shorter legs could carry him. Wahldon turned back toward
the valley, seeing that the battle was an even match so far
with discipline and valor meeting fury and bloodlust in
equal measure even as the storm whipped into an even
higher frenzy around them.
“Hold them together, Trenton,” he pleaded to the rumbling
heavens, “just hold them together until we can end this.”

________________________________________________

Trenton’s mace slammed into the helmeted head of

44
another orc skullsplitter, sending it spinning into the dirt
where it was soon trampled by a hundred booted feet all
fighting for the same area of the field. He had felt the air
around him turn sinister and dark even before he’d been
able to see the visual changes, and he had ordered the
charge into Mul’drak’s lines fearing the warlock would
unleash something into his men before they could engage.
Now there were the elementals – Trenton took a moment to
thank the Holy One for allowing Brisste to summon her
own – and this cursed storm blowing around them, but he
believed that it could have been far worse than it was. He
had dismounted from his charger shortly after the charge
and the lines had blended, not wanting to risk the animal in
an environment that it wouldn’t be able to serve as anything
but a target. The whistling of an axe-blade warned him a
split second before he whirled to his rear, raising his shield
and allowing his knees to bend with the force of the blow.
With a resounding clang, the axe deflected off the shield’s
surface and Trenton counterattacked with a sweep at his
attacker’s knees. The orc leapt over the mace, but Trenton
was expecting the move and lunged forward with the shield
against the now airborne orc, slamming it in the chest and
sending it pitching backward toward the ground. It never
got a chance to recover as the mace thundered down on the

45
unprotected neck, ending the skirmish. Trenton was nearly
deaf from the cacophony of ringing steel, screaming
wounded, and roaring thunder, and the rain was threatening
to drown any who fell to the ground in combat. Even the
archers had abandoned their bows and were now wading
into the battle with short swords and daggers flashing.
With a skill born of training and hard won experience,
Trenton began to wade through the battling throng, felling
orcs and gnolls alike, seeking a higher area that he could
use to rally his troops and strengthen their hearts.
“FAHG A’ BEALAC!” The cry came from behind him, and
Trenton whirled to see the helmeted Omi swinging his
great hammer with both hands, slamming a pair of foes into
the ground with a crunch of crushed bones and shattered
armor.
Trenton backed up to his Captain, each using the other for
support as they fought off wave after wave of attackers that
boiled out of the rain and toward them.
“What in the name of the Maker did that mean?” Trenton
shouted, having never heard that particular cry before.
Omi grunted in exertion, his hammer actually completely
removing the head of an orc that had ventured too close,
sending a gory fountain to mix with the driving rain as the
body fell to the side.

46
“It means ‘Clear the road, lads’!” the dwarf replied,
threatening another enemy with a raised hammer, “any
dwarf will know it and take heart! We use it to rally our
men underground!” Indeed, Trenton could hear the cry
echoing all down the line among the dwarf soldiers and
could feel their strength surge.
Trenton ducked under an axe blade, knowing that Omi was
safe due to his short stature. He brought his mace around
and slammed it into the back of the orc’s head as it
overextended itself, bending the helmet into the skull and
sending it limply to the ground with barely a twitch before
lying still.
“I’ve got to reach some place higher, Omi!” We’ve got to
keep the men in some order or they’ll overwhelm us by
sheer ferocity!” he called.
The dwarf pointed through the gloom at a small gap made
by the ebb and flow of battle. A small hill, barely more
than a mound, but topped with a flat shelf of rock jutted out
nearly in the middle of the lines. Trenton sent up a quick
prayer of thanks and looked over his shoulder.
“I’m heading for that rock, Omi,” he shouted, “are you
okay keeping up with me?”
The dwarf shook his head, “Go, commander! May the
Maker give ye the strength ye need, lad! I’ll hold me own

47
here and keep ‘em off of ye!”
Trenton set his jaw, knowing that his friend did not intend
to survive this fight, but also knew there was no time to
argue the point. He would have to simply pray that the
Holy One’s will was done either way.
He extended his hand toward Omi, a golden aura of
strength and courage flowing into the embattled dwarf
before Trenton turned and began his dash toward the rock,
his shield held up on his left and his mace striking any
target that revealed itself on his right. He continued to gain
speed, his legs pistoning as he leapt over fallen bodies and
dodged attacks and falling combatants. Above, leering
over the battlefield, he could see the dark and malevolent
face of one of Mul’drak’s elementals, taking a moment
from its opponent to cause destruction down the lines. The
red lightning that made up its eyes narrowed with festering
glee and its hand rose to strike and slaughter. It was clear
that the elemental didn’t even care who died anymore, so
long as it got to kill.
Trenton reached the rock and scrambled up onto it, his eyes
never leaving the elemental for a moment. His shield arm
extended upward and he shouted, “Inferi non
praevalebunt!”
A moment later his shield transformed itself into a glowing

48
arrow of purest holy light, streaking up to strike the
elemental in its glowering face, and bathing it with streaks
of gold that pierced its darkness like the rays of the sun
burning through the fog on a cool morning. The creature’s
scream shook the sky itself, causing the entire battlefield to
give pause to the awesome spectacle of light and dark
exploding against each other. A moment later the
elemental was torn apart and its component debris rained
down on the field below, pelting man and orc alike. The
remaining elemental vanished, and the two summoned by
Brisste likewise retreated to their normal states. Sunlight
began to stream through the clouds and the rain started to
slow. A ragged cheer went up from the lines of Aledress as
they saw their champion framed in golden light, his shield
blazing on his arm and his mace gleaming in the light even
as the holy power shone from his eyes.
“For the glory of the Holy One, and for the honor of our
people, press forward!” he shouted, his voice echoing with
power over the whole of the valley. A standard-bearer
handed the flag of Aledress up to Trenton, who took it and
planted it next to him for his men to see.
“Rally to the commander! Rally to the champion of the
Holy One!” The cry echoed again and again, “Tighten
formation and press forward!”

49
 Even as the combat resumed with heightened
ferocity, the momentum of the fight had clearly shifted, and
the forces of the Horde were driven back further into the
chokepoint of the pass. Archers again began raining arrows
down on the rear of their lines, causing them to slow and
stall the withdrawal even as the humans and dwarves
surged forward with renewed vigor, striking down
hundreds in their relentless advance. Trenton watched
them flow past him, holding the banner high overhead, not
daring to put it down or leave the perch that he was on, lest
the men lose sight of him and lose heart.
“Commander Vaillance is ordering the reserves in to turn
the enemy line and drive them from the field, my lord!” a
captain breathlessly reported from the base of the rock, his
face flushed with fatigue but his eyes shining with joy.
Trenton nodded, “Send my compliments to Commander
Vaillance and let him know that we need to shore up the
left side of the line if possible since that’s where the
elementals did the most damage!”
The captain saluted and scurried away to do as he was bid,
and Trenton watched as the mounted knights moved to his
left and to his right, one of the officers leading his charger
with him. Trenton handed the standard to a bearer and
mounted his horse, surveying the bodies littering the field

50
where blood and water mixed in equal measure around
them. Arrows and broken weapons lay strewn on the
ground, and the groans of the wounded reminded him
unnervingly of the prison of Twin Axe Peak and those
tormented souls that had been kept there.
“Let’s finish this, gentlemen.” He said to his flankers,
spurring his horse forward to hold formation with the lines
ahead. He could feel it beginning to break and knew it
wouldn’t be long before the retreat of the enemy became a
full rout. It can’t come too soon. He thought to himself.
________________________________________________

Availia had already sent her riders out from the hills
and to the north by the time she received Lieutenant Ning’s
warning from Wahldon. She smiled tightly and dismissed
the youngster to follow the others, then found herself the
highest point she could find above the pass in a cleft of
rocks that only a madman would try to reach without
climbing gear. No archer would even see where she was,
much less be able to angle for a shot, but she would be able
to shoot anything that came near her if it was foolish
enough to do so. Wahldon should know me better than
that. She thought to herself with a grin, pulling her cloak
around herself and watching as the rear of the Horde lines

51
buckled under the archers’ initial volleys. Besides, she
thought, Trenton already knows that I’ll be up here for the
duration of the fight. She had to admit that the orcs
recovered fast, and watched helplessly as the bowmen
fought to retreat even as the Horde troops surged into them.
Finally a small detachment held its ground, buying the rest
of them time to escape. Grimly Availia set her jaw and
respected their courage even as they were cut down but
their fellows managed to escape.
The wind began to moan and then shriek, and
Availia scanned the sky with a wary eye, sensing that this
was no ordinary storm before she saw the first of the
elementals form. From her vantage point she watched the
dark curtain of the rain descend into the valley and shroud
all of the warriors from view. For the first time since the
battle was joined she felt real fear. She closed her eyes and
pulled the cloak around her, hoping that Trenton had stayed
back but knowing in her heart that he hadn’t.
“Please,” she pleaded in a ghost of a whisper, “I can’t lose
him again.”
She fought the tears that burned her eyes, forcing the
thoughts of death from her mind even as her mind touched
on the strength of his love, even through the exhaustion, the
night before. What if that had been the last time?

52
“Stop it!” she hissed to herself, then nearly fell out of her
precarious position when the little owlhawk landed next to
her, chirp-hooting insistently.
Even as she reached for the bird she shook her head at how
these tiny creatures simply knew who they were to report
to, although it was believed that the elves had magically
imbued them with that ability centuries ago to the point
where they hardly required training any more. She unrolled
the scroll and read carefully, the weather elementals
making sense from the way Wahldon described it. Now it
was a matter of finding Mul’drak and figuring out what had
given him this sudden influx of power. She scrambled to
the top of the hill and sent the bird back to Wahldon with a
short reply, then shouldered her bow and moved along the
woods lining the bluff, heading deeper into the pass to find
the orc warlock. She allowed herself a tight grin, thankful
that she was no longer observing, but was now on the hunt,
something that she was uniquely gifted to do.

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 Chapter Four

The forested mountains smelled damp and sweet to

Availia’s senses, and she took a brief moment to absorb her
surroundings and draw strength from them. Even though
she had given up her immortality for her husband she was
still an elf and the draw of the forest was as strong for her
as was the human’s desire for the plains and farmlands.
The trees on the side of the mountains were mainly
evergreen, and their dark green foliage cast the ground
below in a deep twilight even in the now sunlit afternoon.
The ground was strewn with moss-covered boulders, and
light scrub grew basically everywhere. Occasionally there
would be sharp cliffs and prominences made from bare
white granite that dropped into sheltered valleys or jutted
up against the bare patches of sky overhead. From these
babbled clear streams of water, almost as if from the rocks
themselves, that washed down the front of the rocks and
then splashed into small pools below.

54
“Where are the animals?” Availia murmured to herself, the
absence of noise snapping out of her solitude. She paused
and listened, slipping unconsciously into the shadows near
a fallen tree that had long since been covered by stringy
moss.
A moment later she could hear the chilling cackling of
gnolls, followed by the sound of their boots crunching
through the underbrush. Peering out from her cover she
could see two of the hideous hyena men casually moving
through the woods, snapping branches and chattering
maniacally to each other as they moved. Availia checked
their armor and clothing to see if they bore the marks of the
Iron Horde or if they were simply a part of a wandering
band of gnolls from the local mountains. Then she spotted
the blood-red band around their upper arms, identifying
them as part of a skirmishing unit from the extreme flank of
the army. Evidently these two had been part of a foraging
patrol for food and water since Aledress had severed the
supply lines quite a while ago and the soldiers of the Horde
had to pretty much fend for themselves.
Carefully and quietly Availia pulled her bow off her
shoulder and notched an arrow, tilting the bow to the side
as she drew back the string and aimed. She would only
need one of them alive for interrogation.

55
The arrow whistled through the air and embedded itself
through the temple of the gnoll that was farthest from her,
causing it to drop to the ground and flop for a moment
before finally lying still. The second gnoll cackled in panic
and turned to run, but the next arrow slammed into the back
of its knee, buckling the joint and sending it sprawling to
the ground with a shriek of pain and rage.
“Don’t bother pulling the arrow out, demon worshiper,” a
soft voice growled from nearby, ”or I’ll put another one
through the other knee and leave you for the wolves.”
The grey-clad wraith detached herself from the shadowy
darkness and advanced with her bow drawn back, her eyes
blazing with cold fury and the tip of her arrow glinting in
the filtered sunlight.
“You arrrrre farrrrr frrrrom yourrrrr arrrrrmy, elf.” The
gnoll snarled through bared fangs.
“I never was much for following orders.” She snapped,
“Now we can sit here and wait for the wolves to get here,
or you can tell me what I want to know and I let you go.”
The gnoll cackled, a mix of pain and scorn, “Why would
you not slay me anyway, elf?”
Availia narrowed her eyes, “You’ll never carry a sword in
combat again, gnoll. You’re knee will never allow it. I’ve
crippled you and I no longer need to take your life.” She

56
shrugged, “Of course if you want to die I can accommodate
you as well. The manner of death depends on if I believe
what you tell me. Live or die, die well or die bad, it makes
no difference to me.”
The gnoll considered this, its eyes black and suspicious.
“What would you have me tell you that you do not know
already? Ourrr arrrmy is but a shadow, and we will die
herrrre farrrr frrrom ourrr dens.”
“Then you will tell me where Mul’drak may be found,
since he’s the one who has led you here.” Availia offered,
careful not to move her arrow from where it was aimed.
“Mul’drak has gone mad since we took the dwarrrf dens in
the mountains.” The gnoll spat disgustedly. “He has holed
himself in the depths of the mountain with none but the
dead. He will meet with none and speaks to the glass ball
that he carrries with him.”
It made sense, Availia had to admit, and the fact that
Mul’drak changed the course of his army at the last
moment was to protect the sanctuary that he had in these
mountains and to hopefully trick the army into thinking
they had finally destroyed the threat while he survived to
reek havoc across the countryside. He had secluded
himself because he obviously didn’t want anyone knowing
what it was he was working on or planning, lest he have to

57
deal with dissension in his own ranks even as he sent them
to their deaths to protect his own hide.
“I actually believe you, gnoll.” She admitted, lowering her
bow and meeting the creature’s pain-laced gaze. “You will
live to see another day. When I am gone remove the arrow
and make your way out of these lands. If I find you here
tomorrow, I will kill you.”
The gnoll nodded, “It shall be as you say, elf.” The creature
was obviously suspicious, and Availia was counting on that
fact to give her a long head start to where the road networks
began that were the entrances to the dwarf city-fortress of
Berlek Dur.
She faded into the shadows and mist yet again,
becoming a specter and then a memory a moment later, not
even leaving the sounds of footfalls to follow. She didn’t
notice the temperature falling behind her and frost forming
on the leaves around the gnoll as she began to jog away.
Suddenly her ears pricked up at the terrified
screams and howls of her former victim sending a javelin
of cold fear down her spine as she stopped in mid-stride
and felt her nerves stand on end. She looked over her
shoulder in time to hear a reverberating voice that sounded
as if it were from the grave itself laugh mockingly just
before the screaming was cut off in the hiss of a blade and

58
then a silence that was even more frightening. Availia
shivered, then realized her breath was beginning to come in
wispy puffs of steam as she stared into the undergrowth,
her heart pounding in her ears. Branches began to break,
approaching her and moving faster and faster. The
crawling sense of doom began to overtake her, and she ran
as fast as her legs would propel her through the thick forest
. Blindly she ran, maneuvering on instinct, ducking under
branches, leaping over jutting roots and skidding down
narrow pathways with the singular thought of escape
thundering in her mind. Her arms wind-milled, her legs
pistoning with all the strength her body could muster;
stumbling, hurdling and finally nearly falling headlong
down a leaf-covered slope. She didn’t know what it was
that pursued her, if it even was pursuing her at all, but the
elemental fear of death had overwhelmed her in a way
she’d only rarely felt in her long life; and, as the cold sweat
began to finally subside and she allowed herself to slow
and stop, she found herself drawn to the painful memory of
the night her village was destroyed and her family
slaughtered. Something dark and horrible had been
unleashed in the forest that night, although she’d never seen
it. It was a sensation, a whispering in the tortured breath of
nature itself as she had fled toward Aledress and her

59
destiny. Now it was as if this specter from her past had
found her yet again, but she had actually heard it and felt it
this time. The thought made her shudder in horror, and she
fell to the ground and lay on her back, chest heaving. What
had been there behind her that could inspire such fear
without even being seen? She was pretty positive she
didn’t want to know. She scrambled up the steep slope of a
rocky hill, fostering a view of the surrounding area so that
she could see any enemy that would approach long before
they’d be able to see her. She scanned the area for a little
while, not settling down until she had read the signs from
nature that all was well. Finally, she sat down and pulled
open the pouch on her hip, dipping her hand in to pull out a
smooth stone that Brisste had given her shortly after they
had joined the army in the field in spring. The stone was
flat and nearly perfectly rounded, the surface of it etched
with a rune that Availia figured was a representation of the
spell that was invested within it.
“Existo avia!” she said, cupping the stone in her hands.
A ball of blue energy coalesced over her hands, then
formed itself into the shape of a small bird with gleaming
white energy eyes that blinked up at her patiently.
“Wahldon,” she said, knowing the Manabird would repeat
exactly what she said without error, “I’ve found where

60
Mul’drak is holed up, and it’s deep in the heart of Berlek
Dur itself, where the Overthane had his fortress. I’ll try to
meet you here on the mountain if I can. Don’t worry about
my finding you if you still make as much noise as you used
to. If you see Trenton – “ her voice caught for a moment, “
– let him know that I’m alright.”
With a gesture of opening her hands, she bid the little
magical creature fly to its destination and then pulled her
cloak around herself and scaled the stony wall of her hill,
pulling a small map of the area out of her pack and taking a
moment to survey the area and confirm where she was. By
her reckoning it would take another two hours of a brisk
walk through the wooded foothills before she reached the
well-made roads that had once been the arteries of trade
and commerce in the mountains between the dales of men
long before they united into Aledress and the stronghold
itself. It made perfect sense that Mul’drak chose this
fortress for whatever abomination he was working on.
Availia drew her cloak tighter around herself, the
overwhelming sense of foreboding and darkness making
her wish for all the world that her husband was with her.

61
 Chapter Five

The winds moaning through the passage between

the foothills were cold and bitter, with the promise of heavy
wet snow by the time Lyra made its path across the night
sky. Already great cloud mountains were piling up to the
west and the north, while the wind pulled in toward them as
if the onrushing storm were gathering its breath before
unleashing itself on the dead and dying littering the floor of
the land below. Trenton sat astride his horse near the
entrance to the pass where his army had first met with the
forces of the Iron Horde, staring into the gathering gloom
and across the sea of bodies bristling with the broken and

62
jagged implements of war and destruction. He was
exhausted both physically and emotionally, and it was
through sheer iron will that he managed to keep himself
from simply slithering off the horse and sleeping on that
very spot. He had sent out medics and the two clerics from
his men to see what they could do for the wounded, but he
feared that any who hadn’t already been tended to would
probably be beyond the help of even the divine magic of
the clerics. Immediately he chided himself for the thought,
knowing that there was nothing impossible for the Holy
One to accomplish – as he himself was living proof – he
simply had to believe that his God knew what He was
doing. A gust of bitter wind slapped his face, stinging him
even through the beard, and he closed his eyes for a
moment, trying to get hold of the feelings of loss and anger
that were welling up inside him.
Aledress had been fighting for so long against an
enemy that was more evil than any of them had ever seen in
their lives, and now that the enemy had finally been
destroyed within those borders Trenton was left with a
sense of unease about what else lay out there beyond the
mountains. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that it was
all over; Dranattothrax was too smart a tactician for that to
happen. If the Horde Army west of the mountains had been

63
destroyed, then Trenton knew his enemy simply had no
more use for it.
“Lord Silverblade,” a hand touched his leg and he realized
that he had actually begun drifting off to sleep in the
saddle. A young squire, soft faced with large brown eyes
and wild hair took hold of the horse, his eyes scanning the
carnage of the battlefield around him with the bodies of
men and orcs two and three deep in places. The youngster
tore his eyes free and looked at Trenton with an expression
of concern. “My lord, are you injured? Should I summon a
medic or cleric?”
Trenton smiled and climbed off his horse before replying,
patting the animal’s strong neck affectionately. He had
never named it, thinking that it would wind up dead if he
did, but now it seemed like something he should give some
thought to. He shook his head to refocus himself, for a
moment, then spoke to the squire.
“I’m fine, Jeromie,” He replied softly, “It’s just been a
very long day and I’m finding myself not in much of a
mood to celebrate our victory here today.” Now that he had
admitted it, he realized he wasn’t really sure why.
The squire nodded, “I look at the bodies, my lord, and I
think to myself that both orcs and men die the same way,
and they both fight with skill and courage. Why is

64
something that’s evil allowed to have traits that we would
think of as virtuous like courage and discipline?”
Trenton was surprised by the straightforward nature of the
question. It was like a child’s inquiry, and yet it reflected
exactly his own misgivings.
He shook his head, “I wish I knew; but you’re right in that
both sides fought with courage and ferocity I’ve seldom
seen.” He shrugged, looking at the dead faces of orcs and
gnolls before replying. “Don’t forget though that the orcs
and the goblins were made in response to the Holy One’s
creation when Malevolis rebelled against Him and tried to
set his own order of things.”
Jeromie nodded somberly, moving the horse –
and it’s rider as well – toward the fire that was already
roaring near the command tent. Trenton realized the
youngster was trying to get him to rest and allowed himself
a smile. Jeromie had come to him at the recommendation
of no less than High Cleric Jonn himself, in order to see
first-hand the life that a paladin leads in the field. Trenton
had been uncomfortable with the arrangement at first, but
quickly saw much of himself in his young companion.
Jeromie was curious about matters of spirituality, had a
surprisingly solid grasp of personal combat tactics for
someone barely fourteen years old, and was not intimidated

65
by the prospect of hard training to achieve his status as a
paladin.
“Now that those beings are part of creation, no matter what
their origin, wouldn’t it stand to reason that they could be
brought to embrace the Holy One’s light like any other
demihuman?” the youngster finally ventured, staring into
the flames as he tied the horse to its post and fed it an
apple.
Trenton had just sat on his camp-stool, and very nearly fell
off from it as he turned to look at the calm face of his
apprentice with a slightly dumbfounded look on his face.
The boy had cut straight to the heart of the topic without so
much as sign of rage or hatred. It was amazing that after
seeing six months of the brutality that the Horde visited on
Aledress he was actually postulating that those who made
up that same enemy could be brought to the fold of the
Holy One. Trenton found his throat tighten, feeling the
gentle admonishing of his God through the quiet faith of
this boy.
“I have to admit that the thought has never crossed my
mind, Jeromie,” he finally said, “though I would imagine
that those races could be taught if you could get to them
early enough, or the Holy One chose to speak directly to
them Himself.”

66
 The first wet and heavy flakes of snow began to
fall, and the darkness of night became deeper with the onset
of the storm. The winds pulled at the fire, twisting it’s
orange fingertips in hypnotic spirals toward the racing
clouds over head. Trenton pulled his cloak over his head,
not quite ready to enter his tent for the night. He glanced
over at the log that Jeromie sat on, smiling when he
realized the lad had fallen asleep sitting up and was in
danger of slipping off the log and ending up face-first on
the wet and frosty mud of the camp.
“Jeromie,” Trenton shook the boy’s shoulder gently. A
moment later the brown eyes flashed open, a look of
momentary panic crossing his face. “Why don’t you go
ahead and bed down for the night? I won’t be needing
anything else until morning anyway.”
Jeromie ran a hand over his face, shivering with the cold,
“As you wish, Lord Silverblade.” He agreed with a bow,
before bidding Trenton goodnight and disappearing into his
small tent.
Trenton returned his gaze to the fire, wondering if Availia
had found shelter from the storm where she was. He felt
the pain of her absence lance through his heart, even as he
could still taste her soft kisses on his lips from the night
before. He had received word from Wahldon that they

67
would be traveling to meet her in the foot hills by late
morning, but the snow was now threatening to delay that
somewhat. He sighed and then smiled to himself as he
imagined her impatience to get moving in the morning.
The thing that would truly drive her crazy would be the fact
that she wouldn’t be able to take a walk or leave her
observation point to relieve her tension.

Availia watched the falling snow through the

branches of fragrant pine that she had used to cover the
small alcove under a cluster of boulders near the cavern
entrances. She had learned to construct such shelters over a
hundred years before as a girl in Mourn Wood, and had
become so adept at hiding them that her father had joked
she was part wood nymph and could actually blend into the
trees.
The thought of her family brought out a familiar
ache in her heart, although it wasn’t nearly as sharp as it
had been even a year and a half ago, when she, Trenton and
the others had embarked on their quest from Stormgate.
Her oldest brother, Tallo, had been away from the village
when the Horde had entered the forest, and Availia
presumed he had been slain before the main bulk of the
army reached Simmrolarinis. Her other brother, Istallis,

68
had fallen defending the village along with his wife,
although their daughter had escaped with around a dozen
other villagers. She fought back the old tears and tried to
concentrate on the sights and sounds around her, but there
really weren’t that many as most of the birds and animals
had bedded down to ride out the storm. The only real
sound was that of the wind as it wound its way through the
boughs of pine and cedar trees or the cracks and crevices of
the boulders and cliffs nearby. The burbling of a small
stream of water could faintly be heard at the bottom of a
craggy gully to the north, and occasionally she could hear
the splash of Snowy Fangwings as they dove on the water
to scoop up fish that strayed too close to the surface. The
white-furred bats were unique to the foothills of the Berlek
Dur mountains, and Availia had hoped to catch a glimpse
of them someday, although she had more important things
on her mind at the moment.
“We meet again, daughter of the wood.” A voice said softly
above her, catching her completely by surprise. Even as
she scrambled to draw her sabers she could hear the
mirthful chuckle of the voice’s owner, and realized she had
heard that voice before.
“The sounds of the storm do well to mask footfalls that are
lighter than most.” The voice observed conversationally,

69
“Is it safe for me to join you, or will you skewer me to the
ground the moment I step foot inside.?”
Availia cursed herself inwardly, but at the same time she
wondered how in the world you tracked a person who
literally communed with the natural world on a level that
could only be called spiritual.
“Come in out of the cold, Master Druid,” she said with a
wry twist to the title, “although I personally believe that it
isn’t so much that you are a halfling than it is that you
know every inch of the wilderness and it knows you.”
The lithe little man slipped into the covey, his fur-rimmed
cloak pulled over his braided corn-rows and slightly
pointed ears. He had grown a thin goatee since Availia had
seen him on the day after Elasimus had died, and he was
clad in a bulkier suit of furs and skins designed to keep out
the worst of the cold and protect him from the snow and
rain as well. He was barely over three feet in height, and
his quiet demeanor belied the considerable power that he
wielded as a sworn protector of nature itself. The only
weapon that he carried was a hand-crafted knife and a staff
that was covered in runes and tipped with the claw of what
looked to be a gnoll wrapped around a chunk of natural
quartz.
“You’re far from the forests to the north, Braydon

70
Gladestrider.” Availia said quietly, offering her guest a
small piece of waybread and a draught from her waterskin.
The halfling smirked, “My area of concern has shifted
somewhat since you and your companions were able to
destroy the Horned Gate. Most of the abominable creatures
that had been spawned by its power have been destroyed,
and nature is re-establishing its normal order.” He reached
for the skin and took another drink, “The animals of the
hills have been telling me of something they call ‘death that
walks like a man’ and the strange sense to the hills and
mountains around this area.”
Availia nodded, “Did the animals say what these
sensations were, or where they were strongest?” she asked,
mildly alarmed.
Braydon shook his head, “They claim that it’s all through
this area, but they don’t really have the wherewithal to
determine if it’s in a particular location or not.” He
shrugged, “I was hoping to come in contact with a member
of the Blackstone Centaurs, but I haven’t seen any evidence
of their winter camps for some time now. I’m frankly a
little bit concerned since they are normally heading into the
warmer valleys from higher in the mountains by the first
snowfall.”
Availia frowned, centaurs were normally a very nomadic

71
people that took their summers hunting and gathering in
higher elevations and then wintering in large villages in the
valleys as winter would set in. Most of them weren’t
overly friendly to outsiders, but they were wise enough to
keep to themselves. They did, however, have strong ties to
the druids of western Synduress, and were known to help
them with information and elements for their magic if the
need were great. It was extremely odd for them to simply
not show up at their traditional wintering grounds,
especially since those areas had been isolated from the
constant warfare of the last several years.
“You have a fear, don’t you, Braydon?” she asked him
softly.
The halfling’s head drooped as he nodded, “You know as
well as I do that centaurs simply don’t leave their ancestral
lands, and if anyone tried to force them away they would
fight to the last stallion.”
Availia could hear the worry in his voice, and see the pain
in his eyes. She realized that most of his contemporaries
were already dead in this part of the world, slain by the Iron
Horde, but now he was looking at the very real possibility
that some of his closest allies in the world had vanished
forever.
“My husband and my friends will be here in the morning,

72
and we will keep our eyes open for any sign of the centaurs
or their camps, Braydon.” She assured him.
He looked up at her and smiled, then his smile turned into a
slight smirk as he studied her closely, his sharp eyes almost
seeming to look into her as much as at her.
“You’ve not told the paladin yet, have you?” he asked, the
tone in his voice leaving no mistake about the subject of his
questioning or his knowing the answer already.
Availia jumped as if she’d sat on a cinder and narrowed her
eyes, her face flushing crimson, “Curse your eyes,
Braydon!” she hissed, “How in the name of the Life Giver
did you know that? I didn’t find out for certain until only a
week ago!”
Braydon chuckled at her embarrassment, “When one has
delivered young for nearly every species in the forests -
including yours - one learns to see the faint blush of
motherhood early.”
A shadow crossed her face and Availia lowered her head,
the shining twin stars of tears appearing in her eyes.
“I’m afraid to tell him, Braydon.” She admitted quietly,
“He’s had so much on his mind with the war, and our
friend lost a child not more than a few months ago…there’s
just so much pain and danger right now.”
Braydon touched her hand, “You have every right to be

73
afraid, but you also have another heart to think about now.”
His voice was even and comforting, and she wondered
fleetingly how often he had done this in his travels. “Your
husband needs to share your fears and also to remind you
of the simple joy of what is happening as well. The Creator
shows us that in the middle of all of the death and
destruction life can still begin and even flourish, like the
seedling after a forest fire.”
Availia nodded, wiping her eyes, “I know, Braydon. I just
can’t let go of my fears when someone else is involved. I
make my own decisions about me, but when I have to make
those decisions for another...”
Braydon cocked his head, “I assure you, daughter of the
wood, that your fears are well-founded. There are far
worse things in the world than the Iron Horde, and I believe
that you and your companions will end up facing those
things sooner rather than later. Fear, however, can’t be
allowed to direct your actions, or it becomes as paralyzing
as a Forest Spider’s bite.”
Availia’s eyes met the halfling’s searching there for some
hint or idea of the future and finding nothing but the long-
suffering sight of someone that had walked the world for
longer than she had probably imagined.
“That’s another thing I’m afraid of, Braydon, I’m afraid of

74
raising a child in a world that is so rife with warfare and
evil. How can I do my job as a mother and keep them safe
if there is so much darkness?”
Braydon’s smile was slightly cryptic as he stood up and
stretched. “Do you honestly think the world is any worse
off now than it was when you were a child, daughter of the
wood? Even after more than a hundred years things really
aren’t that different, except that you are a player in the
events shaping our world now rather than a spectator.”
Availia didn’t reply, thinking that she had grown up fairly
isolated from the rest of the world, her people thinking they
were beyond the troubles outside of their forest. It wasn’t
until the trouble came and found them that they realized too
late that they were indeed a part of a larger whole. From
what Trenton had told her about the history of the world of
Earathis and western Synduress in particular there had
always been conflict and war ever since what he called the
First War where Dranattothrax tried to wrest control of
creation from the Holy One Himself with the Pact Infernis
at the height of its power. She wondered if it would ever
truly end.
Braydon looked out into the swirling snow and darkness,
his eyes growing distant. It suddenly seemed to Availia
that he aged in that moment, if only for a flash of time

75
before he turned his face to speak with her again.
“Don’t forget to trust the wisdom of the Creator, my dear,”
he admonished, “when the shadows are the longest, the
light is also the brightest. The past is set in stone, and
nothing can change it; but you can’t fear what’s to come
since it’s within your power to shape your own future.”
Availia smiled, “In other words I should accept whatever
happens as the Life Giver’s will and try my best to make
things better in the meantime for me –“ her hand touched
her belly and she gave a smile of dawning wonder, “-and
for my family, whatever that future holds.”
Braydon nodded, “Exactly.” He confirmed, “The biggest
weapon the enemy has against those of us who strive
against him is our desire to protect those around us from
harm. We foolishly believe that if we pull back from the
fight they will be safer.”
He picked up his staff and slipped out into the snow,
“Farewell, daughter of the wood, may the Creator watch
over you and those you hold dear.”
Availia smiled, “My name is Availia, Braydon.” She told
him.
He smiled at the show of trust, dipping his head,
“Interesting…’child of the light’…a name very fitting for
you.” He paused and pulled his parka’s hood over his head.

76
“I would appreciate it if you could let me know should you
come across any evidence of our centaur friends.”
Without another word he slipped into the deep gloom and
was lost a moment later in the building winds and near-
blinding snow. Availia settled back against her makeshift
bed, her hands now over her belly, thinking about her
husband and what he would think. He would be thrilled at
first, but she also knew he would worry. She smirked in
the darkness, knowing that he worried about her too, but
trusted the Holy One to keep her safe and let her do what
she did best in the effort against the encroaching darkness
in the world. She felt the sleep beginning to creep in on
her, still a unique experience for her, and curled her arm
under her head with her heavy wool cloak over her.
“Give me wisdom to know when to pull back and when to
advance.” She prayed softly into the night.

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 Chapter Six
The pass through the mountains toward the hills
where Availia’s messenger had come from was buried in
nearly a foot of snow by the time Trenton, Wahldon,
Brisste and their two dwarf companions set out. The sun
was mainly obscured behind the heavy grey clouds, and
darker scud swirled across the sky in drunken pathways as
they broke against the mountains. Overhead the wind
moaned, adding to the deepening chill that was beginning
to settle in behind the storm. Wahldon had turned over
command to Captain Grondragon with instructions to
fortify his position and wait for reinforcements to arrive
from where they had been staging at the Gateway
Cathedral. The huge stone construct was the only building

78
short of the main fortress of Stormgate itself that could
shelter the nearly seven thousand men, elves and dwarves
that were slated to move to the front within the day.
Trenton looked over at Captain Omi, thanking the
Holy One yet again that his friend had survived the Battle
of Ebbon’s Grotto. When he had left the dwarf’s side, he
honestly believed he would never see the whiskered face
again. The dwarf paladin was dressed in his heavy chain
armor with a thick bear-skin cloak thrown over his
shoulders. He saw Trenton watching him and grinned,
looking over his shoulder at the other dwarf in their group.
Hakush was Omi’s twin brother, and they were nearly
identical in appearance, save for the braiding of their hair
and beards; but the similarities ended there. While Omi
was a thoughtful and quiet man that was possessed of a
very keen intellect for battle, Hakush – Hack, as he was
affectionately known by the men – was a man of few
words, save when he was deep in his ale, or when he was in
the middle of battle with his huge axe hewing the heads
from his enemies. It wasn’t that the powerful warrior was
stupid, by any stretch of the imagination, he was just a man
who was possessed of very singular passions for battle and
alcohol.
“How are we planning to find Availia if she’s not buried in

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this mess?” Brisste asked, her body wrapped in light brown
furs from head to toe and her face partially obstructed by a
heavy balaclava. Her staff she held tight in her grip, using
it to help maintain her balance even as the tip of it glowed
faintly from the protection magic that flowed through it.
Wahldon pulled the hood of his heavy wool cloak down
over his head tighter, the shield on his back anchoring it in
place from the heavy winds. His blonde beard was already
caking with ice while he squinted up the pass toward the
looming hills whose tops were obscured with blowing
snow.
“Somehow, Bee, I don’t think we’ll have to find her,” he
replied, using his legs to beat the snow down and make a
path for his wife. “I’m sure she’ll see us long before we see
her.”
Hack grunted and rubbed his bulbous nose, already red
from the cold, although the great dwarf scoffed at wearing
a hood or balaclava to protect his face. The red hair and
beard stood out in the wind like flames of a campfire
against the virgin white of the new fallen snow.
“An elf maiden not wantin’ to be found in the woods?” he
chuckled, “Aye, Commander, that one’d be nigh a miracle
if ye could dig it out.”
Wahldon laughed, “I know one person here who could find

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her.” He said, smirking at Trenton’s taller form just ahead
of him and to the left.
Hack shook his head, “Tha’s cheatin’ if’n he shares her
bed!” he chortled.
Brisste shot her husband a long-suffering look and rolled
her eyes, “Soldiers never change.” She quipped.
Trenton caught the exchange and was glad for the
distraction from the cold, “When you make your living
bashing things over the head, subtlety is the first thing to be
lost in the clutter.”
That brought a chuckle from Omi and another round of
good natured bantering as the group made their slow trek
through the snow. By the time it was noon the clouds had
mainly cleared except over the mountains themselves, and
the sun shone brightly down on the snow, bathing the
valley and surrounding mountains in diamond brilliance.
Trenton found himself entranced by the pine trees and their
boughs heavy-laden with snow glistening against the icy
blue backdrop of the sky or the slate grey of the nearby
cliff. Ahead the land began sloping upward in steeper and
steeper grade, the craggy jaws of the elder mountain worn
to rounded nubs over years of water, wind, and sand. A
thin pathway led up to the lower ridge, providing a much
easier way to access the slope of the hill and provide some

81
shelter from the freezing north winds at the same time.
Wahldon took the lead with Omi and Hack following
behind him, then Brisste followed by Trenton covering the
rear of the troop as they fell into single file. For his part
Trenton had once again abandoned the shield he carried in
lieu of his father’s sword, although he still carried the
mace on his hip should he need it.
The crack and rattle of stone on stone was barely
audible over the sounds of the wind, but it was enough to
cause Wahldon to bring the group to a halt and the two
dwarves to pull their weapons and scan the hill with wary
eyes.
The huge wolf was upon them almost faster than they could
react, slamming bodily into Trenton and sending them both
tumbling into the shallow alcove next to the pathway. The
creature was huge and white, blending in perfectly with the
surrounding snowfields, although its eyes blazed a frigid
blue as its jaws snapped at Trenton’s face. Trenton
desperately grabbed the wolf’s throat, barely able to hold
the slavering fangs away from his own neck. Even as he
struggled, he could feel a piercing cold beginning to spread
through his body, making him shiver and his muscles
cramp and spasm.
“I can’t hold him!” he shouted, arms shaking with exertion.

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Hack slid down the embankment on one knee, gathering
speed as he brandished his massive two-headed axe over
his head, howling a reverberating dwarven war cry.
The wolf, realizing the threat, sprang off its prey and spun
to meet the onrushing dwarf, drawing its breath in and
filling its lungs before unleashing a ferocious howl of
freezing vapor and ice that enveloped Hack.
“By the Maker’s forge!” Hack cried, spinning to the
ground, his face caked in ice and his eyes frozen shut
against the blast. He crumpled, dropping his axe and trying
to rub his face to open his eyes.
“Conflageratis!” Brisste shouted, raising her staff in both
hands.
The crystal flashed orange and a blast of fire enveloped the
wolf, sending it backpedalling with a yelp and a snarl of
pain. A moment later the fire hissed out and a cloud of
steam raised off the creature’s back; but Trenton used the
opportunity to gain his feet and draw his own weapon,
using it to threaten the wolf as it watched warily from
where it was.
Omigawrsh kept his own great hammer in front of him,
encroaching on the wolf’s flank and forcing him back
again. Wahldon watched, keeping his own shield handy to
protect Brisste and close the half-circle around the creature.

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Something about this wasn’t making sense to him. The
wolf wasn’t acting the way a wolf normally does. He
reached deeper into his mind, trying to think of what had
him uneasy.
“Watch our backs!” he shouted suddenly, spinning in place,
“He’s not alone!”
Brisste and a newly recovered Hack spun in the same
direction, scanning the side of the hill for any new threats.
A rumbling that spread through the ground warned of
danger long before they were able to see the huge dark
shape lumbering toward them out of the pine covered slope.
The skin was an icy blue and wisps of frosty vapor lifted
off from its surface. Muscles appearing as if they had been
chiseled out of pure ice stood out under boiled leather
armor, and a snowy white beard and mustache shrouded a
scowling countenance under a horned helmet. In the
giant’s hand was a club that appeared to simply be the
shorn body of a pine tree that the great being had uprooted
some time before. Wahldon felt his jaw fall open in
amazement even as his mind desperately tried to figure out
a way to fight something that big without getting near
enough to simply be crushed outright.
“It must be twenty feet tall…” Brisste breathed in shock.
Behind them the wolf leapt to the top of the near ridge,

84
using the height to protect it as it returned to its master’s
side, glaring at the adventurers hungrily.
The giant growled menacingly, then swung the massive
club up over his head, bringing it thundering down in a
stroke so powerful that Trenton could actually hear the
wood singing through the air.
“SCATTER!” he cried, racing as fast as he could toward
the flank of the giant that was unprotected by the wolf.
The companions all retreated quickly, narrowly avoiding
the downward stroke, but not enough to dodge the cloud of
snow raised by the impact.
“Projectis arcana!” Brisste shouted, slamming her staff
into the ground and sending a hail of magical darts flashing
toward the giant.
Wahldon’s mind was drawn for a moment back to the first
battle they fought together against a group of kobolds.
Brisste had used the same spell, but only one bolt had been
released; but now she would unleash at least a dozen at a
time, striking any target she chose.
The missiles peppered the giant around the head and
shoulders, each one making a gaping wound and scorching
the flesh black, causing the giant to roar in pain and cover
its head with its arm as it staggered backward.
Trenton took advantage of the distraction to swing his

85
sword like a lumberjack, striking the giant’s leg right over
its heel and cutting the tendon in one savage stroke. The
giant roared even louder, pitching forward onto one knee,
lashing out with its club in an arc that Wahldon had to raise
his shield to stop. With a resounding clang the trunk hit
the shield and sent Wahldon sprawling across the snow like
a sack of potatoes, his sword spinning from his grasp.
Brisste watched as he skidded to a stop and didn’t move,
blood pouring from a gash on his forehead.
“Wahldon!” she cried, quickly using her magic to create a
shield around him as the club descended for the killing
blow. The magic shield deflected to the side, throwing the
giant off balance. The wolf leapt to its master’s defense,
growling and snarling at Trenton, it’s jaws snapping down
on the paladin’s left arm, wrenching a cry of pain out of
him even as he felt the bone crunch beneath the powerful
jaws. It was all the opening that Omi needed and he
brought down his hammer on the wolf’s head, crushing the
skull and sending it to the snowy ground in a messy heap
without a further sound. Trenton fell backwards, holding
his arm to himself and grimacing in pain, his sword falling
to the ground. The giant tried to support itself on its
injured leg, which buckled under the immense pressure,
sending the colossal man forward onto his hands and

86
forcing him to drop his club. Hack moved in, his axe raised
over his head before putting all of the force in his powerful
body behind the killing blow that nearly took the head from
the shoulders, had the blade been wide enough. With a
crunch of rocks, ice, and half-melted snow the body
trembled and then lay still, the blood raising no steam from
the frozen ground as it crystallized in place around the
corpse.
Brisste dropped her shield and turned to where Wahldon
lay still on the snow, the blood covering one side of his
face and matting in his beard. She tried to remind herself
that head wounds bleed profusely, even as she checked to
make sure he was still breathing and otherwise whole.
“Omi!” She called, not taking her eyes off Wahldon,
“Wahldon is down!”
The dwarf looked up from where he had been looking at
Trenton’s arm, his great eyebrows knitting in concern.
“Is he unconscious, m’lady?” he called back, starting
toward her as Trenton waved him off to care for the fallen
warrior.
When Brisste answered in the affirmative Omi began to
move much faster before dropping on his knees next to the
prone man. He put his head over Wahldon’s face, listening
to the breathing before he placed his hands over the life-

87
beat in the young warlord’s throat. A moment later he took
one of the bandages he carried in his belt pouch and wet it
with snow, using it to mop the blood from around the gash
on the forehead and then keep it from bleeding again. The
skin around it was already bruised an angry black, green,
and blue, and the older paladin studied it carefully for a
long few minutes.
“His skull’s intact, thank the Maker.” He breathed, “I’d say
he took a good, sound wallop, but the shield got the worst
of it. ‘Tis a good thing it’s of dwarven make, else the
club’d taken his head off, helmet or no.”
Brisste breathed a sigh of relief and whispered a soft
prayer, patting the dwarf’s shoulder. “Thank you, Omi.”
She smiled.
His eyes wrinkled in a soft smile, “Ye still need ‘im around
fer awhile, m’lady,” he told her, “we’ll do our best t’ make
sure he stays right here.”
He got back to his feet and walked back to where Trenton
was resting quietly with Hack, who was cleaning his
beloved axe with the care and tenderness of a mother with a
babe in arms. Trenton looked over at the dwarf warrior and
grinned, shaking his head. If ever there was a stereotypical
dwarf, Hack was that person in spades; but, as far as
Trenton was concerned, he and Omi were the perfect

88
combination of wisdom and power.
“Seems like our commanders got the worst of it this time,
hee?” Hack remarked to Omi as he began looking at the
swollen forearm, which was already horribly bruised.
Omi chuckled, “Yer a fine one for that kind o’ talk,
considering I’ve listened to ye complain for twenty years
that human commanders never lead from the front.”
Hack laughed and shook his head, “Aye, me boyo, ye got
me there, ye do!”
Trenton gritted his teeth as Omi bandaged the arm as
tightly as he could before replacing the padding and armor.
“That should keep the swelling down until I can take the
time for a proper ritual,” he told the younger man,
“hopefully we can find Lady Silverblade without any more
engagements.”
Trenton nodded his thanks, then closed his eyes, letting the
power flow through his body. Omi was a paladin of great
wisdom and ability, but his divine magic was mainly
channeled through his weapon and back into his body to
make him a more deadly warrior for the faith, while
Trenton’s training had been more rounded, with paladins
taking on an almost dual role of healer and warrior.
Trenton felt the pressure in his arm subside somewhat,
knew that the bones were healing to the point where he

89
could at least use it in battle should he need to. With a
sincere prayer of thanks for healing graces, he allowed
himself to fall into a light doze as they waited for Wahldon
to come around.
Wahldon woke not much later, his eyes opening and
then shutting against the bright glare of the sun overhead.
He groaned, feeling the throbbing, searing pain in his head
and the fragile dizziness washed over him, threatening to
make him sick. Sounds around him were distorted for a
long moment before his addled brain was able to make
sense of them again, and the world settled down to the
realities of cold, pain, and dizziness.
“Damn that giant hit hard.” He grunted, not daring to move
lest the world start spinning again.
He heard a soft chuckle, “It’s a good thing you have a hard
head, Wahldon Vaillance.” Brisste’s voice teased, though
he could hear the relief under the humor.
He smiled weakly and carefully opened his eyes, using one
arm to shield them from the light, “I take it we all made it
through that one relatively intact?”
Brisste nodded, “Trenton got a good bite on his arm, and
Hack caught a face full of frost from that Glacial Warg, but
they’ll be alright. You got it worst this time.”
He reached out and patted her hand, getting a genuine smile

90
from her before he carefully and slowly began the process
of sitting up. From the way his body was reacting he knew
that he had taken a pretty bad shot to the head, and he was
lucky to have escaped with little residual damage.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------

Nightfall came within hours, and the group had

made its way into the more dense forest on the side of the
largest hill, moving carefully along the crest and using the
cliffs as protection from the north wind. The sky was clear
and starry, with Lyra shining brightly in the beginning of
her nightly journey across the black canopy. Even with the
cover of the forest the moonlight was bright enough in
combination with the snow to make shadows dance and
stalk throughout the trees, and each of them began to feel
the creeping sensation that they were being watched. It
was nearly midnight when Wahldon called a halt near the
summit of the hill, using an area of dense underbrush and
fallen trees as shelter to rest and take food.
Omi and Hack set about building a fire, and Trenton helped
Wahldon cut branches for a trio of lean-to shelters that
would keep them dry and semi-warm through the night.

91
Brisste wrapped herself in her furs and opened her spell
book, pouring over the ancient words and scripts as she had
done every day since she was a teenager.
Wahldon cut the last of his branches just outside of the
firelight, his head not hurting as bad as it had been, but he
was still somewhat dizzy, and being nearly exhausted
wasn’t helping. A chill wind began to blow, making him
shiver, and when he looked up at what he thought was a
shaft of moonlight his blood froze in his veins. Before him,
not more than ten feet, stood the specter of a man’s torso
and head with the body of a champion stallion, it’s ears
long like an elf’s and it’s body covered with tribal tattoos
and furs. The centaur warrior carried a longbow and a
stone spear strapped to its flanks, but had neither weapon in
its dead grasp. For a long moment Wahldon was transfixed
in horror, his body paralyzed by the ghostly image until it
met his eyes and spoke.
“Beware death that walks the land…” it said, it’s words
hollow and chilling, “…the slayer of my people from
greatest to smallest. The blood of the centaurs cries out for
justice. The Dark Champion waits within the mountain,
heeding the call of the shadow weaver in all of his forsaken
magics. Even now his power grows and corrupts all around
this land.” The centaur strode forward, it’s hoofs leaving

92
ghostly tracks on the snow, but no true imprint, until it
stood face to face with the still-terrified Wahldon. It
reached out a spectral finger, touching the warlord’s
forehead on the opposite side from the bandage.
“Remember always this warning and my people. Put us to
our rightful rest.”
Wahldon felt the unearthly cold of the touch and felt the
world spin enough to make him close his eyes again. When
he opened them again the specter was gone and he was
holding his bundle of sticks as before.
Numbly he stumbled back into the camp, his mind
repeating the warning he’d been given and trying to shake
the fearsome vision he had seen.
“Wahldon!” Brisste gasped, dropping her book and racing
to him, “What happened to you?”
He shook his head to clear it, dropping his sticks and
pulling her to him. He felt the overwhelming grief of the
centaur messenger and fought back the tears.
“Your sense is so dark…” she whispered, framing his face.
She never got to finish as the space where the spirit had
touched began to glow an icy blue, and an ancient rune
flared to life.
Wahldon’s eyes flashed the same blue/white color, his
voice echoing from somewhere else as he spoke. “Forgive

93
me for communing through this body, I promise he will not
be permanently harmed.” The voice assured them. “I am
M’narrush, the seer of the Blackstone Centaurs, and the last
of my people to fall into the dark sleep of death. Before I
was slain I separated a shard of my spirit in hopes that I
could warn those who ventured into our woods of the
danger and also beg any with strength of arms and magic to
avenge our slaying. When I saw you setting up your camp
I felt that I had to present my plea in the only way I knew
how.”
Brisste stepped back, her mage’s mind realizing what it was
seeing and knowing that Wahldon was in no immediate
danger from this spectral messenger. Trenton’s hand was
on his mace, eyes studying carefully what he was seeing,
but he could sense no malice and stayed his hand. The two
dwarves merely flanked the paladin on either side, Omi
watching much the same way as Trenton, and Hack
wanting to leap into action but not wanting to strike his
friend and commander.
“I am Lady Brisste Vaillance, and the form that you are
inhabiting is that of my husband, a knight and warrior for
Aledress. My companions are Sir Trenton Silverblade,
Omi Garawsh and his brother Hakush of Berlek Dur.”
Brisste said, putting her hands together and bowing from

94
the waist slightly. “It grieves me to know that your people
are no more and that your hoof-beats no longer grace this
world. How may we help you to find rest in the plains of
the Creator?”
Trenton watched, mystified, it was obvious that Brisste
knew what was happening and had been taught to deal with
either this situation or this race – or both, he corrected
himself, knowing Nosto – but it made it no less unnerving
to hear another’s voice coming from his friend’s mouth.
“The Dark Champion came upon our village in the dead of
night, slaying our scouts and guards as easily as one would
cut down a broken branch. Within a matter of minutes he
had slaughtered our young and old alike, stallions, mares,
colts and foals. I tried to slow him using my druidic magic,
but he wielded powers of darkness the likes I’ve never seen
before. It was as if the unholy had created a champion like
the paladins of the Creator. My last act before he slew me
as well was to impart my spirit to the ether as I told you.”
Wahldon’s face contorted with the emotion of his
possessor, “Please find this Dark Champion and mete out
justice in the name of the Blackrock, lest others fall to his
evil. He is in the mountain of the dwarves, along with the
orc shadow-weaver, serving at its beck and call, though I
do not believe he is the weaker vessel.”

95
Trenton glanced at Brisste as he stepped forward, and she
nodded, knowing he wished to speak. The paladin bowed
from the waist as he had been trained to do with nobility.
“I am Sir Trenton Silverblade, noble friend, and I am a
paladin of the Holy One, as is one of my dwarf
companions. I will not rest until this Dark Champion is
destroyed, as he is a threat to all who love goodness and
light. I will pray that the Holy One grants your people the
peace they deserve and will also grant you the reward
earned through your selfless sacrifice.” He said, his voice
betraying the rising righteous anger as what had happened
began to sink in to his heart and mind.
Omi stepped forward and knelt with his hammer on the
ground. “I will fight alongside my commander and
champion, Nomad of the mountains, until we mete out
justice on your behalf. Our weapons are dedicated to this
task here and now.”
Hack nodded, his eyes fiery with rage and his muscles
twitching as he fingered the blade of his axe, “Me brother is
better with words than I, but we shall avenge ye, make no
mistake.”
Brisste saw Wahldon’s face smile even as the tears still
flowed, “Go in peace, defender of the tribe, your work is
complete. We vow that we will finish the work that you

96
have entrusted to us in the name of the Holy One.” She said
formally and confidently.
Wahldon bowed from the waist, then sat on a nearby
stump, leaning against the twin trunk behind him.
“You have my gratitude and that of all of my people. Truly
you are champions of the Creator. May your wanderings
be ever fruitful and your blades never dull. I will leave this
one now as safe as when I entered him. Farewell.”
A moment later the blue/white flare faded from Wahldon’s
eyes and forehead, and his body relaxed, his eyes fluttering
open before regaining their focus.
“I guess we have a job to do, don’t we?” he said, his voice
thick with emotion and weariness. He met eyes with
Brisste and asked, “What do you know about this Dark
Champion that he talked about, Bee? Is there such a thing
or is it something we’ve never heard of before?”
Omi answered before Brisste was able to, “There are dark
tales from the First War of those who willingly gave up
their mortal existence to become deathless and thus gain
dark powers through the agents of the Pact Infernis. They
were few in number, but were all extremely powerful in
battle and were considered knights and commanders in the
armies that ruled the land during those dark times. When
the Pact was driven out all of the dark warriors were hunted

97
down and destroyed by the combined Order of the Golden
Hammer and the Order of the Silver Anvil. There have
been scattered tales, mostly ghost stories really, about these
warriors rising again within the Iron Horde when
Dranattothrax revealed himself shortly before returning to
his citadel of Sivvronahxx. Up until now I had no reason to
believe they were true.”
Wahldon frowned, “Now it would seem like we really
don’t have a choice but to believe it all, considering what’s
happened to the Blackrocks.” He surmised, rubbing his
chin, “Although I’m curious about this shadow-weaver that
M’narrush mentioned the Dark Champion working with.”
Brisste shrugged, “Pretty safe bet that would be Mul’drak.
Warlocks have often been known as shadow-weavers.”
Trenton began piling wood for a fire, his mind lost
in thought. Master Sergeant Connor had never mentioned
the dark champions during his instruction, but it would
have probably been since they were believed to have been
wiped out a thousand years ago. The only problem was
that the creator of that war was now at large in the world
again, and would have no problem finding twisted souls
who lusted for power to the point where they were willing
to become living dead to gain it.
“Ye look like ye’ve got a lot on yer mind, lad.” Hack put

98
his calloused hand on Trenton’s shoulder as he stooped to
try and light the fire while Brisste, Wahldon, and Omi
talked further.
Trenton nodded, “The thought of Dranattothrax perverting
something like a paladin…” he began, then shook his head,
not able to put it into words.
The dwarf cocked his head, his shaggy beard hiding his
countenance in a way that Omi’s braided whiskers did not
do. After a moment’s thought the warrior spoke with his
cheeks raised in the hint of a smile.
“Did ye notice that the Orders weren’t made until after the
dark champions were created?” he asked, “Twas our side
that copied them, laddie, and nae the other way ‘round. We
took somethin’ wicked and deadly and turned it to
somethin’ to be proud of and that would end up finishin’
the dark champions until now. If ye ask me I’d say we got
the better end of the axe on that one, hee?”
The fire began to spread a warm glow as it sputtered to life,
beginning to consume the fuel Trenton provided. He
looked up at Hack, his eyes showing consideration and then
understanding as the dwarf’s words hit home.
“You’re right, Hack.” Trenton admitted, “We decided to
fight fire with fire when we rose up against the Pact a
thousand years ago, and the paladins were the champions of

99
the Holy One in answer to the dark champions of
Malevolus.”
Hack nodded, pulling a large chunk of hard cheese out of
his pouches and cutting off a piece of it with a stubby knife.
“Aye, tha’s exactly what we did.” He said around his
mouthful, “With paladins like yerself and me brother, we’ll
be ready when the dark champions begin their work, if’n
they really are comin’ back.”
A voice from outside of the firelight alerted them to
silence, “I wish that they weren’t returned, my dwarf
friend, but now that I hear your conversation and see the
signs around me I know that they have indeed.”
The gleaming eyes of a large cat stared at them from out of
the darkness, and it’s blue/black fur was covered in runes
and symbols from the top of its head to where its body
disappeared into the shadows.
“Stay your weapons, friends,” it said even as Omi and Hack
reached for theirs, “it’s been long since our meeting in the
Mourn Wood, but I would hope you remember me.”
“Braydon Gladestrider?” Brisste asked, trying for a better
view.
The cat leapt into the lighted camp site, shifting instantly
into the halfling druid, who smiled with no little
amusement at the consternation he’d caused the dwarves in

100
the group. His heavy furs were drawn up around his body
and his feet were covered in boots that were flared and
rounded like the feet of a winter hare for better mobility in
the snow and ice.
He bowed to Brisste, his own staff held in an easy grip,
“You have a sharp memory, young wizard,” he
acknowledged, “of course I cannot forget you and your
companions. The ones that finally freed the lands around
Twin Axe Peak more than a year ago.” He turned his
attention to Trenton, meeting the paladin’s gaze, “Your
wife is safe, my friend, and is not far from here. I have
spoken with her less than a day ago, and she waits for your
arrival. I know she would want me to assure you.”
The relief on Trenton’s face softened the halfling’s smile,
and he climbed up on a nearby stump, waiting for the
others to come near before he spoke again.
“I have been looking for the Blackstone centaurs for the
last several weeks, since they had not come into their
winter camps for the season and there are other goings on
that I had wished to discuss with their shaman, M’narrush.“
his smile faded and he wearily lowered his head,
“Unfortunately it appears that the creatures of this land
were correct in saying that death walks like a man and has
been in these hills recently. I heard only the discussion of

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the dark champions and I can assure you that the dwarf
paladin’s history is very accurate, although Dranattothrax
himself was the greatest of the dark champions before he
was transformed into the creature he is now. The Pact
Infernis created the champions to spread fear, misery and
death wherever they went, and they were empowered with
fel magics that enabled them to control the undead as well
as curse and weaken their enemies.”
Trenton asked, “Can they be defeated and destroyed?”
Braydon nodded, “It’s difficult, but yes, they can be slain.
Their combat prowess is amazing and their powers make it
difficult to engage them in personal combat without major
disadvantages, although a paladin is immune to most of the
effects involving disease or fear.”
They considered this information while the halfling
produced a slender white pipe with a bell-like bowl on the
end of it, lighting it with a wave of his hand and puffing on
it thoughtfully.
“I don’t want to guess at what’s happening inside the
stronghold of Berlek Dur, although I fear the worst.” He
finally continued. “If there is a dark champion and he is
working with a warlock of Mul’drak’s power, it is not
going to be easy to undo.”
Brisste leaned on her staff, “He summoned a pair of

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elementals into battle that took nearly everything I had to
slow them down before Trenton could finally banish the
one and force the other to be undone as well.” She reported,
“I’ve not known him to use remotely that much power in
battle before, or from that far away.”
Braydon rubbed his chin as he drew on the pipe again,
“He’s gained an amazing amount of power in a short time
then.” He murmured, then stood up and looked at them all,
“When you enter the stronghold I ask that you go ahead of
the main force of your army and find out what it is that
Mul’drak has that is increasing his power the way that it is
and how to stop it. I simply pray that we aren’t too late.”
Wahldon nodded, “That’s what we were hoping to do
anyway, but you already knew that. So what else are you
looking for?”
Braydon grinned, “You are a suspicious man, Wahldon
Vaillance, though I don’t blame you in the least. I believe
that Mul’drak has a physical focus that is allowing him to
concentrate and magnify his power the same way a
spyglass does with light and images.”
“If we find the focus, we find the way to beat him.”
Wahldon finished. “Makes sense to me.” He looked at the
rest of the group. “We have a couple of different tasks
when we get there,” he said in general address, “does

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anyone here object to finding a way to beat the dark
champion and to finding what Mul’drak is up to and ending
it once and for all?”
He was met with silence and turned to the druid, “We’ll do
what we can while we’re in there, Braydon. If nothing else
we can give intelligence to others who are better equipped
to deal with what might be in there.”
Braydon bowed at the waist, “You have my thanks, my
friends, and I will pray that the Creator grants you success
and safety on your missions. I will be reporting in to the
head of my order in the Calderric Circle to the west within
the next several days. If you find out anything, please try
and get word there as soon as you are able. I will inform
the rest of my brethren to expect your message.”
He walked to the edge of the camp and the shadows there,
then turned one last time. “You’ll find Availia to the east
of here not more than three hundred yards further up the
slope, though I would recommend you wait for daylight to
reunite with her lest she mistake you for an enemy in the
darkness.” He saved a long look with a mysterious smile
for Trenton, then waved and shifted into his feline form,
“Farewell, and may you meet with success and safety in
equal measure!”
A moment later he had disappeared.

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Wahldon watched him go and shook his head, putting his
hand over the bandage there and wincing, “Let’s get some
food and rest, people, because something tells me it’s going
to be a very long next few days.” He grumped, finding a
stump to sit on near Brisste.
Trenton stared into the fire. He was happy beyond words
that Availia was alive, but the look the druid gave him let
him know that all was not well. He prayed fervently for
strength and wisdom, then prayed for one more night of
protection for his wife before he could be with her again.

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 Chapter Seven

Trenton sat on a log near the fire having

finished his morning prayers not long before along with
Omi, who was quietly watching the icy fingers of blue and
grey reach across the sky ahead of the rising sun. The wind
had died down over night along with the snow, which had
left a fresh blanket of several inches over the evergreens
surrounding the camp. Trenton felt himself smile, the
winter morning was as quiet and peaceful as he could
remember a morning feeling since before he and Availia
had left for the fight against the Iron Horde in early spring.
He let his mind and heart wrap around that
memory for a moment, the slightly floral scent of Availia’s
hair around his face, the warmth of her breath on his neck,
and the strength of her heartbeat against his own as they

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held each other so tightly that nothing could come between
them. They had known that would be the last time together
in the foreseeable future, and for that one morning they
pushed away all thoughts and worries about anything but
each other. To be sure there had been tears and trembling
kisses when the time had come to separate, but they each
carried the memory of that morning deep in their hearts
throughout the months to come. It had been almost two
months before he had been able to see her again, and they
had been so exhausted that they were simply content to rest
in each other’s arms for a night before having to part once
more.
“Are ye alright, lad?” Omi’s soft voice asked, the dwarf’s
stony hand surprisingly gentle on his shoulder.
Trenton looked up, seeing the deep-seated eyes scrutinizing
him, the errant flakes of snow peppering the long whiskers
like captured stars. He smiled in spite of himself, thankful
that the Holy One had granted him a companion in his
loneliness like Omi. The two paladins had forged a
friendship that had extended to the battlefield where they
had stood back to back while the bodies of their enemies
were scattered around them. Wahldon had remarked that
he had never seen two men more opposite become such an
effective fighting force. Youth and fervor met age and

107
wisdom, while raw charismatic leadership was tempered
with intelligent direction and encouragement in a forge that
only shared danger could provide.
Trenton nodded, patting his friend’s hand, “I’m fine, Omi,
just going over some memories is all.”
The old dwarf’s face relaxed into an understanding smile
that wrinkled the corners of his eyes. “I know, youngster,”
he said with a sad chuckle, “I was newly married m’self
once.”
Trenton remembered Omi telling him about how his wife
had been a shield-maiden of Berlek Dur and had probably
been killed defending their home. They had a daughter that
was apprenticed to a jeweler in the city, and Omi had not
heard from her since the stronghold had fallen, though he
now believed that she had died in the initial attack. Trenton
hoped fervently that he was wrong.
Trenton froze, his head automatically cocking to one side,
straining to hear what he thought had floated into the
campsite in the frigid air. Omi started to question, but
Trenton held up a finger for quiet, listening again. There!
He had heard it plainly this time…the song of a cardinal.
Shakily he pursed his lips and returned the call, then fell
silent again, his every nerve on the alert. A moment later
came the gentle but complex call of a nightingale. It was a

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predetermined signal between he and Availia. She had
always used the cardinal’s call to alert them, and Trenton
had fallen in love with the call of a nightingale that had
nested in a tree near their home in Stormgate. Joyfully he
returned the cardinal call – it was, after all, the only one
that Availia had been able to teach him – standing and
feeling like he had when he had first realized how he felt
about her while on their quest to Twin Axe Peak.
Availia made no effort to hide herself as she materialized
out of the undergrowth and her eyes found her husband.
She leapt across the short distance and into his arms,
kissing him furiously for a long moment before simply
hugging herself to him.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he whispered, “when I lost track
of where you were during the battle…”
She put her fingers over his lips, smiling up at him, “It’s
over now, d’vestarra, and I’m here with you.”
Hack, Wahldon, and Brisste came out of their shelters, still
bleary eyed from having been roused by the activity in the
camp. Availia disengaged herself from her husband’s arms
and met Brisste halfway, hugging her like a long lost sister,
the two of them talking at the same time and neither one
even truly bothering to understand anything but the fact
that both were safe.

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“You’d never know there was a one hundred and twenty-
seven year difference between you two.” Wahldon
chuckled, shaking his head.
Availia buddy-punched him in the chest and then hugged
him too.
“You and Trenton are just going to have to put up with the
fact that Brisste and I are best friends the same as you two
are,” she said teasingly, “how do you think we keep up
with things when you two aren’t paying attention?”
Wahldon grinned, “I told you that I was going to have to
keep on my toes around the two of you.” He reminded her.
The dwarves had been silent through the reunion, although
both of them wore grins of shared joy for their friends as
they watched the outpouring of family and friendship. To a
dwarf there is very little that matters more, and the two
brothers knew this more than most, considering their birth
as twins was the first since the records of Berlek Dur had
been kept. There was almost nothing they didn’t do
together, and when they were apart it was decidedly
painful.
Trenton took Availia by the arm and led her to where Omi
and Hack her standing, “You remember Omi, of course, but
I don’t know if you met his twin brother Hakush. We call
him Hack.”

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Availia’s face showed her surprise as she bowed at the neck
and Hack bowed low enough that his beard swept snow off
the ground.
“Lady Silverblade,” he said, “tis an honor to meet ye at
last!”
She smiled at him, “The honor is mine, Hack,” she replied,
“and I must admit to being somewhat mystified. I didn’t
know that Omi had a brother.”
Trenton nodded, “I don’t think we got around to discussing
the family dynamics of my command staff when you were
in camp those couple of times.” He pointed out with a
chuckle.
Availia shot him a sideways look, her ears reddening at the
inference. Then she thought about what she needed to tell
him, and a shadow passed over her face. She looked at her
gathered friends – family really, she corrected herself, for
that’s how she truly thought of them – figuring now was as
good a time as any. She took Trenton’s hand and looked
up at him, her eyes shining.
“There’s something I need to tell you about.” She said
softly enough that only he could hear it. He pulled her a
little closer, looking her in the eyes. She melted; his eyes
were always so deep and loving, never judging her for
anything she said or did.

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“Do we need to be in private?” he asked, seeing the
seriousness in her visage.
She shook her head, “No, Trenton, because they’ll know
soon enough anyway, but I want to say it to you first.”
Trenton almost felt afraid, but he could read her well
enough to know it wasn’t bad news or something
painful…and yet she seemed unsettled.
“It’s alright, Availia, I’m here for you no matter what.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand a little tighter as she
actually said the words, “I’m pregnant, Trenton.”
The world around Trenton froze in that one moment of
time. There was no sound save for the sudden ringing in
his ears and the thunder of his own racing heart. He felt the
surge of joy rush through him, burning away what little fear
had been inside him.
“May the Holy One be praised.” He whispered, his voice
quivering. He pulled her hands to his face and kissed them
before dropping to his knees and weeping. Availia bent
over him, pulling his head to her belly and whispering,
“I’m so sorry, Trenton, I should have said something when
I was with you a few days ago, but I was afraid of how you
would take the news.”
Trenton looked up at her, his eyes shining as brightly as she
had ever seen them, “Availia, you are carrying our baby,”

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he said, his voice gruff with emotion and wonder, “how
could I be anything but overjoyed?”
The fear, the doubt, the darkness in his heart from the last
two months had been blasted away by those three simple
words; a miracle as far as he was concerned. The Holy
One had heard his wounded heart and had already
formulated an answer, but had needed time to let it be
known. Availia felt her own tears, knowing that the druid
had been right the night before, and that she really had
nothing to worry about when it came to how Trenton felt.
“Availia, is everything alright?” Brisste asked, seeing only
that Trenton was weeping and Availia had tears in her own
eyes. Wahldon paid close attention to the exchange, his
concern for his friends only heightened by his natural
curiosity, and he had a pretty good idea what had been said.
He looked Availia dead in the eye with a soft smile and a
slightly raised eyebrow of inquiry.
“Everything is fine, Sh’leya.” Availia replied, helping
Trenton to his feet and enjoying his embrace while giving a
slight nod to Wahldon.
He chuckled, his smile widening with the gleam in
Availia’s eyes. He kissed the top of Brisste’s head, “She
just told him that she’s pregnant.”
Brisste spun around, jaw slack, “What?” she gasped, then

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looked back at Availia and Trenton. She felt the dull ache
of her own loss, but she also felt the warm joy of sharing
good news with people that she loved dearly. She smiled at
Availia and said, “Is he kidding?”
Availia laughed, “Not this time, Brisste.” She assured the
younger woman, “He’s right on the mark.”
Wahldon smirked at Trenton as Brisste went to hug Availia
again, “Evidently I’m not the only one who’s ‘on the
mark’.” He said with a wry chuckle.
Trenton grinned and couldn’t help but flush at his friend’s
humor, shaking his head. After the long months of war,
this one small moment felt like all was right in the world.
Hack slapped his brother on the back with a guffaw that
covered the wet eyes and red nose from where the scene
had touched him. Omi smirked at his brother and shook his
head. The hardened warrior always had a soft heart for
moments such as these, and it never ceased to amuse Omi.
At the same time he paused and sent a sincere prayer
toward heaven for protection, long life, and joy for this new
life that was to come into the world in the future.
A few minutes later he walked over to the camp
table with a scroll-case, pulling the sealed cap off from it
and pulling out a yellowed roll of parchment. Carefully he
spread the scroll on the table and anchored it in place,

114
making sure that it couldn’t get wet or blown into the snow.
The map was older than he was by well over a hundred
years, and he wasn’t sure how it would fare in such a harsh
environment. The map showed the complete layout of the
stronghold of Berlek Dur from the winding roadway
leading up to the side of the mountain to the city carved out
of the said same mountain inside and out. He pictured the
great stone pillars that lined the paved bridge leading into
the main gate, with its relief of the great Hammer and Anvil
of the Maker standing over forty feet high. The relief was
overlaid with pure gold, and had glowed softly at the
entrance to the city from coals in great basins placed
beneath the relief. The basins were maintained by priestly
acolytes who took the coals from the fires of the great
forges deep within the industrial heart of the mountain and
made sure that the glow never went out. The city opened
up in a half circle through the front of the mountain around
the central forges. There were commercial hubs, military
hubs, hubs for the temple, and even hubs for those who
weren’t dwarves and preferred to stay in lodgings that were
designed for larger races. In those hubs were trade hovels
where the dwarves would meet with delegates from other
nations that were interested in natural resources or
manufactured goods up to and including something that the

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dwarves had mastered in years past but only recently had
begun to trade, something they referred to as blast powder.
It had been a closely guarded secret for generations, but
once the call for dwarven aid in warfare had gone out and
the dwarves fielded their steam-driven mortars and siege
weapons it was only a matter of time before those same
allies would want access to the technology. The
Overthanes of the various strongholds had agreed to allow
the other races the ability to build muzzle-loading
blunderbusses that were very useful for hunting, but not
worth much in actual warfare. They had also taught
humans how to build large cannons that could be used on
ships and in fortresses for defense. This had satisfied their
allies, but also given the illusion that the dwarves were able
to field whole units of riflemen and were keeping a
majority of the technology to themselves. Omi smiled
tightly to himself, knowing full well that most strongholds
had a small unit of sharpshooters, but the rifles were so
expensive to build and maintain it simply wasn’t practical
when compared to crossbows in large numbers. Still, the
wisdom of the illusion was undeniable, since no one had
dared try to take a stronghold in warfare for well over a
hundred years.
Until the fall of Berlek Dur. Omi’s smile faded and he ran

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his hand over the map, the pain from losing his homeland
stabbing through him one more time.
“T’will happen soon.” Hack said from behind him, patting
his armored shoulder. “The Horde is gone, and now ‘tis
time t’ win back our homes.”
Omi moved to the side, allowing Hack access to the map,
“I wonder what’s left,” he said softly, voicing the fear they
had both suppressed for so long, “with a Dark Champion
possibly in the Halls, I dinnae want to think to long about
it.”
Hack nodded, “I, of all people, hate th’ idea of runnin’
away from a fight, but I hafta admit that Dueregon did the
right thing when he evacuated.”
“I made a promise to a friend that I would see his home
freed,” Availia’s voice said in an even tone, “I intend to see
that happen even though he’s not here to witness it
himself.”
The dwarves looked up to see that the companions had all
gathered around the camp table with Wahldon looking
carefully at the map before him. His jaw was set as he
remembered the horrible night that Elasimus had been
killed by the aberration spider in Mourn Wood. They had
all vowed that they would fight to see his homeland freed
as long as they drew breath, and that day was fast

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approaching.
“He was a good and loyal friend to all of us.” He said, his
voice reverent. He looked up toward the sky and let his
mouth curl up, imagining the old dwarf sitting beneath a
tree with a beloved pipe and puffing contentedly while he
waited for friends and family to join him in his rest. A
moment later he shook himself and addressed Hack and
Omi.
“Now where are these caverns that Mul’drak is supposedly
holed up in?”
Omi scratched his chin for a moment under his great beard,
“How much do ye know about dwarven cities?” he asked,
scanning their faces.
Trenton and Wahldon each shook their heads and Bristte
said, “I know a little from what Master Nosto taught me
and the time I visited B’rith, but that was about five years
ago now and I know that B’rith is considerably smaller than
Berlek Dur.”
Availia nodded, “I visited Berlek Dur when I was very
young, probably over a hundred and thirty years ago now,
and what I mainly remember is that it was built in a semi-
circle around a huge underground lake in the middle of the
mountain.”
Wahldon chuckled at Availia’s timeframe, nudging Trenton

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and muttering something about “older women” before
Brisste hushed him with a stern glare.
Omi hid his smile behind his beard and continued, “Ye’re
right there, Lady Silverblade, the stronghold was built after
we discovered Loch Bronouden during our initial surveys
for ores and minerals. Once the founders knew there was
fresh water, they brought in the excavators and spent the
next seventy five years building what would become the
largest dwarf settlement on Synduress.”
He pointed a chopped finger at the markings on the map.
“The main roadway begins not far from this very spot,” he
continued, “and it winds up through the mountains until it
reaches Shannarriah, the mountain that Berlek Dur is built
into.”
Trenton felt a smile tug at his mouth and watched his
friend’s eyes grow brighter and brighter as he talked about
his home. Omi was a scribe and a sage in his own right,
with a passion for history that encompassed all of the demi-
human races on Earathis. Now he had an opportunity to
share that knowledge and was relishing the chance.
“That road would be where the main bulk of the army will
be moving in, but I don’t want to spook Mul’drak into
rabbiting from his hiding place before we get there
ourselves.” Wahldon said, frowning.

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Omi shook his head, “Tha’s the problem, Lord Vaillance,”
he replied, “Dueregon is no fool, and he would have
collapsed the tunnels under the mountains in order to cover
the retreat and to slow the orcs and goblins in any attempt
to come out of the mountain in force without having to
follow the main road and give the rest of us time to
prepare.”
Wahldon scowled then smirked, “First thing is this: When
we’re in camp like this, and away from the army, you are
free to call me by my name. I don’t much care for titles,
they make me think of flabby nobles in a tower somewhere
wearing frumpy clothes. If you want to call me
commander, I guess I can live with that, but I prefer
Wahldon.”
Brisste and Availia nodded in agreement, “I’ve never
gotten used to the whole ‘Lady’ thing myself.” The elf
remarked with a sly smile at her husband, which widened
as his ears turned slightly red.
Hack chuckled, “I know what ye mean, lass. I’ve long
been a Knight Defender of Berlek Dur, and I’ve never gone
by the title if’n I can help it.” He got a mischievous gleam
in his eye, “Tha’ is o’ course unless I can use it to me
advantage.”
Wahldon’s face showed a quick flash of surprise. The

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highest honor a dwarf warrior could attain was being
named as a Knight Defender of whatever stronghold they
came from, and it usually was an honor given
posthumously because the heroics needed to win it were
unbelievably dangerous to the point of near suicide. The
title would allow the survivors of the hero to claim lands
and treasure in their family member’s name, and it would
also come into play for sons and daughters when the time
to marry came about and station was a concern. For Hack
to have survived whatever it was he had done and still be
on his feet and thirsting for more enemy blood was nothing
short of miraculous.
Omi shifted so Wahldon could look over his shoulder at the
map. The stronghold was indeed a semi-circle, just as
Availia had remembered – causing Wahldon to wonder at
her memory since he had a hard enough time just
remembering what he had for breakfast the day before,
much less something that happened years ago – and then
inside that semi-circle, toward the center of the mountain
was the massive western banks of the Loch with four large
hubs nearby and lines connecting them before more lines
extended from them to the rest of the city.
“What are these?” Wahldon asked, pointing at the lines
and hubs.

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Omi grinned, “Probably the greatest feat of dwarven
engineering in the world, laddie.” He said proudly, “The
lines are pipes that feed water to these hubs, which are
groups of forges and foundries for turnin’ ores into metals
and metals into whatever goods we need to use or sell. The
water is piped in to cool the metals, then the hot water from
the foundries go into various points around the city where
there are holding casks for later use. There are also pipes
leading directly from the Loch to the city proper in order to
provide potable water. Most homes and businesses have
pump-driven taps in them for water, both hot and cold.”
Trenton was astounded, he had never heard of such a thing
as this, but given dwarven ingenuity and their long lifespan,
it shouldn’t have surprised him that it was so.
“That’s where he’s gone, if he’s anywhere!” Wahldon
barked, pulling Trenton’s attention back to the map. There
was a winding passageway of rails spiraling down before it
became a series of dashed marks through the Loch toward
the center of the mountain. If dwarf maps were like human
maps, that meant there was a mine shaft that descended into
the mountain and then under the lake where it then
branched off to various points. The one that had
Wahldon’s attention was a branch that actually ended with
a fresh air vent facing west toward Aledress. There would

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be no way to climb in and out of it and down the mountain,
but it would be high enough where he could observe his
army through divination magic and not expose himself in
the process. None of the other sub-shafts had a vent so
positioned.
Omi nodded slowly, “It makes sense, since it was through
that area - though we don’t know exactly where - that they
came through in the first place and made their attack. We
never knew what happened until the foundries went offline
and the water supply was cut off. By then they had enough
time to mount their forces and push into the stronghold.
Thank the Maker we were able to marshal defenders and
hold them off long enough to pull most of our people out.”
He gave Hack a meaningful look, which the other saw and
nodded soberly.
“From what I was told, there are no more defenders in the
mountain itself. Mul’drak keeps himself holed up and
hasn’t spoken with anyone in quite a while.” Availia
offered.
Wahldon’s eyes narrowed and he rubbed his chin, “I don’t
know, Shadow,” he held up his hands to stop any argument,
“I don’t doubt your source believed what he was telling
you, but I also think there are probably defenders there that
he didn’t know about either.”

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Availia frowned, “If there are, then they aren’t from the
Iron Horde.” She replied.
“I don’t think they are either.” Was Wahldon’s reply, his
visage troubled. “Whatever slaughtered the centaurs is still
out there, and it sounds like it’s allied itself with Mul’drak
for whatever reason. That thought has me very nervous to
be honest with you.”
Trenton turned to Brisste, “Is there any way we can scry on
the mountain itself? I don’t want you to challenge him in
his own lair, but it would be helpful to know if the city is
defended or not.”
Brisste nodded, “I should be able to do it without being
detected, but it will take a few hours in order to set up the
ritual in order to do it.”
Trenton glanced at Wahldon who thought for a moment
and then nodded, “Better to go in prepared for what’s
coming than to go in blind.” He said, clearly not happy
with the delay in movement, but knowing the alternative
could be disastrous.
“I’ll be fine.” She whispered to him softly, kissing him
before she disappeared into the tent with her bags of
reagents.
He watched her go, his face a mask of conflicting thoughts.
Trenton approached and put a hand on his shoulder.

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“Is everything alright? I didn’t think this was a hard thing
for her to do.” He confessed.
Wahldon turned to face his friend, his eyes haunted in a
way that sent a chill down Trenton’s spine.
“This is the ritual she was doing when she miscarried,
Trenton.” He said, his voice barely a whisper, “I almost lost
her that night along with the baby.”
He could remember the cry from the tent as if it had just
happened, and racing in to find her doubled over and
unconscious on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding her
and growing. He called for a cleric and desperately
searched for a wound, not yet realizing what had happened.
Not finding anything he did what he’d been trained to do
and tore open her robe for a closer inspection, then the
horrible realization hit him…their baby. The cleric arrived
a moment later and Wahldon could do nothing but hold his
wife’s limp form, rocking her as sobs of grief and fear
wracked him again and again. He had pushed her too far
and had cost the life of their child was all he could think.
When they had stopped the bleeding and he was sure she
was safe, he wandered out of the camp and out of earshot,
letting the grief, rage, and agony erupt out of him as a
scream toward the very throne of the Holy One.
“WHY?” the one word echoed mockingly off the silent

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trees and returned to him unanswered. He remembered the
pain and agony that Availia had shown when they had first
met, and now fully understood it even as he fought to keep
it down himself.
He pulled himself out of the memory to realize that he was
in his friend’s embrace, his face wet with tears. Trenton’s
own bearded face was a mask of pain and of sympathy.
“I’ve learned that it’s not wrong to question or doubt,
Wahldon,” he said huskily, “you have to have faith in order
to do either.” He shook his head, unable to offer any other
comforts.
“I’ve never talked about that night with anyone but her.”
Wahldon said numbly. “She’s smarter and wiser than me,
and was able to come to grips with it as the months went
by, but I never really forgave myself.”
“Then it’s time to do so, young man.” Omi’s voice held the
gentle power of his position. He looked into Wahldon’s
eyes, holding them with fatherly care and stern purpose.
“Ye think yer to blame for what happened, do ye?” he
asked, “Then I will ask ye one thing only…when did she
become yer slave, lad?”
Wahldon’s head snapped as if he had been slapped, and his
eyes blazed, but the dwarf stood his ground. “What yer
sayin’ is that she had no choice in the matter, and that ye

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forced her to take chances that she wouldn’t have done
without ye makin’ her.” He explained, still holding his eyes
steady. “I would like to think that ye are a wee bit wiser
than that yerself. Ye know that each of us takes our risks in
warfare, even those we love. If ye take the blame for the
blood they shed in the name of justice, ye do a disservice to
her and to yerself. Not to mention to the child whose life
was lost in righteous battle against a force that sought to
destroy the world it was to be born into. I dinnae think yer
that man, Wahldon. I think ye love so much that ye forget
that others make their own choices and fight their own
battles as well. Ye are prone to fall into the trap that all
good commanders fall into – praise be – but if ye let it eat
at ye, it will end up tearing ye apart until ye can no longer
lead or do what ye need to do.” The dwarf stepped forward
and put a battle-scarred hand over the human’s pounding
heart. “Let it go, lad, it’s been long enough.”
Wahldon couldn’t reply, he simply closed his eyes and let
the final tears fall, putting his own young hand over the
dwarf’s. A moment later he gave a tear-filled smile to Omi
and to Trenton, meeting Availia’s eyes from where she
watched silently near the fire.
“Thank you…all of you.” He finally said, then turned to
walk to the tent where Brisste was, “I’ll let you know when

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she’s ready.”

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 Chapter Eight

Cold winds whispered through the snow-covered

pine trees that spread throughout the area surrounding the
cut-stone road. The sky overhead was a frigid light blue
with a thin veil of linen clouds providing a haze over the
weak sun that tried vainly to penetrate to the ground below.
Rivulets of snow swirled and rolled across the ancient
stones, the grey and white surface seeming to be the very
lifeline of the mountains as they wound their way through
the smaller peaks toward the one massive stone colossus
that towered over them all. Mount Shannarriah was a full
thousand feet higher than the surrounding mountains, and
scholars believed it was the highest mountain on Earathis.

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The top of the mountain was shrouded in a thick shield of
clouds and swirling snow, and it was no secret that the
massive frost giants made their dwelling on the permanent
glaciers that crowned Shannarriah in eternal frozen winter.
The giants rarely traveled to the lower elevations, but when
they did it was always to pillage, loot, and destroy the
smaller creatures that lived below them, so the dwarves had
been in near constant war with them for centuries.
Even before the edge of the cloud base on the side
of the mountain the trees tapered to an end, unable to
sustain themselves in so harsh an environment. Only a few
creatures aside from the giants themselves called the tall
peak home, although every several years in the past a
fortunate soul would catch a glimpse of the massive wings
and sinewy tail of a white-scaled dragon as it left its lair to
hunt. The great creature had never caused any harm to
either the dwarves or the human miners throughout the
mountains and many wondered if it preyed upon the giants
and the animals that belonged to them. The druids had
legends that the dragon was female and that she had been
tasked with watching over Synduress for some mysterious
reason by a council of the ancient creatures, but such tales
were viewed as mythology at best. It had been more than
ten years since she had last been seen, and it was wondered

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whether she had left or gone into hibernation deep within
the mountain.
The road wound around Shannarriah’s base and
then proceeded up the side of the slope for several hundred
feet before it broke out of the forest and into a clearing
again. For the first time the great gates of Berlek Dur were
visible in the near distance.
Trenton felt his mouth fall open in absolute amazement at
the size and scope of what he was seeing. If he were to
describe it to someone in a sentence it seemed to him as if
someone had taken a city like Stormgate and carved its
outer section directly into the side of the mountain well
above the actual opening of the entrance. Buildings of
various sizes and shapes were jutting out like misaligned
teeth, their windows and skylights ominously darkened
while normally they would be lit from the inside by blazing
fires and lamps; golden light streaming into the bleak
winter twilight. The gate itself was a rectangular opening
of nearly one hundred feet tall and forty feet wide, flanked
by fifty foot statues of dwarf heroes of renown, upon which
gold and silver – somehow inlaid under the stone and yet
visible – gleamed even in the weak sunlight. A massive
bowl hung from great chains of bronze set in the middle of
the entryway against the wall that was set a full sixty feet

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back from the gate. Trenton could see that it had once been
used as a beacon inside the gate, lighting the way into the
great city and warming the air that would have come from
the inside out. The wall forced travelers to choose either
right or left to enter the central city in order to foil invaders
that would try to rush in en masse, and also to keep out the
most bitter of the cold winds during the long nights on the
slopes of the mountain.
“It seems so cold.” Brisste remarked, staring at the
gateway, her eyes troubled.
Her vision had revealed that the main city was empty of
life, and all of the torches and welcome fires had been
snuffed out by the invaders as they sacked and destroyed
anything in their path. She had only been able to inspect
the public areas of the city such as the commercial and
trade sectors to the right of the great entrance, and the
tradesmen sectors where the Temple of the Maker was
along with the training grounds for most of the master
craftsmen and their shops. She had been unable to view the
massive forge chambers or the inner halls where the
Overthane had held his court, nor had she been able to view
the residential areas of the mountain buried deeper within.
Evidently dwarves didn’t much care for magic, but were
not foolish enough to ignore it completely when it came to

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discouraging outsiders from spying on their strongholds.
“Aye,” Hack murmured, his voice thick with anger, “it
pains me to even look upon it, knowing what happened
here.”
Wahldon surveyed the entryway, scanning to see if
anything appeared threatening. Availia moved up to his
left, her face all but hidden deep inside her cloak.
“Well, Shadow, do you see anything that makes you
nervous?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the massive
stonework.
She looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, “This
whole place makes me nervous, truth be told.” She replied,
“The lack of lights makes me feel like there are a hundred
eyes watching us from inside those buildings. As for the
entryway, I don’t see anything that really sings out to me
except for the fact that it’s a perfect ambush point.”
Wahldon considered this, “I’d be expecting the same thing
if Brisste hadn’t seen that the main part of the city was
empty.” He agreed.
Availia frowned, “I just can’t imagine Mul’drak leaving the
front door unguarded like this. Something just isn’t right
about this.” She finally said.
The elf turned to where Brisste was studying the city wall
with intense curiosity.

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“Brisste, is your spell able to actually see things, or is it
only a picture provided by what the magic detects?” she
asked.
The wizard considered this, “Magic is the stuff of life, so if
there is something alive or touched by life it will show up
with its own unique imprint, almost like a distinct scent or
sound to a hunter or tracker. The spell takes those imprints
and translates them into images that I will make sense to
me.”
Availia considered this, “So it isn’t the same as the scrying
you used when we lived in the tower?”
Brisste shook her head, “No. In the tower I had mirrors and
pools placed throughout the castle that would allow me to
see nearly anywhere with them as a lens.”
“What are you thinking, Shadow?” Wahldon asked,
trusting Availia’s hunter’s instinct completely.
“I’m thinking that if the spell uses the imprint of life, then
it may not be able to detect guardians who aren’t living.”
She replied grimly.
Trenton, who had been listening carefully along with the
dwarf twins, rubbed his bearded chin for a moment. “The
Iron Horde’s warlocks were known to animate corpses and
use them to cover their rear while the armies were
advancing. If the spell can’t detect living things, I wonder

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if it would detect the undead.”
Brisste shook her head, “Not unless they were magically
active or made some other kind of impression on the fabric
of magic itself.”
Availia nodded, “That’s what I was afraid of.” She said, her
voice soft. She looked over at Omi and Hack, seeing both
of the dwarves faces drawn and sober with scarcely
contained fury. Even the normally reserved paladin was
trembling with righteous rage at the implications that were
being discussed.
Trenton spoke softly to his older friend, “How many people
were trapped by the attack and couldn’t make it out, Omi?”
Omi shook his head, his eyes hooded beneath his great red
eyebrows, “It would nae matter anyway,” he said, his voice
rough, “by the Maker’s design, dwarves cannae be made
into the undead by fel magics.”
Trenton blinked in surprise, he hadn’t know that before.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Omi smiled grimly, “I saw it with me own eyes, lad, shortly
before you took command of our men.” He replied, “We
had fought a stiff holding action shortly before sunset, and
a platoon of our light scouts had been slain by the enemy
trying to return to our lines. We saw the warlocks trying to
use their magic on the bodies, but nothing happened. One

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of our priests reminded us of the passage ‘none of those
who slumber that are of the bones of Earathis will find their
rest disturbed to serve dark purpose, thus is their birthright
as the children of stone.’ It was then that we knew what
those words meant and we took comfort in them.”
Availia smiled tightly, “So the only worry we would have
would be those who weren’t dwarves.” She surmised.
Wahldon shook his head, “In other words we have no idea
what to expect in there except for the fact that there are no
living guards.”
“Just remember that the more undead he creates the more
he has to try and control unless he sets them to simply
patrol certain areas. He hasn’t shown any real reduction in
his power on the battlefield, so…” Brisste pointed out.
Availia nodded. “Good point, but we still have to actually
go in. I’m willing to wager that Mul’drak is somewhere
inside the Overthane’s keep. There’s only one way in and
out,” she shrugged, “it’s easy to defend.”
Wahldon sighed, calling the group together in the shelter of
a cluster of pine trees.
“We’re going to have to go in no matter what,” he told
them. “I want Trenton and Omi up front with Brisste and
Availia in the center to provide ranged support. Hack and I
will pull up the rear in order to complete the circle should

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we need to.”
He looked to Omi and Hack, “What is the fastest route to
the Overthane’s fortress?”
Omi thought for a moment, “If we move to the right when
we go through the main entrance we will come out into the
central hub of the city closest to the Avenue of the Maker,
which is the tunnel that leads from the central hub to the
Trade District and the Temple. On the far side of the
temple altar is one of the entrances to the tunnels that lead
to the fortress.”
Availia’s eyebrows shot up, “One of the entrances?” she
asked, “I thought that the fortress only had one.”
Omi smiled, “Ye dinnae believe that King Morgan has only
one entrance to his keep, do ye?”
Availia grinned, “I’ve never asked him, but I’ll have to
make a point of it when I see him next time.”
Hack chuckled, “There is one commonly known entrance
to the fortress, but there are three others that are hidden
throughout the city itself. One is in the foundries, one is in
the temple, and the last one is in the stables.”
Trenton looked at the stone city, the grey front looming
over them as if it were a massive gravestone. He felt the
cold wind cut through him even despite the heavier padding
he wore beneath his armor. There was a darkness within

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that city that he couldn’t wrap his senses around, but it was
gnawing at him nonetheless. He glanced at Omi, seeing the
same shadow pass over the dwarf’s face.
“We need to ask the Maker’s blessing, friends.” Omi said
softly but firmly. “We dinnae know what’s before us, but
we’ll need his guidance and strength before we’re done.”
The group nodded and formed a quiet circle in the pines,
the only sound being the whispering wind through the
needles. Availia heard it and Trenton watched her eyes
close, listening to the language of the forest around her. He
found her hand and squeezed it.
“Lead us, if you would, Omi.” He said to his fellow
paladin, deferring to his seniority.
The dwarf nodded and raised his hands to his side, palms
up in a gesture of supplication. He tilted his face
heavenward, an expression of devotion and firm faith
sketching across his features as his voice was lifted like
winds themselves.
“We come to thee in this day, O Maker of all things, in
humble gratitude for the victories that thou hast granted us,
and the protection that thou hast visited upon us until now.
“We now look to continue thy work through sword and
shield, spell and bow, using the abilities that were gifted us
from our birth. Guide our arms and strength, Father of the

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Mountains, and grant us the ability to exact thy righteous
vengeance upon those that have defied thy name and thy
holy throne.
“We stand before thee as the gathered children of thy
creation - dwarf, elf, and human – united in common
purpose and devotion to thee. Bless us with thy presence
and thy grace we pray thee.”
Trenton felt the warmth of holy strength flood into his body
and his mind, strengthening him for the task at hand. He
looked at his gathered friends and murmured. “So shall it
be.”
Wahldon looked over at him and nodded, a grim smile on
his face “Try not to get too far ahead of us, Trenton.”
Wahldon grinned, “I’d hate to have to fight my way to you
in order to save you.”
Trenton chuckled, “Considering I’m using my sword again,
you may want to stick close regardless, since I know how
to use it better than you can use your own.”
Availia shook her head, smiling at the jokes between these
two. It had been ongoing since they were thirteen years
old, and now it was almost a ritual between them. Her
smile softened as she realized it was their own way of
saying “Be careful, I don’t want to lose you.”
The bantering subsided with a firm handshake and a quick

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embrace between the two men before Trenton looked to see
if Omi was ready to move out. The dwarf met his brother’s
eyes for a moment, then shouldered his hammer and fell
into stride beside Trenton. Brisste slipped in behind
Trenton, her staff held in her left hand as she walked while
Availia looked decidedly unhappy not being allowed to
scout ahead to her right. Hack carried his double-bladed
axe with grim purpose, his eyes shining like twin opals as
his blood began to rise with the prospect of stepping foot in
his homeland for the first time in several years. Wahldon
looked over at his dwarf companion, fully appreciating the
massive physique beneath the bulky armor and hides for
the first time since they had met. All through the last part
of the war he’d trained himself never to see too much of
those in his command, lest he fall into the trap of
remembering every single face and being paralyzed as they
were slowly lost one by one in the crushing jaws of battle.
It was a defense mechanism that he had learned at Captain
Jonas’ side and it had served him well, allowing him to
give the hard orders in order to carry out the mission and
ultimately lead to the
final victory they had enjoyed earlier in the week. With
this small group of friends he could allow himself to see
things and hold things closer than before. He didn’t realize

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until now just how much he missed that companionship and
freedom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------

The stone roadway leading to the entrance of Berlek

Dur opened to a demolished building and collapsed fence.
Grisly skeletons and frozen bodies of horses with their lips
curled back in hideous death grins left little doubt as to
what purpose the building had served, although Omi told
them the stables had only been for visitors to the city, and
were not the stables for the city residents themselves.
Snow began to fall in earnest again and the sky became a
darker grey overhead. The large flakes seemed to muffle
all sounds around them, adding to the unease that they were
all feeling already. Once they left the stables the road
curved in toward the city entrance, now flanked on both
sides by a half-wall of stone, broken every so often by brass
lanterns fueled by oils from deep within the mountain itself.
The flames had long since died, and the metal gleamed
feebly in the gathering storm. Snow swirled in eddies
across the road only to be trapped against the insides of the
walls like frigid cobwebs. The entrance towered ahead of

141
them now, and they could see the massive censure that
hung from chains whose links were large enough to put a
man’s head through. The censure was cast from a single
massive piece of bronze, and the heat generated by the
flames normally kindled inside of it had kept it tarnish free.
Now it was glazed with a thin film of frost, although it still
shone more brightly than the lanterns lining the roadway.
Behind the censure was a gigantic relief of a blacksmith’s
hammer and an anvil, the symbols of the Maker. The head
of the hammer was pure layered gold, and the anvil itself
was covered in hammered silver, although the gemstones
that had been set into the base had long since been stolen.
The companions passed under the expansive
archway, each of them looking at the entrances to the left
and to the right. The varied inns, restaurants, and
information shops could be seen down the inside wall of
the mountain, each building growing out of solid rock with
stairways leading to the second story apartments above
them Wooden signs still swung above most of the shop-
fronts, although there were a few that were broken or
hanging precariously by broken lengths of chain. Trenton
carefully bent the group to the right, the central city
opening fully before them as they rounded the corner and
out of the entryway. The humans in the group could not

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help the awe-struck expressions on their faces, having
never seen a dwarf city before, and even Availia drew in
her breath, memories from her youthful visit flooding back
to her.
The central city was hundreds of feet tall with massive
skylights set into the ceiling far above them in order to let
in daylight. The outer wall of the section of the city was
actually the inside of the mountain itself where the
buildings that they had seen before were set. In the center
of the wide open expanse was a deep trench, flanked with
railings and ornate stonework. Trenton knew this to be the
irrigation system of the city, with fresh water pumped from
the lake deeper in the mountain to the canals and then to the
individual building clusters. Inward toward the center of
the mountain were more buildings built into the stone walls
of the mountains. Shops of every type lined the inner wall,
and corridors led through the grey stone deeper into the
mountain and beyond where they could see. Omi had
mentioned that the foundries and forges of the city were
through those tunnels, and beyond those was the lake itself.
The full distance from one end of the expanse to the other
was several hundred feet, and the floor of the city was as
smooth as the stonework that the buildings were carved out
of.

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“It’s so quiet.” Trenton breathed, clutching the handle of
his sword and looking around nervously. The inside of the
city was only dimly lit, with no flames or lamps to light it
and only the dim light from the skylights providing bare
illumination.
Omi nodded, “Normally this place is loud enough that you
need to speak with a strong voice to be heard, but now it’s
as quiet as the grave, if ye’ll pardon the expression.”
Wahldon’s voice caught their attention a moment later, “I
don’t personally mind the expression, Omi, but I think they
might!”
To Trenton’s horror, a rasping moan grated through the
streets from the passageway nearest them along the inner
wall. The moans echoed around the voluminous chambers
of the city, chilling the blood and sending the companions
into a defensive circle with weapons at the ready and
muscles completely on edge.
“Trenton!” Availia’s voice was seasoned with rising fear,
“I’ve got something moving over here!”
Trenton began to look her direction, but caught movement
just inside of his own field of vision, the shambling motion
giving him a chilling clue as to what was approaching.
“They’re over here too!” he called back to her. He heard
Brisste’s voice call out, and the area of the central city

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flared to brilliant light. Rotting and partially mummified
corpses ambled out of the spokes of the inner alleys toward
the gathered companions, their hands outstretched and
reaching for the warm and living flesh that they mindlessly
sought. Availia’s bow began to sing, arrows flashing out
and dropping the horrid corpses with sickening thuds as
they fell to the ground.
“There’s more and more of them!” she shouted, forsaking
her bow a moment later and drawing her twin sabers,
“Brisste! Get behind me! They’re getting into range!”
The young mage slammed her staff into the ground, a wave
of force blasting out from the crystal toward the
approaching undead, scattering them in grisly mass across
the stone floor. Behind her the sound of Hack’s battle-cry
echoed through the streets and the sound of the great axe
slicing through dead flesh to clang off the rock beneath.
Wahldon’s shield slammed into one of the foul creatures,
splattering it’s face messily and causing it to flounder to its
knees before ceasing its movements; a moment later his
blade flashed in a cross-body cut that swept another’s head
from its body. He spared a quick instant to check on
Trenton and Omi. The two paladins were standing back to
back, their weapons sweeping and arcing in flashing paths
that forced back the their assailants, even though the

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undead were drawn to destroy the holy power that radiated
from the two warriors.
“We’ve got to get to somewhere more defensible than this,
Wahldon!” Trenton shouted, grunting with exertion as he
destroyed another zombie.
A savage screech set their frayed nerves on fire, and a lurid
green glow began to spread behind the advancing zombies.
Towering over them, seemingly made from the bones of
hundreds of different bodies was a nightmarish construct
that lumbered toward them with amazing dexterity for
something of that size. The eyes in the hawk-like skull
burned with brackish fire, and the beak snapped and hissed
in infernal fury. Trenton realized with horror that the
creature’s head was that of a griffon, the prized flying
mounts of the dwarf army. The rest of the thing’s body
was made from the bones of dwarves, humans, and others
that he couldn’t even identify. It used horribly clawed
hands to sweep zombies out of its way, slashing and
crushing while relentlessly closing on the companions’
exposed position.
“Brisste has cleared a corridor!” Availia called, using her
sabers to cut down a zombie that had come too close.
Trenton set himself between the approaching abomination
and his friends, “Omi! We need to buy some time!” he

146
shouted to the dwarf, then turned to Wahldon, “Get going!
We’ll try to slow it down!”
Wahldon hesitated, then got the others moving, protecting
the weak flank where the shambling undead were
beginning to press in.
“Hakush! Bin rahk ish a tabracal!” Omi shouted in
dwarven to his brother, moving to a flank position next to
Trenton and setting himself, his eyes never leaving the
skeletal construct.
The dwarf warrior scowled but moved in to protect the far
flank around Brisste and Availia, shepherding them toward
the passageway not more than a hundred feet from their
position that would take them into the district-ward
surrounding the great Temple of the Maker.
“Sending them to the Temple?” Trenton asked, gritting his
teeth and sweeping another pair of zombies back to the rest
that they had been robbed of.
Omi nodded, “Holy ground, laddie! We can get to the
Overthane’s fortress from there too!”
The dwarf gripped the haft of the great hammer in both of
his hands, his voice low and guttural, like the grating of
stone on stone. The incantation rose in volume, and a pale
red glow began to spread over the dwarf’s body, his frame
seeming to bulge heavier and more muscular.

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Trenton calmed himself, the abomination now filling most
of his vision as it stormed closer, it’s talons outstretched to
tear the two of them apart. He sent up a quick prayer for
strength and power, his weapon beginning to shine a
brilliant gold, causing the zombies to fall back while
shielding their rotting eyes. The abomination screamed
loud enough to hurt the ears and lunged, intending to
slaughter its targets as quickly as possible.
There was no signal or command given, Trenton simply
knew what his friend was intending. He stepped to the
side, crouching low and swinging his sword with all of his
might at the hip joint of the skeleton. The claws whistled
overhead, missing completely and throwing the target joint
into the heavy blade of the sword as the monster
overextended itself. The holy blade slammed into the joint,
slicing through the bone and sending a blast of light
through the path of the strike that send chunks of bone
flying in all directions. The follow-through of the strike
carried the paladin in a half-circle, the sword coming
around for a follow-up should it be needed. Omi took the
brunt of the onrushing monster as he brought down his
hammer with a shout of exertion, his muscles bulging with
the unnatural strength of his holy power. The gryphon
skull shattered in an explosion of bone and evil green light,

148
even as the rest of the skeleton demolished itself on the
dwarf’s body like a wave crashing against a granite
outcropping. Omi was completely immobile, his power
rooting him to the stone that he had been created from even
as it strengthened him.
“Now, laddie! Run and join the others! I’m right behind
ye!” he called.
Trenton began to fall back, his sword flashing and felling
more zombies.
“Get going yourself, Omi!” he barked, cursing as fetid
claws tore ragged gashes in his arm. He punched with a
gauntleted fist, sending the zombie crashing to the floor.
“You’ve got the shorter legs and I have the reach to cover
your retreat!”
Omi knew better than to argue with the younger man and
started to run toward the passageway, even as he saw
Availia sending a squadron of arrows back into the central
city to cover his escape. Not breaking his stride, the dwarf
threw his hand toward the soaring arrows, causing them to
ignite in golden holy fire before they struck their targets.
“Get to the temple, lass!” he called ahead, “He’s on his
way!”
Trenton was back-peddling rapidly, finally swinging his
sword in a wide arc to give himself room before turning

149
and running at full speed to follow Omi. Availia sent more
arrows to protect him and then disappeared into the tunnel
with the dwarf a few moments before Trenton’s own long
legs propelled him into it. He emerged from the darkness a
second or two later, the ward opening before him the same
way the central city had, save for the fact that the only
building was the massive temple that erupted out of the far
wall as if it had been created from the solid stone by divine
hands. He didn’t take the time to take in the awesome sight
of the building as he could feel his lungs and legs
beginning to burn, following Omi and Availia toward the
huge double doors that were hewn out of solid pine.
Wahldon and Brisste gestured franticly to them, Hack
holding the doors open with his great strength.
“They’re coming!” Wahldon shouted.
Availia dove past Hack, followed an instant later by Omi.
Trenton lowered his head and picked up speed, knowing
that zombies were much faster than most people believed,
and did not slow down due to fatigue. He could hear the
feet scraping and slapping on the stone floor, getting louder
and louder.
“Brace yourself, Hack! I can’t stop!” he cried.
The dwarf closed his eyes and turned to face the paladin the
moment before he lowered his shoulder and hit with the

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force of a catapult boulder. The two of them flew inside
the temple entryway, bouncing off the floor in a tangle of
arms and legs complete with colorful curses in two
languages before they came to a stop in a messy heap near
one of the many statues of ancient dwarf heroes as the
doors slammed shut behind them. Outside could be heard a
chorus of moans and piteous wails as the zombies
encountered the impenetrable barrier of holy ground,
frustrating their singular drive to destroy.
Omi used the light from Brisste’s staff and his own
near-perfect memory of the Great Temple to find the
narrow channel that ran along the outer walls, punctuated
by round basins at regular intervals. Brisste watched the old
dwarf with intense curiosity as he leaned over the channel,
sniffed, and then proceeded to take a small pouch from his
belt-pack and sprinkle a small amount of sparkling powder
on the water inside the channel. He then took a piece of
flint and struck the side of a thin piece of metal, causing a
small shower of sparks. With an audible whoosh and a
wave of heat, the water in the channel ignited, the basins
flaming to life as great lamps with a flaming fountain
emerging from the far end of the sanctuary where it then
poured back from the hammer and anvil symbol on the wall
behind the altar to fill the channel and keep it constantly

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burning.
“’Fire is the essence of life, that which gives light and heat.
Fire is the embodiment of the Maker’s holiness, and it is
that which gives us comfort but also our reverent dread to
follow his will.’” Omi quoted, his eyes misting from seeing
the All-Fire lit for the first time in well over five years.
Brisste kept her peace, wanting to ask what makes
the water burn, but knowing that now was not an
appropriate time to find out this information. It was better
to simply accept the light and warmth of the flames for the
time being.
Wahldon carefully looked around the inside of the
temple, his mind attempting to wrap around what he was
seeing. The vaulted ceiling was over one hundred feet
high, and in the dancing firelight he could see huge reliefs
carved and sculpted into the stone surfaces over his head.
These must have taken dwarf craftsmen and artisans several
decades to complete. The arching pillars that swept from
the floor to the pinnacle of the ceiling were also carved out
of solid stone in grooved patterns that gave the illusion in
the firelight of shafts of sunlight streaming through the
skylights above to the ground beneath, and even the walls
themselves were hewn to a surface so smooth that it
reflected the light the same way a polished wood wall

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would in a human chapel in Stormgate. The statues were of
dwarf heroes that Wahldon had learned about while
studying the race’s colorful history and military
achievements while in Captain Jonas’ care, and the old man
had certainly shown a great deal of respect for them in
doing so. The statues, Wahldon noticed, had been carved
out of different stone than the church itself, and then
lovingly overlaid with precious metals and gemstones to
highlight their features with color and light. The work was
intricate enough that Wahldon could identify individual
hairs in the beards of the dwarves and one of them actually
had a small scar on the side of his bulbous nose that was
almost unnoticeable.
Inside the sanctuary were more of the arching
pillars, and the floor was a perfectly polished white marble
with grey veins extending through the rock. On the floor
was laid a dark blue carpet with gold trim that moved down
the center of the room and ended at the altar itself. The
altar was a single large stone, left largely in its natural state,
save for the anvil built into the top of it where the priest
would conduct rituals of purifying and blessing as well as
read from the scrolls that made up the scriptures the other
races would call The Book of Life.
As they moved into the sanctuary the dwarves’ low

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voices echoed through the cavernous room hauntingly in a
song that spoke of grief, hardship and loss even though
none of the others could understand the words in ancient
dwarven. Trenton looked to the far end of the room, seeing
two pillars set into the corners that looked slightly different
from the others, each having reliefs etched into them
depicting the story of the creation of Earathis in vivid
detail. To his amazement and shock, the pillar to the right
– which was nearest to him – rotated slightly, revealing a
dark entryway, which then disgorged a humanoid of
chiseled muscle and grey-skinned power. The creature’s
face was almost simian in appearance, save for the two
long fangs that extended upward from the lower jaw.
Tattoos of tribal design decorated the bare head and wound
their way around the sharply pointed ear and the gleaming
red eye on the left side of its head. It was wearing simple
armor of boiled and supple leather, the color of dust and
stone, but it did nothing to hid the rock hard power of the
intruder.
“Orc!” Trenton shouted, moving to strike with his sword.
Amazingly the orc made no effort to move as death hurtled
his way, he simply bored his eyes into those of the paladin
and spoke with a surprisingly powerful voice in the
common language.

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“Would you stain your faith with the blood of one who will
not defend himself?”
Trenton skidded to a halt in total shock, his fury
immediately quenched and replaced by an uneasy curiosity.
“You wish to negotiate?” he asked, still clutching his sword
tightly, “I have never known an orc to seek or grant
mercy.”
Behind him he could hear the growl and then the roar of
Hack’s battle-cry as it shattered all other sound around
them.
“NO QUARTER GIVEN!” he screamed, his voice cracking
in rage.
Trenton whirled, seeing the face frozen in a mask of
exploding fury, the eyes shining with an almost unnatural
hatred even as his powerful arms brought the massive axe
over his head for a strike that would surely cleave the orc in
two from head to legs. Omi couldn’t move fast enough,
not seeing what exactly was going on until Hack shouted,
and Wahldon, Brisste, and Availia were too far away.
Trenton did the only thing he could do and stepped between
the deadly axe and the intended target, using his sword as a
brace to stop the weapon on its path.
Axe met sword in a flash of light and the tell-tale clang of
steel on steel, the force of the blow driving Trenton to his

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knees in order to absorb it.
“Hack! Stop!” he shouted, but the dwarf was already
disengaging for the next blow.
Sighing inwardly Trenton struck out with his hand, the
palm striking Hack’s chest through the flying beard. The
paladin’s power pulsed through the smaller man like a
lightning bolt, crumpling him to the floor in an instant, the
axe clattering to the ground beside him.
He whirled before the others could even speak, spinning to
his feet and using the point of his own weapon to tap the
chest of the orc who had still not moved from his spot.
“I’ve bought you a little time, orc, how you choose to
spend it will determine the length you are allowed to live.”
He growled.
The orc slowly put out his hands palms up in a gesture of
surrender, it’s eyes never leaving those of the paladin.
“Allow me to deliver my charges, great warrior, and I will
submit to my fate with no resistance.” It said softly. To
Trenton it almost seemed as if the orc was resigned to its
own death and would welcome it, but not like the savage
warriors of their armies welcomed death with horrid curses
and slaughtering anyone who dared come within range of
their swords or axes.
Trenton nodded, using a hand behind him in order to let his

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companions know to hold back for the moment. Omi
moved to his unconscious brother, dutifully moving the axe
out of his reach should he come awake again. His eyes
betrayed inner conflict, his burning rage against the
invaders of his home, and this unusual orc that had bravely
stared down his own death with no weapon in his hand and
no move to defend himself.
The orc spoke softly in dwarven over his shoulder, further
amazing Trenton, whose mind was now reeling from what
he was seeing and hearing.
“Come out, child, it is safe now.” Was all the orc said.
A moment later a dwarf girl of no older than seven years
old stepped into the light, blinking. In her hand she
clutched a ragged doll that had been crudely made by hand,
but her clothing was made to fit her small size. Her eyes
were as dark as the mountain skies at night, and her hair
was the color of honeyed cream.
Omi’s face went ashen pale and he looked from the orc to
the child and back.
“What is this?” he managed to ask.
The little one held to the orc’s leg tightly, her eyes scanning
the gathered party with open fear and suspicion. The orc
touched her shoulder comfortingly and she seemed to relax
slightly.

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“I did not come with the original invaders,” the orc rasped,
“I was brought here later by the warlock Mul’drak to help
heal our wounded. I had always practiced the arts of
nature, using them to heal and to protect my fellows, which
they scoffed was not the reason for which we were created.
“I had never seen a battleground until I came to this place,
and the sight that met my eyes sickened me to my heart,
though I dared not show it as I would have had my throat
slit as a traitor for harboring thoughts of compassion.
“As I explored the ruins of the hovels deeper in the
mountain I heard the cry of an infant, and soon found this
little one hidden in the cleft of her mother and father’s
room. I knew there were none alive in the city, so I took
her and hid her in the one place my fellows dared not go,
and that was this temple.
“I cared for her and nurtured her, staging my own death so
that my people would not suspect what was happening. I
would raid the nearby stores for food and for clothing,
always staying a few breaths from death. I studied the
scrolls in the temple, teaching myself the language of the
dwarves so that I could in turn teach her the same should
the city be retaken and I was struck down before I could tell
her story.
“I know that the Great Chief watched over her and let me

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hear her cries, and I know that I will never be accepted by
my people for walking away from the darkness that holds
us in its grasp.”
The orc’s face was creased with pain, though his eyes were
soft as he looked at the little one beside him. Trenton knew
in spite of himself that he was seeing love from a creature
that he had thought incapable of it. His conversation with
his young squire echoed in his mind, and he shivered. Had
the holy one added his voice to the discussion as well?
Equally unbelievable, it was Omi that stepped forward, his
eyes shining with holy wonder, “Ye’ve read the scrolls and
acknowledge the one ye call the Great Chief,” he said, “and
ye’ve shown love and compassion in equal measure on the
behalf of an infant that would surely have perished had ye
not intervened. Ye are a wonder, tha’s a true fact, my
friend; but the greater wonder is that her only living kin
stand before ye now.”
Trenton’s head snapped around, looking down at his
dwarven comrade in arms. “Do you know this girl, Omi?”
The dwarf shook his head, the braided beard swaying like a
rope. “Nae, Trenton, but if ye look at the right cheek, near
where it’s against the orc’s leg, ye’ll see a small brown spot
we call an earthspot.” Omi’s voice got thicker, “My Shantia
was sixteen in her apprenticeship, and she would have been

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nineteen when the stronghold fell. She had told me of a
suitor a year before, but I’d been in the east with a
diplomatic mission to Bariphay and could nae return.”
Brisste found her voice, her curiosity overcoming her fear.
“Shantia had that same earthspot?” she said, as much a
statement as a question.
Omi nodded, glancing at Hack as the other dwarf began to
groan, “Aye, lass, the exact same one.” He turned to
Wahldon, “Ye’d better bind ol’ Hack before he comes
around; he’s liable to be hoppin’ mad and spoilin’ fer a
fight. I dinnae want to hurt him if I can help it.”
Availia helped Wahldon strap the muscular dwarf to one of
the pillars, ensuring there was little hope of his escape. Her
eyes never left the orc; she studied him and scanned him,
partially to gauge the truth in his tale – although his odd
behavior was enough to do that – and partially to get a good
idea of the physical structure of the creature that stood
before them. She was ever the huntress, and one didn’t
pass up the chance to study ways to bring down one’s pray
if they wanted to keep breathing for any length of time.
This particular orc had experienced a change of heart, but
there were thousands yet that held no such beliefs.
“This little one is your granddaughter then, Omi?” Trenton
asked, still a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing.

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Omi nodded, his voice a whisper, “I’d shave me beard and
call meself a gnome if’n that weren’t true.”
The orc’s visage softened and he looked down into the eyes
of the girl, “This is the day we’ve hoped for so long, little
one.” He told her with a smile that seemed so outrageously
out of place without the sneer of bloodlust to accompany it.
He turned to Trenton and Omi, his eyes strong and clear.
“I will accept whatever fate you have in store for me now.”
He said evenly and without fear. “I have fulfilled my vow
to the Great Chief, and can pass from this world content.”
Trenton sheathed his sword, “I have no power to pass
judgment on you, but I would ask those that do to spare
your life in exchange for the life you spared.” His eyes
bored into the orc’s, looking for any hint at deception. The
black pupils held his own, their strength and the difference
within surprising and even a little unnerving to Trenton’s
mind.
Omi had knelt by the child, far enough away to not scare
her, but close enough to speak in a soft voice to her.
“Do ye have a name, child?” he asked her.
She looked at him with curiosity, fear, and suspicion rolled
into one. He imagined the only creatures she’d seen in her
years were her orc guardian, the other orcs in the
stronghold, and the undead that wandered the halls. She

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had never seen another dwarf face.
The orc gently prodded her, “It’s alright, little one, he is
part of your family that’s come back for you like I said they
would. He is your mother’s father.”
She stepped forward, her eyes scanning the whiskered face,
the pale grey skin, and the deep dark eyes of the man
before her. Tentatively, her hand reached out and touched
the beard and then the skin, exploring and searching. Omi
didn’t move, although his body shuddered with contained
sobs, his eyes wet with tears as she touched him.
“Eisha.” She said in a barely audible voice, “My name is
Eisha.”
Omi smiled through his tears, the orc had chosen a simple
name, probably a word that he’d read in the scrolls many
times. It simply meant woman or girl.
“Tha’s a lovely name, Eisha.” He said, ignoring the sounds
in the back where Hack was beginning to shout, straining
against his bonds.
“WHAT DID YE DO TO ME, YE TRAITORS?” his eyes
blazed murder, and his muscles bulged as he tried to simply
snap the bonds holding him. Availia had anticipated this
and had moved Hack’s angle against the pillar to give him
little leverage in such an attempt.
Trenton began to move that way, but Availia waved him

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off. He was, after all, the one who had defended the orc, so
it was logical to presume all his presence would do would
make the situation worse. Thankfully they were far enough
away from the girl so the noise wouldn’t scare her.
Availia took a steel arrow and drew the razor tip across the
back of Hack’s neck, causing him to yelp and throw his
head back involuntarily. She grabbed his great beard,
pulling up on it with all of her strength and holding him
with his neck extended and the arrow now at his throat.
“I don’t have time to calm you down right, so I’m only
going to tell you this once, Hack,” she said with a growl
that promised pain if he interrupted. “That girl is Omi’s
granddaughter, your niece; and if you start screaming and
frothing like a berserker, you’ll terrify her and she’ll never
want to have anything to do with you again. She’s scared
half out of her mind and thinks we all want to kill her and
the only person that’s kept her alive for these five years.”
She watched as the fire began to subside and released his
beard as the working part of Hack’s brain absorbed the
information it was given.
“How do we know she’s his granddaughter?” he said, his
voice festering with mistrust.
Availia was ready, “Your brother saw the same earthspot
on her cheek that her mother had. It was enough to

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convince him on the matter.”
“What about the orc?” the word was fairly spit out of
Hack’s mouth, though she could hardly blame him.
Availia shook her head, “I don’t know,” she said honestly,
“it’s obvious he’s different than any other orc I’ve ever
seen or encountered, and it’s also clear that he took Eisha
and protected her and raised her to know the dwarf
language at the very least. He’s evidently been telling her
that the dwarves would be back to get her.”
Hack’s head spun, “Why? Why would ye do that after
ye’ve destroyed her home and her family?”
“He wasn’t part of the invasion, Hack,” Availia explained,
“he’s a healer that was brought here afterward to work on
the wounded when he found her and hid her here.”
Hack looked suspicious, “And his friends never came to
look for him?”
She shook her head again, “Number one, I don’t think they
would come anywhere near the temple, and number two,
they think he’s dead. I think he killed another orc, made
him up to look like himself, and put the body where they
could see it but not get to it.” She shrugged, “There’s got to
be crevices around here where accidents like that could
happen.”
“He was willin’ to kill one o’ his own to keep her safe…”

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The dwarf tried to drink it all in, fighting with his head the
one conclusion his heart was leading him to.
“What does he want?” he asked, his final point of
resistance.
Availia stood, her hand on her small knife, ready to cut him
loose. “Nothing. He’s already told Omi and Trenton he’s
willing to die now that he knows she’s safe.” She told him.
He looked up at her, “Cut me free, lass,” he said in a quiet
voice, “I give ye me word I’ll nae hurt the orc unless he
tries hurtin’ us first.”
“The word of a dwarf holds weight with me, Hack.” She
said with a smile, cutting the strap.
Wahldon bent to give the dwarf a forearm to pull himself
up.
“All of ye saved me from sheddin’ righteous blood, lad,” he
told the warlord, “I’m grateful to ye for doin’ the right
thing by me.”
He looked to where his brother now had Eisha on his knee,
talking with her and explaining to her who he was. Trenton
looked down at the stout warrior.
“I’m sorry I had to do that, Hack, I don’t know how else I
could have stopped you.”
Hack shook his shaggy head, “There’s nae to forgive, lad,
ye did the right thing by all accounts, and there’s never a

165
need to apologize fer that.” The dark eyes twinkled for a
moment, “That’s not to say I won’t pay ye back in kind if I
get the chance, mind ye.”
The paladin chuckled and cleared the way for the dwarf to
meet his kin.
“Eisha?” the voice was soft and low as Hack knelt on one
knee and looked at the youngster.
She smiled and cocked her head, “You look like saba.” She
said, using the dwarf term for grandfather.
Hack chuckled even as his nose turned crimson with
emotion. “Aye, lassie, he’s me twin brother, an’ that makes
you” he touched her nose with his finger, eliciting a giggle,
“me nechadnit.”
She looked to Omi, “If I’m his nechadnit, what does that
make him?” she asked.
“Yer dod, Eisha.” He replied.
Hack touched the girl’s head again, then stood, “Dod needs
to talk with yer friend here, Eisha, but I’ll be close if’n ye
need me.”
He strode to where the orc was watching from a corner near
the pillar where they had emerged. To his credit the orc
simply studied the approaching dwarf with no word, fear,
or anger. Trenton moved closer to observe – and to defend
again should he need to – the exchange.

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“Yer a courageous person,” Hack said, eyeing the stoic orc,
“and I’m told that ye can never go back to yer people again
a’cause of it.”
The orc looked pained, nodded, but remained silent.
“Thank ye for what ye’ve done,” the dwarf said huskily, “I
dinnae know if I’d have had the courage to do what ye did
if the roles had been reversed.”
The orc finally spoke, “I read that ‘it is the stone that shifts
that is the most useful to the Maker, as he can move it to
where he needs it and set it in place when the time is right.’
I believe that I was that stone.”
Hack was absolutely shocked, “Ye’ve embraced our faith?”
The orc shrugged, “I have come to call Him the Great
Chief, as that image means more to me than The Maker,
but I believe His words in the scrolls are the words for
life.”
Hack tried to reconcile in his mind the things he was seeing
and hearing. Like the others, he had completely written off
the orcs as a dangerous and savage breed that needed to be
avoided at the very least, or hunted down and destroyed
like rabid dogs like others strongly believed. Now there
stood before him living proof that even members of so
deadly a race could change and be changed, that they could
exhibit honor and compassion to others. Perhaps this was

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the only one, but it was something that gave the gruff dwarf
pause and a chance to think things through.
“You’ve come to destroy Mul’drak, haven’t you?” the orc
asked, looking at the gathered group. “The army has been
destroyed and now you are searching for the Warlock in
order to bring him to justice.”
“He’s controlling something very powerful,” Brisste
explained, and he could very easily lose control of it if he’s
not stopped.”
She described the summoned elementals and the way the
two had begun to slaughter indiscriminately across the
battlefield until Trenton had been able to stop them with his
own power.
The orc considered this for a moment, “Mul’drak has been
in possession of a rod made from a single crystal the color
of human blood.” Trenton winced, imagining the being had
seen enough of that fluid over the last several years. “I have
felt its power and its corruption, and the spirits of the
mountain have warned me that it is not of this world.”
Availia cocked her head, hearing a phrase similar to the
nature worshipers she’d grown up with.
“The spirits of the mountain? What do you mean?” she
asked.
The massive grey hand wrapped around a crude piece of

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stone that had been chipped to give the vague impression of
a face. The other hand waved over it briefly and a warm
greenish glow emanated from the statuette.
“C’tok bil roth torr kai mohk.” The gravelly voice intoned
softly, and the thin outline of a humanoid stood in their
midst, oblivious to any but the one that summoned it.
The spirit spoke in the orc’s own tongue for a moment, then
waited for instructions.
“These are followers of the Great Chief and have
vanquished Mul’Drak’s dark Horde. Friend of the
Mountain, I would have you speak that they can hear and
understand.” The orc told it in respectful tones.
The spirit, looking like a wisp of cool vapor with blue-
white eyes, turned to the companions and bowed briefly.
“Master Kooroo has shown wisdom and respect for the
spirits of nature here in the halls of the dwarven lords, and
we have entrusted him with insight into the darkness that
beats even now within the heart of this mountain. The rod
of Mul’drak is indeed not of this world and was part of a
larger shard of corruption that fell to Earathis before the
First War and the defeat of Malevolus. It is that shard that
gave the Pact Infernis its great arcane power and the ability
to enslave spirits that they passed to all warlocks in their
forbidden lore. After the First War, the Great Dragon

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Aaront had the shard cast into the skies beyond the sky
where it hangs to this day, no longer a threat to this world
and its people. Mul’drak found a splinter of this shard and
fashioned it into a rod, using it to greatly enhance his
arcane powers even as he holds it for his true master.”
Trenton politely interrupted, “His true master being
Dranattothrax?”
The spirit nodded grimly, “The paladin of the Most High is
indeed wise, and his spirit bears the mark of the one that
has seen death yet walks this land.
“Your enemy is indeed the master of Mul’drak and desires
the splinter in order to hasten the re-emergence of the Pact
Infernis upon the surface of Earathis from where they have
been hiding in the darkness beneath the darkness.”
Brisste’s mind fully grasped what the spirit had said before
the others could reason it through, her education and
training in arcane lore and history allowing her to follow
the cryptic language the spirit used.
“The Pact survived the end of the First War?” she asked.
The spirit confirmed, “Indeed, hand of the arcane, and it
has waited and grown over the centuries for its dark
founder to return and set into motion his war against the
world of the sun.”
“But we destroyed the Horned Gate,” Wahldon protested,

170
rubbing his chin, “the rod can’t have that much of an
impact, can it?”
“The portal to the abyss was but the first stratagem in an
opening that is planned to span years, and has nearly come
to fruition. By releasing the fiends into the world
Dranattothrax was able to buy himself time to search for
the splinter; and if the portal was able to fulfill its dark
purpose, then he would use the splinter to empower the
demons even beyond their natural horrors.”
Trenton’s mind reeled. The whole quest, the prophesy, and
the hardships they went through to destroy the gateway had
all been planned for by an enemy that was two steps ahead
of them. Dranattothrax had realized the prophesy might not
be reversible, and so he had planned for that eventuality,
and used the distraction to search for his true goal.
Demihumanity would have no choice but to fight the most
immediate threat and give the Dark Dragon the time he
needed to find his prize.
“Dranattothrax did not count on the true nature of the
prophesy, however.” The spirit continued, “Your return to
the land of the living to pursue him was a contingency he
did not plan for, and you defeated his army far sooner than
he had expected due to demi-humanity rallying to the
banner of the Dales and the champions who rode under it.

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Now, however, the warlock has found the fragment and
holds it for his master. The Dark Champion has arrived to
claim the prize, but is still not as near to it as you. Again,
the enemy has misjudged those who stand against him, and
you may be able to destroy the splinter rather than allow it
to fall into the Dark Champion’s hands.”
Availia shivered, “The Dark Champion is here already.”
She whispered. “He was on the mountain slopes last
night.” Her voice trembled with the memory of her driving
panic. She had no desire to experience that again.
Trenton looked at her with alarm, “What? When did that
happen?”
Availia quickly described the gnoll prisoner and the
aftermath of the encounter, including the voice and the
intense cold before her flight from it. She also explained
that she had felt that said same fear the night Simmrolarinis
was destroyed by the Iron Horde and her companions were
tracked down and slain by the undead.
“I have no doubt in my mind that’s what that was.” She
said quietly. “I’ve never felt more terror than those
moments, Trenton…ever.”
Kooroo dismissed the spirit gratefully and looked to the
companions, his great dark eyes thoughtful before he
looked to the dwarf child nearby. The twins had regarded

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the entire conversation quietly, listening to the spirit but
maintaining their peace as it spoke.
Omi stroked his great beard for a moment or two, “We’ve
no choice but t’ move now. If’n we dinnae destroy that
splinter, then the heavens only know what danger he can
loose on the plains and Bariphay before he reaches us.”
Kooroo stood, flexing and stretching the great muscles in
his back and shoulders before reaching into the column
where he and his charge had been hiding. He pulled out a
wicked-looking war-club, carved from what appeared to be
a single piece of hard wood and grooved to fit his massive
hand perfectly. Set into the far end of the club were fangs
of some form, hooked and sharpened to arrow precision.
Without a word he hung the weapon from his hip and
reached inside a final time, pulling out a shield made from
the shell of a giant tortoise, polished to a gleaming shine
where the plates of armor linked together. This he hung
over his back before turning to the companions.
“I offer my abilities in your service,” her growled, “as a
shaman and healer that now follows the Great Chief and
has befriended the spirits of this mountain.”
To everyone’s shock and amazement it was Hack that
stepped forward, his face beginning to flush with the desire
for battle. His dark eyes looked up into the face of the orc,

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once his dire enemy, and he smiled, showing his teeth.
“Ye’ve chosen t’ side against all ye know, Kooroo, an’ I
dinnae know what yer future holds if’n we win this fight;
but I can say that my axe will sing with your club against
the Dark Champion until either he lies broken at me feet or
me weapon does the same.”
The orc nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly and his tusked
fangs gleaming in the dancing light of the temple. Trenton
could see the hint of bloodlust in that face, and could only
imagine the amount of self-control it took to contain so
primal a force. What if they could all be saved and turned
so noble? He thought fleetingly.
“The passage to the undersides of the city is behind the
dais, concealed in the statue of the great king, Beodin.”
Omi told them, moving deeper into the temple.
Wahldon looked at his friends, even the one with the grey
skin and massive body, with a tight smile. “Are we ready to
do this? Once we set out we probably won’t have another
chance to rest.”
Trenton nodded, feeling the weight of his father’s sword
over his back and the surge of righteous impatience flood
through him. It was time to go on the offensive against
Dranattothrax, and the best way to do that would be to
destroy the splinter and deny him that power. He looked to

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Availia, who was staring straight ahead, her mind already
preparing for the battle to come. He knew that she was not
comfortable in this place, underground and away from the
cool breezes of the outdoors, but he also knew she was a
disciplined enough warrior that it wouldn’t affect her
ability to fight.
“Trenton, you have the rear,” Wahldon called, “Availia, are
you comfortable leading the way and scouting ahead here?”
The elf woman grinned, her mouth curling up at the corner
slightly, “I am yours to command, O fearless leader.” She
said with mock reverence, earning rolled eyes from him.
She gave Trenton a quick but passionate kiss, then took up
her place where Omi was pushing open the stone doorway,
revealing a dimly lit, winding pathway leading down into
the heart of the mountain.
“Hack, you follow behind her, I’ll fall in behind Hack, and
Brisste can stay behind me. Omi, how about you fall in
behind Brisste so Kooroo’s club doesn’t accidently take her
head off if he gets into a tight scrape?”
The orc chuckled, a somewhat intimidating sound, but he
understood the human warrior meant no offense or distrust,
he was simply being the practical leader.
With one last look over the group, Wahldon turned his eyes
to Availia and nodded. “Let’s go.”

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 Chapter Nine
The dimly lit passageway was only six feet tall,
meaning Trenton and Kooroo both had to stoop in order to
walk it’s dusty floors. Cobwebs dangled like tree roots in a
cave from the ceiling, and the torchlight from magical
torches cast a golden glow and sinister shadows against the
walls to either side. Availia darted wraithlike between
pools of shadow up ahead, staying just within sight as the
corridor began to slope more steeply down and bend to the
left. The air became warm and stale as they walked, the
cloying scent of dust and age tickling the nostrils and
causing the occasional cough or sneeze. No one spoke,
each having their senses on heightened alert for anything
that might try to hamper their progress.
Eisha stayed close to Kooroo, Trenton noticed,
although he could hardly blame her considering the orc was

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the only protector she’d known for her entire life. The little
girl’s eyes were wide with fear, but she didn’t utter a sound
as she walked, somehow feeling that the silence was safer
than sound.
Availia hissed, bringing the group to a halt as she
made her way back and beckoned to Wahldon, who
approached carefully. The elf pushed the cloak off her
head, shaking out her hair.
“The passage ahead opens into a bigger antechamber that I
think used to be used for storage in case of siege. There
isn’t any food or goods that I can see, but the floor and
walls are covered with webs and egg-sacks the size of my
fist.” She reported.
Wahldon grimaced. It wasn’t uncommon for giant spiders
to move into cave networks in order to prey on
subterranean animals – or miners – and it would seem that
at least one spider had made its way into the storehouse and
was using it as its central lair.
“Hopefully she’s out hunting and we don’t have to deal
with her.” Availia offered, reading the warlord’s face.
Wahldon nodded, running a hand through his hair. Giant
spiders were feared for good reason; their venom was
enough to paralyze a horse with a single bite, and their
webs were as strong as steel cables in some places with

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sticky tendrils that had could hold a full grown man in
place.
“We need to make sure there’s a clear passage from one
end of the chamber to the other so no one gets caught up in
the webbing.” He told her, “We also want to make sure that
we have room to fight should it come to that.”
Availia looked over at Brisste, “The surest way to clear that
path would be to burn a way through.” She replied.
Wahldon considered this, “You probably know more about
these things than I do, Shadow; if we burn a path are we
going to set the whole chamber on fire?”
She shook her head, “No. Spider webbing will burn away,
but it doesn’t catch fire. Wherever the fire goes we’ll have
a clear pathway.”
A sound like a dog’s toenails on cobblestones drifted in
from down the passageway that Availia had just returned
from. Her eyes widened and she pulled the bow off her
shoulder, knocking an arrow and stepping back carefully.
Wahldon took the cue, fading to her left in order to use his
shield to cover the exposed flank.
“Spider!” he called to the others, even as the sound rose
from faint scrabbling to a hair-raising racket, and the
unmistakable sound of high-pitched squeaks could now
also be heard. The horrifying shadow now cast itself across

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the angled walls, the stick-like legs creeping ever closer to
the group and increasing speed as the monstrous spider
sensed prey ahead.
“Fall back!” Hack called to Availia and Wahldon, he and
Omi moving forward with their weapons held at the ready.
The two dwarves, much more designed for fighting in
enclosed spaces, set themselves at either side of the passage
bend.
Availia passed between them, pulling her bowstring back to
her jaw-line and sighting down the shaft of the arrow.
Wahldon moved in behind Hack and to the left, trying to
stay out of the way and yet offer protection to the warrior
and paladin with his shield if he needed to.
Trenton stayed back, more unsure of what good his larger
weapon would be in an enclosed space, and deciding to
adopt a defensive stance to protect Kooroo and Eisha if the
creature were to get past the others.
Kooroo growled something in his own language, and
Trenton felt a surge of energy and awareness flood through
him. He didn’t dare spare a glance back at the orc, but
could see the effect on his companions ahead, their bodies
tensing and appearing to grow slightly even as their
movements became more fluid. He whispered a prayer of
protection and guidance, feeling the calm radiance of

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divine power infuse him and spread out toward his friends.
The spider rounded the corner, it’s huge head a
ghostly white with six eyes the size of a turkey’s eggs.
Twin mandibles, each looking like grisly sabers clicked
together, dripped black liquid to the floor. The bulging
body behind the head filled the remainder of the
passageway, spindly legs jutting out from the form that
scraped along the dusty stone.
Availia’s bowstring snapped loudly, the unmistakable hiss
of the arrow whistling across the short distance between
herself and the monstrous spider. It was nearly impossible
to miss in the close quarters, and the arrow bit deeply into
the underbelly of the spider, bringing a spray of black ichor
and a earsplitting shriek of rage from the creature.
Hack shouted a battle-cry in dwarven, leaping at the
monster with his axe held high overhead, poised to strike at
the scuttling legs. At the same time Omi dashed forward,
the massive warhammer slamming into the side of the
spider’s bloated body, crushing it against the wall of the
cavern and buckling its legs.
Wahldon lunged forward, his shield deflecting a strike from
the maddened monster’s fangs before his sword struck
upward, missing the center of the head by a breath, but
causing the spider to fade to the side where Hack’s massive

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axe was beginning its deadly trajectory. The blade hewed
through two of the legs, spraying the wall with more ichor
and sending the spider backpedaling with a shriek that
make Eisha cover her ears and Trenton wince at the sound.
Part of him hated the killing of a creature that was simply
defending its home, but every moment they delayed in
reaching their goal put their enemies one step closer to their
dark purposes.
“Availia!” he shouted, “The eyes!”
A bolt of blue flame shot from Brisste’s hand to explode
behind the spider, forcing it to abandon its retreat and face
the attackers. Availia’s bow sang twice, the arrows striking
the unblinking orbs causing the head to drop defensively.
This time Wahldon was ready, fading to the side and
striking in a vicious stab that took his blade deep into the
joint between the spider’s head and body. The body leapt
upward in a clenching spasm that nearly pulled the
warlord’s arm out of socket. The head slammed against the
ceiling of the corridor, bringing a shower of dust, rocks and
cobwebs that made Trenton think for a panicked moment
that the entire works was going to cave in.
Hack and Omi leapt out of the way, keeping their weapons
at the ready in case the spider lashed out in its death throes.
A moment later the bulk of the creature crashed to the

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ground, its legs jerking erratically before it finally
shuddered into a grotesque ball, it’s bulk unmoving in the
corridor.
Wahldon sagged against the wall for a moment, breathing
hard, and the two dwarves took a moment to rest and take
long drinks from their water-skins, their weapons laid
aside.
“Is it dead?” the little voice made Omi and Hack look up,
almost as if they had forgotten that Eisha was there with
them.
Availia smiled sympathetically, knowing that it went
against the grain for a dwarf to bring a child into a
dangerous environment such as they were in, even if they
truly had no choice in the matter. It was simply the way of
this stoic people and their adherence to family and
protecting their homes.
“Aye, little one,” Omi said softly with a smile of
reassurance, “’twas only a spider.”
She stared at the carcass for a moment as if she expected it
to jump out and strike; but when it didn’t she allowed
herself to relax.
Wahldon allowed the group to rest for a moment, then slid
his shield back over his shoulder, sparing a glance and a
shudder for the creature they’d just dispatched before

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continuing on their way into the mountain.
Traversing the storeroom was easier than Wahldon
had expected with Brisste’s magical fire clearing the way
through most of the webs that barred their path. They
carefully avoided the egg-sacks, not wanting to release any
hungry young spiders in groups of over one hundred
whether they were only the size of a silver coin or not.
Once through the cut exit on the far side of the chamber the
pathway began to descend steeply, the dwarves having little
trouble with the change in incline, but the humans fought to
keep their footing sure and steady on the rocky surface and
loose gravel. Worse yet, the pathway switched back
several times, making it easier to hold onto the walls, but
harder to see what was ahead. Only Availia was able to
maneuver through the passageways with her typical fleet-
footedness, dodging through flickering torchlight and deep
shadows like a cat dashing from cover to cover.
After nearly two hours in the passageways, Omi sent ahead
to have Availia brought to a stop and back to the party.
“The royal antechamber is just up ahead.” He told them, his
voice low. “The reason the pathway is designed this way is
to keep invaders from being able to rush the chamber with
a sizable force at one time.”
Wahldon asked, “How big is the chamber itself then?”

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Omi shook his head, “Not very big; perhaps forty feet by
sixty feet at the largest.”
“Is there another way out of the chamber?” Availia asked.
“Only the entrances from the other areas of the city, but
those would have to be opened by someone who knew
about them.” He replied.
The elf scowled, “Here’s hoping Mul’drak doesn’t know
about this one.” She murmured.
Hack shook his shaggy head, “Nay, lass, I dinnae think he
does. It sounds like they never messed with th’ temple
itself, and only a few souls ever knew about this particular
passageway. Even in th’ chamber it comes in behind th’
platform where the king and his guard would make their
last stand should th’ worst happen.”
Trenton perked up at that statement. “It comes out behind
the platform? How far behind and how high is the
platform?”
Hack ran a hand through his beard, “I want t’ say ‘tis only
waist high with steps to the sides –“ he grinned at the
paladin, “- though a bigger man like you could step up onto
it with little trouble. As for how far away it is I would say
no further than fifteen feet at the most.”
Wahldon could see where his friend was going and nodded,
rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

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“We could very well get the drop on Mul’drak without his
ever knowing we’re here.”
Kooroo shook his head, “Mul’drak will have sentries
around him that need not see you to know you are there.”
He told them, “But if one of his own people were to enter
the room it may distract him long enough for you to deploy
and retain an advantage.”
“He knows who you are, Kooroo,” Brisste countered, “he’ll
kill you when he realizes it’s you.”
The orc bared his fangs in a grin that was partially rage,
“He will try.” He conceded. “But I have power of my
own.”
Brisste was about to speak again when Availia stopped her,
“He’s right. It would be the last thing that Mul’drak would
expect, and the fight will distract him long enough for us to
burst in and destroy that splinter.”
“If we can.” Brisste moaned, not happy with the plan at all.
Wahldon sighed deeply and turned to Kooroo, “Do what
you need to do, Kooroo, and we’ll do our best to take
advantage of the time you give us.”
The orc nodded, meeting Eisha’s eyes before turning away
and striding purposefully down the corridor. The little girl
visibly steeled herself, fighting the tears in her eyes as Omi
knelt next to her.

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“Ye have to wait here, Eisha,” he told her, “the fight will be
too dangerous for ye to be there. If we fall…” he nearly
choked, but continued, “…run back up the passageway as
fast as you can and hide in the temple. The army will be
here very soon and will find you there.”
Eisha shook her head stubbornly, “No, Saba! I want to stay
with you!” she insisted.
Omi looked pleadingly at Hack, who shook his head,
unable to speak. To Trenton’s mild surprise it was Availia
that stepped forward and gently scooped the now crying
child in her arms.
“Eisha,” she said calmly, “when I was very young we had a
fire in the deep forests where I grew up, and my village was
in danger. My father sent the children to the river in order
to keep us safe while the adults fought the fire. I wanted to
be there with him, but he told me that he would not be able
to fight the fire and protect me at the same time, so I did as
he asked me to do because I wanted him to be able to save
our home. Now your Saba and the rest of us are going to
fight someone very evil in order to free your home, but you
have to stay here so we can do our very best. Do you
understand now?”
Eisha wiped her eyes and nodded, the look of heartbroken
anguish on her face enough to make even the elf’s eyes

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well up with tears. “Good girl.” She said huskily, hugging
the child then putting her down, “Now hug your Saba and
your dod and stay here in the shadows until we return.”
A moment later they heard a roar of rage and hatred echo
up the passageway from where Kooroo had disappeared. A
matching battle-cry shook the tunnels and a moment later
the earth itself began to shake menacingly.
“Now!” Wahldon cried, “Go! Go! Go!”
Availia sprinted for the end of the passage, using her legs to
push off the last two switchbacks before she was able to
dive through the portal and to the side, coming out of her
roll with her bow drawn to her cheek and her eyes scanning
the room.
It was lit by hundreds of green and blue flamed candles,
and the center of it was a bloodstained circle with discarded
bones and other grisly spell components that were the
hallmark of darker warlock magics. The room itself was
almost as cold as a winter’s night, the chill creeping into
Availia’s bones as her eyes swept up to the platform where
she could now see Kooroo with his hands wrapped around
a crystal rod that looked like frozen blood. The orc’s huge
muscles bulged with effort as he fought to push against the
other orc that held onto the staff, it’s skin a horrid shade of
yellowish green, unlike the stone grey of Kooroo. They

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were matched power for power, their bodies trembling with
the exertion and their eyes blazing into each other’s in a
struggle for dominance.
“Traitor!” Mul’drak hissed, venom in his voice, “You
would destroy your own people!”
“My people are free!” Kooroo growled, “Not meant to
serve dark masters simply because of our creation!”
The two spun in place, Kooroo’s back to the far wall and
Mul’drak’s to the companions as the rest of them charged
into the room. Mul’drak began to chant, and a thin tendril
of crimson energy was pulled into the rod from a nearby
pearlescent ball set on a pedestal. A moment later there
was a pulse of light and Kooroo was thrown into the far
corner of the room, partially hidden in shadow. He shakily
got to his feet, trying to clear his head from the pulse of
magic.
Availia sent two arrows at the orc warlock, hoping to at
least turn his attention away from Kooroo, but they struck
an invisible barrier around him and broke, even as he
pointed a finger at his enemy and barked a command.
Kooroo roared in pain and rage as flames grew from
beneath him, consuming him in their hungry maw. The
roar turned into a shout, and the ceiling overhead opened a
crack and water poured down over him, dousing the flames

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and leaving him singed and soaked, wisps of steam rising
from his body.
He raised his hands to retaliate, a ball of crackling lightning
appearing in an instant. But as he drew his arms in to cast
it toward the warlock his body stiffened and an evil ebony
blade appeared to burst from his chest. The spell failed,
and the stricken orc looked down at the blade, unable to
even raise his hands any more as he hung impaled.
“Death comes for those who usurp my master’s designs.” A
chillingly calm voice whispered in Kooroo’s ear before the
blade was ripped clear of the body and brought down in a
perfect executioner’s cut that took the orc’s head neatly
from his shoulders without so much as a sound.
Trenton’s mind screamed at the sight of that blade and the
even darker shade that wielded it, knowing instinctively
that this was the Dark Champion that had been spoken of.
He prayed for calm and focus as he advanced toward the
apparition, still hidden partially in the shadows of the room.
There was something familiar about the way that it moved,
and Trenton searched his memories for what it could be.
The Dark Champion stepped forward, allowing the light to
illuminate himself completely.
“Tallo!” Availia’s scream was one of horror, betrayal,
grief and rage all ripped out of her heart and soul at once.

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Brisste cringed at the sound, remembering that shriek of
pain when Availia had been forced to shoot Trenton.
She looked up, seeing the horrifying visage of the warrior
that stood before them. His face was gaunt and yet retained
its handsome features, including the pointed ears of his
racial heritage. His skin was the color of yellowed
parchment and his eyes blazed an unholy blue/white in the
darkness. His bone-white hair was tied into a pony-tail,
and his armor was as black as the moonless sky on a
clouded night. In his hands he carried a sword of pure
darkness, with glowing runes etched into its blade. The
weapon fairly pulsed with evil energy, and the elf-knight
smirked at the cry of its victims.
“You remember me, Availia,” it said, the voice echoing as
if it were coming from a grave and mocking in tone, “I’m
surprised you survived that night in the forest and only
found out after I killed the gnoll you left behind on the side
of the mountain.”
He ignored the sounds of rejoined battle as the two dwarves
took advantage of the lull and leapt at Mul’drak, driving
him back in a defensive posture with the sheer ferocity of
their attack.
“Tallo, what’s happened to you?” Availia was able to
regain some of her composure, Trenton moving nearer to

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her in order for his own holy aura to offer comfort and
courage, his eyes never leaving the grim specter before
him.
Tallo threw back his head and laughed merrily, the sound
raising the hackles on Wahldon’s neck as he carefully tried
to maneuver his way to Tallo’s flank.
A gesture of the hand pulled the warlord off his feet,
wrapping him in coils of brackish green that wrenched a
tortured cry from his lips as they constricted him.
“Wahldon!” Brisste cried, her counterspell shooting from
her staff to encircle her husband. The bonds shattered and
he fell to the ground, rolling in pain and moaning.
Trenton leapt forward, his silver sword held high in
challenge, “May the Holy One defeat you by my hand!” he
shouted in challenge.
Tallo’s dark weapon met the attack, red and gold sparks
flying between the two blades as they met and grated
against each other. Tallo shouted a word of power, causing
Trenton’s knees to buckle with pain, but the paladin was
able to meet the finishing stroke with his own sword and
invoked a flash of holy light that sent Tallo staggering
backwards for a moment. Two arrows shot past the
paladin’s head and struck Tallo’s chest-plate, driving him
further back and off balance while Trenton regained his

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footing and pressed the attack.
“You betrayed your own people, didn’t you?” he accused,
as they exchanged blows, neither of them depending on
holy or unholy power since they were evenly matched.
Tallo smirked, punching the young paladin in the face with
a gauntleted hand and nearly taking his hand with an
upward stroke that Trenton was barely able to defend
against. He spun, acting as if he were off balance, but
lashed out with his foot at the last moment, catching Tallo’s
ankle and sweeping him off his feet in a clatter of armor
and an indignant roar. Trenton finished his spin and
backed away, blinking the stars out of his vision and
feeling the blood pouring down the side of his face. Tallo
was at least one hundred fifty years older, and his
experience with a blade was far superior to Trenton’s own,
although the human’s strength was keeping him in the
fight. He had to think of a way to finish the mission before
Tallo could overwhelm them all. His eyes fell to the pearl
orb on the pedestal even as he shouted a word of healing
and encouragement to Wahldon, who dragged himself to
his feet, readying his weapon.
Mul’drak cried out on the floor near the stairway to the
platform, a swing from Omi’s hammer striking one of the
hands that held the rod, shattering it and causing the orc to

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drop it to the ground. He never got a chance to summon his
next spell as Hack buried his axe in the top of the warlock’s
head, splitting him all the way to his legs in a massive
strike that sent black blood spraying in all directions.
“Brisste!” Omi called, “The rod!”
Tallo whirled to stop her, but found himself face to face
with the warlord he thought he had dealt with, deflecting a
blow with the sword and spinning away from the follow-up
with the shield that nearly trapped his weapon.
Trenton struck from the other side, putting the Dark
Champion on full defense for a moment.
“Comminuo arcanis ferula!” She screamed, pointing her
staff at the rod where it lay.
Tallo roared in rage, unleashing a wave of dark energy that
threw Wahldon and Trenton away from him.
The blaze of white light struck the rod, causing it to glow
for a moment before it was blasted into shattered pieces
that swirled around the room like a blizzard of blood.
Availia sent two more arrows after Tallo, her face a mask
of rage and hatred, “I’ll see you destroyed for what you did,
Tallo!” she hissed, “I swear it!”
He batted the arrows aside and sneered, touching the
pendant around his neck. Behind him a shimmering black
veil descended, pulsing in purple energy.

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“You don’t have the power, little girl, and you will never
have the vision.” He replied, his voice dripping with frozen
contempt. “The Pact Infernis has been resurrected, and your
ridiculous quest to destroy the Horned Gate was simply a
ruse to delay your forces while they gathered power.”
Trenton’s eyes narrowed, “They don’t have the rod now, so
I would say we’re even.” He observed, not dropping his
defense.
Tallo shrugged, “A minor setback.” He conceded. “My
master’s plan has been in motion for over four hundred
years, and I doubt a few more months will make a
difference one way or the other.”
Trenton smiled grimly, “Your master has underestimated
his opposition before, Tallo, and I have no doubt he’s done
so again.”
A voice sounded from the portal, chillingly familiar to all
in the room.
“I never repeat mistakes, paladin of the Most High.” It
said, reverberating through the chamber, “Even now my
armies gather to make war on the remainder of Synduress
while the nations celebrate the defeat of the Iron Horde.
Enjoy your ‘victory’ while you may.” A moment later it
spoke again, “Come, Tallo, I am disappointed with your
setback, but it was not to be avoided; there will be more

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slaughter to slake your blade soon enough. Your sister’s
blood will join with her father’s to fuel your power in the
end.”
The hatred in Availia’s eyes was nearly a physical force as
she drew the sabers on her back.
“Availia!” Trenton cried, grabbing her and wrapping her in
his arms before lifting her off the ground. “He’ll kill you in
an instant!”
Tallo laughed again, “You saved her for now, paladin, but
you won’t always be there to do so.” With that he stepped
through the veil behind him and disappeared.
Availia’s shriek of impotent rage ended in a choking sob as
her sabers clattered to the ground and her legs buckled
beneath her. Trenton released her and pulled her near,
allowing her to pound her fist against his chest again and
again as she wept out her betrayal.
The room was eerily silent, save for the sound of Availia’s
tears, and Omi slipped back up the corridor in order to
retrieve Eisha for the painful purpose of saying farewell to
the only guardian she’d ever known.
“Release me, paladin of the Star Keeper.” A voice said in
Trenton’s ear. He startled, his head snapping around.
Availia, alarmed, regained her composure, retrieving her
sabers. “What is it, Trenton?”

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No one else seemed to notice. Wahldon was in the corner,
his armor off as Brisste gently wrapped what was almost
certainly broken ribs, and the dwarves were holding Eisha
close as she cried piteously over Kooloo’s crumpled body.
“It was a voice.” Trenton said softly, scanning the room.
“A woman’s voice that referred to the Holy One by a title
I’ve never heard before.”
Availia’s eyebrow raised, “I thought paladins were trained
in all of demi-humanity’s worship forms.” She pointed out.
He nodded, “We are.” He affirmed, “But I can tell you this
is one I’ve never heard of before. She called him the ‘Star
Keeper’.”
Brisste’s head shot up, a look of shock on her face, “What
did you just say, Trenton?”
He looked at her, realizing he must sound insane, “I heard a
woman’s voice call to me and ask me to release her, and
she referred to the Holy One as the ‘Star Keeper’.”
She shook her head, her eyes not leaving his, “That’s not
possible, Trenton,” she told him, “only one race has ever
referred to Him by that name and they haven’t been heard
from on Synduress in a thousand years.”
“Only the Tannin ever used that term.” Omi’s voice said,
his face a mirror of Brisste’s.
Availia’s eyes widened, “Dragons, Omi?” she said

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incredulously, “I didn’t think they even worshipped the
Holy One.”
Brisste nodded, “They do, but because they were the first
born of creation they only knew him as the Keeper of the
Stars, or the Star Keeper as some called him.”
Trenton’s heart froze, “Dranattothrax is a dragon.” He said
carefully.
Brisste shook her head, “No, he was a man that was given
that form by Malevolus for his first follower in order to
mock the Holy One’s first creation of life after his own
qualities.”
Omi thought for a moment, “What if the legends of the
Lady of the Mountain are true?” he said, his voice shaky,
“There are tales of a great white dragon that lived on the
mountain high above the clouds and helped protect it.”
“The dwarf speaks true, paladin. Seek the orb that I may
be freed.”
Trenton peered around the room, searching for…the pearl
sphere in the corner that Mul’drak had drawn power from.
“There!” he cried, running over to it, but not daring to lay a
hand on it.
He looked to Brisste, his eyes desperate for an answer,
“What do I do?”
He asked, staring at the surface of the orb and seeing the

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white swirls passing through the translucent form now that
he was close enough.
“Strike with your weapon, paladin, as it is touched with
holy power.”
Trenton whispered a prayer fervently, hoping that he was
doing the right thing as he lifted his sword.
“Trenton! No! We don’t know…!” Brisste started, but the
blade lashed downward, striking the orb and bathing the
room in a brilliant white light and forcing everyone to turn
away or be blinded.
A gentle hand pulled the crimson cloak from Trenton’s
back and a soft voice spoke, though it was touched with
power, “Unshield thine eyes, friends.” It said, “Thou art
safe.”
Brisste was the first to blink away the spots, and gasped as
she saw a beautiful human woman standing before them,
wrapped only in Trenton’s cloak. Her skin was a smooth
and pale, as the gentle first lights of a cool morning. Her
hair was pure white and hung to the middle of her back, her
only adornment a circulet of purest platinum around her
head. She met Brisste’s eyes and smiled warmly, making
the wizard relax without even realizing it.
“Be at peace, young wizard, you have naught to fear from
me.” She said, though Brisste could have sworn her mouth

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hadn’t moved.
“Who are you, My Lady?” Brisste found her voice even as
the others stared in amazement.
“I am Carasheva, though the dwarves of this mountain
know me as Eesha yafa Shannarriah.”
“The Lady of the Mountain…” Omi breathed, his face
drained of all color.
Trenton could feel the immense power of this being that
stood before him but was able to hold her gaze as she
turned to look at him, studying his face. “You remind me
of someone very dear to me, paladin of the Star Keeper.”
She told him.
He could see the sorrow on her face, and he wished he
knew what her pain was.
“Your pardon, my lady?” Availia said softly, her eyes
shadowed by her hood.
Carasheva met the elf’s eyes, her smile softening as if she
could read the scars on her soul, “Speak freely, daughter of
the wood.”
“Did you say your name is Carasheva?” Availia asked, her
voice not betraying the tremor she felt in her heart.
The woman nodded, pulling the cloak a little tighter around
her form. Availia noticed without jealousy that the men in
the group were absolutely spellbound by her beauty and

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grace. It was understandable if she was indeed what it
appeared she was.
“That is my name, yes, but I sense a reason beyond
curiosity for your question.”
Availia swallowed, “There is someone who will be
overjoyed to know that you are alive, Carasheva.”
Carasheva’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were trying to
read the heart of this elf that was speaking to her.
“My father…” she began, then saw the flicker of the truth
pass over Availia’s eyes. “Morgan!” she breathed.
Availia nodded, “He never gave up hope that you were still
alive, and he wears your gift around his neck even now.”
She replied.
Carasheva visibly reigned in her emotions, “He is the King
of the land they call Aledress?” she asked.
Trenton stepped forward, “He is, my lady, and he told us
that he created Aledress in your honor, as it was something
you felt would serve the peoples of the dale lands.”
Carasheva raised tear filled eyes to the ceiling of the
chamber, breathing what sounded like a prayer in a
language they couldn’t understand. A moment later she
turned to Brisste.
“Gather up what pieces of the Blood Crystal Rod you can
find, young wizard, and we will see if someone can help us

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find from whence it came.” She instructed.
“That would be Master Nosto.” Brisste replied, sweeping a
small pile of the glittering flakes into a special pouch on
her belt.
Carasheva laughed, the sound like water trickling over
icicles on a early spring afternoon. “Dear Nosto lives still
as well? Today is a joyful day indeed!”
She looked over at the dwarves, especially the young girl
that studied her intently. Carasheva knelt in front of Eisha,
brushing the golden hair out of her eyes and looking at the
body of the orc nearby.
“Did you know that you will see your friend again, little
one?” she said gently.
Eisha wiped her eyes, shaking her head.
“It’s true.” Carasheva said with a smile, “He did what was
right and good to protect you and to stop the evil that was
being done here. The Star Keeper rewards those that are
just and true with life that goes beyond death, and rest
forever more. Someday you will pass from this life and
you will see him again when you rest in the halls of the
ancestors.”
Omi hid his tears behind his beard, grateful for the gracious
words of comfort from Carasheva. Eisha smiled through
her own tears, climbing into Carasheva’s arms for an

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embrace.
“I know not where Morgan lives, else I would transport us
there myself,” she confessed, giving Eisha back to her
grandfather.
Brisste touched the pendant around her neck, “I can do
that.” She said, looking around at her friends and then
reaching out for Wahldon’s hand, squeezing it tight.
“Whenever you’re ready, everyone.” The young wizard
said, holding the pendant in her free hand.
Omi and Hack took one last look around, “This is the last
time we leave our homeland while under another’s
control,” Omi told his brother, “When we return Berlek
Dur will be ours again.”
He nodded to Brisste and she murmured an incantation
softly. Blue light began to swirl from the pendant and
Trenton had to close his eyes to keep from getting vertigo.
The echo and cold of the chamber faded away, and the
smell of a cooking fire replaced the damp smell of wet
stone. Trenton opened his eyes and realized they were on
the main floor of Nosto’s Tower of Light.
Brisste waved her staff and the room immediately
transformed into a trio of rooms; one with a table full of
food with chairs around it, and the other with doors on
them that Trenton surmised were sleeping rooms of some

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kind. Chairs appeared at various points throughout the
main room, and the door to the smaller room on the right
opened quietly.
“Nosto will be here soon,” Brisste explained to them, “but
I’ve at least set things up so we can rest and have
something to eat.” She looked at Carasheva in Trenton’s
robe and gestured to the room that had opened, “Not to
mention fresh clothing.”
Carasheva blushed slightly and excused herself into the
room, closing the door softly behind her.
Trenton sat in a chair near the table, hungrily devouring a
thick slice of beef between two pieces of potato bread; a
trick he’d learned from Wahldon. He smirked as he
watched the two dwarves searching the room for panels and
trapdoors through which the furniture had to have
appeared. Eisha, for her part, climbed up into a chair
across from Trenton and greedily ate from a variety of
cheeses and smoked meats.
Brisste helped Wahldon into the small room on the left, the
Warlord finally letting the pain from his broken body slow
him down.
“I’ll be in when you get him settled, Bee.” Trenton called,
quickly swallowing a mouthful of his sandwich and chasing
it down with some ice-cold water.

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Brisste nodded, then swatted Wahldon playfully as he
patted her rump. “Good,” she replied with mock severity,
“because I might do further damage if he doesn’t rest.”
Trenton chuckled, then looked at where Availia sat in an
overstuffed chair, her legs tucked close to herself and her
arms around her knees. Her eyes were far away, and her
visage troubled. He checked quickly to make sure that
Hack and Omi were settled in – Hack was already snoring
loudly on a reclining chair and Omi was playing a small
recorder while Eisha ate her food – before he quietly
walked over to his wife.
“I’m sorry, D’vestarra.” He said softly, stroking her hair.
She looked up with a sad but confused smile, “For what,
Trenton?”
“I didn’t know how else to stop you, but I shouldn’t have
grabbed you like that.” He replied.
Her smile softened, “You did what you did out of love,
D’vestarra,” she replied, “you have nothing to apologize
for.” Her eyes brimmed with tears before she angrily
fought them down. “I just can’t fathom my own brother
destroying everything and everyone we ever held dear. He
was always arrogant, but I never suspected something like
this.”
Trenton knelt next to her chair, “Sometimes dark motives

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can be hidden behind a pleasant face.” He said, “Master
Sergeant Connor tried to teach me that, and I never really
understood what it meant until now. He would tell me ‘not
everything that’s evil is ugly, and not everything that’s ugly
is evil.’”
She smiled and kissed him, “He was a wise man, Trenton,
and so is his student.”
Trenton grinned, “Don’t worry, d’vestarra, we’ll stop
them.”
“Indeed we must, paladin of the Star Keeper.” Carasheva’s
voice said from across the room. She stepped out from the
smaller room dressed in a form-fitting gown of emerald
green, highlighting eyes of the same color. The sleeves
were loose at the elbows and a platinum belt finished the
ensemble. Trenton noticed that her circulet was still in
place around her head.
“The Pact Infernis has spent the last several hundred years
slowly rebuilding and gaining strength throughout the lands
of Synduress. My own homeland has suffered a war of
similar extent, though we know not it they are related to the
Pact as of yet.” She continued, sitting on a high backed
chair where she could see them all. “When our group
explored a Pact ruin near Berlek Dur, I recognized signs of
significant magical activity in and around the mountain.

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Morgan tried to warn the Overthane, but he would not
listen to us, believing his great city to be impregnable. I
told him I would stay behind for a time and see if I could
ascertain exactly what the threat was and convince the
Overthane of the danger. I begged Morgan to unite the
dales he had been loosely ruling over for the last fifteen
years as the Adventurer King, so as to prepare them for the
worst should it happen.
“A month later I sensed an increase in arcane activity deep
within the mountain. When I went to investigate I was
shocked to find that there was an entire cave network
beneath the city, stocked with weapons, food, and supplies
for war. As I attempted to flee and report my findings to
the Overthane I was confronted by Mul’drak, carrying the
Orb of Imprisonment and captured. Within its confines I
had no sense of time, but could sense things outside if I
concentrated hard enough. When Mul’drak found the
Blood Crystal Rod and summoned the Dark Champion I
felt a surge of corrupt magic the likes I’d never felt before,
and I feared that we had struggled for naught. Imagine my
relief when I felt the pure aura of a paladin nearby and
could communicate with him to release me.” She smiled at
Trenton, who tilted his head in deference to her.
“I’m glad that we could free you, Carasheva,” he said,

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“since it sounds like we’ll need all the allies we can get,
and you have a strong knowledge of our enemies.”
She nodded, “I’ve been watching these lands for centuries,
following the Dark Dragon and his machinations for
brining the Evil One back into this world; and now I
believe I know how he is planning to do just that.”
A voice from the top of the stairs spoke, bringing a smile to
Carasheva’s face.
“Your vigilance has bought us the time we need, dear
friend.” Nosto said, descending the stairs with a wide smile
of genuine relief and affection on his whiskered face.
He opened his arms wide as she leapt out of her seat and
ran to him, embracing him tightly. “You don’t know how
pleased I am to see you, my dear.” The old wizard said, his
eyes red with emotion.
She looked back to where the companions were watching
the reunion and smiled at Brisste. “You took an apprentice
I see, Nosto.” She said, putting the connection together.
He nodded, his eyes beaming pride at the young woman he
had trained, “Indeed I did. She is probably the most
talented wizard I’ve had the honor of teaching in my three
hundred years studying the Art.”
Brisste blushed and bowed in gratitude while Carasheva
smiled at the girl. “High praise indeed.” She commented.

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Nosto produced his pipe and lit it, watching the lazy strands
of smoke slowly circle toward the ceiling. “I believe we
should allow these companions the first real rest they’ve
had since the spring of this year, my dear.” He said to the
woman at his side, then to the dwarves, “Our dwarven
friends are welcome to stay as long as they desire as well,
of course.” He added, earning deep bows from the twins in
response. Eisha simply smiled carefully and studied the
ancient wizard.
He gestured toward her, his eyes sparkling merrily. A
moment later a small glowing orb lighted on the table
before her, turning into a small rainbow colored frog that
chirped happily at her. Eisha squealed with delight and
held out her hand for the little creature to jump into, which
it did. The little girl carried it to a corner of the room,
curling onto a small chaise-style chair to play with her new
companion.
“The Feldering will soothe her fears and help her to sleep
through the night as well as keep her company.” He
explained, turning his attention back to the twins. “We
have discovered that it works very well for children who
have suffered loss in this damnable war.” His smile faded
slightly as he thought of all the orphans that Morgan had
tried to help over the years.

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He gestured and an entirely new room created itself,
seemingly expanding the size of the tower interior, “The
brothers Blazehammer may share this room, and they will
find it stocked with all the – ah – comforts that a dwarf
requires for a restful and pleasant evening.” He looked to
where Eisha was beginning to nod off to sleep with the
Feldering chirping softly near her head. “Of course there
will be a small room at the back where the youngster can
sleep and play to her heart’s content.”
The chaise gently lifted itself off the ground and floated
across the room and into the newest bedroom with all the
silence and care of a cloud drifting across the summer sky.
It passed through a smaller door and into a child’s room
decorated with soft colors and a variety of toys, then settled
to the ground while the soft lilt of music began from inside.
“Yer hospitality is second to none, Master Nosto,” Omi
said, his voice thick, “ye’ve proven a true friend to
strangers in need.”
Nosto waved away the gratitude, “I am always pleased to
offer aid and comfort to friends and allies in their trying
times, Omi Garawsh, and I know that you have been the
staunchest of friends to these youngsters I have grown to
care about very deeply.”
Trenton looked fondly over at the dwarves, “They have

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indeed, Master Nosto.” He said, then looked at Availia with
a smile, “I don’t know how I would have gotten through the
long days and nights away from my wife if it hadn’t been
for Omi’s friendship and brotherhood.”
Omi blushed and rubbed his nose, “Yer a good and decent
man, laddie, and one that bears the mantle well; twas the
least I could do to ease the burden upon ye.”
Hack stood up and clapped his brother on the shoulder,
looking into the room and seeing the well-stocked selection
of ales covered in a light layer of frost.
“I’m going to lose meself in a deep mug before I go to
sleep tonight methinks.” He said with a twinkle in his eye
before bidding the group goodnight and slipping into the
room and closing the door.
Omi stood and stretched, “I’d better join him, else he’ll
drown when he falls asleep in that same mug.” He
remarked with a grin, then also bid goodnight and
disappeared into the room.
Nosto looked over at Brisste, who was fighting to keep her
eyes open. “Wahldon is sleeping comfortably, my dear
child; I’m sure he would sleep even better with his bride
next to him.” He told her with fatherly love.
She smile wearily, “I guess I am a little bit tired.” She
confirmed, standing and leaning on her staff wearily.

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“You’ll find all you need to freshen up as well, child, but
you already know that.” Nosto reminded her.
She smiled good night to her friends and padded into the
room, closing the door behind her and leaving only Trenton
and Availia with Nosto and Carasheva. Trenton was
suddenly keenly aware of the fact that he was in the
presence of – quite possibly – the two most powerful
beings he’d ever encountered in his life.
“I am interested to hear of your experiences in the halls of
Berlek Dur, youngsters, but I know that you are weary and
are relishing the chance to actually sleep in the same bed
for the first time since spring.” Nosto said with a hint of
mischief in his eye.
Availia actually smiled broadly behind her hand,
suppressing a chuckle, while Trenton’s ears turned a
brilliant shade of red.
“Nosto…” Carasheva scolded with a chuckle, “…you, of
all people, know that where love is involved brief moments
can be the most memorable.”
Her eyes met Availia’s, and the elf had no doubt in her
mind that the other woman was fully aware of her
pregnancy, though she was keeping the secret for her to
reveal at her own time.
“Even in war there can be small miracles, Master Nosto.”

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Availia said, standing and stretching like a sleepy cat. She
glanced at Trenton who smiled and nodded slightly,
climbing to his feet himself.
“The fact that all of you emerged alive is miracle enough
for me, my dear, I was only teasing you, as I am prone to
do from time to time.” The old wizard smiled.
Availia leaned down and whispered softly in the old man’s
ear, then kissed him on the cheek before stepping back to
where her husband was. It took a moment for Nosto to
process what he’d heard, his eyes going wide and then
shining with mirth. He began to chuckle, then to laugh, the
sound a release of tension, fear, and worry that had plagued
him since the war had begun again in the early spring. This
news was a revelation to him, a sure sign that life would
continue as it had always done in spite of the enemy’s
efforts to stop it.
He embraced both Trenton and Availia, kissing her
forehead in a fatherly gesture, “I couldn’t be happier for
you both, children. You have given me a small glimmer of
joy in what has been a dark year, and I thank you for
allowing me to share that with you.”
He looked to where Carasheva was smiling warmly, then
spoke to Trenton and Availia one final time, “I will be
taking Carasheva to Stormgate to see Morgan as soon as

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I’m certain you are settled in for the night. As always my
home is at your disposal until you are fully recovered and
ready to give your report to the king.”
Trenton thanked the old wizard and led his wife to where
the new room appeared for them at the wave of a gnarled
hand. It was bare, save for a small washroom and a soft
bed, but to the two of them it was as well-appointed as the
palace of Morgan himself. Availia closed the door behind
them, helping Trenton take his armor off and lay it on the
floor at the end of the bed. With a groan he set about
making use of the washroom, still amazed that the home
could produce hot water from above his head the way that
it did from nothing more than the ceiling above. He almost
didn’t hear as Availia slipped into the small room, stepping
into his embrace and the water that cascaded over him. She
looked up at him, her eyes shining through her weariness.
“We’re alive and we’re safe, d’vestarra.” She whispered,
smiling as he lightly ran his fingertips over her back.
He pushed the thought for now out of his mind and focused
on the moment of peace and quiet with his wife, just the
way she had lovingly taught him in the long winter before
the war had started again.
________________________________________________

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 King Morgan stood on the balcony overlook of
Castle Stormgate, letting the cold wind ruffle his now
graying hair as he gazed out at the darkened city below. He
had received Wahldon’s report about the Battle of Ebon’s
Grotto, but he was now worried that the companions had
been lost in the halls of Berlek Dur chasing after whatever
was giving the orc warlord his greater power.
He had suffered through their quest, wracked with
the guilt of knowing that Ottense’s prophesy had probably
meant their deaths. They had survived, though the miracle
of Trenton’s return had absolutely bewildered all of them,
including even High Cleric Jonn. Now they had marched
off to war, the Heroes of Twin Axe Peak at the head of the
Aledressan armies, and they had fought a long and bloody
campaign all through the spring and summer. They had
won their victory and all survived despite the incredible
risks they had all taken and the constant fighting day after
day, week after week. Now they were together again, the
four of them and two dwarves, rushing into the bowels of a
stronghold that hadn’t seen a living dwarf in its halls for
five years.
He rubbed his hand over his face, why did it always have to
be the young?
“I somehow knew that I would find you here, your

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majesty.” Nosto’s voice said from behind him.
Morgan smiled in spite of himself, “I don’t sleep much
lately, Nosto, I have to admit.”
The wizard chuckled, “Nor do I, old friend, though I have
news that may ease your rest for the time being.”
Morgan turned to face Nosto. “Are they alright?” he asked,
his heart thundering.
Nosto nodded, “They are sleeping as we speak…” he
smirked to himself, remembering there were two pairs of
newlyweds together in peace for the first time in months,
“…rather they should be asleep.”
Morgan chuckled at the inference, “They deserve it,
Nosto,” he said quietly, “they’ve done so much for all of
us.”
“Indeed,” Nosto agreed, “and I fear that their work is not
yet done, as is the case for all of us even with the
destruction of the Iron Horde.”
Morgan nodded, “Now, what news have you?”
Nosto’s smile grew mysterious, “The youngsters made a
most startling find, your majesty. One of great interest to
yourself.”
Morgan scowled, “I’m not much for riddles, Nosto.”
The old wizard rolled his eyes, “Nor for letting an old man
have his moment of fun.” He added.

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He moved toward the doorway, then looked over his
shoulder to the king’s bedchamber beyond. “The discovery
is waiting for you in your room, my friend,” he said softly,
his smile becoming gentle and warm, “I’m sure it will ease
some of the guilt and pain you’ve carried for far too long.”
He bid the king good night and let himself out via the short
passageway from the rooftop retreat to the guest-quarters
nearby.
Morgan shook his head, wearily trying to piece together
what Nosto was telling him. If the discovery was in his
room, then he may as well see what it is on his way to bed.
He stepped through the open double doorway, not sensing
the other person who was already there until she spoke.
“You used to be far more cautious when you ruled from
your saddle, my love.” The melodious voice said, the tones
washing over a raw heart the way that a warming salve
would soothe a throbbing wound.
Morgan’s heart stopped and he looked toward the head of
his bed. She was a vision, something he had dreamt about
night after night but didn’t dare let himself fully believe
would ever happen again. Her gown was sheer and white,
matching her flowing hair that was cascading down her
back like an avalanche of snow. In the soft light of the
room her circulet glittered, a reminder of who she truly

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was.
“Carasheva….” He breathed, unable to fully believe it was
true even as he moved to her and pulled her into his
trembling arms. He felt her heart pounding against his
chest, the feeling of her breath against the skin of his neck
and the gentle scent of pure mountain rain water that was
always upon her own flesh. Too moved to speak their lips
found each other, sharing the joy of the moment in a way
only two that had truly loved would ever understand.
“I’m home.” She whispered, blowing out the candle on the
nightstand with a radiant smile.

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 Chapter Ten
The official celebrations for the defeat of the Iron
Horde were begun a week later, with feasting, music,
dancing, and revelry unseen in Stormgate since its founding
and the dedication of the castle itself. On the faire grounds
the various military units were mustered out to return to
their homes, most of them having been volunteers from the
surrounding countryside that were fighting for no less than
their survival and that of their families. With the
pronouncement from King Morgan that his lost queen had
been found and rescued by the Heroes of Twin Axe Peak
the joy of the celebration became something even greater
than a simple relief for the end of war; it had become a
celebration of hope and new beginnings. King Morgan and
Queen Carasheva graciously acknowledged and thanked

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each of the army’s units, and then made a point of thanking
their dwarven allies with gifts of the best of Aledress’
fertile farms and woodlands. The retaking and cleansing of
Berlek Dur and the restoration of the Overthane had been
announced only three days into the celebration, with Omi
and Hack assigned to Stormgate to represent the Overthane
at the events in their honor. Trenton was the chosen
representative of the Order of the Golden Hammer, and
also led the troops he had commanded at Ebbon’s Grotto to
their final commendations and their release to their homes.
The young paladin gave an emotional speech to these
soldiers, having fought by their side through months of
bitter combat, and buried many of their friends at various
points across the countryside. Wahldon gave the final
command to disband all of the units, officially drawing the
celebrations to a close. The night the festivities ended,
however, was the night the real fight was going to begin.
Morgan had already secretly contacted the companions and
informed them he would need to meet with them on this
night regarding the Blood Crystal Rod, the Dark Champion,
and the Pact Infernis. In a planning room, deep inside the
very heart of the keep of Castle Stormgate, they met for a
council of war.

The room was a bare and grey affair made of stout,

219
hand-cut blocks of stone offset with each other to provide
greatest reinforcement against siege engines and the like.
The entire keep was built in such a manner, and over a
thousand souls would be able to take shelter within its
sturdy walls should the unthinkable happen and the city fall
to invaders. In the center of the room was a solid table
made of Honey Maple from the forests of Langomarr
within Bariphay to the east of the Berlek Dur mountains, a
region of rolling hills, wooded valleys and the great river
Tenns running through it to the from the elevations in the
hills to the Grey Sea on the northern border. Across this
table was spread a map of the entire continent of
Synduress. Aledress, on the extreme northern and western
tip of the landmass was also the eastern land of a large gulf
in the Great Sea, bounded by the Thunderspire Mountains
to the north, where the dwarves of B’rith made their homes.
To the east of Aledress, forming a natural border with her
neighbors, were the mountains of Berlek Dur themselves
and the Ventir Vale Pass that would take traders and
travelers safely through the mountains should they not wish
to make the trek to the stronghold itself. The pass was a
faster route, but it was also well known to be home to
roving bands of hobgoblins, orange-skinned humanoids
whose militaristic society often brought them into conflict

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with the settled areas of the world and the demi-humans
that inhabited them. Occasionally there would be large
battles between the dwarves of Berlek Dur and the
hobgoblin tribes from the more northern peaks, but things
had been quiet during the Horde Wars, as the hobgoblins
had chosen to remain neutral during the conflict, not
willing to bend the knee to any master.
The rich farmland of Aledress’ newly liberated
frontier lay to the south and southeast until it butted against
the mountains. This region produced some of the most
abundant crops of grains, fruits, and nuts seen in Synduress,
and the slopes of the mountains produced Aledress’ true
cash crop: coffee.
Beyond Aledress and the mountains to the south lay
the nation of Tarpesh, the land that Cyrus/Dranattothrax
lied to the companions about hailing from in his attempt to
wrest control of the horned gate from the lich Zolbraggin.
Tarpesh was a warm and humid land, not quite tropical, but
a strong producer of fruits and pipe weeds as well as
manufactured goods from a constant supply of raw
materials that came into their port city of Kilderhead.
Dwarves and their gnomish friends made Kilderhead their
home, building their amazing magical powered ships that
would ply the trade routes along the coast lines of

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Synduress, though there were few indeed that would brave
the passing across the great sea to the mysterious continent
of Mirnth on the other side of the treacherous waters.
Occasionally a ship would return with exotic cloths and
stone ores that hailed from that land, but those were years
in between and many ships met their doom to the dragon
turtles and sea drakes that called the deep waters home.
The last true diplomatic contact that Aledress had in
Synduress was Bariphay. The capital city was a sight that
few laid eyes on and didn’t come back changed. Set on a
massive hilltop that had been shorn level by dwarven
artisans four hundred years before, the city was a series of
concentric rings separated by walls large enough for
armored soldiers to march four abreast on with no fear of
falling. Rising above the rings of the city were the mighty
spires of Bariphay Keep, which was a misnomer
considering the massive structure was five times larger than
Castle Stormgate itself and had taken over a century and a
half to build out of solid granite. Lit from the inside and
below by ever-burning lamps and torches, the city and its
Keep could be seen for miles in any direction, and it was
the beacon of light and hope in a tumultuous land.
Bariphay’s Army maintained a strong and vigilant presence
across their holdings and had pressured the rear echelons of

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the Iron Horde in order to prevent them from bringing their
full power to bear on Aledress and her small neighbors.
King Morgan originally hailed from Bariphay, and was
given his charter to rule over the dales by his grandfather,
the High King Deremis, a full ten years before Aledress
was officially established and become a part of The Seven
Kingdoms along with B’rith. Deremis had long since slept
with his fathers, but his eldest son, High King Ryan,
reigned with the same wisdom his father had, and Morgan
maintained a strong alliance with them.
Trenton studied the map closely, having always been
curious about the lands that were beyond the borders of his
home. He’d already travelled further than he’d ever
imagined he would have, although he had very little time
to appreciate what he was seeing.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Morgan said, capturing
their attention. He was dressed in armor with his sword
strapped comfortably to his hip. His chain coif was pushed
off his head, and his hair was tied into a shore pony tail. “I
would not have called you all here had the need not been
great.”
Queen Carasheva entered with Nosto and the companions
bowed at her entrance. She nodded to each of them with a
smile before turning her attention to her husband. Availia’s

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eyes lingered on the queen for a moment, seeing a color to
her cheeks she’d not noticed before and a tint to the flesh
above the scoop of her neckline. It dawned on her what she
believed it to be, and she hid her smile quickly behind her
hand, pretending to be simply concentrating.
Carasheva’s eyes met hers for a brief moment and the
words echoed in her mind, “He has too much on his mind
for now, daughter.”
Availia blushed slightly, mildly annoyed that she’d been
caught, but remembered that it was indeed a dragon that
she was trying to observe and let it go. Carasheva had tried
to explain things to them all, but all Availia truly
understood was that the queen had actually sacrificed most
of her power and ability – including her true form – in
order to love and be with a mortal man. Her ability to
communicate wordlessly to those she was close with she
had maintained, and her power with magic was unequalled
even by Nosto, although hers was primarily used for
gathering knowledge, communicating, and defense. She
had listened to Morgan’s tale about the four youngsters,
how he had taken them in and helped them become who
they were now; and she pointed out to the sovereign that he
had in fact adopted them as if they were his own children.
She took to calling Trenton and Wahldon her “sons”, and

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Availia and Brisste her “daughters” as a term of
endearment and genuine affection as she had gotten to
know them over the last several weeks.
“Nosto and Carasheva have been studying the pieces of the
Blood Crystal Rod that you recovered from Mul’drak for
the last week or so, and they believe they’ve figured out
what it does and where it’s from.” Morgan said, indicating
Nosto and his wife.
Nosto bowed, “Indeed we have, your majesty. With the
invaluable knowledge of her highness we’ve determined
that the Blood Crystal Rod was a splinter that fell from the
heavens more than seven hundred years ago and was part of
a larger piece of crystal that also plunged to the surface of
Earathis.” He used his staff to point at the extreme southern
tip of Synduress, a sunken area of dense jungles,
treacherous marshlands, and cave networks that stretched
for miles known as The Cauldron. “The largest chunk of
the crystal is in the center of the jungles south of the
Parishin Wall, a natural cliff that spans the continent in that
area and drops into the rain forests below.”
“Are you telling me we have to go that far to find a crystal
we couldn’t possibly move ourselves?” Wahldon asked,
somewhat bewildered.
Nosto chuckled, “Not to worry, young warlord, you don’t

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actually have to move it at all. We believe we’ve found a
way to neutralize it’s magic-focusing abilities, and we need
you to take the rod we fashion and use it to render the
crystal harmless.”
Wahldon eyed the map. “Travelling down the coast to
Kilderhead would be a good start,” he mused, “it would
keep us from having to travel overland and it would give us
a chance to avoid observation while moving through
Aledress.”
Brisste frowned, “Who’s going to be watching for us? It’s
not like there are demons around anymore.”
Trenton shook his head, understanding Wahldon’s caution,
“No, but if Tallo was right and the Pact Infernis is back and
on the move, they’re going to be interested in what we do.”
Wahldon nodded, “Did we hear anything back from
Brayden Gladestrider or the druids? We sent that message
to them a couple of weeks ago about Mul’drak and the
Blood Crystal Rod, I’m surprised that they haven’t
expressed more interest.”
Carasheva smiled, “The druids of this land are more
involved than you think, my son; they simply move much
more quietly, using the winds and the animals to
communicate and search for information. I would imagine
they are aware of the location of the main crystal by now

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and are already sending agents to keep unwanted attention
from it.”
Wahldon nodded, content to take what the queen said at
face value, knowing very well the extent of her knowledge.
“We’ll need a guide to take us through the equatorial
badlands and through The Cauldron.” Availia pointed out.
“I, for one, don’t relish the idea of moving through that
land without some experienced help.”
“The dwarves of Berlek Dur are known for their Explorer’s
Guild, and many of them have travelled to all areas of
Synduress at one time or another.” Morgan pointed out,
“Why not talk to Omi or Hack and see if they can
recommend one?”
Availia nodded, thinking that suggestion made sense.
She’d heard tales of the Explorer’s Guild, and the mighty
hunters that populated it. These dwarves - a combination
of explorer, archaeologist, and big game hunter – would
disappear into the untamed reaches of Synduress for
decades at a time and return with unbelievable treasures
and creatures that had never been seen in the civilized
realms before. Of course there were some that were never
seen again, but that only served to enhance the mystique of
the organization.
“I’ll talk to Omi in the morning and have him send a

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communiqué through the Order to the Explorer’s Guild.
That will let them know to keep it fairly quiet while they
look for someone.” Trenton said, making a mental note to
do so.
Morgan looked around at the assembled people, his face
actually looking somewhat younger than it had during the
war and the strain of fighting for survival.
“I don’t have to tell you how important this is going to be if
we’re to stop whatever the Pact Infernis has planned.” He
told them, “If there was anyone else I trusted to do this I
would send them and let you enjoy the peace you all fought
so hard for.” The king’s eyes betrayed the worry he had for
his family.
Carasheva put her hand on Morgan’s shoulder, “No one
understands the risks and the rewards more than these, your
children, my husband. The Star Keeper has blessed us with
good and valorous champions, and we have to trust that He
will grant them success while we engage in our own
quests.”
Morgan smiled at her, his eyes lightening, “You’re right, of
course, my dear.” He looked at Availia with a smirk, “I
just have one final question before you all turn in for the
night: Just when were you going to tell me, Lord Trenton
and Lady Availia?”

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Availia flushed crimson and even Trenton grimaced in
embarrassment. The elf recovered first, fixing Carasheva
with a grin that promised playful retribution later.
“We didn’t want to worry you or keep you from sending us
to deal with this threat, your majesty,” she replied, “we
didn’t intend it to hurt you.”
Morgan chuckled, shaking his head, “Of course you didn’t,
Availia, but I had to take the moment to tease you a little
before you left.” He stepped forward to embrace the
“daughter” that was older than he was, then to shake
Trenton’s hand. “May the Holy One bless the little one
more than He has already.” He said.
As the group left the room for their last night in the
city, Availia and Brisste pulled Carasheva aside.
“When were you planning to tell him, Carasheva?” Brisste
asked, her soft voice gentle, but with a hint of disapproval.
Availia understood completely, with Brisste having lost her
own child and two women in her life now carrying children
of their own.
Carasheva reached out a hand and touched the young
wizard’s cheek with a sad smile, “The last time a mortal
and a dragon were blessed with a child the human mother
died along with her child, and the dragon still bears the
unspeakable pain of having lost his love and his son on the

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same day.” She looked to where Morgan was laughing with
his two strong “sons” in the hallway. “Garae was Morgan’s
right hand and champion in the days that he was simply the
Wandering King. When Garae was introduced to Morgan’s
cousin the king thought that he was fostering a union that
would bring joy to both of them out of their solitary lives.
In the end it brought heartache and death, and I believe that
Morgan blames himself for that as much as Garae does for
the death of mother and child.”
Brisste’s eyes filled with tears and she covered her mouth
with her hand, “Oh, Carasheva, I had no idea!” she said,
her voice breaking, “I’m so sorry!”
Availia could see the sorrow on the Queen’s face, and
wondered where she fit into that story, but decided against
pressing the issue for now.
“You could not have known, daughter,” Carasheva told
Brisste, “what you asked you did out of concern for
Morgan and I. Rest assured I will tell him very soon, as I’ll
not be able to hide it for much longer. I was surprised he
didn’t realize it when we parted all those years ago.”
Availia’s eyes widened, “You were pregnant before you
were imprisoned?” she asked, shocked.
Carasheva’s eyes fell, “Indeed. I had already realized I was
with child, but I also knew I was the only one that could

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accomplish what needed to be done. I am grateful that
Mul’drak’s draining of my arcane power from time to time
didn’t do any damage that I can tell.”
“Is that why you gave up your heritage?” Availia asked,
“Because you were afraid that something would happen to
the child?”
Carasheva shook her head, “No, dear daughters, nothing
like that, I’m afraid.” She got a faraway look in her eyes,
as if she were staring into a sky that only she could see.
“The laws of our race forbid the coming together of the
immortal and the mortal to the point of requiring death
should it happen. By forsaking my heritage I save my own
life, but I also sever all ties to my own kind forever.”
Availia scowled, “Unless the law is changed.” She
amended.
Carasheva nodded, “My father is the sage and advisor to
our Most High, and it is she that would be required to carry
out the sentence should it be demanded. Because my father
gave blessing to Morgan and I, the punishment would fall
upon him.”
Brisste was dumbfounded, “So your father is going to die
for you marrying Morgan?”
Carasheva smiled mysteriously, “My father is also the
uncle to the Most High, and the wisest of all of our race.

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Our Most High is also very wise and will listen to sound
council when given, I believe.”
“I hope you’re right.” Availia said doubtfully.
The queen’s smile warmed slightly, “I doubt that the Most
High will take rash action on this law with the stakes being
what they are. She would be forced to slay her uncle, but
also Garae, who is her son.”
Availia let out a low whistle, “I can’t imagine much better
incentive to take a long look at that law again.”
Carasheva drew the two women into her embrace, “The
things we’ve discussed must stay strictly between us, my
daughters, as they are very private matters for my people
and I really should not even discuss them outside of them.”
Brisste nodded, as did Availia, “Thank you for trusting us
with your burden, your highness.” Brisste said, smiling
warmly at this woman that was already teaching her so
much about life.
Carasheva nodded, “You are my daughters by right of your
adoption and upbringing as much as by your loyalty and
devotion to my husband and to myself. I have no doubt
that my trust is well-founded.” She gently shooed them out
into the hallway, “Now, my dears, your husbands are
waiting your companionship on this final night before your
journey begins. Take joy in the tender moments of your

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time together and do not dwell on what is to come. The
Star Keeper will take care of the things we cannot see yet.”

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 Chapter Eleven
The trip to the coastal city of Highport from
Stormgate took just over a day on horseback, though the
weather coming in off the Great Sea had left little doubt in
the companions’ minds about whether they’d be sailing
soon. Highport was the northernmost of two major ports
that Aldress used for sea-going commerce, the other one
being Tradeport on Fanged Bay to the south. Highport was
situated on the southeastern curve of Craggy Bay, a rocky
harbor with a river outlet that spread around the city and
made it a natural choice for shipping and travel. Howling
winds and freezing rain pelted the quiet and nearly empty
inn where they found themselves, the sounds setting nerves
on edge as they moaned and shrieked through the rafters
and gaps in the walls. The storm was unusual, even for the

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winter months, as Aledress’ weather was usually tempered
by warm currents off its coast. Occasionally, however, a
strong storm would be swept in from the frigid waters of
the north to stall out and die against the mountains to the
south, dumping its rain and wind on the coastal corridors
from time to time. It was this that gave Stormgate its name,
being one of the fortresses in days past that was on a
hillside and away from the dangers of flooding by the
winter rains.
The common room of the Seafarer’s Rest Inn was
dimly lit by a pit in the center of the room in which a
vigorous fire crackled and snapped. In a massive cauldron
hanging over the fire bubbled a savory mixture of fish,
shellfish, and root vegetables that sent steaming tendrils
wafting into the room and tantalizing the senses. On the far
side of the room was a wooden bar, scratched and pitted
from years of use and harsh treatment. Behind the bar was
a grizzled looking dwarf, his beard grey and thick, hiding a
face that was even more weathered than the whiskers
themselves. Bodrin Stonetracker had been an explorer
more than a hundred years before, and he had finally put
down roots in Highport, building the inn with his own
hands. He spared a glance back into the kitchen where his
daughter was slicing warm bread and stacking it on a

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platter for the guests in the room. His eyes returned to the
small group of young humans, talking quietly among
themselves and eyeing the weather out the window
impatiently. He had kept their arrival quiet, though he was
connected enough in Stormgate and B’rith to know that
these were the heroes that had been spoken of through all
of Aledress. He drew a pitcher of pale wheat beer along
with a large tankard of hot tea, rounding the bar and
bringing them to the table where the group was sitting.
“The weather should clear by morning.” He said to them,
setting down the drinks. “The worst of the storms this time
of year normally blow themselves out within a day or two.”
Trenton nodded, “That’s good to hear, Master
Stonetracker,” he replied, “although I’ll be honest and say
that I’m not looking forward to the journey regardless.”
The admission was accompanied by a self-depreciating grin
that made the old dwarf smile.
“You’re from the inner lands here, lad,” he chuckled, “not
many of you have been to sea, much less in the stormy
season.”
One of the women pushed her hood off her head,
appraising the weather outside with practiced senses. The
dwarf was only mildly surprised to see the delicately
pointed ears of an elf, although the way that she moved had

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hinted strongly at that fact.
“The wind’s voice is already starting to lose its ferocity.”
She observed, “I’d say our host is right on the mark with
his appraisal.”
He stood and stretched his old bones with a groan, “I’d
imagine you’ve been watching the skies almost as long as I
have, m’lady.” He chuckled, his eyes creasing with lines
that hinted he was probably correct in that assessment as
well.
The sound of the door opening and the wind’s crescendo
caused the group to look up. Framed in the doorway was
the outline of another dwarf, his arms and shoulders broad
and padded with heavy lathers and his head covered with a
wide-brimmed hat that dripped with the icy rain. Over his
back he wore a short-barreled rifle, the stock of which was
lovingly polished and oiled while the barrel was a coal
black steel that was nearly flawless in its workmanship.
The long leather coat nearly reached the floor, and beneath
it the dwarf wore a large pouch slung over his left shoulder
to his right hip bearing his cast bullets and the capsules of
blasting powder used to fire the weapon.
Trenton, Wahldon, and Brisste stared in fascination, none
of them having seen a firearm before, much less on such an
exotic looking dwarf.

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The new arrival’s eyes shone like twin pieces of onyx on
either side of a hawkish nose, his thick beard as black as
the depths of a mineshaft. Two steps brought the dwarf
into the common room, followed by a low shadow with two
blazing yellow eyes that scanned the room warily. Ivory
fangs gleamed faintly in the firelight, each of which were
as long as a dagger and undoubtedly as sharp. The great
cat stayed to the left of its master and companion,
protecting the weaker flank and appraising those in the
room with a careful scrutiny. A moment later it looked up
at the dwarf with a sound that was a mixture of growl and
purr.
The dwarf patted the animal fondly, “Aye, I’m sure we’ve
found the place, Shadowclaw,” he said, his voice low and
gravelly, “old Blazehammer was pretty clear on where our
party would be and when.”
Wahldon stood, trying not to betray his nervousness about
the cat as he approached the dwarf.
“You must be Kutz Wildaxe.” The warlord said.
The dwarf nodded, “Aye, lad, that’d be me.” He stepped
forward and shook Wahldon’s hand, the big cat sitting
stone still and staring at the young human as the contact
was made. Kutz caught Wahldon’s furtive glance and
grinned. “Ye’ve every right to be afraid of that one, lad,” he

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said pointedly, “that’s a Nightsaber, one of the deadliest
hunters in Synduress and a master of the jungles to the
south. They’re known to take down fully grown wild oxen
on their own, and I can tell you they are every bit as smart
as any animal I’ve had the priveledge to raise and train.”
Wahldon nodded, amazed at the ease and trust this dwarf
had in his animal companion. A moment later the dwarf
turned to the cat and spoke softly in his own language. The
animal glanced at Wahldon, then at the table where the rest
of the group sat, its demeanor changing from watchful
guardian to weary pet in a moment. It trotted to where the
firepit was and curled up on the floor, dark eyelids snuffing
the glowing orbs of its eyes.
“I’m Wahldon Vaillance,” Wahldon continued, leading
Kutz to the table and offering him tea or beer. The dwarf
surprisingly took the former, blowing on the mug as he
took a grateful first sip. “my wife Brisste, the paladin
Trenton Silverblade, and his wife Availia Silverblade of
Mournwood.”
Kutz nodded greetings around his mouthful of tea, waiting
to swallow before he spoke, “Ye’ve impressed the brothers
Blazehammer, and that’s no mean feat, let me tell ye. Ye’ll
not find two better dwarves in all of Earathis.”
Trenton chuckled, “Omi and Hack are good friends and we

239
were glad to have had the chance to fight alongside them
for as long as we did. I, for one, don’t think I’d have made
it through that war without Omi’s guidance and advice.”
Kutz grinned, “He’s a good one for knowin’ how to bring
out the best in people, and that’s a fact.” He agreed. “And
there’s no one like Hack for bringing the fight to the
enemy, let me tell you.”
Wahldon chuckled at that remark, picturing his hot-
tempered dwarven companion and his flashing axe in
battle, his eyes blazing with fury to strike a blow for his
people against their enemies. The smile faded slightly
when he thought that Hack may get the chance again
sooner than he was hoping.
“Now Omi tells me ye need someone to lead ye out of the
civilized lands and into the jungles to the far south.” Kutz
summarized, helping himself to a hunk of bread and sharp
yellow cheese.
Wahldon nodded, “Not many people from our land have
been to those areas of the world, and none of them are in
any shape or position to help us do what we need to do.
Omi said he would get us the best, and you were the name
that came up.”
The dwarf’s wizened eyes crinkled mirthfully, “I’ve
travelled that land more than any other in the Explorer’s

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Guild, lad, and I can tell ye that ye’re wiser than most when
it comes to dealing with the lands south of the Seven
Kingdoms. There are miles of savannah and stepped
plateaus that suddenly drop off after ye’ve travelled a good
two weeks across them. The cliffs are more than five
hundred feet of sheer rock, and the league actually built a
tunnel system and stairway in order to make it less
dangerous getting down to the jungle floor from the
plateau.
“The jungle itself is home to some of the strangest animals
I’ve ever tracked or hunted, mostly reptiles of one form or
another, but bloody smart, let me tell you. Some hunt in
packs like wolves, only with more speed and brains, while
there are a rare few that are bigger than a boundary
watchtower with teeth the size of daggers.”
Availia raised her eyebrows, studying the dwarf’s face for
any sign of exaggeration, but she was surprised to note that
he was very earnest with what he was telling them and was
being as honest as he could.
“Have you ever seen any odd rock formations or the like in
the jungles?” Brisste asked, keeping her voice neutral.
Kutz stroked his beard, pausing to tap Shadowclaw with his
boot as the cat had started snoring in its sleep. “I can’t
rightfully say that I have, but the extreme southern end of

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the jungles haven’t been penetrated by anyone, myself
included. They’re really a series of broken and jagged
islands and look all the world like some great volcano
exploded and threw out chunks of earth into the sea. Most
are bare rock, but there are some that have foliage on them.
The natives of that area don’t much care for strangers and
they defend those islands as sacred.”
“Natives?” Wahldon asked. He hadn’t heard of any demi-
humans that lived in those reaches of the world.
Kutz nodded, “Aye, lad. There are the Lydrans that live in
those parts, and they’re some of the fiercest warriors I’ve
seen in all my travels. Look like upright great cats, they
do! They’re scouts are as black as Shadowclaw here and
can move through that jungle as quiet as your elf maiden
there could slip up behind a goblin and slit its throat. And
their warriors are striped like tigers, huge and strong with
curved swords that they swing as if they were parts of their
bodies. O’ course it’s the mystics what give me the heebie-
jeebies. They’re bone white with grey striping, and they
can sling magic like I haven’t seen before. Talk to the
animals and the trees themselves, they do!”
Trenton was leaning forward, fascinated to hear about these
parts of the world beyond what he’d ever known. The Holy
One had created life in forms and diversities that seemed to

242
be absolutely limitless, and it was humbling to know that
he had received his calling in a world so big and teaming
with life.
“What about the savannahs? Are there any native dwellers
there aside from demi-humans?” Availia asked.
Kutz nodded, “Nothing like the Lydrans, mind ye, but the
Beastmen are the types that like to keep to themselves, and
they’re more than happy to reinforce that idea at the tip of a
spear should they need to.”
“Beastmen?” Brisste echoed, the word sounding foreboding
to her. Nosto hadn’t mentioned either of these races, but
they probably had never really been officially contacted by
the Council of Mages and so were not well-known.
“They’re big folk, bigger than humans by a sight.” Kutz
explained. “Their heads are like the bison that wander the
plains east of Berlek Dur, with a humanoid body covered
with fur and huge legs. They’re damned fine hunters from
what I’ve seen and they make a comfortable life for
themselves on the plains with little trouble from anyone
else.”
Wahldon nodded, “Well, Kutz, it sounds like Omi and
Hack were right and you’re the man for us.”
Kutz grinned, “There was one other reason I agreed to this
little trip, if ye don’t mind my sayin’ so.”

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Wahldon cocked his head, “That being..?”
The dwarf’s face grew somewhat serious and sad. “Ye were
friends with a dwarf named Elasimus, as I recall.”
Wahldon froze, feeling his heart ache at the memory of
their companion, the warrior priest who died protecting
them from a mutant spider in the Mourn Wood.
“We were.” He confirmed.
Kutz nodded, “He was a good friend and a rival, he was;”
He explained, “he was a member of the guild for the first
one hundred years of his life before he came back to Berlek
Dur and apprenticed himself to his uncle. I didn’t
understand why he left the guild so abruptly until I realized
that he had his affections set on a young lady that was
apprenticed to his aunt and her bakery. He left for
Stormgate while still courting her and lost contact with her
when the city fell. Elasimus joined the army, hoping that
he’d be able to help free Berlek Dur, but when he realized
how bad things were he knew there was no hope for his
love and threw himself into the fight. The last I’d heard
he’d been wounded in the battles around the Cathedral, but
I didn’t know how bad. It wasn’t until last winter that I
learned he’d joined up with your group and died on the
way.”
Trenton fought past the lump in his throat, seeing the pain

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in Availia’s eyes as well. Elasimus was instrumental in her
sorting out her anger and her beliefs after her own brush
with death, and the two had become dear friends in the
short time they’d known each other on account of their long
lives and shared hardships.
“He died like a true dwarf, Kutz,” Wahldon told the
explorer, his throat burning with emotion, “he fell
defending our group from an abhorrent spider that had
ambushed our camp. I kept his pipe and it sets in a shadow
box on the wall of my home as a reminder of his
friendship.”
Kutz wiped a sleeve across his sharp-angled nose, nodding,
“He’d have appreciated that, lad, and I thank ye for
honoring his memory like that. I knew that I’d be
travelling with a fine group, and I wanted you to know that
his spirit is still with ye at least a bit.”
Availia smiled, her eyes still shining with unshed tears,
“We’re glad to have you, Kutz, and I’m sure he thought
about you up until the end.”
Trenton stood, stretching and looking at the darkness
beyond the door. It was getting late and the sounds of the
storm had faded noticeably. “We’d best save the
conversation for the journey,” he pointed out, “we’ll find a
ship in the morning and hopefully be on our way by

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midday.”
Kutz nodded his agreement. “I’ll be on the docks ahead of
ye, but get a good nights’ sleep while ye can.” He stood up
and nudged Shadowclaw, causing the great beast to yawn
and stretch, it’s curved fangs glimmering in the firelight as
it leaned in for a scratch behind the ears.
“Aren’t you staying here?” Brisste asked.
Kutz laughed, “Nay, lass, I can’t spend my nights under a
roof unless I have to, and I’ve got a good shelter set up not
far from here.”
Wahldon shook his head, “We’ll meet you on the docks
then.”
The dwarf waved, shouldered his rifle, and led the cat out
the door into the diminishing storm, leaving the
companions to simply shake their heads in wonder at this
man who was more comfortable in the elements than in a
warm bed.

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 Chapter Twelve
The storm had indeed battered itself to pieces on the
mountains and cliffs to the south, leaving a ragged and torn
cloud cover overhead with the last fitful remnants of the
northwesterly wind blowing in weakening gusts that
fluttered the flags and ladders of the ships on the moorings.
The grayish light of early dawn caught the glistening
remains of the wet evening on the polished wooden masts
and hulls that gently rocked side to side on the swells that
rolled in from the open sea to the west of the small harbor.
Already the docks were a bustle of activity as porters
unloaded ships and fishing boats began bringing in crabs
and other foods from the sea for the markets that would
open along the waterfront soon.
Trenton walked along the docks, feeling somewhat
uncomfortable without his armor on, but Availia had
warned him – rather sternly – that he was not to board ship

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wearing it under any circumstances, since he’d sink like a
stone should the worst happen.
He carried his armor in a large pack on his back, noticing
the true weight of it for the first time in a long time without
it being spread over his tall frame. His eyes scanned the
foggy harbor, watching the rolling swells come in from out
of the mist and hearing the sounds of the gulls crying back
and forth as the fishing boats brought the promise of a feast
of scraps. The damp smell of the sea had with it a slight
sting of salt in the air, and the humidity made it feel far
colder than it truly was. He had never seen the Great Sea
before, although he’d been taught to swim by his parents in
a lake near Hillside Common when he was a small boy.
The gentle sounds of the water sloshing and lapping against
the hulls of the ships was somehow energizing and he could
feel his senses becoming sharper as he walked and
observed. Availia, walking next to him with her cloak
drawn around her could see the change in her husband, the
slight tension in his gait as he walked along the docks. She
smiled faintly, intrigued that he would react this way to the
sea where many people actually shied away from it in fear.
Wahldon had no choice but to wear his armor until
he could stow it while they were on board ship and
underway. It was far too heavy to carry in anything but a

248
trunk, and he didn’t have the time or the inclination to drag
such a cumbersome thing around with him. He had joked
that morning that Brisste could levitate him out of the water
should it come to that, but he secretly didn’t believe that
she’d be able to react in time.
Brisste was actually enjoying the chill morning air
and the smell of the sea, having been born and raised in the
small fishing village of Calidway, to the south of where
they were now on the north end of Fanged Bay. She had
helped her mother mend nets and had also helped her father
maintain the boat and had even accompanied him on a few
of the fishing trips he’d made close to shore for a day at a
time. When the Iron Horde had swept through the area
surrounding Fanged Bay there was little time to escape, but
the men of the village bought what they could by raining
arrows from their boats and slowing the orcs and goblins in
their advance. Brisste’s mother had seen the smoke from
the other side of the bay earlier in the day and sent the
thirteen year old girl along the eastern road toward
Stormgate. Along that route was a garrison of soldiers that
were posted to a watchtower on a bluff that had clear vision
of the sea. Brisste was able to make it there in time to see
the smoke and flames from the burning of Calidway. The
commander of the garrison called for a scout, throwing the

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now distraught girl on the horse as well, and told him to
ride for all he was worth for the capital in order to warn the
king. It was the last time Brisste had seen the sea or her
family
“Bee?” Wahldon’s voice broke into her memories, and she
shook herself free, realizing they were standing near the
end of an offshoot from the dock where a larger sailing ship
rested moored in place. Kutz was already up the gangplank
and talking with the Master of the ship, a halfling woman
with thick black hair that was cut short off the neck and
above the linen band she wore around her head. She wore
a single gold earring in her left ear, a hoop with points
coming off from it at regular intervals, and Brisste
wondered if it held some significance more than simple
adornment. The halfling’s face was slightly rounded,
adding an air of mischief to offset the mystery of her
chosen profession. Her skin was the color of caramel, and
her dark eyes were sharp and watchful. She was dressed in
a leather coat lined with fur, and her legs were swathed in
heavy leather pants with lining of their own. On her hip
she wore a thin short sword with a basket handle and a
well-balanced trio of throwing knives on the opposite side.
Brisste caught her husband’s curious look and shook it off
with a smile, turning her attention to where the dwarf was

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now coming down the gangplank toward them.
“The ship’s name is the Sea Ghost, and her captain is
Trevia Longshadow, a trader captain who’s known to keep
things quiet if need be.” Kutz reported.
Wahldon smirked, “She’s a smuggler in other words.” He
amplified.
Kutz chuckled, “Aye, ye could say that after a fashion,
though there’s not a lot that Aledress doesn’t allow to be
traded.”
Wahldon shook his head, “No, but I’m willing to bet that
Tarpesh has duties and other fees on the transport and
import of goods from outside the country.”
Kutz nodded, “True enough, lad.” He shrugged, “She’s
trustworthy enough, especially with what ye’ve offered to
pay for transport and discretion.”
Availia smirked, “I’m willing to bet there are other reasons
aside from money that she took this charter. She’s not
stupid, and she’s well aware of who we all are.”
Trenton shrugged, “We just have to trust that the Holy One
has sent us someone trustworthy and leave it in his hands.”
Kutz nodded and turned to lead them up the walkway to the
deck of the ship. Shadowclaw was already on the deck,
sleeping in a shaft of sunlight near the forecastle of the
ship.

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 The ship itself was an impressive sight to Wahldon,
who had never been to the sea or even seen it from a
distance, having lived most of his life in Stormgate after his
mother’s disappearance. He was schooled in naval tactics
and how those vessels were built, however, and this one
was a masterpiece of construction. The Sea Ghost’s
forward was sloped like a kite shield that had been laid on
the ground with sweeping curves plunging into the water
and stabilizing the vessel in shallow waters and rough
weather. She had a steep prow, designed for moving
through choppy seas with maximum efficiency, and the
warlord could see that the hull had been plated with copper
to prevent build up that would shave off precious speed.
Her sails appeared to be linen at first, but as they lazily
floundered before they were hoisted, Wahldon could tell
they were made from some form of satin-type material he
wasn’t very familiar with.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” Kutz shouted,
stopping short of the deck.
A gigantic humanoid – over seven and a half feet tall by
Wahldon’s guess - with long pointed ears and jagged teeth
met them at the entryway, his mustaches hanging down
past his jaw-line and his head egg-bald. Two lower teeth
extended up to the upper lip like tusks, and Trenton

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couldn’t for the life of him figure out what this creature
was.
“Permission granted!” the giant roared, his voice projecting
enough to echo into the morning mists.
A moment later the massive man enveloped Kutz in a
comradely embrace, laughing with a deep rumble in his
chest. “It is good to see you, friend Kutz,” he said, putting
the embarrassed dwarf back down, “after your encounters
on the savannahs with the snapjaws1, I wondered if I would
see you again.”
Kutz chuckled, “Aye, they got a piece of me and would
probably like seconds, but I was able to get out with me
skin still attached.” He gazed up at the much larger man, “I
couldn’t let ye down and not come back with more stories,
Mook, ye know that.”
Kutz indicated the companions, “These are my friends and
my commission for this latest trip to the south.” He
explained, then spoke to the group, “This is Mook, he’s the
first mate of the Sea Ghost and a more loyal and brave
sailor ye’ll not find on any ship along the coast of
Synduress.”
The giant man actually blushed slightly at the praise and

1
“Snapjaw” is the term used in Synduress for any large crocodile or
alligator - Nosto

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gestured for them to come aboard, turning to speak to
Captain Longshadow from where she watched on the
elevated command deck to the rear of the ship.
“Passengers are aboard, Cap’n, we can cast off at any
time.” He reported.
The halfling nodded, seeming to ignore the companions,
though Availia knew she had been observing them from the
moment they had stepped onto the docks.
“Nicely done, Mister Mook,” she replied, then spoke to the
dwarf, “nice to have you aboard again, Kutz, it’s been
awhile.”
Kutz bowed with a wry grin, “I promise I’ll tell ye why
sometime before we make port, Captain.”
She smirked, looking very much like Availia for a brief
moment, “Over a bottle of my best spirits, no doubt!” she
laughed.
She turned her attention to the others, fixing Availia with
an appraising stare that spoke of neither malice nor anger,
but more of an honest sizing up of one that she wasn’t sure
about.
“You don’t trust me do you, Lady Silverblade?” the
smuggler asked pointedly after a moment.
Availia smirked under her hood, used to encounters like
this from the days she would sneak around the city of

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Stormgate on the long nights before she became mortal and
needed sleep. She would encounter all manner of shady
characters, some with good hearts and some with no heart
at all, but mistrust was the survival instinct they all had in
common.
“No more than you would trust us had you not known who
we are, Captain.” She replied evenly, “It’s a simple matter
of keeping oneself a step ahead of the blade meant for your
heart.”
Longshadow threw back her head and laughed, “You’ve
spent your fair share of time in the shadows then, m’lady!”
she chortled, “You’ve nothing to fear from me or my crew.
You’re under my protection while you’re on my vessel and
all of us will do what we have to do to see you safely to
your destination. The sea herself provides enough danger
without looking for daggers in the night.”
Availia smiled her best predatory smile, “Then let’s both
hope that we get the chance at boredom on this trip,
Captain.”
The captain grinned, “I’ll drink to that, m’lady.” She
replied.
She addressed the entire group a moment later, “I’ll ask this
quietly to save anyone embarrassment, but it is something I
have to know in case the worst happens: Does anyone not

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know how to swim?”
Wahldon grimaced and nodded, his face darkening slightly,
“I don’t.” he replied, “I never learned living in Stormgate.”
The halfling shook her head, “You didn’t have a need to,
m’lord, but I’ll need you to listen carefully to what I say
now.”
Wahldon gave her his full attention and she continued, “If I
give the order to abandon ship or it is obvious we’re going
to sink, I want you to grab onto the largest piece of wood
you can find and hold onto it as if your life depends on it –
because it bloody well does. One of us will try to get to
you as quickly as we can, but try to figure out what
direction land is and kick your legs to go that direction. Do
you understand?”
The warlord looked slightly pale but nodded,
“Completely.” He replied, his voice steady.
Longshadow looked to Brisste, “Can you work up
something to help along this line, m’lady? I’m not sure if
you have any ability as an artificer or alchemist.”
Brisste nodded, “I have a few spells that will help at the
time, and I’ll see if I can work up a temporary enchantment
to my locket in order to let him stay afloat at least.”
The halfling scanned the sky and the lifting fog, then
checked the deck where Mook and the other sailors were

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finishing the final preparations for departure.
“Alright then,” she said, “I’d imagine Lady Availia is a fair
shot with a bow, but can the rest of you shoot should some
fool try to board us?”
Trenton nodded, “I have a crossbow, Wahldon’s a good
shot with a bow, and Brisste of course has her own
missiles.”
Brisste chuckled at that, her smile so much more confident
at the prospect of battle than the girl that reluctantly
accompanied the group on the quest to Twin Axe Peak.
“Hopefully the weather keeps the hobgoblins at bay for the
time being, but I don’t want to bet on it.” Longshadow
remarked grimly. “Kutz will show you where you’ll be
bunking for the trip. It’s not much for privacy from each
other, but it’s dry and warm at least.”
She turned toward the deck, cupping her mouth with her
hand, “Prepare to cast off, you rats! Mook! Make sure you
get the anchor all the way up this time! You nearly tore the
plating off the starboard side last time!”
She moved off, still barking orders and sending sailors
scurrying in all directions. Wahldon and Trenton looked at
each other and grinned, the former shaking his head,
“Wow,” he said mirthfully, “she’s going to make this trip
interesting, I’ll wager.”

257
Trenton nodded, chuckling, “To keep that giant spooked
enough to jump when she shouts? I wouldn’t want to see
her upset!”
Kutz looked over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling, “No, lad,
ye surely don’t. Take me word for it.”
Availia grinned as they moved to a small hatchway under
the forward superstructure, “Personal experience, Kutz?”
she teased.
The dwarf barked a laugh, “Ye could say that, lass.” He
conceded. “She’s a wildcat in more ways than one, but ye
have to watch for the pointy bits when her fur gets rumpled
and we’ll leave it at that.”
Brisste blushed crimson at the implication, Availia rolled
her eyes and chuckled while the two men were caught
totally blindside by the remark and fell out laughing so hard
that Trenton had to lean on a post for support.
The dwarf merely grinned larger and remarked, “I’ve no
doubt that ye’ll have your chances to find that out for
yourselves, lads, make no mistake. Ye’ve chosen to marry
– the Maker only knows why – and marry women who are
every bit as strong and skilled as yourselves. That makes
for the best companion and the worst spats if’n it comes to
that.”
Trenton thought about that. He and Availia had never even

258
argued let alone fought, but was that due more to the fact
that they hadn’t really had time together because of the war
or was it that they were so in tune with each other?
Somehow he figured it was the former. He remembered his
father loving his mother desperately, but sometimes there
were arguments that shook the roof and neither of them
would give an inch.
“It’s the making up that’s worth the battle, lad.” The dwarf
whispered as he slipped back out to the deck with a pat on
his arm.
Trenton blushed and rolled his eyes as Availia smirked
impishly at him.
“What did he say?” Brisste asked, still chuckling from the
dwarf’s blunt honesty.
Trenton shook his head, “I think he’d prefer we figure it out
for ourselves, Bee.” He replied, not wanting to go there at
the moment and feeling the color rush to his face.
Availia laughed, “Don’t worry, Sh’leya, I’ll get it from him
later.” A response that made the paladin blush even more
deeply.
Wahldon’s voice came from deeper in the room where a
lantern flared to life, illuminating a series of hammocks
hanging from the ceiling. They looked like they would
cradle a person perfectly and keep them from falling to the

259
deck in the worst of weather, but Longshadow had been
right about privacy as they were all in the same area
together.
“I’d say ‘Let’s make camp’, but I don’t think the captain
would appreciate us building a fire below the deck here.”
He said with a grin.

The sails of the Sea Ghost were full of the winds

that still gusted from the north and swirled through the
Craggy Bay. The seas rolled against the main hull and the
stabilizers with a spray of mist and chill, but the ship
remained steady on course. The air was cold and wet, but
the ever-brightening light of mid-day gave promise to the
hopes of seeing the sun burn through the fog of the
coastline.
Captain Longshadow studied the seas and the mists,
actually hoping that the fog would hold in order to keep
any pirates that prowl the shallow waters at bay. Ever so
faintly, over the sound of the fluttering sails and the splash
of water against the hull, came the unmistakable sound of
rumbling drums in chilling rhythm. Thrum, thrum, thrum…
“Lookout!” Longshadow cried, glancing up at the small
perch near the top of the main mast, “Do you see them?”

260
The lanky human scanned the fog for a moment, his
wrinkled eyes squinting in concentration.
“I can’t see ‘em yet, Cap’n, but I can hear ‘em off to our
starboard, probably about a half mile and closing!” he
called back.
Thrum, thrum, thrum…the drumming was definitely getting
louder with every passing moment. Longshadow relieved
the young sailor that had been manning the wheel, turning
the ship toward the coastline and even shallower water.
She was counting on the shallow draft of the Sea Ghost to
give any pursuers pause as they got closer to the numerous
rocky shelves and outcroppings that had given Craggy Bay
its name.
In the fog, however, the game was far more dangerous, and
she didn’t dare take them in too fast for fear of dashing the
Sea Ghost against the rocks.
The sound of the drums fell to the rear of the ship, but
stayed on the right side, drawing closer but not as quickly.
Whoever was in command was smart enough to know the
danger, but wily enough to follow and stay in contact with
his prey.
“Get our passengers on deck, Mook!” Longshadow shouted
to her giant first mate. “We may need their help by the time
this is all said and done!”

261
The half-ogre stalked from the aft of the ship toward the
covered forward section, his dark eyes scanning the
fogbank where the sounds of the drums were rolling in.
“What are those drums?” a voice hissed from the shadows
behind him before he reached the hatchway where the
companions were resting.
He whirled, his hands reaching for the massive falchion on
his hip before realizing it was the elf-woman who had
spoken, detaching herself from the dark grey shadows.
“Cap’n thinks pirates.” Mook grunted, “Wants you on
deck.”
Availia nodded, “I’ll get everyone ready.” She agreed, then
hesitated, “What kind of pirates are this close to an
Aledressan port and this deep in Aledressan territory?”
Mook turned to head back to the rear of the ship, shifting
his legs naturally as the vessel tilted with a turn to the left,
throwing the sounds of the drums to the rear.
“Hobgoblins.” Was all the larger man said before he was
gone.
Availia was grim. Hobgoblins were known to be
dangerous pirates – more so than their demi-human
counterparts – and they often teamed with their smaller
goblin cousins for raids on shipping up and down the coasts
of Synduress. She figured they were probably using the

262
rocky islands off Aldress’ coast as hideouts, using scouts in
the ports to let them know when ships were leaving in order
to coordinate their attacks.
She ducked her head through the hatch, seeing Brisste
sitting on the floor with her staff across her crossed legs,
eyes closed in concentration. Wahldon watched carefully
next to her and above in the hammock, glancing up for a
quick moment when Availia entered. Trenton was
finishing the task of putting his armor on, sending his wife
a tight smile.
“Trouble?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
She nodded, moving quickly across the room and scooping
up her bow and quiver, slipping it over her shoulders.
“Longshadow believes we’ve got pirates after us.”
She looked over at Brisste, a question on her face as her
eyes met Wahldon’s.
“She’s trying to look around and see what’s really out
there.” The warlord explained, his face calm, but his body
tense and coiled for action.
The mage’s eyes flashed open and she scrambled to her
feet, using her staff to steady herself. Her expression was
worried, and she sought out Availia’s face.
“We’ve got to tell Captain Longshadow to turn the ship!
There’s another ship coming from in front of us without

263
drums! They’re driving us!” she cried.
Availia was on her feet and out the hatch in two steps,
nearly hitting her head on the lower doorway as she
shouted for the captain’s attention. Trenton looked at
Wahldon, who was fastening his chestplate in place with
practiced ease.
“No one ever said this trip would be easy.” Wahldon
grumped, finishing the job and buckling his sword-belt
around his waist.
Trenton grinned, but inwardly sent a silent prayer
heavenward for protection and strength. He could feel the
weight of his father’s sword on his back, the sensation
comforting. Brisste reached into her pouches and took out
a small locket, handing it to her husband. She held his
hand as he reached for the charm, her eyes boring into his
enough to make him stop what he was doing and focus on
her. Trenton quietly slipped away to give them privacy and
Brisste waited until he was gone to speak.
“I didn’t have a lot of time to make this, Wahldon,” she
instructed, “but it should be enough to let you float should
you go overboard. I just wish I could have tested it before
this.”
Wahldon grinned at her, lifting her chin and brushing her
golden curls out of her eyes, “There’s nobody – not even

264
Nosto himself – that I’d trust more than you for something
like this, Bee.” He told her.
They could hear loud voices on the deck, including Kutz
gravelly tones, and Wahldon looked over her shoulder to
the hatchway, his heart beginning to pound and his blood
racing to be ready for the fight. She caught his face in her
hands and kissed him with as much fire and passion she
could muster.
“Be careful out there, Wahldon Vaillance,” she whispered
huskily after they parted, “I don’t think I could survive
losing you.”
He set his jaw firmly, his eyes blazing, “I’m not going
anywhere, Bee, I promise.”
He strode toward the deck a moment later and she
followed, pushing her fears away and murmuring the words
of a spell that would protect her from missile fire should it
come to that.
On the deck the sailors were beginning to gather
along the sides of the Sea Ghost, preparing for the
oncoming pirates and potential borders. Most of them were
armed with short cutlasses, although there were a few with
shortbows manning positions in the rigging for height
advantage. Mook was near the steering house, his chest
bare and covered with strange tattoos, holding his huge

265
curved sword in a practiced grip. Behind him, partially
shielded by the steering house itself, Captain Longshadow
frowned out the windows, her hands tightly gripping the
wheel of the Sea Ghost.
Trenton listened carefully to the sounds around the
ship, noticing that the drums had fallen silent since the Sea
Ghost had turned back toward the west after Brisste’s
warning. Availia stood close by, her eyes scanning the
gloom for any indication of where their enemies were.
“They’re going to hit fast, Trenton,” she warned him, her
eyes not leaving the sea, “probably from both sides at
once.”
He nodded and was about to reply when the cry went up,
“Here they come!”
Out of the rolling fog a dark shape materialized, the
prow a horrifying sculpture of a strange beast of some sort,
with an eerie gleam in its eyes. Arrows hissed in from the
foreign vessel, striking several sailors and dropping them to
the deck, their cries of surprise and pain echoing across the
space between the ships. Availia’s own bow snapped in
reply, finding two of the archers as their forms were just
beginning to come into view. They fell from the rigging of
their ship without a sound, splashing into the water below.
The rails of the pirate ship were lined with small shapes,

266
each one holding wicked-looking shortswords.
“Boarders on the railings!” Mook roared, “Prepare to
repel!”
The ships closed with either other, the volleys of arrows
now ineffective as sailors on both ships were taking cover
behind rails in anticipation for the boarding action.
“NOW!” came the shout from the steering house, “Drop the
anchor and brace for a hard turn!”
A sailor pulled the pin out of the heavy chain, sending the
massive weight into the water. Within seconds it had made
the short journey to the dangerously shallow rocks below,
digging in and holding fast. The Sea Ghost lurched as
Longshadow spun the wheel toward the left side of the ship
where the anchor had disappeared. The ship leaned on its
side, causing Trenton and Wahldon to grab onto the nearest
rigging ropes to keep from sliding off the deck and into the
churning waters below.
Brisste threw herself to the side, holding onto the
hatchway behind her as the ship reached the apex of its
radical turn. She watched as the same sailor who had
dropped the anchor now pulled a second lever – how was
he still on his feet? - dropping the chain into the water and
releasing the ship from the drag of the weight. As the ship
began to right itself the young wizard saw her opportunity,

267
seeing the pirate ship clearly for the first time on the far
side of the Sea Ghost.
“Conflageratis ovaris!” She cried, extending her hand
toward the invading ship. It was dropping away as it tried
to match the crazy maneuvering that Longshadow had
initiated, and a moment later a blazing ball of pure arcane
fire streaked across the distance between the ships. It
struck right at the waterline, blasting a gaping, smoldering
hole in the side of the ship and tossing a half-dozen of the
goblin boarders into the sea.
A cheer rose from the sailors of the Sea Ghost as
the pirate vessel began to list dangerously to the right, the
nose digging into the water and beginning to swamp the
deck even as the now-visible hobgoblins desperately tried
to save their vessel.
“Watch for the other ship!” Longshadow screeched, brining
the cheer to an abrupt halt.
As if to punctuate the statement there was a jarring impact
on the back of the larger vessel, and a dozen goblins
scrambled onto the rear superstructure, their swords
gleaming as they snarled and bared their needle teeth.
Sailors rushed forward and the battle was joined, weapons
clashing and cries of rage and pain punctuating the overall
chaos of the fight.

268
 Trenton rushed to the rear of the ship, flanked by
Wahldon on his left side. Availia had abandoned her bow
and was now wading into the fight with her sabers flashing.
The lithe body spun, ducked, and struck in a deadly dance
that caught the invading goblins by surprise in its ferocity.
Trenton reached where his wife was engaged a moment
before a brave goblin tried to leap on the elf-woman’s back.
His flight was cut short by the heavy steel gauntlet of the
paladin’s fist, sending the body flying back the way it had
just come. He took two more strides, his large sword
sweeping away two more opponents as he made his way to
the focal point of the boarding action. Wahldon was at his
side a moment later, deflecting attacks and forcing the
goblins to circle around to the now-protected right flank of
the two warriors.
Wahldon pivoted to his left, lunging with his shield
and sending it slamming into a goblin’s head, where the
creature crumpled sickly to the deck and lay still. His
sword caught the opportunity strike provided by his
movement, the smaller weapon glancing off his own before
he directed the blade downward and struck with his fist,
sending the attacker back over the railing and into the sea
between the ships. A large hobgoblin leapt from the pirate
ship onto the Sea Ghost, its sword singing toward Wahldon

269
in a flash of motion that he almost didn’t see in time. The
shield came up a moment before impact, absorbing the
attack but not allowing him to set his feet to brace for the
sheer power of the strike. The blow drove him backward,
desperately trying to keep his shield in front of him in case
the hobgoblin followed up on the attack. He slipped, nearly
lost his footing, then buckled as his legs backed into the
railing. A moment later his legs acted as a pivot point and
he flipped backward over the railing, arms and legs flailing
outward for purchase on anything, but finding none. The
last thing Trenton saw was Wahldon’s horrified face before
he disappeared over the side.
“Wahldon!” he screamed, struggling to quell the rising fear
for his friend and concentrate on the dangerous foe in front
of him.
The hobgoblin smirked, it’s huge frame as tall as Trenton,
but nearly twice as wide. The reddish orange skin was
pulled tight over corded muscles, and the layered leather
armor was designed to not hinder movement while offering
maximum protection.
“Leave no survivors!” the hobgoblin roared, its eyes never
leaving the paladin in front of him as he advanced.
The sailors were fighting valiantly against another wave of
goblins that had hopped over to the Sea Ghost, while the

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massive Mook was fully engaged with two smaller
hobgoblins that had joined the boarding action, his falchion
singing in a frighteningly mournful voice as it met blow
upon blow before responding in kind.
Trenton spared a glance out of the corner of his eye to
where Availia was and watched her sprint for the side of
the ship, disappearing over the railing in an arcing dive on
the same side that Wahldon had vanished a moment before.
“Friendlies overboard, starboard side!” Mook shouted,
grunting as a hobgoblin’s blade sliced across his rock-hard
midsection. The half-ogre grinned, and the hobgoblin was
cleaved in half before it ever realized it had overextended
itself.
Trenton tore his eyes away from where his wife had gone
over the side, praying for wisdom and focus as he raised his
blade in challenge against the hobgoblin that was
approaching him.
“Fight with honor and die well.” The creature responded,
hefting its own weapon in a salute of its own, much to
Trenton’s surprise.
In an instant, the hobgoblin attacked, roaring and launching
its weapon forward in an overhand strike that Trenton
blocked easily, spinning to his right in order to take
advantage of the deflection. The hobgoblin dropped his

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own blade, meeting the counterattack and using its greater
weight to send the paladin spinning and nearly falling
before he was able to leap down to the deck and stabilize
himself in anticipation of the next strike.
The hobgoblin dropped to the deck carefully, not foolish
enough to leap and attack, giving his opponent the chance
to impale him with his own inertia. Trenton charged,
swinging low with his sword as if he was going to cut his
enemy’s legs out from under him. Sword met sword, but
there was no real force behind the blow, and Trenton spun,
his gauntlet slamming into the side of the hobgoblin’s head,
sending a froth of blood and shattered teeth out of its
mouth. The blow buckled the creature’s legs and Trenton
followed up with a boot sweep behind the knees, causing it
to fall backwards, its arms reaching for purchase. The
sword flipped in a practiced grip, and the paladin
remorselessly slammed the blade through the armored
chest, and the beating heart of his enemy, driving it into the
deck beneath.
As the light faded from the hobgoblin’s eyes Trenton
growled, “I don’t choose to die today.”
He turned to see the sailors of the Sea Ghost pushing the
remaining goblins back toward their own ship, half their
numbers already dead or dying along with their champion.

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 Mook was still engaged in a rousing fight with the
hobgoblin he’d been dueling with, although the orange-
skinned creature was showing signs of fatigue. A
thunderclap echoed across the deck, causing the remaining
goblins to shriek in terror and flee for their own boat, all
thoughts of fighting lost in that moment. The remaining
hobgoblin looked down at the blossom of crimson that
appeared on its chest, the shock evident on his face before
his expression faded and he slithered to the deck. On top of
the forward crest of the Sea Ghost stood the outline of a
stout dwarf, the still-smoking rifle still held in his hands
and his face alight with battle fury. At his feet lay two
goblins, both dispatched with the small axe he carried, and
to his rear were three more with their throats torn out by
Shadowclaw, whose eyes were the only thing visible under
the overhanging woodwork above the deck.
Brisste grabbed Trenton by the arm, her face white with
fear, “Trenton! Wahldon went over the side!” she cried,
“We have to get him!”
Trenton took her by the shoulders, “Availia went in after
him, Bee! I’ll get the captain to drop anchor, you see if you
can’t find them!”

Availia hit the water in a perfect entry, arching her

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back and letting her own motion carry her back to the
surface. The water was icy cold, and it cut through her
clothing and into her core like daggers. She bobbed for a
moment, orienting herself and wiping the water from her
eyes. The burning ship that Brisste had destroyed was
several hundred yards behind them, and the intertwined
ships weren’t doing much more than circling each other at
the moment, so she didn’t have to worry about being left
too far behind.
“Wahldon!” she shouted, hoping that he hadn’t panicked
and was carrying himself farther away.
She heard a voice faintly drift in across the waves and the
sound of combat from above. “Availia? Is that you?”
The elf tilted her head, focusing on where the voice had
come from. It sounded like it had come from the back of
the Sea Ghost, almost directly behind it.
“I’m here, Wahldon!” she called back, beginning to swim
through the frigid waters, her teeth chattering already and
the strength already beginning to bleed out of her body.
“Keep talking and keep moving! Are you able to keep your
head above water?”
“I’m doing alright for now, but I’m freezing and I can’t feel
my legs anymore!” came the reply.
Availia knew that they couldn’t stay in the water for long,

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the cold would kill them before they would drown. She
continued to swim, encouraging him to keep moving, keep
talking, and try to warm his body.
The sounds of the battle were beginning to fade by the time
she spotted the warrior moving up and down on the waves.
He was actually floating at the shoulders, well above head
level and in no danger of being swamped, which was
reassuring for Availia to see. She swam up to him a
moment later, catching a mouth full of water and choking
on it.
“Put your arms around me, Wahldon.” She said through
chattering teeth, her body shivering so hard it was causing
her muscles to cramp.
“I’m married, Availia.” He replied, wryly, but he did as
instructed, pulling her body close to his and trying to keep
their body heat between them as best as possible.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” She remarked, feeling her
body stop shaking as hard as it had been. “We’ve got to
signal them somehow.”
Wahldon closed his eyes, his mouth moving slightly,
almost as if he was casting a spell. “Damn it, Bee, settle
down and concentrate for a minute.” He cursed softly, not
opening his eyes.
Availia was fascinated, somehow Wahldon and Brisste had

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connected on a level beyond normal and the wizard had
been able to teach him to use it to at least communicate in a
basic way.
The sharp report of a rifle caused them both to jump, and
the sound of clanging steel faded away completely. They
both strained for a moment to listen but didn’t hear any
renewed fighting.
Availia was beginning to feel fatigued, her muscles
cramping and spasming with the cold. “I don’t know if I’m
going to stay conscious much longer, Wahldon,” she hissed
through clenched teeth, “the cold is sapping me faster than
I thought it would.”
“Hold on a little longer, Shadow.” He pleaded, tightening
his grip on her body, “Help is on the way.”
A moment later there was another thunderclap from Kutz’
weapon and the sky lit up as if it were high noon on a
summer day.
“There they are!” a voice shouted, and several sailors
appeared on the top of the steering house, pointing at the
two companions.
“Wahldon! Availia!” Trenton’s voice boomed.
Availia tried to call back but was too weak to muster
enough sound more than a whimper, her eyes rolling into
her head. Wahldon, becoming alarmed, shouted back,

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“Trenton! Tell Bee that she needs to get Shadow out of
here now! She’s starting to fade on me and I don’t know
how much longer I can hold onto her!”
A moment later Brisste appeared in sight, her staff
held in the air and the crystal shining like a bolt of
lightning. Wahldon felt Availia’s body begin to rise and
released her, watching her float up out of the water and
then drift toward the ship, her arms wrapped tightly around
herself as she shook in the cold air. Wahldon watched
Trenton pull her aboard and wrap her in a blanket that one
of the sailors handed him, his strong arms holding her close
and he buried his face in her hair. Then he felt the
unexplainable caress of his wife’s power as it encompassed
him, lifting him out of the water. His padding and armor
insulated him from the lion’s share of the cold air, but he
could feel the fatigue and his shaking body regardless. He
let himself relax, sending warm thoughts to Brisste as she
guided him carefully to the ship and her waiting arms,
blanket in hand to wrap around him.
“Are you alright?” she asked, holding him close and trying
to keep the waver out of her voice.
He looked her in the eyes, the most beautiful eyes in the
world to him, and pulled the small locket out from under
his armor. “I was never in better hands, Bee.”

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He looked over to where Trenton was physically carrying
Availia, cradled in his arms, toward the forward hold where
there was dry clothing and a chance to use his own body
heat to warm her up. Wahldon could see her mouth
moving and her arms around her husband’s neck and was
relieved to see that she seemed to be alright.
“Mister Mook!” Longshadow’s voice rang out across the
deck. “Get us a little way away from here and drop anchor
so we can take care of the wounded!”
The half-ogre nodded, his falchion already back on his hip
and the ragged tear across his abdomen still oozing blood.
He looked toward the front of the ship where Kutz was
leaning against the main mast, his gun by his side and
Shadowclaw laying alertly at his feet. The dwarf nodded at
him with a grin.
“I shot that last one off’n ye, Mook.” He chuckled.
Mook rumbled a laugh, “You didn’t need to do that.” He
replied.
Kutz shrugged, “Probably not, but I figured I had the shot.”
He said with a wink at his larger friend.
Trenton brought Availia into the small room,
helping her shuck her clothing quickly before pulling the
blanket tighter around her for the moment.
“Not a lot of privacy.” She remarked, trying to smirk. She

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was so weary that it came out as more of a weak smile.
Trenton grinned and shook his head, shedding his armor
and then piling the spare blankets on the floor as best he
could in two places so that Brisste could warm Wahldon
when they came in. He took the rest of his clothing off and
pulled the blankets over them both before unwrapping her
body and pressing it with his own. He nearly gasped at the
chill in her flesh, but he felt her shivering begin to lessen
and she snuggled in close to his chest as he lay on his side,
arms wrapped tightly around her.
Brisste led Wahldon into the room several minutes
later, noticing the piled blankets right away and looking
into the corner in order to thank Trenton for his
thoughtfulness; but when she did she saw only his head and
Availia’s poking out from the blanket, forehead to
forehead, sound asleep. She smiled at her two friends and
turned her attention to her husband, instructing him to
remove his armor and clothing.
He acted as if he was going to protest and she shifted her
staff, “Either you can do it or I can.” She said with only a
hint of humor.
He obeyed quickly and was grateful for the warmth a few
moments later.
Kutz ducked his head into the alcove a little later, quietly

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observing before returning to the steering house where
Captain Longshadow was making preparations to weigh
anchor and continue their voyage after tending to her own
wounded. She’d lost three sailors in the fight, but she
considered herself fortunate given the odds against them.
“They weren’t pirates, Kutz,” she said pointedly, “you
know that, right?”
He nodded, “Aye, I know.” He conceded. He sat on a chair
and absently scratched Shadowclaw behind the ear. “I
dinnae think they’ll try again at sea though. It’s too hard to
track a ship this close to the coast, especially one as fast
and shallow as the Sea Ghost.”
She mulled that thought, “Whatever they’re doing, it’s
important enough to try and kill them deep inside
Aledressan territory.”
The dwarf fingered the scar that nearly took his right eye,
“They’ve been there before, an’ that’s a fact; but we can
only hope they get the chance to rest up before we make
port. They’re lucky they survived in the water.”
“That wizard is one of the best I’ve seen, and she’s a far
sight younger than most of them.” Longshadow stated,
“I’ve never seen someone pull a spell out of memory that
quick and use it that effectively against another vessel at
that range. And the fact that she was able to see that there

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were two boats…”
Kutz chuckled, “If’n ye’ve ever met or seen Nosto before,
ye’ll know why the lass is the way she is. He took his time
training her in ways he’d never trained an apprentice
before. It’s still rumored that he intends for her to succeed
him when the time comes.”
The captain shook her head, lifting a mug of strong coffee
and sipping it. “Well, my part in this is to get them to
Kilderhead in one piece, and that’s what I intend to do.
After that, they’re your problem.”
Kutz chuckled, “Wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin’.”
He said merrily.
“You always did like living dangerously.” She replied
grimly.
His smile got wider and he dimmed the lantern, noticing
the slight tremor in her voice, “Indeed I do, lass.” He
replied.

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 Chapter Thirteen
The port city of Kilderhead was situated on a
sloping series of hills that surrounded a sheltered harbor.
Sunlight glimmered on the calm water and gulls wheeled
and cried to one another around the massive network of
docks and piers that spread nearly as far as the eye could
see even in the clear weather. The Sea Ghost had moored
only a few moments before, and Mook was pulling the
lines tight as other sailors leapt to the docks in order to
secure the ship. Trenton escorted Availia down the
gangplank, giving Captain Longshadow a smile of thanks
as they left.
The halfling nodded, then spoke with a serious expression,
“You’ve got powerful enemies, paladin,” she said, “and
they had no problems attacking you while you were still
within sight of home. Things are going to get worse…far

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worse…the closer you get to wherever you’re going.”
Trenton nodded, “We’re well aware of who are enemy is
and the kind of reach they have, Captain.” He assured her
grimly.
Longshadow studied him carefully, “I wish you success on
your mission then.” She watched as Kutz and his feline
companion strode down the gangplank, looking for all the
world like an explorer heading into the wilderness rather
than a traveler arriving at one of the largest cities in
Synduress.
Availia caught the captain’s lingering gaze and smirked,
“We’ll keep an eye on him, Captain.”
The halfling scowled, color rising to her cheeks from being
caught with her heart on her sleeve. “That one makes his
own luck.” She snorted, then her eyes softened, “But my
life would be a lot less interesting if something were to
happen to him.”

The dockside wards were lined with massive

warehouses and smaller shop-fronts where fishmongers
called out to anyone that passed by to buy their wares. The
warehouses were bigger than any the companions had seen,
the sheer white stucco walls rising a full thirty feet into the
morning sky before reaching the orange-tiled rooftops

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above. These rooftops then provided shade for the smaller
storefronts that were, many times, attached to the
warehouses and doubled as offices for their owners. The
resulting mixture of sights, sounds, smells, and the
surprising instability of solid ground after a full week at sea
made the group quiet and alert; wondering if an assassin’s
blade was waiting for them as they made their way into the
city from the docks.
Kutz naturally took the lead, weaving his way through
narrow streets and alleyways, the intimidating presence of
Shadowclaw clearing a wide path for them as they moved.
Trenton tried to keep his bearings as they moved, his eyes
scanning every shadow and rooftop they passed by.
Wahldon and Brisste walked side by side, with the wizard
assuming her normal position to her husband’s left and rear
where his shield would be.
“We’ll be reachin’ the inn soon,” Kutz assured them over
his shoulder, “I’m wantin’ to keep us away from the main
streets and out of pryin’ eyes if’n we can work it that way.”
A voice called from behind them, causing Trenton to whirl
with his hand on his sword. He needn’t have bothered, as
he had the very tip of a rapier nudge the skin of his throat.
“In my city you don’t move through the alleyways without
attracting attention, Master Hunter.” The sardonic voice

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said.
The elf woman holding the rapier was even more pale than
Availia, and her raven-black hair was trimmed short and
spiked. On her left ear was a constellation of ruby studs
and she wore a simple diamond stud in the right. The rustle
of movement on the rooftops above told Trenton that the
woman was not alone, nor would any of them reach their
weapons without receiving an arrow for their troubles.
Kutz turned, gesturing with his hand to Shadowclaw and
causing the animal to sit alertly by his side.
“Ye’ve got us dead t’ rights, Black Rose.” The dwarf called
back.
The elf woman’s mouth curled up in a smile that lacked
any true humor. “Not that it was hard this time, Hunter, but
I’m curious why you were so careless, and why you’re
travelling with amateurs like these Aledressans.” She
purred.
Trenton allowed the insult to pass, realizing that Black
Rose hadn’t recognized them, else she wouldn’t be playing
with them the way a cat would with a mouse.
“Not all of us are amateurs, Pash’laya.” Availia’s cold steel
reply echoed from the rooftops where all sound had
stopped. Trenton could see the shadowy form of his wife
above them and behind, her own bow trained to strike

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down Black Rose with a shot she couldn’t possibly miss.
He hadn’t even realized she’d left his side.
Black Rose cocked her head, then let the tip of her rapier
draw blood ever so slightly against the paladin’s neck. He
gritted his teeth but made no sound, waiting to see how the
standoff would play out.
“Put down your weapon or I swear by the Holy One I’ll
turn you to ash.” Brisste’s threat shocked Trenton with its
fury, and he spared a glance to see the young wizard’s eyes
crackling with arcane power and the crystal on her staff
glowing brightly. Wahldon had drawn his own weapon and
was prepared to strike if the spell did not have its intended
effect.
“Are my men dead?” Black Rose’s voice held no fear as
she made the inquiry.
“No,” came the reply, “but I’m sure they’ll be nursing
headaches when they wake up. Blunt-tips hurt bad enough
even if they don’t kill.”
Black Rose nodded, then lowered her weapon, “I’m no
one’s blood-sister, elf.” She growled, “My people keep
these streets and alleyways safe.”
“While making a tidy sum of gold for your services from
the local merchants, I’d wager.” Wahldon added, “Thieves’
guilds are no new invention.”

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The elf chuckled, “We’re what you might call independent
contractors actually.” She replied.
Availia reached the alley floor and returned to her
husband’s side, pushing the cloak from her head as the
shadows released her.
“In a city of this size it would be a dangerous game to cross
the guilds.” She pointed out.
Black Rose nodded, “It is,” she conceded, “but when the
guilds were secretly funneling gold and arms to the Iron
Horde in return for promises of power in what was left of
Aledress…let’s just say that there were many of us that
believed that was going too far and started undercutting
their gains here in Kilderhead. We realized that if the fools
kept up what they were doing and Aledress fell there was
nothing to stop the Horde from turning on Tarpesh next.
We had no illusions that they would simply wipe us all out,
despite promises to the contrary.”
Trenton frowned, “But the Horde has been destroyed; I
can’t imagine they still have those stupid ambitions.”
Black Rose shrugged, “I don’t know,” she replied, “but I do
know that shipments of weapons and supplies funnel out of
here in a black market the likes this city has never seen.
We don’t know where they’re going or why, but it’s
enough to keep us fighting.”

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Trenton and Wahldon exchanged a look, “Any doubts
about who those weapons are being sent to?” the paladin
asked quietly.
It was suddenly beginning to make sense. The Horde as a
distraction and a ruse from the main objective of
Dranattothrax’s strategy was now crystal clear. In the years
of war and conflict the illicit supply lines that were the
lifeblood of a newly ascendant Pact Infernis were being
established and fleshed out. If the largest sea port in the
west was being used for that purpose, how many other
cities had underground economies that were secretly
building up what would eventually be the foot that stood on
their own necks? The enormity of the thought was enough
to make Trenton feel slightly sick to his stomach.
“Who are these weapons going to?” Black Rose demanded,
her voice betraying a hint of frustration, “We thought that
once the Horde was defeated it would end, but it’s only
gotten worse and we’re losing more and more of us who
are fighting.”
Brisste answered for them, brushing her errant curl away
from her eyes absently, “During the First War there were
those that sided with Malevolis and his followers in their
attempt to wrest creation from the Holy One. They were
known as the Pact Infernis and wielded amazing power and

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influence across Synduress until demihumanity united and
overthrew them with the help of the newly created paladins
and their orders.”
The elf’s eyes narrowed, “And you think that the Pact
Infernis is somehow regaining strength and using this
underground commerce to equip itself?”
Trenton nodded, “So it would seem.” He gave a lopsided
smirk. “You’ve been fighting the same war as the rest of us
without knowing it.”
Black Rose scowled, sheathing her rapier completely, “I’m
not a soldier, paladin; but I’m smart enough to know who I
don’t want running things.”
“Sounds t’ me like we’ve got the same enemies, lass.” Kutz
put in, his eyes unreadable behind the mass of his beard.
The elf sighed, “Look, I’m not going to go rushing into
some crusade with you. As long as they’re out of my city I
really don’t care where they go after that. There’s enough
soldiers and types like the rest of you to take care of the
threat.”
Brisste and Wahldon shared a look, but he simply shook his
head, thinking We can’t make her care if she doesn’t, Bee.
“Where do they stage most of the weapons shipments,
Black Rose?” Availia asked quietly.
The other woman cocked an eyebrow and seemed about to

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protest, and Availia’s voice dropped below freezing before
she spoke again, “Unless you’re making even more gold by
playing both sides against the middle, in which case I vote
we eliminate one threat here and now.”
Black Rose’s eyes flashed, and her hand moved for the
handle of her rapier. In a blur of movement Availia had the
woman by the throat, slamming her against the nearby wall
and knocking the wind out of her, her face bare inches
away.
“You held a blade to my husband’s neck,” she hissed,
“which is enough reason for me to kill you; but if you
decide you actually want to end this threat once and for all
in Kilderhead I could be convinced to leave you alive.”
Black Rose tried to meet Availia’s gaze, but the steel and
fury behind her eyes was too intense and she finally
lowered her eyes, beaten.
“They have a warehouse in the southern districts near
where the caravans stage before moving out toward
Bariphay.” She admitted quietly. “We haven’t dared attack
that place directly because we can’t risk an all-out war in
the streets and alleys.”
Availia let up her pressure and stepped back, “What kind of
defenses do they have on the warehouse itself?”
“They mainly rely on the Guild to keep away anyone that

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might stumble on their operation; but I’ve seen at least
three well-equipped warriors as muscle, and one of my
people reported seeing a Freni dressed in what she
described as dark robes, but we really don’t know who he
is.”
Availia stole a quick look at the sun, gauging the time of
day. With winter in full swing there wasn’t much more
than two hours of good daylight left, and they would have
to move through the city quickly if they were to reach the
warehouse and stage any kind of attack.
She turned back to the other elf, “You don’t have to join in
the action if you don’t want to, but we need you to get us to
that warehouse quickly and quietly. Is that something you
can do?”
Black Rose ran a hand over her short, dark hair for a
moment. “You won’t like it,” she admitted, “but the city is
built on the remnants of the older city beneath it. Most of
that city was incorporated into the newer one, but the canal
system was paved over when the roads were built to handle
more commerce.”
Availia smirked, “So moving underground would be as
easy as moving on the surface if you know the layout of the
streets above.” She finished, amazed at the simplicity of it.
Black Rose nodded, “I only recently found it myself, but

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it’s been invaluable for moving my people unseen around
the city.”
Wahldon spoke up, “You said we wouldn’t like it, Black
Rose, but I don’t see a problem with it so far.”
She chuckled, “The only problem is that the canal system
has become the home to the city’s rat population, both
normal and giant, and it also boasts a pretty respectable
number of spectral undead that hunt anyone stupid enough
to venture down there alone. They’ve never come after a
large group before, but you don’t want to get separated into
pairs if you can help it.”
Brisste shivered, remembering the phantom remains of
disloyal Aledressan soldiers near the foot of Twin Axe
Peak. They were evil to the core and would drain the very
life and strength from the body they attacked, trying to slay
and destroy in order to feed their desire for revenge on the
living.
“We don’t have much choice.” Trenton frowned, “We
really can’t travel in the open, and taking out this
distribution site will be enough to hurt the Pact for the
moment at least.”
Kutz watched the interplay, mindful to listen for Black
Rose’s friends above on the rooftops. He could hear no
further struggles, and he figured Availia had bound them in

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place after she had rendered them unconscious so they
couldn’t drop in when they came around. He had to admit
that these youngsters were far more capable than he had
believed, and he now wondered if the tales that Omi and
Hack had told them from during the war were indeed true.
“For what it’s worth,” he said softly, eyes locking on to the
young elf woman with the short, black hair, “I’d feel much
better facin’ whatever is down there than whatever is
watchin’ us up here; an’ make no mistake, we’ve been
watched since we made port.”
The rest of the group nodded and the die was cast. They
would venture into the canals beneath the city and move
against their target that way with a guide of questionable
intent to get them to the entrance, and the grim realization
that the entire underworld of a major city would be
watching for their every move. Trenton whispered a
fervent prayer for insight and direction as they followed
Black Rose through the city, steeling himself for whatever
opposition they would find.

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 Chapter Fourteen
The deepest recesses of the Kilderhead canals were
cast in the near total darkness of night even when the noon
time sun blazed over the streets above. Concrete walkways
lined streams of brackish water that ran between only a few
inches deep to nearly waist deep where it collected in
pools. The chaotic sound of water – flowing, dripping,
cascading, running against walls and floors – resounded
day after day until it became almost unnoticeable to those
that called the area below the city home.
The sound of the secret door in the basement of a small
bookstore was not enough to even rise above the sounds of
the water; but it was enough to attract the attention of the
tiny sentry that had been given the task of watching that
particular portal into the underground. The rat watched for
a moment from his vantage point, knowing full well that he
would escape notice from those that were now slipping
through the entrance. Even the sight of the large cat did

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nothing to stop his observation of the group as he counted
them, noted weapons and armor, and whether any of them
had the trappings of a spell-caster. Another few moments
and the rat scurried off, unseen by his targets. He ran along
a series of rusted drain pipes, used to funnel water from
larger buildings into the various side passages for easier
distribution, then leapt to the concrete walkway and
rounded a corner, halting when he met another of his kind
waiting on the opposite side. The scout sat back on his
haunches, his whiskers twitching with anticipation of the
hunt.
“Tell Rapit’cherruk that we have intruders in the canals!”
the scout called out to his contact, “Two human males, an
elf woman, a human woman, a dwarf male, and a large
hunting cat.”
The contact, a darker grey than his scout counterpart
nodded, memorizing the information, “Are these the
adventurers we’ve been told to watch for?” he wondered
aloud.
The scout nodded vigorously, “I’d say so. The two men are
warriors with swords and the elf carries a bow and sabers.
The woman is a wizard from the waver of power in the air
at her presence.”
The contact frowned, “What of the dwarf and the cat?”

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The lighter rat shook his head, “I figure him to be a scout or
hunter of some type, and the cat his companion; but I can’t
be certain.”
The contact fell forward onto his four paws, preparing to
slip into the darkness and make his report. “I’ll make sure
that Rapit’cherruk knows the potential threat, D’javis,” he
said, “keep your observation close, but don’t allow yourself
to be discovered.”
D’javis smirked, showing his needle teeth beneath his
furred lips, “There is a reason that Rapit’cherruk gave this
task to me, I’charro.”
I’charro fixed the other rat with a stern gaze, “Speed and
cunning are a valuable asset, D’javis, but you aren’t dealing
with normal demi-humans now. The elf and the wizard in
particular will know about our capabilities and will be
alerted if they see you.” His black eyes narrowed, “You
would never feel the arrow or the spell that destroyed you,
D’javis.”
The younger rat’s smirk became a scowl, his ego chaffing
somewhat under the chiding, “I didn’t know you cared
about my fate, I’charro.” He snorted.
The older rat’s voice was cold, “I don’t, D’javis; but I don’t
want our people and those that employ us to be without
eyes and ears.”

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With that he scampered off into the darkness to make his
report.
D’javis watched him go, shook his head, and then followed
the sounds of footfalls as they echoed deeper into the
canals.

In the black heart of the city’s underground was a

lair so hidden that none but the rats themselves were even
aware that it existed, much less the malevolent intelligence
that drove the network of spies and assassins that the rats
had become. During the days of the Pact Infernis and their
First War the rats of Kilderhead were subverted and used as
agents throughout the city, helping the Pact Lords maintain
control over the population and crush any kind of uprising
against their rule.
In the centuries since they were driven underground
by the forces of demi-humanity the pact worked with
alchemy and other unholy magics to enhance the leaders of
their rats. Over the years they had created an entirely new
species of rat, a combination of human characteristics and
rat senses blended into one horrible persona.
Rapit’cherruk was the pinnacle of that diabolical research,
walking on his hind legs like a man and able to use

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weapons the same way. He was possessed of a dark and
keen intellect, and was ruthless enough to suppress any that
dared rise against him in his ascension to power. Now he
was firmly in control of the underworld in Kilderhead,
using the thieves’ guild to maintain his vision in the surface
world and the rats to conduct thefts and assassinations that
even the guild couldn’t explain.
I’charro knelt before the throne set into the shadows
of the inner most chamber, trying to contain his trembling
in the presence of his master. Twin pinpoints of red light
glared unblinking from the darkness, the pressure of that
gaze causing all rats in the area to bow in terrified
reverence.
“You have a report, I’charro.” Rapit’cherruk hissed quietly,
his human-sized form leaning forward and dwarfing the
other creatures in the room.
I’charro nodded, not daring to look up, “I do indeed, my
master,” he replied, “D’javis has reported to me that the
adventurers from the north have entered the canals from the
surface door. They appear to be accompanied by a dwarf
guide of some kind with a large cat.”
Rapit’cherruk ran his hand over his long snout, his
whiskers twitching thoughtfully and his eyes seeming to
narrow for a long moment.

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“The reports from the Pact Lords have told us that they had
observed a dwarf hunter with the other adventurers,” he
mused, “and it seems that the attempt to slay them at sea
failed due to his involvement in coordinating the ship’s
defenses.”
He stood, pulling himself to his height of nearly five feet,
his clawed hands clenching and unclenching.
“We can’t afford to show ourselves quite yet.” he
murmured, then turned to the rats around him. “Go into the
hidden pools near the stone slabs and bring out
Sheylananth.”
The rats gathered in the room gasped in fear, and
Rapit’cherruk smiled wickedly, his teeth gleaming in the
dim light. “She will attack and keep them busy while we
strike from the shadows and finish them. She can have the
bodies when we’ve finished.”

Shadowclaw’s nose sampled the stagnate air of the

canals, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness with all the
caution that his predatory instincts carried. Kutz stroked
the beast behind it’s twitching ears, his own wizened eyes
following the cat’s gaze into the gloom.
“What do ye hear, lad?” he whispered softly, motioning the

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group to stop behind him.
Trenton had abandoned the larger sword for his mace and
shield, knowing that he would need speed and economy of
space in these tight quarters. Wahldon was shaded off to
his right, his uneasy gaze trying to see any threat that might
present itself. Availia had been asked by Kutz not to
illuminate her staff, but she at least had a mystical shield
around herself that would offer some protection should
there be an ambush from out of the shadows. Her face was
stony and her eyes darted around constantly, showing her
discomfort at being underground. In the shadows to the
rear of the team, patrolling to make sure they weren’t being
followed, was Availia. She moved with frightening ease
and silence through the cloying shadows and murky
darkness, her form a bare wisp of occasional movement.
They were approaching a crossroads where the canals
broke into four directions. Black Rose had told them it
would be very near where they wanted to be, and once they
had followed the southern branch to a blind alleyway they
would be directly under the warehouse they were interested
in.
The water in the center of the crossroads erupted in all
directions as a black, shining mass surfaced with a hiss and
a roar of furious hunger. Tentacles writhed in the air above

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the mass, lashing out and forcing Wahldon and Trenton to
raise their shields to defend themselves while Availia back-
flipped out of the way. The mass’ center had a gaping maw
filled with jagged teeth that resembled saber blades, coated
with brackish water and slime.
Kutz swore loudly in dwarven even as Shadowclaw slashed
with his claws at the tentacle that tried to wrap around his
master.
“Get back!” Wahldon shouted toward Brisste, who was
trying to avoid grasping tentacles as she was making her
escape. Trenton had thrown his mace aside, dropping the
shield to the ground with a clang before his father’s sword
once again cleared its sheath.
Arrows from Availia’s bow sang overhead, striking the
core of the monster with great force, but seeming to have
little effect if any on it. Trenton ducked beneath a lashing
appendage, cringing as it slammed into the block wall
nearby with a spray of powder. He swung his blade in an
upward swipe, calling on holy power to strengthen his arm
and heart for battle. The golden flash of light severed the
tentacle completely, eliciting a screech of pain from the
monster and another wave of foul water that knocked
Brisste off her feet.
“Bee!” Wahldon screamed, hacking at a tentacle that had

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come too close.
The mage cried out in terror as one of the arms slithered
around her, pinning her arms and forcing her to drop her
staff. A moment later she was lifted off her feet and toward
the hungry mouth of the monster. Kutz’ rifle thundered
loudly, the round slamming through the fleshy tentacle and
out the other side, a spray of green ichor splashing against
the walls of the canal. The limb faltered, nearly dropping
the woman, but it maintained its grip on the prize.
A voice from behind Availia screeched, “Take them now!”
causing the elf to whirl in place, bow at the ready.
A carpet of rats swarmed toward her, their teeth clicking
together and their eyes alight with a desperate fury that
she’d never seen in the gaze of a creature of nature. In the
midst of the screeching she could begin to make out
individual voices, calling for the rats to drive the
companions into the jaws of the monster beyond them.
Availia realized with sudden horror that these were rats of
intelligence and they were being guided by something more
powerful even than their collective might, something that
had terrified them into total fanaticism.
“Kutz! We have a major problem here!” she cried,
selecting an arrow with a glass tip and firing it directly into
the ground before the charging rodents. The tip shattered

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and flared brilliantly, like the flash of a meteorite before
flaming out in the sky. The room was illuminated
completely in the sunburst, ghostly shadows burning into
the walls while the flare continued to blaze.
The rats fell back from the flare, blinded and confused by
the sudden burst of light. Kutz took advantage of the
moment, tossing his rifle into his left hand and reaching for
a flask attached to his hip. He threw the object into the air
in an arc that took it over the forward line of rats, its
contents beginning to pour out in a smelly mess. A
moment later the rifle boomed again in a shot from the
dwarf’s hip, the round striking the ceiling just over the
flask and sending sparks through the air. With a rush of
heat and roar the contents of the flask ignited, sending a
wall of flames back into the rats that were now fleeing in
terror as their fur caught fire.
Availia turned back toward the monster holding Brisste,
who was still struggling vainly to free herself from the
eager grip around her body. The creature seemed to be able
to sense where its prey was, but it didn’t seem to have any
eyes on the body that she could see, only the mouth itself.
The battle-cry behind her barely gave her enough warning
to turn before the humanoid shape materialized out of the
flames, it’s red eyes burning with a fierce and unnatural

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hatred. It was a rat, for all intents and purposes, but one
that was the size of a small man and moved with the grace
and speed of one that had spent a lifetime on the streets and
fighting for one’s life. The lips pulled back from the
needle-like teeth in a snarl of rage, and it’s clawed hands
were wrapped around a pair of rapiers, their thin blades
sharpened to deadly edge and their tips pinpoint enough to
punch through a weak spot in even heavy armor should
they strike true.
Availia swept at the feet of the creature as it landed,
causing it to leap over the bow as she cart wheeled out of
range long enough to deploy her twin sabers and counter
the next pair of strikes. The first blade she turned aside
was aimed at the hip, hoping to cripple her in a single blow,
and the second blow was a follow up to the first, a
downward strike that would have impaled her to the wall
had she not deflected it and sent the tip wildly to the right.
Blow after blow were launched and countered, and the two
circled each other like wary prizefighters in a champions’
match. Sparks flew, blades flashed, and the motion of the
four slender wands of steel was enough to send up an eerie
song of whistling, clanging, tearing sound.
“Your life ends here, elf!” the rat-man hissed, his rapier
slashing across Availia’s midriff and laying open the flesh

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of her abdomen. She gasped and spun away from the blow,
falling forward and spinning to her right. She caught
herself on her right forearm, completing the roll and
looping her leg around the neck of the creature while
locking it in place with her other leg. As she screamed in
exertion she pulled her legs in toward her body, ignoring
the pain of the blades tearing into her sides as
Rapit’cherruk tried desperately to avoid the fate he now
saw looming before him. A moment later the elf’s twin
sabers struck home as her body jack-knifed forward,
skewering her enemy through the chest and using the
momentum of his own attack to fling his dying body over
her head and toward the crossroads. The sound of the body
striking the water was enough of a signal for the monster,
and two tentacles lashed out, grabbing the still moving
form of Rapit’cherruk. Availia watched in fascinated
horror as the beast quickly stuffed half the rodent’s body
into its maw, tearing it apart with its teeth and leaving the
grisly lower half still twitching in its grasp. A moment
later it dropped Brisste to the floor of the canal, leaving her
coughing and breathless where she lay. Then it
disappeared into the murky water as quickly as it had
appeared, it’s hunger satisfied for the time being.
Trenton turned in time to see Availia fall to her

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knees, her midsection bloody and ragged, and her legs torn
open by numerous wounds. Her strength failed her and her
eyes closed as she sank forward to the floor of the canal
walkway, her sabers resting on the floor next to her.
“Availia!” he cried, praying that she was still alive as he
tried to leave the hip-deep water he was in and get to her
side.
Wahldon moved over to where Brisste was propped against
a wall, her chest heaving even as she assured her husband
that she was none the worse for wear.
Kutz reached Availia first, ordering Shadowclaw to keep a
sharp eye out for any more of the rats that may get brave
once the fires burned themselves out. He personally didn’t
think that would be a problem, since their champion – or
whatever that thing was – was now dead, but he hadn’t
reached the age he was by taking chances.
At first blush he could see that she was still breathing and
that the wound on her midsection was nasty looking but the
more superficial of the three. The two deep gashes on her
legs had him deeply concerned, and he was pretty certain
that he had seen the glint of bone in one of them along with
the movement of sinew. He quickly pulled heavy silk
bandages out of the pack he had slung over his back, using
the said same pack to elevate her legs so he could get under

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each of them. He cut away the tattered remnants of her
pants around the wounds, paying no attention to any
thoughts of modesty as he did so, the saving of his patient
being the only thing that drove him.
He looked up to see the paladin moving in their direction,
and he spoke clearly to cut through the worry and fear to
the soldier beneath it.
“Ye need to use a healing prayer to close these wounds as
best ye can, paladin. She’s losin’ a lot of blood, an’ I don’
know if’n I can staunch it all before she goes under even
deeper and falls inta shock.”
Trenton fell to his knees beside his wife, his eyes not
leaving her face.
The dwarf nudged him stoutly, jolting him, “Do it, lad!” he
barked, “She’s nae got the power ta do it herself!”
He closed his eyes and pushed away the fear and the
anxiety, focusing only on the open channel between he and
his God. He could feel the peace, the warmth, and the
confidence filling him, as if he were being reminded that
the presence had always been there, but his own dark
thoughts were getting in the way. His hands moved of their
own accord, touching gently the wounds that had been
inflicted even as his lips moved in silent supplication.
Kutz fought back his own sense of amazement and awe as

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he continued to wrap the wounds even as they stopped
bleeding, closed partially, and lost most of their fiery
inflammation. He had seen clerics work before, and even
paladins on rare occasion, but he’d never really been this
close to it before, and to see it happening the way that it
was truly moved him.
A moment later her eyes fluttered open, and she saw the
enraptured face of her husband, much as he had been when
she had witnessed his investiture back in the chapel in
Stormgate. She reached up and touched his face, closing
her own eyes and trying to simply add her own voice to his
in some way, knowing that the Holy One would understand
her intent.
Brisste lay back against the stone walls, assured that
her friend was in good hands and feeling the sharp pain of
what she believed to be a cracked rib from the monster’s
tentacle. Wahldon was carefully wrapping her side, his
wary eyes scanning the area for more trouble. If it hadn’t
been for Kutz’ quick thinking they would have been
overrun by the attack of the rats. He’d never seen the like
before and he meant to ask Availia about it when given the
chance.
“We’ll have to rest and move on without attacking the
warehouse.” Brisste told him, wincing as she moved the

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wrong way and jostled her ribs.
Wahldon nodded, “I know, Bee; and I’m pretty sure that it
was all a ruse to get us down here in the first place. They
couldn’t have set up a better ambush and they needed
someone who didn’t know any better to send us in. They
know our abilities well enough to know that Trenton can
sense when he’s being lied to, and that scares me. We’re
dealing with an enemy that’s had centuries to move into
place and plan contingency after contingency for our every
move.”
Brisste agreed with a sigh, “We tried to get to fancy, I
think, and it very nearly cost us.”
Wahldon groaned as he sat down, “What do you mean,
Bee?”
She took a drink from a flask on her hip, the red syrup
causing her to make a face, but she relaxed as if her pain
had lessened.
“That warehouse, Wahldon. We really had no need to
attack it; but we wanted to strike back at the enemy.” She
looked at him, her eyes shining. “That’s not what we were
sent to do. We’ve been sent to find that crystal as quickly
as possible and deal with it, not fight a war all the way
down there. Any distraction we have costs us valuable
time, and the enemy knows it.”

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Wahldon thought about that for a moment, “It’s not
something that I’d thought about before, but it makes sense.
I think we need to find a place to recover and then set out
into the badlands to the south before the enemy realizes
we’re onto his strategy.”
“And that we’re wounded.” Brisste added grimly.
Kutz called over to where they were sitting, helping
Trenton into a similar position against the wall of the canal.
“Whatever we need ta do needs ta be done far from the
walls of this city.” He remarked, “I think the place is rotten
t’ the core with Pact eyes and ears, and we’ll nae get a
moment’s rest if’n we stay here.”
Availia spoke weakly, “There are small villages and
hamlets further inland from here…maybe a day’s travel or
so. The grasslands around here are used mainly for
growing corn and even some nuts and beans, but I’m
willing to bet there are inns or even stables where we can
hole up for a night or two before we bend back south
again.”
Wahldon grunted, thinking. “Kutz, how far can she travel
before we run the risk of her opening those wounds again?”
The dwarf stroked his beard, ignoring a protest from the
woman nearby, “I’d want ta find someplace nearby for the
night at least, lad.” He admitted finally. “Even if it’s a

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small boarding house along the hills where most of the
more…desperate…residents of the city live.”
Trenton nodded, “I think that’s where we need to be. If we
can follow the layout of the city under here we can reach
those areas without being seen and possibly find a place to
sleep for the night. We need to avoid the city watch, and
even the local guilds if at all possible. We just don’t know
who we can trust right now.”
Wahldon asked, “Are you ready to move now?”
Availia got painfully to her feet, sheathing her sabers as she
looked at Brisste. “Are you?” she replied.
The mage nodded, “I’ve got a healing potion in me at the
moment and that should do the job until we can rest, but I
think we need to get out of here before the rats or whatever
that other thing was decide to come back.”
The companions gathered their gear and moved
along the western series of canals, following the shallow
and narrow waterfalls and stairways that lead into the hills
of the upper city. Availia made a point of shooting any rats
that she saw, not wanting to take any chances that they
were the spies or attackers from before. It disturbed her to
know that an entire rat population had been subverted like
that, but it disturbed her even more to know that somehow
a man and a rat had been melded against all the portents of

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nature into something so cruel and evil. She remembered
her father using foxes and even some smaller animals as
scouts and informants throughout the forests, but never
through fear or coercion like this one had.
They finally emerged at the apex of one of the three
hills the city was set on and found themselves blinking into
the remnants of a dazzling sunset over the sea far below,
the light shimmering orange and red on the waters as
fishing boats made their way into port for the night.
Larger ships could be seen on the horizon, their great sails
billowing like clouds against the blazing sky.
Kutz slipped into a local house with an attached
stable, handing the owner a bag of gold in order to rent the
stalls for the night with no interruptions or questions asked.
One look at the dark cat next to the dwarf was all it took for
the owner to agree, and Kutz returned to the group and
helped to get everyone settled in for th night. He carefully
checked bandages, offered a drink from his own flasks to
help with pain, and ordered Shadowclaw to the rickety roof
of the stables in order to keep watch through the night. He
watched as they all slipped into exhausted sleep one by
one, then laid his rifle across his lap, leaned against the
wall of the stable himself and lit his pipe for a smoke, his
mind already contemplating the next leg of their voyage –

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the Badlands.

313
 Chapter Fifteen
Availia woke first. Even with her new mortality she
rarely slept more than five or six hours at a time, though
she had to admit the only thing that woke her this time was
a dizziness that soon passed with some deep breathing and
staring at the trees around them…
“Trees?” she asked in shock, sitting bolt upright and
looking around her.
They were in a wooded vale the likes of which she had seen
only in her childhood, and even then this one was more like
it was out of a dream. The grass was full, lush and green,
soft and cool to the touch with a fragrant smell that her
enhanced senses picked up on immediately. The trees were
stately and old, their thick and dark trunks as big around as
some of the towers around Stormgate, and their tops rising

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in an explosion of branches and leaves toward the golden
sun high above. The sunlight filtered through the canopy,
lovingly pruned to allow the most light in while permitting
perfect growth in the trees around them as well. Here and
there she could see carpets of wildflowers swaying in the
gentle breezes that teased and tussled her hair. A look
around them showed they were on a small rise just on the
edge of the vale near a building that appeared to be hewn
out of a single piece of marbled stone. A road of natural
stones wound its way past their area and down into the
vale, ending at the most massive tree she had seen in her
life. The black trunk was fully two hundred feet across,
and part of it had been hollowed out to make a building
inside of it, much the way that a dwarf would carve into a
living mountain in order to make his stronghold. Windows
gave a warm glow to the outside from the upper sections of
the tree, and she had no doubt in her mind that it could
house dozens of people comfortably and endure no real
impact on its ability to live.
She felt a presence behind her and spun, reaching for her
sabers before she realized they were gone. Towering over
her was an elf of incredible power and beauty, his eyes
blazing gold and his skin the pale green of a stormy day
along the plains. His hair was white and flowed down to

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the small of his back, and the leathers he wore were
completely covered in various leaf patterns, flowers, animal
totems and other festoons that left little doubt in her reeling
mind as to his vocation. She dipped her head in respect,
spreading her hands in a gesture of peace.
“Forgive me, Wood Father,” she said in elven, “you startled
me and I know not where I am.”
The elder’s voice was deep and soothing, “Fear not,
daughter of Mourn Wood, for you are safe here – if any can
be called safe in these troubled times. Welcome to
Calderric Circle.”
She looked up, astonished, “Calderric Circle?” she echoed,
“We’re hundreds of miles from where we were just last
night!”
He nodded, “Indeed you are. We were aware of your
progress but could not stop you before you entered the
canals beneath the streets of the city. I knew that the
creatures there had long since been beyond our grasp and
that we would have no power there, so all that we could do
was to wait for your return and hope that you survived.
When we realized that you were wounded, we knew that
the Pact would stop at nothing to find you and destroy you
while in their very front stoop, so we brought you here as
soon as you were asleep in order to protect you before the

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next stage of your journey.”
“We did not know that we were being followed, Wood
Father.” Availia replied, “Had we known that we were
descending into danger…”
The druid smiled, “You are a hunter and tracker, daughter,
and yet you know not a snare when you look upon it? A
trophy sets, lightly defended before you, though there is
only one way in to retrieve it. Your true quarry is further
ahead, but the temptation to take the trophy is too much.”
Availia felt her ears redden and she looked at the ground,
“We fell into it and never saw it for what it was.”
The older elf laid a hand on her shoulder, “There are times
where the trapper is more wily than the hunter, daughter;
but it is wise to always try and see the hidden in the
obvious.”
She nodded, “What are we doing here, Wood Father? Are
we simply resting before we return to the south, or is there
more to this encounter?”
His laughter was like a rumble of distant thunder, “You
learn quickly, daughter,” he chuckled, “indeed there is
more to your visit than mere rest. We shall wait for your
companions to wake before you take nourishment and we
meet for a council.”
She looked back to where Trenton and the others were

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asleep, “I wonder if we’ll all survive this.” She whispered,
remembering so many that had died during the war with the
Iron Horde. The faces of Master Sergeant Connor and
Elasimus floated before her eyes. Her family and
friends…all those that perished on that horrible night.
“I cannot say what the Creator has in store, nor what our
individual fates may be; but I can say that those you love
would sooner die making the world safe for the child you
carry within you, than live in a world under the heel of such
monstrous evil.” The druid assured her.
Availia nodded, forcing back the tears that were burning
her eyes. Now was not the time to dwell on such things.
For a few hours at least she could let down her guard and
simply enjoy sights and sounds that she hadn’t seen in over
a decade. She could see nature the way that it was intended
to be from the dawn of creation.
“Permit me one further question, Wood Father.” She said
as the elder made to move away from her.
He turned with a soft expression, “If it is mine to answer, I
shall.” He replied.
“Does Brayden Gladestrider still live?” she asked,
remembering the halfling druid and his ancient eyes.
A mysterious smile touched the druid’s lips, “He does
indeed, daughter, and he’s been expecting you for some

318
time now.”
Before she could inquire further the druid’s form shifted
into that of a dark and spotted wildcat, loping toward the
great tree in the vale and leaving her alone with her
thoughts.

The rest of the companions woke to much the same

confusion and disorientation that Availia had, though she
did her best to explain what had happened as far as she
knew it. One thing that was noticed nearly immediately
was that their weapons and their armor had been removed
and they were wearing fresh clothing of elvish design.
Only Brisste had been allowed to retain her staff, though
she believed it was simply because magic was not so much
considered a weapon by druids as it was a simple tool,
much the same as fire. As they were talking about their
circumstances a small voice spoke behind them.
“Excuse me, masters and mistresses? I’ve been asked to
bring you into the hall for a bit of food and drink before the
Circle meets with you.”
Trenton turned to see who had spoken, but he didn’t see
anyone at all. Confused he looked to see if any of the
others had encountered the same problem.

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Availia was looking down at the ground, and a small white
rat that was bowing – rather properly from the looks of it –
to her. Trenton chilled at first, thinking about the
encounter they’d had in the canals of Kilderhead, but
Availia seemed to be perfectly at ease, so he did nothing
but watch.
“We were told there would be a meal, friend,” Availia
replied, “please escort us, since we are unfamiliar with the
area.”
It wasn’t lost on Trenton that Availia spoke in
elven, and he wondered if there was a practical reason for
it, or if this place simply reminded her so much of her
home that she didn’t realize she was doing so. He felt
guilty for a moment, thinking of their little home on a
hilltop of Aledress with few trees around and certainly
nothing as majestic as this. He didn’t have much time to
think about it as the rat bowed again and scurried on ahead
toward the gleaming marble structure nearby, darting
through an arched entryway and into a small breezeway
where there was already a table of twisted roots, fashioned
perfectly for the purpose it was intended. To Trenton’s
mind it had to have taken several years of careful sculpting
to achieve, though he didn’t know if druids could do such
things on a whim. Once inside they were met by a young

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fox, who curled a foreleg under itself and bowed
courteously to the group.
“Please be seated and rest yourselves, masters and
mistresses,” the fox’s voice was that of a young woman,
“your refreshments will be here directly.”
Seats made from the same root structures as the
tables erupted from the ground, each at the perfect height
for the intended guest. Kutz eyed his carefully before
sitting down, and Shadowclaw simply contented himself to
lying on the floor under the table as if nothing were out of
the ordinary. Brisste was the only other person in the group
aside from Availia that didn’t seem overly confused by the
whole situation, although it was understood that Nosto had
taught her to deal with nearly any environment due to her
arcane abilities and those she may have to deal with in her
travels. She simply sat comfortably, resting her staff
carefully on the floor next to her chair.
Wahldon and Trenton shared a look, which Trenton simply
shrugged at as if to say “I have no idea what’s going on
either, so don’t look at me.”
A moment later a younger elf woman, her face pale
green and decorated with ornamental jewelry and tattoos
entered the room, carrying a tray of fresh foods of various
kinds. She set the tray in the center of the table and left as

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quickly as she had entered, only to return with another tray
bearing goblets of water and a pitcher that they presumed
had more of the same.
“I am called Moonshadow in the tongues of men,” she said
with a melodious voice in accented common. “if you
require anything else my friends Jevis and Rollik will be
happy to find me that I may assist you.” Her gesture
indicated the fox and the rat that were now standing near
the entrance to the building, and each bowed at the mention
of their names.
Jevis, the fox, sat on her haunches just outside the
room, her eyes slitted in the warm sunlight as if she were
attempting to doze, but her ears were pricked and swiveling
occasionally, showing that she was fully aware of her
surroundings. Rollik, meanwhile, set about scurrying
around the floor, picking up bits of twigs and dead grass
that the breeze had blown in, looking for all the world like
a busy housekeeper trying to impress guests.
“Your hospitality is overwhelming, Moonshadow,” Brisste
replied to the young woman, “we are so grateful.”
The rest of the companions nodded emphatically in
agreement, and the elf woman smiled radiantly before
disappearing again.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen an elf like her before.” Trenton

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remarked, looking at his wife.
She smiled and shook her head, “Even I’ve only seen them
once or twice in over a hundred years, d’vestarra.” She
replied, selecting an apple to crunch into from the platter.
“They’re called the Taurelie, aren’t they?” Brisste asked,
looking to her friend for confirmation.
Availia was impressed, “That’s right,” she acknowledged
after swallowing her first bite. The fruit had to have been
picked mere moments before being brought to them,
judging by its texture and flavor. “the word means
‘Children of the Wood’ in common tongue; and most of
them are the source of the druid stories we hear around the
world. They live apart from the so-called civilized world
and have learned to tap the primal magics that remain from
its creation in order to help maintain natural order and
balance.”
Wahldon chewed thoughtfully on a piece of tender smoked
venison, “But they aren’t the only druids in the world,” he
pointed out, “considering Brayden.”
Availia shook her head, “No,” she agreed, “but they were
the founders of the Calderric Circle. “ she took a few more
bites of her apple, “From what I know there really aren’t
that many of them to begin with. My father had heard tales
that barely a hundred Taurelie even exist. The thought was

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they had expended their numbers and energy against a great
threat to the world centuries ago.”
Trenton frowned, “It sounds like that would have been right
around the time of the First War and the Pact Infernis.” He
speculated.
Kutz spoke up, surprising them all, “Nae, lad; twas before
even the First War, though it was part of what fostered the
Pact in the first place.” The old dwarf’s eyes narrowed as
he told the story, “On the extreme southern tip of
Synduress is a jungle that most could never hope to
penetrate, and I’ve told you about the sheer cliff that leads
to that jungle from the badlands to the north, aye?”
They all nodded, and the hunter continued, “That cliff was
formed when something hit the world with such force that
it caused the land to sink with the impact, creating the cliff
and shattering the land into the islands that trail off the
coast of the jungle.”
There were sounds of disbelief, but Trenton could feel an
uneasy sensation creeping up his spine, “It was the crystal
that Mul’drak’s rod was taken from, wasn’t it?” he asked.
The dwarf nodded, “The very one, lad.” He took a long
drink of water and continued, “Long before even the elves
could remember, this crystal had been uncovered on the
world and the firstborn realized that the younger races

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would be able to use it to channel arcane power in a way
that they could rival even one of them. Rather than let this
happen, one of the dragons called upon the Maker to give
him enough strength to cast this thing back into the
darkness beyond the skies, where it would cause no further
harm.
“The Maker granted the dragon the strength he had asked
for and exacted a price for the undertaking – although none
of us knows what that price is to this day – and the crystal
was thrown away from the world. Unfortunately, people
from the surrounding area had already found shards of the
crystal and realized its power. They began to secretly
appeal to Malevolis to somehow bring the crystal back to
them so that they could create an empire in his name.
“Malevolis said he could not do so directly, but he would
help give them the power to return it themselves as they
built their empire.”
Wahldon scowled, “Enter the Pact Infernis.” He remarked.
Kutz nodded, The First War was fought with the desire to
steal the very throne of heaven as its stated goal, but it was
also fought to conquer every free people in the world and
harness their knowledge for the purpose of bringing the
crystal back to Synduress and securing their empire
forever. They created the Dark Champions in order to be

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the leaders and the generals of their evil armies; an
unstoppable combination of dark magic, fel pestilence, and
unholy power that could lay waste to entire countrysides
with its own abilities.
“Needless to say the free peoples of the world were driven
back in shock and horror by the onslaught, totally unaware
that something so dark and evil could exist in their world.
Many despaired, choosing to join the ranks of the Pact in
order to survive or to gain power for themselves. The Pact
quickly enslaved them, using arcane power to transform
them into demonic shapes that no one else would ever trust
in order to keep them in their power.”
Trenton nodded, “The Freni.” He surmised.
Again the dwarf nodded, “It was only when the free races
united under one banner and planned their final stand
against the Pact that they realized they would have to
depend on divine might in order to turn back the infernal
wrath that had been unleashed on the world.”
Trenton smiled grimly, “That’s when the orders of the
paladins were created. The dwarves and humans were
more prone to using divine magic even then and they were
given a way to infuse a person with that power to use in
martial combat, and not just for the purposes of healing and
bolstering warriors.”

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Kutz finished the bread he was eating, “That’s how the tide
of the war was turned and the Freni were able to throw off
the mantle of the Pact. With them striking from within, and
the paladin-led forces attacking from without, the Pact was
dealt its first real defeat on the battlefield. Before they
could recover and regroup, a paladin named Galinus
Trebushsay lead a massive attack against Kilderhead,
destroying the port and forcing the Pact to move further
inland. The dwarves struck from the north, bolstered by
elven soldiers from the forests near what’s now Aledress,
and destroyed them on the lands that are now occupied by
Bariphay.”
Wahldon was now beginning to recognize names and
places, “And Galinus became the first High King of the
Seven Kingdoms after uniting the squabbling lords of the
area in order to repel a hobgoblin army about fifteen years
later.”
Kutz nodded. “But didn’t ye ever wonder why it was
Aldress that the Horde chose to strike?”
Availia thought for a moment, “It never occurred to me
until now, but I would imagine that part of it was because
the elves and dwarves that helped destroy the Pact were
from that area of the continent.”
Kutz agreed, but held up a scarred finger, “One of the

327
reasons, aye; but the other is that King Morgan is one of the
direct descendents of High King Galinus. He was sent by
his own father, who was the High King’s youngest son, to
establish order and justice in the dalelands much the same
as their ancestor had done a thousand years before.”
Trenton’s head spun, “So the Horde was an instrument of
revenge for something that had happened a thousand years
ago, as well as a distraction for rebuilding Pact supply lines
for their re-emergance?”
Kutz chuckled mirthlessly, “Where Dranattothrax is
involved, I’d imagine there were even more reasons than
that, lad.”
They finished their meal in relative silence after that
conversation, each of them thinking about what they had
learned. Trenton couldn’t help but have the feeling that
something momentous was upon them, a moment they had
been working towards and yet dreading at the same time.
He couldn’t quite put a finger on it and decided to let it
drop until he could find a quiet place where he could pray
and meditate about it later.
“Do you require any further refreshment, my lords and
ladies?” Rollik asked, whiskers twitching eagerly for any
request. Jevis cocked her head from where she sat,
chuckling at her zealous companion.

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Availia shook her head with a smile, “No, Rollik, you and
Jevis have done very well for us, and we are pleased with
your service. See now to your own refreshment while we
speak with your masters.”
As if on cue the older druid that Availia had spoken with
appeared, bowing to all of them with his palms pressed
together in a gesture of peace.
“Qualoth enshela, my friends,” he said with a smile, “my
brethren and I wish you peace within the bounds of this
Circle.”
Brisste returned the gesture, “Your hospitality is great,
Wood Father,” she replied in formal common, “you have
soothed our weary bodies and spirits with your generosity.”
The druid nodded, “This pleases me greatly.” He
acknowledged, then gestured for them to follow him from
the building.
Shadowclaw trotted ahead, instinctively letting himself go
within the bounds of this natural paradise in a way his
chosen service to his friend and master had rarely allowed.
Kutz smiled as he watched the great cat vanish into the
shadows, glad that the opportunity was there. They walked
through the vale, shafts of sunlight streaming in through the
canopy above casting warming glows on wildflowers that
covered the ground like a carpet. The grass was fragrant

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and soft beneath their feet, and woodland creatures of all
sizes and types could be seen across the vale before the
tangled walls of trees severed the view outside of the circle.
A warm breeze gently flowed around them, drawing all
tension out of them as if through the application of a
bandage to a wound. Trenton looked ahead and saw
Brisste’s hand slip into her husband’s, her curls leaning
against his shoulder as they walked. He felt his own
bride’s delicate fingers wrap around his arm, and the gentle
weight of her kiss against his arm before his eyes met hers
and she smiled radiantly.
“I’m glad you got a chance to see this, Trenton.” She said
quietly.
They walked for another few minutes, ascending
one of the amazing ramp-ways that took them around and
up the trunk of one of the great trees. Nestled in the
branches were small buildings, united by suspended
pathways, and illuminated by warm streams of what
appeared to be harnessed sunlight. Each building was
actually a component of the living tree, lovingly sculpted
and molded to serve a specific purpose.
Stepping through an archway in the central trunk,
the druid bowed again toward those that were already in the
room, seated around a table that had been fashioned from a

330
gigantic knot in the wood. There were five in all: Two
were representatives of the Taurelie; one was an elf of
Availia’s woodland race; another was a man that appeared
to be in his late fifties, but strong as a bear with a broad
black beard; and the last was one they all
recognized…Brayden Gladestrider, the halfling.
Brayden and the gathered druids rose and bowed to the
companions graciously, and Brayden gestured for them to
sit in seats that were positioned across from the council.
“I am honestly pleased to see that you survived the
Mountains of Berlek Dur, my friends,” Brayden said,
taking his own seat, “though I can see the shadow of
sorrow and hardship on your face as clearly as the scars of
a woodsman’s axe on a living tree.
“Your report of the Dark Champion did indeed reach us,
and we’ve been following your journey with great interest,
having been made aware of most of it by the graciousness
of Her Majesty, Queen Carasheva.”
“Did you plan to help us then, Brayden?” Wahldon asked,
“It seems as if the mission that we’ve undertaken is just as
important to the wilderness as it is to the lands of
demihumanity.”
Brayden nodded grimly, as did the other druids, “You’re
speaking more truth than you know, Warlord of Aledress,

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and I can now tell you that we’ve had our brethren in the
Badlands keeping their eyes and ears open for problems
you might encounter while in those lands.”
Kutz raised an eyebrow at that statement, “No offense to
th’ council, Master Druid, but I thought that’s why the King
asked me to travel with them.”
The halfling laughed, “It is, Explorer of the Wilds, it is; but
there are things which animals and plants can reveal to us
that even your trained eyes are not able to see. With the
darkness of the Pact again stalking the land, we felt it wise
to offer every opportunity for success in your undertaking.”
The dwarf nodded, blushing slightly, “Aye, it makes sense,
it does.”
The halfling’s face grew serious, “Unfortunately, that’s
why you were brought here before you could continue on to
the Badlands.” He told them, “There are grim tidings from
the lands of the Beastmen, I’m afraid.”
Kutz’ face betrayed his concern, “What’s wrong with
them? There’s always been some infighting and such, but
nothing serious.”
The human druid spoke up, “That’s not the case anymore,
Master Dwarf.” The man stroked his great beard as he
spoke, the worry and anger evident on his face.
“Dranattothrax himself passed through those lands not

332
more than a week ago, using subterfuge and sabotage to
foster open warfare between the tribes. Hundreds have
died, and we expect the fighting to continue for months
until the rains begin in the summer. Travel through their
lands would be next to impossible with all of the fighting.”
Wahldon grimaced, “We’d never get out alive if we got
caught between the warring tribes.” He remarked.
The druid nodded. “Indeed. There are other routes, though
they are no less dangerous.”
Kutz scowled, pulling out a pipe and lighting it, “The only
other route that will take us where we need to go would be
through The Scar.”
Availia spoke up, “The Scar? What’s that?”
“It’s a canyon network that goes on for miles in all
directions.” The dwarf replied, “I’ve travelled through it a
number of times, and it’s one of the most treacherous
places on the continent.”
“Fantastic.” Wahldon groused, “So we can either walk
through the middle of a civil war, or we can chance moving
through one of the most dangerous places in the world.”
Brayden shook his head, “I wish that were the only ill news
that we have for you; but we have to share a
communication from Stormgate with you before you decide
what to do next.”

333
Availia looked at Trenton with alarm; he met her gaze with
trepidation of his own, but held his peace as he waited for
the druids to impart their information.
“King Morgan received a message from High King Ryan of
Bariphay not more than a day after you departed.” Brayden
reported, “It was an urgent request that Morgan send a
delegation to one of the frontier provinces that has fallen
under attack by a hobgoblin band that – up until now – had
never been organized enough to cause more than the
occasional raid on outlying villages.”
Trenton frowned, “It sounds disturbingly like the Iron
Horde.” He commented. “By the time Aledress realized
how bad the threat was we had already lost our forts along
the frontier and were retreating.”
Kutz smirked, “You learn quick, laddie; and remember
what the Iron Horde really was?”
Wahldon rubbed his nose between his fingers, as if fighting
off a headache, “They were a feint to keep attention away
from the bigger overall threat.” He replied.
Trenton felt his anger rising. He was tired of reacting to
the enemy’s every move, but it seemed as if there was
nothing to be done for it.
“So we either continue with the mission and hope that
Aledress can get their force to Bariphay in time, or we help

334
out High King Ryan and probably lose the shard to the
Pact.” He amplified.
Brayden nodded, “That is exactly the situation, Paladin of
the Creator; and if the enemy gains a foothold in either
place it could spell doom for our struggle against him.
Bariphay is the most powerful human realm in all of
Synduress, and if Dranattothrax can take them out of the
fight – even for a few months – it would be enough to bring
the Pact forces in the south to bear on the other free nations
from out of their holds in the jungles.”
Bristte sighed, “With the power of the shard behind them to
boot.”
The group fell into silence, the gloom of the moment
seeming so amazingly out of place in surroundings so
beautiful.
Trenton closed his eyes, opening his heart and spirit
to the unique channel within him. His soul cried out to his
God, seeking answers and insight, along with the ability to
defeat this most deadly of foes. The answer came to him as
if through the gentle whisper of a friend’s voice. It was a
solution that his mind rebelled against, but his heart knew
was the only one that could possibly deal with the dangers
involved on two fronts.
“We have to separate and attack both threats.” He stated,

335
opening his eyes.
Wahldon’s eyes widened, shocked that his friend would
even suggest it after long months wondering if they would
ever see each other alive again throughout the war.
“Trenton, do you know what you’re saying?” he asked,
“There’s got to be another way to handle this. Bariphay – “
“Bariphay hasn’t dealt with the Pact Infernis in the last
thousand years, and I’m willing to believe that most of the
people in that land think of them as nothing less than fairy
tales used to scare unruly children. By the time they see
the danger it will be too late, even if the forces from
Aledress get there to help.” Trenton countered, his eyes
hard.
Wahldon snorted, “And they’ll believe us?” he countered,
“No offense, Trenton, but I don’t think even your
reputation would be enough to sway them into seeing the
real danger and fighting for that fortress.”
Trenton made to reply, but Kutz interrupted with a gravelly
growl to his voice, “The royal family of the Bariphay was
part of the foundation of the Order of the Golden Hammer,
and the word of a paladin holds a great deal of weight.
Combine that with the fact of who this paladin is, and I’m
willing to bet that High King Ryan will use it as an
opportunity to move troops to defend his fortress whether

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the Council of Lords agrees with the move or not.”
Wahldon shook his head, “So Bee and I go after the shard
with Kutz and hope that the Pact doesn’t discover us or that
the land itself doesn’t kill us in transit?”
Brisste scowled, “That’s not fair, Wahldon!” she scolded
him, “Trenton wouldn’t want to separate us unless he
believed it was the only way to do what needs to be done!”
Wahldon sighed, “I know, Bee, I know.” He looked up at
Trenton and smiled grimly, “I didn’t mean it that way,
Trenton, but you see where I’m coming from. This mission
was going to be hard enough with all of us, and now that
we’re losing half our force at once…”
Braydon spoke softly, “I have a young druid that has
volunteered to accompany your group through the
wilderness to the south. I have no doubt he would be
honored to add his abilities to offset some of the lost
capabilities you are now encountering.”
Wahldon smiled and nodded, “We’d be happy to have him
along with us, Braydon.”
Trenton stood, “As much as I want to give us the chance to
rest and prepare for what’s coming up, I think we really
need to get moving as soon as we can in order to make up
ground against the enemy.” He ran a hand through his
short red hair, “Braydon, we owe you and your brethren a

337
debt of gratitude for your hospitality and your willingness
to fight alongside us.”
The gathered druids also stood, and the elder
Taurelie spoke, “Our order has been involved in fighting
against the Pact Infernis since the first paladins took up
arms and overthrew the enemy a thousand years before;
and we have done our best to contain the corruption and
damage done to this world in anticipation of the enemy’s
resurgence.
“Some of us have wandered this world for centuries,
waiting for those bright points of light that we knew would
come in order to finally put an end to the deep darkness
we’ve been fighting. We didn’t know how jaded we had
become until Brayden Gladestrider came to us with news of
the young heroes that were daring to oppose Dranattothrax
and the Horned Gate. It was his firm belief that you were
the ones that would finally lead us against the enemy; and
we now know that you all are, indeed, those points of light,
and the enemy’s worst fears embodied.”
The druid gestured, and a younger, green-skinned elf
stepped into their midst, his eyes shining a deep gold as he
bowed with palms together. The youngster’s white hair
was tied back into a pony tail, and his body was covered in
supple leather armor that moved with him like a second

338
skin.
“I am Kumatora, and I offer you my knowledge of the
natural world as well as the power the creator has given me
from Earathis itself until we either see the enemy defeated
or my life is demanded of me.” He said in accented
common parlance.
The elder elf smiled faintly, placing his hands on the
younger one’s shoulders, “My son has been waiting for this
opportunity ever since Brayden spoke of you more than a
year ago. I know that he will serve you well.”
Wahldon stepped forward, “It’s not my choice to separate
from my friends, but I know that we’ve always managed to
do what we’ve had to in order to keep fighting. Now that
we know there are others out there who have fought for so
long and so hard, it makes it easier to do.” He looked over
at Trenton, who smiled in agreement, “I guess we don’t feel
as alone as we did before.”
Brayden gazed into the young warlord’s eyes, “More
accurately, you realize that you are not to blame for the
sacrifices of others, no matter who they are. You are gifted
beyond most in this world, and much is expected of you,
but you are learning that you control only your own journey
in this world, and the burdens you’ve put on yourself for
others’ blood and tears are weights your soul need not bear.

339
You are gaining wisdom, Wahldon Valance, and that
wisdom will serve you well in the trials you have before
you.” The halfling looked out at the young men and
women that stood before him, strong and good, and his
eyes again betrayed the great age that Availia had glimpsed
before in the snows of Berlek Dur. “For over a thousand
years I’ve walked this world, seeing hope flicker and nearly
die as nations were formed, kingdoms established, and the
peoples of this world moved on with their lives, content to
forget the evil that dwelt in the dark places of the world.
Even in the face of orc invasions, hobgoblin conquests,
restless dead, and the ever present lust for power in demi-
humanity most people simply decided that true evil simply
did not exist but was merely a flip side to a coin that
required balance. Even those that stayed true to the
worship of the Creator soon lost sight of the darkness of the
First War the way a ship loses sight of shore as it sails on.
“I felt the agony of the world as the Iron Horde was
unleashed, even as I felt the darkness of Dranattothrax
stirring in the land of Tarpesh. I knew of Ottense’s
prophesy, and I knew that events had been set in motion
that would mark the rise of the Pact Infernis back to power
in Synduress once again.
“I found you and questioned you, feeling my heart sink

340
when you mistrusted me, even though I fully understood
why. In spite of your pain, your youth, and your
uncertainty, I knew that you were indeed the ones that the
prophesy spoke of.
“Since then we have worked in the world, gathering
information, thwarting plans, and doing whatever we’ve
been able to do in order to slow the Pact’s rise in the world
and give fair warning to our allies. It was in the mountains
of Berlek Dur, and the slaughter of the centaurs that I
realized we were too late and they had already gained the
power needed to threaten the world once more. The new
Dark Champion has been chosen and given his mantle of
power in order to lead the hordes of humanoids against the
free peoples of the world even as the former Champion
strives to find the one last artifact in the world that can
focus the arcane power of the Pact Lords and bring their
Dark Master into the world.
“Malevolis cannot manifest in this world, but his influence
will spur the Pact into open warfare with the free peoples of
the world in an attempt to batter them into submission
while using the blood of innocents to power their dark
magics in a desperate attempt to bridge the gulf between
the world and the abyss.”
Braydon’s voice fell into an impassioned whisper, and his

341
body trembled with all the rage of a pent up tornado, “We
cannot let them win,” He hissed, “no matter what the cost.
We have fought too hard and sacrificed too much to allow
the darkness to win. The Creator has given us the means to
defeat the enemy, now let us show the will to use that
power and end it once and for all.”
The halfling’s body appeared to shrink slightly, and he
allowed himself to smile at the raw emotion on the young
faces that gazed at him. “Forgive me, my friends,” he said
with a chuckle, “I know that you’re well aware of the
dangers we face.” He turned to the elder Wood Elf. “I
believe we have accommodations for our guests,
Stormwalker. Please extend all courtesies to our friends
until they are ready to depart in the morning; I will have the
Moongate open in order to send them where they are most
needed.”
He turned to the companions one final time, “You may find
peace and comfort in this place, my dear friends. Consider
it a small gift to share but one day where there is no strife,
bloodshed, or danger. There are warm cottages, soft beds,
satisfying foods and beverages all for the asking in this
place.” He smiled at Availia, his lip curling impishly,
“Even if privacy for a short time is all you desire for the
moment, it is our deepest joy to give it to you.”

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 The druids took their leave, assuming animal forms
and vanishing to various parts of the circle in order to
prepare for the next day. Even young Kumatora bid them
farewell and told them they need only speak to the trees or
the animals to make their needs known and they would be
cared for.
Kutz found an alcove of young saplings and spread
out his bedroll, taking the time to enjoy the opportunity to
fully rest his weary body since his wandering in the world
began nearly two hundred years before. He allowed the
warm breeze to wash over him and felt himself begin to
drift into sleep, the last image in his mind that of the
halfling captain and her tall ship sailing a glassy sea with
her hair rustling in the salty air.
Wahldon and Brisste chose to walk through the cool
shadows of the ancient woods hand in hand, sharing quiet
conversation and silent communion with one another in
ways they hadn’t been able to for months with the constant
threat of danger overhead. The soft perfume of damp moss
and whispering leaves softened the heart and relaxed the
body, allowing them to finally rest in each other’s embrace
at the foot of a massive tree, the great boughs offering all
the seclusion their young hearts required in their moment of
respite.

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 For Trenton and Availia, the moment of peace came
with their own exploration of the forest, and Availia’s
sharing her joy and passion for the natural beauty around
her with her husband. She pointed out fantastic birds and
colorful dragonflies the size of a man’s fist, and
wildflowers in colors that simply left the mind dazzled and
yet totally at peace. Trenton watched as bees gently lighted
from flower to flower, their bodies dusted with yellow
pollen as they continued with their work and their droning
song danced at the edge of the human’s hearing. A
moment later he heard his wife’s voice from beyond a
nearby grove of willow trees.
“Where are you?” he called, searching through the hanging
boughs of the trees.
A moment later he passed through the greenery into a
clearing that was nearly identical to the one in which he
had spent a few short moments with Availia in a cool forest
pool before their journey to Twin Axe Peak. The grass
sloped to the crystal-clear water where the sunlight played
and danced across its surface like sparks of life itself. He
caught the form of his wife, her ethereal beauty unbound as
she smiled over her shoulder at him. With a flip of her
ebony hair she slipped beneath the ripples of the pool and
surfaced a moment later, water beading on the flesh of her

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cheeks and temples before cascading down her shoulders
and returning to the pond.
“Come swimming with me, d’vestarra.” She called softly
to him, her eyes glowing with all the love and joy she had
for her husband.
Trenton’s heart skipped a beat, and this time he did not
hesitate to join her. For a moment in time there was peace
and there was love, and that was all that mattered.

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 Chapter Sixteen
The companions gathered in the center of the circle,
armor and weapons carefully adorned for this next step in
their efforts. Kutz leaned on his great rifle, his eyes
appraising the archway of marble before him, the surface of
light between its spans rippling like the surface of the pond
in the forest. Shadowclaw paced impatiently, sensing his
master’s pent up energy and desire to be underway.
The dwarf noticed the tension in the air, seeing the grim
expressions on his young friends’ faces. He softened,
understanding the difficulty in parting company with the
only family they had ever truly known.
“Ye’d probably better take a moment t’ say yer goodbyes
for now, lad,” he said to Wahldon, looking up at him, “it’s
going to be hard enough once the time comes.”
Wahldon fought past the hard stick in his throat, closing his
eyes for a moment to regain his composure. He felt
Brisste’s fingers slip into his own and felt her mind caress

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his comfortingly, even as he could sense her own pain.
Wahldon walked over to where Trenton was knelt on the
ground with his wife, quietly praying for protection and
wisdom for the coming trials. The paladin rested his
forehead against Availia’s, then the pair stood to greet their
friends. Kumatora maintained a respectful distance, taking
the moment to meditate on his surroundings one more time
before leaving the Circle.
“Are you ready for this, Trenton?” Wahldon asked quietly.
Trenton allowed himself a sad smile, “No; but I know that
the Holy One will be watching over you even if we can’t.”
Wahldon felt that catch in his throat again, “I watched you
die once, Trenton…”
Trenton embraced his friend, allowing the emotion to
come, “We do what we have to do, Wahldon. If we never
meet again, I can always hold onto the times we’ve had
together. I couldn’t have picked a better brother and sister
for my life.”
Wahldon took a deep breath, holding his friend at arms’
length, hands on his shoulders. “You’ve always been there
for me, Trenton, and I’ll never forget that.”
Brisste hugged Trenton tight, kissing his cheek, “Be careful
wherever you go, Trenton.” she looked at where Availia
was fighting tears of her own, then met the paladin’s eyes

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with a hard look. “You need to keep her safe, Trenton,”
she told him sternly, “it’s a miracle she didn’t lose the baby
when she was wounded the other day.”
He nodded, “I know, Bee; and I’ll do my best.” He glanced
at Wahldon, now speaking softly to Availia. “He’s going to
need you more than ever, Bee; I think this is going to try
him in ways he hasn’t dreamed of yet.”
She smiled, “I’ll keep him in my sights, Trenton, I
promise.” He saw the glint of tears and pulled her into a
tight hug. “If there’s any way, we’ll be back together soon,
Bee.”
She pulled back, brushing the hair out of her eyes, “There’s
always hope.” She said before stepping to where Availia
was finishing her goodbye to Wahldon with a sad smirk on
her face.
Availia smiled fondly, appraising the woman before her.
Of all of her friends she had to say that Brisste is the one
that had grown the most over the course of the last year and
a half. She had gone from a bookish girl wizard that was
terrified on the night before their quest to Twin Axe Peak
to a powerful and confident wizard that was fully capable
of supporting an army in the field with arcane power
rivaled only by Nosto himself.
“What are you thinking, Availia?” Brisste asked her,

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standing next to her friend and resting her head on her
shoulder in a sisterly gesture.
Availia smiled, “The same thing you are Sh’leya,” she said,
tussling the younger woman’s hair teasingly, “I wish there
was another way to do this.”
Brisste grinned, “You’re itching for a fight, Availia, I know
you too well.”
The elf woman chuckled, then grew serious, “I want to end
this, Brisste, now more than ever.”
The wizard looked at Availia’s slightly rounded abdomen,
“I know,” she replied, “I just don’t want you to lose that
little one in the process of fighting for them.”
Availia shook her head, “I can’t think about that any more
than you did, Sh’leya.”
Brisste hugged her friend tightly, finally weeping, “I don’t
want you to go through that, Availia!” she cried, “Please
promise me you’ll be careful!”
Availia stroked Brisste’s hair, whispering comfortingly,
“I’ve been alive and kicking for over a hundred and fifty
years, Sh’leya, but I want to have a lot more time to enjoy
my husband and family – “ she grinned at her friend, “ –
and that includes you!”
A quiet voice interrupted the moment, “I’m sorry, dear
friends, but the Moongate is ready and we can only keep it

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open for a short time before we expend its energy for the
day.”
Brayden and the rest of the druids surrounded them,
allowing them to regain their composure and approach the
archway. The diminutive druid smiled sadly at the scene
before him, but addressed the two groups separately. “Lord
Vaillance and company, your destination is the first for the
gate.”
Wahldon stepped in front of the gateway with Brisste next
to him on his left, and Kumatora to his right. Behind them
came Kutz and Shadowclaw, the dwarf’s jaw set resolutely
as he snapped a nod to the other companions.
“Dinnae concern yerselves,” he called to Trenton and
Availia, “I’ll watch ‘em as if they were me own children!
Ye just make sure t’ keep air movin’ past yer own teeth!”
Trenton put his arm around his wife and raised his hand in
farewell, “’May the Holy One watch between thee and
thine, whilst watching over those thou leavest behind.’” He
said, using a benediction he had learned at the foot of the
man whose surname he had taken, “’Go in His love, His
mercy, and his power ‘til our paths cross again in this world
or in His bosom.’”
With a final wave the group stepped into the rippling
surface of the gateway. It bowed at the touch and then

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enveloped them a moment later, returning to its normal
state as if nothing had been there before.
Trenton sighed, clearing his mind and sending an urgent
prayer for his friends’ safety before looking at Brayden and
the gathered druids.
“Even after a thousand years the parting with family never
loses its sting, dear friends.” The halfling said, then stepped
to stand beside the portal. “We will send you to the small
forest outside Palis Vale in Bariphay. Make your way
down the roadway to the north and you will see the fortress
as you emerge from the trees.”
Availia looked up in alarm, “I thought we were going to the
palace first!” she protested.
Brayden shook his head, “During the night the hobgoblin
army destroyed the frontier city of Viliness, slaughtering all
who were not able to escape their wrath. High King Ryan
has travelled with his son, Prince Noran, along with King
Morgan and his Aledressan guard to help defend and hold
Palis Vale against the threat. They will need you there
before nightfall, as that is when the attack is expected to
break against the fortress.”
Trenton frowned, feeling the holy fury building in him the
way it had against the Iron Horde, “They’re moving fast.”
He observed.

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“Indeed,” the druid agreed, “They were hoping to take the
fortress quickly, but King Morgan persuaded High King
Ryan to move forces to the fortress and see the threat for
himself even before Viliness fell.”
Availia squeezed her husband’s hand, “We’d better hurry,
D’vestarra, I don’t want to be in those woods when the
skirmish lines move through. I’d rather be behind those
walls and shooting from cover.”
Trenton nodded, turning once more to the halfling, “Thank
you, Brayden, for all you’ve done for us.”
The halfling bowed, “Aid and comfort was within my
power to grant, and life is meant to happen even in the
midst of the greatest storms. Take the memories you’ve
made in this place with you as you confront the darkness,
because it is that love and beauty that will help sustain you
when things look their worst. Farewell!”

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 Chapter Seventeen
Palis Vale, Bariphay

Trenton took Availia’s hand in his own and closed

his eyes, taking a step into the veil before him. A moment
later the sounds of the Circle faded and the cold air of early
winter stung the skin of his face, a spattering icy rain
dripping fitfully to the ground.
“We’re through.” Availia breathed, taking a moment to
study their surroundings.
The portal had faded the moment they had stepped through,
and the woods surrounding them were thick and
overgrown, strong with the smell of hardwoods and moss.
The skeletal limbs of the trees reached skyward against the
bleak grey sky where ragged ribbons of scud clouds
scurried and swirled.
Availia pulled her cloak up over her head to shield herself
from the rain and Trenton followed suit a moment later,
though he always hated pulling the hood over his ears since
it felt like he was cutting off his senses. A moment later
Availia scrambled to the top of a moss-covered boulder,

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one of many of the giant rocks strewn throughout the forest
that they could see. She crouched, her keen eyes scanning
the area until she nodded grimly and leapt back down to the
ground.
“The forest road is just ahead,” she reported, pointing to the
east of their position, “it looks like it’s a basic trade road
for logging and trapping in this region, but most of the
woodsman are probably holed up in the fortress by now.”
She naturally took up her position in the lead, her
eyes constantly scanning for trouble of any kind while
Trenton followed behind her and tried not to make too
much noise walking through the underbrush until they
reached the road. The road itself was little more than a
game trail that wound its way through the forest, and
Availia’s trained eye could tell that it had been several days
since anything larger than a deer had used it
The rain had begun to lighten when Availia hissed and
brought up a hand, dropping into a crouch and slinging her
bow from her back. Trenton followed suit, dropping into a
crouch and pulling his crossbow from its hanger.
“What do you hear?” he asked in a near silent whisper.
Availia’s eyes never shifted from where she was looking,
“Goblins.” She said simply, “I’d say four of them along the
edge of the forest. They’re guarding the road to prevent

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anyone from getting through to the main trade route to the
central cities from the frontier.”
The paladin frowned, “Do they know we’re here?”
She shook her head, “Not yet. They’re pretty
relaxed…almost bored.”
Trenton looked ahead, finally making out the forms of the
smaller humanoids past the thickets and trees. The goblins
were about the same stature as a halfling, but their long
arms stretched down to past their knees and their heads
were much larger. The yellow-green skin wasn’t quite
visible at distance, but the pair could see the creatures were
carrying curved swords in their hands and small crossbows
on their hips.
“No going around them, that’s for sure.” Availia remarked,
pulling an arrow out of its quiver and knocking it in place
on her bowstring. The razor’s edge of the head gleamed in
the dim light of the forest, and Trenton felt a thrill of fear
at what it would be like to be an enemy of the elves.
A moment later he had a quarrel mounted in place on his
crossbow, his body tense as he waited for his wife to
release her shot first. She shot him a quick grin, then
pulled the string on her bow back to her jaw-line, eyes
going as cold as chips of ice.
The string snapped, sending the arrow streaking through

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the cold air with a soft whistling hiss. The goblin took the
projectile through the back of the head, falling dead without
a sound and causing his partner to jump in surprise a
heartbeat before the crossbow bolt took him in the back and
through the heart. The remaining goblins spun, staring
into the forest with wild terror in their eyes even as they
moved to cover. Availia’s aim was merciless, and a second
arrow sent the third goblin spinning to the ground with a
broken cry that tapered into silence. The remaining goblin
sprinted toward the east, making sure to stay in the trees as
it screamed in panic, dodging and weaving. Trenton faded
to the right at a dead run, counting on his armor to turn
aside the branches and leaves that slapped at him. Availia
cursed, slinging her bow back over her shoulder and
moving through the trees with practiced ease even at speed.
The goblin was fast but it was quickly losing ground to
Trenton’s longer legs. It spun around, drawing a long,
curved dagger to try and slay its pursuer. Trenton’s sword
sheared the weapon off at the hilt, continuing through the
goblin’s armor and body in a single strike.
He watched the body drop, chest heaving from his run and
the exertion of combat. Availia approached the bodies,
retrieving her own arrows and leaving the bent crossbow
bolt where it was protruding from the goblin’s chest.

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“Not a bad shot for the distance.” She told her husband as
he slung is weapon back over his shoulders after rejoining
her.
He grinned tightly, “I don’t use it a lot, but Omi made sure
that I practiced with it when I had the chance.”
Availia smiled, thinking about their dwarven friends and
allies. Her eyes scanned the road ahead as it wound toward
the fortress to the north.
The rain had stopped, though the wind was still cold and
raw. The late morning sun was not able to penetrate the
gloom overhead, and the air bore the scent of more rain
very soon.
“We’d better get moving.” Trenton pointed out, scanning
the skies, “We should be able to reach the Palis Vale
fortress in about an hour, and I don’t want to be out here in
the open when the weather decides to break.”
Availia nodded. “That, and I don’t want to find out if our
friends here have other friends in the area.”
The sound of hoof-beats caused them to turn back toward
the north, and a quartet of men on horseback came into
view, the banner of Bariphay unfurled to the right of the
lead rider.
Trenton fought down a wave of fear, knowing these were
most likely Knights of the Shield, the order that was

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pledged to defend Bariphay; but to be a stranger in a
strange land where war was actively stalking victims…
As the riders drew closer, their eyes studying the pair
closely, Availia raised her hand in greeting, “Your forests
are not safe for anyone, Lord Knight!” she called.
The lead rider reigned in his horse. He was dressed in full
plate armor and wore a chain coif to protect his head. On
his chest was a tabard of deep blue and yellow with a shield
and seven stars emblazoned on it. Trenton presumed this
was the herald of the Knights of the Shield, though he
couldn’t be certain. The rider’s face was smooth and
strong, unadorned except for the thin mustache and goatee
of dark hair that was neatly trimmed around his mouth.
“Indeed they haven’t been safe for travelling in nearly a
fortnight, my lady!” the rider replied, his features not
betraying anything, “Which makes me curious as to how
you came to be here.”
Availia glanced at Trenton and he stepped forward, his own
tabard in full view, “I am Trenton Silverblade of Aledress;
paladin of the Golden Hammer, and a knight in the service
of His Majesty, King Morgan.” He introduced himself with
a bow from the waist, then indicated Availia, “This is my
wife and companion, the Lady Availia, formerly of the
Mournwood.”

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The three men behind the leader murmured softly for a
moment until the knight held up a gauntleted hand for
quiet.
“I was told to expect your arrival, Lord Silverblade, though
I wasn’t informed you would be in the forests; but rather
you were going to be sent here by allies in our fight.”
Availia smirked at that not-quite accurate statement that
had undoubtedly come from Brayden to Nosto before he
had sent them through the Moongate.
“We were sent here by the Druids of the Calderric Circle
not more than a half hour ago.” she confirmed, “Though
their only means of sending us was with their own magic
that I presume placed us in the forest.”
The rider pushed the coif from his head, revealing a head of
dark hair and ears that were more pointed than rounded,
though his human heritage was impossible to miss.
“I suppose it really doesn’t matter except that you’re here
now and King Morgan can stop pacing and worrying that
you haven’t made it yet.” He said with a wry smile.
Availia laughed, “I’ve never known him to have much in
the lines of patience.” She replied.
The half-elf chuckled, “One could say it runs in the
family.” He agreed, then turned to the three behind him.
“Pair up and leave one of the horses behind for our guests

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to ride; then return to Palis Vale and inform them that Lord
Silverblade and his bride have arrived and we can get this
war underway.”
The youngest rider dismounted and handed the reins
of his horse to Trenton with a bow, then swung up behind
one of his companions.
“It shall be as you say, Your Highness!” he called as the
three began to trot away to the north.
Trenton grimaced, lowering his head, “Forgive me for not
recognizing you, Your Highness; but I’m not familiar with
heraldry outside of Aledress.”
The prince laughed, “Nor am I outside of Bariphay, Lord
Trenton, but I’ll agree to call you by name if you do the
same for me, agreed?”
Availia accepted her husband’s help onto the horse, sliding
forward slightly so he could mount up behind her.
“It’s a deal, Noran.” She grinned. “We’ve never been
much for titles anyway.”
They began to ride, side by side, and Noran spoke, “In the
cities it’s best to use your honorific, simply because it’s
viewed as weak to be too informal; but out here in the
frontier it really doesn’t have much of a place.”
The rain began to fall again as they reached the
looming towers of Palis Vale. Trenton was amazed at the

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size of the fortress and realized that what Bariphay called a
frontier outpost would be considered a full-scale castle by
anyone else’s definition. The walls were fully twenty feet
high and broad at the base with smooth stone as their main
component. The trench surrounding the castle was at least
six feet of sheer drop before reaching a moat that the
paladin didn’t even want to guess at what was in it. Inside
the walls he could see the bulk of the keep rising another
twenty feet, with the windows near the top closed against
the weather and the roof of it patrolled by a group of
soldiers that scanned the horizon to the east for dangers.
They could smell the scents of cooking meats and breads
along with the sting up fumes from a blacksmith’s forge
wafting in from the bailey as they approached the main
gate. The drawbridge was down, and two pike-men
watched them carefully until they recognized their regent
and saluted with left arms across their chests.
“Your vigilance is a credit to Bariphay, my friends.” Noran
told them with a smile as the trio rode past.
“Raise the drawbridge and lower the portcullis! Prince
Noran has returned!” the cry came from the gatehouse after
the horses were through. A moment later the clanking and
creaking of great chains and gears could be heard loud
enough to drown out conversation until they drew closer to

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the stables along the outer wall of the castle.
Noran dismounted with practiced ease, handing his reins to
the stable boy along with a gold coin and a tussle to his
blonde hair.
“I want you to make sure that both of these horses are ready
by nightfall, Sid.” The prince admonished the lad, “We
may need them on the field by then.”
The boy bowed, “As you wish, Your Highness!” he replied,
then hesitated, trying not to be obvious about his curiosity
regarding the newcomers.
Noran laughed, “They’re from Aledress, Sid! Just like the
soldiers that got here last night!” he explained.
Sid shook his head, still eyeing Trenton in particular, “My
apologies, Your Highness; and to you as well, my lord and
my lady, but I’ve not seen that tabard on any from Aledress
except for the King himself.”
Availia smiled, “You’re a smart boy, Sid.” She told him,
“You’ll make a good ranger someday.”
He cocked his head, but decided that statement was
probably a compliment coming from an elf woman that
looked like she could hide herself in an open field. “The
Gold Hammer isn’t the standard of Aledress,” he pointed
out, “the red twin griffon is.”
The prince shook his head in amazement, “I think Lady

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Availia is right, Sid, you’ll make a fine ranger someday.”
Sid’s eyes went wide, “Lady Availia?” he echoed, then
looked at Trenton, “So the tales are true then?” he asked.
Trenton, feeling extremely uncomfortable for the attention,
replied, “What tales are those, Sid?”
“The story about a paladin laying down his life to destroy
the Horned Gate in Aledress only to be given that life
back.” He replied, “They said the paladin travelled with
several companions including a woman named Availia.”
Trenton didn’t quite know how to continue. He’d never
been comfortable with the fame that quest had brought
even amongst the soldiers of the war, but for a child to
retell the tale as if it were legend was a bit unnerving in a
different way.
“That’s who I am, Sid, but that was a long time ago now.”
Trenton said quietly.
The boy picked up on the discomfort and let it drop, pulling
the horses into the stalls for their rest and food. Trenton
followed quietly for a moment, feeling the need to explain
his own embarrassment and unease.
“Sid?” he called after the boy once he entered the stables.
The youngster looked up, a question on his face, “Yes, my
lord?”
Trenton knelt on one knee, meeting the boy’s gaze and not

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flinching at the steel already in the eyes of someone so
young.
“Without the power of the Holy One inside me I would not
have been able to do any of those things that I did, Sid.” He
said, “Even now there are days that power is all that keeps
me from wanting to take Availia and run as far away as I
can from all of this; but I know that He has called me to be
His champion for whatever reason and I can’t walk away
from that.”
The boy nodded, “So many people think the paladins are
not as strong as the knights because of their ties to the
church; but I don’t believe that. I believe that the Holy One
uses them for His own purposes, even if they don’t make
sense to the rest of us sometimes.”
Trenton smiled, “There are times that will happen, Sid.
There are things going on in the rest of the world that most
people don’t even know about; and many of my brethren
have probably felt the call to travel to places they’ve never
even heard of, much less seen.”
Sid thought about that for a moment, his blue eyes scanning
the face of the man before him for any hint of
condescension or deceit, but finding only love and truth.
“I hope that they can do whatever it is they have to, my
lord.” He said quietly. “I hope the Holy One gives them

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the power to show everyone that He is truly the King of this
world.”
Trenton stood, his eyes shining. To find such faith in a
stable boy…one so young, but strong in heart and purpose
beyond his years was absolutely amazing to him.
“Spoken like a true paladin, young man.” He said, resting a
hand on the boy’s shoulder.
The moment his hand touched the boy’s arm an image
flashed into his mind of cold darkness lit by dancing orange
flames. The castle was shaking under the power of a full
attack; and the sounds of shouting, screaming men mixing
with the guttural and alien speech of hobgoblins warred
with the sounds of clashing steel and singing arrows in the
night. He was on the battlements of the wall that separated
the bailey from the courtyard of the keep, his sword
flashing and slaying enemy after enemy. He knew he had
to protect the keep at all costs, and he shouted behind him
to rally the others. He heard Sid’s voice, calling out for
him and turned, seeing the boy racing up the stone stairs
with a basic short sword in his hands. A hobgoblin spun to
face him, the long glaive in his hands lashing out and
taking Sid’s feet out from under him with the wooden shaft.
Trenton shouted, beginning to move in that direction, but
he saw the blade coming over the hobgoblin’s head in an

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arc that would cleave the boy in half. Sid’s eyes met his,
and a flash of golden light bathed the small sword before he
lashed out at the hobgoblin’s leg. With the flash of light
the vision faded, and Trenton felt his head lifted and water
pass his lips and wet his tongue. He opened his eyes and
realized he was still in the stable, his head now resting in
the lap of his wife and her concerned face staring back at
him. Sid’s voice could be heard from not far away, asking
if Trenton had come around yet, to which Availia replied
that he had, but not to come back in until she told him to.
“What happened, Trenton?” she asked him quietly, “I’ve
never known you to pass out, even from exhaustion or
pain.”
He shook his head and she helped him sit up, handing him
the cup of water as she moved to a seated position with her
legs curled under her.
“I didn’t pass out, d’vestarra,” he assured her, “it was a
vision.”
She cocked her head, “A vision?” she echoed, “I didn’t
think that was something paladins could do.”
He shrugged, “Something tells me that when you allow
yourself to be a conduit for divine power, He can pretty
much do whatever He wants with you; but you’re right,
normally only priests receive visions.”

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She studied his face carefully, “Can you tell me what the
vision was about?”
He nodded and proceeded to relay what he had seen to her
in quiet enough tones that the boy couldn’t tell what was
being said even if he had been listening in the doorway.
“Do you think he’s called?” Availia asked after a moment
of quietly considering what she’d heard.
Trenton shrugged helplessly, “I don’t know. It didn’t feel
like a paladin’s power; more like something he did almost
on instinct rather than training.”
Availia frowned, “He’s an orphan, Trenton, and he’s
worked here since he was old enough to groom a horse at
the good graces of Prince Noran. The innkeeper and his
wife provide him with food and shelter, and they’ve tried to
teach him to at least understand numbers and reading, but
he has no real family.”
Trenton sighed and stood, putting a hand out to help his
wife to her feet. “I’ll have to speak to the cleric here and
see if he can offer any insights.” He said.
Availia nodded, “What should we tell Sid or Noran?”
The paladin shook his head, “For now just tell them that I
had a revelation and I’m meeting with the cleric to see if it
has any bearing on the upcoming battle; but tell them I
gave no details for now.”

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She took his hand, feeling his tension and confusion. She
framed his face in her hand, looking him in the eyes with
her own strong gaze. “Let Him guide you Himself,
Trenton;” she counseled, “the more you try to understand
and interpret things, the more you frustrate yourself. Trust
Him to do what needs to be done and to tell you what needs
to be told in the right moments.”
He smiled, letting his body relax and realizing the truth in
his wife’s statement. He was trying too hard and simply
had to listen for the voice of his God and let it move and
guide him.
He kissed his wife gently, “You’re right, d’vestarra,” he
told her, “I’m going to the chapel to pray and speak with
the cleric. If things are made clear, so be it, if not…then I
have to trust the Holy One knows what He’s doing.”
Availia smiled, “I’ll be along to get you after I’ve reported
in and found a place for us to rest before tonight.” She
replied, then left to join Sid and Noran outside the stable.
Trenton slipped out the back of the building and moved
along the outer wall toward the welcoming sight of the
chapel’s steeple and the peace offered within.

Availia was led to the keep and up the small stairway on

the side of the massive structure, where she was allowed

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through the heavy wooden door before it was shut and
latched again by two more armed guards. A winding
stairway took them to the upper levels of the keep, and two
knights guarded the double doors that greeted them at the
top of the stairway. Availia’s escort bowed and excused
himself, giving the knights instructions that she be allowed
to come and go as she pleased along with the paladin that
had accompanied her by the command of Prince Noran.
The knights saluted her and then pulled the heavy wooden
doors open, the cast iron hinges creaking noisily in the
stony chamber.
“Availia!” King Morgan called from across the large
meeting hall where he and a group of others, including
Noran, were looking over a map.
Availia smiled broadly at Morgan, seeing the weight of
concern lift from his bearded face even as he strode to meet
her and enveloped her in a fatherly embrace.
“I’m so glad that you got our message!” he told her, then
held her at arms’ length to look her over. He noticed the
damage to her armor immediately, his trained eye studying
it. “You’ve been wounded.” He declared.
She nodded, “In the city of Kilderhead. The Pact had laid a
trap for us and we walked right into it like yearling fawns.”
She admitted.

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“How bad?” Morgan asked, his eyes betraying his concern.
She shook her head, “Painful, but everything is intact,
thank the Holy One. Wahldon and Brisste send their love
and greetings along with their regrets.”
The King frowned, “I don’t relish the idea of dividing your
group, but I agree that there really wasn’t much choice at
the end of the day.”
A voice behind Morgan spoke, “You’ve yet to introduce
this beautiful young lady to me, Morgan.”
The man that spoke was a human that appeared to be in his
late fifties, his beard bearing more snow than stone, and his
skin showing the hardness of a life spent fighting both on
the field and in the halls of power. His armor was gold and
silver trimmed, and he wore the mantle of a paladin of the
Golden Hammer the same as Trenton and Morgan. On his
head he wore a basic band of gold that could easily be
covered by armored coif and helm should the need arise to
conceal his identity once the fighting got close.
Availia bowed, “Your Majesty.” She acknowledged.
King Morgan, put a hand on Availia’s arm, “This is
Availia, uncle; one of my adopted children, and a more
capable ranger and scout you’ll not find in all of
Synduress.”
High King Ryan touched Availia’s chin, lifting her eyes,

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“We are family here, my dear, as I’m sure my son has told
you.” He said, then grinned over at Morgan, “Interesting
that a daughter should be older than the father.”
Availia smiled, “King Morgan has been part of the only
family I have left since the Iron Horde destroyed my home,
and I am grateful for everything he’s done for myself and
those I love.”
Ryan nodded, noting the reply, “The prince told me that
your husband had come with you, but I don’t see him.”
She shook her head, “He’s in the chapel at the moment,
Your Majesty, praying for guidance and strength in the
coming battle.”
“He should get rest and food too, Availia.” Morgan
reminded her.
She smirked at the king, “Of all people, your majesty, you
know Trenton better than most. He’ll see to his needs
when he’s seen to his duties and not before.”
He chuckled, shaking his head, “That’s true enough; but I
want him to have at least a few hours to gather his
strength.”
Prince Noran’s voice finally entered the conversation,
“We’ll need that strength before the sun rises tomorrow,”
he predicted without the hint of a smile, “the hobgoblins
have cut off the last roads leading to Palis Vale from the

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east, and the army has cut off any roads leading past us to
the north or south. We have now become the only focus
for their entire force.”
“We have the dwarves bolstering the walls as we speak,
Noran, and the Aledressan forces have taken up positions
on the battlements alongside our troops, all we can do now
is wait.” King Ryan pointed out to his son.
Noran nodded grimly, “Let’s hope that it’s enough.” He
replied, then excused himself.
Ryan watched him go, then hung his head and sighed, “I
apologize, “ he said, “he’s normally not so cynical, but the
horrors he witnessed when they scouted the villages to the
east two nights ago darkened his heart.”
Availia felt her own fury rise, knowing who it was that had
sent that army and was very possibly leading it. “They will
do FAR worse if we don’t stop them here and now.” She
growled, “The Dark Champion will slaughter anything in
his path if his master’s will is in it.”
Ryan looked at her sharply, “So there is indeed a Dark
Champion then?”
Availia nodded sadly, “There are two; although
Dranattothrax is something far more terrible than that now.
The other was once an elf named Tallo.”
The High King’s face contorted in horror, “An elf?” he

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hissed in disbelief, “How could something like this
happen?”
Availia felt shame rise to compete with her anger, “I wish
that I knew, your Majesty,” she replied, “as he was once
my own flesh and blood.”
Morgan closed his eyes at the revelation, feeling the stab
through his own heart. They hadn’t told him who Tallo had
been, only what his name was and that he was an elf. He
had wondered, given Availia’s reactions whenever he was
mentioned, but he had kept quiet about it, not wanting to
upset her.
“Tallo was my oldest brother, and the one that led the Iron
Horde’s undead to our village in the middle of the night
before we had the chance to escape. Only eleven of us still
live out of nearly seven hundred that were there that night.”
Availia told, her voice low.
King Ryan put his hands on Availia’s shoulders in a gesture
of comfort, “I see the flush of shame on your face, Availia,
and I will tell you now it has no hold on you. You are no
more responsible for his actions than you are for anyone
else’s. Being an elf you should understand that more than
most.”
She smiled grimly, “Thank you, your Majesty, but I think
it’s simply that the wound is still very fresh and raw.”

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The High King nodded, “I can certainly understand. Now,
come over to the table here and see where I have our scouts
placed. I want your opinion on where we can do the most
good and give our skirmishers the best chance to inflict
damage on the enemy while they approach from the east.”
He led her to the stout table on which maps of various sizes
were strewn, though the one on the top had small markers
and weighted flags on it to show unit placements and
movement.
She studied them quietly for long moments, moving them
and checking them against other maps beneath before
returning to study the main map yet again.
“A question if I may?” she finally said, turning back to
Morgan and Ryan.
Ryan nodded for her to continue and she pointed to the
areas bordering the fortress. “How large are the woods that
are to the north and south of the road leading here, and do
we still control them?”
They looked to where she was pointing and saw the forest
that was divided by the road leading from the east and then
back up the hills on either side. It was a quarter of a mile
from the main gate of the castle so as not to allow close
approach unseen, and there were watchtowers on the top of
each hill.

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“There’ve been goblins in the forests for the last several
days now, but not in very large numbers.” Ryan replied, “If
we need to secure them our Rangers should be able to
handle them with little difficulty. What did you have in
mind?”
Availia smiled tightly, “I want to put archers into the tree-
lines facing the east in order to slow their advance and
hopefully get them to deploy into battle-lines. Once that
happens we pull back through the forests, drawing them in
behind us and harass them the entire way with traps and
snares.”
Ryan frowned, “It would slow them down some, but they
would still come once they realize how small a force you
have and they can ignore you.”
Availia nodded, her smile becoming predatory, “I don’t
need much time to do what I really want done. I only need
to keep them in the forests long enough to set them on
fire.”
The elder regent’s jaw fell open, “In the name of all that’s
sacred, why?”
“Because it will terrify them; it will force them to follow
the one main road in a narrow formation; and it will also
illuminate them through the night like a million torches.”
She replied with supreme confidence. “The archers on the

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walls will have them backlit and not have to shoot blindly
into the darkness or rely on lanterns to light their shots.”
Morgan shook his head with a grim chuckle. It made
perfect sense, but it stood to reason that only an elf would
use such a drastic tactic at the same time.
“The wood is wet, Availia,” he pointed out, “what do we
use to burn it?”
She had already considered that, “The pitch that you would
light and pour over the walls at the enemy, your majesty.”
She replied. “We’ll have to spread it on the ground and as
many of the trees as we can. Once we pull back, we’ll
shoot a volley of flaming arrows into the woodline and set
it ablaze.”
King Ryan ran his hand through his beard thoughtfully,
“It’s crazy enough to work, Morgan.” He said to his
nephew.
Morgan nodded, “It is at that, uncle.”
Ryan turned to Availia, “My scouts and archers will sweep
the woods and start setting up the traps and snares you want
them to. The rest of the afternoon they can get the pitch in
place until you get there.”
Availia raised an eyebrow, “I was hoping to be out there
myself from the beginning.” She protested.
Ryan nodded, fixing her with a stern gaze, “I’m certain you

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were, but you will require food and rest before you take
your place on the field, and I’ll not have any commander
leading troops without being fully ready to do so. I
understand that you will probably not require sleep, but I
want you to at least take food and drink before you ride out
to oversee the work. Am I understood, Availia?”
She nodded, knowing better than to argue with a King even
more powerful than Morgan, especially in his own keep.
“Yes, your majesty.” She agreed begrudgingly.
Morgan chuckled, “Oh, cheer up, Availia!” he chided,
“You know that Trenton would have had your head if
you’d gone off without at least letting him know what’s
going on and having a chance to share a meal together!”
She smiled, “He would too.” She nodded, then bowed to
both of the regents. “I’ll go and find him now.”
“Send him here after you’ve had something to eat and –“
Morgan’s voice softened when he realized what he was
about to say, “- have a chance to say goodbye before
tonight.”
Availia felt her heart fail a little at that thought, but sighed
inwardly and realized how many times they had done so
over the past year for time periods that were sometimes
weeks long. This time, at least, it would be only for a day
and they would know what fate had befallen each other.

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King Ryan saw the mirrored pain on each other their faces,
“Go now and find your husband, Availia, before I change
my mind and keep you here behind the walls for your
father’s sake.” He said with sad humor.
Availia grinned and touched her folded hands to her head in
mock salute before pulling her cloak over her head and
blending with the shadows of the keep on her way out the
door.
Ryan looked at his nephew grimly, “Now where do you
want to put her husband, Morgan?”
Morgan thought for a moment and pointed to a place where
the road emerged from the forests toward the main gate
before it reached the drawbridge.
“There.” He replied, “With a company of knights to really
bloody their noses before they can come at the fortress
itself. That and they can hold back the enemy long enough
for the skirmishers to get clear and retreat to the keep.”
Ryan nodded in agreement, “Do you want to send the
dwarves out there with him? I know the paladin will want
to be out there if the boy is there, no doubt.”
Morgan laughed, “Omi is pretty attached to Trenton from
when they served together during the war, so it would
probably be best to keep them together. Hack, on the other
hand, I think would actually do well with the remaining

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skirmishers inside the bailey for when the enemy breaks
through. They’ll need someone with his strength and fury
to rally them and let everyone else fall back here.”
“You think they’ll breach that outer wall to the bailey,
don’t you?” Ryan asked.
Morgan nodded, “If the size of this force is as big as Noran
reported then I believe it’s a certainty. I just want to make
sure that we do as much damage as possible before that
happens. If we play it right we can use the bailey to hem
them in on three sides and cut them to pieces while they’re
trapped against the walls of the keep.”
Both men studied the maps for a moment before Morgan
called to the soldier standing just inside the doorway.
“Captain Reece! Call the Bronzebeards here and have
Captain Raines get his rangers ready to move! I’ll brief
him when I’m done with the dwarves!”
Captain Reece saluted and dispatched two more soldiers to
do the regent’s bidding, his own face drawn with worry as
the moment of battle drew nearer and nearer.

“So what did the priest have to say about Sid?” Availia
asked, watching her husband put his armor back on from
where she sat on the edge of the bed in the small room they
had at the inn.

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Trenton smiled, “The same thing you did really. The Holy
One has his own calls to service and duty, and they can
manifest in different ways. Just because we’ve chosen to
formalize things doesn’t mean that a paladin can’t be
granted his power by divine intervention and simply know
how to use it the way that someone breathes without
thinking about it.”
She nodded, reluctantly pulling her own armor from where
she had laid it and slipping it over herself. She caught
Trenton’s smile as she fastened the buckles at her side, two
of them more loosely than she normally did and blushed
with a smirk. She kissed him quickly and handed him his
sword, her eyes shining.
“You’re enjoying this pregnancy entirely too much,
d’vestarra.” She teased him.
He chuckled, then shook his head, the smile fleeing his
face, “I wish I could enjoy it more, Availia, but I’ll take the
chances I’m given.”
She folded herself into his arms and laid her head against
his armored chest. “I know, Trenton.” She whispered, “I
wish we both could.”
He ran his hand over her cheek, brushing her hair away
from the delicate point of her ear. She placed a hand over
his and kissed his palm, then gave him a smile before

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moving past him toward the door.
“I won’t tell you to be safe, Availia, because I know you
won’t listen.” He said with a small smile. “So I will tell
you this: ‘Be deadly.’”
She allowed the hood to shade her eyes, but gave him a
grin that showed her teeth, “I’ll be between them and you,
d’vestarra, I won’t hold anything back.” She vanished out
the door without another sound, leaving him to sigh and
slip his sword over his back.
For some reason he still couldn’t get the young stable boy
out of his mind. He shook his head and decided that if he
were to have a hand in anything regarding the boy the Holy
One would let him know the time and circumstances.

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 Chapter Eighteen
The Southern Badlands

The morning sun shone yellow and bright across the

rolling yellow plains that stretched out as far as Wahldon
could see. The air was warm and moist, and a hot breeze
was blowing in from the south, promising an oppressive
afternoon once the sun reached its apex. Great herds of
antelope and wild horses darkened the undulating
landscape ahead, raising clouds of dust and occasionally
causing the ground to tremble at their passing.
Kutz led the way, his wide-brimmed hat keeping the
sun off his face and out of his eyes while Shadowclaw
bounded through the tall grass, happy to be in a wild
environment. Kumatora drank in the vista, his glowing
eyes wide with amazement at the variety of life around
him. Occasionally he would crouch and pick plants to put

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in his pouches for later study, being an herbalist and natural
healer in addition to his abilities as a druid.
“It’s so beautiful.” Brisste breathed, watching a flock of
brilliantly colored birds with long tail-feathers explode out
of the grass and into the sky.
Kutz smiled back at her through his long beard, “Aye, lass,
‘tis one of th’ most beautiful places on th’ continent an’
tha’s a fact. Just watch yer step around here, ‘cause things
can get dangerous in a hurry.”
Wahldon kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes
constantly moving. He could feel the sweat bathing his
body under the armor he was wearing and wondered just
how hot it was going to get. He was grateful that Kutz had
told him to leave the plate armor behind and rely on
chainmail instead.
The dwarf held up a fist, his rifle coming off his shoulder
and into ready hands. Shadowclaw froze, the great yellow
eyes locked onto whatever his master had seen.
“Frilled Drake.” Kutz whispered as Wahldon and the others
slipped up closer. The dwarf pointed and they could see
the two-legged lizard moving stealthily through the thick
foliage, it’s nostrils flaring and its forked tongue testing the
air. It’s arms were short and tipped with small hands that
were obviously for holding prey that it had already

383
dispatched while it fed, and a small horn protruded from
the tip of its nose. The coloration – a mix of yellow,
brown, and green – blended it almost perfectly with the
surrounding grasses, and the only way the group could
follow it was through its movement.
“A top predator?” Kumatora asked in fascination.
Kutz shook his head, “Nae, lad; though he’s on the high
end o’ things.”
A nearby group of flightless birds shifted nervously, their
feathers ruffling and making them seem larger.
“The runners have noticed something wrong.” Kutz
whispered, “The drake’ll move any second now.”
Almost on cue the lizard lowered itself nearly to the
ground, then sprang into the air, it’s long tail rigid behind it
and its powerful legs extended ahead of it. The legs ended
in three-toed feet, each toe tipped with a hooked claw that
Wahldon had no doubt could tear into an animal with little
effort. In an explosion of motion an instant later, the
runners fled in all directions from the drake, but not fast
enough. In flight the creature extended scaly frills from
each side of its head, creating a screaming sound that sent
chills of terror down the spines of the companions
witnessing the drama as it unfolded before them. The
sound of the shriek created a wave of energy that struck

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one of the fleeing birds squarely, knocking it to the ground
in a tumble of feathers and dust. Before it could recover,
the drake was upon it and had quickly dispatched it with its
hind claws. For a moment the drake stood crouched over
its prey, frills extended to blast any competitors for its
prize. Satisfied that it was alone, the creature began to
feed.
Wahldon felt Brisste’s hand in his, squeezing tightly as
they took a moment to slowly back away from the feeding
Drake.
“I presume you knew that was going to happen.” Kumatora
said to the dwarf when they were far enough away.
Kutz nodded, “Normally a Frilled Drake won’t attack
somethin’ as large as we are, but I wanted ye to know just
how quick ye can meet yer end out here in the wilds.
Follow me lead, an’ if I say to do somethin’ dinnae argue
with me.”
Wahldon nodded soberly, “Point taken, Kutz.” he replied.
The quartet moved through the grasslands until
early afternoon, when the sun drove them to the cover of a
grove of trees and cool shade. Brisste leaned back against
the tree, her staff across her lap as she closed her eyes.
Wahldon chewed thoughtfully on a piece of dried venison,
his eyes staring sightlessly toward the south as he

385
contemplated the journey across this land before even
reaching the truly dangerous part of their quest.
Suddenly he sat up straight, his eyes focusing on a serpent-
like column of dirty brown smoke rising into the clear blue
sky like a phantom.
“Kutz! Kumatora!” he called, scrambling to his feet and
pointing into the distance.
The dwarf and elf raced over to Wahldon’s side, following
his arm and looking into the distance. Kutz fished a pair of
field glasses out of the pouch on his belt, putting them to
his eyes and adjusting them.
“Good eye, laddie,” he said thoughtfully, “it looks like
we’ve got a fire out to the south o’ here.”
Kumatora leapt into the air, his arms outstretched from his
body. Instantly he transformed into a raven and soared into
the sky, calling, “I’ll see if I can find out what it is!”
Kutz lowered his glasses with a wave, “If ye see anythin’
outta sorts, lad, git outta there an’ come back, ye hear me?”
The dwarf leaned down and whispered in Shadowclaw’s
ear, “Follow, ‘im, me boyo; just t’ keep an eye on ‘im.”
The cat cackled a growling purr and leapt into the grass,
vanishing as if he’d never existed.
“Is there anything that way that you remember?” Brisste
asked, her eyes still closed where she sat against the tree.

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Kutz shook his head, “Nothin’ permanent, lass, but tha’s
the problem. Even the Beastmen move from place to place
followin’ the herds of antelope and runners.”
She climbed to her feet, dusting off her robes and taking a
drink from her waterskin, “I think we should start moving
in that direction. If it’s a grassfire we’ll want to know
about it sooner rather than later, and if it’s a village of some
kind they’ll need our help.”
Wahldon nodded, “Conflict or not, I’m not going to let
someone die if I can do something to stop it.”
“Besides,” Kutz added, “there’s nae enough smoke fer a
grass fire.” He shouldered his rifle and began to lead the
way through the grasses toward the spiraling column of
smoke.
Within a few minutes they could make out the dark
speck that was Kumatora soaring back toward them, the
thermals allowing him to glide without much effort.
“What d’ ye see, lad?” Kutz called out, hands cupped
around his mouth.
The raven lighted in the branches of a nearby bush,
“Dwellings made of skins and wood burning! Many bodies
of large creatures I’ve not seen before!”
Kutz swore loudly, “Tha’s what I was afraid of! It’s a
beastman village fer sure.”

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The group began to move even faster, the sense of urgency
growing as the smoke smudged the sky into a yellowish
smear.

They arrived half an hour later. The village was

completely engulfed in flames, the orange and yellow
tongues leaping and dancing into the air and sending waves
of searing heat that lashed at the company as they
approached. Wahldon pulled his cloak around his body,
covering his face from the heat and acrid smoke.
“Cover me, Bee!” he called, dropping his shield and racing
toward the center of the village.
“Wahldon!” she cried, then quickly sent a spell of arcane
protection to cover him from the heat and flames. “Be
careful, for goodness’ sake!”
The warlord didn’t spare a word or a glance as he
dove through the wall of fire and into the center of the
village. The spell did little to shield his eyes from the
smoke, and they began to tear almost immediately. The
buildings were large domes made of stretched skin over
dried wood, both of which were burning furiously. Bodies
were strewn throughout the village, most of them with
large, feathered arrows through them. Males, females and
young lay where they’d been shot trying to escape the

388
flames. They were the beastmen that Kutz had described
back in the tavern where they had first met. Wahldon felt
the fury building inside him; it was just like the attack of
Tallo on the centaurs of Berlek Dur…nothing had been left
alive.
His instincts saved his life as he arched out of the
way of an arrow even as it soared past where he’d been a
moment before. He spun to one knee, scanning the area
where the shot had come from. He could make out a form
on the other side of the flames, scanning to see if its quarry
was down. Wahldon began to run in a low crouch, gaining
momentum, building up his fury as he moved with his eyes
focused on the attacker in front of him. His sword cleared
its sheath and he used a fallen log to launch himself into the
air with a screaming battle-cry, the weapon coming down
in a flashing arc of silver. The bow-wielding humanoid
recoiled in terror from the specter of death that shrieked
toward it, throwing up its arm to ward off the blow that was
hurtling its way. A moment later the blade cut completely
through the arm and then cleaved into the body all the way
to the waist, striking down the creature so quickly that it
had no time to register the pain of the blow that killed it.
Wahldon’s eyes blazed in righteous fury, ripping the sword
free with savage force and spinning at the sound of footfalls

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behind him. His parry caught the incoming sword – a
curved design he’d never seen before – sending it
deflecting into the ground. He lashed out with an elbow,
taking a chance to truly see his enemy for the first time as
the blow caused it to stagger backwards, holding its face.
The being was pure white with hair the color of new cream
and eyes that were dark black orbs of reflective glass. It’s
mouth was simply a thin line under a tiny button for a nose.
It was thin in an almost exaggerated way, the arms and legs
longer and more spindly than any human’s, though they
moved with deceptive grace.
“You’ve got an enemy that fights back now, whoever you
are!” he shouted in challenge.
The being shook its head and flipped the hilt of its sword,
causing a second curved blade to extend out of the bottom.
It spun the weapon in sweeping arcs, moving toward
Wahldon with an eerie smile on its face.
“You surprised my comrade, Wahldon Vaillance,” it said,
voice echoing like a dark cavern, “but you’ve squandered
your advantage.”
Wahldon saw a shape moving behind the attacker but made
a point of not allowing his face or eyes give it away, “I
need no advantage against a coward like you.” He replied,
feinting with his sword and causing the creature to move

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back a step as it deflected the blow and countered with one
of its own.
“The ability to use others to delay one’s enemies is hardly
cowardice, warlord. Rather it shows an ability to do what
must be done to attain victory.” The being scoffed at him,
using its twin blade to cover it’s flank as Wahldon
threatened.
Wahldon continued to press his attack from that side,
forcing to creature to the right and closer to the shape
moving toward it from behind. “I don’t need to sacrifice
the helpless to attain my victories, fiend!”
The creature lashed out with a spinning attack, catching the
hilt of Wahldon’s sword and sending it spinning out of his
hands and into the ground point first. The warlord stood
his ground, knowing that the killing blow would find him
whether he moved or not.
“I respect your courage to at least face your death like a
man, Vaillance.” The being said, poising the weapon to
strike the final blow.
Wahldon smirked, “I’m not facing my death,” he growled
as the form behind his assailant leapt into the air with a
snarling roar, its dagger-like fangs gleaming in the sunlight
and its fur the blue-black color of a midnight sky, “I’m
facing yours.”

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The being spun in time to scream as Shadowclaw slammed
into him, his jaws locking around the throat with the sound
of snapping bones that ended in the scream becoming a
gurgling rasp before falling silent. Wahldon looked down
at the bloody corpse coldly, then scratched the great cat
behind the ears affectionately. “I owe you one, big fella.”
He said wearily.
Where are you? Brisste’s sense cut through the crimson
haze of his anger, causing it to cool somewhat as he
focused on her.
I’m on the far side of the village, Bee. He replied,
concentrating for a moment.
He walked over to the first being he’d slain, the bow next
to it looking like nothing he’d ever seen before. It was
black and shiny, the ends curled outward with the string run
through wheels. Gingerly he picked it up, trying to pull the
string back. It was difficult, but he was finally able to get
the string back all the way, where it seemed to almost lock
into place and become easier to hold. A moment later he
let the string go, shocked by the amount of force that it had
behind it. Somehow the design magnified the power of the
bow to something far more than the normal bow could
accomplish. Wahldon could hear Brisste’s voice as they
circled around the flaming village, but he allowed himself a

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moment more to investigate the battlefield. The arrows that
he could see protruding from the bodies and buildings were
somewhat larger than all but the largest long-bows would
fire; and those were designed to penetrate heavy armor at
range. The fletchings were made of the same feathers that
he’d seen on the tails and stubby wings of the savannah
runners earlier.
“Black-hearted devils!” he cursed, realizing what the clues
all meant.
Brisste called out to him and saw the bodies at his feet, her
eyes immediately curious after she made sure that her
husband was unharmed.
“What are they?” she asked, nudging the body of the
swordsman with her foot.
Wahldon shook his head, “I’m not sure, but they were
using a high powered bow and beastman arrows to make it
look like the village was attacked by other beastmen.” He
said in disgust.
Kutz moved to stand over the body and spit to the side in
distaste before replying. “Ye’ve jus’ met the Pact Infernis,
lass.” He said with a snort. “They’ve been makin’
appearances in these parts off and on fer the last decade or
so. The beastmen call ‘em Ghostwalkers because of the
way they look and the fact that no one’s ever gotten close

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enough to ‘em to speak or attack and lived to tell about it.”
Brisste gasped and leapt backward, causing Wahldon to
reach for his fallen sword and Kutz to snap his weapon to
his shoulder. The body at her feet and that of the archer
began to dissolve, the hot wind from the fire blowing the
dry ashes away in a swirling phantom until nothing existed
of them save their weapons.
“What kind of dark magic is this?” Brisste asked softly,
kneeling to touch the ground where the body had lain.
Even the bloodstains were gone, evaporated into the ether.
Kumatora looked on at a distance, trying to fathom the
senseless slaughter of an entire village of beings that –as far
as he could tell from the trappings of their possessions –
lived in harmony with the land and posed no threat to
anyone else. He studied the carnage around him, drinking
it in with all of his senses and trying to reach out to nature
itself for answers and clues. A moment later the earth
rumbled a warning that only the druid could sense or
understand. His gleaming eyes widened and he scanned the
horizon to the west, searching. It was there, a small dust
cloud that was at least a couple of miles away, but
approaching steadily, he knew.
“We must flee this place immediately, my friends.” He said
urgently, moving toward the other companions.

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Kutz looked up quizzically, then saw the fear in the elf’s
eyes and withdrew his questions for later.
“Which direction, lad?” the dwarf asked, “Where do we
need to go?”
Kumatora pointed to the southeast, “They approach from
the west, and they will find their fellows slaughtered. We
had better escape toward The Scar before they unleash their
wrath on us.”
Wahldon grabbed up his sword and claimed his shield from
Kumatora, sparing a glance to the west before turning back
to Kutz, “Lead on, Kutz, you know where we need to be
and how best to get there.”
Kutz whistled and motioned to Shadowclaw, who was
cleaning his great paws. The cat growled and leapt to its
feet, loping off in the indicated direction to scout ahead for
the party. Kumatora transformed into his raven form,
exploding into the sky with a rush of feathers and motion,
circling once before following Shadowclaw.
“We dinnae hafta run, but we may want to keep a sharp
pace if’n ye know what I mean.” The dwarf advised,
shouldering his weapon and pulling his hat closer over his
eyes as they began to walk in pursuit of the others. Brisste
fell in step behind him, her staff offering a measure of
balance as she walked on the uneven ground. Wahldon

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brought up the rear, noting with a sad smile that it would
normally be Trenton that pulled that duty. He wondered
where his friends were and what dangers they were facing.
The day was already nearly half over – had it really only
been that morning that they had parted? – and already the
reality of their undertaking was threatening to overwhelm
him. Even as the thought arose in his mind he felt the
familiar caress of his wife’s sense bolstering him and
offering comfort. Together they would do what must be
done.

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 Chapter Nineteen
Palis Vale Fortress

The sun was beginning to make its final decent

beyond the horizon, and Availia calmly leaned against a
craggy oak tree, her bow still slung across her back. She
used a small knife to cut slices off a hunk of hard cheese
that Trenton had wrapped into her pack for her,
thoughtfully scanning the gathering gloom in the woodline
as she chewed and savored the sharp flavor. The
skirmishers that were with her were a combination of
sharpshooting archers from the capital city of Bariphay that
High King Ryan had sent with Prince Noran a week earlier
and Aledressan crossbowman that had accompanied King
Morgan. They had been digging traps and coating trees in
pitch for the better part of five hours, and the scouts had
just returned not long before with news that the hobgoblins
were making their way to the fortress and would be upon

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their positions within a quarter of an hour.
On the wind Availia’s hearing could pick up the
chilling sound of horns blaring in the distance; the Doom-
Heralds that hobgoblins used to strike fear into the hearts of
opposing armies. As they approached there would be
roaring war-chants and thundering drums, all very
cunningly created for maximum effect. Even the fact that
the hobgoblins attacked at night was very carefully
considered and played into the fact that the creatures were
more comfortable out of direct sunlight and had eyesight
that suffered little in the darkness of night.
Unlike the armies of the Iron Horde, this army would be
very well organized and coordinated, using pikemen,
archers, siege weapons, and infantry to devastating effect
should they be able to bring them to bear.
Availia moved over to where Prince Noran’s captain had
set himself up, the middle aged human carefully sharpening
his arrows when she arrived.
“Lady Availia,” he acknowledged, “looks like our company
is going to arrive pretty much on schedule tonight, if not
just a touch early.”
Captain Raines was rugged and weathered, his skin bearing
scars as testimony to the many years he’d spent on the
frontier as a ranger before he had been convinced to return

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to the capital to train sharpshooters and irregulars for just
this type of warfare. The ranger’s hair was cropped short
and bore a mixture of black and grey, but it was his ice blue
eyes that commanded attention. There was a gleam of deep
intellect there and an instinctive grasp of terrain and how to
use it that had cost many an enemy officer in combat.
Availia could name maybe three or four men that she
would consider her equal with a bow or in the forests, and
this man was the only human that she would distinguish so
after watching him for the last several hours.
“Hobgoblins are nothing if not predictable, Captain.” She
replied, “I’m expecting the first of their skirmishers to enter
the woods very soon if they haven’t already.”
He nodded, listening to the sounds of the horns and now the
drums joining them. “If they’re using goblins as
skirmishers, then they’re here already.” He told her.
Availia smirked, “My husband and I killed four of them in
these very woods this morning, Captain, so I’d say you’re
right.”
There was a soft birdcall, the pre-arranged signal for
moving between skirmishers so as not to get shot by one’s
own men, and Captain Raines gave the reply call, standing
to scan the near darkness. A shadow moved in and out of
the trees with relative ease, though not the natural grace of

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Raines or Availia. It materialized into a young skirmisher,
his hood pulled over his head and his bow unslung and in
his hands.
He stopped and bowed from the waist, “Captain. My Lady.
Our forces have engaged the lead elements of the
hobgoblins in the eastern tree-lines.”
Raines nodded, “Well done, ranger. Make sure that we
give a little resistance before we pull back deeper into the
woods and let the traps have them.”
The ranger bowed again, confirmed the order, and retreated
into the dark. “Sounds like everything is going like we
figured so far.” Availia pointed out.
Raines grinned, a look that was devoid of mirth and
reminded Availia of a wolf baring its teeth. “I want to
bloody their noses good and proper before we pull them in.
Once they’re mad they won’t stop to think about where
they are until it’s too late.”
Availia unslung her bow and began to move through the
trees toward where the sounds of snapping bowstrings had
started competing with the night birds on the wind.
“You think like an elf, Raines.” She remarked with a grin,
“I’m interested to see if you shoot like one.”

“Do you get the feeling we’ve been here before?” Trenton

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asked Omi, watching the road where it wound into the gap
between the trees. On Prince Noran’s orders he had sent
lightly armored scouts to either far end of the woods in
order to keep an eye on their flanks, but he really didn’t
expect the hobgoblins to maneuver that far away from the
road.
Omi grinned, still glad that he would be able to fight
alongside his young friend again, “Once or twicet if’n me
memory serves me right, lad.”
He could now here the occasional cries coming from the
woods and the drums had stopped, if only for a moment.
“How long have they been engaged in there?” Trenton
asked, nervous for Availia to pull her troops out, but not
seeing the archers set themselves up to set the trees alight.
Omi thought for a moment, “Just under an hour by my own
reckoning.” He looked over at his friend with patient
understanding. It couldn’t be easy knowing that one’s
spouse was in harm’s way and there was nothing you could
do but wait and pray that they got out of the situation alive.
Worse yet when that spouse was a very capable warrior that
put herself in that situation time and time again. His own
wife had been a shield maiden of Berlek Dur, falling during
the initial battle while he had been away. They had been
married more than fifty years, and Omi still missed her

401
every day. Having Eisha was helping to ease that pain, and
the old dwarf could see as much of his wife in the girl as he
could his daughter.
A horse and rider galloped toward the pair, the
animal frothing and bleeding from several wounds even as
the young rider swayed dangerously in the saddle. Trenton
recognized with alarm that the rider was one of the scouts
he and Omi had sent out before.
“Lord Silverblade! Lord Blazehammer!” the rider called
frantically, “Our skirmishers are being flanked by
hobgoblins moving around the woods on either side! The
main force is still moving down the roadway!”
The young human lost his grip on the reigns, sliding
sideways and falling as his eyes rolled back in his head.
Trenton leapt forward and caught him, hearing the death-
rattle in the man’s chest even as the paladin lay him gently
on the ground.
“Stay with me, soldier!” Trenton called, and the man’s eyes
fluttered open, taking a supreme effort to focus on the face
that hovered over him.
“Save them, my lord!” he rasped, “Give the order to pull
back to the fortress before they cut off our escape!”
He stiffened with a groan, then relaxed with a final gasp,
the life ebbing out of him onto the grass under his body.

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Trenton looked up at Omi, his eyes flashing, with anger and
fear, “Omi! Dispatch a rider to Availia’s position and have
her pull her forces back! Make sure that she knows the
gravity of the order and that there’s no time to argue! Then
send a rider to High King Ryan and let them know we’re
going to be pulling back at all possible speed!”
The dwarf wasted no time on questions, racing
across the road to where the smaller horses were gathered
behind the more heavily armored knights. He stopped near
one of the messengers, arms waving emphatically as he
passed along his instructions. A moment later the first
messenger leapt onto his horse, keeping his body flush to
the animal as it galloped away at full speed. The second
rider moved out not long afterward, riding at full gallop
away from the group toward the fortress in the distance.
Trenton swung himself up on his horse and rode toward the
line of knights before him, Prince Noran holding his own
animal steady as the paladin approached.
“What’s your news, Lord Silverblade?” he called, seeing
the concern on Trenton’s face.
Trenton reigned his horse and pointed toward the tree-lines
to the north and south, “The hobgoblins have split off a
sizable force from the main army and sent them around
both woods! They’ve engaged our cavalry and are

403
threatening to encircle the skirmishers in place! We need
to pull our forces back to the fortress before we’re cut off
and destroyed as a whole!”
Noran’s sharp features darkened with a scowl and a curse,
“The blasted beasts have got a more intelligent commander
than we gave them credit for.” He growled.
Trenton nodded, “If Tallo is on the field already then we
need to prepare to defend the fortress with everything we
have. All bets are off with his knowledge, experience and
power!”
A cheer went up among the lines of knights and Trenton
could hear the whooshing sound before the orange flare
illuminated the gully surrounding the road. He looked over
his shoulder, watching the flames leap into the air as both
of the wooded areas burst into near-immediate infernos.
Highlighted against the flames, Trenton could see the
outlines of mounted troops riding as fast as they could
toward the knights’ position.
“We have to hold here until they’re past, Trenton, or else
the hobgoblins will follow them into the fortress before we
can seal it off!”
As if to punctuate his statement the first volley of huge
stones sang overhead from where the hobgoblins had their
catapults, drawn by trolls that would also be strong enough

404
to load the weapons themselves without wasting hobgoblin
manpower. The first volley of projectiles fell into the moat
of the fortress, just to the side of the drawbridge.
“Well, at least their aim isn’t pinpoint yet.” Trenton
observed grimly.
Noran never took his eyes off the approaching
skirmishers, gauging how long it would take them to reach
the relative safety of the knights’ lines versus how much
longer he believed the outnumbered cavalry units could
hold out against determined infantry to the north and south.
He had no doubt it would be a close contest, though he also
knew the hobgoblins on either side would be moving
cautiously now that they were illuminated by the flames
and would have to maneuver down steep rocky walls if
they were to pursue their opponents. He shook his head for
a moment, mentally telling himself to stop thinking like a
hobgoblin and start thinking like an elf; although he had
little experience with that race except for his own mother
who was long dead.
“As for their aim, Lord Silverblade, think about how else
they will have to get over the moat once the drawbridge is
closed.” He pointed out. He hoped his tone didn’t sound
condescending, as the paladin was obviously a skilled and
charismatic commander, but he was also probably not well-

405
versed in siege tactics, nor the defending of fortified
castles. The differences in warfare between the frontiers of
Aledress and the more settled lands of the Seven Kingdoms
were enough that they could catch an unwary commander
off his guard. Better to learn now when they had a few
moments, than to try and figure it out on one’s own in the
heat of battle.
Trenton nodded as he understood what the prince was
trying to tell him, “Better to use your siege engines to fill a
spot on the moat and build your own bridge should you end
up needing one.”
Noran grinned tightly, “Warfare out here in fortified lands
is a little bit different than in the foothills and mountains of
Aledress or even Berlek Dur.”
Trenton scanned the northern trees for any sign of the
cavalry units pulling back, but all he see were hobgoblin
banners silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, moving
relentlessly toward them. A horrifying thought caught him
cold as he remembered the dying messenger’s mount.
“The cavalry is dismounted, Your Highness!” he cried,
turning to face the prince once more.
Noran frowned, “What makes you so certain?”
Trenton ran a hand over his face, “Because the scout that
informed me of the move by the hobgoblins was riding a

406
horse that had been shot numerous times. The only thing
that probably saved its life was its own speed making it
hard for marksmen to hit it. That tells me that the
hobgoblins are shooting for the mounts on anyone that’s on
horseback, rather than trying to simply eliminate the rider.”
Noran’s almond-shaped eyes widened, “By the seven
stars…” he breathed, “…if you’re right and Tallo seeded
his entire army with archers and sharp-shooters, they’ll be
slaughtered out there.”
Trenton shook his head sadly, “My Lord Prince, I would
have to say they’re dead already. The hobgoblin flanks are
already closing up ranks and moving past the woods,
although the fighting in the woods slowed them and is
preventing them from meeting back up with the main
force.”
The first riders from the skirmish teams arrived,
their mounts pushed at all possible speed carrying rangers
and archers that were scorched, beaten, bloodied, and
weary. Many of the wounded were tied into their saddles,
and a number of them had already died while making their
escape, the animals simply moving on instinct. Trenton
moved his men into a shielding formation, covering the
road and closing off the northern and southern flanks by
refusing the lines in both directions. Omi’s gravelly voice

407
could be heard shouting orders as they could now see the
first line of goblin skirmishers moving down the roadway
and toward the small contingency of knights.
“Crossbowmen at the ready!” he shouted, feeling his horse
pacing with anticipation for the fight. “Hit them at range
and don’t let them get clear shots at the horses!”
The mounted sharpshooters shouldered their weapons, the
snapping of strings and the whistling song of bolts
streaking overhead sent a thrill down Trenton’s spine,
remembering some of the closer battles in Aledress before
Ebon’s Grotto. The shots found their marks moments later,
and a groan went up from the goblins in the fore of the
opposing lines as the bolts plowed through bodies and
ripped holes in the formation.
The main bodies of the army were getting closer, and they
would have to retreat very soon if they were going to close
off the fortress. The second line of shooters prepared to
fire and Trenton saw Availia’s black mare appear in the
periphery of his vision as he gave the order to fire again.
“You certainly got their attention.” He chuckled grimly,
still watching the lines move and flex.
“Lord Silverblade,” the voice on the horse said firmly. It
was a male voice and certainly not Availia’s. “I sent Lady
Availia back through the lines already to the keep for

408
treatment. She was wounded in one of the final volleys
before we lit the trees.”
The man speaking was an older man with short hair,
obviously a ranger of some sort and seemed to want to
wrap himself in shadow even when he was simply
reporting in.
“How bad is it, Captain?” he asked, feeling the cold fist
threaten to form in the pit of his stomach.
Raines shook his head, “She took an arrow through the
forearm of her right hand, but I don’t know how exactly
how bad it is. I do know that drawing a bow is going to be
impossible for the time being; that and she’s in an awful
lot of pain right now.”
Trenton nodded, sending up a prayer of thanksgiving for
his wife’s life, and a prayer for her comfort and safety
throughout the rest of the night.
“Thank you, Captain,” he told the older man, “you’ve eased
my mind somewhat by letting me know she’s relatively
safe for the time being.”
The ranger chuckled, “She insisted that if she went down I
had to let you know what the situation was if possible. She
said she didn’t want you distracted tonight.”
Trenton shook his head, not trusting his voice. Prince
Noran looked over his shoulder and spoke, “Get the rest of

409
your men under cover and those that can fight up on the
battlements, Captain. We’ll be joining you shortly, but I
want to make sure that we’ve got everyone through the
lines that we can before we pull back.”
Raines nodded, “As you wish, Your Highness.” He replied,
“Who’s in command of the troops inside the Bailey?”
“Knight Defender Blazehammer of Berlek Dur has offered
us his services for that purpose, Captain.” Noran informed
him, “I can assure you that he will not disappoint you when
the time comes.”
The Captain spun his horse and shouted orders and
directions to his men, organizing what had been a rag-tag
retreat if one were to put a friendly spin on it, although it
was something less than a complete rout.
“First Company! Rally to Captain Blazehammer and fall
back to the fortress!” Trenton barked, seeing the first few
ranging arrows begin to fall in their midst, “Second
Company! Rally to me for your withdrawal!”
With the crossbowmen covering their movements, the
knights quickly pulled further back and fell into road
formation for rapid movement. Trenton headed up the rear
company in the column with Omi in the lead position. The
remaining mounted sharpshooters would pull in behind to
cover the escape until it was complete.

410
“First and Second Companies stand ready upon yer order,
Yer Highness!” Omi called out, looking back down the
line.
More missiles from the catapults sailed over as they
moved with best possible speed, making the horses more
and more nervous. The drums of the hobgoblins began
again, thundering through the darkened vale, spreading a
deeper sense of fear and dread than the men had known
before. Trenton continued to watch the enemy lines and
allowed himself to relax slightly. They were free and clear
of one danger, but it still felt like they had done nothing
more than plugged a hole in a dam that was holding back
an entire sea. The final horse passed through the gate and
Noran gave the order to close the drawbridge and lower the
portcullis, sealing the castle as they distributed their men
for the coming assault.
Trenton ascended the battlements, encouraging the
men and dwarves that stood there watching the enemy
army gather on the illuminated grounds before them.
Availia’s plan had worked, and they had no trouble seeing
their enemies. Bowstrings were drawn, but the only thing
that could be heard was the rushing of the wind, the
rhythmic fall of marching feet, and the unnerving sound of
the occasional catapult projectile slamming into the moat

411
and raising a haze of brackish spray.
Trenton heard a cry of fear shoot down the line, both
human and dwarf voices mingled in a sound of despair and
terror. He prayed fervently for calm, feeling the power
course through him and toward those hearts that were
quailing around him.
“You cannot hope to hold through the night, Prince of
Bariphay!” a horrifyingly familiar voice grated toward the
defenders.
Trenton looked to where Noran was, seeing the other man’s
pale features, but noting that he showed no outward sign of
fear as he strode to the edge of the battlements.
“I was about to tell you the same thing, Tallo!” He shouted
defiantly, “Pull back from our lands or be destroyed here
and now before the sun rises on this land again!”
The Dark Champion pointed his black sword at the prince,
a jet of greenish black power streaking toward the knight.
Trenton leapt and caught the power on his own silver blade,
dispelling it with a prayer of cleansing.
“You’ll not take this fortress, Tallo!” he called down,
standing shoulder to shoulder with the prince, “I call on the
power of the Holy One of Heaven to judge between me and
you on this battlefield!” he cried, his armor and sword
glowing slightly.

412
Tallo laughed in derision, “Then you had better prepare to
ask Him why he allowed you to die and your defenders to
be slaughtered, Paladin! Not even He can save you from
me this time!” without waiting for the response he turned
to the hobgoblin archers behind him, “UNLEASH HELL!”
he cried.

413
 Chapter Twenty
Southern Badlands, near the entrance to The Scar.

Kutz’ rifle thundered once more, the dwarf riding out the
recoil, teeth ground together in concentration and mounting
frustration. They had been unable to shake their pursuers
and had actually lost ground to the point where they had
taken arrows around themselves and were now forced to
return fire in the hopes of either giving the beastmen pause
or dissuading them from their pursuit entirely.
Wahldon pulled back the string on his bow, letting the
arrow fly toward where the beastman with the most
festoons was calling back to his contemporaries and trying
to rally them.
Brisste was holding back her power at Wahldon’s
insistence, as he believed she would be able to tip the scales
with her full abilities should the beastmen actually overrun

414
their position. She smiled tightly to herself, knowing that
she had enough in her repertoire to wipe them out tenfold,
but understanding that she could also help in other ways
rather than direct attack.
“We’re nearly to the entrance of The Scar!” Kumatora
called from above, wheeling in his raven form. “We must
hurry before the sun travels below the horizon and we are
left trying to defend ourselves in the dark!”
Kutz spared a glance back at the others, seeing the near
exhaustion there from their cross country flight. They had
moved at best possible speed for hours, not stopping to eat
or drink except what little they could take on the move.
The beastmen were relentless and single-minded, their fury
stoked higher than the dwarf had ever seen it before.
Considering what they found at the village behind them, he
couldn’t say that he blamed them either. He also knew that
attempting to parlay with them would have been useless
since he didn’t know the language first and foremost, and
he didn’t think they’d listen regardless. This was a blood
hunt, and nothing short of death itself was going to stop
them. Kutz grinned tightly as he continued to fall back.
Death or The Scar, he amended.
In his travels through the savannah the hunter had found
trappings of the beastmen everywhere but for The Scar

415
itself – what little he’d seen of it before he allowed good
sense to tell him it was time to turn back. The next volley
of arrows was more intense and Kutz was forced to hug the
ground as they whistled overhead. His blood chilled when
he heard the tell-tale chink sound of an arrow striking
armor, then heard the even more chilling sound of a body
hitting the rocky ground in a clatter of gear.
“Wahldon!” the scream came from behind him, the
panicked cry of the warlord’s wife.
Kutz scrambled to his feet and spared a glance, wishing he
hadn’t. The man was down on his back, not moving, with
one of the large arrows protruding from the middle of his
abdomen and to the left, where his liver would be. The
trauma from the impact and the shock had probably
rendered him temporarily unconscious…unless the wound
was even worse than the dwarf feared and Wahldon was
already dying.
Brisste looked up from her fallen husband, her face red
with emotion, then her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled
back in a primal snarl of rage and pain. Her arms arched
over her shoulders and out from her body, fingers clawed
like a bird of prey as arcane power literally crackled across
her body and turned her eyes to an electric blue sea of
power. Kutz could only watch in horrified awe as she

416
lashed out with her hands with a scream of fury that made
the old dwarf’s hair stand on end. A spider-web of pure
arcane electricity shot from both of her hands and travelled
the distance to the beastmen in the blink of an eye, rooting
them in place and causing their bodies to stiffen in helpless
agony. Brisste sustained the spell, continuing to pour more
power into it, feeling the life ebbing from those that dared
to harm her loved one. She would slaughter them all, and
they would never harm another soul again.
“BRISSTE!” Kutz shouted, trying desperately to gain the
wizard’s attention, but she was so lost in her power and
anger that his words never reached her.
He looked up just in time to see Kumatora diving toward
her, his body transforming in mid-flight to that of a great
tiger before he slammed into Brisste with his two front
paws, disrupting the spell and driving her to the ground
with a cry of surprise.
“NO!” she screamed, thrashing under his weight; but the
druid held firm, pinning her arms and preventing her from
summoning more power and killing him outright.
“This isn’t the way, Brisste!” he shouted, his feline mouth
amplifying his voice to a near roar, “Would he want you to
slaughter them the way someone else has their families?
What would make you any different from the

417
Ghostwalkers?”
“They killed him!” she raged, eyes blazing and tears of
pain pouring down her cheeks, “They killed him!”
“He lives!” he growled back, “Even if he did not, you gain
nothing by slaughtering those that took his life! They strike
out of their pain! They are no different than you!”
She struggled harder, screaming, sobbing, her body heaving
with her efforts to throw off the druid. Kutz spared a
glance at the beastmen, who were just now slowly
beginning to get back to their feet from where they had
fallen when the spell released them. He closed his eyes,
prayed he was doing the right thing, and pointed the muzzle
of his rifle directly at Wahldon’s head.
“Stop yer fight or I’ll finish him and then you, lass!” he
shouted, his hand not wavering an inch, “We’ve no time for
this, and I’ll save at least two of us if’n yer in a hurry t’
die!”
Brisste’s eyes widened in shock and accusation but she
obeyed. Kutz had no doubt that she’d kill him in an instant
if she had the chance at that moment.
“Ye are the only thing that can save him, lass!” he said, his
own voice beginning to break, “I cannae do it alone, and
Kumatora needs to be defended if he can even try to help!”
He could feel her pain, see the agony on her face and let it

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touch his old heart, “Please, Brisste,” he begged, lowering
his weapon and his voice, “if ye need justice when this is
done, then slay me as ye will; but I’ll nae have ye slaughter
those that suffer as ye do without understanding why.”
Brisste visibly regained her composure and nodded, dust
from the ground staining her tear-streaked face as she
looked to the dwarf for direction.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
Kutz smiled sadly, “Restrain yerself, and do only what ye
need t’ do that’ll keep em from harmin’ us while Kumatora
works. I can only hope they realize we’re holdin’ back and
see it as a sign we’re only defendin’ ourselves here.”
He looked over his shoulder, then back at Kumatora, “Let
her up, laddie, it’s her choice now.”
Kumatora did as he was bidden, stepping back off the
wizard and shifting into the crouched form an elf man
again.
A volley of arrows streaked in from where the beastmen
had regained their footing and weapons. Brisste waved her
staff, shattering them in the air and scattering their
splintered remains across the ground without another word.
Kutz fired a round from his rifle, the soft bullet striking one
of the beastmen square in the massive chest, driving him to
his knees as the wind rushed out of him from the impact.

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The hunter frowned, hoping that the sapper round would
give the enemy another thing to think about and another
reason to hold back, but the beastmen began to advance
again, shaking their shaggy heads in anger and grim
promise. Kumatora’s voice chanted behind them, the
strange elf-tongue lilting over the deepening shadows and
stones that were now lit bloody red from the impending
sunset.
The sound of a thunderclap and a flash of brilliant
light caused both sides to look away from where it
appeared between them. When Kutz looked back across
the distance between his party and the beastmen, he could
see the unmistakable outline of a woman’s body in robes,
although the sinewy whip of a long tail and the sensuous
curve of horns on her head left no doubt about her true
origin. The freni stood taller than Trenton, her bearing
regal as one accustomed to power and obedience. In her
hand she clutched a rod of pure obsidian, apparently hewn
from a single piece of the stone, with a blood-red ruby set
into the very tip. Small statuettes adorned her waist, and
other smaller festoons completed the look that seemed even
more primal than Kumatora’s druidic trappings. Next to
the freni woman stood a dwarf the likes Kutz had only
heard of in stories and legends. His skin was as grey as

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slate rock, and his beard was long and black with eyes that
shone like twin orbs of coal from the depths of the earth
itself. He carried a stone hammer in one hand and a stone
axe in the other, and his body glowed a faint red with
power that Kutz had never seen in a dwarf before.
The advancing beastmen skidded to a stop and fell
to their knees, the leader raising an ornate staff in homage
and gesturing toward the companions as he spoke. After a
moment the freni turned toward them, her eyes meeting
Kutz before she looked to Brisste.
“Their village is destroyed and their families slaughtered.”
Her voice intoned, heavily accented and booming with
authority. Black hair fluttered out from her head and the
red light illuminated her skin in an even deeper crimson
than it normally would be. “The spirits of the winds tell me
that you are not the guilty party in this attack, nor are others
of the bizoncheelavyek peoples.”
The strange dwarf nodded, “It be the ru’ach again, I’m sure
of it.” He growled. His language was similar to Kutz, but
the accent was thicker and slightly different at the same
time.
The freni turned her attention to the leader of the beastmen,
speaking in soft and comforting tones to him, occasionally
indicating the companions behind her. Finally the

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conversation ended, and the massive humanoids stood and
turned back toward the north, quickly disappearing into the
gathering darkness of the savannah.
“What about my husband?” Brisste cried out to the freni,
“he may still die!”
The woman turned to the wizard, her pupil-less eyes fixing
her in place by the sheer weight of her power. Brisste had
only felt power of this magnitude twice in her life: Nosto,
and Carasheva herself, although this power felt like the
contained fury of a volcano being held back by force of
will alone.
“You have little faith in your companion, child; though I
have no doubt it will take long for him to heal without
further attention. Be thankful your friends reigned in your
fury, else I would have been forced to destroy you rather
than let you succumb to the darkness in and around this
place.”
Brisste blinked, feeling the truth behind the statement. She
looked to Kutz, then to Kumatora – not even looking up
from Wahldon as he attempted to heal him enough to save
his life – and then to the face of her husband, the one she
had almost annihilated nearly a dozen beings for.
She sank to her knees, weeping, “By the Holy One! What
did I do?”

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The freni’s words became soft, “You have learned the most
difficult lesson of responsibility for those that wield power
for the good of others, child. There are times when you
must stay your power even if it means going against the
dictates of your heart’s desire. The ru’ach have forsaken
that lesson for over a millennia now, and their ghostly
bodies are the price they’ve paid for that power.”
Amazingly, the woman stood next to Brisste, holding out a
crimson hand for the wizard, “Now rise and gather your
companions, we must fly to the cliffs if we are to survive
the night. Your power has attracted enemies like moths to
a flame, and even I have not the power to defeat the one
that leads them.”
Brisste stood, “Dranattothrax…” she breathed, shuddering
at the memory of the black dragon.
“Indeed, and he has set the peoples of this land against each
other in the hopes that they will destroy you outright or
force you into displaying your power that he may find you
and destroy you himself should they fail.”
Kutz found his tongue, “So ye know of our mission, then?
How is that possible?”
“The druids are able to communicate over long distances
should they need to; and we have long been their allies in
the fight against the Ru’ach, watching over the Southern

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Barrens and the entryway to the Parishin Wall tunnel and
the jungles beyond. Our homes are built into the cliffs of
the canyons you call The Scar, and that has kept us
undetected to our enemies so far.”
She turned to the dwarf stranger, “Stonetempest, if you
would transport this young warrior and his caretaker to the
inner lodges I will take the rest of them with me and meet
you at the central square.”
He bowed, “As you wish, Lady Wentafur.” He replied, then
strode to where Kumatora was channeling healing power
into the wound left behind by the beastman arrow. A
moment later the dwarf spoke a word of command and the
trio vanished in a haze of greenish light.
Brisste wanted to speak up, to tell this person that her place
was at her husband’s side, but she had the feeling it
wouldn’t have done any good regardless. Wentafur was
obviously in command and used to being obeyed without
question, though she seemed to be good-hearted at the core.
“You have many questions that need answers, child, and I
will do my best to share what knowledge I have with you;
but we must go for now. War is fast approaching here in
the southlands as it is being desperately fought against in
the lands to the north. The City of Light stands boldly, and
our enemy hopes to strike a blow against it this very night.

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Pray that your other companions and those that fight with
them are able to hold their ground and beat back the
darkness, else I believe that all hope will be lost.”
Wentafur’s eyes gleamed ever brighter in the darkness,
pulsing with scarcely contained power as she pointed her
fingers to the earth itself, drawing tendrils of orange energy
intertwined with wisps of fog into her body and creating a
sphere around them. A sound like the rushing wind of a
tornado filled the sphere, and Wentafur’s hands rose above
her head, “Move not while the sphere is in place!” she
commanded, “I do not want to chance it falling apart before
the portal finishes our transport! It will only be a few
moments now!”
Brisste shared a look with Kutz that spoke volumes and
asked the basic question, “Where are we going?”

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