A new story I am working on…
Wolf Lords of Shadow
Part One
Wolf stood there on the battlements of Storm Haven Keep, his long black streaming over his shoulders in a slight breeze. He bent his long bow, surveying the horde of Vipers charging across the greenway below him. He slowly sighted on one of the hooded warlords and fired his bow. The arrow took the hapless warrior in the center of his chest, sending him flying backwards into the mass of the five thousand black-cloaked warlords streaming toward the high walls of the Haven of Storm.
Although he was only 16-summers-old, Wolf had recently accepted leadership of the elite mercenary company known as the Wolf Lords of Shadow. This, however, was to be his first–and perhaps his last–mission, defending this keep on the northern border of the Seven Kingdoms, depending on which way the Fates decided.
Shortly before joining the men and women of his company on the Storm’s battlements, he dressed in his finest leathers, his cream-colored shirt and vest contrasting sharply with his unruly raven tangles. He had learned early on from his mentor and former leader of the company that if this was the day he was going to die, he might as well look good while doing so.
He had ignored the stares of the other members of the Wolf Lords all dressed in their battle-scarred armor of leather and plate, and taken his place at their center, pausing long enough to lower the ample hood on his shoulder cloak. He had then taken up his longbow to assess the enemy moving rapidly across the greenway toward the keep. He had fired off nearly an entire quiver of arrows since then, and still the enemy kept coming.
Wolf fired off an arrow, taking out yet another enemy racing toward the keep’s high walls. On either side of him long bows thrummed as the Wolf Lords added more kills to the swarming horde. “Damn them,” he softly muttered, “they just keep coming! We will run out of arrows long before we run they reach these walls!”
Beside him, Shiields offered his young leader, a wry grin. “Once they do reach these walls, my Captain, there will be many in that swarm determined to kill the young archer who took out so many of their fellow warriors as they crossed the greenway below! So, you best watch yourself, Wolf pup. Stay near me and Jetts, and we will watch your back when they storm these battle-ments!”
Wolf glanced over at Shiields, whose dark shaggy hair fell to broad shoulders, while a coarse three-day old beard shadowed his rugged-looking face. Shiields was a man to have at his side in a battle like the one coming their way, and he had been particularly protective of young Wolf ever since he had accepted leadership of the company a few months ago. A leadership that was thrust upon him due to the sudden disappearance of their former leader, who up and vanished one night and had not been heard from since.
Small, wiry Jetts appeared at Shiield’s left side, brandishing twin short swords. The tiny waif of a halfling shook backs strands of his sweat-drenched chestnut hair and gestured to the horde racing across the greenway of the keep below them. “Geesh, Wolf, you took out nearly sixty of those Vipers coming our way! I almost thought for a moment there, that there wouldn’t be any left over for the rest of the company!”
Jetts gestured with his other small sword to the other mercenaries stretched thin on either side of them on the Storm Haven’s battlements. “Save some for us,” he said. “I just told Spawn and Stag that you were getting so good with that bow that you wouldn’t even need our help should these Vipers reach these walls! I really can’t wait to try out these new swords!”
With that, the small halfling lashed out with both blades, and whirled round into a battle stance, one blade snaking out in an overhand slash, the other coming up in an underhand cut. “Come on, you swarm of mad hornets! Come taste my steel!”
Wolf and Shiields exchanged a look, and then both rolled their eyes at the hobbit’s antics. This was going to be a long battle.
Part Two
At either end of the Storm’s high battlements, Darcstar and Bruising sent a mind pulse to each other even as they warily eyed the dark-clad, hooded warriors racing toward them in the thousands. *This is a force sent from the Realm of Shadow,* Darcstar sent through his telepathic mind-speech. *I don’t think the young Wolf was preparing for such a large force to deal with. Do you deem it wise to spread ourselves so thin upon these walls? Shouldn’t we be falling back to the second wall, which will be more easy to defend?*
The huge, well-muscled Bruising at the opposite end of the line of mercenaries nodded at the thin, blue-robed cleric looking back at him end from the eastern end of the battlements. *Darc? You having doubts about our pup’s strategy? Where was your voice of opposition when Hawwk assigned Wolf leadership before he left us? Having second thoughts now?*
Darcstar, adjusted his blue robes about his thin frame and drew his war-mace out of his shoulder sheath. He offered the broadly grinning Bruising a look of annoyance, his bearded features creased by a serious frown. *Like you, old friend, I did not question Hawwk’s wisdom on the matter. But I did not think a battle like the one before us would be thrust upon our young Wolf so soon. The lad’s too young to know what to do against a massive force like these Vipers before us. Why not place the soldiers of this keep along this front wall, while we secure the second wall? Besides their victory will be decided by our involvement.*
Bruising looked down the line of the band of thirty of his fellow mercs. *And a fine example we would make,* he pulsed back to Darcstar one hundred yards away, *if we asked those soldiers on the wall behind us to be the first line of defense, Darc. No, I think our Wolf pup has wisely staked us out here on this first wall to boost morale. Did you see the fearful, wide-eyed looks of everyone of those soldier boys? They might man this fortress of Storm Haven, but not one of them has seen battle, especially battles like the ones that were fought here in the past decade. We serve to instill courage in those who man the second wall behind us. Wolf’s plan is wise. Besides, wouldn’t it be just like Hawwk to pit us against impossible odds just to prove a point?*
Darcstar gave Bruising a wry grin and sent back, *And what point would that be? To needlessly die here in the first wave of enemies to swarm this wall?*
Bruising’s loud laughter caused all thirty-some mercs to swivel their heads and to look at the big man in puzzlement. He gave them all a fierce grin and boomed, “The point Wolf is trying to make here, is that we can face impossible odds . . . and live! And no matter how many waves of enemies wash over these walls, we will still be standing in the wake of their lame attacks! Besides, every man dies. But not every man lives a life worth dying for, and that is why we make a difference!”
Wolf brushed the long strands of his dark hair out of his eyes and nodded at the big bard. “Well said, Bruise. Perhaps when these waves have crashed upon these shores and we are still standing, you can compose an epic song about this day.”
And although Bruising smiled at his young captain in confidence, only Darcstar at the far end of the battlements noted the trace of fear and doubt in the big bard’s dark eyes. *This,* he pulsed to the bard, *is going to be a long, bloody battle. Let us hope you survive it compose this epic song. And better yet, let us hope I am around to listen to it!*
Part Three
Wolf looked away from the enraged horde hastily making their way to the front wall of the keep. He peered up and down the line of this grim company who stood the wall with him:
Laerthorn the Lean.
Beoworth and Beomont, the Twin Titans.
Graysire the Grim.
Wizzgal, Lady of the Bright Star.
Eladreme the Wise.
Caermina, Lass of the Vale.
Syzyll, the Magi Mistress.
Stalment Spear of the Dragon Flame.
Kat, the Black Lion of Wintermist.
Talland, Sword of the Morning.
Consago Shadowalker.
All of them had earned a name for themselves, rising up through the ranks of the company, their deeds and accomplishments listed in the Book of Records. If indeed they fell here this day, their legacies would long be remembered as they were read aloud before council meetings at the mountain haven of Shadow Keep where the company made their home.
Wolf Lords of Shadow fit these men and women well, and the Wolves of the Shadow company had earned a reputation for being one of the fiercest mercenary companies to offer their services to the Council of Nine Lords in realm of Valasar.
It is ironic, Wolf thought. We have made a fortune in the service of the Nine Lords, fighting in one war after another. Yet today we forfeit our fee, when we might very well die defending this haven. I wonder what Hawwk would say if he knew that I had committed the Wolf Lords to this particular mission? If he still lives, he would reprimand me for foolishly throwing away the lives of such brave fighters. And if he is dead, fallen somewhere along the long road his destiny took him down, he is more than likely rolling over in his grave at my foolishness! Oh, Hawwkwynd, I wish you were here!
Wolf nodded at each member of the merc band and he was bolstered by the grim courage he saw in their eyes. At 16-summers-old, he knew he should never have accepted leadership of the mercenary company, because now it had led them to this: A suicide mission with no hope for survival. And yet not one merc gazed back at him with anything other than respect and admiration in their eyes. They knew they would die here today. They knew that their young leader, that most of them fondly called the wolf pup, had led them here. As their captain, Wolf knew they would follow him to the gates of the Seven Hells if he asked them to, and yet he knew they did not deserve to have their lives end in such a battle.
If we could turn and run right now, Wolf thought, entertaining that thought for several seconds. But then again, now that they are committed to this fight, not one of the Wolf Lords of Shadow would follow me down from these walls. No, and I can just hear the twins, Beoworth and Beomont saying, ‘Today is as good any to die. Who wants to live forever?’
Wolf slowly lowered his long bow to the battlements, and drew his sword. The blade glimmered with a strange golden light and he knew the magic it was endowed with was responding to the warlords from the Shadow Realm charging their way. Soon, it would be cleaving heads from shoulders, and slaying scores of the dark-cloaked, hooded, pale-skinned Vipers who managed to scale the walls.
“Irony upon irony,” Shiields said, gruffly giving a slight nod of his dark-haired head so that his bearded chin stuck out slightly as if pointing at the swiftly advancing enemy. “Here we are the Wolf Lords of the Shadow Company, and we find ourselves pitted against demon lords from the Shadow Realm. There ought to be some god laughing at one of us, Wolf Lords or demon lords, or perhaps both. Or perhaps, Hawwk knew something more when he settled on our name ten years ago. He always was a dreamer, more like a visionary, and perhaps he saw this battle in our future even then. Shadow against Shadow. And then the darkness falls.”
“Are those lyrics to a song, Shiields?” small Jetts asked, curiously. “If not, maybe you ought to quote them to Bruising after this battle. He could always use better lyrics for the songs he composes, don’t you think, Wolf?”
Wolf peered down at the halfling who stood beside him. “Yes,” he readily agreed with the tiny waif, knowing Jetts was speaking sardonically, knowing full well that there would never be an afterwards for them after this battle. “Remember those words, Jetts. Perhaps you can quote them to Bruising yourself. After this coming fight.”
Wolf reached down with his free hand and tousled the small halfling’s shaggy tangles. Jetts reached up just as Wolfe’s hand was leaving his bowed head, and he took a hold of his wrist with both small hands and held on for long moments. “It was good to have served under you, Captain,” he sadly said. “I rode beside you throughout these six long years, serving as your bodyguard as Hawwk commanded me to, and last year when you were named leader, I knew Hawwk had chosen well. Tonight, perhaps if we soar beyond the stars, I will still remain at your side.”
Shiields offered Jetts a shrewd glare even as the halfling released Wolf’s wrist. “How touching, Jetts,” he said, a bit gruffly. “But as for me, I will be riding away from this battle, not soaring beyond the stars. Today is not my day to die.”
Wolf remembered then how Hawwk had always repeated that phrase each time before leading the Wolf Lords into battle. Somehow it had become his mantra, and mysteriously it had seemed to work. Wolf then wished for the second time that day that their former leader were there to stand beside him.
As he gazed down at the mad rush of Vipers racing toward the walls of Storm Haven, Wolf remembered how he’d first met the Elven Lord known as the Hawwk.
And even as the present was about to throw this furious storm of warlords from the Realm at him, Wolf’s memories of the past gave him comfort and reminded him of where he had been to end up where he now was.
Part Four
It had been snowing hard that day when Wolf’s people and kin, the Gypsy-born of Glen Mirren, were attacked by a large force of Karth. The antler-crown warlords erupted from the woodlands surrounding the caravan of gypsy wagons and attacked the Gypsy-born like ravenous beasts. The gypsies had fought back, each warrior among them ferociously defending their kinsmen, and for each Gypsy-born who died that day, they took at least six Karth with them. Still, the Karth kept pouring out of the trees, slaughtering and butchering man, woman and child.
Six-year-old Wolf’s father had hidden him inside the house-wagon of his family, beneath a pile of furs, offering young Wolf a dagger just before leaving him there to join the battle raging outside. And Wolf had listened in terror to the members of his kin and people being cut down by the savage, merciless Karth.
A quietness then settled on the clearing, and the Karth began to systematically loot the wagons of the dead, searching for the jewels reputed to be carried by the roving bands of Gypsy-born. Disgusted at having lost a great number of their own, they became enraged that their fierce fighting resulted in finding no treasure amongst those they had ambushed.
At the end of their futile search, the Karth finally reached the larger, finely painted wagon of the Gypsy Chieftain. Expecting to at last find treasure stored within, the massive, wild-haired, antler-crowned Karth entered the wagon, and Wolf exploded in a furious rage, attacking him with the razor-sharp blade. He slew the Karth warlord and emerged from the door of his house-wagon, the bloody blade gripped in his fist.
Wolf slew two more of the hulking warlords before the others even realized there was a raven-haired little terror armed with a deadly blade among them. But his valiant attack was stopped short by one brutish Karth who came up behind him and knocked him senseless with a vicious punch to the back of Wolf’s head.
He went sprawling, his dagger flipping end over end as it flew out of his grasp. When he managed to sit up, the huge Karth warlord was already moving toward him, raising his rusty sword for a killing stroke.
An arrow suddenly sprouted in the center of the stunned warlord’s chest appearing there like a wild red rose. The Karth took two steps back from the force of the red-fletched death that sank so abruptly in the center of his chest, then toppled over and fell to the ground.
More than a hundred Karth warlords turned as one to glare in fury at the lone, raven-haired Elven rider seated on his black steed at the top of a nearby hill. The Elf fitted another arrow to the string of his finely crafted longbow, offering the savage warlords a look of defiance. Wolf thought certain his rescuer was surely about to die, and yet the regal Elven archer clad in his forest green leathers fired off six more shots before the Karth even gathered their wits to move.
Finally, a dozen warlords raced toward the lone rider. The solemn Elf lowered his bow, and Wolf wanted to shout at him to draw the twin short swords from the sheaths at his back, but just as the twelve Karth reached the base of the slope where the dark-haired Elf sat calmly upon his steed, a large pack of huge white wolves emerged from the forest behind him. The enormous beasts fixed their green-eyed gazes on the advancing Karth. A moment later, a second pack of white wolves darted from the undergrowth on the other side of the Elf’s steed. This second pack merged with the first and together they rolled down the hill like a raging white wave, washing over the startled warlords and hurtling toward the others who stood there amidst the carnage of those they had slain.
Wolf scrambled to his feet, looking around him in wide-eyed terror as the two packs of white wolves tore into the warlords and ripped the lives out of them in the most bloody battle he’d ever witnessed. By the time it was over, Wolf stood there frozen in fear as each wolf glanced in his direction, then silently loped off into the surrounding woods. Wolf stood alone amongst the dead, facing the black haired Elven rider.
“What is your name, young Gypsy boy?” the Elf asked, his voice strong and clear in the frosty air.
“My name?” Wolf asked, incredulous and trembling with sorrow at the loss of his parents and so many of his kin folk. “I stand here amidst this carnage, and you ask for my name?”
The Elf then nudged his horse sending it trotting down the slope. “Well,” the raven-haired rider said, “it is some place to start. And if I am to take you with me, I would at least expect to know the company I travel with.”
“With you?” Wolf asked, his sorrow being replaced by a slow burning anger. “Though I am grateful that you and your wolves intervened on my behalf, where would you take me? Where would we be traveling to? Besides, I have dead to bury.”
The Elf then cocked his head, as if listening to some far off sound. “Do you hear that, lad?”
He sat there still as stone, his blue-eyed gaze locked on the distant slopes. Wolf then heard the distant call of a lone wolf, then an answering call, and then an entire chorus of shrill howls coming from the tree-lined slopes. “Those are not my wolf allies,” the Elf said, grimly. “Those who come to feast on the leavings of this battle are many. They are the dark wolves of the Riddle Woods, and they outnumber the White Wolves of Masgar by at least three hundred. I am very sorry nameless gypsy boy, but there will be no time to bury the dead. If you wish to live, you must come with me at once.”
Wolf rode out of that clearing of slaughter and death, tears blurring his vision as he sat behind the Elven rider. He continued to glance back as the dark steed beneath them picked his way up the slope toward the forested tree line above them. But even as he tried to get one last glimpse of those he’d loved sprawled in death behind him, the tears continued to flow. He choked back sobs threatening to burst from his lips, and in sympathy the Elf seated in his saddle before him, reached back and gently squeezed his left shoulder.
After a time of riding through the still falling snow, Wolf finally managed to say, “Wolf. My name is Wolf.”
And as the howls of the wolves of the Riddle Woods rose behind them, the Elf glanced to their left and right where the White Wolves of Masgar ghosted through the woods around them. He gave a wry grin, and said, “Wolf? And how ironic is that, to be escorted away from the feast of dark wolves by my white wolves allies? Ironic indeed.”
They rode for quite some time before the Elven rider spoke again. “I am Hawwkwynd Kestrian, once Elven Lord of the Kingdom of Mint. I am now an outlaw in exile, yet you have nothing to fear from me. My close friends call me Hawwk.”
Part Five
When they finally stopped riding, Wolf pulled aside the ample hood of the cloak Hawwk had lent him during their journey. He brushed snow flakes off his cheeks and looked down at the fortress nestled far below them amidst giant pines.
Fierce winter breezes whipping his long locks of raven hair about his head and shoulders, Hawwk studied the keep for quite some time. On either side of them, white wolves emerged from the snowy woodlands, and each of the green-eyed beasts stood there peering down at the forest fortress with wary looks.
“This,” Wolf said, knowingly, “is Shadow Keep, isn’t it? The bards of my tribe spoke of this place and they say it is haunted, a place of ghosts of those fallen in some long forgotten battle that took place here ages past.”
Hawwk offered Wolf a slight grin. “Shadow Keep is named for the giant pines overshadowing this fortress, nothing more. Before men came to the depths of these woods, the White Wolves of Masgar made their homes in the warren of dens running back inside the cliff face. The ghosts rumored to haunt the halls below could only belong to the Bright Company who built this fortress and allied themselves with the white wolves they found living here when they arrived. The Bright Ones were a large company of wizard-warriors, and yes they did fall in battle here in ages past, but I seriously doubt whether their shades roam these halls. At least, I have not encountered any for the past five years I have been living here.”
Wolf peered into Hawwk’s piercing blue gaze, slightly amazed. “This,” he asked, “is your home? Shadow Keep is your home?”
“Yes,” Hawwk replied. “Since taking the long road into exile, I have shared the keep below with these white wolves, each one more loyal to me than any of my Elven brethren of Mint.”
“Wolves?” Wolf asked. “You have lived alone here with wolves? But who,” he had added, gesturing at the thick gray smoke rising from a tall, steeple-like chimney of the Great Hall in the central keep, “is tending that fire? Certainly not wolves?”
After a slight laugh, Hawwk shook his head. “That,” he said, “is what I would like to know.”
As Hawwk rode into the keep, white wolves darted this way and that as they entered the central courtyard. Some ran toward the switch-back trails winding up the cliff face beyond the main broch. Others sniffed tentatively at the small herd of horses tethered before the Great Hall. And still others lingered behind, providing an escort for the Elven Lord and young Wolf seated behind him on his horse.
The thirty odd horses tethered to the hitching posts situated before the main broch were near frozen and simply offered the wolves sniffing at their hocks dim-witted stares as if they had no fight left in them from whatever journey they had recently endured.
Hawwk gently lowered Wolf to the ground, then smoothly dismounted, removing his heavy wool cloak even as he landed beside the gypsy boy. He handed the cloak to Wolf, then reached back and loosened his twin swords in their scabbards. Then with a nod at the wolves taking up guarded stances on either side of them, he moved forward, followed closely by Wolf.
Inside the Great Hall, they found a roaring fire in the hearth and a motley crew of ill-kempt men warming themselves before the bright blaze. The sixteen men all looked to be half-frozen and near dead on their feet, and as such, posed no threat.
Hawwk took one long look at this band of men, and then turned his gaze on the massive, shaggy-maned Ogre who lumbered into view from an ante-chamber at the back end of the hall. The huge, ape-faced warrior peered at Hawwk with only one eye, and drew a great two-handed sword from the sheath at his thick waist. “Who in the Seven Hells are you, Elfling?” he snarled in challenge.
“I am,” Hawwk said, “the master of this keep, and it is I who should be asking who you are and what you and your men are doing trespassing in my home?”
The Ogre took two steps forward, yet stopped as a low growl arose from the lead wolf eyeing his huge form balefully. “Shut that wolf up!” he snapped. “Or I’ve a mind to remove his head! A white wolf pelt would look good donning my shoulders, I should think.”
Hawwk shushed the wolf. His gaze then drifted to the shadows behind the defiant Ogre, taking in the sight of nine figures huddled there, chained and shackled. This group looked far worse than the one before the fire. Some were badly beaten, with bruises and fresh blood marring their features. The clothes they wore were in tatters, and they were each shivering there against the cold stone wall where the warmth of the fire did not reach.
The Ogre noticed Hawwk’s glance. He stepped protectively in front of the bedraggled band of figures and growled, “Hun the One Eye is my name, Elfling. I am a Keeper of the Law. Because of the storm raging outside these walls, my Band of Five Brothers grace your hall this evening. We are escorting these criminals to Castlelan, where we will–”
“Collect a bounty,” Hawwk cut him off in mid-sentence. “Keeper of the Law? You give yourself such a high title, when you and your Band are nothing more than bounty hunters.”
Hun swung his sword around, causing the six wolves to crouch down in defensive stances. Wolf found himself stepping back away from the one-eyed brute, casting worried glances up at Hawwk who stood perfectly still there in the center of the hall, a blank expression on his face.
The huge Ogre brandished his sword, and slanted the long blade along his armor-covered shoulder, grinning to know that his threatening gesture had caused such a reaction among the wolves. “Hunters serve the King,” he said. “As servants of the King, I demand that you serve as a gracious host this foul winter night. If this is indeed your keep, feed me and my men.”
Hawwk gave his request some consideration. He then asked, “And what about the prisoners you escort? Am I expected to provide food for them, as well?”
Hun let out a bark of laughter. “Waste your food on them? Naw, Elfling, They are destined to hang as soon as we reach Castlelan. Their leader, however, is to die this night, as soon as my men are well fed and have warmed themselves by your fire. You are welcome to watch.”
He shifted his great sword around to his other shoulder and made a shooing motion with one large hand. “Now be a good Elf and get us something to eat. And get those mangy wolves out of here! They smell!”
“The wolves stay,” Hawwk said, firmly. “But I will feed you and your men . . .” his voice trailed off for a moment before he added, “after I have fed the outlaws behind you.”
At this, Hun roared, “Do you wish to provoke me, Elf? Do you even know who these outlaws are? If you knew of their crimes, you would not insult me by giving them food, let alone offering to feed them before the Band of Five Brothers! We have traveled far this day, through treacherous regions to bring these outcasts to justice! We deserve–”
“Every man deserves,” Hawwk interrupted him for the second time, ignoring his furious gaze, “to be treated more fairly than you have evidently treated them. I say they eat first, and you and your Band second. Humor me. After all, this is my Great Hall, Bounty Hunter.”
Part Six
Infuriated by the evident insult, Hun wheeled around and took several steps toward the huddled figures chained and shackled against the wall. He reached down, grabbed one man by his dark hair and yanked him to his feet. With great force, he shoved him forward so that his bruised and battered face was illuminated by the firelight.
Hawwk and Wolf could both see the broad-shouldered, muscular man had little life left in him. His shaggy dark hair was matted with clotted blood from a deep wound to his scalp, and his bearded features were creased by an ugly red wound that ran the length of his right cheek. He wavered there with barely enough strength to remain on his feet. In his green eyes, however, there burned a fire of defiance and he glanced sideways at the huge, one-eyed Ogre looming next to him. The moment, Hun saw the flash of anger in the man’s eyes, he slammed a fist into the side of the man’s head, spinning him around and dropping him to the floor.
Hun spat on the hapless outlaw sprawled at his feet. “Shiields, your insolence has already cost you!” the big, bearded Ogre snarled. “And now tonight, here in the keep of Shadows, it will end!”
Hawwk spoke one word, and yet Hun and the entire Band of Five Brothers fixed him in their gazes. “Shiields?” he asked, quietly.
“Yes,” Hun replied, gloating over the heap of a man sprawled there on the floor at his feet. “A murderer and a thief, and the so-called leader of this motley crew of outcasts and misfits. I think it would set a fine example, since he is wanted alive–or dead–to sever his head from his shoulders this night. He has caused me much trouble on our trek through these woodlands, and he shall die for his defiance and insolence.”
“Shiields?” Hawwk asked again, his piercing blue eyes fastened on the man lying on the floor between him and the grinning Ogre. “Is the same man who held the shield-wall at the Battle of Kamber Keep?”
Hun lowered his gaze to the slumped figure of the barely conscious man. “Not hardly, Elf. The man Shiields, so named for his courage at Kamber Keep, was a nobleman, a lord some say, and his deed there was legendary. This outlaw here murdered three knights of Corse-by-Way. The man Shiields was a man of honor, this man is the scum of the earth.”
“They,” the downed man whispered harshly from his prone position on the floor, “killed my dog.”
It was spoken with such sadness, and yet so quietly that every one in the hall stood there waiting to hear more of what the man might say.
“You murdered three knights of Corse,” Hun thundered, “all over the death of a mangy dog? And you think that justifies your actions? And then to add injury to insult, you steal the name of a legendary hero, so what? This rabble of outlaws might flock to you? You are a despicable man who–”
“Who stood the shield-wall at Kamber,” the man said, rising up on one elbow and bracing for the boot he saw about to land on his face.
“Hold!” Hawwk commanded, softly yet firmly enough that Hun stopped his boot from falling in mid-stride. The Ogre and Elf stood facing each other now, with Hawwk taking three steps closer to the man sprawled between them.
“If this man is truly Shiields,” Hawwk said, his sights flickering from the pitiful form of the man to the leering face of Hun the One Eye, “do you realize the deed he accomplished that day at Kamber Keep? Do you know the tale, Bounty Hunter? It is told in the high courts of the Elven Kingdom of Mint. It is told in the great halls of the Seven Kingdoms of Men. It is told in the underground council chambers of the Dwarves of Quain. And even in lowly taverns, the likes that you more than likely frequent, Hunter.”
Hun rumbled, “A horde of demons attacked the county fair being held on the greenway of Kamber. Demons attacked innocents, and great would have been the slaughter had not the home guard of that kingdom thrown up a shield-wall to prevent the nasty demons from reaching men, women, and children racing to get inside the city walls. An honorable deed for a man named Shiields, who led the home guard that day. But not this . . . worm of a man.”
Hawwk nodded. “You told the tale true, Bounty Hunter, but you left out one part. At the fair that day were one hundred young Elven boys come to offer their archery skills to the king of Kamber. It was these young archers who turned the tide of demons back, providing the time that was needed for the folk of Kamber to reach the safety of the gate. Once they did, the demons turned their attention on these young Elvish archers. That is when this man, Shiields, and the home guard under his command, placed themselves between demons and Elven boys. And this shield-wall that they threw up, allowed the young archers to retreat into Kamber Keep, then and only then, did Shiields quit the field, withdrawing his shield-wall in an orderly retreat to the haven of the keep.”
Hawwk paused, then added, “Hunter, did you know that an Elf usually lives one thousand years? And since this Shiields saved one hundred Elven boys by his deed, he honored my Elven kin with one hundred thousand years these boys yet live to carry out their own bright deeds. It was a great deed, one I am sure you would find hard to match, given your own status in this realm.”
Hawwk kneeled then and gently brushed the shaggy hair out of the battered man’s eyes. “Tell me true, are you this same Shiields?”
“Yes, my lord,” Shiields said, barely above a whisper. “And I loved my dog, my lord. She was a far better creature than the whoresons who trampled her beneath their horses for no better reason than she was in their way.” He swallowed and fought back tears, then added, “My lord.”
Hun booted Shiields out of his way, so that he loomed up over the kneeling figure of Hawwk. “I tire of this game you play, Elfling,” he snarled, angrily. “Fetch us our food, while I take care of this wolfs head. He has lived far longer than he deserves and he has told his last lie!”
Wolf, standing all this time, amidst the six white wolves, watched as Hawwk slowly bowed his head. He thought Hun would take him while he was unaware, lashing out with his sword, striking the raven-haired Elven Lord, but even as Hun took two steps forward, Hawwk rose to his feet before him.
The Elf Lord and Master of Shadow Keep then stood very still, meeting the Ogre’s rage with a calmness that was almost eery in its effect, for even as Hun swung his huge two-handed sword, Hawwk simply glided forward and struck with two lightning-swift moves.
His first blow connected with Hun’s throat, the extended knuckles of his left hand shattering his wind-pipe. The second blow, delivered upon completion of quick back spin, sent the Elf’s elbow into the center of the big Ogre’s face, crushing his nose in a crimson spray.
Hawwk then swept Hun’s sword from his grasp, and even as the huge Ogre crashed to his knees, he sent the blade cleaving through his neck. With a continuing whirl, Hawwk sent the severed head flying toward the Band of Five Brothers standing there before the fire, gaping in stunned amazement. Hun’s head struck one of the men in the chest, then slid down and bounced across the floor.
The six wolves standing protectively around Wolf, fanned out on either side of Hawwk, and while they peered fiercely at the men of the Band, Hawwk tossed the two-handed sword down beside the huge body of Hun the One Eye. “Now, if you all wish to eat, one of you take this Hunter’s keys and free these outlaws. They eat first, and then you. Is that clearly understood?”
The sixteen men of the Band of Five Brothers all nodded at once. And as one man ran to retrieve Hun’s keys, Hawwk gestured at Wolf to follow him to the keep’s kitchen.
Part Seven
Wolf had helped feed the starving, half-dead outlaws that Hawwk had ordered the Band of Five Brothers to seat at the table before the roaring blaze in the fireplace. As he served them plates of steaming venison, he noted the looks of disgust on the faces of the bounty hunters who were wholly disappointed by this turn of events.
Hawwk continued to ignore the scowling men and spoke in quiet tones during the meal to the man known as Shiields. When the meal was finished, and the bounty hunters were at last invited to the tables, their second in command, Beers, ordered six of the hunters to chain the outlaws back up.
Wolf saw only bright flashes of white then, and looked on in surprise as the six white wolves interposed themselves between hunters and outlaws. The lead wolf took two steps toward the big bellied Beers, his hackles raised, his lips curled back in menace. Beers hastily drew his sword.
“No!” burst from the lips of Shiields as he stood there guarded so effectively by the wolves. “Lord Hawwkwynd? Call off your wolves! I will not have their lives thrown away on the likes of us! Noble beasts that they are, they do not deserve to die here on our account. Beers? Stand down. There is no need for slaying these beasts, for I will once again wear the shackles and be escorted to Castlelan where justice shall be served upon me for my past deeds.”
Wolf watched Hawwk move between the hunters and the wolves. “Thatch,” the Elven Lord said, quietly. “We have done what we could for these outlaws. I am afraid this matter is out of our hands now. These hunters are only carrying out the King’s Justice, and I will not–”
*Hawwk,* the wolf, Thatch, sent through a mind pulse, *these are the ones who I said would come. This band of outlaws is the one destined to serve the cause of the Council of the Nine Lords. We can do no less than intervene in their fate.*
Wolf stood there in stunned amazement. He was startled by the fact that the wolf had spoken through a mind-link. He was startled that Hawwkwynd, Elven Lord and Master of Shadow Keep had understood him. But what surprised him the most, and left him reeling, was the fact he had heard Thatch’s words as clearly as if the great wolf had spoken to him.
Hawwk turned his head slightly to study the white wolf, his blue eyes locking on Thatch’s bright green ones. *So this is how it begins? The Nine Lords are so desperate that they would incorporate criminals and outlaws into the plans of their cause? Surely, they can find others who are more–*
*And what were you,* Thatch responded, *when you first came here, Hawwk? Did you not tell me the tale of how your ability to speak with birds and beasts was discovered by agents of your king? And did you not, in truth, become an outlaw yourself when you slew the three Blade Master of the Brotherhood when they came to arrest you? So, are you any better than these criminals and outlaws?*
Hawwk stood there, sad and silent for long moments. *Did you have to remind me of that, to make your point, Thatch?*
Wolf could see that the wolf’s words had caused the Elven Lord deep distress. He remembered what he’d said earlier about elves living for a thousand years, and how significant the man Shiield’s deed had been to save one hundred Elven boys. He could see that the lives of the elves he had taken to avoid this so-called arrest in his homeland impacted Hawwk, causing him deep sorrow.
*I am sorry,* Thatch offered, in tones that carried such affection for Hawwk, that Wolf could not take his eyes off of the bright-eyed wolf. *Forgive me, Hawwk, but even these outlaws are not beyond redemption. Have them swear vows that bind them. Make them into the band that will not be easily broken. Lead them, guide them, but most of all forgive them. And my brethren and I will bond with them and they will become honorable once more.*
Hawwk then nodded and said, “Very well, Thatch. I will do as you bid.”
Wolf then watched tears actually flow down the bearded cheeks of Shiields as Hawwk drew his twin short swords and said, “Shiields? My wolf friend assures me that you are not beyond redemption. If I offer you sanctuary here, will you join me in a cause that will serve the Council of Nine Lords, Servants of the Light?”
Before Shiields could offer him an answer, Beers gestured the band of outlaws with his drawn sword and growled, “My lord, need I remind you these criminals all have bounties on their heads? Warrants have been issued for each and everyone of them, signed by the King himself, and they must answer for their crimes, my lord. If I ride away from here without them, what I am to tell my Master Hunter when I reach Castlelan?”
Hawwk brandished his swords, sending the glittering blades through a series of motions that left no doubt at his skills with them. He then brought both blades down, crossing them as he placed them upon Beer’s bulky shoulders. “Tell your Master Hunter,” Hawwk said, grinning, “that you barely escaped here with your life and those of your men. Tell him to burn those warrants, for these former outlaws have been pardoned. And then, have your Master pen a message to the King, telling him if he wishes to address this issue, he may come here himself. But,” he added with a smirk, “tell him my gates will not be open to him, and if he wishes to take this matter any further, he should speak to the Council of the Nine. Can you remember all of that?”
The hunters had ridden out of Shadow Keep early that next morning under the watchful eyes of three hundred White Wolves of Masgar. Some of the wolves stood watching from the mouths of their dens which riddled the cliff forming the back wall of the fortress. Others stood unseen in the snowy woodlands surrounding the keep. And still others stood boldly up and down the pathway beyond the castle’s gateway, their presence menacing and forbidding as they silently saw the Band of Five Brothers on their way.
On the battlements overlooking the snowy, pine-filled vale beyond the high walls, Hawwk, Wolf, Shiields and the rest of his pardoned outlaws stood there. They watched, too, their faces graced by the morning sunlight shimmering down through the branches of the giant pines.
Shiields silenced two of his fellow outlaws who muttered curses at the backs of the hunters riding away from them. He then turned to Hawwk and graciously said, “We thank you, my lord. You will not live to regret the pardon you granted us. We will forever be in your debt, my lord.”
Wolf glanced at Hawwk as he laughed, sending the rich sounds of amusement echoing among the pines. “It is not me who you should be thanking,” he told Shiields, gesturing at the wolf faces poking from the dens behind them on the cliff facing. “It is the wolves who pardoned you, who deemed your lives worthy of saving for a greater cause. And please, Shiields, dispense with the ‘my lord,’ title you attempt to honor me with. Here at the Keep of Shadows, we are all lords in our own rights. And we are all honored by the wolves we share our home with. So in truth, we are now the Wolf Lords of Shadow.”
Part Eight
Deep within the dungeon of Dun Morgayne, Sir Bladereyn Swordstorm sprang through the open doorway, barely glancing at Tanner on his left and Loriel on his right. The youngest knight of the Lion Knights of Rockhaven had been intently listening to the battle making its way to the lower quarters of what had served as a prison for he and his company for the past five years. Then, he had been an eleven-year old, wide-eyed little boy proud to be on a mission of such importance in the company of his father and the Lion Knights under his command. They had come to rescue Princess Ariana from the Drak.
Now, he was a sixteen-year-old boy full of fire and fight, wanting for five long years to do nothing more than to avenge his father’s death by slaying his murderer, the dragon Drakvoren.
Blade did not know who his rescuers were, but the moment the dungeon door swung open, he launched himself through it, prepared to fight against his Trake captors, prepared to end his long imprisonment. Or die trying.
Blade moved like a dancer, sweeping past the company of Loriel, both of his blades glimmering in the torchlight. He launched himself directly at the lead Trake charging down the hallway. He not only struck the large, lizard-faced warrior down, but continued on, hacking and slashing into the advance line of Trakes who had been pursuing the rescue party to the lower depths of Dun Morgayne.
Blade slew two more of the massive, green-skinned Trakes, wheeling away from them with such grace and speed, that for a moment Torin Redleaf, Master of the Brotherhood of the Blade, stood there marveling at the young, dark-haired boy’s fighting technique. The Elven swordsman was greatly impres-sed at how effectively the young Lion Knight took the battle to the ranks filling up the hallway beyond the open dungeon doorway. He saw Lord Kennon and Kazz turning to help the boy fend off the advancing Trakes.
Blade was not even aware of the support he had from the Elven Lord and the large, white-maned Troll. He simply fought on, slaying any Trake lumbering into his path. With his right hand blade, he cleaved through one Trake’s neck, and with an upward sweep of his left hand blade, he disem-boweled another green-scaled warrior. To avoid the black blood bursting from the hapless Trake’s punctured gut, Blade spun away, only to leap into the path of two more of the advancing warriors. He punched into and through the breast-plate of one, skewering his heart. Then brought his second blade down in a stunning stroke that split the Trake’s head from forehead to chin. Both lizard-faced warriors fell to either side of the young Lion Knight, and still more of the massive warriors poured down from the three stairwells and filled the hallway leading to the deep underground dungeon.
Even as Blade systematically cut down three more of the advancing enemies, he knew his bold move forward had more than likely sealed his doom. He had moved with such ferocity and speed that his devastating attack had placed him deep within the ranks of the Trake Tridents. He determined then, that if his fellow knights did not launch themselves out of the doorway to join him, he would likely die in the next few seconds. If that happened, his only regret was that he could not uphold his vow to slay the dragon, Drak.
Blade lunged forward, plunging his right hand blade into the eye of the warrior to his left, then in a reverse slash, sent his left blade cleaving through a Trake on his immediate right. The warrior’s severed head went flying from his shoulders, striking the head of the Trake directly behind him. As the massive warrior glanced down at the grisly sight of the pain-filled expression on the face of the severed head, Blade performed a scissor-like movement by crossing both blades before him, sweeping this Trake’s head from his shoulders, as well.
In the face of such a skilled swordsman, the advancing line of Trakes faltered for brief seconds. Blade found himself nearly halfway down the sixty foot hallway. He knew he had cleaved a bloody, gory pathway through the center of the enemy ranks. There were Trakes before him and on either side of him. And now those he plowed through on his bold advance, were more than likely about to swarm him under to avenge the deaths of so many of their fellow warriors.
As a huge hand came down on his slender shoulder, Blade pivoted round on his heels, bringing his blades around in a wild sweep. Both steel blades shuddered in his hands as they struck the upraised red jewel-blade of the white-haired Troll he found facing him.
“Hold off, Lion cub!” Kazz thundered, his sparkling blue eyes fixed on the milling ranks of Trakes preparing for a charge down the hallway. “Your bold attack allowed my com-panions to reach the relative safety of the dungeon behind us. What say you and I quit this field of battle and join them before we find ourselves neck-deep in Trake Tridents?”
Blade grinned at the large Troll and knowingly gasped, “Kazz? How is it you found me? Did King Briar send you?”
With no time to respond, Kazz swung him around and pro-pelled him down the hallway with a powerful shove. With Kazz coming up swiftly behind him, the young Lion Knight reached the open doorway, and found himself grasped once more by Torin Redleaf. “Torin!” the elated boy said.
The Elf caught Blade just before he stumbled and fell, then swung him around into the company of Lion Knights gathered for battle in the large space of the inner dungeon.
It was Rellanor who caught Blade and kept him from stag-gering and falling. The young, dark-haired Lion Knight looked up at his larger friend and fellow knight, and grinned for the second time as Rellanor said, “Well done, Blade! You’ve not lost your touch, despite the long years we’ve been trapped in this prison! Why, you nearly took out a whole plattoon of those ugly, frog faces!”
Blade looked around him to the faces of the other Lion Knights, all men who had served under his fallen father. Each one of them looked with pride in their eyes at the son of the late Lord Marcus Swordstorm. And Blade could see in their eyes that he had not only earned their respect by his bold attack back in the hallway, but also that should they finally be freed from this prison, he would have a company of knights willing to serve him just as they had his father before he died in the flames of the dragon.
But first, they had to live.
“Rellanor!” Blade commanded. “Lead the company outside into the hallway lest they force this door closed once more and lock us and our rescue party inside!”
“Yes, Blade,” the big and stocky Rellanor said. “But who has come to rescue us? Briar and a company of knights?”
“Kazz the White!” Blade said. “Loriel! Torin Redleaf! And Lord Kennon Moon! But they are in need of our help!”
Blade watched the twenty surviving knights of his father’s former company file out into the hallway. The clash of steel upon steel came from beyond the open doorway.
Part Nine
Caliger Brightstar stood before the Sky Gateway, his long, dark hair trailing over his shoulders in the strong winds emanating from the large portal. In the currents of those same winds, scintillating patterns of magic rippled their way toward the young war-mage. In response to the shimmering bursts of pure power, the green gryphon tattooed across Caliger’s forehead glowed brightly and his blue eyes sparkled.
Peering with great concern down the long passage to the two silver dragons flying swiftly toward him, Caliger shouted, “Flame! Swift! Fly past me that I may have a clear shot at these winged demons from the Realm!”
At once, both dragons emerged from the portal’s opening and flew directly over Caliger’s head. As soon as they were clear of the boy wizard, both silver beasts veered off, then banked and landed on the large stone dais of the Sky Gateway, their fierce, green-eyed gazes locked on the flock of oncoming drakes pursuing them.
The winged, demonic drakes were a smaller version of the two dragons, and yet with their great numbers they posed a serious threat. Black and red in color, their underbellies a brilliant red while their top scales were a shiny black, they were a sleeker, more nimble replica of the two larger dragons. But with fire, talons, and long canine fangs, they were a deadly flock, and they hailed from the Realm, serving the Princes of Shadow who ruled there.
Caliger simply imagined the Fire into existence, and as the drakes swooped down toward him, the young war-mage sent sheets of blue fire into their front ranks. Six of the slender drakes burned to ash in the first wave of fire. To combat the next six in line, Caliger sent bright, crackling stars directly into their faces. The brilliant blue stars exploded upon impact, and six more drakes sailed over his head. Blackened and sizzling, their lifeless bodies plunged into the icy waters of the lake beyond. Loud, angry hisses rose in the misty vapors marking the surface of the waters where they sank.
As the third wave of drakes collided with Caliger’s fire in mid-air, the remainder swirled madly aside, their viper-like gazes fixed on the dark-haired boy clad in the red and blue robes below them. The boy took a defensive stance directly in front of the two badly wounded dragons, making it clear that he was challenging the drakes and contesting their right to finish the dragons off.
Caliger punched the air before him with swift and violent jabs of both fists. Star Fire immediately burst from his opening fists and shot in bright blue streaks from the tips of his fingers, giving the retreating drakes a fiery send off. Soon, they were nothing more than a scattering of dark specks far down the corridor of the magical portal.
On either side of Caliger, Flame and Swift let out collective sighs of relief.
“Well done, Cal,” Flame rumbled, glancing down at his badly torn right wing. “If that entire flock would have exited the portal, Swift and I would have been in for the fight of our lives.”
Swift, on Caliger’s left side, nodded. “Yes, Cal, that was excellent work. But you must hurry and wake the Council, for those were just the front-runners of a much larger horde coming down the passage of the Gateway!”
Narrowing his eyes, Caliger peered hard down the misty corridor that stretched for miles before him, branching off into tributaries that linked Valasar with many other realms. “A horde from the Shadow Realm?” he asked, trying to detect movement within the shimmering curtains of undulating mist. “But how? That gateway was closed and barred five years past during the Lion War! Are you telling me that the Shadow Princes have discovered a way to reopen it?”
Flame nodded, and the tip of one broken horn on his massive head fell loose and crashed to the floor of the dais in front of him. The sad-eyed dragon let out a whimper of pain, and staring down at his broken horn tip, he said, “We flew on our scouting mission as you instructed, Cal. On our flight deep inside the portal, we locked and barred at least a dozen gateways branching off to realms beyond, but as we approached the Dannion Gateway, nearly twenty miles in, we spotted a flurry of movement at the center of the passage beyond. Those drakes then exploded out of the gateway. Before they launched an attack on us, we were able to see the great horde coming down that passageway in the distant. It appears, the Shadow has found a way into Dannion, and its Princes have discovered a portal there that allows them access to the entire network of gateways to the realms beyond and to Valasar.”
Swift spread his forearms wide, examining the long, bloody gashes along both fibrous wings. He winced once in pain, then refocused on Caliger standing still as stone before the opening of the Sky Gateway. “Make haste, my young lord,” he urged. “Bring the entire Council back here to close off this gateway or the realm of Valasar is soon to be invaded! Go, Cal, run to the haven of Woodcove and awake the Council of the Nine Wind Lords!”
Caliger Brightstar turned to do just that when a loud roar exploded from the passage beyond the Sky Gateway. Caliger wheeled around and what he saw coming swiftly toward them caused him to freeze in place. He knew in an instant that there would be no time to wake the Council. He and the two dragons were on their own.
Part Ten
Caliger Brightstar was in all intents and purpose a ferry keeper. The only difference between him and the other ferry keepers throughout the realm was that, while they were in charge of transferring cargo and travelers across the many rivers of Valasar, young Caliger was overseer of the Sky Gateway that connected Valasar with the many realms beyond. It was his duty as a young war-mage to serve as Chief Guardian of the large portal located high in the Suncast Peaks at the northern edge of Valasar.
The Sky Gateway had been conjured by the Council of the Nine Wind Lords to shorten travel to those realms they deemed necessary to their business, and it was they who had chosen Caliger for this task two years past. Then, he had been ten-summers-old and new to his powers. It had taken him that next year to master his amazing gift, for unlike the other Lords of the Nine, who used wands, staffs, or swords to transfer the power of the stars to wield, Caliger could summon and transfer the Fire with his hands alone.
He had the talent to simply imagine the blue fire into existence, and then by aiming his fingertips, he could shoot spinning balls of the devastating fire wherever he sent it. It had taken him a full year to master hitting a target dead-center, but after practicing continually with the blue fireballs that sprang from his hands and literally shot from his fingertips, Caliger became efficient with his gift.
Two years past, newly elected to the Council of Nine Lords who resided in the mountain haven of Woodcove, Caliger had been meditating beside a clear mountain lake. On his knees there, he had bent down to drink when he’d seen reflections in the waters that caused him to think at first he was seeing a horrid vision. There in the crystals depths, two silver dragons were locked in a savage aerial combat with a flock of thirty-some wyverns.
He tore his gaze from the reflection in the lake and recognized at once, Flame and Swift, the youngest dragons who served the Wind Lords. The two were hard-pressed to fend off the brutal assault by the wyvern flock, and after a fierce struggle the two dragons had settled beside the lake in swift retreat. As they had landed, Caliger had blasted the wyverns from the sky and removed any threat they posed to the silver dragons. As Caliger turned from his utter annihilation of the wyvern flock, the dragons had lowered their heads in homage to the boy wizard. They, however, were not the only witnesses to the power displayed by Caliger that day beside the mountain lake.
Aeon Nahar, Master of the Nine Wind Lords, had been flying his own dragon over the vale in swift pursuit of the wyverns who had launched their attack on Flame and Swift. Aeon and his own dragon, Baltair, had been flying to their rescue when Caliger intervened.
Impressed by Caliger’s display, Aeon Nahar was convinced that he had been brought there by fate to witness the attack by the young war-mage. For just that morning, he and the Council had come to the conclusion that they were in need of a guardian of the Sky Gateway conjured recently by them in order to travel to distant realms where they often had dealings.
At the end of that day, Caliger had been summoned to the massive, ethereal gateway situated between two enormous pillars of stone and capped by a large engraving of the Seven Messengers of the One. And there, he had been officially assigned guardianship of the enormous teleportation device. Bonded by the battle beside the lake that morning, Flame and Swift had elected themselves as guardians of the guardian, and the three of them had been close friends ever since.
Part Eleven
Caliger snapped his fingers, creating a tiny pulse of sapphire light to illuminate the stone dais he and the two dragons shared. The single floating ball of light barely penetrated the darkness of the night surrounding them. But it did serve to shine bright blue light on the Gateway.
“Prepare your fire,” Caliger said, his words drifting out over the raised ledge of the portal and across the lake beyond. “I see a small black dot swirling around in the center of the currents. It appears to be coming from a long, long ways away. But it moves swiftly this way.”
Flame let out a deep rumble, sucking in a great amount of air to kindle his inner fire. Swift did the same, his gaze fixed on the black dot swirling around in the white, smoky currents drifting lazily within the portal.
Flame thundered, “I deem it to be nearly ten miles in, but it is hard to tell with all that swirling white mist. Should Swift and I fly in there, and close off the gateway of the seven crossroads?”
“No,” Caliger said, firmly. “I am not going to risk either one of you on such a flight into the void. Just keep your fires kindled. I will go at once to wake the Council!”
The three of them then peered hard at the oncoming black dot swiftly coming toward them. As it increased in size, tendrils of black smoke trailed away from it, forming into wispy phantoms with tattered robes and red glowing eyes. They swirled round, swift in their flight, spreading out in wing formation to both left and right of the central black shape.
“Wake the Council!” Flame roared, fiery sparks exploding from his mouth.
“Go! Run, Caliger!” Swift urged him. “It is the demon prince, Mawr, and his dragon, Vaxx! And they are not alone!”
Caliger cried, “There is no time to involve the Council in this! We must stop this invasion on our own!”
In the next instant, he was literally blown from the dais and thrown toward the shores of the lake beyond the Gateway. He cursed himself for being too slow to react to the Morgoth Lord who had launched himself through the opening of the portal. By the time he’d spotted the huge bat-faced creature he had only a second to summon a warding around himself. As it was, the field of force prevented the large, winged Morgoth from raking his face with its wicked claws. But still the force of its charge drove Caliger back to the lakefront, fifty feet away from the Gateway.
Standing on either side of the huge portal, Flame and Swift watched helplessly as the Morgoth had swept Caliger from the center of the dais. Swift glanced back with great concern as the bat-faced creature repeatedly struck out at the warding protecting their young charge. And Flame, chiding himself for being too slow to react to the Morgoth’s sudden assault on Caliger, sent a ropy tendril of red-hot fire from his place on the dais. The sizzling spear of fire burned the Morgoth Lord to a scattering of black ashes.
“Flame!” Swift called out, causing his brother to whip his great head about to refocus on the portal before them. Both dragons then peered down the corridor to the massive black and gray dragon winging his way toward them. Seated on the creature’s back was a Shadow Prince clad in tattered black robes, his red eyes aglow with an inner fire.
The demon Prince raised the scepter clutched in his glove-covered hand and fired off a burst of brilliant white light. The ball of crackling light transformed at once into a hooded, white-robed specter that flew before the Prince and his dragon with incredible speed.
As the white ghost emerged from the Gateway, both Flame and Swift spat lancets of bright red flame down at the specter shooting between them. The twin spears of dragon fire immediately encased the sparkling white apparition. The dragons spat fire again. This time, their lancets of flame were met by silvery beams that intertwined with the two spears of dragon fire. In an instant the frosty white beams traveled swiftly back up the streaks of fire, connecting with the gaping mouths of the two dragons. At once, Flame and Swift turned from silver to white as the icy beams traveled from the tips of their noses to the tips of their tails.
From his place before the lake, Caliger ran toward the two dragons in hopes of dispelling the obvious spell that the Shadow Prince had conjured. But even as he neared the Sky Gateway, he could see that he was too late. In swift seconds, Flame and Swift turned to statues of ice.
Caliger gasped in stunned amazement as a sudden explosion shattered the dragons into a thousand icy shards. He dropped to his knees in dismay as the remains of Flame and Swift scattered in the winds stirred by the wings of the dragon, Vaxx, as he burst through the Gateway.
Pelted by the remains of his two dearest friends, Caliger caught one last glimpse of Prince Mawr mounted on Vaxx before his eyes filled with tears. He simply kneeled there, too distraught over his loss to even throw up a shield of defense.
As Mawr rode Vaxx directly toward Caliger, a large shadowy figure moved up behind the distressed young war-mage, casting a shimmering warding into place around Caliger, saving his life and that of his rescuer, too.
Vaxx struck the field of force with incredible force, stunning himself in the collision. On his back, Prince Mawr nearly fell from his saddle as the large black dragon skidded across the force field and passed completely over the shielded war-mage and the tall armor-clad figure who had cast the warding.
Shaking his head from side to side, Vaxx banked above the lake. There, hovering above the black waters, Prince Mawr raised his glowing scepter and gestured wildly at the specters drifting out of the opening of the portal.
“Terrors?” Caliger muttered softly as he watched from within the warding.
“Yes,” came the deep voice of the massive figure hovering over him. “The Dark Tide has come to the realm of Valasar, I am afraid. Terrors. Stealth. Var-Dykes. Naumann Warlords. Gelch. Kait Seth. Bargs. And a thousand Shadow Princes to lead this horde into battle.”
Stunned by the sight of the horde coming down the wide corridor of the Sky Gateway, Caliger glanced behind him to see who he shared the protective field of force with.
The large boy was clad in black and purple armor. It fit him like a second skin from his neck down to this toes. It was unlike any armor, however, that Caliger had ever seen, sleek and shiny and appeared to have no seams. Emblazoned on the boy’s broad chest was a violet star made up of glittering lines that stood out in sharp contrast to his shiny black breastplate.
Although the lad appeared to be seventeen or eighteen summers-old, swirls of silvery hair encased his handsome features, flowing in wavy curls that hung just above his collar. He had a strong, prominent jaw, high-set cheek bones, and straight nose that caused his green eyes to resemble those of a raptor. Even more so, like a bird of prey, as he peered in fierce defiance at the Shadow Prince hovering above the lake.
“It has begun,” Prince Mawr snarled, his red glowing eyes locking with those of the fierce-eyed boy protected by his warding. “You have come too late to give the warning, Knight of Stars. There is nothing you can do about this invasion now. I am sure, however, that you and I shall meet again. In fact, count on it if you have traveled here to stand and die beside the inhabitants of this realm, Stalment Evergreen.”
The armor-clad, silver-haired boy declared, “I defy you, Mawr of the Realm of Shadow. As a Servant of the Light and Rider of the Comets, I will rally the Kings of the Three Races of Valasar and yes, you and I will definitely meet again, Shadow Prince.”
Mawr laughed. He then used his scepter to wheel Vaxx around and fly out over the mountain lake. The dragon cleared the large lake with great beats of his wings, then banked above the pass leading to the lowlands beyond. There he hovered, fanning the air with slow wing beats. On his back, Prince Mawr raised his red glowing scepter, signaling to the vast horde emerging from the Sky Gateway.
Six hundred wind-ships sailed through the portal, their black hulls skimming the surface of the lake, their red sails puffed out in the strong winds driving them forth into the mountain pass. On board each ship were hundreds of warlords clad in red armor and horned, green helms with visors that fashioned into the grim parody of a snarling hyaena. Each warlord was armed with round red shields and a long dark rod, each tip flickering with luminous fire.
Caliger, still kneeling within the warding, wiped tears from his cheeks with the back of one hand. He heard the silver-haired boy behind him say, “The Crazed Hounds of Baskerra. All six thousand of them are Nauman Warlords, mindless, heartless war machines. Behind their face guards they have pale features without noses, mere slits above their canine-like fangs to breathe through. It is their black, lifeless eyes, however, that gives them a haunted, undead expressions. It is said that wielding their rods of fire, the Crazed Hounds have sundered the gates of some of the strongest fortified cities throughout the distant realms. They are known as emissaries of the Dark Tide, and they are the first in on each siege of the horde In their wake, even the mightiest strongholds of Dannion, Avandia, Kuldronn, and Ashkelon have been left in smoldering ruins.”
“There are so many ships,” Caliger said, his red-rimmed eyes wide. “Where are they sailing to?”
Stalment Evergreen leaned down and gently lifted Caliger to his feet. “With a horde of that magnitude, they will waste no time on the smaller, less significant fortified cities of this realm. No, they will move swiftly to claim the grand prize, Castlelan, the chief city of the Seven Kingdoms.”
Part Twelve
Shielded safely behind the warding, Stalment and Caliger looked on for several long hours as the forces from the Shadow Realm poured out of the portal, moving like the dark tide for which they were named, into the pass beyond the lake, and into the lowlands below.
In the wake of the armada of wind-ships, black-robed Terrors rode out of the shimmering mist of the portal, their red eyes aglow beneath their ample hoods. Each tall, skeletal warlock carried a long lance, and small shields and curved sabers were strapped to the saddles of the giant boars that they rode. They, too, numbered in the thousands.
Racing along on either side of the calvary of spell-casting warlocks, packs of Kait Seth moved fluidly, moonlight reflecting off the sleek dark fur of their long, slender bodies, shiny green eyes glinting in their feral feline features. Even as many of the demon cats leaped down from the dais, they glared at Stalment and Caliger and hissed in frustration that the two were protected by the warding, before running on and skirting the shores of the lake.
Shambling along in even greater numbers than the demon cats came the white-furred, ape-faced Gelch. They moved in one long, white wave, rushing out of the corridor and spilling over the dais and flooding the gap between the distant mountain side and the nearby lake. They moved in a massive herd, nearly stampeding as they pressed forward, held in check only by the dozen Shadow Princes who rode on the outskirts of their disorganized formation.
Once the demon apes from the Realm had passed through the Gateway, out of the white mist sprang row after row of Shadow Princes mounted on tall, dark creatures with the long-limbed bodies of elk sporting goat-like heads.
“Slyphs,” Stalment told Caliger, gesturing at the black-furred, yellow-eyed mounts of the heavily armored Shadow Princes. “During my battles in the past, when riding against the Princes, I lost many of my own beloved mounts to the savage attack of slyphs carrying their masters into the jousts.”
Caliger looked the larger boy directly in the eye, then noted that his sleek, skin-tight armor was scored and slashed in more than a dozen places. “Jousts? You call your battles with Shadow Princes jousting?”
Stalment nodded. “In my land, I rode among the Comet Riders, great Star Knights who took to the field in one-on-one challenges sent forth by the Shadow Princes laying siege to the great stronghold of Deepen Dor Keep on the northern borders of Avandia. At the end of that day, it was my company of Comet Riders who won the day, winning the defenders of the Deep a brief respite from the horde trying to claim their walls.”
“Comet Riders?” Caliger asked, his eyes straying to the dark mass of slyph-riding Shadow Princes pouring out of the Gateway. “A figure of speech? Surely, your company of Star Knights do not ride actual comets, do they?”
Despite the grim situation of the invasion of the Dark Tide that they were both witnesses to, Stalment grinned. “Some say the horses of Avandia are bred from elemental forces known as the Steeds of Starlight. They are horses, yes, but if you’d ever rode one, you would know that they are endowed with some inner magic that causes their pure white bodies to gleam as if alive with star-shine and moonlight. These winged horses are magnificent beasts who have served the cause of the Star Knights for nigh on two centuries. We are an old order who hail from a Race of Men committed to battling Darkness as True Servants of the Light.”
The large, silver-haired boy added, “Lofty words, I know, but I swore my vows at a very young age and accepted my lance and blade from the hands of my dying father on the field of a distant battle, and I have slain scores of Shadow Princes in my time. And I am prepared to slay many more before I breathe my last breath.”
At these words, Caliger shuddered. He and his rescuer, the Star Knight and Comet Rider, looked on then as the hordes of Shadow continued to pour out of the Sky Gateway.
Part Thirteen
Alex Thorn and his small company stood before the massive gateway. They had traveled far to reach the haven of Woodcove only to find it empty. Frustrated that they had traveled a great distance only to find the Council of the Nine gone from their home, Venrack suggested that he use a dimension door to teleport himself away to Storm Haven Keep to at least offer those under siege there his skills and talents.
“If the Wind Lords,” he said, “are off on another mission, it may take more time to find them than those at the Haven of Storm have left to them. I should go there at once to aid them in their plight against these Vipers.”
“No,” Atyron strongly disagreed. “Three times now on our journey here we have depended on your wardings to protect and shield us from the relentless attacks by Gelch and Kait Seth. Had you not been with us, Ven, we would have surely died, and in a most gruesome manner. Not that I would belittle your skills, but with a powerful wielder like you, it is best determined where your skill are needed most. At Storm Haven, you would make little difference against such a vast horde of Vipers, yet on our journey, you have proven to be a great asset to our company.”
Lepy chimed in, saying, “Besides, Vennny, don’t you want to see the dragons? I thought we all agreed that the dragons of the Nine Lords would make a considerable difference in the battle at Storm Haven. You should at least stick with us to see the dragons, don’t you think?”
“But,” Venrack stubbornly complained, “the dragons and the Wind Lords who ride them are not even here! We have already wasted much time, traveling through treacherous regions, just to get here on this fool’s mission! I told you before we left the Glens that I doubted whether the Council of the Nine would assist us, and now look, they are not even here to listen to our plea!”
Alex glanced up at the towering figure of Kat as the large, white-clad warrior turned away from the cavernous entrance leading into Woodcove. “What is it, Kat?” he asked, looking to the Black Lion’s mountain cats as they wheeled away from the underground hall and bounded away toward the high ridge to the east of them.
Kat’s massive, glove-covered hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of his broadsword sheathed at his waist. “I am not sure. Tangle and Riven go now to investigate whatever it is they have heard with their keen hearing. I am sure one of them will send me back a mind-pulse to alert us if they find danger in yonder rocks.”
A moment later, Alex and the small company from the Emerald Glens looked up in astonishment as brilliant flashes lit up the sky to the east. “What in blazes is that?” Alex gasped, scrunching up his small nose in confusion, his eyes drawn to the spot where Tangle and Riven had disappeared only a few minutes ago.
“Magic,” Venrack said, knowingly. “Someone is wielding a great amount of power to create such intense bursts of light. It appears it comes from beyond that ridge.”
Kat peered hard at the place where his two mountain cats had vanished as they went off to investigate whatever they had heard. He suddenly staggered back two steps, butting up against the iron-bound door behind them. “O Holy Beard of the One!” he whispered, a look of fear in his large black eyes.
Lepy and Venrack exchanged worried frowns and Alex was quick to ask, “What is it, Kat?”
The big, dark-haired man pushed himself away from the doorway behind him, shaken and alarmed. “Tangle sent a vision back to me! There is a large portal in the valley beyond that ridge. A large and vast horde are literally streaming out of it, unstopped!”
Atyron studied the series of trails winding up both ends of the stony ridge. “Come,” the Elven Hawk Master said, “let us go take a closer look!”
With that, the five of them hastily climbed the slope before them, and soon spotted the two huge mountain cats sprawled on a ledge overlooking the lake in the vale far below. Tangle and Riven lay flat on the ledge, their green eyes fixed on the horde of demons flooding the vale. Atyron made rapid hand signals and the others quickly dove to the ground beside the cats. The two mountain cats barely glanced at the party as they took up prone positions on either side of them.
Atyron cursed beneath his breath at the sight of so many dark princes. Alex, Lepy and Kat simply stared in silent horror at such a large force passing though the vale and heading toward the lowlands beyond the mountain pass. Venrack, however, whispered, “Who are they?” as he spotted the small bubble of force surrounding the two figures off to one side of the large gateway of teleportation.
The other four looked to the Star Knight and the war-mage, and Alex asked, “Is there nothing we can for them? Should that warding fade, those two will be torn to shreds by the demons coming through that gateway.”
Venrack, knowledgeable about all things magical, shook his small head, his shaggy bangs falling into his resolute eyes. “I am afraid they are on their own, Alex. That warding appears to be pulsing strong so I doubt whether it would fade anytime soon, and should I move down there to aid them, what would you have me do?”
Part Fourteen
By sunset, the Sky Gateway was empty of all enemy invaders, the Dark Tide had passed through the portal and was now headed toward the Seven Kingdoms of Men. Determining that the entire horde of demons had left the Gateway behind, Stalment dismissed his warding.
Caliger staggered a bit as he walked out of the dissipating field of force that had prevented any of the demons from reaching he and his rescuer. Stalment reached out with one glove-covered hand to steady the young boy. “Easy there, Tiger,” the Star Knight said, with a gentle smile. “We have been crouched within that warding for at least six long hours. Take it nice and slow until you stretch a bit.”
Heeding his words, Caliger walked slowly toward the portal, his eyes filling with tears once more as he searched for any sign of Flame and Swift. It appeared his two beloved friends had been completely obliterated by the frost spell Prince Mawr had used against them. But then, Caliger spotted a sight that caused him to sink to his knees forty feet from the Gateway, and he silently wept at the sight of Flame’s severed head resting just beneath the stone ledge before the portal. The great silver dragon’s eyes were closed and it looked as if he were merely sleeping, but the torn flesh around his neck brought back the horror of those last few seconds to Caliger, and he remembered all over again how his two dragon friends had died.
“I am,” Stalment quietly said, “sorry for your loss. But I promise you I will exact vengeance on Prince Mawr for this deed and many others. As a Shadow Prince of the Realm, he has a lot to answer for, I assure you.”
Startled by a sudden noise behind them, Stalment wheeled around, a bright white flash illuminating his black and violet armor as a thin, phosphorous blade appeared in his hand. Fully expecting to see a pack of demons slinking back to finish them off, the large, silver-haired boy was surprised to see the small company skirting the far side of the lake.
Caliger stepped up beside him, a luminous blue glow crawling across his fingertips. “I believe,” the young war-mage said, tears still staining his cheeks, “those are friends and not foes.”
The Star Knight watched the war-mage give two flicks of his wrist, extinguishing his kindled fire, and the two of them then looked on as the five member band, flanked by two black mountain cats, made their way toward the Sky Gateway.
Alex, seeing the red and blue robes that Caliger wore, assumed the young, dark-haired boy standing there before them was indeed one of the Wind Lords of Woodcove. Despite what they had all just witnessed and what such a great force from the Shadow Realm portended for the races of Valasar, Alex said, “Greetings in these dire times. I am Alex Thorn, Black Fox of the Glens and my friends and I have come here to–”
“The Thorn of the Emerald Glens?” Caliger asked, surprised that such a legendary figure had ventured there to the home of the Council of the Nine. “I am Caliger Brightstar, and I would give you and your company a warm welcome, but as you surely witnessed, we have a catastrophe on our hands.”
“Yes,” Alex agreed with him, “the Enemy is moving in great droves throughout the realm. That large horde now heading toward the lowlands is not the only force that Darkness has spat out of its depths to thwart those of us who serve the Light. There is an entire army of Vipers laying siege to Storm Haven Keep, and we have come here seeking the aid of the Council of the Nine Lords. May I assume you are one of them?”
Caliger nodded. “I sit upon the Council, but I serve a lesser role due to my age. I,” he paused, then gestured at the severed head of Flame beneath the ledge of the portal, “and my two friends were assigned the task of Guardians of the Gateway. And as you can see, we failed in a major way to close the portal before that horde passed through.”
Venrack, his eyes locked on the shimmering forces emanating from the large opening of the portal, stepped past Caliger and Stalment. “In light of the recent invasion of such a massive horde, wouldn’t it be wise to close off the Gateway to prevent any more enemy forces from coming through? Surely, this large of a teleportation gateway has a key-latch or a touch-stone to shut it down and close it off to realms beyond.”
“Yes. Forgive me,” Caliger said, turning to follow Venrack up the pathway leading to the dais of the portal. “Due to the shock of losing my dearest friends, I momentarily forgot about my duties. However, I may not be able to close the Gateway without destroying it beyond repair. You see, it was conjured by all nine Wind Lords, and while I was given the authority and passwords to close off all inner gateways leading to and from different realms, it might be impossible to close this doorway to beyond properly without the magic of all nine Wind Lords.”
Alex and Lepy followed the small Chaykin wizard and the young war-mage up the pathway to the Sky Gateway. “Closing this portal properly,” Alex said, “may not be an option we can afford. As it stands, there is a great risk if we leave this open, for an even greater horde may pass through from the Shadow Realm beyond. I deem it wise to close this portal whether it destroys it or not.”
“And while I agree with you, Alex Thorn,” Caliger said, “I am telling you I might not have the ability to do that. My power lies in defense, not magical manipulation.”
Alex stepped up between Caliger and Venrack, his eyes fixed on the shimmering mist whirling around within the corridor inside the large magical gateway. “Venrack can close it, rest assured, Caliger Brightstar. There are few among the Chaykin who wield powers such as his, and if he destroys this portal, ruining it beyond repair, then so be it. Our first priority should be to close it as swift as possible, then worry about whether it can ever be opened again. Ven? What say you?”
Venrack faced Caliger. “Simply show me the key-latch, lad. Or point me to the touch-stone. And I will surely close this portal.”
“There is,” Stalment said, from his place beneath the stone dais, “another option we should consider.”
Kat, who had remained on the lake shore with the Star Knight, stepped up, Tangle and Riven gliding up on either side of him, their yellow eyes locked on the silver-haired boy clad in the skin-tight black and violet armor. “And who are you?” Kat asked, pointedly.
Despite Kat’s manner, Stalment did not appear to be offended or intimidated by the golden-haired older boy. In fact, despite the fierce glare the mountain cats offered him, he smiled slightly and noted the black lion emblazoned on Kat’s breastplate. “I assume the armor you wear was crafted from the scales of a white dragon,” Stalment said. “Did you slay the beast yourself? Or were his scales made available to you by one with more tenacity?”
“I am the Black Lion of Mount Kellanon,” Kat snapped, “I ask of you your name and you pose a question regarding my armor? What difference does it make?”
Stalment gave a slight shrug. He casually folded his arms before his chest, drawing attention to the glittering star on his violet breast piece. “It is just that as a Star Knight, I once ventured into the black caverns of Myth Branoir to slay the dragon, Koronmarr. The sleek and shiny armor I now wear was crafted, not from his hard outer scales, but from the lining of his belly where for centuries his fires refined it to this almost impervious consistency. It was crafted by the Dwarven Smith, Taxxon Blackbeard, and it was rumored that he destroyed nearly five hundred diamonds during the forging.”
Giving the sleek, black and purple armor barely a glance, Kat snorted, “It is finely crafted, I am certain, but what does that have do with your name?”
“It is just that,” Stalment said, sizing up the equally large Kat, “I did not like your tone. But if you impressed me by telling me you actually slew the dragon whose scales were used in the making of your armor, I was willing to forgive you your audacity, Black Lion.”
A wild-eyed look in his eyes, Kat’s moved forward, deep rumbles coming from Tangle and Riven on either side of him. “We have just witnesses a vast horde of vicious enemies,” the big, golden-haired boy growled, “invading our realm, and I stand here before a complete stranger demanding to know his name, and you call this audacious?”
“Stop this!” Atyron snapped, fiercely. The tall, slender Hawk Master stepped lightly between the two heavily-muscled, armor-clad older boys, stopping the advance of Tangle and Riven with abrupt snaps of his fingers. “Enough of this bravado, from both of you! I strongly agree with Alex that this Sky Gateway be closed, but what other option were you about to propose?”
Stalment took a moment to appraise the black-haired, leather-clad Elf standing before him. He then smiled and said, “I am Stalment Evergreen, a Star Knight from the distant shores of Avandia. And I have come as an emissary of an entire company of Comet Riders, destined to aid you in the coming war.”
He allowed those words to sink in for long moments, waiting for the question he knew would soon be posed.
“War?” Lepy asked, greatly puzzled. “The coming war? I know that was a large horde, but surely, the combined might of the Kingdoms of Men would secure victory against such a force.”
“Not,” Stalment said, “if that was merely the vanguard of a much larger horde. My company who stands ready, needs to be retrieved from distant Avandia. I will ride to the gateway some miles in and summon my brotherhood of knights. Close this gateway if you must, but at least allow me to give you a honing beacon to signal when we arrive back here so that you might reopen the portal to allow us through. If not, we will be trapped on the other side with no way through to this realm.”
