Winternight (standard:fantasy, 16567 words)
Author: Jared Michaud	Added: Nov 05 2008	Views/Reads: 3154/2461	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The lines were drawn thousands of years ago. The first battle of the age-long war sundered the world. Now, after the world has forgotten, the darkness walks once more... Winternight... The Final Epic Has Begun

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hand to halt him, "You will do yourself harm, old one. Men are killed 
for asking another's allegiance in these parts. The Oath is both enemy 
and friend to any of us. Still..." He shrugged, "My sword is my own. I 
am a freeholder from the south." "In that case..." the old man turned 
his head from the fire and looked at the newcomer's face, still hidden 
in the strange shadows of his hood, as if seeking a reaction, "there 
are rumors of strange doings in the mountains as well." "Doings?" The 
stranger's voice regained its odd note and he resumed his former, 
piercing stare. The old man shrugged, "They say were-men have been seen 
in the north holds. They say a deep shadow has fallen over the 
mountains, gathering up all the dark things of the netherworld. If the 
rumors are true, the creatures hide there, awaiting their master's 
return so they can claim the world for their own. And, for those who 
believe such things, they say the Star of Yore shines once more." The 
stranger hissed, the sound of a long breath drawn in between clenched 
teeth and said, half in question, half in demand, "Who has told you 
such tales? What do you know?" The old man hesitated, "Well..." Then he 
shook his head as if pushing an idea away. "No," He muttered under his 
breath. Then, "No" he said, a little louder, as if he had decided some 
question in his own mind. The stranger seized his arm, "What have you 
heard? Tell me." The old man shrugged and stared pointedly at the 
stranger's hand, which clutched demandingly at his arm. The hand was 
slowly withdrawn, and the old man turned his gaze to the fire, saying 
nothing for a long moment. When he next spoke his voice was distant, as 
if he pondered a place far away or a time long past, "T'was a traveler 
who told me; a strange man who seemed to wear the silence as a cloak. 
He shared my fire for a night. I have never heard the like of the tale 
he told, even from of old. ...It seems fanciful beyond belief. Such 
fancies are too big a mouthful for this modern world, when children no 
longer believe even in were-men or giants." He snorted softly, "but..." 
he twitched his shoulders in another shrug, "If he spoke true, we may 
see the signs of the ancient times once again." His eyes unfocused 
slightly, and he seemed to be gazing inward for a moment to something 
unseen by the rest of the world. Then he began his story... 

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

She stood motionless in the center of the clearing, hood pulled low over
her eyes, listening. The forest around her was as dark and still as 
she, the trees sending searching branches into the night. Above her the 
moon shone bright upon the woodland, which spread to the south and west 
as far as the eye could see. Very near to the north then sweeping 
around into the distance to the east, a wall of mountains rose huge and 
forbidding into the sky-strange, terrible fortresses of black stone 
guarded by dark, purplish clouds that swallowed up their peaks. Seen 
from the corner of the eye, the clouds seemed to creep farther and 
farther outward from the mountains they called home as if they wished 
to consume the sky itself. If one turned to look at them directly, 
however, they still hovered there, churning slowly. The wind stirred 
the trees, whispering through the branches and brushing lightly over 
the cloak that shrouded the solitary figure on the hillside, still 
standing unmoving in the darkness. There was something wrong with the 
air-with the night itself. Something was present that should not be 
there, she thought, or possibly something was missing. She wasn't 
certain and that in itself was a bad sign, as she had walked the 
forests of Eschaton for far longer than anyone from the most of the 
world's races had ever lived. She knew the forests well-even this dark, 
unnatural one. Again the breeze brought the scent of the woods to her 
nose, and again she sensed the almost imperceptible tang of 
bitterness-of something wrong. Yet, as she tried to isolate it in her 
mind, it disappeared again. Behind her the trees stirred, and she 
turned to see her companion emerge from their shadow. He stalked toward 
her, eyes flicking around the clearing. "My lady Talina, the path ahead 
is clear. And..." his eyes swept the clearing again, uneasily. 
"Something is wrong with this wind." "Yes, Bretran, I feel it. We must 
be getting close...perhaps too close." "Too close?" He frowned, "This 
is no time for second thoughts, Lady. If you would go back..." "No, of 
course not." Talina waved her hand dismissively. "This is an uneasy 
night, and we haven't yet found..." Bretran's hard face set itself into 
grim, determined lines that had become more and more familiar of late. 
"We must continue. That path is set now." Suddenly, Talina's hand shot 
up and her head swiveled to the right, toward the edge of the clearing. 
With her gesture Bretran melted back into the shadows as if he had 
never been; his hand already moving to the hilt of his sword. Talina's 
breath hissed as she inhaled, then she turned and stepped quickly back 
into the forest. The leaves on the trees, still but for the wind, began 
to tremble slightly, as if the earth shook, then more and more, and a 
sound came, faint at first like thunder gathering in the distance and 
rolling in through the darkness. A moment later, the thunder became a 
roar, and a shape broke through the trees on the southeastern side of 
the clearing. It was moving impossibly fast, but its features were 
unmistakable, even in the dimness. It was a horse of a kind both 
beautiful and terrible. Its black coat shone with magic, and its mane 
streamed straight out behind it from the terrific speed at which it 
ran. Balls of red lightning flashed in its eyes, and light danced 
around its hooves as if it struck sparks from the ground, whether it 
trod upon stones, grass, or the softest earth. Talina had seen a Dread 
Steed once before, when she was very young, and this was a stallion of 
the kind that belonged only to the Fair Folk. It seemed to freeze for a 
moment before her eyes, and she caught a profile both noble and 
infinitely dangerous, perfect of form and limb, its rider seeming 
impossibly small upon its back. Talina shrank even farther back into 
the shadows as it thundered across the clearing, a blur of speed, 
hooves beating the earth in a continuous roar. Behind it came the 
terrifying avalanche of the Wild Hunt, of hooves and whips and Fae 
lights, red and black leather flashing as it pounded past through the 
darkness. Along with the Dread Steeds came the Dark Hounds. They were 
creatures of nightmare, the larger cousins of the great forest wolves, 
bred magically for the Hunt, their eyes and teeth glittering as they 
followed fast on the heels of their masters' steeds. Once it began, the 
parade of shapes and light and eyes racing through the gloom seemed to 
go on forever, and Talina stood absolutely still, barely breathing. 
Hundreds of horses and riders fairly flew through the clearing each 
moment, but they came and kept coming. As Talina watched, the night was 
broken by a cry from the darkness and two shapes sailed out of the mass 
of horsemen to land rolling in the grass on the near side of the 
clearing. Then, as quickly as the careening train had begun, it simply 
ended, and the ground was still, but for a little residual trembling 
that soon faded to nothing. There was no sign at all that the Hunt had 
passed. Not a blade of grass was bent, and the trees were as still and 
silent as ever. All that remained were two inert shapes, lying in the 
grass. Talina stood absolutely still, watching. There was a good chance 
that, when the leader of the Hunt realized he had lost two of his 
hunters he would return for them. The Folk were a reclusive lot, but 
for the Hunt and the Snatchers, and seeing even those was a rarity. 
They would not knowingly leave two of their own among the hostile 
outsiders...There was a good chance they would come back, but the Folk 
were only men, just as any of the other races of men. They were just as 
likely to err. Seconds stretched into long, silent minutes as Talina 
waited, totally still but for her breathing. Finally, after what must 
have been a full quarter of an hour, one of the two figures before her 
stirred and moaned. A moment later, it sat up and looked blearily 
around. In the silver light of the full moon, Talina could see it was a 
girl, and a rather tiny one (as would have been expected for the Folk). 
She would have been under four links high, standing upright. That was 
short even for one of the Folk. She turned her head side-to-side for a 
moment, then gave a muffled cry and started toward the other figure, 
which still lay sprawled across the damp grass of the clearing. As the 
girl moved forward to hover over the still form, Talina stepped 
silently from the trees. Talina was a gray shadow, even in the silver 
moonlight of Winternight, moving through the clearing, her cloak's 
colors matching her surroundings with a little too much accuracy for 
the eye to be comfortable. Approaching the two, she could see that the 
one on the ground was a boy-and entirely too large for one of the Folk. 
Talina let out a short, surprised hiss of breath and the girl whipped 
around, coming instantly from her knees into a defensive crouch over 
her companion, her eyes shining in the moonlight. Talina halted, 
surprised. The sound should not have been audible even a few links 
away. The girl made a grab for something inside her cloak and her eyes 
flashed as Talina raised a hand. "Who are you?" Uttered in a voice of 
tinkling silver bells, the girl's challenge was strong enough to carry 
clearly, and the warning in it was unmistakable, yet still soft enough 
not to carry beyond the edge of the clearing. Talina's eyebrows rose. 
Such control and purpose were impressive considering the circumstances. 
That was especially true if, as Talina suspected, this girl was only a 
child. "Peace, girl. I've nothing against you." There was a noise of 
metal on metal from across the clearing and Bretran stepped from the 
shadow of the trees, his sword drawn. The girl whipped around, her hand 
coming out of her cloak to reveal a dagger, held cocked and ready to 
throw. "Drop it." Bretran's words slammed into the still night like a 
block of granite, and the girl hesitated, her arm still, staring across 
the clearing at the tall man, his chain mail gleaming dully under the 
moon, his sword an accusing finger of steel pointed straight at her. 
The two held there, frozen for long moments until, slowly, the girl 
replaced the half-drawn knife within her cloak. Talina had moved 
silently up until she stood barely five links behind the Fae child and 
the Deegani boy. Deegani he was; Talina could see him clearly now, 
sprawled in a tangle of limbs across the grass, his chest rising and 
falling ever-so-slightly. Talina spoke gently and the girl turned back 
to her, "What is your name, child of the Folk?" "Cyrith." The girl 
stared suspiciously up at her, still hovering protectively over the 
unconscious boy on the ground. "What do you want?" Talina raised an 
eyebrow, "From you? Likely nothing." Her eyes considered the Fae child 
for a long moment. "Would you have us leave you as we found you? 
Castoffs of the Hunt?" Cyrith started to nod almost belligerently, then 
brought herself up short and looked down at the boy, who had begun to 
stir feebly. "I... I don't know." The boy opened his eyes and Cyrith 
threw herself upon his neck, hugging him fiercely. "Oh, Stephen, are 
you all right?" He groaned and reached out to hug her in return, then 
set her easily on her feet as he sat up. He was nearly as tall sitting 
as she was standing. Seeing Talina, his arms tightened reflexively 
around Cyrith and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, simply 
studying her for a long time. Talina returned his gaze, her face 
revealing nothing in the moonlight. There was a depth to his eyes, she 
saw. It was a depth that no child should have. It reminded her of... 
Talina frowned as Bretran approached, still watching the children 
carefully, though he had sheathed his sword. In a clipped, irritated 
voice he said, "What now? We can't take them with us-not there." He 
jerked a thumb toward the mountains to the north. Talina raised her 
eyebrow, "Oh? We must take them with or send them back alone, and one 
is just as dangerous as the other." Bretran nodded, "But what about..." 
Talina raised a hand to stop him, an odd expression on her face, "Hold 
a moment." She turned to the boy, "Who are you?" His slight frown was 
as thoughtful as his previous glance had been, "I am Stephen. Who might 
you be, my lady elf?" Talina frowned. Her kind were rare across 
Eschaton. She would never have expected such discernment in one so 
young, and a Deegani at that. "I am Talina ne'al Kalin ni'al 
In'Kalith." Stephen nodded gravely and Talina thought she caught a 
glint of amusement in his eye for an instant. Talina glanced to Bretran 
then turned and faced the two squarely. The Fae girl stood half behind 
the boy, obviously deferring to him, and she remained silent as Talina 
spoke, though her eyes never wavered. "You may join us on our journey 
if you wish. We travel north to the mountains. Otherwise there is a 
town, Findale, three days south. We can give you food and water. If 
circumstances were different, we would accompany you, but we cannot." 
At the word mountains, Stephen's eyes narrowed but he shook his head, 
"Please, don't leave us. This is a terrible place, dangerous to Folk, 
both Fair and Deep." Talina's lips twisted wryly, "The forest is dark, 
true, but the mountains are the source of the darkness. You would join 
us there?" Her voice was thoughtful, "Safety lies to the south, boy, 
not in the madra'risa." Stephen shrugged as Cyrith shifted 
uncomfortably behind him, "Yet it is to the dark mountains that you 
travel, lady. Surely we would be safe with you?" The neutrality of 
Talina's tone was its own sort of shrug. "Very well, come then. Our 
horses are over the hill." She motioned the children toward the 
southern edge of the clearing. There were four horses. Two were common 
pack animals, only lightly burdened. The other two were saddled for 
riding and were obviously far from ordinary. One of the horses was a 
mare. Her color, an odd, eye-twisting combination of gray and brown, 
seemed to fade into the foliage. The other was a pure white stallion, 
his head held high, intelligent eyes watching the trees suspiciously as 
if he, too, disliked something about the place. It was the work of 
moments to move the remainder of their supplies to a single packhorse 
and rig a makeshift bridle so the children could ride. They had to ride 
bareback, but it didn't seem to bother them; they clung to the horse 
and each other as if they had been born to it. After Talina mounted the 
mare and Bretran the stallion, the little party moved out toward the 
mountains. Talina led, sitting erect in the saddle, hood pulled low, 
alert to any change in the forest around her. Next were the children, 
holding to the packhorse and saying little, staring into the woods as 
if they expected terrible creatures to plunge out of the brush at any 
moment and attack them. In the rear rode Bretran leading the other 
packhorse, his eyes flicking about, senses alert. His stallion must 
have picked up his mood as well, because it seemed as alert and 
watchful as he. Talina headed them straight for the mountains that 
towered so near in the north, following a ghost of a path that was 
invisible to the others at times. As they rode the night seemed to wear 
on forever; the moon never moving from its place behind them; the 
entire world silent as the grave. Ahead the mountains loomed ever 
closer, towering peaks still lost in the clouds. It must have continued 
that way - the horses' hooves making little crunching sounds in the 
needles of the forest floor, the saddles creaking slightly - for 
several hours. Time, though, seemed to stand still. The world was 
frozen in the darkness, unmoving and silent, and as they continued, it 
became increasingly threatening. The trees' branches seemed to reach 
out for them, and the silence that had at first seemed merely eerie 
grew more and more ominous. All the while, the wind continued to bring 
stronger and stronger the sense of wrongness that Talina had first 
become aware of in the clearing. Obstinately, however, it refused to 
allow her to identify it. Suddenly Talina spoke, breaking the silence 
that the night had held them under, "How did a Deegani boy come to be 
in the company of the Fae? ...and riding the Hunt, no less?" She didn't 
turn her head, and after her voice faded, she might almost never have 
spoken. A moment later Cyrith spoke. "Why should we tell you anything?" 
Her voice was high and musical despite the belligerence of its message, 
carrying a sound akin to tiny bells. Seemingly ignoring her, Talina 
said, "Cyrith...an interesting name...what is your lineage, girl?" 
Cyrith started, almost losing her hold on Stephen who glanced back at 
her reassuringly. "I...well..." Cyrith gulped. Talina turned her horse 
abruptly, facing them and making them pull their mount back sharply. 
Bretran also halted, watching everything and focusing on nothing, just 
as impassive as before. Talina stared out from the depths of her hood; 
and despite the shadows shrouding her features, a hint of reproof 
marred her calm, "There is more to this than you know, girl. Do not try 
my patience." Cyrith seemed to shrink in the saddle behind Stephen, but 
she spoke up indignantly, apparently unfazed, "Elves do not often trust 
so easily as you. You didn't even seem surprised to see us. There's 
something that you aren't telling us, isn't there?" Talina seemed 
amused and she glanced at Bretran, "Elves do not trust so easily...and 
Deegani do not ride easy with those whose loyalties are in question." 
She nodded, "Yes,  there is much you do not know. And you, too, may 
have a part to play in this...." She shrugged and turned her horse, 
starting again along the path. It was a long moment before she began to 
speak, "My journey began when I was barely a child. An old man spoke a 
prophecy to me which he said would someday change the world. Ever after 
that, I felt drawn to leave my people and wander. I first left when I 
was barely fifty turnings old. I went westward, then south. I returned 
to my people often in those early days. I would spend a turning at home 
then another traveling. As time passed, I was away for longer and 
longer. “Wandering became my life. I saw the four corners of the land 
and even sailed out from the shores of this land and saw another, far, 
far away. Of late, my travels have taken me to Degan. It was there I 
heard that same prophecy again. It was as if a voice had reached up 
from the depths of my childhood and pointed the way north. It had been 
handed down by my people, from generation to generation, ever since the 
Great War. I heard it purely by chance, but it awoke old memories." 
Talina twisted half around to peer through the darkness at the two 
children, "What do you know of Degan?" Cyrith's tone was more relaxed 
now as she said, "The stories say it is the land of the Degaani-the men 
who hold the north against the forces of darkness." Bretran snorted 
softly and Talina's gentle yet somehow bitter laugh rippled back to 
them, "Yes, that is what the stories say, and once it was even true. 
Today, the reality of the thing is a different matter. Once, the 
Degaani may have been men of valor and courage who stood against the 
darkness. Now the tale of the northlands is much more... interesting. 
The Degaani are warriors still, but they squabble among themselves like 
children while their people are slaughtered or enslaved." Bretran 
grunted and this time when Talina laughed, her bitterness was plain, 
and she replied, as if to his grunt, "Oh, you know the truth of it." 
She waved her hand in a throwaway gesture that, at the same time, 
indicated Bretran, "He was having...difficulties...with one of his 
brothers over who would succeed their father as king; so when the 
reports they had been receiving about bandits and raids in this area 
began coming from sources too reputable for his father's regency 
council to ignore, he came north to see for himself. "When we arrived 
in Findale, we found the barracks at half muster. The men desert their 
posts, and the farmers in outlying lands have not been heard from in 
months upon months. There were also strange tales passing between the 
villagers. We decided then to continue north to find the source of the 
problem, despite some..." her mouth quirked, "...trouble with the 
captain of the guard." Cyrith nodded, frowning, "There are only two of 
you?" Talina's voice carried contempt now, "We'd no 'royal 
authorization' to take men from the barracks. Besides, I've my own 
suspicions of what has been happening here." "And your prophecy? What 
has it to do with all this?" Talina looked thoughtful, and her voice 
had a testing edge to it when she next spoke, "What is tonight, girl?" 
Cyrith blinked, uncomprehending, "Winternight. There's only enough free 
magic for an easy hunt on Winternight." Talina's shoulder twitched 
under her cloak, "So it is..." and her voice changed, deepening and, as 
she continued, ringing out through the darkness. "On Winter's night of 
power, the comrades first shall meet. The princess of the woodlands, 
the scion of watchmen bright, The child of dwarves and fairies, the 
giant from the east, The son of fallen Simia, the outcast from the 
pack, The wizard of the shattered coast, though present yet unseen. 
Together will they forge man's fate, together stand against the storm, 
For when they find the light of yore, shall ancient darkness wake once 
more." Talina let the last words trail off into silence. Cyrith's 
puzzled frown showed her incomprehension, "So the prophecy is speaking 
of tonight? ...but what does it mean? What darkness?" Talina's cool, 
ironic smile could be heard in her voice, "If I knew, I would hardly be 
bumbling around the forest in the middle of the night with two 
children, would I? "All I know is that that prophecy was made by one of 
great power-one who should be believed. ...And I know we may have a 
part to play in its fulfillment." Cyrith nodded slowly then asked, "But 
why me? My people are the Fae, but I'm not even grown yet..." Talina 
looked at Bretran; and, voice troubled, she said, "Prophecies have been 
wrong before, even those kept by my people, but that prophecy comes 
from the Book of Yore. The Great Wizard himself wrote it, shortly after 
the last, terrible battle..." They were climbing into the foothills 
now, and Talina was guiding her mare carefully up a slope covered with 
rocks and loose debris. She fell silent for a moment choosing their 
path, and Cyrith asked, "The Book of Yore?" Talina looked back at her, 
"Do the Fae remember nothing of the past? I speak of the greatest 
warrior wizard of all time, who defeated the Byzimyanny-the Nameless 
One-in  the Battle of Ages. He left a book of prophecy behind him when 
he left Eschaton, and this is the first and possibly greatest of the 
Prophecies of Eschaton." Suddenly the air was rent by a terrible sound 
- half howl, half scream - filling the night around them, echoing off 
the mountain ahead, and raising the hair on the backs of their necks. 
The packhorse and the children's mount tried to bolt, but Bretran 
grabbed for the halter of the children's horse and held it. The 
packhorse's lead rein, however, which he had held in his other hand, 
slipped free; and the animal went crashing off into the brush. Bretran 
cursed, "Beastmen!" Talina shot a disbelieving glance at Bretran, then 
her features twisted into an ironic smile and she nodded. Whirling her 
horse Talina called, "Run!" then she whispered something to the mare 
and it took off to the west at a dead run. Bretran slapped the 
children's horse on the rump; and, putting spurs to his own mount, 
followed Talina. A moment later another scream tore through the night. 
This one, however, came from directly ahead. Talina scarcely paused, 
whirling her horse back around, but before Bretran and the children 
could follow, two more screams came in rapid succession from the south 
and the west. Talina turned once more, this time north-east; and again 
they began to run, all three horses abreast. As they fairly flew toward 
the mountains, dodging trees, they heard another scream behind them, 
this time of an animal in pain, cutting off as abruptly as it had 
begun. Then the inhuman sounds came once more, this time in a chorus 
that set the horses running even harder than before. They raced on and 
on, each moment seeming an eternity; their horses blowing now, tiring 
more with every step. They were running uphill with the unnatural, 
black mountains looming still ahead of them, closer than ever, jutting 
up suddenly out of the land. All around, the trees hung motionless, and 
neither bird nor beast was to be seen. The chase dragged on for what 
could have been minutes or hours, and through it all Talina seemed to 
be muttering something under her breath. Every now and then either she 
or Bretran would glance behind them, but mostly they fixed their gazes 
ahead. Again screams came from behind and to either side, and Bretran 
and Talina exchanged meaningful looks. They were being herded like 
sheep to a slaughter, and the children must have known it too judging 
by the glances they shot over their shoulders and the frightened way 
they peered ahead into the darkness. After awhile they began to see 
patches of snow, brilliant white in the darkness, and at times they 
plunged through drifts of the stuff, soft and powdery. They were under 
the clouds now; and soon they passed into shadow, leaving behind what 
little light the moon had provided. They were still running though they 
hadn't heard the screams for some time, and Talina was still muttering 
to herself. Then, the chorus of screams came again, and a few moments 
later there was a crashing in the forest to their right, as if a great 
beast was blundering toward them through the brush. Bretran's sword was 
clear of its sheath in an instant, and its steel glinted in what little 
light penetrated into the shadow of the terrible clouds. The horses 
were running full out, foam flecking their bodies, and still the 
crashing sound came closer. The trail they had been following widened 
suddenly, and a great shape, at least twice the height of a man, broke 
from the brush next to them, running parallel to their course, but less 
than fifty hands away. The screams sounded yet again, and the great 
running figure seemed to leap ahead of them along the trail, only 
getting closer to them as the trail began to narrow again. Then, the 
screams sounded again, but this time deeper and closer than ever 
before. Their pursuers no longer called a hunt; now they sounded the 
chase. Talina was still muttering to herself, but even more frantically 
now, and she suddenly veered off to the left into what appeared to be 
solid growth. It was merely a thin screen of brush, and without warning 
they broke from the trees into the open. Ahead of them and off to the 
left was a cliff that dropped sheer into darkness; and, doubtless, all 
the way to the forest below. Directly ahead lay a narrow trail along 
the mountain with the cliff to one side and the steep mountainside to 
the other. Instead of heading along the mountain, however, Talina made 
for the brush to the right, stopping next to the mountainside just at 
the edge of the brush. Instantly, she was on the ground and pushing 
through the thicker brush that grew up along the slope. It only took a 
moment for her to find what she was looking for, but then she hissed 
and motioned Bretran forward. He swung from his horse and strode 
forward to where she stood. She pointed to the side of the mountain and 
spoke a few words. He nodded and pushed his body into the foliage, 
still leading his stallion. A moment later there was muffled cursing 
from ahead, but as the stallion disappeared, Talina motioned for the 
two children to dismount and hurriedly pushed them after Bretran. She 
herself followed immediately behind their horse, leading her mare. As 
they pushed into the cave, they found that it was just large enough for 
the horses to pass through, though after a few links it widened and the 
ceiling stretched away and upward into the darkness. The darkness was 
not complete, however. A glow lay ahead and off to the left, and when 
they halted they could see a tiny fire against the wall. Talina pushed 
her horse up beside them, and, almost reflexively, the children turned 
to look at the mouth of the cave. Cyrith shrieked. A huge figure was 
just getting to its feet where the cave's entrance started to widen. It 
could have been a man, if men could be eighteen or twenty links tall. 
Long, wild hair and beard flowed from a face that was broad, weathered 
and knobbed like a great water-worn lump of volcanic rock. The eyes 
were great blue and green orbs that caught the firelight and gathered 
it up like the eyes of a great cat. Their colors, however, were not 
fixed. They changed and flowed with their gathered light, always 
running blue or green, with an occasional touch of yellow. At Cyrith's 
scream, Talina turned and put her hand across the girl's mouth, 
muffling the greater part of the sound. She hissed, "By the great King 
himself, be silent, girl! Else you'll kill us all." Cyrith raised a 
trembling hand and pointed at the huge figure, standing now at the 
entrance. Whatever she might have said was muffled by Talina's hand, 
but the elf responded anyway, "Yes, I know what he is. He is as caught 
here as we. Besides, this confirms it all." As Cyrith blinked up at her 
in shock, Talina released the Fae girl and pushed past the two children 
toward the tiny fire where Bretran stood, his sword against the neck of 
what must have been the ugliest creature they had ever seen. It was 
short and squat, literally as wide as it was tall, with green-black 
skin It wore only a breech cloth and a long-sleeved robe, open at the 
front, with a hem that brushed the dirt. Its arms and legs poked out at 
the corners of its body almost like they had been added as 
afterthoughts. Its half-reptilian face was pocked and pebbled and it 
shone with oil in the firelight. Talina spoke, quietly but with the 
same cool authority she had shown so far, "We are not safe here, but we 
should have a few moments. Say what you must and no more, and by the 
Star, be quiet!" Everyone stared at her in varying mixtures of shock 
and befuddlement. They all stood inside the cave, firelight flickering 
around them, not a sound coming from any of them, except when one of 
the horses would stomp or snort. The raw fear of the chase still held 
most of them, and their minds were sluggish enough, even had there not 
been a great deal about their circumstances that was new to all of 
them. After a moment, as if she could not sense their confusion, Talina 
gestured gracefully to the great shape in the entrance to the cave, 
"Who might you be, my lord giant?" The figure stepped forward, away 
from the entrance and farther into the fire's meager light. The giant 
was at least twice as tall as Talina, and in the confines of the cave 
he had to stoop to keep his head from scraping the ceiling. He wore a 
loose brown cloak made of coarse wool cloth, unevenly died. Under the 
robe were trousers, seemingly of the same rough weave as the robe, 
belted with a length of rope. In his hand, he clutched a long staff, at 
least as tall as he was, for he held it at an angle and it was still in 
danger of bringing down chunks of cave rock on their heads. It occurred 
to Cyrith to wonder how he had gotten it into the cave with him-or how 
he had gotten in himself, for that matter. He must have crawled through 
the entrance nearly on his belly. The giant nodded to Talina and spoke 
in a voice that was deep, rumbling through the cave, even though he was 
obviously trying to be quiet, "Ulgoth is my name, Lady. I mean no 
intrusion, but I've no desire to see the beastmen any closer than I 
must. Their leavings are sight enough...burned farms and slaughtered 
livestock all the way from Grandgorge. Only by luck have I made it so 
far without meeting them. I expect I would make a fair account of 
myself if forced, but better to avoid trouble." Talina nodded, then 
turned to the hunched-over creature that Bretran still held at 
sword-point, "And you?" "I," the creature drew itself up to its full 
height, which was still just barely taller than Bretran's chest, "am 
being called Grath, and this," his hairy arms rose into a sweeping 
gesture, indicating the group that had crowded into his shelter, "is 
most rudeness." His voice was gruff, but not extraordinarily low, and 
it seemed too high for his bulk, especially after Ulgoth's rumble. 
Grath stared up the sword, which was still just a finger's width from 
his neck, and snorted, "Bargering in! Pointing nasty sharp sword at 
Grath! Deepest shamefulness!" Bretran snorted and raised the point of 
his sword a little more toward the hairy creature's chin, "Oh, and it's 
out of a peace loving nature you were holding that when I found you? I 
don't fancy a troll love-tap." He pointed with his chin at a huge, 
gnarled hunk of wood that looked to be a club of some sort, a few links 
away on the floor. Grath brought his hands up in a half-shrug of 
protest, "Must have protection. Half-men want to eat Grath. Been trying 
days and days." Talina raised a hand and said to Bretran, "Peace, son 
of Degran, there is no harm for us in this one, I think. Troll he may 
be, but he is hardly a beast, less still a were-man, and besides..." 
She trailed off with a slight twitch of her shoulders. Bretran's lips 
twisted into a half-irritated, half-ironic line and he lowered the 
sword until the point rested in the dust. For a moment, he seemed about 
to speak, then his taciturn nature reasserted itself and he subsided. 
Grath sniffed at Bretran, then began straightening and patting at the 
loose robe he wore. Talina looked around and nodded, "Shall we move 
deeper? We dare not attract the wrong sort of attention by lingering 
here." She started to take a step forward, but Cyrith planted her hands 
on her hips and said challengingly, "You mean we're just letting them 
come with us?" Talina frowned at her, obviously irritated, and said 
coldly, "You remember the prophecy, girl: The princess of the 
woodlands, the scion of watchmen bright, The child of dwarves and 
fairies, the giant from the east, The son of fallen Simia..." Talina 
nodded to each of their party as she recited. Cyrith frowned and 
motioned to her companion, "And what of Stephen? I hear nothing of him 
in those prophecies." Talina flicked her head from side to side, "You 
ask for answers I do not possess. I am neither scholar nor seer." 
Cyrith sniffed loudly, "In that case, how did you find this cave? And 
how did he follow us," she indicated Ulgoth, who stood impassively 
behind them, "if the... werethings ...can't?" Cyrith gave an 
involuntary glance toward the entrance to their cave. Talina's mouth 
twisted into a half-amused expression, "As to that, elf magic is strong 
with the trees and living things. Confusing our scents was a bit 
difficult, but it should lead them a merry chase. ...and," she frowned, 
"this place has a peculiar feel to it. It-called-to me. Even had I not 
been able to find it by other means, its presence would have been plain 
enough." Talina shook her head and pointed deeper into the cave, "and 
now, we had best move on. If you two will accompany us, we can talk 
more at... wherever this leads." She cocked an eyebrow at Grath, "Have 
you explored the cave to any depth? We'd best get inward and away from 
the were-men. There is still a smell of us coming from this place." 
Grath's face contorted into a grimace, "Goes deep deep. Smell magic." 
He shrugged, "No like magic." Then his face contorted more and he bared 
his teeth, "No like magic; hate half-men. I come." Talina nodded and 
seemed about to speak, but Ulgoth cleared his throat and shook his 
head, "Pardon me, lady, I know nothing of prophecies, but even so, I, 
too, am content to accompany you. I've no love for the... were-men as 
you called them? I ask only if you truly give allegiance to the King of 
Yore. I keep no company with his enemies." There was silence for a 
moment then Bretran grunted and said drily, "Allegiance is a touchy 
question here, giant." Ulgoth stared at him levelly, immovable and 
suddenly incredibly dangerous, "Allegiance is a touchy question the 
world over, Deegani, yet these are extraordinary circumstances if ever 
I've seen any. I walk not with the enemies of the King." Then he 
frowned, "Your people are said to serve, Deegani. You should hardly be 
afraid to say unless it is not so." Grath shrugged his massive 
shoulders, "Grath serves King. Not afraid." He shuffled his feet 
awkwardly, then looked challengingly at the rest of the party. Bretran, 
too, shrugged, "My people serve more in word than deed, but I've naught 
to lose by saying. Your answer is yes. My sword is the King's." Cyrith 
sniffed, "There is no master worthy of allegiance among the Folk. Fae 
serve others with many words, and only themselves in truth. The Oath is 
held quiet among us... For me, I serve the King." Stephen smiled a half 
amused, half ironic smile and nodded agreement. Talina raised an 
eyebrow, then gave an ironic half smile herself, "My people hold to the 
old ways. I, too, serve the King." Ulgoth shook his head, sadly, "Among 
the giants, there are few who claim the King as master in this day, and 
fewer still who serve with their hearts as well as their tongues, much 
less swear to his service. Yet of those I am one. "My path, then, lies 
with you." He glanced down the tunnel, "...and we are all King's men. 
We've naught to fear." Talina frowned, "Come then." She stepped 
forward, leading her mare deeper into the mountain. The children 
followed, walking side by side leading their horse. Bretran and Grath 
came next, Bretran leading his stallion, with Ulgoth taking up the 
rear. As they continued, the cave grew dimmer and dimmer, but in the 
little light they had, the party could see that the walls had opened 
out somewhat more, and Ulgoth no longer had to stoop to avoid the 
ceiling. There was a decidedly musty smell to the air, and the floor 
and walls were smooth and grew more perfectly shaped with every step, 
though they bore neither tool marks nor natural stone formations. After 
a minute or two, Talina half turned and said, "I think it is no 
accident we found this place, and this tunnel was not made by natural 
means." She did not slow her pace, however, and soon the darkness 
around them was complete. Talina walked more and more slowly until the 
group was just inching along, feeling their way forward like worms in 
the darkness. They continued that way for what seemed like hours, the 
rustle of their movement loud in their ears, their footfalls echoing 
from the polished walls. From behind, Bretran was grumbling quietly, 
monotonously, his epithets punctuated by the thump... thump... thump of 
Ulgoth's staff, when a light appeared in the middle of the group, 
half-blinding them all. Bretran's sword came out, and Talina whipped 
around; but the light dimmed to a bearable level so they could see a 
tiny ball of blue flame hovering over Cyrith's hand. She looked at 
their startled expressions and blinked in surprise. "Sorry. There's a 
ley line down there." She pointed at the floor. "I just felt it. It 
must be coming to the surface." Bretran sheathed his sword, uttering a 
soft oath as Talina nodded and Ulgoth rumbled, "Or mayhap we go down to 
meet it. Seems rather a large one. For one so young, you've skill if 
you're able to tap that." Grath made a harsh sound of disgust and they 
resumed their slow, trudging walk down the cave. With Cyrith's light as 
a guide, they proceeded at a more reasonable rate, but whether they 
traveled for an hour or a day none of them could afterward have said. 
It was a long time, certainly, and they all fell into a semi-stupor, 
pressing ahead, step-by-step, through the darkness. Slowly, as they 
moved deeper into the mountain, the stone turned from the gray it had 
been near the entrance to a deep, light-consuming black that seemed to 
pull at the tiny ball still flickering over Cyrith's outstretched hand. 
It was some time before Talina noticed, and the nagging doubts she had 
felt since entering the cave flared up inside her. Something about what 
lay ahead seemed wrong, just as had the wind in the clearing; something 
beyond sensing but there all the same. There was something about the 
earth itself that was evil in a way she couldn't quite define. Still 
she kept on. There was no going back-not with were-men right outside... 
The trek was a long one, and their minds, already weary from the long 
chase, were lulled into a stupor by the monotony of putting one foot in 
front of another, and the darkness of the deep earth. Time took on an 
ephemeral quality, elastic and not easy to recognize. Reality became a 
repetition of step, step, step, one after another until their minds 
were numbed and dull. It was barely noticeable at first, something that 
nagged at minds befuddled by the darkness; but didn't quite bring 
itself to their notice. Slowly, imperceptibly, the light in the tunnel 
had been increasing. After a time, it easily outshone Cyrith's little 
flame. The walls were still the same unblemished, black stone, but 
light somehow seeped through it to fill the tunnel with a strange 
radiance. The process was so gradual that Talina didn't even notice 
until she stepped directly out into the full glare of a blazing, white 
light. It was like being thrust suddenly onto a stage before an 
audience of thousands. Talina felt more exposed than she ever had in 
her life. She stopped stock still and slowly backed up until she was 
again hidden in the shadows. The sudden stop had alerted the others, 
and Stephen and Cyrith crowded up beside Talina, with Bretran and Grath 
on her other side, now staring ahead out of the passage. Talina 
followed their gaze, and what she saw caught her eye and held it. Ahead 
of them-well over a hundred links ahead of them-was a pool of light 
that reflected itself off the smooth, midnight-black stone. The pool 
was dim at the edges, so there was no obvious line where the light 
stopped and the darkness began. At the center, however, the circle of 
stone was as well-lit as a summer's day.  What was really odd about the 
sight was that the stone was still entirely black, and the light seemed 
to reflect from it only by virtue of their total incompatibility. 
Cyrith stirred and yawned then stopped still at the sight. Slowly, 
Talina led them forward and out into the light, looking warily around. 
The light, they saw as they filed hesitantly out of the passage, came 
from a brilliant point that hung in midair, far, far above them. They 
slowly walked toward the pool of brilliance, leading the horses and 
gazing up at light's source. Strangely, the light did not blind them, 
but neither could they see what actually caused it. The glow was fierce 
but seemingly cold at the same time; and they stared at it, mesmerized. 
The group stopped, as if by one accord, as they approached the place 
where the light began to reflect from the stone at their feet. For long 
moments, they simply stood there, their eyes fixed on the brilliance 
above them. "Beautiful, isn't it?" They all looked down from their 
reverie to see Stephen seated cross legged on the floor, just where the 
light began to brighten. All of them, even Talina, blinked at him in 
incomprehension for a moment, and he smiled wryly, whimsically, almost 
ironically, "The light has shone on this floor for nearly two thousand 
turnings." He shook his head, eyes distant, "It was once so bright it 
lit the whole cavern like daylight, and on Winternight the mountains 
glowed with it. The power is fading, the binding growing weaker." 
Stephen broke off for a moment, then, in the still-stupefied silence he 
asked, "Would you like to see?" Cyrith nodded, frowning slightly, 
"Please?" Stephen smiled and said, "A moment, then, little sister." He 
got to his feet and turned away from them to gaze upward. After a 
moment, in total silence, the light began to descend. By this time, the 
group's consternation had turned to questions, and all of them were 
near to bursting with it. Still, none broke the silence, and Stephen 
continued to stare up at the growing light for a long time as it 
slowly, slowly descended until it hovered barely twice Ulgoth's height 
above them, shining ever more brightly in the darkness. They could see, 
now, that the light emanated from a crystal the size of two fists held 
together and filled with blue-white radiance. "You are fortunate." 
Stephen said, slowly turning back to them, "Or perhaps...perhaps you 
are not so fortunate, at least as most would measure." He looked 
bemused for a moment, as if having some inner conversation none of them 
could hear, then he shook his head. "Do you know why you are here?" He 
looked at each of them in turn-a long, hard look as if he searched for 
something, then he turned and began to pace slowly back and forth. "You 
are here to fulfill your oath. Master Ulgoth came closer than he knew 
when he asked of our allegiance." Stephen paused, smiling a bit 
ironically, "Each of you once swore fealty to one this world has all 
but forgotten." His eyes swept over them again. "Many pay him lip 
service, but few remember there is a living man behind the name...or if 
they do, they do not believe he will ever return to claim his due. "Few 
indeed have bound themselves to him with the Oath. To most of this 
world, the King of Yore is a myth. The Sidhe are a mere ghost of a 
memory; a legend, perhaps. "Even you, though you believe enough to 
pledge him your life, know very little of reality-or of what that oath 
meant." Stephen turned full toward them and said, with a ghost of a 
smile, "I'm sure you have questions. I will answer as I may, though ask 
wisely, for as you ask, so you will be asked." Talina's was the first 
voice to break the silence, "Who are you, boy...or what are you?" 
Stephen's mouth quirked, "I told you. My name is Stephen. ...As to 
WHAT-well, there is a more interesting question." He considered a 
moment, "I have been many things-a traveler, a warrior, a diplomat, a 
prince. Of late, I have been a brother to one in need. To you, I am a 
messenger. But first, and always, I am a liege man of the King." On his 
last words, he bowed his head for a moment, then looked straight at 
Talina. His eyes burned, and he asked, "And what are you, Lady? ...You 
are a princess among your people, but you have run away from your 
responsibilities there to chase a fancy." Talina looked aghast, "I have 
sought to fulfill the prophecies of Yore!" Stephen shook his head, 
"Honesty will serve you better." Talina shrank back and seemed about to 
bolt, "Grandfather-In'Kalith himself said I would never be an elder! 
What do you ask of me?" Stephen's voice was gentle, "You are asked only 
to fulfill the promise you made to His Majesty so many turnings ago. Do 
you remember?" Talina nodded dumbly, her usual self-assurance and sense 
of authority sent into confusion. Stephen looked at each of them in 
turn, "Do not mistake me. You were called here, each in your own way. 
You have done well to come. That is not questioned." He fell silent for 
a moment, and Bretran pointed at the crystal, "To be in command of such 
a wonder, you must be a great wizard. Why did you not save us, even the 
one you claim as sister, from the were-men?" Stephen shook his head, "I 
am no wizard, or not as you might think of such things," he said 
thoughtfully. "And even had I the power to do as you say, what gain 
would we have from it? The first lesson a great wizard must learn is 
that greatness is found far more in using well what you have been given 
than in having great power. The smallest pebble can dam the mightiest 
river, if it is properly used." He shook his head again, emphatically, 
"No. Had I interfered it would have called worse onto our heads than a 
few Changers." Then Stephen cocked his head, "But what of your friends, 
and those you call your people? True, you are no wizard, but you have 
influence enough. Haven't you the power to save the freeholders if you 
choose?" Bretran shrugged, "I am not king. The council decides. If I 
usurp them now, I inherit nothing." Stephen sneered, "You put your own 
pride before your subjects' lives. What sort of king would you make?" 
Bretran countered, his face going stormy, "In war, a commander must not 
lose his command for fear of casualties. Nor have I responsibility to 
the freeholders. They are not sworn to the crown." Stephen's face fell 
into sadness, "So says one reclaimed at great cost from the greatest 
enemy of all...and what of The Sword? How many must pay for your 
pride?" Bretran turned white and bowed his head, and Stephen turned to 
Cyrith and smiled, "I see you waiting, little sister. What say?" 
Cyrith's mouth twisted, "This means you're leaving..." She stared at 
him hard, "...doesn't it?" Her eyes started to tear up, "Don't you care 
for me?" Stephen's smile was bittersweet, "Dear little sister, you knew 
it must happen someday. Will you wound me for a departure whose time 
has come?" Cyrith hung her head as silent tears began to drip from her 
face, "Sorry. I... I..." Stephen's smile turned gentle, "Yes, dear one, 
I love you, too. Remember what was promised you. Eyes clear." She 
nodded, head still bowed, then asked, "You've spoken much to me of the 
King. But you never told me what he is. Is he a man? One of the gods?" 
Stephen's twisted smile re-appeared, "What is a man? Is a man a Sidhe? 
a Gygan? one of the Fae perhaps? ...and what of the gods? Are the 
Dragons gods? The youngest of them is older than the Sidhe, yet even 
they die when they reach the end of their purpose. What of the Engyls? 
There are Engyls that could stir the Cauldron like a bowl of soup, yet 
they are feared as demons if men know of them at all. ...and there are 
men who worship rocks and call them god. What makes a god? "As to the 
King, he is as much a man as you or I-more," Stephen's mouth quirked, 
"Or perhaps we are men as he is. There has never been a man to equal 
him, nor has any man walking the face of Eschaton lived since before 
the Betrayal as he has. "Your question has no easy answer. He simply is 
what he is." Cyrith nodded thoughtfully and Stephen smiled at her, "I 
daren't digress too long, little sister. We have yet to complete our 
purpose here." He raised an eyebrow at Ulgoth, "What of you?" Ulgoth 
shuffled his great feet, and cleared his throat uneasily, the 
unselfconscious stolidity he had so far shown curiously absent, "Dare I 
ask, young master, when I know that I, too, have much to be ashamed 
of?" Stephen looked at the giant speculatively, "Why ask that, big 
brother? Pride? Cleverness? Fear?" Ulgoth looked thoughtful, then gave 
a rueful headshake, "Say what you will then, young master. I stand at 
your pleasure. You need wait for no question of mine to speak." Stephen 
shook his head, "Do not misunderstand. I do not speak to condemn you. 
The path ahead is steep. You cannot afford pride or fear. They will 
undo you." Stephen turned to Grath and nodded, "And you?" Grath brought 
one ham-size hand up to his chin and squeezed thoughtfully, "Why Grath 
here?" Stephen raised his eyebrows, "You're asking me why you came?" 
Grath shook his head vehemently, "No, no, no. Grath told to come. Grath 
come. What do now?" Stephen smiled, "Listen, and watch, and learn. Make 
new friends. Then go home and take care of your family. They will need 
care in the times to come." Grath nodded, satisfied, and Stephen's gaze 
swept across the rest of the little party as if seeking something. He 
waited a moment, then nodded and bowed his head for a moment. There was 
silence as Stephen waited then began pacing back and forth through the 
edge of the light. The little party of travelers stood silent, 
watching. Suddenly, Stephen stopped and looked at them, and behind him 
something began to take shape in the light coming down from the 
crystal. Patterns of light coalesced in mid air, colors seeping from 
white lines to form a great landscape in the air before them. Then, as 
they watched, the landscape morphed and changed-once, twice, three 
times, then again and again, faster and faster, finally blurring out 
into a field of shifting luminescence. "This is our world," Stephen 
said, as the scene finally came to rest, a perfect representation of 
the black mountains under which they stood. "The world is a brutal 
place." As Stephen spoke, the scene changed to a huge beast, tearing at 
something on the ground. Its head came up and a man's foot could be 
seen protruding from its mouth. Cyrith gasped in horror, and turned her 
face away as the beast gulped down the leg and suddenly the beast 
disappeared, leaving in its place what might have been a man, but 
twisted and misshapen. "The seven races are at each others' throats. 
Life-even the life of men-is worth little. There have been generations 
of war between the Changers and the Watchmen. Their hatred for 
one-another is implacable. They kill on sight, and no quarter is given 
for civilians, even for the women or the children. "Open war may yet be 
avoided among many of the races, but there is conflict everywhere, and 
mistrust and treachery are more the rule than the exception. "The 
Theurgans hold the Simianites in their thrall. But for a few scattered 
tribes, the entire race of Simia is enslaved by its more powerful 
brothers. Nor is slaving practiced only by the Theurgans. The Changers 
and the Fae often keep their brothers in bondage, and there are those 
who hold slaves among all the people." The scene changed again, this 
time to a group of men, as twisted as the first, gathered beneath a 
great rock, upon which another man, tattooed all over and holding bones 
in either hand, stood shaking his fists above his head. Then, he raised 
face and hands to the sky in supplication. At his feet, another knelt, 
obviously of the same race as he, but bound, with his head bowed. The 
tattooed one replaced the bones in his belt and brought out a knife, 
then raised it above his head and plunged it into his victim. Once, 
twice, a third time. The bound form before him slumped as the tattooed 
figure again raised its hands to the sky, howling its triumph. 
Stephen's voice was raw with anger and his eyes flashed, "This one 
claims to be a direct representative of His Majesty-and several 
gods-yet he treats his own people as slaves. Those who disobey are 
executed as blood sacrifices. Their life-force is siphoned off to feed 
the shamans' magic. Abuse of the king's authority is as vile as it is 
widespread." The scene changed to show a group of giants, gathered in a 
circle around a stone altar. One giant held a deer, its legs bound 
together, head tucked safely under one of his great arms. Another giant 
held a huge knife with which he ever-so-gently cut into the deer's 
neck, drawing an immediate gout of blood. Stephen shook his head, 
"Blood-sacrifice, too, is everywhere, though the people cloak it in 
pretty euphemisms and petty excuses." The light behind Stephen shifted 
to a bright haze and he said, his voice heavy, "It has not always been 
so. Once the world was a brighter place-before the Cataclysm and the 
Great War. "Then, the world was home to the Sidhe, the men of old. They 
were bound to the world by their magic, and all the creatures of the 
earth were their subjects. In those days, the King himself walked 
Eschaton. It was long ago, and much of what we remember is half-truths 
and tales grown large in the re-telling. "It was in the Great Cataclysm 
that the world of today was born-out of fire and chaos and destruction. 
When the land and its magic were sundered, so were the people of the 
land, and the seven races of man are all that remain of the great 
Sidhe." Stephen trailed off with a frown and considered for a moment 
before continuing, "There are many tales of the Cataclysm. Some believe 
it was the work of the Nameless One and his followers-that he sundered 
the world out of spite and hatred, jealous of the King's favor, and the 
King left in sorrow for the land from which he came in time beyond 
memory. Others hold that the cataclysm was the result of a great war, 
that the King and the Nameless One rent the world with their battle, 
that the Nameless One was destroyed and the King was driven away by the 
terrible magics they released. Some say the King himself was 
responsible-that he was displeased with the Sidhe, and set the Nameless 
One upon them, to tear the world asunder and enslave all who survived. 
"There are many more tales-vile ones, foolish ones, and some very, very 
dangerous ones." Stephen shrugged and began to pace again, "It is not 
my affair which of the tales you believe, and you will learn, in time, 
what may be true." His lips twisted into a wry grin, "Very little of it 
bears on what I must tell you. You need only know that your forefathers 
left you a legacy of chains that remains to this day. "Just as the 
Sidhe were bound to the land, so they could bind themselves, at will, 
to whatever or whoever they chose. The Old Magic was stronger and more 
enduring than the very bedrock of the world. Bits remain, even today." 
He paused for a moment and smiled wryly, "Among the Sidhe, allegiance 
was a matter of pride, not shame or fear as it is now. Ille' Breela 
Ee'Hoenye, the Great Oath, is one such remnant of Old Magic, though it 
has but a shadow of the power." There was a hiss of indrawn breath from 
one or two of the little party and Bretran snorted, "The Oath is 
unbreakable. What can be more powerful?" Stephen's smile went crooked, 
"Not unbreakable. Infernally difficult to break. Powerful and 
dangerous, but not unbreakable. ...The Old Magic was-well-a step beyond 
even unbreakable, for it is the Old Magic itself that holds the world 
together. It is Old Magic that makes the sun rise and fall, and Old 
Magic that holds the moon in its place." It was as if Bretran's 
question had broken a barrier of some sort, and Cyrith piped up, "What 
do you mean?" Stephen stopped pacing, and his face was deadly serious, 
"I mean that you are still bound by the greatest oath ever sworn-an 
oath your ancestors swore to the Nameless One itself. Not bound as they 
were. Even the Old Magic wanes with the generations, but bound more 
surely than if you spoke the Great Oath to the Nameless One right now, 
even if not as tightly." "You speak in riddles, young master." Ulgoth 
shook his head. "I hear your words without understanding. You speak 
wonders, but what do they mean?" Stephen shrugged, "Simply that much of 
the world will always serve the Nameless One, whatever they may think 
or will." Bretran snorted again, "I don't believe in fate." Stephen 
looked at him and frowned, irritated, "Nor I, but this is not fate, and 
it is no less true. Allegiance is held both sacred and secret today, 
and for good reason. What happens when a liege man tries to break the 
Great Oath?" Bretran blinked, "He cannot. He will die before he can 
betray. He is compelled." Stephen nodded, "Just so. ...But," he gave a 
twisted smile, "even bindings in the Old Magic can be broken, given 
time, and the King has not forgotten his own, though the world may 
forget him. "There are a few, like us, who have sworn themselves to the 
King, and for us, the fetters of Abomination are broken." Ulgoth shook 
his great head, almost in disbelief, "To half the world, even among 
those who claim to believe, the King is a myth, yet you speak as if you 
know him. Two-thirds of the world has forgotten the Gan-Anim, yet you 
say they are bound to his service. If it is so, how could so few know 
of it?" Stephen nodded at Ulgoth's question then looked around at the 
others, "Bear with me a little longer. It will become clear." He 
resumed pacing, then continued, "As little as we may know of the 
Cataclysm, we remember more of what followed. There was an age of 
confusion and chaos, as the earth settled, then a time of peace-or so 
it seemed. The Nameless One built a kingdom that enslaved half of 
Eschaton, and would have enslaved the rest, but for the Wizard." The 
air behind Stephen, which had remained empty for a long time, again 
began to shimmer and take on form. When the light had gathered, it 
showed a forest, malformed and twisted. The trees were alive, but would 
never be healthy, and there was no beauty left in them. Everything 
about the scene was warped, and the plants looked poisonous. "There was 
nothing he did not twist to his purpose." The scene changed to show a 
great black shape, like a bear but bigger, bulkier. It was tearing at 
something unrecognizable and mutilated, that struggled to escape, but 
could not. "The plants, the animals, the birds... Everything became his 
tool. The men were the worst. By far." Stephen shuddered and looked 
hard at each of them as the light behind him rippled, then finally 
disappeared like smoke. "I will not show you what he can do if you 
choose to allow it. You will learn soon enough." Stephen subsided again 
and looked thoughtful, "Now as to the Wizard... Some say he was one of 
the Sidhe, come back to fight for the world he loved. Some say it was 
the King himself, returned to do battle with his ancient foe. Some say 
it was the King's son, or his servant, or another of his people. Some 
believe there was no Wizard-that one of the great princes of Degan 
joined the Giants to do battle with the Nameless One. "Most say the 
Wizard went to battle with the Nameless One and destroyed it, then 
returned from this world to the one from where he came. We know little 
of what he was or claimed to be except the Book of Yore, the prophecies 
he left behind. Many have puzzled over the book and found little of 
use. "Today, men say there was no wizard, even that there was no 
Nameless One. After the great war, they disappeared. It has been 
thousands of turnings since the Battle of Ages. Most have forgotten it. 
It is easy to doubt, with the Wizard gone and the Nameless One with 
him. "Most would rather doubt than know, for it allows them to do as 
they will. Their lives are easier when they forget. The Nameless One 
has become a story to scare the children. Only a few remember at all, 
and they are more often the Nameless One's own followers." "Time turns 
and the world moves on. All is forgotten." Stephen nodded to Ulgoth, 
"There is your explanation, big brother, though there is more, even 
than that." The light behind Stephen rippled yet again, and he said, 
half to himself, "So much forgotten. So much lost...." Then, turning 
his attention fully back to them, he smiled at Bretran, "You called me 
a wizard. What you call magic is... well, first it is energy-power that 
can be manipulated by those with the gift and the knowledge. Raw energy 
can be turned to many purposes-more easily destruction than life. "The 
Nameless One was not always a creature of flesh and blood. First it was 
an Engyl, a being made wholly of magic. The Engyls are creatures unlike 
us. They do not even live in our world. We do not know where they come 
from or how they were made. "But the Nameless One was not content to be 
as it was. By a great working, one more powerful than any other ever 
attempted, it was made flesh, and became the greatest enemy to this 
world that has ever been." Stephen paused and his mouth twisted in 
something between disgust and bitterness. "The Watchmen call him 
Nameless. You," Stephen looked at Talina. "You call him Byzimyanny." He 
turned his gaze to Ulgoth, "You say Gan-Anym. To the Fae he is 
Ynaithnid, to the Simianites Degahyaso. The Theurgans know him as 
Nyvtelen; the Changers as Ynami. All mean the same. To this world, he 
is the Nameless One. None call him by his rightful name for fear they 
may call his attention down upon them. For his followers, it is a token 
of respect." Stephen frowned, "Many are right to fear. We who are sworn 
to the King need have no such fear. His rightful name is Sheklah, 
Disturber of All. Sheklah, the Defiler. Sheklah, the Never-man." There 
were sounds of distress from one or two of them, and Stephen smiled a 
bit ruefully before continuing, "The world from which Sheklah came, the 
world of magic, is ethereal, ever-changing and shaped to the will of 
any creature that lives there-or here. This world is dust and stone, 
unyielding and solid. Sheklah's will is to change the world to fit its 
own twisted whim. The weak are its slaves; the strong are its enemies. 
It sees no other way." Stephen paused to look at each of them 
seriously, "...And it is coming back." Again, Stephen stared hard at 
each of them, "So you learn what your service is to be. The end of the 
age approaches. I tell you now-Sheklah was not destroyed. It was only 
defeated-locked away from the world in the heart of the land it had 
called its own." He stared at the floor at their feet. "It lies 
imprisoned beneath this very stone, and the seal weakens a bit more 
every day, sapped and eaten away by the darkness of this place." He 
pointed to the great crystal, shining down upon them. "...And Sheklah 
knows. It knows because, even in its timeless sleep, it is still aware. 
It sees, watches-always listening, and yearning, and hating. There are 
still those who follow it-a few by consent and consciously, and many by 
pride and fear and hate, tied to it by an ancient promise that may not 
be broken. "It is to Sheklah's advantage that the people do not 
believe, so that when it comes awake from its darkness, the world is 
unprepared for it and unbelieving." He smiled a wry, twisted smile, 
"The ones who scoff loudest are often his own followers, for the first 
and most potent of the enemy's weapons is a lie, and that," Stephen 
paused and looked at each of them meaningfully, "is how you will know 
him and his ilk. Where truth is, hope is." Talina looked thoughtfully 
at Stephen and said, "It has been many an age since the 
Byzimyanny's...." She stopped and looked at Stephen with an eyebrow 
raised, "...since Sheklah's defeat, but the elves still remember. The 
world was a terrible place, ravaged and torn. It is said that the very 
rocks cried out in agony at its wrath." Her eyes were far away, as if 
remembering something, then she cocked her head slightly, "What would 
you have us do?" Stephen nodded to her, almost deferentially, "Return 
home, lady. Return home and prepare. There were to be seven of you. I 
see five." His eyes glinted and he searched each face carefully. "Five 
of you to carry the most important news this world has ever heard. Five 
of you to prepare the way, for the Wizard, too, will return when the 
time is right, and that is what you must tell them." Then, in an 
instant, Stephen's eyes turned hard as steel and bright as the noon-day 
sun, and his voice rang through the cavern, sending back echoes from 
walls impossibly distant, "There is no middle ground. Tell them. The 
time of the reckoning is coming." Stephen bowed his head and when he 
looked up again, his voice was calm and gentle, "I have told you that 
we stand upon the tomb of the greatest evil in the history of Eschaton. 
Have you not wondered that none of Sheklah's allies waited here to 
guard it?" He looked at Bretran, "You asked why I did not intervene. 
This place is one of the most dangerous in the world. It is guarded, on 
the one hand, by the greatest talisman of the greatest Wizard the world 
has ever known, by traps, magical and mechanical, by a maze of tunnels 
and passageways that honeycombs the entire mountain range, and by 
secrets even I do not know. On the other hand there are the closest and 
most powerful allies of the most evil creature ever to inhabit 
Eschaton, as well as the lowest rabble of the underworld, attracted by 
the pull of his magic. "This is all that keeps them at bay-the worst of 
them." Stephen pointed up at the light above their heads. "Look." 
Stephen pointed outward, away from the light, and as their eyes 
followed his hand, the great crystal flashed, its light so bright it 
should have blinded them. Standing on three sides of their little pool 
of light, just out of reach in what had been the darkness, were 
creatures from a nightmare. They were all three the same, with a shape 
to haunt the darkest of dreams. The blue-white light seemed to absorb 
into flesh as black as the walls themselves; the darkness of their 
forms spreading into great wings that reached out, out, out from them 
to fill the air above the little party. The creatures' shape was 
surprisingly well defined even in the dimness, but it was the dull, 
blood-red eyes that brought true horror. There was something in them 
that pulled at the mind, catching the consciousness and holding it 
spellbound. They seemed to reach into the very soul and bring out the 
darkest fears and hatreds to feed upon them. Then, the light had faded. 
They all stood there in shock, Stephen simply frowning, the rest 
huddling closer to the center of the little circle of light-light that 
they now realized was life itself to the little party. "Dark Engyls?" 
Cyrith's voice was hardly above a whisper, and her eyes were wide as 
twin moons. Stephen smiled sadly, "Engyls once, perhaps. Not now. 
Engyls are free creatures, temperamental, but not evil. These...these 
are daemons, engyls bound to Sheklah's will and forced to serve him 
against their own wills. "Sheklah's first aim is to break the spirit, 
and the engyls are spirit in its truest form-magic. These have been 
broken and remade so many times they are now mere reflections of their 
master's will." He smiled humorlessly, "Gargyls are worse, and there 
are others, but most have not been seen since the Great War. They chose 
Sheklah of their own free will. Those who remain hide, now, awaiting 
its return." "How did we not meet those before?" Bretran's mouth 
quirked, "I'm not ungrateful... I'd fight a whole tribe of were-men 
before one of those." Stephen just shrugged, "It is Winternight. Time, 
distance-even reality itself runs strangely here. Especially on 
Winternight. And," His mouth quirked, "You had special protection. You 
came unknowing, bearing no thought of Sheklah... and you all bear the 
mark of the King. "But that does not guarantee your way out-or even 
your passage beyond our three... hosts. Steel is no impediment to such 
as them. That much, however, I may be able to help you with. After 
that, well, your best option is speed." "It's a node, isn't it?" Cyrith 
asked, cutting Stephen off. He blinked in confused surprise, then 
chuckled, "Yes, there is a ley node not far away...and that tunnel 
follows a major ley line." Cyrith frowned, "Major ley lines are so... 
so big. That little bit of fire was hard. I don't know how much I can 
draw without losing control." Stephen nodded, "That ley line was one of 
the reasons we got in so easily. Even creatures sensitive to magic find 
it difficult to see those who walk so close to the big ley lines. No 
fear, little sister. You need not risk it. I can do you one last 
service." Abruptly, he turned to Bretran, "Take care of her, watchman." 
He motioned to Cyrith, then turned and pointed back the way they had 
come. "It is time to leave." Cyrith opened her mouth to argue, but 
Stephen said, "The night is waning. Soon the light from the crystal 
will fade. You do not want to be here then." Talina nodded abruptly and 
motioned to the others and suddenly they were moving. Talina had swung 
up onto her mare, and Bretran pulled Cyrith up in front of him. Bretran 
held the lead rein for the third horse, which Grath had somehow 
clambered onto. The beast didn't look too happy, but as Bretran and 
Talina turned to go, it bolted after the other two, directly for the 
cave where they had entered. Before they were clear of the circle of 
light, the great crystal flared and white light shone on the 
midnight-black cavern wall around the entrance, reflecting from it in 
the same eerie way as on the floor earlier. Now however the radiance 
was mixed with a painful red light that seemed to sear into the rock. 
As they passed from sight, something compelled each of them to glance 
back. Stephen still stood directly under the crystal, while facing him 
from three directions, the daemons stood upon the jet black rock of the 
cave floor. Voice strong and clear, Stephen called, "Be gone from this 
place! Your time is not come yet! A prison awaits you! Go!" The sight 
lasted for a seemingly interminable moment...then, they were into the 
cave, bending low over their horses' necks, dodging blindly around 
corners that none of the riders could see. The horses seemed to know 
their way however and there was something about the cavern they had 
just left behind that urged both horses and riders onward, not allowing 
them to think of what might lie ahead. It was the nameless terror of 
something impossible yet real-come to life in some horrible insanity. 
Only Cyrith tore free for long enough to cry, "Stephen! Stepheennnn!" 
They were dodging through the passageway only a few moments away from 
the cavern when light pierced through the darkness of the mountain, 
washing away the black of the stone and turning the rock a glowing, 
pulsing white. It lasted for a mere moment before the black stone 
absorbed the light as if it had never been. Then the sound hit; a roar 
of rage and combat and destruction like some terrible force of nature 
frustrated in the act of tearing its enemy to pieces. The sound passed 
as quickly as the light and there was silence. The silence was somehow 
even more terrible however, and the horses raced on their hooves 
noiseless on the black stone beneath. They ran for a long time, the 
horses' breath heavy in the enclosed space, the terror never fading 
even with the time it took to run the length of the cave. It was a time 
immeasurable in the darkness, before they broke out, seemingly all at 
once into the same dark night they had left behind...how long had it 
been? The same night? It seemed impossible. They reined up, and Bretran 
stared back into the cave as Ulgoth crawled out of it on hands and 
knees, nearly scraping his back on the low ceiling. Talina, however, 
moved farther out from the cliff, glancing around uneasily. Their exit 
from the cave had brought them back to their senses, and the terror of 
their long run was fading. As her senses cleared, however, Talina's 
uneasiness shifted in another direction. There was something wrong... 

None of them saw the figures step out of the woods surrounding them. It
was as if they were a part of the forest itself. Then, one of them 
spoke, "Ahhhh, you have returned. The Dark Lord said you would, but I 
scarcely believed it." The voice had a hissing, rasping quality; and 
Talina started violently, wheeling her horse to face the speaker who 
laughed loudly in amusement. "You didn't think I saw you when you did 
your little disappearing trick? Yet we know better than to go into that 
place." He eyed the cave balefully. "You are one of the Changers? What 
pack do you claim?" The creature's eyes flashed, "You have not the 
right to use that name!" Then the creature smiled, "...and I serve the 
Dark Lord, none other." The Were-Man sounded lazy, like a cat toying 
with its food, "However, when the aims of the pack match the aims of 
the Dark Lord, I will not complain." The Were-Men had left a slight gap 
on the cliff side of their formation when they had stepped from the 
trees and Talina found herself edging toward it along with the others 
as their enemies slowly closed in. There were at least a dozen of them, 
probably fifteen. As they drew nearer, Talina eyed the cliff behind 
her. More fun to corner your prey before you kill it, she thought 
bitterly; maybe even push it off a cliff, which is what was going to 
happen if they kept advancing. The Were-Man seemed amused, "You did 
lead us a merry chase you know..." Suddenly Bretran lunged at one side 
of the formation, pulling back on his reins, his horse rearing, hooves 
flailing. At the same time he pulled out his sword and swung it around, 
catching one of the Were-Men across the head. His stallion had picked 
its own target, and a fore hoof came crashing down on another of the 
creatures.  It screamed and fell backward to lie writhing in the snow, 
clutching its face as yellow blood streamed between its fingers. The 
exposed parts of its body immediately began to change, twisting and 
growing until it was more beast than man. On the other side of Bretran, 
the same thing was happening to the other creature. Seeing the gap that 
Bretran had made, Talina spoke to her horse, which plunged through to 
the other side of their line. Meanwhile, Grath had taken a flying leap 
from the pack horse to land on another of the Were-Men and twist its 
head around in a full circle. He immediately proceeded to leap on 
another of the creatures and he now wrestled with it. As Talina 
watched, Grath took hold of a shoulder and twisted the beast's arm 
impossibly far backward. It howled in anguish and disbelief as its limb 
dropped useless to its side. Ulgoth was keeping a full five of the 
creatures busy with his huge staff, striking at one, then blocking 
another. They simply didn't have the reach to attack him effectively 
without falling to his staff. That left too many, however, and they 
were rushing forward. Bretran spurred his horse, trying to pull 
through; but at precisely the wrong moment a Nilgoth jumped on the pack 
horse and it reared screaming into the air. Bretran was still holding 
its lead; and he was pulled from his saddle, his horse bolting forward 
with Cyrith still on its back. Bretran quickly regained his feet, but 
there were simply too many of the enemy. The only way to live was to 
give ground. A creature on the left struck out just too far, 
overbalancing itself; and Bretran too struck, ducking the creature's 
blow and impaling it on his sword. The combination of its imbalance and 
weight were too much however; and Bretran, having been driven to the 
edge of the cliff, toppled backward, the beast falling with him. Grath 
and Ulgoth, too, were on the very edge of the cliff. Talina cried out, 
but there was no time to stop. Three of the Were-Men were already 
turning toward her and Cyrith, who still sat on Bretran's horse, 
leaving five surrounding Grath and Ulgoth. Even as she watched, 
however, one of the five dodged just a bit too slowly and Ulgoth's 
staff cracked it across the head as he swept it around to block one of 
the others. Then, the three Were-Men began to run toward them and 
Talina whispered again to her mare, which set off running into the 
darkness, Cyrith and the stallion right behind. As they raced away, 
Talina thought grimly of Stephen. She still wasn't quite certain what 
to think of the boy and what he had said, but she could not doubt the 
truth behind his words. He was almost certainly still alive, but soon 
the Nameless One would be loose as well. She thought also of the 
prophecies. They had been missing two of their number-or possibly only 
one. What of that? She shook her head. There was no way to know. The 
Nameless One would require months, perhaps turnings to build his power, 
to break free again. Stephen had not said how long they might have. 
There was time to raise an army and, perhaps, to defeat the Nameless 
One. She thought of Bretran and the cliff. The others would simply have 
to take care of themselves. Yes. There was time, but time made all the 
more precious for its terrible cost. 

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

The old man paused for a long moment as if reflecting, then seemingly
returned to the present said, "...and so you see. A strange story 
indeed, and one that I sometimes doubt the truth of." There was a quiet 
gasp from the corner of the room and all three strangers' heads snapped 
around toward the sound. They rose, and two of them circled outward, 
one moving into the middle of the room, the other passing him to stand 
near the wall, so the three surrounded the one who had gasped. The 
inn's patrons had gone silent, and they huddled in their chairs, 
watching the three strangers with more than a little fear. "You see," 
the leader said, "we are searching for the two who escaped, for the 
story you told is true, old man, doubt it though you may." He slowly 
reached up and pulled back the hood on his cloak to expose a face 
twisted and deformed. Gleaming yellow eyes stared from sockets that 
seemed too small to hold them, while long, ivory fangs stained yellow 
in places protruded from between his lips. Gasps went up around the 
room, and the inn's patrons cowered in their seats as the other two 
strangers followed their leader's example, revealing faces equally 
hideous. The two people at the table in the corner stood up and drew 
back against the wall, their hoods pulled low so their faces couldn't 
be seen. The three Were-Men reached inside their cloaks and drew 
swords. The beasts' leader said, "You! Remove your hoods so we may see 
who you are." Slowly the taller of the two figures removed his hood. As 
his face came into the light, they saw that it was a man so old his 
wrinkles piled up under his proud, frightened eyes and around his face 
like the weathered ridges and crags of a mountain. His beard was pure 
white. The smaller figure, seeing what the older had done, followed his 
example. It was a boy who looked to be about ten turnings old with a 
frightened yet somehow defiant look. A growl that sounded like a curse 
escaped the leader's lips, and the other two clamped their hands 
reflexively on their swords. He stared at the two for a long moment 
then a low, evil chuckle escaped his lips and he raised the hand not 
holding his sword. He pointed two fingers at the figures and a beam of 
yellow light flowed from his hand to touch each of their faces in turn. 
The faces seemed to melt into nothing, like masks stripped away, 
leaving behind a young girl and a woman so beautiful her face seemed to 
shine. Her pointed ears and aristocratic features were out of place 
above her plain, roughly cut gray robes. The girl was small with short 
red hair and fine features. The change had been so complete that the 
only thing remaining of their former appearances was their eyes. The 
leader chuckled again, "You've led us quite a merry chase indeed, elf. 
Now it is time to finish what was started at the Black Lord's mountain 
these two moons ago." Before the three could start forward however, the 
sound of a sword being drawn came from the opposite corner of the room 
near the door. The Were-Men's heads turned, and suddenly Cyrith's hand 
was moving, pulling something out of her sleeve and sending it flying 
through the air. A moment later a knife buried itself in the throat of 
the creature next to the wall. As the dying beast clutched its throat, 
gurgling and trying to pull out the dagger, the leader turned to face 
the new danger, a man in a dirty brown cloak who moved quickly between 
tables toward the center of the room. The two remaining creatures 
started forward, one toward the girl and the elf, the other toward the 
man, both with swords raised, but the chair in which the leader had 
been sitting tipped over and he tripped on it, twisting in the air 
trying to land on his feet. He might have succeeded except that the old 
man's tobacco-stained pipe skittered out of nowhere to land where his 
foot must. As the foot came down on the pipe, it turned, and the 
beastman went off balance again, falling headfirst into the fire. Then 
came such an unearthly shriek as to make all the people in the inn 
cover their ears in pain. It rang through the room as the creature 
writhed on the hearth, half his face blackened by the fire and one 
yellow eye staring and sightless, embers sticking into the black mask 
that had been flesh. The other beastman's head snapped around to see 
what had happened to its leader, and the man in the brown cloak brought 
his sword around, cleaving its head from its shoulders. While it was 
still falling, the man turned toward the leader, still writhing on the 
hearth. Before he could start toward the creature however, it rose with 
a howl of rage and pain and fled toward the door, sword still in hand. 
Instead of opening the door though, the beast smashed it from its 
hinges and battered it to the ground outside the inn, and, still 
running, disappeared into the night. Bretran walked over to the doorway 
and stared thoughtfully into the darkness for a moment before picking 
up the door and pulling it back into the frame as well as possible. 
Then he turned back into the room and strode toward the corner where 
Talina and Cyrith stood. Cyrith gave a cry and ran to him. He swept her 
up in a hug then set her back on her feet and bowed slightly to Talina. 
She nodded, frowning, and said in her clear, musical voice, "Why have 
you waited so long to show yourself? It has been nearly a month..." He 
scowled in the direction of the door, "When I fell down that cliff I 
landed in a pile of snow-atop that beast, thankfully. Soft snow, so I 
didn't break any bones, but the fall knocked me out. When I woke I 
tried to dig myself out. Couldn't. "Grath and Ulgoth found me there." 
He grimaced again, embarrassed at the memory.  "By the time we found 
the trail, we were a day behind, without a horse. Two weeks after we 
started on your trail, I found their tracks." He jerked a thumb toward 
the dead beastman on the floor. "We followed them." He grimaced. "I 
lost them yesterday, so I found you two before they could." Talina 
nodded thoughtfully. Cyrith was biting her lip, standing beside 
Talina's chair, and she said, "I thought you were dead. Talina said she 
would know, but when you fell...after Stephen..." she trailed off, 
tears coming to her eyes, and Bretran smiled gently at her, the hard 
planes of his face softening. "Couldn't leave you alone, could I?" His 
lips twisted into something half-wry and half annoyed, and he broke his 
customary silence again to add, "Stephen bid me take care of you. He'd 
take it hard if I didn't, eh?" She nodded, still sniffling. After a 
moment, Talina raised one eyebrow, "What of the others?" Bretran's 
mouth quirked and he jerked a thumb to the south, "Grath got chewed on. 
Ulgoth had to carry him. They're camped down there." He grinned 
unexpectedly, then imitated Grath's voice, "Big bag of wind talk less 
walk more. Grath crawl faster than big oaf walk." The three sat down, 
leaving the rest of the inn's occupants alternately darting glances at 
them and staring wide-eyed at the dead Beastmen on the floor, now 
twisted in their half-man, half-beast death rictus. All except for the 
old man, who had retrieved his pipe from the floor where he tossed it 
and, after looking at it with obvious amusement, clamped it still unlit 
back in his jaws. He stared thoughtfully at the dead Beastman then 
glanced over to the table in the corner. For a moment the wrinkles 
melted from his face as he smiled, then he frowned slightly and stared 
again at the dead creature, now rapidly crumbling to dust on the floor. 
If anyone had watched, they might have seen the youth that momentarily 
peeked from behind his aged countenance during that smile. No one had 
however, and as the last of the Changer's remains dispersed into the 
dirt of the floor, he sighed and closed his eyes, dozing again in the 
rickety chair beside the fire. Outside, the storm beat more fiercely 
than ever against the old inn, and the wind sent its chill howls into 
the winter night. 

The keening wind blew long and hard that bitter, frosty night, to pierce
the heart and chill the bone and chase away the light. When in the 
blasted land it claimed the darkness woke once more, To rend a battered 
world from which 'twas bound in time of yore. 

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