White Staff

By Robert Thomas

Locked away in an ancient dungeon in a solitary fortress, the last remaining person that holds a memory of the once powerful kingdom of Euwold breathes slowly in his fetid prison. The magic that holds him prisoner is powerful but it can not control his mind. For three centuries he has searched without success for someone, anyone who can accept his thoughts and free him from his forced exile.

One lone night in the dead of winter with the Sorol Mountains blanketed beneath a new snow, the aging wizard's thoughts stumble across one such person. Within a storm's throw from the coast of the Ice Sea, Hafram unleashes his last, desperate hope. With his magics fading from age and abandonment, he knows this is his last chance of freeing the continent from the oppressive weight and destruction of the empire from Darthune.

The struggle begins again with the quest for the white staff, for the ultimate fate of the continent and of its kingdoms for the next five-thousand years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Thomas
• Release date: May 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476304687

Robert Thomas

I welcome all to my world of writing and authorship. I am a husband, father and grandfather and I have been writing for many years and have published several fantasy works available through most major ebook retailers. I have tried to give the tales a feeling of place and circumstances that, although fiction, all readers who enjoy fantasy can relate to. In the past three years I have veered from the fantasy genre that started me down my writing path, with the release of The Home World Series. It currently contains three books, Star Eagle Six, Ghost Fleet, and Battle Wagon. It is a rip-roaring space opera that romps across the galaxy. The Last Elf Prophecy series stands at two books with the release of Decimation of Allingaard. It begins where book one, Sands of Nevertime ends. The series takes the reader through a world of discovery as an aging wizard tries to fulfill his life's dream; revive a long-lost world of elves.The third book of the series is being written; Awakening of Lillestrom. Look for it in the coming year. Also look for my trilogy; The Crystal Point Legacy: The Dream Valley, Silent Watcher and Death of Kings. If you are a fan of short stories, I have partnered with a group of authors on three anthologies: End of the Road, The Kiss, and The Bitten. Look for my works in those as well. I also welcome all to follow along with my blog, Ramblings of a 50 year old man; http://rambling50.blogspot.com. It is just my thoughts on life as I journey along to the fateful end. I also have a blog, http://sheimas.blogspot.com which is an on-going, first-person prequel to The Crystal Point Legacy. I hope you join me in my writing as we discover new worlds together.

Book preview

Chapter One

The Mind’s Eye

The sea pitched and threw its weight against the vessel as she plowed through its waves. The hull, pitted and splintered through its long years of service to the fleet, groaned as each passing surge slapped against her beam. This was to be her last voyage, soon to be scuttled or used as target practice for other ships of the fleet. Her sails though tattered and ragged slipped easily up the masts to catch each breath of wind. Her cargo though was as important as any she had ever carried. One, lone person kept in solitude down in the hold was all she bore.

All he had to do was wait. It would be suicide to leave this far out to sea. He would bide his time until the frigate moved closer to shore. The port city would be too busy for him to affect an escape. Sure, he could get lost in the crowd if he broke away, but that would be dangerous. Besides, there might not even be a crowd, especially if they arrived late in the night. His timing had to be just right, not too far away as to press the limits of his powers, and not so close that he could be easily caught and captured. The creaking of the wood caught his ear just as a wave crashed into the side of the ship throwing him off his perch and onto the deck. His body slammed into the empty containers, his face slashing across the old, knotted boards. He lifted his head as warm blood from the fresh wound ran into his eye, a curse muttering through his lips as he wiped away the sweat and blood. He would leave his fetid prison soon, and they would not be able to stop him. They would still be at sea, and he would be lost to them again.

A bang at the cell door roused him from his sleep. It was the usual way in which they woke him, sometimes to feed him, other times to simply torture him. He looked up as the small, sliding panel on the bottom opened and the meager rations he was allotted were slid in. The panel was then unceremoniously slammed shut.

There is your supper, Hafram.

He looked up at the dull, metal tray as the sound of clicking heels receded down the stone corridor. It was always the same, except this time, someone actually spoke to him. It was rare he ever heard the sound of a human voice, something he often missed, and rarer still his name. Mostly he was referred to as rebel or wizard. The sound of his name brought a smile to his lips. He let the rusty tray sit on the floor, his appetite not what it used to be. Perhaps the rats would benefit from this slop. Hafram sat back against the damp, stone walls and rubbed his dirty hands through his thinning, gray hair.

It was always the same dream. Night after night in the past few weeks he relived this time from his past. It was so simple then. He had escaped from the ship with relative ease, transporting his form across the open waters leaving his captors far out to sea. They didn’t even know he was gone. Of course he was much younger then and just discovering the limits of his powers. Oh to be young again. Perhaps the strength of his youth would help him now. He knew that to be too simple a means to affect his escape. The hold of an aging battle-frigate was one thing, but to escape the confines of this dungeon prison was quite another. Without his staff the crude blanket of magic that kept him imprisoned would suffice.

Hafram decided he would venture out one last time this evening. Though the magic that held him physically was strong, it could not hold his mind. That was his advantage. He could leave any time he wanted. It was all that kept him sane through the long years. He made himself ready and sat down on the damp floor, crossing his thin legs, his joints popping, rebelling at the act.

Clearing his thoughts and letting a peaceful blush wash across his face as his eyes closed his mind exploded and rushed out of his confinement soaring above the fortress walls that bound him. He moved first over the barren plains to the west and banked north, the rush of air filling his nostrils with the alkaline smells of the wind-swept hills. Odd he thought, to be trapped in a damp cell in the middle of a barren landscape, the lone supply of water being an aquifer directly beneath the abandoned city.

The landscape changed quickly as the forest came into view, past the line of rugged mountains that separated this part of the world. It was a place where few dared to come, the legends of the past being sufficient to keep the curious away. His travel was swift as the leagues sprinted by, his mind being separate from his body did not hold to the normal laws of travel. He could go anywhere he wished, but each night he must return to his prison. He would not dally this night, as he was tired from the grueling day to which his captors had subjected him.

Many leagues to the northeast a small light leapt from the darkness and drew his eye away from his intended path. He turned in that direction just to satisfy his curiosity. He had never found any help in this part of the world, the inhabitants being of mixed breeds and generally thought to be inferior. He would look none-the-less. He slowed and circled the small light, a campfire it seemed huddled in the midst of the forest darkness. How out-of-place it looked. A traveler from another place perhaps? The use of fire was rarely seen outside of the villages in this forgotten realm.

Hafram paused but did not try contact. It was getting late and he needed to rest. Perhaps he would visit again tomorrow night. Whoever, or whatever it was would not be far away. He circled back and headed again for the line of mountains ringing his barren home. Within the hour his journey was over, his thoughts returning to his form.

He opened his eyes and blinked slowly. The blackness of his cell did not require him to adjust his eyes. It was always dark save for the brief light that reached him in the morning hours through the small, barred opening high in the wall. He stretched and unbent his legs, the thinning muscles screaming as they reacted to the movement. He made his way over to his cot and lay down. A good night’s sleep would be most welcome, though he knew it would never come.

The sun rose under cloudy skies as Hafram searched for the feeble light that would enter his prison. He was disappointed this morning. The cold season here in the upper mountains was nearly always gray. It could be weeks before he would feel the warmth of any direct sunlight on his thin, white skin. His eyes floated over the dank dungeon walls. If it were any colder, the musty condensation would freeze on the stone. He wrapped himself in the one, thin blanket he had and tried to roll onto his side. The cot sagged in the middle as his shoulder dug in, his eyes facing the door. His morning meal would be here soon. Perhaps he would eat this one. He was getting hungry.

Hafram rolled his head as the distant sound of clicking heels grew louder as the corridor funneled the sound in his direction. He counted the steps as they neared and listened to the rhythm. He did not recognize this one. The sound stopped outside the door and the rusty tray hit the floor. The small door slid open and the tray pushed inside.

Who are you? I do not recognize you.

That is not for you to know. Here is your breakfast. The door slid shut once again, the food staying mostly on the tray as it slid across the stone.

A new guard, Hafram thought. That happened sometimes. Being posted to this forsaken outpost was surely not a pleasant assignment. Perhaps it was a punishment. None ever seemed to have much of a disposition. He had been here for many years, nearly too many to count. He had seen them come and go, and none, save for one had ever had a kind word for him. Many probably did not even know his name. He was just, `the prisoner’ to them.

He made his way to the tray and stooped to pick it up, a satisfying `snap’ from his back crackled through the thin air. He looked curiously at the slop on the tray. Not so much as a bug this morning. Winter did have some benefits now and then. He shuffled back to his cot and sat down.

The sound of keys rattling in the door surprised him. He had not heard a thing. The creaking hinges shuddered as the rust ground against the metal pins. One soldier stood in the darkness of the corridor and looked in.

You must come with me.

Where are we going? I have not had time to eat as yet.

That is not my concern. Come. It will still be there when you return.

The rats shall have it, Hafram protested.

Come.

Hafram slipped his tray off to the side and gently laid the thin blanket over the food in the hope the rodents would leave it alone. He knew it would be cold when he returned, though most of his meals were. He creaked as he rose, his ankles clicking as he made his way to the door. The guard stepped to the side and turned, letting him make his way out in front.

Where are we going?

To the captain’s office. The guard motioned with his hand down the corridor. You know the way.

The walk was brief as they made their way through the poorly lit, meandering corridors and up several series of steps. Left turns and right turns, Hafram knew them well. The guard was surprised at how well his old prisoner moved. Here and there as they made their way upward, Hafram would catch glimpses of the outside as they passed what few openings there were in the walls. He wished he could step outside into the sunlight, something he had not been allowed in many years. Even if it was winter, he didn’t care.

They stopped in front of a large wooden door and Hafram stepped back allowing the guard to step in front. It was not particularly ornate as doors go, but the brass hinges were not as deteriorated as were those on many of the other frames. The wood was old but not rotted, a sure sign of use. The guard lifted his arm and rapped twice on the doorjamb, then stepped back one pace.

Enter.

The call was familiar though the voice on the other side was different. Could he have a new captor? Hafram raised his white eyebrows as a look of indifference washed across his face. The guard reached down and turned the loose handle and the door slid open easily on the metal plating. Hafram followed the guard inside and shuffled up to the main desk, the guard sliding off to the side and over to the left wall.

So, you are the reason I am here. Hafram looked up and studied the large man dressed in a casual manner across the table. I am Colonel Dreash. I am the new commander in this barren city you call home. What is your name?

I am Hafram.

That’s it? Hafram?

My proper name is much too complicated for most folk. Hafram will do.

Why are you here, Hafram? The commander studied the old figure in front of him, his green eyes rising and falling over his captive.

You are the only prisoner in this entire citadel. How is that the case?

I do not know that it is my cause to understand the wishes of my captors, sir. I only know that is the way of things.

Colonel Dreash lowered his head and ran his fingers through his black hair. He raised his head again and looked Hafram in the eyes taking the measure of the old man.

How long have you been here?

I do not know. Time has a way of slipping by those who are held against their will without the light of day.

Take a guess! Dreash was beginning to let his frustration show. He was not getting the answers he wanted.

Three hundred years.

Three hundred years? That’s impossible!

That could be, Hafram concluded as he rubbed his palm across his chin. I could be off by a decade or so, but that is about all.

Dreash stared deeply into the soft eyes of his prisoner, his own eyes showing the building fury in his thoughts. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself then slowly lowered his large frame into his chair. Again he looked into the old man’s eyes. His own eyes brightened as a new thought came to him.

Perhaps you could remember better if you were allowed more time outside the walls of your cell. Hafram stiffened as he felt a new punishment coming. I do not see any reason why you should be confined to that cell all the time. There is nowhere for you to go, and the shield which protects the citadel shall hold you firm. Dreash saw Hafram relax, the tenseness slipping from his body. "No Hafram, I do not intend to throw you out into the cold until you remember. That is not my way. From this time on you shall be free to roam the corridors of this building at your leisure from midday to sundown. The other times you shall remain in your cell with the door locked.

I thank you, sir. You are most kind. Hafram’s eyes were wide with shock. He could scarcely believe his ears. It was the first time during his long imprisonment he had been treated better than an animal.

If you indeed have been here as long as you claim, I do not think this small amount of freedom shall change your situation. You are trapped and trapped you shall remain. I do not know why you are here, Hafram, and I do not really care why.

Again, I thank you, Colonel. Hafram straightened and tried to see how far he could push his luck. I do have one request, if I might. Hafram could see the Colonel’s eyes narrow. Could you please do something about the food? I grow tired of picking out the insects. It is a tedious process you understand.

I will see what I can do. That is all. Dreash then turned to the guard along the wall. Take him back to his cell. The conditions I have laid out will start tomorrow. And Hafram...

Yes?

If you should decide to take advantage of your new freedoms you will regret the choice. Do I make myself clear?

Very, Colonel. You will have no trouble from my quarter.

The guard escorted Hafram back to his cell, kicking at loose stones along the flooring as they went. He was not pleased. One of the pleasures of being a guard is to have near absolute power over those you imprison. Now, some of that power had been taken away. Hafram however, was feeling rather pleased. It had been a long time since he had freedom of any type. The walk back to his cell seemed all too brief and though the single torches along the walls were lit at rather odd intervals they seemed much brighter than before. The guard swung the door out of his way and pushed Hafram into his cell, the old man stumbling forward and landing onto the hard stone causing him to scrape his thin hands raw.

Remember wizard, not until tomorrow. Hafram turned his head and looked back at the guard as a slight wisp of a smile spread his lips as the cell door clanked shut behind. Then, the bolt was turned inside its rusty sleeve and he was alone again.

Hafram pushed himself off the floor and made his way to his cot. He pulled back the threadbare blanket to uncover his food. He was too late. The rats had had their fill. He picked up the tray and threw it against the wall, the thin metal edge having no effect on the ancient masonry.

The day wore on slowly as Hafram anticipated his new freedoms. He searched his thoughts looking to see where he would wander first. He would also see how well his mind had probed the citadel and match that against the actual fortress. He would see if he had lost his touch.

The cold day waned as the march of the night air moved in under the northeast skies. Hafram tried to sleep for most of the day but the excitement of his newfound freedom was too much for him to bear. As night drew near, he took his customary position on the cold stone floor and prepared to journey forth from his prison.

The moon’s soft light briefly entered the small window at the top of his cell adding an ethereal glow to the proceeding. Hafram had surrounded his nightly ceremony with small rituals and subtle nuances. Though not truly necessary they were a way to pass the time and hold on to the special touches that were required anytime magics are involved. Those now finished, he lifted his arms and sent his mind soaring through the stone ceiling and empty rooms above and out into the cold air.

The sky was clear tonight and the stars winked brightly as the wind whipped through the upper atmosphere. Hafram being only thought did not have to deal with the trials that affect an earthly traveler. He was not chilled by the cold or the wind and only snow or rain could hamper him in any way. If they were heavy enough they could obscure his vision since that was the primary sense he relied on. As with the night before, he traveled briefly west and turned north to find the source of the light he had left the night before. He quickly cleared the last hills of the Sorol Mountains and entered the white desolation that was the northern edge of the world. The blackness of the night sky was sharply contrasted by the white grounds lit by the light of the moon. Snow had fallen to the north covering the rugged landscape with a smooth, clean blanket of white. Only the towering trees of the White Forest cast a shadow of darkness on the ground. If the light were there he should easily be able to see it.

He slowed, trying to find the spot where he had seen the fire the night before. He was near, he knew, but the new snow had covered most of the familiar landmarks. He moved slowly north searching each and every crevasse he could remember. The land here was rough and untamed and there were many such places for one to hide from the weather. He turned and headed south. Perhaps a view from the northern side would give him what he wanted. Could the traveler be hiding in a cave? If so, he would not be able to find him this night. He increased his altitude and prepared to turn east when a small flare caught his eye. He banked west to meet the new light.

Hafram gingerly circled a small clearing in the White Forest. The fire called as a beacon in the darkness of the surrounding trees. Large oaks mingled with ageless spruce and towering ash dominated the landscape beneath his thoughts. The small fire danced gaily in the brutal cold. He brought his eye down directly over the flame, hovering high enough to look over the campsite. There was no one in sight though the fresh tracks told him there soon would be. How he wished he could feel the warmth of the fire. The damp cell had taken its toll on him and the heat would certainly bring some measure of comfort to his brittle bones.

From between two towering pines laden with fresh snow a figure wrapped in animal pelts emerged from the darkness and made its way toward the fire. He was not a large man, yet his arms were overly burdened with fresh wood and kindling. He was of average size and build, nothing special about him it seemed. He steadily made his way to the fire and dropped his load in the soft snow, the loose powder billowing up covering his leggings. He stooped and tossed a few small pieces on the dancing flames and took a seat on the pile.

Hafram watched for several minutes trying to take the measure of the figure before him. The man reached up and removed his headdress, a soft-looking rabbit pelt it seemed. He revealed a bushy crop of bright, red hair atop a clean-shaven, white face. His pelt he laid beside him as he leaned closer into the fire. Hafram noticed an ease in his manner, something he would not have guessed from what he had thought about the peoples inhabiting this land. In his mind they were a rough and hearty people, what one would expect from those that lived in this environment. The man made no other moves. He just sat there.

Hafram would try, though it seemed to him he would gain nothing from this night. As he began to reach out with his thoughts he was cut short by a low voice.

Who is there?

Hafram was shocked as the man looked around the campsite. Hafram looked as well, seeing nothing. The man turned back to the fire as nothing had happened. Again Hafram started to reach out to the mind of the stranger. Immediately, the man sat straight up and looked around.

Who is there?

The voice Hafram heard was strong and clear, not hesitant nor shouted in a challenging way. A lesser intellect would not act in this manner. Hafram’s eyes opened in his cell vast leagues away as he bit down hard on his lip. This was the first in all the long years of searching that seemed to feel his presence. It was not the way he thought he would react. He held his breath, his eyes still open as he reached out to place his voice in the other’s mind.

My name is Hafram. He felt a chill run through his frame as he awaited the outcome. The solitary form looked around the empty campsite, searching for the voice he heard. With no one in sight, the stranger rose slowly and withdrew a long blade hidden beneath the pelts and continued to scan the area.

I see no one. Where are you hiding? Come out. I have not the temper for idle foolishness.

I am here in your mind, Hafram told him, and you will not see my form. Hafram struggled to control his emotions. He told himself he needed to be calm.

My mind? Hafram saw the man’s eyes narrow as he struggled to make sense of what was happening. How then can you hear me?

You need not speak with your voice. I hear your answer in thought. Hafram stopped for a moment to let what he said coalesce in the other’s mind. What is your name?

If you are in my head, you already know my name. Hafram watched as the man swayed slightly from side to side. He was still grappling with what he had been told.

Though I can hear your voice through your mind, I can not read your thoughts. I know nothing other than what I can see.

Then you are here! The stranger cast his gaze over the clearing again. Come out where I can see you!

Hafram’s heart sank and his hopes plummeted. This man did not understand. Perhaps the intelligence he hoped for was not present in him after all.

I am here only in spirit. I see you with my thoughts.

You see through your mind’s eye.

Hafram realized this was a statement, not a question.

Yes. What is your name?

I am Aethan. Hafram noticed he was not speaking aloud. He was using his thoughts. His hopes rose again.

Very good to meet you, Aethan. As I said, my name is Hafram.

Where do you speak from, Hafram?

I am not around you in the clear....

I understand, Hafram. He cut Hafram off in mid-sentence. From where does your voice journey? Are you near?

No, Aethan. I am many leagues off, locked away behind the mountain range to the south. Hafram struggled to maintain his calm. He was getting excited. Perhaps his long search was over. He needed to act quickly.

From the Sorol Mountains?

Yes. Hafram replied simply as he concentrated to unleash a secondary spell. The magics that imprisoned him severely hampered his powers. The motions in his cell were complicated and exact, though he was unsure if they would have the intended effect.

Aethan started to ask another question when he cut himself short. His body tensed as the sword in his hand drew up, his grip tightening around the hilt.

What do you see, Aethan.

There is another presence here. Out in the trees.

How do you know this? Hafram again tried to calm himself as his hopes lifted further.

Aethan was quiet as he hesitantly moved toward the edge of the tree line. Hafram saw he moved as a hunter. This man was skilled in the ways of the wild.

Hafram? Aethan was calm as he spoke. Is there something there? Can you see it?

Aethan stopped cold as a dark form moved out from between the same two large pines he had emerged from only minutes before. Hafram could see the shape as well and felt Aethan’s thoughts begin to race. Aethan crouched and grabbed the hilt of the blade with both hands never taking his eyes off the sleek shape before him.

Hafram, if you can do anything, please do it now. If it is within your powers, if you have any others that is, send away what is before me.

Fear not, Aethan. What is before you shall do you no harm. Sheath your weapon.

I do not think so, Hafram. Aethan was as still as stone as the dark shape stayed just out of reach, sheltered under the shadows of the pines. If you are here to kill me, Hafram, do it now. I shall be no toy for your evils.

To kill you is not why I am here, nor the animal before you. Hafram saw the confusion and distrust in Aethan’s thoughts. Aethan, the animal shall walk three paces forward and lay down in the snow. Aethan watched as the animal did just that. He eased somewhat and stood more erect but did not release the grip on his sword.

What do you send before me, Hafram? Why is he here?

She is here to protect you, Aethan.

Thank you, but I have no such need.

Ahh...but I do, Hafram replied. Through the long years I have searched the world for one who could accept my thoughts. You are the only one who has ever heard my voice. I can not risk harm to you. What lies at stake is of the utmost importance. This animal shall cause you no harm.

Does she have a name? Aethan eased slightly and lowered his blade.

She is nameless. If you have a desire and she accepts, you may call her what you wish.

The sleek shape rose and gracefully moved toward the fire revealing a solid coat of dark gray. The muscles rippled as the large cat plowed through the soft, deep powder.

Never before have I seen the like of such a beast, Hafram. What is she? He could not take his eyes from her.

She is a Brae cat. There are few in the world, yet there are none such as her. She shall be your guardian to the end of your days.

I have no choice in this matter?

In this one matter, none. If we part this night and never touch each other again, she shall be yours till the day you die.

Till the day she dies.

She shall outlive you, Aethan. Her death shall not precede yours. The spell I have woven draws its life from your life.

You are a wizard!

That I am, Aethan. That I am.

It is not the way of my kind to consort with wizards, though magics are not unknown to us. Aethan kept his eye on the Brae as he continued. What are your...

Hafram watched as the Brae moved slowly over to the fire, Aethan backing away, keeping his distance. The large cat inched closer to the warmth, sniffing as the embers danced in the light. She looked to Aethan, her eyes passive, then lay down in the snow. A gentle, rhythmic pant began to put Aethan at ease. Keeping his weapon held fast, Aethan moved slowly to the woodpile and gingerly sat down. He did not as yet trust himself to remove his eyes from her. The Brae however, looked casually around the campsite.

See, Aethan? She shall do you no harm. Hafram let those words settle in for a few moments. Call to her, and she will come.

What shall I say? What shall I call her?

Whatever you wish. If she likes it, she will come to that name henceforth.

Aethan was hesitant but searched his thoughts for what seemed appropriate. The cat casually swung her head around and looked at him as he continued to struggle for an answer.

Traol. Aethan looked at her. She remained passive and did not respond.

Hafram? Do you have any suggestions?

None that come to mind. Hafram could feel his strength fading. He had been out much longer than he had been in many months. I tire, Aethan. I must return to my prison. Name her as you see fit and you can inform me of your decision when I return.

What is it you want of me, Hafram?

That we shall discuss upon my return. Within the next few nights I shall find you again.

How shall you find me? I can not stay in this place long. My life is to the north, and my home.

The spell over her shall guide me to you. I tire and I must get back. Farewell, Aethan.

Aethan felt the presence in his mind leave, gently slipping out, leaving him slightly tired. He called out with his mind but the presence that was Hafram did not answer. He was alone again. His eyes shot back quickly to the cat as he tightened the grip on his blade, sure now that with the Hafram’s absence she would somehow change her manner and attack. He studied her carefully and noticed no change in her demeanor. She simply sat there.

Reyol, Marnor, Harr, Chardinor. Aethan tried these names and many more. She would not answer to any. Simply, she sat and stared at him or the fire before her. Aethan searched his thoughts deeper into his past opening doors he had thought lost. He remembered the tortuous night that had claimed the life of his only daughter, the small village where he lived having turned back an assault by a band of outlaws employed by the Empire. He struggled with the memory that nearly brought him to tears. He had never fully grieved for her, telling himself it was not his way.

Aethan’s right hand screamed out in pain, as he realized how tight he was holding his blade. He cleared his thoughts and let the blade drop into the snow as his eyes swelled to the bursting point. He laid his head in his hands and sighed a single word.

Cirah.

The soft sound brought him from his thoughts as he raised his head and looked over to the cat. She was purring as a house-kitten, licking her front paw. Cirah? She blinked and slowly rose to her full height deftly making her way to him. She nuzzled her head under his arm as if wishing to be stroked. Aethan suddenly realized he had forgotten about her and lost in his own thoughts, lost all fear of her. He let his right hand ease up to her shoulder and gently stroked the thick, sleek fur. As soft as the pelts that kept him warm, he thought. She raised her head and slid her whiskered cheek against the side of his face and looked to the fire. Cirah. The Brae purred again.

* *

Hafram nearly collapsed as he `returned’ to his cell. He was sweating profusely in the cool, damp air. He had not been out that long in many months. It was something he had planned to do, work his way up once again and regain his stamina. He had not expected to be away so long. Exhilarated but weak, he uncoiled his body and made his way over to the small cot, pulling his thin blanket over himself. He was asleep within minutes.

***

Cirah moved away from her new companion and scouted the small encampment, poking her nose into everything she could find. After a few minutes it looked like a battlefield. His pack had been pulled apart and most of the few items he carried with him were out in the snow. Aethan had held his breath when she discovered the remnants of his meager rations, sure she would devour them in seconds. To his surprise, she simply sniffed and went about her business. She went back and forth as if trying to discover all she could about him with what little he had. She paid particular attention to his bedding roll, uncoiling it fully and rolling on it from side to side, rubbing her scent deep into the material. Aethan watched carefully. It was as if she was playing, but he knew it was much more than that. She was now his guardian, or so he had been told. Her scent would warn all others he was her possession. Cirah finally rolled off and simply lay back down in the snow. He turned his attentions back to the fire and threw on another small piece of wood. It would be a cold night.

He realized he was hungry. It had been near midday when he had last eaten and he wanted more than what his pack contained. Aethan caught Cirah’s movement from the corner of his eye as she rose and moved off into the line of trees. He watched for several minutes, her dark form lost from him in the night. She was nowhere to be seen.

He looked around at the mess his new friend had made and decided it was time to put things back in order. Cats were supposed to be neat, he thought. He gathered his belongings and repacked them into the small, canvas bag. His bedroll unfurled, he lifted it and shook out the powdery snow. It would make for a long night if he had to sleep on a wet blanket. He moved it closer to the fire but far enough away that he would not be laying in the wet, melting snows.

The guttural purring from behind turned him from the fire. The light cast his shadow on her, the crisp, gold eyes looking up to him. She had returned and not without dinner. Aethan wondered. Was this game-animal for him, or her? If he reached out to take it, would he pull back a bloody stump? As if sensing his uneasiness Cirah lowered her head and laid her catch in the snow. She circled Aethan and went to lie down by the warmth of the fire.

Aethan grabbed the small animal and went over to the fire. He would prepare it for them both. Since she had done the hunting, the least he could do was do the cooking? He stopped for a moment and considered his new companion. Would she eat cooked food? In all his years in the wild, and what he thought he knew of the creatures that dwelt there, this was something he had never considered. He had never really had a `pet’, though he knew she was not actually that.

He decided he would find out. With skillful hands that had done this what seemed thousands of times, Aethan prepared the hen over the same fire that kept him warm. He was sure in his mind if she wanted, she could cleanly devour the bird in seconds. He was finished with his task in less than an hour, the bird turning slowly over a crudely fashioned spit. Satisfied it was fully cooked, he pulled the hen from the fire and laid it down on a flat piece of wood. Cirah, who had not paid even the slightest bit of attention to his work, rose and moved beside him, sniffing the air, her black nose just inches away from supper. Aethan pulled back slowly sure she would make a grab for it. He did not want his hand in the way. She lay down and did nothing, letting her face bask in the warm glow.

He stared at the cat before him. Could she have read his thoughts? Was it possible she knew he was hungry and gone in search of food for him? He dismissed the idea as coincidence. He pulled the spit from the bird and removed a medium-sized knife from his pack. He deftly slit the fowl and laid half down between her front paws. The other half he lay on his lap. He glanced at her as he slowly began to eat. She looked up at him, a gentle purring again sounding from deep in her throat. She laid her right paw on the tail and began chewing. She liked it.

Aethan was getting tired. He had been awake for a long time and needed sleep. Would she guard him this night, or wait till he slept and kill him then? Could it have been some trick of this wizard, Hafram? No, he thought. She was too powerful. She could easily have killed him while fully awake. He put that thought aside and pulled his bedroll over to him and curled up by the fire. Cirah moved close and lay against his side. The warmth of her body was unbelievable, the thick coat of dark gray rising and falling with her steady breathing.

The moon slid through the black sky, its brightness reaching down to the feeble light that was the fire before the lone traveler. The fresh snow shimmered in the soft bath and lit the area in a peaceful glow. The only darkness was the shadows of the two forms huddled next to each other in the night.

Chapter Two

Morning Sun

The morning came with little fanfare and Hafram was up early. His anticipation of the coming day and his new freedoms within the citadel walls was nearly more than he could bear. He strained to see the new-morning light feebly struggle to enter the small opening at the top of his cell. He paced back and forth