Imago Prophecy

By L.T. Suzuki

Imago Prophecy is the first of two novels forming the prequel to Imago Chronicles: Book One, A Warrior's Tale.

With an enduring friendship bound by an oath of blood, Kal-lel Wingfield and Dahlon Treeborn's youthful adventures prepare them for their greatest challenge when they must face Beyilzon, a divine entity now bent on the annihilation of the human race and all those who dare stand by their side.

Pressed by time and circumstances, the newly crowned Elf King must unite the free peoples of Imago and rally the aid of the four great Wizards in what is sure to be the last desperate stand against evil.

The promise of the tools to defeat the Dark Lord begins the race to secure the Stone of Salvation from the bowels of the earth and to forge the sword to be imbued with the power to slay evil. But more difficult than these two tasks, Kal-lel must convince a mortal king and his young squire they are the chosen ones to wield these weapons against Beyilzon.

With the spectre of war looming before them, the greatest battle of their time will determine the fate of all in Imago. But in the end, it will be the undercurrent of betrayal and deceit of a forbidden love that will tear apart the greatest nation of this realm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.T. Suzuki
• Release date: May 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476194745

L.T. Suzuki

A fan of swashbuckling adventure novels by Alexandre Dumas of 'The Three Musketeers' and 'The Count of Monte Cristo' fame, Lorna Suzuki had noticed that it was always the men going off on great adventures and enjoying the camaraderie of a brotherhood. Most often, the women were portrayed as the damsels-in-distress.In writing the Imago Chronicles fantasy series, by adding a female protagonist, one that is reluctantly accepted into this brotherhood, the author drew on some of her own experiences as a woman in a once male-dominated field of law enforcement and martial arts to bring Nayla Treeborn the female warrior to life.With over twenty-five years experience in various forms of martial arts, Suzuki is a 5th-dan Shidoshi (senior instructor) of Bujinkan Budo Taijutsu, a martial arts system incorporating six traditional samurai schools and three schools of ninjutsu under Japanese Soke, Dr. Masaaki Hatsumi. Although Budo Taijutsu has a very long and rich history in Japan and is steeped in tradition, is only now growing in popularity. Practitioners of Bujinkan Budo Taijutsu do not compete in the sports arena as the techniques incorporated into this system are used strictly for self-defense, never as a sport. To learn more about Bujinkan Budo Taijutsu, please visit Shihan Phillip Legare's website @ www.shinkentaijutsu.comWhen Suzuki is not writing the next instalment of the Imago series or her new Young Adult Fantasy Series, 'The Dream Merchant Saga', she is a scriptwriter for audio/video life-stories customized for clients, as well as biographic documentaries for TV. Suzuki was also a consultant on the PBS TV series ‘West Coast Adventures’.She resides in the suburbs outside of Vancouver, BC with her husband, Scott White, a talented, award-winning videographer and Bujinkan Dai-Shihan, and their charming daughter, Nia.Imago Chronicles: Books One, Two and Three is currently being considered for a TV series!

Book preview

Imago Chronicles:

Prophecy

L.T. Suzuki

Published by L.T. Suzuki at Smashwords

© 2007-2020 L.T. Suzuki (Second Edition)

All rights reserved worldwide

Registered with the WGAw (Writers Guild of America, West)

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CONTENTS

Title Page

Imagine…

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1: dark omens

CHAPTER 2: the balance of power

CHAPTER 3: an uneasy alliance

CHAPTER 4: courting disaster

CHAPTER 5: finding salvation

CHAPTER 6: the sword and the stone

CHAPTER 7: pressing business

CHAPTER 8: flight of the fairies

CHAPTER 9: the start of all things evil

CHAPTER 10: into the dark expanse

CHAPTER 11: an uphill climb

CHAPTER 12: of blessings and warnings

CHAPTER 13: a devious plot

CHAPTER 14: in the midst of enemies

CHAPTER 15: to the edge of darkness

CHAPTER 16: the end of all things good

CHAPTER 17: sacrifice

CHAPTER 18: a new beginning

CHAPTER 19: deceit and betrayal

CHAPTER 20: secrets

CHAPTER 21: into the east

Dear Reader

About the Author

Other Books

IMAGINE

There is a secret place that exists; unknown to most, forgotten by many, and lives on only for the few who believe.

Though you cannot look to a map to find this magical realm, it is still very real. In this world, lost on a plane that hangs in the twilight where one enters a dream as sleep takes over the mind and body, Imago lives on.

Here, as in all places where man dwells, the eternal struggle between good and evil plays out. In this land, there are places fair and foul, heroes that are larger than life and villains that one hopes exists only in our nightmares.

In this mystical world, life is an extraordinary adventure where revenge and redemption, betrayal and salvation, and love; lost and found, are woven together to create this rich tapestry of life.

Where is this realm you ask? To find Imago, all you must do is close your eyes and believe…

PROLOGUE

Long ago when the Fairies still shared this realm with

the Elves, the Wizards, and mortal men;

when the Plains of Fire were called the Lands of Dreygoth;

and Mount Hope was known as the Witch’s Hold,

the will and the strength of a few

shaped the destiny of many…

If you so much as blink, I will kill you. This voice whispered in the darkness.

The Elf’s eyes darted about, searching the deep shadows. His ears strained to detect the exact location of these disembodied words. Pressing his back against the trunk of a tree, his right hand crept across his body. His fingertips rested on the hilt of his sword.

You will be dead before you even unsheathe your weapon.

Where are you? called the Elf. His hand retreated from the sword. He continued to hunt about his surroundings as the full moon glowed intensely. Like a luminous pearl suspended high in the cobalt sky, it bathed the lands in its cold, celestial light, reflecting as a golden halo upon his head of flaxen hair. Where are you hiding?

You are an Elf. Why is there a need to ask?

It is not as though I am pitted against a human foe, he retorted. Hoping to engage his opponent in conversation, it was a desperate bid to determine his precise location.

Are you saying you are not up for this challenge?

"I would hardly call this a challenge," grunted the young Elf. Cocking his head to one side, he listened through the ambient sounds of the forest.

Then why is it I am the one with my arrow trained on you, while you have yet to ascertain my whereabouts?

Ignoring these mocking words, the Elf focused on his surroundings. He detected a chorus of tree frogs ‘peeping’ in steady repetition behind him. Directly ahead, there was ominous silence.

The presence of this invisible assailant hidden somewhere in the shadows was enough to hush the tiny amphibians in his immediate area. His muted words and subtle movements did nothing to instill a sense of calm in the frogs hastily retreating from potential danger rather than to answer the call of the competing males in the vicinity.

Are you prepared to die, Elf? The voice asked in barely a whisper.

Hearing the low ‘crrreak’ of a bow as the arrow was drawn the Elf realized too late his opponent was standing in the shadows directly before him. With a ‘snap’ of sinew the arrow flew with an angry ‘hisss’. Dodging, he tilted his head out of the way. His eyes instinctively closed. Fragments of bark exploded from the tree as the tip of the arrow pierced the trunk.

The Elf cursed beneath his breath. This was close, much too close for his liking. As he turned his head, he felt the stinging sensation of his scalp. Strands of hair snagged by the arrow tore away at the roots as he ducked behind the tree.

You are a fool if you believe you are safe from me, growled the voice of a cloaked and hooded figure still hidden in the shadows. I can hear the blood pounding in your frightened heart. It shall lead me directly to you.

Pressing his back against the tree trunk, the Elf drew a slow, deep breath to calm his thundering heart. He listened. Detecting the soft, muffled footsteps creeping over a lush carpet of moss, he cocked his head. The scrape of steel as a blade was eased out of its scabbard grew louder.

Silently inching his way down the side of the tree, the Elf reached for a fist-sized rock. He snatched it up in his trembling hand. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip. Holding his breath, he steeled his nerves as his foe drew ever closer. The Elf hurled the rock deep into the forest, as he remained hidden behind the tree.

Hearing the rustle of leaves and snapping of branches as the rock was jettisoned, crashing through the thick underbrush, the enemy took off after his quarry.

The hunter now became the hunted. The Elf gave chase. Bounding through the stand of trees in eager pursuit, he brandished his sword.

Just as the Elf came within striking distance, his nemesis realized he had been fooled. He immediately dropped down on one knee. Holding his sword safely across his chest, he folded into a ball as his pursuer, coming up too fast to stop, tripped over him. As the Elf fell over his back, the hooded figure somersaulted, propelling him up and over his crouched body.

The Elf hollered in surprise. Sailing through the air, he landed on his back. As he hit the earth, his foe rolled forward using the back of his heels to strike the Elf high on his shoulders. The blow was hard enough to slam the Elf into the unforgiving ground, but not hard enough to force him to relinquish his sword.

In desperation, the hooded figure spun his weapon about in his hand. The moonlight glistened, dancing off the blade as it swung down.

With a resounding ‘crrrassh’, steel slammed against steel. They locked swords.

Ha! scoffed the Elf’s foe. Your golden locks shine like a beacon in the night for all to see.

You have an unfair advantage! You can become one with the night, countered the Elf.

With a loud grunt, the hooded adversary pushed down with all his might against the sword. He yelped in surprised as the Elf abruptly yielded to the pressure, tilting over to his right side. With this sudden loss of resistance, his assailant buckled over. In a spray of white sparks, his sword slid down the length of the Elf’s blade until he met the ground.

The Elf used this opportunity. Throwing his legs up over his body, he locked his ankles behind his opponent’s head. With ease, his adversary was catapulted forward, landing hard on his back. The impact sent both swords flying from their hands.

Damn you! cursed the Elf, grappling for control. I will show you pain!

You will show me nothing! His foe struggled to apply a chokehold of his own.

Wrestling to subdue the other with brute strength, the Elf and his enemy tumbled down an embankment. With a loud ‘sploosh’, they landed in a fast-flowing creek. The icy splash of water churning and gurgling around them did nothing to deter the assault. The two drenched adversaries continued to battle for control.

With much effort, the hooded figure wrenched free of the Elf’s hold to scramble over the slippery rocks. Cresting the bank, he was tackled from behind. The force was so great both he and the Elf toppled head over heels, crashing through the undergrowth of the forest.

As their bodies skidded to a stop, from the corner of his eye, the Elf spied the glint of his sword glowing in the moonlight. It lay abandoned on a scattering of leaf litter. Diving to reclaim his weapon, he groaned in pain as his assailant pounced on him.

You are done for! Shouting in triumph, he straddled the Elf’s prostrate body, restraining him.

The two adversaries came to a dead stop. The ‘creak’ of a dozen drawn arrows encircled them.

"Kal-lel Wingfield! Dahlon Treeborn!" A voice boomed like thunder. What is the meaning of this?

Master Treeborn, stop! This is no way to treat the future king of Wyndwood, scolded Tor-rin Greenshield. The elder signaled the warriors to disarm their bows. Get off of Prince Kal-lel! Do so immediately!

What were you two thinking of? growled Kal-lel’s father, the King of Wyndwood. "These warriors could have killed you both. You know they never miss their intended target."

But being Elves, they would have seen it was us, even in this darkness, countered Kal-lel.

That is not the point, argued his father, glaring down at his errant son. With a wave of his hand, he motioned the Elven warriors to return to their posts throughout the forest.

Dressed as he is, did you not think these warriors could have mistaken Dahlon Treeborn for an intruder? King Galan yanked back on the hood, exposing the face of this dark-haired Elf. He could have died on this night.

Do not be angry with Prince Kal-lel, pleaded Dahlon. It was all my doing.

Why you must take your games to such extreme levels is beyond me, admonished the elder. I swear, your horseplay shall be the death of me! And you, Dahlon Treeborn, you should know better. You are older than Prince Kal-lel. It is your responsibility to set a good example.

Come now, Master Greenshield, Dahlon is only twenty-nine years my senior. We are almost the same age, argued Kal-lel.

Well, you have both definitely proven you are of the same level of intelligence and maturity, if not the same age! harped the elder.

I am sorry, Master Greenshield. Dahlon bowed in regret.

Do not apologize to me! barked Tor-rin. It is the Prince you must apologize to.

But I meant no harm, explained Dahlon, rising up to hoist Kal-lel onto his feet.

"You throttle Prince Kal-lel with your bare hands, and then you have the audacity to say you ‘meant no harm’? retorted the disgruntled elder. Heaven forbid if your father knew of your unruly conduct. It is no wonder he and your mother chose to leave for the Haven than to be made to put up with your impudence."

You know it is not why they left –

Hush! I have heard enough from you, young sir! Tor-rin’s accusing finger waved before the Elf’s face.

Kal-lel winced in empathy. He watched as Dahlon hung his head in shame while enduring Tor-rin’s verbal lashing.

Come now, Master Greenshield. We were playing, stated Kal-lel.

Never mind that! Dahlon, because you recklessly court disaster you shall be soundly punished for daring to engage the Prince in your high-handed play! scolded the elder.

Stop it! demanded Kal-lel. He is not my whipping boy. Dahlon is my friend. He did not force me to do anything I did not want to do. Besides, it was my idea to begin with.

"Friends do not stalk each other like common prey. Nor do they attempt to kill each other, snorted the King. Perhaps you are in need of new associates, Kal-lel."

"I can do with a friend, but I can certainly do without ‘associates’," grumbled the Prince.

Then perhaps you are in need of a new friend.

"I mean no disrespect to you, Father, but you know none willingly befriend me. None wish to bear up to your scrutiny or to be subjected to the litany of social protocols that come with being in my esteemed and honoured company."

You are young and prone to great exaggeration, my son. There are many who would love to be your friend.

"No… They only love the prestige that comes with being my friend, argued Kal-lel. Dahlon is my one, true friend. He did not even know I was born to a royal house when he first befriended me."

Quiet, Kal-lel! Say no more. I accept my punishment.

"There is never anything just about the punishment doled out to you," countered Kal-lel.

Alas, I am fated for such treatment, sighed Dahlon. At least allow me to face my punishment with grace and dignity.

As you shall, and you will, confirmed Tor-rin, speaking in a judicious tone as he turned to address his liege. King Galan, though this young ruffian is not my son, I am his appointed guardian. As such, I shall take great pains to see this upstart atone for his bad behaviour.

In Dahlon’s defense, Kal-lel spoke, "Master Greenshield, then am I to assume in your eyes, I am no better than this ‘ruffian’ you speak of? Surely, you must be insinuating that I, the Prince of Wyndwood must be incorrigible, too?"

Tor-rin blanched, looking momentarily aghast.

The young prince stared at him accusingly, waiting for a response. So, what is it, Master Greenshield? Am I no different from this ruffian?

Of course you are different… Leagues apart, I would say, replied Tor-rin, not wishing to offend King Galan more so than this prince.

No, we are not! snorted Kal-lel. "I spurred Dahlon on. I encouraged his incorrigible behaviour. Truth be told, I am even more of a ruffian than he is."

Now, Prince Kal-lel, there is no need to protect this young sir, said Tor-rin.

Someone must, said Kal-lel. You certainly do not go out of your way to protect him, yet you are charged with his guardianship.

Kal-lel, steady your tongue, ordered his father. Master Greenshield protects Dahlon by instilling a sense of order to his life. Discipline is a necessary part of it.

Then permit me to be disciplined with Dahlon, offered Kal-lel, hoping to grant his friend some leniency. Whatever the punishment you mete out to him; then so too, must I endure the same.

I have a mind to do just that, responded his father, shaking his head in disappointment.

Kal-lel, no… You do not have to do this, whispered Dahlon.

You would do the same for me, said Kal-lel, giving his friend a wink. And do not deny it.

I shall have to think carefully on what form of punishment is most fitting for your conduct of this eve, said King Galan. The consequences would be grave if either one of you was killed, or heaven forbid, had one of you killed an innocent travelling through our domain in the night.

I am confident you will devise a suitable punishment for us, Father, responded Kal-lel. You always do.

Now you make me out to be some kind of ogre! The King groaned in exasperation.

I said no such thing, said Kal-lel. Turning toward the distant glow of lights emanating from Aspenglow, he whispered under his breath, Perhaps it is nothing more than your sense of guilt making you feel this way.

Galan released a sigh of despair. A father never feels guilt for doing what he deems to be the best for his son.

Dahlon retrieved their swords in remorseful silence as Kal-lel wrung the water from his cloak. He flicked off the twigs and leaves clinging to his wet raiment and tangled mop of hair.

Good gracious, Kal-lel. What were you thinking? questioned his father, examining the drenched, soiled apparel. My people will think you two had been dragged through the mud by a herd of crazed horses.

I care not of what your subjects will think, grumbled Kal-lel. Let them believe we were dragged by horses. That will make for quite a tale.

You have lived through only three-hundred-thirteen winters, reminded King Galan, staring down at his unrepentant son. "It is clear you do not yet understand what you should, and should not, be concerned about."

"By mortal standards, I am almost sixteen years – nearly a man. Therefore, I am old enough to know what I should be concerned about."

"To the contrary, my son, for you fail to remember you are not a mortal, countered Galan. Besides, your conduct of tonight betrays you. A grown man would not engage in such dangerous, foolhardy games. Did you mean to do each other in?"

Of course not, Father! Kal-lel gasped in disbelief. We were merely practicing our skills in battle – to prepare us for war, if that day should ever come.

If you insist on honing your skills in the art of war, then it will be prudent for me to assist you, replied the King, as he turned to the elder. Master Greenshield, see to it my son and his young friend are introduced to a formal training regimen.

Yes, Your Highness. Tor-rin nodded in approval. To what level of training should they be subjected to?

Have them instructed in the proper use of sword and bow. Expose them to all the rigours of the warrior arts, more if you feel they can endure it.

I will see to it, Your Highness, beginning first thing in the morn. Tor-rin promised with a bow. I shall keep them so engrossed in their training, by day’s end, they will be too exhausted to make mischief.

Turning his attention to the two young Elves, Galan shook his head in disgust. With a wave of his hand, he directed them back to Aspenglow.

You look as sorry as two drowned cats – utterly disgraceful! admonished King Galan.

Pray tell, Father, how is it you managed to find us way out here? asked Kal-lel. Who told you?

It makes no difference who told me.

Katril Brookstone… grumbled Kal-lel and Dahlon in unison as their eyes narrowed in suspicion and resentment.

You two were as boisterous as a pair of stags battling at the height of the rutting season! Crashing about like demented beasts in the forest, we merely followed the ruckus, explained King Galan.

It was as easy as tracking two blind, inebriated mortals fumbling about, lost in the woods! added Tor-rin. Fortunately, we happened upon you before either one of you came to serious harm.

Come now, Master Greenshield, said Kal-lel. How much harm could we have done to each other? So what if there are a few cuts or a broken bone here or there? It is not as though we cannot heal ourselves.

Tor-rin’s eyes rolled in utter frustration. "True enough, but there is no coming back from a well-placed arrow, Prince Kal-lel. No matter how well planned or orchestrated your actions, accidents do happen. Hence, the reason they are called accidents."

I suppose you do have a point, admitted Kal-lel.

I believe you two are in dire need of time to reflect on your actions, said Galan. Better yet, you are long overdue for a stern lecture from the elders as to the proprieties of being sons born into high houses.

Come now, Father, not that! The punishment does not fit the crime, groaned Kal-lel.

So you feel it is much too severe?

Absolutely! declared Kal-lel.

Good! Then it is most fitting.

Can we be flogged instead? asked Kal-lel.

You would rather be subjected to such barbaric treatment than to be reasoned with by the elders? queried King Galan, disturbed by his son’s choice of punishment.

Hmm… Enduring hour after excruciating hour of being lectured by the elders… or a hasty flogging? Both are equally painful, but one would be over much sooner.

Galan sighed, rolling his eyes in frustration. If you continue to test my patience, I will be forced to subject you to both methods of punishment.

Oh, come now, Father, muttered Kal-lel. All we were doing was having some fun.

At whose expense? grumbled Galan. You are both too old for such childish games.

But you said we are not yet men, argued his son. If that be the case, then why not allow us to engage in some harmless fun?

"There was nothing harmless or fun about your actions on this night. And yes, you are too old to engage in such mischief, but not so old you are in a position to ignore the advice of those older and wiser than you."

This is not fair, protested Kal-lel.

See! You are not even wise enough to see life is not always fair, responded King Galan. Now, enough words from you, Kal-lel. I believe you and young Master Treeborn are in dire need of introspection; to think on your actions in the company of the elders in the sanctuary.

Oh, not there! whined Kal-lel. His entire body sagged in defeat as he kicked a toadstool in anger. Please…

I agree with your father, Prince Kal-lel. If you value this friendship it will serve you well to take time to consider how your foolish antics could have ended in disaster, said Tor-rin. Turning to his young charge, he continued, Of all things, Dahlon, you should be honing your skills to better protect the Prince, not hunting him as though he is a prey animal.

Master Greenshield, do not lash out at Dahlon, pleaded Kal-lel. As I said before, it was my idea. I made him do it.

You both took your idea of play to a dangerous level, warned Galan. There was no reason for such foolishness.

Seizing Kal-lel and Dahlon by their shoulders, the King marched them back to Aspenglow, across the courtyard, and into the dark and gloomy confines of the sanctuary.

Since the two of you so greatly value your time together, then together you shall contemplate the gravity of your actions. With a grunt of indignation, King Galan slammed the doors closed behind them as Tor-rin set off to gather his peers.

The ominous boom of the doors echoed high into the vaulted ceiling to be absorbed by the dark recesses of the timber rafters. The displaced air swirling through the chamber caused the flames of the many candles lining the altar to dance. They flickered, wavering unsteadily in its wake.

Their eyes quickly adjusted to their dismal surroundings from where there would be no escape – not this time.

Well, this is quite the fix we are in, grumbled Dahlon. In defeat, he plopped down onto one of the pews.

It could have been far worse, Kal-lel tried to sound cheerful.

How so? How can it be worse than this?

You could have been forced to endure a lengthy lecture from Master Greenshield, or worse yet, from Ansat Graystone, all on your own, answered Kal-lel, with a wink and a grin.

I suppose you are right. Dahlon unleashed a heavy sigh.

Of course I am right. Think of it as the price we must pay to have a little fun every now and then.

"It was fun, was it not?" Dahlon reflected on this night’s adventure; their daring game of cat and mouse by the light of the opal moon.

Oh, most definitely! This is nothing more than a pittance to pay, my friend. Kal-lel nodded. And I shall willingly pay the price again, and twice over, to partake in the camaraderie of our brotherhood.

Needless to say, your father will see fit that it does not happen again, sulked Dahlon.

We are Elves. We should have used greater stealth to go undetected by all. My father was right in saying we were loud and boisterous.

Well, I have no doubt he and the elders shall be keeping a watchful eye on us from now on, lamented Dahlon.

"Next time, they will not even know we abandoned our bedchambers. We shall wait until everyone has retired for the night."

Dare we? Dahlon stared intently into Kal-lel’s eyes.

The Elf Prince flashed a knowing smile. Dare we not? I, for one, will not be confined to a gilded cage; made to live the life of a cloistered scholar.

Truly? snorted Dahlon, his voice oozing with scepticism on hearing Kal-lel’s bold claim.

Oh, yes! I intend to become the greatest warrior king this realm will ever know.

And whom, pray tell, do you plan to enlist in aiding you to accomplish this grand vision? queried Dahlon, his brows furrowing with doubt.

You, of course! Kal-lel answered matter-of-factly.

Me? We are already in enough trouble! In all our years, we seem to create greater discord and generate heftier punishments for our little adventures. I have no intention of getting embroiled in further trouble by conspiring with you.

"Ah, but as the Prince of Wyndwood, to go against me is to conspire against me. You do not wish to conspire against a member of the royal family, do you?"

You are a dog to use your title to coerce me, grumbled Dahlon.

We have been friends for close to two centuries. You have about as much intention of forsaking your adventurous lifestyle as I do of forsaking the crown.

That is not the point. And it does not change the fact I resent you using your title as leverage to make me do what you want.

For a lingering moment, the young prince was silent as he absorbed Dahlon’s bitter words.

You are quite right, conceded Kal-lel, lowering his head in shame. You are my one true friend. I abuse our friendship by treating you in this manner. Am I forgiven?

We are kindred spirits. You know I will always have it in my heart to forgive you. Dahlon smiled, his voice ringing true.

So we are still friends? asked Kal-lel, peering up hopefully at his longtime companion.

For an eternity! vowed Dahlon, giving Kal-lel an affable poke in the ribs with his elbow. Come what may, our friendship will endure.

Let us swear on it, said Kal-lel. Producing a small dagger, he lanced the palm of his hand and did the same to Dahlon.

As crimson droplets seeped forth, the young Elves pressed the palms of their hands together, forging a blood oath.

Kal-lel smiled at his loyal comrade as he pledged, May nothing in the Haven or on this earth -

- neither mortal man nor Elf… added Dahlon, feeling the warm mingling of their blood.

Tear asunder this bond – our friendship, swore Kal-lel, his grip tightening on his comrade’s hand.

The very best of friends, vowed Dahlon, clasping Kal-lel’s hand firmly, to the end…

CHAPTER 1

DARK OMENS

The days of peace are coming to an end, lamented Kal-lel Wingfield. He gazed to the east as the impending sun branded the sky a blood red. The cool brace of the morning breeze swept through his hair. Long strands swirled about his face like golden streamers of ribbon snagged by the wind.

Alas, these long days of peace have been tenuous at the best of times. Dahlon Treeborn nodded in agreement.

It is as the Watchers had predicted, continued Kal-lel. Beyilzon gathers his forces to the north. And in my heart, I feel his mounting wrath and fury as his army grows in strength and numbers.

We have driven those marauding hordes back before, said Dahlon. He was stoic, remaining unmoved by Kal-lel’s dire warning. We shall see to it they are driven back over those mountains again.

Not this time, Dahlon. Kal-lel’s heart was deeply troubled by the prospect of open war. We are not speaking of the skirmishes that spill over the Aranaks into Darross from time to time. The coming war promises to be more devastating than we can ever imagine.

When will Beyilzon strike?

Who can say? At this time, not even the Watcher of the Future can predict when her brother will lash out with a vengeance. As the time draws near, her visions shall be made clear to all.

Well, Lady Eliya may not be able to foresee all things at all times, but I find it interesting that your sense of foresight has proven accurate, said Dahlon. One of your prophecies will soon come to pass.

Kal-lel glanced over at his advisor and lifelong friend. A quizzical frown was followed by a question. And which prediction is this?

If I remember correctly, it was just about two centuries ago you chose to forsake the life of a scholarly royal in preparation to become the greatest warrior king this realm has ever known.

I said that?

"You proclaimed it, my friend, answered Dahlon. The time to test your true quality as this self-prophesized warrior king is now close at hand."

Kal-lel thought upon Dahlon’s comment. A knowing smile creased his face as he recalled this boyhood statement that was more a bold, youthful declaration than a true prediction.

Do not tell me there was no substance to your words, Kal-lel. Was it nothing more than a childhood wish? asked Dahlon.

How great a warrior is yet to be determined, but it was not so much a wish as it was an unavoidable fact of life. I chose to embrace my fate. Since Beyilzon fell from grace, made to toil and dwell amongst the mortals, beings he despised the most, it was only a matter of time before he unleashed his wrath upon us all.

Aah, but being the king, you can send forth the armies of Wyndwood to do battle, reminded Dahlon, all the while, strategizing and giving me orders from the safety of Aspenglow.

True, but this time not even our forests will provide a safe haven from the evil that is about to besiege us. Besides, how can I do that to you? To our people? asked Kal-lel. Only a cowardly ruler does not fight side by side with his captain and loyal subjects. Only a self-serving fool will subject his men to face possible rout and ruin; failing to rally by their side to give them courage in their darkest hour.

Well, it is certainly not in your nature to run from danger, no matter how grave that danger be, assessed Dahlon, thinking back on the numerous confrontations they had engaged in, and survived, during this precarious time of so-called peace. It is a shame you had inherited the throne in a time of such upheaval.

After all these many centuries, I cannot blame my father for wishing to retire into the Haven, sighed Kal-lel, staring off toward the rising sun. With the mounting unrest and the inevitability of war, even for my strong-willed mother, the turmoil of existing in this realm proved too much.

"Unfortunately, my dear friend, not only did you inherit lordship over Wyndwood and the power to rule over the Elfkind, but you have assumed the weighty burden of a battle that was never our war to begin with."

True, but when evil bears down upon this realm, threatening to destroy all that is good, we have no choice. We must help stem this black tide before it engulfs us all.

I suppose being the guardians and healers of this world, so too, is this task for our people to bear, sighed Dahlon. And bear, we shall.

When the dark forces amass before us, I do not know what strength is in me to endure, but I will rise to this challenge, for never has Imago been faced with such peril; its future so bleak.

Kal-lel shielded his eyes as the golden rays of sunlight pierced through the burnished clouds looming over the jagged pinnacles of the Iron Mountains. Whether I survive the coming of the end, it is yet to be seen, but I do intend to rise to the challenge.

Dahlon gazed upon his friend’s face. The sunlight bathed him in a golden, ethereal hue as it crested the mountain peak.

I will tell you now, Kal-lel, to cling to even half a hope of surviving any battle requires unwavering faith in one’s own ability. Though it is the most noble of sacrifices to die in the service of the good people of the free lands, becoming one with the energy binding all life on this earth, you know as well as I do neither of us are ready to abandon this realm for the Haven, nor will we easily surrender our essence to this world should we fail.

So we have no choice then, said Kal-lel, steering his mount toward to the west. We shall meet evil head-on.

With a coaxing of Elvish words, Dahlon and Kal-lel led the charge. One hundred Elven warriors mounted on the gray dappled horses of Wyndwood followed their king and his personal guard and advisor. Like white-capped waves surging forward on a rippling, emerald green sea of grass, this battalion raced toward Darross Castle.

*****

In the privacy of his grand library, the King of Darross met with Kal-lel Wingfield. Greeting him with subdued joy, this king knew the Elf’s presence was not of a social nature.

What news have you, Kal-lel? asked King Ambrig, sliding a goblet of wine toward his guest. What ill-tidings do you bear that will undoubtedly cast a shadow upon the House of Northcott?

It is not my intention to bring these dark days to your fair House, Ambrig. You must know by now the spectre of war casts its shadow well beyond your lands, replied Kal-lel, accepting the silver goblet with a gracious bow of his head. If Darross cannot hold its stead, Cedona and Carcross – even Wyndwood will be lost.

For too many years, my people served as the frontline of defense against the Talibarrians, stated Ambrig. Our efforts have kept the borders of our neighbouring countries safe, and yet, rarely have we been graced with the presence of the military forces of Cedona. And Carcross, though I hold no ill-will to King Brannon and his people, he has yet to come to our aid in quelling the invasions from the north.

You stand alone.

Not completely alone, my friend, said Ambrig, raising his goblet to the Elf. Long had your father held true to his alliance with my forebears. Now, I take great comfort in knowing the noble son of Lord Galan Wingfield holds true to this alliance.

Rest assured, while I live and breathe, this alliance stands firm, pledged the Elf, hoisting his goblet to reaffirm this bond.

In light of the troubling rumours drifting over the Aranak Mountains, I fear the strength of our alliance will be crushed this time, sighed Ambrig. He stared out to the mountain range separating Talibarr from Darross. So tell me, Kal-lel, what ill tidings do you bring to add to my woes?

I bring confirmation of the news you already know. They are no longer rumours, stated Kal-lel, taking a moment to sip the carmine liquid. A fortnight had passed since the arrival of the Wizards to my domain. As the news of an impending war - a war of such magnitude, continues to fester to the north, Lindras Weatherstone had instructed his brothers to travel the lands in secret, to confirm these whisperings.

And what did the Wizard of the West return with?

His news was not good, Ambrig. Beyilzon had succeeded in uniting the warring factions to the north. By what means, we do not yet know, but the Dark Lord has garnered the backing of the thirteen most powerful warlords under his banner.

So, it is only a matter of time before they lay siege to my kingdom, groaned the King of Darross. His trembling hand set the goblet down.

The enemy will come. Kal-lel’s words were soft and yet, foreboding. They will surge over the mountains, descending upon us like a great plague of locusts. They will come in droves – in the thousands. And they shall extend their reach well beyond your borders.

And what will be our plan of action? queried Ambrig, deeply disturbed by the Elf’s dark vision.

For a moment, Kal-lel said nothing. He stared at his reflection on the surface of his wine.

How do we face such evil? How do we repel Beyilzon’s dark forces this time?

We wait, answered Kal-lel.

Wait? gasped Ambrig. Wait for the Dark Lord’s army to break upon the walls of this castle? Wait for our doom?

We wait until the Wizards return with guidance from the Watchers. As we speak, they seek the council of the Three Sisters, for of all the beings of this realm, the Oracles know the enemy intimately.

So we wait with uncertainty, sighed Ambrig. We wait for the end of all things…

We wait, but we will not be idle, replied Kal-lel. Nor will it be our end.

You have a plan. Ambrig’s furrowed brows arched up in surprise.

Your people grow uneasy. They know Beyilzon fled far to the north, to the Shadow Mountains, for good reason.

My people lead a simple life, but they are not simpletons, averred Ambrig. They know the threat is real.

Then do not allow the enemy to feed upon your people’s fears. Instead, we shall quietly rally our forces. My warriors are set to do battle at a moment’s notice, but you must now muster the men of Darross. Engage a press gang to conscript them, if you must. Just know you shall be in need of every able-bodied man, young and old, to do battle this time.

I shall issue a call to arms, immediately, responded Ambrig, painfully aware of the urgency.

I pray your people will answer.

*****

A roll of thunder heralded their arrival. In a brilliant flash of white light the three Wizards appeared before the Temple of the Watchers.

What is this? The temple is gone! gasped Tor Airshorn. His anxious eyes darted about, searching for this ancient structure.

Turn around, whispered Lindras, nudging Tor with his elbow. You are facing the wrong way.

Oh my! There it is! exclaimed the Wizard of the North, spinning on his heels to face the granite pillars of the temple. I always find this means of travel rather disorienting.

Yes, it is a shame we were unable to convince Eldred to accompany us, responded Tylon Riverdon. "It is always an unsettling ride when we must undertake this means of travel with only three of our four crystals."

The Watchers await us, whispered Lindras, spying the Oracles within the temple.

The most senior of the Wizards led the way along the footpath. Behind Lindras followed Tylon, and then Tor.

As they approached the temple, the Wizards suddenly leapt back in surprise and fear as a great wall of flames erupted before them to create a formidable barrier. A disembodied voice hovered in the darkening sky above them. Instead of offering warm words of salutation, the Wizards were accosted by a demand to make their identities known.

This is a most unusual welcome, grunted Tylon, squinting as he stared through the flames.

Unusual indeed! agreed Tor, quickly withdrawing his hand from the intense heat exuded by the fire.

Something is amiss, decided Lindras. The image of the Three Sisters blurred like a mirage rising from the heat of a desert. Never before have we been denied access to the Temple of the Watchers.

Am I correct to assume you have received unwanted visitors of late? Tylon shouted to be heard above the roaring flames.

That is so, answered Enra, the Watcher of the Present.

Seeing they were ill-at-ease, Lindras spoke. Be assured, my ladies, I am the Wizard of the West, not a dark vision conjured up by your evil brother to deceive you.

Motioning Tylon and Tor to present the crystal orb atop their staff to Eliya, he said: As you can see, we come bearing the crystals gifted to us by the Maker of All.

Eliya examined the three crystals. On the smooth, polished surface of each sphere, she witnessed all of life around her reflected upon it. From the orange flames of this fiery barrier and the tiny, twinkling stars cast across the heavens above them, to Lindras’ own image mirrored on the crystal, the Watcher of the Future could see the orb was genuine. The small globe even reflected the granite columns at the entrance of the temple, but in this image, she and her sisters’ reflections were invisible. The Watchers appeared in their true form, as three dots of luminous, white light. This was the real test of the crystal’s authenticity.

The Watchers knew that only a genuine crystal, one assigned to each Wizard, was crafted by the powers of the creator of all life in such a manner it would never reflect their physical form, only the pureness of their hearts that appeared as radiant light as bright and cold as moonlight in a winter sky.

"So you are whom you claim to be, said Eliya. Step forward."

Through this inferno? asked Tylon, his steps faltering.

If you are meant to be here, you will pass through unharmed, replied Enra. Trust in my words and you shall see.

Lindras, Tor and Tylon each drew a deep breath. With a degree of trepidation, they stepped toward the fiery barrier. To their surprise, they were unscathed by the heat and flames. Not wishing to tempt fate, the Wizards dashed ahead in a moment of panic.

Welcome, Wizards, greeted the Three Sisters in unison.

Breathing a sigh of relief as they composed themselves, they bowed in respectful greeting.

The Wizard of the North took a moment to admire their magnificence, for no woman, mortal or Elf surpassed these ethereal beings in their loveliness when they adopted their physical form. Their skin glowed like the luminous full moon on a clear winter’s night, making their eyes sparkle like gemstones of the finest emerald. Long, flaming red tresses cascaded down past their shoulders. It served to accentuate these fine features. Tor shielded his eyes, the firelight glittering off the Watchers’ shimmering white gowns.

I do declare! You ladies are as lovely as ever, stated Tor. You have not aged a day since I last set foot here many centuries ago.

We do not age, Master Airshorn, reminded Enra.

Oh, of course! exclaimed Tor, his face flushing with embarrassment. Foolish me!

Never have we been received in such a manner, lamented Lindras.

It is not our intention to be hostile, Master Weatherstone. The Maker of All means to protect us, explained Elora, the Watcher of the Past. We have yet to perfect this security measure.

Safeguard you from what? asked Tylon, bewildered by these mysterious words.

Into the temple, invited Eliya. We shall reveal all you need to know.

The Watchers led the way between the towering, granite pillars into their sanctuary. They floated along with steps so light it was as though their feet never touched the ground.

So tell us, why the need for such precautions? wondered Lindras. We have never been subjected to such scrutiny before.

Never before had we been faced with such peril in this realm, Lindras Weatherstone, answered Enra. Of late, those loyal to Beyilzon have been lurking about.

Their fear of us, the knowledge they are close to the eyes and hands of God, prevents them from entering our sanctuary, explained Elora. For now, they wait and watch. They mean to report to Beyilzon the comings and goings of those seeking our counsel.

Placing her crystal seeing stone onto the centre of the triangular, granite table for all to see, Enra the Watcher of the Present revealed an image as it happened. When the thin, gray mist dissipated from this globe, the Wizards observed a band of scruffy-looking men lurking around the perimeter of the temple. Drawn to this site by the flash of white light upon the Wizards’ arrival, the bedraggled strangers paced about as they searched for a way in, all the while staring through the wall of fire encircling the sanctuary.

Wild men from the north, decided Tor, based upon their crude, rusted spears and simple, animal skin apparel.

How did these Talibarrians come to be here on Mount Isa? asked Tylon.

As you can see, their numbers are small, said Enra. One by one, they slipped through the Gap, between Cedona and Darross, to pass unnoticed by King Ambrig’s men.

Aah, this is a good sign, decided Lindras. Not bad at all.

It is a bad omen! How can the presence of Beyilzon’s minions be a positive one? queried Tor, scratching his head in thought.

It is an act of desperation, determined the Wizard of the West, his words ringing with confidence. It is clear Beyilzon is anxious to take whatever measures he must to ensure his victory. To engage spies in the free lands to gather information is a risk he would only take if he had doubts as to whether he can win this war.

Speaking of dark omens, Master Weatherstone, I see your brother Eldred Firestaff failed to accompany you here, noted Elora.

Lindras shook his head in disappointment as he spoke, Eldred is somewhat disenchanted with the mortals on both sides of the Aranak Mountains. He fails to understand how the human beings siding with Beyilzon can be so easily deceived by his promises and how the mortals that rise up against them cannot be persuaded to seek more peaceful means to address their differences.

It is a dangerous thing the Wizard of the East is not here to stand as a united front with you, warned the Watcher of the Future.

Fear not, Lady Eliya, said Lindras. Just because Eldred is not present, it does not mean he will not stand by our decisions or actions in the end.

Yes, added Tylon. I believe it is a matter of presenting Eldred with reasons to back our actions. You will see; he will come around.

I tend to agree, stated Tor. Eldred will come to his senses. His sense of compassion shall win out.

Aah, but it is common knowledge Eldred Firestaff’s anxiety regarding the overall conduct of the human race is causing him growing concern, replied Enra. Even now, he is torn. Just one thing, a single event, can be enough to determine his level of involvement in the impending war.

Be forewarned, Wizards, cautioned Eliya, if Eldred cannot be convinced to side with the mortals, if the race of man cannot stand as a united front with the Elves, even the citizens of Wyndwood are in great jeopardy. Once Beyilzon defeats the mortals, he shall crush the Elves for refusing to break their alliance with mankind. If the Elves perish, the Wizards will follow and all the magic known to this world will be no more.

Worry not, my lady, replied Tor. Eldred can be swayed in his thinking. If I must, I shall take it upon myself to convince him to see the obvious.

Whether Eldred decides to aid us or sit back to do nothing, we are forced to act now, stated Lindras. We are faced with a formidable foe unlike any the mortals and Elves have ever encountered.

With that said, I cannot help but feel we will be powerless against Beyilzon, even if Eldred were to come to our aid, groaned Tor.

Elora smiled kindly upon the fretful Wizard as she spoke, Tor Airshorn, although Beyilzon is a mighty being still possessing unearthly powers, let it be said the Maker of All shall never burden you with more than you can bear. It is now a question of whether you and your brothers can summon your courage and muster a powerful alliance that can withstand Beyilzon’s dark forces.

So Beyilzon can be defeated? asked Lindras.

It may seem improbable, but it is not impossible, answered Eliya. It is only a matter of knowing how he is to be undone; if you first choose to undertake this task.

I hardly think we have a choice in this matter, grumbled Tylon, his shoulders slumping.

There is always a choice, Master Riverdon, replied Enra. You and your brothers can always retreat to the Haven; find respite from this turmoil. Or you can stand by the Elves to protect the free peoples of Imago.

I hardly think we shall be remembered in the annals of history as being powerful and compassionate, if we retreat to the Haven, considering we were first appointed to the task of providing guidance to the human race, stated Lindras.

I tell you now, grunted Tor, "my appointment to tend to those godless barbarians in the north had been rather futile. And I find it bloody ironic those mortals would now align themselves with the likes of Beyilzon – the very creation of the Maker of All."

Unfortunately, life is often comprised of many strange ironies, replied Elora, Watcher of the Past.

It does not help that Eldred’s interaction with those to the east has been trying at the best of times, confessed Lindras. They seem to take certain pleasure in testing his patience.

I must admit, with the prospect of war looming before us, I sometimes find myself asking why, in all of our Father’s wisdom, did the Maker of All decide to give the mortals the power of choice, said Tor. It would have been so much easier dealing with this race if they were god-fearing –

The Maker of All has no desire to be feared. He would much rather be respected and loved, interjected Eliya, no differently than these mortals do.

Well, you get my meaning, sighed Tor. If all mortals revered the teachings of our god, if they unequivocally knew right from wrong, I feel we would not be in the predicament we are in now.

"The greatest gift our Father gave to the mortals of this realm was the gift of ‘choice’, explained Eliya, the power to decide the path they wish to take. Consider it a test of faith for these beings."

I would say a good portion of mankind is failing this so-called test, grumbled Tor.

Enra smiled at the disgruntled Wizard as she said, That is why they rely upon the wisdom of the Wizards and Elves; the two oldest, most venerable races in Imago.

Think of the mortals as being like young children still requiring the guidance and knowledge of those older and wiser than them, urged Eliya. They will sometimes rebel, sometimes test their limits, but overall, there is still goodness in their hearts.

And rebel and test, they have, sighed Lindras, leaning wearily against his staff.

Aah, but Lindras Weatherstone, in your long experience with the mortals I sense in your heart, you hold great hope for these beings, said Elora. You know there is goodness. You strive to bring this to light.

I must admit, I have been blessed with the opportunity to develop strong bonds of friendship with many kind and good-hearted mortals, agreed Lindras. They are, as a whole, worthy of redemption from the evil that is about to overshadow these lands.

Undoubtedly, King Kal-lel shares Lindras’ sentiment for the Elves to stand by their side during these dark times, rather than to find respite in the Haven, determined Tor.

At one time, long ago, King Galan believed these mortals were merely in need of guidance – to share in his people’s wisdom. But alas, even he became disenchanted with mankind, mostly because of their wanton disregard for nature, stated Elora.

I take it then, King Kal-lel will be conducting a mass exodus of his people to the Haven this time? queried Tor.

King Kal-lel is Galan’s son, not Galan himself. He is still young for an Elf and in his youthful optimism, holds much hope for those in Imago, replied Enra.

So, King Kal-lel has no intention of abandoning the mortals? asked Lindras.

Long has King Kal-lel known of the potential for this war. For centuries, he has bided his time; honing his skill in matters of war and diplomacy to maintain peace in this realm, said Elora, but an uneasy peace it has been.

"Since Beyilzon’s fall from grace, Kal-lel knew if our brother could not find redemption and salvation amongst the very beings he rails against, if he could not find it in his heart to squelch his jealousy of these ‘needful creatures’ as he calls them, it would only be a matter of time before he sought to destroy or control them," explained Enra.

My, your brother is one bad seed, groaned Tor. In fact, it is my understanding many refuse to believe Beyilzon is indeed your sibling.

Unfortunately, our young brother was not able to control his jealousy. When our Father created the human race, these beings needed his undivided attention. It was something Beyilzon could not cope with. He felt his love was displaced as our Father nurtured these beings, disclosed Elora. Rather than seek out the goodness in humankind, he chose to seethe in his resentment. He found no salvation – no redemption, only loathing.

And I suppose, there is no reasoning with him, determined Tylon, not even for you.

We cannot alter this path our brother has chosen to travel, said Elora. We can only pray your efforts to stop him will spare innocent lives from his treachery.

Unfortunately, his desire for vengeance, to enslave the mortals of this realm, is just the beginning, warned Eliya. "Kal-lel Wingfield knows that once Beyilzon turns mortal against mortal, Wyndwood and the Elves inhabiting this forest will be faced with decimation on a grand scale. The Elf King knows, as powerful and skilled as his warriors are, they cannot defeat Beyilzon alone. Only by forging a strong alliance with the mortals will there be some hope of saving Imago from this black tide of