[Short Story] Old Blood [Part One]

[Kain]

Hey guys, I've been working on this for a little while and I've just completed my first edit so I thought I'd post it up for feedback. It's set in my world of Kirin, which has changed a lot since I first made it. There's probably still quite a few grammar issues that I'll be fixing later, but I hope you enjoy it. (Also I hate formatting for forums >.<)

Old Blood





1.

THE WOODSMAN wrapped his cloak about him and pushed on through the blinding snow, trying to ignore the sense of being watched. Winter?s icy teeth blew down from the mountains to bite at his face. The only sound within the wailing wind was the crunch of snowshoes. From beneath his hood, Ganton of Treyne watched the last light of day fade behind the evergreens. Lines of worry marked deep folds in his weather-beaten face. Hidden in his auburn winter beard and behind a thick gray wool scarf, his mouth was grimly set. However, it was not the cold that set his chin so.

Retracing his steps from earlier in the day, Ganton wound his way west. His quarries tracks stretched out behind him, snaking upwards towards the peak from which he had come. Parallel to them lay his own tracks, his snowshoes leaving shallow dents on the snow. What worried him was that his quarries? boots measured at twice the depth of his own, were he not garbed for winter. Only an armored man could weigh enough to sink that deep, and Ganton doubted any soldiers had come this far north. Military generally stayed south of the River Daran. It was the width of the marks, however, that truly made him fearful.

Carefully the ranger put one foot in front of the other, keeping well away from the too-wide holes on his right. He kept his back turned against the wind as it roared against him, leaving a layer of frost on his fur cloak. Not for the first time he wondered why people still chose to live this far north. Feeling the prickling feeling between his shoulder blades he chanced a glance around. All he got in return was eyes full of sleet. No-one would spot him in this snow, surely?

The feeling of being watched bothered Ganton, he had not spent years of his life as a military scout to be outsmarted here. He knew the outdoors like the back of his hand, and the frustration of being unable to find someone who could find him was almost worse than his fear. For once in his life, the ranger was eager to escape the isolation of the outdoors and surround himself with as many people as possible. Grunting in annoyance, his hand drifted uselessly to the heavy axe that rested beneath his cloak. Whatever was out there would get him before he could use it.

The feeling persisted even after he peeled off from the trail of footprints and headed north towards the abandoned homestead that he temporarily called home. The squat rectangular hut jutted out from the snow like bones before him. Rotted wood walls were bolstered with chopped lumber from the surrounding pines and packed with dirt and pine needles to keep out the chill. A thin curl of smoke wound up from the chimney only to be immediately snatched away by the wind. He was glad his companions heeded his advice about staying indoors. Halting at the door, Ganton took one last look back at the woods.

The evening shadows made every tree into a waiting enemy, a branch became a sword and the sway of leaves an attacking foe. Ganton knew not to trust his eyes in this dim light. A soldiers knowledge, from another era. Throwing back his hood the ranger listened intently, straining to hear anything over the howling wind. Any sign, any trace of his invisible opponent. Gradually he began to make out the whispering voices floating along the wind, just barely within hearing. His axe halfway out of its loop, he flushed with embarrassment as he realized they came from inside. Letting out a breath and cursing himself for a addle-brained fool, he turned back to the door.

And froze.

Spinning around smoothly, he pulled free the axe and swung it towards the black shape behind him. Nearly he swung it, but caught it by a hair, fingers grasping at the slippery handle and pulling it back to his body.

?Bury my bones, but you?ll get yourself killed sneaking about this way!? he exclaimed, slumping against the door with a pounding heart. A woman stood before him, a spectre clad in a thin dark cloak and hood. Beneath her hood cold eyes gazed out from an ethereal face as white as the surrounding snow, seemingly unperturbed by his attack. Her eyes divided him up and criticized every inch. Despite her lack of winter garb, the cold seemed to only reach her eyes. ?What on the Wanderer?s green earth are you doing out here??

?Taking a look around. Two sets of eyes are better than one,? Her voice was sardonic. ?Do not fear for my safety, redbeard." That last part came out with a twitch of a smile. Attitude to match the eyes, Ganton thought sourly. ?Will you away from the door or take root where you stand??

Ganton grumbled into his beard and stepped aside. If he hadn't known better he might have thought she really was a ghost and could walk clear through him. His heart pounded like a drum, a jumble of fear and anger. As if it was his fault she scared him half to death. Not that she needed to sneak up on him to scare him. Just the knowledge of her existence and what it implied frightened him well enough. She brushed past him, gliding across the snow leaving barely a trace in her wake. He shuddered inwardly as he followed her inside. He had never seen anyone move as Sha'zel did.

Warmth washed over Ganton as he entered. The smell of crackling wood filled his nostrils and he felt the tension seep out of his shoulders. The homestead was compact in size, one room with a simple stone fireplace easily filling half the far wall. Time inside with nothing to do ensured Gantons companions had made the scraps of this place into what could almost be called home, were it not for the barricades. Scrap wood from old bed frames made sturdy enough barriers to anyone attempting entry through the windows, and the hardy oak table would do well enough for the door. Still, Ganton?s mind would not soon forget the enormous tracks and the equally large hands that would belong to their owners. Sha'zel retreated off to a solitary corner and wrapped herself in her cloak.

"Everything alright? I heard a thump against the door." Alyn?s concerned question brought Ganton away from the door where he realized he had been staring after Sha'zel. Tall and leanly muscular, the young knight appeared to lounge in one of the dining chairs, but with the straight backed composure of a waiting wolf. His hand-and-a-half sword lay across his lap, polished to a gleam. Seeing the look on Gantons face a small smile of touched his lips and he relaxed. "Just the girl, eh? I apologize. I could not stop her from leaving, even if I forced her at sword point. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, my lord." Ganton replied gruffly, sketching a bow that was made awkward by his bulky furs.

Alyn?s grey eyes twinkled with amusement. "How many times must I tell you not to use that title, Master Ganton. We are partners in this. All of us."

"Only a few more, my lord." With a brief shared grin with Alyn, Ganton moved to stand before the fireplace. The ranger had just begun to strip off his soaked layers to dry them when the small trapdoor in the corner of the room popped open and a large sack popped out followed by an even larger man.

Grunting and wheezing to fit through the narrow gap, R?an Heldath pulled himself free to stand over his findings. He looked like a chunk of solid rock carved in the shape of a man. What he lacked in height he made up for in width of sheer muscle alone. Once short-cropped brown hair was now becoming wild, and large sideburns and the beginnings of a winter beard framed his face. Arms like tree trunks hefted the sack and dumped its contents out on the table. R?an surveyed his finds with a glum look. Like every Heldath before him, R?an was a blacksmith, and what he was looking at were weapons. Terrible ones, the majority more rust than actual metal. Ganton had never seen a rock look sad until now. Alyn caught his eye and they both barked a laugh.

"While you were out we found a trapdoor under the dining table." Alyn explained, "R?an hoped the former owners might have a soldier or two in the family. Unfortunately there's only space for one down there." He grinned widely.

"Aye and unfortunately if they were it were a right long time ago," R?an added, his voice the low rumble of an avalanche. "All that's left is rust in the shape of swords. A right fine way to keep a weapon. In the bloody basement, a fine way." The blacksmith punctuated his frustration with a spit and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "I for one am hoping for better news on your part. Too long cooped up in here. Excuse me, m'lord. Fire needs tending and you'd kill a fire if it were the whole forest what burned." Alyn slapped his back affably as he passed, but his sharp eyes quickly turned serious as he looked to Ganton.

"Has there been any sign of the captives?" Straight to the point.

Five days ago, the entire village of White Creek disappeared, though it did not take much to puzzle out the cause. The fourteen-odd buildings in the town were burnt to the ground and any who weren't simply missing were staining the snow a bright red. Tracks were found, but men to follow them were scarce. It was mere coincidence that the four of them had arrived in time to follow the attackers. None of them truly knew what they were facing. The neighbouring villages of Bear Head and Rockwell spoke in hushed whispers of beasts who come down from the mountains following a great Hunger. Ganton was starting to believe these tales.

Ganton collected his thoughts before answering immediately. He always preferred listening to speaking, and when he did speak he liked to plan his words carefully. "None, my lo--Alyn. They must have at least a day on us." Ganton felt a twinge of guilt. Alyn?s steely eyes refused to give up hope for their survival and it made the ranger feel useless for not being more helpful. Still, that was his own cup of stew. "I found the tracks, however. They lead east up into the mountains. It is as we fear. Whatever these things are, their size will lend them considerable advantage in crossing the Stonewall." Alyn?s face moved not an inch but Ganton knew he heard the unspoken suffix to his words. They are lost. How can there be any hope of reaching them now? We were too late.

"How many?"

?Fifteen.? Ganton replied after a time. The knight never knew when to cut his losses. ?Fifteen up the mountain, no doubt heading for the closest pass. It?s the only way through the mountains for many spans." He chuckled sourly, "Almost lucky for us they have prisoners. That'll force them through the pass instead of over at least.?

An awkward silence fell over the room and Ganton scratched at his beard uncomfortably. Perhaps he had said the wrong thing. Alyn?s face was set in determination and R?an?s neck twitched in anger. Ganton had to wonder if the enemy would cross. Whatever could ransack a village so thoroughly would care little for their prisoner?s welfare. That was what set the room on edge. What was their quarry capable of? After a time, voices were found again.

"When they take the valley, we gain an opportunity to catch up to the bloody bastards. They?ve got a lot to answer for.? R?an?s tone brooked no argument that the foe would take the pass. Lives depended on it. Ganton worried perhaps that the blacksmith boy was far too eager to get in a scrap with an enemy they knew nothing about. Ganton scratched his beard fitfully.

?Even supposing they do, and I wonder at that, they?ve still a day or two on us and we lose ground every moment this storm continues. And no? Ganton added, seeing Alyn eye the door, ?we are not going out after them in a blizzard. I once saw a messenger who had run through a storm to reach our camp die of frostbite as his sweat froze his skin. Fool boy.? He sighed and tugged at a stubborn chunk of snow that had taken up residence in his mustache and softened his voice ?No-one is doubting your courage, my lord. But only a fool boy would attempt to find his way up that pass in the dead of night with the whole brunt of winter bearing down on them.? As if to punctuate his point, the wind groaned angrily against the shuttered windows, rattling the wood. Ganton wondered if it actually was a howl. He shook himself mentally. Why was he so paranoid? ?The girl spooked me is all.? He flushed as he realized he had spoken aloud, but Alyn only looked at him with a cocked head.

?We stay then. For the night.? Alyn decided. Alyn usually decided. ?But we are away the moment the sun rises. We cannot afford any more time than is necessary here.? Ganton knew that Alyn already resented having to spend several days here, allowing him to range. It was necessary work, though. Sometimes Alyn was as bad as R?an when it came to rashness.

?Like two horses chomping at the bit.? He tugged at his beard again. I have got to stop speaking aloud!

?There is a way,? Sha'zel said suddenly, making Ganton jump in his boots and R?an drop the fire poker he had been holding. The blacksmith glared at her in response as she glided out of the shadows. ?There is a way to cut them off. Meet them head to head? She moved her two fists to collide in front of her. As she drew up beside him, Ganton felt as if the warmth of the fire drained away in her presence. He tugged at his beard near enough to split hairs.

?Going over the mountains is impossible, Sha?zel," replied R?an through gritted teeth. Her name hung in the air, alien. ?If there was a way besides the pass, Ganton would know. We stick to the pass and push hard. With the Wanderers grace we'll come down on their heels."
?Not over, boy. Through.?

R?an snorted but Sha?zel held fast. Her pointed aquiline face was blank but her violet-blue eyes burned with intensity. R?an ignored her stare and laughed. ?I did not take you for the joking type, girl. Let me just go back to the nearest town and get my mining tools, I seemed to have left them behind. Fool of me that I never thought of that. Not even a rope for caving.?

Sha'zels blade was halfway out of its sheath before Alyn put himself between them. Rising up to his full height Alyn towered over them by a head, the knights body stiff with fury. Alyn was rarely angry, but when he was it was the kind of silent fury that put you on edge without knowing why. "Cease this child's play at once," he snarled, "have you no wits in your heads? You two have been at each others throats since the Three Bridges. I will not stand for this nonsense."

"Is that a command," Sha'zel said plainly, her hand still on her sword hilt, "my lord?"

The knight flinched as if struck. It took him a few moments before he could nod, though it seemed to pain him to do so. Sha'zel gave no other reaction save to let the sword slide back into its sheath and stalk back over to her secluded corner. When she had gone, Alyn let out a breath before rounding on R?an.

?And you! What is in that thick head of yours! You keep antagonizing her like a bloody child poking a snake. How are we supposed to work together if you can?t even keep your tongue in your head!? Alyn rarely snapped at anyone. Ganton wondered if Alyn would find something to yell at him for just for the sake of it. He wished he was in another farmhouse right now.

?But--? R?an began hoarsely.

?I?ve had more than enough of the two of you butting heads every other day, but especially you! You know exactly why she is here with us and yet you continue to play games!?

?It?s not a game--?

?You are my friend, R?an, not my vassal. I do not want to order you--or her, for that matter--about like children, but if that is what it takes to keep this group in one piece, than so be it. I will find those women and children, R?an, with or without you" Alyn visibly quivered with anger now, his voice rising to a shout that hung in the air. Ganton worried if it would come to blows. Alyn was taller than R?an, but R?an was built like a stone outhouse and did not take kindly to being put in a corner. This time Ganton did pull out some hairs on his beard. A moment that lasted an eternity passed as the two men stared at each other but eventually R?an deflated and stood down, looking wounded. Ganton shook his head. He didn?t understand people one bit.

R?an stalked to the fireplace and jammed a log from the heap into the hearth as far as it could go, ignoring the flame that licked at his hand. Clearly there was no more speaking to be done on the subject. Alyn sighed and turned back to Sha'zel, perhaps hoping to smooth things over. She had lain down on her bedroll towards the wall and tension hung thick in the air. Defeated, Alyn turned to Ganton with slumped shoulders.

?We must have unity, my friend. You of all must understand this. Please say you understand. I?m at wits end here since we left White Creek.? Truly, for bags were present beneath his eyes, ?This is not about us, Ganton. It?s about finding those poor people who have been ripped from their homes by whatever these things are. If we let them die--? Ganton reached out a hand and grasped Alyn?s shoulder firmly. Alyn smiled grumly, his grey eyes somber.  ?You?re right, my friend. Calm minds, calm deeds. It?s the bloody weather, that?s it. The snow makes me feel trapped here. Weak.? He shook his head, ?I don?t like it.?

?We just need a plan.? Ganton replied, finally. ?A plan. That?s all.? He did not need to add his own worries to the melting pot. Ganton was no leader. He wanted Alyn to have his full confidence. If anyone could keep this mess together it would be Alyn. Already the spark of an idea lit Alyns? eye. It did not take much for the young knight to adapt. Briefly Ganton recalled his soldiering days, watching young lords like Alyn posturing and puffing out their chests before a battle, only to weep on their knees at the outcome. He was sure Alyn would not be like those men.






Ganton let Alyn lead him to the table and let the first musings of a plan wash over him, only adding his own embellishments when necessary, or when something sounded too dangerous. Making plans usually made the knight feel better. Eventually Ganton lit his tabac pipe, drawing R?an away from his staring contest with the fireplace to stand behind Alyn, unusually quiet with his own pipe clenched between his teeth. As Alyn talked, Ganton could see the fear the young knight tried hard to mask. He was doing a fair job at that, but Ganton spent most of his time around others listening and watching instead of talking. Though he knew it was a simple facade, the young mans? zeal was enough to give him confidence. Ganton had seen battles won and lost on leaders who knew fear but spoke bravely.

An enormous yawn split the remaining tension and pulled him out of his reverie. R?an grinned sheepishly with a small ?sorry?. Alyn let out a small laugh, clearly relieved to be somewhat back to normal. Standing, Ganton stretched his sore legs and moved to look out the window. Peering out, he saw little behind the falling snow save the darkness that lay like a blanket between the pine trees. Somewhere out there, he knew the watcher was still there.

With a few softly muttered apologies between Alyn and R?an--Ganton hoped this meant they were on the same side again--the party set about bedding down for the night. Sha?zel was stretched out and buried beneath her dark cloak, still as the grave. Alyn attempted to bring her furs to drape over herself as a blanket which she promptly refused. Ganton missed a joke that passed between the other two men, but R?an ended up with the spare furs.

First watch fell to Ganton, who waved away the offer of drawing straws. His hands gripped his axe tightly as he sat by the window peering out into the shifting shadows. Sleep would not come at all tonight.
   
Dawn brought clear skies and a cheerful sun, but did little to relieve the tension in the farmhouse. The ranger woke--having been forced to sleep by R?an through no small protest--to Sha?zel missing and Alyn fretting. R?an himself wore a devil-may-care grin, clearly unconcerned for her welfare. Not for the first time Ganton half-wished he were being worked to the bone on a dredging platform instead of here. At least you knew what you signed up for when you hauled oil. Nevertheless, he had a duty to himself and the others whether he liked it or not. After a brief breakfast of trail rations, Ganton grumpily stretched his stiff limbs and stepped outside: he had barely moved an inch from the window during the night when he was awake, waiting for an ambush that never came.

R?an stumped out of the farmhouse as Ganton was checking his gear, yawning as loudly as a man of his size could. With a start he caught himself mid-yawn as his leg sunk deep into the fresh snows.

"Bury me, but we'll drown before we reach the mountain today."

Ganton gave him a mollifying smile, though the humour did not touch his eyes. Straightening up, he slipped his longbow into the holster on his back, the string tucked safely away in his pouch. It would not do to have his string snap in the cold. The heavy wood axe went into his belt at his side. The ranger had never put much stock in any weapon that could not double as a tool. Swords were no use to him over a nice chopping axe. A quiver of thick broadhead arrows rested on his other hip alongside his various pouches holding his pipe, flint and other useful items. Throwing his thick fur cloak over his shoulders he looked like a bear on its hind-legs. Testing the wind with a bare finger, he allowed himself a brief smile. The clear skies and warm sun promised a decent enough climb today, though of course too much heat would turn the slope to a sheer climb of ice. He felt confident though, not least of all because they could finally leave the cramped shack behind.

"Did you hear me? I said how far to the pass?" R?ans voice started him out of his thoughts, and he coughed into his beard to hide his embarrassment. The young blacksmith looked restless. If Ganton looked like a bear in his furs, R?an actually was. Draped across his shoulders was an old bearskin rug from the farmhouse, standing in for proper winter gear. Regretfully, none of them had expected to be anywhere this far north in the dead of winter. Beneath that, he wore what little scraps of armor they could beg from the remaining villagers, all ill-fitting to his blocky form. Meeting Ganton?s gaze, the young smith flushed in embarrassment and scowled. ?How far, you stone-headed treeclasper??

"Lay off, R?an," said Sir Alyn as he stepped out of the farmhouse. It was less a command and more a friendly suggestion, though R?an shot him the same scowl. The knight wore a look of determination on his face this morning, showing no sign of his earlier worries. As always he looked the part of a lord, straight backed and hard like an elm tree, though a scraggly growth of beard marred his otherwise groomed appearance. His armor shined brightly in the morning sun, a stark contrast to R?ans scraps. His hand-and-a-half was strapped over the back of the white cloak that lay draped over his shoulders, obscuring the black chalice sewn into the fabric resting on his back. He leaned on the edge of the halberd he carried and gave R?an a reassuring nod.

"Ganton and I already have a plan in hand."

R?an only grunted, and Alyn flashed Ganton a quick smile before his lordly mask returned. Alyn passed R?an a bundle and moved to take his place in the front of their group. Pulling a dull looking sword from the bundle, R?an looked at it sadly. It looked like a dinner knife in his massive hands. Determinedly, the blacksmith pulled each weapon from the bundle and slid them one by one into his belt, avoiding the gaze of the others. Alyn only gave him a quizzical glance but Ganton gave his attention to his coinpurse, remembering a time when meals were hot.

"Where is your wight?" R?an asked, looking around half with curiosity and half hoping to spy the wolf that ate her. "Finally abandoned us to die? I?m surprised it took this long.?

Alyn gave him a disapproving look. Though he rarely became angry, when something went awry he broke out the disappointed look. "I've told you not to call her that. You and I both know she is no monster." R?an snorted at that and Alyns lips tightened. "I am certain she has preceded us to the pass. You may not trust her, but I do. Put your trust in me at least.?

Ganton gave a cold shiver. How had she left the farmhouse without him noticing anyway? He had been up nearly the whole night watching for an ambush and had not thought to check over his shoulder. It would not surprise him to learn that R?an had simply looked the other way in the hopes she get lost in the snow and never come back. Suddenly Ganton remembered.

"She said something about a way through, last night. Leave my boots outside my door if that's not what's she's gone off for." Ganton hoped he would not have to stake his life on it, regardless of what he said.

Alyns face darkened but he only nodded. Alyn treated Sha'zel as if she was solely his responsibility, and he waited on her like a fretting midwife sometimes. The midwife of a lion maybe. Shouldering his gear, Alyn started off towards the mountains with R?an in tow, leaving Ganton to consider who would even find their boots to leave.





Stepping lightly through the broken stones that marked a path long disused, Sha'zel al In'kavius kept low to the ground. Stalking through the snowy rubble, she kept one hand on her intact sword and another outstretched for balance. Before her, the path wound up and onwards, snaking in and out of view as it turned. To her left a wall of jagged stone rose, flanking the deep drop to her right. This was far from difficult terrain where she came from, but it would not do to slip on a wayward rock and take a tumble here. Warily her eyes darted around, watching the rocks of the valley for potential ambush. She had a dim idea of what they were following and she did not wish to be caught unawares.

With her free hand she brushed snow free from the valley walls until she found what she was looking for. A slab of masonry older than any in the New Kingdoms, stuck out from the new fallen snow like a bony finger. Her hand traced the intricate angular script upon the stone and she allowed herself the briefest of smiles for her success.

Quickening her step, she made her way onwards past the old sign. Remembering the sheer imputence on the blacksmith boys face her mild joy turned to ash. How dare he question her? She could have buried her blades in his back while he slept a dozen times by now and by her grace she had not. Men had no grasp over how fragile their lives were. Would that he were to spend one day in the lightless world he would speak softer and step where she directed. His bloody smirk set her teeth on edge. And the nerve of that lord boy to treat her like a child, as if saving her life once made her a ward to be protected for the rest of his days. His calm demeanour was almost worse than the blacksmiths tongue.

Suddenly she stopped, crouching to the wall. Cursing to herself for not paying attention she peered around the bend. Before her rose a sheer wall of smooth stone, broken only by inset carvings and a set of enormous stone doors that split the middle. Supporting the walls to either side of the door were the remains of tall square columns, at the foot of which stood statues so worn with age and covered with snow she could not make them out. She knew who they were, however, and this place. Al'lan'a'kuzul, Home of the Stone Men. Undoubtedly were she to wind back time she would find the faces of ancient lords of the kuzul beneath those snow drifts. It was a place much like this where she had first found herself stepping forth from the Lightless Land. Here they would find a way through to cut off their quarry. The Stone Men always built a second entrance, that she knew. She only need find it.

Sha'zel approached the enormous doors cautiously, scanning the cliffs above the fortress entrance with the practiced ease of a hunter. With her sword, she walked along the door tapping the stone. The black sword rang out a tale of doors at least a foot thick. Grimacing she considered attempting the Song.

The Worldsong was an ancient thing. Describing the Song is difficult, for it is the sound of the universe. Everything within the universe vibrates at a certain frequency, a frequency that can be manipulated by proper application. The only people in the world capable of manipulating the Worldsong were the aieros, the Chosen of the Gods. In times long lost, they were given the gift of magic which flows through their very veins. She could barely handle the Song. She was not aieros. She was verianos, an exile. Her people had lost the Song. Were she to attempt to manipulate something so large, it would just as soon bring the mountain down on top of her head before opening the doors.

Frowning, she peered closely at the ground beneath the doors. Here the powder had been disturbed by another. Slowly she drew her second sword--its length split in two by a power she did not wish to think about--and surveyed the surrounding cliffs once more. She needn't have worried. The tracks had been covered by the fresh snow meaning whoever had passed through here had done so the previous day and closed the door behind them. Which also meant they must have found a way in. Sticking her swords into the snow, ready in an instant if necessary, Sha'zel ran her hands up the center line of the doors. Snow came away at her touch and made one thing clear.

"No sign of force. There must be something controlling the doors," she whispered, allowing herself a second smile, although that was probably enough for the day. She would hate to accidentally smile in the company of the others and give the impression of enjoying their company. All she needed to do was find a way to repay her "debt" to the knight and get him to stop following her around like what she assumed human mothers did. Fussing, it was called?

A quick search of the surrounding area revealed a toppled column leaning precariously against the wall. At its peak was a hole in the wall, though an effort had been made to fill in the gap with snow and bits of rubble. These things knew what they were doing. Sha'zel would not have noticed the hole if she hadn?t been looking for just that. Carefully she sheathed her swords and cast one final look around before climbing up the column.

The column was made up of individual angular blocks stacked on top of one another, and as such had fallen in such a way as to almost provide a stair. The supporting beams inside had likely succumbed to age. With ease she made her way to the top and drew her shorter blade to pry away some of the debris. She was careful not to touch the edges of the black blade.

Pushing aside the freed rubble with her free hand she slid into the darkness within the hole. Slowly she drew her intact sword, realizing she was not alone anymore.







The pass was precarious, wending its way along the contours of the mountains. Narrowing so at times that the party had to go one abreast, R?an felt grateful the snow had not yet melted beneath the afternoon sun. From behind Ganton he could tell the woodsman certainly thought the whole mountain was going to turn to ice at any moment. He kept poking at the powder with the end of his unstrung bow and muttered under his breath.

Ahead of them both, Alyn leaned on his halberd and trudged on through the snow. R?an felt sympathy for the knight: wearing even half a set of plate armor would making walking in these drifts a mean task. R?an was no stranger to mail. If it were not for the impending danger of a possible ambush at any time, he would have forced his friend to stop and leave the armor behind. Not that he probably would of course, Alyn was stubborn as a mule when he set his mind on something. Grimacing he remembered the bloody wight. If it wasn't for Alyn they wouldn't be wasting time dogging her . . .

"Here!" Alyn called over his shoulder "the path splits here!" Alyn waved Ganton over to examine the ground around the split. Yawning and stretching his cold limbs R?an leaned his bulk against the cliffside, disinterested. Sleep had been restless. He had been too angry to keep still for long and let sleep overtake him.

Rubbing at his eyes with balled fists, R?an tried to put the girl out of his mind. From their vantage point on the narrow path, the view of the surrounding landscape would be breathtaking were it not for the pressing worry of their journey. The land below was covered in pine trees dressed in white and wrapped in mist. Far and away on the horizon the land sloped down from rugged mountainous terrain to northern hinterlands. R?an strained his eyes to catch sight of the farmhouse but it lay nestled and hidden in the trees.

Sighing, he shifted his weight to remove the rock lodged in his back and gave a start when a scrap of cloth fell away to land at his feet. Grunting, R?an bent down and snatched the cloth up from the snow. Examining the place from which the scrap must have fallen, he noticed a pair of deep gouges rent in the stone. Calling a couple times to get Gantons attention, the two of them studied the stone with furrowed brows.

"The mark is fresh," Ganton said, running his fingers into the grooves. "See how the stone falls away like this. Whatever made this is strong."

"Very strong," R?an murmured to himself, "did someone try to get away?" That question was more to himself than anything else. The snows would hide any bodies to be found. He shuddered inwardly and unconsciously closed his hand over the scrap of cloth.
"Down here. She went this way." called Alyn from the left-hand path.

"So what, Alyn?? R?an groaned. ?You're not seriously going to follow her and get us all lost or dead in an ambush are you?" Ganton have him a look of worry and R?an rolled his eyes. The woodsman worried about everything and he was at wits end with it all.

?I trust her, R?an. You can come or you can wait for another snowstorm to come bury us.? Alyns voice matched his gaze. His grey eyes were as cold as the snow. R?an sighed deeply. The knight moved to stand face to face with R?an, though with his height he ended up looking down on him. ?I have never led you wrong before. If it makes you feel better, I will swear to you that whatever happens is my fault should something happen. She is one of us, R?an. I will make you see that. I will make her see that.? That last part was spoken in a whisper to himself as he turned back to lead the party, not meant for R?an?s ears. The blacksmith didn?t understand what he saw in her. She literally was a monster from a childrens tale and he wanted no part of such things. Why did he have to trust her? R?an scrubbed his hand through his short hair and replaced his hood when it fell. He probably would follow Alyn into an active volcano but he would be damned if he didn?t have to like it.

The trio made their way carefully down the right-hand path. Gradually it climbed higher and became wider so much so that they kept three abreast, each man scanning the towering cliffs above for signs of life. Anything would be a relief, it had been some time since they had seen any signs of life save for the birds in the sky. The valley pass was eerily quiet, and each sudden gust of wind made each man start and grip their weapons tighter. Ganton stopped every few minutes to crouch down and shift aside some snow here and there. It was only a few minutes before he caught Sha?zels trail, and only a few minutes after that when he found the first runestone.

The stone jutted unnaturally out of the snow, clearly placed there long ago. Carved runes worked intricately into the stone excited Alyn, who mentioned they reminded him of the documents he had seen from the kuzul embassy in Princetown. As they travelled on, he chattered on about the historical significance of this place. Did early kuzul once live near here? Most certainly they had carved the runes into the stone sign they had seen. Grudgingly R?an was forced to admit--silently, to himself--that Sha?zel might have been on to something here.

The sun hung in the middle of the sky when they reached the doorway. The Al'lan'a'kuzul was a squat gray fort flanked with rows of columns, most in ruin, set into the side of the mountain. A pair of great stone gates lay open in the center of the wall. Even upon first sight, R?an could tell this place would have been nearly impossible to take in battle in its time. The pathway they had left behind was treacherous to the three of them, but certain death for an army of size. It wasn?t metalwork, but R?an did wish he had more time to poke around in the masterful stonework.

That was what R?an was thinking when Sha?zel glided smoothly out from behind the nearest pillar, nearly making R?an?s heart leap out of his chest. Cursing and grimacing enough to break a child?s spirit, R?an slammed the old sword back into its sheath when he realized it had jumped into his hand. Sha?zel did not so much as glance at him, but she gave off an air of satisfaction as she passed.

?The way was guarded.? she said plainly, as if it were of no consequence. Grimly Alyn pulled his eyes off the open doorway as she spoke. Clearly he expected something to jump out immidiately. ?They left a rearguard in case we tried this path. It tried to get the drop on me. It got away.?

?It got away?? R?an sputtered, incredulously ?You?re sitting here trying to scare honest men half to death and you speak of ?getting away?? The whole lot of them is going to come down on our heads at any moment!? He realized dimly the sword was back in his hand again.
Never losing that air of content, Sha?zel strode up to R?an and looked him up and down. She came up to his chest but still managed to make him feel small. He felt bile rising in his throat and his neck was twitching noticeably. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alyn looking grim as the reaper and debating intervening again. He realized her sword was free and he gaped openly before he could stop himself. What on earth was he doing? He should strike her down now and be done with it. The black blade held him mesmerized as she lifted it to rest against his cheek.

?One should hope that the wielder of this blade has a skilled arm, because a mere cut from this will make you beg on your kneels for the killing strike. Darksteel is poison to the soul.? She smiled then, and R?an involuntarily took a half-step away. The girl never smiled. He decided right then he should make his peace with his life before he died. ?I left a nick on its arm. I let it drag itself away from me, moaning for death, until I found the way out. I have done two deeds for you today, blacksmith. What have you done?? A feverish gleam lit her eye as she spoke, and when she was done and put up her sword the cold mask returned.

Silently she glided forward into the yawning tunnel. Alyn gave R?an a forced smile and a shrug before starting after her, his halberd leaving round holes in his trail. Ganton looked like he wished he were anywhere else right now, and by the tugging at his beard seemed as if he were about to do just that. R?an was glad the woodsman hasn't brought up dredging again. Thinking about have a hot meal and a bed again, albeit on a iron death trap in the middle of the ocean, was not an option if he were to proceed.

Muttering furiously to himself for allowing her to cow him, he lashed out at one of the stone statues with his sword. The old blade made only a dent in the snow but no damage to the rock. He sighed resentfully and wished to the Wanderer for a better weapon.







Inside the tunnels proved to be labyrinthian in nature. First left than right than left again always at a perfect ninety degree angle. Not for the first time since entering was Alyn thankful for Sha'zels lead. She followed a trail of blood that sometimes caught the light as they passed. He was not pleased in the dishonourable method, but need outweighed his pleasure. Not only that, but they walked in near darkness that only her eyes could penetrate. The girl would only allow them to bring one lantern in, hooded, so as to not draw unwanted attention.

Steeling his nerves and straightening his back Alyn quickened his pace to catch up with Sha'zel. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the vast black chambers, their usage long forgotten in time. The lanterns light seemed feeble compared to the vast darkness that swallowed the party up. Sha'zel kept them straight on through the center of each chamber, and so the light could not reach the walls most times. It felt as if they were in another world. It was hard for Alyn not to worry. He was out of his element here and had put his trust entirely in Sha'zel. She did not turn as he drew up to her, but kept on scanning the hall as they walked, seeing things that he could never hope to with his eyes.

"What was it that you slew?" He asked quietly. She paused for a moment, searching for the words to explain in his language.

"They are jotar'nid'ogir. They are Blood of the Old Troll." Alyn noticed her watching his face and realized he his mouth was agape. He quickly snapped it shut with a flush, but she had already stopped short. Glancing behind her to find the other two out of earshot, she spoke with a soft voice that caught the young knight off guard. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? The jotar are vicious creatures. Once they swept through the Lightless Land and nearly brought us to oblivion." She stared up at him from beneath her hood, her icy eyes glinting in the lanterns light, "Your people mean nothing to me, but I owe you a debt of blood. It would not do for you to die before it is repaid." She punctuated her last words with a finger jab to his chest.

Alyn caught her wrist with his hand. She did not struggle, but he felt as if he were laying a hand on a caged wolf. "One day I will teach you that not everyone in this world is an enemy. Your land is not my land. There never was any debt to me, Sha'zel. I only did what any sensible man would do given the circumstances. No more, no less." He searched her eyes for the the spark of understanding that he had only seen once before. Instead he met glaciers. She held his gaze for a moment before turning to resume her lead down the tunnels. Alyn sighed heavily. There was so much he didn't understand about the girl, and he suspected even if he stayed with her until her deathbed he would know only a bare fraction.

"The debt was never to me, Sha'zel." Alyn muttered. R?an have him a questioning look as the pair caught up and opened his mouth to comment. Seeing his furrowed brow he clamped it shut. Alyn tried to put on a brave face as he followed Sha'zel into the darkness.




Scroll down for Part Two!

[Throndir]

It was a great read! My comment though is that there seems to be a lot of backstory that's missing here. It was kinda explained in the beginning, but it seems to me the story just jumped into a chase of some sort of bad guy. Since I literally just came out of that D&D session with you guys, reading the story really made me think of it was a D&D session. XD

Albeit, with a whole series of previous sessions missing to give more context of it all. Like how Alyn met Shaz'el, how that bond between Alyn and R?an was formed. How that group met, why were they even chasing these bad guys? That sort of thing. But looking forward for more of this! It's great can't wait for more.

Also totally off topic, but I a text-to-voice read the entire thing to me in a thick British accent. That was fun.

[Kain]

Good to hear! The story itself is not a D&D game but the characters are drawn from two sequential campaigns. When we first decided to make the characters (I play Alyn btw) we came up with a long backstory that intertwined all of them, so that is the basis for this. This is just one of many things that happened to those characters.

Funny that you bring up Alyn and Sha'zels meeting, because that's actually the next part. :P

I do think it's a valid point on its own that I do need to make sure you can understand these characters and whatnot without being lost since it sort of is jumping into the middle of things. Unfortunately my favorite style of writing is in medias res so I love to just dive in.

Thanks for reading :)

[Kain]

2.

   
   The town of Three Bridges lay low to the ground, none of the small dark-tiled buildings aspiring to anything more than two floors. More like a hamlet than anything else, Three Bridges squatted over the three banks of Daran's Fork. Three stone bridges straddled each river, the only crossing into Northfall for some distance. A butty sky cast a gray pallor over the town, the sun peeking through on occasion though not enough to lighten the sombreness of a Keldari settlement.

       Riding into the town on his old gray stallion, Alyn could already feel the fell mood lying over the town. Empty streets made his sword hand itch as he scanned the windows and alleys. The houses here crowded close, competing for space on the rocky waterfront. Rapier snorted and the young knight patted his neck reassuringly. The old horse--ironically the opposite of anything resembling a rapier--picked up on moods better than many people Alyn had known.

        Alone on the streets, Alyns thoughts drifted to his new companions. Perhaps he should have brought the pair along after all. The quiet set his teeth on edge. The trouble was, Ganton and Rian both were army deserters, though he understood neither came from the same army. Keldari people put great stock in honor; a deserter from any army would face enmity, especially since both still wore their military gear. Going alone was the only choice; in and out to purchase some supplies and a change of clothes and they would be on their way. Gradually Alyn realized a commotion was rising from the other side of the northern bridge. He spurred Rapier on to a slow trot.

       "Bit early for harvest celebration, don't you think?" Alyn said aloud, feeling all the better for simply hearing a voice. Rapier snorted as if in agreement. Last Harvest was not for a month yet; any farmer worth his salt would be tending the fields even now.

   Across the bridge and around the bend brought them to the square from which the din rose. Shops rose up to form walls around the square, which saved to frame the inn, the tallest building in the town at a mighty three stories tall. Jammed shoulder to shoulder in the small forum was a sea of people all clad in the black coats and gray dresses of Keldari style. Farmers spoke in worried tones with midwives and shopkeepers. Wagon merchants and stablemen muttered darkly, though Alyn could not make out anything over the din. Pulling up short of the crowd, Alyn could feel the palpable sense of unease amongst the villagers. Unease and anger. By his count, Alyn surmised a hair shy of the entire town was gathered here, save for farmers from outlying farms. It would have to be something of grave importance to pull people away from their work at this time, he thought worriedly. Was it war again so soon?

      Gradually those closest to him took notice of Alyns presence and their angry mutterings turned to conspiratory whispers to their neighbours. Their attention firmly in hand, the young knight guided Rapier into the crowd. The sight of a fully armored warrior made most people nervous, but the people of Keldar were a hardy sort; their whispers were born of curiosity. Donning a stern look as the crowd parted, Alyn hoped he wouldn't get caught in the middle of a riot.

        From the saddle Alyn spotted the apparent source of their anger. Near the wall of the inn a circle of burly men held the crowd at bay around something--someone. Alyn ignored the villagers touching his cloak and legs. The sight of a servant of the Lady was strange this far north. The someone disappeared from view as several men tried to break through the circle and were rebuffed.

      As Alyn reached the circle, a hush fell over the crowd. Here nervous eyes flickered to him before going back to the girl who stood in the center. A strange sight, she was clad in high boots and a long black cloak over dark lacquered leather, though not in any style native to Keldar. The girls face was downcast, the shadows of her voluminous hood hiding her features. Were it not for the armor she wore he would have thought her one of the villagers. As she felt his eyes on him she raised her head to meet his gaze. Shock rippled through the young knight; fury burned behind eyes like ice, set into a face as white as snow. Alyn opened his mouth to speak.

         A flash of violence. Blood sprays across dark rock that has never seen the light of day. A face pale in life becomes pale in death. It is a dance. Step by step the girl with white hair dances the macabre jig of battle. Screams echo and are cut short. Another foe rises before her.

        Alyn gasped, his hand grasping at his head. How could this be? He felt her as if he was her.

       Tears run down her face, though whether through anger or anguish could not be known. She must kill or be killed. Arms numb struggle to hold blades black as night, struggled to keep death away. A fire burned blue somewhere, unnatural. She could smell it. Cinders of stone burned through supernatural means, smells of charred bodies. The foe approached. Her blade went up and--

      Alyn struggled to shut out the flood of visions. What is happening? What has she done to me? His head felt like splitting. His lips moved numbly in a prayer.

       A hand grasps her blade. Power beyond belief floods forth, corrupted like filth. The point crumbles, the metal rusting before her eyes. Darksteel could not rust. She struggles to pull away, the scent of foul energy filling her nose. Her foe grins, a tall man with a face like hers. Hatred fills his eyes. Death comes closer.

       Alyn slumped forward, his breath laboured. Who was this man? Who am I? Memories jumbled together until he could barely remember where he was. He struggled to speak.

       A bolt of light streaks through a lightless land, briefly illuminating spires of black rock and the flaming remains of a city of alien architecture. The man moves quickly to dodge such an attack; the ground shatters where he was standing, falling to the assault of the light. An ethereal song fills the air, a hum that thrums through bone. Forbidden, impossible  power. The universe dances to the will of the Song.

      Teeth clenched, Alyn struggled to remain in his saddle. The pure notes were clear in his head as if he were there himself. The strange song filled him to the core.

      The light blinding, she struggles to rise, searching for her foe. Out there in the black wasteland a voice cries out for her to run and never stop. She screams in fury, shattering the joy of the song. The light fades, leaving only the ethereal twilight of the Lightless Land.

     What was this place? The Lightless Land. A place where the sun never reached and where death stalked between obsidian spires. Alyns head throbbed with a knowledge he never had. Gradually he realized the visions had ceased and he raised his head to see the crowd staring at him, fear scrubbing over their anger. The mere act of raising his head felt like moving a mountain. Gamely he attempted his most reassuring smile for the crowd, straightening his back as much as he could in his state.

      "M'lord is feeling ill? Perhaps some thornroot for the fever?"

      Images of black plains and stony cliffs that rose impossibly high swum in his brain. Dimly he managed to shake himself free. What did the girl do to me! His own voice echoed oddly in his head.

      "No need." Alyn finally replied, raising a hand weakly. The one who has spoken proved to be a knobbly old man, all knees and elbows, dressed in the solemn grey robes of an apothecary. A worried look creased his wrinkled face and small tired eyes like beads peered out from under his wild eyebrows. "Most likely some trail food gone bad."

       "M'lord should surely rest. It is not wise to drive too hard when the sickness holds you. The Village Seat can deal with this sad business when they arrive. A sickness is no small thing M?lord. A wasting sickness can create weakness and the body as well as the spirit and--" The old man looked like he would have continued for some time but Alyn quickly spoke over him firmly denying the need for medicine. The elder fell silent but continued fretting through nervous wringing of the hands. Having gained silence, Alyn turned his eye back to the girl, half dreading that the visions would start again.

       She stood tall as a willow, head bowed once again and her pale hands clenched at her side, doubtless matching the fury that smouldered beneath the hood. Like a trapped lion, he thought, a lion held by paper bars. With the visions he had seen, Alyn had no doubts she could escape at any time. Somehow he knew what he had seen were visions of her mind. So why is she still standing here, he thought, raising a hand to rub the ache of his neck. Hand half-raised, Alyn eyes caught a glint off the pommel of a sword concealed at her hip beneath her long cloak. His lips tightened. Blades flashing. How did she wind up here?

       A villager spoke up, a round man with a bulbous gin nose. Alyn forced himself to snap his gaze away from the girl. "She killed Ewil, she did. She done him in with a sword of pure shadow. All fer the crime of 'im walkin' in on 'er pilfirin' the livelyhood out from Gil's shelves. His wife'll be wearing the black rose till this day nex' year." The man jiggled as he spoke, his jowls quivering with outrage.

       "Rose from the grave she did! A demon sent to punish our sins she is!" A thin man with a hooked nose and close set eyes pushed through the crowd to proclaim "A wight from the land of Sin come to steal our children like she stole old Ewil."

   ?A damned spirit. The ghost of a dead woman come back!? A goodwife with worry lines was moved near to tears as she spoke. ?She?s come for all of us!?

   A babble of angry voices bubbled up in the cauldron of the mob. The crowd pushed in close, massing around Alyns horse to reach the girl. The fat man pushed her from behind, which opened the floodgates. Angry villagers clawed at her cloak and arms, but to the knights surprise she made no motion to strike back. He raised a hand for silence again and frowned when it was ignored.

   ?Be silent! Hold fast!? Alyn cried, his voice fading into the din. ?Be silent!? The people ignored him, shoving at the girl and brandishing various farming implements and old weaponry. It would not take long for blood to be shed, either hers or theirs. Hatred was radiating off her in waves.

   The sound of his sword being wrenched from his back sheath and over his head bought their attention, the metal playing a deadly song as it slid forth. A promise of violence could buy most men, especially when it came from one they regarded as their better. He did not like the method, but it would do. All eyes fell on him once again as the hand-and-a-half swung through the air and glinted in the light. A good cut with that well-tempered steel would remove a head from its shoulders. He still sometimes feared he would cut his own head off when he drew it.

   ?Now that I have your attention again,? he cleared his throat and continued, ?I would have you all show me this Ewil. No-one is heavy on the scales without proof. Show me.? He had to repeat the last part before anyone came forward to help. The thin weasely man beckoned Alyn forward, muttering as they went. The old man fell in beside them as they slowly pushed their way out of the square. Two of the villagers, burly blacksmith types by the look of them, grabbed both of the girls arms and hauled her along in the wake of Alyns horse.

   Alyn?s horse whickered nervously, as if feeling the girls gaze on him as surely as Alyn did. Alyn sheathed his sword and patted Rapier reassuringly. Sometimes he wondered if beasts of burdens saw more than anyone knew. As they went, the young knight stared at the hook nosed man who led them and wondered what he was going to do.



       Young Ewil lay on the grass outside the general store. As Alyn and his large escort of villagers approached, he could see his body had been arranged to look as if he were sleeping, arms crossed on his chest and eyes closed. Hair slick with old sweat clung to his pale, lifeless face. Alyn understood that Ewil had not been found this way. The villagers had each clamoured to put in their two bits on the way over. Cutting through the hearsay was difficult but at the core he found that the boy had been discovered on the floor of the general store, shrieking and foaming at the mouth while clutching at nothing.

      At Ewils head crouched a woman clad in a grey dress, matching the old apothecary that had first spoken to Alyn. As they approached she stood, brushing off stray grass blades from the hem of her dress. She was not beautiful by any means, but had a warm and trusting face which pained Alyn when he saw the sadness in her eyes. The crowd drew to a halt, and she looked about as if daring anyone to come closer to what was evidently her domain.

       "M'lord, this is Emmalina Trey," said the old apothecary as he shoved his way through the crowd, evidently having been pushed back by the others. "She is the finest healer Three Bridges has. Not a single herb or remedy has worked. Everything we've tried--"

    "Has worked?" Alyn cut in, "you mean Ewil is still alive? Why did no one come forward with this?" Hurriedly he dropped from Rapiers saddle and knelt by the boys side. Up close, Alyn could detect the faint rise and fall of the boys chest. A hand placed on the boys chest revealed an extremely irregular heartbeat. Scanning the body, Alyn found the source of Ewils pain.

       Blood stained the boys grey shirt, just visible beneath his gray coat. The fabric had been cut away to reveal the wound, where efforts had been made to staunch it. Alyn almost turned away, his gut churning; the wound was blackened and decayed, and a faint hiss of boiling flesh came from within. Gritting his teeth Alyn placed his hand on the boys side and asked the Lady for guidance. He could feel the girls eyes on the back of his head.

        Alyn closed his eyes and let the calm void of meditation wash over him. A trick of sorts, taught to every Order man. Worries washed away as he envisioned an ocean of tranquility. The voices of the townsfolk sounded as if miles away instead of several feet away. Alyn understood that this mental space was unique to the paladin who thought it. The sea was calm, but as he directed his thoughts in a simple mantra of healing, the waters began to churn and boil, blackening before him. Shocked, he nearly lost his concentration, the vision wavering in his mind.

      "You cannot heal Darksteel, boy. Better to cut away the ruined flesh."

      Alyn almost snapped back to reality but caught himself as he realized the voice came from within his own head. For a moment he thought that the Lady Herself was speaking to him, but the voice was cold and emotionless. As if matching the tone, the mental waters of meditation began to solidify into ice. Somehow he found his voice.

     "Who are you? How are you speaking to me in my own head?"

      "We are all part of the same Possiblility. With proper training, it is simple to share the same space as another." The voice echoed around him and he focused in on it. "You can end it at any time."

     Then he saw her. The pale-faced girl stood there on the forming ice, her black cloak streaming out behind her as if underwater. It was the same girl that stood not five feet from him in the real world. The mental construct shook every few seconds now, as if matching the beating of a heart.

     "He is dying," she said simply, "the darkness eats away at his core."

     "Damn you in the Light of the Lady, woman! You speak of his life as if it is meaningless. You think death is your plaything? Damn you!" Alyns voice shook with anger as he focused in on the wound. Outside of his mind, time seemed slow, the villagers nervously conversing while he knelt by the boy. There had to be something he could do! Prayers to Tyrwynn escaped his lips as he desperately tried to draw the poison out--he was sure it was poison--and save the boys life.

      "How are our lives not meaningless, paladin? What do you know of death?"

       Gritting his teeth, he tore at the darkness with bare hands. "I saw your bloody mind. You think that excuses you?"

       "You saw? Impossible, a boy--"

       The darkness pulsed out from the wound, and the mental ocean Alyn had constructed had turned black. He struggled to hold on: to do anything against the tide of shadow, but the poison of Darksteel overcame everything he could muster.

       He opened his eyes. The hand he had laid upon Ewils chest shook, and when he looked closer he saw the skin blackening before his eyes. With a strangled cry he fell backwards onto his back, clutching the hand to his chest. When he finally dared to look at his hand again, he was sweating heavily. No trace of the blackness remained. Alyn let out a sigh of relief and realized everyone was watching him lying there in the dirt. Fearful faces peered down at him, but no one dared to move an inch. He could feel an uneasy prickle playing down his neck.

       "I'm fine. No need to worry about me."

       Apparently his words were all that was needed to break the tension, as he suddenly found himself surrounded by people asking after his health: was there anything I could get for my lord? Just rest a bit my lord.  Should we get some honey and water for my lord? Would my lord like something to eat to settle his stomach? It took a near shout from the beleaguered paladin to silence them at last.

      "Everything is fine. I was... Overcome, by the tragedy of these circumstances. It is never a good day when a man must bury a boy."

       That seemed to do the trick. Everyone was all ears now. Gradually he realized that the prickle he had been feeling was the gaze of the pale girl. As Alyn recovered and gained his feet she looked away, shrouding her face beneath her hood. A rare anger smouldered in the young knight.

       "Why did you kill Ewil? Look at me, girl. Why? Why the boy?" When she would not meet her gaze, he cupped her chin in his hand and gently pushed her head up. He drew in a breath when he saw fear in her eyes. From what he had seen of her he had not expected it was an emotion she was capable of. Suddenly he realized her hands had gone to the hilts of the swords at her waist and the crowd had backed away.

       "Who let you keep your swords?" Alyn stared around the crowd. They would not meet his gaze. "Not that I would blame them. You are a frightful girl. But I am not a poor put upon farmer whose village has just seen a great tragedy. I am a paladin. By the grace of the Lady I will take justice into my own hands." With that, his hands shot forward and pulled the swords free before she could react. As the swords swung through the air they seemed to suck in the light from around then rather than gleam. One He stuck the blades into the ground behind him smoothly, just as she stepped forward in outrage. No fear now. One of the blades quivered lower than the other, clearly broken near the middle.

       "I am no girl! I have four times your years, boy." She punctuated each sentence with a step forward until she was staring up at him with a fiery gaze. Gasps from the crowd emanated at her words. No woman of an age could look like that! "Do you think disarming me will stop me from killing you, boy? You think your armor will protect you? A verianos knows a thousand ways to kill. I  will snap your neck, pluck out your eyes, impale you on your own sword, you impudent, posturing child!" She practically shrieked those last words, her body shaking with rage. Suddenly she seemed to realize she may have said too much and pulled her hood down around her face. The village had fallen silent during her tirade. Not one of them would have dared to attempt disarming the girl.

        "Then why haven't you?" Alyns words seemed to hit her like a hammer blow. She stepped back a pace and drew her cloak about her with a fierceness. He slipped the hand and a half from his back and stabbed it into the ground so that the hilt quivered. "Go on. Kill me." When she stepped back a pace, he pressed his luck. I'll be lucky if she only breaks my neck, he thought. "My sword is perfectly balanced. Sharp, well-made. My blacksmith is an expert. Draw the sword and get it over with." Another step back and she reached a wall with nowhere to go. Alyn wondered how far he could push. "But you won't, will you? Else you would have slain the first people on the scene. Else you would have cut your way out, damn the cost. I should have known." He punctuated his last words with a sharp laugh, and with that, he pulled his sword free and replaced it securely across his back. That's when she hit him.

      Alyns head rung like a bell at mass and black spots danced before his eyes. No girl had ever hit him like that before, even the squires in the training circles! Not just a slap but a solid clock across his jaw that staggered him to one knee. When a further attack never came, he gingerly felt his mouth for blood--none, luckily--and straightened up. The two blacksmith types had found their stones long enough to restrain her arms, perhaps since she did not appear to struggle. Oddly enough she appeared calm now, her icy eyes regarding him coolly from beneath her hood.

       "Release her. Or at least loosen your grip a nudge. I deserved that." He added the last part upon seeing the looks the two men gave. It was the kind of look that said "if I let go I will die", but they relaxed after a few moments. The fear stayed on their faces however. It was almost comical to Alyn, two men with arms like tree trunks treating the girl as if she were a Thygian viper. The girl was shooting him a dirty look again. Clearly this was not how things were done in her lands. Alyn sighed and dusted off his knee where he had fallen. Why hadn't he just killed her? Why did he give her that chance? Somehow he knew he had made up his mind about how this would end before he had even spoken his first words in Three Bridges. When Alyn made up his mind, it took a mountain to move him.

       "I think it is high time to be done with the games. Would you gentlemen escort the lady to..." Alyn trailed off, suddenly realising he had no idea where to bring her. "Is there a chapel here? Something of that sort?"

      "Of course m'lord. Blessings upon Tyrwynn and her children all." The old knobbly man had finally found words to fit his mouth, where earlier he had just worked his jaw futilely as events unfolded. "But this really should be brought before the Village Seat. Not to mention the vileness of bringing a wight into a holy place. Not that I would imply you would do wrong, m'lord," the elder added, licking his lips and bowing nervously.

     "The Lady will not mind if her temple is used, as long as it is for justice, and justice is what I intend. Or is the Village Seat above the Order now?" Alyn did not add the part where the Order was stationed in the south, and Keldar distinctly not southern. "Bring her there. Go!" The old man started out of his bowing and barked orders at the two men holding the girl.

      Fire blazed in the girl again and she strained forward, the two men sweating as they held her back.
"I am Sha'zel, daughter of the ancient blood of Inkavius." Her teeth bared in a snarl, "I have seen a thousand tragedies worse than a dead child. I have killed more men than your entire town! I will not take orders from you!"

     Alyn pulled her swords free from the mud and tucked them under his arm, careful not to touch the edges of the things. The edges of the blades spiked near the hilt and the entire sword length was razor sharp. Safely tucked, he swept past her, leading Rapier along with him. ?You?ve made your choice already. Bring her.? The two men nodded glumly, clearly expecting her to struggle again. She had chosen to become docile again, and allow them to lead her. Perhaps she hoped to get close to Alyn again and recover her swords, that and leave him for dead. He could feel her eyes boring into his shoulder blades, even through his mail and cloak. Maybe he had pushed his luck too far this time.





   ?Leave us.? Alyn commanded, when he and his escort reached the foot of the chapel the old man had described. Above them rose a small hill upon which a squat, bare-bones chapel sat surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges turning brown in the autumn air. Small windows, around Alyn?s height, lay set into the walls around the building, stained glass depicting scenes of devotion and glory. Though the artistry was amateur, Alyn could still make out the Meeting, where Tyrwynn herself came down to Kirin and spoke to Isaac the Blessed. Such depictions were common to any place devoted to the Lady, for the Meeting had happened fifty-three years ago, during a time of strife in the Princedom. Alyn wished he had been born earlier. He wanted to know what the first paladin was like, in the flesh. Surely he would not have been planning what Alyn was about to do. He was glad that the old man had managed to disperse the crowd before they reached the chapel, though he could still see several of them peeking through the gaps in their curtains at him.

   ?Are you certain milord? She is dangerous. A caged lion if I ever saw one.? The knobbly old man noticeably avoided looking at the girl--Sha?zel, was her name?--and instead looked anywhere else, making him the picture of a nervous wreck. ?The Village Seat will be here soon, you needn?t worry yourself with such matters, really. I--?

   ?Have no fear, elder. I am trained to do the Lady?s work. If justice is to be found, I will find it. As for this Village Seat, tell them I have everything in hand.? Not a hint of uncertainty touched Alyn?s words. As luck would have it, all that uncertainty stayed in his head. Sha?zel stood wrapped in her cloak, her hood drawn and the two blacksmiths standing nervously to either side, clearly expecting her to bolt. Alyn could still feel her eyes piercing through him. The young knight wondered if she could sense his fear. He shook his head. She could probably read his mind. ?Everything in hand, elder. Leave it to me.?

   Clearly the old man would rather stay here and argue, but a glance at the twin swords tucked under Alyn?s arm and a quick furtive look at Sha?zel made him change his mind in a hurry. All knees and elbows, he hobbled off with the two men in tow.
?Ought to string the girl up by a thick branch, my Lord.? said the hook-nosed man before
turning to follow. ?No good can come of someone like her.?

Alyn watched the hook-nosed man speed up to catch the others, the lot of them almost running after a few moments. The young knight sighed and turned back to his ward.

?That won?t be the last of them. People like this ?Village Seat? rarely take no for an answer. Will you come inside?? Alyn didn?t wait for a reply but pushed open the tall wooden doors to the chapel.

Inside, the chapel was small but spacious, lacking all decorum save several rows of finely carved benches and an altar beneath a mosaic of the Meeting. The remaining daylight that escaped my butt cover streamed through the windows, illuminating flecks of dust in the air set in motion by the doors. Alyn grimaced. The village was clearly not as devoted as the elder had led him to believe. Shrugging off his dusty cloak and the scabbard across his back, Alyn shut the doors behind the two of them and placed his items on a nearby seat. The darksteel blades he placed on the altar itself. What sunlight touched the altar seemed to be sucked into the material of the blades, though the broken blade seemed less so.

?What are these?? Alyn asked. His hand traced the length of the unbroken blade. The metal felt unnaturally cold to the touch. Sha?zel stood next to the doorway still, eying the hand and a half Alyn had left on the bench as if weighing her chances. Alyn?s finger brushed the outline of an insignia expertly worked into the hilt; a broken crescent moon, before moving down the handle--dark wrapped leather--and landing on the hilt, a finely wrought piece of metal in the shape of a snarling beast he did not recognize. ?A broken moon. Unknown creatures. Steel that snatches the light out of the air. The Lightless Land. A refugee from a land that shouldn?t exist.? He paused for a moment, thinking. ?Why did I see your memories??

Sha?zel peeled her gaze away from the sword and pushed her hood back. Long flowing hair like silver spilled out around her shoulders, framing a pointed aquiline face. For once, her face was not twisted in anger or hatred. It simply remained cold and emotionless, an icy sculpture. She was handsome, perhaps, a marble carving of a hard woman from a harder land.

?Memories are collective. Simply put, every man, woman or creature in this land belongs to the same universe. The same Possibility. Memories are simply a drop in the ocean of the Resonance. In times of emotional distress, have you not sometimes felt through anothers eyes?? She wore a pained expression now. She answered his next question before he spoke it. ?I am fey. My blood is infused with the Song, though the Song does not speak to verianos.?

?You are an exile.? Things began to click in Alyn?s head. ?Aieros means the Gifted People. Those Who Have the Gift. You are a descendant of Calantar.? Alyn knew the story of Calantar well. All men who followed the Lady knew the story of the fall of Calantar. The hubris of the aieros who reached too far and sought a power far greater than they could control. Their mistake drowned the world in chaos for a hundred years. ?Verianos. Those Who Lost the Gift.?

?Lost is not the word. There is no translation to describe the act of having a part of yourself ripped from you. That is what my people feel. We fill that hole with rage. With death.? The light of anger returned to her eyes. ?My people made a mistake that damned us to eternal darkness in the Lightless Land. Hate is all we know now.? Suddenly she smiled, the smile of a feral creature. Shocked, Alyn almost reached for a sword that was not there. The Lady knew he would not touch the cursed darksteel. She moved to stand on the other side of the altar from him, extending her hand to caress her blades almost wistfully. ?You would not understand the brutality of our world, paladin. It is kill or be killed. One wrong move and--? she clicked her tongue, her hand snatching up the broken sword and pointing it level with Alyn?s chest, ?--it?s over. I am the last survivor of my bloodline. Last of Inkavius, one of the Circle of Nine who sat at the head of Calantar a thousand years ago.? The point of her sword remained at Alyn?s chest as she moved around the altar to stand beside him. ?You wanted to know what these swords are? What my land is? Let me show you.? Her smile was wicked as she reached out a hand to his face.

The chapel melted away.

Black spires erupted from the earth around them. The walls crumbled away. Glass shattered and fell to ruin. The vision Alyn had seen became real before his eyes, a bleak land beneath the dull glow of perpetual twilight. Acrid smoke filled the air, though Alyn did not cough. Through the haze, Alyn could see a tower the color of midnight soaring on the horizon.

?Vas Verianos. The Nine are imprisoned there. It is home.? As Alyn?s eyes grew wide with shock, so too did her smile grow. He worked his mouth futilely. Surely this could not be real! Suddenly the land blurred as they sped through it, taking steps through miles of terrain in an instant. Surely this is another memory! Her smile remained, the only constant in his vision. Alyn?s head throbbed painfully. His vision swam and his head was pierced with a sudden pain as they jolted to a halt.

?Sharing memory can be. . . difficult, for those who lack the Gift. Would you like to see the ruins of my homeland?? Alyn blinked away the haze and sucked in a breath. All around them, soaring towers of dark stone and metal melted away within roaring maelstroms of blue flame. Stone actually melting! The smell of melting rock mixed with burning flesh and he nearly retched. ?Void fire. Negative energy makes a wonderful weapon. After all, how can you fight something that technically doesn?t exist. Don?t worry,? she added, seeing his face, ?it is a difficult concept to understand, even for us. But its practical effect is erasing your foes permanently. See how my people die??

A gestured hand led his gaze to a gibbering man, clawing his way free of debris fallen from one of the ruined towers. His dark armor burned with the void fire and his white face was twisted in a scream that could not--would not come. As Alyn watched sickly, the fire spread throughout his body and melted him away until nothing was left save the shape of a man imbedded in the rock.

?What is. . .? he gasped, ?What is wrong with you??

?What is wrong with me? I am simply showing you what my people do to those they deem, unecessary. Our blood is older than any who walk your world now. Yet void fire will erase your body and spirit completely, leaving only the memory of that blood. Memories are hard to kill at least.? Her eyes burned with the light of the blue flames. ?Now do you understand? Thanravil?s followers slaughtered us to the last.?

?Take us back, Sha?zel.?

?I am the only one left! I am the only one!? Her sword point dug into his chestplate. Alyn could feel the metal buckling beneath the darksteel blade.

?Take us back! NOW!? he screamed.

The memory collapsed. Darkness filled Alyn?s vision for a time. The sword receded, leaving a small hole in the armor but thankfully not grazing his skin. Slowly vision returned and he found her standing with her back turned to him, staring up at the mosaic of the Meeting. Alyn took a deep breath and steadied himself against the altar. His hands shook, but he forced himself over to stand beside her. For a time, the two of them stood silently looking up at the Lady. She was resplendent in shining armor made of ivory tiles, reaching down a hand to a kneeling Isaac.

?I do understand, Sha?zel.? Alyn said finally, her name sounding queer and alien to him. His voice was dry as he searched for words. ?Perhaps not in the same way you do. But I understand the desire for a fresh start. A new life, away from the past. That?s what you want. It must be. I too left home to begin anew.? He chuckled sadly, ?it would have broke my father?s heart to know I left the north to read and pray and live in fancy palaces.? Alyn lowered his voice to a gruff baritone and imitated one of his father?s sayings. ?A northern man is born in the place he lives.? His laughter faded away as he tried to look around her shoulder to her face. ?I apologize. I should not be laughing. Forgive me.?

Suddenly her mask shattered, and her face twisted in pain. She looked away. ?I didn?t mean to kill the boy. Ewil. I didn?t mean to. I was starving. He burst in on me while I was scavenging and I? I??

   ?You killed him. You thought he was an enemy and you killed him. It was self-defence.?

   Sha?zel looked at him in surprise, her eyes widening. ?You mean you thought I was innocent? This whole time??

   ? No-one is heavy on the scales of guilt without proof.? Alyn said with a smile. She punched him square in the jaw again, making him see stars. ?What was that for?? he snapped, when he managed to get upright again. ?I?m bloody well on your side!?

   ?For taking the fool of me in the square. I am no fool girl!? she snapped right back. Despite only coming up to Alyn?s shoulder, her anger made her tower over him in spirit.

   ?Nightmare visions of a hellscape were not enough for you?? he grumbled in retort, ?Scaring an honest man half to death even? And another thing--? A knock on the door ended his words before Sha?zel could find out just what ?another thing? was exactly. "Bloody Village Seat I'll wager. Can't leave well enough alone."

       "Don't you supersede them? You could slay the whole lot of them."

       "Most people around here don't gain status through how many foes they've slain. Most. Technically the Princess of Keldar holds authority here, and the Village Seat in each village big enough to have one gets its authority through her." The pounding continued on the door. Alyn wasn't sure if they were angry with him or worried Sha'zel had murdered him the second they walked into the chapel. "The Order, as sacred as their work is, is still bound by mortal law. The Order proper is located in the jurisdiction of Princetown itself. Cutting short," he said as he moved to unlock the door. "Different countries, different laws." The look on Sha'zels face held the promise of a third punch.

       Alyn sighed and unbarred the door.

 

        Five minutes later found Sha'zel pacing the length of the chapel. The gods of chaos must have particularly had it out for me this time, she thought angrily, though her face had resumed the mask of cool detachment. The nerve of being at the mercy of these children. Of course, to a verianos any daylander was practically a child in the grand scheme of things. The nerve!

       The worst part of it came from the thought she tried to keep pushed down inside. The damn notion kept bubbling back to the surface though, much to her frustration. The truth was she would not kill without good reason. It was her tenet, in this new world, and so she would have to trust in that puffed up boy in his shiny shell if she wanted to get out of here without further violence. A fist to the jaw was going to be the least of his worries though if she got out of this with her head still on her neck. No-one made her snap like that!

      The real truth of it was that she was weak. It had to be. Why should she have cared if one boy died? The vastness of the universe made his death ultimately meaningless: a drop of water in a bucket the size of an ocean. Everything had changed when the followers of Thanravil slaughtered her brethren to the last. Violence was common in the Lightless Land, but the wholesale massacre of an entire bloodline was unheard of. So if Ewil was a drop of water, what then were her people when no one knew they even existed. That knowledge cut deep.

      As she made her twenty-third circuit up the chapel and back--she counted--the door finally creaked open. Alyn quickly slammed it behind him and put his back against the wood.

      "Bloody fools the lot of them. Eyes straining for the light so hard it blinds them. Half of them wants to hang you for the killing and half for you existing, but the real bone of contention is whether beheading or hanging is more suited for that neck of yours. Lady strike me. Fools." Suddenly the young knight realized his rambling. He sighed heavily. "Right good mess we're in."

      "We? What do you mean, we?" Sha'zel demanded, "it is a poor death, true, but you have no ties to me. Let it go." Sha?zel was not afraid of death, though death would certainly ruin any chances of seeing revenge on Thanravil. The knight crossed the chapel to stand over her, a sad look on his face. Sha'zel glared him down to size. Undeterred, the knight continued.

      "Sometimes people take risks for others and they don't really understand why. This is one of those times. I'm not about to let you be killed without fair trial." The knight wore a sad smile. Sha'zel wanted to slap it off him.

      "Touching. You risk much aiding me."

      "Maybe you will understand someday that not everyone is the enemy." The knocking started on the door again, followed by muffled yelling. Not for the first time, Sha'zel debated breaking her new tenet and cutting her way out of here. It would be the simple solution. The fool boy had given her swords back after all. So why am I still here? "Lady send me more sand for the hourglass.? said Alyn ruefully, ?The Seat expects me to get your confession and drag you by the hair to the chopping block." Alyn gave her a remorseful smile. "Not to fear. As your new friend, I have a plan."

       Friend? This was not how Sha'zel expected her exodus into the sunlands would go. Why in the lightless hells would this boy want to help her? As she watched Alyn gather up his belongings, she had only one thought. If she survived, she would find a way to pay back this debt. Perhaps she could still find a way yet to return the favor to Thanravil.

       "There are no words for 'friend' in my tongue, boy."

      "Make one." Alyns smile was infuriating.


    Cair Ebarr knocked on the chapel door once more, an urgent pounding. What was taking that bloody knight so long? If not for him he and the rest of the Village Seat could have executed the abomination already and been home by dinner time. The gall of that Order lackey. Self-defence, pah! Cair Ebarr had seen the wound on Ewils body with his own two eyes. The wound smoked. Smoked! Self-defence, laughable.

     "Master I urge you to reconsider," said the voice at his elbow. The old man was all knees and elbows and gave a frightened bow when Cair Ebarr turned his glare on him. "He is a man of honour, Master Ebarr. I've talked to him meself. He's a true one through and through me says. Maybe we should listen to his words."

     "For the last time old man," Cair could not remember the elders name for the life of him, "you are not a Sitter. You are not on the Village Seat. Frankly that means your opinion is of no concern to me." Bloody fools the lot of these people. Nothing like the capital. Not for the first time Cair Ebarr wished he had never been transfered here. Not a hair of these people had a lick of sense, and Cair Ebarr was not about to let some trounced up knight from the southlands get his way over him. "Now shove off and tell the rest of this lot the Seat has it all in hand."

     The rest of the Seat looked a great deal less confident than him, but then again, they were all village bumpkins who had never seen a real town, or real law for that matter. Their faces hovered between uncertainty and outrage. At least these farmers had the sense enough to be offended by a southern man trying to overstep his boundaries. Annoyingly, the old man continued to hover around Ebarrs elbow, though he kept his naggings to himself.

     "Open up in there, damn you! You'll not be getting no trial no matter how bleeding long you hide out in there boy! The wight is an abomination before your own Lady!" Unexpectedly the door creaked open when Cair Ebarr pounded on it again. "About time you saw the light, paladin. Let's get this farce over with."

      With his foot just in the door, Cair Ebarr, former spymaster of Keldar, heard the crash of breaking glass. Flinging open the door, he and the rest of the Village Seat piled into the chapel, blinking to adjust to the dark within. Gaping, Ebarr stopped short, making the rest of them pile into his back until he cursed them back again.

         "After them," he shouted, when he found words again, "the bloody paladin went out the window! No, damn you, go around the outside, not through the window! Find them"

        Glass crunched under Cair Ebarrs feet as he stared out the broken window. Pieces of brilliantly coloured glass still clung to the edges of the window frame, glinting in the late sun. The former spymaster watched his Village Seat run uselessly after the two fugitives who had somehow acquired a horse. Ebarr swept from the window in a fury.

      "Fetch me a carrier bird! This crime must not go unpunished."

     One way or another he would see both of them hanged.


         "Where are we going?" Sha'zel said into Alyns back, shouting to be heard through the rushing wind. The horse--Rapier--galloped at top speed, tearing up the road at top speed with Alyns guidance.

       "To meet a few friends of mine," he shouted back. Sha'zel was impressed. The knight might be able to even match one of the verianos lokar riders in handling his charge. A lokar had far too many jaws for a simple boy to handle though. "I'm surprised you haven't tried to jump off yet, Sha'zel."

       "The debt isn't paid yet," her voice hung as she fumbled for his name. He finished it for her.

        "Darksky, Alyn Darksky. My name dates back to the Age of Darkness so I hear." The boy twisted in his saddle and extended his hand with a grin. Sha'zel  regarded the hand curiously, unsure of what he expected. His smile only widened at her confusion.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance."