Icearaus flight

Prologue

Twenty-five years ago...

DEMETRIUS FELT THE wicked presence of a tormented soul enter the room.

Did she suffer? The voice dripped with a sick, sadistic pleasure.

Demetrius never looked towards the sound. Instead, he kept his eyes fixated on the smooth mahogany table, or more precisely what lay on it. Besides, he didn’t need to look, only one man produced such drivel.

Enough, Demetrius responded, a hint of disgust in his voice.

Good... good, the voice cackled. We must not, and shall not allow the filth of this world go to their grave unpunished for their sins.

Well tell me this, what exactly was this woman’s sin? Demetrius asked the man who materialized from the darkness.

What were her sins? Karayan raised one eyebrow. Have you learned nothing through-out the years I have used your services? He pulled back his darkened cowl and shook his long black mane revealing a pale white face. Prominent jaw, chin, and cheekbones appeared rigid in the dim candlelight and two piercing blue eyes held a catastrophic promise. Her sin is that she’s a bearer, a carrier of disease. Impregnated by a creature of the underworld she only has one purpose, to carry the fetus until birth so the demon child can spread pain, disease, and suffering... even death if enough time is given.

So why must she suffer? Why not simply kill her?

Must we continue with the lesson? Karayan snarled. Every time you see a good man become sick, you have these to thank. He pointed at the dead body still tied to the chair. Every time a child is stillborn, it’s because of them, he continued.

So she must suffer for her crimes against society. To feel some of the pain she caused? Demetrius asked.

Exactly, and I take the fetus back to the palace for destruction. Karayan approached the corpse. What a waste, he said, and then poked at the corpse with the blunt end of his gnarly staff. She was a beautiful girl.

Small pointed ears poked through bloodstained silver hair as the head sagged.

An elf?

Demetrius nodded, but his eyes remained focused at the pair of eyes on the table.

Very unusual, Karayan said.

Yes... yes, it is.

I can’t recall an elf ever being chosen.

Nor can I, Demetrius agreed.

The underworld grows desperate, he chuckled.

Turning her head in multiple positions with his staff he examined the wounds. Another job accomplished with surgical precision, a skill few have mastered and even less perfected,

Between them, a painful silence formed.

Enough with the idle talk, he focused his attention back on Demetrius. You know why I’m here, do you have what I desire?

In the basket, under the table, Demetrius motioned with a small dagger.

Karayan pulled back the bloody towel and examined the contents. Its heart still beats, still fresh, he whispered. A broken smile came to his face. Satisfied, Karayan placed the towel back and tucked it neatly around the edges careful not to touch the creature inside.

Are you okay, you seem distant? Karayan asked. He fondled the baskets handle.

They say the eyes are the doorway to the soul, Demetrius’s voice was cold, the words calculated. Do you believe even in death, the soul can look back through those very eyes, back into the soul of those who killed them?

Karayan laughed. No. When the physical form dies, so does the soul.

Then why do we close their eyes before we bury the dead?

Karayan laughed, I don’t. He snatched the basket and made for the door.

Leaving so soon? Demetrius asked. A streak of silver flashed across his eyes as he moved past the candle. Are you forgetting something?

Oh yes... yes. In all my excitement I seem to have overlooked your umm, shall we say reward? Yes, a reward for a job well done. Karayan retrieved a large leather coin purse from his pocket. I believe you will find this more than enough, and tossed Demetrius the bag. Now, if you don’t mind.

Demetrius snatched the bag and watched Karayan vanish into the night, the secret door remained open. A tug on the thick purple string allowed the contents to spill out on the table where he spread them with his dagger. Quickly he counted them and then recounted them. You bastard! He slammed a fist against the table. He was five gold short of the agreed fifty.

Demetrius slid the coins into the bag then picked up the eyes and gently placed them in as well. It was still dark outside and a thick cloud layer had every star veiled. From the east, a cool breeze carried the promise of a warm day but the air still had a chilling bite.

Demetrius ran. He didn’t know where he was running to or what he was running from, he just ran. The sun broke the rim of the land painting everything it touched in blue and pink fragments that reflected off the dew covered grass. Shaking off the cold he ripped open the purse, reached in and pulled out the eyes. Even though life left them hours ago, their color still shined as bright as the hour he plucked them. They moved as he moved, as he gazed in, they gazed back.

"I know what you did," something whispered.

Demetrius searched for the voice.

Something came over him, a feeling of despair, or malice. Whatever it was draped a blanket of shame over him and both eyes watered. In his mind, the words came clear as crystal, murderer... killer...

Shaking his head he tried to make it stop.

Murderer... killer... The voice attacked him.

He couldn’t comprehend what happened. Killing came natural, even at a young age. Ever since he was a child, he followed the leadership of Lord Rayne, Master of the Brotherhood. He spent decades training and continued to train long after others retired. His muscles were perfectly toned and his agility superb. Eventually, he climbed to second in command and only one remained better at killing, and even he grew concerned.

Throughout his life he had killed hundreds, dispose of an ex, collect payment for a debt in blood, or make a witness disappear. To him it was business, and business meant money.

The elf girl was different though, the moment she died something happened. Something from her, some sliver of magic entered him. Demetrius looked into the eyes; even now they sparkled with life. He hated himself for taking them but it was too late now, the body would have long since been removed. He tried to throw them but an unseen force kept his fingers closed. Unable to discard the eyes he wrapped them in the cloth and returned them to the bag.

Rested, he continued east until the road forked. South led home to the Lost Sanctuary, except he had no intentions of going there. Minx, a secluded village on the banks of Nye Lake known for the riff-raff who didn’t fit anywhere else seemed more like, a fitting home.

Murderer... killer... The words hounded him.

As the sun rose so did the temperature and by noon large beads of sweat dripped from his brow and his black tunic clung to his back. A shady spot just off the beaten path offered the perfect spot to rest.

Murderer... killer... The words rattled in his mind.

Leaned back against a stump he let his mind drift. He re-lived every word Karayan spoke, and none of it made sense anymore. Above him, the limbs of the trees formed a living latticework.

Murderer... killer... The words came, only broken by the sound of a hurried hoof: A horseman approached from the east. Demetrius had few enemies and of those none would have considered challenging him.

The highly polished armor reflected the sunlight like a mirror and the vibrant purple plume that fluttered in the breeze told him this man was a member of the Royal Guards, Karayans personal protectors, the best of the elite. Quite far from the palace? Demetrius asked as he stepped out onto the road.

The horse reared kicking with his legs and screamed a loud neighing sound. Launched free, the rider landed flat on his back snapping the plume which fell forward covering the horse masters face.

On his feet, in a flash, his hand went straight for his sword. My location is none of your concern, peasant. His eyes rolled like marbles following the plume. And look what you caused, he screamed, plucking the broke plume from his helmet. Now remove yourself from the road and retrieve my horse, before I lay you open.

Peasant... Karayan would be highly upset if he knew you called me that.

The guard’s eyes squinted. First, you startle my horse and make me take a tumble, and now you disgrace the Kings name? The metallic hiss of his sword echoed through the forest as it came free of its sheath. You’ll taste my blade you insolent slug.

Put that away before you hurt yourself, Demetrius chuckled, trying to keep a stern face. I have no desire to fight you.

As I see it, you don’t have a choice, then swung the blade in a memorized routine and approached aggressively. I’ll give you one last chance since I’m feeling generous. Retrieve my horse then kneel and pay your respects, he snarled.

I’ll never kneel to that swine.

What did you just—

You heard me. I won’t bow to that pig, or anyone else.

Blasphemy, the guard screamed. And the penalty is death. Without warning, he lunged with his sword aimed directly at the heart of his foe.

He was quick but Demetrius proved faster and both daggers leaped to his hands and parried the strike.

You got some skill, the guard snarled bearing his teeth at the botched attempt. His knuckles popped, and the color drained as he gripped the sword. Thrusting once more the clash of steel broke an eerie silence as Demetrius deflected the attack.

Their eyes met and time froze. Demetrius’s lips curled at the end.

The guard tried to focus on Demetrius but was mesmerized by the lightning quick movements.

Demetrius darted in slicing the meaty part of the throat just under the helmet. As quick as they appeared, the daggers vanished.

Grasping at the wound blood squirted through his fingers while blood-red tears leaked through the eye holes. Staggering, he fell at the assassin’s feet... dead.

For most it would have been a hard choice, but not Demetrius. A plan quickly developed and sweat dripped from his body as he pealed the corpse from the metal can then re-dressed him in his own clothing.

For once in his life, he felt clean and looked rather handsome. If he was to do this, he had to do it right and give up his most valuable possession. Hesitantly, he unclasped his belt and fastened it on his dummy. There was one more detail not to be overlooked.

The long sword was clumsy but effective and with one swing the head rolled away As if he was a ghost he looked upon himself. He had finally met a better foe.

Demetrius mounted the horse then looked into the bag and saw the eyes. Somehow in the fight, they had come unraveled, and they looked back through the opening at him.

Murderer... killer...

Weeks later...

They got him, Arlin said, his voice lacked emotion.

Got who? Lord Rayne asked. Leaned back in the chair his feet propped up on the ornate oak desk.

Demetrius, he was found a fortnight ago... beheaded. I ordered his body taken to East Haven for burial.

Impossible, Lord Rayne hissed. Who’s responsible for this?

No one knows. Rumor is he was killed in his sleep and discarded like trash along the eastbound road.

Foul work is at play, Lord Rayne screamed. And you’re positive?

Without question. I saw the body myself.

Begone from me, he screamed then leaped to his feet and pounded a fist against the desk.

Chapter 1

THE TIPS OF HER FINGERS went numb hours ago, and the dried blood painted her jagged nails a crimson pink. The ground was cold, hard, and the search for food was tedious, but tonight’s catch was rather nice. Three brownish worms, two gray pill bugs, and one large ripe slimy slug covered in yellow spots. Ahhh, she let out a long-winded moan and rocked back on her heels ignoring the grumbling in her stomach. Well, it’s more than last night.

Placing each morsel on the windowsill she looked at the woman staring back at her in the dirty, rain-streaked window pane. What have I become? she whispered to the reflection. Patiently, she waited, tapping her fingers on the rusty metal bars that had not always been there. At first, her eyes were drawn to them. They mocked her, kept her from the outside world—it’s for the greater good—she could still hear her father’s deep throaty voice say—someday you will understand—he would remind her. Over time she had grown used to them. No longer did she see them, she saw through them.

Just outside the window lightning flashed and thunder crashed leaving wicked shadows dancing along the buildings. Angry, thick, rain clouds arrived earlier punishing Lynn Brook with a rare summer storm, the like of which none had ever witnessed. Wagon wheel ruts became rivers and mud to quicksand.

Normally the streets would be crowded. Don’t run too far ahead, a woman would yell at her children as they played. The squeal of an axle as an undersized mule pulled an overloaded cart. And every hour the pounding of leather on dirt echoed as the Royal Guards marched past making their rounds. They were beautiful. Polished armor fastened tightly with blood red straps and their purple plumes dancing in the breeze, a smile crept across her face. There was always eleven, five to either side and one in the center barking orders. She would sing along with their cadence until they were gone from sight.

With the onset of this storm, she had not seen the patrol in hours. Averie scratched her cheek, it must be bad because the guards never missed their rounds.

Years ago Lynn Brook would have been considered a quaint quiet town. People came and left as they pleased, a simple life for simple people. All that changed when King Karayan moved from the Rain Wood Forest to Lynn Brook. Enormous walls were constructed and topped with sharp metal spikes impregnated with steel barbs to keep anybody from climbing in, or out. Barracks were built to house his Royal Guards, services had to be increased, and the population exploded. A town roster was created. One large portico was built to regulate the flow of wagons and carts, while a smaller man door was used for foot travelers. Those coming or going had to check in with the roster guard. Both gates were closed at sunset and would not be opened until morning. Overnight, the quaint town of Lynn Brook became a thriving metropolis, complete with all the usual riff-raff that follows.

Pulling back knotted clumps of thick dirt-encrusted hair, Averie look around her room. The stark nakedness of it all was depressing. At one time large colorful pictures lined every wall and the finest furniture filled the room. Oil lamps offered a warm yellow glow, and the floor was made of wood and held the softest rugs. Since her infliction, all that remained now was one three-legged stool and a small pail that leaked.

Outside the window another bolt of white-hot electricity ripped through the sky momentarily lighting her personal prison cell. It was kept dark for a reason. Given the opportunity, people would peer inside to get a view of the creature that lurked within. The thunder that followed shook the very core of the house and dust fell from the ceiling like rain.

A wiggle on the windowsill caught her attention as a worm tried to escape. She was that proverbial worm, trapped, waiting for death. Just like the worm, she was no longer in control. Every decision was now made for her by the keeper, her father.

With one gulp two of the worms were devoured. The third however would not go without a fight. She watched it wiggle and squirm in a desperate struggle to survive. She held the worm up and observed it more closely, who am I to take the life of something that fights so hard. Be free, she whispered and tossed the worm into the darkness. The pill bugs went down smoothly but the slug retaliated. It left a trail of sticky slime all the way down her throat she could taste long after it was gone.

The shriek of a rusty hinge caused a shiver to race up her spine and she trembled, wondering what her punishment today would be. The silhouette of a monster filled the doorway. In three long strides, he covered the distance and grabbed her by the neck with large, hairy, sausage-like fingers then pressed her face against the windowsill. The wood tore into her face and she expected at any moment to hear the sound of bones snapping and feel its bite. The floor spun and large black spots invaded her vision.

Startled back to consciousness, she felt her face slide along the wall as large splinters drove through her cheek then buried into her tongue. She could feel the warm blood stain her chin and both eyes watered.

Satisfied, he jerked her to within inches of him, you wish to know what you’ve become? His voice was ragged and hateful.

Discarded like a used rag she landed hard on the flat of her back emitting a loud thump. A cloud of dust rose causing her to choke. Her chest burned as she gasped, fighting for air that so easily evaded her. Water streaked from the corners of her eyes leaving trails of glistening wetness down her dirt-stained cheeks. From where she lay she could see the door remained open. The possibility of escape was slim, but she had to try. Get up, she commanded herself, kicking and flailing every limb.

The sudden outburst startled her attacker for a moment then a broken smile etched across his face. He followed her gaze towards the door. Thinking of escape? His laugh was coarse.

The way he gracefully darted across the room and took to flight left Averie astounded. For such a large man he moved with the swiftness of a cat and landed with one large thick knee to her left side. The sounds of ribs cracking echoed off the walls as if they were in a deep, hollow cave.

Blood-curdling screams shattered the silence.

Her mind swooned and head wobbled as if attached by a spring as he punched her face. She had lost count after the first but many followed. It should have hurt, but she had lost feeling and shut down. Like a doll, she hung in his grasp. Slamming his other knee onto her chest he moved in close as if to kiss her.

She gagged as his breath filled her nostrils.

I’ll tell you what you are, he snarled. Small pieces of food fell from his maw sticking to the bruised leather-like skin. You’re a diseased filthy creature that’s unworthy of life. You steal air from those who deserve it. You’re a disgrace.

Averie glanced away. His breath was bad enough but the food that fell into her mouth made her nauseous. Doing so, she noticed another man now stood in the doorway. Smaller than her attacker but larger than a woman, she guessed it was her brother but dizziness filled her head and he faded.

Just kill her now, he said. Save us the trouble of watching her, his voice dripped with a sickening pleasure.

She recognized the voice. It was not her brother or anybody else she would have expected. Instead, it was Ilteris, her suitor. He swore an oath to be at her side in good times and bad times, in sickness and in health if she would be his wife. Now was her time of need and he abandoned her, thrown her away like garbage. Her mind drifted to a place where she still found comfort. Maybe I am garbage, but I am still a person. She realized though, with him working for the keeper any hope of being rescued diminished. She would be left to fend for herself, whatever that was worth.

I can’t, he responded, King Karayan wants her alive. Drawing back he slapped her, Don’t look at him, don’t ever look at him again. The impact turned her head. Your vision might infect him as well.

His fingers grasped onto her hair like a rope and lifted her head, you’ve disgraced the family. He slapped her, and brought shame upon our name. People look at me and whisper hateful things. Friends no longer visit, they avoid me and it’s entirely your fault. He smacked her with the back of his hand. Ten more days, you hear me? He hawked a large slimy glob of spit onto her forehead and watched it run down the side of her face. Ten days, he snarled, and then slapped her again.

She made no effort to move until the door closed. Fighting back the pain she needed to get up, laying there was not an option. Finding the courage she climbed to her feet. The pain forced vomit to fly from her mouth and a stream of water ran from her eyes. Stumbling like a newborn fawn she used the wall for support. The loud click of the lock confirmed he was gone leaving her to ponder what he just said—ten days. Quiet as possible she moved to the corner, the farthest she could get from the door, and the farthest she could get from him.

Chapter 2

PEGAN RHOE SAT ON A fallen dogwood log on the west side of the narrow ravine that didn’t exist. It was only accessible by a narrow crack in the side of a jagged wall near the very peaks of the Ash Mountains. He learned about it by accident nearly forty years ago when he was a young man still in training. The charred parchment clung to life at the edge of a hearth. Intrigued by the name, Dragon Downs, he set out to discover its location but the details were vague.

Having spent years searching and on the verge of failure he came upon a trail he had never noticed. The trail led him through terrain that ripped and tore at his clothes and left long, nasty red scratches on any exposed skin. At the end, it led to a crack just wide enough for a man to slide through. The farther he went, the tighter it got, and he had all but given up when the crack opened wide into a saucer-shaped valley. As far as he could see dense vegetation covered everything except the middle where a ravine was visible. Dragon Downs, he whispered.

This had to be the place and thoughts of riches beyond belief filled his mind. In his research, he discovered that a great battle took place here and a golden dragon was slain, leaving behind a horde of treasure. Having spent the next few years searching no treasure was located, or proof a dragon was even slain and eventually he wrote it off as folly. Decades passed, and the thought faded from memory. That is until he came home to a rolled up parchment attached to his door.

He chose a spot far enough off the trail to have plenty of time to see who came. This particular spot was perfect, not only did he have a clear view of the ravine, it also kept him completely concealed. To either side was a thicket overshadowed by jagged rocky walls that reached the clouds while a narrow trail snuck through its center. Lightning in the distance and slow rolling thunder told him tonight was going to be wet. Pulling his cloak tight he tried to find comfort from the nasty breeze that infiltrated every seam.

His mind drifted as he wondered who might have scribed the note. It must be someone old, much older as the name had long since been erased from existence.

The time came to a standstill. Nothing moved except the black clouds that blotted the sky and darkened the night. The breeze whipped the thicket creating eerie shadows that brought the dull gray stone to life.

An uneasy calm filled the ravine when the lonely clop of a single horse caught Pegan’s ear. The rider, whoever he was made no intentions of concealing his arrival. From his perch Pegan watched as the rider drifted into view, fading in and out of a fog that seemed to creep just inches behind him.

Impossible, he whispered, there was no way to get a horse in here. This must be some kind of evil magic at work. Still, his curiosity got the better of him and he waited.

Completely draped in a pure white robe the cowl was pulled low and he seemed to sway with the horse as if permanently attached. As he neared Pegan could see that upon the robe there were threads of gold that danced upon the surface in some magical mesmerizing pattern. Weaving in and out of each other the thread moved in a mystical dance then merged to become one. Only then did it explode into an array of different patterns that lined every edge.

Pegan watched as the rider brought the black steed to a halt and dismounted. Long strands of silver hair spilled midway down his back when he pulled back the hood. Dense wrinkles on his stark white forehead revealed the man was old, impossibly old yet he moved with a purpose. Leading the horse by the reins the rider vanished into the thicket of pickle berry bushes and cattails.

Something was strange about him, something not natural. A figment of imagination sprung to life by an alcoholic stupor. So real, so vivid you could touch it but yet gone the moment you reached for it. Pegan was not sure to chase it or run. The fog which followed the rider filled up the chasm and engulfed the area. Swirling in the breeze it surrounded him, covering his face like a cool wet towel, and terror entered his heart.

Unfolding the parchment he examined the seal one last time, searching for some clue of who its author might be. Drawing no clues he held it up to the moonlight and read it one last time.

PEGAN RHOE...

Your presence has been requested. Meet me at Gilford

Gorge, heart of Dragon Downs at midnight on the first

Full moon after receiving this parchment. The time has

Come to forget the past and create the future, Be alone,

Be prepared.

Pegan drew in a deep breath and read the note one more time, the simplicity was astonishing. Folding the parchment he placed it back into his pocket and debated his options. He could simply forget the whole thing and leave. After all, whatever this man wanted he had no obligation to help. Besides, there was a good chance this would only lead to trouble, something he didn’t need or want.

Curiosity got the better of him though and he slipped from his perch. Sneaking through the fog he made a calculated move which should have placed him directly behind the stranger. He wanted to make sure he held an advantage if things turned bad. Nearing the location where he expected to find the stranger he crept low and slowed his pace to a crawl.

Join me, the stranger said, his voice was pleasantly warm.

With the element of surprise gone, Pegan jerked out the small knife he carried.

You won’t need that, the stranger said, at least not yet. His back was still towards him

Pegan scanned the ravine, how did he know? He must not be alone. Someone else must be watching from afar. It was at this moment he realized this was all a trap, it was all planned out, and he walked right into it. What a fool I’ve been. Now it was too late and the chance of escape had passed. Gripping the knife he would not go without a fight. Thoughts raced through his mind and sweat rolled down his brow. Contemplating his next move he crept backwards then turned to flee but his legs froze. He felt as if he had died and rigor mortis was upon him, yet he was very much alive. What kind of trickery is this? he screamed. The knife fell from his grasp. Trapped in some immobilizing spell or paralyzing poison he never felt the sting of a dart. Unable to move he was left for this man to do with as he chose.

He could sense the man. Felt the stranger’s hot breath upon his neck as he circled. Eventually, they stood face to face and their eyes met. They struck Pegan as something from a dream. A piercing deep blue which penetrated both skin and bone, peering deep into the soul of the one they gazed upon. Pegan felt naked, ashamed.

He recovered the knife and slid it back into the sheath. I believe this belongs to you, he said. I am Elwrick, spiritual guide, and friend, keeper of the book of portals, and you must be Pegan Rhoe?

Pegan never answered, instead he chose to study the man, searching for a weakness.

I come in peace and with counsel, Elwrick said.

Pegan felt life reenter his body instantly after Elwrick snapped his fingers.

Come, we have much to discuss.

Hesitantly, he followed Elwrick to a fire which burned with a chromatic colored flame but kept a slight distance between them.

Sit, Elwrick motioned.

Unsure why, Pegan did as instructed. A painful silence fell between them.

Why am I here? Pegan finally asked.

You are here because this is where you need to be, Elwrick answered.

This was no ordinary man and the more he listened the more he became intrigued. There was something in his voice, something that reminded him of a past long forgotten. Maybe something in a dream, that was it, this must be a dream.

And also... Elwrick paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. You are here because I have need of your services.

What can I offer you? Pegan said. Both eyebrows shot skyward. I’m a simple farmer pulled from my bed in the middle of the night. Lightning flashed off into the distance and thunder rolled through the ravine rattling any stone not firmly fixed. The first drops of rain hissed as they hit the flames. And on the worst night possible, I might add.

A simple farmer who knows of this place, I think not, Elwrick chuckled.

How did you get that horse in here?

Never mind that, Elwrick said, his words became serious. Pegan, a new bearer has been located.

Bearer... Pegan hesitated, the words rolled off his tongue.

You know of which I speak.

Is that not the King’s problem?

What King? Elwrick’s face scrunched up in confusion.

King Karayan, the ruler of Icearaus. Pegan looked startled.

Oh, him, Elwrick sneered. He’s no King, he’s a steward.

Steward. Pegan’s mouth opened wide as if making an O sound.

You have no idea how the world functions, Elwrick said. A veil has been woven over your eyes for decades while the true nature of the bearer has been forgotten. That is why I am here, to reveal to you the truth, to remove the blindfold.

Pegan placed his hands towards the fire.

A bearer is not destined to remain within our world. She is impregnated by the Creator who then takes her child to another world to be born. It is there they grow and learn. When the time is correct, they return to share their knowledge with us. It has to do with improving our world, that’s all. They are not diseased, in fact, only the purest are chosen. You see all these stars, Elwrick said pointing up to a few places in the sky where the darkened clouds had yet to cover. People come and go, passing what they’ve learned from world to world. She is a gift from the Creator. This world’s though has been forgotten, as we no longer have anything to offer. We have been left behind.

You really expect me to believe this. Don’t drag me into your dark sick fantasies. Pegan’s face flushed red. Everybody knows bearers are diseased creatures that need to be eradicated from this world lest they infect the population as a whole.

I am sorry you believe this.

Pegan shook his head, Fine, the bearer is not a diseased creature but a woman pure of heart. You still haven’t said why I’m here.

Because you’re going to save her.

Pegan leaped to his feet, what did you just say?

She needs to be saved, Elwrick answered.

Well if you’re so concerned, why don’t you save the wretched thing?

I would love to but I reside in a distant realm and thus bound by different laws. I begged the Creator to let me aid but unfortunately, I must remain an observer. It is only now after many decades I have been given permission to intervene, but only with counsel and direction. I have been given authority to find who I believe has the ability to end this tyrant’s rule, and move the world in a positive direction.

And you found me.

Yes.

And what if I say no?

I can’t force you, Elwrick said. But you are the only chance this world has to keep from being forsaken. His eyes narrowed as his vision fixed onto something Pegan could not see.

Forsaken?

Yes, the Creator is on the verge of total destruction of our world. We are the only world where the people have failed. Chaos runs wild. Elwrick looked towards the sky.

I beg to differ, Pegan said. The people have not failed.

No, Elwrick said. Look around, what do you see? Very few remain who are not bound by some dark corrupt desire.

Pegan shot him a wicked glance. What he said was true.

Even now, having been told the truth you still refuse to help. I can see it in your eyes. I know you have questions but are frightened of the answers. Terrified it will alter your whole reality of the world you live in.

You’re wrong, Pegan answered.

Then hear what I have to say.

Pegan nodded for him to continue.

All other worlds treat their bearers as royalty as this one once did as well. But something went wrong and I don’t know what or when. For some unknown reason, Karayan has convinced the populace that bearers are diseased and has them killed but not before the child is cut from the womb and given to him as you are well aware of. Elwrick wiped the water from his face and rung it from his long beard.

Pegan rose and walked a few feet away shaking his head. Why did I answer that stupid note? What have I got myself into? Facing Elwrick once more he asked, why me?

Why you? Elwrick gasped. Because there is something special about you, something that tells me you will succeed where all others will fail.

Pegan shook his head, this is not my calling. People die every day, this has nothing to do with me, I’m sorry. I won’t risk my neck to save someone I don’t know.

Nothing to do with you, this has everything to do with you, is the past so easily forgotten, Elwrick erupted like a volcano. Or do you need some coin to remind you?

Pegan let the words melt into him, and each one stung like the crack of a whip.

Elwrick knew Pegan was not convinced but balanced on the edge of a knife. Wrapping Pegan in an arm he pulled him tight, It’s time, time to forget the past and forge a new future, time to end this reign of terror, time to become who you were meant to be. Elwrick clenched a fist in excitement.

The last words hurt as his past came rushing back, this man was right, he had no choice but to right his wrongs. What must I do?

Travel to Lynn Brook, kill the keeper and rescue a beautiful young woman named Averie. She needs to be taken to the Isle of Aramoor where the portal can be opened. It is there I will join you.

Averie, Pegan whispered, such a beautiful name, he thought.

Yes, it is, Elwrick answered as if he read Pegans mind.

We have one problem though, Pegan groaned. Lynn Brook is not just a town, It’s a fortified city, guards everywhere, no way in or out without being noticed. Even if I do make it inside how do I find her? There must be a thousand houses there. It would take me a year of searching to locate her. Surely you cannot expect me to do that? I need more, tell me her location.

I cannot tell you, I must show you, Elwrick said. Sorry I must do this and he rose.

Do what? Pegan tried to retreat but Elwrick was upon him, grabbing his wrist with deadly force. Pegan screamed. His head swooned and every muscle in his body twitched and jerked. Electricity drove through him, his shirt smelled of heat and sweat oozed from every pore. He no longer felt the rain on his face or the beating of his heart. Fading, he felt the last breath of air escape his dying lungs.

A blurred house came into focus. It was small but well-kept with a manicured front yard lined with bushes and shrubs each sprouting flowers of different colors. Between the shrubs, a cobblestone walkway led to the front door. In the blink of an eye, he stood at the door. A wooden plaque carved with numbers read one... one... four... hung from a thick rope.

As that image faded another formed. First, a child appeared, young, energetic, full of life running through the house, playing and laughing, and then the image changed to that of an older woman. Beaten down and starved Pegan was not sure if it was the same girl or not. He reached out to the woman, but she was gone.

What kind of trickery is this? Pegan screamed from his knees.

Pegan, Elwrick said, his voice changed drastically. It had gone from a warm pleasant reassuring tone to one of foreboding.

He tried to listen but the pounding in his ears blocked the sounds.

What you just saw is taking place as we speak. That woman you saw is the bearer. I do not know when, but she will be exterminated. She will be tortured, have her stomach ripped open, and the fetus destroyed. When all that’s complete she will be thrown onto the street like garbage to be eaten by stray dogs and other carrion. You know I speak the truth.

You still have not told me her location, only a vision, a vision I cannot interpret.

Think, Elwrick said. I have shown you all you need to know.

How am I to do this, I have no true weapons? Pegan asked.

This is indeed a troubling situation, Elwrick responded, and one I did not foresee. He ran his fingers through his gray beard. Dire situations call for extreme actions, he finally spoke. Take this, Elwrick said as he unclasped a dark brown leather sheath from his belt and handed it to Pegan.

I won’t take your weapon, Pegan said, he put his hands up and backed away.

Take it, Elwrick demanded. His voice struck like lightning.

As if under the control of a superior being he reached out and snatched the item. It felt good in his hand, light, yet strong and sturdy. Without sound and effort, the blade slid from the sheath. The handle was silver, bellied for an improved grip and wrapped in fine black suede. The double-edged blade was made from a strange bluish tinted metal and was perfectly symmetrical. A thin groove lined the center of the blade creating a spine that provided both strength and a place for blood to exit. The Quillion was adorned with jewels that sparkled and each end formed into the shape of a three-clawed talon grasping a translucent orb. The first orb was clear and contained a swirling blue smoke while the other was a solid red and emitted a faint pulsating hue.

This is a fine dagger, Pegan said, but, I cannot accept it. He slid it back into the sheath and handed it back.

Elwrick turned away, the dagger’s name is Fel-Strike, Keeper of Light, crafted in a long forgotten era by the Silver Mountain Dwarves. Given as a... Elwrick choked on the words a keepsake for my family who perished while defending Nendorühl from the demons at the end of the Great War. Today, I pass it on to you for helping rid the world of Karayan. There is magic in that dagger, but how it will affect you I don’t know. For it senses its owner and conforms to their needs. Keep it, use it, until we meet again my friend, Elwrick said as he left, leading the horse by the reins.

And what if I fail, what if this dagger falls into the hands of the enemy?

Have faith in yourself, Elwrick spoke with a calm voice, I’ve already placed mine in you.

He watched Elwrick mount the steed and trot away taking the fog with him then pondered what he saw, relived every detail in the vision. The answer is in the vision, he whispered.

Pulling out the dagger he felt strange. No longer did he feel weak, His vision cleared. Every fiber was immersed in energy that pulled at him, tugging at his very soul like a snake coiling around its prey. Revitalized, he faded into the night heading east, towards Lynn Brook.

Chapter 3

THE STORM SEEMED UNNATURAL, violent. It lashed out at anything and anyone. Pegan pressed onward directly into the heart of the storm. His heavy black cloak offered little protection from the pounding rain and howling wind. The trail he followed became mud and threatened to suck the boots off his feet with each step. Hours passed before the familiar cobblestone road between Fairdenn and Lynn Brook found his feet. It was a welcome sight, from here his destination was only hours away.

Pegan stomped the mud from his boots and set off on a slow trot. Normally, it would have been packed by travelers heading in both directions but not now, the storm had everything stalled.

In the distance, the looming walls of Lynn Brook grew from the mist. The pointed spikes that topped the walls jabbed into the blackened clouds. His eyes followed the road to a large portico which was currently closed. The obsidian black bars spotted with rust glistened in the dim light provided by a single lantern. To the left was a large wooden man-door bound in steel.

Pegan pounded on the door.

Who’s there? The raspy voice came through a slot in the door. And what do you want?

I seek refuge, Pegan said, from this blasted storm.

A bolt of lightning sizzled across the sky lighting everything for a brief second, a thundering boom followed.

Go away, the voice yelled back through the opening. The town’s closed for the night.

Pegan pounded again on the door, this time harder, and longer.

I said go away, the voice snapped. I won’t tell you again.

Where am I to go? Pegan pleaded. I have no supplies, nor shelter. Do you wish me to die out here?

Pegan stepped back as the door swung inward. Well, get in here, the guard snarled. Using his hand to block the rain he studied the stranger as he entered. Guess I did my good deed for the day.

State your name? A second guard groaned from the shack. In his hand, he held a large book opened to a blank page.

Blair, Pegan lied. He learned years ago to keep his identity secret.

Blair what? The guard asked, spitting on the ground. Why do I always get the stupid ones?

You just seem to get lucky that way, the drenched guard laughed.

Oh, sorry, Pegan said. Blair Sherwood... from Fairdenn. Pegan watched the guard log his name into the book.

State your business?

I come to visit my sister, Pegan grumbled, wiping water off his face. I should have moved faster but this blasted storm overtook me. Pegan pointed to the blackened clouds. The rain fell sideways and more lightning lit the sky off in the distance, thunder followed. Pegan waited till the guard finished writing, and closed the book. Is there an inn near where I can find refuge?

Down there, the drenched guard pointed. Second left, can’t miss it.

Wait, the guard yelled from the shack. You said you were coming to see your sister?

Pegan was caught in a lie, something he had not anticipated. He would simply kill them if needed but the bodies would pose a serious problem. Once discovered questions would be asked, and alarms sounded. No, he needed to get in and get out without drawing suspicion or raising questions. He thought quickly before the guard got too suspicious. Like this? Pegan pointed to his muddy boots and drenched cloak. I don’t think she would appreciate me stomping around her home in this condition. I’ll get a room and wash then visit her first thing in the morning. The storm should have broken by then.

Squinting his eyes suspiciously, the guard eventually nodded his approval. The Smoking Pig is the place you want. Then sent him away with a wave of the hand.

Thank you, Pegan said. Behind him he heard the guard grumble about having to polish his armor tomorrow, and how he should make him do it as punishment.

Pegan followed the direction until he arrived at a hand-carved wooden sign spinning like a top from a single piece of twine. The other had snapped and lashed out like a whip at all who passed. Gripping the sign he cut it free and observed the image. A fat pig with smoke simmering off its back. This must be the place, he thought, then dropped the sign.

Pegan entered and shut the wind and rain out. The tavern was dark but his eyes adjusted quickly and he took a long look. One wide center aisle led to a bar against the far wall while long tables lined either side. To the right, a narrow staircase led to a small balcony that overlooked the main floor. Leaning on the balcony a single man studied the crowd.

Men of every shape and size filled every chair and scantily dressed women roamed the aisles carrying trays overloaded with drinks and food. Along the walls, men stood in small groups and spoke in hushed voices. Lanterns suspended by thick chains provided the only light while chocking pipe-weed lingered on the stagnant air. The whole tavern reeked of stale ale and broken dreams.

People scampered out of his way as he approached the bar. Conversations died to a whisper, and every eye followed his path. A single seat remained open at the bar which he filled. Behind him, the conversations started again as people spoke of the stranger who entered. Patrons were unaccustomed to having strangers intrude upon their domain, especially rovers.

At the far end, the bartender was filling the mug of another and appeared quite intoxicated. He was shorter than most, maybe five foot if he stood on a box, balding, and thick around the belly. Wide suspenders snaked over a filthy gray shirt and held up a pair of filthy brown trousers.

Working his way down the bar filling glasses as he went he eventually arrived at the new face. Howdy stranger, he said reaching out to shake hands. Never seen you around these parts before. Must be one of those rovers from the South?

Pegan knew instantly he referred to the multiple settlements that formed at the giant fissure south of the Ash Mountains. Rapists, thieves, murderers, and any other criminals that were banished from society called it home. Actually, Karayan had no problem with the criminals, only those who got caught.

If you say so... Pegan answered.

Well then, he said. I’m Jake Cadweld, owner, operator... and you are? His voice slurred.

Pegan gagged as the thick smell of whiskey crossed his nose. Blair, Pegan said, taking the hand in a firm grip. Blair Sherwood.

Got caught out in the storm, did ya?

I did, Pegan said as he looked around the room. Place always this crowded?

Not normally, he answered after he took a swig from a dark colored bottle. Usually dead about this time but the storm pushed everybody in.

Pegan studied the patrons, I’m here to meet an old friend but I don’t see him.

Perhaps this freak storm has kept him home. He took another swig.

Perhaps, Pegan agreed.

I got a plan, why not stay here for the night? I got one room available if you can afford it.

I would much rather stay in the company of friends, Pegan said. But thanks for the offer.

Well if you’re looking for company, I got you covered, he chuckled. A quick whistle brought two girls over from across the room wearing clothes that left little to the imagination. That’s all I got left for the night, but since it’s late, I’ll offer you a good discount.

Pegan studied the pair. He could see it in their eyes they were not there willingly. Sorry ladies, I’m not looking for that kind of company, Pegan said, then handed each a gold coin. Now use this money to find a more reputable job, he scolded them.

Cadweld’s eyes widened as he saw the coins flicker in the light. "Perhaps I can help you find your friend. You know where