The Greylands: Volume VII

By Susan Skylark

A land of shadows, of mystery, of obfuscated Truth. Welcome to the Greylands, that strange world, within the bounds of Time, peopled by mortal men. We cannot see truly, only as through a glass, darkly. There are things that move and have their being completely beyond our ability to perceive them. There are things beyond our mortal ability to comprehend. There are hints and glimmers hidden within the body of revealed Truth, but there is much we do not know, cannot yet understand, and could never dare dream. These stories are mere fancy, with a seed of Truth at their core. They play with the ideas of mortality and Eternity, Time and things beyond it, and of course the epic battle of Good against Evil. Each stands alone, and though there are common themes, threads, names, and concepts, each story is an entity unto itself and should not be seen as occurring in the same world or mistaken for installments of a series. These are random musings, not Gospel Truth, and should not be taken as such. Joy, hope, and encouragement are hopefully a byproduct, but certainly not sound Theology. If you would know more of the true world beyond these Greylands, one must be a careful student of the Scriptures, not of silly stories such as these.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Skylark
• Release date: Jun 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311195357

Susan Skylark

Once upon a time there was a sensible young lady who pursued a practical career, but finding it far less fulfilling than the proponents of the modern fairytale promulgate, she then married a clergyman, much to everyone’s astonishment, including her own, and in proper fairytale fashion keeps house for the mysterious gentleman in a far away land, spending most of her time in company with a very short, whimsical person who can almost speak English. She enjoys fantasy, fairy tales, and adventure stories and her writing reflects this quaint affectation. She considers Happy Endings (more or less) a requisite to good literature and sanity, though real stories never, truly end.

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The Greylands: Volume VII

Susan Skylark

Copyright 2016 Susan Skylark

Smashwords Edition

Revised 2019

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Table of Contents:

Upon the Stone

Marked

Other Books by this Author

Sample Chapters

Author’s Note: These are independent stories, though names and themes may be similar, there is no relation between them.

Upon the Stone:

The door creaked ominously on its single hinge in the driving wind while the disapproving clouds glowered uncomfortably overhead, low enough that one might almost reach up and touch their leaden gray fleece. The stone beneath his feet was black as a moonless night with no star for comfort or guide, and so was the bulk of the ruined fortress that hulked before him. He took an involuntary step back, ready to flee at the slightest provocation, and there were many in this dreadful place, but he had not come all this way to back down. He took a deep, steadying breath, caught hold of the thudding door, and stepped into the fortress. His heart gave such a lurch that he thought it might very well give out in terror, for what waited within was far worse than anything that had unsettled him without. The broken wall formed a ring, enclosing a floor of rough-hewn rock with a gory stone in the center the only feature; upon the fractured and uneven wall a hundred skulls grinned wryly from their perch. The macabre accouterments alone were enough to send the boy running, but the creature occupying the bulk of the space was even worse.

The door slammed shut behind him, otherwise he would have fled that very moment, but he was trapped in this ring of death with a creature whose head was level with the crumbling wall, which stood as tall as a man and then half again as high. Its yellow, piggy eyes glowed slightly with hunger and vile intent while a cruel sneer marred its face, revealing too many pointed, greenish teeth. It clutched a fell axe in arms as big around as a horse’s leg and howled at him in a voice whose merest whisper would send a seasoned Knight slinking away in terror. Darkly it laughed, lay down your head boy and rest a moment, then I’ll gnaw your bones and add your skull to my collection! Is this not why you came? Its mockery faded into chiding laughter that sent a chill of horror up the lad’s spine. He looked uneasily back at the door but knew there could be no escape.

The thing laughed again, worse this time if that were possible, and motioned towards the door, which then creaked slightly ajar, continued he in a voice full of scorn, run if you will, little coward! Braver, stronger, and wiser folk than you have done just that! Its laughter bit like a lash as the boy took a step towards his salvation, but he shuddered and forced himself to move towards the Stone, still wet with the blood of the last victim. The ogre quit laughing and sneered at the boy, still here are we? Then let’s get on with it, shall we? Taking a deep breath, the boy knelt before the grisly rock and laid his neck upon the altar. The monster laughed mirthlessly and hefted the axe. The boy heard the ogre’s grunt as it swung, he tensed for the blow, and then all was silence.

The boy blinked, wondering what had happened. He waited for what seemed an eon, but still nothing happened. At last, he raised his head and glanced about, blinking once more in utter astonishment. Gone was the crumbling ruin and its grisly collection, there was no axe wielding monster tensed for the kill; the clouds were high and thin, a veil over the first bold stars, and away in the west a golden band, fringed in pink and scarlet, bade the sun farewell. The Stone still lay before him however, glistening black in the twilight with fresh blood. He shuddered and wondered why it was he lingered in this place or why he had come at all.

Will your heart fail you even now, child? came a voice, gentle and warm as a summer evening.

He looked up into eyes so deep he might well drown therein and rejoice at his fate. Here were power, wisdom, strength, joy, humor, beauty, wonder, and so many things for which he had no name: deeper and broader and wider than the universe itself. Yet there was sorrow too, a sense of grief so great that it might well rend the world asunder, yet it was willingly borne, for it was the very price of Love. He shivered now in wonder, awe, and with an overwhelming sense of smallness, insignificance, and wretchedness, yet he knew that to this Person, he was immensely dear. So precious that He would spill out His own Life to rescue this hapless child of men from his own folly, and so He had done. The boy glanced again at the Stone and at last understood its significance, the importance of this place. He shuddered in abject dread, who was he to tread this sacred ground? The very reason for his coming was forgotten. He was a fool! A proud, cringing fool! He looked again into those fathomless eyes but found no condemnation there, only an amused smile that seemed to say, ‘do not be silly child, you could not come had I not Called you.’

The boy trembled in relief and joy while simultaneously flinching at his own wretchedness. Those eyes now held grief indeed, but hope glimmered just beneath the surface and love suffused it all. He whispered like the stars in their silent chorus above, I can take it, everything, but you must give it willingly and receive what I shall give in its stead.

The boy’s heart cried, ‘yes,’ even as his mind quailed, "but what if...?’ He silenced his overcautious mind as his soul cried out the more. The Man’s eyes fell to the bloody Stone and the boy’s gaze followed after. He blanched in horror, but knew what it was he must do. There was no other way, the price was too great, he could not pay it himself, the blood of Another was all that would suffice and it had been freely given. Now it must be as freely received. He steeled himself, looked once more into those wonderful eyes, radiant with Joy, and took the blood shed on his behalf upon his tongue. The world went dark and then there was nothing but Light.

The light vanished in the west, the stars shone brightly above, and a little wind laughed and danced upon that silent mountaintop, keeping tryst with that lonely Stone.

Bayard blinked blearily awake to the familiar cacophony of sparrows squabbling amongst themselves in the thatch above him; he sighed heavily, it had been a dream, nothing more. A long, grueling journey of a dream with a horrid crescendo and a wondrous finale, so wonderful that he deeply regretted his return to waking life. He smiled ruefully to himself, wondering if he had the courage to set out on a months’ long journey across vast stretches of wild and foreign country, all for the sake of a legend, and then to abandon everything he was, or thought he was, and embrace a philosophy so backwards to the way the world actually worked. He laughed again, but there was little heart in it, for some deep part of him wished acutely that it could be true. What else did he have to look forward to? He must accompany his half-brother on a journey no less arduous than his imagined trek, and once it was accomplished, he had no hope of a noble purpose or a worthy cause, merely a different life of toil and obscurity, exactly what he had here, just with a change of address. He sighed heavily once more, brushed the worst of the straw from his person, and descended from the drafty garret that was his bedchamber.

He hastened outside to begin his chores, knowing they must set forth today but not before his work was done. Sitting impudently on one of the buckets he meant to use to fetch water was a magpie, preening himself as if he had not a care in the world. The boy shook his head at the foolish creature’s lack of vigilance and tried to shoo the pesky bird away, but it would not be shooed. It simply ceased its attention to its feathers and gazed at him with its too knowing eyes. The boy fell to his knees in astonishment; he knew those eyes and they had no place in the head of this small carrion fowl. The bird seemed to smile, ruffled its feathers eagerly, and then cocked His head at the stymied youth, laughed He like all the brooks in the world, a dream indeed! Come child, you cannot call something a dream just because it is incomprehensible to your current sensibilities: miracle would be far more apt. Yes, you did set forth on a journey of some months’ duration and then had a strange encounter on a certain mountaintop, and yes this is the morning after you set out. You are in very truth in two places at once, but what is that to the One who invented Time?

He flitted from His perch on the bucket to the boy’s shoulder and continued conversationally, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to walk about with the Creator of the Universe in avian form upon one’s shoulder, take up your buckets lad, the day wastes. I can speak as you work. I know you fled this place to avoid just such a fate, but you must accompany your brother on this journey, even as your other self is off to climb a certain mountain. Last night you gave yourself fully to Me and this is what I would have of you, distasteful as if might seem to you at the moment. There is far more at work here than a simple dispute between brothers or the favor a father might show to one son but not the other. If you regret what you have done, now is the moment of your escape. He cocked his head in question and felt a shudder of horror rack the lad’s thin frame as a look of terror in his eyes asked if he could truly be thus forsaken.

The magpie chirruped a laugh, nay lad, I will not cast you aside, only you can do that. I merely offer you a chance of escape, if you regret what it is you have done, for things will grow far stranger and more difficult once you embark upon this quest. Your soul is utterly doomed without Me, but I keep none against their will; each must choose his own fate. You can scorn Me, but I shall never forsake you. Will you do as I ask? The boy nodded, wide-eyed and eager, even as he went about the mundane tasks to which he had daily attended for most of his life. The magpie squawked in joy, flitted into the air, and vanished into the trees that encroached upon the village. The boy stared after in wonder, but shook himself and returned to his chores ere the neighbors carried word to his mother that he was daydreaming when he should be attending to his work. Rejoicing for no reason any one else could comprehend, Bayard went about his business and had his tasks finished ere his half-brother Tyne had even arisen from his bed. And most astonishing of all, he was actually looking forward to the journey he had once fled home to escape.

Tyne frowned at him as he emerged from his own room, wondering what the fool was so excited about. Anything that caused this much anticipation on the part of his elder half-brother must be quickly quashed on general principle, the fatherless wretch did not deserve to be happy, and more importantly, because Tyne enjoyed nothing more. Snarled he, what are you so excited about?

Bayard froze in terror, was it that obvious? His heart gave another of those disconcerting lurches, but a more sensible voice whispered in his heart, ‘none can pluck you from My hand.’ He relaxed visibly and turned slowly to face his brother, schooling his features to neutrality, said he, are you not eager to be gone? Do you not grow weary of life here? Come, brother! Our journey awaits!

Tyne roared, never call me that! We may be born of the same woman but that is the end of our relationship. I am the Rider’s son; you belong to no one. As for the journey, what right have you to be excited? Only toil and servitude await you there, exactly what you have always known here. There can be little difference. Now go finish our preparations while I take my morning meal.

Bayard did not recoil in terror and shame as he once might have done, for he knew to Whom he belonged, regardless of what awaited him at journey’s end, and somehow, that made all the difference. Tyne stared at this unaccustomed lack of flinching and even went so far as to gape when the boy nearly skipped off to begin preparations for their journey. He shook himself, grumbled violently under his breath, and went to see if his mother had breakfast ready yet. She greeted him warmly upon his entering the kitchen and immediately set food before him, though unsettled as he was, he barely touched it. She watched him with worried eyes, wondering if his unease came of second thoughts about the perilous journey that lay before him. He felt her eyes upon him, scowled at her maternal weakness, and stormed from the room. She hastily set his chair upright, attended to his untouched food, and went back to her own tasks, knowing it was unwise to press her son further upon his disquiet.

Bayard entered a few minutes later and asked after provisions for their journey. She studied the boy quietly, hiding her surprise, for she had never seen him so overtly cheerful, especially on the eve of a departure she knew he did not relish. She told him where to find the supplies she had carefully prepared and then asked as casually as she could, what has Tyne in such a foul mood this morning?

Bayard actually grinned wryly, shrugged his shoulders, and said, you will have to ask him; we are not exactly confidants. Sensing the reason for the lady’s disquiet, he added, the journey is not the issue, madam, rather I fear my own behavior has somehow upset him. She sighed in relief, bid him take the food, and be gone. He sighed resignedly, took up the sack of food, and withdrew with a polite nod. She stonily watched him go and returned to her work with a lighter heart, knowing Tyne was simply being Tyne, always annoyed by something his elder sibling said or did, or failed to do. Which set her to wondering why her eldest son was suddenly so comfortable in his own skin and at peace with his once despised fate? It was a strange world indeed.

Tyne returned some hours later, still grumbling to himself, but less agitated. Bayard had just put the final touches on their packing and looked to his half-brother expectantly. Snarled he, finished at last are you? Took you long enough. I will tell my mother we are leaving and then we shall be off. Bayard nodded silently as their mother emerged from the house, summoned by Tyne’s voice. Tears glistened unshed in her eyes but she said nothing of her own distress, rather she put on a brave face and wished her youngest son a quick and uneventful journey, sent greetings to his father, and asked if there was aught she could yet do for him.

She turned to Bayard, and said in her stern, matronly way, stay out of trouble, mind your manners, and listen to your brother. She nodded once in approval at her own good sense, smiled warmly at Tyne, and then stood upon the doorstep to watch their departure.

Bayard then tried to wrestle the ungainly pack onto his back, an exercise Tyne could not be bothered to assist, but finally got the thing in place. Tyne gave him an exasperated look, took up his own small satchel, and set off with Bayard following after like some bipedal pack animal. Their mother raised a kerchief to her eyes, waved it vigorously as Tyne marched off, and then withdrew into the house to weep in earnest. Bayard turned a last glimpse upon his childhood home, felt no deep sense of loss, and followed silently after into the brightening day.

If the journey had had any other destination or some other companion, it would have been merry enough to satisfy any boy of an adventurous spirit and age. The weather was fine, the scenery bewitching, and they met very little in the way of discomfort or danger upon the way. But Tyne was a grim, condescending companion at best, and a tyrant the rest of the time. No sensible person went willingly to the capital city of Gormanth, only desperation, force, or necessity drove folk thither, but thence did Tyne go, eager to embrace his destiny, while Bayard was given no choice in the matter. As a child with no known father, his fate was to live and die as little more than a nameless slave, wholly dependent on the forbearance of others for even this meager existence. While Tyne was a son of the acclaimed and dreaded Rider, Bayard was nothing and no one, and could never be. Save that a small voice sang in his inmost heart, you are Mine, I know your name, and you are more than life to Me. It was this minor detail that made the journey bearable to Bayard, and even gave it some semblance of joy, though it was still fraught as often as not with its share of misery, though he found he could now tolerate it far more easily than he once had, which irked his brother no end.

Bayard did not fault his mother for her harsh treatment of himself and the fawning indulgence with which she regarded his brother. She was merely following the strictures laid down by society and the patterns her own mother had taught her as a girl, not to mention the expectations of Tyne’s esteemed sire. In her eyes, she had only one true son, thus Bayard was merely a servant, an inconvenience best ignored, an embarrassment left over from a youthful indiscretion and the less noticed the better. Tyne was more than happy with this arrangement, and voluntarily, and perhaps far too eagerly, saw to it that Bayard ever and always was kept in his place. Thus it was that his newly born confidence and inexplicable, deep-seated joy unsettled Tyne no end. What right or reason had the wretch to be happy? How could he carry himself as if he owned the world when he could not claim even his soul as his own? The truth that Tyne could not comprehend was that the Owner and Maker of everything had called Bayard child, and thus he was in a way, the possessor of far more than any mortal mind can imagine. But most important of all, he knew Whose he was. He had a place and a purpose and a name, something of which he had never before been possessed, and it filled him with a joy his being could hardly contain.

Tyne was about as joyous a companion as a bear with toothache, and perhaps an ulcer besides. Though he was drawing daily closer to his destiny, the day when all would look to him as they once looked upon his father, he found himself discontent, frustrated, and utterly wretched. His brother’s reasonless joy annoyed him, how could the wretch be happy when he had nothing, never had and never would? And yet Tyne was disconsolate, when he literally had the whole world before him. It was perplexing, it was unfair, and it made his usually grim demeanor far worse, but the more dreadfully Tyne treated his brother, and the more graciously he bore it, the worse his humor became; it was a vicious cycle and solely their arrival in the outlying villages surrounding Gormanth spared them both from fratricide. With journey’s end so near, Tyne smiled eagerly for the first time in months, feeling as if his destiny had arrived at long last, though there would still be years of hard work, plotting, and waiting to accomplish before he achieved his heart’s desire. He would supplant his father and be the next Rider, after all he was his father’s son, was he not?

They both looked about them in wonder and a little dread, they had never seen so great a city nor so many people, and they were only on the outskirts; they had not even reached the city itself. Tyne asked directions of a portly baker, who scowled at the insolent youth but directed him away from the city proper, said he with a shudder, his Lordship doesn’t dwell within the confines of the city. He wants and needs more room and privacy than Gormanth can afford. Follow this road out of town and you’ll come upon his castle before sunset, if you hurry. Tyne grunted in response and set off as quickly as he could manage in the pressing crowd. The baker shook his head in exasperation and turned his attention back to the insipid woman who could not quite decide which type of bun she required to impress her guests.

Bayard trudged on as patiently as the mule he felt, ever following Tyne’s hasty footsteps, though grateful that his pack had lightened as their food dwindled and strangely glad not to find their destination within this grim city, though who knew what to expect within the castle of such a dreadful person as rumor held his Lordship to be? At least in this city, there were other people about who had little or nothing to do with their sovereign, at least if they could help it. Within the man’s own abode, would there be anyone not held in his sway? With a last, reluctant look at the dwindling city behind them, he turned his gaze to Tyne’s eagerly striding form and wondered what waited at journey’s end. That Voice sang out anew, whatever betide, I am always with you and await beyond all things. He sighed, but this time in contentment, and plodded onwards.

True to the baker’s words, they stood at the gates of a forbidding castle as the sun hastily vanished behind the distant hills. Bayard watched it go with a heavy heart, knowing there would be little enough of light or joy within this grim abode. Tyne was busy arguing his case with the gate guards, expecting all to fall prostrate before him when he announced himself the son and heir of the Rider. Scoffed one of the guards, get in line, boy. The man has more sons than most villages have people. If what you say is true then you shall have your hearing, until then keep silent and leave your betters in peace. The boy gaped like a stranded fish, aghast at both this revelation of his own insignificance and to be so treated by a man he had only moments before looked upon as an unimportant menial. Bayard actually felt sorry for his brother, his whole life people had told him he was important and special and he had never questioned their judgment; to be told bluntly by a man that you assume to be your inferior, especially after a months’ long journey, that you are nothing special must come as quite a shock. The guard used the silence of the boy’s continued astonishment to say, you can spend the night with the gate keeper and someone will hear your case when an opportunity presents itself. Now off with you!

Bayard took Tyne by the shoulder and steered him in the direction the man had indicated, for once in his life Tyne did not resist or insult his brother but went as docilely as a blind ewe following the flock. Bayard knocked upon the door, briefly told their tale to the unassuming man who answered the summons, and then guided his speechless brother inside when the man stepped aside. He shut the door firmly behind them and pointed them to a pallet off to one side of the room, where Bayard immediately shucked off his burden and then returned to his silent and unmoving brother, still agape with shock and indignation.

The gatekeeper studied the boy with a pitying smile and said, just found out he wasn’t the only son of the Rider did he? Bayard nodded and the man shook his head, a pity they have to learn such a hard truth at so vulnerable a moment. The man could at least tell his countless offspring that they are far from unique. He glanced about uneasily, smiled conspiratorially, and said, but I think he enjoys the cruelty of it far more than he cares about the welfare of any of his offspring or even the entire get. What of you lad?

Bayard shook his head and said with an ironic smile, according to our mother I have no father at all.

The man nodded matter-of-factly and said, perhaps a better lot than your stymied half-brother there. At least you had no grand aspirations to destroy, but still a wretched lot in its own right. You’ll find nothing but toil and death here lad, I’d get me gone as quick as may be.

Bayard smiled wryly, that was my intent sir, in fact I did run away from this very journey, but I found myself back where I began and bidden hither by One I dare not disoblige.

The man smiled grimly, then well met indeed lad, though it will be a dangerous and difficult life in which you will soon find yourself, but if He has set you this task, it shall be worthwhile indeed. He glanced uneasily at Tyne, who still stared blankly and whose mouth moved in unuttered curses, he shook his head sadly and then continued, we had best make your brother as comfortable as we can. His lot is far more pitiable than your own, but not beyond our Master’s ability to redeem, if only he will let Him.

Bayard shook his head sadly at the miniscule possibility of that ever being the case, but leapt to his brother’s aid, smiling in spite of himself to have already discovered one friend within this forsaken place. He marveled at the thought, for he had never had a friend in his entire life, and smiled all the more. Thankfully Tyne was oblivious to all but his own problems, so Bayard’s renewed mirth could not further dampen his spirits. They put the unresisting boy to bed, still murmuring incoherently to himself, and then withdrew to the far side of the room where a fire blazed upon the hearth.

They drew up a pair of ancient chairs as Bren asked of the lad, so you have come at our Master’s behest? The lad nodded eagerly and the man nodded grimly, continuing, I wonder what this portends? Are we to see the end of his Lordship’s rule and that horrid Beast as well? Bayard shuddered involuntarily at mention of the Dragon. The man said quietly, right you are to be afraid lad, it is a dreadful thing to lay eyes upon the Monster. But in his own way, his Lordship is far worse. Do you know aught of him? The boy shook his head and the man continued, aye, he’s a wizard, a warlock most vile. He has reigned for five hundred years uncontested and uses the Beast to maintain his rule. The Rider is merely a man and is replaced every twenty years or so, when the former model wears out or is betrayed. There’s blood magic in the mix, there is no other way his Lordship could live so long or maintain control of such a beast.

Bayard asked with wide-eyes, what will come of my brother, and of myself?

Bren glanced uneasily into the fire and then met the lad’s worried frown, if your brother is as he claims, a true son of the Rider, and can prove it, he will be given a black tabard and admitted into the keeping of the castle guards for training in the warrior arts. One day he will join the guard or perhaps become a Knight, or he may even replace the Rider himself. He paused and looked sadly at the boy, you will undoubtedly be given a brown tabard and given into the care of the Steward. You will serve as a menial, drudge, or scullion with no hope of rising higher than a mere page, but few who wear the Brown remain in residence long enough to achieve even that. They tend to vanish within a year or two of their admittance into such service. I fear his Lordship makes a more sinister use of such lads than mere drudgery. Bayard shuddered again and the man was silent in grim contemplation.

Bren shook his head and continued, but if our Master has called you here lad, there is certainly a reason for it. He studied the boy and frowned, you have seen the Stone. It was not a question.

The boy blinked in confusion, said he, have not all who call upon the Name?

The man laughed heartily, nay lad, few are bold enough or free enough to make that journey. I have never been farther than a day’s walk from this place; I serve even as my father and grandfather before me, though I leave no son to follow after me. Any who wish may cry out for our Lord’s mercy and receive it, but a very few feel called to journey afar and seek something far greater than any mortal mind can comprehend. What is it you have found lad? There are rumors, legends, myths, but I have never heard the truth of the matter.

The boy grinned ruefully, I was hoping you could tell me. I hardly know what it is I have done, but eagerly do I await the full revelation. Said he more seriously, how does his Lordship look upon such matters, it cannot be kindly? Are there others of our persuasion in this forsaken place?

The man smiled broadly, aye lad, right on both counts. His Lordship need not know everything that passes in a man’s heart and mind, and if he should find out about our little secret, well it won’t be just the brown clad scullions that mysteriously disappear. There are a few of us about, but we are a cautious lot, as you might imagine.

The boy frowned, how is it you felt inclined to reveal yourself to me? How can you serve such a tyrant?

The man smiled to himself at the lad’s revelation of his naiveté, we each must serve where we are called lad; the world would be a terrible place indeed if we only aided righteous men. We have the privilege to shine the light into the otherwise impenetrable darkness of this place, for our Master calls all men to Himself, not just the good and the true. How will they know if they do not hear? As to why I trusted you from the first? That I do not know, it just felt right. Perhaps it is because you have seen the Stone and our Master’s hand is firmly upon you, thus do I find myself inexplicably trusting you from the very moment you entered my door? Who knows, but it is no coincidence.

The boy pondered this for a long moment, frowned in consternation, and asked, you mentioned something about the end of the Beast and his Lordship’s reign?

The man nodded, it is one of those legends I spoke of, or perhaps it is a mere rumor or even true Prophecy, who am I to say? But it is said that when his Lordship came to power, after a long and brutal war, a prophet arose from amongst the people and denounced his bloody assumption of the throne. It is said the vociferous man was seized at his Lordship’s behest and was never seen again among living men, but before his disappearance, he uttered these words, your undoing will come in a guise you least expect. From among the humblest shall he come, yet he has seen wonders of which the greatest cannot boast. Love will overthrow all that hate and greed have wrought; it shall quench the very fire of the Beast. Of course at that time, there was as yet no Monster, so if the words were faithfully recorded, at least that much of the prophecy has come true. The Dragon eventually came and one day let us hope it shall be no more, perhaps soon.

The boy grinned in spite of himself, it all sounded so grand and epic, and certainly a thing far beyond his meager capabilities, but what did that matter to One who sent stars hurtling from their courses with a mere thought? Vague as it was, it could mean anyone or anything, but if he was to be part of it, why not? There had been far stranger heroes in the history of the world and far greater tales. He would do whatever was asked of him and watch eagerly as the full tale unfolded. They talked a bit more of things less epic and then retired, knowing morning could not be far off. And in this they were quite correct, for only a few hours later there came a great pounding upon the door of the humble cot, which jolted them all awake.

The banging continued and then the door flew open just as the gatekeeper was about to open it; Bren was flung against the wall by the force of the suddenly opening door. He lay stunned for a moment, but hastily gained his feet and bowed respectfully to the primly dressed man and two guards who entered his miniscule abode. It was quite crowded but no one dared complain. At least Tyne seemed coherent this morning, if a bit subdued and sulky. The stranger said snidely, which of you pathetic creatures dares command my attention? The lads exchanged an uneasy look and the man snarled, which of you lays claim to the Rider as his sire?

Tyne trembled visibly and said in a forced whisper, I do.

The man nodded curtly and said, then present your proof.

The boy dashed to his satchel, rummaged around with shaking hands, and produced a roll of parchment.