2. Desolation.Desolationsuffocated,smothered,andchokedthe world.Everythingwasdead
and grey;sickenedbythe twistedgraspof powersdarkandsinister.Everythingwasdead.Everything
exceptRhys.
He stoodamidstthe desolation,amidstthe grey,amidstthe death.Hischestquiveredas
plumesof icybreathswirledthicklyinthe sourair.The sunloomedcoldanddistantas a pale white
orb inthe colourlesssky.The coldgnaweddeepathisbonesandclawedathisflesh.Itwasmid-
June,andyetice clunginthicksheetsacrossthe rooftopsand frostmattedthe grass inswathesof
white dust.There wasnowarmth leftheldinthisplace.Longfordwasdead.
As Rhysgazedvacantlyuponthe corpses,the lifelessbodiesof everyonehe hadeverknown,
he feltnumb;forhe toowas desolate.Butamidstthe desolation,amidstthe grey,amidstthe death,
Rhyswas alive.
It came duringthe night.Withoutwarningandwithoutmercy,the villagersperishedbefore
dawnevercame.WhenRhys awoke he rose to the bleakness wroughtbywhatevercurse had
befallenhishome.Nowhe stoodthere inthe emptiness,inthe silentghostlystreets,paralysedby
grief,despair,anduncertainty.
Time passedandcloudsplumedfromnothingnessinthe bleakandashenskies,sinking
heavily intochokingfogsthatpermeatedthe village of Longford.A sinisterpresence whispered
throughthe murk, anddarknessbeganto draw inwardsuponRhyswhilsthe stoodmotionlessand
unthinkinginthe veryheartof the thickeningcurse.
He drewdeeperbreaths,andrecoveringaportionof hismindfromdespair,shookfree of
the paralysisthatseizedhim.Hiseyesfocussedaboutthe wall of gloomthatpresseduponhim,
catchingglimpse of a glimmerthroughthe suffocatinghaze.Itwasfaint,butclose at hand:a gentle
white glowhoveringmere yardsaway.
The sightof it washedoverRhys,rescuinghimfurtherfromthe abyssintowhichhis
consciousnesshadslipped.Strugglingforwardonbenumbedfeet,halfstumbling,he edgedcloser,
pushingthroughthe unnatural swirlingfoguntil he felthimself pierce throughathreshold.He had
steppedintoavoidinthe fog, where the airwasclear and still heldsome warmth,where patchesof
colourstill remained,andwhere the auraof deathwas not so absolute.
Centredinthe refuge stoodafigure,hisbackturnedto Rhys.In hishand wasgrippeda dark
woodenstaff etchedwithrunes,fromwhichabrilliantwhite lightpiercedatitstip.The man
revolvedtoface Rhysimmediately,asif he had sensedhisverypresence. Hisskinwasebonyandhis
hair knottedinthreadsof silverandblack.Croppedshort,itcontinuedacrosshisjaw toform a
rugged,greyingbeard.He wasclad ina mismatchof leatherandplate armour,underwhichmail and
purple clothwrappedatall,broadshoulderedstructure.A setof bronze flecked goldeneyesglowed
warmly,supernatural inmanner;hisirisesswirledandplumedlikeadropof inkinwater.
The stranger glaredsilentlyatRhyswitha lookof confusion,scrutinisingeveryfibreof his
beingwithhisunworldly gaze.
“Who are you?”the man demandedwithavoice bothdeepandmelodic, histone sternand
lacedwithsuspicion.
Rhysstared backat the man insilence;histongue still immobilisedwithshock.
“What are you?”the strangerquestionedfurtherashiseyesnarrowed.
“Rhys North,”he saidfinally,notknowinghow else torespond.“Myname isRhysNorth.”
“What cause have you to invoke suchwretchedmagicuponthisplace?”the manhissed
accusingly.“Whyhave youbroughtthisdarknesshere?”
“You thinkI didthis?”Rhysstammered,brushingafrozentearfromhischeek.
3. “You standamongst the dead,ina place where there isonlydeath,andwhere onlythe dead
lurk.I sense the darknessuponyou.”
“Thiswas my home!”Rhyscontested assuspicionandrage beganto well withinhisown
mind.“You arrivedinthe wake of thisevil.Youbroughtthiswickednesswithyou!”
“You are wrong,”the strangerrepliedinagentlertone.“Iam not responsible forwhathas
befallenthisplace.Iamhere to discoverthe cause of it.”
“It isnot me!”Rhys growled.
The stranger noddedsilentlyashe lookedhimupanddown.“Where were youwhenthe
curse struck?”
“I… I was here…inmy home,”Rhysrepliedimpatiently.“Whoare you?”
A lookof disbelief came uponthe stranger’sface.“Youmeanto say:you awoke tofindyour
village inthisstate?”
“Yes.”
“Impossible,”the manutteredunderhisbreathbefore strokinghischininaprolonged
momentof contemplation.
“Who are you?”Rhysrepeated.
“My name isArlas.You neednotfearme,”he assuredRhys,hisvoice now devoidof
animosity.
“Thenyou no longersuspectIam responsible for…this?”Rhysasked,glancingatthe wallsof
icy gloomthatsurroundedthem.
“I do not,”Arlasreplied.“Thatmuchis clearto me now.”He paused.“Are youalone?Are
there anyothersurvivors?”
“No,”Rhys shookhisheadas the hauntingimagesof the deadflickeredthroughhis
thoughts.
“Are your familyamongstthe dead?”
“Theywere alreadyamongstthe dead,”he uttered gravely.
“I see,”the man empathised beforepausingforatime.“We bestleave here.Itisnotsafe.
Will youcome withme?”he asked.
Rhyslookeduponthe manwithan inexplicablesenseof trust.He nodded.“Okay,”he
shiveredagainst the cold.“CanI gathermypossessions?”
“We are shortof time,"Arlasreplied,glancingaroundwithunease."Youmustbe quick.”
Rhysnoddedonce more.“Thisway,”he saidwitha gesture,before leadingthe maninthe
directionof hishouse.
Whentheybeganto walkup the path,the freezingmistpartedaheadlike acurtaindrawing
open,the refuge withinthe gloomfollowingthemwitheverystep.Rhystriednottopeerbeyondthe
veil of murk,yetwhereverhe turnedhisgaze theirvacanteyesstaredharrowinglybackathim.
Soontheycame to the final house of the street,once aquaint thatchedcottage of stone in
whichRhyshad livedall hislife;inthe bleakgloomthatnow fumedaroundit,the buildingappeared
more tomblike thanhomely.Rhyspressedhispalmagainstthe dooranditswungopenon itsheavy
hinges.He steppedthrough intothe dankhallwayandmade straightforthe bedroom.Arlas
remainedwithinthe entrance,glancingwarilyaboutthe ruin.
Pullingonaset of tatteredleatherbootsoverhisfrozentoes,Rhysthenquicklydonnedhis
overshirtandcoat, before strapping hisfather’sknifetohisbelt.Exitinghisroom, he made haste for
the pantry witha traveller’spackinhand,butbefore he hadreachedthe doorArlasspoke out witha
newfoundsenseof urgency.
4. “We mustleave now!”
Rhyssaid nothingasthe two fledthe house andbrisklytrekkedoutof the village.Whenthe
final fewhousespassedthemby,Rhyslookedbackone lasttime andshudderedinhorrorat the fate
that had befallenthe village.
“We are headedtoOakton,”Arlasexplainedashe ledRhyssouthward.“Ata hardpace it is
little more thanfive daysfromhere.Iwill answeryourquestionssoon,butIwouldlike toputsome
distance betweenusandthisvillage before—”
Arlasdidnot finishhissentence,foratthat momentaterrifyingwail cutthrough the air
fillingRhys’sheartwithraw,unprecedentedfear.He claspedhishandsoverhisearsandthe light
atop Arlas’sstaff wassnuffedoutlike acandle inthe wind.Asthe lightdiedthe veil of fogcollapsed
inwardon the twomen.RhyslockedeyeswithArlastosee the strangersharedhisterror.
Theybroke intoa sprintdownthe path. The silhouettesof treesemergedthroughthe haze
as theynearedthe forestboundary.Rhysedgedahead,hislegscarryinghimquickerthanArlas’s.
Anothershriekeruptedfromthe mist,now impossiblyclose.A shadow rippledthroughthe gloom
aheadof him.
“Get down!”Arlasyelled.
Rhysdove to the groundand a boltof purple andblackflame sparkedandcrackledoverhis
head.The fizzlingmissileshotintothe fog disappearingmomentarilybeforeexplodingtoilluminate
the dense mistwitha flashof purple light.All fell silent.Rhys’sheartthrobbed.Hiseyesflickered
about,scanningthe murk aheadforany signof movement.Thenitappeared.Faintatfirst,the
shadowgrewsteadilydarkerasitcrept outof the fog,takingform before Rhys’seyes.
It was a spectre of blackness,hoodedandcloaked,wreathedinwrithingtendrilswovenout
of darkness.Itemergedfromthe haze bentdouble,outstretchingagnarledskeletal handof black
bone wrappedina thinmeshof white,translucentflesh.Clutchedinitsgripwasa jaggeddaggerof
wroughtiron.
Rhysscrambledbackwardsinhorror across the icy ground.The ghostlybeinghissedand
winedinear-piercingtones.Itlungedforhimwithunworldlyspeed.A secondblastof purple and
blackflame lickedoverRhys,interceptingthe beingbefore the blade methisflesh.
The jet of flame explodedaroundthe phantom,enwrappingitindarkfire.Itrecoiledin
anguish,emittinganotherscreechinghowl.Asitflailedthe flameswere extinguishedintonothing
more than smoke andash before once more itbeganto creeptowardsRhys.
ArlassteppedswiftlybetweenRhysandthe sinisterbeing,grippingtightlyhisdarkwooden
stave.Swingingthe staff inaseries of arcs, he letloose aflurryof the flameswhichquickly
envelopedthe beingagain.Thistime the figure dissolvedrapidly,vanquishedbyArlas.Butthe fight
was notyetover.
SlowlyArlasturnedasRhystoo lookedbackover hisshoulder.A half dozenmore of the
shadowswere nowemergingfromthe fog,graduallyclosinginonthem.
“Get out of here!"ArlasshoutedatRhys."I’ll holdthemoff!”
“But—”
“Now!”he ordered.
Consumedbypanic,Rhysfled.Leapingquicklytohis feet,he speddownthe pathtowardthe
treeline.The forestrusheduptomeethimas hisfeetcarriedhimswiftlyalongthe twisting
bridleway.The freezingairsweptinandout of hislungsand stunghiseyesas itrushedpast.
Dodgingunderlowbranches of deadtrees,he racedon, fuelledbyhisfear.He continuedto
run, notdaringto lookback. Hisheart punchedheavilyinhischest.He urgedhisbodyto move faster
5. despite hismuscles'screams.Yardsbecame furlongsandfurlongsbecame milesashe tore deeper
and deeperintothe lifelesswood.
Eventuallythe pathbegantorise as it climbedoutof the valleytowardsaverge upahead.
Reachingthe browof the hill,Rhysforcedthroughthe bramblesthathadgrownacross the pathway.
A root snaredhisankle,wrenchinghisfeetfromunderhim, anddownhe tumbled,slamminghard
againstthe slope as he fell.Whenhe struckthe bottomof the dyke,hisface smackedforcefully
againstthe soil.The metallictaste of bloodswilledinhismouth.He spat.
Rhyspausedfor a moment andwatchedas hisbloodtrickledoverthe detritusthatlinedthe
bottomof the ditch:scarletagainstthe otherwise colourlessground.Clamberingupthe farbankon
handsand knees,he rose tohisfeetat the top.
A clearinginthe canopyrevealedthe horizon.The foreststretchedonaheadof himtowards
the east,graduallyprogressingfromgreytogreenasthe reachesof the curse fadedinthe distance.
Pantingheavily,Rhysfeltasense of overwhelmingrelief.He turnedtolookbacktoward the desolate
path alongwhichhe had run.Nothing,norno one wasfollowing.He wassafe.
Two
Pushingthroughthe thicket,Rhysemergedintoaglade carpetedinbronze andcrimson
leaves.Dew glisteredinthe raysof autumnal lightthatbeamed throughthe thinningcanopiesof
Oakwood.Rhys’slipscurvedupwardstoa satisfiedsmirkasa rabbitjostledamidstthe leaf-litter,its
blackeyesbulginginterrorat the man approachingit.A handclampedfirmlyacrossthe base of its
skull,whilstanothergrippedbothof the creature’sthrashinglegs,tuggingthembackwardsinaswift
movementthatwithasoft click,dislocateditsneck.Itsmarble-likeeyesglazedover,itstwitching
nose relaxed,anditslegsslumpedlimpinthe man’sgrip.
Drawinghisfather’sknife fromthe scabbardonhisbelt,Rhyscut the cordage of hissnare
pulledtaughtaroundthe animal’shindleg.He drapedthe game overhisshoulderbesidetwomore
lifelessrabbits,securingthemwithalooparoundhischest.Gazingwestthroughbare treetops,he
observedthe glaringorbof the sun approachthe canopiesatopthe hillockdue west.Disappearing
back throughthe wood,Rhysreturnedtothe road.
Reachingthe highway,he sliddownthe dustywaysidebank,pattedhimself off,andturned
westalongthe road. He stoppedabruptlyafterbuta couple of steps,raisinghishandagainstthe
blindingdazzleof the sinkingsun.Squintingbroughtthe silhouetteof aman centredinthe mud
track intofocus.
Before himstooda scoundrel withclearintent,hisappearanceanddemeanourasshadyas
any lawlessvagabondthatpreyeduponthe travellersof thisroad.Hisclotheswere raggedandyet
appearedtohave once beenexpensive;mostlikelystolen,the garmentswere ill-fitting,notquite
large enoughforthe bulkof a man theycovered.Hisheadwasbaldand blackwithgrime whilsthis
browbore an unsightlyscar.
“Afternoon,”Rhysgreetedhimwarily,ensuringa distance remainedbetweenthe twoof
them.
6. Unnervingly,the banditlickedhislipsandtookseveral stepsclosertowardshim.“Nice
catch!” he grinnedthroughajaw full of crookedteethgrimedyellow andblackwithrot.A setof
leeringeyesgreedilyexaminedthe rabbitsthathungacrossRhys’sback,before finallyhisgrotesque
stare directedtowardsthe coin-purse tuckedunderhisbelt.
“Not mybestday—butit’ll do,”Rhysreplied,hispulse quickeningwitheveryinchthe
highwaymandrewcloser.
The thug suckeda waftof air throughhiscrookednose as he tooka final stepinwards,and
leantinthreateninglyclose toRhys.“I’ll take ‘emoff yourhands…alongwithanygoldyou’sgot on
yer,”he wheezedintwistedsatisfaction.
“Or—” Rhysbegan,taking a large stride backwards,“How aboutI give youtwo of these here
rabbits,I holdontomy coinfor the time being,andwe bothcall itgood business.”
“Funny!”the villainscowledasa grubbyhandreachedbehindhis back.The soundof metal
scrapingagainstleatherchimedandthe highwaymanproducedarusteddagger,pointing itatRhys’s
chest.“But I ain’tlookingtobarter!”
“You seema reasonable sort,”Rhyssaidwrylyasthe criminal continuedtoedge nearedto
him.“I am sure you are a busyman.Why don’tI justheadoff on my way,and I’ll leave youto…err…
your business:the violentacquisitionof otherpeople’spossessions,asitwere,andwe neednot
waste anymore of each other’stime.”
The man contortedhisface intoan expressionof barelycontainedrage.He revolvedthe
rust-coatedknife inaseriesof small circles,bringingittowithininchesof Rhys’sheart.“Last
chance!”he spat.
Rhyssighed heavily.“Itake itnegotiationshave come toa close then.Verywell.”He
fingeredthe drawstring of hiscoin-pouchmomentarilyasthe banditissuedawickedgrinin
response,yethisfingertipsthendartedforthe haftof his blade.
The highwaymanglimpsedthe sleightof handfromthe cornerof hisvision.Wrenchingback
hisshoulderhe lungedpowerfullytostabat Rhys,yet the rustyblade thrustonlyintoopenair.
Instincthadseizedcontrol of Rhys,andwithoutpause,he hadleaptcleanaside of the attack. Witha
single swiftmotion,he drewdaggerfromscabbardandswungthe pointof hisblade ina downward
arc. Steel sankintofleshasbloodgurgledfromthe bandit’soutstretchedforearm.
The villainroaredinagonyandhis weapontumbledfromhisgrip.Fingerslockedaroundhis
throat as Rhyswrenchedthe daggerfromhiswristand pressedthe incarnadine paintedblade
againsthisneck.
“Please!”the banditsputteredasRhysstaredintohisbloodshoteyes.
“Why?” Rhys demanded intimidatingly.“Wouldyouhave shownme suchmercy?”
“Yes…yes!Please letme go!”
“You liar!”Rhys scowledwithnarrowed eyes.He struckupwardwithaknee to the man’s
gut, before throwinghimbackwardstothe groundbythe scruff of hiscollar.“Get outof here.”
The wretch of a man scrambledtohis feet,clutchinghisarmasbloodseepedbetweenhis
fingers.Histerrorquicklyfadedwhenadartof hiseyesglimpsedpastRhys’sshoulder,andatwisted
expressionof menace returnedacrosshisvillainousface.“You’ll getitnow,youfuck!”
A snappingtwigprickedupRhys’sears.He twistedclumsilyindesperate realisation of his
fatal mistake.A secondbrute chargedhimfrombehind,brandishinganaxe highabove hishead.The
banditroaredas the axe-headcleaveddownwardatRhys,givinghimonlytime toflinch.
7. A flashof white eruptedbehindRhys’seyelidswithathunderousclap.The lightfaded
quicklytoblack.The gentle thrummingof hispulse grew steadilyquieter.Hisbreathingwasdeep
and heavy.Slowly,hiseyelidslifted.Hisvisionblurredquicklyintofocusashe glancedabouthimself.
The axemanwas sprawleduponthe waysidebank,hiseyesgazingvacantlyupwards.A black
scorchedcavityin the side of hischestseethedwithsmoke carryingthe sickly-sweetstenchof burnt
flesh.Grippedwithonlyconfusion,Rhyssteppedcloser,inspectingthe woundfurther.Gaspingin
disbelief,Rhyspeeredthroughthe puncture,intothe corpse’schest,tosee the smoulderingfroth
that had once beena lung.
Staggeringbackin horror,Rhysswivelledtothe rustlingof bushes.The firsthighwaymanhad
scurriedupthe bankinterrifiedretreat,fleeingintothe woodsandoutof sight,leavingnothingbut
a speckledtrail of crimsonbloodbehindhim.Rhys’sthroattightenedashiseyesscannedfrantically
aboutthe treeline.
“Who’sthere?”he criedout infrenziedterror.Hiseyesdartedbackandforth nervouslyin
the silence.Notamomentpassedbefore he spunandboltedwestdownthe road,notdaringto
glance back.
Questionsrushedthroughhismind,yetall were toofleetinginhisscatteredthoughtsto
have any hope of beinganswered.He spedonalongthe roadwithoutslowinguntilhislegsached,
hischestburned,andthe topof the sunfadedbehindthe hillstothe west.He haltedathisbody’s
limit,quiveringashe trieddesperatelytofill airintohislungs.Hispulse throbbeddenselybetween
hisears.
Clutchinghisside,Rhyslookedbackdownthe highwaytothe east,searchingforany signof
a pursuer.He stoodunmovingforsome time,staringwithasharpalertness.Whenfinallyhe was
satisfiedthatnothinghadfollowed, hishearthadlongsince slowedtonormal,andthe twilighthad
fadedto a dimdusk.
Wipingthe coldsweatfromhisbrow,he continuedondownthe highway,leavingthe
woodlandsbehindhim.Withthe risingmoonRhyscame tothe village of Oakton.Setupon a
crossroad,the village servedasarest pointformanytravellersandtradersjourneyingacrossthe
northernreachesof Gwent and fartherafieldtothe realmof Westernesse.
The final fewmerchantswere finishingpackinguptheirstallswhenRhysreachedthe market
square,whilstthe movementof people throughthe darkeningstreetsdriftedmostlyinthe direction
of the taverns.Roundingacorner,Rhysarrivedat The SmokingOak,alarge thatchedbuilding
resoundingwithcheersandlaughter.
Rhysstepped throughthe opendoorand wasgreetedbya cosy warmththat contrastedthe
cool crispnessof the duskwindoutside.The tavernwaslitwithanorange glow that emanatedfrom
lanternsandseveral hearthssetaroundthe large room.Drunkenpatronssharedstoriesandsongs
aroundthe manytables,merryineachother’scompany.The ownerBuckle wasa plumpandfriendly
man whowouldalwaysfindroomforany inneedof shelter.The tall tavernkeepstoodproudbehind
the bar as he polishedatankardwitha wide grinthatstretchedbetweentworosycheeks.Beside
himstoodhislovingwife Martha,nearlyhalf hisheight,yetjustaswarmas her husband.
Buckle winkedatRhysas he noticedhimenterbefore proceedingtopoura pintfrom a large
barrel setbehindthe bar.Negotiatingthe crowdedroom, Rhysmade hiswaytothe bar andsat
uponthe stool opposite the tavernkeep,issuinghimagentle smile ashe didso.
“How manytoday thenlad?”Buckle askedashe cut the flow fromthe kegand watchedas
the last fewdropsof goldenfluidsplashedintothe tankard.
8. Rhysuntetheredthe game fromhisshoulder,hangingthemfromahookset above the bar.
“I’ve had more successful days,”Rhysadmitted,“ButitshouldcoverwhatI owe you.”
“Now,now.I toldyounot to worry yourself aboutthatm’boy,”the innkeeperinsisted,
slidingthe tankardacrossthe oakenbar to Rhys.“You’ve got a livingtomake son.Martha and I are
doingjustfine forthe moment—businessisgreat!”he gesturedtothe ram-packedtavern.
“No Buckle,”he refused,looseningthe drawstringof hiscoinpurse andslidingacopperover
the bar in exchange forthe drink.“IsaidI would payyou back bymid-October.Imeantit.”
“All right,”the landlordagreed,reluctantlyunhookingthe game,yetslidingthe copperback
inRhys’sdirection.“You’re stubborn,”he saidwagginghisfingerhalf-jokingly.“Toostubbornsome
mightsay.”
Rhyssomewhatbegrudginglydroppedthe coinbackintohispouchand refasteneditabout
hisbelt.He raisedthe pewtertankardto hislipsandsavoureda longswigof the mead.
Martha tookthe game fromherhusbandbefore shakingherheadatRhys witha beaming
smile.“See thathe doesn’ttryto payfor anythingelse tonight,”she saidasshe stretchedontiptoes
to kissherspouse gentlyonthe cheek.“I’ll getthese tothe kitchen.”She turnedandleftthroughthe
doorwaybehindthe bar.
“I don’tneedyouto do thisBuckle,”Rhysprotestednow inMartha’sabsence.“Ican look
aftermyself.”
“Really?”the mangrinned.“If I remembercorrectly,whenfirstyoucame throughthatdoor
youwere starvedhalf to death,coveredheadtotoe infilth,withnowhere tocall home,nocoin,and
no storyas to whyor where you’dcome from.”
“I am grateful,”he urged.“Foreverything.Youtookme in… put a roof over myhead…and
neverdidyouask foranythinginreturn.But I am justtryingto repaythe kindnessyouandMartha
showedme.Idon’tbelievethe worldowesme anything.I’mtryingtomake myown way.I don’t
wantyou to be put-upon.”
“Okay,”the tavernownernoddedinsolemnunderstandingbefore hisrosycheekspillowed
intoan infectiousgrin.“Butthose rabbits—they make usevennow!”
“All right,”he agreedhappily.
“Now,are yougoingto tell me whathappened?”he askedinsightfullywitha subtle gesture
to Rhys’swrist.
He glanceddowntonotice a maroon splatteringof driedbloodoverthe cuff of hisjacket.
“Oh err,” he hesitated.“Ijustcaughtmyself onsome brambles.”
“Hmm,” Buckle mutteredashe crossedhisarms knowingly.“Well,Ialmostforgot:ayoung
lad,probablyaboutyourage, stoppedbyhere ‘roundnoon.He wasaskingafteryou.”
“Really?”Rhyspondered.
“Didn’tgive a name.I toldhimyouwere out—mostlikelyinOakwood.”
“Andthen?”
“Well,he saidhe’dlikely be backthisevening,thoughIhaven’tseenhimyet.Gotthe
impressionhe wentoutinsearchof you.Strange fellow he was.Definitelynotfrom‘roundthese
parts.”
“Did yougeta name?”Rhysqueried,ata lossas to whothe mysteriousstrangercouldbe.
“Calledhimself Thomas.Whetherthatwashisfirstor last name,Ican’t say.”
“I don’tknow,”he shookhishead.“Can’t thinkof anyone I’ve metbythat name.”
“Well I’ll letyouknowif he comesthroughthat door.”With thatthe barkeepdealtaswift
wipe tothe bar andleftRhysto hisdrinkto serve the otherpatrons.
9. Rhysremainedseatedatthe bar for the nextfew hours,talkingtoBuckle andthose who
came to orderfoodand drink.One manspoke of a bodyaside the eastroad, with‘a queerburnon
hisside.’
“Lookedprettyfreshhe did,”saidanother.“Couldn’tforthe life of me figure outwhatitwas
that killedhim.I’dcall himapoor sodI would,butI’mprettysure he were one of thembanditsthat
have beenplaguingthe area.Lookslike he gotwhathe had comingto himeh?”
At that momentthe taverneruptedintosong,instigatedbyone table of verydrunken
traders.Buckle joinedinashe didalways,andencouraginglynudgedRhysfromacrossthe bar. Rhys
reluctantlyobliged,joiningthe discordantchantthat blaredthroughoutthe rammedtavern.The
songcycledthroughtwice,andsome eventriedfora thirdround,but theirattemptswere short
livedastheirdrunkenbellowssubsidedintolaughterandchatteronce more.
Withthe quieteningof the tavern,Rhys tooknotice of Buckle attemptingtocatch hisglance
fromacross the room. The innkeeperthendartedhiseyestothe door,fromwhichRhysfelta cool
draft blow in.He glancedoverhisshoulderatthe doorwayintime to see a youngman stride in.
The stranger stoodlittle overaverage height,yethisuprightathleticposture helda
commandingpresence.A tangledmessof weatherbeatenhairsweptinthickblondstrandsacross
hisbrow.His handsome face wascheerful,yetresolute,hintingatanassureddetermination.Butof
all hisfeatures,itwasthe stranger’seyesthatprovedthe mostdistinguishing:apiercingblue that
swirledandseethedwithpreternatural whispers.He examinedthe tavernwithkeengaze,seemingly
absorbingeveryaspectof the scene before himinimpossible minutiae,andwithoutrealising,Rhys
suddenlyrealisedtheyhadlockedeyes.
Swivellingquicklybacktohispint,Rhysbowedhisheadandsippedatthe mead,hopingto
avoidthe traveller’sintensestare,yetthe footfallsof leatherbootsonwoodenfloorboardsmade
straightfor him,andwithinamoment,the man hadseatedhimself onthe stool beside Rhys.Peering
up fromhistankard,Rhys wasrelievedtosee the strangernow paidhimnoattention.Fromthe
corner of hisgaze,he examinedthe manonce more;a setof weatherstainedtraveller’sgarments
toldthe tale of a life onthe road, theircoloursall butfadedcompletely.Acrossthe man’sbackwas
strappeda curiousitem:perhapsastaff or spear of some kind,concealedbeneathawrapof
tatteredcloththat appearedtohave beenstitchedandre-stitchedinnumerable timesinanattempt
to hide or protectwhateveritemwashiddenwithinit.
“What can I get for you?”Buckle askedhim.
“A pintof yourhouse ale if youwill,”he repliedkindly.“Andaroomfor the nightif you have
any spare.”
“Comingrightup,” Buckle nodded,andmade hiswayoverto the largestkegbehindthe bar.
Frothyamberbeerspewedfromthe keg’stapintoa tankard Buckle heldbeneaththe flow,fillingit
quicklytothe brim.
“Anynewson North?”the travellerspoke outtohim.
Buckle remainedsilentforamomentinwaitto see if Rhyswouldspeakup.“I’msure he will
make an appearance soonenough,”he saidfinallyashe setthe beerdownbefore the man. “I’ll just
go fetchthe ledger,”he added,disappearing.
“You are lookingforNorth?”Rhysdirectedtothe man before takinganothergulpof his
drink.
“You knowhimI take it,” the travellerreplied,turningtosethisintense gaze onRhysonce
more.
“Betterthan most.”Rhyspaused.“What businessdoyouhave withhim?”
10. “He isthe acquaintance of a friend.A friendwhohasbeenunable tomake contactwithhim
since lasttheymetthissummer,”he saidavertinghisscrutiny.
“So youdon’tknowhimpersonally?”
“I know of him.His general description,fromwherehe hails.Ihave evensavedhislife,
thoughI doubthe realisesthatas of yet.Now,if youare askingif everI have methim, thenmy
answeristhat I had ratherhopedto be doingso aboutnow.Alas, if he wishestoremainunknownto
me,thenthat ishisdecision.”
Rhysstared agape at the strangerwho now seeminglyignoredhisverypresence.
“Will yoube wantingdinnersentupto yourroom Mr Thomas?”Buckle saidjollilyuponhis
return,settingthe inn’slogbookonthe baras he didso.
“If you’dbe so kind,”he repliedrummagingthroughapockettoproduce a small handful of
silverfarthingsembossedwiththe Crestof Westernesse.“Will thissuffice?”he asked,placingthem
beside the openledger.
Brieflyexaminingthe foreigncoinage,Bucklenodded.“It’smore thanenough,”he said
movingtoslide some of the farthingsbackinthe man’sdirection,yetthe strangerdismissedthe
notionwitha silentgesture.InsteadBuckleproducedakeyhandingittothe man uttering,“Room
eight.The endof the firstfloorcorridor.Yoursuppershouldbe alongwithinthe hour.”
“My thanks,”the man noddedbefore lookingtoaddressbothBuckle andRhys.“PerhapsMr
Northwouldcare to joinme inmy roomif everhe makesan appearance thisevening.”Withthathe
raisedhispintto thembothand strode off inthe directionof a narrow stairwell acrossthe room.
“No chance he’sfiguredoutwhoyou are,”Buckle issuedwithlight-heartedsarcasm.
Rhysshot the innkeepera weaksmile fromthe cornerof hislipsand rose.Leavingwhatwas
leftof hisdrink,he made straightor the same stairwaythe strangerThomashad leftby,andclimbed
brisklytothe firstfloor,followingthe corridortoitsend.He pausedfor a momentof consideration
as he stood silentlyoutside the doorof roomeight,before finallyhe rappedhisknuckleslightly
againstthe wood.
“Come in,”the voice calledoutfrominside.
Hesitantly,Rhystwistedthe ironhandle andletthe doorswingopen.The room wasalight
witha warm amberglow.Onlymomentsagothe manhad receivedthe keytohisroom, yetevery
candle flickeredwithflame,whilstamoderate fire crackledinthe hearth.Thomassatcomfortable
withinachair by the fire,hishandscrossedinhis lapas he observedthe lickingflamesdance up
fromthe wood.
“Come in,”he repeatedatRhyswhostoodsilentlyinthe doorway.
Finally,he entered,shuttingthe doorbehindhim, yethe lingeredstillbyit,notyetdaringto
approach the man.“That wasyou… onthe eastroad thisafternoon.”
“It was.”
“That whichyouhad strappedto yourback; concealedfromothers.Itisa staff.Andyou—
youare warlock.”
“VeryinsightfulMrNorth,”the manissuedwitha smile.
“Who are you?”Rhysdemanded.
“Please,take aseat,”he said kindly,gesturingtoasecondchair clearlypositionedwithhim
inmind.
Rhysremainedwhere he stood,awaitinghisanswer.
“That is notthe questionwhichpressesmostuponyourmind.Youwishanswerstoa great
deal manyquestions.Atthe moment,itisclearyouhave no trustfor me,whichisunderstandable.If
11. I am to gainyour trust,it wouldbe easierforme to doso if your line of questioningwere correctly
ordered.Now,whatisityou wishmostto askme?”
A longsilence followed.“Whathappened?WhathappenedonJune twenty-firstof thisyear
to the village of Longford—myhome?”
“A curse wroughtfrom indiscriminate evil rose upandquenchedthe veryessence of all life
that existedthroughoutthe village of Longfordandthe landthat surroundedit.The resultingwreak
of deathanddespairenticedthe arrival of wraiths:the fragmentsof tormentedsoulsof those long
dead,that throughdesperationstill clingtothisworld.”
“But why?”
“I do not know.The wraithsare not responsible forthe darknessthatdescendeduponyour
home.Theywere merelydrawntothe tragedyof deathon sucha harrowingscale,similarlyasto
whentheyare seenhauntingbattlefieldsinthe wake of vastconflicts.Ihave no inklingastowhat
couldhave brought about a curse as wickedandpowerful asthatwhichdevouredyourentire village.
Nor doI have any thoughtas to whysuch malice wascarriedout.”
“Thenwhyare you here?”
“I am here on behalf of Arlas.He spoke tome of your meeting—of hisdiscoveryof the curse,
findinghimself uponthe borderof the darkmagicby mere happenstance;hisinvestigationthatled
himintothe midstof the dark murkwhere hundredsof deadlitteredthe streets;andof hisfinding
of one manstood inthe heart of it all,defyingpossibility.”
“I don’tknowwhat youthink—”
“What I think,”he saidrising,“whatArlasthinks,isthatthere isa reasonyousurvivedthat
day.Now,it ismy turn to aska questionof you.Whatisit that youknow of magic?”
Rhystook a longmomentof consideration.“The mostimportantthingmyfatherevertaught
me,was to questioneverything.Acceptnothingmerelyasitis.Until that day,I believedmagicthe
stuff of mythand legend,andnothingmore.Ihadseennoevidence foritsexistence inthe world
beyondthe tall talesthatpeople tell theirchildrenbythe lightof fire.
“But now,itsexistence isall tooapparenttome—asisitsdanger.Therefore,Ihope youwill
forgive me mylackof trust foryou,for I see you as a danger.You savedme earliertoday,andI do
not wishtoseemungrateful.But,Isawthe speedwithwhichthe life wasstruckfromthat
highwayman,andIwitnessedfirst-handthe powerwhichArlaswielded.Iamfearful of you,”he
finished,withasolemnexpression.
“You need notfearme,”Thomas assuredhimwitha tone of sincerity.The warlocktooka
seatand once again gesturedkindlytothe chairopposite him.
Rhysnow withgreathesitationbravedsteppingfurtherintothe room, andslowlyand
deliberately,he loweredhimself ontothe chair.
“You are correct inmany of your assumptions,”the mancontinuedwarmly,“butnotall.Iam
indeedawielderof magicakinto Arlas,butneitherhimnorI are mere sorcerers.Iheraldfroman
orderboth ancient andsecretive:The Circle of Magi.We strive againstthe dark powersthatseekto
taintthisland.We serve asprotectorsto the people of Cambria.The fate of Longfordisour failure.
That we couldnot spare you,and all of those that perished,fromsuch a gruesome fate weighs
heavilyuponthe Order.”He pausedfora great while beforefinallysaying.“IamSolomonThomas,
Acolyte of the Orderof Magi.You may call me Sol.”
Rhys’sunease lifted.“Myname isRhys,”he offered.
“It isgood to finallymeetyouRhys.”
12. Three
Rhystwiddledhisthumbsasthe all-seeinggaze of SolomonThomascontinuedtoexamine
him,the glowof his eyesseeminglypeeringstraightintohisverysoul.Itmade Rhysuncomfortable,
causinghimto fidgetinhischairthroughthe prolongedquietudethathaddescendedbetween
them.
“You still haven’texplainedwhyyouare here,”he said,eagertoendthe silence.
“As I said,”Sol began,“Arlasbelievesthatthere isareasonyouwere sparedfromthe ill fate
of the curse.”The sorcerer’sfingersmovedforanitemtuckedunderhisbelt,drawingathinlength
of wood:a smoothdark rodmeasuringjustshyof a footinlength,narrowingtoa tipat one end,
whilstcarvedtoform a handle atthe other.The whole implementwaslacqueredandintricately
patternedwiththe etchingsof loopedlinesthatformeddecorativeknots.
Rhyshad neverseteyesuponsucha fantastical itembefore,yethe knew bothinstinctively,
and fromhisknowledge of folklore,thatthe lengthof woodSol heldlightlyinhisgripwasa wand.
Witha twirl of hisfingersthe mage spunthe wandso that itshandle waspointedtowardsRhys.A
longmomentpassedbefore Rhysrealisedthe manwasofferingthe implementtohim.Hesitantly,
he reachedforwardand slowlycurled hisfingersaroundthe stem.A subtle pulse ranthe
implement’slengthasRhystookit fromSol,andto his bewildermentthe woodvibratedwith
wondrousunseenenergy.
“Magic throughoutCambriaisshroudedinsecrecyandlegend.Butall legendsstemfrom
some truth.The storiesyouhave heardtoldandretold,spunas mythsand fablesbythose whohave
neverwitnessedanythingpertainingtothe arcane: theyare not birthedoutof imagination,butout
of history.Thoughovertime these talesare warpedthroughtheirtelling,theirdetailsoftenaltered
drastically,theyharkbackto a single message of truth:thatthisworldisnot as it appears;that
wovendeepbeneaththatwhichcanbe seenisa fabricof energybotharcane and mystical thatmost
can neverhope tounderstand!
“The arcane arts are practisedacrossthe continenttoday,justastheyhave beensince the
originsof our people inthisland.Itwasmagicthat broughtabout the ruinof yourvillage Rhys—and
magic thatdeliveredyoufromit.”
“What do youmean?”Rhys questioned.
“What you holdin yourhand isa wand:an implementthroughwhichone canexerttheirwill
overthe magic that pervadesthisworld,”Sol explained.The mage gentlynudgedthe candleupon
the table betweenthem, slidingitclosertoRhys.“Conjuringaflame isnotrivial task.But
extinguishingone isfarsimpler,”he continued.“Clearyourmind.Pointthe wandtothe flame,and
simplywill ittodie.”
A medleyof voicesspokeupwithinRhys’smind,protesting,makingdemands,and
questioningeverythingthathadcrossedthe lipsof the man before him.Yetas he lookedforthe
briefestmomentintoSol’seyes,the man’scommandinggaze quelledall resistance withinhim.
Clearinghismind,Rhysinhaleddeeply.Pointingthe tipof the wandto withininchesof the amber
flame thatquiveredupwardsfromthe candle’swick, andasinstructed,he willedthe lighttogoout.
13. The room plungedintoimmediate darknesswithawhooshof airthat swirledsoftly
throughoutthe room.The wandslippedfromRhys’sfingersandclatteredacrossthe table ashis
eyesstaredblindlyaboutthe blackness.Hisvisionadjustedslowlytothe dimness,andhisnostrils
caught scentof the ribbonof smoke thatclimbedsteadilyfromthe candle before him.Yetthe
candle placeduponthe table wasnot the sole flame thathadbeenextinguished,butratherevery
wickaboutthe roomthat had beenalight,andeventhe fire thathadcrackledwithinthe hearth
momentsbefore nowsmouldered,quenchedbyasimple fleetingthoughtfromRhys’smind.
He heldhisbreath,closingandreopeninghiseyes,certainthathissenseshadbetrayedhim;
yetthe dark lingeredstillforseveral longmomentsbefore asuddenswell of heatrelitthe roominto
an immediate glow once more.The wandhadfounditswayback intoitsowner’sgrasp,andit
became clearthat Sol had compelledthe flamestorise once again.The mage’slipscurledintoa
broad grinas hisgaze still penetratedRhys.
“A natural aptitude,beyondanythatI have encountered prior,”the mage breathed.
“Magic—spellcraft,itisalearnedart,one that can require alifetime of studyingandresearch.But
whatI neglectedtotell youbefore Iaskedyouto extinguishthe flame,isthatfew everpossessthe
meansto commandmagiceffectively.Whatyouhave justdemonstrated,isthatyouwere bornwith
a rare gift.”
“But… I…” Rhys stutteredlookingdownathishandsas if theywere those of a stranger’s.
“Yet itgoesfurtherRhys,”the mage continued.“There isaworldof difference betweenthe
magic of witchesandwarlocksto thatcommandedbya mage.Witchesandwarlocks,the scholarsof
arcane learnings,theyare capable of weavingspellsandenchantmentsthatcanconjure light,heal
wounds,alterperception,andevenbringforthhexesandcurses—yetthisisthe extentof their
power.
“Amongthose giftedwiththe capacitytomanipulate the arcane,isyetanothergroup.There
are those inthisworldwhose innate giftsare soextraordinary,souncommon,thatthere isthought
to onlyeverbe a fewdozenof theminexistence atanyone time.
“I speakof magi: those bornwithsuch a powerful inclinationtowardsmagicthatthe
elementsbowtotheirwill.Theyare capable of wieldingmagicasa weaponinandof itself.Their
magic augmentstheirphysical prowess,sharpenstheirsenses,andfortifiestheirconstitution.Yet
thispowerislatent,andmust be unlocked.”
Sol arose from hischair andstrode overto hisbedupon whichwaslainthe staff wrappedin
tatteredcloth.The mage strewaside the raggedmaterial andliftedfromita longstave of copper.At
one end,the burnishedmetal forkedintotwoprongs,eachtippedwithasmall sphere,whilst
roughlytwothirds downthe flawlessshaftthe metal pressedflatinto aclip-point-blade.Sparksof
electricityzappedalongthe entire weapon’slengthanddartedwithdischargingcracksbetweenthe
conductive orbsat itshead.Sol heldthe fizzlingstave lightlyinhisgrip,turningsoasto allow Rhysto
gawksilentlyatitsunworldlybeauty.
“Arlasis a mage—asamI. AndI believe thispowermanifestswithinyourbloodasitdoes
ours.It is forthisreasonthat you survivedthe darknessthatengulfedLongford.The powerthatlurks
deepwithinyoushieldedyoufromthe malevolence thatconsumed all else.
“I am here to ask that youleave thisplace,thatyoumightjoinme uponmy returnto the
Orderof Magi on the morrow.I bidthat youseekthe destinythathasnow presenteditself toyou,
and learnwhatthispoweryoupossesstrulymeans!”
Rhysremainedsilent,hismindscapeafire withbizarrenotionsthatseemedbothdangerous
and seductive.Allhe knew,all he hadeverbelievedtrue aboutthe world,abouthimself,all now
14. seemedshatteredbythe revelationsthatwere unfoldingbeforehim.Histhoughtssoonbecame
dizzyingasa whirlwindof unansweredquestionsandunsatedcuriosity,mixedwithwaryscepticism
and terrorof the unknown,curdledinhisgut,andoverwhelmedhissenses.Butthena soothing
quietnessdescendeduponhismind,andfinallyhislipspartedwithspeech.“Verywell,”he said
calmly,yetindisbelief of hisownwords.“Iwill come withyou.”
Sol’sexpressionflashedmomentarilywithsurprisebeforeawide grintookformacross his
face.“Excellent,”he issuedexcitedly.“We shall departfromhere atdawn.”
Silence setinonce againwhilstawave of lethargybegantotake a holdof Rhys.Seeingthe
man’ssuddenweariness,Sol sethisstaff backdownuponhisbedbefore turningbackto Rhysto say,
“Perhapswe shouldleave itatthat thisevening.There will be plentyof time toanswerwhat
questionshave beenunsaid.AllIhave toldyouismuch to consider.Ithinkitbestif I leave youto
dwell onwhatwe have spokenthusfar.”
Rhysnodded.“Okay,”he utteredweaklyashe arose onshaky legs.
“I will knockonyour doorat firstlight,”he extendedahandto Rhyswhoshookit firmly.
“Until the morning,”he said,escortingRhysto the door.
Troubledsleepeventuallycame toRhysthat nightagainstthe neverceasingtorrentof
thoughtsthat preyeduponhismind.Yetashiseyessankshut throughoverwhelminglassitude,they
openedonce more tothe cold desolationof Longford.Chokingfogsseethedamidstthe greyness
that soakeddeepintothe landandsky,whilstall essence of lightsuffocatedinthe smothering
wretchednessof inescapable foulmagic.
The shrill wailsof wraithspiercedagainstthe veilof murk,stabbingpainfullyatRhys’s ears,
evokingfrenziedterrorthatcurdledhisblood.The musclesof hislegssnappedtaughtintoa
stumblingsprintthatcarriedhimdesperatelyawayfromthe pursuingphantoms,yetthe ground
pedalledslowlybeneathhimasif the air throughwhichhe struggledhadthickenedtotreacle.
Ripplingshadowsdartedamidstthe gloom,the mistchillingasclosertheydrew,hunting
Rhysby the stenchof hislife.A faintlightglowedaheadshroudedbyicyfog,growingsteadily
brighterwitheveryinchhe foughtcloser.Withoutstretchedfingertipshe reached,struggled,clawed
for the white glimmerthat seemedeverbeyondhisgrasp,yetagainstthe dreamscape he
succeeded.The curtainof gloomtore openandthe phantasmal shrieksfadedagainstthe refuge in
whichhe nowstood.
The piercinglightnowshone clearfromatopthe black staff of Arlas.The man stood
unwaveringagainstthe curse,studyingRhyswithagaze of glisteringbronze andgold.Beside him
Sol’sfaircomplexioncontrastedthe darkfeaturesof the southerner,he toolookinguponRhyswith
the glowof azure irises.Betweenthe twomagi there stoodathird,slightlyshorterinheightthan
those beside him,andof athleticbuild.He wasyoung,inhisearlytwenties,hischestnuthair
croppedshort,and hisjawcleanlyshaven.Rhyscame torealise he lookeduponavisionof himself,
yetthe man peeredbackat himwiththe eyesof a stranger.Emeraldand malachite shattered
togetherinethereal stormsthatbothsparkedwithviolentenergyandglowedwithatranquil hum,
througha gaze that whisperedof witnessedhorrors,whilstspeakingof deeply heldunquestionable
resolve.
The soft glowbrightenedsteadilyuntilablindingwhitenesssearedatRhys’seyes.He bolted
uprightand glancedaboutthe dark.His visionfocussedslowlythroughthe dimnessabouthimtothe
familiarsightof hisroom.Sweatbeadedcoldlyacrosshisbrow andhissheetsclungdamplytohis
skinas he swunghislegsoff the side of hisbed.His toescurledagainstthe woodenfloorboards,and
15. witha longexhale Rhysshookthe lingeringimagesof the dreamfromhismind.Stridingacrossthe
room,Rhys pulledopen the shutters.A crispswathe of airwashedinthroughthe window,andRhys
staredout to the graze of pinkthat creptup fromthe horizonwiththe impendingdawn.
A final deepsniff of the twilightclearedhisheadfully,andRhysquicklydressedintothe
traveller’sgarmentshe hadlainoutthe previousnight.Whenhe finishedbucklinghisscuffedand
wornboots,there came a gentle knock.Rhysopenedthe doortosee Sol readyfortheirjourney,a
pack across hisback, to the side of whichwasstrappedhisconcealedstaff.
“Good morning,”the mage greetedhim.
“Morning,”Rhys respondedyawningly.
“Are you readyto go?”
Rhysnoddedsilently,retrievinghisowntraveller’spackfromthe footof hisbedandslinging
itsheavystraps acrosshis shoulders.
“Come,”Sol beckonedturningdownthe corridor.
Rhysfollowedthe mage quietlydownstairswhere the twomenplacedtheirkeysuponthe
bar. Rhysnoticeda fire cracklinginthe hearth,bywhichthe innkeeperandhiswife satwarming
themselves.
“We came to see yeroff m’boy,”Buckle saidina warm hushedvoice ashe rose fromhis
chair.Martha too stoodas Rhysmovedcloserto them.Inherarms she helda wrappedlinenbundle
whichshe presentedtohim.
“Some foodfor the road,” she explainedkindly.“Justsome breadandham,”she smiled.
“Thank you,”Rhysbeamedashe peeledbackthe clothtopeakat the contents.“—for
everything.”
Buckle puthisarm aroundhiswife.“It’sbeenapleasure son.Remember,youare always
welcome here.Goodluck.”Buckle tussledRhys’shairwithhislarge hand.
“Stay safe,”Martha added.Withthat the two made theirwayback upstairstotheir
bedroom.
Rhysturnedback to see Sol waitingpatientlybythe door.The man issuedhimasympathetic
nodas Rhystooka momenttogatherhimself.Takingone final glancearoundthe tavern,he placed
the foodin hispack,and he and Sol steppedoutintothe dawn.
The sun was creepingupfrombehindahill tothe eastas the cool morningairrolledaround
ina gentle breeze.A thinfrostpowderedthe ground, glintingsoftlyinthe earlylight,whilstbirds
chirpedintuneful songsamongstthe trees.
“We are headedforthe townof Highshire;itisabouttwentyleagueswestof here.Iaimfor
us to arrive twodays fromnow,”Sol explained.“Todaywe looktocrossthe moor.”
Rhysnoddedsilentlyashe realisedtheywouldbe journeyingfartherwestthanhe hadever
venturedbefore.
Sol ponderedhisexpression.“Anysecondthoughts?”he askedwarmly.
“Dozens!”Rhyslaughed.“Butchief amongthembeing:shouldwe have eatenbreakfast
before beginningasixty-mile hike?”
Sol smiledwidely.“A validconcern,”he chuckled.“Butfearnot.We can stopalongthe way
to eat,”Sol promised,before settingoff down the path.
Strollingbrisklythroughthe streets,theyquicklydepartedfromthe village viathe West
Road,cuttinga deadbearingthroughconiferouswoodsthatrose upinverdanttotemseitherside of
the mud track. The highwayinclinedsteadilyoverthe firstpassingmiles,andthe morninglight
transitionedfromscarlettoamberbefore clearingintosharpgoldenraysthatfell upontheirway.
16. The frost dissolvedintoaglisteningdampnessthatseepedtomoistenedthe mudunderfoot,whilst
the cool edge to the breeze persisted,graduallyswellingtostrongbittergusts.
The two menkepttheirsilence asthe woodlandthinnedtill itdispersedcompletely,
surrenderingtorollinghillsthatgave formtothe moorahead.Scarletbrackensproutedthickly
across the hillsides,interspersedwithacarpetingof golden-browngrassthatclumpedheavilyin
tussocksagainstthe scouringwindsthatshapedthe moorland.Anemeraldlineof well-trodden
pathwayweaveditswaythroughvalleysandoverbrows,dictatingthe journey thatlay ahead.
Theymarchedout across the exposedwildernessasbuffetingwindssweptunhindered over
the land,forcingRhysto fastenhisjacket.Witheachpassingmile the moorbecame more rugged
and desolate.Weatheredhillockssproutedjuttingtorsof bare andcraggy rock. Springsgurgledfrom
beneaththe soil andtrickledasrillsbetweenjaggedstone,flowingintovalleysof soddenpeat.Yetin
spite of all itsharshness,the bleakmoorlandheldtoitastark beauty,the likesof whichRhyshad
neverseenbefore.
Descendingasteepbank,theycame toa foamingstreamwhere the twomenpausedfora
moment.
“We shouldstoptoreplenishourwater,”Sol suggested,weighinghisflaskinhishand.
“You're right,”Rhysagreed,realisinghisbladderwasalsonearingempty.
The two menkneltaside the runnel, refillingtheirwater.Rhysraisedthe skintohislips
takingseveral gulpsof the coldfluiduntil he feltrefreshedonce more.He reclinedonthe bank,
looseningthe strapsof hispack,and relaxedforamoment.Hisgaze fell uponSol’sstaff whichhad
beenpartiallyunwrappedbythe prevailingwinds.
“Everymage possessestheirownstaff,”Sol spoke out,noticingRhys’sintriguedstare.“Each
utterlyunique initscharacterand form.Theyare notdesignedorsmithed,butforgedthrough
sacredritual.It issaidthat a mage’sstaff isa physical manifestationof theirverysoul,anexpression
of theirwill,andshapedbytheiruniquepower.”
“Andyours… itcan cast forthlightning?”Rhysasked,recallingthe previousday’sevents
uponthe East Road.
“Chiefly,yes,”the mage nodded.“ThoughIamby no meanslimitedtosuch.Lightning—it
comesmostnaturallyto me,butall otherelementsare tooat my command.”
“Why didyouremainhiddenyesterday? Once youhadslainthe banditthatis?”
“Had I appearedto youthere andthen,there isno tellinghow youmighthave reacted,”Sol
explained.“Atbestyoumighthave fledindistress,andIwouldhave encounteredgreattrouble in
tryingto speakwithyou. I thoughtbestthatI wait to approachyouat a time whenyourmindwas
more at ease.”
“Thank you,”Rhysexpressedafteratime.
“It isfortunate I came uponyou whenIdid,”Sol conceded.“Butupto a point,Ifeltyou
handledyourself impressively.”
Rhysletout a half chuckle,notentirelysure how tointerpretthe compliment.
“We shouldgetgoing,”the mage said,corkinghiswaterskin.“There are manymore leagues
to coverbefore the day’send.”
Settingoff again,theytracedthe windingpathoutover the hills,steeringmildlynorthward
as theyclimbedsteadilyoutof a wide ravine tostraddle arude and lengthyridgewaythatrose up
above the surroundinglands.Tothe souththe moor stretchedendlessly,spoutingdozensof
tributariesthatconvergedtobirththe RiverCrann;whilsttothe north the moorlandfell awayto
cultivatedgreenpastureshedgedtoshape rectangularfieldsthatsprawledoutacrossthe lowlands.
17. The sun crestedthe peakof its arc, beginningthe secondhalf of itsvoyage,driftingever
slowlydowntowardsthe west.Pangsof hungerbegantostrumand boil inRhys’sgut,thus the two
menbroke for lunchalongthe spine.
“I am sure there are manyquestionsyouwishtoaskme Rhys,”saidSol as an apple crunched
loudlyinhisbite.
“I do,” Rhysnoddedashe contemplatedthe raw wildernessthatextendedbeforehim.“You
speakof your order—the mages,asthe protectorsof Cambria.Inwhat way?Andwhodo you
answerto?”
Sol smiled.“We are warriors,butbelongtono army. We are servants,butto no king.We
cannot be bought,norhired.Our loyaltyistothe code of our order;but there are ranks and
positionsof authoritywithinthe Order.I myself amanacolyte,a low rankingmemberof the Circle,
for I am onlynewtothe Order.Arlasholdsthe rankof Archon;he commandsthe Order,and is byfar
the most seniormage.Thoughhe seeksthe council of otherElderswithinthe Circle,andwill often
make decisionsbasedonthe collective opinionof the Order,he holdsthe final say,andeverymage
answerstohim.
“Our creeddictatesthatwe must serve Cambriaanditspeople forthe greatergood.We do
not oftenconcernourselveswiththe politicsof the realms,andseldomtake sidesinanywarfought
by man.We concernourselvesmore withmattersof the arcane. Cambriaishome to all mannerof
creaturesbothmalevolentanddeadly,andancientmagiciswovenintothe landitself.Magicused
for ill-intentanddarkpurposesposesthe greatestthreattothe people of thisworld,whilst
monstersandcreaturesof darknesssee mankindastheirprey!We standvigilantagainstthese dark
forces,defendingthe people withthe giftswe possess.
“The Circle of Magi acts as the firstand final line of defence againstthese threats.We seek
out andinvestigate unusualmagical occurrencesandanomalies.We fight againstthe thingsno
normal mencouldeverhope to face.We maintainthe natural balance of thisworld.”
“So youconcern yourselveswitheventslike the curse atLongford?”Rhysasked,seeking
clarification.
“Yes,”the mage hesitated.“Butthe curse that struckyour village Rhys—suchaneventisnot
common.Nothingthe likesof ithasoccurredsince my time inthe Order,and as I understandit,not
for a great deal longerstill.The threatswe face are mostlyfarsimpler,perhapsnolessperilous,but
we seldomencounteranythingasdarkand mysteriousasthe magicthat reapedLongford.”
Rhysnoddedsombrely.
“Since yourmeetingwithArlas,he hasnotrestedinseekinganswerstowhathappenedthat
day.You will findresolutionRhys;Ipromise youthat.”
“You saidthat there are likelyonlyafew dozenpeoplewiththe giftsof amage in existence.
How large thenisthe order?”
“The Ordercurrentlyconsistsof twelve magi,”Sol answered.
“I imaginedthere more,”Rhysconfessed.“Istruggle tosee how sofew can protectthe
entiretyof the continent—irrespective of the powersyouhold.”
“Our numbersare limited comparedtothe Order’spast,yettheyare growing.Notlongago
inour historythere were farfewermagesinexistence thanevennow.”
“Why?” Rhysquestioned,hiscuriositysparked.
“An eventreferredtoasthe Purge,”the mage explained.“Overtwodecadesago,ourkind
was almostcleansedentirelyfromthisworld.Iknow nothow ithappened,orwhatcame to pass,
but the Orderwas huntedandslainuntil there were sofew left.Of those few thatsurvived,Arlasis
18. the sole remainder.He neverspeaksof whattranspired—the eventsare clearlytoharrowingforhis
recollection.Buthe rebuiltthe order,made itwhatitis today,and continuestoincrease our
presence throughoutthe land.
“Yet I fearirreparable damage wasdone duringthe Purge;centuriesof ourhistorywere lost
withthe livesof those whofell.Thusinsome ways,the Circle mayalwaysremainashadow of what
it once was.”
A silence followed.
“Come,”Sol said,risingtohisfeetand packingawaythe rest of hisfood.“Let us make haste.
I wishto be clearof the moorlandbefore nightfall.There isaninnthat liesuponthe borderof the
moor where Ihope we mayrest thisevening.Itwill save usanightcampedinthese exposedhills.”
“Excellent,”Rhyssighedwithreliefatthe ideaof a cosybedawaitinghimat the day’send.
Continuingwest,theirpace hardened,followingthe bridlewaythatstraddledthe wending
ridge.The crimsonbrackenthinnedandfadedtill initswake wasleftathickexpanse of bristling,
brindledgrassandswathesof pricklinggorse.Afterseveral leaguesthe windingridge sanksteeplyto
a shallowgullythroughwhichcuta gushingstream.
Breakingshortlytofreshentheirwateragain,theysoonsetoff once more acrossthe rugged
hills.Blackgranite eruptedthroughthe tussocksinfracturedteeth,speckedwithamberlichenand
clumpedwithwoollymoss.Inplacesthese stone formationsstackedandpiledintojuttingtorsthat
stoodsentinel atopthe barrenhills.
The sun beganto drooptowardsthe westernhorizonasRhys grew steadilywearier.His feet
rubbedsore inhisbootsand the straps of hispack cut achinglyintohisshoulders.Withthe
impendingdusktheirbriskmarchlulledswiftlytoacumbersome trundle thatdwindledstill with
each successive mile.Yetthe mage Sol showednone of the signsof fatigue thatplague Rhys,his
footfallsaslightandenergeticaswhentheyhadsetoutthat morning.The man hadmerelyslowed
nowto accommodate Rhys’sexhaustion,andhe couldtell the manwishedtopresson.
A resurgence of vigoureventuallyfounditswaytoRhyswiththe comingof twilight,asthe
coarse moor broke againstthe greensof tamer lands.Now blue slate wallslinedthe bridlewayand
livestocklaydownaboutthe grass.The firststars piercedthroughthe violetduskwheneventually
theydrewnearthe inn.
EnteringThe Saddlers’Meet,theyspoke brieflywiththe taverness,payingforthe night’s
foodand lodgingbefore makingfortheirroom.The remote crossroadtavernseemedalmostempty
by comparisonof the SmokingOak,yetitwas notwithoutitscharm. Upon enteringtheirroomRhys
droppedhispackat the footof hisbedand collapsed backintothe mattress.Ashe rested,he was
readyto lethiseyesweighshutthere andthen.
Sol drewfromhis beltthe wandto lightthe candlesof the room, yethe pausedfor a
momentof thought.“I have somethingforyou,”he said,rousingRhysfroma half-slumber.He
rummagedthrough hispack andproduceda leather boundjournal embossedwithahendecagram
inside acircle,all etchedwithagoldfinish.“A spellbook,”he explained,“foryourpersonal use.”
Rhysflickedquicklythrough the pagesbefore returningSol aperplexedexpression.“The
pagesare blank!”
Sol chuckled,apparentlyhavingnotintendedtoplaysucha joke.“Yes,itis,” he apologised.
“I shouldperhapshave phraseditbetter;thisis to be yourspellbook.”
“Okay…” Rhysreplied,nolessconfused.
“Magic isnot a universal art.Technique istailoredtoanindividual.Somaticcomponentsand
verbal incantationare notspecifictospells,butare dynamicdependingonthe individual caster,”Sol
19. explained.“Whatmaywell workforone spellcaster,willnotnecessarilyworkforanother.Learning
magic isa creative process,one drivenbythoughtpatternsthatcannotbe taught, butmust be
discoveredforoneself.”
“So it isnot strictlyspeakingsomethingthatyouwouldstudy?”Rhysqueried.
“More complex enchantmentsoftenrequire referencingthe learningsandtextsof other
enchanters.Theyoutlinemethodsandtechniquesthatcanbe appliedtothe reader’sowncastings,
to buildandalterthe propertiesandeffectsof spells.Likewise,anumberof more ritualistic
enchantmentsandspellsrequire complexiconographythroughthe use of sigils,glyphs,andrunes
that do notchange fromcaster tocaster. But forthe time being,thesemore extrinsicmagical arts
are irrelevant,andyouneednotconcernyourselfwiththem.
“Thisjournal—thiscodex if youwill,isforyourownrecordingsonall youlearnthat you
deemworthcataloguingforfuture reference.Isuggestthatfornow,youuse it for notationsonany
spellsyoudiscover,andthe meansbywhichyoucast them.”
“But I don’tknowany magic,”Rhysreplied.
“You alreadyknowof onespell,”Sol correctedhim, handing Rhysthe wand.“Andbythis
evening’sendIwouldhope youhave learntanother,”he smiled,recliningonhisownbed.“Else we
mightbe withoutanylightthisevening,”he added,gesturingtothe unlitcandlesaboutthe room.
“Verywell,”Rhyssighedsomewhatreluctantly,glancingdownatthe codex and wandinhis
grasp.
Sittingupona deerskinrug,he positionedacandle onthe table before himinthe dimlight
of the room.Rollingthe magical implementinhisfingershe relaxedhisachingshouldersandcleared
hismind.Pointingthe wandtothe lifelesswickof the candle,he envisionedaflutteringflame riseup
ina puff of heat.There he sat for several longmoments,focussinggraduallyharderandharderuntil
he strainedhisthoughtsattemptingtowill fire intoexistence.
“Are you sure aboutthis?”he directedtoSol,loweringthe wandindefeat.
“Just relax,”the mage advised.“Clearyourmindandconcentrate.”
“All right,”he exhaled,still somewhatresistant.
Rhysshut hiseyesanddrewan extended breath.Hisconcentrationturnedtopicturinga
pointof intense energysmoulderingatthe wick’send,yetstill the candle remainedcoldand
flameless.He triedtappingthe candle’sside,flicking the wandinitsdirection,and wavingthe wand
ina varietyof differentmotions,all of whichfailedtoproduce somuchas a spark.He strivedonto
discoverwhatcombinationof thoughtscouldconjure fire,yetall seemedfutile,doinglittlemore
than workup frustrationwithinRhys.Afterseveral more minutes of failedattempts,Rhysclosedhis
eyesinbrief meditationtocalmhimself.
He raisedthe wandonce more,thistime imaginingajetof blazingheatspoutingfromitstip,
enflamingthe wickinside itsscorchingray.A glowingembergrew fromthe wick’s end,smouldering
at firstto expel aweavingtwine of smoke thatthickenedtoaspirallingribbon.The embersparked
suddenlytoa flame,andRhysstaredonat the dancingamberlightwithdisbelief.
Sol clappedhishandstogether,leapingtohisfeetand replacingthe candle aflame with
anotherinneedof lighting.“Again!”he exclaimed,watchinginquisitively.
The wand rose againin Rhys’shandas he repeatedhislastthoughtsof a beamof burning
heat.The secondcandle instantlybirthedflame,andRhys letslipasurprisedsmile.
“Now,”Sol saidwithexcitement,“the hearth!”
“Sure,”Rhys laughednervously,crouchingbeforethe grate.
20. Focussinguponthe smallestlogpiledinthe heart,Rhysproducedonce more a ray of
simmeringthought.Tohisbewilderment,the barkof the woodbeganto furl and splitbeneaththe
heat,blackeningslowlyasacrimsonglow welledupwithinthe firewood.A torrentof white smoke
hissedupintothe flume andwithinsecondshotflameslickedupfromthe embers.Inmomentsafull
fire roaredwithinthe hearth,fillingthe roomwithcracklingwarmth.
“Well done,”Sol beamedwithadmiration.
“Thank you,”Rhysrespondedwithabarelycontainedgrin.
“Now,”Sol said,producinga quill andinkpot,“Isuggestyouwrite itdown!”
