In the Shadow of a Broken Moon (Excerpt)

PROLOGUE: DESCENT INTO EXILE

 

THE CAPTAIN of the Guard sighed heavily as he read the scroll in his hands. His brow was furrowed, not with frustration, but with deep dismay and resignation. The message it bore did not surprise him in the least. In fact, he had been expecting it. Yet even grim ex­pectation did nothing to ease the bitterness of dashed hopes. He could do nothing now but shake his head as he read the orders outlined for him, his heart sinking deeper with each word.

He turned and looked out the window for a moment. His gaze fell over the gleaming city before him. Ordinarily he took comfort in the sight of his home. The grace of elvish architecture, its slender curvature rising to glittering spires and quartz domes gleaming under the morning sun, seeming to merge perfectly with the forest beyond, never lost its beauty. This day, though, it was a cold beauty, unfeeling and detached. The view of Ylann offered the captain no solace.

Regardless of how he felt, the captain knew fully his duty. Setting the scroll on his desk, he glanced at the lieutenant standing before him. For a moment the captain wished he could rail at him and just dismiss the entire situation with a few cutting words. That the officer was clearly struggling to contain a triumphant grin threatened to further erode the captain’s resolve. He saw in the lieutenant’s expression the same cold disregard that had become epidemic among the elves of Tymaqa, the callousness of a people who had turned their backs on the outside world.

In the end, however, the captain knew what he had to do and set aside his own feelings.

 “Send him in,” he ordered, forcing all emotion from his voice. He sat back in his chair, trying not to watch too closely as a smug expression passed over the lieutenant’s sharp features, knowing too many in Ylann felt the same way. The scroll again drew the captain’s attention as the lieutenant whispered to someone just outside the door.

A moment later the door opened wider, and a young man silently entered the office. The captain looked up and watched intently as the youth slowly approached the desk. For an instant, sympathy welled in the captain’s heart, but quickly he forced aside personal attachment and regained his wavering self-control.

 “Leave us,” he said to the lieutenant, motioning toward the door. He stood and came to the front of the desk.

The lieutenant began to protest, but the iciness in the captain’s tone was unyielding. With a saluting bow, he backed out of the room.

Once the door was closed, the captain carefully regarded the youth before him. There was a certain aura of restlessness about this one, a free-spiritedness that was readily apparent. Not for the first time did the captain wonder if accepting this one into the ranks of the Watch had been a mistake. To be sure, the sandy-haired young man had shown promise and was possessed of the needed skills.  Behind the fair face and gleaming gray eyes lay a sharp mind, cunning and quick.  His thin, tightly-muscled frame hinted at astonishing speed and agility. Both physically and mentally, the youth had much to offer.

The captain had had high hopes, but it was too often clear that the youth’s path led in a different direction. Emotionally and spir­itually, he did not always seem suited for the discipline of the Watch. It was painfully clear that too many others saw it as well, others who could never look past the differences that set this one apart.

 “Hawk Silverwing,” the captain said, picking up the scroll from his desk, no longer concealing his disappointment. “Do you know why you are here?”

 “Yes, sir,” was the calm reply. If Hawk felt any unease at all, he hid it well. His eyes held only understanding and acceptance masking a hint of bitterness.

The captain keenly heard that bitter edge, felt its cold sting, but said nothing of it. He had grown accustomed to hearing it over the years. Not so accustomed, though, that he ever forgot what fed that fire. He couldn’t forget. One look at Hawk was all the reminder the captain would ever need.

In a world of elves, Hawk was born of mixed parentage, elf and a human. Among people determined to remain aloof from the outside world, one such as he would never fully be accepted.

 “The Council has rendered its decision. As you were informed, the Council could not overlook your actions. While no one questions your courage, it is decided that you disobeyed our standing laws. It is necessary to maintain the disci­pline among the ranks. The Watch is the only thing that stands between the people of Ylann and our enemies. Ylann and all of Tymaqa are threatened by those beyond our bounds, and it is we of the Watch who have been charged with protecting our peoples’ safety.”

Hawk nodded slightly. He seemed to have nothing to say in his own defense, but a stormy glitter in his eye betrayed his feelings.

The captain sighed. “Being a member of the Watch, Hawk, takes both a serious mind and a deep commitment. It takes a dedication to providing safety and adherence to upholding the laws and order of our people. We sacrifice our dreams so that our people can dream in safety. We focus on the necessities of our duties so they can allow their spirits to soar free. Yet you, Hawk, cannot give up your own passions. Whatever lies in your heart, it is not to be constrained by the discipline we require.”

 “Captain, I have tried to the best of my ability to do as expected,” Hawk finally said.  There was a tone of wistfulness in his voice, but the gleam in his eyes told that it was not born of regret for his actions. Rather it was for the disappointment he knew he had brought upon the captain. “We are told time and again that members of the Watch willingly dismiss their own passions for the greater good. I can’t do that, no matter how hard I try. What you ask is to serve an ideal without sharing in it. I feel differently than the others. I see a world of wonder beyond the walls of our own fears. Too many others here see only this cage we call our home.”

 “We must be ruthless in our vigil against the slaver traders of the N’Reth and the barbarians of the plains, Hawk,” the captain pointed out quietly. “Were we to relax our guard but for one moment, they would fall upon us. You and I have traveled beyond the borders of our home. We have seen the price wrought from ill-timed complacency. You more than most should appreciate what can be lost without constant vigilance.”

Hawk shook his head slightly, his jaw clenched.

Relaxing from his mounting agitation with a sigh, the captain leaned forward and grasped the youth’s shoulders, his expression softening. “I understand that it cannot be easy for you, Hawk. I know you feel different. I see those differences every day, and my heart aches when I see them causing you difficulty. The gods know how difficult life among us has been for you.  Many have been the times when I thought it would have been kinder to send you with your mother.”

 “I have heard it said that she knew well the secret ways of a restless heart. That even as a scout for the Watch she never relinquished her passion for life.”

  “And see where that got her,” the captain retorted with a bitterness of his own. “Your mother was indeed wise and skilled in the ways of the forest. Tabrina knew well the wiles of our enemies and often thwarted their designs. More than once her cunning and wisdom saved many from the nets of the N’Reth slavers, including me. Rarely has a brother been more grateful to a younger sister.”

 “And, yet, it was not enough to stay the wrath of those who sent her into exile,” Hawk said through gritted teeth, eyes flashing.  “And why? Because she dared to love?”

The captain sighed and shook his head. He looked again at the youth before him, seeing Hawk, not as an erring subordinate, but as the son of his sister. Better than anyone he knew how much like his mother Hawk really was. Whenever the captain looked deep into Hawk’s eyes, he saw reflected there the same passion and independence that had made Tabrina stand out from all others so noticeably. In that moment, that reminder was more poignant than ever.

Equally as poignant was the captain’s memory of days past, when Tabrina Silverwing had been called to judgment and sent into exile. As Hawk had said, her only real crime was that she had dared to love an outsider. The only kindness shown her was the choice to let her bear her child in Ylann before leaving - a kindness that both Hawk and the captain knew rang hollow. For, being of half-elven parentage, Hawk was too often seen as an outsider himself. 

 “There is so much about that time that you do not know, Hawk,” he said after a long silence. “I never agreed with the verdict that sent Tabrina from us, leaving you here amid people who know not how to forgive. Alas that I am forbidden to speak of it.”

 “I know, Uncle Taemar,” the young half-elf said softly. Though he wished in his heart that his uncle might someday defy the edict that demanded such silence, Hawk tried always to respect his uncle’s position.

Captain Taemar smiled wistfully, “I always thought it would have been kinder had you been allowed to go with your mother, Hawk. Tabrina herself, however, insisted you remain here for your own safety, that there was no justifying taking a helpless babe into the unknown wilds. I think it broke her heart to leave you here, knowing what the future most likely held for you.”

 “What safety did she think I would find among people who despise me for what I am?” Hawk snapped. “How could she not have known how the elves would see one like me?”

 “I cannot justify any of it, Hawk. They look upon you and see reminders of evil rather than the good person I know you to be. They see dishonor bred from fear of the unknown. Would that I could make more see in you what I see.”

The young half-elf managed a weak smile but said nothing.

The captain moved away and went to back to the window. He peered into the distance, to the forest beyond Ylann.

 “I was wrong, Hawk. I know that now,” Taemar went on softly. “When I took you into the Watch, it was with the hope that you might at last find a place among the people of Ylann that you could call your own. I see now that it was not meant to be. Your heart hears a call that cannot be answered with the Watch.”

 “I am sorry that I’ve disappointed you, Uncle,” Hawk said. He started to rise, intending to leave.

Taemar turned to look at him. “You have not disappointed me. Ah, my boy, how many times have I looked at you and seen your mother? Like hers, your heart is the heart of a wanderer that cannot be easily restrained. Of one who has yet to find his place in the world. I tried to offer you one, but this is not your destiny. Forays into the forest, warding the lands between here and the bounds, will never bring you peace. Even our journeys beyond the bounds will never be enough.”

 “Then I am to be sent away?”

 “It is the will of the Council that you be banished, not just from Ylann, but all Tymaqa,” Taemar said, choking back his dismay. “By Council order, you are to be beyond the bounds of Tymaqa by sunset no later than three days hence. This judgment has been declared final.”

 “And if I refuse or go and then later return?”

 “Then a sentence of death will be carried out immediately.” The captain moved closer and clasped Hawk’s shoulders.  “Know, nephew, I argued at length on your behalf, beseeching the Council to look beyond prejudice. Alas, other voices prevailed.”

The young half-elf stared, trying to find his own voice. His eyes were wide with pain and astonishment as if he’d been stricken a mortal blow.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say, Uncle,” he finally stammered, brushing away an errant tear of his own.

 “Say nothing then, Hawk, but listen to what little wisdom I have to offer.  You may think the world is a place of wonder. In many ways it is. Yet you must never forget that there are many evils in the world as well, and you are but one person. Be wary, tread your paths with eyes open, and you will go far. Heed the wisdom of those you meet who would teach you, but trust carefully. Choose wisely those whom you will call friends and be ever faithful. There will always come a time when you must rely on others for protection and possibly even survival.”

 “I understand, Uncle, and I will always keep your advice in my heart. I promise.”

 “You have a gift for moving unseen, Hawk. Use it, and remember what I told you long ago.”

 “The best way to avoid being seen is to not be where you’re expected to be,” Hawk said.

Nodding, Captain Taemar reached over his desk and removed a silver key from a small drawer. Motioning for Hawk to follow, he went to a tall cabinet on the other side of the room.  A glint of blue appeared around the edge of the key as he inserted it into the ornate lock. When the cabinet door sprang open, revealed within was a dark space. The captain dropped the key into his trouser pocket and stepped into the opened space.

Hawk gasped as Taemar disappeared amidst a wash of swirling colors. What little fear the half-elf had was quickly eclipsed by his curiosity. Not knowing what to expect, he closed his eyes and stepped into the darkness.

For a brief moment his skin tingled as if he were caught in the rapid current of a river, and his vision was filled with the same swirl of color. In the short span between anxious breaths, he stepped into a small, brightly lit chamber. Shelves lined every wall, filled with an intriguing assortment of items. Several chests rested enticingly on the flagstone floor, their locks similar to the one on the magical cabinet. Curiosity and wonder vied to overwhelm the young half-elf, but a soft inner voice spoke caution.

  “Where are we?” Glancing over his shoulder, Hawk saw the captain’s office, framed within a stone archway.

 “This place was created to protect some of our more valuable treasures,” Taemar said, looking around with arms outstretched.  “Only three people in Ylann hold keys to this space, the others being Elder Tiriel and Loremaster Varandis. I doubt the Loremaster would be pleased if he knew I had brought you here.”

Hawk chuckled at the mischievous gleam in his uncle’s eye. He had a fairly clear idea how the Loremaster would react.

Taemar surreptitiously glanced among the items collected on the shelves until he found a small silver box. Being careful not to touch anything near it, he picked up the box and presented it to Hawk. “This was left by your mother.  She wanted you to have it when the time was right.”

The young half-elf accepted the box, taking it into trembling hands. He felt his cheeks flush with excitement. The box was oddly warm to the touch. Although no expert in the arts of metalsmithing, he recognized its fine craftsmanship. Its surfaces were mostly plain but free of scratch or tarnish. Carefully engraved into the top was a strange design: a crescent moon within a circle of nine seven-rayed stars.

 “You can open it. The box is not magically warded.”

 “What is this symbol, Uncle?” Hawk asked, running his finger over its fine lines.

 “It appears in some of our older texts, and I think it represents someone who was once an important figure among the elves. Alas, there is no name associated with it that I have ever heard.  If your mother knew, she never spoke of it to me or anyone in Ylann.”

Forcing his attention away from the unknown symbol, Hawk carefully flipped back the lid. It turned up without difficult, moving with silent ease. Within the box was a small, round pendant of untarnished silver. Etched within fine lines into the face was the same symbol. The crescent was of smooth moonstone and each star a tiny sapphire. His hand shook as he took it by its fine silver chain and held it aloft.

 “It’s beautiful.”

Taemar smiled, but there was a gleam of sadness in his eyes. “Your mother treasured that very much. She was always careful to keep it hidden and never wore it when she left Ylann. The symbol, whatever it may be, seemed ever a source of comfort to her. I hope it might bring you comfort as well.”

 “It will be no less a treasure to me,” Hawk said breathlessly. He drew the pendant to his chest, fastening the clasp about his neck with deft fingers. Giving it a last look, he then slipped it into his tu­nic.

The captain nodded approvingly. “There need not be any words of thanks between us for this, Hawk. I know you will keep it safe. Who knows? Perhaps, in time, it might even lead you to wherever Tabrina might be.”

 “I can’t thank you enough, Uncle,” the young half-elf said. He tried to speak further, but words failed him again as he considered all he had just been given.  His tongue seemed suddenly heavy. Tears welled in his eyes.

Taemar suddenly took Hawk into his arms and held him in a close embrace. “You have been nothing less than a son to me. Always know that. Wherever you may go, know that you will always have a place in my heart.”

 “And you’ll go with me in mine, Uncle.”

For a long moment, neither moved, sharing this last special moment. A few more tears fell, accompanied by silent prayers and other unspoken well wishes. In that seemingly timeless embrace, neither wanted to be the first to pull away from the other. When the separation finally came, they both drew back at the same time.

Silently they returned to the captain’s office.

Another moment of tense silence passed before Taemar spoke again. “You will have to depart soon if you’re to be beyond the river within the time given.”

Hawk shook his head, his expression thoughtful.  “There really isn’t any reason for me to stay anyway. I somehow knew that the Watch was my last chance to find a place here, and that if it didn’t work, it would be time to leave.” A bitter edge crept into Hawk’s voice as he continued.  “I just didn’t foresee it happening like this.”

The captain sighed, resigned and powerless.  “Do you know where you will go?”

With a shrug, Hawk answered, “I was thinking of going east, perhaps to one of the human settlements near Deephaven.”

 “That might be a good start,” Taemar mused, rubbing his chin. “However, if I might be so bold, perhaps you should not end your journey there. Most of the human settlements are small farming communities.”

 “If I was ill-suited as a scout for the Watch, I mistrust that I would ever make a very good farmer,” Hawk said.

Stifling a laugh, but with mirth gleaming in his eyes, Taemar agreed.  “What I was going to suggest is that you should consider the western road to Wind Gap beyond the southern border. Make your way to Ederion village in Alberic on the far side of the Darkspine Mountains. Look there for one Master Pykaris Brae, a man known to both myself and your mother. Also, I think it more likely you might find something more suited to your skills and preference there.”

 “Master Brae?”

 “The tale is a long one for which, sadly, we haven’t enough time,” said the captain. “For now, it is enough to know there is someone in the world to whom you can turn.”

Hawk glowered for a moment, frustrated.

 “Is there anything you can tell me about Alberic?”

 “I do not know much about it myself. Aside from a few trips to Windstrom Keep and to Ederion village, I’ve not traveled much in that land. It is a seemingly vast realm on the far side of the mountains, reaching as far as the sea.”

A peculiar gleam appeared in Hawk’s eyes. “Did my mother ever speak of it?

The captain smiled, understanding. “Only once, many years ago.”

Hawk accepted the answer as it was, expecting nothing more. He stood for a moment longer, his eyes meeting his uncle’s quiet gaze. All that needed saying had been said.

A timely knock on the door ended the moment. Hawk turned away as Taemar bade the new visitor enter. With one last wistful look back, the half-elf turned and left the room.

Taemar watched quietly as Hawk left, disregarding the anxious look of the returning lieutenant. “Safe travels, my son,” he whispered. “May the gods watch over you, wherever you may go.”

Less than two hours later, Hawk had gathered his few possessions and was making his way into the forest outside Ylann. As the fresh scents of the woodlands in spring washed over him, he felt newly refreshed.  Gone for the moment were wistfulness and sorrow. For now his heart raced with excitement, elated by the prospects of what awaited him. The sun was barely halfway through its morning climb, promising plenty of time for a day’s travel.

With one last glance back toward the only home he had ever known, Hawk Silverwing began his new journey.

 

 

In another land far way, another captain sat astride his horse and surveyed the road ahead. The noonday sun blazed brilliantly from above, sending to flight any concealing shadows, leaving the silent ribbon of the Elstrev Tradeway seeming empty. Yet even in the revealing noontide, the captain remained wary. To his trained eye, danger could still lurk unseen. While the road seemed to be emerging from a swath of woodland, ahead it dipped lower toward the bank of the Elstrev River. On the left the terrain dropped sharply to the river’s edge; on the right a steep incline began to rise higher, eventually becoming like a bare wall, menacing beneath a line of trees at its top.

The captain mistrusted the seeming emptiness ahead and was far too seasoned to simply ignore his wariness. The charge in his care was far too valuable to be risked with complacency.

Behind him came the entourage of His Majesty Alarek II, King of Alberic, returning to the capital from distant Syr. The king himself atop a great white stallion, his mail gleaming in the sunlight. Without his helm, his grizzled mane fluttered warm spring breeze. Like the captain, he rode with the trained ease of a seasoned warrior, relaxed but with reflexes that could spring into action in an instant. Around him rode the knights of his personal guard, all ready to defend their king at a moment’s noticed.

The captain silently wished His Majesty would remain out of sight in the carriage riding behind them, but he knew better. King Alarek loathed the confines of the carriage. A man of action as well as integrity, the King refused to cower unseen while those loyal to him faced danger.

Besides, as the king has reminded the captain more than once on this journey, the threat of the disloyal merchant costers was finally ended. There was no more need to hide. Alarek was certainly a wise and much-respected monarch, but the heavy lines in his weathered visage and the gray streaks in his long black hair hinted at a weariness. The King’s reign had already been a series of conflicts and challenges, all serving to age him before his time.

However, while the King’s safety was ever a concern for the captain, the King was not the captain’s primary charge.

In the carriage rode the Queen and their young son Xandrik, prince and heir to the Argent Throne of Alberic. Together they were returning to the capital from the eastern city of Syr where they had been sent for safety. Now that the threat was ended, they were coming home.

It was the safety of the young prince for which the captain was responsible.

For five days they had ridden westward along the great Tradeway. Another day lay yet ahead of them. Further east the lands about the River Elstrev were more flat, and the journey had been one of relative ease. It had been far easier for the captain and the knights in the King’s retinue to see any potential threats lying in wait. Thus far, nothing had happened, but as the entourage neared the eastern end of Lake Elstrev, the northern bank of the river soared higher, and the Tradeway threaded its way along a narrow shelf for much of the way. From the road, it was nearly impossible to see what might lay hidden above.

Whatever reassurances the King might offer, the captain was hesitant to accept that the threat to the royal family was ended. The rebellious merchant costers may have been the obvious foes, but there were others in the capital whom the captain trusted even less. In fact, quiet rumor suggested there was a connection.

The captain took one more look at the road before them and then dropped back to rejoin the king.

 “Ever the wary one you are. Never let it be said Captain Joranthis Brae is a complacent man,” the King said good-naturedly.

 “I seek only to ensure the well-being of Your Majesty and your family, Sire,” said the captain with a bow of his head.

 “And you do it well, my friend. I hope you will rest easier once we are returned to the palace in Albyan. This matter with the merchants has left us all ill at ease. That, alas, is always the life of a king.”

Captain Brae nodded his acknowledgement, his expression hidden behind his visored helm. He glanced at the other knights and saw them awaiting his report.

 “There is nothing visible to the eye ahead, Sire, and nowhere immediate to the road where anyone could hide,” Brae said after another moment. “However, the embankment is steep and the shelf over which the road passes is narrow. I cannot discern what lies above at the top. I would recommend we send men to scout above before passing further.”

Alarek tugged thoughtfully at his gray beard, considering the captain’s suggestion. At that moment, the Queen craned her neck through the carriage window and spoke.

 “We appreciate your thoroughness, good captain, but if we wait any longer we will not reach the next inn before nightfall. Would that not surely be more dangerous?”

 “It is possible, my Queen, and certainly to be avoided,” Captain Brae replied. “I am merely concerned for your immediate well-being.”

 The Queen met his concern with a dismissive smile and looked toward her husband, “My lord, your son and I grow weary. Your own knights have proclaimed this Tradeway safe for passage. Must we delay further? Are you to dismiss the word of your knights for the worries of one man?”

If the barb stung Captain Brae, he did not show it in the least. He simply looked to the King for further orders, remaining proud and erect in the saddle. He felt a twinge of unease, however, at seeing Alarek waver. Where once Alarek had been firm and decisive, weariness weighed now heavily upon him.

 “The Queen is right, Captain. We cannot risk delaying our arrival at the inn. Let us go forward. Men, be on your guard.”

With that, the carriage again lurched forward, preceded and followed by the King’s knights. Alarek himself rode alongside the carriage, hand resting warily on the hilt of his sword; Captain Brae rode on the opposite side, nearest the prince. As the procession moved forward, the road narrowed, forcing the riding party closer together. All looked around, now more apprehensive and uneasy.

His heart heavy, Captain Brae watched the young prince through the carriage window. A boy of barely three summers, young Xandrik was not wont to be still for very long. The confines of the carriage only made that more difficult. The Queen seemed not to be paying him much mind, more interested in idle gossip with one of the ladies sharing the ride, even when the boy leaned out the window.

 “Be careful, my prince,” Captain Brae chided carefully.

 “Ride!” said the boy, pointing to the captain’s horse.

Before the captain could say more, someone in the carriage pulled the boy back inside.

Captain Brae chuckled fondly for a moment. He stopped suddenly, however. It struck him that the land was too quiet. The only sounds he could hear were the creaking wheels of the carriage, the jangle of armor and sword, and the steady hoof beats of horses. In the sudden silence of the land, they all seemed harsh and unusually loud. Of birds and wind, there was no sign. Only a distant chitter in the trees lining the top of the embankment could be heard.

Too late, he realized the chittering was not the sound of any forest creature.

 “Ambush!”

The cry had come from one of the knights at the fore, but it was cut off as a feathered bolt rent his armor, piercing his chest, knocking his from his horse. More bolts rained down, felling another of the king’s knights. The rest of the men cried and drew weapons and shields, scurrying to protect the royal family. From within the carriage came shrieks of terror. From the far side came the commanding voice of the King.

 “Captain Brae, get the Queen and Prince to safety!”

A dozen or more men sprang onto the road from the lower bank at the moment, swords and axes drawn. They ran straight at the king and his knights, hoping to strike deadly blows while attention was turned to the attack from above. The attackers above dropped down to the road, some dashing into the fray, some onto the roof of the carriage, cleaving the driver with axes before ripping off the doors and diving inside.

With a snarl, Captain Brae shut out the agonized screams of men and women, focusing solely on his sacred charge. He forced the nearest door of the carriage and reached for Xandrik. The compartment was already a scene of death. The prince was crying for his mother, but no longer could she hear, already lost to a dagger to the heart. The Queen’s ladies lay dead, including the young son of the Queen’s handmaiden. The killer was preparing to strike at the prince, but the captain sent him flying with a mailed fist.

 “Mama! Papa!” wailed the prince, still reaching for his mother’s lifeless body.

 “No, my prince!” Captain Brae cried, pulling the boy onto his horse, drawing his cloak over Xandrik’s head. “You must keep silent!”

To the captain’s surprise, Xandrik obeyed his command as he pulled the boy onto his horse.

Despite the shrill sounds of the raging battle, Captain Brae remained focused on his duty. Gripping tightly the reins, he wheeled his horse about and charged back up the Tradeway. Only one of the attackers lunged toward them as they broke free, but Captain Brae sent the man’s head flying with a single swing of his sword. The horse plunged forward and kept going. No one looked back despite the screams and shrill ring of metal on metal.

Not until some distance had been put between them and the scene of battle did Captain Brae finally stop. Only then did he allow himself to feel the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. He held close the crying prince, most likely now an orphan, knowing the boy’s pain would be far greater. Only his love for the prince and his dedication to the boy’s safety kept Captain Brae from breaking into sobs. The captain knew his duty, and that was to the prince now in his care.

Not knowing if any of the attackers had survived, Brae pressed on. In his heart, he knew it was the beginning of a long journey. In his heart, he knew he could not deliver the prince to the capital. Captain Brae knew not who was behind the attack, but he knew Xandrik would not be safe there, or anywhere else in the kingdom.

Without any other alternative, he finally turned northward.

 

Neither Captain Brae nor Prince Xandrik witnessed the rest of the battle. They did not see the valiant last stand of King Alarek against a towering, axe-wielding assassin, the last two men standing. They did not see the vicious, heated duel that ensued or the matching mortal blows each delivered unto his enemy. They did not see Alarek, King of Alberic, fall among the bodies of his slain knights.

But someone did see. Far from the battle, in a room darkened both by the absence of light and the thrumming presence of fell magic, a raven-haired mage closely beheld the spectacle in an enchanted mirror. Almost every blow and every cry was his to savor. He nodded silently as he watched the King’s men fall and smiled with grim satisfaction as Alarek himself fell lifeless to the ground.

Everything had gone to plan, he congratulated himself. Both King and Queen were dead, and with them their miserable spawn. The battered bodies of the parents were proof; the blood-stained small foot protruding from the carriage was convincing beyond doubt.

Even better, none of the attackers had survived. No witnesses to be dealt with.

Daring to leave nothing to chance, the mage willed the mirror to survey the entire scene. Everywhere were bodies and signs of carnage. Nothing moved, except a carriage door and a few wisps of hair in an uncaring wind.

The mage allowed himself a wisp of a grim smile. He took only little pleasure in the murders his planning had wrought. It was a messy business that he generally disliked, preferring the convoluted complexity of outwitting his opponents, but he resigned himself to the necessity of it. His joy was in the fruition of a carefully-laid plan and the removal of all obstacles.

To his surprise, the scene in the mirror suddenly shifted. Where there had been a body-strewn stretch of road, there was now a swath of seemingly empty forest. Where there had been naught but death, now there was life and growth. And into it came a strange figure, cloaked and hooded. The mage watched, curious, as the figure loomed larger in the mirror.

Then the figure in the mirror looked up. The mage drew back, astonished, looking upon the sandy-haired features of a young half-elf.

Just as suddenly, the image disappeared, the surface of the mirror showing only the mage’s own reflection. For a long moment he simply stood there, pondering what it meant. The mirror only rarely before had shown him things unbidden, and never anything that wasn’t of importance.

The arrival of a new darkness in the room jarred the mage from his thoughts, sending a cold thrill coursing along his spine. Steeling himself as he always did in the presence of this darkness, he turned.

 “My Lady.”

From the depth of the shadows came a deceptively alluring voice, at once both disarming and menacing.

 “Your plan goes well, Cobrimach,” it said with mild approval.

 “Alarek can no longer hinder us. And with his son also slain, the way is clear for the nephew to take the throne.”

 “Let us hope the new king is everything you think him to be. There is yet much to be done before all is ready. It will not do to have another like Alarek getting in the way.”

Cobrimach bowed his head reverently. “What Your Ladyship commands will be done.”

 “As it should be.”

With no other word or sign, the darkness suddenly withdrew, leaving Cobrimach alone with his mirror. The power that accompanied the darkness still weighed upon his heart; the words exchanged still echoed in his ears.

In his mind’s eye, however, was the image of a light-haired half-elf.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE: THE WINDS OF WAR

 

 

ANDRÉ LACARIS felt old and weary.

True, he was past his sixtieth winter, but it was not easily noticed at a glance. His jet black hair showed only the barest slivers of gray, his neatly-trimmed beard none at all. His careworn visage, tanned and weathered from many an excursion afield, was yet firm and only slightly creased. Still sharp and penetrating, his eyes glittered like twin sapphires, filled with deep wisdom, darting about with trained alertness. As he swept along the battlements of Windstrom Keep, his brisk footfalls rang strong and steady against the stone. Those who knew him well knew he could yet wield a blade with deadly skill, his senses and reflexes not in the least diminished.

Though not an arrogant man, André knew it himself. It was not the years he felt pressing upon him, slowly leeching his resolve and setting weariness into his bones. He knew well that fewer years remained before him than were now passed, but that awareness never brought regret or despair. Whenever someone seemed amazed that he yet held such strength and zest for life at his age, André usually scoffed. More important to him than the number of years gone was what was done with them.

As Lord-General of the Knights of the Silver Storm and all of Windstrom Keep, André Lacaris knew he had used his years well. His only sadness came from the memory of dear friends long gone.

Tonight, however, he felt old. Never before had his tours of the eastern walls seemed so taxing. Nor did he normally walk the walls at so late an hour. The men normally took heart when their Lord-General passed by; this night his unease left them disconcerted. The very air felt heavy and stifling. André wanted very much to return to his private apartment in the Keep and sink into his bed. Only his unrelenting warrior’s discipline kept him on his feet.

André paused in his stride and turned to look over the battlements. Beyond the wall, the narrow opening of Wind Gap fell away to the east. Out there all was silent, except for the forlorn sighs of the mountain winds. Nothing stirred. The Gap was as it had been for the last forty years, quiet and empty. André knew he should take some measure of comfort in that, but it felt somehow wrong, its silent calm almost misleading. He glanced skyward at the heavy gray clouds streaming from the west, their pall weighing down upon him. Looking away did nothing to lessen the feeling. On either side of the Gap loomed sheer granite walls, seeming to press inward upon the Keep.

Beside him a sentry shifted uneasily. André cast a quick look at the knight and saw his own misgivings reflected in the young man’s eyes. He reached out and offered a reassuring clap on the shoulder, the commander concerned for the morale of those under his banner. The knight managed a weak grin, eyes glimmering with respect and admiration. To the dismay of both, it faded under the pressing gloom.

Something was in the very air, finding its way into the most inward niche of his being, the first cold breeze heralding the approach of a storm. For forty years he had commanded Windstrom Keep and its famed Storm Knights in peace, overseeing the guard placed upon the only opening in Alberic’s eastern border.  That peace, once reassuring and heartening, now felt hollow. The world was changing again.

Change was coming. He felt it with every fiber of his being. Every missive that came to him, from east or west, charted another step in the changing tide. Try as he might, André knew it was not to be ignored. Much of it, particularly from Alberic, was to be expected. In the fifteen years since King Dalarek II had succeeded his uncle Alarek, things had been getting worse. With the more recent tidings of unrest in the east now arriving, André feared that it boded noting but ill for everyone.

Turning from the battlement, he made his way down from the wall and across the wide training yards. Beyond lay the main building of the Windstrom Keep, the small eastern gate flung wide. A steady flow of armored men passed through the gate in either direction, neither hurrying nor slowly. André acknowledged the salutes given him as he entered. A senior officer called his name in greeting, and only his firm conviction for always being aware of the voices of the men he commanded kept him from not hearing and returning it.

 “Well met, Lord André. I was just on my way to find you. The First Lorewarden has sent word from the Tower of Lore. She invites you to join her after the changing of the guard.”

André forced back a disappointed sigh. The changing of the guard was already at hand; he had hoped for a few moments of quiet contemplation before retiring to his bed. He was a man of duty and obligation, though, and his time was often given to others. If the Lorewarden sought to meet with him at so late an hour, it had to be important.

 “Did she say what this was about, Liam?” André asked. His curiosity was piqued, but it struck discordantly against the dread in his heart.

 “She said only that I be certain you receive the message promptly, my lord,” Liam replied, “and to tell you she has tidings from the northlands.”

 For a moment André said nothing, pondering this unexpected turn. To the questions that arose in his mind he paid no heed, knowing they would be answered soon enough. Also he thought it prudent to not arouse unneeded concerns among the officers and men at the Keep. Fear of the unknown could be a far deadlier enemy than any army before the walls. With rumor the deadliest of all.

 “My thanks, good friend. I will go to Mistress Aralyn at once,” he finally said, smiling with a comfort he did not feel.”

André turned away from the gate and made his way across the inner courtyard. The Tower of Lore stood on the far side of the great courtyard, built on a low shoulder of the southern mountainside lining the Gap, rising several hundred feet into the air. A lower wall set it off from the rest of Windstrom Keep proper. The only access to the Tower was via a narrow gate and the winding stairway that climbed to a second gate and beyond to the upper courtyard and main entrance. From the ground it was practically impossible for any attacker to reach the Tower; from the mountain above it was equally unreachable, guarded by a sheer cliff rising two hundred feet above the topmost parapet. Unless the walls were breached, only from the air was the Tower vulnerable to attack.

With the changing of the guard underway, the Lord-General crossed the distance unnoticed by all but a few passing knights en route to their assigned posts. The brisk salutes exchanged between them slowed no one. The Order of the Silver Storm was structured around discipline and protocol from which the knights did not vary. Not until he reached the upper gate at the head of the stairs did André pause in his stride, two armor-clad knights snapping to attention as he drew close.

 “My Lord Lacaris,” said the ranking knight. “Lorewarden Aralyn left word that you are expected. “If my Lord will speak the password?”

Before André could speak, a searing flash of lightning rent the night. Almost immediately behind it was a crashing roar of thunder that shook the very ground. André squinted against the stinging in his eyes, his ears ringing, trying to see where the lightning had struck.

 “By the gods, the Tower is under attack!” André exclaimed. His warrior’s instincts kicked in right away, discipline learned in the heat of battle holding his fear at bay. From the courtyard below came the cry of voices raised in alarm, reacting to the attack. André turned immediately to the knights.

 “Open that gate at once! The password is ‘gryphon wing.’ Then go at once to the western wall and find the commander of the watch. Tell him I want a full unit sent up here immediately!”

 “Yes, my lord!” the knight replied, moving to immediately carry out the orders.

Although André was certain the knights below were reacting to the attack in a disciplined manner, the same could not be said of the Tower’s residents. Robed figures were running to and fro frantically about the courtyard. Most of those clad in brown – acolytes and apprentices – were scurrying away from the Tower. Those clad in green and blue – higher ranking adepts and masters of the Order – were running to it.

A moment later, silver light flickered from the top of the Tower. Like a fountain it burst skyward, its brilliance fading as it arching slowly in the air, barely visible as it dropped to the ground. The angry clouds seemed to draw back and move swiftly toward the east. A pair of green-clad adepts standing nearby cheered.

 “The masters have cast a shield,” said one.

 “Let us hope that is the end of it,” said the other.

André turned to them. “Let us not yet take chances. Gather your people and get them back inside. Now that the Tower is shielded, it is safer within. Knights are on their way to stand guard outside.”

The adepts looked at him, suddenly aware of and surprised his presence. Flustered, they acknowledged him with a bow.

 “You heard his Lordship,” barked another voice from the open doorway. A thin figure in the blue-robes of a master emerged. “Do as he commands! Get everyone back inside!”

With fumbled apologies the adepts sprang into action. André, smiling approvingly, strode briskly across the courtyard to the door.

 “Welcome, my lord. Are you hurt? Is there anything I can have brought to you?

André shook his head. “That will not be necessary. I am sure you have enough to attend to under the circumstances as it is. I came at the invitation of the First Lorewarden. However, I should imagine she is now quite detained.”

The master regarded André with calm that seemed strangely out of place. “Mistress Aralyn will still see you, my lord. I was instructed to escort you to the Hall of Reflection upon your arrival. My instructions have not been changed.”

 “What about the attack on the Tower? Will that not demand her attention?”

 “The shield has been activated. The Tower is protected from any further incursion. The Masters of the Order will see to it calm is restored. The eldest of our Order will be investigating the attack, and I am sure a detachment of knights is already being dispatched to stand guard over the grounds. The Lorewarden will still be free to attend whatever business she has with you, my lord. If you would follow me, please?”

The master turned and started off down a brightly lit passageway, the hem of his robe rustling softly against the flagstones. Nonplussed, André hurried after him. They passed a number of closed wooden doors as they navigated a twisting maze of corridors until they reached their destination. The master gestured for André to enter and strode away.

The Hall of Reflection seemed deserted, a not uncommon occurrence. Normally it was reserved for meditation and quiet thought. The only light in the hall came from a handful of candelabras. The only furnishings were long wooden benches along the walls; the only décor a few tapestries depicting famous historical events. Most among the Tower’s residents preferred one of the shrines for their private repose, but this chamber was available to all. It was an unwritten rule that no one spoke in this place, mainly out of consideration for others. André didn’t think it odd, however, that he was being asked to meet the First Lorewarden here. Their meetings almost always began here.

A young woman clad in green robes sat patiently on one of the benches at the far end of the room, her gaze fixed on a particular tapestry, arms folded tightly over her chest. The hood was cast back, revealing flowing russet hair. In the flickering candlelight, much of her face was hidden behind dancing shadows.

André sat down beside her and looked at the tapestry.

 “It depicts the famous charge led by Kynnan Bandura and Callidos the Brave against the Dark Horde under Ayleria the War Witch in the Battle of the Screaming Trees,” the young woman whispered, nodding toward the tapestry. “Twelve hundred years ago. A decisive victory that was, but costly.”

 “Yes, but the terror unleashed by the War Witch was finally ended,” replied André. “I thought it was forbidden to speak in here.”

 A wisp of a smile appeared on the young woman’s face. “Not really. People just like their privacy. No one ever takes the time to talk about these portraits. A lost opportunity for sharing, I you ask me.”

 “I didn’t,” said André with a chuckle he couldn’t help. “I should think, though, that those in your Order would welcome any opportunity for learning.”

 “Most are content to sift through old texts and musty scrolls. I find this visual depiction strangely inspiring. It really makes me think about what it portrays and conveys feelings that the written word cannot always capture.”

 “A very interesting way of looking at things.”

 “My mentor taught me that it is important to look deeper at the things before us,” the young woman said with a note of wistfulness in her voice.

 “Very wise,” said André. “My friend Jaysin used to say much the same thing. Many were the times he reminded me of it.”

For a long moment the young woman and André stood in silent thought, both looking intently at the tapestry, their thoughts elsewhere. André found himself being drawn more deeply into the detailed imagery. The mounted knights seemed to radiate an aura of invincibility as they rode against a vastly larger foe; burning trees and fallen warriors spoke to the depth of loss in that battle.

It reminded him of other battles more recent, and what had been lost fighting them.

Tearing himself away from the tapestry and his own memories, André looked again at the young woman.

 “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

The woman flushed, embarrassed, realizing she had neglected the decorum she had been taught when dealing with nobility.

 “My apologies, my lord. I am Kailan McLyr, Adept of the Second Circle and student of Mistress Aralyn herself.”

André smiled. “No apologies are necessary, Kailan McLyr. Decorum and protocol have their place, but I think that this is not it.”

 “Nevertheless, members of this Order are expected to observe it,” came a quiet voice from the doorway.

André and the young woman both leapt to their feet and turned. Approaching them was an older woman clad in the white robes of the First Lorewarden of the Order. Even in the dim light it was clear she had seen the passing of many years. Iron-gray hair was drawn tightly into a bun, lending an appearance of severity to her lined visage that was not reflected in her gleaming eyes or in the casual grace with which she held herself.

 “Well met, my friend,” Aralyn said to André with a slight nod. “I’m glad you were still able to make it despite what just happened. I see you’ve had an opportunity to speak with Kailan, my student.”

Kailan bowed. “The honor has been mine, my lord.”

The Lorewarden gestured impatiently. “We haven’t time for formalities right now. There is much to be discussed and decided. Kailan, wait outside for a moment. I would speak with Lord André privately for a moment.”

The young woman bowed a second time and left the room. André watched after her for a moment, intrigued and perplexed. Finally he turned back to the Lorewarden and gave voice to his questions.

“Then we aren’t retiring to a place where we may speak comfortably? I am aware of the rule about silence in this hall.”

Aralyn pulled her robes about her and sat down. “This day we must set aside the rule, Lord André. There are wards placed upon this Hall will ensure none can eavesdrop on our conversation. There is only one other such place in the Tower, and into that chamber outsiders are only rarely ever permitted.”

André glowered for a brief moment, taken aback by the boldness of the statement. Not even the Lord-General was held exempt from the laws of Windstrom Keep or the Lorewarden from the laws of the Order. Swiftly, though, he realized Aralyn must have a good reason for not wanting to be overheard.

 “Cobrimach DeShayne.”

Aralyn nodded, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “King Dalarek’s pet wizard appears to have been spending more time scrying on those he considers enemies – or potential enemies. One of our Order detected the intrusion just recently.”

The Lord-General hissed through clenched teeth. “His Majesty and Cobrimach both know that can be held to violate the terms of the Compact.”

 “Aye, but that requires more proof than word of mouth. All Cobrimach needs to do is deny the charge as false, and the King will declare the charge unfounded. He never goes against the will of his wizard.”

  “Is there a particular reason that the King’s wizard has turned his sight here, Aralyn,” André asked, “or do you believe he and Dalarek have grown suspicious of us in general?”

The Lorewarden stood and moved toward another of the tapestries, looking at it absently. André absently noticed this one depicted Kynnan Bandura standing over the body of his fallen comrade Callidos, shining blade in hand as he faced the War Witch in single combat.

 “I’m not sure why Cobrimach looks to Windstrom now,” said Aralyn, “but it troubles me nonetheless. For one thing, the timing of this is alarming. With things moving both east and west, Windstrom is rapidly becoming the convergence of great unrest.”

 “Do you think Cobrimach is behind this attack?”

Aralyn shrugged. “It’s too early to tell with certainly. It’s possible. Hopefully the masters looking into it can tell us more soon.”

 “I was told you have tidings from the northlands,” said André, moving to stand beside her.

 “One of my Order brought alarming news from the Sarnauth Vale, André. She reported that companies from the Royal Army have been positioned at the crossings. The Ruling Thanes of Asyvyron have already learned of it and will answer by sending their armies to the northern banks. She estimated there were already three or four hundreds in the Sarnauth Vale already.”

André turned his head sharply, his eyes wide with surprise. “How did they move so many without us knowing about it? All the roads between the Elstrev Valley and the Sarnauth are closely watched, and the Windbourne continually reconnoiter all the lands from here halfway to Evenstar Forest.”

The Lorewarden grimaced and sighed. “Merchant caravans, my friend. According to our contacts in Domron Crossing, the soldiers and their gear were transported north in covered wagons with merchant caravans. They camped somewhere outside the town where they wouldn’t be easily discovered by passers-by. I should imagine, though, that there were one or two unfortunate enough to see what they should not have seen.”

Pausing and turning to meet the Lord-General’s gaze, she added, “This can mean only one thing, André. War is coming.”

For a moment André said nothing, considering carefully the full weight of what he was hearing. The same sense of heavy dread he had felt on the wall returned to him. He glanced aside at a third tapestry. Captured in woven detail was Windstrom Keep itself, the main gate thrown down. Too well did André remember that day; the cost of that victory had been almost unbearable. Yet, in remembering it, he found again his resolve.

 “If it’s war Dalarek and Cobrimach want, there won’t be anything we can do to prevent it, Aralyn. By the terms of the Compact, I cannot interfere with the King’s choice to send his troops into battle. We are bound only to come to the defense of the kingdom in case of attack from the north or east. However, I do not think the Thanes will seek to strike first. It is not their way.”

 “What do you think will happen then? Do you believe the King is deliberately trying to provoke his neighbors into attacking?”

André shook his head, lips drawn uneasily. “I think we haven’t guessed their game by any means yet. Dalarek is a fool, dangerously so, but he is also a coward. No, this is the work of that damned wizard. Whatever his goal is, you can be sure it isn’t meeting another army in battle in the Sarnauth Vale.”

 “Then do you suggest we wait until we know more?” Aralyn asked, uncertain.

 “No, my friend. We use this opportunity to advance our own enterprise in the northlands,” came the swift, firm reply.

Aralyn regarded him apprehensively. “That is a dangerous game to play, Lord André,” she said quietly. “The King may be foolish, as you say, but he is also merciless. He will not hesitate to move against any open threat to his rule or use such an opportunity to bring you before the Royal Court on charges of treason.”

 André snorted derisively. “Odd, isn’t it, that those who fear the hand of justice most are so often the first to cry treason. Dalarek has been looking for that opportunity since the day he claimed the Argent Throne,” He dismissed the concern about the matter with a wave of his hand. “He has as much chance of ever finding it as I do of ever swimming in the Burning Sea, and that chance lessens with each passing day.”

 “I hope you are right, my friend. The Storm Knights under your command may be our only hope before all is done.”

 “The tension among the northern fiefs is growing whether we involve ourselves or not, Aralyn. Thus far I have maintained the appearance of keeping the Knights and Windstrom Keep neutral in the affair, but I have eyes on the ground. They report that open rebellion may not be far off. You and I both know that the only way such a rebellion can succeed is if there is someone under which the fief lords can rally. We both know who that is.”

The Lorewarden stood in thought for a moment, weighing the situation. “It’s a risk, but one we may have no choice but to dare. These events in the northlands are not isolated. The clouds of war and darkness are rising in other lands as well. Some of mine are beginning to think there is a greater plan behind all of it. This attack on the Tower tonight reinforces those suspicions.”

 “You have heard something?”

 “We have heard nothing definitive. Just the same rumors and reports that you have heard,” Aralyn replied darkly. She reached into the folds of her robe and withdrew a scroll. The ancient parchment crinkled as she unrolled it. “Young Kailan was consulting the Codex, and this was shown to her. She didn’t know what it meant, but she thought she recognized it from a description given her by the Veiled One, a former member of our Order. Although she was not sure why, Kailan said this should be shown to you. Perhaps you know what it is and where we should look for it?”

André looked at the scroll. The parchment was darkened and cracked with age. On it was a faded drawing of a dirk, black-bladed, wreathed in flame or light. The Lord-General gasped his eyes wide with surprise.

 “Then you do know something about it!”

The Lord-General nodded. “Yes, I do. And we needn’t look far. I have that blade. It was given to me in secret trust many years ago, to hold until the time was right for it to be given to its true owner. What its importance may be, I do not know. That knowledge was not shared with me.”

 “This cannot be coincidence, André, this coming to light on the very same night as a mysterious attack on the Tower. It’s a warning, either from the gods or some other power, but we dare not ignore it.”

 “I am beginning to share your suspicions about there being a greater plan at work,” André said with trepidation. “Aside from the person who entrusted it to me, only one other knows I have it, and I know with certainty he hasn’t revealed the secret. The true owner of this blade is under the watchful eye of the same person who guards the one about whom we were just speaking.”

Aralyn eyed the Lord General curiously. “There’s more to this than you’re telling. I can see it in your eyes.

 “It is not something I am at liberty to discuss, my friend. It is I swore a sacred oath that I would never divulge this secret to anyone, calling upon Elsprix himself as witness. Unless there is danger at hand, I am prevented by my holy vows to speak of it. Again, only one other knows, and he swore the same oath I did.”

 “I would never ask you to break such an oath,” Aralyn said, understanding. “However, danger may very well be at hand now. Action of some kind is needed.”

André stood in silent thought, his mind racing. His gaze fell again upon the tapestry he and Kailan had been studying. There was a great deal here to be considered, too much to risk making a rash decision. There was no question that Aralyn was right. Something needed to be done. The longer he dwelt on it, the more he realized only one course lay open.

 “How well do you trust young Kailan? How experienced is she beyond these walls?” he asked suddenly.

Aralyn drew back in surprise. “Kailan McLyr is one of our best, exceptionally skilled for one so young. Despite her occasional disregard for authority, she has fared very well in the world beyond Windstrom Keep. As for how much I trust her? She is one of the few Second Circle adepts ever permitted access to the Codex.”

 “Then she will be ideal for what I have in mind.”

 “What is it you’re thinking?”

 “We need to get a message out, both about your news from the northlands as well as what your adept has found. You are right, Aralyn, we have to act. However, you and I cannot be seen to be interfering. Not yet anyway. I can’t send forth one of my knights on such an errand. It would draw too much attention. A bard such as your adept, though, is not so unusual a sight.”

 “Why not simply dispatch a messenger falcon?

André shook his head and pointed at the scroll “A falcon cannot deliver this message,” he said. “Like a falcon, though, she must go swiftly and unnoticed. Bring Kailan to the old rookery in one hour. She must be ready to travel.”

Aralyn held him a moment in her piercing gaze. “You’re risking much, not least the life of one of my finest adepts. You had better be right about this.”

André’s eyes fell again upon the tapestry. For a long moment he reflected on how, twelve hundred years ago, two men had led a charge that changed the course of history.

 “What choice do we have, Aralyn?”

The Lorewarden turned and walked away. Outside the door she met Kailan, waiting patiently as commanded. With a quick nod, Aralyn gestured for Kailan to follow.

 

An hour later, André stood in the old rookery of the Windstrom Keep. He was fairly certain he had made it there unseen. Few ever came here. Built on a narrow shelf above the Keep itself, it had long ago been replaced by the new rookery atop the southwest battlements. Now its only purpose was for the quiet solitude and privacy it offered. The wind moaned discordantly about the open shutters, filling the Lord-General with a renewed feeling of uneasiness. He glanced at the small pack lying at his feet, wondering if what was within it offered the path to hope they sought.

Outside the window he could see the clouds were beginning to part, revealing feathery red strands against the black velvet sky. Only a few stars were yet visible, and only the trailing shards of the Broken Moon glimmered pale through the clouds. To the west, beyond the walls of the Gap, the land lay dark and seemingly still.

André took it as a good sign. It would be hard to see anything moving across the tumbled plain.

A soft knock on the door jarred the Lord-General from his thoughts. Against the silence of the rookery, it seemed to echo loudly. He drew back into the deeper shadows, waiting. The knock came again, three raps in quick succession, repeated again. André breathed easier and opened the door. On the other side stood Aralyn, dressed now in nondescript robes of gray. With her was the young adept, Kailan, a travel-stained cloak worn over a leather jerkin, a pack and lute slung carefully over her back.

With a sharp turn of his head, André bade them enter, quietly closing the door behind them.

 “Did anyone see you come up here?” he asked, his voice a barely-audible whisper.

 “I don’t think so,” Aralyn said softly in answer. “Most eyes this night are turned outward in the wake of the attack.”

For an instant, André’s shoulders noticeably relaxed. “Has there been further word as to who might be behind it?

Even before Aralyn spoke, André could tell from her expression her tidings weren’t good. Her eyes glittered with fear and anger.

 “We believe whoever was behind it was testing our defenses around the Codex of Memory. The lightning struck the Tower very near the hall where it is kept. We don’t know that it was Cobrimach behind the attack. The Codex would be of no use to him. He wouldn’t even be able to open or even move it, much less access its secrets. Both the Hall and the Codex are blessed by Askelion himself. The wards around them were cast by his most powerful priests.”

 “Another riddle in a time of too many questions,” Kailan murmured, drawing a nod of agreement from the Lorewarden.

 “And one we don’t have time to solve right now,” André countered, a hint of frustration in his tone. He quickly looked Kailan over, assessing her in his own mind. “We must proceed without delay.”

Kailan shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. “Mistress Aralyn tells me you have a special task for me, my lord.”

 “Special and very dangerous,” André said, reaching down for the pack at his feet. From it he withdrew an ivory scroll case and a carefully-wrapped bundle. “These must be delivered to Master Pykaris Brae in Ederion without delay. I must caution you to not open either of these. The seals on this case are magically warded and can only be broken by Master Brae, else the scroll will disintegrate. As for the package, it can be handled only by its rightful owner. Master Brae will know who that is.”

 “I understand, my lord. I’ve never been to Ederion, but I know where it lies. You have my word that I will not disturb their protections,” said Kailan, accepting the charges. She unslung her pack and slid them carefully inside. “Is there anything else?”

 “There is a secret passage that leads from here to a concealed cave located just north of the western end of the Gap. You will find one of our trusted agents waiting there with a horse as well as provisions for your journey. You must not be seen departing from Windstrom Keep. If, as Aralyn says, the eyes of the King or his pet wizard are upon us, this is the only way you can set out unseen.”

 “Understood, my lord.”

Aralyn stepped behind Kailan and grasped her shoulders gently, her expression grave and deep with an almost maternal concern. “You have traveled much already in the northlands, my child, so you already know many of the dangers out there. Now, though, things are moving that portend even greater danger. You are a bard and can pass where others may not, but the danger is no less for you.”

 “I will be vigilant and wary, Mistress. As you and the Veiled One taught me,” Kailan said reassuringly.

 “I know you will, Kailan.”

 “Will I be expected to return once the message is delivered?” Kailan noticed as André and Aralyn exchanged grim glances, neither certain how to answer. She saw their hesitation, felt its heaviness, and knew that was answer enough. Hoisting her pack onto her shoulders, she said, “Then, wherever this road may lead, I will follow it with eyes open.”

André clasped Kailan’s arm. “May Elsprix and all the gods of light watch over you, my friend.”

Without further words, André led Kailan from the rookery and across the narrow bridge that connected it to the mountainside. At the top of the stairs leading back down to the Keep, he halted. There, accessed by a cunningly concealed latch, was a secret door that opened inward to a passage leading down.

Kailan looked at the Lord-General and the Lorewarden one last time, their farewells all unspoken. She slipped quietly into the hidden passage, the door closing silently behind her.

 “Go in speed and safety,” Aralyn whispered to the rock face, head bent.

Beside her, André Lacaris stood mute, not daring to speak lest his resolve waver. The course was set. All they could do now was hope.

 

An hour and a descent of several hundred steps later, Kailan reached the bottom of the secret passage. As Lord André had said, it opened onto a small cave in the mountain wall. There waiting for her was a cloaked figure with a horse fully ready for travel. No words were exchanged as the figure passed the reins to her before scurrying off into the darkness of the passage.

The weight of the task given her pressed heavily for a moment as she stood there alone. Outside the cave entrance the dark night waited. Swallowing her fear, reminding herself that she was no stranger to these lands by night or by day, she led the roan mare out of the cave and swung into the saddle.

 Rubbing the mare’s strong neck, Kailan said, “Since I don’t know your name, I hope you won’t mind if I call you Galwen.” The horse nickered softly.

 “Well, now that that is settled, let’s be off!”

Horse and rider turned southwest and rode off toward the plains beyond the foothills of the mountains.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO: CHANCE MEETINGS

 

 

THE FIRST THING Kailan felt was pain. Her head throbbed sharply, and the countless aches throughout her body answered in almost unbearable protest. After a moment, it subsided only slightly. It was enough for her to realize she was sitting on the ground, something hard against her back, arms pulled behind her. She tried to remember her last few moments of conscious thought, to remember what had happened, but the immediate memory was a blur. All she recalled were six nights riding west from Windstrom Keep and five days spent in the scrub that dotted the plain, keeping out of sight. As the six day dawned, she had entered a strip of woodland and decided to press on while its cover shielded her.

That memory ended with two figures suddenly dropping down on her from the trees.

With a muffled groan, Kailan opened her eyes. The initial assault of sunlight sent new waves of agony through her head. Gritting through the pain, Kailan let the glare slowly resolve into defined shapes. A ring of fir trees towered above her, spaced far enough apart to let sunlight reach the needle-covered ground. By the angle of the filtered rays she could tell the sun was only barely past mid-morning – she had only been out for a short time. She tried to move and found she was sitting against a small tree, her wrists bound securely.

A few feet away, two men were standing beside her horse, looking over her packs lying on the ground. The nearer of the two was an older man, strangely well-kempt, his dark hair and beard neatly combed. His cloak was only moderately stained with travel; the sword at his side was sheathed in a finely-crafted scabbard. His companion was noticeably younger, long hair matted with filth, wearing clothes that were far poorer in appearance.

The well-dressed man turned and the sound of Kailan’s movement and stared at her with cold, calculating eyes.

  “Our guest is awake!” he said, his deep voice menacing, his laughter mocking.  His eyes glittered dangerously.  “It would have been easier if ye’d stayed out cold, missy.”

The other turned and leered greedily. His teeth were yellow and, broken and his face was covered with dirt and grime. Even so, Kailan felt less threat from him than she did his more refined companion.

 “I haven’t much of value,” she finally managed to say, staying calm despite her pounding heart. “I’m just a poor bard traveling to make my keep in the world. I’ll give you what little money I have. I won’t say tell anyone about you.”

 “Oh, we now ye won’t be sayin’ nuthin,” rasped the younger man.

His companion slapped him in the head. “Do yourself a favor, Tull, and keep quiet,” he hissed irately. “Mind what you’re doing and pay the young lady no mind. We aren’t here for pleasure!”

Kailan stifled her own grimace as Tull fell backward, saying nothing as Tull got back up and cast know the other a hateful glare. For a moment she felt a hint of sympathy for him, now certain he was by far the less dangerous of the two. The older man’s aggressiveness was far more sharply focused than Tull’s primal urges.

The man paid scant heed to Tull, his attention turning back to Kailan. “He is right, though, young lady. You won’t have a chance to speak to anyone. And don’t bother screaming. There isn’t anyone around for miles to hear you. Rest assured, I’d rather not harm you, but I won’t hesitate to bruise that pretty face of yours if I must.”

Kailan met his coldness with a quiet nod. Looking into the depth of his eyes, reflecting on his words, she began to realize the danger at hand was more than she had guessed.

 “This is no mere robbery,” she stated evenly.

 “Very good. Smart as well as pretty. I’m figuring you’ll fetch a high price when I get you back for questioning.” The man came closer and squatted down, grabbing her chin firmly. “Now you just sit there and do as you’re told.”

 “Questioning? I’m not sure I know anything of value. I’m just a traveler.”

 “Even if I believed that, it still isn’t my concern.”

For a moment they stared at each other, saying nothing, speaking volumes. Kailan could the sense the complete lack of empathy this man held for others and knew he would not hesitate to run her through with a blade if he thought it necessary. She did not pull back from him, though, meeting his steely coldness with a fiery determination of her own. The razor-sharp smile that creased his lips told her he was looking forward to the game.

Tull spoke up, and they looked away from each other.

 “Do ye want to go through ‘er packs now, Deake?” he said excitedly.

At that name Kailan felt a stab of cold fear. It was name known to her by reputation only, but that reputation was enough, known widely throughout the northlands and beyond. Made clear now was the man’s appearance and manners. Also aroused was her concern and curiosity. As bounty hunters went, Deake was reputed to be one the best in the north, hiring out only to those whose purses matched his skill.

 “Deake the bounty hunter!” she said, keeping her fear from her voice, refusing to show further weakness for him to exploit.”

For a moment, Deake ignored her, his angry gaze riveted on Tull. Kailan could see he was less than pleased at having his identity revealed. When he turned back, the cool fire of his fury beat down on her.

 “I see you know my name. Let’s hope you know the reputation that goes with it,” he said ominously. “If you do, then you know I’m not one to be trifled with.”

Deake stormed over to Tull and grab the bags. “Go and fetch the horses, fool! We can’t stay here on the road too long.”

 “An’ let you get all the good stuff?” Tull protested, glaring angrily in his turn.

 “You are being paid to do a job! Well-paid, I might add. That means you do as I tell you, and you do it when I tell you! Is that clear?”

Tull lingered a moment, glaring, a defiant curse ready on his tongue. With a grunt he turned and skulked off into the nearby underbrush.

 “Idiot!” Deake hissed through gritted teeth.

 “Good help really is hard to find these days,” Kailan dared to quip.

Deake glanced sideways at her as he bent down to inspect the packs, “Keep silent, girl!” he snarled. After rifling through them, he said, “You do travel light. Not much here of real value at all. Hopefully you have other wares that are more desirable. Nothing personal, you understand. This is strictly business.”

Kailan shrugged helplessly. “You still won find much. It’s my skill with that lute that earns my keep. I would play for you, but at the moment I’m unable.”

 “Where you’re going, your musical talents won’t fetch much of a price. Perhaps I should see what other trinkets you may have hidden so that I know I’m getting fair trade,” Deake said, moving closer, his gaze moving up and down Kailan’s helpless form. Chuckling dismissively, he added, “No matter. All I need to do is turn you over once we get back. They won’t care much about mere baubles.”

 “They? Who would that be? I can’t imagine anyone would pay a very high bounty for a traveling bard.”

The bounty hunter shot her an icy glare.

 “You partner seems to think mere baubles more valuable you do,” the bard said, risking a slight taunt.

Deake laughed derisively. “Partner? That fool is nowhere near my equal! He’s little more than hired help, extra muscle to complete a job. His wages will be far more than he deserves.”

 “Do you think he’ll believe you didn’t find anything?”

 “I don’t particularly care what that imbecile thinks. He should consider himself lucky I agreed to take him on for this job.”

A sharp whizzing sound cut briefly through the air. Deake staggered suddenly and fell to his knees, a feathered quarrel protruding from his back. Tull emerged from behind a nearby tree, a crossbow held leveled. A second bolt was still loaded.

 “They all said ye was an arrogant bastard,” he growled bitterly, winching a second quarrel into place. “They said ye’d try an’ cheat me out of the loot. But I knew if I acted dumb ye’d let down yer guard. Now ye have, an’ I mean to get all the gold for this wench while ye rot here!”

 “You fool” Deake hissed, dragging himself around to face Tull. “You won’t live to collect a single bronze coin of the bounty. They’ll kill you for your treachery long before that!”

 “Who’s to say there’s more ‘an one buyer fer this, Deake?” Tull jeered mockingly, raising the crossbow. His finger caressed the trigger. He stumbled backward and fell to the ground with a muffled groan, the bolt firing into the air. The crossbow fell from his hands with a harsh twang, the wild shot careening into the underbrush. He collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain. Two arrows were embedded deep in Tull’s leg.

Kailan and Deake both looked about frantically for the unseen archer. A moment later, a figure bundled in a heavy cloak emerged from the woods, bow in hand with another arrow nocked and ready.  All that was visible within his drawn hood was a golden-brown beard and gray eyes that glittered dangerously. He kept the bow trained on Deake as he eyed Tull thrashing about on the ground.

 “Ye shot me leg, ye bastard!” Tull howled.

 “Consider yourself lucky that my aim was true!” the stranger retorted.

 “If I get me hands on ye!”

 “Then I expect I will be wanting a bath.”

 “Who in the Abyss are you?” Deake snarled, struggling to stand.

 “No one that has time to listen to you, bounty hunter,” the stranger replied. He took two steps toward Deake and then drove the bow into Deake’s face. The bounty hunter grunted and sprawled unconscious on the ground. Kailan gasped audibly, unable to contain her astonishment and fear.

The stranger looked in her direction, his eyes deep and unreadable. Moving swiftly, amazingly silent for one so fast, the stranger stepped behind the tree and cut the ropes binding Kailan to the tree.

 “Please don’t be afraid,” the stranger said, stepping back into view. “You’re safe now.”

Kailan scrambled to her feet. Rubbing her hands together to get blood flowing and feeling to her numb fingers, she looked intently at her unexpected rescuer. He was close enough for her to make out his finely chiseled features within the hood. Gray eyes sparkled with courage and a hint of gentleness, momentarily holding her own.

Tull struggled to his knees, spitting another curse. “Come here, ye bastard son of a goblin!”

The rest of his tirade was cut short as Kailan came closer and drove a tingling fist into Tull’s jaw. She allowed herself a smile of grim satisfaction as he crumpled backward and sprawled again on the ground, unconscious.

 “Well done!”

The stranger returned his dagger to its sheath on his belt. Raising his hands, keeping them where they could be clearly seen, he threw back his hood. Sunlight fell on the bearded visage of a young man. A shaggy mane of golden-brown hair fell to his shoulders.

 “I mean you no harm, I promise,” he said evenly. “My name is Hawk Silverwing. I was passing close by when I heard voices, an uncommon occurrence in the Lonewood. When I drew closer, I saw you were in distress.”

 “Do you always shoot first to save people you don’t know?” Kailan asked, eyeing Hawk warily. “For that matter, do you often find yourself passing through woods that, by your own account, are not often traveled?”

 “Not usually, no. Shoot people, that is. I recognized Deake as soon as I saw him. We’ve crossed paths before,” Hawk replied. “I don’t know who the other one was, but I doubt very much he would have treated you with kindness. I don’t know what their business with you was, but I’m certain you’re better off out of their clutches.”

Kailan bent down to retrieve her pack, eyes locked on Hawk. “And for that I thank you, Hawk Silverwing,” she said not ungratefully. “I can be on my way now, and you can settle up with these people.”

  “You won’t get far, my lady. If Deake stopped you, he had a reason, Bounty hunters of his caliber don’t waylay random strangers along the road. He was looking for something. And if he was, you can be sure he isn’t the only one.” Hawk lowered his hands and reached for a saddlebag lying at his feet. “I don’t know who you are or what your business is. You don’t even have to tell me. I can respect that. But I can help you get away from here by paths they can’t follow.”

Taking the saddlebag, the bard said, “Kailan is my name. Kailan McLyr. I’m a bard by trade. It seems I have little choice but to accept your aid. Even a traveling bard sometimes needs a guide. Besides, you did just save my life. It would be poor repayment if I put it in danger again.”

Hawk smiled slightly. “I can’t guarantee the danger has fully passed. Nowhere is truly safe in the northlands these days.” He leaned over to pick up s small pouch. His hair shifted forward, revealing pointed ear tips.

 “A half-elf!” Kailan exclaimed, taken aback. Her face flushed in embarrassment. “My apologies, Hawk Silverwing. That was unkind of me.”

 “No apologies are needed,” Hawk said, the words crisp with resignation. “I’ve gotten used to it over the years. People don’t often meet one of my kind.” Tossing Kailan the pouch he said, “We must make haste. There will be time for talk when we’re away from here.”

 “What do we do with these two? I mistrust we can safely leave them behind us.”

Hawk considered the situation for a moment. “To bind them and leave them here some would count a kindness.”

The half elf drew a short length of cord from his belt and went to Tull. The ill-mannered ruffian came to as Hawk sat him up and trussed his wrists behind his back. Gone now was the tough demeanor he had displayed, replaced now by fear.

 “Don’t take me back! They’ll kill me suren as day!”

 “Who will?” Hawk asked, coming around to crouch in front of Tull. “Who sent you?”

Kailan started turn. As she did so, she caught movement out the corner of her eye. With a quick turn of her head she saw Deake beginning to move and the flash of sunlight off bare metal.

 “Hawk!” she cried out as Deake rolled over, dagger poised to throw.

The young half dove to the side, dagger suddenly in hand. Deake’s attack narrowly missed, soaring past Hawk’s head. The half elf loosed his own. The dagger sailed through the air. His aim was true and deadly as the blade sank into Deake’s throat. The bounty hunter’s eyes widened for an instant and he dropped into a heap, his last breath a sickening gurgle.

Catching his breath, Hawk looked up Kailan. “Thank you. That makes us even.”

They turned back to Tull and found he would be answering no further questions. A scarlet stain was spreading from where Deake’s dagger had struck his heart.

 “Damn!” Hawk spat.

 “Are you hurt?” the bard asked, coming to Hawk’s side, helping him get to his feet.

 “Just my pride. I should have kept a closer watch on him.” Hawk looked at the bodies lying on the ground. “We need to get them out of sight and be on our way. Others may pass this way, and it won’t do us any good if they report bodies along the roadside. I hate to leave any man’s body for carrion, but we don’t have time to bury them. We can’t risk the smoke of a pyre, either.”

Together they dragged the bodies into the underbrush, covering them with loose branches and some ferns. Hawk thought to also cover the splotches of blood on the ground with needles while Kailan erased the shallow ruts from dragging, both hoping so simple a trick would suffice long enough.

 “That will have to do,” Hawk said grimly, surveying their work with apprehension. He glanced skyward and noted the sun had passed further west. “We need to be going. We’ve lost too much time already. We don’t have far to go, but the way will be slow.”

Pulling herself onto her horse. “Where are we going?” she asked, offering Hawk a hand up.

The half-elf politely shook his head and took the reins to lead.

 “We’ll go across country to Ederion. I know a place there where you can hide safely. The lands are mostly empty from here to the farms outlying the village, so there is little chance we’ll be seen.”

Kailan assented with a brief nod. She was more than a little uneasy about letting someone unknown to her lead her into empty fields. But she knew she had little choice in the matter, that the road might no longer be safe. In her heart she felt she could trust this mysterious half-elf who had come to her rescue. Her mind, however, called for caution.

 “The best way to not be found on the road is to not be on the road. The best way to not be found at all is to not be where you’re expected to be.”

Hawk’s eyes widened noticeably. “Where did you hear that?”

 “My former mentor told me that before I set out the first time from where we studied,” Kailan replied, more than a little curious. “Why do you ask?”

 “Someone I knew a long time ago far from here used to say the same thing,” said Hawk. Shrugging it off before Kailan could press further, he gestured with a nod of his head toward the southwest. “My own horse is nearby. Let’s get him and be on our way. We have many miles to cover if we’re to reach Ederion by nightfall, and the terrain we’ll be crossing will not allow for us to ride swiftly.”

 

Hawk’s horse was only a short distance away, tethered to a tree in a small glade on the south side of the road. A sleekly muscled young stallion, the steed nickered softly as the half-elf drew close, nuzzling his bearded cheek. Rubbing the stallion’s neck, he whispered, “Easy, Bolt,” as he took the reins and led the way deeper into the forest.

Kailan knew little of the forest except from what she remembered from maps at the Tower of Lore, but she soon noticed Hawk was carefully angling their path to make the most of the trees’ cover while steering south and east away from the road. The Lonewood was a fairly small patch of forest, stretching little more than seven miles east to west and only half as wide, and Kailan reckoned the ambush had happened about halfway through. Beyond the Lonewood on all sides stretched the flat lands of the Windward Plains. Hawk clearly meant to shorten their trek across the open terrain.

The forest itself seemed lighter in the wake of the encounter with Deake and Tull. Sunlight filtering through the leafy canopy felt warmer and more uplifting. The occasional song of a bird in the trees lifted their spirits. Here and there a squirrel or chipmunk skittered away as they passed. No unusual sounds could be heard from far off.

The half-elf threaded their way forward with deliberate care, keeping wherever possible to rockier ground or narrow gullies, always steering clear of thickets and undergrowth. He made barely and sound as he guided them, even as he led Bolt. The bard was uncomfortably aware that her own passage was far more noisome, and she tried to match Hawk’s movements. At one point Kailan looked back and saw they had left hardly any trail to mark their passing, impressed by Hawk’s skill.

 

They traveled on for about an hour before the trees abruptly ended at the edge of the plains. The scrub and grasses ran right up to the feet of the trees like an amber sea reaching a towering shore. The southern edge of the forest receded off to the east, a wall of shadows standing watch against the emptiness of the flats. The sun rode high in a cloudless sky

Kailan felt suddenly vulnerable in the vast openness.

Hawk stopped and pulled himself astride Bolt and gestured for the bard to do likewise.

 “We’ve done well,” he said quietly. “It’s only midday. If we can keep a steady pace across the plains, we should reach Ederion not long after sunset. There is a watering hole not far too far from here. We will stop there to let the horses rest and eat a bite ourselves.”

 “I thought you wanted to reach it before nightfall.”

 “I did. But I think it now wiser to delay our arrival until after dark. Fewer prying eyes to mark us as we pass by until we’re safe indoors.”

The bard frowned, still uneasy. “Are the folk of Ederion that untrustworthy?

Shaking his head, Hawk replied, “The folk of Ederion I trust, for the most part. There are, of course, folk anywhere who don’t always mean well to others, but Ederion seems to have but a very few. No, it is the eyes of others from which I feel the need to be wary. The town itself sits at a crossroads, and many pass through. Who can tell what business brings them thither?”

 “Your words do not fully comfort me, Hawk Silverwing. I begin to wonder if there won’t be spies behind every closed window and door.”

 “In these troubled times, it’s often best to proceed as if that were the case,” Hawk said. “If it will easy your mind, then know that I plan to approach Ederion so that we pass few houses and farmsteads.”

Kailan sighed. “Then I will trust still to your guidance. You seem to be very familiar with these lands and the people in them.”

 “My work takes me throughout the northlands,” he replied, nudging Bolt forward before the bard could ask anything further. Kailan, with no choice but to bite back her next question, bid Galwen to follow.

The trek across the plains was far more grueling than the passage of the forest had been. The land was silent and empty as far as the eye could see. The late summer sun beat down on them relentlessly, and it soon grew hot. There was barely any trace of a breeze across the grass, blowing so infrequently as to do nothing to ease the discomfort. Hawk soon pulled off his cloak, but the well-worn leather armor he wore under it still chafed in the heat. Still he kept pressing forward as one not unaccustomed to such discomforts. From time to time he quietly hummed an old riding tune.

Beside him, Kailan continuously wiped sweat from her brow. Her own cloak was soon doffed. Although the miles in her own travels were not inconsiderable, she could not recall having ever felt to wretched while riding. She eyed Hawk almost enviously, wondering how he had come to endure it so effortlessly, considering just another part of the mystery that surrounded him.

They rode in silence for hour after leaving the Lonewood behind them. Hawk kept them at a steady pace westward with just a slight bend to the south. His eyes darted about here and there, ever watchful, scanning the land for anything amiss. To his comfort and Kailan’s, nothing seemed out of place.

Soon a small copse of willow trees sprang up ahead from the otherwise unremarkable flat expanse before them. Hawk led them to the edge of a small pool of water that lay within their shade and called for a halt. He and Kailan dismounted and led their horses to the water’s edge where they eagerly drank their fill before wandering a short ways to nibble on greener grasses. The half-elf and bard set themselves against the trunks of a stout willow, enjoying the coolness of the tree’s shade.

 “I hope it isn’t going to be this hot the entire way,” Kailan rasped between sips from her water bottle.”

Hawk glanced skyward for an instant. “It will begin to cool as the sun drops into the west. Not much, but perhaps it will be a bit more comfortable. The Windward Plains are not always a pleasant place for travelers, in summer or winter.”

Kailan mopped her forehead with a handkerchief. “So I have heard, but I wasn’t expecting it to be quite like this.” She flinched when she dabbed the place where her forehead had been struck in the ambush.

Hawk sat up. “I should take a look at that for you.”

 “It feels fine. Just a bit sensitive the touch.”

 “All the same, there’s no harm in checking. Head wounds can be deceptive.” The bard relented with a look of indifference. Hawk tried not to notice the rich color of her long russet hair as he drew it aside. “It doesn’t seem bad. A small bump with a small scratch. There’ll be no scar to mar your fairness.”

Hawk blushed as she sharply turned to look at him. Pretending not to notice, he reached for his pack and fumbled around for something inside. After a moment he pulled out a small ceramic bottle. He uncorked it and poured a dab of brownish salve into his palm. A rich, earthy aroma wafted through the air.

 “What is that?” Kailan inquired, forgetting for the time being the awkward moment.

 “An herbal mixture for treating wounds,” Hawk replied as he dabbed the unguent on the bard’s forehead. “It has minor curative powers and will speed the healing of you injury.”

 “You are a man of many talents, it seems,” Kailan said with admiration. “Where did you learn this?”

Hawk flushed with embarrassment yet again. “I know a few things. I learned much when I was a scout in…” His voice trailed off and he looked quickly away. For a brief instant, Kailan caught a glimpse of his expression. In his eyes she say a glimmer of anguish as of an old memory causing pain.

Despite her curiosity, she chose not to press and very casually changed the subject.

 “Do you think we can cross this flat land without being seen, Hawk? There’s nothing to shield us from unfriendly eyes out here. We could be espied from far off.”

Pulling himself back together, Hawk sat back down. He took a bite of the hard roll he had chosen for his noon meal and followed it with water.

 “Few travel between Ederion and Windstrom Keep, and those who do keep to the road. Between those two places there is naught but the plains and small patches such as the Lonewood. The eastern plains are a barren, empty place that unsettles most, and travelers are relieved to reach their destination after crossing them. The easternmost farmsteads of Ederion are still many miles west of us, but we will turn aside before we come into their fields. Where we are bound is south of the village itself.”

 “I’m beginning to think you haven’t much use or like for roads,” Kailan said with laugh.

 “In my line of work, it’s what’s lying unseen near them that concerns me,” the half elf explained. “My primary trade is as a scout for merchant caravans, mostly between Veluriath in the south and the valley of the River Sarnauth to the north.”

 “Much of that traffic centers on Ederion?”

 Hawk shrugged as if the answer were plain. “Ederion sits at a major crossroads. The roads that run from Windstrom Keep to Lake Gweldyn on the eaves of Ravenwood Forest meets there the tradeway that runs from Domron Crossing on the Sarnauth to Veluriath and on into the Elstrev Valley. Most scouts hired by merchant caravans prefer not to travel too far beyond their center of trade, so Ederion is where caravan masters look for someone to lead the remainder of the journey. I was on my way back there from my last commission when I chanced upon you.”

 “Fortunate for me,” said Kailan with a smile, tipping her head in thanks.

 “I confess myself curious, Kailan,” the half elf went on. “What business would a traveling bard have that would put her on the road from Windstrom Keep and draws the interest of someone like Deake? No mere highwayman was he, waylaying the unwary for a few coins and trinkets.”

Kailan felt uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze; the shrewdness of his questions left an uneasy feeling in her stomach. After a moment she found the words to reply that she hoped would deflect his inquisitiveness.

  “What is interest in me was, I cannot say. He was guarded in everything he said, except that I was to be questioned. Whether that meant I was the one being sought or he was just looking for anyone traveling west along the road, I do not know.”

The half elf chuckled, fully aware that her answer was really no answer at all. “Wrong place and wrong time, is that it?” he said with a good-natured laugh.

Kailan simply shrugged, her expression neutral.

 “Very well then, Kailan McLyr, keep your secrets. In these troubled times, it’s the wiser course by far.” The humor in his eyes faded as he stood up and gathered his pack. His tone took on a subtle hint of warning “But know one thing, my friend. We may have left danger behind, but there may yet be more in front of us. The northlands are not safe. You may yet have to trust.”

Silently gathering her own things, Kailan thought hard on the half elf’s words. In her heart she knew he was right. She tried to say something more, to assure Hawk she appreciated what he was doing for her, but her own doubts and dedication to her task held her tongue in check.

Soon they were mounted again and riding more swiftly across the plain. The rest of the afternoon passed in silence as they both kept to their own thoughts. Every so often Kailan glanced aside at Hawk, but the young half-elf kept his gaze forward or to the side, scanning the land around them and the sky above. Each time she looked quickly away, her heart sinking like the slowly westering sun.

Each time she missed the Hawk’s concerned expression whenever he looked back at her, and she did not see the sympathy that welled up in his deep gray eyes.