Lynn d'Vadalis I - Call of Silver

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SHE WAS PERFECTLY AWARE THAT SHE WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, but that had never prevented her from coming, her and Aideen. And most of the time, nobody found out about it. If they did, Artan d’Vadalis, her father and tierna of Merylsward, would pretend to grow angry, and uncle Kirrin would lecture them about the dangers of the wild. The effect of these sermons was to fan the girls’ appetite for adventure. Any punishment was merely making the game of not being found out more interesting.

Lynn was not too certain where ‘here’ was, either, except that it was deep within the forest of the Eldeen, and fairly close to the foothills of the fierce Icehorns. Wherever the thick canopy of the forest cleared, she could catch glimpses of its snow-covered peaks, bathed in the red light of the volcanoes, standing firm under the menacing clouds. Like the armies that, so people told her, fought far beyond the Eldeen border for the crown of a shattered kingdom.

Thinking of the nigh impenetrable barrier that shielded the Reaches from the terrible Demon Wastes beyond, Lynn began to hum the famous tune that she had learned to play on the great harp her father had given her for her tenth birthday, the melody of the epic saga of the Killing Frost. In her mind’s eye, she pictured the locations of the tale, scenes carved on the gables of the houses of her hometown, along with so many other myths that had arisen in the Eldeen Reaches, and which the Reachers still told at their fires.

She thought of the great frozen lake where Condon was killed by winter wolves and Branwen lost her hand, caught in the ice as the waters closed around her arms and forcing her friends to shield her from the ravenous creatures; of the deep ice cave where Carden had frozen to death, abandoning his blanket to his younger companions after part of their baggage had been lost in the climbing of a cliff of ice; of the camp where the vile shamans that had tried to sacrificed Aine to the dread winter they were trying to summon.

Perhaps, she told herself, this very area where she was now wandering had seen those heroes fulfil the three tasks set by the Uldras, in order to gain their assistance, the three tasks fulfilled by young Aine. The snow-fey had long since retreated, along with the unnatural winter that had reached as far as Merylsward, and still lingered in the colder climes of the mountains themselves. Yet the closeness of the Icehorns let her dream that she was following in the footsteps of the heroes of the Killing Frost.

The Children of Winter, rumours had it, were still trying to recreate that ritual which they had used to call the Killing Frost so many years back, long before there was ever a king in Thronehold or an empire to fight over. A fireside story, some called it, but more believed that it was true. The Children themselves spoke of a coming Age of Ice, and many amongst them were doing more than simply speaking and warning about it.

It must have been terrible, she thought. The forest around her had recovered well, so much so that it required all of her flourishing imagination to recognize this as the place of the Dread Winter, but it must have wrought much destruction. The winters she knew were cold, killing many animals and sometimes even men and women. They sent the wolves out of the forest, unable to find food anywhere else, and pitched them against the herders of her family.  

She liked the story, and even played out parts of it with her sister, whenever snow covered the hills around Merylsward, or when ice from the Frostfell floated down the Eldeen Bay in summer, close enough to be reached by swimming and providing an imposing scenery for such plays while the weather was not too unpleasant around them.

But the real thing would cause so much misery, so much death to trees and animals, to fey and men alike, that she could not understand how the Children of Winter could look forward to it. Of course, the Children’s faith was met with hostility in Merylsward, though the Ashbound were hated even more. She and her sister had determined with that seriousness of children that they would always stand against these perversions of the druidic faith, and protect their people from these sects; that they would become heroes of their own.  

So far, they had not become heroes. The adults did not let them have adventures, for all that the girls were trained with spear, dagger and sling, like all the Eldeen shepherds and rangers. And a fine spear and dagger she bore even now, both forged expertly from the craftsmen at Merylsward. No Cannith mass-production for her.

The girls had never been up in the Icehorns, however firmly they intended to visit for themselves once they were older and nobody could tell them to stay at home anymore, merely because they were only thirteen. Weren’t so many of the people from the fairy tales of that age, or even younger, when they had their greatest adventures? But unaccountably, none of the adults were inclined to accept that reasonable line of argument.

None of the adults could prevent them from using the fey portal, however. Not when they did not know about it. Apart from Lynn, and of course the fey, only Aideen shared the secret. Aideen knew everything her sister knew about, and Lynn knew everything Aideen knew about, as was perfectly natural amongst identical twins. They were identical twins, and not a soul in Merylward could tell them apart. They shared more than their flowing auburn hair and deer-like brown eyes. In a way that one only heard from in the old tales, they could feel each other’s pain and joy, as if their very souls could not be rend apart. Perhaps this was part of their fey being, much like their ability to turn invisible or shrug off all but the fiercest blows from any weapon not made from the cold-forged iron. Iron itself, of course, acted as a poison on the twins.

Wandering alone in the woods, beyond the portal hidden in the waterfall at the Huntsmen Caves, Lynn missed her sister. It was nice to be by herself, but somehow, being with Aideen was like being with herself. Unfortunately, Aideen had not been able to come along today. Corentin had wanted her to stay behind to revise her admittedly awful spelling in the common tongue. Not that Aideen would mind. Corentin was a handsome man, and Aideen would enjoy some time with him, although the young Aundairian would most likely fail to notice why exactly she was paying attention to him, and yet still kept making the same errors. Lynn shook her head, grinning. This extra lesson would most likely not do anything for Aideen’s spelling. She’d have to look into that later. Lynn had always been the better student, where her sister could read people so much better. That was Lynn's greatest failing: she held an endless trust for everyone she encountered.  

There was no real goal to her drifting, apart from enjoying nature around her. She certainly did not intend to hunt, despite the spear she carried. She preferred today to observe the animals, and take sketches of them, rather maim and kill them. She had never liked doing that, although it was sometimes necessary. She knew that one day, she would be able to talk to them, or soothe their worries, or even befriend them with the help of the mark that ran in her family. She was greatly looking forward to the day when she would finally develop that mark herself.

She had already observed a herd of deer, coming quite close without being noticed by them. She had been especially pleased when one of the deer had agreed to take some food from her, overcoming its fear. The stag had become nervous, though, and Lynn had retreated.

Then she had been to see Ilisi, bringing her the nut-honey the pixie adored so much, and they had spent quite some time talking together. Ilisi was always so interested in the lives of the humans, although she still refused to come and see for herself. Lynn and Aideen had spent many nights coming up with plans to convince her. They were sure that eventually, one of them would succeed.

Now, however, she was walking closer in the direction of the Icehorns, into reaches she had not yet explored. Her father would be angry if he ever found out. Or at least, he would pretend to be. He would certainly be worried. Deep down, Lynn knew he was not so wrong, and she felt somewhat guilty about causing him worries. But then, he only needed to worry if he found out she had been away: that thought brightened her up. She herself never worried too much. She was quite good with a spear and knew the ways of the wild. Of course, that might not save her from a hungry displacer beast.

But Lynn was sure that if she happened to encounter one, they could become friends. After all, Aifne had managed to do so with the horrid boar she was to be sacrificed to, having been sent into the woods where it made its lair with nothing on her body but her dragonmark. Yet she had come back with the boar to punish the evil druid who had wanted her out of the way.

“So why should I not come back with a displacer”, Lynn wondered. Oh, she would not tell it to punish anyone. If her father grew angry with her, she would still try to restrain her displacer. He meant well, after all, and he would not be angry for very long. He never was, not with his daughters. Everyone knew he adored them.

Perhaps not a displacer, though. They were too hard to pet and cuddle. One never knew where they really were. Perhaps she could find herself a dire bear, and ask her father to awaken it to true sentience. He did that sometimes with animals, using his own impressive mark to do so.

Lynn felt incredibly proud that her father had manifested a Siberys mark, although he looked weird, with all the glittering rows and bands criss-crossing over every part of his body. She did not think it would look good on her. Actually, she knew for certain it would not. They had painted one on Aideen once, and since she looked so much like Aideen that not even she herself could see any difference, she also knew that it would look horribly ugly on herself. It would probably make people stop saying that she was so pretty.

On the other hand, it might stop people from spreading the tale how her mother was not human, but had come from Thelanis. Lynn and Aideen were quite proud about that heritage, but her father was concerned, telling her not to reveal it to anyone outside Merylsward, where people had come to live in harmony with the fey. Apparently, there were those who did not think it was a good thing, amongst her kind of family, the heirs to the dragonmarks. Though it was better than if there was any real dragon blood in the line: legends told of one of the dragonmarked families being completely wiped out for such a reason. Besides, Lynn had seen pictures of dragons, and agreed that you didn’t want to have one of them in the family.

The fact was, though, that both she and Aideen were getting on remarkably well with the fey. The fey accepted them as their own, which was an adventure in itself. To participate in fey dances and learn fey songs, to wander the forests with pixies and swim with nymphs, and even to go to Thelanis… That had been another time when their father had been angry, although Lynn realised he was more afraid than angry. That was usually the case when he was angry, though, which is why Lynn could never be cross with him in return. He had been really worried when they were in Thelanis, though. They had only been there a few hours, and their satyr guide had even woven an enchantment for them to enable them to visit the plane better. It wasn’t their fault their father’s world had to rush ahead at a far faster time than the Faerie Court, and that it had advanced a couple of days already before they stepped back. Lynn pouted somewhat at the memory of what her kin, and nearly everyone in Merylsward had said. All of the community had been mobilised, and people did vent their tempers when they saw them coming back as if from an everyday ride. Being a daughter to the tierna did not protect you from being told off by others. Not in the Reaches.

Then, of course, there was the fey portal. Most people stepping through that waterfall in one of the Huntsmen Caves merely ended up in another cave just behind it, up to their ankles in freezing water. But if you knew how to sing or do music prettily, or dance, or if you happened to be a fey or even fey-blooded, the guardian could open the portal. In that case, one stepped through the waterfall to emerge at the bottom of a hill somewhere else in the forest, also out of a waterfall, and another guardian would open the way back if one wished to return. The disadvantage was, of course, that one ended up rather wet when one passed through that portal. There were such portals in legend. But nobody had ever heard of this one, their portal. Nobody could find them when they didn’t wish to. It won an amazing number of hide and seek games. The ram-horned guardian seemed quite entertained to play along and keep the portal closed from adults.

It just was not the same without Aideen, though. They were not together as much as they used to be when they were smaller, but even though Aideen had told her to go without her, primarily to give Ilisi her honey, this world belonged to the two of them.

Lynn shrugged. Maybe she could find something interesting to tell Aideen and tease her about her adventures, before promising to show her the next time. Possibly that could be a good bargain against Aideen learning how to spell correctly. She was not stupid, after all. Sometimes, Lynn suspected she was spelling things wrong on purpose, merely to be near Corentin longer.


By the position of the sun, she had been gone for two hours. She could still stay for a bit longer before anyone got the idea of looking for her. Her eyes fell on a pool, clear and pure, the sky reflected in it where it broke through the foliage of the small clearing.

She began to debate whether she should have a small bath, and swim a bit, stripping off her buckskin tunic and tartan breeches, the standard garments worn in the Eldeen Reaches, decorated with fine beads to show her status in the community and the colours of her family. Corentin had been rather shocked when the girls began to strip to take a bath in front of him, which had rather puzzled them in turn. Apparently, Aundair had some different customs regarding bathing, and their tutor had yet to overcome them. She continued musing whether it was worth stripping and taking a bath, and took a small branch that had fallen down to stir the water in the pond.

It was then that it happened. The ripples in the water suddenly fled apart as something uncannily like a flame flashed up in the water. A flame of pure silver. Of course, a normal flame could never exist under water. Mesmerised, Lynn stared at the pillar of fire that flickered calmly in the water.

There were people who claimed she was too intrepid and acted often before thinking, relying on her good luck and the kindness of the world. Maybe that was why she decided to try and reach her hand into the pool, and touch the flame, knees bent ready to leap away at the first indication of danger.

There was none, though. She pulled her hand out, some of the flames licking at her fingers, running over her hand like the water that fled from them, but there was no sensation of burning. She tried again, attempting to grasp the elusive flame.

It was then that she became aware of the danger. It did not come from the flame, but it was certainly very grave. It was almost as if the apparition was trying to tell her something, although the conversation was beyond words or even images, based on feelings.

She realised suddenly that whatever the apparition was, it seemed to look for something. As suddenly as that feeling had come, she realised it was satisfied. Instinctively, Lynn knew that she had been accepted by something which gave this kind of acceptance only to a very restricted number of people.

At the same time, she realised there was a question. Lynn knew it would be dangerous, that she might even die, or worse. She also knew that she was not forced to confront this danger, but that others might suffer if she didn’t. The warning and the question were there, undisguised, and although there was nothing concrete made evident, the true horror she would be facing, was put before her along with the question of whether she would accept it, to help others.

At first, she was taken aback. Even the mere impression of the horror that awaited her should she agree was far greater than anything she had ever encountered. And yet she could not refuse, could not hold back her help. She knew she could never stay aloof when anyone needed assistance, whatever the price.

“I’ll do it”, she said aloud to herself, trying to banish her fear, and at that moment, she felt her entire being filled by a strange warmth. There was no feeling of intrusion or of aggression, but rather of comfort and help and reward.

She also knew instinctively now where the danger lay. Cautiously, she moved further into the unknown part of the Reaches, concentrating fully on staying covert and being at one with the wild around her.

After a while, she finally saw the scene. In the middle of a clearing where the trees had been mutilated, hacked down with no respect for the proper order of nature, a small camp had been established. Slaughtered animals, male, female and small ones, lay around the tents, whole families that would never reproduce again, an irredeemable loss to nature. A blood-red banner with a blackened blade floated above the encampment.

Around it, men and women walked, if one could call them thus. Many warriors of the Eldeen fought with their upper bodies naked, to show their spite of the enemy, but they were not as completely scarred as these half-naked warriors. Some, quite obviously, were not even humans or half-orcs. A majority were, but here and there, someone had manifested small horns, claws, a strange colour of skin. Some even had tails, and she could see two who had wings protruding from their backs.

Their equipment showed them to be barbarians of the lowest sort, armed with some weapon with too many saw edges to be properly called a sword and spears closer to harpoons with their teeth set one above the other. They were weapons to cause pain and gaping wounds, she realised, not merely intended for a kill. A number carried bows and arrows in quivers slung on their backs, their fletching red and black. Few seemed to bother with any kind of armour, though some had donned helmets set with horns all around their lower rim, and those who did wear armour wore tanned hide more patched together than properly crafted.

If many had disparate non-human features, one man, standing taller than all the others by a fair few heads, had all of these attributes combined, save the wings. He had fiery red, almost orange skin and no hair on his head. In return, there were plenty of black tufts on his back. He wore a scale skirt that seemed to have been carved from bone, and wore two of the wicked-looking swords dangling from it.

More impressive than even he, however, was a finer, smaller figure enthroned in the shade of the largest tent. Lean, muscular and entirely covered in black fur, the creature had the head of a black panther, and was clad in armour that would have put the most decadent officer in legendary Cyre to shame.

Lynn had heard of these creatures in ancient legends, of the rakshasa and the hordes of the Demonwastes, and of the prophecies that warned of them invading the Reaches. A new feeling – the force that had joined with her – seemed to confirm this, lending its weight to her assessment, and she knew that she could never let these people establish themselves here.

That was where her plans stopped, however, because at that moment, she heard a noise behind her. She turned around from where she had lain down on her belly to overlook the camp, and stared at two harpoons levelled at her chest, and into cruel eyes set in faces with skin too rough to be human.

She found herself thrown to the ground with such force that she felt for a moment unable to breathe. At least her captors had released her arms which they had twisted behind her back as they had forced her towards the camp, almost dislocating them. Stubborn as she was, even that did not prevent her from struggling against their hold.

It took her short moments to clear the panic that had accompanied the momentary failure of her lungs to draw any air. She stood up gingerly, assessing that apart from some minor marks from her attacker’s hands and from the fall itself, she was apparently unhurt.

She had merely made it to one knee when she felt the shadow over her, and the final daze cleared her head.

“Arshei tres’hir, cirmogul ersagar.”

The words were meaningless to her, even if the chitinous creature that had captured her was articulating clearly, despite its rasping voice. They still stood behind her, she noticed out of the corner of her eye. But others of the camp had drawn closer to witness the scene.

Many of them had a look in their eyes that made her very uneasy. It was not so much the lust and evil in their eyes that scared her. What was so terrible about them was that each single pair of eyes betrayed an utter lack of anything even approaching sanity. Theirs was not madness of a raving lunatic, but the fearless and compassionless insanity of a calculating criminal. There is nothing quite as intimidating as a madman able to reason.

Some licked their lips, or snarled, baring teeth sharpened to wicked points. All seemed to eye her as a cat was eyeing a mouse, with a mixture of cruelty and curiosity.

That description applied most of all to the rakshasa standing in front of her, black fur lustrous and an armour such as the ancient kings of Galifar may have worn, and a cruel fire burning in his eyes that put the worst descriptions of the legends to shame.

“Nerh mis, terhiar.” The creature’s voice was soft as a purr, but never had she heard such cruelty in a voice. Plainly, the words had been a dismissal. The two men, for lack of a better word, bowed deeply, and withdrew to the border of the irregular semi-circle that had formed around her. Slit cat-eyes observed her with a smile that showed a mocking friendliness.

“Welcome,” he purred at her in a perfectly accented common tongue, bowing with equally perfect courtesy. “Let me offer you the hospitality of the Razor Wind. We may not have the same customs as you in extending our welcome, but we can assure our guests a very special treatment.

“I am Cirmogul, your conqueror and overlord”, he announced casually, sitting down on a campaign chair draped with black silk. “And you have the honour to be my first captive on this campaign. If you behave, you can even be my personal slave. But for now, my soldiers had a tiring trip over the Icehorns, so I should give to them the honour of introducing you to your new life.”

A look at the expression of the men told her all she needed to know about what that implied. She felt revulsion rising in her, but decided to keep her mouth shut. It was a difficult feat for her; but she had to admit to herself that she was not sure enough her voice wouldn’t break when she tried to say something defiant.

“But before you get to know my men better, we would learn something about you,” the rakshasa’s voice remained threateningly friendly. “You have not told us your name, or your origin so we can come and visit you in turn. Nor to what we owe the pleasure of your visit.”

The young girl refused to answer his smile, merely staring as stubbornly at him as she could manage. She was certainly not about to mention her name and origin to this creature, she told herself sullenly. “Enlighten me, my lady d’Vadalis”, the zakya grinned at his prisoner. The girl’s eyes widened in shock at seeing her name spoken by the lips of the fiend. “Or may I call you Lynn, as we will get to know each other quite closely? Good. Tell me then, Lynn, is it customary in Merylsward not to speak to your hosts?”

She drew in a deep breath, her thoughts raging inside her like a hurricane. How did he know her name, her origin? What were his designs on her hometown? What else did he know? Did he know about her sister, too? Would he threaten her with her own sister?

“Perhaps I should speak to Aideen. Do you think she will be more polite than you? More eager to get to know us? But do not trouble yourself, Lynn. I will be sure to have her found. It would be cruel to part twins, would it not?”

She merely gaped at him in terror. Could the creature read her thoughts? She had been fairly strong so far, but his mention of Aideen caused the fear her rebellious streak had refused her for herself. She was almost ready to surrender herself in exchange for the fiend’s promise to spare her sister.

His grin intensified. “Besides, you could help me with a question I have pondered for a while. I have heard that twins are more deeply hurt by their sibling’s pain then by their own. You are an inquisitive girl yourself, so you will not begrudge me trying to find an answer. However, you might get exhausted at some point, despite your strange origins. Yes, I know you have fey blood in your veins”, his gaze turned to one of mock concern. “Oh, hush, I will not tell anyone about that, of course. People might get the wrong idea, and we wouldn’t want you to have to leave your family. Yet even with blood of the fey, you will be glad when your sister joins you. My soldiers can be terribly thorough when they include other people in their amusements, and sometimes do not quite understand that their guests might have other limits. At least, having your sister here would enable you to relay each other without being impolite, and take turns enjoying the sight of the merriment and the participating in it.”

Revulsion and fear were suddenly replaced by desperate anger at that threat. Her mind could show her all too clearly what the fiend had in store for them. She had been born when Zarantyr went over into Olarune, being born with the tempestuous nature of the storm month and the protective one of Olarune. She used both parts of her wilful nature now to fuel her resistance, concentrating on shutting the fiend out.

For a moment, she saw his mask of friendliness fall into a wicked snarl. During that weakness, she reached instinctively for something to help her.

Dim light flared around her, silver as the shine of the moon, and she flung it at the fiend with determination. Strength of character and purity of heart gave her power. But she was untrained. The magic dissipated, no more than brushing the fiend. He brushed off some singed hair, and pursed his lips in mockery. “How cute. You have found a new friend? Didn’t your father tell you not to play with fire? But then, he did tell you not to go out on your own either, did he not, because who knows what you might encounter here in the wilds. You are fortunate that we found you. You could have found all manners of dangerous creatures roaming these woods, quite apart from ineffective little fires.”

“I hope some of those creatures will eat you and your dregs!” she screamed at him, but was met only by laughter from the fiend. His minions drew back in shock. Nobody had yelled at their master before. They were used to his cruelty, however, and to his reactions to merely failing to bow to him. Each one flinched at the very thought of speaking with Lord Cirmogul on that tone.

“Now, now, little Lynn”, the fiend smiled, “that is something very bad to wish for people who merely want to help you. But we are very understanding. You are afraid. You are alone in the woods. But we will bring you back. We can escort you home. We will reach your family in no time. You’ll show us the way, won’t you? I am sure you can convince the guardian at the crossroads to let us pass. We would be very much upset if you did not.”

He grinned again, savouring her expression. She gave him the coy look she always took with her father and other people when they tried to be angry with her. It involved letting her head droop, but looking up at them through her lashes. She tapped into her fey heritage, reaching out and embracing him with it. It never failed to make people stop being wroth with her.

The fiend leaned back, and raised his hands, as if to wave his troops away. He felt sorry for her state, somehow, wanted to help her really. Then he exploded in laughter. “You have some spirit, my little girl”, he purred. “That will make it all much more interesting for my bored men. Charm me, would you? As if we weren’t friends already.”

The young girl hissed in frustration. The attempt had cost her a lot of energy, and she had been so certain she had managed to hide it. For a moment, she even felt as though it could succeed. She felt briefly dizzy, unused to expanding this degree of magical energy, as deeply ingrained as it was in her blood.

“You like magic, my friend”, the fiend continued. “Let me demonstrate a different spell to you. Let me show you how you would see your future. Our joint future…” His smile froze into a cruel threat as he chanted eerie syllables, entering her mind much deeper than as if she was merely hearing them. He began weaving his claws in the air as if beckoning something out of her mind, all the time mumbling his words and looking at her as though he was stripping everything she had bare. She resisted, nearly fought it off.

Then the clearing around her changed. With a gasp, Lynn recognised the great hall of Merylshall, the enclave burnt to the ground and Cirmogul enthroned at the centre of the High Table where her father used to sit. With the walls broken, the lustrous wood black with soot, she could see the smoke and fires raging through Merylsward below.

Impaled bodies writhed all around the massive ramparts, and the screams of those who had managed to survive this far echoed through the streets of the town as some pillage continued. Before the rakshasa one of the serving plates of the hall bore the head of her father, and in front of the dais, a haggle of barbarians surrounded her sister.

Lynn began shaking with terror, admonishments that this must be a trick only a whisper in her mind. Scene after scene of torture and pillage, of destruction and murder succeed themselves before her, a powerless witness unable to intervene. She closed her eyes, but the visions stayed, utterly disconnected from her eyes. She could hear the whooping of the barbarians who were obviously able to see them too.

She could not escape the visions, so she focused on them, turning fear to hatred. The panic subsided into more supportable fear, and through the visions she could glance the rakshasa looking smugly down at her. Then the fear vanished completely, repulsed by anger.

She tried to get up from her knees, her hands digging into the smooth ground. Dust. Ash. She kept her face hidden as she grasped some of the dirt that lay on the ground. Then she leapt up and flung it full into the fiend’s face.

She had not expected to hurt him, but she did get what she hoped for. Surprised, the fiend’s concentration wavered. The images dispersed like fog in the wind. The few instants it took for everyone to understand what happened and overcome their surprise, was enough. Fey heritage rose up, without words or gestures, in an effort of pure will. In a blink, she had vanished from the circle of barbarians.

To the frustration of all those who were supposed to watch over them, the fey twins had early discovered how to turn themselves invisible. They could not keep it up long, or even call on the power at will like a pixie, but it was enough to allow them to spy on others, get where they weren’t allowed, and simply play pranks. Now, it would save her life.

She wove herself silently through the invaders, who stood too stunned to react. She had reached the end of the clearing before anyone thought about giving a command.

“Iern’ ihn!” The fiend’s order came sharp and furious, his gaze murderous. A dozen of his troops were afraid enough of him to overcome their surprise, and cast around for the fugitive. Snarling, they stooped around looking for signs of passage, for any sound of movement. One heavily scared man began to weave another spell, then looked around with eyes as red as blood.

“Alach ihn!” he pointed, and a hail of arrows followed his finger. Cursing, Lynn felt the crudely forged weapons thud into the trees beyond her, and bounce off her skin. They’re not iron, she grinned to herself, already triumphing. It was another perk of their heritage. Anything not made from cold-forged iron had some difficulties injuring the girls. Much to the regret of some of the cats and dogs who did not want to have someone play with them.  

“Sarh trei uwer”, their platoon leader spat, looking around and pointing to the ground. The trackers began to pick out her spoor. They followed it competently enough, far away from the camp. With only the shaman able to see her, it was a frustrating chase. After a while, one of the scouts stood puzzled.

“Sarh merch reither…,” he said, uneasily, puzzled by what he had found. “U’khervhar.” Lynn was already too far away to know that they had found the place where she had turned. She had made an arc to go, as their scout had guessed, back to the camp. The scout leader swore in his vile tongue, and the barbarians charged back along the new track.

They slowed down as they reached its outskirts, scanning the area carefully. Then, suddenly, one of them yelled and pointed. Out of an overgrown bush, a silver line had appeared, a spear blazing with silvery fire. The barbarians stood open-mouthed as they followed its trail.

At it’s end stood their fiendish leader.

The creature staggered back under the impact, howling in pain and fury. Black blood began to  stench its fur where the spear had entered, and Lynn thought she saw steam rising from its wound. The fiend clawed at the spear with its inverted hands, fixing its gaze on the now-revealed thrower with a burning hatred that promised terrible retribution. Screaming curses, the rakshasa went down to its knees. Its eyes flickered briefly, then the creature went still as it toppled forward.

Lynn was too carried on the wave of her excitement to give much thought to such a threat. The shocked silence that followed was almost as terrible as the prospects of murder she had witnessed through the rakshasa’s hands. For that interminable moment where she was too stunned to run, and the barbarians were too shocked to take up the pursuit. Everyone was staring at the fallen fiend. Both sides were trying to come to terms with the situation, and figure out what would happen now.

Then, suddenly, the spell was broken as a fierce war-cry was yelled, and some of the barbarians came running at her. Attacking the fiend had dispelled the invisibility. Wincing, the young girl turned and fled into the deep forest, her feet agile as she avoided roots and undergrowth, swift as a deer running from a pack of wolves. A hissing sound in the air betrayed an arrow, which soon thudded into a tree only a few scant inches from her. Two more followed, but she ignored them, trusting in her heritage to protect her from any that might hit.

She could not remember when she had last ran that fast, pushing herself to such an exertion. She eventually risked a look back over her shoulder. At least a dozen of the barbarians were in hot pursuit, but only three anywhere close. Stay calm, lass, she told herself. One barbarian, howling his battlecry and waving a wicked sword in circles above his head, was making straight for her. She could see the madness in his eyes, the foam at his mouth as he drew closer, then turned forward again to run.

Concentrate. You’ve managed this easily when Father taught you, she admonished herself, stretching her arms from her as she took a wild leap into the air. As her feet left the ground, they changed, toes growing into powerful talons. At the same time, her arms grew feathers, and soon an eagle soared where a girl had been. She let out a triumphant screech, taking joy in the flight and the knowledge that she would escape the barbarians. To fly was exhilarating, not only because it helped her escape her pursuers. It was the freest form of movement, and Lynn gave in to the wildness of her new form. Another volley of arrows followed her, missing her entirely or else bouncing off her feathers. Lynn felt like laughing, but the eagle-form did not know how to.

Then fiery flame blossomed in her wing, She somehow managed to summon the strength not to faint, feeling the blackness reach for her for but a short moment, a mere heartbeat, but terrible enough. The pursuing barbarians whooped in triumph as the eagle lost height and finally crashed in a heap of leaves, before turning into a girl again. An arrow had pierced her arm, and she gingerly touched its point with her hands. She blinked away tears of pain and cursed the madman for having somehow gotten his hands on a cold-iron weapon. At least the point had gone straight through. Had cold iron become embedded in her flesh, she'd be helpless, disconnected from the powers of the fey that alone could help her now.

There was no time to reflect on this, however, as the nearest barbarian came stumbling at her. She mouthed a quick prayer, reaching out to the forest around her, and soon her pursuer fell down, tripped by the suddenly hostile plants. But he was too close, and reached out to her. Pain shot up her leg. The man had a wicked dagger, and had buried it in her calf. Cold iron again, she noticed, and then realised that nobody would invade the reaches without at least some weapons to fend off the fey. It had been only a matter of time before some of the barbarians came to their own conclusions as to why their weapons were not hurting her.

She went down with a yelp, and  desperately kicked at the barbarian who was pulling at her leg as if he was hauling in a catch of fish by a rope. She landed a solid blow with an unfortunately soft shoe in his face. She had never been able to stand hard footwear, uncommon enough amongst the Eldeen. The barbarian seemed unimpressed, and continued determinedly to haul in his prey. He pulled her calf towards him by the dagger that was still caught inside, then her knee, finally her thigh. Instinct took over as panic drowned out her rational mind. Without realising it, she pulled her own dagger just in time before the barbarian was on her. He pulled himself on her, locking her legs under his and pinning her on the ground. His bones dug deep into her legs, and she was nearly overwhelmed by the man’s stink of sweat and filth.

The barbarian was now almost lying on top of her, slowly overcoming her wild struggles. He leered at her, his dirt-crusted nails tearing at her neck, latching on to the upper rim of her tunic. She felt the marks of his claws cut to the blood. He must have used a spell, she realised, to turn his claws into weapons that could tear through her resistant skin. Then she dug her own dagger into his exposed flank. She might not have bothered. The barbarian did not even seem to feel the pain as the bladed weapon tore into his reins, although he let go of her garment and banged her head down against the ground once. She nearly let her dagger slip under the shock that followed the impact, but thankfully managed to keep her grip, grinding her teeth. The man began to claw at her, tearing at her face, her neck and chest, disregarding his dagger for more beastly forms of attack. The tunic began to shred.

With a grin of utter madness, he leaned down to dig his sharpened teeth where neck joined shoulder. She could feel his tongue in the wound at her neck as he licked her blood, his body pressing against hers uncomfortably. Panicked, she pummelled his back with her fist. She brought her dagger into his back and then spent some efforts grabbing it back again. The man did not seem interested in her attacks. When he raised his torso again, he was grinning to show his victim her own blood running between his sharpened teeth. At least he flinched when she pushed her free fingers into his eyes, and both of his hands went up to cover his face. He was momentarily unable to see.

Then the snarl froze on his face. His body jerked and gave a brief spasm, before going limp. His eyes turned an odd, cast-over white. Lynn gasped for breath, leaving the dagger in the man’s temple. Shaking with exhaustion, she somehow struggled free of the barbarian’s dead weight, ignoring her own pain, and crawled away on the leafy ground. She reached a nearby tree, and pulled herself up. Renewed burning pain shot through her leg where the man’s dagger still stuck firm, burning stronger than any normal wound should.

Fighting back tears from the pain, she nearly went down again as an unexplainable weakness shot through her, the world around her beginning to swirl and become foggy. Poison, she realised with terror. They were using poisoned weapons. She pulled herself behind a tree, enjoying the cover it provided. She felt her injured leg go weak, limp even as the paralysing effect of the substance too hold. She gingerly tried to pull the dagger out, but it was more saw than blade, and she nearly lost consciousness through the faint tug. But as yet, she was not willing to give in. At least she managed to remove the arrow in her arm, by snapping off the shaft. It hurt, hurt like Khyber, but nothing compared to the fear that was gripping her. She chanced a glance behind her tree, spotting another pursuer.

With a last burst of despair, she tried to weave another spell, but it dissipated like mist in a breeze. The cold iron dagger was responsible for that. With a wince, she ran on again. She limped, and stumbled much more now, panting for breath but unable to stop running. She felt her blood flowing away, and every step shot unimaginable, searing pain through her injured leg. She did not see where she was running, did not even think about the portal. The poison crept up further and further. Breathing became difficult, and the forest before her eyes began to fade in and out of focus. She was vaguely aware that she was splashing through a fallow pond somewhere, then reached dry ground before she fell down in some clearing. There was some kind of animal nearby, she realised. Something with hooves. But that was not important now. She tried to get up, and failed, her arms and legs unable to support her any longer. With a final curse, she stayed down and waited for the inevitable. She may even have begun to cry.  

Then there was movement, yells of surprise, fierce neighs and an authoritative and warm voice saying something she was too tired to understand. Arrows thudded through the air, and hooves trampled in a stampede. Men cried in pain and terror. She realised there was a battle being fought above her, although she was too numbed to make out who were the participants. All that mattered was that they left her in peace for now.

“That was very brave of you.” Through the haze that clouded her eyes, she looked up to see who had spoken in the sylvan tongue. “Even if not very wise”. She first saw the hooves, tufts of hair hanging over them, and followed her gaze upwards. A horse stood above her, its gold-speckled eyes friendly, and a straight, spiralling horn rising from its forehead. More of the creatures stood back amongst the trees.

“You are a… unicorn”, she whispered. She had heard of them, of course, but never had she seen one, let alone an entire grace of them. She was almost certain that neither had anyone else she knew, not even her father, who had seen most creatures.

Fascinated, she stretched out a weak hand to try and touch the creature’s pelt and pet it, but failed and slumped back to the ground.

“And you are a maiden”, the unicorn observed, cheekily. “I can adopt you, should you want. My name is Fiontán.”

She managed to raise her head enough to smile at him, amused by his manner. The evil had been forgotten already. “Fiontán. Pleasure. I’m Lynn. Yes, I’d like to be your friend.” Then her mind clouded over, and she lost consciousness.

When she came to, she found that she felt much stronger, and that the pain had gone.

She was still dirty, her clothes were torn and hung in rags on one side, but she was not wounded anymore. The dagger had been removed from her leg, and with it, the iron-curse. Even the poison seemed to have dissipated. A unicorn’s horn had healing powers, as long as they were willingly given, she recalled. She considered that, trying to stand up. Her head was still dizzy and turning, but she managed a few tentative steps towards Fiontán.

"Thank you", she muttered, still in a daze.

The unicorn was alone in the glade now, apart from the bodies of a good dozen barbarians with wounds that she recognised as having been caused by equine hooves. Such injuries happened from time to time in Merylsward, and she was familiar enough with them. Others had gaping wounds that must have come from a goring horn. Yet others seemed to have gone down with fire or strangled by plants.

“They have gone on now,” Fiontán told her from where he knelt. “Far into the forest. I stayed to look after you. Someone in the Court loves you, it would seem. They believe someone needs to look after you, in case you wonder how I got here. ”

He looked at her and turned his eyes upwards. “Not that you’d do. You’re accepting all the good that happens to you just as it is, and ignore the bad, don’t you? Guess he was right you need someone to take care of you. But there’s more, you know. There’s some strength in you too. I’m feeling some power that has led us together, not just… him. I hope you can tell me what this is about, eventually. And I can tell you about unicorns. Stay pure and good of heart, and you’ll be my rider. Might even stop aging much. Though we should let you grow up, don’t you think? But for now, maybe you want to return home. Your family must be missing you, so you should not just stand there as if you were paralysed, hhm?” Fiontán looked at her, chewing some grass. His gaze was somewhat teasing, yet deeply friendly and good-natured at the same time. When after a while, she still had not moved, he finally observed: “the poison is gone, after all.”



“I…” she began, but stopped. She yearned to see Aideen and her father again, even if her father was going to be cross. At least she knew he loved her, and that she would feel safe with him. She wiped back a tear with the back of her hand at the idea of seeing them again after this adventure. Then she shook her head with stubborn determination.

“No. That giant cat-fiend is dead, but there’s more of his barbarians around. We must save the woods from them first. I cannot just go back to my family yet,” she threw her arms around the unicorn in a search for comfort “You will help me, won’t you?” she pleaded.

“Hhm,” the unicorn mumbled calmly, showing no attempt to get up. “And we’ll charge straight into them. You can just hit them with your fists until they give in. There can’t be that many of them, really. Two score, maybe a few more. But the two of us can do that, surely. Piece of cake.”

Lynn blushed fiercely with embarrassment. She was carefree and idealistic, but not stupid. “You’re right”, she muttered. “We’d never make it past their camp guard. But we can’t just sit here or go home and just pretend they are not here, leaving them to attack anyone around here”, her voice took up enough speed to turn over itself, as she always did when she was too excited. “There’s the fey. And your kin. They’re in danger. We must warn them! We must call our warriors to arms!”

“The flower of the youth of the Eldeen are fighting at the edge of the forest against the armies who march under the banner of the Dragonhawk,” Fiontán reminded her. “Your militia may keep you safe from bandits or from those druids for whom your villages and farms are an offense to nature. But would you send them to confront a tribe of war-tempered fiendbloods?”

Lynn opened her mouth to protest. Surely, nobody could withstand the men and women of Merylsward. And the beasts of Vadalis. The frost-breathing winter-wolves from north; the sharp-beaked hippogriffs, the symbol of her house; the fierce owlbears! But then she remembered Cirmogul’s illusions, of Merylward cast low and its people defeated. “But we have to warn them!” she told the unicorn.

“Yes. And we will. Or at least, I will. As for you, … think, young maiden fair. Who is there in this area who is trained at fighting this type of enemy? Who should have prevented them from making it to our sacred woods in the first place?”

Lynn stood up, wandering around lost in thought. Fiontán merely looked at her, his gaze pensive, waiting for her to come to a conclusion.

“The Ghost Guardians”, Lynn suddenly said, her face beaming and eyes glistening with that excitement that made her relatives sigh in anticipation. “The legends say that they fight the fiends. We’ve once had one of their men in Merylsward. Sort of. One of the go-betweens, really.”

She laughed and clapped her hands in excitement, doing a little dancing twirl. But then her face fell slack and she let herself fall to the ground again. “But they’re too far away. At the edge of the forest, into the canyons. Even if you run faster than a magebred, we cannot make it in less than a month. And our magebreds run very fast,” she added proudly.

Fiontán still looked calm. “We can be there before the moons have risen to their zenith,” he told her. “Get up.”

He stood up and shook himself, then eyed her critically. “You can ride without a saddle and bridle, can’t you? I’m sorry I won’t have any of those. I’m not a horse, after all.”



Hope rekindled, Lynn leapt on his back, and Fiontán began a trot and then gallop. Trees flew past in a blur but Lynn wondered whether they were going all that fast. Mist seemed to be rising, and she could see almost nothing beyond the trees they were passing, but it did not feel faster than a gallop on a race horse. The area, however seemed eerily unreal, yet also familiar.

“A fey road?” she asked. The fey portal from Merylsward was mostly wet and seemed to be several yards of waterfall thundering down on those who crossed, but the feel was the same. The water of the fey fall was as half-real as the mist and the ghostly forest here.

“Somewhat like that”, the Fiontán confirmed. “Lesson one: we unicorns can slip through our own forest quite easily, from one edge to the next. But we won’t get that fast out of it, or back in again.”

The unicorn briefly looked back at her, seeing the fire in her eyes. “Dear me. Do I understand this correctly now? You want to visit large stretches of the forest too far away from your home for a normal ride. And way too far for what your father would consider prudent.”

She bent down and gave him a kiss on the head. Her hair trailing in the wind, her eyes looked particularly mischievous. Fiontán sighed. “Ah well. If it gives you some pleasure, you just tell me where to go. At any rate. Here we are.”

The forest ended before them in a stretch of dead trees. Life itself seemed to have bled from the area, leaving a pale, gloomy expanse, void of the smells and sounds of the forest. The only birds singing here, if you could call their disharmonious cries thus, were the crows that circled overhead, their cawing as fateful as the cry of the banshee.

“Stories are”, Fiontán commented dryly, “this was how the world looked in the First Age. Cheerful thought, isn’t it, that we could return to that.”

“I’ve been told it is even worse on the other side of the mountains,” Lynn shuddered, as theatrically as all her motions where, though they managed to look perfectly natural and not artificial in any way. “Let’s find the labyrinth and see if we can find these Ghost Guardians”

“Oh, I’m sure they will find us”, Fiontán remarked.


They rode through the dead forest until nightfall, drawing ever closer to the foreboding mountains. She had never been this close to them, Lynn realised with a shudder. She could not tell whether it came from apprehension or excitement. Maybe both, as the feeling one got when listening to one of the frightening stories Artan, her father, told so well.

“Always be careful what you wish for. You might get it”, Fiontán remarked drily. Lynn smirked. Only about an hour ago, she had longed to see the mountains.

They passed into the foothills, then found a narrow slit in the rocky face that loomed up before them. Just broad enough for the unicorn to pass, it looked ideal for an ambush. In one of the books she had read, there was an illustrating copperprint showing where the heroes were ambushed. It was almost as though the artist had painted this very spot. The girl winced. Fortunately, nobody else here had read that book, though. She was almost disappointed there was not a single soul around.

They passed through numerous corridors. High cliffs looming on both sides, hundreds of feet up. Other passages branched off every so often. The name of the Labyrinth had not been given to this place on a whim. Or was it that they called mazes elsewhere labyrinth because this place had been called that before? She could not remember, but anyway was too spell-bound by the splendidly dangerous look of the area to concentrate much on that.

Suddenly, the gap widened as a waterfall thundered down from the high mountains. Here and there, sounds of what she guessed were animals reached them, although she could not identify them. She suddenly felt a brief wish that she still had her spear, or at least her dagger, small though it was. What hero went around without their weapons, anyway? But that foreboding fled before her curiosity again. She strained her eyes to see what animals lived here. Maybe her father would be less angry with her if she found a new species she could bring home for her house. There were bound to be some interesting creatures living here.

A volley of arrows whistled through the air. Lynn ducked instinctively, Fiontán rearing in surprise, nearly throwing her, but she was a good rider. Even without a saddle and reins, she managed to stay on. The missiles passed high above, and with a thud, a huge panther bounced down the cliffs to land at their feat, arrows embedded in its body and the life already gone from its eyes.

She glanced down at the animal in surprise. It was far too large for any feline she had seen so far, but even for its size the teeth were too long, protruding like swords. Its lifeless eyes were a fierce red, and a ridge of jagged spikes seemed to run along its spine. Something about it looked like pure evil.

She looked down at it from Fiontán’s back. “I wonder how it eats with those”, she said in the serious tone she always had when something eluded her, and she would not stop until she found out. It usually turned out to be trivial things, as Fiontán pointed out to her.

“It doesn’t anymore, dear. It’s got arrows sticking out of it. Comes from being shot at by archers, you know. Like those hiding in the canyon-walls above us.”



“Stand still.” The order came in strangely accented Eldeen from somewhere behind the boulders that dotted the cliff face. “You stand on cursed ground. You may proceed no farther into this place of evil, and you may not leave to spread its taint. I offer you a choice: commit your lives to the service of Kalok Shash and the holy calling of the Maruk Ghaash’kala, or die where you stand.”  That last part was enunciated as if the speaker had learned it by heart. He was an orc, clad in leather armour of an unfamiliar cut, and jumping down from the cliffs like a gazelle. A longsword was strapped to his back, and his tusks shone in the moonlight. They were imposing: she’d seen less dangerous ones on wild boars. A strange symbol, like a three-tongued flame shone on his heavy brow. He eyed them warily, keeping his distance.

“We… we come to seek your help, sir”, she ventured eying the barbarian warily. “I am Lynn,” she smiled, then remembered what her father told her about asserting herself and taking her due position in dealings with strangers. “Heir of House Vadalis”, she added, more determinedly and trying to sit erect. “I come from the Reaches. A fiend was establishing a camp there with his army. I killed him, but I cannot fight all his men, so we came to you to…”

“You killed a fiend?” the Orc did not even hide his incredulity. His accent was difficult to make out, but she got his meaning. “You are young,” he observed to Lynn, with a mixture of suspicion and concern. “But Marlaan says you are not disguised.”

Lynn’s timidity fled before her anger. She would not be snubbed by some Mighty Ghost Orc or whatever these people called themselves, as if she was a mere child. She was thirteen, after all, and she had killed that fiend. “Yes, I killed a fiend,” she told him her eyes were blazing with childish indignation. “I don’t know how this Cirmogul fellow managed to get over the mountains, but instead of treating me like I’m some child you’d better help us. That’s what you are here for, isn’t it?”

The orc’s eyes had narrowed at the name of Cirmogul, and he took a step backwards. So, he recognised that name. Which meant the fiend was someone important. That should probably worry her, something in the back of her mind told her, but there was no time for that now. She was still too angry to worry about having yelled at a men who had several archers hidden all around them.

Fortunately, the orc merely laughed softly. It was not an unsympathetic laugh, though, quite unlike that of the fiend. “You have spirit”, he grinned at her, beating his fist on his heart with a thump. She could see a symbol similar to that on his forehead was branded on his hands.

“Yeah, so Cirmogul told me too”, she grumbled at him.

He laughed. “You tell Marlaan. If you speak true, you are welcome here.”

Whoever Marlaan was, she thought, she’d tell him alright. She’d make him help them. At least the orc was giving her the benefit of doubt, which made her feel less petulant and exasperated. It had been a long day, and she now felt somewhat guilty for having yelled at the orc. After all, she would not have believed a rider who told her she had just fought a fiend. Well, she would have believed it if she had wanted to. But it was still wrong to yell at him. She was just too tired to react well.



 “She speaks true.” The orc who had revealed himself to be some kind of spellcaster told his companions. He was speaking in the language of the Orcs which Lynn could not understand. She had learned at home how to say easy things such as ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’, but that was as far as it went.

Despite the man’s calm voice, it was clear that he was rather angry. It would have been much easier had the girl merely lied. He glanced at her where she was sitting on a small rock and eating some of the thick bread they carried as travel rations. The way she ate, it must have been some time since she last had anything. He tore his gaze away, scolding himself. She had fought a rakshasa and carrion barbarians. She would need some food now, and some rest too.

“What do we do?” the orc who had met them in the canyon asked the other orc, the spellcaster, whom he called Marlaan.

“Return to Maruk Dar as fast as we can, and take her with us even if she sleeps, tell shar’malaan and kizshmit. Then get our warriors ready and eliminate what remains of Cirmogul’s army before he reforms. Oh, and give this girl some real food and some rest. She is exhausted, and there is only so much healing magic can do.”