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  Sunlight beamed through the dark green leaves, scattering random patterns on the forest floor. The warm spring day felt peaceful and bright. It was as if the energy of the day was fuller than it had been, like he season was less exhausted.

  Demetrix listened intently to the sound of the leaves in the wind. Searching for any evidence of danger, he froze catching an unusual occurrence. “Do you hear that?”

  Gareth glanced around. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Exactly. A nice sunny day like this. This place should be full of bird chirps and cricket songs. I can’t hear anything.”

  “Maybe our arrival spooked them away?”

  “I don’t think so. It would have scared them, but even squirrels will stop at a safe distance to bark.” Demetrix knelt, picking at a few grains of dirt. Sniffing it, he put a small amount in his mouth. The minerals were heavy and strong. Spitting the remainder out, he brushed what was left off his tongue. “Strange. This dirt is richer than any I’ve seen before. Wherever we are, it’s a pretty safe bet that we’re not in Dalmoura.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We need to get moving if we’re to find civilization by nightfall.” Ra'dulen straightened himself. Hearing a twig snap behind him, he spun around drawing his curved longsword.

  The volume was instantly intensified. Thousands of black-skinned alfar roared into view. They paused at the peak of the ravine, seeing the three at its base. Worn and rusted blades caught the briefest reflection of sunlight, disappearing in the dulled metals. Refusing to delay, they charged the steep floor, rolling toward the lone warriors.

  Gareth reached across his body, drawing his twin cutlasses. A wide smile found its way to the forefront, baring his teeth for the approaching horde to see. “This is more like it!” Excitement and rage fueled him. He swung at the first to reach him. Intent directing the blade, it cut with ease, sizzling as it passed. His target burst into flame the moment the blade made contact.

  The dreualfar screamed the moment the flames reached his skin.

  Gareth brought his other sword across, slicing into the wounded creature’s chest. It fell silent in the burning rags. Without pause, the one-eyed combatant spun around, stabbing both burning blades into another of the attacking foe.

  Demetrix whipped his bow over his shoulder, feeling the trained wood arch from the motion. Instinctively, he hooked the string over the notched limb and took aim. Before the bow could reach peak draw he had an arrow nocked ready to fly. The slender wooden shaft flexed from the force of the released string and launched forward. It caught the wind, spinning toward its target. The iron tip sank into the rough leather armor, stabbing deep into the approaching dreualfar. He watched it topple, lost under the approaching mass.

  “It sure would be nice if I had some sunstones right about now.” Gareth slashed, cutting through two dreualfar in a single swipe and stabbing a third.

  Ra’dulen arched his curved sword, slicing through two at once. He spun around, drawing his dagger. The tiny blade bit into another, dropping him to his knees. As if it were a trained skill, he sucked in lightly pulling the tainted energies from the wounded dreualfar. The wispy gray essence floated up through the wound making its way to his face. A reassuring calm washed over him. It was as if a longing thirst had been quenched.

  Feeling energized, Ra’dulen kicked the now dead dreualfar into the charging horde, watching the lightening skin disappear beneath the flood. “I don’t think sunstones will do you much good.”

  “Why’s that?” Gareth thrust his sword forward, sending an invisible force into the approaching ranks. They flew backward, violently crashing into the others. Flipping the blade around, he stabbed another, glancing to his left.

  “The sun’s out. They don’t seem to be hindered by it.”

  “Well isn’t that just fuckin’ great? The only effective weapon we have against them and it’s useless now?” Gareth caught one of the dreualfar in the corner of his eye. Focusing his will on the single being he tightened his grip around the sword, squeezing the air around the creature.

  The helpless black-skinned alfar froze, unable to react to the force securing him. Trapped beneath a heating grip and an unseen barrier, he cried out seeing the skin on his arms start to blister. In a heartbeat, he burst into flame and exploded into the others. Flaming chunks of meat and bone barraged them igniting clothes and melting flesh.

  A high-pitched horn echoed from the tree line, ringing a familiar memory in Ra’dulen’s mind.

  The dreualfar slowed to a halt. Cautiously, they turned to inspect the source. The outer ranks dropped from a volley of well-aimed arrows.

  Ra'dulen looked to the top of the ridge seeing a sight he never imagined he'd see. At the peak of the ravine, an army of dalari waited. They stared intently at the entrapped army of dreualfar and, by extension, the three at the core. The archers, comprised of both hydralfar and dalari stared down their arrows, ready to release their next volley.

  Ra’dulen was lost in the sight having never seen so many of his people at once. Much less fighting beside the creatures responsible for their near extinction.

  The army swept forward like the tide rolling in. Hundreds of arrows released in sequence, finding their trained marks. A wave of swords and spears washed across the rear lines, decimating several hundred in one fell swoop. The dreualfar fell before them in droves.

  The two armies tore at each other, seeming to have forgotten about the three in the middle of their rank.

  Ra’dulen watched the battle, lost in his memories. He felt his anger rise, conflicted by the sights before him.

  “Hey! Hey, Ravion! We have the upper hand!” Gareth’s voice echoed over the sounds of battle, alerting him to his stagnancy.

  Glancing at the joyful warrior, Ra'dulen came to his senses. Bringing his sword around, he cut into the back of the dreualfar and charged after them. Refusing to offer mercy, he tore into their backsides, slashing and stabbing mercilessly.

  Caught off guard by Ravion’s sudden charge, Gareth rushed after him, using his abilities to slow the dreualfar’s retreat. He took pleasure in their deaths, cycling his rage into joy. He'd learned to focus his powers in much the same manner, though nothing caused pain quite like good old-fashioned, unbridled hatred he held for the dark-skins. Seeing the end of the battle in sight, he reached down and sliced off an ear to add to his collection.

  Demetrix fired another arrow, watching it sink to the feathers in one hapless dreualfar's head. It dropped, revealing another in front of it, pinned by the base of its skull. Reaching for another arrow, he sighed realizing he was out. Locking his fingers around the shorter of his swords, concealed inside his quiver, he drew it and pressed the purposely notched hilt against the string. Edge up, he drew, resting the spine of the sword against his hand and took aim. Exhaling slowly, he released.

  The sword launched forward with remarkable speed. The tip was just starting to rise as if it was going to lose balance and topple end over end. Demetrix slung his bow and charged after the flying sword. The blade connected, catching its target at the base of its skull, splitting the embedded arrow in two. The curved tip hit the spinal cord and slung-shot upward, exiting the top of the dreualfar's head. Demetrix was right behind it. Grabbing the hilt, he ripped the sword free and rolled into battle.

  The gap closed around the three, leaving a sea of bodies and blackened blood. If the already soupy dirt collected much more, there was a good chance the area would begin to fill. Victory cheers echoed seeing the last dreualfar perish.

  Wiping the blood from their weapons, the army took position around the three warriors as if they were awaiting command.

  One of the dalari stepped to the head. He paused, taking in their sight. “You seem to be out of place. Your armors aren't general issue. And there haven’t been any reported deserters. Yet I find your presence questionable. What are you doing here?”

  Ra’dulen froze. Hundreds of words flashed through his mind but none formed into coherent sentences. Did they
survive all this time? Where have they been? Why didn't I find them?

  Seeing Ravion’s confusion, Demetrix stepped forward. “Greetings, I’m Demetrix Santail. These are my brothers, Ravion, and Gareth. How we got here is a bit of a long story. Perhaps you could do me the favor of saying where exactly here is?”

  The lead dalari studied the others briefly. Lingering on Gareth, he spoke. “Santail, huh? I’ve known a few Santail. Surprised to find you out here. Most of ‘em stayed in Dranar. Must have been one hell of a party to end up all the way over here.” He kept his gaze locked on the bald warrior.

  “Can I help you?” Gareth was becoming annoyed by the voyeur.

  “Not particularly. Having emissaries of the royal family here is one thing. That's surprising. But not so surprising as having a devonie introduced as a brother to two dalari. The devonie haven’t shown any interest in this war. I find it interesting is all.”

  “I don’t know what a devonie is. But what’s this war you speak of?”

  “If you aren't here for the war, I'm afraid you've been severely misinformed if you ended up all the way out here. Come on, we’ll fill you in back at camp.”

  Chapter III

  Remnants Past

  Birds chirped from the tree tops and dragonflies fluttered passively from one flower to the next. The dense collection of vegetation made it seem like they were in some long-forgotten marshland, but the ground remained firm. In fact, not so much as a mosquito or stagnant odor plagued the deceivingly comfortable landscape.

  Ra’dulen watched the dalari commander lead the way through a thick wall of cattails. Exiting the other side, he was in sheer amazement at the sights before him. Had it not been for the commander he wouldn’t have thought twice that anything of interest would have been found in such an unexpected area.

  Hundreds of rows of tents crowded a massive field. Some stood independent, while others were rigged together making large canvas buildings. Tens of thousands of dalari wandered about the temporary settlement going about their daily lives as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

  Demetrix followed behind the dalari commander. While an impressive feat, hiding so many in such an innocent location, the magnitude was somewhat lost on him. What truly amazed him was the construction of this encampment. If pressed, it appeared as if the entire settlement could be stripped down and relocated in a matter of hours. That was impressive for any army. He watched the commander lead them through the heart of the city-camp and toward one of the larger collections of tents at the top of a hill.

  “All I’m sayin’ is we don’t have time for this. It’s great we found a stash of your people. I feel for ya’. But unless you hadn’t noticed, we have a fresh supply of dreu to contend with. We don’t need to be making detours,” Gareth whispered his discontent to the back of Ravion in a somewhat louder than hushed tone.

  Ra’dulen marched forward, keeping his eyes locked on the miracle ahead of him, afraid it might disappear if he blinked. A heavy sigh escaped him. Refusing to glance back he spoke. “And all I’m saying is we don’t know where we are. We found some allies which have agreed to offer aid. It’d be reckless to wander aimlessly with no idea where we’re going or what we need to do. We have an opportunity to learn some valuable information here. Shut your mouth for a few minutes and you might learn something.”

  “Whatever!” Gareth stepped from the line and increased his pace, passing the young ranger. Taking position beside the dalari commander, he returned to a comfortable step. “In all this,” He gestured to the settlement around them. “Do you have a place to drink?”

  The captain nodded at a collection of tents not far from the main path. “Down there. But don’t go too far. I’ve a feeling General Kashien will want to speak with you.”

  Gareth stormed off, disappearing into the tented landscape.

  Reaching the largest tent at the center of the makeshift city, they paused taking in the beauty of it all. What appeared to be several large tents strung together at a distance was actually a single intricate structure that spanned the size of a small keep. The fabric was dyed maroon and inlaid with golden runes. Every entrance held two guards, standing just outside the flap style doors. Each one held a spear outstretched and ready for use if needed. Their armor seemed more elegant than that of the standard warrior. These few stood out, elevated above the other guards they’d seen since entering the makeshift city. Even the guards patrolling the outer levels wore simple garments. These were dressed in what appeared to be court garb, modified for battle. It almost seemed a waste of materials. Something so fine would be tarnished the first time a sword glanced across the polished metal and leather.

  “Is Lord Kashien available?” The dalari commander asked one of the guards.

  The well-dressed dalari lifted his right foot and placed it behind the other. In a single, practiced movement he spun in about face and stepped through the flap. A moment later he returned and reclaimed his position with perfect precision.

  “General Kashien will see you.”

  As if prompted to obey on its own, the canvas flap parted, granting them entry. The dalari commander stepped through the opening and disappeared into shadow.

  Demetrix and Ravion stepped inside, lost in the marvels of what the massive structure contained. The inside appeared to be made of wood and stone. If not for the exterior, there was no evidence to suggest they were standing in anything but the entry hall to the finest castle they’d ever seen. Every so often the wooden supports were adorned by a fixed sconce, lighting the room in flickering firelight. The floor was a polished marble, lined by a maroon carpet to quiet the clap of boots. What seemed odd was the lack of dirt marring the perfect walkway.

  A beautiful woman with long brown hair pulled into a tail stepped into view from the far side of the chamber. A light, baggy fabric covered her legs and chest, revealing much of her midsection.

  “This way, Captain.”

  Trendal gestured to the door, silently telling Ravion and Demetrix to lead the way. “Thank you, Kaileen.”

  The captain waited for them to pass the threshold. Pausing in front of the woman, he stared at her intently as if he wanted to say something further but lacked the words.

  “Duty first, Captain.” Kaileen smiled. Leaning in, she quickly kissed his lips and darted around him. Marching through the entry way, she left him to follow after.

  Ravion and Demetrix stepped into a narrow room. Each wall had an opening at its center and a rack positioned on each side. The center of the room housed a long table covered in rolled furs, scrolls, random pieces of armor, and a variety of other items. A strange assortment of weapons rested upon the racks. Daggers sat comfortably on the narrow arms that protruded from the vertical stand, while longer weapons leaned against the side walls of the overflowing devices.

  “Would you gentlemen be so kind as to do me the favor of lightening yourselves of all weapons? You may utilize the shelves if you so desire. All of your belongings will be here upon your return. Any and all spellcasting, including clairvoyance is strictly forbidden. You may experience moderate discomfort as the walls have been inlayed with dark crystal.”

  Ra’dulen removed his sword belt, laying it across the scattered items covering the table and stepped through the opening on the far side. He didn’t need a guide. The draining stone he felt in the crypt was already pulling at him. It made him feel constricted and weak, as if his body was being squeezed by an invisible grip. Though the vice-like feeling was nothing compared to the hunger growing inside him.

  Demetrix removed his quiver and hung the strap on one of the many hooks. Resting his bow beside it, he waited patiently for invitation.

  Trendal stepped through the opening, taking position in front of Ravion.

  Gesturing toward the doorway, Kaileen waited for Demetrix to join the others. She quietly followed him. Stepping around the group to the head, Kaileen whispered a quiet incantation. Gesturing, so the others couldn’t see the details, she scribed a co
llection of runes in the air. The faded blue inscription grew brighter and began to split apart into a larger doorway. The sounds of battle echoed through the magical opening. Refusing to wait for the door to quit growing, Kaileen stepped through.

  A toned, shirtless dalari parried a sword slice, locking the opposing weapon between his own and the fur-lined floor. Rolling into his opponent’s arm, he knocked the failed strike away from him and extended his sword toward the fully armored figure. Narrowly raising his blade, the armored figure blocked the incoming attack and staggered back, regaining his balance.

  Demetrix was amazed by the simplicity of the room. It was mostly open, save for a few chairs resting beside a small wooden table near one of the walls. A decorative bed rested in its own little cubby off to the side. A full chest of drawers and a large mirror sat beside it. In the main chamber an ornate throne made of polished and lacquered wood sat opposite of the entrance, demanding attention from all who entered. A heavy layer of dust had settled over it, suggesting it hadn’t been used for quite some time. Demetrix guessed it was designed to make visitors feel intimidated.

  “If you gentlemen would give me a moment, I’m nearly finished here.” Kashien spoke between strikes. He acted as if the battle was little more than mild exercise, allowing his focus to drift elsewhere.

  Ra’dulen couldn’t help but feel a kinship toward the man. There was more to him than met the eye. More than simply being dalari. He could taste the magic inside them man, similar to his own, though less diluted by darkness.

  Expecting his opponent to take the bait, Kashien swung low. Steel on steel rang out. Using the recoil to his advantage, he sprung allowing the motion of the blade carry him around. Spinning on his heel, he launched a powerful attack at the armored man’s side.

  The armored combatant clinched his sword, absorbing the impact as best he could. His wrist couldn’t take another blow like that one. Loosening his grip, he tried to adjust to the shirtless attacker’s position. He was off guard and rapidly losing balance. A second attack dislodged his sword, sending it clattering uncontrollably from his hand.