A Dream of Storms, In the Shadow of the Black Sun: Book One

by William Kenney

The river city of Overbrook was literally built over the Sheandre River. Huge stone platforms had been constructed long ago that held many buildings suspended above the wide water. The large boats that traveled through the city would spend many minutes in the arched passage below it and in perpetual shadow, finally returning to the outside world many leagues downstream. Even the largest of the Harquinn cargo boats could easily navigate these passages. From the Sheandre, the vastness of the city radiated out for leagues, finally dwindling into the hills above.

              When trade between Elf and Man slowed, so did the economy in Overbrook. Many of the wealthy merchants moved off to other prosperous cities, some to Harquinn, Ar’Klaemen, some even to Faith.

              Since then, the town had become a gathering ground for criminals, smugglers and thieves. A guild of assassins had moved in and was reportedly thriving there. These men were supposedly a small faction of the infamous Redmasks exiled from the elite group for unknown reasons. Because of Overbrook’s location, the assassins had easy access to many places in the north and south. An assignment could be carried out in mere days, it is said.

              “Hagan, do we have to go under the city?” D’Pharin asked as they approached the first outlying houses.

              “We need to remain hidden. The docks are the most inconspicuous way to enter Overbrook. Most people in the underpassage mind their own affairs. Unfortunately, Windenn will draw attention even there, I’m afraid.” he responded.

              Along either side of the Sheandre was a well-traveled road that led into the docks. Luck was with them, for both roads were mostly shielded from onlookers by rows of strangely formed rocks, tall enough to hide even those on horseback. It seemed that they could remain somewhat concealed from the city but not from those taveling the opposite road. The darkness was their ally however and with the great distance, even interested spies would have trouble making them out. Hagan allowed himself to relax, feeling fairly safe for the moment. Another few moments and they would be below Overbrook. Then, he would heed Gorin’s warnings.

              Windenn hadn’t moved since falling from the horse hours earlier that day. She still lived, but time was running out fast. Maelstrom constantly adjusted his gait to compensate for the Woodwarden’s limp form. She would not fall again.

              Hagan led the way. Together they decided to ride in darkness, no lantern or torch to reveal them to strangers. Soon, all became a grey landscape of shadowy forms as other travelers passed them on their path away from Overbrook. Most were merchants and traders returning with monies for their wares. One group of lavishly costumed men passed, laughing raucously and joking in a tongue strange to their ears. They carried a strong but not unpleasant odor of cinnamon and honey. Most likely spice merchants from somewhere far east. Across the Edge, possibly.

              The Marindels did not meet the stranger’s eyes, Hagan having warned his bother about the local customs. To do so, would certainly be read as some sort of challenge.

              They were close enough now to make out the orange glow cast upon the underbelly of Overbrook’s foundation. The many torches and lanterns of the docks reflected on the surface of the river, projecting strange patterns on the stone above.

              “D’Pharin, stay right behind me. Keep your eyes on my back. We need to avoid trouble at all costs but we are in their territory. Some of these people would just as soon kill you than look at you.”

              “Right.” D’Pharin nodded.

              “And hide that sword.” Hagan added.

              Both wrapped the weapons among their bedrolls and pulled their hoods close. D’Pharin could see the many seemingly tiny figures among the crates and sailing vessels. This place was bustling with activity, much of it illegal he was certain. Boats were being loaded and unloaded. Prices haggled. Great wooden cranes swung out above the docks, their rope nets holding the precious cargo of Overbrook. Cloth and leather goods. Many types of foodstuffs. Weapons and armor. The spices could be smelled from where they rode.

              “Here we go.” said Hagan just as they passed under the immense stone platform. Their path became a worn reddish cobblestone road that led past each dock and the stone warehouses adjacent to them. Shipping crates were stacked three and four high and hundreds of workers toted them from here to there.

              Then, the unpleasant aromas struck them. Fish. They slightly quickened their pace as they passed through the most recent catch. Strewn all about the docks were hundreds of fish of all sizes. Yellow drumskin, toadfin, sundevils and occasionally the rare rubyneck. Fishermen squatted everywhere, dressing their catch. The unused portions were pushed to the side to be gathered later by the crew and possibly used as bait. Ice-filled wooden barrels held the prepared fish, soon to be carted above to the city and sold.

              D’Pharin marveled at the skill these men possessed. Their knives moved like lightning as they made perfect cuts. He counted. Seven slices per fish. One to remove the head. One up the belly. Remove the tail. One for each side fin. Two to remove the innards. One crewman prepared a dozen fish in the time it took them to ride by.

              They passed out of the fishing docks and began to notice the stares of the workers. They were attracting attention. More precisely, Windenn was attracting attention.

              Hagan spoke over his shoulder.

  “We only need to make it to the first stairway. It’s not far.”

              D’Pharin nodded.

              The builders of Overbrook had indeed created a wonder of stonework. It seemed impossible, the span of the stone platform above. At regular intervals gigantic stone columns thrust up from the river bottom and met the underbelly of the city. These seemed tiny in comparison to the city itself but somehow it worked. The builders had fashioned several long stairways that led up through the platform at either side to allow access to the city from the underpassage.

              Most decent folk avoided the underpassage after dark and kept clear of the stairways. It was not uncommon for a child to be kidnapped and shipped downriver to be sold into slavery. Just as often, robbery was the motive and unsuspecting city-folk would be dragged below and stripped of their belongings and released once again to the surface. Or killed.

              “’ey! Didja haveta knock’er out to bed her? Heh, heh!” a near-toothless dockworker screamed directly to Hagan’s right. He put his filthy hands on Hagan’s thigh and laughed up at him. Spittle sprayed from his lips as he coughed out a chuckle.

              Hagan did not respond. He only flexed his right leg, shaking the fool loose.

              Unfortunately, this was enough to gather the fool’s comrades and soon curses and jibes filled the air.

              D’Pharin made for his weapon. Hagan caught the action and shook his head.

              “Don’t encourage them, brother. Just stay calm. The stairway is just ahead.” he said.

              “Stairway?” a loud pot-bellied man, wearing a golden nose ring shouted. “What makes ye think ye’ll make it that far?”

              The ever-increasing crowd burst into shouts and challenges. Several unsavory comments concerning Windenn reached them and Hagan’s anger was beginning to rise. The old spirit of war. Twelve years ago, he would never have held his tongue. He was feeling that way once more.

              Who do they think they are? I fought under the Black Sun, dammit!

              His anger rose, his face growing hot.

  They will not speak this way to me.

              It was enough.

              Hagan pulled Maelstrom to a stop and
D’Pharin did the same.

              All had become quiet.

              He stared down at his hands. Slowly and deliberately he reached behind and pulled his sword from his bedroll, the metal glinting in the darkness. Many dockworkers backed away immediately, expressions of fear on their faces. Hushed whispers passed along the crowd and soon the remaining men reluctantly cleared a path for them.

              D’Pharin thought he had heard the phrase ‘Black Sun’ among the whispers. It seemed Hagan’s reputation had preceded him indeed.

              Some of the ruffians sneered at them as they passed, wishing to challenge but uncertain. When they had ridden nearly out of earshot, one of them yelled, “Not to worry, lads! They’ll have t’come back this way, won’t they? I’ll soon have that fancy sword hangin’ next t’me bunk!”

              They soon reached the first great stone stair, wide enough for two-dozen men to walk abreast but crumbling with neglect in places.

              Hagan glanced into the shadows near them and the rickety shacks that stood close. His nerves were afire and his eyes jumped from place to place searching for new challengers. 
           

  None.

             He kicked Maelstrom lightly in the flanks and sent him up the stairs. D’Pharin followed leaning close to his horse’s neck. All was very quiet here. The sounds of activity down below had dwindled and they could only hear the steady clopping of the horse’s hooves or the occasional falling pebble. Up above, the moonlight cast a bluish circle on the topmost stairs.

              Five more steps and they were bathed in the moon’s glow. They emerged and moved away from the stairs. They then surveyed their surroundings. They had come into the city near a relatively large cobbled street.

              A huge dark-clad guard eyed them suspiciously but made no move to stop them. There was very little activity along this street and in the darkness Windenn was barely visible.

              “Watch yourself, now.” Hagan whispered. “The only ones out at this hour will be thieves and assassins. Or both.”

              The houses here were built of a rusty stone and dark wood and were once very beautiful. Now all was in disrepair and had been neglected for many years it seemed. Paint peeled here and stone crumbled there. Refuse littered the streets to either side and there were numerous huddled figures in the alleys around them. Things had obviously taken a turn for the worse. Nearly every window in their vicinity seemed to glow from the candlelight within as if to keep the bad things away.

              They made for the center of Overbrook, attempting to follow Gorin’s directions, although the streets and side streets confused them. Some had been blocked or walled up. Some seemed brand new.

              Soon they spotted the first lantern and this hastened them on their way.

              It seemed to D’Pharin that everyone in the city must know that they were there. The horses made an incredible racket on the stones below. They took turn after cautious turn following the path that had been marked for those that would follow. Fewer and fewer homes were lived in the deeper they traveled down Twisting Way. This part of the city appeared long since deserted.

              “Don’t do it!!”

              A haggard old man in rags lurched into their path, his arms flailing about his head to bar their way.

              “Fools. Wretched, wretched fools. Ye’ve no idea, do ye? She’s there, all right. And she’s waiting. She knows. Oh, she knows. Turn back now, fools ... ”

              “Stand aside.” Hagan stated firmly.

              The ragged man lifted an eyebrow and met Hagan’s eyes. He seemed to study him for a moment, gauging his worth.

              “As you wish, my Lord. As you wish ... I’m sure my Lord knows what he’s doin’.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. Just as all of the others did before they met their deaths at the end of Twisting Way.”

              His voice trailed off as he quickly melted into the shadows of an alleyway.

              The brothers hesitated for a moment both staring at Windenn’s motionless form.

              “Are you sure about this, Hagan?” D’Pharin asked.

              Maybe Gorin was mistaken. Maybe things had changed more than he knew. Perhaps the Wisp was no longer in the business of helping people.

              Hagan looked first to the cobblestone underfoot and then to his brother.

              “Yeah, I’m sure.”

              He heeled Maelstrom on.

              At the next corner, a low fog had gathered, covering the ground and resting at knee-height to the horses. It was suddenly all around them. They looked behind and the fog had extended back the way they had come.

              Impossible.

              On a near rooftop, a raven called out, its black form visible against the pale grey sky. Oddly, it studied them as they rode, its head cocked at a strange angle.

              They moved on, the horses cutting a wide swath in the ghostly fog like great warships in a calm eastern sea. It moved bizarrely, seeming to grasp and cling to their legs for one last caress.

              “Look at that.” D’Pharin called, his voice echoing in the emptiness of the street. He could see his breath now as he spoke. It had become much colder in the last few moments.

              Hagan followed his brother’s outstretched finger to the half-open door of a house across the street from them. A rust-colored handprint had been placed dead- center on it, its color running down the wood to pool and eventually dry upon the ground. Some sort of symbol or warning to passersby. Hagan spun his horse and rode over to the deserted home.

              Three dark birds perched there, high upon the eaves, their eyes locked on them and unmoving.

              “That’s blood.” he stated, ignoring the ravens as best he could. The windows were long since broken and all was black inside. There were deep gouges in the wooden frame of the door and other small signs of struggle.

              “What is this?” his brother asked.

              “I’m not sure ... Something bad happened here.”

              Something moved in a near alleyway.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Hagan said, tightening his grip on Windenn’s waist. She was so cold. As cold as-

              No. Don’t think it.

              They rode back into the fog and continued on their way. They saw several more handprints along the street and the birds became more frequent and more numerous. One final fork in the road and there it stood without a doubt. The home of the Wisp. In the midst of the small cottages and outbuildings of Overbrook, stood a structure so unimaginable. It seemed to be forged from a dark, glasslike material, but cloudy and not in the least transparent. Its shape was stranger yet. As if an inverted black whirlpool had been frozen and stretched skyward, it spiraled in on itself and rose to a sharp point some seven or eight stories overhead.

              And on every surface of it, the ravens were perched. Hundreds of them. Perhaps thousands.

              Unmoving.

              Watching.

              Both horses snorted and began to back away. D’Pharin dismounted and gently took Windenn from his brother. They tethered both horses to one of the odd clumps of stones that littered the ground about this place.

              “Wind. She’s barely holding on ... ” D’Pharin murmured peering at her pale face.

              Hagan did not respond
. Instead, he bit his lower lip and slowly approached the dark dwelling. He could make out no entrance. No door or window anywhere along its span. The house seemed to jut forth out of the earth itself, which was impossible, this section of Overbrook being built on top of the platform. The ground itself darkened as it neared her home.

              A single iron pole stood ten paces from where they assumed the front door might be. Hanging there was a glowing street lantern; its light was strong but quickly absorbed by the night in an abnormal way.

              “What the hell is this? Where is she? Where’s the damned door?” Hagan’s temper flared. “We managed to find the Wisp, the only one that can save Windenn and she’s going to die because ... there’s no door? Nothing angers me more than sorcery. Mages strutting around, all full of themselves. Better than everyone else because of their arcane arts.”

  A raven cried out, silencing him.

              D’Pharin studied the darkness around them, searching for some sign, some clue to gain entrance.

              “Wait ... the path up to this point has been marked by the lanterns. That’s how we found this place.”

              Hagan wrinkled his brow. “And … ?”

              “Maybe the lantern is the key.” D’Pharin answered.

              Hagan glanced to the lantern, then back to his brother.

              “Alright. That makes about as much sense as anything else on this trip. “ he said moving toward the iron pole, stepping slowly into its eerie light. He muttered under his breath all the way. “Murdered woman under the Arch, Inquitis chasing me down, Stone Trolls and Woodwardens ... ”

              He stood before the lantern. Inside, it seemed the flame danced and writhed unnaturally. Something rested there at the base of the flame. A silver ring tooled with roses along the band.

              “Mother’s ring? How?… ”

  He took one last look behind him and lifted the small metal latch. Opening the soot-covered glass, he reached for it, disregarding the heat. The flame flickered then died. His hand came back empty. For an instant, it was pitch black all about them. Then, Hagan could make out the glints in his brother’s eyes a dozen paces away.

              “Well? Do you see anything?” D’Pharin asked.

              Moments passed, as they both studied the Wisp’s home. Suddenly, upon the wall directly in front of them, a shimmering outline appeared. The door.

              “Quickly! Inside.” Hagan called. He ran to D’Pharin’s side and helped to carry Windenn. She seemed much lighter now, the sickness eating away at her from the inside.

              They approached the door and as they stepped toward it, the wall itself faded and they stepped through. Just as suddenly, the wall reappeared behind them shutting out the moonlight. All was very dark inside. Their eyes eventually adjusted and they could make out the unnatural corridor in which they stood. The walls, floor and ceiling were all of the same foreign glass, no corners or sharp edges, all curves as if a great river had cut its path here many ages ago. Somewhat transparent and altogether unsettling. They made their way deeper into the structure, the hairs on the backs of their necks on end.

              Hagan sensed movement on his right side. He spun suddenly and studied the wall there. Within the murky depths, something was suspended there. Something vaguely manlike, yet most assuredly not. Something about the head was different but with no light he could make out no features. The thing inside twitched and he jerked his face away in shock.

              “What is it?” D’Pharin whispered.

              “There are things inside the walls all around us. Trapped inside or-“

              “Creatures that the Wisp has captured?” asked D’Pharin glancing all about them.

              “There’s no way to know.” Hagan said. “Unless we ask her.” He forced a quick smile and pulled his brother on.

              There were many other things within the walls as they passed. Mythical beings said to be long extinct in this world. Some were obviously alive. Demon and angel. Coralkretch. Unicorn and Talon. What power could contain all of these legendary creatures of magic?

  They had become so frighteningly amazed at these sights that when the central chamber gaped before them, they both let out loud gasps.

              A great circular hall stood before them, reaching four stories above. Large windows completely covered the highest reaches of the room, allowing the moon to shed a fair amount of light there. Once again, every surface seemed to have been polished smooth and the entire chamber seemed to be one immense piece of glass, no joints or seams visible to them. Hanging from the ceiling, were several long curtains of white silk, slightly waving in the subtle breeze. Seemingly pulled from the floor were many shapely pedestals, on which treasures rested. Each worth a kingdom. Everywhere there were objects straight from the ancient tales. Things thought to have been lost ages ago.

    Symbillien, scepter of the High Elven kings.

  Aerink-Ore, fabled Dwarven chalice. Present during the Morning of the World. The first of the Dwarven monarchs drank from it to celebrate the founding of the kingdoms of Pahn-Pirik, far to the south.

              The rings and swords and suits of armor.

              Had they been here the whole time?

  “Where is she, Hagan?” the younger Marindel asked quietly.

              Hagan shook his head and peered across the dim room. Upon the high windowsills, sat the ravens nervously watching. Hagan waited as long as he could and then called out.

              “Hello? We are in need of your assistance. Our friend needs your ... skills.”

              He paused.

              “Wisp?” he called.

              No reply. No Wisp. Only silence.

              D’Pharin could no longer restrain himself.

  “Dammit! Stop playing games. She is dying!”

              Then, like a cyclone of darkness, the ravens swarmed down and into the room. Black and feathery things were everywhere, brushing their cheeks and shoulders and the noise nearly deafening. The hard, hard beating of wings. No cries from the birds, only the wings. The brothers pulled Windenn toward the far wall, covering her head to protect her. The swirling black shape worked its way to the center of the chamber and came together. Each raven clinging to the other and soon the sound and wind had gone. Standing before them was a vaguely human form, composed of the ravens, their tiny eyes still gleaming from within the darkness. They recognized the face as female and it turned toward them. Hagan could see that as time passed the form took on a more human shape.

              Two scarlet eyes took them in and the Wisp came toward them. A long ebon robe had grown from her shoulders and dragged the smooth floor behind her.

              “Impatient. Callous.” she said, her voice high and very otherworldly.

              “Foolhardy and careless.” The more she spoke, the more hypnotic her words became.

              Her eyes immediately fell to Windenn’s near-lifeless body. Her eyes widened, as she seemed to recognize her ailment.

              “The Kiss?” she asked staring at the brothers. They nodded.

              “It seems S’darin’s blood did not wholly cure her. In fact, she may already be dead.” she said, her head cocked to one side, birdlike.

  How did she know about the blood?

              “You must not interfere in any way, understand?” she asked. “My methods may at first seem cruel or profane but it must be this way.”

             
Hagan and D’Pharin nodded once again and gingerly held Windenn out to the Wisp. As they neared her, they could feel the awesome power that she bore. Like electricity running up their arms and lightly tapping at the base of their skulls. They had to instantly back away.

              Gently, the Wisp cradled Windenn’s body to hers and sang. The voices of the ravens seemed to harmonize with her song and both women slowly lifted from the floor. Suspended above them, the Wisp began to chant in a tongue of sorcery. She threw her head back and shouted the words at the ceiling.

              A force like the wind of a thousand storms threw the brothers against the wall, their clothes whipping about them. Together, Windenn and the Wisp now hovered near the ceiling, spinning in a slow circle. Then, it seemed as though the moon itself joined in the ritual. Light poured in from the night outside. Bright beams of pure white moonlight.

              An unearthly wail reached their ears, louder than the howling wind. In moments, the realization hit them; Windenn cried. From deep within her tortured soul, she cried. The brothers attempted to cover their ears but the sound was not of this world. It reached inside; twisting and tears ran down their cheeks. Never had they experienced such anguish.

              The Wisp’s words took on an almost violent quality as she attempted to drive out that which possessed the Woodwarden. The struggle became a tangible thing with the air itself becoming a battleground. A sudden rush of icy air hit Hagan’s face and the Wisp released Windenn who quickly curled into a fetal position there in the air above. Then the Wisp began to break apart. The ravens ripped loose from her form and began to circle the still-suspended woman. Soon, Windenn was obscured by the sea of dark wings but her cries were still very clear above the rushing wind. One final word was shouted into the room and the birds stopped. As one, they attacked the huddled body of the Woodwarden.

              “What?” D’Pharin shouted. “What are they doing?” He began to gather his legs under him.

              “Don’t move, brother ... ” Hagan replied. He drew D’Pharin’s attention to either side of them where two great masses of ravens had gathered, watching them and preventing their interference.

              “They’re killing her, Hagan!” D’Pharin screamed, his cheeks still wet.

              Hagan only gritted his teeth, seeing no course of action.

              Above, the birds dove at Windenn’s shoulder, the site of the wound. They dug into the flesh there, gouging and tearing with razor-like beaks. Blood spattered the floor below and Windenn’s cries became harsh shrieks of pain.

              It seemed to last forever, but eventually there was a change in the raven’s behavior. They called out as in triumph and together dropped to the floor in a huge black group. A small struggle ensued, the ravens obviously fighting over something. Abruptly, they parted, a lone bird staring back at the others. Within its ebon beak, squirmed a grotesque insect-like creature. Many-legged and long of tail, it fought to escape. After a moment’s pause, the remaining birds attacked and ripped the thing to shreds.

              As the brothers stood astonished, the birds calmly fought over the remains, searching the slick floor for the tiniest scrap.

              “Wind ... ” whispered Hagan. “All of this time ... that thing’s been inside of her all of this time.”

              D’Pharin was far too shocked to respond. He did notice, however, that while the ravens fought, Windenn had returned from above. She was curled childlike in a far corner among thick fur blankets and soft pillows. He decided to risk upsetting the birds and went quickly to her side. She slept deeply but her expression had changed. He moved as if to touch her face and the ravens spoke in unison.

              “Leave her until morning. When the storm comes, she will stand fast. She will be ready.”

              D’Pharin withdrew and rejoined Hagan. They sat there uncomfortably for some time, staring back at the ravens in their surreal surroundings.

              “You really care for her, don’t you?” Hagan asked.

              “What? Well-“ D’Pharin stammered, suddenly red-faced. He cracked a smile and answered, “Yes.”

              “That’s great, D’Pharin. I just want you to be careful.” Hagan started.

              “I know, I know.” his brother answered. “But, you know as well as I that some things are beyond our control. I can’t help how I feel. She ... well, she probably doesn’t feel the same-“

              “It’s alright, brother. There’s no need to explain yourself.” Hagan said. “I’ve been exactly where you are.” He smiled and grabbed him by the shoulder. “You really never know. Maybe she does feel the same.”

              D’Pharin snuck a glance in Windenn’s direction and smiled.

              “Right now, I would give almost anything ... ”

              Hagan chuckled. “I know, my boy. I know.”

              Together, they reclined against the far wall and eventually drifted off to sleep. Nightmares once again assaulted Hagan in the night. Fire and snakes eyes. Blood. A child calling out in the hollow darkness. An overall feeling of helplessness and hopelessness.

              Someone’s watching me, Hagan realized and his eyes popped open. Perched in front of him was a solitary raven, the others having departed during the night. A slight orange glow came through the windows above and he could tell it was near dawn. He lightly shook D’Pharin and got to his feet, trying to stretch the stiffness from his back.

              “Uhhn ... is it morning?” D’Pharin groaned.

              “Shhh.” Hagan whispered and once he had his brother’s attention, he nodded in Windenn’s direction.

              She stood before one of the strange glass pedestals and stared down at it, dreamily studying an ornate staff that sat upon it. She seemed almost childlike. Something was odd about her. Had she changed in some way? She slowly turned toward a dark hallway, the blood amulet in her hand. Out of the darkness came a stunted and shambling creature. One of the bearers. She gently handed the precious item to it and its face twisted into what could only be a smile. Once again, it melted into the darkness.

              In the center of the room, a table had been laid out and a serving of breakfast had been prepared. The brothers did not disturb her, for upon reaching the table, it was evident that she had eaten and eaten well.

              After finishing their meal of bread, milk and flaky pastries, they readied themselves to leave Overbrook.

              “She’s opened a door for us. T’get us on our way.”

              Both brothers started at Windenn’s voice. They hadn’t heard her speak for quite some time.

              It was true. In the far wall, an opening had appeared while they had slept, allowing them easy access to the roadway.

              “H-How are you feeling?” D”Pharin asked, somewhat hesitantly.

              She flashed a broad smile in his direction

              “Much better than yesterday.” she said with another grin. “Really don’t recall much ... and ye don’t want t’hear that which I do.”

              “Good to have you back, Woodwarden.” Hagan announced.

              “Many thanks, Lord Hagan.” she said and for the first time in years the title did not upset him.

              I suppose I cannot escape who I am.

              Once they had satisfied their hunger, they passed through the doorway and into the cobbled street. A damp chill was in the air and the low mist still played among the deserted alleyways. Th
ey had exited the Wisp’s home near the rear of the building and so made their way back around front. The two horses stood where they had left them and turned to greet them as they strode up. Windenn opted to ride behind Hagan on this trip, producing a slight frown from the younger Marindel.

              After studying the Wisp’s home for a moment, they turned their steeds back the way they had come. A lone raven called out from the high turret of the Wisp’s keep as if to wish them farewell. They rounded the first turn, the strange house was out of sight and all seemed to return to normal. However, only moments later, the sounds of an angry crowd reached them from somewhere ahead.

              “Come out, Enrix! You’ve been marked! There’s no goin’ back now.” someone called out. There were several loud knocks as of metal on wood.

              “It’s too late!” the voice bellowed. “They’ve found out. Your time is here. Why not make this easy on your family, Enrix?”

              Just then, Hagan and Windenn rounded the corner with D’Pharin just behind them.

              A large crowd of perhaps two-score Overbrookians surrounded a small cottage. Some carried torches, the others weapons of war. Hate was upon their faces and in their voices. They were all clad similarly; long black shirts with the hand symbol emblazoned upon the back. Their spokesperson took a step back from the locked door and Hagan could see that which he had surmised. The red hand was still wet on the wood.

              He pulled Maelstrom to a halt.

              “What’re ye doin’?” Windenn asked in his left ear.

              He did not answer.

              What is this? What had these people done?

              He could just make out two small faces behind a dirty window. Children. Two frightened little girls, the torchlight flickering in their round eyes.

              From inside, a man’s voice called out.

  “We’ve done nothing wrong, Lavin. You know that.”

              Their leader answered as the crowd began to slowly back away. “You’ve been marked, Enrix! Nothing can save you now.” he shouted with a crooked smile.

              The crowd quickly disappeared into the alleys like mice smelling a hungry cat. Hagan withdrew into the shadows where they could observe yet remain hidden. Moments later, their horses became visibly nervous and the air began to feel charged with energy.

              “We need to get out of here ... ” Windenn whispered. D’Pharin nodded his agreement. “Something is coming. Powerful ... ”

              “Hold on.” Hagan said. The children. What about the children?

              A tall, white shape seemed to take form at the end of a far street, its hairless head reaching near to the eaves. At first, ghostlike, then a solid and evil being. Tattered and foul wings falling to the ground, bringing steam from the cobblestone below.

              An Inquitis.

              It did not walk as any man would. It seemed to float or glide toward the home; its posture never changing.

              Windenn held her breath, her fingers digging into Hagan’s shoulders. D’Pharin wanted to run. Anywhere but here, he thought.

              Hagan only ground his teeth against the corporeal fear that accompanied the creature. The Inquitis moved slowly and deliberately toward the home. Hagan thought he saw the woman of the house cover the eyes of her daughters.

              A low murmur began among the hidden crowd and it soon grew to a chant. One word was repeated over and over. It sickened Hagan and the others.

              “Mournenhile.”

              The pale spectre now stood at the door, its presence sucking the light from the area. Night had fallen again in Overbrook and lightning split the sky. Inside, the woman screamed.

              “Enrix!”

              The door disintegrated. Splinters of smoking wood hit the street and after a brief pause, the chanting resumed.

              Enrix stood on the other side, sword in hand. Hope had long since left his eyes but he would give his life to defend his family. And so he did.  

              He had no chance. The clawed hand of his attacker entered his chest close to his heart. The crack of ribs was audible to all that witnessed. Blood came to Enrix’s lips and his arm twitched, his blade dropping to the wooden floor. With a sucking sound, the Inquitis pulled its arm free and its victim fell to the floor, across the threshold of his home.

              His wife screamed a horrible scream. A howl of terrible grief and loss. Hagan could see both children now, staring in disbelief. Tears filled his eyes.

              The Inquitis moved forward to enter the home.

              “No!” Hagan screamed involuntarily.

              “Hagan ... ” D’Pharin cried, knowing they were in trouble.

              The Inquitis stopped and all was suddenly silent.

              “What have ye done, Hagan?” Windenn begged.

              “Not the children, dammit.” he yelled and jumped from his saddle. He wrenched his sword free and charged toward the cottage, his pulse hammering in his temples.

              “Wind. What the hell is he doing?” D’Pharin said to himself. The people came rushing back to defend the Inquitis, attempting to stop Hagan’s attack. Their leader was the first to reach him, dagger in one hand, torch in the other. Hagan took the left side of his skull from him as he passed, his sword chopping a vicious arc from overhead. He snatched the torch from the ground and sprinted on.

              Two women reached him next, swinging long wooden staves. He had never much liked killing women. He took both down quickly without much bodily harm, using techniques he had learned so long ago, the fighting arts taught to only a select few. Tenmartis, the way of the invisible blade.

              Someone vaulted onto his back, throwing a forearm across his windpipe. He spun his sword and slid it neatly behind and then between his attacker’s ribs. As he threw the body to the ground, he reached the Inquitis. It still stood there framed in the doorway, its leprous back to him.

              “Marindelll ... ” it hissed.

              Hagan was taken aback. It was true. They had been after him all along!

              It spun incredibly fast and was immediately face to face with him. Hagan felt no fear, only hatred.

              I will kill you.

              The crowd had gathered round, with D’Pharin and Windenn among them.

              “I’ve got to help him.” D’Pharin said and hopped down.

              “’Ey! Do ye think there’s anything ye can really do?” Windenn asked.

              He looked from her face to the cottage doorway. She was right. If Hagan could not handle this, what made him think that he could?

              The Inquitis bared its brown and rotted teeth. Hagan reluctantly took a step back and it followed. The bloodthirsty crowd formed a half-circle about them, still chanting “Mournenhile”.

              Like lightning, the thing slapped the torch from Hagan’s hand, sending it skidding and sputtering into the cottage.

              Damn, Hagan thought. It’s so fast.

              It swung again, the movement filling the air about them with a fetid stench, but this time Hagan evaded it. He spun away and rent a large hole in the fabric of its ancient wing with his sword.

              The Inquitis smiled.

              It came at him with dou
bled force, both clawed hands cutting at the air about his face and neck. Wicked energy began to build all around them, sucking away the light and filling Hagan’s lungs with darkness and immorality. He needed to end this fast before the thing’s power reached its zenith.

              Hagan quickly fell back into his old ways. The ways of the blade. He adjusted his stance and balance. He parried the attacks and when an opening came, he thrust his sword forward and drove it through the rank creature’s chest to the hilt. Once again, they were face to face. Dark liquids bubbled through its teeth, yet it did not die.

              It smiled and the air crackled about their heads. Its sorcery grew as the minutes passed. Tongues of black flame showed in its eyes but they were cold. A long dead cold.

              No.

              He noticed movement over the thing’s shoulder. A flicker of light. It was one of the little girls. She ran toward them, torch in hand. Hagan tried to call out to her, to stop her. He could not get the words out. She touched the flame to the Inquitis’ back and it went up like kindling. It released Hagan from its grip and howled in pain. The sound was unbearable to their mortal ears and all within earshot cupped their hands to their heads.

              Hagan wrenched his blade free as the Inquitis staggered, enveloped by violent dancing fire. It was consumed by a flame with no light as if its very essence changed the laws of nature. It collapsed to its knees, its head still on level with Hagan’s. Within the dark inferno, its eyes still held him as if it knew him. It showed its teeth once more and then its skull melted, joining the blackened remains that were its body.

              All was silent.

              The girl discarded the torch and ran to her dead father’s side. A large group of ravens soon gathered about the doorway to seemingly protect those inside. It seemed the Wisp had chosen to guard these people, but for how long? They were marked and all within Overbrook knew it. Where could they go?

              One raven landed upon the street in front of him and met his eyes. It appeared to say; “You need not worry. The Wisp will see them to safety.” And Hagan knew it to be true. His safety, on the other hand was another matter. The crowd had grown extremely hostile, seeing the Inquitis destroyed and they wanted these three interlopers dead.

              There was an instant swarm of bodies around Hagan, swinging and stabbing with their weapons. Men and women, their faces contorted with rage, attacked him blindly. Instinct took over and he moved and swung fluidly as in the old battles. Nothing could touch him. A smile came to his face at this realization. The years of training mind and body had not worn off. A dozen attackers fell to their deaths and those that remained withdrew. Hagan spun to face them with teeth clenched. For an instant, doubt crept in. He had sworn to never raise the sword again. Then, the two little girls flashed into his brain.

              “Not as easy as defenseless women and children, eh? Cowards!” he screamed.

              One of the surrounding group produced a small silver horn and sounded it. Its call reverberated for a moment and was soon answered in several other parts of the city. The alarm had been announced. A sudden pressure hit his chest. He spun to face his attacker and pushed the man away, looking down to his chest. A crimson handprint had been placed there upon his shirt, glistening in the torchlight. He had been marked. Witnessing this, the crowd was whipped into a wild frenzy. He savagely drove his sword into the man’s gut.

  “Hagan!” D’Pharin shouted as he and Windenn rode up.

  Hagan slowly raised his eyes to him and then to Windenn. His brother and the Woodwarden were suddenly outlined by the newly risen sun. There was a sorrow in his eyes and blood upon his cheek. Something he had promised himself had just been broken. He seemed somewhat afraid of who he had once again become.

              “Come on!” Windenn called out. She scooted back in Maelstrom’s saddle, allowing him enough room to climb on. He wiped his sword clean on a trouser leg and leapt up.

              “Alright. The easiest way out will be the docks, so ... let’s go!” he said. They heeled the horses into a quick gallop and retraced their original path. The horse’s hooves thundered across the cobblestones sending sparks flashing outward. D’Pharin shot a quick glance over his shoulder and saw no signs of pursuit.

  Good.

  Just then, they crossed a four-way intersection of streets and to either side there came a large host of pursuers, screaming and chanting and bearing arms. D’Pharin just made it through and they were on their tail. Several arrows whistled past their heads, narrowly missing their targets.

              “We have to make it to the stairway again!” Hagan screamed over the sound of a hundred horses. People were beginning to come out of their homes at the commotion in the streets and Hagan had to avoid these new obstacles. He sent one merchant’s cart careening into a side-building, scattering fruits and vegetables upon the ground. This slowed the mob down somewhat, buying them some time.

              A hard left and the stairway gaped before them. Hagan pulled Maelstrom up short, nearly throwing Windenn from the saddle.

              “Come on! We can’t ride them down. We’ll have to walk.” he yelled and dismounted, helping Windenn to the ground. D’Pharin did the same.

              They had just disappeared below ground when the pursuers turned the corner. They had descended nearly halfway down the stone steps when the first of the crowd gained the stairs. Those that chased them ditched their horses and came down fast. Hagan, D’Pharin and Windenn could not leave their steeds.

              “We’re not going to make it, Hagan!” D’Pharin shouted.

              “When we reach bottom, you two take the horses and get out of here!” he responded.

              “No!” Windenn and D’Pharin answered simultaneously.

              Windenn bounded down the last three steps, drawn bow already in her hands. She took aim and dropped the first of their attackers. Almost instantly, she had another arrow nocked and released. Another one dropped, shaft in his eye socket and rolled downward.

              The two brothers reached bottom and turned.

              “Stay behind me!” Hagan screamed, slapping the horses on their rumps.

              “I’m not going to let you fight alone. Let me help you.” his brother said.

              “D’Pharin, now is not the time.”

              A mass of men literally rolled over the two brothers. An avalanche of bodies, brandishing swords and spears. Both brothers were up and fighting at once and Windenn, her arrows depleted, joined in the fray with her short sword. She was near death a day before, but now a fire was in her green eyes. She cut a vicious path to her friends and soon they all fought back to back. Although her shoulder was still tender, it hindered her swordplay not at all.

              “If we wait ‘ere long enough, we’ll ‘ave the whole city to fight!” she shouted in Hagan’s direction.

              He had realized this as well. They had to make another run for it.

              “Alright. Give it all you have. Take out as many of these bastards as you can and when I say, get out from under this damned platform!”

              The others nodded and went to work. D’Pharin deflected two blows to his head and nearly decapitated his attacker. He threw his foot out, knocking the body to the ground. Windenn ducked under a spear and split open the man’s belly. She then shoved her blade into a man’s kidney to keep him from D’Pharin’s back.

              “Go!” Hagan screamed as he shoved two men back.

              Windenn and D’Pharin bolted away and ran down the docks toward freedom.
They soon reached the horses, which had lingered after a brief run and now stood awaiting their masters. D’Pharin spun to hand Maelstrom’s reins to his brother. Hagan hadn’t followed.

              He still fought at the foot of the great stair. His face covered in blood, he was still surrounded by a score of men and his sword arm had slowed.

              “Hagan!” D’Pharin shouted in fear.

              A sudden change occurred. Nearly half of the men stopped mid-swing and backed away, their mouths hanging open. They had recognized the name and halted. The legend of Lord Hagan Marindel deserved respect. The hero of the Black Sun. The others paused long enough for Hagan’s sword to reach them and so fell where they had stood. Hagan nodded to the others and ran.

              They were once again on horseback and galloping down the wooden planking that made up the shipyards. The early morning fishing was beginning, the men readying their nets and the captains bellowing their orders. Dockworkers scattered as the horses charged past.      

              A large man with a golden nose ring barred Maelstrom’s path and Hagan narrowly avoided him.

              “Where you goin’ with me sword?” he screamed as Hagan rode past. “Come back, hero! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

              Hagan’s blood was still boiling as he shot a look back at the man. He then slowed his horse and jumped from the saddle.

              “Hagan-“ Windenn shouted.

              “You two go on. Get out of here. I promise, I’ll be right behind you.” he said with a nod.

              Her eyes pleaded with him.

              “This won’t take long. Trust me.” he said, smiling up at her. He looked to D’Pharin and winked.

              “Let’s go.” D’Pharin said and the two quickly rode away. He knew that there would be no arguing with his older brother. They could only trust in his decision, however foolish they thought it to be.

              “Well, well, well ... ” the large man chuckled as Hagan walked toward him. “Has the little man come to give me what is mine?” Those in the vicinity laughed and applauded their comrade.

              Hagan’s expression showed no emotion. In only a short time, something within him had changed. For better or worse, he was not sure.

              The pot-bellied man toyed with his nose ring while the other hand caressed the hilt of a huge scimitar. He stood taller than Hagan and weighed twice as much, yet his opponent did not slow his approach.

              “Now, you just hand me that trinket and don’t make me pull ‘Ole Cleaver here.” the man said. Quickly, he surmised that Hagan would not stop and pulled his sword from its sheath. He swung in a wide arc in line with Hagan’s throat, an attack meant to behead the opponent. A much slower opponent. Hagan deflected the blow and with an overhead strike, smashed his steel down upon the man’s hilt, knocking his sword to the ground. He instantly reversed the move and aimed for the man’s face.

              “Ahhh ... ..alright, alright, my friend ... .” the man stuttered.

              Hagan had hooked the tip of his blade inside the ring that pierced his opponent’s nostril. He thrust up and forward until the man’s chin was high in the air and his neck was stretched in a most uncomfortable way.

              “I’d say your mouth is larger even than your belly, friend.” he stated.

              “Look ... it was all talk, ye know? T’impress me mates?” the man yelled out.

              “This sword swung under the Black Sun, you bastard. It brought down men far above the likes of you. You-“ Hagan began to lose control. He had to let go.

              No more senseless killing.

              A quick twist of the wrist and he ripped the ring from the man’s flesh and sent it sailing out into the river. The man let out a yelp and then knelt there, both hands to his bloody face.

              The dockworkers backed away as Hagan walked out of their midst. No words were spoken. He could feel the heat drain from his cheeks. Minutes later, as he passed out of the underpassage and into the morning sun, he saw D’Pharin astride his horse, waiting for him.

              “I sent Windenn ahead to find Gorin.” he said.

  Hagan jumped up behind him.

  “It’ll be good to see a friendly face once more, eh?” Hagan laughed.

  Chapter Five