*Please note this is still a draft version of the manuscript. The Final draft may have some changes and additional edits.

. . .

Chapter One – The Twins

The first epoch of dragons was that of Primaestria, who reigned for 10,349 years upon the newly forged Dragon Throne. Hers was referred to as the Great Awakening, as she performed the mediation of the Gods.

The Divine Winds rewarded Primaestria with gemstones of power and placed them upon her head in a crown. Primaestria was crowned with stewardship of all the powers of Pri. Each Wind infused a singular gemstone with his or her virtue. Each stone was then Pricrafted into a crown of power for the new Dragon King. Borreas placed a great diamond in the center, Serenas chose a sapphire, Zephyrus instilled a ruby, Eureas an emerald, Messias chose aquamarine, Appelia a pearl, Notos set a tiny black opal, Argestes posited a deep topaz, and Lippelio set an amethyst.

Primaestria and her successors were appointed to use the crown to rule all life, to maintain the balance of creation, and to oversee the forces of Pri. Henceforth, the dragons ruled over the land and seas in wisdom and justice, ministering the power of the elements in measure and balance.

. . .

In the year 5795 of Palladium, a strange scent stirred upon the Wind. Oraless, seer and leader of the forest clan of the Wolffolk raised his wet, black nose to sniff the air. Warm sunlight contrasted with the cool wind that brushed through the thick grey fur of his wolf pelt, rustling the pure white ring of fur that encircled his neck and tipped his tail. From his station upon the Elder Throne that laid on the granite outcropping high above the Deepwood Valley, he could easily smell all of the scents that swept through the forest.

The pines were strong on that crisp, autumn morning, their needles sensing the approaching winter and storing the waning sunlight. Brown aspen leaves smelled earthy and sweet as they crunched underfoot on the forest floor.

Oraless closed his eyes to focus on the uneasy Winds. They swirled and mixed from various directions, making the reading difficult. The immense wolf could smell the large stag bedding cautiously on the ridge to the west. He could also smell the family of hares in the thicket by the stream. His tongue flicked out unconsciously at the thought of food, but his conscious mind put aside the temptation. Oraless could also smell the other Wolffolk of the clan waiting for him in the dens and dwellings below. The odors of their anticipation and worry smelt strongly as they looked to the ancient rock where Oraless sat. But none of these were the scents for which he searched.

Clearing his mind of the familiar, Oraless felt his senses sharpen, his mind focus. He waited. He searched the air with patience and openness. Sifting through the swirling elements and particles, looking, listening to the winds.

Then… there. There it was. Something unfamiliar was riding the gentle wind. It was very faint, like the smallest wisp of a cloud in an endless blue sky. He had smelled this elusive odor several times this autumn. It was the odor of change. Something was shifting in the Nine Winds.

The scent was too faint to pinpoint at first. He breathed it in for many minutes until he had gathered enough of the scent particles to better interpret it. Then suddenly he understood the confusion. There were actually two scents on the Wind. Very close, very similar. It was the same blood, but also different. It was… siblings. That was the answer he sought. A brother and sister. Litter mates. That was why their scents were difficult to separate. As he read the scents and their stories on the wind, he understood that these two were a key to the unfolding tale borne upon the Winds. He must follow these scents. It was his role, his ancestral calling. It was his duty.

Suddenly, a shift of the Winds. There was something else that caught in his attuned senses. Something foul this time, something ominous. Oraless wrinkled his nose in distaste. His ears laid back and his mane bristled. There was something unnatural at work. The smell was oily and smoky, mixed with rotten flesh and waste. The smoky smell was not like the burning smell of a cleansing forest fire or a pleasant odor of a human cooking fire. This was something deliberate and dark. Something destructive.

Oraless leapt from his perch, barking orders sharply to the retinue of large wolfs and human assistants around the throne. It was time to move, and quickly. They could already be too late. The ancient key hung around his neck bounced wildly as he bounded down the hill and into his den.

Inside, Oraless’ human Hand, Merel, waited with his armor, ready to move. With smooth and practiced efficiency, Merel began strapping the thick leathers and crafted alloy plates around his large chest. Resting on his haunches, Oraless looked the standing girl straight in the eye as she bound the clean, unbreakable, alloy helm over the crest of his head. She scratched his ears as she adjusted the straps. She smelled of deep admiration for the old wolf. The thin human girl had only seen sixteen summers, yet she was fiercely strong and deftly capable. She had been training as a Hand of the Wolffolk since she arose from the four-legged walk of her infancy. Deep red hair bound loosely back with a leather tie framed her freckled, narrow face. She was clad in the leather skins and traditional alloy plates and bone adornments of the Hands. The leathers were close fitting and allowed for quick and easy movement. Merel also smelled of keen anticipation. She loved long journeys and new adventure. As it turned out, she was about to get one.

“You are my true Hand, Merel,” Oraless barked and growled in gentle tones as he admired the work of his fittings. “Your mother would have great honor.” His tongue lolled out awkwardly as he pronounced the words. His human language was intelligible, but rough and difficult. “The Winds have chosen well.”

Merel smiled at him and snapped the razor sharp blades into the alloy gauntlet of his front limbs. She twisted the locks with expert fingers, flexing the retractable blades to test the joints. Then she slapped a thin blade into the scabbard at her own side. She uttered no words, but her scent gave off a pleasant response to his compliment. She smelled curious. Oraless was not one for frequent praise or flattery. Another smell… worry. Did Merel also sense the danger he had smelled?

“Let’s run.” He growled.

***

Down in the lowlands under the Crestfall, a misty stillness settled into the valley like a creeping spider. Emerald’s breath came in short, quick breaths betraying the fear crawling up her spine and bristling at the base of her neck. Each breath revealed a small cloud that slowly rose in the icy air before dissipating into the straggled array of black branches above her head.

Cloaked in a mantle of dark clouds, the grey sky above the empty branches dimmed universally, the sun having dipped unseen below the rim of the Crest some half hour past. Darkness would come quickly now down in the valley. The battle would be soon. She could sense it. These desert raiders always preferred the misty cloak of twilight. Either way, they had no choice. They were now trapped against the cliffs. The only way out was back through Emerald and her companions.

Closing her eyelids over her emerald green pupils, Emerald calmed her breathing and tried to listen for any sound beyond those of her nearby friends. They were also trying to breathe as silently as possible, but Emerald’s keen ears could make them out.

She tuned out the sounds nearby and tried to extend her senses across the field. Her enemies were out there in the trees. She knew they were. They had tracked this group of thieves through the Crestwood for almost a week now. This was an elusive bunch that had not run back into the desert as previous bands of thieves had done. They had chosen instead to flee into the Crestwood. Now they were trapped. It did not make sense. That made her fear. She liked to understand things, to figure it out.

Opening her eyes again she moved a strand of her dark hair that had worked its way out of her long braid in order to see those hiding with her behind the clumps of trees and brush that scattered the sloping hillside. Several of the warriors were holding short bows similar to hers. The slender, powerful weapon felt natural in her hand. The full quiver buckled at her back felt like a clinging child of one of the highland tribes of the western wing. It brought her great comfort to feel the full quiver. 

Inside that quiver rested her array of precious babes. She had hand-crafted each arrow with care and precision. She loved them. She hated to loose them, but she would find good homes for them if needed.  She would tuck each little babe perfectly into the hearts of her foes. This simple, though agreeably morbid, visualization trick had disciplined her aim to perfection. That and the focus she could achieve by eliminating all distractions and concentrating on her target.

Her mother had taught her the mental control in her youth. “Quiet the pond,” her mother had said when Emerald had difficulty concentrating. It was a simple game of imagining her mind as a pond. Thoughts and distractions caused ripples and waves. She was in the middle of the pond on a flat thin raft. Those waves would topple her. Yet if she was still and empty, she could bring the surface of the pond to a mirror sheen of calm. In that quiet center was the power of Serenas. Here lay the power to do things of unnatural ability. It was the power to exist in the quiet moment of the present with no ripples of past or future.

The game had come easily to Emerald. As a result she had gained true excellence with a bow. The bow was a mental weapon. Emerald had found that from the calm perch of serenity upon her pond, she could find any target with perfection.

Such skill did not come all at once. It had taken her from the time that she first stole her uncle’s bow at the age of ten and started practicing in secret out behind the barns. Now, with seven years of training her mind and aim, combined with endless practice, she had already won every bow tournament in the Crestfall. Few now existed in the whole realm who could match her shot for shot. She hoped to prove it soon at the Pri Trials in the capital city of Doronica. Come spring she would make the journey and earn her spot among the Pri-masters.

And, she thought, it was not just target shooting either. Sure, she could hit any motionless target she desired. But her aim was also trued by years of hunting and more important to her situation now, in battle. It was an entirely different game of focus to calm the pond when fear gripped your breath, targets shifted in swirling confusion and foes hacked at your arms with knives or swords. Maintaining inner calm in such times was difficult. These raiding escapades and attacks from the tribes of desert dwellers had given her that.

As she looked around, Emerald could see a group of warriors hiding together in a small gully bearing swords that glinted softly. That would be the Band of the Blade. The Blade was the Wing’s elite sword fighters. The Wing was the main army of Doron based down in the capital city of Doronica. But due to the vast size of the kingdom, Doronica relied on smaller, locally controlled bands to secure the borderlands and to deal with occasional troubles. Horse raiding parties of thieves from the Zor Horan counted as official trouble.

Adding to the trouble was the fact that this party had been especially cruel. Not content to steal livestock, these Horan thieves had burned two cabins and killed the Crestfall families inside. They were getting bolder. This had to be dealt with. The jolt of anger tilted Emerald’s raft of calm. She took a deep breath to resettle it.

Snap.

The harsh, crisp sound of the broken branch reverberated across the dark hillside like a sudden needle prick sending ripples of pain. Emerald instinctively turned toward the sound, cleared the ripples from her mind, brought the bowstring release to her cheek, and loosed all in a single instantaneous motion. An instant later and her little babe found its rest.

Yet the result was not right. Instead of a human scream of pain, the sound she heard was an inhuman noise. A gurgling, scratchy scream shattered the empty void of misty silence.

Emerald froze. Her inner raft lilted and she felt herself tipping. That was not the sound she had expected. This was a new sound, something she had never heard before. The fear that had been crawling up her neck all evening now seized her mind with vicious force. The fear crashed at her pond with wild waves. Her instincts screamed at her. They were in trouble here. Her brother, her friends were going to die. She realized the truth with cold certainty. She looked for Jade, but he was now gone from sight. This was a trap.

The trap’s catch now released, suddenly a dozen dark forms emerged snarling from the mist. It was hard to make them out in the misty twilight, but once thing was very clear. These forms were not humans. These were not the regular desert raiders they had been tracking.

Whatever they were, they were vicious and snarling. They charged forward with gruesome weapons of chiseled metal and rock. The black creatures were much larger than humans. They were also very powerful, breaking through the scattered brush and bramble with ease.

Emerald suddenly recalled the rumors and tales coming in from the west desert of black, unnatural creatures made of rock and metal. Yet no one had actually seen anything. She had assumed the tales were just the latest rumors meant to frighten children and to liven up the tavern fireside. Emerald raised another arrow and loosed it into a dark form. Another sharp and course scream pierced the grey night. That sound did not come from a rumor. She watched as the target she struck continued on with little or no affect from the arrow. She loosed another, then a third. All shots were true, yet other than a scream of anger, the thing just kept coming.

Emerald looked at the dark creatures as they came into closer view within the fading light. There did not seem to be any sense or reason to how the creatures were formed. From her quick and frantic glimpses at the various attackers she could only see random, ugly shapes that sometimes took a resemblance to familiar creatures. She caught site of what looked to be a misshapen ram’s head on the body of an upright bear. But it wasn’t a bear, it was a large creature much more blackened and contorted, with metal spikes protruding right through the creature’s hide in random decoration. The power that had been in charge of the formation of the beast was either very lacking in creativity, or sickly gifted. As they approached closer still, Emerald saw the things had glowing fire agates for eyes. Many more wicked horns and spikes pierced their rock encrusted hides. Her arrows stuck in those hides, but seemed to do very little in terms of actual harm or stopping power.

Emerald heard a sharp noise of cheers and turned. With a sudden burst of flashing brilliance, Jade’s band of footmen erupted from cover directly into the front line of black forms. Emerald cringed at the impact and panicked as the black creatures plowed right through Jade’s warriors with apparent ease.

Finding enough focus, Emerald touched one arrow fletch to her cheekbone, then another releasing the two shafts in blurring succession. One fell into the glowing eye of the charging black form of the creature looking something like a big stone bear. The second fell squarely into its chest right in between the metal spikes protruding there.

To Emerald’s surprise, the creature fell screaming hoarsely in what looked like pain and scratched at the arrow in its eye, trying to dig out the arrowhead. It ignored the one in its chest, but the eye shot was very effective. Emerald watched as the glowing eye went dim, then dark. The creature slowly petrified into a stony statue of torment and horror.

Lesson learned, Emerald frantically looked for Jade. She found him in the midst of several dark forms. He became a whirl of motion as the sword emerged from its scabbard in a smooth motion and started to dance into the dark creatures. Jade had learned his own game of focus. Yet it seemed to be in the antithesis of stillness. Jade’s power lay in the fluidity of movement. Emerald was entranced for a moment as she watched Jade moving easily between the black creatures with all the grace and motion of the famed ice dancers of Carvella.

In the brief moments that Emerald watched Jade, two of the creatures were already relieved of their spiked arms, the limbs falling as rocks to the forest floor. A third monster reached for Jade with its clawed fingers but snatched only a wisp of mist as Jade ducked and rolled to the side. With a twisting strike of his flashing sword, the clawed hand fell to the ground as well.

Jade turned to face a wicked beast in the rough form of a charred werewolf in front of him. But as he prepared to attack, a black creature that had the look of something like a bullfrog toad with curled metal horns reared up behind him. It had fallen in the initial attack, but had clearly faked injury. As it stood, Jade did not see or hear the frog-like beast, his focus so intent on the werewolf. With an ugly, huge smile revealing its jagged metal teeth, the frog’s chiseled rock blade arced toward Jade’s back with incredible speed. But the deathly blow never fell. Instead, an arrow sprouted from the arm as it swung, veering the blow off its intended course by a few inches. It was enough. As Jade felt the wind of the blade passing by his shoulder he instinctively flinched and countered with a twisting slice through the frog’s neck.

The froggish creature coughed up a fountain of black, sick smelling fluid, but it did not go down. Then an arrow sprouted from its eye and it hardened slowly into an immovable mass.

Bowstring still vibrating next to Emerald’s wrist, she breathed a quick sigh and blew her loose hair out of the way, then released two more arrows at the eyes of the werewolf horror still attacking at Jade’s front. The small eyes posed a very difficult challenge for the best of archers. Luckily, the faint red glow made it easier to target them. As the creature stiffened, Jade paused his dance and looked to Emerald.

“The eyes!” she yelled pointing at her own eyes for emphasis.

Jade nodded his understanding and dived back into the fray with the rest of his Band. Was he actually enjoying this?

Then suddenly, with a sharp whisper and a splintering chunk, an arrow imbedded into the tree trunk a few inches from Emerald’s face. Confused, she looked around to see if one of her own archers had misfired. Then a shout of pain rang out among Jade’s Blade fighters and one of the men went down holding his thigh. Another went down holding his neck. Whispering swishes sliced through the air all across the hillside and more painful shouts rang out.

Jade crouched in a defensive position and looked around in confusion catching Emerald’s eyes for a third time. His wry smile had now vanished, startled concern quickly etched into his strong features. He was now realizing what Emerald’s instincts had already told her.

This was all a set up.

The horse raiding party had been sent to draw off the town’s fighters and to leave the city vulnerable. Fear turning to panic, Emerald darted forward again only to jerk back behind another tree as a second volley of arrows whistled from above. A couple more shouts of pain erupted in the battleground. Not as many were caught by the arrows this time. Most of Emerald’s companions were now taking cover. But hiding from arrows above and dodging black blows at the same time was not an easy task. Emerald searched quickly for Jade again, but he was blocked from view by another thick patch of alder brush. She could still hear though, and it sounded like a tremendous struggle was going on. She had to get over there, and quickly.

Mastering her rippling fears as the third volley of arrows thudded into the damp ground and moisture blackened trunks, Emerald dashed out toward the sounds of the fight. With her bow rendered ineffective at this close range, she slung it over her shoulder and drew two long daggers.

She rounded the brush and saw Jade’s Band fighting furiously, surrounded by at least fifteen of the sickly beasts. They were just too many. As she looked wider, another dozen were coming down out of the trees. Arrows sprouted from their course hides, but they had little effect. How convenient that the hidden archers could rain down arrows with little fear of hitting their own. Nothing is fair in battle, she thought grimly.

She raised her daggers as she sprinted, looking for a muscle or tendon in the leg of one of the black forms. Though her daggers were not swords, they were razor sharp. A well-placed blow might not kill the large beast, but she could still render a leg useless with a skilled strike.

Then suddenly, her foot caught on a blackened root, and she tripped. She went down hard twisting instinctively away from the shoulder hosting her bow and plowing her other shoulder and head hard into the mossy earth and rocks. She came up spitting dark soil from her mouth. She tucked quickly into a defensive squat, but her daggers were gone, dropped in her headlong sprawl.

She looked back at the root that had tripped her. It was not like her to be so clumsy. The dark coil moved. It was not a root after all. Instead, the tendril was connected to a long snakelike creature that now coiled up for a strike, its fiery rock eyes flaring with the anticipation of a kill.

Emerald rolled to the side to evade the strike and bumped right into the leg of the creature she had originally meant to slice. The large, raptor-like head looked down at her and the creature snatched up her foot with a rocky grip. The snake creature waited for another strike as it watched its prey lifted off the ground by an ankle.

Emerald twisted and writhed, but the grip only tightened and with searing pain she heard a crunching sound from her foot. Frantic, Emerald looked around. It was so dark now it was difficult to see anything. The pain from her leg washed over her and she thought she might black out. This was it for her. A deathblow was sure to be coming any moment from the creature or the snake. She tried to focus. She wanted to see it, but her head swam in pain. She wanted to face her death and not hide from it. That was important. Her mother would have wanted her to be brave.

As she looked from her upside down vantage, she thought she saw a dark shadow slip past the leg of the beast. It looked… like a wolf wearing formal battle armor. That was very strange. What would a wolf like that be doing here in this battle? She must have already been slipping into the dark bliss of death. Maybe the wolf was to be her escort. She had heard the mystics in town tell stories of wolves coming to escort one into the death realm.

But the shadowy wolf did not stop to collect her. Instead she saw the glint of metal and the flash of a blade. It ran by with incredible speed shifting its course to strike the leg of the black creature with vicious force as it passed.

The beast screeched in sharp pain and released its grip on Emerald’s foot. She dropped six feet to the ground landing hard. There was a brief flash in her vision as she hit. This time Emerald felt her bow snap as she landed squarely on it, its woody shaft bruising harshly into her ribs. She rolled away and came up crouching on her good foot. Pain flashed hotly as she assessed the enemy. She saw that the wolf had neatly finished the job she had set out to do in the first place. The monster’s knee showed a wicked gash and severed black tendons. As it lost its footing and it came crashing down. Emerald had the sense to roll out of its way.

Emerald twisted around to face the snake creature waiting for her, knowing she was now easy prey with her inability to move well or even fight. Pain clouded her thoughts and she had trouble seeing or focusing. But in facing the snake, she saw that two more of the shadowy wolf forms were busy keeping it at bay. The snake struck at one, but the wolf easily darted away, the other nipping fiercely at its tail. Confused by the dual attacks, the snake tried to retreat. But the first of the wolves launched a lightning fast attack at its head. Blades flashed out from its front limbs and the head went slack, fiery eyes winking out. Its body thrashed wildly into the brush.

As Emerald looked around and saw more wolves, she also realized the arrows had stopped raining down. She felt strangely numb and warm. That was odd to her. It was too cold to feel so warm. And even though it wasn’t raining, her head felt wet and something warm trickled down her face and cheeks. She tried again to focus, but things were blurring in and out. The pond in her head was now rocking out of control. She saw shapes still moving, swords still flashing. She thought she heard Jade’s voice shouting. A thought from far away told her she still needed to get to him, to help him. Emerald watched in wonder as the flashing lights from swords morphed into sparkling little stars dancing in a black sea of darkness.  She thought of the battle, the town of her youth under attack, her brother. She saw her mother, the long brown braid, the flashing green eyes, the stern look of disapproval. The darkness of that black sea was filling everything, closing in from the edges to drown out her raft, her vision, her life.

“I am so sorry mother,” she said.

When the darkness reached the center of her vision, all went black.

Chapter Two – Wolf Hands

Segunternnius sat second upon the dragon throne and ruled over the second great epoch of dragons for 9,920 years. He reigned over the long winter of sadness, then rose up to oversee the Dissemination of Wisdom and chronicled all sentience in the world. Segunternnius chronicled all sentient and pre-sentient races in the world.

First of all races were the faeries of the south who loved fun, sought wisdom, and remained independent. Second, the elves of the wood, were noted for a passion for peace and scholarship. Next, the great harts of the ancient forest were chronicled with their love of life and respect for all creatures. Finally, the dolphins of the deep impressed the dragons with their mastery of language and love.

Mankind and the wolves were chronicled as hopeful races and dragons were assigned to watch over them. Not to interfere, but to observe and chronicle their progress.

The dragons saw in man a power that was new and strange. It contrasted that of the dragons and was named, Ul. Passed on in their blood, Ul stirred the humans to fight and seek dominance, but remained untamed and subtle.

. . .

Jade saw the jagged, hawkish form lift Emerald by the foot and he panicked.

“NO!” he screamed, reaching for her. But she was a good twenty paces away and blocked by three more of the black beasts. His pale green eyes flashing, face hardening like granite, Jade sounded a charge and rushed the group of black forms, alone.

Then sharply he was knocked to his back by a blurring form of fur and flashing metal. Even as he bounded back up, a deep, gravelly voice spoke in the darkness, “foolish, even for one with your skill, boy.”

Jade spun toward the sound, but a shape blurred by him with several other similar forms. It looked like… an enormous wolf. With the failing light of the late twilight, Jade could make out several wolf forms clad in armor and flashing weapons strapped to their fore limbs. They were fast, lightning fast.

The wolves attacked the creatures with snarls and flashing metal. Blades whipped out from fittings on their limbs and tore through the rough hides of the K’hu hu. The wolves maneuvered the blades with incredible smoothness hitting the creatures in the perfect zones of weakness. Joints and tendons split and screeching howls went up through the still air. As the creatures lost footing with weakened legs, the wolves pounced in for killing blows. They went straight for the eyes. They too, had figured out the firestones were the source of power for the ugly things.

Remembering Emerald, Jade spun back towards her and his heart sunk like a hot stone in snow as he saw the limp, dead form slumped unmoving near the brush. He was at her side in several quick leaps.

“Em,” he stammered. “Em, by the Nine Winds, don’t die on me here. Not now.” He felt frantically for a pulse and found one at her throat, faint and weak. He leaned in to hear a hoarse breath and finally let out his own. He then began quickly assessing for wounds.

Her right lower leg was smashed and her ankle twisted into an unnatural bend. Jade did not worry so much about that. It could be set. She also had some broken ribs. He winced in sympathy. He knew how those felt. But it was the large gap pulsing blood near the crown of her head that made him suck in his breath once more.

He reached into a pouch at his belt pulling free some clean bandages and pressed them firmly to the wound. Unable to see in the darkness, he reached for Emerald’s gemstone necklace and pulled it free. Then he pulled off his own. He cracked the two gems together, conscious of the attention he might draw to himself. The gems flared into a bright burst of cool light, illuminating the fallen girl. He looked around for signs of serious trouble. A huge wolf darted by, growling. The wolves were fighting on his side. He would have to trust them for now. The wolves were fighting on his side. The thought caught in his mind. Why were the wolves fighting, and here? Why were they so far from their territories deep in the mountains? “Focus Jade,” he whispered to himself. “Your sister needs you.”

Holding the glowing rocks close to Emerald’s head, he examined the cut. It was deep and bleeding severely. But that was only blood on the outside of the wound. What about the blood inside? If she were bleeding inside her skull, she would die. He wiped away blood to try and see other signs of trauma near the injury. But her dark hair matted with coagulating blood made it impossible to see. He needed clean water. He shouted at her loudly, “Em… Em, can you hear me?”

She did not respond.

He lifted her eyelid and flashed a bright stone across her field of view. The dilated pupil flexed in response to the light, her vivid, green iris sparkling. That was a good response. It gave him some hope.

Suddenly a slim hand appeared within the sphere of light, touching Jade’s hand holding the bandages to the wound. Jade started sharply in surprise, his heart leaping. He had not heard a sound. The hand was a girl’s hand. Slender, strong fingers with faint freckles removed the bandages and poured a clear fluid over the deep gash in Emerald’s head. The wound fizzled and the blood immediately slowed.

Jade’s eyes followed the fingers up to an arm, likewise slender, yet strong. There was a tight gauntlet of overlapping metal segments and bone workings covering a tight fitting leather shirt. Tracking his eyes still upward, he saw dark red hair thick and wild with the sweat and the indication of intense work framed a slender face that was at once young and innocent, yet also wise and knowing. A thin strap of leather was tied around her head to contain her jumbled, red hair. Jade could see small gemstones and bones had been carefully woven into her wavy, red curls. Her dark eyes were focused on him in a cautious, yet commanding glare.

“A gemmer? Rare in one so young.” The girl said looking at the two glowing gemstones that Jade was holding. Then she looked to Emerald. “She will live,” she said in a calm and reassuring voice. She had a strange accent to Jade. “I can take over from here. Go and help where you are needed.”

“You…You’re a Hand…” Jade sputtered. “You are a Hand of the Wolffolk. What..? How..? Why..?” He could not make a cohesive question come out.

The corner of her mouth quirked up slightly.

“That is correct, young valleyboy,” she replied. “My name is Merel. I am the Hand of Oraless, leader of the Wolffolk, Prophet and Seer to the Nine Winds.” Her tone was formal and her native accent distinct. “I can attend to this woman. I see you care deeply for her. I will not let her die. I think you should go now and help clean up this mess out there.” She waved a hand out toward the battlefield. The sounds of fighting were waning and moving further away. But there were still shouts, snarls, and unnerving screams.

Merel grabbed his hand and squeezed, “Boy! I have this here. Now put that light out and Go!” She gave him a firm push and his brain reengaged with a slight shaking of his head. He rose looking down at his hand where she had squeezed, flexing his fingers absently.

“I am Jade Stoneblest,” he pronounced looking back into her face and her eyes. Those deep, brown, beautiful eyes, he noted. “This is my sister Emerald Stonewind. We are twins.”

He winced at the stupidity of the statement. This girl did not need to know that. Then he suddenly remembered his Band and those counting on his leadership. He felt suddenly weak and insignificant. What were they thinking making a boy the leader of the Band? Look where that choice had led. He turned again to Merel, his eyes suddenly tired.

“Um, thank you for coming here. Thank you for your help.” Then he clicked the stones again to douse them, jumped up and bounded off towards the sounds of the thrashing battle.

After dispatching one more of the ugly creatures with three tiresome, dancing slices to its face and eyes, all that was left for Jade to do was to roam the field thrusting his sword into the eyes of still thrashing forms of the fallen enemy. The battle was over. The carnage was done. As he went, he looked for any wounded members of his band, counted the dead and gathered any fallen swords or arrows he could retrieve.

He passed two more fallen Band members with their dead eyes already staring before reaching a third who was injured. A large, fat, K’hu hu had fallen on the man’s leg pinning him to the ground. Jade rushed to his side, making sure with a solid blade stroke that the black monster was truly dead. He laid his small collection of weapons in the black mud near the man.

As he scraped away the dirt on the man’s face, Jade recognized Larion, the battle scarred old Blade that had been fiercely loyal to Jade even despite his youth and inexperience.

 “Hey boy. Did you see them wolves?” Larion asked coughing a few times. “In all my years, I have never seen the wolffolk warriors. Now…” he coughed again, “suddenly here they are, and just in time. I thought at first they were spirits of the Nine come to claim me.”

“Be quiet sir,” Jade instructed. “I’ve got to get you free of this thing.” Jade looked at how the beast was positioned, then crouched low putting his shoulders and back under the side of the beast. He gagged at the stench, almost vomiting. He breathed for a short moment squatting under the massive weight then held his breath and flexed his legs. His muscles bulged with steely definition, and veins popped in his neck. He felt the rough hide and crude metal spikes pressing into his armor, scratching the back of his neck. Clenching his fists so tightly that the two gems he still clutched cut into his palm, he heaved. Slowly, ever so slowly, the mass began lifting. Straining with all his might, he had raised it nearly two inches when Larion finally wrenched his leg out with a cry of pain.

Jade let the stony mass sink back into the mud then knelt to inspect the damage to Larion’s leg, panting heavily.

“Quite a lift, young man. You’ve got some strength in you,” the older warrior said.

Jade brushed off the comment with a shake of his head. “It’s badly crushed sir, but no cuts,” he declared over the leg. “You will need help moving. I’ll be back for you in a minute.” Just as he rose, another of those leather and bone clad Hands came into view. This was a man. The Hand also had reddish brown hair though his was cropped short. He wore an expression of curiosity.

Jade held up his hand in a gesture of friendship. “He is not bleeding, but his leg is crushed. Can you help him while I look for others?”

“I will help him,” the man said calmly with that same unfamiliar accent Merel had used. “Do not worry for the others. The Hands are already helping all those who survived. We are gathering all down in the hollow by the stream to dress wounds and regroup. You’d do best to head down there yourself.”

“Uh, thanks,” Jade replied still breathing hard from the lift. “So, why are you here?”

“That is for the wolves to say. We are the hands, they are the heads. We craft and follow wisdom. Go down to the hollow and you may find some answers.”

Jade had heard about the Wolffolk clans of the deep forest from fireside tales in his youth. He remembered far-fetched stories about wolves that were enormous and brilliantly smart, and about tribes of humans that lived in symbiosis with them doing the labor that only pairs of opposable thumbs allowed. These humans called themselves ‘Hands’ of the wolves. Like it was some great honor. Well so much for far-fetched stories. He was now in one of those stories himself.

He thought of Emerald and the girl who had come to help her. Merel. Now, that girl was interesting. She had a rugged beauty about her. Somehow, she seemed a little too strong willed to be the slave of some big bad wolf. But what did he know? He supposed he agreed with Larion. It was very strange to see the Hands and the Wolves suddenly here in the valley. What was the world coming to? What were those stoned Winds stirring up?

Jade quickly located the wooded hollow from the light of several small cook fires already started. He jogged the two bow spans to the small stream and moved into the light of the fires. Wolf Hands and Jade’s own Band Brothers were bringing in the stragglers from the battle. Merel was there with Emerald. Emerald was still unconscious, but the head wound was now cleaned and covered. Merel was working to set Emerald’s leg with a couple willow branches and leather ties.

Jade took quick stock of the situation and did a head count. This was something he was good at. From his count in the field, he knew that his Band of one hundred and fifty Blades had lost at about fifteen men. He saw that one hundred were still at least standing and mobile. He counted nineteen of Emerald’s twenty archers. They had fared better. They usually did given they fought at a distance.

The Hands were everywhere, tending to the wounded. He quickly estimated around fifty of them. But where were these fabled wolves they served? He wanted to get a good look at them as well. He had only seen glimpses and blurred motion during the fight. How many of the wolves were there? Were they just passing through or did they mean to stay? Was this coincidence or Wind driven providence? The difference, in his mind, was merely a matter of perspective. Divine Winds or random chance? Or maybe something else, something planned? Were the wolves here on a mission? Where they responding to the rumors of war?

He wrestled his roaming thoughts to focus on the town of Crestfall. If this was a trap to lead the warriors out of the village, what did that mean for the defenseless people he had left behind? He did not want to imagine what could happening down in the town without the help of the Band. What those creatures could be doing to the innocent town folk.

He spotted the girl Merel on her way back to the fire. He stopped her with an awkward flourish of his hands. “Uh, sorry Merel, but where are the wolves? I need to speak to them.”
The girl looked at him with interest, still seeming to assess him in some way. “They are chasing down the human enemies who got away. Also, they did not wish to create fear for your people nor be in the way where there is Hand-work to do.” The girl reached up one of her hands to touch a cloth to his neck. To his surprise the rag came away red. His own hand shot up to his neck and he winced in pain.

“May I take a look at that?” Merel asked in her plain and gentle tone.

“It’s just a scratch,” Jade replied with a shrug.

The girl was unconvinced, “In recent days, I have seen both man and wolf fall dead from ‘scratches’ made by these creatures. They are often coated in poisons and filth to make any wounds fester and rot. Now, if you please?” She motioned with a gesture for him to sit down.

“There is no time,” Jade responded firmly. “Wait, you have fought these creatures before? What are they? Where did they come from? I must prepare to defend our town…”

Jade had no chance to react. The girl swept out her leg catching his legs in a moment of unbalance as he pointed wildly in the direction of the town. She cleanly knocked both legs out from under him. As he fell, she brought her arms up and expertly twisted him over so he landed flatly on his stomach with an “ummph.” Two of his soldiers near by flinched at the sound, hands going to swords. When they saw what happened, they relaxed, chuckled and turned back to their own wounds. Stunned, Jade lay in the moss, his neck smarting.

“This will sting,” Merel said in calm tones.

Blinding pain seared through Jade’s neck and his whole body stiffened with the shock.

“Yes, definitely infected,” Merel said in flat authority. The pain eased then turned slowly into a burning sensation. As he waited for the pain to subside, the girl started dressing a bandage over the medicated ointment she had applied. Her slender fingers felt cool and actually very pleasant as they gently touched his neck working the cloth roll around expertly. He felt himself relaxing. Even her knee in the small of his back holding him down felt somewhat pleasurable and reassuring as if it has been placed deliberately on calculated nerve endings to stimulate relaxation.

Jade reached his hand up to touch the bandage and his fingers met Merel’s. Her skin was soft, warm. Jade was suddenly very aware of the feel of her body sitting atop his own. Her hand jerked away quickly. The pressure left as she gracefully stood up.

“Can I move now?” Jade asked spitting some moss from his teeth. There was no response so he rolled and came up smoothly, this time in a battle posture with his balance set.

Merel stood a pace away with that same small quirk in her mouth, almost like she was trying not to laugh. She continued assessing him with that calm gaze of her deep brown eyes. Jade noticed now just how beautiful those eyes were. He felt himself blushing, but held the gaze.

Merel’s eye flicked to the woods behind Jade. Her smirk instantly vanished and she said flatly, “My Lord wishes to speak with you now.” With the slightest of gestures she indicated a direction behind him. Jade turned to follow her signal and saw a large, wolf-like shadow just outside the ring of firelight.

“Lord?” he asked dumbly, but when he turned back Merel was already gone. He scanned the hollow quickly and spotted her already back near the fire retrieving bandages with tongs from a boiling water pot.

Jade was suddenly very nervous. Whether it was the medicine working or his nerves, he felt new prickles of sweat break out across his back and arms.

He turned back to the woods. The large shape did not move. It may have existed only as a figment of his imagination, if he had not already seen the wolves in person, fighting that night. He began moving cautiously toward the form. As he approached, he estimated that the wolf was about as tall as himself even sitting, as it was, on its haunches. The old stories had told how the wolffolk were large, massive canine creatures, and Jade found it very intimidating to see one in real life. Finding his courage and remembering his position as a leader he squared his shoulders and marched out of the light toward the wolf.

As Jade approached the motionless wolf, he noticed at once the incredibly fine workmanship of the wolf’s armor. Even though it was soiled in places with black, stinking fluids from battle, he could tell it was very fine. It fit the enormous wolf perfectly. It was thick leather with plates of a very fine, and apparently very hard alloy. It had to be Pri Crafted. That said something even more about the Hands. If they had crafted this, they had skills. The alloy plates had a faint golden tint from the firelight of the hollow. Jade could see a design patterned into the plates, but the light was too dim to make it out.

The wolf’s head was fitted with a helm of the same alloy. It had a band that ran down the length of his snout terminating close to his nose. Two half moon plates of worked metal also wrapped around the cheeks and back to merge with plates on its neck. Around the thick neck of the wolf was a polished metal chain holding a single silvery key.

Thick grey fur bristled out from places on its neck and its ears emerged from the metal helm and swiveled toward Jade. Pure gold eyes regarded Jade with patience. Its nostrils twitched as it read Jade’s scent.

“Um, sir, wolf, sir…” Jade stammered. “I am Jade, um, leader of this Band. I appreciate your timely intervention. But now I must ask your intentions so I can plan how to help my village.”

The great wolf was silent for a moment regarding Jade and forcing him to feel very uncomfortable in the long moments of the silence. Finally the wolf spoke.

“Young Jade. I have smelled you from afar and now I smell you very close. You have a strong scent in the Nine Winds. Your story will blow into many far lands.” The wolf’s voice was a strange mix of growls and barks. But oddly, the voice was also very clear. It carried a weight that made it resonate deep in Jade’s heart.

“Uh thank you, I think,” Jade managed. “But I really need to hurry, to help my people.”

The wolf spoke again this time with rebuke, “You claim to be a leader, yet you left your town unprotected and walked straight into this trap tonight.” The criticism was harsh and Jade winced, his squared shoulders sagging visibly under the blow.

Jade tried to square them again and asked, “What were those creatures? Those black, contorted beasts?”

“We call them K’hu hu. Abominations. They are new creations, forged deep out in the fracture. Created by death, they are bred from the murder of innocents under the direction of a dark power. It is the power of Death’s Gate.”

“Death’s Gate?” Jade asked, confused. “You mean like in the old stories from the travelling Garlacans?”

The wolf regarded Jade with measured gaze from golden eyes. “I know not what manner of tales you have heard, young pup. You can now speak new tales from your own eyes and your own nose.”

“Look, wolf, sir. I need to organize my band and get back to Crestfall. I have a deep fear that my people are in trouble.”

The wolf gazed again at Jade then turned his black nose up to sniff the air. “Young war leader, I am afraid the time for battle is passed, for now. The time has come to run.”

That almost sounded cowardly to Jade, despite the rebuke still ringing in his ears. “Uh, no sir. Not for me sir. I will not run away from my people.”

“Not away from, but towards,” growled the wolf. “Your people, those of your village, are being evacuated by my Hands. They are leaving this valley.”

Jade was unprepared for this. “Moving, what..? But how? There are three hundred families down there in Crestfall. You do not simply move one thousand people like a herd of sheep.” Jade was trying to understand the wolf, but felt there was something not coming through.

The old wolf regarded Jade with patient, gold eyes, “Come, young valleyboy. Your eyes are not open. The time has come to trust. Most of your village has left already. We came shortly after your band had left. While you have been following this false trail of the enemy, my Hands have been guiding your people into the forest. We will take them as refugees into our city of Deepwood. We have room for your townsmen there, at least those who would leave. Those who have chosen to stay, well there is nothing you can do for them now. The enemy is within striking range of your village. By the time you return, it will be in enemy hands. But be assured that most of your people are now safe.” The wolf paused waiting to see if Jade would comprehend. “So yes, we run, away from battle for now. We are not prepared for the numbers the enemy has brought into this valley. But do not fear, young warrior, the Winds will draw us back again, just as they always bring storms howling back across the great ocean.”

Jade took it in. The town was being evacuated? How had the wolves accomplished that? How had the people trusted the wolves? Some had chosen to stay behind? How many? Were they all killed? Until today, the wolffolk were only creatures of legend down in the valley. Tales to scare young people told at the autumn fright fest. How could the wolves have convinced such people to leave their homes and the safety of their town?

The wolf held his gaze a moment longer then finally looked away toward the camp, then further off to the east, nose sniffing the air.

“Jade, the last of the evacuees has left the town. The enemy advances quickly. We must leave this valley.”

“I have to go help. If some have stayed behind, I must stay with them. It is my duty.”

“I appreciate the bonds of duty, young pup. Consider that you also have a duty to the large group of village people who left. I tell you I smell thousands marching into this valley. What will you do to fight an army of thousands by yourself?”

“I do not know?” Jade said. Hopelessness filled his mind and tears of frustration swelled up. Why did Emerald have to be unconscious? She was the smart one who could make tough choices.

“You face a choice, Jade. Stay to lead a few into death, or run with me to lead many into life.” Oraless’ voice was deep, steady, and measured. He still looked off to the east as he smelled the air.

Jade blew out a breath that contained his fears and frustrations.

“How can I trust you?” Jade asked quietly. It was just too much, too confusing.

“That you still draw breath should be reason enough, young valleyboy.” The wolf rose and stretched, his full size and power suddenly evident. Jade felt those pinpricks across his back once more, despite the cold night. Maybe it was not so hard to understand how the wolves had convinced simple farmers.

“My name is Oraless,” the wolf growled. “You are Jade. You have my promise that I will help you and your people. A foul wind is stirring, and change is coming. If you do not trust me, in whom will you place your trust?”

Jade felt the wind stir at the pronouncement. A sharp chill ran through his skin and touched his heart where it kindled into a flame. That was when he realized that he actually did trust this old wolf. Knowing that a reply was expected, he searched for a way to say something meaningful.

“I am Jade, Oraless, Sir. I, uh, do trust you sir…” He cringed at the weakness in his own voice. Then trying again, he reached down inside, deep in his heart where he kept his stone cold determination and his courage. Once he had them, he snapped to full battle attention, pronouncing clearly, “I am Jade Stoneblest, you are Oraless. It will be my honor to run with the Prophet and Seer of the Nine Winds. I give you my honor bond to fight at your side and to protect help your people as you help mine.” The wind stirred again, even more stiffly. The trees creaked and moaned as the wind blew through them. Oraless moved closer and fastened those gold eyes on Jade’s eyes less than an arm’s length away. Jade flinched, but held the gaze without blinking.

“That will suffice, for now,” the wolf growled with a hint of respect and perhaps even some humor. “I think I may enjoy running with you for a time, valleyboy. Maybe you can be taught something.”

The old wolf sniffed one last time then turned his golden eyes to look right at Jade.

“Young Jade,” Oraless growled in a tone barely audible. “Tell me, in the tales you have heard, have you ever heard one speak of a Key to Death’s Gate?”

Chapter Three – Polished Amber

The third epoch of dragons was ruled by the silver serpent, Terciellanth. Her epoch lasted 3,755 years for she took the throne late. Many called her epoch the Reign of Prophecy for she saw the past, the present, and the future and chronicled many foretellings.

She was also the first to study the power of Ul. She found that mankind had discovered a power of his own that contrasted that of the dragons, elves, and faeries. It was a new and strange power. Mankind was still primitive and his use of the power was accidental and chaotic. But it was there. What was even more mystifying to the Dragon King was that mankind was the only race that seemed to be able to access both Pri and Ul.

Terciellanth prophesied mankind would rise to great power within a handful of epochs. She also prophesied that the rise of man would ultimately diminish the power of Pri in the world, unleash the full power of Ul and would eventually destroy the dragons, the health of the world, and even the nine winds themselves unless an intervention occurred.

. . .

Sunlight streamed through the leaded glass windows, reflected off the polished marble tiles of the floor, warmed the white, plush blankets of the large four poster bed, and sparkled on the golden, amber eyes and equally red golden hair of the young girl laying comfortably nestled within the silk sheets and down-filled covers. The sun carved out flawless high cheekbones, a small, rounded nose, and red, full lips that curled up into a natural smile. Yet despite her graceful genetics, Amber Pardoness, daughter of the king, was not happy.

Amber blinked her eyes several times and covered a sudden sunshine sneeze with her fine, delicate hand. The hand stayed near her mouth to stifle a sleepy yawn. She rolled across the large bed gathering up the covers around her as she went. Then she slipped off the bed onto her feet and walked to the large window wearing her blanket and sheets like a thick, royal cloak. She closed her eyes soaking in the warmth from the sun’s rays and feeling the smooth comfort of the silk linens next to her equally smooth skin. Then she opened her eyes and looked out the window to the take in the dizzying view from the high castle turret atop the reaching castle and high bluff.

The immense castle had been built many years before in a compact of peace between her great grandfather, High King Aldor Pardoness, and Palladium, the Dragon King of Pri Mordia. The grand towers were crafted to reflect the dragon’s tower city and also to serve as a place to receive dragons without frightening the common folk. The tower that housed the private rooms of the royal family was very high. Built atop the sheer cliff face of a bluff rising a thousand feet above the city, the additional thousand foot tower offered an impossibly long view of the sprawling rooftops, active harbor, and blue Crystal Bay.

Two thousand feet below Amber’s moon-shaped windows lay the city Doronica, the capital of the Kingdom of Doron. Doron was the powerful western Kingdom that spread the length of the Great Shelf down to the grey city of Garlaca at the mouth of the Garvon River.

Amber’s eyes followed the winding lines and colorful patterns of the city. She blurred and refocused her eyes. The shifting patterns seemed to help the anger she felt recede. She should not have such spite and boiling tension within her. Her life was blessed by the Winds. She was the High Princess of Doron. She lived in a tower with servants and luxury. Yet despite all that, her hands quivered with her barely controlled rage. As her eyes blurred out once more, her vision filled with the scene from the night before at the royal dinner party, the scene that had infuriated her. It was a formal affair and she had gone at the request of her father, the King.

                                                   ***

“Amber, my darling,” her father spoke gently yet firmly. The way he always spoke to her in public meetings and state functions. The way he seemed to be speaking to her more and more, even in their private conversations. Gone was the tender and playful father of her childhood. Where was the friendly man who used to peel off his kingly mantle like a cloak and leave it behind whenever he spoke to his darling girl?

Now, as she came ever closer to her womanhood, closer to her adult responsibility, he maintained his mantle of authority with her almost constantly and treated her more like the other women in court. His manner with women was courteous and deeply respectful, yet always superior, always in authority, always in control.

“Amber, there are some young Bearers I would like you to meet. They come from good families and are of the highest worth to the Kingdom.” Of course by “Bearers” he clearly meant suitors. Such Bearers were the citizen class of Doron. Bearers were men who “bore” the authority to rule the Kingdom. They were part of an ancient brotherhood with roots over a thousand years old. Bearers had the authority to formally assemble, to address the King, and to act on behalf of Doron in dealings with other nations, and to vote on the King’s rule. The Bearers passed their authority down from father to son in a strict lineage.

Without a son of his own to carry his own lineage, King Graylind Pardoness would have to pass his authority down through the male children of his only daughter, Amber. As a Princess, Amber had the right to choose her husband from the young Bearers of the Kingdom. Though choosing any husband was meaningless to her. As soon as Pardoness was dead, her husband would be first in line to claim the patriarchal throne of Doron and she would get… She closed her eyes and smiled dutifully to her father. He relaxed and ushered her over to a group of young men. All of them were dashing and handsome, dressed up like fashion dolls. She hated them.

Though her smile was sweet and docile, the anger swelled and she felt a prickle of sweat trickle down the small of her back in the struggle to keep her face composed.

“This is young Carbondale Theren,” The King announced as he introduced a young man of about eighteen. The boy was dark skinned, with broad shoulders, and very tall. Amber was tall herself yet found herself looking up several inches to meet the dark brown eyes.

Amber was well tutored in the genealogy of the highest Bearer families. Though there were hundreds of eligible houses, some were considered more eligible than others. She had memorized linage charts for them all to at least four generations. But even without such education, Amber would know the Theren Family was very powerful. Diamontess Theren, Carbondale’s father, sat as the Chair of the Chamber of Ninety and Nine. The Ninety and Nine were elected Bearers who advised the King, drafted rules and statutes, and executed the mandates of the Doron constitution. Young Carbondale would be a fine match, at least from her father's point of view.

“And here we have Trigoness Willsen,” the King continued. Young Trig bowed deeply at the formal introduction though Amber knew him well already. Trig was the son of the King's personal councilor, Emilleron Willsen. She and Trig had studied together as children under the same royal tutor. Trig was now fifteen and grooming a pathetic patch of facial hair on this chin. He had been a good friend of Amber as a child, but had grown very arrogant and demanding as he passed through puberty and came into his “authority.” She had finally requested her own tutor last year to avoid his company. He was very fair skinned with sandy blond hair that was braided in long strands pulled back to meet in a gold-entwined tail.

The King shifted to the last young man of the trio of suitors. “Ah, yes. Here we have the young Magnesius Mandelorn.”

At the mention of this name much of the murmur of conversation in the hall cut off and heads turned. Even Amber was brought to full awareness as she heard the name. Mandelorn was a name well known in Doron, if only for its fierce antagonism to the King.

Old Hardin Mandelorn was the primary contender to Pardoness for the throne back when he had claimed the realm. Hardin Mandelorn ruled to the north in the city of Wellstone and was the primary beneficiary of the wealth of the waterstone trade. This trade revolved around the process of turning liquid water into a solid state for transport. Hardin's Pri Masters there had developed the technology to condense water into a hard solid state. The resultant waterstones, like ice, were simply water in solid form. Yet unlike ice, the stones stayed solid even in the hottest dessert. But once a waterstone was put into a mouth or came in contact with flesh, it slowly changed back to liquid providing a slow but refreshing source of hydration. Amber had once been given a bag of waterstones as a gift from her father. She remembered the strange sensation of sucking on the hard, clear stone as it slowly melted in her mouth. Such stones made it possible to transport water great distances in any condition with very little evaporation. The trade of these stones had made Wellstone known across the Kingdoms of the world and had returned a vast wealth to the Mandelorns.

When Amber's father, Graylind Pardoness, succeeded in capturing the throne, Hardin was then and remained afterward, his chief rival. Hardin Mandelorn desperately wanted the throne. In the years of Pardoness’ rule, rumors of Mandelorn’s politicking and campaigning were always circulating in the Kingdom. In recent years the rumors had even escalated to talk of civil war between the King and the House of Mandelorn. Stories had come into the palace of how Hardin had been preparing his son to lead a rebellion in a bid for the Throne. The rumors also hinted of Hardin using his vast wealth to build up a robust army and engineer new war machines.

But then, in a strange turn of events, Magnesius, the son of the great Hardin, had suddenly left Wellstone, renounced his father, his wealth, and his House. He escaped to the capital and pledged allegiance and support to King Pardoness. Hardin, in a great fury, had demanded Magnesius to return. He had even threatened to retrieve him by force.

Magnesius sought asylum with the King and had offered in return to inform Pardoness on all his father's plans. Such actions seemed to have earned the trust of the King. This seemed very clear as Amber noted the glint of respect and fondness she saw in her father's eyes for the young man. Her jealousy flared anew. She used to often see that proud glint aimed at her. Now it was rarely seen. The gleam of the royal eyes seemed now reserved only for potential successors. The older she became the less her father seemed to value her wit and her mind and the more worth he seemed to place in her impending marriage and royal womb.

“Your highness, it is an honor” the young man said as he bowed. As he rose she took in the wealth of his costume, the dark black curls of his long hair framing a strong jaw and clear, sharp eyes. It was difficult to judge his age. He looked in his prime, perhaps early twenties. His eyes were clear and piercing, irises of silver and gold, and a penetrating look that seemed to understand her. The look offered trust and friendship. He was very handsome and his direct gaze almost unnerved her. Almost. She held the gaze with steady eyes and no visible emotion. As she looked into those eyes she saw something there. Though his gaze appeared to carry no shred of guile, something she saw made her wary. Something unnatural, almost. An icy doubt suddenly forced her to question the coming of this young man to Doronica to declare his loyalty to her father. The question sprouted into her mind, Why fight for the throne when you could much more easily marry it?

Reminded again of her duty to choose a marriage partner in the coming days, her anger boiled, suddenly fierce. She would not be choosing this young fraud. She kept her voice icy calm and her gaze cool as she replied, “My good Sir, the honor is mine.”

                                                  ***

Amber shook herself out of the memory as she soaked in the morning sun. Choosing a husband, she thought in disgust. Like it even mattered. In the patriarchal system of authority that ruled the Kingdom, being a girl, even a Princess seemed useless. Whomever she picked would be in the best position to grab the throne once her father died. My only purpose, she thought, is to look pretty, pick a wealthy husband, and bear children. “What a waste,” she said aloud.

Using the looking glass from the window ledge, she watched people and wagons bustling along the streets below. Beyond the tiled roofs and bright red and yellow treetops, her eyes stopped on the spines of ship’s masts docked in the harbor, lining the bay like the trunks of a denuded forest. Maybe it looked more like the back of a porcupine, she mused. Her fingers moved to unconsciously prick themselves on the tips of the far away spines. She refocused the looking glass. Further out, beyond the ships in the bay, the deep blue waters of the sound rose up to meet the crisp, clear autumn sky of a sunny morning in a fine and sharp line stretching across her view.

Amber dropped the glass to her side and leaned her head forward until it touched the window. The instant cool sensation created an exhilarating contrast to the warmth of the sun. Her slim hand came up, sheets falling away with gravity. The sudden rush of cool air against her warm skin brought a ripple of tight goose bumps under her thin sleeping gown. Her delicate fingers touched the spot where her face reflected against the glass, thoughtful and innocently beautiful.

As her eyes refocused, they scanned the sprawling cityscape until they came to the columns and colorful tents of the open market. As she watched the daily scene of the morning market, something meaningful perked her awareness. A long caravan of the roving Garlacan traders was rolling into the square. With the glass back up to her eye, she could just make out the unique wagons. They were right on time, for once. For that she quivered briefly in excitement and fear, her anger buried deep down.

A quick knock sounded at the door then the hinges creaked as the heavy oak door swung open to admit her handmaid.

“Morning, Amber, my ladyship,” the servant greeted. “How did you rest? Well I hope. It is not everyday a young lady of the royal family turns fourteen years of age. You will need all your energy for the your presentation to the Chamber and the Bearers this evening at the ball. You also have the Way Day ceremony at the end of the week, you know.”

Amber sighed without looking away from looking glass nor the square far below. “Good morning Syvie,” She replied. “Do you think I really have to go through with it all? Especially the ceremony of that old prophecy. Does anyone actually believe it? I hate it.”

“Of course, your ladyship. You do the ceremony every year. It is your role as the princess of the realm to offer your blood for the salvation of the dead. As for the rest, well your father, his Royal Highness, is brimming with anticipation. You would not wish to ruin his high spirits would you? Besides, other young ladies would die to be in your place. You should consider yourself lucky.” The servant had made it across the polished floor to Amber’s side.

Syvie gathered up the coverings from the floor and deftly spread them back across the large bed. The soft, rounded woman was thrice as old as Amber. She had been Amber’s personal handmaid since forever. Her dark hair was bound up tightly in a bun and the grey and green serving dress was crisp and perfect. She wore a bright white apron over the dress, spotless and also crisply starched.

“Now off to the bath with you,” she said in her most courteous tone. “You’ll catch your death if you just stand there near the window.”

Yes I just may, Amber thought. Amber stepped away from the window and walked back to the bed. She reached out and ran her hand over the thick, carved bedpost. The deep mahogany wood was intricately carved with foliage and flowers. Small and perfect humanlike forms weaved in and out of the foliage, small wings upon their backs. She loved the little faeries in the sculpted wood. They were so lifelike and they almost seemed to move across the wooden column. They seemed so free, so careless. Yet there they were frozen and bound. Perfect to look at, apparently free and happy, yet also trapped and motionless.

“Now, now my lady,” Syvie said as she draped a thick bathrobe over Amber’s shoulders. “It’s not going to be all that bad. All the eligible young men of the Kingdom will be there, tripping over themselves for your attention. I know how much you enjoy playing with their sad little hopes and ambitions.”

“I’ll have to choose one of them,” Amber said running her thumb over the tiny face of sculpted wood fairy looking up at her from the post. “That is what today really means. Locking myself away to a future that is bleak and joyless.”

“You do not know that, my lady,” Syvie said running a silver comb through the nighttime tangles in Ambers long, golden red curls. “’You never know what the future holds. You may as well face it with a smile looking it straight in the face, rather than closing your eyes so it can only surprise you. It is easier to see your path ahead if you are looking forward, than if you are always looking backward, or down into the mud. That’s what my mum used to always say. She had a way with words, my mum.”

“Yes, that sounds like good wisdom,” Amber agreed. Her eyes drifted back down to the window. She thought about those traders far below. She wondered where they had been and what kinds of treasures and oddities they had brought this time. Amber always made it a point of visiting the traders whenever they came to town. She thought of her friend Karra. Karra, the very shy and free spirited gypsy girl. Karra was friendly, kind, and most importantly, she was free. Amber breathed another big sigh. Did she really have the courage to enact her plan? To really go through with it all?

Her thoughts turned back to her formal responsibilities of the week ahead which provided the alternative choice for her to take.

After a formal presentation to the Chamber of Bearers in the afternoon, Amber faced a night of torment at the formal State Ball of Doronica. The ball began later in the evening and would run through the whole night until early morning. She would have to take turns dancing with each young lordling present. Each would make formal introduction and exchange pleasantries with her.

Then, the very next morning without any rest, these same princes and young Bearers would start calling on her for private conversations. Such meetings would last through the week. It meant a near eternity of forced smiling and pleasant talk. The ultimate purpose was for her to choose one of the young men as her future husband. Thank the Winds marriage was still several years off, but an engagement was expected soon. The choice of husband was hers, legally, but her father clearly had his favorites lined up for her including a mounting pressure to take the young Mandelorn and unite two very powerful Houses.

All the formality and protocol seemed ridiculous and pretty antiquated to Amber. Her father, however, insisted on observing every little nuance of tradition. He claimed that such elaborate shows solidified the political power of their family and ensured their ability to reign the kingdom in peace. “Yes, Amber,” he had said to her protests. “I will insist on you dancing all night, even if your feet fall off at the ankle. If dancing has the power to stave off civil war, then, by the Winds, I am willing to host a dance every night. And by the Nine, you will be there”

Last on the long list of duties this week was the annual ceremony of Death’s Gate. The common folk down in the city called the event the Day of the Way, or sometimes just Way Day. According to ancient prophecy, the full blood moon was the day that all recently departed souls could be forgiven of wrongs and pass through Death’s Gate into eternal life. As the virgin princess of the realm, Amber played a key symbolic role in the annual ceremony. As the full blood moon rose at dusk on the eve of the second full moon after the autumn equinox, Amber would lead a procession of highborn worshipers and common folk up the east ridge road to the temple of Pri. Inside the temple lay the pillars of the Nine Winds. The pillars created a courtyard that surrounded the symbolic gate of death. Dressed in pure white, Amber would be led to the gate where she would spill her blood to open the gate for the dead.

It was all symbolic, of course. She did not actually have to bleed for real. But a male Pri-est, dressed, for one day of the year, in the black robes of Ul would take a sword of pure gold and slash horizontally across her groin and then vertically down between her breasts and along her abdomen in an inverted cross.

That was it. That symbolic sacrifice would atone for the mistakes and ills of the newly dead and allow them to pass through death’s gate and onto their never-ending path of eternal life. Apparently, without the sacrifice of a young, pure woman, the dead would be bound up instead to an eternity of suffering in that lost, dark place in between mortal life and eternal life. Amber did not really understand the doctrine of it all, but she had been the sacrificial victim each autumn since she turned eight. She had once questioned what happened when there was no virgin princess to offer up. The Pri-est assured her that salvation was still offered to all. When a real princess was not available due to the genetics and politics of the reigning House, then a suitable cousin or relative would do. Any young maiden could stand in, as long the young maiden was unspoiled. However, the old Pri-est had said, the true power over death rested in the innocent blood of a true born daughter of the King.

“Ahem,” Syvie coughed, bringing Amber back out of her thoughts. “We have a very busy week ahead, your ladyship.”

Amber tore her eyes away from the window and looked at Syvie, a forlorn resolution coming into her golden eyes. Syvie recognized that look and suddenly worried.

Amber grabbed her favorite charm from the bedside along with the bag of waterstones her father had given to her. She looked at the little charm. It was a perfectly polished piece of amber about the size of a large walnut. At the center of the piece was trapped a little prehistoric bug, ugly and black with sharp little pincers. Here I am, she though grimly, a perfectly polished piece of amber with an ugly little bug trapped inside waiting to get free, but never able.

“Yes,” she said finally, her inner resolve finally forging into iron. “Looking ahead to the future. That is the attitude, Syvie. You are right, of course. You never know what may happen. Well, I will give those gossiping boys something to talk about.” She shook out her long, golden curls, took a deep breath, and focused her eyes straight out the window. The dead will have to find their own way this year. I am going to find mine. With a deep breath she pushed the large, segmented window wide open. For a moment she thought how much the window looked like the gate of death at the temple.

Then, without any hesitation, she jumped out.