stolen paradise - copy

8/8/2019 Stolen Paradise - Copy

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wStOLEN PARADISEx The bards and the seers say that the surest sign that a herowill emerge is the presence of absolute darkness. Always, aleader of strength and courage comes forth from the nightwhen everything seems bleakest. Where, then, will a hero

come from, when all seems bright and fair?

“Gleaming white on emerald hill, there sits our queen andlove,

Eiluned, eternal fair, reaching for the sky above.Eternal walls of adamant, resist the dark without,

A haven still of hallowed life, behind the firm redoubt.

‘Twas Einon that founded her, of uncommon valor made.Almighty bastion of stone, unyielding, strong, staid!

Led by his hand, she prospered true, became a queen of men,

A home for all, we praise her strength and Einon’s triumphagain…..

Andras felt the last note of his song fall flat fromhis lips. He cursed in his head, knowing what wouldcome next. The girl in front of him drew her final noteout, adding a graceful flourish of vibrato. “Showoff,”he thought. As she finished, she scowled at him andshook her head, her jet hair swinging in disapproval.

“I’m going to make you sing it again, you idiot,” Shehissed, her shrill voice a perfect imitation of thefishmonger’s wife both went to for their produce. Fora moment, they stared at each other. His mouthbegan to curve upwards at the edges, but he kept hisgaze stern. She glared at him and mimed chopping



the head off of a fish. That was enough to make himsnicker. “You would make a great fish=wife, Bran,”he said, laughing at the look of disgust that crossedher face. “You’d better watch your back if you’re to

talk like that. We fisherwoman carry some damn bigknives,” she replied. He laughed again. He couldn’timagine Branwen carrying anything more dangerousthan a dancer’s baton. “I don’t think you’re actuallystrong enough to lift one of their cleavers,” heteased. She responded by pushing him off of hischair.

They’d known each other for as long as theycould remember, sharing a unique history. They werethe children of refugees who had come to seekshelter in the white city of Eiluned. Their home,Weyland, was a beautiful realm. The immense grassyhills and grey mountains that framed the skylinewere renowned throughout the dominion of men. Thestately banner of the red dragon flew proudly above

the Weyking’s great stone hall. The innate beauty of the land was no recourse to her people, however. Itis said that wherever light makes its dwelling,shadow is sure to follow. Weyland was no exception.

Plagued by a bloody tribal war that had raged forgenerations, Weyland became a living hell. The kingswere unable to restore order, and fell beneath therebellious onslaught of one of the warring clans. The

losses of the people were immense and tragic. Therewas not a single family of Weyland that had not beentouched by death. Branwen had lost two cousins.Andras had lost his father. Eiluned had been awhispered word of hope among the shatteredremnants of humanity forced to inhabit Wey. Escape



was nothing more than a dream for most. The clanwarriors needed food, and who better to grow theircrops than the women and children of their defeatedenemies? The citizenry lived in a state of slavery.

Andras’ father, Cadblaidd, had been a leader of theFree People’s Resistance, a ragged alliance of farmers and tradesman dedicated to protecting theirfreedom and that of their families. The men weredetermined and bold, but they had no training in theart of war, and no stomach for the black demons of inhumanity that make their abode on the battlefield.

They fought hard and they fought valiantly, buttheirs was a doomed battle. Pressed to their lastrefuge, they fought with the desperation of men whohave everything to lose. But it was not enough. Atthe last, Cadblaidd saw that his fight was hopeless. Insecret, he commanded his most trusted companion,Sior, to take his wife and to escape through themountains. Cadblaidd’s wife, Seren, had refused to

leave with the other women, and insisted still onremaining by his side. Her love of Cadblaidd wasstronger than to her than any fear of death.Cadblaidd knew this, and knew that she would neverwillingly leave him. Still, he could not bear to doomher by his actions. His love of her was true, andextended beyond himself. To accomplish his goal,then, he was forced to resort to trickery. In a lull

between assaults, he took Seren to his chamber andmade the most passionate love to her that had everbeen between man and woman. Near the end, hegave to her a glass of ruby wine, which she drank,thinking it their final drink together. She slipped intoa blissful unawareness as the sleeping drought took



its effect on her. Quickly, Cadblaidd summoned Sior.He bade him carry Seren before him on his horse,and make good their escape. Loathe was Sior todepart, but he knew the reality of their situation as

well as Cadblaidd did. With tears in his eyes, he leftto ready his steed. Gently, Cadblaidd carried his wifeto the stables. Sior was provisioned and ready todepart. With a final kiss on his wife’s sleeping brow,Cadblaidd entrusted Seren to him. Sior did not lookback as he rode out through the back of the fortress.He knew that if he did so he would be unable toleave. Sior would never be counted among the

sensitive or the feeling, but his love for Cadblaidd randeep. As He watched them speed into the night,Cadblaidd felt a deep regret. Seren had alwayswanted a child, and he had been unable to give herone. He felt a single tear slide down his cheek as hiswife rode off into the winter night.

When Seren awoke, she struggled madly withSior, demanding her release and return. Sior wouldnot yield, however. He knew that the truest servicehe could render unto his master would be to fulfill hiscommand. He bound Seren’s wrists and rode on,

ignoring the lady’s protests. Seren would not beignored, however. She took to screaming and begancalling curses down upon Sior and his descendants.Craven, she called him, unworthy of her husband’strust. She accused him of kidnapping her to justifyhis own escape. Sior did not take heed to her words,



but out of fear of discovery, stopped. He placedSeren upon the ground and gave to her a letter. Itwas written in the ancient Weyscript, Which Siorknew not. By this sign, Seren knew that it was

Cadblaidd who had written it. In silence, she read.Within, Cadblaidd spoke of his reasons for sendingher away, his regrets for their unfulfilled life, and hissurpassing love for her. In her heart, Seren finallyaccepted the bitter draught of reality. She knew thatCadblaidd was dead. With wordless remorse, shelooked to Sior, her eyes begging forgiveness. Siorreturned her gaze and said, “Leaving him was the

most difficult deed I’ll ever accomplish.”

Their journey was long and hard. The mountainsof Wey in winter are no place for travelers. Thechilling wind and stinging snow bit into the very soulsof Seren and Sior. As they walked the craggypalisades of the Cloudbiters, mightiest of the peaksin ancient Wey, Seren came close to despair. She felt

empty inside, barren without the reassuring touchand sight of her husband. An intense longing to rejoinhim filled her. In the deep reaches of the night, sheprayed for release. Sior, solid as he was, would neverbe counted among the wise or sagacious. He helpedas he could, but he knew it was not enough. Serenwas on the precipice of taking her own life, when fateinserted her fickle hand and warped the threads of

her tale. Two gifts were given her. First, against allodds, they met with others who sought to escape thehorrors of Wey. A merchant, his wife, and theirneonate daughter had come to the mountains,bearing what little they had managed to salvage of their life in a cart drawn by a team of horses. They



recognized the badge of Cadblaidd, who had kepttheir routes free for many years. Sior told them of their flight, and they agreed to take Seren and himinto their small band. Sior was delighted, for he saw

this as an omen from the powers above that theywould escape. Seren, however, was not consoled.She looked on the merchant’s young daughter withtears in her eyes. She seldom spoke, keeping herthoughts to herself.

On the sixty-first day of their flight, the secondgift of the fates was granted to Seren. Seldom, since

the beginning of their flight, did she show interest inanything. On theing alone had meaning to her. Shekept the last letter of Cadblaidd close to her heart,and often pulled it from her blouse to read it again.She traced her fingers over the flowing script,remembering the feel of his hands as they held hers.Whenever she did this, the deep melancholy fellupon her. She was a being without purpose, a shell of

a woman void of a soul.On the fifty-ninth morning, however, a change

came over her. She seemed to the others agitatedand distracted. That evening, she asked Sior to fetchher several herbs. When the merchant’s wife heardthe names of the herbs Seren required, a wave of understanding and hope for her companion flushedthrough her. She did not betray Seren’s secret,

however, lest it lead to an even greaterdisappointment. Sior looked through the next day forthe herbs, hunting far and wide amidst the snow. Atlast, on the eve of the sixtieth day, he had gatheredall that Seren required. In the light of the sixty-firstmorning, Seren went alone to a mountain stream to



shelter, food and supplies in exchange for therelease of debts. During this time, the child of themerchants, Branwen, became greatly fond of Andras.

The two would wail unless they were placed next to

each other in the cart. At last, they reached the greatValley of Peace, above which sat the white cityEiluned. The guards in the out-towers of the citystood perpetual watch, ensuring that the valley livedup to its name. Sior, Seren, The merchant and hisfamily walked through the farmlands that borderedthe city, seeing the content that filled the farmerswho lived there. They reached the great gates of the

city, and applied for admittance. The Spellkeepersheard their stories, and looked upon them with favor.

Thus it was that the Lady Seren, Andras and Branwencame to the White City.

It was nineteen years since they had first passedthe great gates of Eiluned. The Merchant had

invested the remnants of his fortune, and once againcome to prosperity. Sior, worked for him for severalyears, saving his earnings, and preparing to strikeout on his own. The merchant did not care to loseSior, who had become almost his equal in hisbusiness, but understood his reasons for leaving. Siorcould never be at rest unless he had exercised hisbody to its fullest extent. A farmer by birth, Sior

wished to spend his days in honest labor. During hisyears as a fighter, he had learned out of necessitythe art of smithying. With the merchant’s aid, heopened a forge, in which he made the finest tools inthe whole of Eiluned. His background as a farmertaught him all he needed to know about the



requirements of a good, solid tool, and he hiredspellcasters to weave enchantments of durabilityabout his works. His reputation grew and heprospered, hiring others of equal skill who valued the

esteem a quality product garnered.

Seren, too, found a niche for her talents. The fineWeyland quilts which had once been a commodity of the rich were no longer available due to the wars.She began her own business, selling her quilts, whichfetched handsome prices. Soon she also hired otherswhom she trusted to learn the secrets of her art.

Andras, her son, could have lived quite comfortablyat home, but he possessed his father’s restless,burning spirit. On the eve of his eleventh year, hewas apprenticed to Sior, and began to spend his dayslearning the art of the forge. In the heat and sparks,he grew strong and skillful, showing an immenseaptitude for the shaping of metal. Branwen, gracefuland fair, spent her days in the studies of the arts,

dancing with extraordinary grace and painting withthe talent of a great master. Throughout the years,Branwen and Andras were seldom far from eachother. They understood each other in a way fewpeople can ever hope to.

It was warm out as the two of them walkedtowards Branwen’s house. Andras’ back still hurt

from where he had hit the ground. He glared atBranwen. She was in rare high spirits, bubbling abouther latest projects. The song she had forced him tosing earlier was to be her presentation for the feastof Einon. Once every year, the entire city turned outto honor the champion war-mage who had wrested



the land all about from the grip of evil, and broughtpeace to the south. The story of Einon’s victoryalways fascinated Andras. “In an age long past,the dark queen Morwena held all the lands

which were now Eiluned’s. Einon alone hadstood to defy the dark queen. A tremendousbattle took place, and Morwena was defeated.In her final hour, she was bested by Einon andslain on the very spot where the Spellkeepers’temple now stood. As the victorious Einonstood over her corpse, he felt a great evilemanating from within. Reaching into the

fallen sorceress’s chest, he plucked loose herheart. The dark energy contained withinfrightened even him. Quickly, he called to theGreat Eagles, his closest allies. He commandedthem to take Morwena’s body and bear it tofarthest reaches of the world. The heart heplaced within a carven stone urn, which hesealed with his own spirit.

Then, with his victory complete, he begana great work. He stood upon the hill whereMorwena had met her end, and summoned thepowers within himself. Einon then bound hisown spirit to the living rock beneath him, andcalled forth from the earth a mighty ring of stone, laying the foundation for what wouldbecome the great walls of Eiluned. The very

sky shook with power as he completed hisenchantment. Einon then sealed the magick,deigning that a portion of his soul remainwithin the walls, to guide and protect the citythat would come to be…”



A change in Branwen’s voice brought Andrasback from the realm of thought. “Shouldn’t Aeron behere?” she said. Andras looked across the whitemarble street. There was the shop that their friend,

Aeron, usually worked. They turned a good tradeselling fine garments. Tonight, however, the lightswithin were dimmed. “Strange, “Andras thought,“She should be at her busiest now. Nothing better formaking idiots spend money than an opportunity toshow off in front of idiots. And there were not a hellof a lot of opportunities bigger than Einon’s feast.”Andras’ tolerance for human stupidity was not

incredibly high, and, he was far from fond of anythingto do with the garment trade. Still, the oddity of thesituation piqued his interest. “Want to take a look?”Andras asked. Branwen nodded. “It’s been awhilesince I’ve been to see her. “ They changed theircourse, angling for the shop’s entrance.

“Locked!” Branwen exclaimed. And it was. A

stout padlock secured the door’s handles. They wereabout to turn away when a hint of movement withincaught Andras’ eye. A figure within the store cameinto view and motioned towards the side door. Theyheard the door open, and saw a man emerge.Branwen recognized him as the shop’s owner. Hegreeted them with a smile. “You’d be looking forAeron, wouldn’t ye? Well, ye’ll have nae luck here.

She’s gone!” Branwen hid her surprise well. Andras,however, was well and truly interested now. Theproprietor stood grinning at them drawing thesuspense out. At last, he could no longer hold itwithin himself. He was practically beaming. “She’sbeen chosen to serve the Spellkeepers! Hell of an



honor for her, but it leaves me right short! Yewouldn’t be looking for some work, would ye, MissBran?” Branwen’s eyes lit up as she considered thepossibility. Andras caught this. He whispered in her

ear, “If you start working in a dress shop, I’ll neverwalk you home again.” She responded by jabbing herelbow into his ribcage. Laughing, they took theirleave of the old shopkeeper.

When Andras reached his home, however, hissuspicions were far from settled. Something simplydid not sit right with him. Quietly, he slipped into hishouse. Seren, he saw, was already abed. Left alonewith his thoughts, Andras fell into a storm of unquiet.It was true that the Spellkeepers took in youngwomen, to train as acolytes in the guarding of theshrine to Einon. It would make sense if Aeron had

been chosen. She was the right age, and Andrasremembered that she was more than willing to leaveher parents. Ha, an understatement. Her parents andshe had lived in open warfare. The one time Andrashad visited her home with Branwen, their fight couldbe heard out in the street. That! That was what wasbothering him. That was the sharp, dissonantthought which pricked at Andras’ consciousness. The

girls chosen to be shrine-wardens were the mostlevel-headed, even tempered and intelligent Eilunedhad to offer. A description which Aeron simply did notfit. She had a tendency towards the over-dramatic,and could not keep the simplest secret. Why, thenhad she been chosen? Damnit, it really didn’t matter



“why,” did it? Andras did not know why something sotrivial bothered him. He simply felt something wrong,something… dark. Grumbling, Andras decided togive it a new day’s thought tomorrow. He dropped

uneasily into a restless sleep.

Clang! If this isn’t… Clang! the most… Clang!Goddamn… Clang! Calming... Clang! Thing… Withan experienced eye, Andras appraised his work. Hehad superheated the metal, bringing it to a whiteglow in order to join the two loose ends of theheartbend.” Only a little more shaping now, and

she’ll be done,” Andras called to his assistant. Theboy responded with a grunt. Andras smiled tohimself. The boy was still a long way from having theblacksmith’s muscles. Running the bellows must betaking all he’s got. With a sharp hiss, Andrasplunged the glowing end of the horseshoe into hissalt barrel. He was rewarded by a shower of steam.Perfect. He smiled when he pulled it out. There

wasn’t a trace of a fault along his joint. “There reallywas nothing for settling the mind like beating theshiesen out of a piece of metal,” he thought.Somehow, the heat of the forge and the exertions of the labor he put in cleared his mind more thoroughlythan the best herbal drugs. “This,” he thought, “Issomething the damn Spellkeepers will never havethe joy of experiencing.” He had still not settled his

issues from the night before, but a measure of peacesufficient to overcome his doubt had filled his mind.Grinning, he began the final shaping.

For several days, nothing more came of Aeron’sdeparture. Her store hired a new clerk, a thoroughly



bubbly and annoying young girl Andras had no desireto speak with, but whom Branwen took an instantliking to. Andras had all but forgotten his misgivingsas the city geared itself up for Einon’s feast.

Merchants everywhere had their best and brighteststock on display, and everyone went about preparingtheir best for the great day. Even Andras, whoordinarily took no more joy in preparing gatheringsthan a hound did in finding a skunk, began to feelsome of the excitement. He was, in fact, totallyunprepared for the next twist of fate, which broughthome the hint of an explanation for his dark feeling

of unease…

Periphelion. Not a person, not a place, but atime. As the golden chariot that is the sun wings itsway through the heavens in a grand figure of eight, itcomes perilously close to a small, graceful planetdyed in brilliant hues of blue, green and grey. Thedistance between the two at this point is a scant

ninety million leagues, immeasurable by man’sstandard, but significant to man’s sight. For thisdistance is near enough to bring changes to verdantplanet. The brilliant rays of warmth and light thatflow from Sol begin to change their pace andintensity as he comes closer. The time of his nearestpassage, the time of his greatest influence, wasnamed by an ancient people Periphelion, which is,

“God’s Nearness.” These ancients, however, andtheir understanding of the machinations of theheavens, had been dead and forgotten a long timewhen Eiluned was first raised. Thus, these lofty,astronomical musings would have been lost uponAndras as he walked through Eiluned’s streets. He



did, however, note the unusual brilliance of theSolset. Incandescent rays of copper, cerisine,vermillion and amber citrine streamed forth from thehorizon, illuminating and painting the white marble of

the city in their reflected glow. The shadows cast bythis solset, already strange and ethereal, began tocoalesce in strange patterns that tricked and misledthe eye. Length, proportionality, depth and scalebegan to have no correlation to reality. It wasunderstandable, then, that Andras took some time tonotice the peculiar shadow that had attached itself tohim.

Andras’ vision swam. The edges of his sightbegan to bend and distort, blending the lines of hisview together. Suddenly, the image before himsharpened, and he beheld an inexplicable sight. Hesaw a strange shadow growing from his own feet,.Somehow his own, but not his. Where before the softsilhouettes of his trousers and shirt had flowed

loosely with the last winds of the western breeze,there were now hard lines of steel and adamant. Theshadow before him bore bracers and greaves on hislegs, and a broad, armoured cuirass with wideshoulders of angular plate-armor. Each shoulder wascapped by a single spike pointing outwards slightlyabove the horizontal. Above the left shoulder, abroad handle and crosspiece were fastened. Dimly,

Andras was aware that this must be the hilt of asword. The pommel, he saw, was not caped by thetypical jewel setting. Instead, two birds withoutstretched wings were cast at the base of the hilt.Andras’ last impression was that the eyes of eachwere set with some gem that allowed light to pass



through. As he sharpened his gaze on the tinypinpricks of light, he felt blackness take him.

He woke to see Branwen’s face inches above his

own. “What the hell were you doing, you dumbqueynt?” she hissed. “You walked right into thefucking wall!” Andras’ first thought, surprisingly, wasnot related even remotely to the temporarydistortion of reality he had experienced. Instead, itwas something along the lines of, “Her mouth hasmore in common with a sailor than a dancer.” Hecringed and sat up, nearly running into Branwen.

Something in his expression must have alarmed her.“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” she asked as sheleaned in to take a closer look. His expressionunnerved her. “Andras. Hey! Andras!” The sound of her voice returned clarity to his mind. “I think I’dbetter get up,” he said.

Within a few minutes, Andras could have passedas completely unchanged. He walked home next to

Branwen, trying to assure her that he really wasalright. Branwen wasn’t one to show agitationoutwardly, but Andras had known her long enough topick up the signs. He tried to calm her, but he couldsee from the twitches in her fingers and the way shekept glancing behind her that he was unsuccessful.At the same time his mind was in a frenzy trying toprocess the information he had been shown. What

had been the point? Where had his vision comefrom? And, primarily, what the hell had brought it on?Branwen was leading him towards his home, butwhat he really felt he needed was a trip to the forge.Clear his head. Sort his mind. Branwen, however,was intent on denying him that luxury. She was



voice. “Do you really think you can hide somethingfrom me?” she asked. “Mmmm, I don’t know, you’renot that bright. Probably..” Andras replied. The lookBranwen gave him could have cut through glass.

“Andras, what the hell happened back there?” Herface softened. “You know you can trust me.” Andrasfelt a stabbing pang of guilt. Branwen had been hisconfidante more times than he could remember, andshe had never betrayed his trust. Something insidehim, however, said not yet. “Branwen, look at me.”She lowered her head, looking him in the eyes.Andras saw something in her gaze he did not expect.

Pain. “You’ll be the first. I promise.” She broke off her gaze. “Make damn sure of it,” she said as she lefthis room. Andras watched her leave, saw her hurriedstep. He didn’t, however see the tear sliding from theedge of her cheek. He rolled back over, and turnedhis mind to the problems at hand.

A quick mental check. Boots off. Skip the thirdfloorboard, which squeaked horrendously. Lift up onthe door hinges so that they wouldn’t squeal. Makesure the edge of the door didn’t rub against the

jamb. One final look behind him to make sure Serenhadn’t woken, and out the door.

A small pang of guilt tugged at Andras. He would

have preferred to leave with Seren’s consent. Heknew his mother, however. He sure as hell wouldn’tget it as long as she thought something was wrongwith him. Andras loved his mother deeply. She washis mother, and his only real connection with a fatherhe’d never known. Still, she could be annoying as



hell. Andras smiled to himself as he walked throughthe streets. He left his boots off. The marble wascool as the early morning air, and felt extraordinarilysoothing against the bare soles of his feet. A night of

thought had brought him to the followingconclusions. Firstly, that he was not insane, for aninsane man didn’t question his own sanity. Andrassmiled lopsidedly at this observation. The happening,then, must have been some sort of vision. Secondly,that something or someone had brought the vision tohim. “I sure as hell didn’t wake up asking for that,”he thought with a wry smile. Thirdly, and most

importantly, that there was only one thing whichcould have brought on his vision, his ancestry fromWeyland. How ironic, that The Red Dragon hadreached out through the years and miles, and foundhim here, in the very heart of the white city. Hestepped up to a brisk jog. There was only one personAndras trusted who could tell him about the seers of Weyland. The sun was just rising over the far edge of

the city. “Good,” Andras thought, “Sior’ll be alone atthe forge.”

A thin sheen of sweat coated Andras’ skin as hepulled loose the bolt on the door to Sior’s shop. Thefaint sounds of the blacksmith preparing his shopdrifted toward Andras from the rear of the building..

That early in the morning, there would be no-one but

Sior in the forge. Andras stooped to put his boots on.No sense filling his feet with iron scraps. Quietly, hewalked to where Sior was standing. The oldblacksmith was bent over an anvil against the farwall. A memory suddenly came unbidden to Andras’mind. When he was a little child, it had been a game



his goal to teach Andras a series of sword dances,combat exercises on the level of an art form. And,given Andras’ not so spectacular levels of patience,failed miserably. The demanding stances, precise

movements and discipline necessary had beenbeyond Andras. It was, Andras reflected, the onlything he had ever truly failed Sior in. damnit.

Light filtered hazily through the thick glasswindows, illuminating the individual motes of dustthat swirled through the still air. There were threewindows on the east wall, one in the shape of a

crescent moon, one in the shape of an eight pointedlakshimi star, and one in the shape of an arbelosscythe. The gentle light that came through the paneslit a series of paintings on the far wall. Landscapes,still lifes and portraits hung there. The ones towardsthe left end were cruder, less refined and lessstylistic. As the line of paintings progressed towardsthe right, the skill with which they were executed

increased, as though they were a timeline of theirartist’s progress. Branwen stood at the end of therow of paintings, hanging her latest work. It showeda figure resplendent in white armor, with a flowingmane of golden hair. He stood on a cliff with bolts of lightning behind, his eyes proclaiming defiance to all.Einon. With a last glance to make sure it was level,she turned and set her gaze on a sculpture near the

center of the room.

It was her opus, a slender form of a dancer inmid-arabesque, gracefully captured looking towardsthe heavens. It was her favorite of all her works. Thebronze of the skin and hair had taken her months to



complete, but the end result was stunning. Andrashad built the frame for her, and as she ran her handsalong it she could almost feel the shaping blows of his hammer. She studied the details of the face,

looking at the fine lines of the girl’s profile. Thiscreation defied its metallic nature, seeming as lightand ethereal as moonlight. Branwen was so absorbedin the statue that she never heard the door beingopened, and never heard the fall of footsteps behindher. The touch of a hand on her back, however, sether spinning around. A hooded man stood behindher. For a wild moment fear lit her eyes, and she

tensed to run. Then the man lifted his, hood, and shebreathed a sigh of relief.

It was Gilles, one of the elder Spellkeepers. Hewas responsible for most of the district that Branwenlived in, and they had met several times before. He

smiled at her, and opened his mouth to speak.Suddenly, suspicion returned to Branwen. She cutGilles off. “How the queynt did you get in here?” shesnapped before she remembered herself. Shedropped her head. “I mean, sir, how do you come tobe here?” as she looked down, she suddenly becamevery aware of the flimsy dancer’s practice clothesshe wore. She turned and reached for a cloak that

hung on the wall behind her. Gilles spoke. “Suchlanguage! I heard about young Andras collapsing theother day. I know you two are close, and I thought I’dlook in on you.”



Branwen wrapped the cloak around herself. Itwas a fine garment, woven by Seren. Green with thered dragon of Weyland on a crest, it somehow gaveher a warm feeling of reassurance as she put it on.

“That is well and good,” she said, remembering thetraditional tone for speaking to a Spellkeeper. “Buthow, Spellkeeper, do you come to be in mychamber?” Gilles smiled, and his expressionunsettled Branwen deeply. “Locks have no meaningto servants of the light, my child. By your leave, I’lltake my to my rounds now.” He said as he turned toleave. “Damnit,” she whispered. She rushed back

into her house to grab some sturdier clothes.“Damnit. Damnit.” Something was going on. Sheneeded to see Andras. She latched the door behindher and ran silently out into the street, clutching thecloak about her.

Branwen pounded on the steel gate. “What thehell is going on in there?” she yelled, peering

through the bars. She jumped backwards in shock asAndras crashed backwards into the gate. He waswearing a padded leather vest, and had a stout ironbar in his hands. His eyes rolled unfocused for asecond, then centered on her. “Having my ass kickedby a senile bastard. You?” without waiting for a reply,he ran off yelling. More clangs followed, and Andrascame rolling back again. Branwen was still too

shocked to speak, So Andras spoke for her. I’vefinally found a dance I like. Wanna see?” She noddedmutely, and he got up to unbar the gate.. A scene of chaos greeted her. The rear courtyard of Sior’s shopwas littered with ropes, hammers, blocks and tackleand a plethora of other objects. Three of the forge



workers sat on the far fence, laughing and ribbingeach other. In the center of the courtyard, Sior stood.He was arrayed in the same manner as Andras, andhad a green headband wrapped around his long

silver hair. His beard spilled out over the front of hisvest, and the massive sinews of his arms stood outlike bands of Iron. He was Bran thought, the verypicture of a proud warrior king of old. Strange how adifferent suit of garments can bring out a differentessence in a person. Sior gave out a barking laugh.“Think I’ll go easy on you cause the lady’s here? Noton your damn life!” Branwen leaned in to whisper to

Andras. “This have something to do with last night?”Andras nodded. “Later. I promised I’d tell you. Later.Oh, and if Seren asks, I’m helping Sior check hisaccounts.”

Branwen sat on the fence beside the three men. They greeted her, having met her many a time asshe came to speak with Andras and Sior. “What’s

going on?” she asked. The man farthest from herlaughed. “The old geezer’s kicking his queynting ass!If you’ll pardon the language, mi’lady” he added in aslightly ashamed tone. “Pardon? Your? Abso-fucking-lutely not.” The men fell about laughing. Joking abouthow Andras must have been a bad influence on her.She laughed. “I’m pretty sure it’s just the Weylandspeaking in me.” They laughed again, and turned

their heads towards Sior. They were just in time. Amassive thump and a groan from Andras announcedhis latest failure to block Sior’s attack. He fell to hisknees, and yelled out “Yield!” Sior laughed. “Theydon’t yield on the battlefield!” Andras rolled away asSior swung again. “Goddamnitwhatiswrongwithyou?”



he shouted. “You’re a sadist!” despite his shouts, hewas grinning. Branwen turned towards the menagain. “What’s with the mess?” “Something about areal battlefield being unpredictable, never actually

having sure footing. The old man’s not teaching himno pansy sword tricks, no ma’am.” He’s making surethe boy can survive!” The man closest to her replied.An icy chill sunk into Branwen’s stomach, destroyingher gaiety. She was certain now that something wasgoing on.

Andras was washing the grime off of himself in a

trough. The metal straps and buckles of his sparringgear all needed wiping down too, or else his sweatwould corrode them. He sighed, and got to work.“Doing this everyday is going to suck,” he thought tohimself. He began cleaning the leather with a jar of oil and a rag. and pulled the liner out to wash it. Heslid out of the reinforced trousers and pulled outanother cloth to clean his skin. “Andras!” Branwen

shouted from around the corner. “Not a good time.”He replied. “Sure. I’ll queynting flay you alive if youdon’t come clean with me.” She stood on the otherside of the wall which separated the feed trough fromthe rest of the small stable. “Talk. Now. There’s noone around. “ Andras took a deep breath. “Bran?” hespoke in a quiet voice. “I’m listening.”

“You remember the old stories. Weyland seers. The other night, I saw something. My shadow startedchanging, and I thought I was losing my mind. That’swhat flipped me the hell out. I don’t know what itmeans, but Sior thinks it’s damn important. He wantsme to be ready.” “That’s the reason for the fighting?”



“Yes.”“Andras?”

He paused.“I’m scared. Something…”

He stopped scrubbing.“Something happened. You know Gilles? Thespellkeeper? He came to my house today. Justwalked right the hell in. I don’t know why, but hescared me. He….He was looking at me. It really bothered me.”

Andras was silent for a moment. “I’ll go afterhim.”

They were walking home. The sun was settingagain, bringing a familiar red glow to the streets. ToBranwen, however, the angles and lines of the whitemarble were threatening and strange. She felt aninexplicable longing for the soft contours of hillsides.She walked close to Andras. His presence reassuredher, and made her feel vaguely as though he was ather home in bed. She looked up at him, studying the

angles of his face. He was looking straight ahead,and seemed to be concentrating on something.Suddenly, he snapped his head to the side. Branwenfollowed his gaze. On the right edge of the street,there was a small sewer drain. “What?” she asked.“Do you see the birds?” he replied. She squinted.

There was an image of two birds with wings spread.“Damn, they’re tiny! How’d you see them? Andras

smiled. “I was looking for them.”

Gilles was gone. No one had seen him, andAndras could not find any trace of him. Thespellkeeper’s temple was forbidden for anyone notvested as a servant of the light, and Andras couldn’t



very well go in and pound on the doors, shoutingcurses upon one of the order. Still, he kept up hisvigilance. He knew Branwen was not someone to getscared over nothing.

A routine built itself. Andras spent the first hoursof everyday working the forge, as he usually would.

The last two hours of everyday, however, were spentin the back of the court sparring. The men who wereoff duty gathered to place bets and laugh at theoutcomes of the fights. Andras was nearly able tofend for himself now, but he still hadn’t managed to

win against Sior. Branwen would come everyday towatch, and to be the sole voice of support for Andras.Her presence always seemed to make him fightworse, however. The two of them left together everynight, walking through the sunlit streets towardstheir homes. On the eve of Einon’s feast, however,Branwen did not come. Andras waited for nearly anhour after the time he left, but saw no sign of her.

Finally, it became too dark to delay any longer. Heset off alone.

The streets that night were dark. The moon washidden behind a thick veil of clouds, and the onlyillumination came from the pale glow of themagicked streetlamps. Something about the lightsgave him a growing feeling of unease. Andras walkedalong, carrying a small charcoal sketch he’d made for

Branwen. Suddenly, at the edge of his hearing, heheard a scuffle in the alley next to him. Somethingabout the strangeness of the night made him turn,and look. The alley was dark, and he could not see tothe end. Suddenly, the moon came out form behindthe clouds, and he beheld a sight which snapped



through his mind like a rod of iron inserted into hisbrainstem. His eyes dilated in unfeeling horror. Themoonlight revealed to him Branwen, laying in thenarrow street. A pool of viscous crimson spread out

from her spine, and her unseeing eyes gazedupwards. Her clothes were rent, and her pale skinwas bruised. The long black hair her parents hadnamed her for sat lying in tangled disorder, framing ahorrific expression of shock that stabbed Andrasthrough his heart.

Dilation. The widening of eyes as they take in s

scene of shock. The widening of arteries and veins asa spike of adrenaline impales the heart. The wideningof the mind as the consciousness expands to acceptthe impossible. These, and a million other sensationsflooded Andras’ mind as the sight before him toreinto his nerves with the impact of a razored axe. Hecould not look at her, and could not look away. Hecould not accept what had happened, and could not

reject the evidence laid before him in stark crimsonvainglory. He wanted to scream, but could not. Hefell to the ground, his knees giving way before theonslaught of unreality. He mouthed her name, usingthe last of the control he had over his body. Hisfingers loosed their hold on his knife, but he was notaware of the change. Acceptance stabbed throughhim, the shards of reality severing his control. In that

instant, it became clear to him exactly how much of his own spirit was locked within Branwen. He wasincomplete, hollow, consumed by a void that heknew would never again be filled. He was in thisworld, yet, in that moment, not of this world. Withunfeeling eyes he looked, and with unfeeling touch



he crawled across the stone towards her body. Howlong he lay there, his head inches from the pool of Branwen’s lifeblood, no-one knows.

His mind hurtled back through the cosmos of unfeeling eternity, drawn back to the cold streets of Eiluned by a sound out of place, a sharp grating of words against the bones of his ears. He lifted hishead, the pale edges of his long blonde hair staineddark crimson with Branwen’s blood. The impressionsof sight returned slowly, and he saw, as through afog, a figure hooded and cloaked before him. Once

again, he heard the sound of a voice. This time,however, he could discern the patterns of sound asthey coalesced into recognizability. “It’s time,” thevoice said, “for us to leave. Though ‘twas good of thegods to grant us this amusing little diversion!” Heslowly reached for his knife, but slowed as a chorusof rough laughter rang from the shadows. Andrasbegan to pick out other figures from amongst the

shadows. Nearly twenty men. Too many. Suddenly,as though he his motion had betrayed him, the manwith the hood turned and looked on Andras. “What inthe nine hells?!”

His voice betrayed him. Andras looked with coldfury on Gilles as he threw back his hood, revealingthe sharp features and grey hair that Andras had

known for years. His appearance was warped now,twisted, as cold realization flooded Andras’ mind.Aeron was not with the spellkeepers. Instead, shehad been sacrificed on the grim altar of this unholycleric’s perversion, a pathetic victim bled dry to satethe twisted workings of Gilles’ mind. Andras



shuddered as he imagined the torments she musthave endured before her end.

Gilles gave a rough guffaw as he looked down onAndras shaking with pain. “Look, lads! The little

puppy misses his bitch!”

Andras’ fingers tightened around the handle of hisknife.

Gilles looked down with cruel gaze, his eyestaunting Andras. Every line of his face evoked astinging return of loathing from Andras. His perfectly

manicured hair and unweathered face, his smooth,flawless skin and unscarred hands reminded Andrasof the privileged life that Giles had led, feeding off of the hardworking members of Eluined like a corruptedparasite. Andras himself had contributed to hisstipend, as had Branwen. Branwen! She had trustedand praised the spellkeppers, and they had violatedher, forcing on her the ultimate brutality and

indignity. Andras felt blood flowing from his tongueas he clenched his teeth, every muscle of his tensedtighter than a clockspring of steel. Gilles began tolaugh. “See now! The little puppy’s got a tooth!What’ll you do, pup? Bite me for ripping her open,hmm? Scratch me for quenynting your little bitch? Itwasn’t only me, we all took a turn before the end!Ha, come boy, show me what the little ones know!”

Andras felt his arm draw back, readying a strike. Hewould rip Gilles heart, still beating, from his chest!

From somewhere deep inside of himself a voicespoke to Andras. “Only a fool listens to his enemy’staunts.” Andras felt a sudden calm replace the fiery



maelstrom of rage that had been building within him,the flaming tides of hatred receding, and in theirplace a steel resolve forming, hardened andtempered by the heat that had raged moments

before.. Andras’s expression changed as he re-assessed the situation. Twenty. Too many. He wouldneed to be swift, accurate, and above all,unexpected. There was no doubt In his mind thatevery one of the men around him was a member of the walking dead. He had every face memorized, andknew that everyone would feel the brutal sting of hisblade. Not yet though. Not all at once. Not when he

was alone. He needed a diversion, and he needed itfast. One of the men behind Gilles sneered, andpointed at Andras, whispering some cruel joke toanother man. Andras decided. That man would be hisdistraction. He drew himself up on his elbows, andchanged his grip on his blade. Slowly, he stood,turning towards Gilles, his mind calculating.Suddenly, with the speed of a striking viper he

whipped his arm around and body around in a singlefluid motion, turning to run as he slung the daggerfrom his hand.

The blade traced a silvery arc through the night,catching the rays of the moon along its razor sharpfacets as it whirled end over end towards its target.With the sound of an axe splitting wood, the tipmost5 inches embedded themselves in the man’s most



sensitive region. He screamed in indescribable pain,blood spurting in fits from the severed end of hisnether regions. Every man in Gilles’ party whirled atthe sound, shocked by the screaming coming forth

from the man now writhing on the floor in agony. Bythe time they understood what had happened,Andras was gone, lost to the shadows of the nightlike a wraith of dissipating smoke.

Andras had been wrong earlier. He had thoughtthat the empty void within him would never be filled,but he was mistaken. He felt something entirely new

within him now, a cold, hardened resolve. He wouldbecome an avenger, dedicated to the purpose of taking back some small measure of recompense forthe crime visited upon Branwen. He swore to himself that every one of her defilers would die, if it tookevery drop of blood within his veins to see that ithappened. The things he had witnessed that nightwould shake many of the hardest men that walked

the rougher streets of Eiluned. He realized fully now,too, that if he had struck out at Gilles he would bedead now, as surely as night followed day. Inwardly,he thanked the voice that had stayed his hand. Hefelt, somehow, without having any evidence, that thevoice he’d heard had been his father’s. As he ranalong the darkened streets, he silently thankedCadblaidd for his blessing.

Suddenly, he felt something tug at his shoulder.He whirled, fists dropped low, ready and expectingone of the men to be behind him. His gaze wasgreeted, however, by an empty street. Something didnot seem right. His gaze swept the stones, searching



for something. Nothing, however, seemed out of theordinary to him. Shrugging, he turned to run again.He had no definite plan in mind only a feeling that hehad to keep moving. He had some vague notion of

reaching Sior’s forge, and getting his assistance. Hetook a step forwards, and felt the tug on his shoulderagain. Slowly, he turned. He felt a tug again, thistime stronger. It was pulling him towards the left. Hethought of the strange events that had befallen him,and decided to surrender to the current of magickthat had enveloped him. He slowly walked towardsthe wall on his left, feeling the pull grow stronger as

he grew closer. At last, as he came within inches of the stone, the feeling became so strong that he couldbarely stand it. He looked, and saw two tiny birdscarved into the stone.

Andras hesitated for a moment, not sure as towhat he should do. Then, with a sudden conviction,he pressed the palm of his left hand into the birds.

They refused to yield under his touch. Puzzled, hepushed harder. Still nothing. He began to try twistingthe figures, attempting a variety of combinations of spinning and sliding. None yielded any result. He

decided to try pushing them again. He planted hisfeet firmly, and pressed against the figures withevery ounce of his strength. He stood there for amoment, straining, before they suddenly gave way.He stepped backwards in surprise, watching as themasonry before him began to slide inwards,



revealing a doorway hidden in the wall of the city.Without a second thought, he walked through. With aslow, disturbingly smooth motion, the door swungshut behind him.

The snap of the door closing did not botherAndras in the least. He had no way of knowing whatlay before him in the dark, but somehow being insidethe dark corridor felt right to him. Turning, hesurveyed the narrow passage. The light within wasdim and red, emanating from a row of dusty glasslamps seated within the walls. The walls were, apart

from the lamps, plain stone without ornamentation.Every surface was covered with a layer of fine dust.“No way to go but forward…” Andras whispered tohimself as he began to walk down the passage,breathing in the dry, musty air of a building madelong ago. The stone, he saw, was once bright white,but had become faded and dirtied with the mold anddirt of untold years. “Branwen would fucking hate

this…” he thought, and felt a fresh stab of pain.

The corridor wound downwards, further andfurther, stretching into the lowest roots of the city. Asit descended, the damp moisture seeping throughthe stones manifested itself in spots of stain, mossand lichen growing on the white stones. As Andraswalked through the dank passages, a strange feeling

of unreality began to creep over him. The plantscovering the walls muted and softened the sounds of his footfalls, deadening the sound to the point whereAndras barely registered any noise other than thepumping of his own blood through his heart. In, out,in, out, the diatonic rhythm of pulsed in his ears,



gradually fading to a monotone blur of noise justbelow the frequency of perception. The strange scentof the moss, sweet and earthy, began to fill Andras’nostrils. He felt a deep peace, a deep sense of

wellbeing seep into him. It was like being within hisbed, the linens his mother had woven deep andcomforting. He smiled at the memory, noddingabsentmindedly as he walked. The colors of the mosseven reminded him of his mother’s cloth. Deep andbuoyant, it called to him. Leaning down, he ran hisfingers through the moss that carpeted the floor. Ah,it was damp, but wondrously soft! A strange desire to

lay himself down on it came over him. Just for asecond, to feel the embrace of the green plants…

Dark. Dark and warm. The welcome heat of theshadows was like a tonic to his nerves, relaxing thefrayed connections of his synapses in restful oblivion.He slipped forwards, the floor rushing up to meethim…

The sharp touch of metal on his bare skinbrought Andras back to the land of the living. Hesnapped upwards, trying to gather the senselessimpressions his eyes gave to him into a coherentwhole. With a rush, the jumbled images in his mindpulled themselves into focus, and Andras saw theperil he was in. He tore the jacket that he wore off of his back and clamped the material firmly over his

nose. The weave was rough, heavy and difficult tobreathe through, but it sufficed. Goddamn plant!Nearly killed by a goddamn plant!” Andras yelled ashe kicked with his boot at the Moss carpeting thepassage. He cursed at the cloud of spores thisreleased, and ran forwards to escape their sopoforic



scent. When he paused to catch his breath, he felt atrickle of fluid seeping from his neck. Andras broughthis hand to his neck, and then held it up to his eyes.In the dim red light, the blood that mingled with his

sweat was nearly impossible to see. He felt his neckagain, tracing the outline of a thin cut. As he droppedhis hand, it brushed against a pendant hanging fromhis neck. It was a tiny steel wolf, a gift from Sior forhis tenth-year. Suddenly, he understood. It had beenthe sharpened ears of Sior’s gift that had broken hisskin and woken him as he slumped in his sleep, andkept him from being lost here in the dark. Silently,

Andras blessed the blacksmith as he tied the ends of his jerkin behind his head.

He ran, the red lamps at the edge of his visionblurring into a single line of crimson. All of histhoughts were centered on the idea that he had toreach the end of the tunnel. He knew that at the endof the tunnel was what he was looking for. He knew

that at the end of the tunnel was what Branwenneeded.

At last, he reached the end of the tunnel, wherea strange chamber greeted him. It was small andsquare, about 20 feet on a side. The walls weresupported by slab sided columns, with a small alcovebetween each pair of pillars. The alcoves were each

lit with a red lamp, flickering with a magical glow. Onthe far wall, there stood a low stone table, laden withbowls and other vessels, and an exquisite glasssculpture lit from within on the center. The sculpturecaptured Andras’ eye, and he strode towards it. Itwas covered with dust, which obscured its lines.



into the tube, watching as the green liquid filled theglass panel. The light from the lamp within changed,turning a pale green color as he released the viscousverdant liquor into its crystalline home. He stepped

back, and looked at his work. The bottom half of thewall behind was now green. Excited, he returned tothe table, searching for the next container. He foundit quickly, a small flask of a pale white liquid. Heloosed it into the top, watching fascinated as thefluid flowed through the glass and changed its color.

The top was finished! “Now, for the dragon!” andrassaid.

He looked again. “No, damnit! It has to be here!”he whispered as he searched the table. There was nophial of crimson. He had searched every jar, andsearched every jar again. It was, simply, not there.He looked at the dragon. It looked down on him withunpitying eyes, its pseudo-aquiline gaze stern andunmoving. Andras stared at it for a moment, , and

then turned, feeling a slight pull. He followed thebeast’s gaze to where it intersected the table. There,transfixed by the dragon’s stare, sat a small vial. Itwas unlike all the others, for it was wide and broad,as though meant to receive rather than pour. It was,Andras also saw for the first time, empty. He lookedon the dragon’s eyes again, and understood. “So,this table is to become an altar……”

He pulled his knife from its sheath and sliced hispalm open. The scarlet drops came, flowing freelyfrom his skin, and he brought the phial up to collectthem. He felt impatience tug at him, and squeezedthe skin, willing the drops of his soul to flow faster. At



last, he had enough. He placed the phial on the tableand pulled loose a strip of his shirt from where it wastied behind his head, in order to bind his wound Hesearched the dragon for a moment, and saw the

catch. Carefully, he lifted loose the dragons left ear.Inside, it was nearly full with a clear liquid. Mutteringa prayer, he poured his blood in. The dragon flusheddeep red, a far darker and fuller color than the bloodwhich Andras had poured in. It flowed to every color,staining the glass a deep crimson. Suddenly, a yellowglow filled the Dragon’s eyes, and a sharp CRACK rang through the chamber.

Andras spun around, his instincts screaming. Hewas no longer in the chamber where he had been amoment ago. He spun his head, taking in hissurroundings. The sculpture of the dragon still stoodbehind him on its table, but everything else aroundhim had changed. He was now in a chamber roughly

the same size, but lit by a single blue lamp on thewall farthest from where Andras stood. On The leftside of the lamp, there was a great stone chest. Itspull on Andras was nearly debilitating in its intensity.He walked towards it, the hairs on the back of hisneck rising. He felt an electric presence in the air, asthough he was not alone within this chamber. He wasclose now, only five or so steps. He noticed that the

floor in here was clean, devoid of the dust and mossof the other corridors. Four steps now. There was acarving in the floor, a complicated geometric knotdesign. Three steps. There was a double layeredcircle around the lamps and chest. Two steps. He



was about to step into the circle. One step. He raisedhis eyes, looked on the blue glass of the lamp, and…

Andras felt a blast of potent magick as a mighty

presence rushed into the room. A gust of wind roaredthrough the chamber, and blew Andras’ hair aroundhis face. An aura of power and age untold filled thechamber, as a white glow began to emanate fromthe blue globe. Suddenly, stillness. Andras stiffened,disbelieving., There, before him, stood Einon.

He was dressed in a simple blue robe, free of

ornamentation save for a simple pattern at thesleeves. His hair was white, long and free flowing.Shock flowed through Andras, and he dropped hisknife to the floor wordlessly. “Your mask. You won’tneed it here.” Nervelessly, Andras loosed his shirtfrom his face. “M’ilord.“ he bowed. Einon gave a signwith his hand, telling him to rise. “I’ve beenwatching, Andras. You’ve done well, but your task is

not complete.”“M’ilord,” Andras began again.Einon motioned for silence. “Not by far. There is stillmuch to do. Come, take what you need, and finishwhat you have been chosen to do.”Andras walked forward, head bowed. “M’ilord… Iunderstand that I have been given a task. Iunderstand that it is my responsibility. What I do not

understand is why I was chosen.”Einon placed his hand on Andras’ shoulder. He couldfeel a tingling sensation, but no touch. “He gave aslight smile. “We never do. Usually, it must suffice toknow that there is a duty, and understand we are the



one charged with completing it. But this once, I’llgive understanding some help.”He pulled up on his sleeve, and showed to Andras asmall tattoo on his forearm, in the shape of a red

dragon. “Now. You must go!” he said as the outlineof his figure began to fade. “It all returns to blood,dust to earth, line to line, family to family.” Mistsswirled, and the light began to grow. “You are mycontinuance, Andras! Do not disappoint me!” And hewas gone.

Andras woke, as from a dream. A grim set was in

his eyes. “Time to sweep the streets,” he said tohimself.

He lifted the lid on the chest, and saw thefulfillment of a prophecy. Within, there was a set of armor, whitened, hardened steel with flowing lines of temper juxtaposed against angular joints of construction. As a metalworker, he knew that suchwork was far beyond his skill. He had never seen

anything to rival it. It was, in a word, flawless, moreakin to a piece of carved crystal than a creation of steel. A thin film of oil covered it, keeping it free fromthe ravages of time. He hefted it, feeling thecomforting weight of the metal. A thrill ran throughhim. This armor, this very same leather and steel,had forged the destinies of thousands. Suddenly, theweight of his responsibility crushed down upon him.

He could not be the lone avenger, striking only forthe single life that had touched him. He was theprotector of all, charged with the solemn task of taking into his hands the power of god, to judge sinsand end the life of his fellow men. As he lifted hisarmor onto his shoulders, these thoughts were in his



mind. His path was a road high and narrow, and amisstep to either side would doom not only himself,but untold others. He saw the faces of those wholived around him, seeing a vision of them gazing

upwards at him as he bound the straps of the armortight.

He pulled the gauntlets on tight, feeling thesupple leather of the palm. After so many years, theywere still soft and flexible. He threw his handupwards in a block, then swept downwards in anelbow strike that led into a spinning kick. He almost

laughed. “It’s so goddamn light!” He worked his waythrough a few more moves, getting the feel of thebalance of the armor. Satisfied, he turned backtowards the chest. There, gleaming dully, wasEinon’s sword. He lifted it, examining the work. It wasplain, devoid of ornamentation save for the pommel.

The twin birds, Symobl of Einon, were there. Just likein Andras’ vision. “Now, I’m ready.” He thought to

himself He felt the same tug that he had before,pulling him towards the table agin. He turned, andwalked back towards the sculpture of the dragon. Heknew now that it was the key. He placed his handsupon the stone, and looked into the beast’s glowingeyes. He felt himself rising, and felt his sigh fade.

He was in the street. It was dark, the moon

hidden behind a thick veil of clouds, and the onlyillumination coming from the pale glow of themagicked streetlamps. Something about the lightswas disturbing him. “This…. This is the streetwhere…” Suddenly, he saw a figure materialize fromthe gloom. His breath caught.



It couldn’t be. She….

He saw the first man rush from the alley, sawher head turn. Suddenly, time stopped. In thatmoment, everything became clear to him. The thingsthat he had seen before, they were not truth, notactiuality. Rather, they were a vision of what might

have been. He had experienced foresight, seen withthe eyes of the future that which has not yethappened. His heart rate slowed, as his mind onceagain recreated from the ashes of destruction apicture of hope. That was all the thought he had timefor. His body slammed itself loose from the confusionof thought and pushed into the realm of reaction andreflex. Before he knew it, he was on top of the first

man, Kicking with his left leg to open distance as hethrew his arms upward to draw his sword. Spinning,he brought his mailed fist down hard across theman’s head, shattering the skull. The girl screamed,

jumping backwards from her would be assailant.Andras did not even register it. The rest of the menwere upon him now, and every action, everymovement, every thought was directed towards his

survival. He saw a tide of faces flash and fall, sawcountless leering visages recoil in surprise. He feltthe bite of blade upon bone as his weapon sought hisenemies’ hearts.



It was not enough, He began to flag, began tofeel the strain of fighting so many men. Theyweighed down upon him like a burden of stone,pulling him towards the earth, sapping his strength.

At last, he lost his feet, and fell upon his back. In aflash, one of the men, the same one who Andras hadcastrated in his vision, leapt upon Andras, placing hisknee on his neck holding a rusty knife to his throat.What in the hell have we here boys? A pretty lad in asuit of armor, eh? dressed up for Einon’s festival? Ha!Gilles, what you want we do with this little prick?He’s gone and frightened our rabbit away.!” Gilles

stepped into the light. Finish him. We’ll need to movesoon, need to open the gates for the Laurentians.Pity about the girl, she did look tasty, eh m-“ Gilleswas cut short by the removal of his head, a massiveblade catching the words in his throat and rippingthem loose in a spray of crimson ichor. The menwhirled about, straring in shock. It was all theopening Andras needed. He drew his arm upwards

and shattered the man’s elbow, rolling over andthrowing him to the ground. He leapt to his feet,stabbing downwards with a quick slash of his sword.With a tiny flash of grim humor, he noted that theman’s scream came from the fact that he had beenagain castrated. “Fate.” Andras smiled to himself.

Then there was no more time for thought. He was inthe middle again, fighting against insane odds. This

time, however, he was not alone. Next to him, thegirl from the street danced in and out of the combat,a gigantic blade grasped in her hands. With nearlypoetic delicacy, she severed flesh from tendon,reaping the souls of the unholy priesthood. At last, itwas over.



Andras stood, looking at Branwen. she wascovered in blood and bruises, but very little of it washer own. They were panting, oput of breath andexhausted. Slowly, by mutual consent, they slumpedand dropped to the ground. Andras looked at her.

Then reached his hand out and took hers. She heldhis hand tightly, her muscles shaking. Andras turnedhis head, and looked past her. He pointed to her

blade. “Did you know what that thing is?” She shookher head no. “I-I just grabbed it from the shop overthere….”

He smiled. “It’s a fish cleaver.”



Andras: Man

Branwen: Fair Raven

Einon: Anvil

Eiluned: Idol

Cadblaidd: War Wolf

Seren: Star

Sior: Earth-son

Aeron: River

Lakshimi: Greek

Arbelos: three-pointed

stolen paradise - copy

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