Prologue
Overture
“There’s something mystical about beginnings, whether tis a birth or the opening of a story or song, a sense of wonder always permeates the start”.
Jorun Wordweaver Master Bard
Wesley panted, running through the dark wood, the ragged sounds of his breathing and cracking branches echoing. Furtively he thought of all the Marshall’s lessons he had avoided, and privately swore he’d never do the same if he got the opportunity. He was lost, he knew he was lost, and more than just his life rested in his hands. It was a shocking change from the idyllic boyhood he had been living just short hours before. Hardship and fear were strangers to him, but he was making full acquaintance with them tonight. His adrenaline-fueled energy began to evaporate, his speed flagging when several dark shapes appeared out of the night around him.
Wesley screamed, and spun back the way he had come, his feet slipping and arms windmilling furiously. “Hush boy none of that now” the deep reassuring voice of his uncle rumbled as familiar arms grabbed him and stopped his attempted mad dash. He broke down into a combination of broken words and sobs for several moments before his uncle spoke again. “I know you’re scared Wes, but we need to know what happened so take a deep breath and tell us what you can. The steady calm tone worked and after several deep shuddering breaths the boy managed to get his breathing under control and started speaking. “It was that funny Wizard who was at the inn last night, he told me and David wonderful stories and then said that we were special and he had come to take us a way on an adventure as Wizards and Heroes.”
“Damn Slavers” a voice whispered from out of the darkness, which prompted a quelling glare from his uncle, catching his breath Wesley went on. “Yeah, like you said Slavers, we snuck away and found their camp where he said it would be, so we just walked right in there and were grabbed, like idiots. David did something, I couldn’t see what and there was an explosion and David screamed for me to run, and I did” the last bit whispered very low as if to hide his shame, followed by muffled weeping. “You did the right thing boy; did you see how many of them there were?” The boy gathered himself and scrunched his face up in concentration, “maybe a score, and twice that many slaves, but they yelled for the Wizard to catch me. What are we going to do if he finds us?
The frightened question was met by a round of dangerous sounding chuckles and Wesley saw old Okenye Fredricks the town miller leaned in, his eyes seeming to catch fire with scintillating blue light “don’t you worry about that Wizard boy, I’ll take care of him”. Around the group several flashes of light and sound flared up, showing devilish grins on their dark faces. His uncle leaned back down to speak to him as sudden hope rose in his chest. “Wes, we don’t want them to know we’re coming, can you head back towards the camp? We’ll be with you but the wizard won’t see us, I hate to ask this of you but it might be the quickest way to rescue David?” Looking around the darkened woods intently Wesley took note of all the village men in the group. Unable to speak he simply nodded and turned back the way he had come, not feigning his stumbles, even if he did know he was going the wrong direction.
Several minutes later he noticed the dull yellow glow of an approaching witch light. He was comforted that he could make out the shadowy figures of several local woodsmen and even the Marshall spread out through the woods, knowing that the light of the oncoming wizard would blind him to such things. Wesley staggered forward, with a completely unfeigned look of horror and fear on his face as the foreign wizard stomped into the clearing. “Ah hah” the tall angular man snorted and whipped his wrist in an upward twist. Golden chains that matched the pulsing light wrapped the boy around the middle holding his arms tight. Without speaking to his prisoner, he turned back and headed away, Wesley dragged along by the magic of the chains, and the local men following wraithlike in the gloom. “Damn Wilder mages, you’re worth a mint but your friend caused quite a ruckus”. The striding man looked back at his captured prize and raised an eyebrow, seeming to search for a reaction. The stress, and fear of him spotting those following, brought out a whimpering sob, followed by a look of pure hatred and defiance. The young boy was no actor, but the reactions were real, and the Wizard grinned and turned back forward chuckling softly.
Soon the muted glow of the campsite came into sight and Wesley was treated to the sight of the same setup he had glanced earlier, with faint whisps of smoke rising from a partially burned wagon. Otherwise, it looked the same, with a line of downcast prisoners, and now David standing defiant in front of the Wizard they had followed here, similar magical bonds, setting off the thin line of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes flared, and then a look of utter defeat crossed his face as Wesley was dragged into the firelight. The leader snorted at the display and pointed to the chain line where Wesley was soon chained in with the rest, using mundane chains this time. “No one escapes” he rasped pointing as he was chained and turning David bodily as he did. When his back turned the screams started.
As Wesley’s hope lifted a completely unfamiliar man with long lank black hair and moon pale skin strode into the light hacking down guards left and right as he came. Maintaining his grip on David the slave master pointed at the bloody apparition that had sprung out of the night. “Bows you fools, take him down”. When all the soldiers turned towards the invader, the locals struck. A line of loping dark-skinned men appeared out of the wood line, with a smaller number walking slowly behind them, alight with magical power. “Behind us” the second wizard shrieked sending a wave of fire roaring out towards them. The two-pronged battle was fully joined as the town miller Fredricks waved his hand contemptuously and a blue radiance enveloped the oncoming wall of fire and snuffed it out instantly.
The village folk formed a tight wedge, with the tall lean Marshall Shandal in the front, a huge long hafted axe in her hands, with a handful of men and women scattered to either side wielding short spears and shields. They crashed into the hastily assembled half score of slavers with a shout and crash, while bolts, blobs, balls, and bursts of magic firing out from behind them overpowering the now three unified casters of the slaver camp unloading their magical might. A beefy woman in black armor chanting some form of unholy chants had joined the slave master, and second wizard, joining her clerical magic to their arcane assault. It was brief, and bloody, with the defending slavers losing over half of their number in the initial clash, and the rest scattering. At the same time the original attacker had cut through the slavers on the other side of the camp, they terrified remainder joining the disjointed fleeing fighters streaming into the night woods.
In the middle the three casters stood defiant, facing the bloody swordsman swathed in black on one side and the villagers on the other, only two of their number wounded and none dead. The leader stood with his eyes moving wildly back and forth, a knife held at David’s throat, and the chains holding the other prisoners glowed with an evil purple and green flecked radiance emanating from the snarling priestess, the sigil of Nés, goddess of plague and disease now visible in the suddenly lit night.
Before anyone else could speak the huffing, swordsman did. “It’s over Galen, you die now. Let the boy go and die on your feet.” He continued to walk forward at a stead inexorable pace, unconsciously shaking blood from his blade with a shake of the wrist, his eyes never moving from his targets face. The Wizard holding David shrieked “stay back I’ll kill the boy; Lucius stop him you fool.” So, saying he kicked the second wizard towards the still advancing swordsman. He then cut his eyes back towards the villagers, but they had halted watching the chained prisoners and the held boy. “Hold there stranger, let us protect the prisoners” Wesley’s uncle Okenye Omari stood forward from the others as they watched the conflation. “We ca-“
Without slowing the advancing man, he was appealing to whipped his sword up, slicing through a fire red wall of magic that the staggering Lucius had created, and not even slowing down as it sliced its creator through the armpit and out the top of his head, a fan of blood spreading through the air. A furious bolt of crawling green radiance that shot out towards him from the standing village magic users was summarily swatted aside, his sword glowing briefly golden. The priestess turned back towards him too late, the upward arc of the sword was reversed and it cleanly cut through her upraised arm and followed through her throat to drop her choking and grabbing at her throat as she dropped, the spell she held dropping with her. The remorseless man had never taken his eyes of the now screaming wizard who in a fit of panic sliced across the struggling boys throat and pushed him at his antagonist, yelling out arcane phrases as he did. The swordsman side stepped the flailing boy, spraying arterial blood and took one long stride forward. His sword stabbed forward, viper swift and lanced through the dissipating form of the fleeing wizard.
The villagers were shouting, and rushing towards the fallen boy as the slaver lifted his eyes incredulous to his attacker. Ever so slowly his misty form solidified around the blade, and then fell silently to the ground his eyes staring sightlessly. His slayer stood looking at him for a long moment and then sighed before quickly turning back to the dying boy behind him. “Move” he grated out waving the furious villagers away from the boy who’s thrashing was slowing as he lay on the ground in a rapidly growing pool of his own blood. He then knelt and raised his odd-looking sword in one hand, and touched the boys throat with his other one. A golden glow enveloped them both and David spasmed up, his heels drumming the ground. After a long moment the skin on his neck visibly healed, closing up with unnatural speed and precision, leaving one long, clean line across the blood-soaked throat where fresh skin now covered.
The lone man and the villagers stood looking at each other, several of them examining the shuddering boy, while others removed the prisoners’ chains, and the rest watching him intently, wariness and anger warring on their face. “There he’s alive” so saying the black clad stranger whispered something and a golden flame ran the length of his sword, burning off the gore accumulated on it. “How dare you” Marshall Shandal yelled; her knuckles white on her axe with the visible strain of holding back. “Boy survived” he again spoke, seeming as if it pained him to do so, and sheathed his sword with a hard move, unconcerned by the weapons pointed his way. “And his voice”, Omari spoke softly pointing at the boy now standing and massaging his throat. “I don’t know” he responded, a tiny bit of emotion seeming to creep into his tone for the first time. “He’s a wizard you fool, you might have ruined his gift, and I don’t know is the best you have” His uncles voice rose steadily as he spoke, ending on a loud gruff note. Wesley looked back and forth between the lone man, and his agitated neighbors, while joyously hugging David, both their eyes alight with relief.
“I said I don’t know, kill me or let me leave, you choose”, so saying the stranger wiped his hands across his face and pulled a waterskin off his belt taking a long draught not meeting anyone’s gaze. “We must imprison him” Shandal said, pointing at her belt where the Marshalls Oak Leaf Cluster showed, proof of her authority.
“NO”
The voice thundered through the clearing, followed by a swirl of wind that whipped the leaves up in the fall air. The lone man put down the waterskin and sighed. “Kill me or free me, I don’t make the rules”, this time he pulled down the top of his loose tunic uncovering his chest and precisely where his heart would lie was an upright hand fingers spread, the symbol of Fate, Primarch of the Gods. “And did your god do this” Shandal spat waving at the slaughter in the clearing. “That was me” he responded and released his shirt, putting the waterskin back on his hip. After a long look around the clearing he shrugged and turned his back to the still whispering group of people and walked out of the clearing into the darkness, alone.