Imago Chronicles: Book Three, Tales from the East

By L.T. Suzuki

Imago Chronicles: Books One, Two and Three have been optioned to produce a major motion picture trilogy.

With the defeat of the Dark Lord, unseen forces work to destroy the surviving members of the Order. In pursuit of a rogue Wizard, they embark on a perilous journey into the east where they are confronted by a land and its people trapped in religious and political upheaval – and an alliance that will ultimately lead to the genocide of the Elven race.

Caught in this rising tide of evil, Prince Markus is forced to confront a ghost from his past while the Wizard of the West must somehow find a way to face his most powerful nemesis. And under the ever-threatening shadow of war, in the midst of betrayal and salvation, treachery and triumph, Arerys and Nayla share a kindred spirit. Their love will either serve to unite their people... or bring further dissension to a race already divided.

As the heir to the throne of Orien sows the seeds of rebellion in a desperate bid to restore peace to his lands, his actions only serve to fan the winds of war. Now, trapped within the fortress city with a dwindling force of warriors, the Order must face a massive army. If they fail to defeat the minions of evil, the race of Elves will be doomed and mankind shall fall in their shadow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.T. Suzuki
• Release date: Jan 15, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452339757

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!

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Imago Chronicles:

Book Three, Tales from the East

L.T. Suzuki

Published by L.T. Suzuki at Smashwords

© Copyright 2003 L.T. Suzuki. (First Edition)

© Copyright 2021 L.T. Suzuki. (Second Edition)

All rights reserved worldwide

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

Book Cover, graphic design and layout:

Copyright © 2003 Shinobi Creative Productions

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Discover other titles by L.T. Suzuki at:

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

*****

CONTENTS

Title Page

Imagine…

Prologue

CHAPTER 1: into the fire

CHAPTER 2: deception pass

CHAPTER 3: a warrior’s plight

CHAPTER 4: a time for prayer

CHAPTER 5: between heaven and hell

CHAPTER 6: by the candle’s light

CHAPTER 7: a hero’s welcome

CHAPTER 8: return to mount isa

CHAPTER 9: east to orien

CHAPTER 10: a promise broken

CHAPTER 11: a promise made

CHAPTER 12: the turning of the tide

CHAPTER 13: a twist of the knife

CHAPTER 14: to the gates of hell

CHAPTER 15: with absolute malice

CHAPTER 16: the art of deception

CHAPTER 17: a betrayal of the heart

CHAPTER 18: the eleventh hour

CHAPTER 19: chaos within

CHAPTER 20: the war of the wizards

CHAPTER 21: a new beginning

About the Author

Other Books

*****

IMAGINE

There is a secret place; unknown to most, forgotten by many,

but lives on only for those 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 exists in the twilight where one enters a dream as sleep takes over the mind and the body, Imago lives on.

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

In this mystical world, life is an extraordinary adventure where revenge and redemption, betrayal and salvation, and even 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:

In Imago Chronicles: Book Two, Tales from the West, Prince Markus of Carcross leads an Order composed of three noble knights from the surrounding countries: Darius Calsair of Carcross; Faria Targott of Darross; and Lando Bayliss of Cedona. Accompanied by Prince Arerys of Wyndwood representing the kingdom of the Elves; Lindras Weatherstone the Wizard of the West and Prince Markus’ faithful squire, Ewen Vatel, they combine forces to face an impending evil. These seven friends embark on a quest of monumental proportions that will determine the fate of the citizens of Imago.

Their perilous journey begins in the heart of western Imago, through to the enchanted forest of Wyndwood and westward to Mount Isa in a bid to claim the Stone of Salvation. A twist of fate forces the Order to venture far westward into Cedona where they first encounter the four mysterious emissaries, agents sent forth by the Dark Lord Beyilzon. Pursued by these harbingers of evil, the members of the Order seek refuge in King Augustyn’s white caste at Land’s End. They are now forced to travel from the most extreme western point of Imago clear across to the Plains of Fire and beyond to Mount Hope.

Along the way, they court disaster; are challenged to face their own fears and doubts; and they chance upon a most unlikely ally, a messenger from Orien: Nayla Treeborn, the daughter of a dark Elf. She reluctantly comes to their aid as they race to reach Mount Hope.

A journey fraught with many perils, they experience the loss of Darius, killed in battle when he is forced to take on the soldiers of the Dark Army with only Nayla by his side. The members of the Order face another devastating loss when they are outnumbered and pursued, fleeing into the Dragon’s Lair in an attempt to escape capture. Instead, a long dormant creature comes to life. In a bid to spare the lives of his companions and to save the quest, Lindras is forced to face the dragon alone, but he mysteriously disappears during this frightening encounter.

Nayla, too, is forced to face her own personal tragedy when she is captured and tortured by a sadistic captain of the Dark Army. They also endure the loss of Faria; cut down during an attempt to redeem himself after betraying Markus and the others in a misguided bid to save the mission; and finally, the loss of Ewen; sacrificing his own life so Markus is able to defeat the Dark Lord.

In the midst of all this adversity, Lindras gains greater powers; Markus finds renewed hope for mankind; and Arerys and Nayla, as opposite as they are, share a kindred spirit that is destined to either unite a nation divided, or work to bring even greater division to the race of Elves.

After the defeat of the Dark Lord, the Sorcerer of Orien is seen riding off in the company of the last remaining dark horseman. Formerly known as Eldred Firestaff the Wizard of the East, the surviving members of the Order are perplexed by the Sorcerer’s presence during the events that were to lead to the doom of man.

The Order divides. Nayla and Lando head east with her army in pursuit of the Sorcerer and Beyilzon’s agent while Markus, Arerys and Lindras journey back to Mount Isa to deliver the Stone of Salvation to the Three Sisters for safekeeping.

Everything is not as it appears to be. Although the Dark Lord had been put to rest, now a new evil hounds the members of the Order as they go their separate ways.

Their adventure continues…

*****

CHAPTER 1

INTO THE FIRE

Beware the Sorcerer’s wrath; his powers are no longer of this world.

These words weighed heavily on his mind; repeating like the incessant drip… drip… dripping of the rain seeping through a hole in a roof that cannot be dammed. With twisted brows clenched deep in thought, Lindras Weatherstone carefully considered these words of warning Tor Airshorn the Wizard of the North had shared with him before parting company.

Lindras! Markus called again, turning his steed about to face the Wizard. We shall spend the night here.

The Wizard’s worrisome thoughts quickly dissipated. His blue-gray eyes sparkled from beneath his great hood as he gazed at the Prince. Yes, of course, Markus. We have travelled a good distance on this day.

Far off to the west, Arerys’ keen ears detected the sound of rushing water coursing down the mountain slope.

Perhaps it is the River of Souls, thought the Elf. He shivered involuntarily as he recalled the dreadful night Nayla had saved him from a death by drowning. Wedged between a boulder and submerged logs beneath the icy waters, he would have surely perished if Nayla had not taken matters into her own hands. To this day, he still found it remarkable she had endangered her life to spare his, especially since he had been less than congenial to her upon their first meeting.

The Elf’s far-seeing eyes scanned the darkening landscape as the light of day quietly surrendered to the coming of the night. The first star of the evening shone low on the horizon as a bright moon, veined and glowing softly like a milky piece of quartz, appeared behind a thin veil of clouds.

Nayla, sweet Nayla... He wondered if she was gazing up at this moon at the very same time.

Markus guided the others to the cover of a stand of fir trees where all dismounted from their steeds. Standing tall, he slowly stretched his aching muscles before removing his horse’s saddle.

Valtar Briarwood, who had remained silent during their trek arched his weary shoulders and stretched his back before proceeding to gather wood for a fire. He quietly went about his business and without a word; Arerys proceeded to help with this task.

This is not necessary, my lord, said Valtar.

Yes, it is. We all share in the chores.

You are a prince. It is not for you or Prince Markus to be concerned with such mundane tasks.

In this Order our titles have little bearing. We are merely servants to a greater cause, explained Arerys, gathering dried grasses into a small heap to ignite beneath the pieces of kindling.

As the men gathered around the flames to share an evening meal, Lindras looked pensive as he chewed on the mouthpiece of his old earthenware pipe.

What troubles you so, Wizard? asked Markus, observing Lindras as he absentmindedly twisted the bands of gold holding his silvery beard neatly in place.

After I broke the spell under which the Wizard of the North was placed by the evil Sorcerer, Tor had warned me that Eldred was now endowed with much greater powers – unnatural powers from beyond this realm, revealed the Wizard. I have no doubt he had aligned himself with the Dark Lord, but his presence on Mount Hope leads me to believe his plan was far more nefarious.

You seem so confident. Do you believe his presence was purely self-serving? queried Markus.

I know Eldred Firestaff all too well; he wears his ambition on his sleeve. I hardly believe he will be content if he were to be relegated to the role of mere henchman or crony to Beyilzon.

Do you believe he meant to steal away with the Stone of Salvation?

That is a question I continue to ponder, Markus. Eldred is bold and cunning, brazen enough to risk all, even betraying the Dark Lord, to secure greater power for himself.

The Sorcerer was so close. Why did he not attempt it then?

Like Beyilzon, he did not anticipate that Ewen would carry out his part. Eldred, too, expected the boy to fail. It is likely Ewen had thwarted their plans. With the Dark Army retreating into the Shadow Mountains and the show of force by the legions of knights and soldiers loyal to the Alliance, not to mention the presence of Nayla’s own army, the risk in absconding with the Stone was presumably far too great.

Are you suggesting the Sorcerer still has his eyes set on claiming the Stone? asked Arerys.

I would be a fool to lower my guard – to assume his interest was only a passing fancy. My intuition tells me that Eldred Firestaff has every intention of doing just that.

Is there no end to this quest? groaned Markus, his hand brushing back his hair from his troubled eyes.

Not until the Stone is returned safely to Mount Isa, answered Lindras. He scrutinized the dark Elf as Valtar stoked the flames of the campfire. Master Briarwood, what do you know of the Sorcerer of Orien and his possible whereabouts?

Truth be told, there is not much I know of this vile character. Where he resides, how he manages to come and go unnoticed is very much a mystery. Joval Stonecroft and Nayla Treeborn have ventured repeatedly into the Furai Mountains in a bid to flush him out. Other than encountering his snares, traps, and his followers, the Sorcerer is an elusive one.

The Furai Mountains you say, repeated Lindras, his curiosity piqued.

Rumour has it the Sorcerer hides in the many caves and tunnels riddling this mountainous terrain. From here, he can watch the comings and goings of Lord Treeborn and the malcontents to the west while at the same time, keeping in close proximity to his ally, Tisai Darraku the Regent of Orien. All the while, he dabbles in the forbidden arts.

That is a strange pairing indeed. He despises man and yet, the Sorcerer continues to align himself with a mortal, remarked the Wizard.

The Regent gained control over the throne from Prince Tokusho, his young nephew after the Emperor and Empress of Orien met an untimely death. Those faithful to the royal family believe they were murdered, answered Valtar.

Are you saying the Regent had his own family put to death? asked Markus, startled by this news. But why?

It is said the Regent was to ascend to the throne upon his brother’s death. Emperor Shekata was twenty-two years his senior, and in failing health. The Regent was sure that his moment was close at hand, and with no male heir to succeed him, it was only to be a matter of time. Until that is, Empress Metasu presented the Emperor with a long-desired son. Upon Prince Tokusho’s birth, Tisai Darraku’s chance to be crowned as the new emperor was immediately dashed. It was a short time after that the tragic news had travelled across the lands that the Emperor and Empress, as well as their aides and advisors, were killed. It was said all were lost when a road they travelled on through the mountain pass to the north was swept away in a freak storm. The Prince, too young to ascend to the throne, was exiled to the north, to Shesake. Now, as the Crown Prince approaches his sixteenth birthday, the Regent has gathered allies to secure his position just in case Prince Tokusho attempts to reclaim what is rightfully his: the throne and Kingdom of Orien.

But it still does not explain why Eldred would align himself with the Regent, stated Arerys. It is common knowledge the Sorcerer despises the human race.

It is only hearsay, but those opposed to the Regent claim that he has promised vast armies to aid the Sorcerer, responded Valtar.

For what purpose? queried Markus.

To mount an attack on western Imago, answered the dark Elf. The Sorcerer means to breach the Iron Mountains - to bring war to these lands.

So after all these many years, Eldred continues to conspire against humanity, said Lindras, with a dreary groan.

And what does the Regent have to gain through this strange alliance? inquired Arerys.

What Darraku cherishes the most: to retain his tarnished crown and to maintain his strangle-hold on Orien. Ultimately, his desire is to cleanse it of those loyal to the Prince and to purge it of the religious centres Prince Tokusho has vowed in his father’s name to protect.

If Eldred’s eyes were indeed set on the Stone of Salvation, had he been successful in absconding with the jewel, that wretched soul would have no need for this vile partnership with the Regent, determined Lindras.

Those loyal to Prince Tokusho and the elders of Orien stand in the Regent’s way. When Lord Dahlon Treeborn and our people joined forces with the mortals who fled from eastern Orien to seek sanctuary beyond the Furai Mountains many years ago, this continued alliance poses a genuine threat to the Regent. It became even more apparent as the Prince nears his sixteenth birthday, explained Valtar.

So the Regent fears he will be ousted from his position? determined Arerys.

It is more than that, stated Valtar. "The Regent is a godless soul; he rails against all religions, for they place their gods above him. He wants absolute control – he wants his subjects to bow down before him. Tisai Darraku wants all to view him as the God – their only God."

Surely the people can see he is not a god at all? The Regent is a mere mortal – a human, and at that, a rather poor excuse for one it would seem, responded the Wizard.

The Regent has brought much dissension to the lands. The people are now severely divided: the wealthy and the impoverished. He has surrounded himself with affluent landholders and powerful warlords. He is a sycophant of the worst kind, lavishing his cronies with high praise. And with this flattery comes the promise of wealth and power to those in his favour, attested Valtar, gazing at Markus as he spoke. Man, whether he be from the west or the east of the Iron Mountains; can easily be swayed when tempted with promises of fortune or power.

Markus’ eyes were unyielding as they met with the dark Elf’s gaze. Acknowledging his words, the Prince responded, Yes, it is unfortunate how some men can be guided down the path to ruin.

I mean no disrespect to you, my lord, replied Valtar, averting his eyes from the Prince.

I understand, but do not lose sight there are many of us willing to die in the name of justice and peace. Not all human beings are motivated by power or avarice.

That is true, my lord, acknowledged the dark Elf, with a polite nod of his head.

Lindras, so you believe the Sorcerer may still attempt to steal away with the Stone of Salvation? queried Arerys.

As I said, it would be both foolish to assume he would slink away like a beaten dog, with tail between his legs – skulking off to lick his wounds, reiterated Lindras. Once the Stone is in the hands of the Watchers, Eldred shall never have access to it again. If he makes a bid to steal it, he must do so soon. He must make his attempt somewhere between here and Mount Isa.

If that be the case, it will be wise to remain ever vigilant to his presence, advised Arerys, slinging his bow and quiver onto his back. I shall take the first watch.

*****

Songbirds heralded the coming of the morning long before the sun peered over the mountains. Valtar, having taken the last watch, returned as the others were stirring from their sleep. He went about the business of replenishing everyone’s water flask and gathering the horses for the journey ahead.

As they ate their morning meal, Lindras determined it would be little less than half a league to the base of the mountain that would lead to Rock Ridge Pass. This uphill journey should take them into the evening by the time they entered back into Darross.

The sun’s warm rays preceded its golden orb, stretching its fingers of light beyond the peaks of the Iron Mountains to vanquish the darkness of the night. Under this new light of day, the Wizard led the way through the southwestern fringe of the Plains of Fire, guiding the others along this desolate, vast terrain until they arrived at the River of Souls. The riders dismounted to allow their horses a chance to drink and to rest before they began their ascent. Once they were ready to move on, Lindras turned southward, urging his steed up the mountain trail.

As the riders neared Rock Ridge Pass, Valtar’s sensitive nose wrinkled in disgust – assaulted by the foul air. What is that horrid stench? It smells of death!

Let me just say that some of the soldiers of the Dark Army had the misfortune of running afoul with us after Nayla lured them into an ambush, responded Markus, coaxing his mount to pick up the pace. Only a short distance away, Lindras had used his powers to bury the corpses under rocks and rubble. The bodies now lay in a state of decay with the warming weather.

Arerys glanced at the rocky outcrop where the soldiers met their demise. He smiled inwardly as he recalled how Nayla’s startling transformation, from fearsome warrior to wanton woman, enticed the members of the Dark Army. These soldiers were seduced into following her right into a deadly trap. In doing so, Nayla had granted them entry through the otherwise guarded pass. Arerys’ smile quickly dissolved as he released a disheartened sigh; now, only his memories of Nayla were to sustain him until they were reunited in Orien.

As the group reached the summit of the pass, the journey down into friendly territory promised to be easier. The precipitous terrain of the north face soon gave way to the gentler slopes that meandered down the mountainside. The group came to an abrupt stop. Arerys’ sharp eyes scanned the landscape rolling out before them, searching for unseen danger.

What is this place, my lord? asked Valtar. His hand shielded his eyes from the glare of the setting sun as he gazed upon the lush, green terrain warmed by spring’s gentle breath. Everything on the horizon touched by the sun’s rays were bathed in a warm, reddish-orange hue as the great orb hung low in the sky, precariously balanced on the pinnacles of the Cathedral Mountains far to the west.

This is King Sebastian’s domain of Darross. Below is the village of Heathrowen, answered Arerys, eyeing the dark Elf as he shifted uncomfortably on his horse. How do you fare? Is something wrong?

No, not really, it is an old injury that never healed as it should. As such, there are times when I think it had been better that Master Stonecroft had not spared my life, responded Valtar, sitting tall in his saddle as he stretched his spine for some relief.

You were injured in battle?

Yes. Before I became Master Stonecroft’s personal aide, I once served as a warrior in Captain Treeborn’s battalion.

Nayla was your captain? This bit of news surprised Arerys.

At one time, yes. If it had been anyone else but Joval Stonecroft who had spared my soul, I would be in the Haven now. I would have had no qualms about leaving this earthly existence. Unfortunately, fate does not always deal a fair hand. I now live my life in servitude to Master Stonecroft. Consider it a life debt. He is a close and dear friend, and I owe him much. As long as he remains in this realm, then I, too, shall remain to serve him.

You are a full-blooded Elf. I fail to understand why your injury persists, said Arerys.

Had I been wounded by a weapon crafted by a mortal or Elf, then yes, I would be whole. As fate would decree it, I fell to a weapon wielded by the Sorcerer. It was tainted by his dark magic.

Arerys took pity on him. Though Elves do not suffer from pestilence or sickness – the maladies that afflict the human race, they can still be injured or killed. He had never known an injury of this nature, always healing with no ill effects.

Well, we shall be in Heathrowen shortly, stated Arerys. You can rest there.

Valtar nodded in appreciation, urging his horse down the trail to catch up with Lindras and Markus.

Arerys’ mount required no coaxing; the stallion followed close behind. As they journeyed downward, the fair Elf breathed in deeply. He filled his lungs with the evening air scented by the myriad of wild flowers growing in abundance along the slopes of the Aranak Mountains. Though the pungent smells of war no longer hung heavy in the air, the Elf could not help but be cautious. Although the last of Beyilzon’s warlord and the Sorcerer of Orien were seen fleeing toward the Iron Mountains after the Dark Lord’s defeat, Arerys had a gnawing feeling in his heart the two were in the midst of plotting something evil.

*****

Under the dimming sky, the men rode into Heathrowen. Already alerted by King Sebastian’s messenger of their coming, the citizens of the village greeted Prince Markus, Lindras, Arerys and Valtar with much jubilation. The innkeeper threw open the doors to his establishment, welcoming the heroes of Imago for some well-deserved libation.

As they sat at the table, a young barmaid approached their table. She had served them on a cold, rainy spring night during their quest to Mount Hope. Her tray was laden with ale and wine as well as a selection of savoury cheeses and freshly baked bread. She smiled in recognition as she served them, but her smile quickly faded. Immediately, she realized four members of the Order were no longer present. Faria Targott, Darius Calsair, Nayla Treeborn, and Ewen Vatel were conspicuously absent.

My lord, whatever became of your companions? she asked. Do not tell me they had fallen in battle!

Sadly, yes, answered Markus. Darius and Faria met an untimely end with sword in hand. And the boy, Ewen has passed on too, sacrificing his life in a bid to grant us salvation from Beyilzon’s dark powers.

No! she gasped. Upon hearing this news, her face became ashen. That is truly terrible!

Do not despair, for they did not die in vain, assured the Prince.

The young woman shook her head in sadness nonetheless, her hazel eyes glazed over as she fought back her tears. Whatever became of the woman who came to my aid? What became of the warrior maiden?

Fear not, my good lady, answered Arerys, offering her a comforting smile. She is well. She returns to her home in Orien.

Orien? Beyond the Iron Mountains? She was stunned by this information, even as her mind recalled Nayla’s exotic features that made her stand out from all other women in Darross. I sensed she was not from these parts…

Yes, she is a great warrior – the captain of an army she now escorts back to her country.

I never had a chance to thank her for helping me, said the barmaid, with a disheartened sigh. She risked her life to save the life of a stranger.

Nayla has as much valour as the knights of our free lands, replied Arerys. She would tell you that she was merely performing her duties.

Nevertheless, I would have liked to have thanked her for her kindness.

I tell you what, I shall be seeing her in the near future. I will thank her on your behalf.

Please do, my lord, responded the barmaid, bowing in gratitude to the Elf. I am truly indebted to her.

Soon, a crowd gathered to hear Lindras’ account of how the Dark Lord was brought down in defeat. Arerys studied the many war-weary faces of the men in the room. Though perhaps unfit to do battle, they still felt the ravages of war when it raged across Darross. Recognizing many of the intoxicated faces that hovered about them from their last, ill-fated visit, the Elf wondered if these patrons did indeed have a home to go to.

As the night wore on, the Wizard continued to regale his mostly inebriated audience with tales of their great adventure. Lindras was typically animated as he retold his story; his voice rising and falling to bring his every word to life as his eyes flashed and his hands flew about as they spoke with great enthusiasm.

Just watching Lindras Weatherstone exhausted Markus. Placing a hand on the Wizard’s shoulder, he bade him a good night before retiring to a room upstairs. Lindras nodded in acknowledgement as he continued with his grand tales of derring-do.

Markus turned to Arerys and Valtar. Sleep calls. I shall not keep this mistress waiting.

Very well, Markus, a good night to you. I shall keep an eye on the Wizard, responded Arerys. Placing his hand over his empty goblet, he motioned to the barmaid he had sufficient.

Valtar rose up from the table, turning to Arerys. I shall retire, too, my lord. Is there anything you require before I take my leave?

Arerys thought upon his words before answering. Valtar, you may very well serve Joval Stonecroft, but you are not in my service. There is no need for such formality in my presence.

"I am sorry, my lord, but with all due respect; you are the Crown Prince of Wyndwood. It is my place to treat you accordingly; after all, I am merely a humble servant."

Well, if you insist on doing what is asked of you, then consider this: I am asking you to treat me as you would anyone else. When I am not in Wyndwood, I prefer to travel the lands without the pomp and ceremony associated with being royalty. It is the best way to become acquainted with the people.

As you wish, my lord.

Please address me as Arerys,

Very well, answered Valtar, stepping away from the table to retire for the night.

*****

When the last, drunken patron, thoroughly pickled in ale, was finally pushed out the door by the innkeeper; Lindras and Arerys crept upstairs to catch some sleep before dawn arrived. As they quietly entered the room, Markus was embraced in a deep slumber. Valtar awoke briefly upon hearing the door open, but immediately fell back to sleep, seeing it was only Arerys and the Wizard.

They took the two vacant beds opposite the ones Markus and Valtar occupied. Quite giddy with excitement only a few minutes earlier, Lindras suddenly lapsed into a deep sleep. He seemed almost comatose except for the fact he was snoring contentedly as his mind began its nocturnal wanderings.

Arerys removed his boots and threw his cloak, vest of mail and shirt onto the end of his bed. With a weary sigh, he lay back, closing his eyes. Sleep took over quickly, but as usual, his mind and ears remained attuned to the world.

As he slept, Arerys dreamed about Nayla. And in his dream, they were parting company on Mount Hope. He memorized all the features of her beautiful face as he leaned in to steal away with one final kiss when his eyes flashed open. As he bolted up from his bed, Valtar was also awoken by the same, strange noise. There was a series of small explosions as well as the sounds of snapping and crackling!

Do you hear that? asked Valtar, rising from his bed.

Yes! Markus! Lindras! Wake up! shouted Arerys, as he threw on his shirt and quickly forced his feet into his boots. Quickly! Rouse yourselves!

Markus and the Wizard rose drearily from their slumber.

What is it, Arerys? mumbled the Prince, still half asleep.

The Elf proceeded to the door, but as his hand made contact with the warm door latch it became apparent what the noise was.

Fire! shouted Arerys.

A black, acrid smoke seeped under the door, rising into the room. Markus immediately leapt from his bed. As the men hastily gathered their belongings, Arerys pried open the door just enough to peer down the darkened hallway.

We cannot take the stairs! They are engulfed in flames! Arerys’ voice rose to be heard above the raging inferno that snarled with its ferocity.

Quickly, Valtar, out the window! Help Lindras down, ordered Markus, throwing their packs, weapons and the Wizard’s staff to the ground below.

Without hesitation, Valtar stepped out onto the overhang situated at the entrance to the inn, lowering himself down before landing lightly onto the ground. He reached up to assist Lindras as Markus, too, exited through the window. As Arerys stepped through to follow Markus, above the crackling of the rapacious flames, his keen ears heard the sounds of a desperate cry for help echoing from down the hallway.

Markus! There are others still inside! shouted Arerys, disappearing back into the room.

Arerys, it is too late! There are flames everywhere! hollered Markus, as he dropped to the safety of the ground below. Somehow, he knew the Elf was not about to abandon those still trapped in the burning building. The Prince stood back as billowing smoke and intense heat swelled from this wooden structure as the flames glowed brightly against the predawn sky.

There must be another way in, he thought as he watched the fire grow and spread. Racing around to the back of the inn, Markus discovered it was just as involved.

Upstairs, Arerys quickly dowsed his cloak in the large urn of water sitting on the table between the beds. Throwing it over his body and head, he gulped down several breaths of fresh air before venturing into the dark, smoky hallway. He quickly checked each room until he finally came across the one closest to the burning stairwell. Inside, he could hear someone coughing and sobbing in the heat and darkness.

Arerys entered the room, quickly slamming the door behind him. Inside, the barmaid was struggling to get her father the innkeeper to the open window. Tears streamed down her soot-smudged face as she wrestled with the large man now overcome by the smoke and heat.

Quickly! Out onto the window ledge! ordered Arerys, peering down below. There is a wagon filled with hay directly below. Leap into it. I shall lower your father down to you. Make haste!

The woman nodded to Arerys. As frightened as she was to jump, she was more frightened of being consumed by the voracious flames. Screaming in fright as she leapt from the window, she landed squarely into the billowy heap of hay in the wagon below.

Arerys lifted the innkeeper off the floor, tossing the man over his shoulder. He carefully lowered him out the window. Leaning over to deliver the man as close to his daughter’s outstretched hands as possible, the Elf strained with all his might to lower him to safety. Dangling from the window, the unconscious man was absolute dead weight. Arerys struggled to manoeuvre the innkeeper over the more forgiving contents of the wagon where his panicking daughter awaited on the verge of hysteria as she watched the orange flames dance, licking around the Elf, eager to consume him.

By this time, Markus had returned to the front of the inn. In desperation, he forced open the front door, ramming it with his shoulder. The rush of fresh, cold air fuelled the blaze inside, creating an intense back draft. The great force caused the windows and doors to explode violently.

The blast sent all hurling to the ground. Valtar rushed to aid Markus, pulling him away from the burning building and debris showering down around them.

This great explosion shook the very foundations of the now-unstable building. The floor beneath Arerys’ feet abruptly collapsed beneath him, causing him to lose his grip.

The innkeeper tumbled to the safety of his daughter’s anxiously awaiting arms, but she screamed as she watched in horror. The Elf suddenly disappeared from the window as glass shattered and burning shards of wood spewed all around her with the resounding explosion.

Arerys plunged straight down, crashing through as the floor gave way, disintegrating beneath him. With the agility of a cat, the Elf still managed to land lightly on his feet, right into the belly of the inferno. Throwing the still-wet hood of his cloak over his head, Arerys’ eyes squinted as they detected the entrance to the inn through the raging orange flames and quivering, hot air. Drawing his cloak around his body, he dashed for the open doorway. Through the fire, he could see Markus, Lindras and Valtar frantically calling to alert the villagers, angered by their own helplessness.

As Arerys raced for the doorway, he heard a loud, ominous ‘creeaak’! He glanced up just in time to see one of the flaming ceiling joists collapsing down toward him. Instinctively, he dove for the entrance. As he hit the ground, he rolled over his shoulder, landing effortlessly back onto his feet. He rose up, to everyone’s surprise, right into Markus’ waiting arms!

Thank goodness, Arerys! gasped Markus, hugging his friend in relief. Nayla would never forgive me if something had happened to you!

Well! This was a most unexpected! Are you hurt, Arerys? asked Lindras, marvelling at the Elf’s luck and resilience.

I am fine, Wizard, answered the Elf, wiping the grime and soot from his forehead. Fortunately, I have come out of this ordeal rather unscathed. The same cannot be said for the inn.

The citizens of Heathrowen quickly converged around their favourite public drinking house, but all efforts to extinguish the flames were unsuccessful. The best they could do was to contain the fire, sparing the surrounding buildings from its wrath.

The innkeeper, overcome by smoke was safe, was now in the care of the local healer. His daughter thanked Arerys for rescuing them. She invited the men of the Order to spend the remainder of the night at her uncle’s cottage. With the only inn situated in Heathrowen now in complete and utter ruin, Markus accepted her kind offer.

*****

The following morning, the men returned to the inn, or rather, what little remained of the structure. The villagers had already gathered to pay sad homage to their cherished drinking establishment. Thin, gray smoke continued to drift high into the pale, morning sky; the charred building was reduced to an unrecognizable, smouldering heap of ashes and cinder. Markus approached the Wizard as he studied the extent of the devastation.

It is most fortuitous we had managed to escape an accident of this magnitude, stated the Prince, surveying the damage.

Fortuitous, yes… But was it truly an accident, Markus? queried the Wizard, staring pensively at the carnage left by the fire.

The Prince watched as Arerys strolled through the rubble, searching through the charred remains.

Are you saying this fire was deliberately set? asked Markus.

Somehow, it would seem appropriate if Eldred was to do away with us, he would use the method he is most familiar with… after all, fire is his element, responded Lindras.

With his inspection done, Arerys approached Markus and the Wizard with his assessment.

As best as I can determine, the blaze started from a candle left burning on the bar. The heat caused the bottles of spirits stored there to explode, its volatile contents fuelling the flames, but whether this was a deliberate act, it is impossible to ascertain.

Valtar returned with Arerys’ cloak. Freshly cleaned, it was now devoid of black soot and no longer reeked of smoke. The fair Elf thanked Valtar as he placed his cloak back over his shoulders.

The innkeeper pushed his way through the crowd, wishing to thank Arerys for his heroic efforts. The Elf smiled modestly in response, downplaying his actions that saved the man’s life.

I could not help but overhear you say you fear this might have been a malicious act, said the innkeeper, his voice sounding dry and raspy from the inhalation of smoke.

Yes, it is a question we now ponder, answered Markus.

I have no enemies, my lord, insisted the innkeeper. I know not one soul that would wish harm to my daughter or to me.

I am sure of that, acknowledged Markus. However, we of the Order most certainly do have enemies. They would pay dearly to see us brought to an untimely end.

"Are you saying this fire was meant to do harm to you?" asked the innkeeper.

That, we cannot be certain of, answered the Prince. And as such, we shall depart immediately. If trouble dogs us, then we will not allow it to remain here in Heathrowen any longer than necessary. Men, prepare to leave!

*****

Markus and his company retrieved their horses from the nearby stable. They were galloping out of the centre of the village when a party of Heathrowen’s citizens intercepted them.

Prince Markus, we cannot allow you to leave in this manner, said the innkeeper, as he reined in his steed.

Whatever do you mean?

My lord, if the members of the Order are in peril, then the citizens of Imago must rise up to protect those who brought peace to our lands. Though many of our able-bodied men have yet to return from the Plains of Fire, at the very least, we who are loyal to King Sebastian can offer you safe passage through our lands. These men shall be honoured to escort you to your next destination. Besides, I have no bar to tend to at the moment.

Markus, let us not tempt fate. There is no harm in accepting help when it is offered, urged the Wizard.

Yes. It is a most generous offer, kind sir, responded Markus, with an appreciative nod to the innkeeper. With still many leagues to travel, the Prince graciously accepted the escort. Together, they charged off toward Wynfield.

In the back of Markus’ mind, the mystery of the fire began to consume him with worry.

Are we indeed facing the wrath of the Sorcerer? wondered Markus. Can the last of Beyilzon’s dark emissary be in pursuit once again? Or perhaps, two evils have joined forces and both are now hounding us?

Whatever the case, the Prince could sense a shadow of foreboding. They were about to be caught in a rising tide of evil.

*****

CHAPTER 2

DECEPTION PASS

By the time we reach the summit it will be night. Dare we attempt a crossing this late in the day, Nayla? questioned Lando, his eyes taking in the vastness of the craggy, dark mountain looming before them.

Nayla scanned the inhospitable terrain, searching for potential danger as she answered, I have come by this way before and I can tell you now, we will never reach the pass before nightfall. We shall venture on for only as long as the daylight holds.

So we may spot the Sorcerer in case he is lurking about? asked Lando.

Yes, and it is far too dangerous to cross Deception Pass in the darkness of night.

Deception Pass? That sounds rather ominous replied Lando, intrigued by this sinister name.

Yes, you shall discover why soon enough, said Nayla, coaxing her horse up the twisting path, her warriors now following her in single file.

In the dimming light, they trudged up the slope. The journey was long and arduous as they ventured forward on the winding trail that traversed across the face of the mountain.

As a velvety darkness smothered the lands, Nayla and Joval had guided the men more than half way up the slope.

We shall stop for the night, announced Nayla, as she dismounted from her steed. Tomorrow we shall cross over into Orien.

Nayla, I will assign some of the men to sentry duty, disclosed Joval, gathering some of the warriors for the first shift. We cannot be too cautious.

Nayla nodded in approval.

Do you anticipate the soldiers of the Dark Army or the Sorcerer might attack in the night? queried Lando, drawing his Elven cloak tightly around his body as the cold mountain air embraced him in an unnatural chill.

Those soldiers have scattered. They are without a leader. They hardly pose a threat, however, the Sorcerer and the last of Beyilzon’s dark emissary were seen racing off in this direction. It is obvious they work in collaboration. When and where they shall strike is anyone’s guess, responded Joval, gazing upon the army of warriors trailing behind them. Rest assured, Captain Bayliss, we are well protected on this night.

*****

A dark shadow clung to the mountain as a billowy blanket of clouds snagged and clung stubbornly onto its pinnacle. Under this cold, sombre dawn the warriors were ready to march onward to Deception Pass. All on horseback dismounted, leading their steeds forward as the path narrowed and the incline grew steep. Joval and the warriors moved on with steady determination. He and the Elven warriors seemed to move tirelessly, undeterred by the high elevation. However, the mortal warriors were beginning to feel the effects of the thinning atmosphere. Their breathing became deliberately slow and deep in an effort to stave off the effects of oxygen deprivation.

Nayla trailed at the rear of the procession, keeping Lando company during this torturous trek. The knight was obviously struggling. His muscles were cramping painfully and his head throbbed as he drew the thin, cold air into his aching lungs. Nayla, too, suffered but nowhere near to the same extent as Lando. As he stopped for a moment to rub his bleary eyes, she rested next to him.

Lando, your breaths are much too shallow and quick. You must slow down; allow your body to become accustomed to these conditions.

The knight leaned forward, clutching his throbbing head in his hands.

Listen to me, you must take deeper breaths, instructed Nayla. Focus, Lando! Breathe in slow and deep through your nose; hold it. Now, exhale slowly through your mouth.

Lando momentarily blinked at her, as though he did not hear a single word she had said.

Do you understand, Lando? asked Nayla, pulling him forward. You must learn to breathe.

The knight nodded. He shook off his discomfort as Nayla faced him, forcing him to emulate her controlled breathing cycle. After a long moment, Lando’s lethargy seemed to diminish as he focused on his breathing. Nayla smiled as he found new energy once the throbbing in his head eased somewhat.

As they reached the pass that would deliver them into Orien, Nayla glanced back at Lando. It was so cold their breath, like a frozen vapour, was suspended in the chilly air. She could see the knight continued to control his breathing; he was no longer struggling as he was before.

Raising his hand on high, Joval brought the army to a halt with a promise they’d have a reprieve from this trek before beginning their descent.

We will rest, but only briefly, reminded Joval. The weather here can be extremely unpredictable and unforgiving, even at this time of the year.

From high atop this lofty pass Nayla’s eyes scanned the horizon far to the west. An uneasy chill braced her small body as she recalled the first time she set her sights on western Imago. Caught in a freak snowstorm, Nayla was alone - the last surviving warrior dispatched by the elders of Orien to breach the Iron Mountains in a bid to deliver word to the Elf King of Wyndwood for a call to arms. She thought she was doomed to die in the icy embrace of Deception Pass on that fateful day. She remembered how she gazed to the east, back at her war-ravaged country and then westward. All around her, the bitter winds of war howled. Where she found the strength to press on surprised her.

Nayla! shouted Joval.

She slowly turned to face the Elf.

What troubles you? You seem lost in your thoughts, noted Joval, his large hands resting on her shoulders as he stared into her eyes.

It is nothing. I was just remembering how I believed I would never look upon your face again when I first came to this god-forsaken place.

"Ah, it is something any time you think of me, replied Joval, with a smile. We shall rest and eat before we proceed, but we must be