Dennis McKiernan - City of Jade

EVENTS IN THE LAST YEARS OF THE FIFTH ERA

In the year 5E1009, in the Boskydells, three Warrows dreamt the very same dream-or was it a ghostly visitation? Regardless, they beheld the specter of Aurion Redeye, who told them that he was redeeming a pledge made long past. Redeye called for the Warrow Company of the King to be reassembled, formed as it was in the Winter War, for a great storm was coming from the east, and the Gjeenian penny would soon be seen on the borders of that small land, summoning the company to the side of the High King.

And so, the word went out, and Warrows flocked to the cause. Among those who volunteered were two buccen-Binkton Windrow and Pipper Willowbank, who slipped away from their uncle Arley, and went to the village of Rood to see the local Thornwalker captain to join the ranks. The captain turned them down and sent them packing, for Pipper Willowbank was but thirteen summers old and Binkton Windrow just three moons older. Fuming in disappointment, they went back into the care of their uncle, who was training them in their professions yet to come.

And as to this uncle Arley, his own past was shrouded in mystery; it was something he spoke little of, though the skills he taught to his nephews would be most useful in many ways.

Regardless, Pipper Willowbank and Binkton Windrow resolved to run away and join the Company of the King, once it was on the march.

In that same year of 5E1009, as foretold by Redeye’s apparition, a dreadful threat to the High King’s realm came from the east: it was Kutsen Yong, the Dragonking, and he would destroy all, he and his Golden Horde. He would be joined in this endeavor by the ancient enemies of the High King-the Lakh of Hyree, the Chabbains, the Rovers of Kistan, and the Fists of Rakka-Southerlings all. But the most terrible foes the High King’s Host would face were not the Southerlings nor the Golden Horde, but the Dragons under the sway of the Dragonking, for nought could withstand the might of Drakes. . none but the gods, that is, for other forces were at work, other powers in motion.

The Gjeenian penny arrived at the Thornwall, and the Warrow Company of the King set out to join the Host on the banks of the Argon. Binkton and Pipper then made preparations to follow after. Yet they were thwarted by a great blizzard that enveloped the Boskydells, and by the time the thaw came in the spring of 5E1010, the Dragonstone War was over.

Even so, the end of the war was not the end of things to be done, for an Impossible Child-Bair by name-was yet to challenge those very same gods to stop their meddling in the fates of Man and Elf and Dwarf and Mage and all other beings as well.

Caught up in this aftermath precipitated by Bair were Aravan and Aylis and others, later to include Binkton Windrow and Pipper Willowbank.

This is their story.

DARK DESIGNS

LATE AUTUMN, 5E1010

[THE FINAL YEAR OF THE FIFTH ERA]

In a tall tower hidden deep in the Grimwalls, that long and ill-omened mountain chain slashing across much of Mithgar, a being of dark Magekind sat in his dire sanctum and brooded about retribution. In the time since the end of the Dragonstone War, the Ban had been rescinded and the ways between the Planes had been restored, though most of those crossings were now warded by Elves and Humans and even Magekind to prevent the passage of Foul Folk from Neddra into the High and Middle Worlds. But none of these things were what occupied the seething thoughts of Nunde. Instead, his rage was directed at the vile Dolh-vile Elf-who had slain the Black Mage’s god, to the ruin of all Nunde’s plans.

Well he remembered that day, when Gyphon’s silent scream of the dying had sounded across the Planes; it had driven Nunde and all of Black Magekind to their knees in agony, the unbearable pain affecting all Drik and Ghok and Oghi and Vulpen, along with other fell beings, all the creations of the Dark God.

How to take vengeance, how to gain redress, occupied all of Nunde’s thoughts.Aravan must die, that is certain, but the method of it is the question; for he is surrounded by staunch and powerful allies, and slaying him will be no easy task. Oh, there are ways the Dolh can be killed outright, but that isn’t the point at issue; instead agony and grief and unbearable despair must overwhelm Aravan before he suffers a dreadful death. Hence, strippinghim of all he values comes first, and doing so in a fitting-some would say unspeakable-manner must precede the Dolh’s own demise.

How to do it, how to accomplish what most certainly had to be done, that was the question, that was the issue, and that was what the Necromancer pondered throughout the long tides of night.

Indeed, I could bring an army from Neddra to Mithgar, but where would be the pleasure in that? No subtlety, no iron taste of cold revenge? Pah! With the ways between the Planes now open, it isn’t like that time I slew ten thousand on Neddra to gain enough ‹fire› to bring a rout of Chun and others through the temple in Drearwood despite the Sundering. Ah, what surprise upon the faces of those who sought to purge the ’Wood of Gyphon’s minions. They did not know that a small measure of Mithgarian blood flows in my veins along with the blood of Neddra, as well as that of Vadaria. Nor did any know that I could capture the rout in my ‹fire›, my aura greatly expanded by those I had slain. And we fell upon those Humans and Elves in a great killing; had it not been for Aravan’s crystal-bladed spear and Riatha’s cursed Darksilver sword, we would have slaughtered all ere Silverleaf and the others arrived, and we would have butchered them as well. But with the Guk and their steeds and the Vulpen all brought down by Aravan and Riatha, the remainder of my Chun were no match for them, and I had to flee. Even so, Riatha’s blade nearly was my undoing. Nunde’s fist smashed down upon the arm of his dark chair. This is another reason to render vengeance upon Aravan and all of those he cherishes.

As dawn broke in the eastern sky, Nunde rose from his seat at the slit of a window, preparing to descend to his quarters. It was not as if he had to flee from the light of day, for, thanks to that fool of a boy Bair, the cursed Rider of the Planes, not only were the in-between ways now open, but Adon’s Ban had been lifted as well, and no longer did the Black Mage and his ilk suffer the withering death.

No, instead Nunde, by force of ingrained habit-a habit many millennia long-was a creature of darkness, as were his minions, all beings of Neddra.

Down the stone steps of the shadowy stairwell Nunde descended to his torchlit quarters below, and there he fell into a restless sleep, his mind still churning with thoughts of revenge, as it had done for weeks on end, ever since word had come that it was Aravan, wielding a Silver Sword, who had put Gyphon to death.

But as the sun came up on this day, Nunde would set aside his scheming and rest, for in the dusktime morrow night he would begin the long journey to the crossing to Neddra to meet with a small conclave of Black Magekind, where, if his immediate ruse came to fruition, the conclave would be under his heel. After all, he had plans to wrench their power from them.

Aravan could wait.

BOSKYDELLS

LATE AUTUMN, 5E1010

[THE FINAL YEAR OF THE FIFTH ERA]

It was a blustery day in the Boskydells, with the wind swaying the lofty pines to and fro and the tall grass in the adjoining field rolling in undulant golden waves. An eld buccan stood back from the edge of the woods, his cloak whipping in the air. Behind him sat a stripling in chains, his wrists shackled, his legs in irons. But the elder paid no heed to the youngster on the ground; nor did the chain-wrapped stripling seem concerned over his own fate. Instead both Warrows looked up high at a rope spanning the gap between two of the swinging pines, the line alternately looping slack and then snapping taut.