Chapter 1

Setting: the country of Frenn, year A.D.1254

         The air was musty and breezy as Kurt, ruler of the kingdom of Frenn, strode across the parapets. He noticed a faint light, as of a torch, moving in one of the huts. As if it knew he was looking, the light disappeared. He disregarded it, and continued to stroll toward the steps leading up into his home, the Green Hall of Frenn, where many kings had lived and died.
         Seemingly out of nowhere, an arrow struck the wall beside him. He crouched down, peering into the darkness behind the battlements. Another arrow shot out of the darkness and embedded itself into the wood of the hall's door. He quickly took off his cloak and threw it up into the air. Three arrows pierced it, pinning it to the door. Kurt removed his blade from its sheath. He waited for someone to climb the steps, thinking he had hit Kurt, who obviously was the target. But no, his enemy was far too clever to reveal himself. Or, perhaps, there were more, for had not three arrows hit the cloak at once?
         His mind wanted to inch his way upward to peek out from between the stones of the battlements, but his body was too afraid to let him. I can wait all night, he thought. He wanted to know who had shot at him, and why they had done it.
         He finally stood up, but he made sure to do it slowly. Nothing, no sound or sight, could be observed of the village. It had all gone silent. If the would-be assassin was still there, he was having second thoughts. Kurt picked up his cloak, and ever so carefully and slowly, opened the door to the hall and walked inside. He intended to tell his army lieutenant about the incident so hopefully he could find out what race of creature attempted to kill him based on the type of arrow, but that could wait until morning. Now, it was time to sleep.
         In his sleep, he dreamed of many things; a demon lord, a burning village, and the arrival of a black ship, a dead ship, from which no life came. When he woke up, he knew it was not a normal morning. He heard nothing; not the sound of birds, nor the laughter of children. Everything was silent.          He got out of bed and walked to his robe closet. Upon opening it, he took his warm bearskin robe. He put it on. As he was walking out of the room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and noticed something strange about it. His face appeared cut, but when he felt it, he felt not wounds, not scars, just the skin of his face. He saw a movement behind him in the mirror and quickly turned around. He saw nothing. Confused, he opened his bedroom door and walked out into the main hall.
         He saw his wife eating stew. He asked her why she didn’t wake him up. She told him that she would have, but she thought it looked like he needed the sleep. He ate breakfast, then walked outside. He noticed right away that it was still night. Normally on a fall night, no one would be outside. However, he could see everyone was out of their houses. They were all staring to the east, to the river. He turned to see what they were looking at, and his blood ran cold. For there, coming into view, was a ship as black as a thousand midnights, with no visible crew. It was headed straight toward the village.