Wolf's Bard

To Fight

“And if I’m killed, Grandma, keep a close eye and don’t let the spirits get into me.”

Grandma shivered in the night wind, staring at my face.   “Oh, I won’t, I wouldn’t!”

“And bury me with my brown boots, so I can’t get bloody-footed on th’ journey west.”

“Ohhhh, Tiwyr!   You’re making me cry.”

“And, and don’t let any animals get close … ?”

“You rogue!”

She turned and hobbled toward our flapping tent.   In we went, letting fall the door behind us.   Bright lanterns bobbed in the semi-darkness of scurrying children and bags, lighting up Grandpa’s face as he hove up from his skin bed to see me.   Lowantà leapt to her feet.

“He’s ready to go,” Grandma said.

I strode over through my aunts to my pack.   Digging on the dirt behind it, I pulled out my brown leathern sheathe by the belts.   Light it swung up—

Oh—where’s my sword?

It had not slid out and hidden back here!

“Where’s my sword?” I demanded, cocking an eyebrow.

My cousins laughed an uproar as my sister Lowantà came up cross-armed and trying to smile.   “You don’t need to fight, dear brother.”

“But where is my sword?”

“There shall be, no fighting.”   She twisted a strand of golden hair between finger and thumb as did she always in a predicament.   “None at all, Tiwyr.   You don’t need your sword.”

I reached out and tickled her under th’ pretty chin.   “If I don’t have my sword …”

“I said, no bloodying will occur!”

“Where is my sword-ord-ord?” I said, blipping her chin up and down thrice.

She pointed a slim finger toward Grandpa.   “Under the skins.”

Grandpa’s cheeks poofed out and he maintained a look of innocence as I stalked over.

“Hawa, Grandpa, where’s th—O here!   Whatcha doin’ with my sword?”

“Grandma was cutting butter with it,” Grandpa coughed.

“Haha … they gave it to you?   Well, Tiwiz Dà, I’m going.   Bye.”

Old Tiwiz wrinkled his brows, pulling at my arm.   He effected a hoarse whisper in my ear.   “If you win it th’ girls will look at you!”

Grandma scowled.   “Then he can find a woman and settle down.”

“Good bye, Grandma,” I muttered, wrapping the old woman in an embrace.   Lowantà ran into my arms as I released Grandma, she buried her face in my leathern jerkin—

“Lowantà … if I die.   Promise me you will marry Cnaef.”

“He’s only a boy!”

“We aren’t boys anymore!   Lowantà!   He is the best man I know, Hawa!”

She burst into tears.   She tightened her arms round my middle as I tried t’ pull away.

“Promise,” I said darkly.

Well, she gave a sob for reply, which was not what I particularly wanted, so I petted her shining gold hair and eased her grip off.

The cousins waved at me from the back of our tent.   The aunts stopped chattering and stared up as I stepped to the door.   Fifteen scared faces met my gaze—I hesitating here on the threshold, hand on the rough cloth beside me …

I grinned, and swung out.

Before my eyes the glittering camp stretched.   As I struck off down, I caught the sudden skirl of th’ bagpipes.   Right out of the night, and though slight, blood-stirring!

Walking through the camp, brushing past men, all about the flickering fires.   I slung my belts off.   With anxious fingers I undid th’ buckles.   Brought the familiar weight round my middle.   Now my sword slipped and banged comfortably against my left leg and down from my side.   Up over my shoulder went the other belt, fixing in firm buckles to my sword-gear.   Hawa, Hawa!

Grinning widely, I dragged my jerkin down further over my breeks.   The belt-gear settled hard in.   My boots tripped over a long stick and I stumbled past three playing children.

Now the bagpipe halted.  

“Goodnight,” I laughed, waving to them.

Out skirled the bagpipe quite close and loud!

Breaking into a run, I came dashing up over the hewn tree-barrier and down with a skidding tangle through the crashing thwacking greenery and tumbled headlong before my comrades.  

Onto one of the endless rows of ox-hides staked round in this enclosure—

Up I got, blood pulsing all through, in my cheeks.

“Hawa!” I yelled.

Cnaef whirled, fair face flushed and green eyes wide.   He charged me and bore me down to the dirt and over we thrashed, laughing.   Flash went Cnaef’s white face past.   His close-cut crimson curls made a bad hold—

“I will kill you!” Cnaef howled, groping for my sword.   I caught his hand, we went back over and, Cnaef under.

The bagpipe sang to a heady height.

I grimaced down into his face.   “Liar!”

Spinning him into the death-hold and whipping out my dirk, I pressed it to his bucking chest.

Cnaef burst into his entirely addictive laughter and we let go and came up.

“Form rows!” shouted the Miíh`tern’s—the King’s—War Chief, starting in and standing stark against the night by th’ flare of the torches here—the torches, stuck into the ground and just beginning to burn from the tops down.   He sauntered over and stood by the piper, lips moving.

Cnaef grabbed my arm and tugged me in a trailing run towards the Warchief.   All around us the warriors jostled into strict rows—

“Hey, hey,” Cnaef said, breathless, “Warchief, give Tiwyr some of that stuff.”

“What stuff?” I asked, glancing up fro the ground.   The Warchief’s blue eyes passed over me coolly.

He shook his head.

Cnaef made a half-forlorn face.   “Oh please, Good Uasond—”

“No,” the Warchief’s said, hard lipped.   He shoved me away.   “Get in the row.”

“Please?” Cnaef pled, turning to the red-cheeked piper.   “He’s one of us, he’s Gwëre?”

The piper rolled his eyes.

Cnaef’s face flushed deeper.   “He’s Gwëre!”

“Two black eyes has no Gwëre.”

Cnaef balled his fists, breath coming hard.   “Give Tiwyr some, bloody lurdan!”

Rolling his eyes the other direction, the piper played faster.   Fingers-and-thumbs flying.   Torrents of sound flighted and lurched about us.

“Get in th’deuce row!”

Cnaef leapt on the Warchief with a left fist swing and a fast kick.   First they grappled, then the Warchief flung Cnaef reeling back onto me.   He lifted a hand half-way and his blue eyes slitted perilously—

I swung Cnaef around and dragged him into our comrades.   Down to the end of the row.   Where the Warchief could just barely see us.   Side to side we stood, beginning to move.   The faces around me were so familiar.   This was when the fun began—

“Uh, Tiwyr,” Flym blundered, fisting me between the shoulders.   “Hey, where’s our arm-binds?”

Here came the Warchief.   He had a load of leathern thongs in his arms.   Down the line he sauntered, letting us grab as much as we could.   I caught four hands-full, dropping the stuff to my feet.

“Tie on,” the Warchief snarled.   “Tie on.   Slap each other.   Start slapping!”

With shaking fingers we bound th’thongs round our forearms.   Jerk—yank—the leather’s salty.

Having got his arms bound, Cnaef whirled and slapped out at me.  

Biting furiously at my knots, I fought to finish it as we started slapping.   Once I am in the frenzy …

there would be no way to stop!

“Move your arms!”   The Warchief trode along the line.   “Forward!   Back!   Forward!   Back!”

Suddenly I was not interested in finishing it.   I swung my arms before me, twisting, back, forward, swing.

“Stamp!   Tread the dirt!”

The leather looked well on my moving arms.

I lifted my feet, slamming them down!

“Tramp to the bagpipe!”

Cnaef burst into wild laughter.   He flung his arms around.   Got my face—

Up went my chin and I touched my back, accidentally, and Cnaef’s arm dislodged.

“Slap yourselves!” th’ Warchief shouted.

The pipes pulsed faster.   Up, down, our feet tramped quickly.  

I laid hand to myself, slapping my arms to tingling and sharpness.

“Keep slapping!” he yelled, clouting me and then Bloúrk.   Sthwam, aagh!

Slowly the pain faded from my consciousness.   I was listening to the music, the fast running tripping music, accentuated by th’ beat of one hundred and seventy boots.   I tried focusing on that, the music.   Oddly my heart stepped with the rhythm of the one-droned pipe.   It tricked within me.

“You!” he called, pointing to me and Cnaef.   “Come here!”

Cnaef grabbed my arm and rudely flung me to the ground.   I soared up and laid into him, he fell backwards with a bleeding lip and writhed in the dirt.  

“Here!” the Warchief yelled.

Turning, we dragged each other straight up to the Warchief, onto the ox skin pegged down with three ditches dug round it.   He pressed his finger to his lips and regarded.

“First fight,” he shouted.   “Cnaef!   Tiwyr!”

Cnaef’s eyes went crazy.   He drew his sword as did I.   We circled a moment, his bright steel point made a circle in th’ air.   And in the circle of the dirty ox hide I leveled my sword and charged him.   Cnaef’s mouth opened wide and he ducked, I rammed over him and down he tumbled!

“Fight over when the other man is dead, senseless, surrendered or out of the rings!”

Cnaef struggled under my boot.   He drew his dirk and stabbed for my foot, off I leapt, he scrambled up.

His cheek was very smudged.

“I am Tiwyr!” I shouted, splitting air by sharp steel.   “Thrash me who can, cause I am a man!”

Our swords met.

Cnaef’s arm swung wide and his sword was far away behind him.  His fair face went dark.

I thrust forward.   Like rain to the earth went the shimmer of my blade to Cnaef—he screamed.

With a rush Cnaef slashed upwards, soaring with my sword.   He had got all the strength of a tight corner in it—so I played easy, my sword went off his and Cnaef was still sailing away to the right.

Trip went his feet on the edge of the ox skin.   Over the pegs straddled Cnaef and his green eyes gave a shocked glance to his boots.

Lunging forward, I hewed sideways from my right.   Everybody shouted at Cnaef and he spun around.

“Ruaaa’driii!” Cnaef cried, whirling his sword round as a shield.

I put my right foot forward to take my backwards swing.   Down it descended and Cnaef’s entire body jerked.   His arms strained with me.

Sword to sword …

“Tiwyr Hew!” I shouted.

I made a wicked grin at him; he had no time to respond.   Flash double quick.   Cnaef, flung in a sprawl out across the ditches circling us round.

The Warchief came stepping in.   “Tiwyr is victor!   Cnaef, pick up your sword and go stand there!”

Cnaef rose, wildly groping for his blade.   He got it, grinned at me and tripped to th’ side.

Shout.  

The heavy tramp of boots drummed under the bagpipe.

Laying hand on my arm, the Warchief pulled me out over the rings in the dirt.   He thrust me towards the piper and began walking.   “You and you!   Come here, get on the ox-skin!   All fights simultaneous!   Everybody get on the skins!”

I fell back into my swinging motions beside the gyrating pipe-music.   Watched my comrades run to the duel-spots.   They drew their swords and fell at each other.

Suddenly the Warchief was yelling into my face.   “Into the rings!   Get IN, blade!”

Drawing my sword, I leapt into th’ indicated ring.   I shouted in the man’s face across from mine.   Then I saw it.

Oh—Nistan!

Nistan made a slender smile at me, eyes worked wide and lips quivering.   He flung his brown hair out from his long face and laid hand to sword hilt.

“Tiwyr, lemme win!   I’ll pick your Thirl slave as my reward.”

“I want to free Lodyé!   Not you!”

“Lemme, please!”

“Only if you can beat me, swëre!   Cause I am Tiwyr!   I am a Gwëre!   Lick me who can—I am a man!”

Hissing between his teeth, Nistan whipped his sword out.   His fingers clasped it like a vise as he came on, his ring’s green stone glittering above the grimed skin.

“Damn you!” he shouted, whirling in.

We met with an instinctive gasp.   For a moment we were straining over our swords, noses almost touching.   Nistan broke my lock and spun off, spun back.

Back he came, grinning wildly.   Swing, back in the lock.   Quick and sudden up came his boot and slammed into my chest, knocking me backwards.   Down I arked and my sword spun from my hand.

Slam, dust.

Flipping over, I let out a shout.

Where is my sword!

There—therrrre!

Snatching my sword, Nistan whirled it and his own out at me.   In a swift gesture my friend’s sword slid in cool and sharp beside my neck.   The other sword—slender, fierce, and mine—pressed under my chin and forced my face up, so—staring at Nistan.

“You will be my slave,” Nistan said, lips sweet.

Blood burst in around my eyes, pounding.

I reached out.   I fastened my fingers round my precious blade.

He began kicking me.   He was kicking me to the rings.   Over the ox hide.   I am going to lose.

Blood glistened on my quivering blade now, my fingers.   The bagpipe’s music resounded so loud, I wanted to kill him.  

Slowly I tightened my grasp.   I yanked towards myself.   Nistan gasped.   Nistan pitched on me.   His cold steel stabbed the ground by my throat.   I jerked away, pulling from it.  

Flinging over, I leapt onto him.

Nistan flailed beneath.   Up, seizing hands.

Kicking aslant, I sent him athwart th’ last ring.   Over we fought, Nistan kneeling outside now and spitting at me.   He glanced down and his face went blank.   His fingers released mine.   They shook.   He raked up the dirt and browned his palms.

Wrenching his sword out, I threw it in his face.   I drew back into the ring and knelt upon the hide, beginning to laugh.

“You get up!” a voice bawled.

Oh—the Warchief!

Leaping aloft, I dashed after the man.   I found myself on another ox hide and shouted at my adversary.

Lay steel by his ear, slice past his shoulder.   Wheel about and charge— duck.   Try to get it past his guard—

The man’s face was sweat-streaked.   He howled and screamed.

Anmwynt!

I put it through him!

I did not mean to do THAT!

Gaping, I stared at my glimmering blade where it disappeared into the bloke’s jerkin.   I had stabbed him clean through the heart.   Blood simmered uneasily at the edge of my sword.

Quest for the Kingdom

                                 Prologue

           

                     The Paladainian Year of 2234

        Midnight shrouded Aleorendos in its choking sleep.  The moons above it were wreathed in a strange haze that strangled the light out of them like a parasite, aiding the deeds of criminals that crept through the silent city beneath.

        A man, dark and shadowy, stepped cautiously from an ornate palace door, somewhere in the center of Garajid.  A cool wind whistled around the corner of the bricked street.  Tall buildings, blocking much of the moonslight, stretched as far as the eye could see in any direction; Garajid.  The great port-capital of Aleorendos.

        The man, however, had no patience nor time to observe the beauty of the night.  He warily glanced around him, looking for movement or sound of any sort.  Nothing but distant snoring from a nearby window and the rustle of the wind could be heard.

        A tense, taut expression hovered over the shadowy man's face--pursuit felt close.  He could sense it.  But seeing no one, he decided to chance being seen.  Walking down the deserted street, he kept to the shadows that the silvery moons cast.

        "They had better be there on time," the man muttered to himself darkly.  The dim moonlight danced shadows across the man's cruel face as he walked along, rendering his sinister likeness even more evil.  His black cloak swirled around him in the slightly chilly breeze.

        The man turned down a dark alleyway.  The tall buildings above him gave shadow and secrecy, veiling the moonlight.  He waited impatiently.

        Above him, the moons slipped in and out of the clouds, peeking down on the man like a stern judge.  The man shivered.  Under the gaze of the moons--and ultimately, Saar--his motives seemed cheap and worthless.  Why are you doing this?  the wind seemed to breathe. 

        Even as doubt began to creep into his blackened heart, the man hardened it.  Things are set in motion that cannot be undone.  I must go through with this.  The man's mind wandered.  And then there is...the crown.  Desire gripped him again, desire that had been awakened by whispered words in the night.  Words whispered by a servant of the Darkness.  Words that could not be denied, once they had taken ahold of his heart and blackened it with his Master's evil.

        The sound of footsteps on stone jerked the man back into the fateful night.

        A hulking man stepped out in front of him, from nowhere, it seemed.  Unfazed, the smaller, shadowy man stood impassively, waiting for the other to speak.

        "I have the men ready, Your Majesty," said the hulking figure, moving uncomfortably under the black-cloaked man's piercing gaze.

        "Do not speak the title just yet," the black-cloaked man hissed, narrowing his eyes and glaring at the man, "It is bad luck to do so before it is true."

        The other man bowed his head in submission.  "Forgive me, my liege."  The shadowy man grimaced.  Fools, all of them.  But expendable fools--and I cannot do this myself.

        Five other men came from the various shadows, swords at their sides and a grim look in their tattooed faces.  These were the thugs to do his dirty work, as promised by the Master.

        The black-cloaked man silently led the men back the way he had came, weaving through the winding passages of the city.  Above, the moons darkened, as if hiding their faces.  The stars hid their light, and the streets of Garajid grew darker.

        His plans would soon be fulfilled, the man thought with a satisfied smile, and then there would be no one to stop him from achieving his goal; the throne.

  

                                     ************

        Leuel, Chief Attendant to King Ladar, watched the King's chest rise and fall underneath his light blankets.  He shifted slightly to get a more comfortable position on the spacious chair he was sitting on, and gazed around the room for a millionth time, searching the corners, chairs, and dressers for answers, but they yielded none.

       The King had slept peacefully for a half-hour now, but Leuel wasn't about take any chances.  In a vivid dream from Saar only last night, Saar had warned him that someone would betray the King that very night, and Leuel determined to make sure it didn't happen.  Ever.  Leuel considered it his duty and more--the King had been Leuel's closest friend since Leuel had come to the palace.

        "Who would do such a thing?" Leuel asked aloud.  Not a whisper from the shadows around the room, nor from the silver moonlight flickering in from the window.  Save for the crickets singing from time to time outside the window, and the buzz of the evening cicadas, the ornate bedroom stayed silent.

        He heard the clatter of a dish somewhere in the palace, despite the late hour.  His stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him of his missed meal.  The King had told him to go and get some food hours ago, but Leuel had refused to cease his vigil, when every moment could mean the King's life or death.

        Leuel walked to the windowsill and sat down, staring out at the moons.

        The four moons above the palace grounds shone down on him, and Leuel felt some degree of peace.  Whatever happened, this was in Saar's hands. 

        "Whatever happens..." Leuel whispered.  He bowed his head and closed his eyes for a few minutes, letting the cool, refreshing breeze caress his face and ruffle his long, dark hair.  The air carried a hint of rain in it, and Leuel drank it in. 

        After a few moments, Leuel raised his head and looked out over the grounds. 

        "Strange,"  he muttered.  "The watchman should have passed here by now on his rounds."

        Foreboding hung in the air.  Leuel could sense it hissing through the trees and whispering through the long grass of the courtyard.

        He watched for any sign of the watchman's presence, but he couldn't hear or see anything that indicated he walked near.

        Leuel turned and gazed at the King, who still slept quietly.  Danger, danger... Leuel's head seemed to pound.  Danger...

        His tension mounting, Leuel stood up, walked from the windowsill, quiet as a mouse, and slipped out the door.

                                     **********

        The group of men reached the large, carved courtyard doors.  No one stood guard--the shadowy man had made sure of that.

        Walking to the doors, he drew a key from his pocket and fit it into the lock.  With a twist, the lock clicked, and the doors swung inward, revealing the palace grounds.  Trees dotted the landscape, and above their leafy boughs, the top of the palace could be seen.

        The black-cloaked man led his men through the doors, his eyes glinting almost imperceptibly--they were through.

        The night watchman lay fast asleep at a small table, a drugged ale by his hand.  His face rested on the rough wood, his eyes closed, oblivious to the terrible thing about to happen.

        The man signaled the others to stay there while he scouted ahead for any guards or people, though none should be awake at this time of the night.

                                  ***********

        Leuel walked quickly through the palace, his feet sped by fear of the unknown.  The familiar dark halls turned and twisted until they deposited Leuel at the entrance to the palace.

        He burst through the palace door and into the courtyard.  Leuel could barely see five feet, however, since there were carefully trimmed trees of all sizes surrounding him.  Ahead of him, the path wound out of sight.

        "Whose idea was it to put trees in here, anyway?" Leuel muttered, hurrying down the path.  The trees, which had been a pleasure to the eye during the day, had become a hindrance in Leuel's sight.

        He turned a corner and suddenly crashed into another man wearing a shadowy black cloak coming from the opposite direction, sending them both tumbling to the hard stones of the path.  Leuel, jumping up, had his sword halfway out of its sheath before he recognized the man.  He sheathed his sword quickly and bowed.  "Honorable Adviser Saldrin, forgive me.  I did not recognize you in this dark, and it is a sinister night."  Leuel could name something else sinister as well.  He stared at Saldrin, who wore rough street clothing.

        "Yes," Saldrin said, "I was out on... business."

        Leuel stared at him suspiciously.  "Very well, then.  I was just on my way to find the night watchman--he's late on his rounds."

        Saldrin looked angry and annoyed by finding Leuel here, but Leuel couldn't tell for sure in the shadow provided by the thick trees.

        "I saw him go that way."  Saldrin waved vaguely to the left.

        Leuel narrowed his eyes.  "Thank you, Honorable Adviser."

        Saldrin bowed slightly.  "It is no trouble."  He turned and walked away, back the way he had come.

                                   ************

       

        Inside, Saldrin seethed.  This was not part of the plan!  All of the guards' food was drugged. 

        "Honorable Saldrin," Leuel called to him, jolting Saldrin out of his thoughts.  "Your rooms are the other way."

        "Blasted imbecile," Saldrin muttered under his breath.  He pasted a fake smile on his face, and turned around to face Leuel.

        "Thank you, Leuel.  I can never tell which way is which in these twisting pathways."  Saldrin's voice practically dripped with sincerity.

        Still smiling, Saldrin walked back past Leuel, in the direction of the palace.  Inside, however, he cursed Leuel.

        As soon as Leuel walked out of sight, Saldrin turned and cut through the trees, back to his waiting minions.   He had to get there before Leuel did and hightail it.

                                    ************

       

         Leuel watched Saldrin go.  He didn't trust the man, Adviser he may be.  He's up to something, Leuel thought.  And nothing good is going to come out of it.

        He turned and looked in the direction Saldrin had pointed.  I don't think so.  Turning, Leuel went in the opposite direction, toward the guardhouse by the gate.

                                    *************

        Saldrin found his men still waiting by the guardhouse.  "Hurry!"  he hissed.   "Cut through the trees.  One of the blasted guards is still awake and found the night guard missing.  We have to do this quickly."

        They followed Saldrin into the trees, single-file, taking care to stay silent.  Saldrin led them in a straight line through the trees, staying away from the paths.

        Without the winding paths of the courtyard to deal with, they walked fast.  Only a few minutes later, they eased themselves into the main palace door, Saldrin leading the way.

        Saldrin crept through the palace, halting at each hall intersection, making sure no one still walked about through the palace.  As silent as ever, the tattooed men followed along behind him. 

        After several minutes of this, Saldrin finally stopped before one barred door.

        Saldrin had expected to find Leuel drugged by the door as well, before he had met him in the courtyard.  However, not all had been lost.  The door had been left open in Leuel's haste to check on the night guard.

        Saldrin pushed open the door, and it swung silently on oiled hinges.  He couldn't stop a grin from seeping across his face.  At last, Ladar, you are mine--as is your throne.

        The tattooed men filed into the room after Saldrin, their normally impassive faces rigid with unconcealed hate--hate planted in their minds by the Master and bred into their blood.

        The King lay asleep on a large bed with a skillfully carved bed-frame.  His long, brown-streaked tan hair lay sprawled around his head like a halo, and he had a peaceful expression on his tanned face.

        The rasping of the blades drawn from their sheaths awoke the sleeping man.

        The King jerked awake and drew back against the bed-frame, his eyes glinting in recognition.

        "Saldrin?" he said finally, an expression of shock on his face.  "Why?"

        Saldrin threw back his head and laughed long and mockingly.  "Why?" 

        His face twisted into a angry snarl.  "I'll tell you why.  I belong on that throne that you so carelessly sit on.  I am the one who should receive the homage from your subjects.  Me!"

        Saldrin's voice became slightly softer, but no less threatening.  "But, you can still have power.  I will rule over Aleorendos whether you agree or not, but the master needs clever servants to serve him.  And he rewards most richly."

                                ***********

        Leuel found the night guard asleep on a small table, an ale beside his still hand.  He sighed in relief and grinned.  "Drank a little too much ale, did you?" 

        He gently shook the man's shoulder.  "Dakek, wake up."

        Dakek did not respond.

        "Dakek?" Leuel asked, a note of worry creeping into his voice.

        Dakek's head lolled to the side, and he fell out of the chair, slumping to the ground.

        Leuel rolled him over, panicking.  "Dakek!"  He felt for a pulse.  After a moment of silence, he detected the weak beating of Dakek's heart.  A suspicion grew in Leuel's mind, and he stood up.

        He grabbed the ale off of the rough table and sniffed it.  It smelled like ale, but Leuel's trained nose found something else.

        "Drugged." Leuel muttered.  He threw the ale across the lawn, its contents mixing among the dewy grass.  Pieces began falling into place.  Saldrin, drugged guards...

        His eyes widened as distant shouts rang out from the palace.  "The King!"

                                 ************

        The King faced a choice.  He could serve the evil master that Saldrin served and allow himself to become like Saldrin--cold-hearted and evil, surrendering to his ultimate enemy--or he could deny him and face captivity and death.

        The choice hung in the air in front of the King.  His eyes narrowed as he stared at Saldrin. 

        The strength of Saar filled him suddenly, like a strong, fresh breeze.  And the King made his choice, his face clear and defiant.  "I will never serve him."

        Saldrin smiled coldly.  "Very well."  He turned, as if to leave, and said, "Oh, and Ladar?"

        The King never saw the blow.  His head swam in agony as a sharp pain blasted his temple.  The King fought to stay conscious, but the blackness overwhelmed his defenses. 

        Saldrin's cruel laughter echoed in his head as his world faded.

        Then darkness consumed him.

                                                  ************

        Leuel raced down the courtyard and sprinted into the palace, running through the maze of passages with practiced ease, having walked this route many times.  But he had never ran it with such urgency.

        The shouts he had heard earlier ceased as he ran, and all stayed silent but for Leuel's heavy breathing and his pounding footsteps.

        He reached the King's door and tried it, only to find it locked.  Panic and desperation gave him energy, and he slammed with all of his strength into the door, pouring into the blow all of his anger, panic, and fear.

        The door crumpled beneath the weight, and Leuel crashed into the room.  He gave a cry of despair when he beheld it.

        It was empty.

Eight Years Later...

  

                           Paladain                                    

        Trouble awaited Shad as he walked through the schoolhouse door.

        Hysas, the son of the Kalsi, slouched in a careless manner as he leaned against the school wall, watching Shad.  Even that harmless movement irritated Shad. 

        “Hysas,” Shad said, smiling slightly.  "Come to steal something more of mine, are you?" He instantly regretted this statement as it left his mouth.  It could be taken the wrong way very easily.

        "Disappointed, lomit?"  Hysas popped a sliver of sugarsweet in his mouth.  "I can't believe that teacher actually caught you stealing her silver quill bottle--it was stupid of you to leave your pen on her desk.  I could have done better."

        Liar!  Shad wanted to yell.  You stole it yourself and framed me!  But he beat back his temper and stayed silent.

        Hysas finished his sugarsweet with a crunch.  He spat the remains on the ground in front of Shad, a classic way of showing he claimed himself the superior of the two. 

        “Lomit.” Hysas spat, speaking the word as if it were a disease.

        Shad controlled the urge to shoot back a scalding retort, and then spun on his heel and walked away, feeling Hysas's eyes in his back as he left.

        As Shad walked down the dirt trail that lead to his home--a log house in the forest, on the edge of the wilds--he stopped by the inn, a favorite place of his to catch the news. 

        If I walk faster on the way home, Shad reasoned to himself, I'll have enough time to hear the news.

        Shad slipped through the door and took a seat in the corner.  A stranger, staying at the inn for the night, and some of the townspeople sat talking over individual mugs of ale.

        "...a tale, a tale, my good sir!" someone cried. 

        The man cleared his throat.  Graying hair framed his strong, lined face with brown eyes, and his eyes locked on Shad's.

        "Very well," he began.  "I shall tell ye a tale."

        Shad listened with wonder.  The stranger was a great storyteller, that was sure.

        "There once lived a stone-cutter, in the far lands beyond Paladain.  He had made much money and had much renown for his works, and so he lived in luxury.  He lived in a huge house of stone, but the space did not come to waste.  For he treated the homeless children of his town kindly, and harbored them in his house of stone nightly.

        "Now, one day, there came a tramp along the road.  He saw the stone-cutter working his garden, and thought to himself, 'I am out of money and poor.  This man looks rich, and I know where he lives.  I will come back tonight and rob him.  I am strong enough.'  So the man left with this thought in mind.

        "The stone-cutter was a wise man, and he perceived the tramp's intentions.  And so he made his house safe against this man, in case he would try to get in.

        "The children, as was their custom, came to the stone-cutter's house to be harbored.  And the stone-cutter said to them, 'Little children, I cannot harbor ye tonight, for I foresee that much would go ill if you stayed here.'  But when he saw the children's pleading faces, his heart softened and relented.  He let the children stay there the night.

        "Knowing that the tramp would come back that night, the stone-cutter lay in front of the door to protect the children.

        "The tramp came back that night, and searched all through the sides of the house, but he found no weakness in the rock but the front door.

        "When the tramp came to the front door, he saw that the stone-cutter lay in front of it, guarding the way.  He was desperate and hungry from lack of food, and this drove him to attack the stone-cutter.

        "The stone-cutter was caught by surprise, and the tramp, using his knife, stabbed him hard.

        "But the stone-cutter grabbed the tramp and hurled him out the door, and the tramp lay still there.

        "Even as he did so, the children were awakened by the noise and ran outside.  There, they found their friend lying on the ground, dying from his wound.  He told them that his house now belonged to them, and bade them to live it as long as they had want.

        "They wept over him and begged him not to leave.  'Do not leave us!' they cried.  'We love you, and we wish for you to stay.'

        "But the stone-cutter replied, 'There is no greater love than to lay one's life down for his friends.'  As he said this, he lay back and breathed his last breath.  And the children again wept, and they buried him in honor."

        Silence filled the inn.  The story staggered Shad.  Who would actually sacrifice their life for a group of homeless children? 

        He stared out the door of the inn, reflecting on this story, and sat up in his chair, alarmed. 

        The sun almost touched horizon, hovering just barely above the tree-tops of the forest surrounding Gess, his town.

        Shad clenched his fist, angry at himself for being so oblivious.  He hadn't paid attention to the time!  He quickly went out the inn door and jogged his way down the path to his home.  From what his parents had told him, these forests were not a good place to be when it began to get dark.

        Shad willed the sun to stay put while he quickened his pace.

        Despite this, the sun finally dipped below the horizon.  Even though Shad felt uncomfortable with the thought of the failing light, he couldn't help but admire the beautiful sight.  The sun, like a crimson sphere of fire, sank below the horizon with flickering flames as clouds above it in vibrant oranges and reds.  Above those, the sky slowly turned a dark navy blue.

        The light continued to deteriorate as Shad plodded on through the darkening wood.

        The forest, which seemed to have been more bright and cheery earlier, seemed to become dark and cold, the once dancing branches black and groping.

Shad had a sudden longing to be home with his mom and dad, sitting by a crackling fire.  At the snap of a twig, he started and ducked behind a tree.

A howl split the cool night air like a keen knife.  The eerie cry struck fear into Shad’s heart, nearly throwing out all caution and calm as he crouched behind the tree.  What in the world--?

        Through the trees, Shad glimpsed several monstrous, shadowy figures.  He knew exactly what these were.  Another howl confirmed his suspicion; it was a pack of Ildrinn, huge mountain wolves.  Their fur color, a mixture of white and iron gray, stayed shaggy and long.  Their mouths revealed a row of stained, sharp, and jagged teeth, keener than a sword blade.  Their eyes burned a murderous red.  Their feet were swift and fleet, and they had the speed of a striking snake.

Or so the tales told. 

What they were doing in the far reaches of Paladain, Shad had no idea.  The nearest mountains were the Racayas--several weeks' journey away on the other side of Paladain.

The wolves came into sight.  They were even larger than Shad had been led to believe--running down a deer would hardly be work for these monstrous wolves.
        

Shad's mind froze in fear.  What should he do?

        

His feet started moving, quickening his pulse as he began to run.

        Shad sprinted away, throwing caution to the wind.  He stole a glance over his shoulder. The wolves had spotted him, and they were running toward him, their paws pummeling the ground rhythmically. 

        Shad's breaths came hard and jerking, sweat pouring down his brow, despite the crisp night air.  His lungs were screaming for more air.  Despite his pain, Shad forced himself onward, his legs pumping with effort.

        He ducked beneath trees, sloshed through a creek, anything to get away from the wolves--but they kept coming.

        Shad spotted a solitary cave in a limestone cliff.   He thought he might be able to hide from the Ildrinn in there, perhaps in a crevice in the rock.   Shad's legs and chest burned, and this was his only hope, however impossible it might be.

         Shad used all the energy he had, and then some, to run faster, as he sped into the cave.  The moonlight shone into the cave, just barely showing a far wall, and Shad raced toward the end, his pulse beating in his ears as he panted for every breath.

        He arrived at the end of the cave--and tripped.  He slid across the floor and slammed into the hard stone wall of the cave--until it suddenly gave way.

        Shad stood halfway, still panting for breath, and turned around, expecting a wolf to jump on him.  He had just enough time to see an image of the cave he had just left disappear and leave him staring at a blank slab of gray rock. 

        Plains stretched around him as far as the eye could see, a sea of green with the black, star-studded sky circling above.

        Then the exertions of the chase caught up to him, and he sank to the grass in exhaustion, the pounding in his ears subsiding.  As slumber overtook him he sleepily thought, “Where am I?”  But the question remained unanswered, for Shad surrendered to a deep, dreamless sleep.