The Keep of Shadows: Volume One of the Usurper Trilogy

By David J. Boseke

The Nations of the Young Kingdoms had not felt the anguish of war for nearly twenty years. Now, with a massive barbarian army poised to invade Aljamin, just one walled city, Akaar, guards the large Kingdoms borders. The city lies exposed and vulnerable to invasion. Defenseless.

With their land in chaos, Sinjin Storm and his trusted companions set out to rally allies to help defend their country. Taken under the wing of Sorrell Tovaal, a powerful wizard, Storm begins to have visions and is beset with questions. Mysterious occurrences confound his questions as long-held secrets begin to be revealed. With unwavering courage, Storm encounters assassins, beasts, and dark figures from the Dead Wood forest that seem bent on his destruction.

As the invasion intensifies, Storm and his allies realize the barbarian hordes are merely pawns in a war between two powerful, yet parallel worlds. The Young Kingdoms quickly realize that dark forces are working furiously in this other world, poised and waiting for the chance to bring an age of darkness and chaos to the human world. Storm must quickly discover and develop his powers as a wizard and his courage as a man. Only then can he master the only force capable of sealing the breech between the two worlds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 4, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595611744

David J. Boseke

David J. Boseke lives in Missouri with his wife Patty and nephew Riley. He is currently working on book two of the Usurper Trilogy, Secrets of the Ancients.

Book preview

The Keep Of Shadows

Volume One of the Usurper Trilogy

David J. Boseke

iUniverse, Inc.New York Bloomington

The Keep Of ShadowsVolume One of the Usurper Trilogy

Copyright © 2009 by David J. Boseke

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-0-595-49611-2 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-0-595-50029-1 (cloth)

ISBN: 978-0-595-61174-4 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 1/20/2009

Contents

Prelude – The Fall Of Chronin

Part 1:

Chapter 1: The King’s Road

Chapter 2: Darkness In Akaar

Chapter 3: Shadows In The Mist

Chapter 4: Winds Of War

Chapter 5: Secrets In Common

Chapter 6: Dreams, Premonitions, And Déjà Vu

Chapter 7: In The Court Of King Rajin

Chapter 8: Return Of The Swordmaster

Chapter 9: Beast

Chapter 10: Siege

Chapter 11: Unexpected Allies

Part 2:

Chapter 12: Aftermath

Chapter 13: Different Paths

Chapter 14: Signs

Chapter 15: Spinning The Web

Chapter 16: Curse Of The Ancients

Chapter 17: Walking In Shadow

Chapter 18: The Wizard Council

Chapter 19: Sea Of Dawn

Chapter 20: The Path Of Light

Chapter 21: Queen Of Thieves

Chapter 22: Forge Of The Sun

Part 3:

Chapter 23: River Passage

Chapter 24: A Sad Departure

Chapter 25: Dragon Lord

Chapter 26: River Of Blood

Chapter 27: Eyes Of Darkness

Chapter 28: The Dead Wood

Chapter 29: Refuge In Akaar

Chapter 30: Shadows In The Keep

Chapter 31: Into The Depths

Chapter 32: Crossroads

Chapter 33: Malachor

Chapter 34: Reunion

For Mom,

She taught me many things over the years, but here is something she always believed:

Never give up your dreams.

Acknowledgments

I am thankful to many people for their help and support in the creation of this book:

My wife Patricia, for being the best first reader and critic anyone could ask for.

My good friend and proofreader, Theresa Clark, for her wisdom and constructive criticism.

My brother-in-law, Jack Taylor, for doing an excellent job on the cover concept and art.

My publisher, for all of their support and guidance through this challenging and exciting project.

In addition, to Cokey, for being my most enthusiastic pre-publication fan.

Prelude – The Fall Of Chronin

Clouds of smoke rolled across the battlefield in waves as Chronin City burned from within its twenty-foot walls of stone. Countless catapult charges sailed over the defenders, flashing through the sky like falling stars toward the heart of the city. Flaming charges splashed against buildings, igniting new fires every few minutes, and illuminating the city in an eerie glow. A battery of four ballistas hammered the city gates with sharpened logs, tipped with steel cones to increase damage. The gates shuddered with each attack, sending a fine spray of mortar dust on the guards that desperately tried to brace the gates from inside.

Erlick could clearly see that his men fought a losing battle. The barbarian hordes from Grimmer Tor had surrounded the city and castle, laying siege to the city gates, while holding the allied forces of Aljamin at bay just west of the city. The King wondered gravely at the absence of the Elven forces. The presence of a few Elven Legions would have likely turned the tides of this battle.

King Erlick felt lost within his own castle. He rose as the savior of the Young Kingdoms just ten years ago, when he defeated Thaddius Rogan and claimed the title of King of Chronin. Now with the Elves absent, and Aljamin unable to break the enemy line, Erlick could see the fall of Chronin and the end to his reign. All that remained was saving his children.

Looking to the pair of polished wooden cribs in the corner of his chambers, Erlick found a new strength and clarity of thought. His attention snapped to the creak of the door as it opened. His father and advisor, Sorrell, entered the room looking almost as grim as Erlick did. His long dark hair, now streaked with grey, hung about his shoulders like a shroud as he approached his son.

A tremendous crash thundered outside the third-floor window, signaling the fall of the city gates. A cheer rose up from the enemy as they surged into Chronin City. A moment later, screams resounded in the distance as defenders died in the Torrian advance. Erlick turned to the window sadly, only to see the siege engines in the distance lurch forward. They rolled steadily toward the open gates, and soon the inner siege of the castle would begin. The castle rested on a rising hill at the center of the city, and surrounded by a second set of walls. However, with the level of technology used today, and the uncanny coordination of the attacks, the secondary defenses would not hold for long.

Do you have some advice for me Father? Erlick asked grimly, brushing the short dark curls from his eyes. Erlick was normally a strong man with a serious face, but now in the midst of despair, he suddenly felt old. Lines of worry creased his face as he thought of his family, and the last chance to save them.

Yes I do, but you will not want to hear it. Sorrell replied, resting his hand on Erlick’s shoulder. It is time to retreat son. Give the Torrians Chronin for now, but save yourself and your children.

No Father. My men are dying today defending their homes, and so will I. You will take the children to safety. They must be saved or the House of Torvaal ends here.

But Erlick, my place is by your side.

This has been my plan all along, which is why I did not allow you to take part in the battle today. You are a very powerful wizard Father, but even with your magic, you could not defeat the entire Torrian army.

Sorrell said, Maybe, but I’ll bet I could have put a dent in it.

I’m sure, Erlick said, locking his father’s gaze, but you are also a member of the Wizard Council, which means that you can use your influence to protect the children. I do not know who leads this army, but I do not believe it is Emperor Toras from Grimmer Tor; their tactics are all wrong. Whoever it is will not stop at Chronin, not with an army this effective.

I will do as you ask son, though I am not happy leaving you behind, Sorrell replied, following Erlick as he prepared to say goodbye to his children for the last time.

Erlick gently lifted his daughter from her bed, wrapping a small blanket around her bare legs. He held her close, shedding a single tear for the loss of his family. Kissing the sleeping girl on the forehead, Erlick gently delivered her to his father.

As the King approached the second crib, he quietly prayed for his son’s survival. He looked down, beaming with pride and said, One day, I know that you will find a way to return home and be King of this land. As Erlick wrapped his son and handed him to Sorrell he said, Promise me Father; one day you will bring my children home.

You have my word son, Sorrell replied solemnly. He closed his eyes, allowing power to build within. Channeling the power with his mind, Sorrell winced at his use of the forbidden spell, but it was the only way to escape from the castle.

A dark mist appeared, beginning to swirl at its center. The dark vortex growing in size and density until it brushed the twelve-foot ceiling, spinning off tendrils of mist against the wooden beams. The rate of spin continued to increase until flashes of light appeared, signaling the gateway’s readiness.

Sorrell looked at his son with pride for another moment as he cradled his grandchildren, and then he turned, stepping into the rift. As his father disappeared into the swirling clouds, the flashes ceased, and the mist began to dissipate, resembling clouds breaking after a storm.

Alone once more, Erlick vowed to take as many Torrians as possible before the end. He reached for the scabbard hanging from hooks on the wall, but before he could even strap the broadsword to his belt, he heard the castle gates explode inward. Swords clashed in the courtyard, and moments later in the lower halls.

Erlick prepared for his final charge with determination. The throne room on the first floor was his objective, knowing that the leader of this invasion would arrive there. Before dying, Erlick wanted to know who was capable of neutralizing his defenses so easily. Brushing beads of sweat from his brow and gritting his teeth in determination, he began to run. The hall echoed with the sound of his boots as he entered the circular staircase. Sounds of battle grew louder as he took the stairs two at a time, and finally emerging on the first floor.

The doors at the end of the hallway led to the throne room, and they stood open. The remaining guards at the main entrance fought bravely, but moments after Erlick reached the throne room, he was alone once more. His army laid dead across the battlefield, and his personal guard lay dead at his feet, but as Erlick looked up, he received his first glimpse of the harbinger of his destruction.

The endless sea of Torrian faces gathered outside the broken doors of the throne room parted, allowing two dark-cloaked figures to approach. Erlick shook with fury as realization dawned on his face. Malachor, why have you betrayed me?

I have betrayed no one, but I have destroyed you Erlick. You did the same thing to my master, Thaddius Rogan, ten years ago, Malachor replied with a spiteful smile. Now tell me, where is Sorrell and your children?

You just missed them Malachor, Erlick said watching the smile fade from the wizard’s lips, and wondering about his silent companion, hiding within the shadows of an oversize cowl.

Malachor motioned for a squad of soldiers to capture Erlick. The King struggled briefly, but was quickly overpowered. Lock him in the dungeon, but keep in mind; I do not want him harmed.

The hooded figure raised a scaled hand to the cowl, hooking long claws in the fabric and pulled back the hood. A gray reptilian face appeared, stretching into a long snout lined with sharp crooked teeth. You have lossst the boy Malachor, the creature replied in a serpentine hiss. It appearsss your quessst for the Ssswords of Power will go on.

Yes Turon, but I am a patient man, and as you know, wizards live a long time, replied the dark-haired usurper as he turned and sat upon the throne of Chronin.

SKU-000067711_TEXT.pdf

Twenty years pass as the Wizard-King of Chronin waited for the children of Erlick to come of age. Malachor knew that he would find them eventually, and then the Swords of Power would be his.

Part 1:

The Battle For Akaar

Chapter 1: The King’s Road

A small crowd stood inside the city gates, surrounding three men and their horses. Storm and his companions were preparing to leave. He said goodbye to his mother and father, then to Tarren’s father, and last he walked over to Sharra. Her long blond curls were blowing in the wind as she watched him approach.

Be careful Storm. I’ll miss you, Sharra said with a tear in her eye. Then she jumped into his arms, holding on as if she would never see him again.

I guess this means you will be going with the other women to the castle. Well I’m glad, at least I’ll know that you are safe, Storm replied as he brushed the tear from her eye.

Yes, but how will I know that you are safe? I won’t even know when you return to Akaar.

Storm suddenly became aware of the entire group glancing over at them, knowing that he was holding up their departure. Sharra, I must be going, but I promise you, the moment I return I will send word to you and my mother that we are safely back in Akaar.

Fair enough, she replied with a forced smile and then she kissed him. I love you, she said as she stepped away, allowing him to join his companions. Storm gazed down at Sharra from his height of over six feet, his long blond hair tied behind his back and his face clean-shaven, giving the appearance of respectability for the son of a governor.

Mounting quickly, Storm joined his companions and the three rode out of Akaar at mid-day as promised. The day had turned out to be bright and sunny so far, but a thick layer of darkening clouds hung ominously over the horizon, in the same direction they were heading. It appeared that it was going to be a long day.

Roving patrols travelled the King’s Road regularly, keeping the peace for the most part; however, thieves and brigands threaten the Young Kingdoms daily. A few thought they could defy the King’s law freely; a few did, but only a few.

One stretch of the Merchant’s Road most thieves would go miles out of their way to avoid, the same one that Storm and his party traveled now. It was not much different from any of the other hundreds of leagues of roadway that circled the Kingdom of Aljamin, except for one thing; this particular stretch skirted the Dead Wood, an area of the Alkira Forrest that the King has declared off limits.

The Dead Wood is the area of forest immediately surrounding Shadowkeep, the castle ruins of Shadowmaster Erimis, an evil Sorcerer that led the Shadow Clan in a war that almost destroyed the Young Kingdoms. A curse lingers over that place, even after all of these years. It was five hundred years to be exact, since Abba Torvaal did battle with Erimis for the future of the Young Kingdoms. Abba won the battle, crushing the Clan that very day, but it cost Abba his life. He lived just long enough to forge the second Sword of Power, or so the story goes. Both of the swords are lost now, and only whispered of in legends, but the curse on the keep and surrounding forest is real enough.

The road that they traveled was a safe distance from the cursed woods, but the danger of animals from that area was always present. They planned to camp at an elbow in the road where it curved around the Dead Wood, angling north toward Tanis. That would put them halfway to Tanis in the first day.

The day wore on as they tried to make time. The pace was swift, which did not allow any kind of conversation, making the trip seem longer than it was. They slowed just long enough to eat a dinner of dried beef and cheese in the saddle, but the pace quickened again soon after, lasting until the campsite was reached just before dusk.

Setting up camp immediately became the boy’s job as Verrin dropped his bedroll and supplies from his saddle, instructing them to set up camp and start a fire for the evening meal. He then jumped back on his horse to scout the area. Though his father had given this mission to Storm, it became apparent who was in charge, and both boys had the sense not to argue with the Swordmaster.

As Verrin rode out of camp, Tarren turned to Storm and said, Now that we have finally stopped riding for a while, do you think you could tell me what we are doing out here? Tarren was about to sit on a large rock, but stood up instead rubbing the seat of his leather breeches thoughtfully. Tarren had been Storm’s best friend and training partner since they were children. Tarren was Storm’s opposite in nearly every way. He was barely six feet tall, but stocky with thick arms and chest, developed during his years of blacksmith training beside his father. His hair was short, dark, and curly, blending into a full beard at his temples.

Sorry Tarren, it’s not a training mission as the Swordmaster told your father, but it was the only way to get you away from the forge in a hurry, and we have no time to waste. My father wants us to find someone who can help us when the Torrians attack Akaar. He’s a wizard by the name of Sorrell Torvaal.

Torvaal, but I thought that family died with King Erlick? Tarren asked, preparing to dig the fire pit.

I know, that’s what we were taught in Kingdom history, but it appears that Erlick’s father still lives. He and my father were friends from the Border Wars.

If there is a Torvaal left, maybe he can help us drive the Torrians back to Grimmer Tor where they belong. The Torvaal family has always fought for the Young Kingdoms.

That’s true Tarren, but for some reason this Torvaal has chosen to let the world believe that the Torvaal line are all dead, and the fact that it is taught in history class should tell you that he has had some word of it by now. Why has he said nothing? asked Storm thoughtfully, dropping an armload of firewood.

It’s like I said, I’ll wager he has a plan to get rid of the Torrians. Think about it Storm; they were blood, and if Malachor killed a son of mine, I would want revenge even if I had to wait twenty years to get it.

I had never thought about it that way, but that could be it. I just hope you’re right, and it is not the lost Torvaal that wants to stay lost. He worked the lump of steel against a piece of flint several times before the sparks caught. Tarren was lashing a tripod together for the stew kettle as Storm blew the thin trickle of smoke into a small orange flame. The kettle was set, filled with water from the water skins, and finally Storm added dried meat and vegetables from their packs. In a short time the stew was bubbling and they were sitting back waiting for Swordmaster Verrin to return.

I think I need to start riding more, I feel sore in places I didn’t know I had, Tarren said, slowly shifting his weight to the other side. A stifled groan punctuated his stiff movement.

I know how you feel, replied Storm, wincing at his own stiffness.

Tarren said, Since Tanis is the only civilized place on this light forsaken road, I take it that is where we are supposed to look for him.

Actually, the last report said he was headed for the Crystal Mountains. Tanis is where my father thinks he will go for supplies, replied Storm thoughtfully, sniffing the stew as he continued stirring.

Do you know how big of an area the Crystal Mountains cover? We could look for weeks and never find him? How old is this report anyway, Tarren asked as he got to his feet stretching.

The report is a year old, but it comes from the Wizard Council at Mystiva, so it must be accurate.

Well, I’m glad your father didn’t give us anything difficult the first time out. And besides, you know the stories about Mystiva; those wizards have their own games to play, and they could care less what happens to us mere mortals, added Tarren shaking his head.

Yes, I’ve heard the stories, but I have also seen my father deal with them in many ways over the years, and they have always done what they said they would do. To me, that counts for something.

Is this Sorrell a member of the Wizard Council, or do they keep tabs on their own the same way they do us?

That is not fair Tarren. How many wizards have you known personally?

Tarren shrugged, None, but that’s not… Tarren’s words cut off in mid-sentence as he felt the cold steel of a dagger press against his throat. Storm jumped to his feet, reaching for the sword at his waist, but he remembering it was lying on the ground next to the log he had been sitting on.

You are both dead! The voice of Swordmaster Verrin growled as he rose from the shadows behind Tarren. You are dead! I hope you understand that concept from this point on, because a Torrian would not give you another chance. You two were arguing loud enough for an entire legion to sneak up on you, and I do not care if this is twenty leagues behind the border. We are at war, and that means anything goes! The only way either of you will stay alive, is to expect the unexpected. I have told you that before, but maybe now you will understand, he said as he sheathed his dagger and leaned over the stew, breathing in the thick, beefy smell. Verrin was a man of long grey hair at the age of fifty, but his movements mirrored that of a twenty-year old.

I am sorry Swordmaster, but this thing has me confused. I know that my father was holding something back, but why, Storm asked, bringing his mind right back to where it had been, and still with no answers.

I do not know why, but I saw it too. If he is holding something back, I am sure it is for the best. Your father is a very wise man.

Storm hesitated a moment, considering what his mentor had said. I know, and I trust him completely. It is just a feeling that I can’t shake.

I have a feeling I can’t shake either, replied Tarren knuckling his back stiffly.

I am trying to be serious Tarren!

I know Storm; you are always trying to be serious. If not that, then you have something on your mind, or something is bothering you. Sharra tells you the same things that I do; you need to lighten up a little, Tarren replied, a bit more sarcastically than he had intended.

Are you sure that you two are friends? Verrin asked, shaking his head and smiling to himself. I mean, the only time you seem to get along is when you are going at each other with swords on the practice field.

Verrin filled himself a bowl of stew and sat down near the fire, his mind obviously shifting to other matters as he scanned the tree line with every bite. A moment later, his students followed his example and each took their turn at the kettle. Other than sounds of the night and spoons scraping plates, the silence was deafening.

The quiet of the night shattered as an inhuman sound, echoed through the woods. A growling roar filled the night. It seemed to be coming from all directions at once, but then it cut off as quickly as it had begun. This time he had his sword, and Tarren had just lunged for his axe a few feet away.

What was that Swordmaster? Storm asked, looking very nervous all of a sudden.

It is one of the poor creatures that wandered too close to the Dead Wood, Verrin replied as he continued working on the bowl of stew. Don’t worry, whatever it is, it is still a ways off.

How can you tell? asked Tarren, returning to his place by the fire.

I have been a tracker for over twenty years. After a while, you acquire a sense for things. You just know: I can’t explain it better than that, Verrin replied, rising to refill his bowl. Eat up boys; morning comes early when you are on the road.

After the meal, they cleaned the dishes and packed everything back on the horses. Storm complained that the horses would not get any rest with the packs still on, but Verrin insisted that if they needed to leave in a hurry, they would not have time to pack them. Reluctantly he repacked the horses and prepared to take the first watch. As he worked, his thoughts returned to Akaar, and he wondered how their own preparations were going. He had no way of knowing how grim things had become, or how little time he had to find this wizard.

Chapter 2: Darkness In Akaar

Aaron Toras walked toward the Governor’s office door, his face grim with the news he had to deliver. A muffled, Come in answered his knock immediately, so he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Ben sat facing the dark window, and sipping a large glass of Antarin Brandy. He did not even seem to be aware that he had said come in, he merely sat, unblinking, sipping his brandy. His short grey hair soaked with sweat and his attention a million miles away. Benjamin Lorren earned the title of Governor of Akaar during the Border Wars, just after the fall of Chronin to Malachor, but now for the first time in his life, Ben did not know what to do.

Sorry to bother you sir, but I’m afraid that I have some bad news. Aaron said with a frown, and then waited for a response. Aaron was the youngest captain in the Aljamin Army. At twenty-three, he was the sole leader of the defense of Akaar. Short blond hair framed his face, with a short-cropped beard and piecing blue eyes added to the mystique of Captain Toras.

After a moment, Ben turned and faced him. He looked haggard and worn; as if he had been awake for days. Yes, I expected something to go wrong tonight. What is it Aaron?

I received a message from Aljamin sir, saying there would be no reinforcements for another two weeks at best. He had this for you sir. Aaron handed Ben a parchment, sealed with the King’s personal stamp.

Ben carefully snapped the wax seal and unrolled the letter. His face remained expressionless as his eyes scanned the document. Aaron watched quietly as Ben read the document a second time. Suddenly the Governor snatched up the parchment, crumpled it so savagely that it looked as if he were wringing out laundry, then he threw the crumpled ball of paper at the wall, barely catching himself before losing his balance.

Do you want to guess what it says Aaron? It says the same thing your message said, that there will be no help from Aljamin for at least two weeks. King Rajin goes on to say that since I was the hero of the Border Wars, I should have no problem holding off the Torrians until reinforcements arrive. Ben was angry, and he emphasized the sentence with a sharp rap on the desktop. His anger had built for some time at the lack of aid from the Kingdom, but no one questions the King’s orders. That is how it had always been, but things were changing, and King Rajin had to change with the times or risk being swept away by them. Ben knew that if he gave voice to any thoughts of this kind, it would be treason and he would land in prison or worse, hero or not.

But that is mad sir. This is a different war and a different situation. How could the King say such a thing? Aaron’s own anger was rising now. He looked up to this man, and now it seemed as if the King of Aljamin was trying to make a fool of him in the eyes of the people.

You realize Aaron, that if anyone but me heard you say that, you would be on trial for treason, Ben added with a smile. The first smile he had seen on the Governor in some time. It almost reminded Aaron of happier days, almost.

What can we do Ben? We have about five hundred men to defend the city, and another five hundred townspeople to protect against an unknown number of Torrians. What chance could we possibly have? And the great King Rajin Lindell knows this, but refuses to help, why? Aaron asked sadly, disgust now showing on his face.

I will tell you what we’ll do Captain; if we are to be left alone in this, then we will start acting alone, Ben said as he rose from his chair and paced the floor thoughtfully.

First, I want you to assign two men to Ahvian. He will need help at the forge with Tarren away. Second, I want a patrol to scout the other side of the Pine River. We do not expect them to attack from the river, but I will take no chances.

Yes sir, replied Aaron, listening carefully to every command. Aaron’s face slowly changed into a smile as he watched a transformation in the Governor before his eyes. This was the man he knew, sure of himself, sure of his commands, and determined to do something about their present situation. What could have reduced this man to what he was when Aaron had entered his office, a man trying to run from his problems in a bottle? This had come on slowly for the past couple of weeks, but getting a little worse each day.

In fact I want scouts dispatched in every direction. They will report when they return for relief every twelve hours. Finally, I want you to supervise weapons training for every citizen who stayed to defend his home. At least they will be able to protect themselves for a time if the Torrians break through into the city. Also, I want bows and arrows distributed to the citizens as well; they can take position on the wall until the gates are breeched. He still pulled at his beard thoughtfully, which told Aaron that he was far from finished making plans.

I will see to it at once Governor. When I have finished making these arrangements, I will check back with you. I can see that there will be more to do soon.

Indeed there will be, and when we have finished with the Torrians, I will find out what is happening in the Court of Aljamin. Aaron looked at Ben questioningly, but Ben simply nodded and smiled. Aaron turned and disappeared through the door.

Ben sat staring at the closing door as thoughts of betrayal, and deception came crashing in on him, wiping the smile away. He gently laid his head down and wondered what had gone wrong, what had led the Nation of Aljamin to this point? Nevertheless, he could come up with no answers.

SKU-000067711_TEXT.pdf

Aaron nodded at the pair of guards stationed outside the office door as he passed, but his pace quickened as he stepped through the second set of doors into the crisp night air. The moon stood full in the sky, with dark clouds passing before it from time to time, but the rains that have been hovering over them all day remained within the clouds.

Aaron was almost through the door of the guardhouse when he heard one of the men on gate watch call out, Riders approaching. Aaron stopped and ran to the base of the massive oak gates.

How many do you see? Aaron called, climbing a ladder to the catwalk at the top of the gates.

It’s a wagon Captain, and four riders. It looks like a merchant’s wagon. Aaron quickly climbed the last few rungs on the ladder. He looked down at the approaching wagon suspiciously, wondering what kind of fool would be traveling the borderlands at night.

I want every archer on this wall to have an arrow knocked, and cover everyone that rides in. It may be a trick to get the gates open. Assemble the archers, and back them up with some townspeople. I’ll meet the wagon at the gates myself, Aaron called to the Gate Commander as he started back down the ladder.

Aaron reached the last rung on the ladder and he was already calling out orders to the men inside the gate. One man ran to inform the Governor, while another headed for the guardhouse to retrieve a squad of lancers. The remaining guards formed a line on each side of the gate to back up the lancers.

With everyone in place, he glanced around once more for the man he sent after the Governor, but he was nowhere in sight. Aaron nodded, signaling the Gate Commander and the huge gates slowly swung open. The archers atop the walls covered the road until the wagon and riders had entered the gates, then they turned and followed them into the city with arrows knocked.

The small caravan rode through quietly. Aaron noticed that each rider wore swords and daggers, but no one reached for a weapon. As the party moved far enough for the guards to swing the gates shut behind them, they were halted once more.

You will all disarm yourselves and hand your weapons to one of my men. They will be returned to you after you have been cleared and not before. Aaron stood watching as the riders surrendered their weapons; even the driver of the wagon produced a dagger.

Suddenly the guards nearest the gate stirred, and the archers above fixed their arrows directly on the rear of the wagon as the door swung open. A strange man of slight build, dressed in a brightly colored shirt and puffed trousers, stepped from the rear of the wagon smiling and holding his arms in the air to show that he was unarmed. Aaron’s first thought was that no man in Akaar would ever wear a shirt like that.

Please, please. We mean no harm. I am but a traveling merchant, and of course these are my guards, the man said as he approached Aaron slowly. He lowered his arms, but never took his eyes from the rigid captain standing before him.

I guessed you to be a merchant, but from where? I do not think I have ever seen clothes so…colorful. In addition, the swords your men carry are curved with the blade widening at the middle, and then tapering to a point. I have seen swords like this only once, in a history book. So tell me where you come from, and what your name is, Aaron asked impatiently as he resheathed the sword that he had been examining.

First of all, my name is Corrigan Geer, and we are from the youngest of the Young Kingdoms known as Kalidor. Have you heard of it Captain? he asked, reaching into a pouch hooked onto his leather belt.

Aaron had his belt dagger to the merchant’s throat in an instant. They stood there frozen as Corrigan removed the folded parchment from his leather pouch. Aaron slowly brought the dagger down as the merchant unfolded the worn paper.

It’s a map Captain, that’s all. Have we done something wrong, sir? I do not mean to be rude, but when we left Kalidor, we had thought that Aljamin would welcome a new trade route. That, in fact, is why we have come so far, to meet with the city governor, and hopefully even the King. We want to establish a permanent trade route with Aljamin. I speak for King Ian Tyrell himself on this matter. Corrigan remained calm, but his tone said that he was becoming irritated, and maybe a little bit worried.

Aaron weighed the man’s words carefully, and then he sheathed his dagger, offering his hand in greeting. I’m sorry for the way you have been treated, but you must understand that with the Torrians preparing for a full invasion any day now, we have to be very careful who we open the gates for.

This got the merchant’s attention. He stood there stunned for a moment, and then he accepted the hand Aaron offered. An invasion you say. We had assumed that they would be happy with Chronin, and settle down peacefully. It seems we were wrong, Corrigan said as he offered the map to Aaron once more.

Aaron accepted the map and held it up, angling it to catch what little moonlight that filtered through the clouds. He examined it carefully for a moment then handed it back to the merchant. Excellent work if it is accurate. I have heard of Kalidor. Your people have shunned every trade offer that Aljamin has ever made. After a time, King Lindell gave up.

I’m afraid that it was planned that way for the reason that if we began to trade with Aljamin, Chronin would hear of it. Until recently, we have not been strong enough to defend our own borders. Grimmer Tor and Chronin have left us alone all of these years because we have not been seen as a threat. The only way to grow strong was to make the rest of the Nations believe that all borders remain closed in the North. As for the map, I assure you that it is completely accurate. I made it myself as I have traveled. That was my second task, to map the Northern Plains and the North Woods so that we could plan a trade route if our proposal was accepted.

I see. I am sure the Governor will want to talk to you, but he has not arrived yet. I will have one of my men show you to the Inn and while you are getting settled, I will see if I can track down the Governor, Aaron replied as he motioned one of the men on gate watch over to him. The man who called himself Corrigan Geer returned to his guards to give them instructions.

Aaron dismissed the lancers and called Watch Commander Borron over to him. Commander, I want these people taken to the Inn and made comfortable, but I want a watch put on all exits. If anyone tries to leave during the night, detain him and send for me immediately. See to that for me Commander, while I find out what happened to the man I sent after the Governor.

Yes Captain, Borron replied, immediately taking charge and spouting orders to the surrounding guards.

Aaron turned and headed for the Governor’s office at a trot. Something was not right with this merchant. He was not sure what, it was just a feeling he had. He claims not to have known that Chronin was preparing for an attack, but how could he not have known? The North Woods extend into Chronin, where he claims they have come from. Although, the North Woods is such a vast area, even Aljamin cannot watch all of it, so what he says is possible.

Aaron turned down the cobblestone path, but as he neared the double doors, thoughts of the merchant disappeared. One of the doors stood slightly ajar, and no guards were visible. He took the steps two at a time while carefully drawing his sword. Opening the door slowly, he saw two guards lying in pools of blood, with their throats cut.

Aaron quickly looked behind him, but all of the soldiers were out of earshot. He had to go in alone in the hopes that the Governor was still alive. What he did not understand was how they had entered the city with all of the gates barred and under guard. Two squads covered the docks as well, leaving only one possibility; whoever had done this had been in the city all along.

Aaron slowly pushed the door wide and stepped through, his sword held at the ready. Not a thing seemed out of place, no chairs overturned, the pictures hung straight, in fact there was no sign of a struggle at all. One detail struck Aaron immediately; neither of the dead guards had even drawn their sword, as if they simply stood there waiting to die.

He took each step into the room more carefully than the last, not sure what to expect. The reception area outside Ben’s office was clear, so carefully Aaron approached the office. Both doors were closed, with light shining through the space under the door. As he reached the double doors, he knelt down to check the keyhole, but nothing was visible.

Slowly he turned the knob, and throwing the door wide, he jumped through. Aaron was stunned at the sight before him. Governor Benjamin Lorren leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed as if sleeping, with a blood-soaked hole in his shirt. The guard he had sent after the Governor lay near the desk. His sword was drawn, and bloodied. So this man had not only seen something, he had fought with someone, and he seemed to have done some damage. However, as he followed the bloody footprints, he found that they ended at a blank wall outside the office. It was as if the assassin had simply walked through the wall.

Chapter 3: Shadows In The Mist

Daybreak came early, and a steady rain began to fall just before dawn. Lightning flashed across the sky shortly after the rain started, and the surrounding forest reverberated with not only the thunder, but with the cries of frightened animals. The eerie cry that they heard the night before had not repeated. Raindrops hissed in the few remaining embers of the previous night’s fire, and to make matters worse, the wind began to whip through the campsite, driving the rain into their faces as they tried to strap their bedrolls onto their saddled horses. Silently Storm thanked Swordmaster Verrin for insisting they repack the horses the night before.

In minutes, the party of three had the campsite cleared, and was ready to begin the long wet ride to Tanis. They hoped to make the city before nightfall, but the wind and the rain would not help their time or riding conditions.

The day was uneventful at first as the seemingly endless road stretched on throughout the morning. The only sounds accompanying them were the droning rain, and their horses clopping on the wet cobblestones of the King’s Road. At mid-day, the rain ended suddenly and was replaced by a fine mist that continued to fall throughout the afternoon. Also with the heat of mid-day and the mist falling, fog was rising from the ground and hugging the sides of the road. The road itself had some tendrils of billowing mist flowing across it on the breeze, adding an eerie effect to the entire day.

Something was strange about the forest today, Storm was not sure what, but he could feel it all around him. He began scanning the tree lines at either side of the road, looking for any kind of movement, but could find nothing. The visibility had improved quite a bit since early morning, but the tree line was as far as sight reached even now. He began to listen then, and he realized the forest was as quite as a graveyard. There were no birds, no animals, and no insects. Even with the rain, the normal sounds were missing.

Storm felt a chill sweep over him, but it was a chill not caused by his rain-soaked clothes. He could feel someone watching them. He remembered people telling stories about how they felt when someone was watching them; how they suddenly got the chills, and that the feeling seems to linger for a while afterward. He had always laughed and said it was an overactive imagination or something, but what he was feeling now was real.

Riding on, Storm dismissed the feelings, but kept a wary eye on the tree line just the same. The feeling ebbed after a few minutes, but would not leave him. He forced his eyes away from the tree line and focused them on Tarren and the Swordmaster who rode in front of him. It was then that he noticed each of them scanning the trees as well.

Every hair on the back of Storm’s neck suddenly stood on end. Instantly he spun in his saddle as he realized the feeling had come from behind him. He glimpsed a cloaked figure through the mist, following at some distance behind them and just off the road. Swordmaster, to the rear, he called, drawing his sword quickly. Turning, he kicked his mount into a