The image of Valdor and Hadrian shimmered through the
Watching Orb as they made their way across the banks of
what had once been called the Dryer River. A flourishing
body of water in days long gone, the river had once been
alive with fish and varied forms of sea life, whose currents
had reached the far ends of the Southern Farmlands. Those
days had become nothing more than memories. The dry sand
of the riverbed had not tasted water in nine years, and
it seemed unlikely that it ever would again. Some said that
a curse had been placed on the region, which drove many
of its inhabitants away in search of fertile land. The devious
gnome knew better though. Watching them as he did, he could
see their boots slide with every step as the dry rocks and
sand slid around their heavy feet, as though it were trying
to swallow them. He wished that it would. He would be rid
of the two "champions" that stood in his way.
"What a grand ending to a futile task," he thought.
"Nonetheless," his mind wandered as he watched
them, "The priest will have at them." The small
globe fit easily into the palms of his hands as he cupped
the precious sphere. Running his fingers over the glass
surface, the orb turned black and he slide it into the side
pocket of his robe. The show was over for now and he had
much work to finish. He knew he had to be diligent and discreet,
for if the sorceress discovered his meddling, it would surely
be the end of him in this lifetime.
***
With the hazy red sun setting across the horizon, Valdor
and Hadrian had decided that it was best to settle down
for the night and rest for the next day's travel. It had
been two long days since the companions had departed from
the mountainous home of Sidria Ailema, and yet thoughts
of the powerful sorceress swirled through Valdor and Hadrian's
minds. For Valdor, the experience at Sidria's home had been
like opening Pandora's Box, as his mind fought to process
the little information he had obtained on the mysterious
woman.
What did she have to gain? Valdor rubbed the sides
of his head as the question resonated within his skull.
His most recent encounter with Sidria had left him with
more questions and uncertainty as to the benevolent sorceress'
intentions. She was not the weak and inexperienced woman
she had portrayed to them when they first met, of that he
was certain. Seeing her amongst her people in the cave further
twisted Valdor's thoughts. It had been obvious to him that
she was their leader, evident by the respect the inhabitants
of the cave showed her and by the loyalty that her advisor,
Rasa, had shown. But why then go to others for help?
These thoughts made no sense to Valdor as he tossed them
back and forth within his troubled mind. His thoughts jumped
to the conversation he shared with Sidria outside the cave
entrance. He had not been prepared for what she had told
him. It was almost as if she had read his mind and twisted
his stolen thoughts to her benefit. Even now as they continued
towards the valley that Sidria had shown him through her
crystalline map, he struggled for answers as he contemplated
how the sorceress could have known of the woman in his visions,
let alone where she could be found. He found himself asking
the same questions repeatedly in his mind, yet had no answer
to the enigma that had unfolded before his very eyes.
He had already resigned to the fact that their meeting
at the Red Gryphon Inn a few nights prior was no mere coincidence.
There was no questioning the fact that she had sought them
out. However, it was the "why" that he could not
place. Why did she want the woman brought to her? Why
not go to the woman and rescue her yourself? She seemed
fully capable and powerful enough to perform the task. Frustrated,
he was determined to find the truth behind the sorceress.
Hadrian, on the other hand, had taken a completely different
approach to the experience at the sorceress' home. He had
become enthralled by the sequence of events that took place
within the cavernous dwelling, and as he traveled with his
troubled friend, could not help but think of returning to
the mountain and indulging in more of the luxuries which
it held. Thoughts of the food and music ran rampant though
his mind, causing him to sing to himself:
As soon as our travels come to and end,
You'll know where to find me, my large bald friend,
In a place of wonders and riches so deep
Of the sorceress' home is the place that I speak.
So let's find the girl and get out of this place,
For the longer we take, the more time we waste.
I just want to return to that beautiful place,
'Cause I'd rather look at Sidria than stare at your face!
Chuckling silently to himself, the halfling reached at
his side for one of his drinking jugs and twisted off the
cork topper. Hadrian had filled two of his small jugs with
ale before departing from Sidria's home, of which only one
remained full. With each swig of the home-made brew, he
was reminded of the festival and filled with more desire
to sing and dance. "By far the best drink in the region,"
he said, bringing his left arm across his mouth and wiping
his chin dry on the sleeve of his tunic. He had found Sidria's
home to be most impressive, and promised himself that should
he return, he would barter for some of the fire fairies.
His mind raced back to some of the trinkets he had come
across while surveying the sorceress' home. Digging into
one of his pockets, his small hand revealed a host of small,
finely polished stones that gave off a splendid cascade
of reflected sunlight. Marvelous he thought as he
dropped them back into the pocket. He had learned from Valdor
that Sidria had given him insight as to where the woman
from the visions could be found and that they were to bring
the woman back to the sorceress. News of the information
had brought a great smile to Hadrian's face at the time,
as it undoubtedly meant that they would be returning to
the great cave, and more importantly, he would again see
the sorceress.
Glancing up at the dark purple and pink sky, Valdor felt
a chill in the wind. The changing of the seasons would soon
be upon them. In a few months time, the trees would be bare
and he would be in need of some thicker garments to endure
the cold. Sitting on the ground, against the stump of an
old bare tree, Hadrian once again retrieved the small container
holding the Elven brew. Drawing a quick drink of the tasty
ale, he said to Valdor, "Have you thought any about
what the sorceress told you? About the girl and all?"
"Not so much about the girl, but more about her,"
replied Valdor. Extending his arm towards Hadrian, the halfling
passed the container to Valdor. "If you ask me, I think
she's impressive," said Hadrian, leaning back and locking
his fingers behind his head. "She's got beauty, power.
She's quite a woman," he said, drawing a slight smile.
Lifting the jug to his lips and shaking his head, Valdor
swallowed some ale and interjected, "Hadrian, look
beyond the obvious and tell me what you see. Do you believe
someone who has wealth and power would subject themselves
to living in a mountain as opposed to a palace, living below
their means, among the trees and the dirt?"
Sitting up, Hadrian replied, "So what, you don't consider
her actions to be genuine in nature? What are you saying,
Val?"
Removing his scabbard from his side and laying it on the
ground, Valdor continued, "Try not to be blinded by
the sorceress' generosity. She hides something behind those
soft violet eyes. Of that I assure you."
"Don't you think you're being a little irrational?"
replied Hadrian. "I've seen no reason to think any…"
"That's because you're too preoccupied to notice anything
that doesn't shine or carry a tune," Valdor interrupted,
pointing the pocket on Hadrian's vest that carried his small
stones. "Do you think that the gnome was some mere
messenger sent to fetch us?"
The thought of Rasa made Hadrian scowl as it reminded him
of his dislike for the ill-tempered gnome. "That loathsome
mass of animal dung should be dipped in a bog. It would
serve him well," he said as he spat at the ground.
"I believe that little creature to be more
powerful that he has led to believe, my friend. That medallion
he wore was no trinket. Despite what Sidria would like us
to believe, he is more that just an advisor." Leaning
forward and crossing his arms, he locked eyes with Hadrian
and said, "After I left you with Sidria, what did you
two speak about?"
"I, uh, don't remember really," replied Hadrian,
looking off to the side, trying to recall the short conversation
he had with Sidria. "Now that you mention it, I don't
really remember all that much after you left. It's almost
as if I blanked out for that short period."
"That might explain how she knew so much," Valdor
said to the befuddled Hadrian. "Some sort of spell
or potion."
"But that's not possible, Val. I would have heard
the spell being cast or remembered drinking the potion,"
Hadrian tried to reason. "Unless…"
"Unless someone else cast the spell," said Valdor.
Eyes wide, the name came to Hadrian faster than he thought
possible, filling him with an anger he had not felt in many
years, "Rasa!"
"That would be my guess as well, little one,"
said Valdor. We needn't worry about that now. We will proceed
as the sorceress has instructed more for my sake than for
hers. We'll deal with whatever plans she has for us later.
In the meantime, we have been shown the way to the woman
and we must not delay any further."
Lying back onto the cold hard ground, Valdor closed his
eyes and said, "Get your rest Hadrian. If I am not
mistaken, we are close to our destination." He knew
that he would get little or no rest himself, which mattered
little to him. He had become accustomed to the long sleepless
nights. It was Hadrian that caused him concern, as the little
halfling would need to be alert and focused as they neared
their target. Valdor had learned early on that the lack
of sleep would not affect his own abilities. It was almost
as if the curse that tormented his soul also nourished his
body. When he thought about it, he agreed with himself that
it made some sort of sense. If his body were to fail him,
then he would surely die, and the curse would be broken.
He believed that to be the reason why he never had an empathic
episode while engaged in battle, and also found it to be
the reason why he could go on for nights without sleep,
yet not be plagued by fatigue and exhaustion.
Reaching into his pack, he withdrew the map-bearing crystal
he had been given by Sidria. Holding the gem in the palm
of his hand, the map of the region appeared before him,
hovering above the small round crystal. Valdor noted that
they were nearer to their destination that he had previously
thought and looked forward to ending this quest, for his
sake as well as that of Hadrian's. Lying on his side he
studied the map and was amazed at how their entire path
had been laid out by markers along the map. Thinking back
to the sorceress, he contemplated his distrust for Sidria
and wondered about the safety of the passage they had been
shown. Closing his fingers over the gemstone, the crystalline
map shimmered and then disappeared.
To his relief, the rhythmic sound of Hadrian's breathing
filled the quiet air. Opening his eyes and staring at the
darkened, starry sky above him, he pictured the woman from
his visions. She had no name, but then again, they never
did. There was always a face though. That is how he had
seen Hadrian, his face scarred and beaten. That was how
most of them appeared to him anyways. This one was different
though, Valdor thought. She had appeared like an angel in
his last vision, dressed in white silk, her garments flowing
around her. In his mind, he could see her light blue eyes,
and the locks of dark hair that fell around her angelic
face. Oddly enough though, she showed no signs of abuse
or suffering. Valdor closed his eyes as he thought of the
mystery behind the woman in his visions. Try as he did,
he could not figure out the connection to Sidria and why
she had been so interested in the woman. What he did know
was that she had something to do with the black crystal
that Sidria sought. Sidria had told him of it when they
first met, but did not elaborate as to why she wanted it.
If finding the crystal meant ridding himself of the curse,
then he would do as requested. Although he did not trust
Sidria, he did not think she was foolish enough to cross
him. He would save this woman and bring her back, he thought,
and hopefully along the way, he would find the crystal as
well. Opening his eyes once again, he noted how much darker
the sky had become. No moon tonight, he thought as
he waited for the darkness of night to run its cycle.
***
The stone walls of the Highland Citadel had seen better
days, of that Hadrian was sure. Looking out to the skeletal
remains of the once mighty stronghold, he remembered the
stories of Galinar Vog, the Highland's legendary "Bloody
Duke" who once called this place home. Having been
abandoned for the better part of the last hundred years,
the unkempt citadel had been ravaged by erosion and scavengers,
and was now home to a host of unpleasant creatures. Of all
the rumors that had surfaced over the years of the citadel
and its hollow shell, the most renowned tale had been that
of the Duke's lost treasury hidden deep within citadel's
confines. Be that as it may, none dared to enter its hallowed
remains. Of all who had attempted in the past, only one
had survived to tell of the horrors that dwelled inside,
and he passed shortly afterwards, his mind overcome by the
fear and torment he had been exposed to. With his eyes focused
on the imposing structure, he silently counted his blessings
and promised he would seek out the local cleric upon their
return to Windspear and pay tribute to his god. Even under
the cover of night, the structure was still imposing, the
moon casting an eerie glow across its stone walls. Hadrian
thought to himself, fate has definitely smiled upon us
tonight, as a wave of relief washed over his tiny frame.
The fact that they would not have to enter the dreaded citadel
brought much reprieve to the eccentric halfling. He had
always been one for action and adventure, but foolishness
was a line he dared not cross, even at the chance of finding
some treasure. The Citadel reminded him of a tune he had
heard as a child. His late Great Uncle Korn "Axe-stabber"
Gunthar had sung of the treacherous Citadel:
Up high on the cliffs, she stands like an icon,
A memory of greatness, of days that are long gone.
Years gone by, she looks nothing like before,
Look as you pass but don't enter her doors.
Tis' true she has wealth and riches galore,
But seek them out and ye shall live no more.
No longer a haven, now death lives within,
Take heed of this warning and pass it to your kin,
And if you just so happen to be foolish enough to try,
Give away all you own, as you surely will die.
Of all who have entered, none have ever come out,
No tales of glory and no riches to tout.
No jewels to wear and no coin to spend,
Just a rotting corpse that had met its end.
The song made Hadrian shiver as his mind traveled back
to the days when his Great Uncle was alive. Old "Axe-stabber",
as he had been called by his clan-mates, had been an honored
man in Northern Sel'Arom, Hadrian's home. As a skilled tracker
for a group of itinerate dragon slayers, he had made a name
for himself leading the slayers from one dragon's nest to
another. As with all things though, his luck was destined
to run out. Before the group of slayers had earned the honor
of achieving their group name, they were wiped out by a
hatchling, a golden dragon. Although none had survived,
it was assumed that Axe-stabber had put up a mighty fight
against the young dragon, as his axe had been found with
a golden dragon scale impaled upon it.
As Hadrian followed behind Valdor and he thought of the
dangers that awaited them once they located the girl from
his friend's visions. Valdor had told Hadrian of the dark
hooded figure from his last episode. The ever-curious Halfling
wondered what manner of creature awaited them at the end
of their journey and thought back to Valdor's description
of what he saw. "Red menacing eyes," Hadrian recalled,
"Blood red. Unlike anything I have ever seen."
The thought of some horrid underworld monstrosity made the
fine hairs on Hadrian's arm stand on edge, sending a tingle
up to the nape of his neck. As was common practice with
the young Bard, his creative mind had begun to take over,
discarding any reason or logic. In their place, his mind
had started to construct an abomination of flaming red eyes
and snarling teeth that dripped with drool and blood, while
streams of steam exited through its grotesque nostrils.
The images that took shape in Hadrian's eccentric mind
startled him, causing his left hand to shoot into a small
pocket on the side of his vest. Stubby fingers searched
frantically through the pocket until finally grabbing hold
of the tiny vial he had purchased from one of the marketplace
shops of Windspear. Stone-skin Water. If the shopkeeper
who sold him the bluish vial was to be believed, then its
contents would turn whomever Hadrian threw the vial at into
stone. The thought of having such a potent weapon at his
disposal brought a small sense of relief to Hadrian, countering
the effects of his self-imposed trepidation. As random thoughts
entered and exited the Halfling's eccentric mind, he proceeded
cautiously and alert, carefully placing each boot in front
of the next and making sure not to trip over the exposed
tree roots and vines. Suddenly, his small ears heard a sound
as familiar as that of the drums marking the Dwarven Winter:
the smooth sound of Night's End being drawn, its lethal
blade scraping along its leather sheath. Startled, Hadrian
glanced around erratically trying to locate the source of
Valdor's unease.
"What is it?" asked Hadrian, his eyes darting
back and forth across the dense foliage. As he reached for
his own sword, Valdor shook his head slightly and raised
his hand, prompting Hadrian to pause.
"If my vision was accurate, there's going to be a
lot more of them than there are of us. I think it's best
if we split up and meet at the bottom of the basin,"
replied Valdor.
Hadrian raised a skeptical eyebrow and replied, "You
sure about that, I mean, its dark, and what if I find the
girl?" Despite his best efforts to hide any sign of
uneasiness, the expression across his face said it all.
"If you find her, then sit tight and I'll find you.
If you get to the grove before I do, wait for my signal."
"Val, I don't know about this," replied Hadrian,
but before he could continue, Valdor interjected, "Hadrian,
just stick to the trees and stay out of sight, you'll be
okay?" Hadrian hesitated before giving a half hearted
nod to his companion. Turning away, Valdor ran off making
his way down into the valley as Hadrian crossed over to
the far side of the path that ran beside them. Continuing
along into the valley, Hadrian suddenly stopped cold, his
ears picking up on the distinct sound of multiple footsteps
and rustling trees coming towards him. Despite being obviously
outnumbered Hadrian contemplated drawing his sword. However,
the thought of being run through by whomever was approaching
caused him to reconsider. "I'm of more use alive than
dead," he thought to himself. As the sounds of the
footsteps grew louder, he closed his eyes and tried to clear
his mind of random thoughts, which for a halfing, was no
easy task. He prayed that his decision to not fight would
prove to be the right one and in thinking of Valdor, he
hoped to again see his trusted companion. As his ears alerted
him to indistinct voices coming towards him, he quickly
reached for his Meshgorne and brought the horn to his lips.
Blowing softly, the horn emitted a low, soothing whistle
that carried a harmonious tune through the surrounding trees
and brought him comfort. His plan was to appear harmless,
and in doing so, have his life spared. As the men cleared
through the brush before him, a smile widened across his
face. "Oh good, I was hoping I wasn't the only one
in this dreadful place."
***
The unexpected dash through the dense undergrowth caused
the muscles in Valdor's legs to tighten as he pushed further
into the gorge. With each breath coming in heavy, short
gasps, Valdor thought back to the first vision he had received
of the girl. The images flew through his mind at the same
speed in which he ran. Small branches and thick stems passed
by in blurs of brownish green delivering sharp stings to
his body as they whipped along his unprotected arms and
legs. The sweat that had begun to develop on his brow had
found its way into his eyes, yet he continued to push his
body, ignoring the discomfort of the slight stinging and
the lashes. His thoughts traveled to Hadrian. The thought
of Hadrian falling into harm's way concerned Valdor. Although
Hadrian was skilled with his sword, he was far from being
a warrior. Hadrian lacked the ability to lash out, though
there was no doubting the fact that he was a survivor. Valdor
hoped that no matter what adversity his small companion
faced, that he himself would be there to face it with him.
With a firm grasp on the silver handle of Night's End, Valdor
continued at a quickening pace. He could feel his muscles
tightening up as if they were telling him to stop, but he
knew that time was not on his side and he forced himself
to continue. He had reached the bottom of the hill and the
ground had begun to flatten out. Raising his arms to cover
his face, he crashed through a series of thick hedges and
was startled by the scene before him. He had emerged through
the shrubbery into an open grove that was at best, about
thirty feet wide with a small stone altar in the center.
The grove appeared exactly as he had seen in his last vision
only this time there was no one else around.
***
The unshaven and grimy men of the ragtag group seemed rather
peculiar to Hadrian. He had already decided that they were
the sorriest group of mercenaries he had ever seen, but
something about his captors did not sit well with the Halfling.
Their weapons were dull and old, as were the clothes on
their backs. With his hands tied in front of him, he studied
the men that had inadvertently stumbled across him and found
it hard to believe that these men were the same ones that
he and Valdor had been hunting. The three men in the group
traveled light and without the woman they had been seeking.
Rather than confront the men, he though it safer to let
himself be captured to see where they would take him. The
largest of the three, whom Hadrian had rightfully assumed
to be the leader of the group, appeared to be in complete
control of the other two as he barked commands and urged
them to quicken their pace. He had been suspicious of Hadrian's
presence in the valley and had ordered the other two to
strip the Halfling of his weapons and tie him up.
"We leave it to the priest to decide what to do with
him," the large man had said, "And maybe earn
ourselves a little bonus as well." Hadrian found the
man to be odd, not only by appearance but also by the unfamiliar
accent in which he spoke. Hadrian had figured the men to
be from the Far Eastern Lands, as they had a slight brogue
that was customary of that region. His long blonde hair
and short beard did little to hide his young face, and Hadrian
could tell there was some inexperience behind his dark eyes.
"Come on now boys, we're almost there, keep up,"
he called to the other two. Clothed in orange and brown
leather and a tattered fir cape draped over his wide shoulders,
the man wore a gold and blue topaz pendant that quickly
caught Hadrian's attention. However, a quick glance at the
broad sword that was slung to the man's waist made him think
twice of trying to finagle the precious jewel from its current
owner. The other two men were much smaller than the leader,
the first one being a younger and thinner looking lad. He
sported a reddish tunic with an overgrown brown vest and
carried a simple sword with a dull blade. His face had been
obscured by the oddly shaped helmet he wore that covered
his features from the mouth on up. The other man was stout
and bald and wore a blue hooded cloak that did little to
hide the man's girth. As Hadrian observed his captors, he
stifled a laugh as he imagined the fat man's oversized head
encased in the smaller man's helmet. A flip of his cloak
revealed a peculiar assortment of knives and jagged throwing
weapons, which took Hadrian's mind back to the exotic throwing
knife he had purchased in town. Hadrian quickly cast aside
any doubts he had of the men and realized that if they didn't
currently have the woman he and Valdor had been searching
for, that they soon would.
***
From among the trees, Valdor could see that Hadrian had
not been harmed by the group of men who had taken him captive.
As Valdor studied the group, his thoughts raced though his
mind. If this is grove from my visions, then where is
the woman? The thought of being mislead by the sorceress
made him nervous as he knew he would experience a suffering
worse than death from his curse if he were to fail in his
quest. He had experienced the misfortune of failure once
and vowed to take his life before enduring that pain again.
And who are these men? These were not the men he
had seen in his vision. As he contemplated the scene before
him, he tried to put his thoughts in order in an attempt
to formulate a plan of execution. Suddenly, a flash of white
light appeared in the center of the grove, its radiance
casting a blinding illumination onto the thick trees that
surrounded the small opening. The burst caused Valdor to
shut his eyes hard, and upon opening them, he noticed that
the group of men across from him and Hadrian had been blinded
as well. In the center of the grove where the light had
originated now stood a tall darkly clad and hooded figure.
By his side was a sight that Valdor was afraid he would
not see. The woman from his visions stood silent and unbothered
by the blinding flash. She appeared submissive in her appearance,
her head bowed towards the ground, her eyes shut and her
hands clasped at her front. Far more beautiful that Valdor
could recall from his visions, he stared in silence and
studied her face. There was no doubt that she was the woman
from his visions, but his instincts told him something was
wrong. As he watched the angelic female, he could not remember
the last time he had seen someone so at ease at the onset
of inevitable death, let alone in a woman. He shifted his
vision to Hadrian, who remained with the group of men, his
hands still tied, but squirming feverishly to undo his bindings.
Valdor was relieved to see Hadrian working to free himself
and not in awe of the scene before him. Closing his eyes,
he silently recited a prayer to the Slayer Goddess, Sumera,
and asked for her blessings for victory and, if all else
failed, a quick death.
***
Turning to the woman at his side, the hooded priest raised
his arm and placed his hand upon her brow. In a deep, hollow
voice he said, "Clear your mind of these simple thoughts.
The Dark Child will soon be upon you." Glancing over
to the group of men, he took notice of Hadrian and stepped
towards the Bard. "Who is this and what the hell is
he doing here." Upon hearing the malevolent tone in
his voice, Hadrian's eyes shot up from his bound hands and
were met by the chilling glow of two red orbs that shined
through the eye-holes of the metal mask that the priest
wore. Smooth and polished, the mask appeared solid, yet
moved with fluidity as the priest spoke, his hooded cloak
casting an eerie shadow across its gleaming texture.
The leader of the group stepped forward and said in his
odd accent, "we was comin' across him in the valley.
He was wandering about. Says he was alone and lost."
"Nonsense?" the priest said menacingly, "Halflings
are expert woodsmen. He was not lost. He's here for the
woman." Turning towards Hadrian, Isn't that right?"
As Hadrian opened his mouth to speak, the priest spoke
again, his voice profound and penetrating, "It makes
no difference. Fate has failed you and left you to witness
the sacrifice to Kathalum, the Child of the Underworld.
If you are lucky, he will ask for your blood as well."
The priest let out a bellowing laugh that sent chills down
Hadrian's spine. Turning back to Hadrian, the priest lifted
his arms and flung back the hood and grasped the top of
the mask. Pulling it from his face, he removed the metal
disguise that hid his distorted features. The red glow that
permeated through the hood was now gone as he red eyes glimmered
in the moonlight. His dark skin glistened as though he had
been covered with star-dust and upon seeing his face Hadrian
knew the manner of creature that stood before him. The priest
was a Korgun, a pagan race from the underworld. Rarely seen
in these parts, the Korgun were said to be a half breed
of man and demon. Although they possessed no demonic attributes,
their appearance was more than enough to suggest otherwise.
Bringing his face closer to Hadrian's, the Korgun's red
eyes glared at the halfling before gnashing his teeth and
breaking into a smile. Hadrian could smell the Korgun priest
and the stench of death that emanated from his pores. A
nervous fear began running through Hadrian's mind and he
struggled to fight it. He drew in a deep breath and held
it in an attempt to calm his nerves. As he continued pulling
at the rope around his wrists his thought to himself, "Son
a milkless heifer, I knew this was a bad idea."
Through yellow and brown teeth, the priest spoke, "If
you did not come here to die, then what were you doing in
the valley?" As he spoke, he took Hadrian's sword from
the heavier man and inspected the inscription on the blade.
Clearing his throat, Hadrian forced himself to speak, "I…I
was traveling," he paused, trying to steady himself,
"to Windspear. I'm an entertainer…" he continued,
but was cut off by the priest.
"Yes, so I see. I assume by the inscription on the
blade that you are a musician of some sort." As he
spoke, he turned away and tossed the blade to the ground.
"B...Bard," Hadrian managed. The sweeping wind
that crept through the valley shook the leaves on the surrounding
trees and chilled the sweat on his brow as it passed over
him.
"Well then, tonight you shall sing to the Lord Prince
of the Dark," he said while turning to face the woman
still standing with her head bowed, "As he feasts on
the precious sacrifice we have brought him." Turning
back to the group of mercenaries, the priest removed a small
silver sack from his belt and tossed it to the leader. "Where
is the artifact?" the priest said to the young man,
to which he nodded as he reached into the pack that was
strapped to his back and produced an object wrapped in red
cloth. Unrolling the item from its coverings, the layered
cloths revealed a spectacular golden bladed knife, its handle
adorned with small rubies and a brilliant jade cube imbedded
in the bottom of the hilt. Holding the exotic knife with
both hands, the priest ran his fingers along the edge of
the blade softly, his eyes transfixed on the weapon as if
he had been in a trance. "The Sun Dagger," he
said softly. "You have fulfilled your part of the agreement,"
he said, directing his attention back to the three mercenaries.
"You are free to go," he said, turning away from
them and towards the woman, "But I advise you make
haste," he continued without looking at the men, "As
the Dark Child will not show you the mercy I have shown."
Without so much as a whisper, the three men slowly backed
away from the priest and turned away, exiting the grove
through the same way they had entered and leaving Hadrian
standing alone with a look of worry across his expressive
face.
Moving closer to the woman, the priest gripped the dagger
firmly by the handle. Without saying a word, the woman slowly
raised her lithe arms towards the priest, exposing a glowing
band that held her wrists together. Extending his free hand,
the priest began mumbling in a language Hadrian could not
understand or recognize and the glowing band flashed and
then faded away. Looking up at the dark-skinned priest,
the woman spoke, her voice more melodic than Hadrian had
ever heard, "Be wary of this one, my dark priest,"
raising a pointed finger at Hadrian, "His heart is
as strong as the northern winds." Closing her eyes,
she paused, then continued, "I can feel his life crystal
calling out as though..."
"I'll keep that in mind when I carve it from his chest!"
the priest interjected. "It is time," the priest
said. Taking the woman by the arm, he led her to the small
stone altar in the center of the grove. With the mysterious
dagger in his left hand, the Korgun priest sliced across
his right palm drawing a thin line of red and motioned for
the woman to hold out her left hand. Slicing open her palm,
the priest smiled at the site of her precious blood. Joining
his hand in hers, she began to recite an incantation. Closing
his eyes, the priest's smile widened as he anticipated the
great awakening. The clear dark sky filled rapidly with
ominous clouds and flashes of lightning crackled as the
wind blew stronger. Valdor knew his time was short and had
to act quickly, as the Sangre Retenge sacrifice had
begun.
End Chapter Four
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