Prologue - The Packbearer

PROLOGUE

"You are falling behind,” barked Morihang.

That voice frightened him, but Kada did not look up. The night of walking had only just begun and his legs begged for rest. His sandaled feet emerged from the front of his robe to throw white sand before him. It was not like the sand of a beach. This irritating powder whirled in a small cloud before he stepped through it. It was like the powder used by the women who sold themselves for a night; though, to be truthful, he could seldom afford an entire night.

He tried to recall the name of the last inn he had stayed and the woman whose company he had bought. It didn’t matter, he supposed. He wouldn't be doing that any time soon; he needed coin. The Draechai had offered several years worth of wages for this expedition. Just a few weeks of work, they had promised, and he could live like a wealthy man for a good long while. He regretted not asking exactly how much coin that was. Normally, he would. Yet, the Draechai were so fierce when he looked them in the eye. Surely they would pay just as they had promised. He had been overpaid for simple tasks by wealthy men before. He hoped this would be like one of those jobs. He liked those jobs. He had given up life on the farm so he could work when he wanted and be his own man.

Sometimes Kada wished he could tell them to keep their coin and just go back to Saroken. He could steal to get by if he had to, until he found enough work to buy a few nights of drink. These Draechai could obviously carry their own water if they had to. They had drunk little since leaving the ship. It was almost as if he had been tasked with carrying enough water for just himself. That didn’t make any sense, of course, because why else would he be there if not to carry supplies for the expedition?

The other pack-bearer, Gemael, had fallen ill, becoming feverish during the previous night. The Draechai had left him, along with his water, to fend for himself in the desert. He had been directed to return to the ship if he could. The man hadn’t even been able to stand on his own, and only barely able to keep his face out of the dust.

Minogradians were weak-minded, simple folk, Kada knew, but that fate was less than deserved. He didn’t like to think about it, not that he could stop. But what if he pretended to be ill? Would they send him back to the ship, as well? It was tempting. He feared what they would do to him if they suspected him of trying to trick them. They could see his thoughts. At least, sometimes, it seemed as if they could see his thoughts. It was the way that they looked at him. They knew things. Well, of course, they knew things that he didn’t know about the world. They were Draechai, afterall. But it seemed they knew things about him. They seemed to know when he thought things that he shouldn’t. It made him uncomfortable. These were not men to be trifled with. They would not be fooled like his Uncle when it came time to plow a field.

There was something else that made him more uncomfortable than the Draechai. There was something in this white wasteland. Something watched them. Kada could not see it, but he could feel it. There was something dark beneath the white dust. He knew it was there and he was certain that it knew he was there, as well. He didn’t dare speak of it. The Draechai would surely dismiss him as a fool. But Gemael’s flesh had been gray; a sickly pallor like a corpse, but darker. His flesh had been cold to the touch. And he had the Night Eyes! An old wives tale come to life. His eyes had turned black. And those Draechai had pretended nothing had been wrong at all. Just a fever. That’s all.

“Cursed dust,” Kada spat. “The Dark take me. I’m a fool.” He had spoken to pull his thoughts away from Gemael’s fate, but his own words haunted him as much as the memory. The curses and prayers of old village women ran through his mind and each took the form of some dark fate that possibly awaited him. In this desolate place, there was no such thing as fantasy; only possibility. And he felt so alone.

It was a comfort that no tale he had ever heard had ever mentioned such a flat, white wasteland. It was a comfort, but, at the same time, unnerving. If strange creatures existed under the desert and no one had traveled here to bring back the tales, then what couldn’t be here? Though he had been a farmer most of his life, he had spent a great deal of time in gambling houses and taverns. His ears had overheard many strange tales. Of course, he had never heard of anyone sailing east and then north along the coast for so many weeks. He would have remembered a description of such a fine powder and no wind, not the slightest breeze. His grandfather had been a sailor, both in the navy and as a merchant, and he had said that the lands along the coast to the north were a dangerous frontier, overrun with strange beasts. No merchants ever risked sailing anywhere near that region. There was no money in it. Yet, that is where the three Draechai had taken him. He might not have agreed to go had he thought to ask where they were going.

“Pack-bearer! Move faster!”

Kada cursed under his breath, careful that none of the others overheard. Moving faster meant throwing more dust into the air. The smell of it was odd. There was no scent that he could put to words, but it reminded him of the feeling he had in the morning upon awaking from a bad dream.

A faint orange glow washed the horizon ahead. That same glow would be behind them before they stopped to rest. Four nights of travel in the desert had been hard on him. For some reason, he had assumed there would be a tavern somewhere near their destination, or at least along the way. He desperately wished one of the Draechai would offer to carry his pack, if just for a moment. None of them wore a pack. They each carried a knobby staff that looked more grown than carved and nothing else. It wouldn’t hurt them to help him, at least for a short while. Why did he have to work so hard?

If they weren’t going to help him, Kada wished they would at least speak to him. The lack of conversation had been almost as unbearable as the burning sun. Being ordered to walk faster was not a conversation. On the ship, Kada had talked and gambled with the sailors, and even had a few drinks. Here, he was forced to mutter to himself and hear only his own panting as he tried to keep pace. Gemael had spoken little and had seemed irritated when he had wanted to speak of his favorite drink and the women he had known. Amiable or not, he had been someone to talk to. Now, the only voices Kada heard were in his head; those of people left back on the farm long ago. They did not offer any comfort. They seemed to have known that he would find himself in such a place one day.

Morihang, the only Draechai who had spoken to him since they had left the ship, had given him a dark gray robe to protect him from the sun and the cold of the night. Kada would have been miserable as the desert temperature fell at night with just his simple cloth pants and shirt. The heavy robe dragged the ground and kept his sandaled feet warm as well. He was thankful for the robe.

Morihang had advised him to bring two weeks of water if he could carry that much. Kada had never drank only water for two weeks, unless he couldn’t afford good drink, and wasn’t certain how much water he would need. He had filled half of his skins with ale from a cask on the ship. His vision had been blurred by a night of hard drink when they had rowed ashore to what he had then thought to be a beach. It was not his fault. The Draechai had been unwilling to share their plans with him. How was he to know they would cross a desert? He had lived off of ale for weeks before. He could do it again.

Kada scratched at the dust in his scruffy beard. When he realized he had fallen too far behind, he sprinted to regain his expected following distance. His movement stirred a cloud of white dust and it drifted before him as he slowed into step with the Draechai.

Kajal, the leader, did not slow his pace, but his head half turned for a moment. Kada stumbled at the thought of a disapproving look from that man. Kajal was the Draechai in charge. He seldom spoke, but when he did, his words came harsh and with a strange accent which Kada could not place. Perhaps, he was from Sendora or Evershandor. Regardless, he was an intimidating old man with scarred and leathery skin. His gray hair was thick, especially for his apparent age of about sixty, and it hung past his shoulders; his full gray beard hung to his chest. He seemed unnaturally vigorous for such an age, which was hard for Kada to understand. He had known hardened mountain men and they were not nearly as robust. But it was Kajal’s dark eyes which made him so unnerving. They were piercing, and seemed to study everything and pass judgment, only to find the world wanting. When Kada crossed gazes with him, he wanted to blurt out all of his secrets and beg forgiveness. He could not explain it, but he was afraid of that man like he had never been afraid of any man before. This desert made him uneasy, but Kajal made him want to cry and run away.

Morihang was not so fierce. He was the only one to speak to Kada, even though he kept his conversations to delivering orders. They were about the same age, which somehow made Kada feel more comfortable around the nature priest. He had the same long hair and beard as Kajal, except his black hair showed no signs of graying. His skin was a bit weathered from outdoor life, and his brown eyes seemed remorseful. In fact, the entire trip, he had seemed uneasy and regretful about something. Kada had no idea what it could be. Perhaps it was some act he had committed before they had left and the memory hounded him all the way. Or, maybe, it was the anticipation of an act that he would soon commit. Kada tried not to ponder it too much. He didn’t like worrying about other peoples’ feelings. Thinking about it was tiresome to him and he was already tired enough.

Morihang was the only one to ever look over his shoulder and make certain that Kada kept up. He seemed to be the lower ranking of the three, and therefore it must have been his responsibility to watch over Kada, as if he were in charge of the pack animals. Still, it felt good in the middle of the desert to know someone was watching over him, regardless of why.

The third Draechai, Nefusien, was the most enigmatic and quiet. He was not as intimidating as Kajal, so Kada seldom gave him much thought. He had the same weathered skin, long hair, and beard as the other two; except his hair was dark brown with streaks of gray. He walked with a slight limp favoring his left leg, but it did not slow him any. He had no difficulty keeping up with the other two.

When Kada looked at Nefusien he was always reminded of the strange sword which he carried under his robe. One night on the ship, Kada had slipped down to the hold, where the ale barrels were stored, and he had found the three Draechai huddled around the sword. It was too long to be a dagger, yet short for a sword; the hilt was silver, but the blade itself was black as night. He had never seen such a weapon, and he often wondered what it was worth. He tended to measure value in cups of ale and that sword would surely buy more than even he could drink. He had not overheard their conversation, so he wasn’t sure what they were going to do with it. Nefusien had tucked it away into his robe immediately when they had noticed him watching. Perhaps they were traveling somewhere to sell it, for it was probably worth many sacks of coin. Perhaps, they had brought Kada along to help carry their sacks of coin back to the ship. Of course, how many sword collectors lived in such a place?

Kada had little concept of the passage of time, lost in his exhaustion, but the horizon finally darkened. He ached for the sun to rise so he could set his pack down. He stumbled along, kicking up dust, trying to keep pace with the blurry gray forms ahead of him. He was covered from head to toe in white dust, the result of following in the wake of the tiny dust storm created by the three men’s robes dragging the ground. He coughed frequently, though the Draechai never coughed. In fact, no dust seemed to cling to them. It was strange and could only be the result of some kind of magic. The thought that the priests were sorcerers really made him regret coming along. But, perhaps, Draechai had some sort of power over nature. Kada’s father had told him tales of Draechai helping the harvest or preventing floods. He hadn’t believed those stories and it still sounded like sorcery, even if it were true. And this desert seemed to hold some dark impurity, so perhaps the Draechai had some purity about them that pushed away the dust. Kada knew there was nothing pure about himself.

He looked over his shoulder often, on guard for the first hint of sunrise, or perhaps something lurking behind him. Surprisingly, the Draechai stopped for a short rest three times. On the previous nights, they had only stopped once or twice. It seemed that they stopped to orient themselves rather than rest, but the third time they did eat some dried fruit and drink some water. Kada almost handed Morihang an ale skin by mistake, but he switched the skin for a ‘fresher’ water skin at the last moment. Kajal’s suspicious gaze could have split him in half, but no one questioned or seemed to care which water skin he decided to hand them. Kada spent the break panting on all fours, with his heavy pack on the ground next to him. If his face had come anywhere near the powdery sand, he would have spent the entire break in a coughing fit. He had learned that lesson well.

The night air was cold, but it felt good on his sweaty body. His face was covered in smeared mud, where dust had mixed with sweat and his dirty hands could not wipe it away. The sleeves of his robe were too dusty to even shake clean. It seemed his eyes would never be free of the stinging dust.

Kada poured cool water on his face, blinking through it to clear his eyes.

Kajal spun from his conversation and quickly strode to stand before him. Kada tumbled backwards, raising a large plume of dust. The old Draechai grabbed Kada by his robe, just behind the neck, and jerked him to his feet with unreal strength. Kajal held him above the ground, toes barely touching the loose sand, but unable to get any footing. The front of the robe choked Kada and he gasped as clumps of dust rained from his body.

“Waste our water?!” Kajal shouted, face contorted in rage. “Next time, wash your filthy face in your ale! Or I will wash it in your blood!”

Before he could understand Kajal had let go, Kada found himself face-first in the dust. It clung to his sweaty face and filled his mouth. He swiftly exhaled before he sucked it into his lungs. He coughed out a mouthful of the powder as he struggled to all fours. His eyes burned. He could taste the mud. He did not know how to describe the flavor of a bad dream, but it was a terrible taste.

They knew about his ale! Kada’s hand shook and his stomach lurched. He thought he might spew but nothing came out. He had no doubt that Kajal would kill him if he wasted water again. He feared Kajal might kill him even if he didn't waste water.

Kada gasped. The water skin he had been holding was open on the ground, pumping its contents into the thirsty desert. He pounced on it, looking to see if Kajal had noticed; the nature priest continued whispering to his comrades. Kada expected him to turn and attack at any moment. He quickly closed the skin and tucked it away in his pack. He swept sand over the dark spot where the water had escaped.

Kada knew he should have stayed back on the farm. He would have been asleep in bed, resting after a long day of hard work. He had always thought his brother a fool for choosing that path. He muttered a promise to Lineas, if he helped him survive this horrible expedition, he would return to the farm and work hard for the harvest. He would bring in many harvests and pay tribute to Lineas daily. He just needed to survive.

The three Draechai turned and continued their trek across the lifeless sand.

Kada groaned as he fumbled with his pack straps and flung himself after them.

His eyes stung as he coughed at the dust. For a moment, he considered washing his face with ale, but he wasn’t certain if Kajal had meant exactly what he had said. After a few moments consideration, Kada decided if he wasted ale, he would have to kill himself. If ale was going to his face, it was going in his mouth.

They traveled long hours across the endless sands, which appeared gray under the night sky. A yellow-orange glow began to fill the eastern horizon when Kada walked into Morihang’s back, not realizing the procession had finally stopped. The collision knocked loose a sizable cloud that drifted ahead of the men, none sticking to the Draechai.

“This is the spot?” Nefusien asked the other two, raising an eyebrow.

“I remember this area quite well. We have arrived,” declared Kajal with certainty, and the other two priests nodded with mixed expressions. Nefusien appeared satisfied, while Morihang took on a look of apprehension.

Kada looked around. They were in the same flat white sand as they had been for the past five days. There were no landmarks. There was no chance of Kada questioning Kajal about it, and he was more than content to just be confused. In fact, this was a good time to collapse on all fours, he decided. He did so.

“Get up,” ordered Kajal in disgust.

Those harsh words were like a slap in the face. Kada fell over twice trying to climb back to his feet. He beat the new dust off of his robe and the cloud washed over the three nature priests. He gasped an apology and held up his arms to block an attack that would never come, flinging more dust at them. Seeing that he was making matters worse, he dropped his arms to his side, which scattered a third wave of dust. He groaned and tried to stand still.

They simply stood staring at him, as the dust floated away, never touching them. After several long moments, Morihang chuckled. A glare from Kajal silenced him, however.

Kada knew something was about to happen, though he wasn’t sure if he cared. He was still warm from the heavy exertion and did not feel the chill of the fading desert night, but his legs felt like lead. He just wanted to rest. These priests were probably going to pitch a tent and dig for ancient berries or the like. He had heard of such things on expeditions. Though, they did lack tents and digging tools.

“This is the most serious task undertaken in over one thousand years. We shall not go into it lightly,” preached Kajal to his fellows. “The First sleeps as yet, but his magic still flows. The Chant of Rising shall be ignored from the mouth of a Draechai. Yet, a humaen or tael may still make the plea that shall awaken the First to bring forth the blade.”

“I am sure it cannot be so, but I sense something quite dark and foul,” Nefusien stated uncertainly. “How is this possible? Here, of all places. Now I see why we did not Walk the Shadow to get here.”

“The First has long been infected by the Blight. It is a testament to his strength as much as it will be his undoing.” Kajal spoke solemnly. “The Blight has spread deep below this desert from his tower. There is a portal to the Dark within his tower, as well. Few places are as tainted as this; perhaps Shael’Thorun, but no other. It would take us centuries to cleanse it, even with an army of Draechia.”

The pack almost pulled Kada backwards and he leaned forward to keep his feet under him. He listened intently to the Draechai, but he found it difficult to concentrate. Blights and walking on shadows all sounded like nonsense. He knew Shael’Thorun was a marsh far to the North and a place no one ever wanted to go. Well, maybe not north of wherever they were now. He had never heard of anyone called the First, and wondered if it was the first priest to join their order; a messiah of some kind maybe, but he did not really care. His mouth was dry from spitting mud. He could almost taste the ale in his packs. Gemael’s fate did rise in the back of his mind, however. That graying skin and those black eyes. It seemed like some transformation from a nightmare. The Dark take him. He wished he could forget it.

“My Circle has long preached that all of the portals to the Dark have been sealed and their runestones were taken by the First.” Nefusien spoke and waited to be corrected.

“Yes, but the portal in his tower is not a traditional gateway. It is a tear in the world, the result of his taint and the use of his magic. Since his tower is locked, so is the portal as far as the world is concerned. Yet, it radiates the Blight like a beacon of doom.” Kajal spoke carefully and even Kada could tell that he was not telling all that he knew.

“I had never heard of that. We were taught that the First had acted as a guardian to our beloved M’Rael and passed on his knowledge to the humaen before retreating to his tower. Nowhere was it ever mentioned that he had been infected.” Morihang tilted his head slightly as he considered Kajal for a moment. “I suppose his present condition will not matter once we are through.”

“I did not bring you here for a lesson in the histories. We must do this quickly and be gone from this place,” snapped Kajal. He jerked his head at Kada. “Make this dog speak the summons and we shall be done all the sooner.”

All three priests turned to Kada. He lost his balance and his arms flailed as fell on his backpack. The dust whirled around him, burning his throat. He felt like a turtle on its back, but he frantically wanted to get back to his feet before Kajal become angry. Or angrier.
Nefusien and Morihang pulled Kada to his feet and dropped his pack onto the cool ground.

“Nefusien will speak two phrases to you in the simplest common tongue. You will repeat them exactly or I will peel the flesh from your body and make you eat it.”

Kada wondered why Kajal would speak to Morihang in such a manner, but he felt a jolt when he looked up to see those icy eyes boring through him. Why would they want him to do anything except haul around smoked meats, dried fruit, and water? And ale.

A queasy feeling washed over him. He did not like it when people had expectations of him. If he had wanted that, he could have stayed back in the city and worked at the docks. Or even stayed on the farm. He wished he had. Lineas’ First Bean! Why hadn’t he stayed on the farm? It was his Uncle’s fault! If that man had been more sensible and understanding that men needed to play as much as work!

“Maybe I could have a sip of ale first? To steady my nerves,” stammered Kada. He could have married that nice girl down the road. Matella? She wasn't pretty, but she was a good cook. He was such a fool. He could be waking up to a mediocre breakfast right now, instead of dealing with this.

“I will not have you slurring your words, dog. Be thankful that I honor my business arrangements. It would be a simple thing for me to justify in my mind having to kill you for such a minor annoyance.” Kajal pointed an accusing finger at Kada, and then gestured at Nefustien.

The brown haired priest took his cue. Still with his limp, Nefusien moved next to Kada and whispered the words.

“Hear me, I invoke your pledge. Naestrius the Guardian. Naestrius the Protector. Naestrius the Savior.”

Kajal barked, “You must shout. The magic will not hear normal speech. It was not meant to.”

“The Dark take me,” Kada cursed before he caught himself. Tears filled his eyes and his hands shook. They were going to kill him. He just knew it. The look in Kajal’s eyes told him all he needed to know.

“Say the words!” Kajal demanded.

“The Dark take me,” Kada stammered. Tears filled his eyes. He didn’t think it was because of the dust.

“The Dark already took Gemael. But you won’t live long enough for it to get you, if you don’t do as I command!”

The Dark took Gemael? Kada felt his legs wobble. The world spun before him. That was just a saying .Everyone said it! The Dark take me. The Dark take them. The Dark take the bloody butcher for charging so much for this bacon! But the Dark never took anyone! Yet, Gemael’s eyes had been black. His skin had been grey. He had seemed to get worse and worse. Kada felt his stomach churn and his mouth water. Oh, the Dark take him! He had to get out of there!

“Speak the words!” bellowed Kajal.

Kada closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He yelled the words which Nefusien had just spoken. He slowly opened his eyes. Kajal nodded grimly.

“Father of Wisdom and Keeper of the Blade, arise and answer our plea,” whispered Nefusien.

Kada coughed as his parched throat got the better of him, earning a scowl from Kajal. Morihang handed him an open water skin almost immediately. He snatched it and gulped down the entire contents, shaking out the last drops. He repeated the phrase Nefusien had just spoken.

Kada stood waiting for Nefusien to speak again, but it was Kajal who spoke next.

“Yes, brothers, I can feel it. The tower has heard.”

Nefusien and Morihang exchanged curious glances before each began looking left and right.

“And you,” Kajal pointed at Kada. “Your services are completed.”

Kada swallowed hard and took a step backwards.

Kajal reached into his robe. His hand emerged with a leather pouch and tossed it. It landed in a plume of dust at Kada’s feet.

“I am true to my word until you give me reason not to be.” Kajal turned away.

Kada’s blood pounded in his ears. He had never been so sober in his life. Were they going to leave him in the middle of this barren wasteland? Unsure what he should do, he picked up the pouch and untied the leather string, as if it held hope instead of coin. He was amazed at the twenty or so silver coins inside, more than he had thought he had earned. Small metal discs were not much use to him if they were leaving him on his own. Just the same, he nimbly tied the pouch to his belt beneath the robe.

Kajal and Nefusien began slowly moving away. Kada leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.

“You did not speak words of magic. The First set a ward, long ago, to detect a phrase in many different tongues,” Morihang said, associating Kada’s fear with the phrases. “It was so that even the simplest of his people could call on him for aid.”

“I don’t care!” Kada snapped.

Morihang frowned, but seemed to study Kada.

“Where will I go?” Kada asked as the pit of his stomach lurched. He didn’t care about their business. He wanted to know how he was going to get home!

Morihang smiled reassuringly.

“Kajal has lived a great number of years. More than you could imagine. He is a hard man. He has no Circle and does as he wills. My Circle would never lead a man to the desert and leave him; for that is murder as surely as if I had slit your throat on a city street.” The cold look in his eyes seemed to insinuate that he might be okay with either fate, although his words seemed to suggest otherwise. “When we have completed our task, I will make certain that you find your way back to the ship, if that is what you desire.”

Kada raised an eyebrow at Morihang. “The Dark take me! What else would I desire?”

The nature priest put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You cannot see it, but under your selfishness lurks a man with strength. It is in your blood. Was your father a great man?” Morihang appeared genuinely curious.

“No. My father was just a farmer. He grew potatoes and pigs,” answered Kada, disgusted by the thought of doing the same.

“Ah, many great men have been farmers. One does not need swing a sword to be great.”

Kada rolled his eyes before he could catch himself. Morihang frowned.

“I just want to get back to the ship,” Kada pleaded. He could fear muddy tears trickling down his cheeks.

The ground began to tremble softly, like a distant rumble that was felt and not heard.

Kada looked at his feet to be sure he wasn’t falling over again. He looked back to Morihang for reassurance but the youngest priest was already joining the other two, twenty paces away.

The vibration in the ground continued but the early morning was silent. The three priests stood together calmly, as if nothing were happening. Kada knelt to his burdensome pack and rummaged for an ale skin.

The top of the sun spilled over the eastern horizon in a spray of orange. The desert sands took an orange hue and the sky held a deeper yellow-orange glow. There was no breeze and no movement; the orange sand extended out to a hazy horizon in every direction.

Kada had just pulled an ale skin from his pack, opened it, and was raising it to his lips, when the ground seemed to erupt and began shaking violently. The trembling caused him to hit his chin, nose, left eye, and forehead as he repeatedly tried to take a drink, but could not hold the skin steady enough. Finally, he stumbled and fell on his pack. The trembling ground caused it to beat against his face over and over, and he rolled away from it, losing his ale skin to the undeserving desert. Billowing clouds of dust rose all around, swallowing him.

The fiery sun dimmed until it was a dull blur. The morning darkened to night, but the trembling ground would not relent. A rumble began and it quickly grew to a deafening roar. Kada covered his ears with his hands and prayed to Lineas. He knew the god who had taught men agriculture would not favor a drunkard who had never tended a single crop without being forced, but he did not know any other gods well enough to beg for his life. His father had taught him about Lineas and he began reciting a simple prayer asking for a plentiful harvest. In his mind, he was screaming to be saved. He coughed and choked on the thick dust.

The rumbling would not stop. Kada climbed to his knees. With his hand, he held his robe over his nose and mouth. He pinned an ear against his shoulder and covered the other ear with his other hand. He was forced to close his eyes against the stinging dust.

The ground stopped shaking and the roar ceased. Dust hung thick in the air, gray in the dim light. Kada’s ears ached and a ringing filled his head.

Long moments and dust drifted passed, and through the gray haze, he could see that the yellow sun had lifted itself well above the horizon. The trembling had shaken loose tons of silt; as he stood, the powder which had been only a few inches deep was now up to his knees. The walk back to the ship would be difficult now. He desperately hoped there would be one, though.

Turning to check how the priests had fared in the confusion, his jaw fell open, filling his mouth with mud as his saliva caught silt.

A tower of darkest night loomed over him. It was an enormous cylinder of opaque, black glass rising from the white desert. It was easily fifty paces wide and over three hundred paces high. Kada had never seen anything like it. The three Draechai stood at the base of the tower and seemed to examine the smooth surface. Kada waded through the deep dust to get close to them. He didn’t want to be alone; but he did keep a constant watch on the tower, out of a wild fear that it might fall on him.

“No, we should not have to find a way inside. He will come to us,” finished Kajal as Kada stumbled closed enough to overhear.

Nefusien and Morihang ran their hands along the smooth surface, finding no seams. Kajal stood several paces back, with an arm across his chest, supporting the arm stroking his beard.

“In the old days, this was a lush meadow. The tower did not hide itself below the ground.” Morihang muttered. He looked to Kajal and added, “Or so I was taught.”

“You are correct, brother. Your Circle is wise and well-learned. In truth, there was once a great city here, and this tower was the center of its knowledge and potential. The city did prosper in the middle of bountiful meadowlands.”

Kada continued to gawk at the wondrous building. He saw no doors or windows, and it seemed an odd thing indeed. Perhaps it was more of a monument than a tower? It was made of crystal or glass. Only the library in Raujorn, which he had never seen, was said to be made of crystal or glass; except he did not think it was black.

“It is like obsidian.” Nefusien stated with curiosity. “I am sure it is stronger, though.”

“Yes, very much like obsidian, though it’s more like diamond. You will not find a harder substance on all of M’Rael than this.” Kajal gestured at the tower.

“What happened to the city?” inquired Nefusien, turning from the tower to face the wiser priest. He held one hand in the folds of his robe. Kada was certain that he held the mysterious short sword that he had seen on the ship. Surely, it was worth a king’s ransom.

“When the First battled the Abomination for the final time,” Kajal looked upward to the top of the tower, “he became infected with the Blight. He brought it back here with him, because there was nowhere else for him to go. Everyone here died. The city destroyed. He did not trust us, his first pupils, with the blade as he should have.”

“Do you think he can hear us right now?” asked Morihang with a waver in his voice that betrayed his fear. He faced Kajal, putting his back to the tower.

“No matter. There he is now.” Kajal calmly pointed to the base of the tower.

Morihang turned to face the tower and the side of the tower simply spread open before his eyes, creating a square opening at ground level wide enough for a man.

Kada was glad the three priests were between him and the tower. It made him feel like a spectator more than a participant. He still stumbled backwards. The opening had widened to full in a blink of an eye. It was dark inside, but he could see that the tower wall was only an inch thick; he thought it would have been ten feet or more to hold up such a high tower.

The rising sun cast light through the opening from the side, and did not illuminate much. A shadowy form stood in the glow; a patch of night in the day . Kada was too frightened to stumble backwards this time.

The angry voice of an older man boomed from within the opening. It was a strange language with thick syllables that Kada had never heard.

Kajal shouted something back in apparently the same language.

This time the voice from within the tower was calmer and in the common tongue, though the accent was the same as Kajal’s impossible-to-place accent.

“Do not address me in the ancient tongue, traitor. Speak the language of traitors or do not be heard.”

“We meet again, Naestrius.” Kajal bowed slighty, then crossed his arms.

“How long has it been, traitor? How many years have passed? What treachery have you worked while I slept?” The shadowed figure was unwavering, like a statue or maybe a hole in something.

“I am the traitor? I think not” Kajal scoffed.

“Where is Theseus?” The voice within the tower asked. “He is the only Draechai welcome here.”

“Theseus? I am not familiar with that name.” Kajal’s mocking tone indicated he lied. “Oh, yes. Now, I recall the name. I believe his deeds caught up with him not long ago.”

“Why have you come here? You know that I shall destroy you and your circle of traitors.”

Kada watched Nefusien and Morihang exchange unreadable expressions, as they stood on either side of the opening. Nefusien nodded to Morihang and he hesitated a moment before returning the gesture. What were they going to do? They were bigger fools than Kada! He considered running away, but where would he go?

“Raugeral is nearly free of the Dark. His minions will open the gates in Kethia. The Abomination will consume M’Rael one last time,” Kajal stated solemnly. “We cannot stop him. Only the Keeper of the Sword can do that.” He paused. “Assuming he chooses to fulfill his duties.”

“I can feel the darkness growing,” came the slow reply. “And the runestones?”

“The runestones were taken. Your Draelgians are dead, betrayed by their Aran’tael.” Kajal sounded bitter on the last part. “All of my peoples’ runestones.”

“What do you expect of me?”

“Do what you have always done. Delay the inevitable. Lock away the Abomination again.”

There was a pause before the dark form responded, “I am weak. It is likely that I shall finally perish with the effort, though I do not think it unreasonable that I might succeed.”

Kajal paused, though he seemed to already know what he would say.

“Is there an alternative? Perhaps you should relinquish the sword to a successor… before you die. Whether you die in battle with the Abomination or rot away inside this tower, someone shall succeed you. You might as well choose now.” Kajal actually sounded hopeful. There was no doubt whom he thought that successor should be.

“No. I will confront the Abomination and ‘delay the inevitable’. I have studied it for centuries.” It was his turn to pause. “I believe I know its weakness and how to ultimately destroy it.”

“Of course you do, you were always the wisest of us all,” conceded Kajal.

“We must journey to Kethia. Can your Draechai keep the Shadowed at bay while I do what must be done?”

“Of course.” Kajal almost seemed to glow as he gave quick reassurance.

“Come. Enter my tower. I shall open the Veil. We shall stop the Abomination before he walks M’Rael yet again.”

The shadowy figure faded into the blackness beyond the opening. Kajal swiftly waded through the silt and disappeared into the darkness after him. Nefusien and Morihang hastily followed their leader. Morihang still kept a hand inside his robe.

Kada stood outside of the tower alone. The heaviest part of the dust had finally settled and only a light cloud of powder continued to float in the sky. He could feel the sun on his sunburned neck as he stared at the square opening of the tower. He pulled his hood up before taking a few steps forward.

Morihang had promised not to leave him after they had completed their task, but it seemed their task involved magical travel to somewhere far away. He knew wizards often mentioned the Veil, but he had no idea what it was; only that it involved magic, or more than wizards would mention it. He wanted to remind Morihang of his promise. They couldn’t just leave him!

Seeing no danger in getting closer, he waded to the smooth tower, creeping next to the opening. A shriek rang out just as he was about to peek inside, causing him to stand up straight with his back against the cool glass.

“Traitors!” It was the voice of the dark form.

A boom echoed inside of the tower. White flames billowed from the opening. Heat burned his left arm before Kada could drop to the ground. Small flames clung to his robe as he plummeted into the silt.

He scrambled to his feet, holding his breath and keeping his eyes closed. After he stood, he wiped his face quickly and gasped for a fresh breath. The silt had smothered his robe and it only smoldered now. His arm was screaming, but he didn’t look at it. He only heard his blood pounding in his ears and felt his heart slamming against his chest.

Silence.

Kada stood motionless. If the Draechai were dead, surely the dark man would understand that he had had no part in their treachery! He wished he were somewhere far away. He didn’t really know which direction to run. But he could have been somewhere else. He could have been on a farm, married to a nice woman. The work would have been hard but his bed would have been warm at night. But he wasn’t on a farm. He was in a white desert, next to a dark tower, somehow involved in the affairs of Draechai and a wizard. Would any of his brothers believe such a tale? Perhaps, Kelton, but he was gullable. But even Kelton would rightfully think him an idiot and a fool for getting in to such a situation.

Kada realized he was holding his breath and exhaled slowly. It was possible they had all killed each other. The tower could have been filled with flames. Maybe the Draechai killed the dark creature but it burned them all just before perishing. He wanted to hope that, but how would he get home if it were true?

Silence.

Kada crept to the edge of the opening, sliding his feet in the deep powdery sand. After an extra moment to calm himself, he peered inside. The light of the sun shone through the opening, but did not spread around the chamber inside as it seemed it should. The dark glass seemed to hold the light and not want to let it go.

Two smoldering lumps lay in the center of the floor. Dark clumps lay scattered around them with tiny flames and tendrils of smoke rising. It was two bodies! Certainly the remains of two bodies. Two Draechai. A horrid stench of burned hair and flesh filled the air.
On the far side of the room, a man with long, gray hair wearing a black robe was hunched over on the floor. He wasn’t dead yet, but he did not move. It had to be the one they had called Naestrius. The strange black bladed sword carried by Nefusien was on the floor next to him. Kada eyed it greedily. It had to be worth a fortune.

Where was the third Draechai? He hoped one of the two corpses belonged to Kajal. Hopefully, Morihang was the one who had survived.
Hearing a gasp and a curse, Kada stuck his head further inside and saw Kajal lying against the inside wall of the tower, not far from the opening. His face was burned across his forehead and one cheek, and his hair and beard were almost completely burned away. His right eye was swollen shut and his lips were cracked and bleeding. His robe clung in tatters, blackened and smoldering. Though he appeared close to dead, he noticed Kada immediately, and raised a blackened hand towards him.

“Dog,” he gasped helplessly.

Kada studied him a few moments. He did not seem so powerful now. He probably could not stand, much less do anything else.
“You don’t even know my name, do you?” Kada spat.

Kajal’s left eye narrowed and Kada felt a jolt of fear once more. Perhaps, he still had magic that he could call upon.

After a long moment and nothing happened, Kada turned and carefully stepped towards the sword. He gagged at the stench as he passed the burned corpses. The bodies of Nefusien and Morihang were twisted and horribly burned; and in some places holes had been burned right through them.

Kada stopped. He looked back at the opening, blinking at the sun and the white sand beyond. He should run away while he could.

Kajal shouted at him with a raspy voice. “Pack-bearer, you must find the sword.”

Kada looked at Kajal to be certain he hadn't moved, but he was still propped against the wall. Kada turned back to the black-bladed sword on the floor next to Naestrius. It had to be worth a fortune. He could see sacks of gold in his mind. Gold! Not coppers or silvers. Gold coins! He could live like a king. He would never have to work again. He just had to be a little lucky this one time.

“Not that sword! Find the sword. The one we came for.” Kajal fell to coughing. “All is lost if we do not succeed. Do not be misguided by hatred for me. Whatever spoils you gain today will be lost tomorrow. You cannot carry gold in to the Shadow with you.”

Kada stood near the sword. If he bent and reached forward he could take it, but it was close to the wizard who was hunched on all fours, with a puddle of dark liquid beneath him. It seemed too dark and thick to be blood.

Kada carefully bent to one knee. He stretched to reach the sword. Just as his fingers touched the warm metal of the silver hilt, the wizard’s head turned towards him.

Kada jumped to his feet, stepping backwards, but the wizard seemed to float to his feet faster than he could blink.

Naestrius was no taller than Kada and he had been left unscathed by the flames. A tear stretched in his black robe over his stomach, surrounded by wetness. The wizard was thin and frail with pasty white skin. His white hair had nearly all fallen out, leaving only a few wispy tufts. His thin lips clung to perfect rows of white teeth. Only sun-bleached skeletons every had teeth so white. His ears seemed a bit too large for his head. His nose was long and thin, and beneath his white brows were two black orbs for eyes; no pupils or sclera, just solid black.

Kada gasped. Those were the Night Eyes! A shudder went through his body. He knew he stared at something other than simply human. Was it a man or a monster or both?

Naestrius reached out a hand towards Kada. The long fingernails were like claws on the bony hand.

Kada tried to back away but he could not move. It wasn’t fear holding him there; it was magic! His body simply would not move!

“You come here to betray the last guardian of your world? Now you pay the price!” chided the wizard. He began chanting in the thick syllable language.

Kada felt a sharp pain in his head. Images and words flashed through his mind which he could not comprehend. He wanted to run away but he still could not move.

While still chanting, Naestrius broke into a fit of coughing. Blood dripped from his lips and covered his white teeth. He fell to the floor gasping.

Kada fell to the floor right after. The magic left his head aching. He watched the struggling wizard in horror.

Naestrius’ skin began to darken and turn gray. It turned darker and darker, until it was as black as night. Thin tendrils of dark vapor or smoke seemed to rise from his body. Kada had never seen such a thing! He had to get away!

The tower began to tremble.

Kada looked over his shoulder at the opening. The morning sun was still visible. Sand and silt poured in. The desert was rising! No! The tower was sinking beneath the desert again!

He lunged forward and grabbed the black blade and scrambled to his feet. He turned and stumbled across the floor. The blade was warm in his hand. So strangely warm.

“Pack-bearer, pull me outside!” Kajal ordered, barely audible over the rising roar of the tower. “I will heal quickly! It is not too late! Else the world is doomed!”

Kada met Kajal’s gaze as he neared the half-blocked opening. Both men knew he would not. Kajal shouted some curse at Kada which was drowned out by the thunderous roar. Kada was certain Kajal was no threat. Not now anyway.

Kada jumped onto the side of the opening as the sand poured in on him. He tried to pull himself through with one hand; clinging to the sword made his other hand useless. After his exhausted week in the desert, one hand was not enough, and he let go of the sword and grabbed the edge of the opening with both hands. His eyes and mouth were full of sand as he pulled himself out of the room. The opening sank below the desert before his foot was entirely clear; fortunately, only his sandal was torn away.

He fought a current of sweeping silt that tried to pull him towards the obsidian cylinder as it descended below the desert surface. He pushed his tired legs harder than he had ever tried before. But the sweeping tide grew stronger and he found it more difficult to move forward. As he took the last step forward that he could muster, he tripped on something; it was his pack. Blindly, he wrapped his arms around the extra weight as the stinging silt swept over him furiously, threatening to push him back to the tower.

The ground shook angrily and the tide of silt washed over him. He screamed in defiance while clinging to his pack. The silt managed to roll him and his pack three times before slowing. In moments, it was over and the desert fell silent again.

With little strength remaining, Kada stood in the now waist-deep silt. His throat and lungs burned as he coughed for breath. It took several minutes for him to rinse his eyes enough to see. With ringing ears, he coughed up more silt and saw that the desert was once again an endless expanse of white sand and silt. The yellow sun had risen higher in the hazy gray sky. There was no sign of tower, priest, or wizard. Or the sword.

He wanted to celebrate but was far too tired. He had survived that terrible ordeal, and even though he did not escape with the sword, he did have a nice stash of silver coins once he made it back. And, so far, it had only cost him one sandal.

He would have to find a shallow area of silt to rest until nightfall; the temperature was already rising. He hoped that the silt thinned once he moved farther away from the tower, because he wanted to at least sit down. He hated to think the entire desert had been stirred.

As Kada turned to face the east, the direction of the ship, he heard a faint voice. He spun, fearing Kajal had climbed from beneath the desert. It was like a whisper. He could not put a direction to it. It was as if the sound were in his head! He had to concentrate to hear it. It was such an odd sounding voice. It was the odd chanting that Naestrius had spoken to him! It grew louder in his mind and he saw images flash before his eyes once more. They came so quickly that he could not comprehend. He could not understand. His head began to ache worse than any hangover he had ever awoken to endure. It hurt worse and worse. He could not hold a thought.
The pain subsided. It was gone. And Kada sighed sweetly in relief.

He began walking southwest across the white desert, leaving his pack buried in loose silt. He knew the ship was still waiting somewhere on the eastern horizon, but his feet kept moving. He wanted to stop and rest, but he couldn't. His feet just kept moving. His arms would not listen. His mouth would not scream his frustration.

He was a prisoner in his own body. It would not stop. Only white powder stretched before him and he could only stare with unblinking eyes. Silt quickly blurred his vision and his lungs stung with dust that he could not cough out. He continued across the blazing white silt into the hazy horizon.