Darkness Rising, Pages 1-50

Shadow War Chronicles

Volume One

Darkness Rising

For Diane,

My best friend, my partner, my muse

This story wouldn’t have been written without you

Thanks for the inspiration babe.

PROLOGUE

                Solus rose to the East, blanketing the mountain range in orange light, made all the brighter by its reflection of the snows that already lay like a sheet across the range.  The highest peaks of the Trey’Elden mountain range were silhouetted against the brilliant sphere, reminding all those who called these craggy peaks home of the awesome force that was the sun.  Rolfe, son of Grenn stood still as a statue atop the flat, smooth surface of the Storm Stone, gazing at the rising sun as he always had, every morning since the death of his beloved father had left him Warlord of the Thunder Hammer tribe.  He closed his eyes, letting the rays of the early morning sun warm his rugged, bearded face.

                “I never imagined finding you here this early.”  He said at the sound of soft footfalls behind him, making their way up the rock face to join him.  “Isn’t it more your habit to sleep through the rising of Solus and perhaps greet him halfway through his days work?”

                As always the laughter of his daughter, Shayla was music to his ears.  “Even I must brave the dawn on occasion father.  Especially when there is a hunting party set to leave, if I don’t make my appearance to help with preparations then Lora and her daughters will make my life miserable for a week!”

                Rolfe turned to face her, as always struck when his gaze first settles upon her by how much she looks like her late mother, which always makes him miss his queen that much more.  “The dawns light suits you girl, you’re beautiful.”  The fact that it was her father speaking the words didn’t make them any less true.  Shayla was indeed a beauty, by the standards of almost any race on the planet.  Tall and lissome, with a statuesque figure that Rolfe always proclaimed was due to their heritage, which could be traced all the way back to the original Trey, who had settled the mountains and taken for his wife the Lady Sif.  He had seen statues to the Asgardian goddess during the travels of his youth and he always thought that his young daughter had grown into the mortal likeness of the Thunder Gods wife.

                “You’re biased.”  She said, though her smile of appreciation was genuine as she tossed her silky black hair, letting it flutter on the mountain wind.  She wore a bear skin cloak that was cinched closed about her neck and covered her from there down, but there was still hints of the luscious curves beneath that even the thick fur could not hide.

                “I’m your father, I’m allowed to be biased.”  He held out an arm to her and she moved into it, letting him settle it about her shoulders as he turned to finish watching the rising of the sun.  Rolfe himself, though now in his sixty sixth year was still an impressive specimen.  Tall and broad with a well muscled chest and powerful arms and legs.  He still wore his war hammer, the mark of his authority among his people, diagonally across his back and was still the equal of most any warrior in the tribe wielding it.  Though his hair had long since gone white, the ice blue of his eyes had not faded, nor had the intelligence and compassion found there.  Like her he wore a cloak of bear skin, but his was thrown back off his shoulders, leaving his chest bare, the hairs matting it also ruffling on the breeze.  He wore pants that had also been made of the fur of the bear, hunting the great beast was a mark of distinction among their people… it was even included in their coming of age ceremonies.

                They stood in silence for a long while, until Solus had cleared the point of the highest peak, then Rolfe sighed.  Without turning his head to look at her, he said, “I suppose you’ve come to collect me so that I might see him off?”

                Shayla’s head had come to rest on her fathers shoulder, but now she tilted it back and looked up at his kindly, bearded face.  “He is your son.”

                He sighed, “Do you suppose I could get away with just standing here and watching the sun pass until they had left?”

                She lowered her gaze so that he couldn’t see the disapproval there, though he had raised her and could hear it in her voice.  “You are their warlord, if you do not wish to see the hunting party off, you do not have to.”

                ‘She is so much like her mother.  With her words or her eyes she can shame me.’  He sighed again, pulling her tighter against his side and replied, “But he is my son.”

                “It would mean much to him to have you there, to know that he has your blessing.”  She said softly.

                He turned then to face her, placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her out to arms length.  He looked into her sapphire eyes and saw her mother looking back at him.  “Often have I thought that you were the mortal incarnation of the Mother.”  To the people of Trey’Elden, the Mother referred to the Goddess Sif, who it was said was the mother of the original tribal founders and forcibly wed to Trey, the first of the People.  “Such wisdom as you display every day only makes me feel it more.”

                Shayla colored slightly, as she often did at such praise.  She often thought that of all the people in the tribe she was the only one to ever see this side of her father.  She knew her brothers didn’t, though perhaps her mother had.  “If I have wisdom, father, it is because you taught it to me.”

                He smiled and shook his head.  “You can swing a sword as well as nearly any man in our tribe.  That you get from me.  The wisdom… that is from your mother.  Without her I would not have been nearly so successful a warlord.  I sometimes fear that I transferred too much of my reliance on her to you.”

                She hugged him, tightly, as only a daughter can hug a father.  “My shoulders come from you as well father, and they can bear the weight.”

                He felt tears welling in his eyes as he returned the embrace and kissed the top of her head.  Forcing them back, thinking them unbecoming a leader of his stature, he stepped back and took her hand.  “Come, let us go and see your brother off to becoming a man.”

                Kelvan, son of Rolfe tried to halt the tremor in his fingers as he tightened the cinch on his horse for the fifth time.  As he straightened he glanced around furtively, wondering if his father was going to show up.  “Look at the little warlord,” said Tral, sliding his greatsword into its boot on the side of his saddle, “nervous as a virgin on her taking day he is!”  Tral was a tall, strapping warrior with long, ropy muscles and arms lined with scars from many battles.  Kelvan had heard it whispered that many of those battles had been with women and conducted between furs, but he had also heard tales of the mans prowess in battle.

                “Leave him alone Tral,” came the rumbling, bear like voice of Kellinor, tribe champion and leader of their particular outing, “the lad could slice you to ribbons with that blade before you even knew he had moved.”  The large man was leading his equally large horse over to join the rest of the hunting party.  “I should know, I taught you both to fight!”  Tral had cast a doubting look toward Kelvan, but at the champions words the other members of the hunting party broke into laughter and the scarred warrior scowled.  Kellinor led his horse over beside Kelvan’s and maneuvered it so that the beast stood between them and the other party members.  “Don’t worry so much, you’ll do fine and when we return you’ll officially be a man.”

                At those words Kelvan reflexively glanced over at Ember, the pretty girl that was standing on the sidelines holding one of the customary supply packages that the women of the tribe always gave to the men of their choosing before they left.  He knew she was here for him, and he was touched, for he hoped to ask her father for her hand when he returned from this hunt triumphant.  The man in question, Sorn, son of Trog was standing a short distance behind her, looking dour.  Sorn was a mute, but that didn’t stop him from being one of his fathers chief war councilors.  Kelvan really had no idea how the man felt about him, but he had to have known that Kelvan and Ember had been seeing each other for almost a year now.

                Kellinor glanced over at the girl, his bearded face hiding his knowing smirk as he leaned over to tell the boy, “Relax, she’s been waiting this long, she can wait till the end of the hunt.”  Kelvan colored slightly but nodded.  “And if Sorn gives you any trouble, just challenge him for her hand.  Tell him I’m championing you and he’ll relent!”  There was laughter in the mans voice, but his words somewhat stung.

                “I don’t need anyone to fight for me.”  Kelvan mumbled.

                Kellinor sobered at once and turned to his young student.  “I know you don’t, and I meant no offense by the words lad.”  The champions gaze rose then and he smiled, then he nudged the boys shoulder.  “Look who’s here.”

                Kelvan looked up at Kellinor, then glanced around to where the champion was looking.  His heart skipped a beat when he saw his father walking toward them, Shayla at his side, his sister wrapped in a heavy bear skin.  The two broke apart as they neared the hunting party, Shayla moving over to the women and accepting a package from one of them.  As she lifted her arms to take it her cloak fell open and Tral moaned slightly.  Shayla, whom he had always desired, was clad as she almost always was in a bear leather brassiere and tight leather pants tucked into the tops of knee high boots.  Her shoulders and flat stomach were bare, as were her arms.  Both Kelvan and Rolfe turned and glanced sharply at Tral who had the good sense to look away from the princess.  Kelvan had never liked Tral for a number of reasons, but one of the foremost of them was his constant badgering of their father to let him claim Shayla as his bride.  Rolfe, who certainly wanted better for his daughter than the man who had been quietly accused of more than twenty rapes, refused him, often violently, which may have accounted for some of those scars.  Kelvan had often wondered if her status as the princess was all that kept Tral from adding her notch to his bedpost.  He quietly wondered if he might arrange an accident for the man during this trip.

                Rolfe turned his attention to his son then, reaching out and placing his heavy hands on the lads shoulder.  “You leave a boy… I pray you return a man.”

                “I feared you weren’t coming father.”  Kelvan said softly.

                The warlords face softened slightly under his beard.  “Do not think my hesitancy to support this hunt has any reflection on my belief in you Kelvan.  Think of it more as a father unwilling to accept that his youngest has grown up.”

                “I will make you proud father.  I will bring back Gorman so that his head might adorn the post outside your lodge!”  At this all the party erupted in hoots, hollers and laughter.

                Kellinor, who was swinging up onto his saddle as the boy spoke, turned to the others, “Listen to him boast!  You would think this is his fiftieth hunt, not his first!”

                Rolfe smiled at his boy, ruffled his hair to embarrass him, possibly for the last time, then stepped back and watched Kelvan step confidently into his saddle.  “I have given you all the preparation I can for what is to come.  Return a man… or do not return at all!”  This was the normal sending off for a young warrior to his coming of age ceremony, and they were truly meant.  If Kelvan did not succeed in felling a bear during the hunt he would not be welcomed back until he did, and brought proof of it.  It was this ritualistic part of the ceremony that had caused Rolfe’s hesitation, for he did not want to banish his son to the frozen wastes of Trey’Elden.

                Kellinor raised his voice then, “Bring forth the packs!”

                With that the women came forward, those who were married to men on the hunt took their packs to their husbands.  Ember came to Kelvan and Shayla, who was not married nor attached took a pack to Kellinor, who was similarly free.  As champion of the tribe, he was not allowed to take a wife, though he had fathered a few sons on the wives of other men, or so it was said.  Such was his right as tribal champion. 

                Kelvan reached down and took his pack from Ember, then swung it up on his shoulder.  He looked down at her and felt his heart ache slightly.  She was, with the possible exception of his own sister, the most beautiful woman in the camp.  Sixteen years of age, the same as he, she was of average height with fair skin and strawberry blonde hair that looked almost orange in color.  There was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her pert nose, her lips were full and pink and the body she currently concealed beneath a baggy dress of deer hide he knew from their clumsy experimentation to be already showing signs of the blessings Lady Sif was to bestow on her.  Truly she was destined to be a beauty, and with any luck, she was destined to be his beauty.  “Be careful.”  She whispered.  “And come back to me in one piece… and quickly.”

                He smiled down at her, “As quickly as I can.”

                With that the girl backed away and Kelvan noticed that Shayla put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a sisterly one armed embrace.  Ember turned her head into the older womans shoulder and started to cry, but Shayla smiled and nodded at her younger brother.  “Be well Kelvan.”  She called.

                The young prince turned his gaze from the woman’s tears, feeling they made him feel dirty for it had been he that caused them.  He looked again to his father.  “I had hoped Devlin might come to see me off!”

                Rolfe threw his head back and laughed.  “At this early hour?  No doubt he is still warming the bed of some single lass somewhere.  I do not doubt he wishes you well, ever have you both been close.  Now go!  Ride!”  At their warlords instruction the hunting party, with Kelvan along to prove his manhood, turned and galloped from the village, none of them looking back.  Rolfe moved into the middle of the lane, staring after them, wondering what adventures would befall his youngest… and favored son.

                Turning to Shayla, who was still comforting Ember while her father looked uncomfortably on, Rolfe said, “Would that he had been born first.  Kelvan would make a fine warlord!”

                “You shouldn’t sell Devlin so short father.  Perhaps if you showed the confidence in him that you do in Kelvan he would improve his attitude.”  As she spoke, Shayla detached herself from Ember and pushed the girl toward her mother, who had moved to stand beside Sorn.  The girl moved away, but glanced over her shoulder at Rolfe and Shayla, perhaps wondering if they would soon be her family.

                As father and daughter started toward their lodge, Shayla pulling her cloak back around her to ward off the chill, Rolfe nodded toward the girl.  “Kelvin fancies Sorn’s girl?”

                Shayla smiled.  “Every male between the ages of fourteen and forty fancies Ember daughter of Sorn, father.  And some even older then them, though they are horny old men.”

                Rolfe glanced over his shoulder at his trusted advisor, saw him walking away with his wife and daughter.  “She is a comely lass, does she fancy him?”

                Shayla’s eyebrows raised slightly at that.  “Did you not see the tears?”

                Rolfe snorted.  “Women cry, it’s what they do.”

                She turned her head and shot him a withering look. “Really?”

                He had the good sense to look abashed by this and relented, “Most women.  Present company not included.”          

                Shayla still frowned but let it pass.  “Yes, I believe she loves him.  As much as one so young who has learned so little can love.”

                He smiled.  “There you go again, showing wisdom beyond your years.”  He sighed, his breath misting on the cool morning air.  “I’ll speak to Sorn, perhaps we can come to some arrangement regarding them.”

                Shayla scowled.  “If you do, don’t tell Kelvan.  He won’t want to know that he didn’t win her on his own merits.”

                “Aye,” he said agreeably, “I didn’t come of age yesterday.”  To the people of the tribes of Trey’Elden a life didn’t really begin until one had come of age, mostly because they weren’t yet able to do anything worth merit until their youth had passed.  “Now do an old man a favor,” he said and she raised her brows again, questioningly this time, “go find your brother.  I have a job for him, if I can convince him of its manliness.” She said nothing, nodding as she moved away from her father, deeper into the village.

                Teala awoke slowly, snuggling down into her beaver pelt mattress and pulling the wolf skin blanket up to her chin before she even opened her eyes.  When she did open them she turned her head and smiled, the sight of her lovers muscled chest and his chiseled face bringing back a flood of memories of the previous night.  Devlin, son of Rolfe was far and away the most handsome man in the tribe, though she could easily see that his younger brother might one day overtake him.  The thought of Kelvan made her smile, for she knew her younger sister Ember had her sights on the young prince and he on her.  Still, she was happy with the elder brother, convinced that if she could keep him happy and sexually satisfied she might one day be queen of the Thunder Hammers. 

                Rolling onto her side she pushed herself up on an elbow, cradling her head on her hand.  The wolf skins fell away from her creamy shoulders, her full breasts bared and the cool morning air making them bud pleasantly.  She took her time examining Devlin, his sculpted cheek bones, prominent nose and generously lipped mouth were set in a satisfied smile that she was certain she had been responsible for putting there.  His long black hair was splayed across his mattress and the roll of deer hides he was using for a pillow.  With one slender finger she reached out and stroked the line of his strong, squared jaw to the cleft tip of his chin.  He didn’t respond to this, so she continued down with the tip of her finger, trailing it along his neck, over his Adam’s apple and down into the little valley just above the point where his collar bones came together.

                Her eyes wandered lower, over his well developed chest, the swell of the pectoral muscles and the washboard like abs.  The rest of his physique was concealed beneath the wolf skins, but she knew from her careful exploration of the night before that he was solid muscle from head to toe.  She leaned in and started to kiss her way down his chest, her tongue flicking playfully at his nipples as she went.  He started to stir then and she smiled, her hands both moving over his bulk now, her fingernails scraping lightly.  He moaned, shifting against the beaver skin mattress, still not fully awake though his body was already becoming so.  Her left hand disappeared beneath the pelt blanket as her right traced the muscles of his right shoulder and then down his arm, her lips caressing his chiseled abs.  When the tips of the fingers on her left hand found his flaccid manhood she trailed them lightly up its shaft, delighting at the way it swelled instantly to her touch.  The barbarian prince was a rather well endowed man and she felt a thrill pass through her as he swelled against her palm.

                “I’ll give you exactly one hour to stop doing that.”  He said without opening his eyes.    

                She smiled coyly, “Oh?  What about this?”  Then her head disappeared beneath the wolf skins and his back arched off the mattress.

                “Two hours!” he gasped, and she giggled around her full mouth.

                Some time later Teala was seated on the side of the mattress, pulling her thin shift on over her head while Devlin lay, still covered to the waist, fingers laced behind his head watching her.  “You know your brother left for his hunt quite a while ago.”  She reminded him.

                Devlin nodded.  “The kid will be fine, he’s as tough as me and smarter than Shayla.  He’s probably going to bring in Mogran’s head on a spear for father.”  Mogran was a massive Kodiak bear that lived in the mountains to the north of their tribe.  He was something of a legend, having killed more Thunder Hammers than any other bear, and eluding capture for years.

                Teala shrugged, “I’m sure he missed you though.  He looks up to you, everyone knows that.”

                Devlin sighed.  “That’s the problem with women, you’re all so damn sentimental. I’ll be there to congratulate him when he comes home, that’s the important part.”  Teala couldn’t argue that, the homecoming of the hunting parties was always the biggest part of the event.  The task of cleaning and dressing the kills was tedious work, so the decision had been made generations past to turn it into a time of celebration.

                At that moment he heard his sister’s voice outside the tent.  “Devlin!”

                He groaned softly and closed his eyes.  “Thor’s hammer, how the Hell did she find me?”

                Teala shrugged, “Half the tribe saw you come home with me last night, including my father so it might be safest for you to leave here with her.  If he finds you on your own he’s likely to challenge you.”

                Devlin shrugged.  “Your father is an old man, I would worry more about brothers if you had any!”

                “Devlin!”  shouted Shayla again.

                “What?!” he screamed at her, making Teala jump and widen her eyes.

                “Father wants to see you, he says he has a job for you.”  He could tell by the tone in which she said it that she was expected to deliver him to their father.

                He looked at Teala.  “Speaking of old men, I had better go and see what mine wants.”

                She looked mortified.  “You shouldn’t speak of the warlord in that manner!”

                He grinned.  “It’s easier when you’re related to him, trust me.”  With that he tossed aside the blankets and rolled from her bed, raising his voice to his sister, “I’ll be out in a minute!”  He hadn’t expected a response and got none, but he knew she was still out there.

                Teala finished dressing before he did, grabbed a wicker basket from a corner of her small lodge and moved toward the door.  “I have to help with the harvest today, but will I see you later?”

                He shrugged, “Perhaps, it depends on what the old man wants me to do.”

                She seemed to accept that and moved through the door, pushing aside the hanging deer skin curtain that covered it.  “You can go in if you want princess.”  She said to the dark haired beauty standing outside.  Shayla said nothing to her but nodded and stepped through the door.  When she saw that her brother was still naked she flushed scarlet and turned away, suddenly angry with the woman who had just left.

                Devlin glanced over his shoulder at her as he pulled pants on over his naked legs and groin.  “What’s the matter sister, never seen a man naked before?”  Then he laughed slightly, “No, I suppose you haven’t.  Still clinging to that notion of virtue, are you?”

                “It’s not a notion,” she said, turning slightly when she saw that he was more clothed, “it’s the way of our people.”

                “A woman should maintain her virginity till a worthy man claims it.”  He said, as though reciting a lesson learned in his youth, which he actually was.  “It’s rubbish, a relic from a bygone era.  You should get laid, it would do you some good.  Any number of eligible men in town would do the deed for you properly.”

                She colored slightly, hating that he had always been able to do that to her.  “You shouldn’t speak to me like that Devlin.”              

                He looked up at her as he was bent over, pulling on mammoth hide boots.  “Like what? A woman?”  He shook his head as though unable to believe her attitude.  “I speak the truth.”  He stomped each of his feet hard, settling them more firmly into the boots, then he grabbed his leather harness on which hung the scabbard for his claymore, which leaned against the wall of the lodge nearby.  He buckled the leather straps that crisscrossed his chest and back into place, then slipped his sword home and flexed his shoulders experimentally.  Nodding his satisfaction at how they were settled he turned to her, “So, what does the old man want this time?”

                She turned to the door with apparent relief.  “I have no idea, actually.”  She led the way outside and her brother followed her, inhaling deeply of the crisp morning air.  His chest expanded like a bellows.

                “Beautiful day today!”  he said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

                “Good day to start a hunt.”  She said with slight annoyance.

                He rolled his eyes.  “Odin’s beard, not you too!  Are all the women of the Thunder Hammers so annoyingly sentimental?”

                “You should know, you’ve slept with most of them.”  She said acidly, but he only smirked and nodded.  It was true, after all.  Though unlike Tral, all of his partners had been willing, hoping perhaps to be the next queen of the Thunder Hammer tribe.  “Wasn’t that Teala, daughter of Sorn?” 

                He nodded, falling into step beside her as they headed toward their fathers lodge which was centrally located in the village.  “It was.”

                “Playing with fire there big brother, her father is close to ours, and he has no great love of you.”  She warned him.

                He snorted derisively, “Then they have that in common, haven’t they?”

                Shayla scowled at that, as though wounded by the words.  “Don’t say that, father does love you Devlin, he just expects more of his heir.  And frankly, you haven’t given him much to hope for of late have you?  Gallivanting around with all these women, ruining most of them for future marriages to the point where father is forced to make deals with potential husbands.”

                “I don’t gallivant.” He said, frowning as though he weren’t even sure what the word meant.

                Shayla smiled slightly, knowing that one of the few ways she had of getting to her older brother was through words, which she had always been better at than him.  “What would you call it then?”

                He seemed to struggle for a moment, then came to realization of what she must have said and came back with, “Consorting.”

                Shayla threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing off the mountains around the village.  Before she could come back with a scathing retort, as was customary between the two of them, a huge tribesman stepped from a lodge and into their path.  He was massive, over seven feet tall and more slender than most of their people, but all muscle.  His face seemed hidden within a shaggy black beard and a halo of matching hair.  He wore leather breaches and heavy boots studded with iron spikes and his hands were wrapped in elk hide, also studded in iron.  On his hip rode a wicked looking flamberge, the swords blade rippling up both sides.  His dark eyes regarded to the two of them from the shadows cast by his wild hair, seeming to linger longer on Shayla than was proper, especially considering who he was.

                “Uncle.”  She said, feeling a fluttering in her stomach.  Devlin instinctively stepped forward a half step, as though putting himself between his sister and their fathers half brother.  It was commonly known that Karnash was the result of an affair between Grenn, their grandfather and a gypsy woman that had been taken in a raid.  The woman had died giving birth to Karnash, and their uncle had been the families black sheep ever since.

                “It does me good to hear the laughter of youth in the village.  Reminds us why we’re alive.”  Karnash wasn’t as old as Rolfe, was almost twenty years his junior in fact, only about fifteen years older than Devlin.  “What brings you two out at this early hour?”

                “I was seeing Kelvan off to the hunt.”  Shayla said, ever the voice of reason in the family.  She always tried to include their uncle, despite his every failing she could never quite turn her back on any member of her family.  “Father has asked to see Devlin, so we are on our way to his lodge.”

                Their uncle grunted.  “There’s a coincidence, he’s asked for me too.  Wonder if the two reasons might be related?”  The uncle and the nephew met each others gaze and it was to his credit that Devlin did not wither beneath his uncles glare.  “Let’s go see, shall we?”  The siblings were quiet the rest of the way to their fathers lodge, Karnash had that effect on them.

                They arrived at the lodge of Rolfe minutes later and Karnash, preceding the prince and princess entered without knocking, thrusting aside the elk skin curtain that hung across the doorway.  Devlin and Shayla exchanged a glance, not surprised by his behavior for he had always been thus, and followed their uncle in.  Rolfe was standing with his back to the door, his arms behind him staring at a map of the land controlled by their tribe that was painted onto the wall.  When they entered he took a few moments before he turned, his eyes sweeping the three of them, lingering a moment on Shayla as though debating whether to dismiss her.  He let her stay as he addressed the two men.  “Good, I’m glad you both came.”

                “Really?”  Said Karnash, moving to a large ironwood framed chair lined in wolf pelts and plopping himself into it.  He sprawled, kicking his legs up onto a table and crossing them at the ankles.  “That’s a first.”

                Devlin rolled his eyes, Shayla sighed in exasperation but Rolfe ignored the sarcasm, refusing to rise to his brothers bait.  “Outriders arrived yesterday with dire news.”  Rolfe began and suddenly Devlins eyes narrowed and he leaned forward slightly, his expression intent.  He always yearned for a chance to prove himself in battle.  “They came through the village of elder Tor’Lon on their way back here and found it abandoned.  There were signs of a struggle but no one left to tell them anything.”

                “No one?”  Devlin asked, surprised.  “Who could have taken a whole village of our tribe without us knowing?”

                Shayla was watching Karnash, finding his lack of reaction surprising.  To her father she said, “I’m not so interested in the who as in the how and, more importantly, the why.” 

                Rolfe nodded, his eyes twinkling with pride that she had so quickly caught the gist of the problem.  “My thoughts exactly.  One of the outriders awaits you at the livery, I want you both to ride with him to Tor’Lon’s village and see if there is anything there that they might have missed.  They admitted they did not take long to search, there may be some clue there to what happened.”

                “I’ll see to it at once father.”  Devlin seemed almost eager to take the job on, which was somewhat out of character for him.  Usually his fathers tasks seemed to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but few of them had such potential for combat.  That, Shayla decided, must have been the cause of his eagerness.

                “You want me to go with him?”  Karnash asked, tilting his head slightly to look at his brother. “Why?”

                “Because you know the people of that village brother, you’ve traded with them extensively for their tobacco.  Plus, you are two of my finest warriors, should anything go wrong I’ll want to know that the men I sent can handle themselves.”  Rolfe replied.

                Karnash said nothing more, but continued to stare at his brother.  Shayla, unseen behind her uncle was staring at him with an odd intensity.  It was Devlin who spoke next, “Who is the outrider that will be accompanying us?”

                “Vyn’Tal, son of Kronel.”  Rolfe answered.

                Karnash nodded, hauling himself to his feet.  “He’s a good man, a fine scout.  We’ll go and see what there is to see brother and get back as quickly as we can.  The village is only a few hours from here, we should be back before sundown.”

                “Don’t be too hasty Karnash, I want the village searched thoroughly.”  Rolfe warned his brother.

                Karnash grinned, his big teeth seeming to gleam from the depths of his black beard.  The expression was oddly predatory.  “The village is not so big as that brother.”  With a nod to his nephew and glance at Shayla he led the way from the lodge.  Devlin glanced at his sister then his father and followed. 

                Shayla hadn’t moved from the spot, was still staring at the hide door where her uncle and brother had just vanished.  “What is it girl?  The way you were glaring at your uncle would lead me to think he had taken liberties with you.”

                She shook her head.  “Nothing like that father.”  ‘Though I wouldn’t put it past him.’  “It’s just… did you notice his reaction to the news of Tor’Lon’s village people disappearing?  From him I would have expected some snide remark or…  I don’t know, even anger since some of them are his friends.  But there was nothing, almost like he was trying not to react.”

                Rolfe placed a hand on her shoulder.  “You read too much into it girl.  You have never trusted Karnash, none of us have, and you look for deceit where none is hidden.  He simply is not a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve.”  With that her father turned away, signaling that the conversation was over.

                ‘Since when?’  Shayla wondered to herself, then she turned and left the lodge.

                Kelvan crouched in the dirt in front of the hunting party, examining the tracks.  They had been lucky to find a trail so soon after their departure.  It had snowed recently and the tracks in the fresh layer were only a few hours old.  “It’s definitely a bear.”  Kelvan said softly, as though to himself.

                “It’s definitely a big bear.”  Kellinor replied.  The champion was still mounted on his massive black charger behind the young warrior. 

                Kelvan turned slightly to gaze up at the man who was like a second father to him.  Kellinor and Kelvan had grown closer than the champion had ever done with another student.  “Could it be him?”

                Kellinor’s eyes lit up slightly as he regarded the size and depth of the tracks.  He raised his head and looked around, then he nodded.  “Certainly it could be, but Mogran doesn’t usually wander this far south.”

                “Game is scarce for us, why should it be different for him?”  Kelvan asked.

                Kellinor regarded the young man for a moment, then his bearded face broke into a big grin.  “Well said my prince.  Let’s go hunt the demon bear, shall we?”  The last sentence was spoken to the half a dozen men arrayed behind him, thrusting his claymore sword into the air.  They all cheered and started to chant “Mog-ran, Mog-ran, Mog-ran!”  Kelvan swung up into his saddle, grinning ear to ear and led the way, kicking his horse into a gallop. 

                They raced ahead into the valley between two of Trey’Elden’s higher peaks. The trail was clearly marked and they had no trouble following it as they raced to the south for the better part of an hour, their horses plowing through the thick snow easily, having been raised on these mountains.  Suddenly Kellinor raised a hand and shouted, “Hold!”  Everyone reined in, Kelvan, who was still in the lead as befit his position as the budding adult turned his horse to face the champion.

                “What is it?” he asked, seeing the look of concentration on the older mans face.  Kellinor shook his head, listening fiercely.  Suddenly a deafening roar split the air, echoing off the surrounding mountains.  The hunting party fell silent, even their horses didn’t make a noise for several moments.  Slowly a smile spread across Kelvan’s face.  “It is him!”  The smiled died then as another, different sound rent the air, that of a woman’s terrified scream.

                “I thought I heard a scream!”  Kellinor stated as he kicked his horse into a gallop, the rest of the party falling in behind him as he barreled through the snow, his horse, which was the largest there plowing a path for the others.  As they crested a nearby rise the land they were on dropped into a narrow and shallow ravine a short ways on and within the ravine, blocked on three sides by high rock walls was a woman, backed against the rear most rock face by the largest bear Kelvan had ever seen.  Mogran was huge, his deep brown coat mottled with the scars of many attempts to hunt him over the years.  When he heard the horses approaching he swung around, revealing that the right side of his face was horribly mutilated, one eye completely gone and the snout torn away to reveal rows of jagged teeth.  He reared up on his hind legs at sight of the hunting party and roared his challenge.

                “Help me, please!”  cried the woman.  She was like no other woman anyone on the hunting party had ever seen.  Her skin was black as night, contrasting starkly with the white of the snow, though her hair was a near match for the soft, cold blanket she stood on.  She was undeniably beautiful, with high, firm breasts and an almost aristocratic look to her sculpted face.  The points of her ears marked her as an elf, but Kelvan had never heard of an elf with dark skin before.  He had never actually seen an elf, if the truth were told.

                As though to bring the group back to reality Kellinor said, “This is your hunt my prince, what would you have us do?”

                Kelvan, shocked speechless by the scene that had greeted them when they arrived, shook himself smartly to clear his head, then he assessed the situation quickly.  “I’ll lure the creature away and take him down myself, you all get the woman out of there and to a safe distance.  Don’t go far though.”  This last he added as he sized up the massive bear, then he kicked his mount into a run and charged at the shallow ravine.

                As Kelvan raced at the bear, he released a war cry of his own in answer to the bears challenge, reaching up and drawing forth his bastard sword from his back.  The blade gleamed in the brilliant sun, the reflection dancing in the bears vision and enraging it all the more.  It dropped to all fours and raced forward to meet the young warriors charge.  Kelvan was fearless as he reined his horse to one side, racing down the left side of the bear and slashing with his razor sharp blade.  The point dug into the thick muscle between its shoulders, spraying scarlet and the bear roared, turning and swiping with its massive claws at the horses legs.  Kelvan had expected this though and already reined the horse away, galloping off to his right.  He glanced over his shoulder to see if the bear was following and he was, behind it Kelvan could see Kellinor and Tral moving into the ravine to retrieve the woman. The rest of the party was standing ready to assist him when the moment arrived.  By the rules of the hunt, the hunter that catches the trail initiates the combat and only once he has weakened the creature do the others move in and help finish it off, that it is clear to whom the credit for the kill goes. 

                Returning his attention fully to the bear, Kelvan wheeled his horse about and went charging back, veering to the right at the last moment and slashing down again with his blade.  But Mogran had danced this dance before and the bear threw its weight to the side while lashing out with both its front paws.  Kelvan’s horse screamed in pain and terror as its left fetlock was ripped open, spraying blood across the white snow.  The horse floundered badly and Kelvan was flung from the saddle.  He heard a roar from the men awaiting his word to charge, as he landed lightly on the snowpack and shoulder rolled to one knee.  He looked up in time to see the massive bear rear up on its hind legs, front paws raised, then it came crashing back down, swiping with both paws as it descended.  Kelvan flung himself forward in desperation, spinning like a screw and slashing at the great beasts belly as he slid along the snow between its legs.  Blood sprayed across the snow as the monstrous bear, whose name in their tongue literally meant Demon Bear, staggered and roared in pain.  Snarling savagely the bear lumbered about and roared at him again, the savaged side of its face, the result of his brother Devlin’s first ever hunt (which had lost six men to this monster) looking horrific in its closeness.

                Kelvan rolled backward as the monster charged again, rising to his full height and tightening his grip on his bastard sword.  He crouched, the distant yells of encouragement and advice from his fellow hunters ringing in his ears but ignored.  He could feel the ground shaking beneath his feet as the bear, fifteen feet tall when it stood on its hind legs and weighing well over twelve hundred pounds charged at him.  He didn’t flinch, he didn’t blink, he simply waited with sword in hand.  When it was a few feet from him he dodged to one side, seeing in his peripheral vision that Kellinor had stopped to watch, the dark skinned elf seated in front of him on his saddle.  As the bear moved past him, trying to twist to tear at him with its teeth as he dodged the youth reached out and grabbed its coarse fur, using the monsters own forward momentum to jerk him up into the air.  Still holding onto the bears coat with one hand, his sword held high in the other Kelvan jackknifed his body, forking his legs around the burly neck as he came to rest just above its shoulders.  Mogran bellowed in rage and confusion, turning its head to try and snap at the young barbarian but Kelvan had already raised his sword high and he heard the triumphant shout of his mentor in the distance as he drove the point of his gleaming bastard sword down into the neck of the giant Kodiak.

                “It’s true,” Devlin said, kicking at the snow in frustration, “there’s no one left.  All tracks end at the edge of the village as well.”  He and Karnash has searched the small village from one end to the other, even going back over the lodges the other had already searched in case they missed something.  “I don’t understand it, what could do this?  Our people are warriors, they would not go meekly.”

                Karnash turned and pointed at a spot where blood had spattered on a wall.  It was the only sign of a struggle that they had seen, but it was enough to tell them that their people had put up a fight at least.  “By all appearances, they didn’t.”

                Devlin turned to Vyn’Tal, the outrider that had accompanied them and been among the men to discover this scene the day before.  “You and the others saw nothing?”

                Vyn’Tal was young, tall and very blonde with fair skin and bright blue eyes.  “Nothing, this is exactly as it was when we found it.”

                “What will we tell father?”  Devlin asked, looking around helplessly.

                “Nothing.”  His uncle answered, “Because that’s what we found… nothing.”

                The two warriors returned to their tribal village and went straight to Rolfe’s lodge.  The warlord was there with Sorn, poring over some maps and planning the routes the next batch of outriders would run.  As his brother and his son walked in Rolfe stood and faced them.  “Well?”

                “There was nothing father.  It’s true, the villagers are all gone and there is blood enough to show that one person at least fought back against whatever it was… but there is no sign of what transpired.  It’s like they just disappeared.”  Devlin reported.

                Rolfe turned to Karnash.  “You have anything to add?”  His brother shook his head, crossing his arms over his burly chest.  “This is most troubling.  I fear it’s not the only village to be so afflicted either, while you were gone I started to compile reports from previous outrider expeditions.  There have been startlingly few reports of them encountering outriders from other villages, and you have both ridden enough patrols to know that there are always other outriders encountered.  It’s how we exchange news between villages.”  Rolfe turned as Sorn rapped his knuckles on the table for attention, then the mute warrior signed something.  The warlord nodded, “Indeed.”  He turned back to his brother and son, “Sorn recommends that we expand our outriders patrols and check on some of the villages that lie farther out, near to our borders.”

                “I’ll happily lead one of those expeditions father.”  Devlin said, clearly he was eager to test his mettle against whatever might be causing these mysterious disappearances.

                Rolfe nodded. “I will let you know….”  He was going to continued, but at that moment Shayla burst in, smiling ear to ear.  She faltered for a moment when she realized she had interrupted her brother and uncles report, but Rolfe addressed her.  “What is it girl?”

                Meeting her fathers eyes Shayla grinned broadly.  “They’ve returned!”

                Rolfe’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Already?”

                Shayla nodded, her blue eyes dancing with delight, “Wait till you see father!”  All the men in the lodge exchanged glances, then moved to follow her from the building.  Outside there was a crowd already forming, but when they recognized their leader and his family they parted to let him pass.  As he reached the front of the crowd he saw the hunting party approaching in the distance, four horses at the rear dragging a massive carcass behind them by ropes tied to their saddles.  He noted that Kelvan was riding double with Kellinor and that Tral had an exotically beautiful, dark skinned elf behind him in the saddle.

                The warlord looked more closely at the carcass they were dragging, squinting to get a clear view.  “Is that…?”  He trailed off, his tone reflecting disbelief.

                “I’ll be damned.” Devlin said with obvious awe in his voice.  “Mogran!”  At the sound of the name the villagers around them took up the chant.  “Mog-ran, Mog-ran, Mog-ran.”  This kept up till the hunting party had reached them and Rolfe stepped forward with a smile to address Kellinor. 

                “Well, who felled the beast?”  He asked.

                Kellinor grinned down at the warlord, then nodded toward the young man seated behind him.  “Who do you think?”  Devlin was the first of the crowd to cheer his little brother as Kelvan slid from the saddle.  Rolfe was beaming as he stepped up to clap his son on the shoulder.  “My lord,” Kellinor called over the cheers and Rolfe looked up at him, “he felled the beast on his own.  We had no chance to help him.”

                Rolfe looked from his champion to his youngest son, then turned and exchanged looks with Devlin and Shayla, both of whom were grinning broadly.  Karnash alone looked dour, but this was normal for him.  Turning back to Kelvan he said, “You left a boy… you return to us a man grown!”  Another roar of approval from the crowd.  “And what a man you have become!”  He stepped up and raised his sons hand into the air in victory.  Kelvan was grinning, enjoying the praise and then his eyes fell on the young woman standing to one side of the gathering and he lowered his arm, pulling it from his fathers grasp.  Ember had changed clothes since he saw her that morning, gone was the shapeless dress she had worn, now she wore a scant top of wolf pelt and skirt wrapped about her hips that looked to be snow leopard.  She had a bear skin cloak hanging from her shoulder and a beautiful smile on her lips. 

                “Ember?” he asked as he stepped up to her.

                She was still smiling.  “It was my coming of age day too, remember?” she said softly and Kelvan looked around at the smiling faces of the women who had seen to the simple and rather brief ceremony.  The skimpy clothing was a sign of her flowering, showing off her body to prospective mates now that she was old enough to breed.  Ember nodded her chin toward the dead bear, “I’ll make you a fine cloak of him, if you like.”

                Kelvan turned and looked at his father, who was watching the exchange with a rather odd look on his face, a combination of sadness and pride.  Then he looked at Shayla who nodded encouragement and finally to Devlin who said, “Go for it little brother!”

                Kelvan turned back to Ember, smiled at her, then turned to the man that stood to her side, his white bearded face looking rather solemn at the moment.  “Lord Sorn… I….” 

                The mute old warrior held up a hand, halting the youths speech.  For a moment Kelvan thought he was going to deny him outright, but then he began to sign.  None of the warlords children were so good at deciphering the sign language as their father, but Ember, who was watching her father, started crying.  At first Kelvan thought he had been right about the denial, but then he realized Ember was smiling.  From behind him, Rolfe, who had come up behind his youngest son unnoticed, began to translate.  “Any man who could single handedly fell the Demon Bear and return unscathed is not only worthy of my daughters hand… but of my allegiance as well.”  With that the old mute fell to one knee in front of the young prince and bowed his head.  One by one, every member of the tribe dropped to one knee before Kelvan and lowered their heads in respect of the man who had accomplished what so many others had failed to do.  Even Ember knelt, still crying.  Kelvan turned to see his father gazing around at them all, moved beyond words.  Behind Rolfe Kelvan saw Shayla and Devlin both kneeling as well, and the sight of his brother showing such reverence was astonishing to the boy.  He noted, however, that his uncle seemed to have slipped away.  He remembered that his uncle was among the first hunters to fail to bring down Mogran.

                “Father I… I don’t understand what’s happening here.”  Kelvan said softly.

                Rolfe turned to face his son and his eyes were full of tears he would never, under other circumstances have let himself shed.  “They’ve chosen their next king boy.”

                Kelvan’s eyes widened and he turned to look at his older brother.  “But Devlin is next in succession.”

                At that Devlin stood and approached them.  “My becoming warlord was always something that father wanted, because it was expected of me.  It was never my choice… I mean come on, what kind of warlord would I be?  But you,” he glanced around as people were starting to get slowly to their feet, “you’re the best of us Kel.  You’re as tough as me,” he glanced over at the dead bear, “maybe tougher,”  several people laughed, “you’re as smart as Shayla.”

                From the sidelines their sister called, “Smarter.”

                “Everyone knows you would have been warlord had you been the first born son.  But you gave them reason to choose you over me.”  Devlin said.

                Kelvan, still confused, looked to his father.  “You still don’t do well with your histories, do you boy?”  He asked fondly.  “How did your grandfather become warlord of this tribe, when he was the third born son?”

                “His deeds won him the loyalty of the people over his other siblings.  Knowing that they could not hold the title over him without the peoples support, they relented.”  Kelvan said.

                “Correct, and since Devlin has never, in his heart, truly wanted to rule, there is no issue of relenting.  You simply had to prove yourself worthy,” Rolfe said, then turned to gesture at the bear, “which you have done in grand style!”  More cheers and people came forward to start slapping the youth on the back and congratulate him.  Before she could be swept away by the crowd Kelvan reached out and took Embers hand, pulling her to his side and she beamed happily to be there.

                Happy though he was for his son and the unexpected turn of events that he had secretly hoped for since Devlin came of age and proved his true worth as a leader, Rolfe understood that there was another duty to perform here.  He stepped over to the horse on which Tral and the ebony skinned elf rode and extended his arms to her.  She allowed him to help her down, slipping gracefully into his powerful arms.  He set her down and realized that she was a good deal shorter than him, but was one of the most exotically beautiful women he had ever seen.  “And who might you be milady?” he asked her.

                She smiled, her teeth dazzlingly white.  “My name is Silke Shadoe, my lord.  Your son saved my life today. That bear would have had me for its next meal if your hunting party hadn’t shown up when it did.”

                Kellinor seemed to appear out of nowhere at the warlords side.  “It’s true my lord, you would have been proud of Kelvan today.”

                “I am proud of my son every day Kellinor.”  The old warlord responded.

                “Your sons deed is worthy of a song my lord, would that I had the skill to record such.  I’m sure he will do great things in the future.”  The elf smiled as she spoke.

                “We have a celebration to attend my lady,” Rolfe said of the gathering, “but when it is done I look forward to hearing the tale of how you came to be alone in our mountains and nearly became bear food.”

                “Of course.” She said with a bow.  Then, the introductions and pleasantries out of the way, Rolfe turned his attention to more enjoyable matters.

                The entire village turned out, as they did every hunt, to celebrate what the hunting party had been able to bring home.  This time, of course, it was different, for their beloved prince had brought in the hated Mogran, something that had been attempted countless times but never managed… until today.  While it was a day of celebration, there were those attending the celebration whose thoughts were not happy, indeed, the thoughts of Karnash son of Grenn were rarely happy.  He moved among the celebrants, his expression dark, his mood dour.  No one spoke to him, no one ever did, he was unapproachable at the best of times but any occasion when his brothers family had the audacity to outshine him were among the worst for him.  At these events he would typically drink himself into a stupor and awake two days later, after all the celebrating had abated.  He saw no reason that this celebration should be any different.

                He moved through the crowd of wildly dancing people, their limbs flailing about chaotically as Dorvul and his sons played their instruments.  For these celebrations the instruments consisted of pipes and drums, things easily crafted and maintained.  They made for a rather haphazard sound but because of the drum beats they were easy to dance to.  He was making his way for the table on which the feast had been laid out and where he knew he would find the supply of alcohol his brother always turned out for these things.  As he was making his way toward it, however, he paused, seeing the darkly beautiful elf that his nephew’s hunting party had discovered in the wild standing by the table, her haunting gaze leveled upon him, making him feel as though she could see right through him.  He didn’t pause long, for Karnash was not one to let a woman delay his wishes, and he made to move past her toward the several bottles of wine he saw at the end of the table.

                “My lord.” She said softly as he passed, not bothering to step into his path.  Still, though softly spoken the tone of her voice had the power to stop him, turning him to face her. “Perhaps tonight the wine would not be the best choice.”

                His eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked at her.  “The wine is always the best choice wench, especially when the people are singing the praises of my brothers whelps.”  He started to turn back toward the table.

                Again her words brought him up short.  “There is no love lost between you and your brother, is there Karnash?”  How did she know his name?  He turned back to face her again, saying nothing, glowering.  “You have always felt, perhaps rightly so, that you would make a far better warlord for the people of the Thunder Hammer tribe?”

                His scowl darkened.  “How could you possibly know what I think?”

                Her full lips, a lighter color than the rest of her ebony skin, turned up in a knowing smile.  “I have seen your soul Karnash son of Grenn.  I know your deepest desires, your greatest fears… I know what makes you tick.”  He stepped toward her, intending it to be a threatening gesture, looming over her and glaring down into her beautiful face.  To her credit, the dark elf didn’t back down, she simply looked up at him with that same knowing smile.  Slowly, gently, she reached out and placed a hand on his massive chest, her slender fingers snaking through his chest hair.  “I can help you achieve that which you most desire.  I can give you your brothers people… you have only to trust me.”

                He snorted.  “Why should I do that?  I don’t know you, I don’t know what motivates you.  I’m beginning to think that my nephew finding you out in the mountains wasn’t an accident.  You planned it,  you wanted to be here.  The question is… why?”

                She leaned into him, pressing her body against his.  “All will be made clear to you in time… though not if you drink that wine.”  She moved only her eyes, glancing at where a young warrior had moved up and grabbed one of the bottles.  He had a pretty young woman by his side and, with her on one arm and the wine bottle in the other hand, he moved off into the darkness. 

                Karnash watched this as well, then he turned his head, slowly taking in the rest of the scene.  There were people celebrating, as was expected, but there were also a lot of people on the sidelines, many of them slumped over a table, sprawled in a chair or just standing listlessly, apparently watching the dancers.  Slowly his gaze came back to her, his brow furrowing as he realized some of what was happening.  “What did you do to the wine?”

                “A simple spell to make them more… shall we say… susceptible to my will.  They are not being harmed physically, and there is no permanent damage being done to their minds.  But your people are combative, much more easily controlled if they are not prepared to defend themselves.”  Silke Shadoe smiled slightly, stroking his chest idly with one hand, her fingers getting tangled in the thick mat of black hair. 

                “Yet you would spare me, why?”  he demanded.

                She looked up at him, her expression shrewd, and finally nodded as though deciding to tell him the truth.  “I need you to help me control them.  They are more apt to respond to one of their own, especially one who is connected to their chosen leader through family.”

                Karnash laughed.  “They would never follow me, they hate me.  Even should my brother die they would follow Kelvan, you saw that for yourself.”

                “But what if they all died, your brother and his three brats?  Leaving only you of the ruling family to take over.  What then?  Would they have any choice but to accept you?”  She asked.

                “The people follow who their hearts tell them to.  If my brother and his children weren’t available, they would likely rally to Kellinor, their champion.  I would be their last choice.”  Karnash shook his head.  “You should be more selective who you choose for an ally elf.”  He started to turn away.

                “I chose you because you are not like the others.  Because you hunger for things that your current status cannot give you.”  He stopped, though he didn’t turn around.  “I can change that status for you, all that is required is your cooperation.”

                He turned his head, looking at her from the corner of his eye.  “Why should I trust you?”

                She shrugged, then gestured at the party still raging around them.  “What do you have to lose, really?”

                He was quiet for a time, considering her words.  “What is it you want my people for exactly?”  He asked.

                She smiled, “All will be made clear in time.  Your role is an important one if you choose to claim it.  Your people are important to us as well, though not for the same reasons that you are.  What say you Karnash, son of Grenn?  Will you help me?  Will you let me help you?”

                He turned to face her fully again, regarding her for a moment, then he turned and let his gaze play over the people of his tribe, dancing and celebrating obliviously around him.  He realized that though he had been raised among them, was one of them, he really had little love for them… even less for his brother and nephews.  He could think of a few good uses for Shayla, but that would come in time if this woman was to be believed.  Finally he turned and said, “How long will it take for the wine to do its work?”

                Silke smiled again, realizing she had won.  “It has already started, though the more of them that drink it the better it will be.  By morning, I daresay they will mostly be under my control.”

                “Some of them, my brothers family for example, will not drink this wine.  They have their own stock which they drink from.”  He told her, his tone half warning.

                She nodded.  “We are prepared for that contingency.  As it happens, your brother has already been dealt with.  As to your niece and nephews, we need them to be clear of head for what is to come.”

                “What do you mean my brother has already been dealt with?  You’ve killed him?  Already?  Before you have his children under lock and key?”  He shook his head, seemingly untroubled at the thought of his brothers death.  “That wasn’t wise, those three could be trouble for you if they find him before you find them.” 

Silke smiled and patted his chest gently in a calming manner, “Don’t concern yourself.  We have matters well in hand.”

“You keep saying ‘we’.  You’re not alone?”  He asked her.

                She shook her head, laughing softly.  “Oh no, I am never alone.  The very shadows are my allies Karnash.”

                He could make no sense of that and so didn’t bother to try.  Finally he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, if I’m not supposed to drink the wine, how else will I pass the time?  I find these celebrations of my brothers beyond endurance.”

                She smiled again, stepped forward and took his hand.  “I think we can find a way to keep each other occupied.”  With that she turned and led him away, toward the lodge she had been given to use while she was with them.

                Shayla, standing across the crowded clearing in which her tribe were dancing shook her head as she watched Karnash and Silke Shadoe disappear toward her borrowed lodge.  “I can’t say I think much of her choice in partners.”  She said to her younger brother, who stood by her side, behind Ember, his arms about her shoulders.  The girl, for her part, looked as though there was no place else on Kyzanthia she would rather be.

                Kelvan, who had a moment before been nuzzling Ember’s neck, looked up in time to see his uncle and the dark elf disappear between two buildings.  He frowned, “Frankly, I’m more concerned with his choice.”

                Shayla frowned, “What do you mean by that?”

                He shook his head vaguely, as though he had trouble putting into words what he wanted to say.  “It’s just that after we rescued her from Mogran, she didn’t come across like a woman who had had a close brush with death.  She rode behind Kellinor and peppered him, all of us really, with questions about our people.  Very specific questions, the sort of things a person doesn’t come up with on the fly.”

                Shayla frowned thoughtfully.  “What sort of questions were they?”

                “She wanted to know how many people were in our village.  When she learned who I was she started asking how many other villages our father was in charge of.  She wanted to know where they were located, how well defended they were.”  Kelvan shrugged.  “It was strange too, because we were only too willing to answer her.  Especially Kellinor, he seemed genuinely taken with the woman.  In fact, it didn’t occur to me how odd the conversation was until just now.”

                Shayla turned to her brother, frowning deeper.  “Those are the sorts of questions a person would ask if they wanted to mount an assault.  But how could one woman hope to….”  She trailed off, her gaze suddenly traveling over the gathered tribe members.  “Sword of the Mother… no.”  Her blue eyes widened as she realized what it must mean to see so many people in drunken stupors so early in the celebration.  “Kelvan, we’re about to be attacked!”

                “What?” he glanced sharply at her, his whole body going rigid.  Ember looked at her too, her eyes wide with fright.

                “I think she poisoned the food… or maybe the wine.  Something she knew most of us were going to eat or drink.”  She looked over to the table, realized she had just witnessed her uncle turned away from the alcohol, which was not something he would normally let happen.  “Karnash may be involved.”

                “Are you sure?”  Her brother asked her.

                Shayla shook her head.  “No.  But I think I’m right.”  She turned her head and looked into her brothers eyes.  “Go find Devlin, I’m going to look for father.  Keep her with you if you don’t want to lose her.”  She nodded toward Ember.  Kelvan took his betrothed by the hand and turned, leading her off into the village, hoping to find his brother.

                “My sisters lodge.  He’s probably there, she was bragging this morning about how she was working on becoming our next queen.”  Ember said, loud enough for him to hear her over the music as they passed where the players stood.  Kelvan just nodded, adjusting his course accordingly.

                “He had better be, I don’t have time to go looking all over the damn village for him!”  Kelvan growled softly.

                Shayla raced through the village, hand resting on her broadsword as she dashed between lodges and veered around villagers who were arriving late to the party.  She thought of warning them away, but the idea that she might be wrong about what she was thinking kept her from it.  She didn’t want to ruin the celebration for anyone else.  As the leaders of the tribe it was their duty to react to possible threats first, then warn the others if it was warranted.  She couldn’t make that decision on her own, so she had to find her father.  She hoped he would be in his lodge for while he insisted on having these celebrations, he rarely attended them himself other than a brief show of support at the beginning. 

                As she ran toward the center of the village her fathers lodge, which was the only two story structure in the settlement loomed up in front of her.  The first thing she noticed was that there was no smoke rising out of the chimney hole in the roof, and at this late hour her father always had a fire going.  Her hand tightened on her swords hilt as she neared the entrance to the lodge.  She thought of calling out, but some inner instinct cautioned her against that.  Instead she reached out and moved aside the hanging pelt that covered the entrance to the dwelling.  Her nose wrinkled slightly at a light, acidic scent she had never noticed before in her fathers home.  The entry hall, which was also his meeting hall, seemed deserted as she stepped across the threshold.  Her sapphire eyes swept the room, looking for anything out of place.  She had been here so much over the years that she knew she would notice if anything here didn’t fit.  Everything seemed as it should, except for the quiet.  Her fathers hall was never quiet, there was always the distant sound of voices because it seemed the warlord was never alone.

                Turning to her right she headed toward the opening that would reveal the stairs leading up to the second floor, which was where her father actually lived.  The first floor was devoted to the running of the tribe, the meeting hall and the feast hall, the weapons stocks.  Upstairs was his personal domain, where only his family ever dared to tread.  The stairs were rough hewn, the steps themselves made of logs that had been sawed in half lengthwise and then attached to a rough wood frame.  They were stout and didn’t creak as she slowly climbed them, every fiber of her being screaming at her that something was not right and she should hurry.  But she knew that to rush in blind was the greatest of folly’s, her father had taught her better than that.

                At the top of the stairs she was faced with the hallway, lined on either side by doors, all similarly hung with animal skins.  She knew this hall well, had grown up using one of these rooms as her bed chamber, as had her brothers.  Their mother, when she had died, had been lain in one of these rooms for viewing so the people of the tribe could pay their final respects.  Her fathers room was at the end of the hall, on the left and she reached it with all the haste she could manage while still keeping as quiet as possible.  The skins that hung in the door were mammoth fur, her father had always preferred mammoth she thought.  As she reached out toward the curtain she found that her fingers were shaking slightly.  She made a fist then released it, saw the tremor had passed and she willed the pounding of her heart to subside.  She needed to be able to think, to react rationally instead of emotionally, as Kellinor had taught them all.  She pushed aside the curtain and stepped through, letting it fall behind her.  The room was dark, too dark for her liking.  Again the absence of the fire was telling, even if he slept he kept the fire going for a light source.  He liked to joke that at his age he was up out of bed often enough at night to keep the fire from going out, and he didn’t like to make water in the cold.

                Shayla paused just inside the door, letting her eyes adjust.  There was a whisper of what she thought was movement to her right, but she couldn’t make anything out.  She could see that there was someone in the bed though, and she felt her breathing lighten slightly.  Perhaps he had just fallen asleep before making the fire.  He was getting old, his memory was starting to slip perhaps.  She moved toward the bed, moving on the balls of her feet, her hand still resting lightly on the grip of her broadsword.  “Father?” she called softly.  There was no reply and she felt a trickle of dread return, he had always been a very light sleeper.  She continued to the bed, leaning over it and reaching out, her hand once again shaking and this time she knew she wouldn’t be able to calm it.  She placed her hand on him, finding it odd that he was lying atop his furs.  Too many odd things too quickly, and he was already cold, though the blood her fingers suddenly trailed through had yet to dry completely.

                Shayla gasped and staggered back, her knees going weak, depositing her on the floor.  She felt her stomach tighten painfully and suddenly she was retching, though she hadn’t eaten recently so there wasn’t much to bring back up.  When she had regained enough control to speak she gasped out, “No!”  She crawled to the bed, pulled herself up on her knees and checked his wrist for a pulse, knowing that she wouldn’t find one.  “I need light.”  She decided, desperate to know what had happened here.  She knew her father kept a lantern on a nearby table, one of the few trappings of society beyond their mountain home that he had grown fond of.  She stumbled through the darkness, found the lantern and the flint and steel he used to light it.  It was tricky lighting the fuse in the dark, especially since she wasn’t too familiar with the device in the first place.  Finally she got it and, raising it in her left hand to keep the right free to wield her sword, she turned back toward the bed.  He was lying there, his face a garish mask of bewilderment and horror.  Shayla winced and turned her gaze from his face, her heart aching but she refused to let herself feel it, not yet.  She needed answers first.

                There was little in the way of a struggle here, she could see that her father hadn’t had much chance to put up a fight.  Her eyes swept the room, there was nothing that showed who his killer might have been, nothing that was obviously out of place.  Moving up next to the bed she forced herself to look at her fathers body, reminding herself that it was no longer him.  The valkyries had come and carried him to Valhalla, this was nothing but a shell.  Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat she forced herself to lean over the body, examining it further.  His throat had been slit and she could tell from the angle of the cut that it had been done from behind.  So he had likely come into the room and been set upon immediately, without warning and before he had had a chance to light a fire.  She nodded, that would be the way of an assassin.  A warrior like her father would have been too much of a risk to kill any other way.  That still didn’t tell her who had done it though… of course she had a suspicion she knew who was responsible, but there was no way Silk Shadoe could have come in here and done this herself, she had been at the celebration the entire time.  So she had help, someone that worked for her was obviously in the village.

                She heard movement in the hall outside and spun toward the door, drawing her sword as she did so.  When she saw her brothers, with Ember behind them, enter the room she lowered the sword and looked down at their fathers body as her brothers came in, their eyes riveted on the scene.  Kelvan looked white as a ghost and Devlin had a grim look on his face.  Ember gasped and turned her face away, raising a hand to try and block the scene from her periphery.  Kelvan staggered and fell at his fathers bedside, tears welling in his eyes.

                “Who did this?”  Devlin asked his sister, looking to her for the answers he so craved.  “I’ll slay the bastard!”

                Shayla shook her head.  “I don’t know for certain but…” she paused and glanced at Kelvan who was now holding his fathers dead hand, tears streaming down his face, “…did Kel tell you anything?”

                “Only that you suspected that Shadoe woman of plotting against us.”  Devlin forced himself to look at Rolfe.  “Did she do this?”

                Shayla shrugged.  “I think she probably had it done, I can’t be sure.”

                Devlin’s eyes flashed angrily and Shayla thought it was very like him to react to this in anger.  He always wanted action when it was time to grieve.  That was how it had been with their mother too, killed by a sabre toothed cat while getting water from the creek one day.  It had been Devlin and Rolfe that had hunted the beast down, one of the only times Shayla could ever remember them working well together.  She raised a hand, put it on her brothers shoulder.  “I want that too Devlin, but we have to be careful.  She didn’t do this herself, she couldn’t have, she was at the celebration all night.  That means someone had to have done it for her, and we don’t know how many people she might have working with her.”  She sighed, “I suspect she has won our uncle to her cause.”

                Devlin snorted.  “Him I can handle.”  He looked down at their father and as he did so Shayla saw over his shoulder that Ember had entered the room.  She was looking at their father with a curious stare, but then Shayla realized that she wasn’t actually looking at their father, she was looking at the floor beside the bed. 

                “Ember?  What is it?” she asked, moving to the girls side.  Ember raised a shaking hand and pointed to the ground by the bed.  Shayla turned to look and saw something by the light of the lantern that she had missed before.  Her fathers arm was draped over the side of the bed and she had thought that that was just how he had fallen, but now she could see there was something written on the wooden floorboards.  A single word, “Moonstone.”

                “What?”  Kelvan looked around, his expression looking as though he had just come out of a trance, which in a way he had.

                “Father must have written it in his own blood before he succumbed to its loss.”  Shayla pointed at the word.  “What does it mean?”

                Her brothers shifted their positions to see what the women had seen.  “Moonstone,” Devlin said it as though tasting the word, “it does sound familiar.”

                Kelvan, who had always been more fond of their fathers stories of his youthful adventures than his siblings, supplied the information.  “Donovan Moonstone.  He was a friend of fathers when he was younger, they helped each other out of a few scrapes.”

                Devlin and Shayla exchanged a glance, both of them remembering the name now that their brother had reminded them.  “Why did father write his name?  Did he have something to do with this?”

                Kelvan shook his head.  “No, there’s no way. Moonstone retired to some island in the Sea of Stars.”

                Shayla, who remembered the stories now, nodded.  “That’s right, I remember.  He helped to settle the island of Algeron I think.”  She looked at Devlin who still looked lost.  “Remember?  Father used to talk about him all the time, he was the leader of that adventuring party the Dragons.”  Shayla remembered the name because she, like so many of her people, were fascinated by the great wyrms. 

                “Maybe he wanted you to ask this Donovan Moonstone for help?”  Ember suggested, seeming to find her voice for the first time.

                Devlin glanced at the girl, then at his sister.  Kelvan was still looking at the word written in their fathers blood.  “Why wouldn’t he want us to just avenge him?  To kill whoever had done this?”

                Shayla shrugged.  “Maybe he knew we couldn’t.  He might have known something we don’t, or figured it out at the end but it was too late.”

                “So what do we do?”  Kelvan asked, still unable to tear his eyes from their fathers dead body.

                “We go and wring some answers from our uncles foul neck, that’s what!”  Devlin growled, then he glanced at Shayla who looked doubtful.  “We don’t need any help from an outsider to settle our own differences.  I can handle Karnash, he’s always known that.”

                Shayla said nothing, but the doubt was still evident in her eyes.  Kelvan straightened up, turned to his brother.  “I’ll come with you.”  He turned to Ember.  “We don’t know what to expect when we get there, will you stay here?”  Ember nodded, then Kelvan turned to Shayla.  “Will you keep her safe?”

                Shayla met her little brothers eyes, wondering if this was as much about him wanting his sister safe as his woman.  But no, he knew her better than that, this was a legitimate request.  They really had no idea what to expect.  “Of course I will.”

                Kelvan nodded, then turned to Devlin.  “Let’s go find our uncle.  Shayla and I saw him moving toward the lodge father gave that woman to use while she was here.  They may still be there.”  Devlin nodded, clapped his little brother on the shoulder and led the way from the grand lodge.

                Shayla watched them go, then turned and saw the stricken look on Ember’s face.  “They’ll be fine, Devlin and Kelvan are two of the finest warriors I know.”

                Ember turned to the woman that was to be her sister.  “Warriors are fine against blades and other weapons, but what if that’s not what they’re facing?”

                Shayla hadn’t really considered that aspect.  She regarded the girl for a moment, then nodded.  “You know, you may have a point.  If they’re biting off more than they can chew, we need to be ready to leave at a moments notice.”  She narrowed her eyes in thought, trying to fight through the anguish that was simmering just beneath the surface which was difficult with her dead father so close.  “Will your father listen to us?  Will he help us?”

                Ember considered that a moment, then she nodded.  “I think so, yes.  So will Teala, if we want her to.”

                The tactician in Shayla almost turned that down point blank, for the future queens sister had little value to them on the road, she was likely to be more of a hindrance.  Then Shayla realized that the offer was made more out of concern for her sisters welfare than anything else.  “We’ll see if she wants to come with us.”  Ember smiled gratefully.  “Now we need to move, but don’t be too hasty.  If there are people watching for signs that we’ve found father, we don’t want to give anything away.  Just move at a normal pace, and keep alert for any signs of trouble.”

                Devlin and Kelvan had no trouble finding the lodge that their father had assigned to Silke Shadoe for her stay.  As they approached they could hear voices from within, one of which belonged to their uncle.  “This isn’t exactly what I thought you had in mind when you said you could think of something we might do together to pass the time.”  He was saying, his voice sounded uncertain.

                The boys recognized the voice of the dark elf, a low and sultry purr as she tried to allay his fears.  “Just relax my lord, once this is done you will have everything you ever wanted.  Including me, if that is your wish.”

                Devlin held up a hand to his brother, then a finger to his lips.  He wanted to listen to what was happening within.  The two men crept up to the doorway of the lodge, moving with surprising stealth considering their size.  They put their backs to the wall to either side of the doorway and listened, though all was quiet for a time, then Karnash’s voice came again.  “What are you doing to me exactly?”

                She didn’t answer for a time, then finally replied, “My people draw a great deal of power from the darkness, in particular the shadows.  It is why we are called Shadow Elves, the shadows are our homes and we embrace them as one of the primal elements of nature.  To you, there are earth, wind, fire and water.  To us there are two more in addition to those, shadow and life and we have learned over the years to meld the two.  We call it shadow infusion, the shadows are made to permeate our being, they make us stronger, faster and deadlier than ever we were before.  If you are to maintain the position I am going to give you with your people, then you will need to be able to stand up to any and all challengers.  I have no doubt that you are formidable in your own right Karnash, son of Grenn, but a shadow infusion will make you powerful.”

                Kelvan’s eyes widened and he looked across at his brother.  Devlin was scowling, obviously not understanding everything he heard, no more than had Kelvan or, likely, their uncle, but they all understood enough.  Karnash’s voice came from within the lodge, “That sounds… intriguing.”

                “It is a relatively simple process, I need only the latent magic of my people, shadow and of course a blood sacrifice.”  At that moment there was the sound of struggling and a woman’s voice raised in terror, quickly stifled by what sounded like a slap.  Devlin’s eyes narrowed and he tensed, then he looked across at Kelvan. 

“Teala.”  He mouthed quietly and Kelvan nodded, he had recognized her voice as well.  Both men were wondering what, if anything they could do for the woman when the Shadow Elf spoke again.

“This pretty young thing was one of the few in the village that did not partake of our drugged wine, evidently she was entertaining one of your nephews at the time.  So she was volunteered for this procedure.”  Silke said, her voice full of dark mirth.

                Karnash had picked up on something else though.  “She was with Devlin?  Was he with her when you found her?” 

                “No, your brothers children are eluding us for the moment, but we will catch them.  Their sacrifices must be publicly done, and by you personally in order to cement your rule.”  Silke explained.

                Karnash was worried.  “If Devlin wasn’t with her, then someone pulled him away.  There’s only a few people he would have allowed to do that.”  There was a pause and the brothers could almost hear their uncle thinking.  “They know, they must have found their fathers body.  I told you it was a bad idea to kill him before we had them all in hand!”

                Devlin looked at his brother and nodded, reaching up to draw forth the blade from behind his shoulder. Kelvan did likewise, his claymore whispering against the hardened leather of its scabbard as he turned to follow his older brother into the lodge.  Pushing aside the hanging curtain of saber cat skin they stepped through and stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the room.  Their uncle was naked, sitting on the foot of the bed while Silke Shadoe knelt before him, apparently painting some arcane looking symbols on his muscular form in what looked like a black, oily substance.  Against the back wall two shadow elf men stood, holding a struggling Teala between them, evidently having brought her in a back door.  When the girl saw them her eyes widened and shone with hope.  “You got that last part right uncle.”  Devlin said as they faced off across the room from him.

                Silke glanced over at the warriors almost dismissively, “Excellent, two of them have delivered themselves to us.”  She glanced up at Karnash who was scowling at his nephews.  “You see?  Everything is working out perfectly!”  Karnash started to rise, ostensibly to meet the threat that his nephews represented, but she placed a hand on his rock hard stomach and pushed him back onto the bed.  “No, you mustn’t move yet.”  To her men she said, “Take them alive.”

                Teala was shoved violently away, sprawling on the ground as the two shadow elf men leapt nimbly over the bed toward the brothers.  Kelvan and Devlin, having been taught by Kellinor how best to fight in tandem, moved closer, turning their backs to each other and watching their opponents warily.  These were unknowns, they had no idea what sort of skill or abilities these men had.  The elves, for their part, were smiling as though enjoying themselves immensely.  They drew forth blades from hardened scabbards, though they looked to be made of some hard, chitinous material and not leather.  As the swords cleared their sheaths the black blades appeared to flicker to life with some sort of black flame.

                “Sorcery!”  Devlin muttered darkly, his eyes on the darkly flickering swords.

                Silke Shadoe laughed at him, “Oh, you people are so ignorant!”  She glanced at Devlin, “You need a wand for sorcery young prince.  This is something so much more… deadly than mere sorcery!”

                As if to prove her words the two shadow elf men launched a simultaneous strike, their blades flashing at the barbarian brothers.  Kelvans opponent feinted low and then adjusted high when the young prince made to parry the first strike.  Devlin’s opponent did the opposite, feinting high and adjusting low.  The elder brother was more experienced in such things however and caught the feint, his claymore knocking away the flaming sword.  Kelvan hissed though as the blade of his dark opponent sliced into the meat of his upper chest, leaving a dark gash across his pectorals.  He staggered, feeling a burn as if from acid across his chest.  He glanced down at the wound and saw that the blood leaking forth was as black as the blade that had caused the wound.  He suddenly felt a weakness creeping through him and he stumbled.

                “Kelvan?  Hold fast little brother!”  Devlin called, parrying another strike from his opponent.  Behind him Kelvan’s opponent, grinning like he had already won the fight, lunged in and stabbed toward the younger prince’s shoulder.  Kelvan twisted at the last second, his own blade flashing up and taking off the shadow elf’s arm at the elbow.  The dark skinned fighter’s eyes widened in surprise, then he shrieked in pain and staggered back, dark blood, like that leaking from Kelvan’s wound sprayed from the stump of his arm.  “Yes!  Well fought!”  Devlin called, stepping forward to take advantage of his opponents momentary distraction at the plight of his friend.  The shadow elf wasn’t so easily duped though and parried the deft swing of Devlin’s claymore.  Now Kelvan, having taken his opponent out of the fight turned and was shoulder to shoulder with his brother. He was breathing hard and the black blood was still seeping from his wound, but his expression was grim and he stood straight and tall.

                “Oh for the love of shadows!”  Growled Silke Shadoe, obviously annoyed.  She twisted at the waist and pointed both her hands at the brothers, fingers splayed wide.  Bolts of what looked like black lightning arced from her fingers and struck Kelvan, engulfing him and making the young man fall to his knees, screaming in pain.  Devlin, distracted by this glanced toward the woman, thinking to attack her but he hadn’t yet taken his first opponent out of the equation and he learned quickly that he wasn’t the only one capable of pushing an advantage!  The second shadow elf lunged and stabbed, though Devlin twisted and only caught the flat of the blade across his upper arm, there was no cut.  However, the lithe elf spun and struck a savage blow to the warriors face with his elbow.  Devlin grunted and staggered back, tripped over what turned out to be the second, one armed warrior and fell with a crash to the ground. The next thing he knew he too was engulfed in black lightning and knew only pain….

                Shayla and Ember walked through the village calmly, as though merely strolling toward one of their lodges.  The older woman hoped that it looked as though she was merely trying to get to know the girl that was to marry her brother.  As they moved through the settlement they found that the party had all but ceased, and everywhere they looked men and women were slumped in what looked to be a drunken stupor, though Shayla now knew better.  “What’s wrong with them all?”  Ember asked.

                “Drugged.  That Shadoe woman did something with the wine, remember?”  Ember, who seemed to be in shock from everything that had happened thus far, nodded.  “That’s your fathers lodge just ahead isn’t it?”  Ember nodded.  “Hopefully your sister is there, she wasn’t at her own lodge when we stopped in.”  Ember said nothing, but Shayla didn’t think the girl was world wise enough to have recognized the signs of struggle she had seen at her sisters lodge.  Obviously the woman had been taken against her will, and Shayla could well imagine who had done the taking.  They stepped up to the curtain shrouded door of Sorn’s lodge and Shayla knocked on the frame next to the mammoth hide curtain.  “Sorn?  It’s Shayla, I’m here with Ember… can we talk?”

                There was no answer, but she did hear what sounded like a heavy footfall on the other side of the curtain.  Suddenly a pair of very large, very powerful hands emerged from behind the curtain, grabbed both women and jerked them forward into the lodge.  Ember gave a startled squeal but Shayla was reaching for her broadsword before she recognized the bearded face of Kellinor in the shadowy interior of Sorn’s lodge.  She relaxed visibly, noting the looks of concern and confusion on the big champions face.  ‘Of course,’ she realized suddenly, ‘he doesn’t drink alcohol at these celebrations either!’  Her father had long ago placed Kellinor in charge of breaking up any disputes that might break out during hunting celebrations.  The man took his responsibilities to his warlord seriously and so he didn’t drink while he was supposed to be working.  Disregarding propriety for the sake of comfort, Shayla stepped forward and flung her arms around his waist.  “Kellinor!”  She almost sobbed.

                Kellinor was so taken aback by this rare show of emotion from his princess that he paused before returning the embrace.  “Shayla,” he said, his baritone voice rumbling from his barrel chest, “what’s happening child?  No one out there will wake up.”

                It was Ember who answered, Shayla was suddenly crying too hard to be understood.  “That dark elf you and Kelvan brought back.  She drugged the wine, she seems to be in league with Karnash and….”  She trailed off uncomfortably.

                “And what child?”  Kellinor said gently. He seemed to have taken all this news in stride, save for a slight narrowing at the eyes in response to Karnash’s name.

                It was obvious that Ember was afraid to anger the huge man, but she lifted her chin and bravely went on.  “…and they killed the warlord.”

                Kellinor’s eyes widened and he staggered slightly, his face seeming to drain of color beneath his beard.  “No!”  He put his hands on Shayla’s shoulders and pushed her away, looking into her face for the truth.  She nodded, still unable to speak and Kellinor pulled her back into an embrace, suddenly clinging to her as much as she was to him.  The two of them sank to the floor, the big man crying unashamedly himself.  He looked up at Ember.  “Your father is here, but he’s unconscious, like the others.”

                Ember looked toward the room where her parents slept.  “My mother and sister?”

                Kellinor shook his head.  “There’s no sign of them here.  I came in search of Sorn, hoping that he might have noticed something was odd too, but when I arrived he had succumbed to the drug as well.” He was silent for a moment, then he growled, “And to think I brought that bitch into the village myself!”

                Shayla seemed to find her voice at last and pushed herself away from the champion, leaning on one arm while wiping her eyes with the other hand.  “Don’t beat yourself up over it Kellinor, you weren’t the only one taken in.  I suspect she used some kind of magic to gain your trust.”

                Kellinor didn’t respond to this, but suddenly there was a great change in the man, as though a sudden understanding dawned upon him and he sat up straighter, glancing around the room.  “If our warlord is dead,” he said, looking into Shayla’s sapphire eyes, “where are your brothers?”

                ‘Of course,’ she realized suddenly, ‘with father dead his first priority would be the safety of his heirs.’  Suddenly she wasn’t certain she wanted to answer the question, but she did.  “They went to confront Karnash and the woman.”

                Kellinor’s eyes widened in mingled surprise and anger.  “They did what?”

                Shayla held up a restraining hand as she climbed to her feet, Kellinor doing the same.  “They were distraught Kellinor, understandably so.  They wanted vengeance for fathers death.”

                “Do they intend to avenge him by joining him?  If this woman is an accomplished mystic then those two fools are in way over their heads!”  Kellinor was almost shouting by now.

                “Calm yourself Kellinor!”  Shayla berated him.  “You’ll do them no good to bring the enemy down on us here and now.”

                Shayla realized what a chance she was taking, for in their society a woman never gave orders to a man, not even a princess.  But she was counting on the closeness between Kellinor and her family to see her through.  His eyes did narrow a bit at her, but then he took a deep breath and nodded.  “You’re right, of course.”  Then he glanced around, “But we need to get them away from your uncle and that Shadoe woman and get the Hell out of here.  I’d say it’s obvious we’re all in over our heads here.”

                “When we found father,” Shayla said slowly, thinking out her words as she said them, “Ember found that he had written a word in his own blood before he passed.  It was a name… Moonstone.”  Kellinor glanced at her with a frown.  “We were wondering if father had meant for us to go to Donovan Moonstone for help.  Perhaps he had learned something that we don’t know and thought his old friend would be able to help.”

                Kellinor nodded.  “That’s well reasoned.  I met Donovan once, when I wasn’t much older than Kelvan.  He’s an impressive man with powerful friends… that is where we should go.  Even in death your father guides us with his wisdom.”

                ‘He always said I was the one with the wisdom.’  Shayla thought with a pang of sadness.  “What do we do now?” she asked, willing to turn over the decision making to the champion, who had been through many more such situations than her over the years.

                “We get your brothers and we get out.”  Kellinor said.

                “What about my family?”  Ember asked in a small voice.

                Kellinor turned a kindly expression upon her.  He stepped up and took her dainty chin in one hand, tilted her head back so she could look up into his face.  “Think this out now girl, your father is drugged, taking him with us would slow us down.  Your mother and sister are… well, we don’t know where and trying to find them would risk us getting captured.  What would your father want you to do?” 

                She didn’t have to think long.  “He’d want me to escape so that I could return with help for the them.”

                Kellinor nodded and smiled.  “Good girl.”  He nodded and Shayla, then turned and headed out the door.  Ember cast a last look toward her fathers bedroom door, then turned and followed.  Shayla, wondering what other surprises lay in store for her, brought up the rear.

                Shayla, Ember and Kellinor arrived at the lodge of Silke Shadoe at the same moment as a piercing scream rent the air from within.  The trio halted, then Ember gave a strangled cry and bolted toward the lodge.  Shayla, whose reactions were honed to a lightning swiftness after her years studying with Kellinor grabbed the girl before she got three steps.  “That’s Teala!”  The girl cried.

                “I know child,” Shayla said, trying to restrain the struggling wisp of a girl, “but there’s nothing more you can do for her now.  Your sister wouldn’t want you to die for her!”  Shayla had recognized that scream for what it was, as had Kellinor.  Their tribe had never condoned ritual sacrifice, but they had seen it performed by other tribes on numerous occasions.  The scream of the sacrifice was always the same, and it always chilled her blood.

                From within the lodge there came a great roar and bolts of black energy started to shoot from the various apertures on the lodge.  Blasting aside the curtains on the door and windows, shooting out through the smoke hole in the roof.  Some dark magic was taking place within the lodge, they could easily see that.  “What’s happening?”  Shayla shouted above the crackle of black lightning, still holding the no longer struggling Ember, though now the girl was slumped in her arms, her body wracked by sobs. 

                “Dark magic!”  Kellinor responded at once.  “We may already be too late!”  The dark lightning dissipated as quickly as it started and movement could be heard from within the lodge.  “Someone comes.”  Kellinor said, his voice sounding slightly tinged with nervousness.  Shayla glanced at him, surprised.  She had never heard his voice betray that emotion before.  She suddenly remembered her father telling her that Kellinor feared no force he could slay with his sword, but she wondered if perhaps there was something here that he had cause to fear.  As the curtain to the lodge was shifted aside Shayla gasped, for stepping through the opening was her uncle, only he had changed.  He was still recognizable as Karnash, son of Grenn, but he had grown nearly a foot and gained almost fifty pounds of muscle from the look of him.  His black hair was even inkier than it had been, his skin a few shades darker and his eyes were black as an abyss as his gaze settled upon them.  He was clad in black pants that looked to be made of some leathery material she didn’t recognize.  At his hips hung a sword she had never seen before and opposite it a coiled whip.  The latter seemed to crackle with the same dark energy that had just engulfed the lodge.

                “Ah, Kellinor!”  Karnash said and his voice seemed to echo within itself.  “And look, you’ve brought my future bride,” his gaze was like an oily caress on her skin as it settled upon Shayla, making her shudder, “and a mistress to warm my bed on nights that she doesn’t!”  Ember cringed back against Shayla’s legs as he looked at her.  “Too bad about your sister, she looked like she might have been fun.  I suppose I could ask my nephew, he seemed fond of her.”

                “Why in the name of Asgard would I consent to marry you?”  Shayla demanded of her uncle, or at least the man that used to be her uncle, she wasn’t sure what he was any more.

                Karnash smiled wickedly.  “Out of the love you have for your siblings of course.  My marriage to the princess would cement my hold on the title of warlord of the Thunder Hammers!”

                “I’d sooner see them dead and die myself than become the bride of a fiend like you!  How could you even entertain such thoughts!  I’m your own blood!”  Shayla screamed that last line at him.

                Karnash laughed, as did Silke Shadoe as she stepped from the doorway to stand at his side.  “That just makes the blood of your offspring the more pure.”

                “Karnash, this… cunt,” Kellinor spat the word distastefully, and Shayla could never remember hearing him use such language before, “killed your brother.  Or had it done… did you have knowledge of this act?”

                Karnash stood to his full, imposing height which was now a full half head taller than Kellinor who used to stand that much taller than him.  “I did.”

                “Then for the treason you have committed against your own kin, I sentence you to death!”  As he drew forth his claymore from where it hung diagonally across his back he said to Shayla, “Your brothers must be inside.  Get them and get out, I’ll hold your uncle off as long as I can.”  Before she could utter a word of protest Kellinor charged.  She stood frozen to the spot for a moment, awed by the might possessed by the champion of her tribe.  Shayla had always been a little bit in love with Kellinor, though she had hid it well.  Always, watching him in action had been something of a distraction for her, but that was not something she could afford now.

                “Come on!”  She said to Ember, dragging the girl up.  “I need your help.”  The girl didn’t seem to hear her at first, or was unable to respond.  Shayla dragged her to her feet and slapped her hard across the face.  Ember gasped, then a flash of defiance passed through her as she turned a glare upon Shayla.  “Do you love my brother?”  She asked the girl.

                “Y-yes!”  Ember stammered.

                “Well, he’s inside that lodge and likely hurt.  Are you just going to stand here and let him die, or are you going to help me get him out?”

                For the space of three heartbeats Ember stared at her, the girls expression going from one of bewilderment, to fear to stubbornness.  “I’ll help.”

                “That’s the girl I’d want for a sister!”  Shayla said, then she turned and sprinted toward the lodge, taking Ember by the hand and leading her toward the side of the building.  She knew there was a back door, for this was the same lodge her father used to assign to a certain visiting chieftain and his daughter.  Her father used to sneak in that back door to meet with the girl… before he married her and had three kids.  ‘Gods, let them be alive!’ 

                This was not the first time that Kellinor and Karnash had come to blows, there had been several such occasions over the years.  Being of an age with each other, the two had been boys in the village together and squabbles were common.  The first time they had fought it had been over the affections of a particular girl they both fancied.  The second time had been at the behest of Warlord Rolfe to determine which of them would serve as village champion.  Since winning that esteemed title, Kellinor had had opportunity to test his mettle against Karnash several times, usually in dealing with the mans drunken rages.  This was the first time he had faced off with the man intending to kill, and he went at the traitor with a vengeance!

                His initial strike was intended as a message to Karnash, he swung, aiming the strike at Karnash’s neck.  Karnash, laughing at the insinuation behind the attack, weaved backward out of the way, moving with a grace he had never before possessed.  Kellinor scowled, he had known for a few years now that age was beginning to slow him and he had seen the same signs in Karnash, but now it seemed as though he was fighting a man twenty years younger and with a good deal more skill than Karnash had ever had before!  After weaving back away from the initial strike of the maul, Karnash stepped in and shoulder slammed Kellinor, the awesome power behind that one simple move stunned the champion, staggering him back and knocking the wind from his lungs.

                “Face it old man, your time here has come and gone.  I’ll be choosing a new champion when I’ve finished with you… I’m thinking Tral would be a good choice!”  He laughed again as he side stepped an overhand swing from the claymore, then planted his foot on the blade, about halfway down and pinned it  to the ground.  Kellinor tried to heave it away, hoping to knock the man to his back in the process, but he couldn’t even budge the weapon.  With the air of it being almost an afterthought, Karnash applied some force to the foot and the blade of the sword bent.  Kellinor staggered to the side, his eyes wide in shock.  Recovering quickly, he stepped in and swung the bent sword toward the traitors head but Karnash almost nonchalantly reached up and caught the champions arm with his bare hand.  “You aren’t even enough of a threat any more to warrant me drawing a blade!”

                “Karnash, we have other preparations to make, and the girls have gone, we must find them.”  Silke said urgently from the side.

                Karnash glanced at her, then looked back at his opponent, his eyes boring into Kellinor’s.  “The tribe is mine now… as is the princess.  You’re powerless to stop it.”  Kellinor hadn’t seen him draw his sword, but he certainly felt it slide into his torso, a feeling like ice spreading through his loins and up into his chest.  The point of the blade, flickering with dark flames just as those of the shadow elves had done protruded from the champions back.  “Have the good grace to die quickly, won’t you?”  He twisted the shadow fire blade savagely before he jerked it out of the former champion.  Kellinor, his eyes already fading to death, felt blood pour down his front and gush from his mouth as he toppled to the ground, unable, even as death claimed him, to understand how Karnash had bested him so easily.

                Looking down at the fallen champion with disdain, Karnash kicked him then turned toward the lodge. “Shayla and the little bitch will have gone after my nephews.  We’ll find them inside, I’m sure.”  Silke didn’t question how he would know this, his familiarity with his people and how they think was one of the reasons she had recruited him.  As they moved back into the building they had only just vacated they did indeed find the princess and the little bitch with the reddish blonde hair trying to drag the unconscious princes toward the back door.  Silke Shadoe scowled when she saw that her one remaining guard, who hadn’t died from the blood loss of having a limb severed, was now lying dead beside the bed, no doubt the result of the blade hanging on the princess’s shapely hip.  The women looked up as they entered, Karnash smiling, his eyes playing over Shayla, daring to look her over boldly, as he had always done covertly before.

                Ember, her face registering panic, dropped Kelvan’s feet and she stood up, backing away from the shadow elf and the self proclaimed warlord of the Thunder Hammer tribe.  “No!”  She was white as a sheet, though that was more from having found her sisters dead body on entering the lodge.  “No, it won’t end like this!” 

                “Ember?”  Shayla had never heard such hysteria before, but there was something else in the girls voice too.  Something that Silke had evidently picked up on because she was suddenly regarding the girl with narrowed eyes. 

                “I won’t let you stop us!”  The girl cried and she flung a hand toward the couple, palm forward.  It was as though an invisible force hit them with the power of a rolling boulder as Silke and Karnash were flung backward, slamming into a wall of the lodge.  They slumped to the ground, the elf unconscious the shadow infused barbarian merely stunned. 

                Shayla looked in wonder at Ember, but didn’t question her, there would be time enough for that later.  “Come on!  Don’t waste the chance!”  She was concerned for Kellinor, because if Karnash was here that couldn’t bode well for the champion, but she didn’t have time to dwell on that either.  Ember bent, hoisted her husband to-be’s booted feet and followed Shayla as the two women dragged them from the room and out the back door.  They stopped outside the back of the lodge, standing up and looking around.

                “Now what?”  Ember asked, sounding small and frightened.

                Shayla looked at her, wondering what had happened back in the lodge, but again she couldn’t broach the subject here, not yet.  “Now we hide till they wake up,” she gestured at her brothers, “we can’t carry them.  Then we make for Algeron with all haste and come back with an army, if possible.”

CHAPTER ONE

An assassin crouched in the shadows cast by the shrubs and low hanging tree branches outside the wall of the city of Valor.  His dark, penetrating eyes swept the top of the wall, noting the movement of the guards along it and the alertness level of the two men stationed to either side of the cities main gate.  There was a steady flow of traffic moving in and out of the city and the guards, looking bored but relatively alert were watching the passers by with mingled disinterest and a general air of going through the motions.  It was a warm spring day, with a generous breeze blowing in off the Sea of Stars, carrying with it the scents of flowers and delectable smells from a nearby bakery that were no doubt reminding the men of what they would much rather be doing right at that moment. 

                The assassin, called Shadow Stalker, stayed silent and unmoving in his shadows, watching everything, trying to take it all in.  The city of Valor was still young, relatively speaking, having been settled some twenty-five years before.  Considering its relative youth, it had grown quickly, already supporting a population of well over twenty thousand.  On the other side of the small island kingdom, its sister city Peacehope, settled just a few years earlier than it boasted a population of thirty thousand.  Compared to some of the large old cities on the mainland, like the human Empire of Errgaunt, this was miniscule at best, but considering how isolated the island of Algeron is the assassin thought it a feat worthy of respect that the men and women responsible for settling this island had done so well in so short a time.

                Supposedly, the group that could claim the most credit for that feat was the original Dragons, a truly legendary team of adventurers who had their charter in Peacehope, though they had been formed before the city was settled, meaning they had started off as an illegal assembly of adventurers.  Not that that didn’t happen pretty often, but everyone knew that the only legitimate adventuring parties were those that were sponsored by a noble lord of some kind.  The Dragons had risen to stardom as the vassals of the Count of Peacehope, Maximillian Shroude.  Shadow Stalker was secretly glad that that original team was no longer assembled, for their presence on this island might have made what he had to do here that much more difficult.  He knew that they had originally disbanded some fifteen years earlier, when the individual members of the party had gotten too old to keep questing and had settled here on Algeron to see to other responsibilities.  The leader of that group, Donovan Moonstone, had been named First Knight of Peacehope and settled down to raise his five daughters.  He had been killed about eight years ago, Shadow Stalker knew, and in response to his murder his eldest daughter had assembled a new band of heroes under the same charter as her fathers.  This new band of Dragons was not so formidable as the first, but they were up and coming from what he had learned about them.  And that was quite a lot.  Shadow Stalker made it his business to know as much as he could about any place he was accepting a contract, and details like a powerful adventuring party working in the vicinity were important, especially if they were connected to the people he intended to kill. 

                Fortunately for him, his target right now was in Valor, and the Dragons were in Peacehope almost three hundred miles away.  He doubted he would have to worry about them, at least not yet.  When he moved into the second phase of the plan he had been hired to enact that might be a different story though.  Still, if it came to it, he was prepared to deal with the Dragons.  For the kind of money he was being paid, he would face an army of adventurers if necessary.

                This contract had come to him almost a month previously and quite by happenstance.  He had been seated in a tavern in Milligant, one of the coastal cities in Errgaunt, nursing an ale and listening to the local gossip when she came in.  Though she had been wearing a cloak with the hood pulled up, casting her face in deep shadows, it had been obvious it was a woman beneath just from the way she moved.  But had there been any doubt, it was assuaged when she spoke, her voice soft and sultry emanating out from the shadowed hood and addressing the room at large.

                “I’m looking for someone to handle a matter of some… delicacy.  I will pay very well but discretion is paramount.  Should any of you be interested, come to the Galloping Gorgon Inn tonight after dark and ask for the Lady D’Spayr.”  With that she had turned and strode from the small, dingy tavern.  Shadow Stalker, clad in one of his many disguises, glanced around at the rest of the assembled drinkers, gauging their reaction to her words.  It looked as though several were interested, but mostly they just looked to want to get back to their drinks.  Shadow Stalker had paid for his, then left the bar, moving casually so as not to attract attention.  He was good at not attracting attention, for he didn’t ever look memorable except when he was dressed for work, and then people didn’t remember him because if they saw him he was generally the last thing they would ever see.

                In the shadows of a nearby alley he had changed into his work clothes, black soft leather shirt, hard leather vest and pants, soft soled boots and a facemask that covered the lower half of his face.  The hood of his cloak cast the upper half in shadow, but if someone were to risk looking close enough they would see a wicked scar running up the right hand side between the facemask and the hairline, looking as though some past fight had nearly claimed his eye.  On his hips he wore a katana and a dagger and he rested his hands on them out of habit as he made his way through the back alleys, looking for the Galloping Gorgon.  It proved to be rather easy to find, but since he didn’t fancy letting the staff see him enter he scaled the wall from the alley and made his way, spider like, along the upper floors, checking the windows until, on the third floor at the far corner of the building, he heard her voice issuing from a slightly opened window.

                “I’m afraid you’re not quite what I was looking for, sir.”  She said, her voice sounding frosty as he slunk up to the window and raised himself up so that his eyes were able to see over the sill.  They widened slightly at what they saw, a woman of such striking and exotic beauty that surely she couldn’t be real.  She was relatively tall and slender, her build more athletic than was commonly thought attractive, her hair was long and silvery with traces of blue running through it and her face pixie like with big eyes, full lips and a small, pert nose.  She was clad in a gown that he thought at first glance might be made of satin, but then he realized that it was woven spidersilk and the same silvery blue color as her hair.  Both the dress and hair contrasted sharply with the deep ebony of her smooth skin. This then was a shadow elf, the first he had ever seen though obviously he had heard of them.

                The oaf she was talking to was of the same ilk he had encountered more times than he could count throughout the city.  Tall and muscular with a bald head and an oft broken nose, his jaw was squared, his chin dropped sharply, blocking his neck from view and his cheeks were covered in stubble.  He stood with his thick arms crossed across his chest, glaring at the woman with a combination of belligerence and hunger in his eyes.  Shadow Stalker could smell the alcohol on the man from the window and judging by the way Lady D’Spayr was wrinkling her nose in distaste, she could smell it too.  That or she just found the man generally repulsive, which Shadow Stalker could certainly understand.

                “You offered work, I’m looking for work.  I don’t care what it is or even if it’s legal. You want something done?  I’ll do it.  Just point me at it.”  The oaf growled, his thin lipped mouth barely moving.  Suddenly Shadow Stalker caught the faintest whiff of tobacco smoke and his eyes shifted to the small rooms only door where he caught the shadowed movement of feet through the crack at its bottom.  His eyes narrowed, then he moved his gaze back to the bald man.  “I’ll even kill someone if you want me to.”

                Shadow Stalker could hear the diplomacy in the shadow elf’s voice and could tell that this was a woman of some means, well educated and used to dealing with all manner of people.  No doubt she had dealt with men like this roughneck a hundred times before, but what was waiting beyond that door?  Had the man brought friends with him?  Or were they hers?  “I was hoping for a different… caliber of employee, to be perfectly honest.  The sort of work I need done you are just not the kind of man I need for.”

                The bald one scowled, his broad forehead furrowing with thought as though he had had some trouble following her very articulated and correct words.  “How can you know if I can handle it if you don’t let me try?”  he growled.

                “I’m sorry,” she said, gesturing toward the closed door, “but I can’t use you.  Perhaps if something requiring less subtlety comes up….”

                “Can’t use me?” he cut across her gruffly and Shadow Stalker sensed danger and started to pull himself up onto the sill, moving quiet as a cat, “Who are you to judge me lady?  Can’t use me, you say?  Well fine… I’ll just use you!”  He lunged for her then, his big hands reaching to grab her arms.  Shadow Stalker paused in his movements to watch, seeing her dance lithely back out of his reach, her hands coming up and starting to weave some intricate pattern in front of her.  The assassin smelled ozone burning in the room and there was a flash of light as the man seemed to slam into a wall of electricity that suddenly appeared in front of him, though it was like no electricity Shadow Stalker had ever seen.  It looked like some kind of dark energy, blue black though it crackled like lightning.  The bald roughneck bellowed in surprise and staggered back, his broad frame crackling with electricity. 

                “Leave now and you won’t have to get hurt.”  The woman said, her voice dripping acid.  Shadow Stalker knew that, one on one she probably had nothing to fear from this man, but at that moment the door slammed inward, propelled by someone’s booted foot.  Three more men, likely the ones that worked with… or for the bald one stormed in, glancing around uncertainly.  The shadow elf paused, pivoting toward them, her hands coming up.  But uncertainty had flickered across her face, though it was gone so fast that Shadow Stalker wasn’t certain they had seen it.  He had though, she was worried whether she could handle all four of them.  He was determined that she wouldn’t have to, after all accosting a woman was wrong, but at odds of four to one… that was just rude.

                As he quietly slid the already slightly open window up, using the somewhat parted hanging curtains inside to conceal his movements, Shadow Stalker sized up the other three men.  They seemed to be cut from the same cloth as the first, all of them large and uncouth, ruffians who had likely come up working as hands on the docks which would explain how they had gotten so large.  When the work there had slowed or dried up all together they had turned to crime, working as thugs for one crime lord or another.  There were no shortage of those in Milligant, Shadow Stalker knew, and they liked to use men like this as enforcers.  Shadow Stalker knew their type, he had seen the same story countless times growing up on the streets of various cities.

                The first man to have come through the door paused, glancing at the bald man, his eyes widening slightly to see the dark electricity crackling around his broad shoulders.  “Axel?” he asked uncertainly.

                “Boss?” came the second man, standing behind the first.

                The bald man, who Shadow Stalker assumed now to be Axel, glanced at his men and growled, “This cunt insulted me, grab her and hold her down so I can teach her a lesson!”

                “Insulted you?”  Shadow Stalker said, now crouched on the open windowsill, his dark eyes sweeping the four men.  “By my count you’ve insulted the lady here at least four times in the last two minutes.  I haven’t heard her be anything but diplomatic to you, and believe me, that’s not always easy.”

                “Who the fuck are you?” Axel growled, turning to face the assassin.  Axel had about eight inches and almost a hundred pounds on the darkly clad rogue, but there was something in the assassins bearing, a steel in his voice and his eyes that gave the bigger man pause.

                “I’m the man she hired to do the job she was advertising for, or rather she was about to hire me before you barged in and interrupted us.”  Axel looked from the shadow elf to Shadow Stalker uncertainly.  The fact that the assassin had just come in the window was a confusing thing, but he understood that the man may have been hiding out there to avoid being seen.  “I heard you coming up the stairs long before you got to the door.”  Though his gaze was on Axel, he was watching the other three in his periphery.  “Of course, I could smell you even before that!”

                It was to her credit that Lady D’Spayr hadn’t given any indication of her ignorance of his identity away, but there had been the briefest flash of confusion in her lovely eyes before she had shifted slightly to stand next the window, and her unexpected ally in this confrontation.  “What do you want us to do boss?”  Asked the second of the men to have barged into the room.  All three of them were now standing spread out across the small room from him, looking so similar in build and stature that they might have been related.

                Axel seemed to overcome his momentary trepidation, not wanting to lose face in front of his men.  “I still want the woman… kill the runt.”

                Shadow Stalker sighed, “So be it.” He whispered, then stepped off the window sill.

                Lady D’Spayr spared him a glance, then her full lips quirked in a slight smile, “No blood on the carpet in here, if you please.”  Shadow Stalker didn’t even so much as glance at her, but he understood her meaning.  If he wanted the job then this was his audition, it meant nothing that he was coming to her aid.  The matter of his true skill was still in question.

                The first one to come for him was the one who had let slip their bosses name.  He was shorter than Axel, with dark hair worn in a crew cut.  He was probably handsome underneath all the stubble and dirt, but Shadow Stalker didn’t see that.  All he saw was an obstacle that needed to be surpassed, and he was rather good at circumventing obstacles.  Keeping the ladies request about blood in mind, he kept his blades sheathed for the moment and stepped forward to meet the mans attack.  He led with a haymaker swing, his shoulder rolling back to telegraph the punch long before it was thrown.  It hadn’t even gotten half way to the assassin before Shadow Stalker had struck with a speed akin to lightning, his hand lashing out, the edge between his index finger and his thumb crushing the man’s larynx. His eyes bugged in his head as he staggered back, choking on his own blood, which was flowing freely in his throat but not onto the ladies carpet.  Though not yet dead, Shadow Stalker knew that this man was out of the fight and shifted his focus to the others.  Seeing how fast he dispatched their friend led to the other two men that had accompanied him through the door pausing, but Axel was apparently made of sterner stuff.  With a roar he charged at the assassin, his ugly face contorted in rage and he made to grab for the rogue.

                Shadow Stalker ducked and twisted between his outstretched arms, driving an elbow back into Axel’s solar plexus and doubling the bigger man over.  As he bent, the assassin straightened quickly, driving his leather reinforced shoulder into the mans face.  There was a sickening crunch as Axel’s nose broke for what was probably the fifth or sixth time and he staggered back, blood streaming from his nose and tears from his eyes.  Movement from across the room drew Shadow Stalkers eyes and he saw the other two men charging him at once.  The assassin’s eyes narrowed as he sized them up, quickly assessing their threat level as they came at him.  One of them was ducked low, his arms held in front of him to cover his torso while the other came high, hands up like a pugilist in front of his face.  Shadow Stalker assumed the pugilist to have actually had some fighting training and therefore he was the more dangerous.  As they came at him he stepped nimbly to the right, putting himself directly in the path of the boxer, inviting his attack first.  The man launched a jab with his right hand and Shadow Stalker admitted privately that he was fast, though not near fast enough.  The assassin simply shifted his head to the side, the fist brushing the side of his hood in passing as Shadow Stalker raised a fist, the knuckles of which were lined in mail beneath the leather gloves, curling it around his arm and driving it up under the mans chin.  The assassins fist exploded against the other mans head, rocking it back and staggering him to the rear, but then the other man had him, his arms circling Shadow Stalkers waist as he roared and hefted the rogue into the air, carrying him backward as he continued to charge.

                Shadow Stalker grunted as he was slammed into the wall, feeling the air leave his lungs in a rush and from the corner of his eye he saw one of Lady D’Spayr’s delicate eyebrows raise slightly.  Knowing that if he struck in anger he struck in error, Shadow Stalker stamped down the rage rising within him and reacted in as cold and calculating a manner as he could manage.  With all the force he could muster he slammed the palms of his hands against either of the other mans ears, rupturing his eardrums.  He bellowed in pain, the assassin dropping lightly to the floor as he staggered back, raising his hands to his ears.  Then Axel was back, scowling angrily, drifting into his vision and blocking the newly deaf man from his sight.  The bald roughneck raised his fist to crush the assassins head between it and the wall, but as it came forward Shadow Stalker stepped to the side and twisted on the ball of his left foot, mimicking an opening door.  Axel didn’t have time to adjust his aim and his hand slammed into the wall with a sickening crunching of bone, sinking through the plaster to his wrist. 

                The assassin pressed his advantage, stepping forward and driving one foot into the back of Axels right knee, buckling it and forcing the larger man to kneel, his hand still trapped in the wall.  Axel grunted as he went down, then Shadow Stalker twisted and drove his other knee into the mans side, right beneath the armpit of the arm that was still extended to the wall, rupturing the blood vessel that the assassin knew to be there.  Whatever the rest of the outcome of this fight, Axel would die from internal bleeding after that particular blow.  However, Shadow Stalker was never one to let a victim suffer, especially when he was trying to show off for a prospective client, so he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the big mans head and twisted violently.  With a bizarre popping sound Axel’s neck snapped and he slumped forward, partially held up by his hand still caught inside the wall.

                Shadow Stalker whirled, his eyes playing across the small room.  The man whose throat he’d crushed was slumped against a wall, leaning against the rooms small dresser, the last of life fading from his eyes.  The other two had frozen in the middle of the room, one bleeding from his ears the other shaking his head as if to clear dizziness.  They were staring in shock at the body of their dead leader, their eyes shifting from Axel to Shadow Stalker and back again.

                “Leave now,” the assassin growled at them, none of the fatigue he felt at the sudden exertion showing in the steel of his voice, “while I’m still feeling generous.”

                The two men exchanged glances, then spun and raced each other from the room, getting hung up briefly at the door as they both tried to force their way through simultaneously.  Then they were gone and Shadow Stalker turned to his prospective employer to see her regarding him with raised eyebrows.  Damn but she was gorgeous!  “Mercy?  From an assassin?”  She tilted her head, regarding him in a manner that he thought oddly… spider like.  “You are an assassin, aren’t you?”

                He nodded, then answered her concern, “In my line of work reputation stands for a lot.  Those two will spread word of what happened here, people will know who killed Axel, who probably has a reputation around here as something of a tough guy.”  He nodded toward the dead man, then continued, “They’ll also know to leave you alone, lest they incur the wrath of the man that killed him.”

                A sensuous smile spread slowly across her dark features, “Oh yes,” she purred softly, “you’ll do just fine.”

                Shadow Stalker had been crouched in the shadows outside of Valor for almost two hours, and he had spent two hours the day before crouched outside a different gate into the city, and two hours the day before that crouched outside another.  He figured he had a pretty good idea of the patterns of the guards, though if all went according to his plan he would be long gone from the city before the guards even knew he was there.  Still, it wouldn’t do to need to know something about their schedule and have overlooked it in his haste to get the job done.

                Staying in a crouch, he moved back away from the wall, deeper into the shadows and once he was confident that he was no longer visible from the wall he straightened and moved through the trees, angling gradually toward the road.  When he reached it he paused in the tree line, waiting for a wagon full of freshly harvested corn to pass, then he slipped from the trees and moved up onto the road, tugging his cloak tight about his shoulders, lowering his head and shuffling as though weary from many days traveling along the road.  As he moved along in the wake of the wagon he spied a long forked stick to one side of the lane and scooped it up, hooking the fork under his armpit and leaning on it like a crutch, adapting a slight limp.  By the time they reached the gate and were filtering through with the rest of the traffic he was fully into his guise of a down on his luck drifter, likely making his way into the city in the hopes of a handout.  He could feel the eyes of the guards on him as he passed, but they did nothing, no doubt just wondering whether they were going to have to drag him to a cell later to sleep off a drunk.

                Smiling inwardly, he moved through the city gate and into the heart of Valor, moving a good two blocks beyond the wall and blending into the crowd before allowing himself to drift into an alley and get lost among the shadows.  Tossing aside his makeshift crutch, he moved to the mouth of the alley and stood with his back to a wall, gazing out at the city.  His eyes moved upward, toward the city skyline, for he knew that his target wouldn’t live here in the hustle and bustle that was the lifestyle of the commoners.  No, his target was there… in the towers and turrets of the vast castle that seemed to cast its shadow protectively over the city.  It was there that the Rethbourne family lived, the founders and rulers of Valor.  Duke Rethbourne had been the partner of Count Shroude when they settled Peacehope, but Shadow Stalker had learned there had been a falling out, some sort of disagreement in the way the city should be run and Rethbourne had taken his pretty young wife and crossed the island to start his own city.  Peacehope and Valor were close allies, he knew, largely from the friendship shared by the Duchess and the Countess, for Rethbourne, it was said, had never forgiven Shroude their argument.  Now the Count was dead, the result of a vampires kiss according to rumor, and Rethbourne didn’t have too much longer to wait for that himself.  The assassin remembered the Lady D’Spayr giving him this assignment, and the explanation she had provided him for the necessity of the Duke’s death.

                “I would spare the man, honestly, except that his death will speed the process along considerably.”  She had said to him, draped as she was across the foot of her bed, propped up on one elbow.  Shadow Stalker leaned against the wall by the window, arms crossed over his chest, the bodies of Axel and the other dead tough still lay where he had dropped them, all but forgotten.  “I’m afraid that the Duke’s death is just a means to an end.”

                “What purpose does his death serve then?”  Shadow Stalker asked, his eyes narrowing.  Assassin he was, but he wasn’t into the concept of needless death just for its own benefit.

                The Lady D’Spayr, who had told him her name was Fae’Rena, regarded him through heavy lidded eyes for a moment, then she shrugged dainty shoulders.  Shadow Stalker was conscious of the way her small but firmly rounded breasts rose and fell with the motion, he could even hear the whisper of the light cloth over her skin as she moved and thought it nearly intoxicating.  But of course, it was designed to keep men off their guard and he wasn’t about to let that happen.  “The Duke must die in order to draw out your real target.”

                He cocked his head slightly at her.  “My real target?”

                She nodded, pushing herself up into a sitting position.  “Oh yes, the Duke’s death is just a means to the ultimate end.  You see, his wife, Tyffani, is close friends with Penelope Shroude, the Countess of Peacehope.  She despises her husband, I assure you, but in order to keep up appearances, following his death she will send for her friend.  The Countess will come, for it is proper that she do so, being the ruler of Valor’s sister city she should attend a funeral of this stature.  Plus she will want to be supportive of her friend.”

                “The Countess is the actual target?” he asked her.

                Fae’Rena D’Spayr nodded.  “Her… or either of her sisters.  All three of them if you are capable of doing it, though that would be near enough to a miracle.  One will suffice, so I am told.”

                “You wish me to kill the Duke to draw the Countess out… then what, kill her too?”  Shadow Stalker asked.

                She laughed, the sound like the tinkling of bells echoing off the small rooms ceiling.  “Oh no!  We need her very much alive, at least for the time being.  Kidnap her, then take her to a place of our choosing that you will be told when you have her and you will be paid the sum we discussed.”

                “Why not just take the Countess in Peacehope?”  he asked her after a moments pause.

                She frowned slightly.  “We had considered that, actually.  But the fact is that in her home she’s too well protected.  Eaglehart has trained those guards exceptionally well… and then there’s the Dragons.”  At the time, Shadow Stalker hadn’t know what she was talking about, but now he knew that Eaglehart was Galon Eaglehart, a founding member of the original Dragons and currently the Grand General of Peacehopes militia, so he hand picked the guards that protected the Countess day and night.  The Dragons, of course, referred to the adventuring party that was stationed in Peacehope.  “No,” she had continued, “it’s much easier to take her outside the city, where her protection won’t be as formidable.”  Not for the first time, Shadow Stalker wondered who she meant by “we”.  Still, he didn’t really want to know too much.  It was enough for him to know that he was working for Fae’Rena D’Spayr, at least for now.

                “All right then.  What can you tell me about Rethbourne?”  Shadow Stalker asked.

                “Some, though you’ll have to do your own research when you arrive in Algeron.  He’s one of two noble lords that financed the settling of the Kingdom of Algeron and he shares its leadership with two others, the Shroude Family and the king of the Graybeard Dwarves who inhabit the mines at the center of the island.  He is married to Tyffani Rethbourne, though I understand it to be a loveless marriage, both of them having lovers on the side.  She’s done her duty by him though, there are three children, Lorilei is the oldest, then there’s Talon and the youngest is Kirsten.  By all accounts, Kirsten is the only one with any feelings for her father.  He dotes on the girl, I’m told.” 

                Shadow Stalker was unmoved by parental affection as he had experience little of it himself growing up.  The only person he remembered fondly in a parental capacity was the elven woman whose orphanage he had lived in briefly after a ship carrying him and his brother had crashed off the coast of Aldonia.  He had left her care to search for his brother… he was still searching, between jobs.  “So assassinate the Duke to draw out the Countess, then bring her to you at a place of your choosing which I will be informed of later.  Along with as many of her sisters as I can manage.”

                “That about sums it up.” She said with a nod.  “There is one other thing, now that I think of it.”  She paused, as if for effect, then continued, “There is a bit of a time table on this.  We have to have Lady Penelope or at least one of her sisters before the next cycle of the full moon.  That gives you just shy of a month to get her to us.  Otherwise we’ll have to keep her under lock and key for another month, and that could give her people time to make trouble for us.”

                “I understand.”  He said, then turned and exited the way he had come, through the window. 

                Before he had gotten away, however, he heard her sultry voice mumble, “Don’t mind the bodies… I’ll clean this up for you!”

                That had been a week ago, and in that time Shadow Stalker had journeyed to Algeron by means of a flying zeppelin that left Milligant and docked in Valor three days later.  He had spent the intervening time learning all he could about the people he was going to have to kill, kidnap or flee.  It was an impressive group to say the least.  But it was nothing he couldn’t handle, he was sure.  Now he stood in yet another alley, farther into Valor than he had yet penetrated on his reconnaissance missions, staring at the wall within the city that surrounded the castle.  There were more guards here, clad in plate and chain armor, armed with spears, swords and shields and wearing the blue and silver tabards that marked them as Valors elite guards, the soldiers specifically assigned to protect the royal family.  He saw two by the gate leading into the castle grounds and he knew there were two more moving around inside the gatehouse behind them, he could see their silhouettes through the tinted windows.

                The wall that surrounded Valor had been thirty feet high and fifteen feet thick, this one was no where near that formidable, though at fifteen feet and four it was still an obstacle.  Far from insurmountable, however, and he thought that scaling the wall would be better than a frontal assault on the guards.  The longer he could last without alerting them to his presence, the better his chances of success were likely to be.  He was about to turn away, fade into the shadows and find a likely place to go over the wall when he saw someone else approaching castle gate.  He paused, frowning at the man.  He was tall and well built with shoulder length blonde hair and fair skin, his blue eyes showing both intelligence and humor.  The points of his ears marked him as a High Elf and the armor he wore, stylized but highly functional plate and chain in the colors of Valor marked him as a knight.  In fact, if Shadow Stalker wasn’t greatly mistaken, this was Sir Tristan Léon, First Knight of Valor.

                The assassin took a moment to size the man up, noting the confident way in which he carried himself and how loosely his bastard sword rested in the scabbard diagonally across his back.  ‘This,’ he decided, ‘would be a difficult man to kill.’  With that thought hovering at the forefront of his mind, the assassin wheeled about and trotted farther into the alley, then turned and moved to the left, along a route that he knew would take him parallel to the wall.  When he came to another cross section he turned right and moved back toward the castle. By now the sun was setting and the hour of dusk was upon him. This was Shadow Stalker’s favorite time of day as it was when the shadows were deepest and peoples eyes were most easily confused by them. 

                He crouched in the mouth of the alley, his eyes narrowed as he gazed across the wide open street that lay between him and the castle wall.  He glanced left and right, saw people in the distance but no one close enough to be of a concern to him.  Focusing again on the wall he frowned at it, picturing himself leaping to its top and rolling over it, dropping into the courtyard beyond. This was the most dangerous aspect of his job, for the layout of the castle was the one thing he hadn’t been able to study before hand.  There didn’t seem to be any plans available, so likely they were kept under lock and key inside the gate.  A wise precaution as it kept people like him from making plans like his.  He allowed himself a small chuckle at that, since the lack of any plans for the layout of the castle was a minor inconvenience for him at best.  Steeling himself against possible discovery, the assassin launched himself from the shadows of the alley and sprinted, staying as low as possible, across the open street.  The castle’s perimeter wall was only fifteen feet high so as he got within a few yards of it he launched himself up into the air and caught the edge of the wall on the tips of his fingers.  His toes scrabbled at the walls surface for a moment, then they caught purchase on the slight gap between bricks and he used it to hoist himself up and over, rolling across the top of the wall laying as flat as possible to avoid his silhouette being visible, then dropping silent as a cat into the bushes that lined the inside of the wall.  Those had been unexpected, but the cover was a welcome surprise. 

                He dropped to his stomach, lying between the low shrubs and the wall, moving nothing but his eyes as he ascertained his location compared with the castle.  This was dangerous territory for him, he knew, since he had no idea of the patterns of the guards or their general postings within the castles walls.  As he swiveled his gaze about him he saw the elven knight making his way from the gate toward what had to be the front entrance of the castle.  He wondered what the warriors business was in the castle tonight, his presence here made things more interesting… more dangerous, which was all to the better for Shadow Stalker.  He watched as the knight disappeared into the vast confines of the castle, then he lay there another twenty minutes, and when he was only passed by two roving patrols he figured the inner guard must be fairly light in the courtyard.  Rising to a crouch, he moved along the wall, staying between it and the shrubs in case he had to drop quickly again for cover.  He was scanning the ground floor of the castle, looking for a way in other than the main entrance.  He didn’t relish the thought of scaling the wall to use a higher window as that would leave him exposed and open.  He hoped for a servants entrance or something.

                A girlish giggle followed by a mans deeper laughter sent him diving into the dirt beneath the bushes.  He lay there, not daring to move until the sounds came again and he breathed easier, realizing that they were not coming from as close as he had thought.  The lay of the outbuildings around him had played with the acoustics and made them seem closer than they were.  The voices seemed to be coming from what looked like a servants quarters a short distance from where he lay.  Interested, wondering if perhaps the servants had an underground entrance as he had seen on other castles, he crept closer till he was right under the open window from which he had heard the voices in the first place.

                “You shouldn’t be here!” said the girls voice, sounding rather young to the assassin’s ear, “Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?  What if they realize you’re gone and come looking?  We’d both be in trouble then!”

                “Come on Lena,” the man said, his voice low and full of desire, “I ain’t been with you in over a week!  Ain’t no one gonna miss me for a spell, if you’d quit struggling we’d have time to get a quickie in before I had to get back!”

                Shadow Stalker inched upward till he was looking around the lower corner of the window with just one eye.  They were about half way across the room, the man was one of the castle guards judging by his armor and the woman was obviously a servant of some kind.  She wasn’t really pretty, but neither was she ugly and she did have a nice body.  She also wasn’t as young as she sounded, probably in her early twenties.  “A quickie?”  Lena hissed at him, pushing away his hands as he tried to grope at her bodice.  “That’s a fine thing for you!  What about me?  You get your way and you’re done with me in five minutes, while I’ve only just gotten warmed up.  Then you go off to smoke and walk your rounds, leaving me all hot and bothered… well no sir, no thank you!  Now kindly keep your hands to yourself,” she slapped his hands away and shoved him back hard enough to make him stagger with a clatter of metal armor, “and be off with you!  Milady will be expecting her tea shortly, and I’ll not be made late by the like o’ you Cormac Collander.”  Lena turned her back on the guard and stalked away, leaving the man looking forlorn and more than a little dejected.  She was pulling some things for “milady’s” tea from a cupboard and when she didn’t hear him leaving she glanced over her shoulder.  When she saw him standing there with that dejected look on his face she sighed and turned to face him, hands her hips.  “Of for… fine, I’ll tell you what.  When we’re both off duty and not able to get in trouble fer it, then you can have yer jollies and maybe you’ll take yer time so’s I can have some fun too, eh?”

                Cormac Collander’s eyes lit up happily.  “I’m off in two hours.”

                She rolled her eyes at him, “Aye an’ I’ll be off as soon as I get milady her tea, so would you git gone with ye?”  She made shooing motions with her hands.  “I’ll get all gussied up for you before you show, I promise.”  With the thoughts of what awaited him after his duty ended dancing in his head the guard exited the building through a door opposite the room where the window the assassin was spying through was located.  When he had left the woman turned back to her tea, shaking her head and mumbling incoherently to herself.

                With the guard gone and Lena distracted, Shadow Stalker felt a little safer standing up and getting a better look around the room through the window.  To the right he saw a trap door leading down with the top rungs of a ladder just visible.  He smiled slightly beneath his mask, that was why there were no servants entrances at the castle, they all came and went through underground tunnels.  Likely made by those dwarves in the mine to the center of the island.  More and more Shadow Stalker found himself impressed with the security precautions that had been taken here, though again they weren’t so much a deterrent for him as they were a slight obstacle, easily overcome. 

                As he had done the night he acquired this contract, Shadow Stalker quietly slid the window up high enough so he could slither through.  Stepping into the room, secure in the noises Lena was making with the cupboard to cover any sounds he might make, the assassin stood up and moved across to the trap door.  It wouldn’t do to have to kill the servant, especially if she was expected by someone in the castle, so he wanted to avoid that.  Fortunately, she didn’t turn till after he had disappeared down the ladder, and even then she only frowned and shrugged, going back to her tea preparations, completely oblivious to the close brush with death she had just endured.

                At the bottom of the ladder Shadow Stalker found himself in a long tunnel that stretched off as far as he could see in two directions.  It wasn’t difficult to guess which way led to the castle, but he was curious about the other direction, wondering where it led.  Near as he could tell it seemed to disappear under the city somewhere.  He wondered if it might provide him with another option of exiting the castle grounds, but decided that its unknown factor made that a bad idea.  He would stick with his plan as he had it laid out.  Turning, he headed down the tunnel toward the castle, wanting to be gone before Lena descended.  He went for what seemed in the darkness to be a very long while, his nightvision adjusting quickly as he spent most of his waking hours in the dark, before he found a narrow stair leading up.  Better than the ladder, this was a stone stair and there wasn’t a single creaking board to step on as he made his way up into what wound up being a wine cellar.  A quick scouting of the vintage laden shelves and he found a door that led into the cellar and from there another stair leading up.  So far, so good.

                At the top of the stair to the cellar he paused, pressing his ear to the door he found there.  It was a stout door and thick, the sounds coming through muffled and indistinct.  He narrowed his eyes in concentration, trying to determine how many people there were through the door and who they might be.  He considered looking for another way out of the cellar, which seemed to stretch the length of the castle, but as he turned back to the stairs he heard Lena humming to herself as she came in his direction.  Swearing softly, he glanced around and saw to his right that the cellar roof was braced by thick wooden rafters snugged up tight against the wall and spaced about three feet apart.  Moving quickly, he pulled himself up between two of these rafters, stretching his arms and legs out to the sides and pushing hard to keep himself suspended between them.  Lena passed by underneath him and climbed the stairs, still humming and still oblivious, no doubt her mind also on what awaited her after work.  Shadow Stalker hoped that she and Cormac would be very happy together with the same thought that he used to curse her foul timing.

                As she slipped through the door and closed it behind her the assassin swung back down to the stair and pressed his ear to it again.  Lena was still standing right on the other side, so her voice came through loud and clear.  “Hey now!  What d’you think you lot are doin’ sitting around when there’s work to be done?  Get a move on ye lazy good fer nothings!”  Shadow Stalker grinned slightly behind his mask as he heard Lena and the others, who he now guessed must have been servants, moving off to their duties.  He waited a few minutes to ensure they had gone, then he slipped out the door into a broad hallway.  Across from him was a room that looked to be a dining area, likely set aside for the servants.  The door was open and he assumed that’s where the stragglers Lena had yelled at had been hiding.  Glancing left and right, Shadow Stalker knew he needed to find a staircase since his target was likely in the upper floors, so he turned right which he knew to also be the direction Lena had taken.  If the tea she was carrying happened to be for the Duchess, then she may well lead him right to the Duke.  Of course, for the plan to work, he had to make certain that no harm came to Duchess Tyffani, but he had no desire to hurt her.

                Distantly he could hear the servant humming to herself, so he followed at a distance, ascending the stairs behind her when he realized she had gone up a level.  He paused one landing down from the third floor, when he heard her talking again.  “Hey now, those don’t be for you you lout!  Quit it!”  Then she squealed and he heard the sound of a mans raspy laughter.  “Oh you… just you wait till I see my Cormac later, he’ll teach you to keep them fingers to yerself he will!”  Shadow Stalker had a moments panic as he heard a pair of booted feet coming down the stairs above him.  Desperately, he vaulted the railing of the stairs, hooking his hand around the lower rung he swung himself up underneath the staircase and hung there, hoping that whoever was coming down wouldn’t see his black gloved hand gripping the banisters lower rail.  He heard the boots descending, the vibrations felt through the floor where he had his face pressed as he clung for dear life.  Then they paused, directly above him and he heard a questioning grunt right before the sound of steel sliding from leather.  ‘So we begin.’  The assassin thought as he released his hold with his left hand and swung with his right, levering his body so that he jackknifed into the air and came down lightly on the steps in front of the frowning man with the sword in hand.  His eyes widened as he got a good look at Shadow Stalker, for there was no mistaking what business a man dressed all in black might have in the castle at night.

                His opponent was tall and rail thin, perhaps in his thirties wearing a studded leather top and breaches of thick wool.  He must have been some kind of guard, the assassin figured, but he wasn’t dressed as the other guards had been.  He was holding what looked like a small cake in one hand and Shadow Stalker realized that he must have taken it off the small tray that Lena was holding.  The assassin wondered why the man hadn’t sounded the alarm, but put the thought aside as the thin man swung his blade with astonishing swiftness at the assassins head.  Shadow Stalker ducked beneath the swing, spinning around the man in a crouch and coming up behind him, dagger in hand and curling his arm around the older mans throat right before he drove the blade up beneath his chin, through his mouth and into his brain stem, killing him instantly.  Quietly, he lowered the old man to the stairs as he pulled his dagger free and wiped it on the mans leather top.  As he lay there, the dead mans mouth hung open and Shadow Stalker could see he was without a tongue.  That explained why he hadn’t raised an alarm, it was a stroke of luck.  The assassin also knew who he was now, for he had read something about the Duke’s brother living in the castle and being a man who had lost a tongue while a prisoner of war to some orcs several decades earlier.  ‘Well Lady D’Spayr,’ the assassin thought grimly, ‘looks like you got two Rethbournes for the price of one!’

                Leaving the body where it lay, confident he would be done and on his way before it was discovered, he continued up the stairs, still faintly able to hear Lena humming in the distance.  He came to a long and rather narrow hallway, lined on both sides with ornately carved doors and wall hangings that Shadow Stalker had come to recognize over the years as the trappings of wealth.  Well ahead of him he saw Lena, moving toward a door at the end of the hall.  He was a good distance away and had plenty of shadows to hide his presence, so he was unconcerned as he crouched behind a small table on which rested a huge, gold lined vase with the biggest assortment of flowers in it he had ever seen.  Lena took a moment outside the door to compose herself and was about to knock when the door swung open.  She gasped, stepping back and nearly spilling her tea as a human in his early fifties appeared in the doorway.  He looked like a man who had once been quite physically powerful but had let it all go to fat in recent years.  He had heavy cheeks, small eyes and a bulbous nose that showed signs of too much drinking, likely pining away for the youth he had lost and the physique that went with it.

                “My lord Duke, you startled me!”  Lena said with a nervous smile.  Shadow Stalker’s interest piqued, here was his target presented to him in a confined space with no conceivable easy exit.  If the man had been wearing a bow the assassin would have thought it a gift from the Gods. 

                “Apologies Lena, is that for her?”  He nodded back into the room he was just leaving.

                “Yes milord.  Your mother always takes evening tea before bed.”  The woman said, still nervous in the face of the most powerful nobleman in the city.

                “Go ahead then, perhaps it can give her the comfort I can’t.”  He sighed, then moved aside to let her pass.  “Did you happen to see my brother on your way here?  He just left us.”  ‘In more ways than you know.’  Shadow Stalker thought as he crouched, listening.            

                “I did run into him on the stairs milord, I believe he was heading out to the city.”  Lena informed the man.

                The Duke nodded, sighing.  “Very well, I’ll catch up with him tomorrow then.  Good night Lena, and thank you for taking such good care of mother.”  With that he turned and headed in the assassins direction. Behind him, Shadow Stalker saw Lena watch the Duke go for a moment, then she stepped into the room he had vacated and quietly closed the door.  For a moment Shadow Stalker thought that his chance was going to come much sooner, and easier than he had anticipated, but half way down the hall the Duke stopped and disappeared through another door to the right of the hall.  Those must be his quarters, the assassin decided.  Waiting a moment to make certain that the hallway was going to remain empty, Shadow Stalker slipped from his cover and moved to the door through which his target had disappeared.  Pressing his ear to it he heard the mans voice in conversation with a woman, who suddenly giggled shrilly, making him lean away from the door and wince slightly.

                Judging by what he had learned of the relationship between the Duke and the Duchess, he doubted very much that she was who was in the room.  That simplified matters, as he was under orders to see that she came to no harm.  Testing the doorknob, he found it unlocked and quietly pushed it open just enough to slip through.  He kept his back to the wall of what turned out to be a rather well appointed bedroom, pushing the door closed silently behind him.  The latches faint click went unnoticed by the couple that was already wrestling about on the bed.  Unnoticed, Shadow Stalker took a few moments to take in his surroundings.  The room was not large, though as he had already noticed it was rather well appointed.  The bed on which they were coupling was large though by no means grand, there was a dresser with six drawers, a table and a bathtub in the corner that he could see by the light of the dimly burning lantern on the dresser was still wet, showing that the woman had just bathed recently.  There were no windows, which meant he would have to find another way out, but that posed little problem for him.  Now he turned his attention to the Duke and the woman he was with.

                He knew from the description he had gotten of her that this was not the Duchess, who was by all accounts a remarkably beautiful woman.  The Duke’s current mistress was by no means ugly, but neither was she the beauty one would expect so powerful a man to keep in his bed.  She had curly brown hair, heavy, soft breasts and wide hips.  She looked to be all soft curve, with little firmness to her form at all.  He knew some men liked their women like that, personally it did little for the assassin, not that he had had much time for women over the years.  He began to consider the best way to go about his task, for while he was hired to kill the Duke it made sense to him to make it seem as though his death was not so much an assassination as perhaps the result of a mistresses unknown husband.  The last thing he wanted was for the security in the area to be raised, that might hinder the completion of the second phase of his plan.  Yes, perhaps this woman had a husband somewhere, that might suit nicely.  By the time they had discovered whether or not she did, it would all be over.

                Though he wasn’t exactly hidden from view standing as he was by the door, neither of the lovers saw him till he stepped away from it.  The woman, who was looking over the Duke’s shoulder as he rutted like a boar atop her, saw the assassin draw his steel as he stepped clearly into view.  Her eyes widened and her lips parted in preparation of the scream.  ‘No, we can’t have that.’  He thought, leaping lightly to the bed, straddling the Duke and the woman at the waist and driving his blade cleanly down in a straight thrust, pinioning them both to the bed.  Her scream died on her lips in a sudden wash of blood, some of it coming from the Duke’s mouth as several of his internal organs were ruptured.  Shadow Stalker twisted the blade savagely, then jerked it back out.  He had aimed his stab precisely so it came as no surprise to him when the Duke simply collapsed atop the woman, both of them dead almost instantly.  Blood still flowed freely from their wounds, and the woman’s eyes were open, but they saw nothing.  Hopping off the bed, Shadow Stalker glanced around, his gaze finally settling on the mirror mounted above the dresser.  Bending, he dipped a gloved finger into the womans blood, then moved to the mirror and using her blood he wrote: Nobility does not defend adultery, another mans wife is sacred!

            Nodding to himself, the assassin wiped his glove on the bedding and turned toward the door, but froze when he heard a shout out in the hall.  “Uncle!”  It was a woman, and judging by the volume she was close by.  Shadow Stalker swore under his breath, the Duke’s brother had just been found, and from the sound of it by one of the Duke’s kids.  “Guards!”  She cried, then he heard the sound of running feet and suddenly someone was pounding at the door.  “Father!  Father I know you’re in there, it’s Kirsten, open up!”  Glancing around frantically, Shadow Stalker dropped down and rolled quickly under the bed, the only hiding place available to him.  She knocked again before the door was pushed open and the assassin tilted his head to the side enough to get a look at her, in case he had to identify her again sometime in the future.  Kirsten Rethbourne was quite pretty, short and slender with an athletic but still curvy form.  She had long, wavy brown hair and green eyes, plump pink lips and as she dashed into the room, a scream of despair echoing from her he noted that she was wearing mail and had a sword on one shapely hip.  ‘That’s right, she’s a soldier in the city guard.’  He had learned that during his research, he could imagine just from the way that she carried herself that she might be rather formidable.  The girl, for she couldn’t have been much more than seventeen he thought, sank to her knees beside the bed and sobbed out, “Daddy?”  Shadow Stalker felt a stab of guilt but forced it back, there was no room for that in his life.

                The sound of more voices out in the hall as the guards came running at her summons, evidently finding the body on the stairs.  A moment later he saw a pair of booted feet, the boots layered with metal plate appear in the doorway.  “Milady, what is it, what’s…?”  He trailed off as he noticed the dead bodies on the bed, then Shadow Stalker heard the guard swallow loudly.  “Gods above.” He breathed.

                The assassin slithered further toward the head of the bed, where the shadows were deeper as the girl picked herself up off the floor and sniffled.  He could almost hear her pulling herself together in spite of the crisis and he found he already had some respect for this young woman.  “The killer may still be in the castle, begin a search at once.”

                “Of course milady.”  The guard started to turn away, but the assassin saw his boots pivot back toward the room.  “Milady, the mirror.”

                Shadow Stalker saw her own boots turn in that direction and a pause as she read what was written there.  “So… she had a husband that didn’t care she was cheating on him with the duke?  Fine… find him.  Bring him to the castle, but he may have hired someone to do this for him, so conduct that search!”

                “At once milady!”  As he started away, she called after him, “And someone send for the rest of my family!”

                She wasn’t leaving, he could see that at once, and that meant that he had a problem since he had to get out of this room without being seen.  She was standing, crying softly, facing the bed and suddenly the assassin had an idea.  It could easily backfire on him, but it was all he had to work with at the moment.  Curling himself up into a tight ball beneath the bed he wedged the soles of his feet against the underside of it.  Testing its weight, he strained against the springs and found that while it was heavy, especially with two dead bodies on top of it, he felt his idea could work.  Taking a moment to center himself, to call on the inner strength common among most who have studied the martial arts at all, he envisioned a spring uncoiling and then willed his body to mimic it.  The bed shot up into the air as he kicked against it from underneath, the king size bed tilting wildly toward the girl who screamed in shock as first the bodies of her father and his lover toppled on top of her, but then the bed as well, their combined weight crumpling her slight form beneath them.  Shadow Stalker was on his feet and leaping over the overturned bed, hoping there was no one in the hallway to slow him as he made for the door.  He knew that Kirsten was alive, he could hear her shouts as he made his escape.

                The assassin leapt into the hallway, landing lightly and glancing both ways.  To his left the stairway led down while to his right… a distraught looking Lena was leading a frail looking old woman toward the bedroom he had just vacated.  The servant saw him, her eyes widened and she started to scream.  ‘Damn!’  Shadow Stalker swore to himself, his arm flashing out and silver twinkling in the light of the candles that lit the hall as a throwing blade shot forth and buried itself in the soft flesh just beneath her chin.  The servant toppled backward, her jugular spraying scarlet as she pulled the old woman down on top of her.  ‘I actually liked her.’  Shadow Stalker thought as he turned for the stairs.  The death of the servant was unfortunate, and unnecessary, as would be any deaths that followed on his way to the exit.  He had killed his mark, but he had not gotten away clean and in the mind of a perfectionist like Shadow Stalker, that meant he had failed.

                ‘Still have to get the Countess and get off this accursed island too!’  He thought as he reached the landing half way down the stairs.  There were more guards at the bottom, three of them coming up, escorting a blonde woman so beautiful that the sight of her actually gave the assassin pause.  The Duchess, though she had to be in her forties, didn’t look a day over twenty-five, with long platinum blonde hair and a full, womanly figure that was nicely accentuated at the moment by the silk nightgown she wore, visible beneath the robe she had obviously pulled on in haste and not yet fastened.  The guards and the Duchess froze on the stairs, looking up at him and he froze on the stairs, looking down at them.

                To her credit, it was the Duchess who broke the stalemate first.  “Seize him!”

                Spurred to action by her words the three guards started charging up the stairs, two of them drawing swords while the third leveled a spear in front of him like a lance.  Shadow Stalker made no move at first save for the slight narrowing of his eyes, then when the spear wielder reached him the assassin simply kicked out with one foot and shoved the point of the spear into the front of the stair directly beneath him.  The guards momentum was instantly halted and the two guards behind him rammed into him from behind, the three becoming somewhat tangled on the narrow staircase.  Shadow Stalker, in a remarkable display of dexterity suddenly ran up the length of the spears shaft, kicked its wielder in the face, sending him and the other two guards crashing to the ground, then he hopped up onto the stairs railing and slid down it, standing upright.  The Duchess, blue eyes wide in stunned surprise at the ease with which he had bested her men, turned on the spot where she stood and watched him descend the staircase.  As he passed, Shadow Stalker tossed her an almost jaunty salute, “You’re really better off without him milady!”  As he flipped nimbly to the ground when the railing ended he turned and called back to her, “The cheating fool didn’t deserve you!”  Then he turned and raced down the great hall.

                Shadow Stalker could see the main entrance to the castle straight ahead, at the end of the hall, flanked by two guards who had seen him coming and were attempting to bar his passage with crossed spears.  The door was closed, of course, but there were two windows set high on the wall to either side of the massive oak door.  Shadow Stalker poured on the speed, sprinting straight at the two guards who had their faces set in determined scowls.  Risking a glance over his shoulder, the assassin was surprised and impressed to see Kirsten Rethbourne seated on the stair railing and sliding down in pursuit, her hair flying behind her, her pretty face set with determination.  When he returned his gaze to the front he saw that he was within five strides of the guards at the door.  His next few actions planned out well in advance, they played out just as he wanted them to.  With two strides to go he suddenly launched himself into the air, but not straight at the guards, instead he went to one side, catching the brick wall with his right foot and pushing off it, launching himself left.  A crystal chandelier hung in the hall, just inside the door and he grabbed that, swinging with it toward the far wall.  The assassin released the chandelier, met that wall with both legs and then pushed off it with all his might, angling his body toward the closest window.  He passed through it with a crash and spray of broken glass, curling into a flip and landing, light and quick on his feet on the outside of the castle. 

                Now he had to cross the courtyard and make it over the wall, after that it would be a fairly simple matter to lose them in the city.  With hardly a stride missed Shadow Stalker launched himself across the court yard toward the castle wall.  Rather than point at the castle gate, however, he aimed for a corner where the wall intersected a guard tower.  The assassin could see the men in the tower milling about, still uncertain as to what was happening inside the castle.  Behind him the door burst open and he didn’t have to look back to know that Kirsten Rethbourne was still on his trail.  She was tenacious, he would give her that.

                One word from the girl soldier nearly foiled the rogues plans as she waved at the guards in the tower with one hand, pointed at him with the other and cried, “Assassin!”