Chapter One

Randey ran through the forest, uncomfortably aware that he was late. He was not allowed out after sundown. On most occasions, he had no difficulty obeying that restriction, but on this day he had gotten distracted and lost track of time. His mother would be upset with him, that much was sure, but in truth he didn’t regret his tardiness, nor the reason for it.

He had spent the better part of the day hiking up the mountain trail not far from their home, to a spot atop the cliffs that comprised the walls of the Haedral Valley. It was a place that offered a spectacular view, with the distant valley floor and the magnificent cliffs opposite, bathed in sunlight and rich with the many colors of greens, golds, and browns of the trees and shrubbery, as well as the rock faces themselves. Randey felt it was possibly the most beautiful place in all the world. Certainly in the realm of Eyrdal.

Much of his fascination with the place went beyond its sheer beauty. There was a rich history there, and the land bore witness to the extraordinary events of so many years ago. The great battle against Neyalha, the ancient Dragon Mother, had been fought there. On the valley floor, there remained a large, nearly perfect circle where no vegetation grew. It was said that it was the result of the magical forces that had opened the portal into which she had been banished. Those mystical energies had altered the very earth, and vegetation was unable to take root there. Further down the valley the ground had a somewhat swirled, darkened area of ground – if one looked hard enough, beneath the thick grass – that was said to be the stain left behind by the blood of Gheyaral, her fallen mate. What had become of the massive Dragon’s body, no one seemed to know for sure, other than that some insisted that Nayara and Ghaeron had cremated it with their own fire, scattering the ashes to the wind.

Randey had seen the view many times, but what held his special attention this day was the fact that the Black Knights had been performing battle drills on the site.

He had wanted to watch his father.

Randey had always taken pride in the fact that his father was an important Captain in the order of the Grenyaar. His mother had become a member as well, and was a formidable warrior in her own right. On this day, however, she was not taking part in their drills. She had reduced her attendance to them in recent weeks, and when Randey had pressed her regarding the reason, she had smiled at him warmly, telling him only that she needed a break from the drills. She refused to elaborate, and he did his best to accept it.

He recalled sitting on the rocky perch, watching the drills below. Even in such mock-combat, the Black Knights were impressive. It was obvious that each member had extensive training in the fighting arts; everything from sword fighting to handling knives and spears, and the art of personal, unarmed combat as well. In addition, most were excellent horsemen, riding with confidence and skill. Randey understood how they had earned their reputation.

The bright metal of his father’s helmet glittered in the afternoon sun as the drills continued. Randey had located him easily. His uniform made him stand out, as with the other Captains wearing their silver, Dragon-crested helmets, but it was also his broad, tall build that stood out as well. Reidar Edal was a powerful man, still in his physical prime, with dark hair and a short-cropped beard, and deep green eyes that reflected both intelligence and compassion.

Randey had become so involved watching the drills that the sun was setting before he realized it. He knew he could not reach their house before dark, but inside he did not regret it. In his mind it had been time well-spent.

He nearly stumbled over a fallen branch, and he forced himself out of his reverie to focus on the trail. The darkness was nearly full, and even his excellent night vision was challenged as he continued. It was bad enough he was returning after dark. His mother would be particularly cross if he returned with some injury caused by his inability to see clearly.

As if to taunt him with his own thought, his body stumbled as his foot caught on something too dark to see on the path. Randey managed to catch himself as he tumbled, but not without scraping his arm and getting a small rip in his tunic. With a heavy sigh, he rolled to a seated position, peering into the dark to see what offending obstacle had tripped him.

It took a bit of time, but he was finally able to make out a dark shape half-buried in the soil of the trail. He hadn’t noticed it before; he could only assume that on his way up the trail earlier in the day he had missed it. But as he gazed more closely he could see what appeared to be a dagger. It was little wonder he’d tripped over it, for the hilt appeared to be of a dark material, and the blade was dulled by the layer of soil that covered it.

With some trepidation, he reached out to pick it up. He had no fear of cutting himself, as his parents had always taught him the proper handling of blades, but the unfamiliar shape of the hilt and blade made him wary. It was not unheard of for weapons to be infused with magic. He touched it gingerly, and when no apparent magical force manifested to sear, freeze, or shred him, he relaxed slightly and lifted it free of the dirt.

He couldn’t examine it here in the dark, but as it came free of the soil it became clear that it was more than a dagger; it was a sword. Nearly half its length had been covered. Its basic shape reminded him of the distinctive Khortaal of the Black Knights, but slightly modified. It was hard to tell in the darkness of the forest. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something remarkable about it, beyond its similar shape.

After a moment’s thought, he decided to take it with him. Surely his parents would know what it was. It might even mitigate his tardiness in his mother’s eyes. He tightened his grip on it and continued down the path. For a moment he felt like a warrior, rushing toward an enemy with sword in hand. He smiled as he swung it back and forth a few times; the swish it made in the air was a most satisfying sound.

A short time later the lights of the house came into view, and Randey felt a sense of relief despite his mother’s inevitable displeasure. This had been his home from the day he was born, and it was a warm and wonderful place. Being members of the Black Knights afforded his parents some measure of privilege, and the house was quite nice. Well-fitted stone comprised the walls, with slate shingles upon the angles of the roof. It was large, but not excessively so. Unlike members of the royalty, they kept no house servants. His parents found such practices demeaning, though they knew they could not change the ways of the nobility.

He opened the front door slowly, glancing around the main room for any sign of his mother. A fire burned in the fireplace, and lanterns filled the room with welcoming light. The walls had a mix of paintings and tapestries to give the room a comfortable feel, and one of his father’s Khortaal was mounted over the fireplace. Another was mounted on the wall beside the stone hearth, but that blade belonged to his mother. They were no longer used; both his parents had obtained newer weapons in recent years. But they were a reminder of their ongoing status as members of the Grenyaar and defenders of the realm.

He stepped in quietly, closing the door as softly as he could manage. As he crept across the floor he could hear his mother in the kitchen. In hopes of avoiding an immediate confrontation, he moved toward the stairs, intending to return to his own room. His plan was thwarted, however, when his mother stepped out of the kitchen and saw him.

“Randey!” she said.

He stopped, turning toward her with a smile. “Hello, Mother.” He put his hands behind his back, holding the mysterious blade upright behind himself. Her tone made him doubt whether that moment was the best time to reveal it.

She crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. Damara Edal was a woman of medium build, feminine yet solid from her training as a Grenyaar, with dark, wavy hair and chiseled, lovely features. Dark green eyes glinted in the firelight as she gazed at her son and said, “It’s well after dark.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“And what is our rule regarding that?”

Randey would never understand the parental need to pose questions to which they both knew the answer. He supposed it was intended to reinforce those things he already knew. With a sigh, he said, “That I am to be back before dark.”

She regarded him for a long moment, neither smiling nor frowning. It made him nervous. “You went to watch the drills, didn’t you.” It was a statement rather than a question.

He had always been honest with his parents. With a subtle nod, he said, “Yes ma’am.”

A hint of a smile played on her lips. “Well, I will forgive this transgression, at least this time. I understand your desire to watch your father.” She stepped closer to him. “I have no doubt that one day you, too, will be a valiant member of the Black Knights.”

Randey smiled, pleased that she was not angry. And the fact that she understood his desire to be a Knight was most satisfying. He felt a bit guilty for hiding his discovery from her. In fact, he opened his mouth to say something when she told him, “Now, go wash up. Dinner is almost ready. We will eat as soon as your father returns.”

He nodded, deciding he would wait and share the finding of the blade with both of his parents at once, after they had dinner. He moved to the side room where the wash basin stood, setting the sword against the wall, and grimacing slightly at the soil that crumbled from it to the floor. Well, he could clean it up later. The cold water was bracing as he splashed his face and scrubbed his hands. As he toweled himself dry he gave the sword a closer look in the improved light. It was still covered in muddy soil, for the most part, but where some of the earth had come away the metal beneath gleamed brightly. That, too, was typical of the blades of the Grenyaar. The swords adorning the hearth almost never required polishing.

But, he wondered, if it were a Black Knight’s blade, why would it be lying in the mud on a forest trail?

The sound of hoof beats broke his questioning train of thought. He heard the rattle of tack and armor, and knew that his father had returned. Leaving the dirty weapon where it was, he hurried back into the main room and opened the front door.

He smiled as he saw his father standing beside his horse. The sturdy stallion, Pylos by name, snorted as Reidar patted his strong neck. Turning, he saw his son standing in the doorway. “Good evening, Randey,” he said with a smile. “Would you assist me in removing Pylos’ gear and getting him settled?”

Randey nodded eagerly. “Of course, father.”

It was always rewarding helping his father with such chores, and in short order they had Pylos comfortably settled in his stall, and the two of them went back to the house. Damara greeted her husband with obvious love and affection, and she tousled Randey’s hair as she thanked him for helping his father.

A short while later they sat at the dinner table, sated by the tasty repast his mother had prepared. His mother gave him a knowing look when the elder Edal asked his son, “What have you been doing this day?”

Randey hesitated, but only for a few seconds. “I . . . hiked up the ridge, Father.”

Reidar raised his brows in mock surprise. “Really? Why, that’s a coincidence. We had the troops running drills in the valley today.” He leaned closer to his son. “I don’t suppose you noticed.”

Randey blushed, giving only a short nod in reply.

Reidar chuckled. “It’s alright, son. I’m glad you take such interest. It will prove useful to have some insights into such things when you are old enough to become one of the Grenyaar.”

Young Randey smiled, feeling proud and grateful.

“But you were late getting home,” Damara reminded him.

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Mother.” He suddenly recalled his discovery, and his eyebrows rose as he said, “Oh! I almost forgot . . .” And he jumped from his chair, hurrying toward the wash room. His parents exchanged a puzzled look, until a moment later when he returned, bearing the dirt-covered sword.

Reidar frowned as he looked at it. “Where did you find that?”

“On the trail. A short distance up the hill. I tripped over it, actually.”

Damara scowled at him, annoyed that he had omitted such things from his account earlier. But her annoyance was allayed as she, too, gazed at the blade in puzzlement.

Randey placed the sword in his father’s open hand. His sire raised it, staring at it appraisingly. After a moment he rose, moving toward the fireplace. Randey and his mother followed. Reidar stepped close to the stone fireplace, and with a solid swing, banged the blade against the wide, low hearth. Most of the dirt and mud encrusting it came loose, falling to the floor in a soft clatter of soil and dust. Damara frowned at the mess, but said nothing. Reidar retrieved a cloth from the kitchen and brushed more of the concealing dirt away.

His eyes widened as he noted the bright, shining blade, so similar in size and shape to his own Khortaal. It had the same lightweight feel of those blades, and he had no doubt it was equally as sharp. He worked at cleaning the hilt, one that was longer and thicker than was usual for such a weapon. Soon he revealed inlaid runes, shining dully in the firelight. As he recognized those runes, he said softly, “By the Guardians . . .”

“What is it?” asked Randey.

“Yes, what do you see?”  Damara said.

Reidar looked up at them. “If I weren’t holding it, I wouldn’t have believed it.” He lifted the blade slightly. “This is the blade of Volnar Nev!”

“Who?” said Randey.

Damara, however, said, “What? It cannot be!”

“I know it seems impossible, Damara, but I am sure of it. The legends describe it clearly, and these runes are definitely of Minotaur origin.”

“But his blade was lost, or thought destroyed,” she insisted.

“Clearly they were mistaken. This is the blade, of that I have no doubt.”

Randey’s face was scrunched up in confusion. “What are you talking about, Father?”

His parents regarded one another for a moment. Then Reidar set the blade reverently on the hearth, and they moved to the comfortable seats surrounding the fireplace. Randey sat next to his mother, facing his father across the fine woven rug on the floor. “A tale from the time of the great Battle of the Guardians.”

Randey’s attention immediately peaked. He never tired of hearing such tales. He had thought he’d heard them all, but to learn otherwise was quite exciting.

“It is a tale of the Minotaurs,” Reidar began, again raising his son’s interest. “As you know, they were a part of that great conflict, as allies to humankind when Neyalha was bent on destroying all.” His son nodded and he continued. “Volnar Nev was the greatest General among the Minotaurs. It was he who convinced his people to join in the fight with us, and he personally led his troops during that brief but decisive conflict.

“Neyalha did considerable damage among his troops. Before the Na’Himara and the Guardians could establish their mystic shield around her, she swept through the valley and many fell victim to her flame. A small number of Black Knights were killed or injured, but the greatest casualties were among the Minotaurs. Some have speculated that Neyalha held great resentment toward the race of Minotaurs when they allied themselves with humankind. Her wrath raged most hotly towards humanity, and by joining with them she felt that the Minotaurs had betrayed their own nature as a stronger, non-human race. For that she would not forgive them.”

Randey listened with rapt attention, for this was indeed a tale that was new to him.

“In the time before the battle, the Minotaurs had indeed been great friends to humankind. While they were physically much more powerful and imposing, and possessing far more knowledge of magic, they were a peaceful people, wishing only to live in harmony with those around them. They had assisted in some minor conflicts in the Kingdom, Volnar Nev in particular giving aid. In thanks for his efforts and bravery, the King commissioned a special Khortaal for him. A version of the unique blades wielded by the Black Knights, modified to accommodate his larger, inhuman bulk and with Minotaur runes inlaid into the hilt. There was no other blade like it.

“As I said, during the battle against Neyalha, a great many Minotaurs perished, including their great General, Volnar Nev. It is said that he stood against a torrent of Dragonfire, leaping through it in an attempt to strike the great Dragon with that blade. If he did so, it was insufficient to cause her harm, and the General fell in the attempt. In all the confusion of that decisive battle, with Minotaurs burning and dying all around, the sword was believed lost. Or perhaps even destroyed in the Dragonfire that had taken Volnar Nev’s life.”

Randey’s eyes were wide as he imagined the grand and horrific scene. He continued to listen quietly.

“After Neyalha’s defeat, and the Guardians took their place to guide life on Edon, the Minotaurs were greatly discouraged by the terrible damage inflicted upon them. Some decided it was too costly to continue an alliance with humanity, some were simply distressed by the wages of war. In any case, the Minotaurs as a people retreated to their ancestral home in the South. There was little contact with them after that. Stories emerged that they had taken Volnar Nev’s remains with them to be entombed with his ancestors in their great Hall of Taural, but without his blade at his side, they believed it to be a burial of little honor. True heroes among them were always buried with their blades at their sides.

“Many of them became bitter towards humanity, blaming them for Volnar Nev’s death, for they felt he shouldn’t have been part of that battle in the first place.” Reidar sighed. “As a result, humans haven’t had any contact with the Minotaurs in all the years since then.”

Randey blinked, then looked at the sword gleaming on the hearth. He looked back to his father, saying, “What are we going to do with it?” His grin broadened. “Can we keep it?”

His father shook his head as Damara said, “No, we most certainly cannot!”

Randey’s smile faded, but he nodded.

“No,” said Reidar, “we must take it to the capital, and present it to the King and Queen. It was their forebears who gifted it to Volnar Nev, and it is theirs to decide on its disposition.”

“We are going to visit the capital?” Randey’s voice was filled with excitement. He had never visited the city of Shamirha, the seat of power in the Realm and location of the Royal Palace.

Reidar glanced at Damara, then looked back to his son and slowly shook his head. “I must go alone.”

“But father,” he began.

“I’m sorry, Randey, but you must wait for another time to see the Palace.”

“But I was the one who found it,” Randey insisted.

“Yes, and I will make that clear to the King, but the finding of this sword raises a great many questions, and there could be dangers along the way. It is best that I travel alone.” He looked at his wife. “You understand, don’t you?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Yes. Of course. Randey and I will be fine.”

Randey climbed down from his seat and started slowly walking away. “I’m going to bed,” he said morosely.

“Sleep well,” said Damara, watching as he made his way up the steps toward his room. Then she turned back to her husband and said, “Would it be too much of a burden to take him along?”

He gave her a solemn look. “There are too many implications, too many dangers.” He glanced up toward the stairs, as if to make sure Randey had indeed gone to his room. “I don’t wish to alarm him, but there have been many stories lately of attacks on farms and villages.” 

“By whom?”

“That’s what’s troubling. It appears that Goblins were responsible for many. There is even speculation that some were carried out by Moran’kaar.”

She gazed at him in disbelief. “Surely not. The Moran’kaar are only legend, aren’t they?”

“It has always been believed to be so, but with the finding of Volnar Nev’s sword, such beliefs come into question. The sword was believed forever lost or destroyed, yet here it is.” He gestured at the blade on the hearth.

Damara cringed, pondering the possibility that the Moran’kaar could be a reality. Legend had it that those malicious creatures originated from the Minotaurs. The story was that several groups of discontented Minotaurs left their fellow creatures to seek out sources of Dark Magic, and in so doing had become corrupted both in body and spirit. Their forms had become grotesque and disfigured, and their spirits sought only vengeance and retribution against those they believed had betrayed them, even among their own former kin. She shuddered to think that those beasts were actually moving through the Kingdom.

Reidar saw the open revulsion on her face and nodded. “I know, my love. It’s frightening to think that such creatures exist, but you and I have both fought unnatural foes at one time or another.”

She nodded. That much was true, but such occasions had been rare. Most of the trouble the Black Knights had quelled was caused by rebellious humans. There had been rare encounters with Goblins, and rumors of some other less-than-natural beings, but Damara had yet to see them herself.

“Given the value of the sword, and the importance of it reaching Shamirha safely, I will go alone. It’s much less likely a single Grenyaar will draw attention. Nor will I wear my armor while traveling. I don’t wish to be noticed unduly.”

“You will take your armor with you,” she said. It was more an order than a question.

He smiled. “Of course. I will simply forego donning it until I reach Shamirha.”

She nodded in relief. She rose and extended her hand. Reidar smiled, taking her hand and standing as well. He took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. When their embrace eased, he picked up the legendary blade and carried it with him as they climbed the steps to their own bedchamber.

Randey gazed down the road that led from their home toward the vast stretches of land that lay between them and Shamirha.

His father was already gone.

Randey had risen early, in hopes of seeing his father off, and perhaps changing his mind about taking him along. But though he’d risen in the dark just before dawn, he had discovered that his father had already departed. Pylos’ hoof prints were visible in the soft earth, heading away from the house.

He’d missed his chance.

He felt a hand touch him gently on the shoulder. He knew it was his mother, but he didn’t turn to face her. He continued to gaze at the empty road, feeling a great, empty disappointment.

“You will have your chance to see the Palace in due time,” she said softly to him.

Randey said nothing, but he stepped away from her touch and hurried off toward the forest. Damara watched him go, understanding his disappointment, but she also knew he needed time to himself. She had no fear that he would run off. After he was lost in the shadows of the trees, she returned to the house. Before entering she looked at the road for a lingering moment, hoping that her husband would have a safe journey.

“Randey?”

Sitting against the trunk of an enormous oak tree, Randey looked up at the call of his name. It was not his mother’s voice, but he recognized it nonetheless. He wasn’t sure whether it was a welcome sound or not.

“Randey!” came the call again.

With a sigh of resignation, he called out, “Over here.”

The undergrowth rustled as the speaker moved through the trees in his direction. He didn’t rise, remaining ensconced in his bubble of self-pity, and he stared at the ground in front of him. He heard a soft “Ouch!” as the crunch of footsteps grew nearer, and a moment later a pair of dirty, sandaled feet stepped into his view.

“Here you are,” said the voice, stating the obvious.

Randey looked up at his friend Keyla. She was looking at him with a serious expression, her hands planted on her hips. “What are you doing out here?” she said.

Randey sighed. Keyla was his closest friend, but at the moment he wasn’t sure he wanted her company. Her long, dark hair was somewhat tousled, with a leaf caught in the left side, and she wore a plain yet attractive dress with a knee-length hem, pale green and edged with gold-colored trim. He met her hazel eyes and said, “I want to be alone.”

“Then why did you tell me where you were?”

He frowned, disliking her using his own words against him. In truth he had called out because he did want her company. She was a source of much comfort when he was feeling low. He gave her a noncommittal shrug.

She smiled, then lowered herself to sit beside him, leaning against the tree. She took a moment to remove one sandal, rubbing at a spot on her right foot where a stray branch had scratched it.

Randey shook his head. “I’ve told you before you should wear boots.”

Strapping the sandal back on, she said, “The Na’Himara don’t wear boots.”

He sighed again. He realized she had great admiration for the Order of Sorceresses, but at times her obsession was an annoyance. “Still,” he said, “if you’re wandering around the woods, it’s better to wear boots.” He waggled one of his own dirty but solid pieces of footwear.

Keyla let it go. She wasn’t about to get into an argument with him over shoes. She picked up a twig, twirling it in her fingers as she asked, “So, what’s going on? Your mother said you were out here.”

“I just wanted to be alone for a while.”

“Okay, so you’ve been alone for a while. But why?”

After a short pause, he said, “Because my father has gone to the Capital.”

Keyla frowned. “Well, he is an important Captain of the Black Knights. Why is that so unusual?”

“I . . . I wanted to go with him.”

“Why?”

For a moment he hesitated, unsure if he should share. Being that Keyla was his best friend, he decided he could trust her with the tale. He told her of his discovery of the sword, and what his parents had told him of its history. Keyla listened raptly, intrigued by the legendary quality of it all. When he was finished, he picked up a twig of his own and snapped it in half. “I just think that since I found it, I should have been able to go with him.”

“You’re right,” she said.

“I am?”

“Sure. But you’re just a kid.”

“What?”

“So am I,” Keyla continued. “And I think you will agree that adults like our parents are smarter.”

“Well, yeah, but -”

“So if your father, a Captain of the Grenyaar, says that you need to stay behind, well, you must. Even if it isn’t fair.”

He scowled at her. “You’re no help at all.”

“Nope,” she said teasingly. Pushing herself to her feet, she said, “But I am right.”

He pitched a handful of leaves at her. She ducked and swatted at them, and hurried away through the trees.

Randey rose and went off in pursuit. To his surprise he realized that he did feel better, and they spent the next couple of hours playing hide-and-seek among the trees. Eventually Keyla told him, “I should get back home now.”

“It’s barely after mid-day,” he whined.

“I know. But I have chores to do, and studies as well.”

Pouting, he nodded. “See you tomorrow?”

“Only if you come see me.”

“I’ll ask. I’m sure mother will let me.”

Smiling, Keyla gave him a friendly pat on the back and rushed off down the road.

Randey slowly walked back to the house, feeling less morose about being left behind.

The next day, Damara was happy to let Randey go visit his friend. She understood how close they were, and that it would also serve to keep him from focusing on what he considered a missed opportunity. In addition, since Keyla’s father was also a member of the Black Knights, it could possibly help offer him some perspective on what that meant. It was one thing to hear it from one’s parents, but such things were usually more accepted when coming from another source.

Randey made the walk to Keyla’s family home in good spirits. It wasn’t a great distance, and he knew a few short-cuts through the forest, allowing him to make better time. When he arrived, Keyla’s mother was just leaving. She waved at him as he approached, with a cheery “Good morning, Randey!”

“Good morning, lady Soril,” he replied.

Adeline Soril was an attractive woman, he supposed, but he was too young to judge such things. Keyla had inherited much in the way of her appearance, though her mother’s hair was a slightly lighter shade of brown. In any case, she had a bright, warm smile that always made him feel welcome. Her simple dress this day was one of pale blue, and she had her hair wrapped in a modest braid that crossed the top of her head in a flattering way. Randey couldn’t help smirking as he noted the practical pair of boots she wore. At least she had the sense to wear practical shoes when traveling!

She paused as Randey mounted the few steps to the door. The Soril home was not quite so fancy as his own, but was still a residence worthy of a Grenyaar and his family. Unlike his own mother, Adeline was not a member of that elite fighting force. She had chosen a simpler lifestyle, tending to the home and family. She had also devoted her time to the healing arts, and was quite adept at creating effective herbal treatments. At the moment she held a covered basket in her arms. “It’s good to see you,” she said as he stepped up.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Keyla is with her Grandmother. You may join them inside if you wish. I must be off to deliver these Infusions and Tinctures. It seems there is always someone in need of medicines.” She shook her head, as though truly troubled by that fact.

“I see. Thank you, lady Soril,” he said, and entered the front door.

The main room was in many ways similar to the one in his own home, even having one of Keyla’s father’s swords mounted above the fireplace. The day was warm enough that no fire was needed, and daylight streaming through the windows provided a welcoming light. Keyla was seated on a stool in front of the unlit fireplace, facing the cushioned chair in which her grandmother sat. Her attention was fully on the small book she held. Her grandmother glanced up at his approach, however, and smiled at him. She had the familial features that both Adeline and Keyla had inherited, though hers were now wrinkled with age. Her eyes were still bright, and her snow-white hair fell to her shoulders. Her own wrinkled hands held a larger tome, the pages of which held a variety of symbols and runes.

“Why, Randey, dear boy! It’s good to see you,” she said, her voice somewhat husky with age.

“Good morning, madam Dorvan.”

“Please,” she said, “I’ve told you before. You may call me Elmina.”

Randey nodded, though he doubted he would ever be comfortable addressing one of his elders by their given name.

Keyla looked up and grinned at him. Closing the book, she said, “Randey! I hoped you would come.”

He gestured at the book. “It appears that I have interrupted your lessons. I can come back another time . . .”

“No,” she insisted, “please stay. You mustn’t think you’re interrupting.”

“But I am.” He took a step back. “Please, continue, and I’ll go.”

She frowned at him. “Don’t.” Keyla turned to her grandmother. “Grandmama, would it be alright if Randy remained for the rest of my lesson?”

Elmina gave him an exaggerated, appraising look. “I don’t suppose it will do any harm. Besides, he may learn something interesting, instead of all that business of swinging swords and shooting arrows.”

There was disdain in her tone, but Randey knew she did not truly disparage the Black Knights. He nodded in thanks and seated himself on another stool nearby. In truth, he did have a fascination with what Keyla was learning. Elmina Dorvan had, in her youth, been a member of the Na’Himara. A very skilled Sorceress, in fact, if what he had heard was true. There was some mystery surrounding her decision to leave the Order. Most who became Na’Himara remained so for life, serving the Order and the Kingdom. Keyla’s grandmother had chosen to leave, however, and would not discuss the circumstances of her departure.

Regardless, it was interesting to listen as she shared some of the basic knowledge of the Order, and gave her granddaughter some exercises to explore drawing upon the forces of magic that gave the Na’Himara their power. None of them were of any real consequence, but were aimed at honing her ability to tap into that and use it in an instinctual fashion. He began to understand Keyla’s obsession more keenly. In his own mind he hadn’t really thought that Keyla would seek to actually join the Order, but given who her grandmother was it made sense. He’d simply refused to see it that way. She was just Keyla, his friend, not Keyla the Sorceress in training.

Or so he thought.

In a way it actually raised her in his eyes, and he found he had a new-found respect for her. She was as determined to join the Na’Himara as he was to become a Black Knight.

A short time later, the aging Sorceress declared that Keyla’s lessons were finished for the day. From Keyla’s look of disappointment, Randey suspected that her grandmother had shortened the session, but he pushed any guilt about that aside. He was grateful to be able to go outside with his friend once again.

They moved to the door and Randey glanced down with a grimace. “Are you wearing those again? ”

She looked at her sandals and frowned at him. “Yes. I told you, Na’Himara don’t wear boots!”

He sighed, accepting her stubbornness. They hurried down the steps, across the field beside the house to the trees beyond. They spent the next few hours playing a variety of games, including play-acting at being a true Black Knight and Na’Himara, fighting off the forces of some inhuman, terrible foes. They were, of course, victorious, though Keyla didn’t like it when Randey pretended to cut the head from the non-existent Troll that led the phantom horde as a prize.

There was one anxious and surprising moment when, in the course of their mock-battle, Keyla had uttered the words of one of the basic spells she had been learning, and it caused a spark among some leaves. The two of them had quickly stomped out any flame before it could expand, but they looked at one another in apprehension. “Did you really do that?” he asked.

“I – I think so,” said Keyla, looking at her hands as though seeing them for the first time.

“Wow.” Randey looked at her and smiled. “That was amazing.”

“Amazing?” she said. “It was scary!”

“Well, it just shows that you’re going to be a very good Sorceress!”

Keyla hesitantly nodded, still bothered by the event. Her enthusiasm had been dampened as they finished their little game.

They were crossing the field once more to return to the house when they saw a horse approaching. Keyla broke into a run, smiling broadly. Randey recognized the distinct armor of a Grenyaar, and knew that it was Keyla’s father. She dashed across the stubble of the field, nearly tripping in her eagerness. Her father had barely dismounted before his daughter rushed up to embrace him in a vigorous hug. “I’m so glad you’re home, Da,” she said.

Braedon Soril let out a whuff  as Keyla’s small form impacted against him. He hugged her back, grinning at her excitement. “Good to see you as well, little dreambird!” He gently extricated himself from her grasp and set her on her feet as Randey approached. “And young Randey Edal! How are you?”

“I’m well, sir, thank you.”

“And your parents?”

“Also well,” he replied, though he still felt the sting of his father’s departure.

Braedon caught the slight dejection in his tone. He smiled at the boy. “Are you sure? Is anything amiss?”

“No sir.”

“I see.” Braedon was not convinced, but rather than delve deeper he simply asked Randey to assist him with tending to his horse. He knew the lad often did so with his father. Randey agreed, though with less enthusiasm than usual.

Keyla kept begging her father for information about his day, but he put her off until their task was complete and they entered the house together. Braedon asked Randey to stay for dinner. He hesitated, but Keyla pleaded with him, and he finally agreed.

Braedon removed his Grenyaar armor, and after shedding that burden he sat with the children in the main room as Elmina pressed them about their play time. Randey couldn’t be sure, but he wondered if the old woman suspected something unusual had happened. He couldn’t imagine her being so interested otherwise. It was surprising, however, that Keyla made no mention of the spell incident, and when Randey was about to, she made an abrupt change of topic and cut him off. He didn’t understand her reluctance, but since Keyla clearly knew more about magic, he let it go. Braedon laughed as Keyla described Randey’s imaginary claiming of his grisly trophy. “You’ll be a formidable Grenyaar someday,” he told him with a grin.

“I hope so, sir.” Braedon Soril’s words were almost as reassuring to hear as his father’s.

Adeline returned just then, stepping in to set her empty basket on a small table. She smiled at her husband, and moved to share a warm hug with him. She looked at the children and asked if Randey was staying to dine with them. When they told her he was, she moved into the kitchen to make preparations.

Braedon turned and said, “I should assist your mother with cutting the vegetables. If you will excuse me?” With a smile he headed for the kitchen as well.

After sharing the evening meal, which Randey had enjoyed nearly as much as those his mother prepared, they gathered in the main room once more. The evening was growing chill and Braedon started a fire in the fireplace. Keyla was fit to bursting with impatience, since her father had still not shared any details of his day. The meal had been spent discussing Adeline’s day instead, and how the neighbors were faring. When that topic had come to a satisfactory conclusion, they finished eating and now she prodded once more. “Please, Father? What happened in your day?”

Braedon looked thoughtful for a moment, even hesitant. He gave Keyla a serious look. “I’m not sure you wish to hear it.”

“What? Of course I do!”

“What I mean is, there was some unpleasantness.”

“Unpleasantness?” asked Adeline. “How so?”

Braedon regarded the children, choosing his words carefully. “I suppose it is best that you all know. You in particular, Randey, so that you may share what I have to say with your father.”

Randey frowned, but nodded regardless.

Braedon didn’t know what to make of Randey’s frown, but he proceeded to speak. “My squad was riding among the outlying areas of Ghaeros. Places where those who dwell there are far from the convenience of ready assistance or supplies. Farmers, mostly, who do well enough subsisting on their own, but have little contact with those here in Ghaeros itself.”

The fire crackled in the firebox, a few sparks hopping onto the stone hearth as Braedon continued. “Most of them were doing well, and were pleased to have a squad of Grenyaar looking in on them.”

“I should hope so,” said Randey, somewhat defensively.

Braedon raised an eyebrow, but simply returned to his tale. “Three, however, had met with tragedy.”

“What kind of tragedy?” asked Keyla.

The Grenyaar took a breath. “Their farms had been attacked. Crops burned, even the homes. The farmers and their families killed.”

There was a silence in the room, broken only by the soft sound of the flames.

“Who attacked them?” said Randey.

“That’s what’s troubling. As we searched for any possible survivors, we came upon evidence that the attacks had been carried out by Goblins.”

“Goblins!” exclaimed Keyla.

He nodded grimly. “At one of the farms, there had been more of a struggle. We found the body of a dead Goblin among the debris. Why they did not burn it or take it with them, I cannot say. But that is most definitely what it was. We burned the corpse ourselves. In addition, at one of the other burned homesteads, we found a dagger that was certainly of Goblin origin. I had one of my men take that back to the Hall of Champions to alert the First Commander of the Grenyaar, and to have it examined for clues of its specific origin.”

Randey and Keyla exchanged a frightened look, as Adeline and her mother looked at one another as well. This was ill news, and none of them were sure what it could mean. There had not been any trouble from Goblins for many, many long years. Most people believed that they had all died out long ago. To learn otherwise was troubling to say the least.

Keyla reached out and nudged Randey on the shoulder. “You should tell him.”

“Tell me what?” asked Braedon.

Randey frowned at his friend, but he understood her desire for him to share his own tale. In light of her father’s unusual news, he agreed it was prudent. He told the attentive Knight the story of his finding of the ancient sword, what he’d learned of it, and how his father had decided to take it to the Palace. Braedon listened with great interest, sitting back with a thoughtful look when Randey had finished. He glanced at Randey. “Your father was certain it was the sword of Volnar Nev?”

“Yes, sir.”

He returned to silent thought once again, as the others waited in anxious silence. Finally he rose and fixed Randey with a purposeful gaze. “I will take you home, Randey.”

“I can walk,” he protested.

“No, it’s better if I take you. It’s growing dark, and you should not be on the road alone.”

“But – I thought you said the attacks were far from here, Father,” said Keyla.

“They were, and I doubt there is great risk. Still, it would be wise to take no chances.” He moved to a wooden rack by the door and donned a cloak. “Come, Randey.”

Randey stood, giving Keyla an apologetic look. She smiled at him. “Good night,” he said. Turning to her mother and grandmother, he added, “Thank you for your kind hospitality and a fine meal.”

“You are welcome, Randey,” said Adeline. “Oh!” she went on, rising and moving toward the kitchen. She returned with a small glass flask. She wrapped it in a scrap of cloth and handed it to him. “This is for your mother.”

He frowned. “Is she sick?”

Adeline smiled at him. “No, child. She is well. But this will be of benefit to her.”

Confused, Randey offered his thanks. He turned to the aged Sorceress once more.

To his surprise, Elmina took his hand. “Be careful, young Randey Edal. You are stronger than you know.” Nodding at the flask, she said, “That will be of great help to your mother – and to you.”

He smiled nervously and nodded, even more confused. He gently pulled his hand from her grasp before following Braedon outside.

In short order they were on their way, Randey riding in front of Braedon on his sturdy horse. Dusk was indeed growing darker as they made their way down the road toward Randey’s home.

When they rode up in front of his familiar house, his mother stepped out to meet them. She had heard the sound of the horse approaching and was understandably curious. “Good evening to you, lady Edal,” said Braedon, as he assisted Randey with his dismount.

“And you, Sir Braedon,” she replied. She looked at Randey and said, “What deed of honor did my son perform to earn such a ride home?”

Braedon chuckled. “It was a pleasure, my lady. I found it prudent to return him home before it got too late.”

“My thanks.” She gave Randey a fond look as he came to stand beside her.

“I understand your husband is on his way to the Palace?”

Damara looked surprised, but said, “Yes, he is.” She frowned at Randey, who shrugged.

“Do not be hard on the boy, my lady. He shared the tale at my request.”

She nodded. There was little harm in sharing it with a fellow member of the Grenyaar.

“Is it true that he bears the sword of Volnar Nev?”

“Yes. He felt it vital that it be taken to the King.”

“Oh, I agree. It is simply that the finding of that blade is not the only oddity to be occurring of late.” He then related to her the tale of the destroyed homesteads, and the evidence that Goblins had done the deed. If it bothered her, Damara hid her discomfort well. Randey knew his mother well enough to know that it did indeed trouble her.

“I am on my way to the Hall of Champions,” Braedon told her.

“At this hour?”

“I believe haste is wise. These events have dire implications, and I must inform the First Commander.”

She nodded. “I understand. Be safe, Sir Braedon. And thank you for bringing my son home.”

Braedon nodded and gave her a salute, then turned his horse and galloped into the darkness.

A feeling of dread hung over Damara as she went back into the house with Randey. He handed her the flask, saying, “Keyla’s mother said you needed this.”

She took it carefully, tucking it into her belt. “Thank you.”

“What’s it for? Are you sick?”

“No, my warrior. I’m fine.”

“Then what’s it for?”

“You needn’t worry,” she said. “Now, off you go. Time to clean up and get to bed.

He did as she asked, but was troubled by the unanswered questions about the medicine. As he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t stop thinking about Goblins, swords, and mysterious medications.