Obsidian Gate Intro

*Well, here's the first part of my main story, called the Obsidian Gate. Hope everyone likes it. Finally figured out how to just paste files on here. Turns out it was just my technological idiocy that prevented me from figuring things out. Sorry people. I just kinda suck at tech stuff sometimes but I'm learning! (Thank you Locky and Tia!). Here's edited version and hope you all like it*

Prologue:
The Gate Opens

- Sunnadaeg, 20th of the month of Rain - 1101 A.F. - continent of Lucresia, near the country of Venule - Solaris -

Tyger, Tyger burning bright/ In the forest of the night/What immortal hand or eye/ Could frame thy fearful symmetry? - William Blake

The war was over. Wind was moving in the trees, restless, as if in remembrance of the recent turmoil. Clouds drifted aimlessly across the pale glory of Solaris’s three moons, momentarily interrupting the ephemeral light that shone down upon the Unicorn Forest far below. It was just after nightfall and stars lit up the evening sky. Underneath the dark leaves and branches, two lone travelers made their way down the main path, one of the most well traveled routes in all of Lucresia that cut through the central part of the forest. Much like the wood around them, these two humans were not quite at rest. Their watchful eyes darted from side to side nervously, as though one false move would bring the entire forest down on them, (which was not far from the truth). They were two merchants, Saladin Ibn Malkier and Thaddeus Beauchier, and they were quietly contemplating the wisdom of their decision to travel after nightfall.
Fourteen hundred square miles of unobstructed greenery surrounded the two men wherever they turned. Shaped roughly like a giant green bowl carved out of the continent’s interior, it was the largest patch of green on the face of Solaris and not easily traveled at any time. The merchants were well aware of the stories of what lurked in the depths of the forest. While this was not necessarily a dangerous place, there were still dark things that dwelt deep within the forest and only the very foolish ventured beneath its canopy without taking some precaution.
The coach the merchants had rented for their journey clattered along at a jaunty clip, the horse’s hooves ringing in the fledgling night. The young boy who was driving the vehicle continuously swept the forest with his eyes, alert for danger, hoping they could make it to their destination soon. Though the merchants had paid handsomely for a carriage that was as nondescript as possible, there were still thieves haunting the roads that were desperate for any kind of mark and Thaddeus and Saladin looked like very rich marks indeed. Unwilling to abandon his prize Aldusian sentinel, Saladin rode the animal off and on throughout their journey. The horse was a fine animal, sleek, black, and fast, the very pinnacle of equine breeding on Solaris. He also made the travelers stand out like a red flag on a bare field. At the moment, Saladin was keeping pace with the coach, staying close enough so that he could converse with Thaddeus, who leaned out the window occasionally to respond to his partner’s conversation and to check their progress.
Both men were still young by any standard, barely brushing upon their thirties, and both were quite strongly built. Thaddeus was the slightly taller of the two at five feet eleven and his tall frame did not like being cramped inside the coach the way it was. Scratching his short, neatly trimmed sandy colored beard, Thaddeus leaned out of the window, his distinguished features and aquiline nose scrunching up slightly at the early spring cold, and called over to Saladin, who quickly moved to catch his partner’s words. Thaddeus’s piercing hazel/green eyes flashed a bit in irritation, as he contemplated just how long this trip had already taken.
“When will we be arriving in Branneth?” he demanded in the Common tongue, “I don’t like how long it’s taking us to get through this cursed forest.”
“You wished to travel quickly,” Saladin replied, his Common heavily accented by his homeland, “I merely made the necessary arrangements, which you agreed to.”
Thaddeus thought about arguing but quickly decided against it. He pulled at his shoulder length sandy hair, as if to arrange it, but it was already perfectly arranged, the sides pulled together at the back of his head in a simple ponytail.
“You’re right, I just feel like a target sitting here.”
“Then perhaps you should have dressed more conservatively,” Saladin suggested gently.
Thaddeus frowned slightly, glancing briefly down at his attire. He wore an elegant olive green tunic, a rust colored doublet with gold colored embroidery, a butter yellow velvet cloak with black ermine fur at the collar, and finely made tan leather pants with matching boots. The merchant heaved a small sigh. Saladin was right as usual. The only thing about Thaddeus that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd was the fact that he was Corubadin, pale skinned, just like almost everyone else where they were going.
Saladin, while his dark Aldusian, middle eastern skin and exotic facial features would stand out in Branneth, his five foot five frame was nearly hidden in the shadows of the night forest. He was dressed from head to toe in the sweeping black robes favored by his people, including a black veiled headdress called a risar. The turban-like garment hid Saladin’s short, black hair, which was slicked back from his forehead and helped conceal most of his body. Only the man’s deep brown eyes, shot with gold like a tiger-eye, could be seen glittering in the dark, as he scanned for potential danger.
"Remind me again why you chose this path, Saladin," Thaddeus said bluntly, shifting his warm cloak on his shoulders, “We could have waited ’til daybreak or taken another route.”
Saladin looked at his companion as if he had gone daft.
“This is the fastest route to Branneth, Thaddeus,” he replied.
“But are you sure it’s safe?” Thaddeus asked for the tenth time that night, looking around at the trees. Saladin sighed in exasperation.
“You were the one who agreed with the traveling arrangements,” he pointed out, “Traveling into the night has greatly increased our speed, but if you want to give that up, we can stop right now.”
“I thought you said there were reasons we weren’t stopping in the Unicorn Forest unless we had to,” Thaddeus said.
“If you want to explain to the Shadow Stalker what we’re doing in his territory, go ahead,” Saladin replied, his accent getting thicker with his irritation, “I intend to get out of this infernal forest in one piece. We can either waste time or make tracks. The choice is yours.”
“The Shadow Stalker?” Thaddeus said, “If this is his territory, then why, in the names of all the gods, did you choose this path?”
“Because, the war disabled our normal trade routes and, if we do not find new ones, we will be too late to corner the post-war market,” Saladin replied, “It has only been six months since things died down and by the time the local governments are in position to begin repairing the roads, it will be too late. They’ll already have recovered both economically and financially. They’ll need valuable supplies to get to that point and if we do not supply them with the things they need, others will. I want to be the first in line, not the last.”
“Fair enough,” Thaddeus said, “I concede your point, old friend, now tell me some more about this Shadow Stalker fellow. Might as well try to make the trip pleasant, though, truth be told, I’m surprised stories of him made it all the way down to Kadim’Aldus from here.”
“You would be surprised what tales come to us; Kadim is a great continent and there are many places where one can hear stories from afar,” Saladin said, smiling, to cover up some of his discomfort. Thaddeus quirked an eyebrow but waited for his partner to continue.
Saladin eyed the swaying trees and uttered a short, dramatic shiver. Though the merchant was normally not a superstitious man, the local legends had a way of seeming much more real under the trees in the gathering darkness. Despite his skepticism, he was not willing to chance that the Shadow Stalker was indeed real. He was leery of telling all the tales he had heard from various sources, all of whom claimed to have either survived the Shadow Stalker’s wrath or lived to see it carried out. From the way Thaddeus was glancing around, he didn’t like the Forest much and the last thing Saladin wanted to do was spook him more, however, some of the tales were quite fanciful and telling a few of them might ease the last leg of their journey through this haunted seeming wood.
Saladin paused, frowning in thought. He did not have the gift for storytelling that bards were prone to and he was shivering from more than just a simple, superstitious reaction to the memory of a story. Rain was the beginning of spring but the day was cool, the kind that lets one know that winter has not quite lost its grip. Clouds hung low in the darkening sky, portending the seasonal showers that would prove, beyond all doubt, that it was spring in the Unicorn Forest. When Saladin had finally gathered his thoughts, he spoke slowly.
“I do not know what stories they tell in Freeport, where you are from, but these are the tales they tell in Agrabah, my home city in Aldusia. They say he is the guardian of this forest, watching all those who come and go,” he began, “No one is certain what he looks like, whether he is hero or scoundrel, but all agree he will put a stop to any trouble in the Unicorn Forest. To cross him is death, as poachers in his territory learn too late. When the war was going on, they say attacks on intruders within the Forest suddenly ceased, like he had just disappeared. Then, when the war was over, they mysteriously started again. They say he has come back to defend his land and that he will do so as long as these woods remain.”
“A pretty story,” Thaddeus said, “Is there any truth to it?”
Saladin looked at him slowly. Though he had told the story as one would a bedtime tale, something in his eyes convinced Thaddeus, wholeheartedly, that Saladin believed them. Finally, the darker man gave the most honest answer he could.
“I don’t know; Most of these tales come to my people as songs or gossip heard second hand and passed through many hands before reaching worthy ears. It is difficult to tell what is real and what is merely a fairy tale.”
Silence lingered between them, thicker than any fog, then, Saladin dismounted, giving his horse a moment or two to relax his muscles, motioning for his partner to do the same. Thaddeus called for a halt and the two men stood together for a moment.
“There is shelter not too far up the path," Saladin commented, "If we hurry, we can make it before Highmoon and we will not have to find out whether or not the tales are true.”
Before either of the two men had even drawn their next breath, they heard several movements on either side of them. Crossbow bolts and arrows shrieked from the dark. Both Saladin’s horse and the one pulling their carriage screamed in terror and the young coachman yelped, as an arrow pierced his leg. Thaddeus and Saladin turned to inspect the source of the commotion and then, they came, morphing out of the shadows. The two merchants were quite suddenly caught on the business end of very lethal steel blades, as several human males stalked out of the woods. They were dressed in serviceable, tough leather, crude cloth masks, and dark clothing that blended in very well with their surroundings. Thaddeus and Saladin both silently cursed in their respective languages and drew their swords; Thaddeus, a rapier, and Saladin, a wicked looking scimitar.
“We’ll be taking your purses, kind sirs, if you don’t mind,” the leader of the bandits said, the politeness in his tone at odds with the coldness of the request, “and please don’t resist; we’d hate t’cut up such honest lookin’ folk.”
The bandits closed the distance rapidly, quickly surrounding Thaddeus and Saladin, cold steel gleaming. The merchants stood their ground, refusing to relinquish their money, and waited for the first assault to commence. However, before anyone could land as much as a single stroke, the entire fight dissolved, as five of the brigands simply fell to the ground, unmoving. There was some sound of shock and surprise but then, all was silent. All action stopped and the bandit leader caught sight of the black and silver fletched arrows protruding relentlessly from his men.
“Watch those two!” he barked angrily, as he slinked expertly over to where his men had fallen. The remaining brigand trained his weapon on Thaddeus and Saladin, as his boss knelt in the slightly damp earth to examine what had become of his men.
As the leader glanced, he could instantly see that his men were dead. Each one had been felled with a single, fatal shot to a vital organ. In almost all cases death had been instantaneous and those who had lingered had not done so for long. The bandit just stared in amazement.
“They’re all dead,” the leader said, “Someone’s out there!”
The thief captain and his remaining man scanned the area in panic, as did Thaddeus and Saladin. They had heard no sound to indicate that anyone was approaching, no sound of a bow being drawn back, not even so much as a whisper. If a single person was behind this assault, whoever had done this was a master marksman above and beyond anything they had ever encountered before. To slay more than one man at a time with a single draw was impressive but to have slain five men with a single shot! That was nothing short of legendary. All present turned frantically, trying to pierce the veil of the darkening night but only blackness prevailed. The attackers (for the bandits stalwartly refused to believe a single man had done this) had either left or were waiting for them somewhere in the darkness. A thin mist had begun to gather and they suddenly felt like rats in a trap, as if the very woods had come alive and were watching them with malevolent eyes.
“Sir, we should run!” the low ranking thief whispered, cringing, “The man who did this would kill us in a heartbeat!”
“That’s impossible!” the thief captain scoffed, “No one’s that good!”
"We should never have come here!" Thaddeus exclaimed to Saladin softly, "This place isn't safe for humans!" Saladin's grim face was all the response he got.
Thaddeus's breath came in frosty torrents and he checked himself before his ragged breathing could affect his lungs. However, the fear remained like a stain on a cloak or tunic and would not dissipate. Then, abruptly, Thaddeus momentarily ceased to breathe altogether. There, standing in the center of the road with an almost arrogant air of ownership, was a tall, imposing figure, dressed from head to toe in black. Thaddeus could see silver piping in the man's outfit and a keenly made longbow in his hands but beyond that, he could discern nothing. It was as though the man had just morphed out of the mist, a figure born of the darkness. Thaddeus could not even be certain that the figure was human.
An arrow marked with black and silver fletching was already nocked into the bow and the man stood several feet apart from the huddled humans, aiming it unerringly at them. He stood with the air of one who was totally unafraid, totally confident, in his territory. He also looked as if he would not think twice about putting one of those beautifully made arrows in each of them if they so much as blinked.
"How in the nine Hells did he manage that!" the bandit leader cried, "I was watching that area every minute! He was just bloody there!"
"It's not my fault you're obviously less than observant," the figure stated plainly, taking another step onto the path so that he was now backlit by the moonlight.
The words were spoken in the Common tongue, though they had no accent of any kind to betray the origin of the speaker. Now that he was closer and in better light, Thaddeus was hoping he could see the man and his weapon more clearly but his prying eyes were ill rewarded. The merchant saw nothing beyond pale skin, a silver half-face mask, and a lot of shadows. The intruder even wore a black, hooded cape to hide most of his head and form so that nothing could be told about him except, perhaps, the fact that he was most definitely male. His moves were akin to those of a predatory animal.
"Now, you have two choices," the black-clad man said, reaching back and nocking another arrow beside the first, "You can leave these two alone or you and your friend can sprout arrows."
The bandit leader was too stunned to answer and his companion's face was as white as a sheet, as if he were internally contemplating soiling himself. The figure in black eyed the bandits calmly, as though they were no more than a minor inconvenience.
"Well, what's it going to be?" he suddenly demanded, tapping his foot in annoyance, "You've already messed up my plans for the night. I should kill you just for that!"
The bandits looked about to reply and then the man in black beat them to it.
Get out of here before I decide to put an arrow between your legs!" he snorted derisively, "From the looks of things, it would be an improvement."
Neither Thaddeus nor Saladin had ever seen men move as fast as what those two bandits did in that moment. Perhaps having seen evidence of the man in black's unerring aim spurred them on, but they were gone so quickly that they did not even leave the telltale imprints of their boots in the soft earth. The man in black delivered another derisive snort in the direction of the fleeing bandits and then, leaned down, produced a small knife from somewhere on his person. Without a word, he began cutting the purses at the dead bandits' sides and rifled through their clothes, searching for anything of value. Finding nothing, he merely shook his head.
"Amateurs," he muttered so softly that no one, even with the keenest hearing, would ever have heard him utter it.
Thaddeus and Saladin just remained where they were, trying to calm their horses and the poor wounded coach boy, more stunned than two deer caught by a wily hunter. Within two minutes of killing those first men, the man in black was already pocketing their hard-stolen money. One thing was certain. Whoever this guy was, he was no amateur.
The man in black finished his looting and stood, checking each of the bandits to be certain that they were dead. Then, his eyes suddenly focused on Thaddeus and Saladin. He moved toward them, stalking like a predatory animal.
"As for you two..." he began, snarling a bit.
Thaddeus and Saladin felt something low within them quiver. They both gulped in huge amounts of air past the lumps that had suddenly grown in their throats. How were they going to get out of this one? What would they do if this man turned his unnerving skill upon them? Then, swift as a thought, the shadowy watcher moved. To Thaddeus and Saladin’s supreme astonishment, the man in black tossed them several large purses and paused at the side of the path. He moved over to the carriage, where the wounded boy was stating at him in awe. The man moved like a dancer, lethal and beautiful, as he skillfully dressed the boy’s wounds.
"You were right about that shelter; there's a Ranger's station right around the next bend," he told them, his voice showing not a single hint of anger or malice, "Go hire yourselves a couple of bodyguards and be more careful; these woods aren't safe...oh, and be careful when and how you use the name Shadow Stalker. When people call, I tend to come."
With that, the mysterious figure turned on his heels and vanished into the forest. It looked for all the world as if he had simply disappeared and, even though their minds knew this, the two merchants just stood there, unable to breathe, let alone think. All of the stories had warned that the Shadow Stalker struck without his enemies ever hearing or seeing him coming, but nothing had prepared them for the brutal reality of the tales. Finally, sanity returned and they lead the animals unerringly down the path towards the Ranger station, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the spot where they had been ambushed. When they thought the horses were calm enough, they spurred them to a gallop. They did not stop, nor did they look back. Careful as they were, Thaddeus and Saladin did not spot the dark figure that watched them from the treetops next to the path. How frightened they would have been had they known that the Shadow Stalker was still watching their every move! Gratified to be free of the humans' unwelcome intrusion, the unseen watcher’s sharp eyes never left them as they moved on, getting deeper into the heart of the Forest.

2.

Danthias Silverbow heaved a huge sigh. Throughout his lifetime, he had inherited many nicknames, titles, and jobs. By far one of his most demanding was that of the Shadow Stalker. Danthias, or Dan, as his friends knew him, had been the protector of these woods for a long time. Considering Dan was an elf that was saying a lot. Dan was, in fact, a moon elf, a child of the wood, and a decidedly free spirit. His silver eyes continued to watch the humans as he shook his head in mirth. He was soooooo bored. Shaking his head again, this time so that his knee-length silvery braid swung out of his way, Dan climbed down from his tree perch. Using the grace inherent in his Elven blood, he glided soundlessly down the forest path. The moonlight magnified the slight pale blue tinge that emanated from his hair and set his silver-toned skin nearly glowing in contrast to his black silk clothing. Dan strolled along, casually making his usual rounds.
Now that the humans had found the right path, he would have nothing more to do with them unless they were stupid enough to provoke an attack from one of the nastier denizens of the Forest. As a ranger, it was Dan's job to protect the Forest, aiding all good travelers through it, but he was not a savior and refused to risk his life needlessly. If they were truly innocent travelers waylaid by something terrible, that was one thing, but the idiot that purposefully angered something dangerous deserved to get eaten as far as Dan was concerned.
Thinking that it was about time he visited the local druids, Danthias moved deep into the foliage, heading for the nearby grove called Dale. There dwelt several living trees, or treants, deep within the woods. They were some of the wisest beings in the Forest and the druids of Dale were their closest comrades. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be the treants and druids of Dale.
Since Dan had been busy helping Avalonea during the war, the elf was hoping they could help him get reintegrated into the Forest and give him some post-war news. The Forest was the one place that was truly home for Danthias and he wanted all the information he could get to better protect it, especially now that the war was over and he was able to stay home. Whistling softly, Dan jaunted toward the center of the wood, hoping for some peace and solitude on the journey to Dale. Then, suddenly, something brilliant caught his eye.
In the distance, Danthias spotted a strange light, glowing with an eerie, blue luminance. To Dan, this seemed like the mark of mysterious and powerful magic and Danthias had never had much gift for magic beyond the rudimentary spells he was able to cast as a ranger. One thing he did know, however, was that it was dangerous to just go barging into a situation involving unknown magic when one did not fully understand it. That usually got people killed. Pulling out his bow and readying an arrow, the elf moved slowly down the path toward the mysterious light. Perhaps it would be safe enough to simply get a look at the problem and then let the local druids and treants deal with it. The wind picked up a little, making the trees bow and sway like dancers in some medieval ballroom soiree, as Dan moved forward.
For a moment, the elf imagined that he was not alone underneath the canopy of the thick, green trees but the sensation was as quickly fleeting as an unimportant thought. None but the crickets stirred to occasionally break the silence that flowed like a river through the heart of the Forest. Danthias knew that he should relax but somehow he just could not bring himself to do it completely. His boots made no sound as he stepped forward, driven onward by an instinctual, inner compass. He allowed himself to become a part of the shadows themselves, seeking the source of his disquiet.
Though the cloying darkness was as bright as day to him, it seemed to Dan as if someone had suddenly pulled a faint cloth over the land and he lost sight of his gleaming goal beneath the trees. Nerves pulled tight as a bowstring sprang to life, warning him that he was closing in on something very dangerous. Danthias tried to tell himself that he was just being paranoid but the quietness that surrounded him was not natural and was only contributing to his uneasy mood. Passing a familiar grove of ash and oak trees, the elf's silver eyes narrowed, as he caught sight of the unusual, glowing light in the distance. It had eluded Dan somehow but now he saw clear as day where it was coming from and was determined to check it out. Before his overly keen ears even perked up, trying to detect any foreign sounds, Dan had already pulled back his bow, ready for anything. Every instinct in him was telling him to leave but Danthias’s curiosity, all at once, reared its head and slapped down any sane impulse he had.
“I need to see what’s going on if I’m going to tell the druids anything,” Dan thought, rationalizing, “I mean, how can they help if I don’t give them some idea of what to expect?”
It was not the last time he would later wish he had not been so hasty.
Training his eyes on his target so that he would not lose it again, Dan glided over the damp ground. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. This made Dan even more nervous. Some of his former caution reasserted itself and the elf peered carefully beneath a copse of trees, crouching on his haunches, easing up on his bowstring so it would not snap. His bright, silver eyes caught a glimpse of something black and dense hidden near the center of the mess of pine needles and branches. He moved forward slowly, keeping his weapon ready, cursing to himself as several bits and thorns got caught in his long, silver hair. With but a little work, Dan easily cleared the last of the outstretched tree limbs.
Blinking, the elf could see that he was in a small clearing. All around him the waning moon's pale light clearly illuminated the strange surroundings. The elf took the time to examine everything all around him. The trees had a peculiar glow to them as though shadows had completely engulfed the terrain. The earth itself was as black as ink, glittering like fine, polished obsidian. It felt odd as though a wet sponge were underfoot. Dan probed his foot gently into the damp soil. It had a repulsive consistency, like old, stale caviar. Not knowing what kind of enchantment was on this place, Dan decided that it would probably be better if he left now and came back later. The young elf admitted to himself that he might have been hasty in coming here without backup and reminded himself that his curiosity had proven to his detriment on more than one occasion.
The wards were there, so subtle that Dan did not see them until it was too late. Four disks, one in each direction, were positioned around the clearing, set just high enough so that Dan could see them straight on. All four of them were suddenly glowing an insanely bright blue and, as he caught sight of them, the ranger silently cursed himself for not seeing them sooner. Dan turned to leave and glanced behind just in time to see it. A portal, darker than anything he had ever seen, rippling like sickly waves of obsidian velvet, was open in the center of the clearing. Whoever had opened this gate had done so with a kind of magic that Danthias had never seen before. It seemed dangerously unstable, as it crashed up against the powerful magical wards, setting off bright blue sparks of magical energy. Without any warning, magic, alien and more powerful than anything he had ever felt before, slammed into Dan full force, knocking him back. Rolling with the impact, the shaken moon elf was on his feet again in a heartbeat. Staggering, he tried to run but he was far too late. He had a split second to gasp and no more as the portal surged forward again, this time breaking its boundaries and shattering the wards completely. Blue and violet light erupted into incandescent brilliance. As he avoided the painful brightness, Dan felt the portal's magic take hold of him. It was like being engulfed in liquid night, cold and relentless. He only had time to say a quick prayer before he was gone and all was blackness.

3.

- Elsewhere, in the country of Venule - same night -

Night had fallen in the city of Branneth. Heavy clouds obscured all three moons, giving a sense of true night, bereft even of stars. It was nearly midnight, Highmoon, and several dark-cloaked figures moved within the shadows, as if they were a part of the night itself. These mysterious figures paused, gazing out on the well-lit main street and waited. The noise of booted feet began somewhere nearby and the figures retreated back into the shadows of one of the many brick homes that lined the main square. The city guard, cloaked in the gleaming white tunics and armor of their station, moved through the spots of light created by the street lamps, searching for anything amiss. They stopped only momentarily to relight one of the lamps that had sputtered out and then moved on. Despite their vigilance, the watch passed by the cloaked figures as if they were not even there. When the light of the watchmen's’ torches had faded, the skulking travelers moved through the seemingly peaceful streets, their slight steps making no sound whatsoever on the cobblestones. They wound through the main square, taking the path that lead towards the western part of town, all the while keeping to the deceptive cover of nightfall. The air was chill and the figures huddled into their warm cloaks, as they followed their silent leader.
“Fine night you picked for an outing, Alton!” one of the group muttered, his breath coming in startled puffs, as he glared at the man leading the party.
“Why don’t you just announce our names to the entire city!” Alton retorted, his dark eyes flaring for an instant. He glanced around briefly, making certain that they were alone before he spoke again.
“If you have a problem, you can take it up with the Lady herself, that is if your yapping doesn’t get us caught first!”
The rebellious member of the group shut his mouth firmly. There were many things he was prepared to face that night. The wrath of the woman they were rushing to meet, however, was definitely not one of them.
The small group reached the edge of the thickly habited part of town and started down a small dirt path that wound down towards Devil’s Bay. The spray of the sea seemed to hang in the air and a fine mist rose out of nowhere, as they marched steadily down towards the water. Then, the rain came pouring down in sudden torrents. Alton and his group simply hiked up the hoods of their long, black robes and kept moving. When they were within sight of the piers, they followed another path that skirted the harbor. It wound up the side of several small hills, almost pointing them back in the direction from which they had come. When they had crested the biggest hill, they glimpsed what appeared to be a modest manor house overlooking the water. It looked as if it had sat there for centuries. Not looking amused, the small throng made their way painstakingly up the dark, stone steps that lead towards the house, using only the feeble moonlight as a beacon. A light suddenly appeared in one of the house’s windows. Alton acknowledged the signal and grunted in annoyance.
“This’s it, mates.”
Before the rest of the group had really registered that they had reached their destination they spied a tall figure, cloaked in darkness like themselves, standing on the manicured front lawn of the elegant home. The small procession moved forward hurriedly, not wanting to displease the mysterious, dark figure ahead. Chances were it was an emissary of the lady they were here to meet, maybe even the woman herself. It would not do to be late. They made their way onto the front lawn and bowed their heads to the figure who stood towering over them with an air of supreme agitation. The person’s posture seemed to indicate that not only were they not impressed but that they were also getting impatient. The hood of the cloak swung around to glance right at Alton and each member of the small group felt an ominous shiver creep down their spines.
“You’re late,” a cold, feminine voice stated.
Though it was spoken to Alton alone, the woman’s tone made it clear that she was displeased with all of them for making her wait.
“A thousand apologies, Milady” Alton said, recognizing to whom he was speaking, “The watch was out in full force tonight and we thought caution would be prudent.”
“Next time, see to it that punctuality is a part of your little plan as well!”
The lady did not even wait to hear his final response to her reprimand. Instead, she whirled on her heels and started for the house, her cloak making a small spot of mist dance as she moved. The group simply fell into step behind her and followed the woman noiselessly up the front steps, away from the rain and drizzle, hoping and praying the entire time that they would escape further censure. As the group entered the house, they felt that slight, familiar tingling at the base of the spine that, to those who knew, signified the presence of strong magic.
Townsfolk passed this place every day with no more than a cursory glance. For those who had cast it, however, the spell soon gave way to the truth. Alton could not help but think that it would be an incredible shock to the entire town if the locals should ever find out that the simple, three-story mansion near the shore was actually a Church, and quite a magnificent one at that. The blue/black stone building had started life as a modest winter home with more than enough room to house at least fifty people and now, it was truly magnificent with twin towers, rising up nearly eighty feet into the sky and elegant windows of dark stained glass and more than enough rooms to accommodate over a hundred. It seemed a thing carved out of darkness, appearing to vanish between the intermittent flashes of lightning. The light set off the designs in the glass windows, bringing out shades of blue, purple, and black that formed images of the night sky and a haunting picture of a regally tall woman with hair so black it put the night to shame, the goddess, Nes’reena.
The moment they were inside, the figures immediately set about their separate tasks. With a swiftness and skill that spoke of practice, the main room was prepared for a gathering. The floor was swept meticulously and a large, plush rug was set down, a big, velvet circle of darkest purple. Upon this rug was set an altar of no small magnificence, carved out of a single piece of flawless, black onyx. Engraved and painted on its surface, bedecked with black and dark purple candles, was a pattern of three intertwining circles of deepest purple, outlined in black. The doors were locked and black curtains were pulled over the windows, as several ritual tools were laid out on the altar. More black and dark purple candles were set in various sconces and holders around the room, providing dim light and a solemn ambiance.
The tall woman that had lead the procession here watched all the preparations carefully, making sure that nothing was amiss. This was to be a perfect night and she would let no one ruin it through incompetence. Finally, when all was ready, she retreated up the large staircase and into a private study, taking a few moments to meditate and prepare herself. When she reemerged, she was wearing regal robes of deepest purple with the same symbol as on the altar emblazoned on the front of them. In her arms, she carried a large tome that looked well read with the same symbol sewn into the leather binding. She moved with inherent grace and dignity as she sauntered down the stairs and took her place at the small, ebony podium that had been set before the altar. All was ready and Lady Anya de Wynter smiled. It was time.
Pushing back her hood and letting her long, mirror-like raven black hair tumble down free, the tall woman looked over at one of the younger men who had entered with her and nodded. He clapped his hands twice and the entire congregation suddenly stopped what they were doing and gathered before the Lady in a line in front of the altar. Just before the stroke of midnight, Lady de Wynter called out in a strong voice, speaking the words that would begin the ritual.
The lesser priests moved with efficiency and opened one of the doors that lead to a comfortable waiting room in the basement of the house. Several altar boys and one altar girl, all dressed in ceremonial black, stepped slowly up the stairs, carrying candles in braziers. Behind them in a long procession came the guests. Anya smiled, as they filed into the room, bowing to her as they passed the altar. They stepped over to the black pews in the front of the room and sat wordlessly, bringing out various books and other pamphlets on the service that was to take place tonight. When all the altar children were in place, Anya took a deep breath and then steadied herself.
“Brothers and Sisters, friends, and fellow devotees,” she called, “We are gathered here in this most holy place to worship and praise the most holy of goddesses, Nes’reena, Lady of darkness, night, and loss. I welcome you all to this most solemn rite.”
“And we welcome you, Shadowveil, servant of Nes’reena,” the congregation intoned, “Blessed be the words of the Shadowveil of Nes’reena!”
The rest of the ritual went off without a hitch. Anya spoke the words of the benediction of Nes’reena and preached the holy words of her goddess, urging the entire gathering to meditate and to grace Nes’reena with their love. When the prayers had been made and the songs sung she brought forth the sacrificial animal. The goat was not happy to die but Anya made sure that it did not suffer. Her knife cut through its throat faster than it could register that it had died. The blood collected into the offering bowl and Anya offered it up gladly. The people made their final hymns and bowed, as Anya finished the rite and dismissed the guests to their homes. Some of them stayed for a moment to chat with her but, eventually, they too were sent off with the acolytes and altar children, whose duty it was to see them safely home.
When all the stray people had left, Anya turned and faced those who remained, her loyal priests. Stepping forward, she allowed her face to finally fall into its natural state, a cold, icy, wisp of a thing that offered no cheer, no emotion, and no light whatsoever. It was the look of one who no longer has to pretend to be a sheep but can openly embrace their true path, that of the wolf. Lady de Wynter’s cold eyes bored deeply into those of Alton DeVir, her second in command. He was the only priest with rank anywhere near as decorated as hers. And he had nearly failed her. He must be made to understand that he could not do so again.
“My dear brethren, I’m sure you all know that I would never ask any of you to stay unless I had a reason,” the woman said.
Lady de Wynter had been calm and pleasant throughout the ritual but the priests had not forgotten her earlier anger.
“Alton, Chandra, Gheris, Mordred; You are all familiar with the ruling council of this city,” she said, looking at each of the assembled priests in turn. Each nodded eager to hear more news.
“I’ve recently learned that several nobles’re causing an uproar within the council. They seek to thwart many of the reforms that’ve been suggested by the people and I’m at my wit’s end with them.”
“Don’t you mean many of the reforms that’ve been suggested by you, Milady?” Alton asked carefully. He was not about to let the woman think she could trick him into doing her dirty work but he knew that he had to tread lightly or he would be in a world of hurt.
“You heard what I said,” Anya replied, a note of arrogance and anger in her voice, “I think it’s time we did away with them and used their disposal to gain some support with the people.”
“That is not going to be easy, Milady. Branneth’s politics are a bit explosive right now to consider such a radical move,” Alton said.
Anya just looked down at the man with an air of impatience, her cold eyes constantly peeking out from behind her unusual hair. That perfect rosebud mouth was set in a harsh, cruel, displeased line and her dark eyes pierced Alton with hawk-like intensity. That, combined with her current expression made her seem like she was chiseled out of ice and she did not give so much as a hint of a smile to alleviate this aloofness. Alton shook his head and wondered, absently and not for the first time, if Anya de Wynter even had a heart or if she’d simply carved it out herself long ago. She was like an ice sculpture done by a loving and talented hand. Perfection and delicate beauty to disguise a hollow core of uncaring, unfeeling, merciless cold. What a frigid, implaccable bitch! It was a shame because Nature had crafted few women more lovely of face and form than she.
Alton watched, as all of his colleagues fawned and groveled at Anya’s feet. He sighed with disappointment. He had hoped for their support but, in the end, he knew he should have expected no less. When Anya de Wynter wanted something, it was either given to her or the person who denied her found out exactly why she had been dubbed the Lady of Winter. The woman stared at each of them, as if daring any of her priests to side against her, and then addressed Alton again, as if his little interruption of her tirade had never happened.
“I think that now is the perfect time to start making some bold political moves,” she said, “The other nobles and the officials are ignoring the people and they’re going to get angry sooner or later. They’re going to need someone willing to give them what they want.”
“Since when did you ever care about the people?” Alton suddenly demanded, his anger boiling over. He had had enough of this haughty bitch’s ramblings and wanted some plain truths.
“People’ve always been nothing but your stepping stones,” the man continued, “How do we know these men aren’t just a bunch of loudmouthed nobles who called you something behind your back?”
Anya’s eyes deepened from royal purple to black and began to flash angrily. She took a step towards Alton, bringing her close enough to remind him that she was a good deal taller than he was. The pupils of her eyes began to literally glow with a brilliant purple light and her hands clenched into fists as her full, crimson mouth set in an angry line. She hovered there in front of him for a moment, letting her wrath build. When her voice came, it came like a far off burst of thunder heralding a coming storm, as though the very chill and breath of winter were behind her every word.
“Are you questioning me, Alton?!” she demanded incredulously.
For a moment, it looked as if the man would actually have the nerve to challenge a High Priestess in her own Church and then, Alton quickly realized his folly and backed down, bowing his submission. He pretended not to notice that his body was shaking and his hands were trembling. His forehead was drenched with sweat but he knew it was not from heat. The woman’s abilities made it impossible for any kind of warmth to survive around her and her anger was tangible. The force of it had dropped the temperature in the room from comfortable to freezing within a matter of moments. Choking out his breath in cold gasps, he finally spoke.
“No, Milady.”
Lady de Wynter said nothing for the moment. Her eyes paled back to deep purple and she moved on as if Alton did not even exist.
“For your information, these tyrants happen to be squandering money at an insane rate,” she said, “They encourage higher taxes every year and the people are starting to complain. I don’t care how all of you may feel about this but I refuse to allow my city to endure this kind of outrage.”
“What about the Church of Gabriel?” Chandra asked softly, “Surely they’re capable of stopping all this.”
“These men’re too good to be caught by a bunch of do-gooding, self-righteous crusaders. The followers of Gabriel will not act unless there’s absolute proof of wrongdoing and the council‘s covered their tracks very well,” Anya replied.
“What do you propose?” Gheris demanded, “We cannot rely on wishes and half-conjured schemes, Milady.”
“Of course not!” Anya snapped, the deep blue flecks in her eyes flaring a little, “I have found us something that might help in that endeavor.”
“Do tell,” Gheris said and Anya’s silent stare immediately quieted him. Though he was taller than the other priests were and fairer of skin, hair, and face, Gheris had the least rank of anyone in the room. None of them could help but think that the tall man was asking for a quick demonstration of Anya’s power, much as Alton was treading a deadly line between her favor and her wrath. Gheris sensed the ill will of Lady de Wynter bearing down on him and he paled a bit.
“There’s a portal, somewhere in the Unicorn Forest,” she said, “A member of our Order recently managed to discover it. There’s still much to learn about it but so far, the reports suggest that it was built long ago, during the days of High Magic. We also think it may lead to another world. Unfortunately, it disappeared before the priestess could obtain more specific information. Supposedly, it’s still in the Forest.”
“What do you propose to do?” Mordred asked. This shocked the rest of the congregation. Alton, being the most powerful, usually hogged the show, and Gheris, with his youth and relative inexperience, usually deferred to either he or Chandra. Mordred was usually the quiet one. He stroked the end of his shoulder-length dark braid and regarded Anya thoughtfully, with dark eyes that peered out from a tanned, inquisitive face. The priest seemed honestly curious to see what his superior had concocted this time and it showed.
“We’re going to find that portal,” Anya replied matter-of-factly, “and we’re going to use whatever we find on the other side to buy Branneth from these horrid nobles. If what our Order suspects is correct, all of us could benefit quite nicely from this, but more importantly, the people will benefit, and if they are content, they will accept us more quietly.”
“If the people find out who we really are, what we represent, and why we did what we did, it could be disastrous,” Alton countered vehemently, scratching his short, almost black beard, “They’d tear us to shreds and there’s no guarantee they’ll accept us anyway; the circumstances of your husband’s recent, tragic demise have left many people....suspicious of your true character, to say the least.”
Anya looked at Alton as though he was the most foolish, insolent, and insignificant person ever to have the misfortune of being created.
“People will talk, Alton, and little minds will find trifling, simple things to do when their feeble brains are not otherwise occupied,” she said, “The idle prattle of idle, gossip-driven tongues is not my concern; the welfare of this town and my church, however, are.”
Her scathing tone made its point quite poignantly and the man’s mouth closed before it could utter any kind of rebuttal. Satisfied, Anya continued to lay out her plans.
“With Avalonea and many of the surrounding countries recovering from war, we have a chance to make a killing in trade,” the Lady said, “They’ll be in dire need of supplies and the tools necessary to rebuild their economy and we possess the most prominent ports in this area of the world. We could easily secure our independence from Venule with the money this city would take in from supplying Avalonea alone, not to mention the fact that they have allies who’ll be in need of similar services.”
“Gaining the upper hand in the shipping business and buying Branneth out from under Venule without anyone realizing what we’re doing is risky, at best,” Chandra pointed out, “The people of this area are very loyal to Seluna; they won’t be happy to see their most beloved goddess’s most hated rival become more of a power here.”
The petite woman, so delicate and frail next to Anya’s incredible six foot four height, looked as though she were already shrinking and ducking from her superior’s will. The fact that she had a high, breathy voice as soft as silk and a fragile little frame only added to this fact.
“They will not know about us until it’s too late,” Anya said, “Once we’ve established ourselves in power, the people’ll be forced to give us at least some small concessions and the Church of Seluna will simply have to accept the people’s judgment.”
“Your late husband had many supporters on the ruling council of the city; Many of those nobles will be less than amendable to your suggestions and manipulations,” Mordred remarked, voicing a concern that many present had been almost afraid to bring up.
“Then we’ll make them see our point of view,” Anya stated bluntly.
“And how does the Church view this operation?” asked Gheris.
“I intend to seek aid from the Most High within the next two weeks,” Anya replied, “I’ll get an official sanction and a detail of priests to search for that portal and we’ll quietly gather our forces here. Once we have all the information we need and the time is right, we’ll deliver our ultimatum to the nobles.”
“And if the nobles will not cooperate?” Chandra demanded.
Lady de Wynter’s eyes went even colder if that were possible and she stared right through her.
“Then we deal with them,” Anya proclaimed coldly.
Chandra merely bowed her head in understanding and the group stood silent for a while. Each weighed the dangers carefully but, in the end, the possibility of ruling an independent city-state with the most powerful ports in the entire continent was too rich to pass up.
“We will stand with you, Milady,” Alton finally said, bowing his head. The others followed suit and a pleased smile crossed Anya’s features, though it did little to soften her appearance. Satisfied, she drew herself up to her full height and let all the power her station granted her flow through her every movement.
“Excellent,” she said, “Muster all the support you can from the loyal followers of my family and our Church. We’ll need as many priests in this city and as strong a support as we can get.”
“Yes, Milady,” Chandra, Gheris, Alton, and Mordred all intoned, one after the other, once again bowing their heads.
“In the meantime, I’ll handle my own problems with the nobles; hopefully we’ll have received word from the Most High and be able to move by the time all that foolishness is over,” Anya said, “I will give you all further instructions as soon as they’re to be had.”
Before the excited priests could leave, Lady de Wynter glanced at Alton.
“Oh, Alton, one more thing,” she said, almost too casually to be anything pleasant. The man recognized the danger in her tone but dared not turn away. His stomach doing flip-flops, he turned to her gingerly.
“Yes, Milady?” he asked. Her dark eyes froze him with their chill and the Lady brought her full displeasure to bear on him.
“You nearly failed me today,” she stated calmly, “The watch could’ve seen you, you were late for pre-ritual, and you had the nerve to question my authority. These are unforgivable, careless oversights. See that they do not happen again.”
Before Alton or any of the others could make any kind of reply, the woman stretched out her hand towards Alton and the man felt the force of her power bearing down on him. The air around him, which was already cold, seemed to chill him in a way that made the most frigid winter night seem warm in comparison. His entire body was suddenly locked in this zone of cold and he watched, in horror, as numbness began to settle into all his extremities. He could feel the frostbite coming on with something bordering on panic. The little man fell on his knees, his breath spilling out of him in plumes of freezing cold air, and curled up into a little ball.
Alton stared, as his hand seemed to lose color and turn the pale blue of an icicle before his eyes. The tips of his fingers paled even more and suddenly, Alton realized what was happening a moment before his fingers all the way to the bottom of his nails literally turned to ice. The man’s mouth opened to emit a scream of terror but the cold robbed him of any exuberance and the sound came out more as a frightened howl.
As soon as Alton screamed, the power seemed to abruptly leave him. His hands slowly began to darken and warm, until they returned to their normal, healthy pink. Alton’s breathing was still ragged and his eyes were haunted, wide, and scared. His heart was still working at such a frantic pace that it seemed as if everyone in the room should have been able to hear his heartbeat. The other priests merely stared in mute horror, not daring to move, lest they provoke some of the same treatment. Anya looked on satisfied. The implied threat had had the desired effect. When he finally regained his voice, Alton bowed most humbly.
“My most humble apologies, Milady,” the man stammered, fear still giving his voice a slight tremble, “I assure you such lax oversights will no longer trouble you.”
“For your sake, Alton, I hope not,” Lady de Wynter replied sternly.
That unpleasantness finished, Anya turned to her followers and smiled.
“You may return home now, but know that this door is always open. Nes’reena does not turn away those in need, no matter who they are,” she intoned, almost sweetly.
The priests responded enthusiastically, even gladly, Anya thought, as she dismissed them. They bowed and assured her they each would do their own part to ensure the Lady’s plans came to pass. They promised to keep the Church a secret until the time was right and slipped out quietly into the dark night, which, by now, was quiet and decidedly chill.
Anya watched them go from the black curtained window and allowed a little smile to play over her face, as she stared off into the darkling night. All of her plans were slowly coming to fruition and her thoughts drifted pleasantly in that direction, as she mused over all the details that still needed to be attended to. It felt good to know that there was nothing left to stand in the way of her ambitions. Her late husband, Lord Weatherton, had held her back for far too long but his ambitions would rule her no more. She would reclaim all that had been hers and more as soon as the legal proceedings surrounding his death were concluded. Anya had already taken back her old name and was ready to begin her life anew. The Church of the Dark Heart, her church, Nes’reena’s church, would become the most influential force in the land. It was only a matter of time.
Anya’s smile became a cold thing made of ice, devoid of anything resembling kindness, as she finished cleaning up. She opened the door and the chill wind hit her face, brushing over her like the cloak of a welcomed, long lost lover. There was much to do, little time to do it in, and the night was still young. The door shut behind her and Anya pulled her black cloak up around her face, more to disguise her features than to ward off the cold. In fact, she felt little of the wind’s bite as she swept off into the night, whistling as she went, becoming nothing more than a shadow, a part of an endless night strewn across a threatening, but somehow calm, sky.