by Peter Wacht
As he approached the door, he moved to the window first and looked inside. The smile that curled his lips gave him an even more forbidding look. Inside the unique dwelling stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, the woman who had stolen his heart. No more than five feet tall, she carried herself like a giant. Even as she stirred the evening stew in a large black kettle, she resembled a queen. Her dark chestnut hair covered one side of her face as she bent down to taste her cooking. As she swept her hair out of the way with a quick swipe of her hand, she revealed deep blue eyes. Eyes that the tall man had often gotten lost in time and time again, much to his pleasure. Saying she was beautiful did not do her justice.
Judging that the stew was done, the woman reached for two bowls. Suddenly, she straightened as if in pain, a look of shock crossing her face. The two bowls dropped from her hands and shattered on the floor. The woman staggered back against a table, one hand going to her throat.
In an instant the tall man rushed through the door, forgetting the plant he dropped and knocking his head against the frame in his haste. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed hold of his wife so she wouldn’t fall.
“Rya, what’s the matter?” he asked, trying to keep the panic that he felt rising in his throat from his voice. “What is it?”
“It’s all right. I was just surprised,” she said, her hand still clutching at her neck.
Rynlin pulled out a chair from underneath the table with his foot and helped his wife to sit. He knelt down next to her, his hands still on her petite waist, unwilling to let go.
“Rynlin, don’t worry. Like I said, I was just surprised.” Rya saw the concern in her husband’s face, but she couldn’t explain what had happened. Her emotions swirled within her, as if she were trying to control a hurricane. She held a necklace in her hand, a slim, silver necklace, and it felt warm against her skin, a warmth tainted by fear. She had not felt that warmth in ten years, a warmth that brought back memories of a daughter taken from her. A beautiful, strong-willed daughter. Doing her best to rein in the emotions running wild within her, she smiled at her husband to ease his worry.
“It’s the necklace, Ryn. Marya’s necklace. I can feel it. I haven’t felt it in a decade, but I can feel it now.” His wife’s words forced Rynlin to his feet. She was smiling, smiling like he had not seen for years. Marya’s necklace. It couldn’t be. She had died ten years before. It had to be a mistake.
The necklaces had been in the Keldragan family for millennia. They were said to be made from the same magic that had created the world, though Rynlin didn’t believe it. He did believe in what they could do, though. The necklaces were attuned to the members of the Keldragan family. Each necklace served as a beacon. You could tell who it was and where, anywhere in the Kingdoms.
When Marya had been old enough to understand, Rya had given her a necklace that matched her own. When they both wore them, they could feel the emotions, to a degree, of the other. And now she could feel the warmth of the necklace again, but it wasn’t Marya. In a way, it felt as if it was a part of her, but there was another feeling there, an unfamiliar sensation.
“That’s impossible,” began Rynlin, “Marya is—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too painful for him.
“I know,” said Rya. She kept her voice level, but her excitement was growing. “It’s not Marya, but it feels like her in a way. It feels like a child, and we won’t know for sure until we find whoever is wearing our daughter’s necklace.”
“We can’t just go running off—” Rynlin would have said more, but the steely gaze he received from his wife cut him off. Rya looked even smaller than she was when she stood next to Rynlin, but she was not someone to cross when she made up her mind. “All right, just let me throw a few things into our traveling bags and we’ll go.”
“Good,” said Rya. Her dazzling smile sent shivers through Rynlin’s heart, even though he knew he had been bullied … again. “I knew you’d see it my way. I’m just glad you’ve finally learned when not to argue.”
Yes, his wife could have a very commanding presence about her when she wanted. And she liked to gloat sometimes. Nevertheless, he bit back a response and began searching for their travel bags and the few things they would need as Rya bent to clean the mess she had made. She then scooped out the remainder of the stew for a quick dinner. Each was lost in their own thoughts as they performed their respective tasks, but a single one dominated for both: Who was wearing their daughter’s necklace?
CHAPTER THREE
Unlocked
Thomas traveled beneath the Crag, making his way through the darkness by tracing the outline of the tunnel with his eyes. He had not yet come across an intersection of trails, which buoyed his confidence. At least he didn't have to worry about getting lost. He had enough to worry about as it was.
The events that had pulled him from his bed just hours before continually ran through his mind, his grandfather's words burdening his soul. The growl of his stomach jarred him from his thoughts. He was walking in a daze and failed to pick up the scent that beckoned to him. Fresh air. The slight breeze brushing against his face made him increase his pace down the passageway.
He stopped abruptly, confronted by a massive door. He had almost stumbled right into it. Bands of steel held together large oak timbers. Running his hands over the door, he determined it was still in good condition, though in several places the timbers were cracked. The door didn’t appear to have been opened for centuries.
That discovery worried him. If no one had used the door in such a long time, there was no guarantee he would be able to get out. What if he couldn't open the door? Thomas locked away his fears. His grandfather used to say that if you spent all your time worrying, you'd never get anything done. His grandfather was gone. Coban had explained once that when it appeared that a Highland fortification would fall, the Highland war leader fought to the death. Surrender was never an option. Thomas had not understood the logic of it all, and Coban couldn't explain it any better. He had just said that that's the way it was done, that’s how the lord maintained his honor. His grandfather was gone. The conflicting emotions boiled up within him all at once. The sorrow and pain of losing the only person he had ever cared about fought with his desire to make his grandfather proud. He wanted to cry, but forced down the urge. He refused to cry. His grandfather was gone and that was that. He would have to make it on his own. His grandfather had said that he was a man now.
Turning his attention back to the door, he neatly sealed away the turmoil, leaving only the task at hand before him. Thomas ran his fingers along the edges of the door until he found a set of locks. Setting down the sword carefully, he took hold of the top bolt and tried to turn it. The bolt refused to budge. Irritated, he let out an oath that would have made Coban proud. If the locks had rusted shut, he’d never open the door. Kicking the ground in frustration, he noticed the tiny flakes of dry dirt that danced up from the floor. The tunnel was free of moisture. Therefore the locks would probably be free of rust as well, so they should move. Maybe he simply had to try something different. Taking hold of the top bolt with both hands, he redoubled his efforts, placing his foot against the door for additional leverage. At first nothing happened. Then, slowly, the bolt grudgingly gave way. His grip slipped off as the knob turned completely with a resounding click. Sweating heavily from the effort, but with a grin on his face, he set to work on the remaining four bolts. Thankfully, they weren't all as difficult as the first, and he completed the task in just a few minutes.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Thomas listened for any sign of pursuit. Nothing. Thomas took hold of the handle and was about to pull the door wide when one of his grandfather's charges passed through his mind: Trust no one who is not a Highlander. It would probably be a good idea to exercise caution in other things as well. Especially since he wasn't sure where he was in relation to the Crag. He considered his options. While growing up, he had spent most of his time in the forest surrounding the Crag. He felt more comf
ortable in the forest, away from the folk who tended to stare and whisper behind his back.
He learned that he could extend his senses and know exactly what was around him for miles. It was a skill he had discovered quite by mistake. Perhaps it came from his mother, who the castle residents also talked about, shocked by some of the strange things that always seemed to happen around her. Although he had no way to explain this unique gift, he was more than happy to make use of it. While testing this skill in a glade below the Crag, he had glimpsed a blue jay as it flew from its nest in search of food, leaving behind three small eggs. Thomas had followed the image in his mind through the forest right to the nest, even though it was almost a mile away. Then he did it again, finding a beaver that did not want to be disturbed while it finished its dam; and then again, coming upon a beehive that had been knocked down from a tree branch by a hungry bear. Why couldn't he do the same thing now?
He attempted to concentrate, but to no avail as his mind remained focused on the events of the past few hours. Breathing deeply, he tried again, this time closing off everything except the part of his mind where this hidden ability lay. Though difficult at first, his efforts paid off. He succeeded in extending his senses to the door. Unfortunately, it was like running headfirst into a brick wall. No matter how hard he pushed he couldn't get past the steel in the door. Even with the large oak timbers, the door was still more metal than wood. Suddenly it hit him. When he was in the forest, he had no trouble at all stretching out his senses. Why? Because everything he was dealing with was a part of nature. The door was manmade. He shifted his attention away from the door to the rock wall. At first it felt very much like trying to push his senses through the steel door. He concentrated even more, closing out everything around him except for one particular section of rock. Much to his surprise, Thomas discovered minute crevices running through the stone, so small they were invisible to the naked eye. He immediately pushed his senses through. Although some of the crevices came to an end somewhere within the rock, many did not, and he was able to extend his senses beyond the stone. To his relief, this part of the forest was free of danger, at least for a time. Whoever had attacked the Highland fortress had not yet extended their reach to the glades beneath the Crag.
Letting go of his talent, he took hold of the door handle with both hands and pulled as hard as he could. Sweat popped up on his forehead and the veins in his neck strained from the effort. The door wouldn’t budge. Thomas let go of the handle and rubbed his sweaty palms on his shirt. He took hold of the door again, this time setting one foot against the wall and pulling with all his might. He stood there for a moment, completely immobile, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. It wasn't working. He'd be stuck underneath the Crag for the rest of his short life. Without warning, he flew backwards, landing hard on the stone floor. The door opened with a tremendous screech of steel running across steel that echoed back down the passageway. He picked himself up from the floor, a huge grin on his face. The early morning sun just coming up over the Highlands greeted him.
Wiping some of the dirt from his clothes, he hurried to the opening. The passageway ended in one of the many small glades ringing the Crag. A small stream ran just to the left of the entrance, calling to him. He had not eaten since the night before and his thirst was getting the better of him. Stepping out into the light, Thomas knelt at the water’s edge, savoring the cool liquid. He was in the middle of a thicket, the trees and bushes standing close to one another. He took several more swallows from the stream before getting back to his feet.
The trees and cliff blocked his view, so he wasn't quite sure where he was in relation to the Crag. Jumping across the tiny stream, Thomas reached for a low branch and pulled himself into one of the trees. After a few minutes of climbing, he was well above the cliff. The first thing he noticed was the smoke, which darkened the sky for several miles to the north. He saw the knoll where the Crag had once stood, but the Crag itself, and its twelve towers, was unrecognizable. Biting back tears, he assessed his situation in the calculated fashion his grandfather had taught him.
The Crag had fallen. The smoke that rose up around the knoll, and the few fires that remained, told him all he needed to know. His grandfather had bought him time to escape, and that's what he had to do now. If he stayed in one place long enough, and those reivers discovered he had escaped the Crag, they would come after him. It was only a matter of time.
Climbing down from his perch as quickly as he could, he jumped back across the stream and stepped inside the tunnel. He laid his sword down on the other side of the opening and then examined the door. When it swung shut, it would look exactly as if it were part of the cliff face, yet even if he pulled it closed, there was no guarantee that it would stay that way. Trusting to luck, he grabbed hold of the door and pulled as hard as he could. As it closed, Thomas heard the locks click back into place. One problem solved.
Another lay before him. Thomas looked down at the large sword. If he held it in his arms as he did going through the tunnel, it would catch on the branches and bushes of the forest, slow him down, and leave a clear path for anyone to follow. He had to take it with him, though. His grandfather had stressed how critical the sword was to his family. More important, he had told Thomas to guard it with his life. He didn't want to let his grandfather down.
He smiled again as an idea popped into his head. Unbuckling his belt, he removed it from his breeks. First, he put the buckle under the hilt, then pulled the strap through. Next, he did the same thing about a foot from the end of the blade. Definitely not the most elegant of scabbards, but it would do. He placed the strap over his shoulder and walked a few steps with the sword on his back. He would still have to be careful as he traveled through the forest. The hilt rose about a foot above his head, and the tip of the blade was no more than six inches from the ground. But it was still better than carrying it out in front of him. At least now he'd have less of a chance of leaving a trail.
The final dilemma was which way to go. Obviously, north was out of the question. He took a few steps to the south. A sudden chill passed through his body. Reaching under his shirt, he pulled out the amulet his grandfather had given him. It had grown ice cold in just those few steps. When he was traveling through the tunnel it had felt warm, but he had simply thought it was because of his exertion. Maybe there was more to it than that. Maybe what his grandfather had said about the amulet was true. He turned to the west. The amulet felt like an icicle. When he faced to the east it grew warm against his skin.
"Well," he said to no one in particular, "east it is." Through a break in the trees, Thomas saw a raptor circling lazily in the sky, swooping in and out of the low-hanging clouds. Taking solace in the large predator, Thomas leapt across the stream for the third time. Sword on his back, he slipped between the trees and made his way deeper into the forest using the amulet as his guide.
CHAPTER FOUR
Awakened
It was only early morning, but it appeared to be dusk. Most men refused to enter the Charnel Mountains, and those who did rarely returned. Any who traveled within ten miles of the forbidding peaks could sense the evil lurking there, hidden away from the sight of man, but always there. Watching, waiting, until it was too late.
Some said the Charnel Mountains were an abomination, caused by a tremendous magical battle between the forces of good and evil. Those who followed the light had won, but they could not destroy the dark. So instead they imprisoned their enemies in the mountains, sealing them away for eternity, or so they thought. Dark grey stone formed the mountains, the very tips of the monstrous peaks a sooty black.
The tallest of the mountains could not be seen completely, as fully a third of its mass rose up into the clouds. Known as Blackstone, that single peak had an even older name. Shadow’s Reach. On certain winter days, when the sun was just right, the shadow of Blackstone reached out across much of the Northern Steppes, turning day into night and, for those lone travelers caught in that desolate land, li
fe into a nightmare.
But today was different. A single ray of sunshine had fought its way through the thick clouds, shining down on Blackstone, illuminating the abandoned city. The sunlight flickered, struggling against the murky shadow. The shadow fought hard, but the light refused to yield, increasing in intensity with each passing second. The ray of light shone down through a glass dome situated on top of the largest building in the city, a massive structure that resembled a castle, yet in the place of crenellations stood gargoyles and other hideous creatures in gruesome poses. As the darkness dissipated, the room revealed its secrets. Massive marble columns stationed around its perimeter appeared. Black and white tiles as wide as a tall man covered the floor. If there were any doors, they remained hidden in the darkness.
The beam of sunshine settled on the room’s most unique characteristic, a stone disk with an intricate design set in the very center of the floor. Two figures emerged from the cuts in the block, done with such excellent workmanship that they appeared lifelike. The first resembled a young man with a blazing sword of light. Opposing him was a tall man with a cruel face wielding a sword that swallowed the light. They were locked blade to blade, their faces no more than a fingerbreadth apart. The boy wore a look of determination, the man a grin of arrogance and sure victory. As the sun touched the stone it grew warm. A rumble began in the room, drifting out to the very edges of Blackstone. It was not an earthquake, for that was something of an end. Instead, it was a beginning.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hideaway
The muscles in Thomas’ legs burned in protest, angered by having to climb up and down the small mountains common to this part of the Highlands. He spent most of the day traveling to the east. He should have been thankful. These mountains weren't as tall or as steep as those to the west or north. Going in either of those directions would have made his life much more difficult. At least he didn't have to worry about the trees. After a few hours the forest had thinned out, which made the going somewhat easier. While he traveled through the dense thickets closer to the Crag, even with the sword strapped to his back, he had to keep stopping to untangle it from a vine or branch.
