Over reach of eye and reach of hand,

Over the blistering, scorching sand,

Beyond the land where the shadows lay,
Beyond the land where the dragons play,
Beyond the house of Dwarvenhome,
Beyond the land where the Smallelves roam,
There lies a treasure none can find,
Past light, past dark, past time.
The seven companions from afar,
Come looking for the sword so fair,
Through lakes of blood, sweat, and tears,
They reach the secret, sacred, stairs,
To climb, to soar, to rise, to fly,
Above the land where all must die,
They reach the realm of the giant king,
To win the sword, to win that land,
To win the realm from the tyrant’s hand.

- Ancient Rhyme, probably originating from Dwarvenhome

Prologue
1

Of Darkness and Flame

Darkness surrounded this tent. Death itself visited the small swamp dwelling on
the cold night. The winter wind whistled around the camp, and the first hints of rain
dabbled over the canvas. An unholy Knight visited. He was a Shade; spawn of Shadows,
but of a higher plane than they.
The Shade looked suspiciously at the MordWraith, bent low over the small gem
lying on the floor. The large, green, warty creature swayed from side to side as he
conversed with the Seers. The room they sat in was tinted an odd shade of green, one that
reminded the Shade of swamps and algae. The MordWraith looked up, his pale green
eyes wild and glowing with an un-earthly light.
“What do the spirits say?” the Shade hissed in his rendering of speech, guttural
and low.
The MordWraith glanced around the room, looking for something invisible.
“They say,” he paused and lowered his nasal voice. “that He has come.”
The Shade sounded impatient. “Who?’
“They will only tell me that He has come. He is in…” here the Wraith bent low
again and wavered a few moments longer. “a city, far to the west of here. Mystery
surrounds this seeing. I can tell you no more.” He started to rise.
The Shade stopped him with an icy grip of his steel-gloved hand. The pattern on
the glove glowed red as blood and moved with its own rhythm, possibly the beat of the
stone heart of the creature it belonged to. “You know more.” He pulled on the
MordWraith’s arm. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know anything else, save what I have told you.”
The Shade rose and opened the flap of the tent, letting in the starlight. Slowly, a
tall, inhuman figure filled the doorway. The MordWraith could not make out the form.
“I have a friend here who may convince you otherwise.”
The MordWraith’s voice was filled with fear, yet indignant. “How do I have proof
that he can harm me?”
Then, as the figure stepped into the light, the MordWraith saw. Its body was that
of a huge bear, its head a lion’s. On its back were folded a pair of huge wings. Then it
2

spoke. Not in a voice audible, but in a transmission that any living being within miles
could have heard: Anta zanta mâta redan!
The MordWraith screamed as tentacles of fire reached out from the Jinn and
grabbed his mind, seizing it, slowly crushing the life out of it.
“Kwan, kwan!” the Wraith screamed in agony. “Slaton mortoliė! Mortoliė!”
Again tendrils reached out from the mind of the Jinn and grabbed the
MordWraith’s. Phthm mâta enclesie!
“He is the descendant of…Ar-Eredros! The spirits told me never to tell or I would
perish!” The wraith broke down sobbing. “Mortoliė, mortoliė…”
“Then perish you must,” said the Shade. He turned to the Jinn. “Kill him.”
The weeping MordWraith heard the voice again. Zradon zanta mat, the Jinn said,
as only the whispering wind saw what passed that night.

Through the darkness of night another Darkness rode. Not on any earthly being,
but on a Dark steed. Bred by the Shades, these horses possessed an unholy speed. Its
nostrils flared with fire and its eyes burned as embers in a dying fire, only the wind
rushing past them fanning the flame of life.
“Nek, nek,” the Shade whispered to his mount. As they neared the intersection on
the Kenmar road, the Shade opened his eyes and peered through the veil of night. Three
figures robed in black awaited him.
“Rachka,” he assured his horse as he leapt from its saddle, high into the air.

The night watchmen heard the beat of a horse’s footsteps and readied their bows.
But as the steed passed through the intersection, they stared in disbelief as they saw it
riderless.
“He will come,” the tall man in black assured the two. “He will come.”
“Thloka!” they heard a shout from above as the Shade descended in a cloud of
fire. His sword glistened red in the light as he landed, silently, as a cat would.
“Nek anta!” He yelled, sending a bolt of flame into the night watchmen. They
vanished into smoke as if they had never been. He turned slowly, his black cloak writhing
with flame, his invisible eyes pouring forth smoke.
“So, Rikkanon Shadebane, you await me,” he hissed at the robed man.
3

“You will kill no more, Mortoth Fire-Breather.” Rikkanon promised him. He

unsheathed a long broadsword. It glowed blue in the heavy shroud that covered the earth.
“Kelfa!” he exclaimed as the sword exploded into water. The sword was there, but semi-
translucent, wavering as water, suspended on a hilt.
“You have learned the ancient magics well,” the Shade commented. “But no
living being can resist me!” as he said the final words, his body flared up even more, the
pillar of fire reaching to the heavens.
Rikkanon remained unmoved by the wave of heat. “Kelfa Koban!” he yelled and
jumped backwards. Rain poured from the sky as Mortoth hissed in agony.
“We end this here!” he yelled, springing forwards at Rikkanon. “Naxa nek!” he
screamed in midair. Beneath them, the ground parted into chasms of fire. The rain
steamed, roiling about them in clouds of vapor. Rikkanon parried blow after blow of the
demon’s blade.
“Nalxta blakor!” he exclaimed, lunging at the Shade, his blade swinging
treacherously. Lightning erupted from the clouds and thunder rolled across the heavens.
With a tremendous swing, Rikkanon drove his blade into the Shade’s neck. The
Shade laughed. “Rikkanon Shadebane, do even you not know the only way we Shades
can die?” With Rikkanon struggling to remove his sword, the Shade put a fiery hand on
the warrior’s chest and uttered a single word. “Zradon!” Rikkanon fell limply to the
ground. “Yanta slaton!” Mortoth yelled. His horse galloped up, his mane tossing. Mortoth
mounted the horse, and, with a final apathetic look toward the dead body, rode off into
the gloom.

Several days later, a Black horse galloped up outside the castle of Hope. Its mane
flew violently, its rider tall, cloaked in black. It was Mortoth. He dismounted his horse
and approached the castle gates cautiously.
“Xexon xdit!” a voice yelled, and Rikkanon appeared in front of the Shade.
Mortoth hissed and drew his sword. “How do you live?”
“You said few know how to kill a Shade. I see you do not count as one of them.”
Mortoth drew his breath in sharply. “Then…you are the Shade of the Deliverers,
spoken of in Legend?”
“It is I.” Rikkanon replied. “To pass, you must defeat me, Shade.”
4

“Then let us fight.” Mortoth replied. “to the death.”

That was eighteen years ago.
5

Chapter 1
Of the Embarking of the
Travelers
Caleb Eredros the third was of an independent spirit. If he were told to do one
thing, he would logically do the opposite. It was because of this spirit that he now
approached the silver-embossed doors, however carefully. His features, however, were
nothing out of the ordinary. Brown hair, blue eyes, five feet, four inches tall, slightly
muscled with a good tan. But his eyes, deep blue were piercing and slightly frightening to
look into.
He felt a numb feeling in his gut as his moccasin-covered feet padded noiselessly
over the gleaming marble floor. With his head down, he slowly plodded toward the giant
doors, studying the intricately carved patterns in the floor. Scenes of dragons and heroic
knights sprawled across the bottom of the great hall. These were only memories of times
long past, when such bravery and fortitude was commended. Now those days were gone,
and such valiant behavior was scorned upon as “fool's play” and “rubbish not to be toyed
with.” Caleb knew that the elders only scorned such knight-errantry because they had not
seen the heroic side. They had only seen the evil that had come out of it. They had read
Legend. Caleb had also read the great biography of his namesake. They both knew Ar-
Eredros died. However, Caleb was a patron of the arts, the others were not. He wanted to
revive the lost art of chivalry, and he knew the only way to accomplish his mission was to
quest for himself.
As he neared the door, he slowed down. Deeply engraven in the doors and the
floor beneath it was an image of a sword. Enemies were fleeing on all sides from this
great weapon. Above the engraving were the words: Enhforl i Enhfurl yanta matar
jilornya thopa. Caleb looked up and sighed. This was the great sword of Ar-Eredros, the
last great warrior. It had been one of seven weapons, but the other six were lost before
legend began, and the location of the one sword was the greatest mystery the storytellers
had ever told. Back when he was a young child, Caleb would listen in fascination to the
old ones tell the story of this sword. Caleb knew, even then, fifteen long years ago, that
the only way to prove his courage was to find it. He put his palms on the images of the
6

great sword on the entryway and pushed. Before him lay a great hall, twohundred feet
long and onehundred feet wide. Such was the great hall of his father, Caleb Eredros the
second. Caleb was always amazed at this room. The hall emanated grandeur from every
corner of its magnificent construction. On the floor, scenes from epic battles clashed with
fine works of ponds and peaceful house life. Massive pillars supported the roof, into
which was carved images of horses and swords. The pillars themselves were intricately
smithed into gleaming towers of gold. Into the gold were carved images of vines, winding
themselves up the pillars. At the top of each column were mighty statues, carved to look
like they were holding up the roof. These men were rulers past who helped to create this
hall, and whose legendary actions were old for years throughout the kingdom. When they
had died, however, only one man lauded them still, yet he was still a boy. The statues
were just decoration now. Disrespect and decay had faded these once-gold statues into a
dull tan. Flags hung over their faces in disgrace. Exquisitely sewn banners flew overhead,
waving from the breeze coming through the small slits at the top of the hall. Lining the
sides of the hall was a great library, filled with ancient parchments. This library was
shadowy, for the rays coming through the great oxhorn roof did not reach these corners.
In the middle of the room sat an exquisitely carved throne, studded with diamonds. Over
the seat and arms lay a thick bearskin. Caleb padded quickly now over to this great
golden throne where his father sat. His father looked up from his lap, where he was
reading a manuscript from the shelves that lined the walls. He knelt before the throne. His
father blessed him, and then bade him rise. Caleb stood.
“What brings thee before my throne, oh beloved son?” His father slowly
enunciated. “What blessing do thee come hither for to ask of me?” His father's face grew
into a smile as he held out his arms to embrace his son.
Caleb stood away from his father, his head hanging in thought, being sure to
choose the right words; for fear that he might incur his father's wrath. He spoke slowly
and deliberately. “Father, I ask thine blessing for a venture into the woods for a fortnight.
It would please me greatly if you did.”
Caleb's father seemed taken aback and Caleb winced for fear that he had been too
unexpected and rapid. His fear was not in vain. His father replied curtly. “No, son, I will
not admit this frivolous throwing around of your life. You may not.” Caleb hung his head,
7

turned around, and stomped off. The king shouted after him, “You will learn your respect,
young ruffian.” His command fell on closed ears.
* * *
Marcus Kartofflen stood with pride, albeit mixed with consternation before the
assembled congregation. His father, the Head Jester, stood proudly beside him. They were
entertainers who had previously built up their vast arena of entertaining knowledge at the
McCormitt castle. At his castle, he had learned his skill in charming wild beasts, and was
quite skilled in the field of animal command. For this purpose, he had quite a large supply
of pipes and whistles for charming both people and animals alike. He was tall and quite
handsome. Marked as the most eligible bachelor in all of McCormitt castle, many young
ladies of the court were disappointed at his leaving. His skin was a light tan, and his eyes
a deep blue. His, hair, a pure black, fell in wavy locks around his head.
His sister, Gwendolyne, most often known as Gwen, attracted many people also.
When she danced, people were drawn to watch, and when she talked, people were drawn
to listen. Also tall, she resembled him in many ways. She had soft brown eyes, sandy
blonde hair, and the same aura of peace and happiness that surrounded them both. She sat
alongside Marcus.
Marcus was 28 and beginning to feel those ailments that commonly affect older
people. He stretched his leg to clear the stiffness. He was nervous. Before him stood the
inhabitants of the castle, over four hundred men. Among the audience were other
entertainers, peasants, nobility, and slaves. But one man stood out.
He was dressed in a black cloak and moved uneasily among the crowd. New guy,
Marcus thought. His father announced him.
“Great citizens of the McCormitt castle!” everyone cheered. “I bring before you
this day a young jester, ready to enter into his first journey out of this castle. This is a
starting point in all young entertainers’ lives. He is not just any jester, however. He is my
son!” the crowd applauded. “I now present my daughter, Gwendolyne, or, as many of you
know her, Gwen.” Marcus and Gwen felt a swell of pride as the audience erupted in
cheers. Marcus’s father waited for the din to die down. “Now, let us send them off so that
they may return to us as two young jesters with a world’s experience!” He turned to
Marcus and Gwen and quoted the traditional farewell for any young entertainer, “May a
song be always in your heart, and a joke always on your lips.” The crowd cheered one
8

last time. Marcus and Gwen stood, bowed, and descended the stairs and out the gates of
the McCormitt castle.
* * *
Amondae huddled in the darkness of the kitchens, hiding from the hounds. Ryenyl
also hid, cowering in the cupboard.
“I’ll find you, you young beasts!” the voice of the cook resonated through every
one of their bones. They heard the dogs’ claws softly clack on the cobblestone floor of the
kitchen as their obtrusive noses snuffled and sniffled their way along the floor. A dog
stuck its nose into the cupboard where Ryenyl was and started to bark, but Ryenyl
clasped his hands over the dog’s mouth and fed it a piece of cheese to dull its smell. The
dog grasped it greedily and pulled his head out of the cupboard.
“Well, anything?” the cook said in an aggravated tone. “Oh, come on!” she
groaned upon seeing the cheese. “We don’t have all the time in the world for you to eat
all the food you find.” The dog continued sniffing. As soon as they were out of earshot,
Ryenyl dashed out of the cupboard, grabbed a frying pan, a skin of honeymead, and
scurried out the door, almost losing his footing on the hard stone floor. The cook whirled
around, and seeing nothing, grumbled to herself, “Durned pots keep falling down.” She
did not notice the one gone.
The two friends met outside, under the arbor.
“How’d you escape?” Ryenyl asked softly.
“My superior hiding skills came into evidence.” Amondae answered pridefuly.
“I guess they just decided they wanted us out for good, not all this back and forth
stuff.”
“Then out is where we’ll go. We have to get out of this castle for good. I guess
they just don’t like us.” Amondae declared.
“You think so? Let’s go.” The two vanished into the growing twilight.
* * *
Marcus waltzed though the forest, whistling a happy tune. Upon his head was
perched a three-spiked hat, and he was dressed in red-and-green tight suit. Over this
jester's suit was a thick bearskin. Behind him, Gwen also waltzed, singing an old song.
The forest was dark and oppressive, and stagnation hung heavy in the air. Marcus and
Gwen could care less, however, for their hearts were young and fresh, and the festering
9

plant material strewn on the ground served as no hindrance to their young feet, as it did to
the cloaked and hooded character following behind them.
However, for all their skills, they were young, naïve, and inexperienced. Marcus
could not make a fire if he wanted to, and his sister could not cook if the fire was started.
They did, however, possess a kind of luck, and survived their first night. Marcus decided
to compose verse instead of sing. “Oh, the birds are a-singing, the church bells are
dinging.” He stopped.
“Now, I don't suppose there are any church bells out here, but if there were, they
would be donging, not dinging.”
“Why not?” His sister interjected.
“Oh, unless someone was getting married, for it isn't Saturday.” Marcus replied,
not sure of his own answer. “Oh, dash it all. Maybe this jester thing isn't what they
glamorize it to be.” He sat down on a rock and pulled out an apple. His sister sat on a log
beside him and fell back on the grass. She ran her hands through her thick black hair.
“Oh, sure it is, silly. You just have to get into it, then it will come easy.” Marcus
smiled down at his little sister. He took a bite of the apple and started humming again.
* * *
Caleb ran out of the church as fast as he could. Evening mass was over, and the
inhabitants of the castle were flocking out in great hordes to get to their dinner tables
before sundown. The sun was setting, and the atmosphere glowed with a pink radiance.
Many of the released congregation stared upward in awe at the sunset. Caleb shoved his
way through the gathered throng, not mindful of the beauty that surrounded him. Several
women gasped as he jostled them around. His father was slowly making his way out of
the church, but was caught in several conversations with respected noblemen among the
populace. Caleb broke into a run over the paved cobblestone road in between the various
buildings. As he ran past, he read the signs on the door. Ferrier, blacksmith, cobbler,
where would he be? At the end of the road, there was one sign left. Caleb dashed toward
it and scurried into the kennels. The dogs were lying in a pile as he burst in, and several
raised their heads to stare at the newcomer. “Where's Vic?” he gasped to the dogs. One
dog raised a questioning eye.
“Over here,” came a thin voice from the corner. “I'm here.”
10

“Thank goodness,” Caleb panted. “I need you now.” From the darkness a small,
thin creature ran. This was Vic, the dog boy. It was his job to comb and feed the dogs, but
after many years of sleeping in the kennels, he had adapted their way of running, and was
prone to speak in barks. He was short and curt in his way of speaking. Never an inner-
castle dweller, he never bothered to show anyone any politeness. He was covered all over
in hair; dog or human, none knew. His legs were created short, and so the role of dog boy
naturally suited him. No one knew who his parents were, and even if they came back,
they would not claim him, for fear of association. The kennels were perpetually dark and
malodorous, and Caleb wrinkled his castle-refined nose. Vic ignored the smell as was his
wont.
“What's it?” Vic asked, cocking his head to one side. “What are you wanted?”
“I going questing and I can't go alone.”
“I thought yer pop didn't want ya questin'“
“He doesn't,” Caleb replied. “I'm running away.” At this, the happy grin on Vic's
face vanished, and he stood up with utmost gravity.
“I’ve got some things packed. I thought you might try this. Let's go. They're right
by the gate.” Vic left no time for Caleb's surprised expression, grabbed his arm, and then
vanished into the gloom.

Caleb and Vic ran frantically through the back passageways of the town, down
increasingly dark alleys. Vic stopped, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. “Here it is, the
gate.” Caleb scanned in all directions.
“I don't see a gate.” He pondered.
“There is, we're just on the north post of it. This is where I stored my provisions.”
“What's that house?” Caleb queried.
“That is the hollowed-out gatepost. That is where I keep the supplies.” Vic and
Caleb went into the gatehouse. The post was filled with miscellaneous items such as a bit
of string, or an apple core. Vic rushed over to the corner and produced two musty old
sacks. “Here. Put these on,” he urged Caleb. Caleb and Vic both slid the stiff leather
packs over their backs. Caleb grabbed a long claymore. It was long and sharp, though
years of decay had rotted the leather on the handle, and the inset jewel in the hilt no
11

longer glistened with the fire it had once shown with. Caleb stared at it as he held it in his
hands.
“Just until I come unto my own,” he whispered to the sword.
* * *
Amondae and Ryenyl crept silently through the dark forest. As quick and as
invisible as shadows, they padded silently past a den of sleeping hedgehogs. Ryenyl
stopped. “Just a second, I can't resist,” he whispered to his partner. Amondae sighed.
“Fine, just don't take very long.” As Ryenyl moved into the faint dusk over to the
den of hedgehogs, Amondae hung her head in her hands. Ryenyl patted the little
hedgehogs.
“It's fine; just meet us at the ford tomorrow. I'll be there.” The hedgehog stirred
and looked at Ryenyl. It nodded its head. Ryenyl crept over to Amondae again.
“Why do you have to talk to every hedgehog you meet, moron?” she queried.
“I want a report and to debrief them on what to do while we're gone.” Ryenyl
answered.
“Fine, just don't take too long. There's only 10 hours of cover left.”
“Right. Let's go.” Amondae and Ryenyl crept silently through the dark forest.
* * *
Caleb and Vic were also having their own stygian adventures. Caleb panted
heavily. He was a castle boy and was not used to running. Vic stopped, his tongue lolling.
“I thought you was wanting to go.”
“I do. Give me a break.”
Vic sighed, “Caleb, congratulations. You won the four hundred foot dash. That’s
how far we are from the castle. Move your rump.” Caleb got up and ran, his lungs searing
from exhaustion.
12

Chapter 2
Of A Hedgehog and a Bear
Caleb slowly opened his eyes. The morning sunshine was beating down heavily,
and Caleb found himself groggy from the tangible morning heat all around him like a
thick veil. Next to him laid Vic, curled up into a fetal position. As he slept, his legs gently
twitched, and he whined softly. Caleb slowly turned his head, groaning as he stretched his
tired muscles out of their long unuse. To his left lay his father’s castle, far in the distance,
only visible as a dark speck, blent with the colors of earth and sky. To his right lay a thick
armada of trees, shrouded in a veil of darkness. No visible detail was noticeable in this
stygian gloom. Caleb rolled over, basking in the rich sunshine. As he lay on his back, a
black figure caught his eye. Caleb rolled on his stomach again.
“Will you stay in one place, Caleb?” Vic growled from behind him.
“Vic, look.” Caleb commanded. “What is that?” He pointed at the figure. Vic
rolled over.
“All I see is your rump. Move over.” Caleb shifted over. Vic stared.
“It looks like a man standing there with a black cloak on.”
Caleb leapt up and ponderously trotted toward the reticent individual. Vic roused
himself and unhurriedly walked on all four limbs over to Caleb. The figure raised its
cloak and then lowered it in an odd way, as if he had spread his arms out under his cloak.
Caleb approached the taciturn stranger. It turned around. Caleb and Vic took a step
backwards in surprise. The stranger's face pierced them as soon as they saw it. His nose
was painfully defined between his sharp eyes. The mouth of the stranger was as straight
and as gleeful as an iron bar. The eyes glazed over for a second, then became hard again.
Caleb examined the man visually, while Vic sniffed his way around the foreigner.
The eyes glazed over for a second again. Then it spoke. Caleb had never heard anything
humanly akin to the voice. It was not sweet. It was like the baying of dogs, the screeching
of crows, and…Caleb could not put a name to the other animal.
“Qyer uth mat?” Caleb and Vic stood silent. The stranger continued, “Who are
you that trespasses on my property?”
13

Caleb could not stay silent. “This is not thine land. This land belongs to my father,
Caleb Eredros the second! His arm will strike thee down, stranger!”
The man laughed. “Your father must certainly think his arm has grown long
indeed if he thinks his jurisdiction is over this forest or any of the inhabitants. Besides, I
do not always linger on this land. I come and go as I please,” the harsh voice continued.
“This land is not mine, for I own no land.”
“Then why do you come here?” Caleb demanded.
“To sit back, to enjoy the sunlight, to stretch my wings,” Caleb took a step back in
surprise. “As you know, the forest is a dark place, and not much sunlight ever infiltrates
the thick canopy I live under.” He started to go on, but Caleb interrupted him.
“Wings?” Wings. Then it dawned on Caleb. The man sounded like a bird of prey
“Yes, wings.” The man raised his arms under his cloak again.
The stranger pulled pack his hood. The hand coming out of the cloak was covered
with a downy substance, like feathers. Then they saw the man’s head. It was covered in a
soft sheen of feathers in the front, and was carpeted with a thicker assortment of harder
feathers on the back. His eyes were deeply set and pierced them again with a frightening
intensity.
“I came here to get away from you.” The creature accused, contention in his
voice.
“Me?” Caleb asked.
“You. Surely, you remember your younger years. The young child of the poor
woman you always teased.” Caleb remembered. That had been so long ago. Before Caleb
was born, a poor woman had given birth to a strange child, but had abandoned it to die.
Caleb’s mother had adopted it out of pity. Even though it was older than he, Caleb had
always teased it.
Then there was the one time that he had been talking to his mother. He had told
her that all outcasts should be abolished and sent off, in his arrogant manner of old. That
was the day before the child left. It just flew off.
“Sorry.” Caleb hung his head.
“Sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it close. You were the most despotic, most vile creature
I had ever seen. It is ironic that today is the tenth anniversary of the day I last saw you.”
“Ten years is ample time to mend a relationship, is it not?” Caleb asked meekly.
14

“Ten years? No. Not enough to heal, but maybe to start to mend. My name is…
Benjamin.” The eagle/man replied.
“I shall call thou Ben. It’s a little shorter.”
“Good choice. In thateth caseth, I willeth thoueth shalteth call you Uglyeth. What
is your friend’s name?” Caleb hung his head at the inglorious murder of the English
language.
Vic stood up. “Vic, but you can call me…Vic.”
“You’re the kennel-keeper, aren’t you?” Ben cocked his head to one side.
Vic recoiled with surprise. “How would you know?”
Ben acted nonchalant. “Your mother was a friend. Hey Ugly!”
Caleb concluded his long stare into the forest’s sinister shadows.
“Where is your party going? Not many travelers ever come here.”
“We’re questing,” Caleb admitted awkwardly.
“For?”
“A sword. Or swords.”
“Where? Sounds interesting.”
“A mountain. Past Dwarvenhome, as I’m told,” Caleb shifted uncomfortably.
After all, he was not used to talking to giant animals, whatever their species.
“Pretty far. What kind of swords are you looking for?”
“Specifically, the Sword of Ar-Eredros. He was the…”
Ben interrupted him. “I know who he is. How do you know how to get there?”
Caleb chanted the age-old verse.
“Over reach of eye and reach of hand,
Over the blistering, scorching sand,
Beyond the land where the shadows lay,
Beyond the land where the dragons play,
Beyond the house of Dwarvenhome,
Beyond the land where the Smallelves roam,
There lies a treasure none can find,
Past light, past dark, past time.” He finished with a sigh.
Ben looked contemplative for a second. “Wasn’t there another verse?”
15

Caleb looked puzzled. “Not that I remembered.” They both heard a soft voice
chanting,
“The seven companions from afar,
Come looking for the sword so fair,
Through many perils, toils, and snares,
They reach the secret, sacred, stairs,
To climb, to soar, to rise, to fly,
Above the land where all must die,
They reach the realm of the giant king,
To win the sword, to win that land,
To win the realm from the tyrant’s hand.” Vic stopped and opened his eyes. “I
learned that when I was young.” Both Ben and Caleb stared in silence.
Caleb was the first to speak. “Where did you learn that?”
“I learned it from my mother before she left.” Vic replied. “She would sing the
whole poem every night. She had a beautiful voice.” Vic looked contemplative for a
moment. Didn’t your mother ever sing it to you, Caleb?”
Caleb shook his head. “My mother never said much to me.” He paused.
“Although, she would have encouraged me in this endeavor.” He paused. “Where did
thine mother go?”
“No one knows.”
“Did you ever see her, Vic?” Caleb asked.
Vic shook his head.
* * *
“We are traveling minstrels from afar,
We travel wide, we travel near,
We bring our songs, we bring our time,
We bring to you songs and rhymes,
We sing, we dance, we play for you,
You should be a minstrel too,
We compose ballads, and sing great deeds,
Just for you to supply our needs,
We travel, we journey, and we roam through the land,
16

Through blinding winds and biting sands,

You may make me a prince, a duke, a kinnnnnngggg…
But a jester’s life is the life…foooorrr…meeeeee!” Marcus ended with a gasp.
“That wasn’t all bad, was it now?” he asked Gwen, who sat on the rock next to him.
“Not all bad. You hit a few notes off-key, but with practice I’ll think you’ll be
fine.” She opened her pack and pulled out her mat and blanket. Marcus did the same, also
pulling out a skillet.
“This thing is so heavy.” He commented.
“Same could be said of your pipes. What’s for dinner?” Gwen inquired.
“I don’t know. I’m starving.” Marcus rubbed his stomach in mock agony.
“What about…deer?” Marcus stuck out his lip and nodded slowly.
“That wouldn’t be bad. Do you have my deer pipe?”
“I believe I do.” Gwen responded. She pulled a long, thin whistle from under her
cloak. Marcus reached for it. It was gone.
“All right, save the tricks for the audience. Give it to me.” Again, he reached out
his hand.
“I don’t have it.” Gwen searched frantically through the folds of her cloak.
“I know you. Give it to me.”
“I don’t have it, I swear.” Gwen was insistent.
“Then who has it?” Marcus asked the trees accusingly.
* * *
Ryenyl sat in a tree with the deer pipe and a fishing rod in his hand. Amondae
scolded him.
“Give that back this instant, moron!” She whispered, demandingly.
“Just wait. I want to see if they notice. Oh, what’s this?”

Marcus grabbed at his hat, but he was one second too late. The three-spiked jester
hat sailed gracefully through the air and landed in the tree.
“Alright, who is it?” he yelled, “Come out and fight!”
Ryenyl and Amondae turned to each other and snickered.
“I agree with you for once, moron.” Amondae could bearly keep herself from
laughing.
17

Marcus continued to face the tree. Gwen cowered behind him, frightened. Marcus
bellowed at the tree, “What were you saying?” He drew a long knife from his coat and
flourished it in the air. “Come out! Come out, hat-heisters and pipe-pinchers!” The knife
flew out of his hands. He spun around. As he did so, he caught sight of a large spined
animal tackling his sister. A large furry animal landed on his back and he knew no more.
Marcus groaned. His hands and feet were not tied, but he could not move them.
His body ached all over. He turned his head and groaned louder at the pain suddenly
released in his neck. He looked up again. He was lying in a forest glade, and the soft
sunlight streamed down from a hole in the forest canopy. He lay on a soft bed of leaves.
He heard his sister also wake with the traditional groan from someone who awakes from
a powerful intoxicated sleep. Had it been a dream? No, it was all too real. But the spiky
animal. That couldn’t have been real, could it? The pain was real. The groans were real.
He heard a very real thumping on the ground. The branches rustled sharply as a creature
burst through the hedge. He faintly heard, as through a thick wall,
“I think he’ll be fine. Give him a hour or two.” The voice was rough and scratchy,
like a deep growl from a wild animal’s throat. He heard another, gentler voice, saying,
“Here, drink this.” Marcus was too tired to resist. Cold liquor flowed down his
throat. What was that? It tasted vaguely of elderberries, blackberries and honey all mixed
together. He held his head back in peace and drank his fill. The first voice growled again,
“Nice going, moron. He’ll be spilling his guts all night. You know what that stuff
does.” Marcus almost wretched in horror. Then the other voice spoke, almost as a mother
would, rebuking her child,
“No it won’t. That only happens on you, moron.” Marcus sighed. There was a
snarling on his right. He found he could move his joints more freely. He turned his head
again. Gwen lay to his side. He could not see her head and wondered if she was hurt. He
heard her gasp and he saw large furry paws reach a flask to her mouth. She subsided
again, subdued by the soothing liquid. He fell asleep again, at peace with the world once
more.
18

Chapter 3
Of the Completing of the
Company
The forest was dank and wet. The canopy let no sunbeams in, save for occasional
patches of green-filtered light. Vines and dead leaves hampered their boot-clad shoes.
Caleb led the way, hacking at brush with his claymore. Vic panted behind him.
“Faster, faster, Caleb,” he urged Caleb.
“Would you like to try?” Caleb retorted, an angry snap. Vic quieted himself. The
birds and insects were strangely silent in the seemingly never-ending forest. Ben was
above them, deftly flying from tree to tree. Caleb finally collapsed. Ben dropped down
from the trees. Caleb took a drink from his canteen and then gave it to Vic.
“What time would you say it is, Ben?” he asked, gasping to fill his ravenous thirst
for oxygen. Ben said nothing, but flew to the top of the canopy and gazed at the sky for
several seconds. He flew back down to the encampment and grabbed a hunk of meat out
of his pack.
“I’d say fourteen or so,” he paused to rip off another chunk, “why?”
Caleb shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems late.”
“It’s this forest,” Vic offered, “The forest has an odd effect on every thing in here.
Everything is so quiet.”
“It’s the foreboding before the attack.” Caleb murmured half-sarcastically, half-
philosophically. No sooner had these words rolled off his lips than a sharp arrow shot out
of the forest and buried its head in the strap of Caleb’s pack. Caleb jumped up yelling an
incomprehensible battle cry. Ben swooped upwards to find the attacker. Several men
armed with long broadswords jumped out of the trees and rushed toward Caleb. He drew
his sword and plunged headlong into the men. Several of them delivered vicious blows to
Caleb’s arms and legs. One of them was kneeling over Caleb, sword in hand, ready to end
the questing forever, when a long, sharp point pierced the chest of the attacker from
within and he fell to the ground, quite dead. Caleb shoved it aside and stabbed his sword
into the back of a man wrestling with Vic. Their third companion was off taking care of
himself quite competently. Caleb, gasping for air, looked at Vic.
19

“It seems as if we had a fourth helper,” he wheezed.

“Yes, you did,” a voice from behind them said. Caleb and Vic turned around. A
substantially large hedgehog was calmly putting his bow on his back and his knives
into… his skin? Caleb was confused.
“Pleased to meet you. I am Ryenyl. The last people we met were not as in dire
need as you. Why do you venture among the tribes of the Savage?”
“We did not know that this land belonged to another person. We shall be leaving
promptly.”
Ryenyl nodded. “That would be smart. Fool the Savage once, shame on them, fool
the Savage twice, and you won’t be doin’ no more foolin’”
“Any more fooling.” Caleb corrected.
“We knew not that this land…” Ryenyl corrected back, “To use your standard
speech.”
“Thine standard speech,” Vic interjected. “What are you?”
“I am a…” he paused. “hedgehog with half a mind, as you would say.” Ryenyl
replied.
* * *
Marcus awoke. He felt agreeable with humanity. His last draught still filled his
stomach with a warming that seemed all pervading throughout every fiber of his body. He
sat up and looked around. Their subjugators were gone from sight. So was Gwen. Marcus
stood up and looked farther.
“Gwen!” he called. “Where are you?” The last shout echoed with an eerie
ominousence through the trees. “Gwen!” he called again. He heard a faint reply, and then
a rustling of the branches as Gwen burst into the opening.
“Hi,” she said with a smile. “I’ve been out looking for food. You been sleeping?”
Marcus nodded. “Yes. Do you know what kind of draught that was?”
Gwen bounced her head from side to side, loosening her spine. “I think it was
mead.” She gave a non-committal look. “Not bad.”
“What were our captors?” Marcus asked quizzically.
“I do not know,” Gwen responded. “They seemed to be intelligent creatures of
some sort.”
“Whatever they were, I disliked them.” Marcus intoned emphatically.
20

“I also did. Let’s leave before they return,” Gwen suggested. “Do you have your
pipes?”
Marcus nodded. The pair left as silently as the wind rustling through the branches,
watched closely by a dark figure in the forest.
* * *
Ryenyl led Caleb, Vic, and Ben back to the clearing where he had left Marcus and
Gwen. Amondae was standing there, her mouth ajar, and a bundle of herbs and berries in
her hand. Caleb stood in more awe then when he had first seen Ryenyl.
“Where are they?” Ryenyl asked meekly.
Amondae whirled around, noticing them for the first time. “Moron! You didn’t
give them enough sleeping mead!” Ryenyl turned to Caleb and whispered.
“Don’t let her fool you. She’s really as nice and warm as… a sunbathing adder.”
Amondae walked up to Ryenyl and looked at the back of his neck. When he
turned around, he stared into her face. “Oh, hi. Just telling these people how nice you are
to people who aren’t morons like me.”
“Oh.” The sarcasm dripped from her lips. “Who are these people?”
“These are Caleb, Vic, and…where’d Ben go?” Ben was gone. The branches
rustled sharply, and they could hear faint voices.
“I told you we’d been here before!”
“We’re not going in circles! I know exactly where we…” Marcus was cut short as
he and Gwen burst into the glen. “We are traveling minstrels from a…ohh.” Marcus’s
rhyme was cut short as he realized whom he was intruding upon.
“You were saying?” Amondae growled.
“What are you?” Gwen cautiously inquired. Before her stood a small, thin bear, a
giant hedgehog, a man who acted like a dog, and, thank goodness, a real human.
“Us?” Amondae rumbled at Gwen, her fur shaking all over. “We are traveling
outcasts from Anegleog castle in the east. We were cast out two days ago. We would have
been farther, but this moron wanted to talk to every moronic hedgehog along the moronic
way!” she roared at Ryenyl. He calmly stared at his claws.
“I kind of meant what kind of animal you are.” Gwen restated her question.
“I’m a human who happens to be different, if that will satisfy you. Homo Sapiens
Ursus arctos horribilis, scientifically. My partner here, Ryenyl,” the noted hedgehog
21

looked up and smiled. “Is a large,” She patted Ryenyl’s stomach, “Hedgehog, Homo
Sapiens moronius.”
Ryenyl murmured, “Homo Sapiens Erinaceidae. moronius, my …”
Amondae interrupted, “What were you saying?”
“Nothing.” He smiled and looked around nervously. “Where do you come from?”
Ryenyl addressed Caleb and Vic.
“We are running away from my father, Caleb Eredros the Second. He is the king
of Eredros Castle.”
“Hmm. Ar-Eredros. Are you related to him?” Amondae showed interest in
someone else for the first time.
“Yes. I am the first-born son of a first-born son, all the way back to Ar-Eredros
himself, as far as anyone can tell. However, I think that the sword skill must have gone to
someone else. My dexterity with any weapon is very limited.”
“I noticed.” Ryenyl giggled.
“What do you mean, moron?” Amondae interrogated Ryenyl.
“Oh, I met these jesters, or whatever they are in the forest. Speaking of which, the
Savage will be back anytime. We need to get moving out of their woods.”
“Who are the Savage?” Caleb asked.
“They are an indigenous tribe around here. They don’t like people in their land, as
you may have noticed.”
“Really?” Vic smirked sarcastically, “I thought that was just an initiation rite or
something. I never suspected it was aggression or anything.”
“Aha aha aha. No.” Ryenyl laughed sardonically. “What are you here for?”
“They’re questing for a sword.” Ben dropped in from behind them. Amondae
dropped to the ground in terror and screamed. Ben laughed. “Who’s this ball of fuzz?”
Ryenyl smirked grimly. “That’s Amondae. She doesn’t like birds.”
“She doesn’t like birds?” Caleb asked, flabbergasted that such a creature as
Amondae could be frightened of such a thing as birds. Giant ones, but nonetheless, …
Caleb’s thoughts were cut short as Ryenyl calmly addressed Ben.
“The Savage will be back soon. We need to get moving. What kind of sword?”
Ryenyl started packing his bag.
22

“Ar-Eredros’s sword.” Caleb resheathed his own sword and grabbed Vic, who was
looking off into the distance at something only smelled. “It’s said to lie above a land
where all must die, past just about every known location that marks the end of the known
world.”
Ben looked at Caleb. “You do know it doesn’t say the sword is there, in the place
it mentions.”
Caleb frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Some of the commentaries on Legend that I’ve read speak of a puzzle theory.”
“Sure. We still start there.” Caleb finished.
“I’ve heard the poem.” Gwen mumbled. “I only thought it was a legend.”
“You believe in Legend, don’t you?” Caleb inquired.
Gwen nodded dumbly.
Ryenyl shouldered his bag on his back and grabbed Caleb. “Let’s go. It’s getting
late.” Caleb broke his gaze with Gwen and walked off into the dimming forest.
Vic ran ahead to Caleb. “Hey Caleb, are they going with us?”
Caleb shrugged. “I don’t know. If they want to, they may, but that is their choice. I
know not whether I will survive the journey after that half of the poem you quoted.”
Vic looked moderately mournful. “True. I believe in you, though.”
“I don’t know if you should. I can’t return now, though. My father will have my
head. I have to return with something of value to him. What thinkest thou?” he asked Vic,
who was sniffing something at the side of the road. “Vic?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely!” Vic exclaimed enthusiastically. “What was the question?”
Caleb sighed.
23

Chapter 4
Of Secrets Revealed
Marcus walked side by side with Ryenyl.
“So, what’s your story?” he asked.
“It’s long. Are you sure you want to hear?”
Marcus shrugged. “It’s better than anything we’re doing right now.”
“True.” Ryenyl exhaled. “When I was born, 22 years ago, the castle was both
fascinated and terrified at me. Fortunately,” he readjusted his pack, awkwardly, “the royal
family was on my side. They decreed that I should stay. However, even before I knew it, I
had made some enemies.
“Then Amondae came along. That created a bit of a stir.”
“Wait,” Marcus interrupted. “You’re her elder?”
“True. By four years.” He continued with his narrative, “So this lady, the queen
took care of us until we were 12 and 8, respectively. Then she up and died and left us
without a carer for in the world. Amondae and I migrated in and out of the castle for
years, until about two days ago, when the cook threw us out.”
“Have you ever had any happy times?” Marcus asked, true concern in his voice.
“Yeh. Before Amondae was born.”

Amondae was having her own conversation and was too involved to punish the
belligerent hedgehog. “What are you planning to do after you do this trip thing?” she
asked.
“I’m planning to go from castle to castle and sing, dance, whatever one does at a
castle. You’ve never really known any of the castle code, have you?” she inquired of
Amondae.
Amondae was taken aback. “Why would you assume that?”
“Because it is common courtesy to not attack or harm a entertainer. You obviously
did not know that.”
“True. It was just that moron hedgehog that attacked you. I didn’t mean any
harm.”
24

“You’re forgiven, I guess.” The two women walked along in silence for a long
time.
“So what about Marcus?” Amondae asked, “Is he nice, or what?”
“He’s nice, but he’s a little obsessed with music.”
“Ah.” Silence ensued again.
“How’s Ryenyl? You sounded like you didn’t like him.”
Amondae exploded. “That moronic hedgehog, he’s such an moron! He always
gets in my moronic way! He’s so annoying, and such an moron…” Amondae continued
raving. Gwen hadn’t made up her mind whether or not to like Amondae

Vic was having an equally rousing conversation with Ben.

“So, how’s living in the kennels?” Ben asked.
“It’s fine.” Vic responded. “Little dark, little dank, but fine. Do you ever fight
much?”
Here was a conversation Ben was ready for. “Of course! Why, there was this one
time I was minding my own business, when all of a sudden, these four hoary marmots,
can you believe it? Hoary marmots! They just jumped out and attacked me…”
Vic was sorry he had started the subject. He walked over to Ryenyl to ask him a
few questions.

Two hours later, the company stopped. Vic and Ryenyl were deeply involved in a
combat lesson.
“So, you want to parry to my left sword,” Vic did so. “Then you want to move it
with your sword and come down on my head with your fist.” Vic complied and was doing
well until Ryenyl grabbed Vic’s paw and twisted it around. Vic went down, howling as
Ryenyl grabbed the handle of Vic’s sword and pointed at his neck.
“Now, there is always going to be someone who is better than you who’s going to
do that, and let’s hope the one is your friend.”
Gwen stepped up. “You’re not bad,” she smirked. “Let me try.”
Ryenyl almost laughed openly. “You?” He caught a glimpse of Marcus chuckling
to himself.
Gwen nodded. “Me. To make it fair, I won’t use a weapon.”
25

Ryenyl laughed, “You won’t use a weapon? You must think you’re pretty good at
unarmed combat.” Gwen nodded.
Vic barked, “Start!” Ryenyl lunged at Gwen, but she just stood there. She started
talking.
“Ryenyl. Kwan.” He stopped. “Lxata slaton.” She was talking in a smooth, low,
voice. “Alacro mâta twa. Thir mâta twa u mâta urt.” He drew his sword and directed it
toward his neck, wordlessly, as someone in a trance. “That will be all.” She concluded.
Ryenyl shook his head dazedly, as he stared down the blade of his sword.
“How did you do that?”
“Just a trick I’ve learned. It only works on humans, or animals who are in their
human mind, though.”
Amondae pulled Gwen aside, “Anything, I’ll give you anything to teach me,” She
whispered desperately.
Gwen shook her head. “It’s a skill that I’ve inherited.” She explained.
“Oh.” Amondae looked disappointed.
“What’s for dinner, Marcus?” Gwen yelled.
“What do you want?” he shouted back.
“Venison,” Caleb interjected. “I haven’t had venison in the longest time.”
Marcus walked over to Ryenyl. “Give it back.” He demanded. Ryenyl laughed.
“Fine, have it. I don’t even like deer. I’d rather have a good toad or mouse.” He
tossed the pipe to Marcus. Marcus started to play it. The sound coming out of the pipe
was soft and melancholy. Vic started to nod his head and his eyes went glassy with the
intricate rhythm. The travelers heard a rustling in the bushes, and then a loud thump.
Marcus retrieved the dead deer from the shrub.
“You can control any animal with that?” Vic asked incredulously.
Marcus shook his head. “Only deer with this pipe. All my other pipes are different
animals.”
“Do you have a tobacco pipe?” Ryenyl inquired.
“What’s a tobacco?”

* * *
26

It was late. The mead had flown freely and openly. The company was sitting on
logs around a warm fire. Marcus and Gwen had shown all their jestorial tricks, and now
the party was dissolving into business that was more serious. Caleb stood up.
“Who is coming with us to find the sword of Ar-Eredros?”
Ryenyl raised a paw and stated drunkenly, “I willsh.”
Amondae also raised an arm, “I’ll go.” Gwen and Marcus were clueless.
“What is it?” Marcus asked, dazedly.
“Their queshting fur a sword of heredrosh,” Ben belched loudly. “And I do so
ever love mice.” The mead had gone to his head a little more that the rest.
Vic, never a drinker, was still sober. “Look, you’re all drunk. Let’s go to bed for
the night. It was too late. Amondae fell backwards off her chair into a deep stupor. Ryenyl
had gone to bed…In Vic’s cot. Caleb sat down in a bush and dozed off. Vic shook his
head. It was late.

The next morning dawned in such a way that no one could be unhappy. The sun
rose at the right time. It was just warm enough, the ground was comfortable, and
everyone was feeling benevolent.
Amondae didn’t like it. The comfort and quiet was as a great foreboding before
the company. She shifted nervously and kicked Ryenyl.
"Hey, moron!" she growled loudly at the still intoxicated hedgehog.
"What?" Ryenyl snapped back.
"There's something in the air. Do you feel it?"
Ryenyl groaned. When Amondae "felt" something, there was trouble around, or
else something serious. But at this time in the morning... He looked up. The sun was high
overhead, almost at its zenith. He groaned again and got up, his head swimming. "What?"
"There's a great presence around here. It hides itself, to reveal itself to us later. It
lurks in the shadows." She growled.
Ryenyl sniffed. "I feel it also. What is it?"
"It's the guardian of the forest."
"You never told me about those. What are they?" Ryenyl sat down.
"Every forest was entrusted to a Guardian at the beginning of time, to beautify it
and keep evil out of it." Amondae's eyes had a faraway look. "But in time, as all things
27

do, many Guardians fell, such as the one that resides within this evil forest. He perverted
the use of this forest, making it a haven for evil, destroying its beauty, and snaring
innocent travelers. Much evil came, such as the Savage. Even throughout the world, this
forest is feared."
"What happened to the other forest?" Ryenyl had shivers running up and down his
spine.
"Some fell, others did not, but all forests were never the same. Only two forests
now can boast beauty. They are Soldier Forest in the north and the forest that lies next to
Elven House. The Smallelves took over Arrow Forest, and now it is inhospitable. I fear
the for day when we enter that god-forsaken hole."
"It is not now far off," Caleb interrupted, now also sitting at Amondae’s feet. It is
but a two-day's journey from here, given there are no more complications. Vic," at this he
pointed to Vic, who was lapping up water from a nearby stream. "has scouted ahead and
reports that the forest breaks and ends less than a mile from here."
"It will not go smoothly," Ben had risen and was walking toward them. "There is
a great evil within this forest. I have met him before. You must pay the price."
"And what is the price?" Caleb asked, interested.
"Anything of value you have, save one sword, your food, and the clothes on your
back. Any fine drink must also be presented to him."
Amondae growled softly. "What's this Guardian's name?"
"So you know the legends," Ben looked surprised. "but you do not know them
well enough. The Guardians take on the name of their forest."
"What is the name of this forest, then?" Caleb asked.
"It is the Forest of Darkness."
Amondae, never one for pleasantries, shifted and put on her pack, "Well, we
might as well be over with it."
"Not yet, the jester and his sister are sleeping." Caleb explained.
"Then wake them!"
"We can't. They're out like logs."
"I'll wake them!" Amondae exclaimed.
Amondae walked over to the sleeping pair and pulled at Marcus's sleeve.
Something was wrong with it. The way it was shaped... No, what was it? Amondae
28

studied it, and then tapped it. His body gave a dull thudding sound. She picked him, or
what appeared to be him, up. It was a wooden statue, perfectly carved to fit Marcus's
appearance, with clothes on top of it. Amondae threw down the statue in disgust and
hurried over to the group.
"What's the matter, Amondae?" Ryenyl asked.
"They are logs. The Guardian must already have captured them."
Caleb looked shocked. "How?"
"We were all off our guard last night, and left quite a destination for any evil
here." Ben pointed at the fire, still smoldering. "I guess I made a fool out of myself as
much as anyone else, save Vic."
"We have to find them." Ryenyl added. "We need them."
"What do we have to offer the Guardian?"
Ben looked at Ryenyl. "Honey mead."
Ryenyl sighed.
29

Chapter 5
Of Guardians and Gifts
They had been walking for three hours now, and the flies were upon them. Thick,
buzzing shrouds of pestilence, the flies swarmed around the travelers as if a living death
followed this journey wherever it went. Even Ryenyl, who would enjoy flies as morsels
for a snack, found their taste to be excruciatingly bitter. Thus, the entire company was set
into a high state of annoyance, especially Amondae.
"What is the problem with these flies!?" she growled, batting at them with
massive paws. "Why don't they leave us alone?"
"Maybe they like eating us." Ryenyl snapped back sarcastically. "Why don't you
ask them?"
"I didn't ask you, moron!" Amondae swept a massive forearm in Ryenyl's
direction. Ryenyl dodged and the blow fell on Ben. Ben swept upwards and flew above
Amondae, battering her with his wings.
"Stop it, you two!" Vic yelled. "We'll never find the Sword if you keep arguing
like this!"
"Very good advice, Master Vic," a voice came from the shadows. It was thin and
raspy, but held an air of command about it. "Greetings." a smallish black creature crept
out of the shadows. It was thin and covered with spikes, and its hair hung down in long
matted braids. "I am Shadglen. I serve the Guardian of the Forest of Darkness. If you
seek him, you will follow me."

Marcus had never felt so bad -- it was the only word to describe it -- in his life.
His bones ached all over, his head hurt, only his cloak was left on his body, and there was
a growing sensation of evil, tingling all over his body. He lay on a stone floor, in a stone
cell, with a large iron gate in front of him. It had been twisted in several places, and then
reforged, as if the previous inhabitant was a rather substantial animal. He could hear
Gwen scream periodically several cells off, and rage burned within him to destroy
whatever these creatures were.
30

He could barely remember the early morning hours. He had been captured and
tied, but that was the extent of his memory. He started humming, and then pulled a pipe
out of his cloak and started to play a tune on it. Immediately the few guards patrolling the
long dark hall were gone, and Gwen stopped screaming. Marcus stopped. The hall had
started to fill with light. As he stopped, the darkness crept back in, and he could hear the
guards slinking back in. He started to play again, an old tune played around bars and at
happy times. The guards scuttled off again. He continued to play as the hall gently
flooded with light. He heard someone approaching quickly, and he played in a more
diminutive way as his breath faded, waiting for the person to arrive.
Gwen came around the corner, led by a tall, ugly man, twisted by the evil that had
ruined this place. He put her in the cell opposite Marcus's and scurried off hurriedly as
the music filled the halls once more.
Gwen was in a sorry state of affairs. Her long golden hair hung down rattily, wet
to the point it looked brown. She wore only her cloak, which was torn and battered, like
her body. Cuts scarred her face.
"What is this place?" she asked Marcus questioningly.
"I don't know." Marcus had stopped playing. "I've heard stories that tell that every
forest has its guardian, whether good or bad, and I've heard the guards mutter something
about "the Guardian."
There was a long pause.
"Do they torture just because they enjoy it?" Gwen asked.
Marcus shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. This place…” he paused. “is an
abode of evil."

The rest of the company was discovering that for themselves as they were led
through the makeshift town. Everywhere, sewage ran through the streets, and the light
was that of eternal nightfall. The sun barely shone through the trees, and where it did,
there was nothing. Nothing would be built in the direct light. Lanterns lighted the streets,
but the company seemed to be the only people there. Now and then, a shadow would
move in a window, or an outline of a face would show itself. One man sat on the side of
the road, sharpening his knives. His head was down. When he lifted his head, the eyes
31

inside were tortured, rejected, and pleading. Caleb stared as he walked, holding the man's
gaze. Their leader motioned.
"Hurry up." he rasped at Caleb. Caleb broke his gaze and hurried on. The
darkness grew as they reached the edge of the town, and eventually they reached a point
where they could only see about five feet in front of them. Their guide lit a lantern, but
the light that came out was sickly and polluted, and the entire company withed it had
never been lit. Beneath them for a second, they heard a faint tune and the ground glowed,
but then the guide hurried them on and they passed the spot.
Then they felt a voice.
- Travelers -
It was a deep, raspy, evil voice that sounded as if every word was a breath, but
spectral, for it was not heard, only felt within one's mind.
- Why do you venture here? You should not have come this way -
Caleb stepped forward, the speaker of the group.
"We come here because we search."
- You are foolish to venture in my realm -
"We will do as we please."
- You will be destroyed -
"If we do, then we were not meant for this journey."
- Where are your gifts? -
At this Caleb brought out a pack of honey mead and offered it to the guard, who
scuttled into the darkness.
- You have weapons -
"We only have one apiece."
- You may only keep one -
"Only one of us can keep our weapons?"
- Correct -
Caleb turned to his companions.
"You keep yours, Caleb." Ryenyl muttered softly.
The rest of the company nodded. Caleb gathered their weapons and carried them
to the guard, who was returning.
- You may go -
32

"We have something to demand of you."

- Take them. They have been nothing but pain, bringing light and happiness into
this world. Take them and go. You will find them at the edge of the forest -
Caleb paused.
- Nek!-
Then the voice disappeared.

Within the prisons, Gwen and Marcus sat opposite each other in their individual
cells, sleeping. A guard came in. Marcus woke up at the sound of the heavy tramping.
The guard opened the cell doors and let them out. Marcus woke up Gwen.
"Where are we going?" she whispered.
"I don't know."
"Shut up!" The guard growled at them. They got up and dusted themselves off.
They walked up the long, dark stairs, following the guard ahead of them. Eventually they
came into a lighted chamber, though the light was dank and green. The guard handed
them both their clothes and their chain mail. Marcus took off his cloak and put the rest of
his clothing on, then replaced the cloak. Gwen did the same, but ducked into a small
room for privacy. The guard growled gruffly again and led them up another flight of
stairs out into the open. Apparently they lay at the edge of the forest. Behind them was
the same forbidding gloom, while ahead of them laid a long stretch of open road. In the
distance, they could see another grove of trees. To their left, the north, lay Mount Boro,
ancient citadel of stone. But in the middle of their vision lay a towering spire at the
crossroads. They wondered at this for a few moments. Gwen turned to ask the guard what
it was, but he was gone and they were alone. Sleep took them and they fell, helpless.
33

Chapter 6
Of Baron Forge
Caleb could just see the outlines of two reclining forms at the edge of his vision as
the new day dawned when Ben yelled.
"There they are!" The half-man screeched, circling high above the company. The
entire group rushed forward to meet the lost companions.
Marcus yelled as the rest of the group approached. Gwen woke up and looked in
the same direction. She gave a squeal of joy and rushed forward to meet them.
They visited and caught up on experiences. Finally Ben got down to business.
"Which direction are we going?"
"The story says to follow the Dwindling Road until the valley of death." Caleb
replied.
"What is that building up the road there?" Marcus pointed to the spire.
"That's the Baron Forge. I don't know what kind of a reception we'll have there."
Ben replied.
"Why not?"
"He's very temperamental. Doesn't like visitors of any kind sometimes, loves
them at others."
"How will we know?" Gwen asked.
"He has servants who know his mood. They'll tell us before we reach any serious
trouble," Ben explained.
"How do you know so much about him?" Amondae asked, still wary of Ben.
"I visited him once or twice. He was in a good mood. He's a fairly nice character
if you catch him at the right time."
"Let's be going." Caleb started at a brisk pace towards the stronghold of Baron
Forge. An eighth figure, hooded and cloaked, watched as they left and stared after them.

Three hours later, the travelers had arrived at the spire that was Baron Forge. it
was a massive spiral of stone and steel, stretching hundreds of feet into the air. It was
built in such a way that it was a spiral upon itself, and the edges of the helix formed a
34

walkway around the Forge. Even now a small clinking could be hear distant. It was not
yet noon, but the travelers were hungry. Caleb stepped up to the iron doors, large but
bland and pounded with his fist against the resounding doors. They echoed across the
plain with a dull ring. Caleb stepped back with the rest of the group. The doors creaked
and groaned. A young woman stood there, dressed in a white tunic, blank save for the
emblem of a tower, the very one she stood inside. A long sword hung at her side, and on
her back was a bow and quiver.
"Greetings, travelers." her voice was melodious and almost surreal in the way it
echoed through the empty courtyard inside. "Will you come inside?"
"Graciously," Caleb responded. "we have need of food and water."
The girl stepped aside and let the company pass through. The courtyard inside
was vast, though empty. Many doors opened at the side opposite Caleb, but he could not
see where they led to. The ground was covered with a grass that was brown and withered.
The sun beat down hotly upon the travelers and they tired. The girl led them into one of
the doors.
"My name is Twaskla." she announced. "I am the greeter to the Baron Forge. I see
one of you has been here before." She pointed at Ben, and the company noticed for the
first time that Ben wore a small metal emblem of a hammer around his neck. It had not
been there before.
"You bear the mark of one who has slept here." she said.
"I have been here before, but more than one hundred years ago. Surely you do not
remember me."
She smiled. "No. I do not. But I am sure the Baron does. I will tell him that you
are here. Eat your food." At this, she left and small gear driven arms placed a succulent
meal on the table where they were now seated. There was food enough to go around. The
center of the meal was a roast pig, and everyone had a glass of wine, bread and soup.
Everyone but Caleb started to eat.
"Ben."
Ben stopped eating.
"You've been here before a hundred years ago?"
"That is correct." Everyone else slowed and stopped eating.
"How is it that you do not die?"
35

"I have."
Caleb stared.
"Hundreds of years ago, Caleb, I lay dying. My friend, Ar-Eredros, came in my
room as I lay there. He asked me what my final wish was. I told him that I would that I
would never find rest until I had vanquished the evil from the earth. He went away,
saying that he would bring my wish true. Six days later, I died. At my funeral, Ar-Eredros
grieved deeply, for I was his friend.
But then, as I was being laid to rest, I sprang alive again, but I was as a child, and
I had wings. The wings that I was given were a gift to fly me to far corners of the world
where evil still lurked, but they were a curse to label me forever as an outcast. Today,
even, I search the world for evil that I may destroy it. I will never rest until I do.
Whenever I die, I am reborn in the castle where the descendant of Ar-Eredros lives." The
company was silent.
"You knew my ancestor?" Caleb's voice was the first to break the silence.
"I did. And I know that this is the company that is destined to find the sword. That
is why I must come with you no matter what you have done to me."
Amondae continued eating, but the rest of the company still pondered upon Ben's
words.
The silence was broken by a deep humming slowly growing in the distance.
"What's that?" Marcus asked.
"Probably the Baron." Amondae took another slurp of soup. In another moment,
the humming increased in volume and the doors burst open. In the door stood a tall, hairy,
large-chested, apron-clothed, grease stained old man. His eyes were merry and he had a
smile as he lumbered over to Ben.
"Hey! Ben! How's it goin'?"
Ben smiled and hugged the Baron while patting him on the back with his wings.
"What are you up to, you old rascal?"
"Oh, nothin' serious now. How many times have you died since I seen you last?"
"Only once. Damned Shadows! I was on the Eastern border and they ambushed
me. I took most of them down first. They were surprised when a dead man plowed into
their back."
"Figures. Well, I figure you'll be wantin' weapons and food."
36

"That'd be great. This food here is delicious." Amondae offered one of her rare
thanks.
"Thank you." The Baron's voice was deep, fatherly, and kind. "I will learn all of
your names at the dinner table and the reason why you have come later. Now, I will show
you your rooms."
He led them up twisted passageways, following the spiral, until he came to a room
with doors leading off on every side.
"Ben, as usual, you can sleep up there." he pointed to a door in a ceiling.
"You two," he pointed to Marcus and Gwen. "As I can see you are siblings, may
sleep in that room. You may sleep in that room, Hairy one." he pointed at Amondae. "and
you three may sleep in the large room." he pointed to a door. "I will see you in the grand
dining hall at dusk. Ben will know the way." He left down the stairs.
“He seems to be on pretty good terms with you, Ben.” Caleb noted.
“Yes. He is a pretty close friend, but we have our secrets.”
“Such as?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Ben laughed.
"When were you here last?” Caleb asked.
“I was searching for the sword as I do now.” Ben explained. “your ancestor, even
until he died, would tell no one where he left the sword, except for an order of monks
sworn to protect the sword at all costs. I begged for him to reveal it to me, but even on his
deathbed, he would not tell. I have been searching for it ever since. I am glad to have met
you, for if you are the one of whom the poem speaks, indeed, if we are those of whom the
poem speaks, then we shall find the sword.”
“And if not?” Vic interrupted.
“Then we have wasted our time.”

The travelers had settled into their rooms, and they had changed out of their dirt-
caked, sweat-encrusted clothes into the uniform of the Baron. Gwen was combing her
hair as Amondae stared out the window in one of her pensive moments. She noticed
something on the ground, many hundreds of feet away.
“What’s that?” she asked Gwen.
37

Gwen walked over to the window and stared, her human eyes unable to detect any
sign of life. Then she noticed it; a small black dot on the wide stretch of plain.
“I don’t know,” she replied and went back to combing her hair.
“I don’t like it.” Amondae rumbled, moving away from the window.
* * *
The dinner was large. The table that it was set upon stretched away for seemingly
endless miles, although it was only twenty feet long. Amondae, Ben, Ryenyl, and Vic
looked at the dinner with drool coming from their lips, while Caleb and the rest of the
more human-looking group tried to contain their obvious pleasure at the meal before
them. There was a whole hog and fourteen roast partridges, with warm bread and the
finest butter. A tureen of soup stood on one end of the table, while a huge salad bowl full
of the finest lettuce, the crispest cucumbers, and the juiciest tomatoes covered with some
kind of herb dressing graced the opposite end. There were pies set all around, filled with
herbs, spices, and vegetables. At each place, there was set a plate, a bowl, three forks, two
spoons, two knives, and a flagon of the richest wine in the land. The Baron was rich, as
was his food. Caleb looked hungry, as did the rest of the group. They all looked
expectantly toward the door, for their host had not yet arrived. Then they heard it:
Thump…Thump…Thump. The Baron’s massive weight was approaching. They all sat
down. The chairs were large, enough to make the largest man fell like he was in a cradle.
But the Baron was not a man. He was a High Elf, one of the largest friendly races in the
land. Fully 8 feet tall, he towered over all his guests, and as he entered, they were still
amazed at his height and greatness of stature. 500 pounds of pure muscle, this monster of
a being was an imposing presence.
“Let us eat!” and they started at the massive mountain of comestibles.
Four hours later, the travelers, save Ben, were rolling on the floor in ecstasy and
pain, their bloated bodies rolling smoothly over the polished wood floor. But the Baron
ate on, shoveling pounds of food into his gaping oral cavity. Finally, he stopped, leaned
back and patted his stomach. Marcus, usually a careful eater, groaned from the food.
Amondae, the only not entirely full, slowly rose to her feet and walked out the door to her
room. Gwen also rose ponderously to her feet and staggered out the door. Caleb rose with
surprising ease and sat in his chair, one especially close to the Baron. Ben looked up from
a flagon of wine and looked at Caleb.
38

“Staying up?” he asked, peering through the glass, swirling the small amount of
fluid left in the base.
“Yes,” Caleb groaned and shifted his chair. “I’d like to talk with both of you about
a few things.”
“Sure,” The Baron sat up straight and beckoned for a maid to clear the table. “But
first I’d like to ask you about a few things. Don’t worry, I have the tightest lips in the
country.”
“Fine.”
“What are you doing here? I’ve never met with any as honest as you in these
flats.”
“We’re looking for my ancestor’s sword,” Caleb admitted bluntly.
“There are lots of those. Who was your ancestor?”
“Ar-Eredros.”
The Baron sat shocked for a second, not moving. “You…” he stumbled. “You’re
his descendant?”
“I don’t know. I believe I am. We know that he is in this company.”
“Then what are your companions here for?”
“ The seven companions from afar, come looking for the sword so fair,” The
maid murmured as she passed the table.
“What?” The Baron stopped the maid, “What did you say?”
“The seven companions. Those that the ancient poem speaks of.” She left,
carrying a pile of dirty dishes.
“Then maybe you are,” the Baron was silent for a second. “Anyway, what was it
you wanted?”
“Just to know who you are.”
“I…” he started, “am a reclusive high elf who lives in the middle of nowhere
forging armor for anyone who has the money to protect their lives. But as of now, I am
rethinking that policy. The money part.” He added. “Come with me.” He rose and led Ben
and Caleb out the massive oak and iron doors. Caleb wiped his face and followed the
Baron. They ran to keep up with his massive strides as he led them through endless
spiraling passageways higher and higher, until they reached another colossal entryway.
The Baron procured a set of keys from his pocket and opened the door. He opened it
39

slowly and guided the others in to the room. It was the highest room in the castle, tall and
circular. On all sides, there were huge glass windows. Caleb had never seen so much
glass. But there was something besides glass.
“Up there,” the Baron pointed to a door in the ceiling, “is my forge. This is my
armory.” And an armory it was. Racks of gleaming chainmail hung on racks. Weapons
filled the places between the windows, and everywhere lay weapons, glinting in the
starlight. “What do you want?” the Baron asked, picking up a mammoth battle-axe.
“You’re offering us anything we want?” Ben gasped in astonishment. “These
weapons would cost hundreds, maybe thousands of Arins!”
“Anything you want.” The Baron smiled, “but as for now, I’m going to bed. He
left them staring.
40

Chapter 7
Of Armor and Omlettes
Caleb gaped at the pile of weapons. Ben picked his way over the weapons on the
floor and lifted a gleaming, lightweight chainmail shirt from a rack. He studied the back
for a second.
“Looks like he was expecting me after my last visit.” Ben showed Caleb long
gashes in the back of the chainmail shirt.
“I don’t get it.”
Ben put the shirt on. His wings fit perfectly in the holes, allowing perfect
movement. Caleb shrugged, then picked up another light mail shirt and put it on. It was
light, barely there, but yet Caleb could feel a strength coursing through it.
“Pick up one of those swords.” Caleb commanded. Ben did so. Caleb unsheathed
his own sword and swung it at Ben. Ben neatly blocked with the Baron’s sword, slicing
Caleb’s claymore in two. Caleb stopped for a second, and then picked a sword off the
wall. The scabbard was well wrought and had an ornate design of a flaming sword on the
thick leather. Caleb slid the long sword out of the sheath and looked at it. On it was the
words: For the descendant of Markello the Warrior, one skilled in verse and lore. Caleb
studied it for a second, and then looked at the next. For Benjamin the Warrior, he who
will never die.
“Looks like this one’s yours.” Caleb tossed it to Ben, who caught it with a quick
twirl around. Caleb advanced toward the middle sword, more ornate than the rest. He
lifted it off the wall and drew it out. On it was the words: For Caleb, until he comes unto
his own. The writing glowed a fiery red, even in the low light. “He must have been
expecting us sometime.”
“One of the parts of the legend of Ar-Eredros is that, if he who comes searching is
the real descendant, there will be three signs that will prove him as he comes to the
mountain. The Baron’s sword must be one.”
Caleb picked up some mail leggings and an assortment of daggers. Ben sheathed
his sword and left the room, leaving Caleb standing there alone. Caleb took one last
glance at the room and then left, closing the door behind him with a dismal thud.
41

“What time is it?” Amondae groaned as Caleb prodded her.

“Too late. Get up.”
“Get out of my room. I have to get dressed.”
“Fine.” Caleb left, and entered the Kartofflen’s room. “Marcus, get up, it’s almost
nine.”
“All right. Fine.” Marcus rose slowly. “Gwen, get up.”
Gwen looked around tiredly. “Do I have to?”
“Yes. We have to go soon, and I want to show you something.” Caleb said as he
left the room. Vic was already up, waiting outside his room for Caleb.
“Let’s go eat.” Vic was not suffering any ill effects from the night before.
“All right.” Caleb and Vic left to go to the dinner hall.
The Baron was there, and a pile of food almost as monstrous as the night before
was laid out. But this food was omlettes and toast, fried potatoes and glasses of freshly
squeezed juice along with slices of fruit. Caleb and Vic sat down and thanked the Baron,
then began to eat. Caleb stopped after his second omlette and wiped his mouth. He
looked at the Baron and spoke, “Do I take it correctly that your hospitality in weapons
extends to my company as well?”
“Yes. As you no doubt have noticed, there are swords I made shortly after the
death of your ancestor in preparation for your company. They have not lost any of their
original sharpness and are quite suited for battle. However, they cannot compare to the
sword that you quest for, I am afraid.” He continued eating, and the others followed suit.
* * *
“There’s so much!”
“I’ve never seen that much armor!” The company was standing in the armory
looking at the Baron’s handiwork.
“There’s a weapon for each of you.” The Baron said proudly. “Marcus, yours is
the thin sword, Gwen, yours is the dirk, Ryenyl, yours is the bow, Amondae’s; the flail,
Vic, the knives, Ben, yours is the sword that you have with you.”
Marcus stared at the sword he held in his hand. It was a well-crafted, light sword
with a weight-saving cutout in the middle. Gwen studied her dirk. It was a dagger about
two feet long, the pommel a large ruby. Ryenyl received his bow with pride. The
42

craftsmanship was excellent, its body slim but strong, the string the same. On each end
there was a blade for close combat. Amondae’s flail was a fearsome weapon, four feet
long, with a fifty-pound spike ball at the end of a long chain, but she lifted it as a toy.
Vic’s knives were an object of interest also. There were two sets of three knives, joined
together at the base, with grooves designed so that the user could put them between the
fingers on each of his hands. He also received a set of long throwing knives, which he
brandished with ferocity. Also in the set came a long dirk, majestically crafted.
“Well, friends, I am afraid that I should not keep you much longer. I have filled
your packs with food and given you a donkey to carry something else I am giving you.
Keep it well and do not open it until you reach the forest ahead of here.” With this he
heaved himself into the door in the ceiling and disappeared from sight. The travelers
headed down the long corridor; casting one last, long look at the armory of the Baron of
the Plains of Mount Boro.
* * *
The travelers found themselves traveling once again. They headed east at a brisk
pace, their hearts happy and their bodies lightened from the crudely formed armor they
had left home with. Behind them they could hear the metallic ringing of the Baron’s forge
echoing across the land. All but Amondae walked lightly, almost pranced along. Marcus
began to play and Gwen began to hum a tune that soon became infectious among the
members of the company, and before they knew it, they had reached the forest they had
seen from the Baron’s tower. Unlike the previous forest, plenty of light streamed in
through the thin canopy and the way seemed to be marked out for them. Perfect.
Too perfect. Amondae thought. There’s going to be something in here, and we’re
all going to die.
But even Caleb too, looked unwilling to go into the forest.
“Come on, Caleb, what’s the problem?” Vic asked. “Scared?”
“No.” Caleb replied defiantly. “Open the packs on the donkey.”
The donkey was brought to the front of the line. Caleb pulled on the drawstrings
that held the packs. The packs were filled with finely crafted miniature arrows. They
were sharp-barbed and had red fletching, all in miniature quivers, packs of twenty apiece.
Caleb and the rest of the group stared.
“Arrows.” Marcus said. “He gave us arrows.”
43

“Arrows are good.” Ryenyl noted as he reached toward the bag to fill his quiver.
“Not yet,” Ben stopped Ryenyl, “I know what they’re for. Let’s continue.”
Ryenyl stepped back, indignant, but continued on into the forest with the rest of
the group.
The figure that had been following them, however, was eager about entering the
forest. It knew what this forest meant: death. Death was its ally, its friend, and its
strongest power. The creature slipped off its cloak and there stood nothing, save a dark
red haze. But then even that vanished, and there was nothing but a dim Shade of red.
44

Chapter 8
Of Smallelves
The company walked through the forest, their feet noiselessly padding on the
freshly fallen layer of leaves, save Caleb, who had the unfortunate luck of stepping on
every stick and tripping over every fallen log. All was silent.
But then, through the canopy, came the sound.
We are the Smallelves, The elves who’re small,
You won’t find us walking tall,
We’ll bash your shins; we’ll knock your knees,
We’ll terrorize you till you flees.
“What is that noise?” Marcus asked.
Welcome to our forest home, our glade of trees,
You might keep an eye on your knees,
We might be short, short- tempered too,
But you’ll find we enjoy you too,
“What is this?” The company had stopped, unknowingly sheltering the bewildered
donkey in the middle. A few arrows pierced the ground a few inches from them.
Our arrows fly, straight and true,
Watch out, or they’ll fly into you,
We’re really rather kindly folks,
If you can live through our jokes,
“Dirty blokes,” Marcus whispered.
You might call us “dirty blokes”,
While you filth underneath your cloaks,
Come stay, come all, to our woodland home,
And come, stay travelers, the ones who roam,
“I have a really bad feeling about this forest.” Amondae whispered.
We love to have you, we’re kindly gnomes,
Just come up here, out of the loam,
Be good to us, we’ll be good to you,
Just stay right there, WATCH OUT BELOOOOW!
45

As this final chorus ended with a rumble, a volley of arrows buried themselves
into the ground around the travelers and the company dove to the ground, leaving a very
surprised donkey standing in the open. The travelers heard a voice.
“Refrain! The travelers come bearing gifts!” The chattering and arrows stopped
immediately. At this a small creature, not taller than two feet, dressed in green cloth and
armed with a bow, dropped to the ground, landing neatly on his feet. He wore a cap of
similar cloth and walked with a proud air. He sauntered over to the donkey and jumped
onto its back. He grabbed a handful of the arrows and inspected them closely.
“Fine, fine.” He beckoned to the trees. Instantaneously, a score or two of similarly
clothed Smallelves dropped out of the trees, completely ignoring the travelers. They too,
inspected the arrows with a critical eye. Finally they agreed that they were fit and several
of the elves departed with the bags of arrows. Finally the leader turned toward the
travelers.
“Bring you anything else?”
“No. Should we have?”
“You, sir, are exactly 12 arrows short of the required 214. It has been raised by 12
arrows since anyone last passed here. If you do not provide 12 more arrows, you will be
systematically tortured. Do you understand?”
“Of course I do,” Ryenyl muttered, pulling precisely 12 spines off his back and
throwing them at the elf like a game of darts. The elf was too quick, however, and all 12
arrows were impaled into a nearby tree.
“Very good.” Then, turning to Ryenyl, “The spiny one has an attitude. We will
have to see about that.”
“Please do.” Amondae muttered.
“Follow me.” The elf commanded. The company did so. But, unbeknownst to any
of them, someone else followed.
The home of the elves was not altogether uncomfortable. Built in the trees, on
wood planks building a second canopy over the ground. The people, too, were not
altogether inhospitable. The women, much less aggressive than the men, were not
altogether beautiful, but they did possess a sort of charm, quite irresistible to Ben. It was
in fact Elven magic, and all the elves could change the aura around them to either portray
46

friendliness or hostility. The trees did not in fact reach more than thirty feet above the
ground, and the platforms were only ten feet of so beneath the canopy of the forest.
Their leader led them into a room, if it could be called that. It was nothing but a
circle of trees enclosed by wooden planks and did not offer much privacy. But unlike any
of the other ‘rooms’, it had a roof. In the center of the room sat a long table surrounded
by chairs, none too large. The company pushed them aside and sat on the floor, sit
reaching high above the table. The head elf sat down.
“I am called Eladioc. As head of the Smallelves, I greet you.”
“We are honored by your hospitality.” Caleb replied.
“Why do you venture here?”
Caleb looked at his companions questioningly.
Eladioc spoke, “Do not worry about giving information to me. In fact, worry
about keeping it from me. I do not tolerate lies.”
“We search for a sword.” Caleb sighed.
Eladioc looked at them, then smiled. After a few moments of trying to contain
himself, he burst out laughing.
“Why do you laugh?”
“Quest for the Sword? You think you’ll find it, much less get it? Ha! No one who
has ever passed here has ever returned!”
“What makes you think we’re not the ones?”
“You? A raggedy band of misfits? Ready for the trials? Besides, you need three
seals, one of which I must provide you with. And then, I can only give you it after you
have the first one, and the third you can only get by passing the most inhospitable people
one the earth and winning their approval and showing them the previous two seals. No
one who has ever come here before has ever matched any of the criterion!”
“What are the criteria?”
“You must be seven in number, have Ben, the winged companion to Ar-Eredros
with you, and have come through, not just by, Baron Forge.”
“Count us.”
Eladioc was silent for a moment, then spoke, “Seven. A coincidence.”
“Ben.” Ben lifted off his cloak. Eladioc stared.
“You…You…This does not mean anything without the third symbol.”
47

Caleb pulled the necklace out of his shirt, as did the rest. “Satisfied?”
“I am. Before you leave, show these to the village wizard. He will give you the
seals you need. But you are only the true warriors if you obtain the third symbol and
defeat the guardian of the Lost Sword. Food?”
“Yes please,” Vic interjected.
“Very well, Dog Boy.” The elf signaled to a guard and the sentinel left. Several
minutes later, he returned with several plates, accompanied by a female servant. Another
elf brought in several glasses filled with a green liquid.
“The finest.” Eladioc motioned for the elves to leave after they had set the plates
down. Amondae stared at the plate. They were covered by leafy sticks.
“Sticks.”
“Twigs, to be precise. Only the finest for our guests.”
Caleb broke in, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but we don’t exactly eat sticks.
It’s fine though. We’ll have the drink. What is it?” He lifted the glass to his mouth.
“Leaf juice.”
Caleb swished the liquid around in his mouth, and then swallowed it. It was an
extremely sweet fluid, and not altogether bad. It felt healthy and Caleb graciously tipped
the rest of the draught down his throat. Eladioc munched happily at a stick, and Caleb sat,
staring at the roof. It was a peaceful place, Caleb decided. The leaves, the trees, even the
inhabitants were hospitable if you pleased them.
As he thought this, however, a Smallelf rushed in.
“Sir!”
Eladioc looked up from his plate. “Yes?”
“Sir. A group of Krcxktqky interceptors headed our way, sir.”
Eladioc looked sorrowfully at the companions. “I’m sorry, but I really must go.”
Then, reconsidering, “Actually, you should probably come with us. We’ll see how you
behave.”

The bugs were big. No. Not big. Enormous. Caleb looked down at the circling
insects in amazement. Fully seven feet long, they dwarfed anything Caleb had ever seen
before.
“What are they?” he asked in awe.
48

“Krcxktqky,” Eladioc replied. “every once in a while, they try this sort of stunt.
Damned little buggers.”
“Little?” Caleb asked, but Eladioc was already off, shouting orders to his
diminutive minions. An Elf wearing a red cap ran up to Caleb.
“Sir, the fifty-first is yours. The commander is dead.”
Caleb started to protest, but the Elf was already gone. He stood there for a second.
From behind him, Vic rushed forward, holding his sword.
“Vaka!” he yelled. “Archers, you take a position on the platforms; sword-bearers,
attack the right flank. On my mark…release!” A volley of arrows flew from the
platforms. “Martatlie u fen i xdit!” the band of sword bearers followed his orders and
retreated and hid behind the large trees, waiting for the Krcxktqky.
“Vaka!” the elves sprang out and drove their swords deep into the hearts of the
insects.
Vic turned to Caleb. “Sorry, but…” he was interrupted as a Krcxktqky leapt from
below and started to try to bite Vic’s head off. Vic ducked and swung with his dirk. It
passed through the gut of the pest. It fell down, releasing a foul stench.
Eladioc ran up to the two men, Caleb still standing shocked, and panted. “That…
I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“What?” Vic asked.
“That maneuver, that fight just there, you’re amazing in battle, master Vic.”
Vic blushed. “Really…I just…”
“The Smallelves welcome you whenever you please. Tonight, we feast!”
And feast it was. Wine and pies to put the finest castle to shame graced the table.
Soups and breads added, if possible to the grandeur. Vic sat at the head of the table,
ravenously devouring victuals at an expeditious velocity. Eladioc stared in silence for a
second.
“May I see your dirk?” he asked.
Vic stopped, chewed, swallowed, and replied, “Why?”
“I noticed something upon it when you fought the Krcxktqky.”
“Here.” He handed the weapon to Eladioc, for whom it was a sword.
49

“Zakkarn koban,” he muttered, and the blade began to glow. “Akka Thulion;t.” he
read. “I thought so.” He handed it back to Vic without another word. They finished the
meal in silence.
50

Chapter 9
Of Secrets Kept

“All right Vic. Out with it.” Caleb confronted his friend that night. “You know
something that we all need to know.”
“Look. Caleb. I have no more idea of what that little Elf saw on the sword than
you. Ask him if you want to know.”
Caleb stormed over to where the party was still in full swing, the Smallelves
growing drunker by the moment. He motioned to Eladioc, who, fortunately, was still
sober.
“Eladioc, I’d like to know something.”
“Yes?”
“What did the dirk say?”
“Akka Thulion;t.”
Caleb narrowed his eyes till they were slim slits in his countenance. “And what
does that mean?”
The Smallelf, as minute as he was, brandished a look sharper than steel. “If you
don’t know, I can’t tell you.”
“Look, Eladioc…”
“Caleb, I would not think of yourself as high as you do. Only one person in your
company can, and they don’t think of themselves highly,” the Elf’s voice rose. “For all
your experience with swords, I’m surprised they haven’t burst your ego yet. It’s certainly
big enough.” He stalked back outside. Caleb looked at the ground.
Gwen approached him slowly. He turned at the sound of her footsteps.
“Caleb?” her soft features, her golden hair, were accentuated by the torchlight
streaming down from the posts on the walls.
“Yes?” he sighed.
“Whatever happens…I want you to know…I’m always with you. If you need a
hand, I’ll help you.” Her voice faded off. He looked down again.
“Thank you.”
51
52

Chapter 10
Of Separation
Amondae opened her eyes. There was a sound. It came from Caleb’s hut. She
leapt out of her bed and grabbed her mace, swinging by the side of her bed. As she ran,
the sound grew louder. Screams rose from the hut. She swung her mighty mace and
shattered the door leading into his room. Wood chips flew everywhere as she barged into
the room. Caleb’s bed was vacated, showing signs of a hasty exit. Light streamed in
through the roof and leaves lay on the floor. Amondae looked up rapidly and saw a
winged figure flying away, carrying two bodies. She smashed through the wood wall into
Gwen and Marcus’s room. As she did so, she saw a shaggy head turn, red eyes blaze, and
wings flap in a mighty gust that knocked even the half-bear to the ground. Amondae, still
dazed, yelled one word:
“Griffins!”
Ryenyl came running. In one swift movement, he pulled an arrow from his quiver,
nocked it, wrenched the string back, and released. The only remaining Griffin fell to the
forest floor with an audible thump. Ryenyl pulled Amondae up by her fur and leapt off
the edge of the platform to retrieve the wounded half-breed. Eladioc and a small company
of elves burst into the room.
“What happened?”
Amondae looked at them blankly. Her head was still swimming. “Griffins,” she
said at last. “Griffins took them.”
Eladioc looked at her with an overly puzzled expression on his face. “Are you
sure of this, hairy one?” Amondae snarled. “Griffins have not attacked neutral species of
hundreds of years.”
“Believe it, short one,” she growled back. “unless there are other creatures with
the body of a lion and the wings of an eagle, Griffins took them.”
Ryenyl climbed in one giant bound onto the platform. “The Griffin down there
needs help. I injured him more than I thought.”
Eladioc whipped his head around in an expression of shock. “You shot a Griffin in
flight?”
53

Ryenyl opened his eyes wide. “Is that abnormal?”

“No one has ever accomplished that in my lifetime, nearly four hundred years.”
Eladioc walked to Ryenyl. “The last person who did was eviscerated alive by the
Griffins.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you kill or wound a Griffin, your name, sight, smell, is imprinted on the
Griffin’s minds and you become rena, or enemy. Any Griffin you see will destroy you.”
“Just like that one back there did,” Ryenyl scoffed. “Oh, no, I’m an enemy of the
Griffins,” he mocked. “I don’t fear them.”
Eladioc frowned. “Then what you did was not bravery. It was insanity. Ryenyl, I
would advise you to keep your head on in the future.”
Amondae broke in. “What about the other four? We can’t leave them behind.”
“Yes we can,” Ben announced from behind them. “a great evil is uniting the
neutral species of Anjorandi. We dare not search out this enemy. We cannot win.”
“But what about Marcus, Gwen, Caleb, and Vic?” Ryenyl asked.
“They will no doubt be taken to the Enemy’s stronghold.”
“And where exactly is that?”
“Even I do not know,” Ben shrugged his shoulders. “Long have I anticipated this
uprising, but now, with the betrayal of the Griffins, I believe the Enemy now musters his
forces for war.”
“But Caleb can stop him if we rescue him.” Amondae protested.
“No!” Ben yelled uncharacteristically. “Have you not read the poem? Do you not
know the line that reads, ‘to win the sword, to win that land, to win the realm from the
tyrant’s hand’? It has been prophesied by Ereglog the MordWraith that a great evil would
rise up and conquer this land. Only then will the deliverer arise and deliver The Land of
the Living from the Lord of the Dead.”
Amondae sat in silence for a while at this sudden rebuke.
A soft, spectral voice was heard:
“Trial may come, Death and despair,
No solace to be found, ‘Mong Griffin’s nest and Dragon’s lair
Many will leave the path of the light,
Turning mid-summer’s day into a cold cloudless night.
54

Among an endless maze, a wilderness trap,

Their hearts may faint, their spirits will sap.
Tho’ all this may come, Tho’ thousands will die,
A warrior’s last breath, a great king’s last sigh.
The last Knight’s heir, the heir to the throne,
Will conquer, bring death to all evil, bring peace to all homes.” Eladioc stopped
and sighed. “That is the second part to the great poem you speak of. It foretells the
Griffins’ betrayal. The rest I do not have the wisdom to fathom. There are few who do.”
“Who?” Amondae grunted impatiently.
“The MordWraiths. They live among the Kenmar road in swamps and forests.”
Ben sucked in his breath sharply. “The Kenmar road? All who venture there are
lost, never to return. I have heard stories of this place, and now you ask us to go there?”
“I do not ask you,” said Eladioc. “for your own good, I would recommend that
you journey there.”
“But how?” Ryenyl asked. “for the Kenmar road is nigh upon a week away by
foot, and that is assuming we don’t meet trouble along the way.”
“We have horses that we have captured. As our size shows, we may not ride them.
Therefore, take those you will and provisions and be off. We mean no insult, but we
would rather not have you here when the Griffins return.” He left the room to gather
provisions.
Amondae stood up and shouldered her giant mace. “Who wants to find out what
this is all about?” she asked.
Ben unsheathed his sword and peered along the edge. “My sword goes wherever
you do.”
Ryenyl proffered his bow. “As does my bow.”
Amondae growled, her fur shaking. “Then let us be off.” They headed toward the
stables at a brisk trot.
Ben studied the horses with interest. “I have no idea when it comes to picking
horses,” he stated bluntly.
Ryenyl shook his head. “Nor I.”
“Then perhaps I could be of assistance,” a voice from the end of the stable said.
Amondae peered into the shadows. “Who are you?”
55

“I’m in a stable. Come here.” The three cautiously approached. In the dim light
they could see only a horse in the stable.
“Where are you?”
“Maybe I don’t want to go with you. You must be blind,” the horse said. “I’m
right here,” the horse shied and whinnied.
Ryenyl muttered and stepped back. “That’s no horse.”
“What do you mean?” Amondae asked.
“Look at its head.” Ryenyl gestured.
“I don’t see anything.” Ben said.
“Well, I hope your enemies think the same,” the horse whinnied. “Let me out.”
They opened the gate and the horse trotted out into the light. Now, in the sun, they
could see it. On the horse’s white head glistened an ethereal yet firm horn.
“It’s a unicorn!” Amondae gasped.
“Finally,” the unicorn sighed. “I was beginning to think the spiny one was the
only with half a brain in his head.”
“You wouldn’t know,” muttered Amondae.
Ben, familiar with inter-species etiquette, dropped to one knee and lowered his
head in a bow. The unicorn dropped its head in a similar manner. “Benjamin, guardian of
Ar-Eredros,” he introduced himself.
“Anhyra, courier of the Dwarves,” the unicorn presented himself. “and your
companions?”
“Amondae,” she said.
“Ryenyl,” he smiled. “pleasure to meet someone who thinks of me as intelligent.”
The unicorn bowed its head again. “There are three others like me in the stables.
Tell them Anhyra wants them.” Ben returned to the stables. “Mroklahn!” Anhyra called.
A grey figure slunk out of the shadows. The creature was a hairy man, his clothes
worn and dishevled.
“Hello, friends. I am not who I appear I am.”
56

Chapter 11
Of Separation and Treachery
The moment Caleb was snatched from his bed, he opened his eyes. It was a blur
of movement, as he saw a flash of feathers, a glint of teeth, then the glow of a red eye. He
reached for his sword, but it was not there. He kicked and tore at the beast’s scale-coated
belly, trying to dissuade it from taking him. He rose high into the air with a mighty gust
of wind, and then he saw the forest below him.
Still on the platform, Vic fought ferociously, defending the traveling players. He
slashed with his finger swords, tearing gashes in its chest. The griffin screeched and
delivered a mighty blow with its wings to Vic’s head. He knew no more. Marcus
scrambled hurriedly for his pipes, but the animal picked him up too quickly. Gwen
screamed for help, but was cut short by a knock to the head by a griffin wing.

Caleb woke up in a dark room. All around him there was an all-pervading odor of
rotting flesh. He looked around him. In the near-blackness, he could make out the bodies
of Harpies, abominable fusions of woman and bird. Their foul bodies gave off the vile
stench that filled the room. He lifted his head to see more clearly. As he regained his
senses, he felt the floor beneath him shaking. Light streamed in from a portal in the wall
and a fluorescent ball of flame hung from the roof, powered by a magical force, yet its
light weakened by darkness. The Harpies cawed and fluttered off into another room,
slamming the door shut. Caleb stood up. Just as quickly he sat back down. The floor
rocked and pitched beneath his feet. Crawling up the wood sides of the strange room, he
peered out the window. Beyond the wood frame he saw wings. As his vision cleared, he
saw that they belonged to Griffins. Looking down, he saw nothing but clouds. Letting go
of the edge, he jumped back in surprise. The door opened. He looked toward the figure
standing there. In the dim light he could not make out the man clearly. The ball of flame
above him flared into brightness. A Minotaur stood there, illuminated by the light. Caleb
scuttled back on his hands and feet away from the Minotaur. The bull laughed and turned
to the Harpy on his left.
“This is not him.”
57

The Harpy tried to make an excuse, but was cut short by the massive fist of the
beast. “One more try.”
“But what of this one, my lord?”
The Minotaur relaxed his grip and turned toward Caleb once again.
“I will…keep him.”
And then Caleb’s mind went black.

Gwen awoke. Dark images passed through her head. Her mind reeled in agony,
yearning for light, a beam of daylight. Calling upon her knowledge of a language long
forgotten, she uttered the words: Thloka Yanta. In front of her eyes a burning ball of
flames erupted into light. She was confused. She had never done this before through the
many times she had tried. She heard footsteps. Kelfa! She whispered and the fire was
doused by a quick shower of rain. She lay on the hard wood and closed her eyes.
Caleb opened the door.
“Gwen.”
She bolted back up and stared at him. “Caleb?”
“It is I.”
He walked toward her slowly. In the dim light coming from the door, she could
make out his face. It was Caleb, but…it was not. His face was aged and wrinkled. Before
her eyes, the marks disappeared and he became young and handsome as before, yet even
more so. She blinked. He was gone. She turned around. He was there, the same position
as before, yet behind her.
“What?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she replied. “Eyes playing tricks on me.”
He smiled. “Well, we’re alright now, Gwen. The Griffins will take care of us.”
“Griffins?”
“They saved us, Gwen.”
“The Griffins kidnapped us.”
“No. They saved us from the Elves.”
Gwen shook her head. “Something changed, Caleb. You changed.”
“I saw the truth, Gwen.”
“You’ve been brainwashed!”
58

“Zxata slaton!”
Images flew through her mind, Caleb holding her head between his hands. His
head bowed deep in concentration, pouring his soul into the effort. In her mind, thoughts
flew past at incredible rates. Of course. The elves would kidnap her. Sell her. Make
money. The Griffins were protecting her. Caleb let go.
“You’re right.”
Caleb smiled, his face wrinkled again by the dark magic that encompassed it.

Vic was wakened by a spirit. In his mind he heard a cry. Looking to his right, he
saw a wavy, ethereal figure standing in the dark. In his mind he felt its call:
Vic…escape…
He blinked but then it was gone. He stood up, shaking on the wood panels. A
windows streamed light in from the outside world. There. He felt the call again.
Approaching the window, he looked out. Nothing but clouds and sky. Out. Now. Within
his head, he argued with the thing. Now! The presence ceased and he heard heavy
footsteps. Praying a silent prayer, he launched himself into space.
Caleb entered the room and looked around. Vic was not there. A twinge in his
mind told him. “Zanta fen!” and the floor parted beneath him. He fell into the rushing
wind.
Vic looked up from his freefall. A lone figure was gaining on him, sword in hand.
Vic unsheathed his dirk and brandished it. As they fell, Vic saw Caleb’s face.
“What are you doing?” Vic screamed past the rushing air.
“I’m saving you.” Caleb answered calmly, his words heard crystal clearly.
“What I do is my own decision.”
“Then you must die.”
Vic’s mind raced. What now? His arm swung the dirk effortlessly, in total control.
He saw beads of sweat break on Caleb’s face and fly upwards as they fell. Vic parried
blow after blow of the massive sword. Then Vic saw. It was not the sword given him by
the baron. It was a dark sword cut out of onyx. His own. “For Caleb, until he comes into
his own.” Vic imagined the weight of an onyx sword and realized that this was not the
Caleb he knew. A dark power had taken him. Then had the mission failed? They hit the
water too quickly to tell.
59
60

Chapter 12
Of Wraiths
“Then what are you?”
The strange man smiled at Ben. “A werewolf.”
Ryenyl drew his bow and aimed it at the creature. “Don’t move or I’ll slay you
where you stand.”
The wolf disappeared, leaving an inky cloud behind. From behind him, Ryenyl
heard, “Is that wise?” Ryenyl whirled, again meeting only a cloud. “I’m on your side. I’m
here to help you. Do you want help or not?”
Amondae growled. “It seems then that we are stuck between two evils; an
accursed werewolf with us or an accursed werewolf against us.”
“Your tongue is quicker than your wit, miss,” the werewolf addressed her from
behind. “I am not against you in any way, but you will need my help.”
“And mine.” A deep, guttural voice came from the shadows.
Ryenyl raised his bow and drew taut the string. “Who goes?”
The voice laughed, a hard, cruel laugh. “It is I.”
“I know. Who are you?”
A blue haze moved across Ryenyl’s vision. “A Shade. Does that answer your
question?”
“What is your name?”
The mist materialized into the form of a tall man cloaked in black. “Then I am
called Rikkanon.”
Amondae gasped in awe. “But you are a Shade slayer. How then can you be a
Shade?”
“Many have asked that question, Amondae, but you are the first to hear the
answer and live.” He beckoned them to sit. “I was once a Shade of darkness, spawn of
shadows, many years ago. Ar-Eredros, near the end of his reign, summoned me to him
with his magic. He bound me to him and his descendants, forever sealing the fate of his
scions with mine. When He his wounded, I am wounded, if He dies, then…” Rikkanon
61

was cut short be an invisible blow and fell to the ground. “He…is…” he recovered his
breath.
Amondae spoke up, “Then Caleb is in danger!”
“No, Amondae, not Caleb. He is not him.”

Victor burst up, gasping for air. His eyes burned from saltwater and his lungs
cried out in agony. In his nostrils he could feel the saline solution scorching his air
passageways. Caleb was nowhere to be seen. Victor swam, long, even strokes parting the
water as he dragged his tortured body through the great bay.
Hours later he collapsed onto an island. In the center rose a great tower, black and
evil, not built but grown from the onyx of the island. His breath gave way and the
blackness covered his eyes.
“Wake up.”
Victor groaned. Beneath him was no longer the cold onyx, but a sheet, a bed,
warm and firm. He turned over, a long gash in his side giving him pain. Over him stood a
woman, presumably a nurse. She wore a flowing white dress, speckled here and there
with fragments of red; his blood. His vision cleared and he saw her face. Tan skin
complimented blonde hair and deep hazel eyes.
“There. You’ve been asleep for a long time.”
Victor rubbed his eyes and blinked. He strained to sit up, but his aching muscles
would not allow it. “Where am I?”
She turned from washing a bowl in a large pot of water. “Morynria.”
“Where?”
“The castle stronghold of Morynria. It’s on an island in the Great Bay of
Anjorandi.”
“I still don’t understand.”
The nurse sighed, not impatiently. “Do you know where the Great Bay is?”
Victor nodded.
“In the middle of the Bay lies a small island named Morynria. How you found it I
do not know, for only The Chosen live here.”
“Who are…?”
62

“The Chosen are a group of Naiads. We live here, sent by Ar-Eredros until his
return. Sister Maheryia claims this time is near, yet there are few who believe her.” As
she turned her head, Victor noticed a shimmer on her cheeks, like that of scales.
“What did you say you were?” he asked.
“Naiads, guardians of the water.”
“Your unbelieved sister is right. The time is not only near, it is upon us.”
The nurse turned, shocked. “What did you say?”
Victor nodded. “What’s your name?”
“Emmania.”
Victor took her hand. “Emmania, I know you will not believe me, but I am the
Descendent of Ar-Eredros.”

Amondae looked puzzled. “Then who is?”

Rikkanon looked up from the ground. “Victor.” The entire party sat in shocked
silence. “Many years ago, I was sent to protect him from an evil Shade.”
Ryenyl stared blankly into space. “Mortoth.”
Rikkanon jerked his head over at Ryenyl. “How do you know that name?”
Ryenyl broke his fixated gaze. “He haunts my dreams. Every night, he calls to
me, appearing as a dark figure, cloaked in black, his face shrouded in shadow. He knows
where I am.”
Rikkanon sat in silence, pondering this. Suddenly, he looked up and turned
around, whirling to his feet in an instant. “All of you, your weapons!” With an inhuman
gesture, he shrugged off his outer cape, revealing a brilliant white cloak underneath. It
shimmered and glistened in the sunlight. From a scabbard he pulled a five foot long
broadsword. Fashioned of quartz, it caught the sunlight in a million refractions, creating a
center of intense light. “Now, Mortoth!” he screamed. “We end this!” From the shadows a
creature, darker than night, emerged holding a saber formed of night itself. It was a
faceless shade, red light glowing from its invisible eyes.
“Slatonka yanta, Rikkanon. Atta tra uth zradon. Mât.”
“Xexon. Mât zradon atta. Slatonka boka mahrya. Xexcronka mahrya.”
“Mât faw;t?” Mortoth launched himself at the white warrior, his deadly blade humming.
Rikkanon stood still, his eyes closed. At the last moment, he leapt upward. As he swung his sword
his body twisted around and solidly kicked Mortoth in the torso. Mortoth landed on the ground,
63

catlike, his near-weightless body making no sound. He sung his curved blade at Rikkanon, who
effortlessly parried blow after blow. With a deafening blow, Rikkanon slammed the Shade’s blade
back against him. Locking it down, he stared into Mortoth’s face. “Slatonka yanta nokari,
Mortoth.” With twist of his wrist, he used the Shade’s blade as a fulcrum, launched himself into
the air and drove the crystalline blade deep into the back of the demon. Mortoth screamed and
hissed as the darkness bled from his body. His cloak fell to the ground and the black mist
evaporated. Rikkanon slumped to the ground, his chest heaving.

“You cannot be!” gasped Emmania.

“Then why not?” Victor asked.
“Because…” she stumbled for words. “You will come…with an army…to free us.”
“No, Emmania. I have not. Soon…” The words came not out of Vic’s mouth, but of
Victor Ar-Eredros’s. “Soon I will free the land, but…it is not without suffering that this will
come. Anyway, you must believe me. We all thought it was Caleb, but he turned. Now, and only
now, do I realize the truth; that I must take my position.” She sat, shocked.
“Caleb?”
“One of my companions.” From deep within himself, he finished the ancient poem.
Yet one will turn with a traitor’s heart
Fight with blackened blade of onyx sharp
The name of the treacherous one will stand
Their name will bring fear, death brought by their hand.
But their will stand against the cold heart of stone,
The scion of he who sat on the throne
Though be he not the man that he seems,
His power’s unvanquished ‘neath the enemy that teems
His blade will come, the shimmering sword,
Twixt dragon’s lair and golden horde.
On the field of death, all deathbringers die
And lose the allegiance of warriors that fly.
But a hero will die, a warrior fall,
Darkness will cover again as a pall.
Till come here the savior, the almighty one,
To rescue us from ourselves, will come he, the son.”
64

Victor paused. “No doubt you’ve heard the first part of that before. Caleb is the
treacherous one. Already the Griffins have turned against us. The prophesy is being fulfilled. The
times spoken of are here.”
Emmania stared out the window for a moment, blankly staring over miles of sea. Then,
withour turning, she ran out the door, shutting it behind her. Victor collapsed back on to the bed
and shut his eyes, his mind wandering far from his body.
He parried blow after blow from an unknown enemy. The sky poured down torrents of
water; lightning flashed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw red streaks swirling around him.
With his mind, he reached out to the creature. It resisted him, its powerful mind blasting back. He
leapt high into the air, his sword spinning in a deadly arc. Landing on the creature’s back, he
braced himself against the molten surface of his skin and let ice flow from his fingers onto the
fiery spine. The creature roared in agony and slumped to the ground, breathing hard, jets of cold
blue flame shooting from its mouth and nostrils. He jumped off the creature’s back and
approached its massive head.
“Do you believe me now, Caleb?” Ar-Eredros asked the fallen beast. The monster let out
a final tongue of flame and went still, the blue ice covering its still-glowing body. Ar-Eredros
turned at the sound of footsteps. A woman stood there, yet her feminine figure was obscured by
armor, black as her heart. Similarly tinted hair hung from her head, cascading onto her shoulders.
Ar-Eredros recognized her, yet he did not know her name. With a single smooth move, she
unsheathed her sword and brandished it against him. Then in an instant he was frozen. She circled
around him, waving her sword perilously.
“What now? You thought you had destroyed the ruler of this kingdom, didn’t you?
He could not speak.
“You thought that pathetic pawn was all there was? Know this now: I rule this land and
none can defeat me!”
Then he awoke, shivering.
65

Chapter 13
Of
Gwen looked at Caleb, shuddering under the towel.
“You failed.” She said.
Caleb raised his head and stared at her, his blue eyes piercing hers with a frightening
intensity. “Just because the Minotaurs chose you doesn’t mean you’re my superior.”
Gwen chuckled to herself, then pointed at him. “That’s where you’re wrong, Caleb. It
was not the Minotaurs that chose me. It was Legend. Ar-Eredros knew I would rise to usurp him.
And I did, Caleb. I usurped you.” She turned around to face the wall.
Caleb looked back down as he smiled diabolically. “Now it’s your turn to be wrong,
Gwen. I’m not Ar-Eredros.”
She spun on one heel to glare at him. “Of course you are!”
He smiled a knowing smile. “No. No, I’m not.”
“Then who is?”
“My brother.”
Gwen looked at him with a disbelieving eye. “Brother?”
“Older brother. Victor was born several years before me in my castle. Until recently, I
didn’t know he was my brother.”
“How recently?”
“About twenty minutes ago. I came to this realization as I fought with him. None can stop
him now.”
“Except me.” Gwen said defiantly.
“No.” Caleb turned around. “No one. Not even the dark one can stand against the power
of Ar-Eredros.” He walked toward the cabin. Gwen stood, blackening eyes staring blindly.

Victor stared at the door. Another Naiad stood in the doorway. Emmania introduced her.
“This is Maheryia.” Victor nodded.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. She was regal, dressed in a flowing blue-
green dress that caught the light in a million different directions and scattered it around.
She was not tall, but commanded a presence of regality.
66

She stared at him, her shimmering eyes glinting in the light from the water.
Without warning, she pulled a diamond dagger from her belt and plunged it deep into
Victor’s chest. He saw Emmania rush to Maheryia’s side as his vision went black. Then
darkness overwhelmed him.