The Gathering of The U'Narai

By Yvonne C.

In a world where magic is as common as rain, a dark warlock plots to bring together the U'Narai - twelve spheres of unimaginable magical power that when combined give the one who possesses them all the power in the universe. To stop him a diverse band of characters must come together, throwing aside all differences, and fight to prevent him. Witches and vampires, elves and humans, and everyone in-between must put away old grudges and forget old secrets, and work as one to ensure their free land remains free. Leading their struggle is Emkel, child of three - with the blood of elves, men and witches flowing through his veins. He must look beyond his fear and doubt, and save his world from the man he calls father.

The Gathering of the U’Narai is the first book in a series entitled The Free Land Chronicles, and many more magical adventures are promised. So, take my hand, faithful follower, and join me on the path of light as it weaves its way from the chilly land of Erantialle where raven-haired elves keep their secrets, down to the seaport of Galagalas, where mighty sailing ships are born and the magical island of Tirandall shimmers in the far distance. Take my hand and hold tight but when we pass the jagged mountains of Kandar don’t look up for the dark warlock may be watching and his gaze is colder than ice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yvonne C.
• Release date: Feb 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311412478

Yvonne C.

Yvonne Carsley is a writer from the Northwest of England. She writes fantasy fiction and poetry under her own name and erotic fiction under her pen name of Blue Sapphire.Print copies of her work are available on Lulu.comAnd you can follow her blog on Wordpress...https://wordpress.com/stats/day/awriterswords32692851.wordpress.comand add her on Facebook if you like.She also enjoys digital photography and has work listed on...http://www.redbubble.comShe loves to write and read, admires particularly the work of Stephen King and Diana Gabaldon, and enjoys films and music.She likes cats, both big and small.She is an unashamed Trekkie and would love one day to go to a convention dressed as a Vulcan ambassador. Though at only 4foot 11inches tall it'll have to be a mini Vulcan ambassador!

Book preview

The rains fell heavily on the mountains of Kandar, pelting the land with the savage force of an angry fist. It was a bellowing monstrous rain with only one thought on its mind – destruction.

Rocks were torn from their earthy beds and sent plummeting down the mountainside. Trees, having stood for thousands of years, were wrenched from the ground, roots screaming in desperate agony, only to be hurled away on careless winds.

A fierce rampaging storm, it struck the land repeatedly, heeding nothing standing in its path.

Down in Kandar Valley, vast swatches of grass were ripped up and flung in all directions. The gaping mud holes that remained became miniature lakes of slow-moving brown sludge. The wind continuously altered direction, blowing one way then the other, up and down and all around. It seemed to lack any real control of its own, as though an unseen hand manoeuvred it. Its direction changed again and it clamoured in protest as it came howling back up the mountain.

The rains became even more torrential. Each droplet of water possessed by a ferocious energy that slashed and stabbed at the Earth, like tiny daggers. The valley was flooded in seconds. Those creatures unfortunate enough to be caught in the deluge were drowned and swept away, bodies never to be found even by the scavenger birds. Silver lightning streaked across the dark sky, illuminating the land for miles around for the briefest of moments – and by that light could be seen the foreboding megalithic structure that was Castle Kandar.

Castle Kandar was black, impossibly so – made from the rare mineral called jet. It seemed comprised of darkness itself rather than brick or stone, and stood taller than anything else ever built. It towered up into the sky, reaching for the very stars. Anyone standing at its base looking up could not see its top for the clouds. It was a menacing building of twisted proportions.

Spanning an area of thirteen acres it stood over two thousand feet high, and each of its four corners boasted a tower carved into the likeness of a great king. Each was dressed in a long flowing robe encrusted with jewels, and swords were held in their giant hands. The blades, a thousand feet in length, pointed downwards – the tips resting on the rocks. The crowns the kings wore made up the roof of each tower. Every jewel of their robes was a window that opened up into a room of extensive proportions, and protruding from each window was a jet-black stone balcony with spiked railing.

It was not a comforting sight to be held in the light of the moon. A lost and weary traveller would never consider resting within its walls. Unnatural forces had designed it and still lingered within.

After standing for four thousand years, the castle had taken on a life of its own. It was no longer simply just a residence. It had become an evil, pulsating presence, overlooking all that lay beneath it with a cold eye and unforgiving heart.

Standing proudly, framed in the highest window in the north tower, was the creator of the castle and the storm howling around it.

He was a lean figure of a man with dark, piercing eyes and hair blacker than a raven’s feathers. He had a hawk-like nose and a cruel mouth, which was quick to smile at the miseries of others. He wore a long purple tunic made from the skin of a once rare (and now extinct) bird and a blood-red cloak crafted by a blind witch. Its original purpose had been to protect its wearer from all known diseases. Something its currant wearer had no fear of but, liking the feel of it, he wore it often.

He gazed critically through the glass, watching the storm. He had brought into being so that he could better shape the land to his own desires. Possessing complete control over the wind and the rain, he hurled them about and around. The wind hacked away at the landscape and the rain washed away everything that displeased him. His eyes shifted back and forth, taking in the sight lying beneath him.

He frowned into the darkness.

At the very edge of his vision, a few trees continued to stand. Their presence stuck out awkwardly in the bare landscape, resisting his assault and angering him with their insolence.

The winds shrieked louder and the trees began to quiver. They were old trees, stubborn. They clung to the ground with all their might, shaking and stretching, while all the while their leaves were mercilessly ripped away. Eventually the man’s strength won out and they were torn loose from the mud, and heaved away to vanish into the night. His lips curved upwards. Much better.

M-M-My lord?

The man turned, the displeasure of being disturbed clearly written on his face. Why do you interrupt me at this time, Danarl?

The, the L-Lady Celestia is here as you a-asked, the man answered, shrinking back into the open doorway.

Splendid. Send her in. Then fetch General Mortag. Tell him I want the reports on the troops in the east and the south.

Y-Yes, my lord.

And make it quick, Danarl. You know how impatient I can get.

Yes, m-my lord, I d-do. Danarl backed away obsequiously, bowing repeatedly and sweating profusely despite the chilly air. The door swung shut as he retreated through it, and the aide was gone.

The man seated himself, arranging his clothing so that he was comfortable, and waited for the woman to enter. He put on his best smile, hoping that it was sufficiently terrifying. The door re-opened hesitantly, creaking ominously on badly oiled hinges. Come in, my dear. All the way in, he called.

Sharp footsteps sounded out, moving across the tiled floor. They started slowly, becoming faster and bolder as they neared him, before coming to an abrupt halt ten paces from the chair.

Lady Celestia. Good of you to answer my call so promptly.

Lord Aldar. I’m not here by choice so don’t waste both our times on frail niceties.

Always a pleasure to talk with you, my wife. Aldar gestured for her to take a seat, which she declined with a small shake of her head. By the bright light! You insufferable woman, would it kill you to sit in my presence!?

I’ll sit when I wish, not when you wish me to, my lord.

Lord Aldar: warlock, warrior, husband and father, master of his entire domain sat back in his chair, fuming at the maddeningly infuriating nature of the woman he had the misfortune to call wife.

----

Celestia was an elf princess – daughter of Halashar and Jazel, sister of the elf king Lartow. She was a slim woman, a head smaller than Aldar, but stood tall with the bearing of royalty. Aldar preferred his subjects to stand before him meekly with head bowed and eyes downcast, but Celestia constantly refused to behave in the correct manner. He scowled at her. One day, he thought maliciously. One day he would wipe that fearless expression from her face and make her kneel before him with the proper respect and awe.

He watched her silently, wondering, not for the first time, why he had ever chosen her. He could have had his pick of any number of beautiful women from elves to vampires, from tavern girls to great queens. There was no woman who could refuse him if he looked her way.

He had never intended to find himself a mate. He had no need of a wife, nor any desire to procreate. So why had he done it? Wasting time on the pursuit of that mythical nonsense called love was ludicrous when there were other, more important, things to be done. So why had he done it? Why had he bonded himself to such a sharp-tongued woman? Had he chosen her simply for the purposes of revenge or had it been a moment of insanity on his part?

He smiled at the memory of when he had first seen Celestia. The memory was sharp; two thousand years had elapsed and time had not dulled its glow. It could have happened yesterday so clear was his recollection.

He could see it all now in his mind’s eye – the auburn-haired elven woman seated on her white stallion in full battle dress, like a man, holding her sword high above her head. She had led a mighty battalion of soldiers, and she herself had fought with the strength of twenty elven men. Aldar had watched from his castle, using the all-seeing Orb of Tirandall. He had seen her slashing, stabbing and chopping. Dozens of his human soldiers had fallen before her. She had been quite without mercy. Ruthless and swift, she had kept the battle moving until finally retreating victorious back into the forest from which she had emerged.

She had intrigued him. Her strength, determination and beauty had touched something within him. Of course, the fact that she had defeated the first wave of his troops had meant that she would have to die. She had been a clear danger to his plans and extremely distracting. However, he had decided to at least speak with her before she was dispatched. She had been an interesting curiosity.

He had originally decided to stay at Kandar until the wars were completed, watch his victory from a safe distance as it were. Having once been a soldier, he now left that side of things to people who were more expendable, leaving him free to concentrate on tasks that were more fundamental. The thought of going to war himself though had appealed to him if it meant meeting the elven woman personally. The thought of going up against her in physical combat had set the hairs on his neck quivering. How delicious the image had been.

He now realised it had been an unwise choice. He should have sent one of his assassins to deal with her. If he had known how much of an annoyance she was going to be for him he would have done, and curiosity be damned. Foolishly ignoring his better judgement however, he had left Kandar and been defeated.

His armies had been beaten or driven back, the castle burned and left in tatters, and the elves had stolen the U’Narai. He had been in a terrible rage over it, and in his anger became fixated on thoughts of vengeance.

In his mind, all the elves became the cause of his failure, and the face of the lovely auburn-haired elven woman became the object of all his hatred against them. So taking his revenge on them he stole her and, bringing her to Kandar, made her his wife. He would make her live in misery and terror for the rest of her immortal life. However, to his chagrin, no matter what he said or did, she never despaired or gave up hope – and no matter what, she would never humble herself before him.

Nearly eighteen summers ago she had given birth to their one and only child, a boy possessing his mother’s pointed ears and elven mannerisms. Aldar had hoped that the existence of the child would make the mother more submissive. She had no fear for herself but ought to have felt some terror because of the boy, but so far had not. She was protective of her child; fiercely so, but threatening their son was of little use.

Aldar had once raised his staff to beat the boy, hoping to see some measure of trepidation in his wife’s eyes. It had not worked. She had simply stepped in front of the child, using her body as a shield. She had stood unflinching, eyes blazing with anger, daring Aldar to do his worst. In the end he had done nothing, simply resigned himself to the fact that she would never ever be in dread of anything he might do. Although, he mused, perhaps this situation was about to change.

----

Celestia stood before her husband, waiting wordlessly. She stood straight: shoulders back, chin up, facial expression neutral. The outwardly calm posture of her body and her defiantly unblinking eyes gave no indication of the turmoil swirling within. Her heart thundered madly in her chest, beating louder than the drums of R’tuk. It was deafening to her ears and surely Aldar, with his all-too-keen ear and magician’s craft, could hear it.

Taking a deep cleansing breath, she calmed herself and focused her gaze to the centre of Aldar’s forehead – the spot where, someday, she hoped to drive her ornamental Qel blade. She continued to breathe, and chanted a mantra in her mind.

Slowly she gained control. She mastered her beating heart and slowly moistening hands. If only she could now control the emotions warring within her soul – one emotion in particular, fear.

Celestia had always prided herself on the fact that she did not fear Aldar. She had only ever felt contempt for him and nothing more, but things were different now. She had a son and, no matter what Aldar believed, she was filled with a nerve-wracking dread for him. Whenever Aldar talked about their child she tensed imperceptibly and an alarming tingling sensation crept down her arms into her fingers. She had spent many of the years of their married life walking around with her hands behind her back. Aldar thought she did it to appear pompously regal but in truth, it was to hide her treacherously trembling hands. Her face would never betray her thoughts in a million years but her hands would scream volumes to him.

Celestia told herself that she had kept the boy safe all these years, but in her true heart knew this to be false. Aldar had allowed her son to live because he had no qualms about him. He was not a threat or a rival and had no knowledge of his father’s plans, but something had happened, something to give Aldar cause to worry. She knew from the thoughtful way he was looking at her. He had seen something, in the orb most likely. What it might have been she had no way of knowing, and it was from this ignorance that her fear was being born.

You look beautiful, darling one. Tell me, how are things with you? Aldar asked.

Things? replied Celestia.

Life and so on. Are you happy?

Happy! How could you expect me to be happy? I live in a place empty of warm feeling in a land that is not my own, my husband is a man I despise and my child is without friend or companion. You tell me how I could possibly be happy.

You speak as though you blame me for all your troubles. I did once give you the chance to leave. It was uncharacteristically generous of me I thought.

You gave me an ultimatum. Stay with you, ensuring the safety of the Witherall fairies or leave and watch you destroy them. You knew which path I’d take. It was hardly generous.

My dear, it’s not my fault that you chose wrong. You were weak that’s all.

It is not weak to respect life. It is the most precious of all gifts. Celestia lunged forward, jabbing an accusing finger at Aldar. When you take just one life, no matter how small and insignificant it may seem, you destroy a universe. One life holds countless possibilities. Your heart is black and you understand nothing about the true nature of life. I pity you, husband.

A pretty speech, my love. It’s a shame you don’t believe your own words.

What?

You speak of respect for life, for all life, yet you stand before me wishing to do me harm.

Celestia froze, words of denial forming instantly behind her lips.

Don’t try to pretend otherwise, Aldar continued. Your desire to end my life with your blade is quite clear in your thoughts. In fact, it’s the only clear picture I see in your mind. It’s as though you’re using this one image to cover anything else that you may be thinking. Have you become so disciplined that you can block your mind from my probing?

I don’t know what you mean. Celestia fought to maintain her composure.

Of course you don’t. Anyway, what would you want to hide from me? How is our son? he added quickly, watching her closely for any reaction.

She managed with great difficulty to remain calm. Aldar was quite impressed with her control, despite the fact that it offered him no clue as to whether his concerns were warranted. If she knew something neither her face nor her mind were giving it away.

He’s fine, she answered blandly.

He’s in good health?

Of course. He’s never ill, you know that.

Yes, I do. Strange, don’t you think? In all this time he’s had no childhood illnesses and any injuries he’s ever received have healed with astonishing swiftness.

The climate up here has strengthened him and he’s been very lucky.

I think that there’s more than just luck at work here, my lady. I believe that our child has inherited more than just his mother’s elven looks. Perhaps he’s inherited a small slice of elven immortality as well. He looked closely at her, watching for what effect, if any, his words were having.

His elven features aside our son is a human child. He has no immortality and he has no magic.

So, Aldar thought, he did not know what was in her mind but she knew what was in his.

That’s what you really wanted to know, isn’t it? Celestia continued. You believe that if my son could’ve inherited my immortality he could’ve inherited your powers too.

You say he hasn’t?

I should know. He is my son.

You’re quite sure on this matter?

I am.

I hope you’re speaking the truth, my wife, for the boy’s sake as well as your own. Elven immortality is a marvellous gift to possess but I have power that could end even your life. Never forget that.

Reaching out to her, he placed his hands on her arms. Her body hardened beneath his touch but her eyes never wavered. Reaching for a strand of her hair, which had fallen across her face, he tucked it back behind her left ear. He touched it briefly, running his fingers along its pointed tip. He wondered how loudly she would scream if he tore it from her head. Smiling once more, he bent to kiss her cheek, and then dismissed her.

He watched her leave, thoughtfully rubbing his hands together. She was lying to him about the boy. The orb had shown him disturbing images. The boy and his mother had been keeping secrets.

He re-seated himself, wondering what course of action to take. The images the orb had shown unnerved him. Were they images of things that would be or things that could be? He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and meditated on these questions.

He sat unmoving for several minutes before slowly opening his eyes. The decision was made. He had made a mistake in allowing Celestia to live; he would not make another. The boy would have to die, the sooner the better.

----

Celestia left the Great Hall, closed the door firmly and set off down the corridor at a fast pace. Turning right at the first junction she continued down a corridor, whose walls were decorated with vast sweeping murals depicting the battle of Narn’tay.

One of the first known wars to be fought between the humans, it fascinated Aldar in ways she had never understood. It had been a bloody war, seeing the deaths of over twenty thousand soldiers and over fourteen thousand civilians. Celestia had been amazed that the humans had managed to come back from it but they had. Less than one hundred years later the human numbers had risen, had in fact surpassed their previous total.

Stopping for a moment to look closer at the painting, she shuddered at the sight of so much blood being spilt with such apparent happiness. In the past, she had been a warrior, fighting valiantly for her people but she had gone into battle because of a sense of duty and obligation. She had never taken a life with any pleasure. She killed an enemy because they left her no choice and, after the war had ended, she had destroyed her sword and renounced violence forever. Being married to Aldar had tried her resolve on many occasions though.

She continued on, trying to walk fast without appearing to be in any hurry whatsoever. Aldar would no doubt be watching her in the orb and she did not want to appear in any way nervous, but by the time she reached the staircase to the south tower (her and her child’s living quarters), she was practically running. An indescribable terror was adding speed to her footsteps and her heart rate. Her son was in danger. She did not know why, but she would do anything to keep him safe.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she flung open the door to her son’s room. It was empty! For one terrible minute, she forgot how to breathe and her heart became a lump of ice in her chest. Then the air returned and her senses with it. Looking around the room, her gaze settled finally on the open windows and she sighed with relief. Striding towards them, she pushed aside the flapping velvet drapes and stepped through onto the balcony.

Here you are, my son, she said thankfully.

Of course, mama. Where else would I be? You know how father dislikes it if I wander the castle without his permission.

She did know. Aldar had many rules. There was nothing either of them could do without his express authorisation. Something he rarely gave.

She went over to her son and ran her hand tenderly over his long black hair. One of only two things he had inherited from his father. That and a certain growing ability they did not discuss within earshot of the dark wizard.

----

In her long years of marriage to Aldar, Celestia had never come close to liking him, let alone loving him. She stayed with him only because of obligation and necessity. His threats towards the fairies of Witherall had not been idle ones. Celestia knew that he could have wiped them out with the smallest of commands. He could have sent a hurricane or a tornado to obliterate them in one full swoop. He could have sent soldiers to hunt them down and kill them all individually. He could have made them vanish by the mere snapping his fingers. The fairies were a peaceful, gentle race that possessed no weapons or knowledge of how to even use them. He could have destroyed them, but for unknown reasons had decided to leave them be if she married him.

She had but had gained no joy from their union, and did all that she could to make Aldar’s life very difficult. It was risky at times to taunt him so frequently but, without fully understanding why, knew she could get away with it. It was strange how he had put up with her behaviour for so long. She knew that he did not really love her and that at any time he could have killed her. He told her often enough of how he had power strong enough to destroy even an immortal elf and yet she still lived.

She suspected that pride kept him from truly harming her. He was determined not to let her get free of him and, in his eyes, death was the ultimate escape – a route he would not allow her to take, no matter how she provoked him. So their hate-filled marriage continued, fuelled by their mutual contempt and loathing.

The years had flown by like wildfire – the years becoming decades, the decades becoming centuries, and the centuries becoming millennia. Then after two thousand years, Celestia had finally fallen pregnant.

At first, she had been utterly horrified. The thought of having Aldar’s child gnawed away at her mind day after day. Would the child look like him? Would it have his power? Would it be as corrupt, as evil as him? The questions had filled her waking hours and many of her sleeping ones. She had considered ending the pregnancy, knowing many simple and safe ways to do so. The sap from the Yarnock tree could be turned into an easily digestible potion or there were the berries of the Rasad bush. Both of which grew in abundance around the castle. In the end, she had decided against it.

During the third month of her pregnancy, she had had a dream, a nightmare that had filled her with the desire to protect the child growing within herself.

In the dream, she had been walking in a garden – a bountiful paradise where all of nature’s glorious treasures were displayed in full. The grass was a lush verdant blanket beneath her bare feet, as soft as fleece and pleasantly ticklish. There had been trees all around her, old and majestic with huge diamond-shaped leaves and branches that swayed lazily in the breeze. And there had been flowers, an ocean of flowers stretched out as far as she could see. So many kinds: tall scarlet ones with round petals, small yellow ones huddling together in clusters, and blue ones with huge green leaves. So many colours and perfumes had filled her senses, and she had lingered for long moments over every one.

She had not wanted to leave, but something had pulled at her – some sound trying to attract her attention. She had looked around, listening intently, frowning into the distance as the sound came closer – the sound of a child’s voice.

It had been a young child’s voice, a boy’s. Laughing, it called for her to follow. She had tried, but had lost it. One minute it had been on her left side, and then on her right. Sometimes it had seemed to be in front of her and sometimes behind. Becoming dizzy, she had stopped to catch her breath. The voice had continued calling but she had been too tired to follow.

Then a blood-curdling scream had rung out, the sound slicing like wire through her heart.

She had raced across grass that was no longer soft. It had cut at her feet like shards of broken glass, and all around the flowers had been dying. Turning brown, they had crumbled into dust swept away by quickly forming winds, and the trees had become gnarled and twisted. Like dark sinister beings, they had leered down at her with salivating hungry mouths, and the scream had rung out incessantly.

She had chased the sound until coming across a glistening blue-green river. By the water’s edge, kneeling on the sodden bank had been a woman with her back to her (the woman was her and was trying to drown a small child in the water). Yarnock trees lined the bank and berries from the Rasad bush floated on the water. They were caught in the child’s hair. He struggled, thrashing about as the woman (as she) continued to push him back down. Every time his head cleared the surface, he gulped down air and cried out, pleading for her to stop, screaming that he did not want to die.

She had raced down to the water and grabbed the woman, spinning her around to grapple with her (with herself). The woman snarled and shouted curses at her, and her face changed as they fought, blurring into that of Aldar’s. He growled at her, shouting that a child of hers would never rise to take his place. He punched her, sending her sprawling into the grass and resumed his attack on the boy. All Celestia could do was watch helplessly as the child’s struggles weakened and finally stopped.

She had awoken then, wetness streaking her face and a terrible ache in her stomach. Placing her hand protectively over the already noticeable swelling she had decided at that point to continue with the pregnancy. Her child deserved a chance at life and who was she to decide otherwise. If he were Aldar’s child then so what? He would also be her child and she would love him with all her heart and soul, and teach him to be good and wise.

Everything had gone well after that day. The child had grown safely within her, and his entrance into the world had been an easy one. She had raised him without Aldar’s help and been successful in keeping him on the path of light. She had given him knowledge and kept him safe, but now Aldar’s gaze had fallen on him and she would have to be more vigilant than ever if he were to survive.

----

Emkel, my son, we must talk but we must be very careful. Your father is sure to be watching and listening. She glanced around, as though expecting Aldar to appear from the shadows at any moment.

The mind gift? Emkel asked.

It’s the safest way.

Celestia turned to gaze out over the battered and bruised land, and placed her hands on the rail before her. Emkel did the same. To anyone watching they looked like a mother and son simply taking in the view. Anyone watching who could get close enough to see their faces would see people whose gazes were turned inwards not outwards. There was a look of profound concentration etched on both their faces, and their eyes were wide and blank. Their mouths were set in rigid lines and sweat was forming on Celestia’s forehead.

Elves were naturally empathic but Emkel had received the added gift of telepathy. Whether that was because of Aldar she did not know but her son used it to good effect by enabling her to have private conversations with him and, owing to his teachings, she had become quite adept at it herself, though it did cause her some pain. Forcing it away, she relaxed and felt her son’s telepathic hands reach out to embrace her.

----

Aldar was indeed observing the twosome, and their charade did not fool him. He knew they were up to something, but what? The Orb of Tirandall was designed to observe only the movement of others. It could not show him their thoughts, nor let him hear their voices. That should not have posed a problem for a mind reader as strong as he was but, hard as he tried, he could glean nothing from either of their minds. All he could see was the image of Celestia raising her Qel blade to strike at him. Over and over, the thought came to him, each time the image getting closer and closer.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Celestia had become stronger than he could have imagined but it would make no difference. She could hatch whatever plans she liked. His decision had been made and nothing would turn him from his chosen course. The boy was a threat and had to die, the sooner the better. Aldar wanted him well out of the way before the troops were sent out. There must be no obstacle on his path. The alignment had begun, Mortag was on the way, and the U’Narai would soon be his once more.

This time there would be no failure.

----

Celestia sensed her husband’s inquisitive probing and shuddered helplessly. Emkel’s telepathic hands squeezed hers reassuringly and she returned her attention to him. You’re in danger, Emkel. Your father is suspicious. I believe he may try to harm you.

"But why, mama? Why is he concerned about me now?"

"He’s discovered something. I don’t know what. Is your secret still safe?"

"I…I just."

"What?"

"Yesterday there was a bird. It flew in through the window. It was badly hurt, dying."

"You used your power to heal it?"

"It was suffering. I couldn’t ignore that. You always taught me that all life was sacred, even animal life. Was I wrong?"

"No, my son, you weren’t wrong, but I fear that this is what your father has seen. To him it’s undeniable proof that magic flows in your veins."

"But why should that bother him when he’s so strong?"

"He doesn’t know how powerful you might become or what you might do with your power. He does know that you’re more truly my son than his and that’s what concerns him. Elves have always been his most formidable opponents. The heart of an elf is courageous, and full of love and the desire to do only what’s right. You have the heart of an elf, Emkel and, because of this, you’d feel honour bound to stop whatever foul plans your father has in mind. That’s why he fears you. That’s why you must take great care."

"What must I do?"

"For now just watch and wait. Whatever your father means to do he’ll do soon. This I’m sure of. When he acts, you must run. No matter where you are, or what you’re doing, you must get away."

"What about you?"

"I can take care of myself."

"But–"

"No! There is no but. You’re the one who’s in danger. You’re the one who must escape, and you mustn’t look back to me. When the time comes you must think only of yourself."

"But where will I go? I won’t be safe from father anywhere."

"There’s one place where even he won’t dare to go. Finlea, my home."

"I don’t know where it is."

"You’ll find it. Have no fear on that count. Go to Finlea. Go to the elf king. He’ll help you."

"I’ll do as you wish, mama."

"What I wish is that you remain safe, my son, and that you live a long and joyous life." Celestia broke contact and turned to face Emkel. Taking his hands in hers, she smiled. Do you know how much of a miracle you are to me? she said.

All life is a miracle, Emkel replied.

Yes, but you’re more miraculous than most. Elves and humans aren’t usually compatible. Over the years, some humans and elves have bonded but producing children has been a time-consuming and difficult matter. That is why you’re a miracle. Your father’s magic may have had something to do with your birth but it took two thousand years before you arrived.

What does that make me then, mama?

Make you?

Father was human but is now a witch, and has lived far longer than a normal human. You’re an immortal elf who though empathic you possess no real magic. I have the form of a mortal man, the facial features of an elf and magical abilities like father. So what am I?

You’re my son and I love you. Beyond that I don’t know.

Emkel bowed his head, wishing for a better answer to the questions that had just recently begun to bother him. Celestia placed a hand under his chin, raising his face so that she could look into his eyes. Someday you’ll discover who you are and what your purpose is. Until then know that you are loved and that you always will be.

I love you also, mama, he replied, smiling.

You’ll remember all that we’ve talked about here?

Of course.

Good. Remember the most important thing – when the time comes, run. Run and don’t look back.

CHAPTER TWO

Three nights later General Mortag arrived, making quite an entrance. He was seated at the head of his personal bodyguard, riding a foul-tempered stallion named Ilas. Twenty men in total they made their way up the precarious mountain pass, thundered over Kandar Bridge, and entered the castle’s main courtyard. The horses pulled up, whinnying and stamping their feet on the damp stony ground. Mortag jumped down from his mount, raised his whip, flicked his wrist and cracked it three times.

The animals came to a complete standstill and stood balefully silent and watchful. Flames danced in their large black eyes and their lips curled back to reveal unnaturally pointed teeth. The creatures were like all things in Kandar, poisoned by darkness and evil desires. They glared sullenly at the general but remained at attention while he ordered his men to dismount.

They did so immediately, forming two separate lines. Each man stood straight and tall, awaiting further instructions. The general un-strapped his helmet, placed it under his arm and shook out his mane of flame-red hair. He then turned sharply on his heel and marched away. The men followed rapidly in his wake as he strode through the massive wooden door leading into the castle itself.

Jargo Mortag had been a soldier all of his life and considered himself to be one of the best. Battle strategy and tactics were his forte. Any plan that an enemy could devise he could go one better. He could outride, outsmart and outfight any foe. He had no wife or child to hold him down and lived only for the chase and its reward, the kill. The sight of blood and the sound of screams did not trouble him, and he obeyed orders without question.

Aldar had recognised all these qualities within the man on their first meeting and had made him a sergeant. After only a few years in the warlock’s service, he had risen swiftly through the ranks, and was now leader of Aldar’s entire army.

Mortag was a gigantic bear-like man. Standing a head taller than most men, he was wide across the chest and covered, from the neck down, with huge rippling muscles. His powerful arms could wield anything from the lightest sword to the heaviest axe and his legs were as thick as tree trunks. In full battle regalia, he was even larger and more menacing.

He marched up several flights of stairs, his guards struggling to keep up. He had no problem with the distance, despite carrying several weapons and being dressed in his heaviest armour – over which he wore a weighty coat made of various animal furs. His large metal-studded boots thundered on the steps and he clattered noisily down the corridor, announcing his presence long before arriving at his actual destination.

At the top of the stairs, Lord Aldar’s personal aide, Vin Danarl, was awaiting him and his men. Mortag snarled a not so friendly greeting at the smaller man and brushed him aside. He strode purposefully towards the Great Hall, leaving Danarl no choice but to run to keep up with him.

----

Danarl huffed and puffed in his attempt to keep pace with Mortag. He would have asked the larger man to slow down but knew he would simply increase his speed out of spite.

Danarl knew how thoroughly Mortag disliked him and sort of understood his reasons. He was everything the general despised. He was weedy, trembled easily and cringed like a dog at the sound of a raised voice. He sniffed a lot, suffering as he did from various allergies and ran away at the first sight of danger. A snivelling creeping worm was how Mortag described him. Danarl did not care. He had been called worse things in his time. He knew that he was a coward but at least he did not spend his days tramping across muddy fields and his nights sleeping in dank, earthy beds.

General, the reports, do you have them? he asked, wheezing heavily.

Of course I have them. Do I look like a forgetful old man? Mortag replied without slowing.

I’m just trying to do my job, General.

So am I, and my job involves far more important tasks than making sure Lord Aldar’s broth is cool enough.

Danarl felt the colour rise in his cheeks, and heard muffled sniggering coming from behind him. Mortag embarrassed him regularly but it never stopped hurting. Sometimes he wished that he had the courage to answer back but he rather liked the way he looked. His was not a terribly attractive face but it would look a lot worse if Mortag decided to slice it up.

Danarl brought the men to the door that led into the Great Hall and paused to speak a few words to Mortag, who had the good grace to appear to be listening. Lord Aldar is at a critical stage in his plans and wants nothing to go wrong. I trust that you have good news for him, General.

What news I have doesn’t concern a stinking pile of worm-meat like you. Now stand aside. His lordship is an impatient man and you wouldn’t want to be the one to make him angry, would you?

Danarl would have said more but Mortag’s chief bodyguard, Karranell, stepped forward and pushed him unceremoniously to one side. Mortag gave the aide no further thought, pushed the heavy door open with little difficulty and strode in to speak with the only man he would ever call master.

----

General Mortag. Good of you to come. Aldar strode forward to meet the general, with his hand held out.

Mortag took it and squeezed it briefly. Did I actually have a choice, my lord? he asked smiling, before dropping the hand. Even through his thick animal-skin gloves, he still felt the unnatural cold the warlock’s flesh exuded.

Mortag would ride into the depths of the Underworld if Aldar asked, and do it with a smile. He would gladly kill an army with only his bare hands and wade through their bloody entrails to return to his leader. There was little he would not do for the man if asked. However, there was one thing that he would prefer not to do and that was to touch him.

Whatever dark magic Aldar used to prolong his life had infected him with something more than just simple coldness. The chill oozing from Aldar’s body had a life of its own. It reached out with icy fingers, caressing every obstacle it met with loving tenderness before sucking every particle of heat out of it. In the past people had frozen to death for lingering too long in Aldar’s presence. Mortag was thankful for his furs and the blazing fire that continuously burned in the Great Hall. Even so, he still shivered uncontrollably, and his breath crystallised on the air when he exhaled.

We all have a choice in everything we do, General. Aldar smiled heartily. It’s the ability to make choices that makes living so interesting. Without it life would be utterly meaningless and quite dull.

Quite so, my lord, Mortag agreed readily.

Now then, enough of this pleasant small talk, down to the business at hand. Aldar seated himself. What news have you brought me?

Pleasing news I hope. The troops at Pin’ras are ready. They’ve completed all necessary training and are fully equipped with armour and weapons. The troops based at Ifinea will be ready in two days. All are eager to go into battle and I’m confident that our victories shall be easy ones.

Excellent. You’ve done well. My armies are ready ahead of schedule. It’s a good omen I think. Aldar grinned with excitement.

Shall I give the order to begin? Mortag leaned forward, his face hungry with anticipation.

Yes. I believe that now is a good time. Return to Pin’ras. Send however many men you feel are necessary and find the Silver Sphere. It’s protected by the trolls so I suggest you begin your search in the caves of R’tuk.

Urgh, trolls, Mortag muttered disdainfully.

That’s no way to speak of our dearest neighbours, General. Aldar wagged a disapproving finger.

I apologise, my lord, but trolls are just so hideous. Revolting smelly creatures with barely a single brain cell amongst them.

I know but they’re also easily bought. All they want in life is food, shelter, and a chance to bash things on the head with a big stick. Act cleverly and you won’t have to take the sphere by force at all.

They’d give it to me willingly?

Make them an offer. Recruit them into the army.

Trolls! In my army!

Whose army, General?

I meant your army, my lord. Forgive my presumptuousness, Mortag replied hastily.

You’re forgiven. Aldar chuckled. But do think about it. Trolls are very useful in battle. Their size and tough hides are ideal qualities in a soldier. Plus they’re extremely stupid, which can always be put to good use.

I’ll consider it as you wish, Mortag said doubtfully.

Of course it’s of no real concern to me how you conduct your battles, just make sure that you bring me the sphere.

You can rely on me, my lord.

Marvellous. Now, I have another task for you. Something requiring your singular talents.

What do you wish me to do? the general asked, frowning.

Take Emkel with you when you leave for Pin’ras.

Your son?

Yes. I’ve told him of this already. I told him that I wish him to get better acquainted with the ways of men. As far as he knows he’s going with you to observe and learn, and that’s all.

I take it that this isn’t the case? Mortag asked cautiously.

It’s not. Aldar stood up and glanced around. Listen and understand. The boy must not reach Pin’ras alive.

You wish him to have an accident?

Exactly. Your quick grasp of my meaning is admirable. Aldar gripped the general’s shoulder. A simple, fatal accident. An accident that I want undeniable proof of, is that also understood?

Yes, my lord. Does your wife know of your plan to send the boy with me?

Yes, but don’t concern yourself about her. I’ll deal with her in due course.

----

Celestia paced back and forth across the room. Her hands felt moist again and she washed them for the sixth time. Her spine tingled with a prickling iciness, as though Aldar had entered the room and was trailing his bare fingers up her back. She shuddered violently, trying to rid herself of the feeling.

Mortag’s arrival had proved a short-lived relief. She had hoped that Aldar would be so caught up in whatever he and the general were planning that he would forget the threats he had made regarding Emkel, but it was not to be. Before his meeting, Aldar had informed her that their son was to leave with the general when he left for Pin’ras, and dread had poured into every corner of her soul.

She had prayed for more time to prepare Emkel but Mortag’s efficiency had caused Aldar to bring his plans forward and now there was no more time left. She suspected that the general had been given instructions regarding her son and not for a minute did she believe that Emkel would benefit from them. She did not know what to do. Was there a way to prevent her son from going on the journey? Was there anything she could do to delay Aldar’s plans? If Mortag were to die, would her boy be safe?

She sat down heavily in her chair by the window, knowing it was hopeless. She could do little once Aldar had made up his mind about something. She could beg him on bent knee to stop and he would simply smile at her in that I’m-truly-sorry-I’ve-no-choice way. As for killing Mortag, it was out of the question. Apart from the fact that she could not take a life, any life, she was not sure that it would make any difference. Mortag was one of many who could be ordered to harm her child.

Placing her head in her hands, she wept despairingly.

----

Emkel waited in the open courtyard. Watching his father whispering with the big general, he strained to hear the words. He could make out only a few of them: mountains, river, and R’tuk. He frowned. His father had said they were going to Pin’ras, so why the mention of R’tuk? The heart of the troll homeland was five days ride from Pin’ras and in the opposite direction. Chewing his lip, he wondered if Aldar would notice if he were to attempt to read his thoughts. He breathed deeply, eyes widening, and reached out cautiously with the mind-gift. He lightly skimmed over the surface of Aldar’s thoughts before a burning sensation ripped through him. Staggering back with a gasp, he fell to the floor, landing with a thud.

The pain in his head faded slowly. Reaching up with a trembling hand, he wiped sweat from his face. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and felt something wet that was more than sweat. He looked down and stared in disbelief at the blood staining his fingers. Fumbling with a cloth, he sponged away all traces of the nosebleed, and then raised his head to look nervously at his father.

Aldar was glaring at him with murderous intent. Mortag looked puzzled. He had no idea why Aldar had broken off their conversation so abruptly and was unnerved. For a moment, he had seen a look of terror cross his master’s face. It had been quickly replaced by one of anger but Mortag would never forget that first expression.

Aldar was a man who caused fear, not someone who experienced it. Mortag heard a tiny whisper of worry forming in the back of his mind and squashed it forcibly. His master had felt fear and seemed to have dealt with it. There was no problem.

My lord, he said urgently, it’s time I left. If I’m to reach Pin’ras before the next full moon I must go now.

Yes, yes, quite so, replied Aldar, hoping that his voice did not sound as shaky as he felt. Go and get rid of that…that thing. He jabbed a finger at Emkel.

It’ll be taken care of, my lord, Mortag said, striding to where his horse waited.

Make sure that it is, Aldar muttered.

He watched the general lead his men out through the gate and was relieved when Emkel was finally out of sight. How dare he! How had he the nerve to try something like that, and how had he nearly succeeded?

Aldar had suspected for some time that Celestia had the powerful mind-gift but he had had no idea about the boy. Another secret being kept under his roof, another piece of vital information that he should have known.

How had this happened? Had he become so blinded by overconfidence that he could not see what was happening under his very nose?

Again, he berated himself for not having destroyed Celestia all those years ago. The keeping of secrets was her doing. She was responsible for the boy and if either of them should do anything to ruin his plans he would make her pay.

Pay with her life and her soul, he muttered, retreating into the castle. Her life and soul.

----

Emkel rode in silence behind the general. He made no attempt at conversation, simply watched carefully for an opportunity to escape as his mother had told him. At any other time, he would have enjoyed such an outing. He rarely got the chance to leave Kandar and this was the first time he had been allowed to stay away for more than a day. He wished he had more time to enjoy the scenery. The smells alone were incredibly fascinating to him. The scent of the rain in the air made his nostrils quiver, and the sound of the mud squelching underfoot delighted him. There was so much to take in.

He wanted more time to savour this new experience but was uncomfortably aware of the guards riding behind him and knew that, regardless of being inside or out, he was still a prisoner. What was going to happen to him when they reached Pin’ras? What were Mortag’s real orders concerning him?

The group travelled carefully down the mountain pass in single file. Only on reaching the mouth of the Harsharn Road, did they spread out and increase their speed.

Emkel stopped to look back at Kandar. The castle was so small seen from this distance, like the toy house he had played with as a child; the one Celestia had made. Leaning forward in his saddle, he strained to see his mother’s window and could just make out a flickering yellow light at the top of the south tower. He thought he saw someone move out onto the balcony, and raised his hand. Maybe it was a trick of the light or a curtain flapping in the wind, but he waved anyway.

Come on, boy. We haven’t got all day, Mortag called gruffly.

Emkel turned away sadly, hoping that it had been her on the balcony and that she had seen him. Unable to explain it, he felt that he was never going to see her again. His heart ached in a way he had never before experienced. His chest was tight and it was a struggle to breathe. Riding up next to the general, he matched his pace. He stared straight ahead, fiercely concentrating on the road and blocking out every other sight. His eyes were wet and hot but he refused to let the general see him cry.

Mortag glanced across surreptitiously. The youth showed no sign of apprehension and gave no indication of attempting to bolt. Mortag faced the front again and patted his horse’s head. He smiled grimly to himself, thinking of how he would do the deed he had been set. He wanted to get the boy far enough away from the castle but not allow him to get too close to Pin’ras before making his move. He did not want to give Emkel any chance to learn what was really going on in that city. If he did, he was bound to attempt an escape and, if he were successful, he would most assuredly return to his mother. That Mortag could not allow.

Celestia was an interfering, disruptive and dangerous element. She alone could not stop Aldar, but she was trouble. Mortag would have disposed of her years ago but Aldar seemed to tolerate her presence. Something Mortag had never understood. He sometimes wondered if Aldar genuinely loved his wife. It was the only reason he could think of to explain her continued existence.

Mortag looked over at the boy again. Whatever Aldar’s feeling for the woman, he had no problem with killing her child. Why he had not done it himself was something of a mystery but Mortag knew when to ask questions and when to keep his mouth shut, and had wisely refrained from questioning his master about this point. If Aldar did not want to get his own hands dirty then that was fine with him. After all, killing was what he lived for. A child was not much sport but would suffice as a small taster before the coming war.

Smiling with anticipation, he caressed the hilt of his sword with all the tenderness of a lover.

----

Nearly six hours later, with the sun blazing down on them, Mortag raised a hand. The horses came to a stop and the men leapt down from their mounts, stretching their legs thankfully.

We’ll rest here a moment, the general commanded. Eat something and take your horses to the river. This is your only chance for them to drink until we reach Pin’ras itself.

He motioned Emkel to stay close to him as they led their horses to the river. As the horses lapped greedily at the water, Emkel kept his eye on the general. A sense of urgency was building inside him. Every instinct told him that now was the time to run, but the general made no threatening moves so he waited.

Mortag returned the boy’s suspicious gaze with one that gave no clues as to what he was thinking. He smiled warmly and backed away. Sitting down on the stump of an old tree, he turned his face to the sun and closed his eyes. The boy relaxed somewhat and he flexed the fingers on his sword hand, and waited for the moment.

Mortag believed that any good soldier, or assassin, would always wait for the moment before striking. This was that special fraction of time when all the conditions were right. The prey had been isolated or surrounded. It might be physically or emotionally tired, maybe even injured in some way. Then a good warrior with intelligence as well as strength would wait for the light of hope to leave their prey’s eyes, and only then would they attack.

Mortag’s moment was nearly here. The boy had no knowledge of what was coming. Oh, he was certainly suspicious, but that was not enough to prepare someone for a fight to the death. His guard was lowering, slowly. Mortag narrowed his eyes and waited. Almost, he thought. Almost.

----

Turning away from the general’s steady gaze, Emkel returned to his horse. Exposing his back was risky but he had to do something to force Mortag’s hand, to push him to make the first move. He had to be the one controlling the situation because only then would he stand a chance of winning. Wandering slowly to the edge of the river, he bent down to take a drink. He placed a hand on the ground by his horse’s feet, and waited anxiously.

Seconds ticked by. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of dry leaves crackling underfoot. Tensing, he reached out, slowly wrapping his fingers around a broken tree branch. It looked sharp enough and he gripped it tightly. The heavy footsteps came nearer. Mortag must have thought he was deaf to be walking so loudly or perhaps just confident of victory. He was, after all, an experienced soldier with some serious weaponry. All Emkel had was a stick and his mother’s urgent warning blaring in his mind.

He glanced briefly into the water. Mortag was now only ten feet away. If he were going to make a move, it would have to be now.

With a cry, he lunged towards the horse, striking the creature across its snout, wincing at the pain he caused it. Badly startled, the animal shrieked and reared up on its hind legs, before turning and running away – in the general’s direction as Emkel had hoped.

Mortag stared open-mouthed as the animal charged towards him, for a moment shocked into immobility. It was only when the horse was close enough for him to smell that he was yanked from his daze. Then he ran.

Moving fast for a large man, he sprinted up the side of a grassy embankment, before coming to a halt by a clump of trees. Choosing the largest one, he shinnied up it like a monkey and perched himself on the strongest branch.

After taking a few giant lungfuls of air, he took stock of the situation. He had to admit that he had not seen it coming, and he did not mean the horse. He now saw why Aldar had been so concerned about the boy. He was young but quite resourceful, and very obviously not about to give up so easily. The chase was going to be more exciting than he had hoped.

He bared his teeth in a wolf-like grin and dropped his hand to the hilt of his dagger. This kill required a little more finesse. The sword was too crude a weapon for such an inventive foe. The dagger was more intimate. It would allow him to get up close and personal, and he wanted to be close enough to taste the sweat on the boy’s brow when the death took him.

----

Emkel lay on