Brian Rathbone - Regent

Run!

Instinct and compulsion drove Sinjin's lean, teenage body to greater speed, his shoulder-length, auburn hair streaming behind him. Running was the one thing he did well, and the landscape slid by in a blur punctuated by moments of perfect focus. Leaping over a protruding tree root, his eyes locked on another dark-robed figure moving within the trees. Startled, Sinjin lost his step and nearly went down, but through strength of will, he heeded his father's command and ran.

Faster. Run, Sinjin, run!

Ahead the trail turned sharply upward on a direct course to the top of a steep incline. An unfamiliar pain stabbed Sinjin's side, and he placed a hand over it, hoping it would make the cramp go away. It didn't. The Wood Run was designed to challenge even the best runners, and it succeeded in that, but Sinjin gritted his teeth and persevered. Sweat stung his eyes by the time he crested the steep hill. He wanted to stop and rest, to slow his labored breathing, but knew he could not; something was wrong. There should be no one in these woods, especially not shadowy figures in black hooded robes, and his father's mental commands reinforced his fears. It was unusual for Prios to speak with Sinjin over such distance, and Sinjin knew it must have required a great deal of energy and effort. It was equally unusual for Sinjin to be competing in the Spring Challenges, something that had been expressly forbidden.

Stop!

It took a moment for Sinjin to react to the abrupt command, and his momentum carried him forward. The air sang a sharp note, and a dark flash crossed the trail only a hand's width in front of Sinjin's unprotected abdomen. Thrown from his balance, he lost control of his limbs, and a loose rock turned his ankle. Using his next off-kilter step to hurl himself upward, he tucked and rolled, just as Uncle Chase had taught him. The air sang once again, and a slender bolt struck a nearby tree, giving Sinjin a clear view of the deadly implement. It was not like the thick, stubby bolts used to hunt game; this was delicate and precise and seemed a much more frightening weapon.

Cut the course! Turn left ahead!

More shadowy figures moved within the trees. Sinjin started to turn but caught sight of the next ribbon on his right. Tied around the trunk of an elm, it was the last of seven ribbons he needed to collect. Each was signed by Master Edling, and all were required as proof of staying on the Wood Run course. The thought of facing Master Edling and his father made Sinjin want to quit the race and get home, but he could win this race; he knew it. He'd allowed Durin to talk him into it because he'd secretly desired it. Things were not going to go well for him when he got home-if he got home-and he knew this might be his only chance to win. It wasn't the prize he sought; it was the chance to prove that he was good at something-the best, even. Youthful desire overwhelmed sense and his father's command, and Sinjin turned sharply to the right.

Barely slowing, he grabbed the long end of the slipknot and charged toward the clearing, but just as the lush grasses of the Challenge fields came into view, a dark-robed figure stepped onto the trail and raised his arms before him. Sinjin could not see what weapons threatened from within the folds of the overlong sleeves, but he felt the danger.

His blood froze and he nearly ran headlong into death's embrace, but his training was not so far from his mind. Without slowing, he ran up the trunk of a nearby oak and flipped himself backward over the stunned assassin. Using the longest stride he'd ever attempted, Sinjin propelled himself into the clearing. A roar erupted from the gathered crowd, and Sinjin knew he must be running a faster time than Hester had. All he had to do was finish the race to defeat a living legend. Bolstered by this thought and the sight of the exuberant crowd, Sinjin ran. His shoulders itched, almost expecting a bolt to strike and demanding he at least turn his head and look back, but the pain never came.

Durin stood at the head of the crowd, jumping, shouting, and pointing at the sand clocks.

Sinjin suppressed a smile. Then he lowered his head and poured all the energy he had left into a final sprint. At the finish line, he stuffed his seven ribbons into Master Edling's hands. The crowd erupted. Edling, who normally wore a haughty and sour look, could not keep the surprise from his face.

Get home. Now!

Sinjin barely heard his father's voice in his mind, and that worried him more than anything else. Durin's dumbstruck gaze followed Sinjin as he ran past, not even bothering to accept his prize. Sinjin just placed a hand on his aching side and kept moving.

Durin ran up alongside. "What are you doing? You won! You beat Hester's record! You have to stop and accept your prize. You're supposed to get a wreath of vespa and a kiss from Alissa. I can't wait until Kendra hears about this."

"My dad already knows," Sinjin said between sucking in breaths. He couldn't even think about Kendra; she was an unsolvable problem.

Durin's look was apologetic, as it often was, his expressive face and liquid-brown eyes almost comical. "I didn't think he would find out-at least not this soon. Sorry."

"And there are people trying to kill me."

"What? Really?" Durin asked, stumbling as he tried to keep up.

Sinjin just grunted and jogged north toward his home, and for once, Durin matched his pace.

By the varying light of five herald globes, Catrin hunched over a crumbling scroll, trying to unlock its secrets before time rendered it back into dust. Her translucent hair fell to one side, a constant reminder of the consequences of power. Four more herald globes rested in small iron pedestals, which currently held down the corners of the ancient vellum. Each globe cast its unique glow over the surface of the scroll accompanied by muted reflections from the polished stone table on which they rested. Catrin didn't notice the white and blue filaments that arched from her delicate fingers to the table.

She sighed and closed her eyes. Vast amounts of knowledge had been uncovered in the past decade, much as a result of the ancient cache Catrin herself had found at Ohmahold, but little had been deciphered and even less truly understood. So many of the things they found seemed meaningless and out of context. Each discovery brought more mystery than certainty. The scroll that currently held Catrin's interest discussed the principles and behaviors of energy. It had been found deep within Dragonhold.

That name still made Catrin shiver. She had proposed Volkerhold as the name of her keep, but the instant Chase had suggested Dragonhold, people latched on to it. Leave it to her cousin to come up with a name irresistible to most yet made Catrin very uncomfortable. She'd seen the true majesty of dragons, and it seemed an impossible name to live up to, especially since her relationship with Kyrien was in question. He was a free beast, and nothing bound him to her. After the war with the Zjhon, he had come to her once every year for eight years straight. For the past two years, though, he'd been absent.

For months Catrin had been trying to make contact with him, but he was distant, and what little communication they managed was garbled and only served to worry and confuse her. It disgusted her that deep down she also wanted more dragon ore. Kyrien was far more to her than just a source of the precious stone, but she was suffering without it. Working the stone into herald globes, though tedious, calmed her nerves and filled the hold's coffers. Truly, a visit from her dragon would do her good. With another sigh, she pushed the scroll aside, unable to achieve the level of focus needed for translation, and a sloppy translation would do her no good at all.