Brian Rathbone - The Dawning of Power

His fears returned as he got closer, and he wondered what would happen to Catrin next. It was as if the gods were toying with her. Thoughts of the gods had always seemed distant to him, but now he was overwhelmed by nagging questions. The rules of his world had suddenly changed, and he was no longer certain what was real.

It was almost too much for him to absorb, and he turned his mind to the task of getting back safely. Not far from the cavern entrance, he encountered Chase.

"Did you see anything?" he asked.

"There's an army coming from the north, and I thought I saw movements in the trees, so I came back to check on everyone."

"Did you hear that?" Strom asked. "That sounded like it came from the cavern."

Chase didn't bother to respond; instead, he took off at a run, Strom close on his heels.

When Benjin reached the farm, he sneaked back into the hayloft to retrieve the things he'd hidden there. Under the cover of darkness, he carried the sacks down from the loft and used a piece of rope to tie them together before he slung them over his shoulder. Then, knowing every moment he stayed only increased the danger, he made his way along the fence.

Morning would arrive soon, and Benjin knew the chances of his escaping were rapidly dwindling. Surely someone would find the man he'd stolen the uniform from, and it was obvious that men were searching the mountains for Catrin. Quickening his pace, he tried to cover as much ground as possible before sunrise.

When he reached the place where he'd first seen signs of soldiers in the mountains, he froze. Nearby the snap of a branch warned of imminent danger, but he couldn't pinpoint from what direction it had come. Not wanting to lead anyone to Catrin and the others, he began moving in the opposite direction. The sound of moving leather was all the warning Benjin received before a sword whistled by his ear. Reeling from his evasive maneuver, Benjin let go of the string that held the sacks over his shoulder and rolled away from them.

The soldier who stepped out from behind a nearby tree was a giant of a man with muscles like cords of thick rope. His face showed no fear or battle frenzy; instead what Benjin saw was the cautious confidence of a seasoned warrior. Benjin managed only a single swing of his sword. The ill-timed and out-of-practice attack proved to be a critical mistake. Even as he swung, Benjin saw the man raise his thick sword to meet his strike. On the bottom of the soldier's blade, just before the crosspiece, was a large notch. With the precision of a practiced movement, like a dancer spinning in time with the music, the soldier lodged Benjin's blade into that notch and used his strength, leverage, and a quick snap of his wrist to shatter Benjin's sword.

Left with only the handle and crosspiece of his sword, Benjin could only hope that a technique he'd learned long ago would allow him to use his opponent's size and strength against him.

Mistakes are a necessary part of life, but they should never be repeated. -Wendel Volker, horse farmer

Shrouded in darkness, Catrin continued along the wall. Her hand glided over the smooth stone, and she slid her boots across the floor, testing each step as she went. Her fingers found another doorway. She peered inside but could see nothing in the darkness. There were side passages and doorways at irregular intervals but nothing to indicate a way out. Each junction tested her will. Could it lead to daylight? Her gut told her to continue straight and let any pursuers explore the rest of the place.

In the darkness, tactile imagery gave her a sense of her surroundings, but she felt lost without her sight. In her fear, she moved with exaggerated caution, anticipating unseen obstacles. When she heard muffled shouts, though, she became desperate to move with greater speed, and she stumbled several times in her rush to put distance between herself and those behind her. Her instincts screamed for her to run as fast as she could, but she made herself take it slowly for the sake of safe passage, knowing that even a minor injury could lead to her death in these circumstances.

No more shouts broke the silence, but that did little to ease her anxiety. Only when she was far into the depths of the mountain, by her reckoning, did she begin to let down her guard. Beyond a steep incline, the hall grew level. A few steps beyond the plateau, her fingers encountered what felt like cloth that had been attached permanently to the stone, and it crumbled under her touch. Her imagination conjured up the image of an ancient tapestry, depicting heroic lords as they performed mighty deeds. Unwilling to damage whatever it might be, she used only the toe of her boot as a guide; beauty, even imagined, should not be destroyed.

Occasionally she tested the wall with a finger, but the tapestry stretched on for what seemed an impossible distance. Her mind could not conceive a work of art so massive, and she began to wonder if she were fooling herself. When her finger once again met bare stone, she was almost surprised. The stone felt cool under her hand, and she let her fingers glide along, feeling her way into the unknown.

Her thumb encountered a deep swirl carved in the wall, and that was all the warning she had before she walked into a stone column. The pain and shock left her shaken for a moment, but then she explored the column with her fingers: The top was tapered gracefully, and the bottom was broad. At the base, she found elaborate carvings, which felt like oddly shaped faces. Hopeful, she stepped to the center of the corridor and through an arched doorway, beyond which she discovered a cavernous hall. Towering pillars, so massive their scale was difficult to fathom, were illuminated in the pale light.

The distance separating her from the light source further revealed the enormity of the hall, and she almost doubted what she was seeing-this hall dwarfed any man-made structure she had ever heard of. Even the floor was a marvel, covered with an uncountable quantity of tiny tiles. Large sections of the design were missing, and the loose tiles made for lousy footing.

Distant rumblings of thunder warned of a storm, and in the stillness, Catrin thought she heard rain. Straining her eyes in the darkness, she headed in the direction of the diminishing light but was soon plunged back into near blackness, and she feared she would fall if she tried to go much farther.

Exhaustion drove her to the nearest column, and she settled near its base, her knees pulled to her chest. Anxiety burned in her belly, and fear iced her spine. She worried about Osbourne's safety and that of everyone else she knew and loved. Unable to sleep, she tried in vain to find her meditative state of awareness. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the great hall only long enough to produce quick and frightening glimpses, and the thunder and the rush of rain left distorted echoes lingering in the air. Images of demons and phantoms, lurking in the darkness, tormented her.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but when she woke, she saw the far end of the cavern bathed in a soft, pale glow. A jagged chasm, high in the wall, was the source of that blessed light. Her muscles protested when she stood, but she rolled her neck, stretched her legs, and started toward the light.

What appeared to be a throne of rough-hewn rock seemed to grow out of the far wall beneath a colossal bas-relief. The throne was grossly oversized-large enough to hold ten men-and was flanked by a pair of statues in the shape of men. Similar figures lined the walls, and they made Catrin's flesh crawl. She soon realized they were not statues, but suits of heavy armor, the likes of which had not been seen in recent history. Under her breath, she muttered, "Strange. Empty armor guarding an abandoned throne."