Where the Witches Dwell: Everlan, #1

By Conor Jest

Everlan Trilogy

Book #1: Where the Witches Dwell

Book #2: Charming Tomorrow

Book #3: Everlan

 

Where the Witches Dwell
Roulic is 900, a young man in Ancient years. Orphaned, he lives aimlessly in Doth's Outer realm, hidden among the common mortalkin. Until he meets Aurora. Cursed to dwell at the pools of Everlan by the evil Mayem, Aurora makes Roulic an offer: Break Mayem's curse by way of 3 deeds and her family of witches will aid him in finding his little brother, sister, and mother.

 

The witches have a score to settle. 
Roulic wants to find his family. 

Follow the adventures of Roulic and Ravenna as they spiral through time to break the curse of Mayem.

364 pages includes Map of Doth and Eggs & Extras

• Language: English
• Publisher: Conor Jest
• Release date: Jun 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215854334

Book preview

Chapter 1

An Ancient One

Is this a dream?

Yes, this is a dream. Our dream.

But, I’m awake. Agnes purred, smelling fresh grass.

I know, child. We’re always awake, even in our dreams. Marlee soothed her little sister.

But, are dreams real? asked Agnes.

Of course, they’re real, silly. If dreams weren’t real, we wouldn’t be in them, now would we? They giggled. 

Agnes fidgeted as Marlee stood behind her, teasing her jet-black braids into the ocean breeze. It’s happening! I can see the blue stones! She tipped on her toes and then squatted on the bluff, her braids touching matted grass. Who is that man? Agnes pointed.

It’s okay. He can’t see us, Marlee assured.

He looks sad. Who is he?

Marlee stood tall when Agnes repeated, Who is he, Marlee? Who is that man? 

That is the man who is going to bring our sisters home.

Today?

No, not today. But with a little magic and a lot of luck, they could be home in three moons’ time. Marlee let go of Agnes and clapped.

Come on, it’s time for tea my little one. Eyes open now, I’ve got games for us to play! Agnes opened her eyes, turned around, and hugged her big sister, one hand reaching to tug on Marlee’s sandy locks. Marlee smiled, then sighed looking up to the sun, sending a whisper floating up and out over the waves breaking from the Great Sea, It can happen now.

Roulic ignored the golden rays and hungry song of woodland birds. He rolled up his bedding, combing the forest edge for deciduous trees. Satisfying his hunger with a mouthful of mushrooms and berries his hands quivered, then dropped, after discovering four spotted eggs in a small nest. A swooping crow squawked reminding him he would thrive without eating them. Coming full circle, he snatched several hickory nuts eyed on a young Shagbark, tossing them into his brown leather pack before walking towards the rising sun. 

It was East that beckoned, where Destiny, whose episodic call he had long ago come to heed, was now summoning. He had grown to consider it an honor to pursue her cries, for they more often than not led to faraway and unusual places. The kind of places that overshadowed duties of perennial humdrum, his fated day-to-day existence amidst Mortalkin. Places made for the abiding squall that only high adventure and the dogging of distant dreams could deliver.

Roulic hadn’t four hours of rest, yet his limbs were quick to find a rhythm upon Old Rock Road, the ancient trail earning its name for its millions of stones. Millions upon millions of bluish rocks that lay a long, winding trail from base to summit of the noble Mt. Nocturne. The high mountain must have spent ages tending the great puzzle, he thought. But what came first? Their formation, smoothing, or their placement as I walk upon them this very day? He considered all three.

Winding through the flatlands led to Giant’s Hill, home to a small village called Dragon Fyre, the ominous name coming from a long-ago legend involving an unwitting dragon and a large community of field mice. The mice, because of an abundant summer, had propagated to what amounted to an unruly, starving horde. When the teeming tribe of rodents depleted their immediate food supply, they spread out in search of sustenance. Making their way closer to Giant’s Hill, some of them settled, exhausted, resting in the dual entrance of a damp grotto untouched by the burning solstice sun. A hillside wildfire swept up, then down to the village nestled below the kindled slope. Unknown to the mice and villagers, a sleeping dragon lay between the fire and the village, its long, curvy tail buried beneath a dry mulch of leaves and straw. When the blaze singed the fleshy tail, the scaly beast rose emitting several freakish howls. Turning towards its attacker, the blinding sun pierced the dragon’s eyes drawing out an overwhelming sneeze. Dozens of desperate mice who had sought slumber within the damp nostrils of the bewailing creature had by now panicked, hanging on to its coarse nose hair. The ensuing sneeze not only expelled the terrified rodents, its blast, and bellow reached nearby villages, causing alarm bells to sound, sending echoes up through the mountain pass. The blistering fire that threatened to engulf the little village was all but expelled by the mighty dragons’ opportune sneeze. To this day, the villagers of Dragon Fyre still honor the ‘good fortune’ dragon with summer games, firelight feasts, and stories of its high flight before the mice had hit the ground.

Recalling the legend of Dragon Fyre made Roulic uneasy as he stopped at the village well for water. His unease came not from liking nor disliking dragons. And, not because they spelled doom when spotted. He’d only seen a few dragons in his life and every time they made him feel sad. Dragons lived for centuries, in solitary. Or, so he thought, and that idea was enough to cause him temporary grief when thinking of dragons. He didn’t stop longer than it took to get water and say good morning to a red-shouldered hawk whose clear whistled calls spiraled toward the upper kingdom of Doth.

It was midday when he came upon a herder tending his tribe. Old Rock Road was offering large stones, and the goats examined nooks and crannies as they crossed over to graze the fertile slope. The herder saw him and began waving his hands towards the skirting tree line. Roulic stepped off the azure path and stood amongst the animals as the herder drew near. Their eyes met just as a shrill cry accompanied by a gust of wind came down the mountainside, blowing loose grass and twigs into the trees.

That one felt like my Taisiya. She’s not had a breath nor a heartbeat for three years now. The herder admired Roulic’s adorned pack and hearty walking stick. Roulic’s eyes gleamed at the curious man who sensed this was no commoner coming up the mountain.

The songs of mountains are plenty in passing. But none more melodious than those of this mighty one, old Nocturne.

Aye, there never was a greater one than she, the herder nodded. Tell me, friend, where are you headed on this fine day? he asked. Roulic panned a long arm, staring far off across the horizon. I’m off to the other side of the mountains, beyond… all of this… to gaze the Nine Oceans. The herder then let out a ridiculous laugh while slapping both knees.

What? Without so much as a horse or guide? And all by yourself in search of misty legends? His wind­-worn cheeks framed a suspended smile.

My good man, just because you’ve seen no horse does not mean I’ve not a gallant steed awaiting yonder, nor, as we speak, three seasoned guides all coming my way. Roulic’s lack of levity and bold assertion brought the goat herder back down to earth. Roulic continued. Tell me, does the Harking Toad still stand? It’s been quite some time since I’ve warmed to the hearth of that fabled frog.

Aye, that's where you are heading. Yes. She’s still standing. And, wearing the new roof they put up the sum before last. It’s not so grimy now, the place. But, it may be crowded as there’s a gathering going on. She may be full up.

I’ll take a chance, Roulic said, if the old Toad has any memory of me and the lad is still around.

What lad? asked the herder. Roulic paused, changing the subject to the health of the herd’s queen goat and collie as the curious herder unraveled his knapsack, revealing a loaf of rustic bread.

Join me for lunch? he asked, I’ve got two cups..

Roulic accepted, and the two men soon found themselves lost in laughter and the merits of goat's milk. While eating and resting, each man exchanged stories of high adventure on Mt. Nocturne. Roulic listened to how the brokenhearted herder had lost his wife, Taisiya, to a long illness and learned witches had haunted the mountaintop village called Top of the World. When it was time to part, they agreed to meet for lunch again someday in the same place on the Old Rock Road as fate had brought them today.

So, tell me, what draws you to the Nine Oceans? A beautiful girl, perhaps? The herder smiled.

Roulic thought of Destiny and her calling him to the great mountain. Something like that, he answered.

Well, you are still young. You've got plenty of time to wander in sacred places between decision and destiny. advised the herder.

Too much time. I guess you could call me an endless wanderer. Roulic walked away toward the trail of stones.

Forgive me. What may I call you, my wandering friend? the herder carried on. My mother named me Alexander Chase, but you may call me Chase, as most do on this side of the mountain. I’ve not much need for Alexander these days.

Turning with a wave, Roulic's voice went deep while walking backwards towards the trail. You may call me Roulic, a friend for life on the Old Rock Road! And I shall remember you, my friend, that on this fine day, I heard the wind cry out ‘Sasha’ as if to remind you—your beloved is alive and well and forever by your side!

Alexander fell to one knee. Taisiya always called me Sasha! Tears of joy wet his cheeks as he waved farewell. Watching Roulic walk away he said, And you knew!

Now in full heel strike, Roulic disappeared into the mountain mist. The grazing goats became distant specks when he turned to look back down the mountain. His path had now become a maze of stepping stones best traveled with a keen eye on each advance. The wind picked up and swirled across the rocky trail in rapid gusts. This perilous dance of wind etching rock spit at the ensuing rain from the grey walls of thick mist now drenching the mountain. 

With only two hours of light left, he knew darkness would await him at the Old Cave site. If it was still there, still intact, and still suitable for shelter. A half a century passed since he last slept there taking refuge from a pack of rabid wolves. Wolves sent to dispatch him.

Chapter 2

Rosy Realms

It got dark when he crossed a dilapidated bridge, eyeing his marker. This was a whopper of a tree with mammoth tentacles, its branches resembling digits, clutched open like a claw. Just below the tree lay an enormous flat boulder with two small intertwined trees growing from both its sides. Locals called this place Jackdaw Claws for its twin swings made of thick rope by kids that competed to hang the longest from the connected trees. Daredevils launched past the great rock into a grungy pond that was just deep enough most of the year. The Old Cave’s entrance hid behind a dense thicket that covered the top slab and both sides. The only way in was to crawl atop the dark tangle, then lift the woodsy mess to penetrate an opening before sliding down into the mouth of the hollow rock. Ignited twigs and sticks fueled an infant-sized fire between a few rocks he had set in a circle. A cold, earthen wall supported his exhausted back while sleepy eyes gazed at the fledgling flame, whose heat warmed his weary bones.

Drifting off, he saw the tattered world he left behind. Two nights ago a valley town of Doth burned to the ground, the brutal price of discord between two opposing kingdoms; Doth, and its formidable southern neighbor, Dandoorthose. Months past amending their differences, both sovereigns brewed nasty tit-for-tat arguments until Dandoorthose escalated their use of fiery force. In a brute declaration, they promised to decimate all kingdoms unwilling to become allegiant of their One Realm mission. Bordering nations positioned themselves as ally or enemy, and everyone involved, from state leadership to suppliers of the deadly powder called Dragon Smoke, were in avid pursuit of accumulating armaments. Roulic knew this man’s war would soon find its way up the mountain to breach the door of Doth. He also knew he was obligated, by duty, to warn the mountain folk that an army was soon to reach the kingdom.

His weary head lowered, chin upon chest as he nodded off, discarding thoughts of war behind, his mind unraveled like a ball of twine. His heart, now able to rest, found sanctuary within his soul, that tranquil place that fears not suffering nor the age of time. That’s where he saw her, as he often did, materializing as a full glow within the Old Cave and his now slumbering eye, saying hello with her gentle blue eyes. He stared deep into them and could feel her warm embrace, just as it was nearly a thousand years ago upon the beach of Black Shadows. A sandy tuft of her hair flit across his harried mind, rocking back and forth until he fell deep, deep asleep.

The sea wept, the wind slept,

and the sky closed both her eyes

Upon my darkest day, my Mother’s flight

For in that night, nine larks flew, singing

never nearer nor ever bringing

her home to me again

Comes a thousand tales

of visions veiled;

her love remains alive.

In rosy realms, and apparitions,

forever she survives

While Roulic slept, a heavy storm enveloped the summit, covering all land and all souls atop the weathered peak. It wasn’t long before lightning shone, and thunder cried, striking aloud against the land, booming like a god’s hammer come to forge steel on the black-soaked night. He awoke to a monstrous bang that made him jump up in such fright that his toes squashed embers and his bedroll flew, wrapping clear around his legs. Gathering his wits, he packed his roll, finding that passing through the entanglement was much thornier than upon entering it. It was then that he remembered just how hard it was exiting the Old Cave fifty years earlier.

Suddenly, a hand appeared waving back and forth through the gate of brush. Stepping back, Roulic shouted, Who are you? What do you want!? An urgent voice cut through the rain and branches and rock yelling, Roulic, it’s me, Callian! Grab my hand!

What are you doing following me up the mountain in this storm!?

Relieved to hear the familiar voice, Roulic’s shoulder thrust the brush aside to grab the extended hand. His leather pack got scatted, both arms scratched, until claiming victory in the tussle between thorn and limb. Both men caught their breath atop the slippery rock. Lightning blast, impaling the black sky. Sliding to the pummeled ground, Callian pointed, running to the trees. Running from the howling downpour, Roulic followed Callian’s lead toward the woods when something made him stop and look back at the musty chamber. He glimpsed something froze in bright lightning; a forgotten memory jarred from his lost childhood. It was his little sister, Kolleen, on the summer day they discovered the Old Cave some eight centuries ago. The air became warm, the bright blue sky breathing cloudless.

We could live here, Roulic. We could live here forever.. Her words lingered in the breeze, her thick blond hair circling as she spun her arms around. Roulic stared and smiled.

Let’s go, old man! Callian’s holler startled him. Broken off now, Kolleen faded. Roulic ran quivering behind Callian to the Harking Toad. He hoped they could weather the storm among whom he considered the kindest people he had ever met—the mountain folk of Doth. On the wet path through the trees, Roulic’s brain suppressed anxious thoughts of Kolleen with fond memories of the warm mountaintop tavern. He’d witnessed its renovation twice. His last visit some fifty years ago; a fond, if not faint memory of a summer and fall spent atop Mt. Nocturne living with a small family as a farmhand.

He’d worked this job many times; a family who no longer required his seasonal service obliged to transfer his employ to another farm and family. Sometimes, this gesture sought to place Roulic at a neighboring farm, in which case he almost always left soon after settling in, much to the grief of the farmer and family. He learned as a young child to hide his identity.

Early on, fate showed Roulic that his face and form would not age like an average mortal. He learned the hard way to never stay five years in one place. After four years, people would start talking about his uncanny lack of aging, so he always moved within three and a half. This physical condition afforded the obvious advantages of a youthful appearance and periodic freedoms from rut but came with lasting effects upon his psyche that permeated his sense of wellbeing. Outliving everyone, he clearly understood that all things in life are temporal.

Yet, while relishing seasons turning and the joy of fleeting moments, he had come to dread long goodbyes. Drawn-out partings nettled the loss of his family; an agitation he tried to prevent at all costs. His premise of orphanage only added weight to the string of heavy-laden hearts he carried when leaving a family. For centuries, this protective pattern wove a stinging web so tight around his heart that its untold mark upon Roulic, who carried the doleful loss of every soul he had ever come to know and love, came to bear upon, and cut deeply his heart of hearts.

Now, as Destiny led him back to the Harking Toad to warn those atop Mt. Nocturne to brace for war, so did a call ring from his place of birth. He reasoned those of the Inner had a right to know about this man’s war as much as any other. The majority here overlook the elusive folk, but I owe them, at least, the right to life, breath, and dimension.

I will not abandon them, he whispered.

He didn’t want to tread Inner Doth. His entire family had vanished from within the Inner, and so might he. This was an outcome he had spent centuries avoiding. Pulling up roots as often as putting on boots was safer than going back to the Inner. But what if they were still there somewhere, somehow? Alive and well? The closer he got to the Harking Toad, the more his memories came alive. Memories insisting he follow his heart’s desire; to search for his family in Upper Doth. Gateway of the Dragons. It was now or never if he were ever to go back to the Inner Realm.

Fractured memories lay scattered about in a place called Black Shadow’s Beach, where vast caves once inhabited by dragons surround a lagoon by The Great Sea. It was the place he went back to in his most private moments. He didn’t know how to get there, but he knew it lay somewhere within the realm of the Inner near the far coast of Doth.

Fanciful stories bubbled up of the fabled Nine Oceans of Doth, coming from the odd mystic and sage souls who crossed his path, once buried and forgotten over the years. The more his memories emerged, the more compelled he became. Warning Mortalkin and the creatures of the Inner about the coming war was his duty. But to turn all stones until he found out the truth about his family was his right. That he was here in Doth, alive after all this time, renewed the hope that his blood kin was, too.

Flickers of light inside the tavern lit their last steps through the trees and across the muddied path that led to the battered front doors of the Harking Toad. The relentless storm had washed away all dirt upon the tall barriers, revealing detailed carvings of perched owls across the aging veneer. They stood as sentries of the old familiar Toad; the favored meeting place of the farming community, and designated outpost for those traveling beyond the mountains of Doth.

With vast areas still unexplored, the invaluable Map of Doth sold at the bar for 2 copper coins. And dear indeed, the map led the few who heeded its roundabout legend to the faraway edges of Doth, to where the Endwise mountains meet the Great Sea. Few dared return to journey there, but those that did came with bliss and a look in their eyes as if they were going home to heaven. Stories of fine weather, plentiful fish, rich soil, and sleepy coastal towns were common among the colorful locals who warmed stools at the Toad. Along with its lore, the peculiar map came with odd details such as, ‘The path to Knowing takes a lot of living and a lot of twisty turns. The path to Belief takes a lot of believing and lies dead ahead..’. In the right hands, the Map of Doth could bring an uncertain deliverance. In the hands of reckless illusion, the map's legend, symbols, and scale could lead to grave danger.

And grave news it was that Roulic sought to report to the good people sequestered atop the cantle of Mt. Nocturne. Huddled in the oldest building during the worst storm in recent memory, they probably wouldn’t take his news seriously. They’d sat through a night of talk about witches and might not believe him at all. But, if they took him at his word, there was still time to act by preparing for imminent attacks. If they denied his call to action, adhering to the peacefulness of yesteryear, there would come doom upon the mountain and all its inhabitants.

Callian led the way, racing over the wet bricks to the broad entryway. Turning to Roulic, he extended his arm as they entered together. To their surprise, the hefty doors swung with ease as each man pushed through his side of the entrance. Halfway through the push, a gust of life—the sounds of people talking and barroom merriment, came to greet them. Then, a short and obnoxious squeal, chased by a lengthy whine whose dissipation emanated from the overworked hinges on the gangly old doors. Many heads turned, acknowledging the two young men as they made their way to Barrett, the Toad’s red-bearded bartender. And, as none in the smoke-filled room recognized them, an immediate buzz came to circulate among the patrons as they asked one another, Have you ever seen those guys?

Seated in a dark corner of the room, Callian explained to Roulic that he followed him up the mountain to bring him something important he left behind. That’s how he found him, seeing smoke smoldering out of the Old Cave.

And in the nick of time, old friend.

But, before Callian could reveal the item from his pack, Roulic began rattling, I must warn these people before it becomes too late. They must gather arms and provisions as soon as possible. Just then, a gray-bearded man approached them with a pipe in one hand and an empty stein in the other.

Waving his pipe, he asked Roulic, Have you any fire? Roulic obliged with matches from a pocket. The man said, You look rather familiar, friend. Have you been up here before?

Roulic looked into the man’s glassy eyes. Yes, I have. But, it was a long time ago. He recognized the young lad who, fifty years earlier, had befriended him while he worked on the boy’s family farm. Their last conversation had taken a profound toll, as feelings of betrayal, rejection, and abandonment remained long after his mentor’s swift departure. Roulic tried to explain to the boy that his gift of longevity left him no choice but to run in fear of being discovered for what he was, an Ancient One. The brown-eyed lad wouldn’t listen to him then, but his eyes could see him now, his ears could hear him now, and his heart could feel him, too.

Is that you? he whispered through waves of cherry tobacco. Roulic said yes with his eyes and asked him to sit down with them. Still trembling from the violent storm, Callian and Roulic offered the old man a place at their small table. The three of them toasted together as old friends, as indeed they were. It was on rare occasion that Roulic confided his ageless situation, and rarer still that the two gentlemen seated across the table shared the truth of his secret senescence.

I had to leave your family, Janson. If I would have stayed, and my secret discovered, I would have been at the mercy of a terrible fate. This world has little understanding of us Ancient Ones, and far less compassion, I’m afraid. I was very sad to leave you and our great friendship. Roulic paused while an aged Janson took it all in. Callian put his head down as if to hide his eyes.

To tell you the truth, I was quite an angry young man when you left. But I let all that go when my father died, and I took over the farm. Years later, I understood the reason for your sudden departure. What brings you back after all this time?

Roulic looked relieved. Well, there may be a fortuitous benefit to our synchronous re-unition after all these years.

Janson feigned surprise. Now, what could that be, my old, younger elder? The air lifted at once as all three men smiled at each other. Well, my former lad, Roulic said with a twinkling eye, is that cannon your dear father stowed away still in the fodder barn?

It hasn’t budged an inch since you last saw it. Why? What are you up to, Roulic?

Callian clutched Roulic’s possession inside of his pack, waiting for the right moment to give it to him. Like Janson, he suffered from feelings of loss and betrayal because of the Ancient’s hasty departure. Just two days prior, Roulic told him the truth behind his nomadic plight and left with not a formal goodbye. Maybe, Callian thought, it was too painful for poor old Roulic to say farewell to anyone. Callian’s mind swirled with uncertainty when he shadowed Roulic along the mountain. Then the Old Cave, the storm, and now Janson. Callian drank to calm down.

What are we up to? Roulic looked them in the eye.

We are going to warn every man, woman, and child on the mountain to prepare for war. All three drew closer. After informing Janson about the siege in the valley towns south of the mountain, Roulic laid out his plan: Tomorrow they would set out, first to the town square of Top of the World, and then work their way to neighboring villages. They would stop and leave word at every farm along the way. They would hold meetings to organize a plan of defense, asking for volunteer leaders from each village. These leaders would oversee communications and provisions, including food, emergency shelter, and medical supplies. And Janson’s cannon would be moved to a defensive location, well hidden, and stocked with plenty of ammunition.

Time is of the essence if we are to serve the mountain kingdom of Doth fair warning. Roulic said.

But how could we ever stop the Dandoorthose army from taking over? Callian asked. The mountain folk are simple farmers.

That may be, but a little preparation goes a long way. These farmers may be peaceful folk but if they feel a threat approaching their livelihood, they will rise to the occasion by protecting their own. They agreed with their eyes. We’ll have our work cut out for us on the morrow.

Callian and Janson nodded. On the morrow.

Rains battered through the night, numbing the tavern’s new roof. Satiated by ample servings of savory lamb soup and warm crusty bread, they simmered their bones to the Toad’s crackling hearth. Their corner dimmed when the wooden candle clock on the wall stopped flickering and fluttered out. The roar of the room calmed down as one by one, villagers gave in awaiting dawn by falling asleep in their chairs. Tall creaking closets opened and blankets got passed around cloaking the sleepy patrons, whose unrestrained snoring diminished to muffled rumblings after getting covered in thick wool.

Callian fell asleep. Roulic talked to the boy he once knew. So, how’s life been treating you on Mt. Nocturne? Janson turned his head to study the large antlers on the opposite wall, recollecting a lifetime of memories. His eyes shined as he turned on the heels of his late-night brandy.

Do you wanna know why there are so many people here tonight in this awful storm? We had a gathering earlier to decide what to do about the witches.

What witches?

Janson spilled, A nasty fight broke out here last night. Two dim-wits, too full of ale and superstition, got to arguing about ‘good witches’ and ‘bad witches’. Seems one of ‘em said his goats started talking, then singing, and the other one said that a strange blue bird guided him home from the Toad on the darkest of nights. Said he would’ve fallen to his death right off the cliff if it weren’t for that miracle bird!

Roulic took another swig from his pint. Seems there may be something strange brewing in the fog of The Toad’s backyard. Has anyone strayed into the haunted Woods of Everlan?

Janson drew from his pipe and said, No, no.. folks’ ‘round here have stayed out of that part of those woods for years. Maybe the odd traveler, he winked, Or, a tourist might have wandered only to get lost for half a day and run out screaming. But no. I’ve heard no talk about those haunted trees for a long while…since Haggarty, the wizard, got found dead in there. Owssh! Puts me in a dither just thinking about it!

Well, whatever is happening here, Roulic said, finishing his drink, leads right into those old woods. Those ancient woods.. his head lowered, his voice slowed, as if in a poetic trance reciting some distant memory.

"By dead of night, by owl’s flight, old golden steps will lead. Those that pray by light of day must cease the curse, before it gets worse, as uttered by old Mayem." They glanced at each other as two Dandoorthose soldiers entered the Harking Toad.

All eyes awake drew to the tall, creaking entrance. One soldier was bleeding on the side of his leg. The other soldier called out for hot water and bandages. The villagers crowded the bar, offering help. After tending the wounded one who had slipped in the mud and got pierced by a tree branch, the villagers questioned the soldiers. They were told a platoon of 80 soldiers were in the town of Dragon Fyre, waiting for the rain to subside. They would arrive within two days and set up a preliminary base at Top of the World awaiting arms, supplies, and the rest of their troop.

Most villagers were shocked. That valley strife could make its way over Old Rock Road and into Upper Doth was unbelievable. That had never happened before. To others, it made perfect sense. For powers seeking to dominate the continent, Doth was a strategic cornerstone. Its prime value being the entrance to unexplored lands rich in natural resources. Military commanders, and politicians alike, knew any nation that occupied Doth could win the war and rule the continent.

Chapter 3

Buzz on the Mountain

Roulic hadn’t slept. War and witches preoccupied his mind. While the villagers dozed in their chairs to the cackle of disintegrating logs, the storm waned to a fine mist finishing to the calls of crows and the warmth of daybreak. He walked outside to the back barn where several horses whinnied his approach, awaiting fresh hay and release from their cramped quarters. A man dressed in black was putting a saddle on a black horse.

Roulic bluntly asked, "Have you heard about the witches? People