PROLOGUE
SCREAMS OF DEFIANCE AND DESPAIR
Panor awoke in darkness, frightened.
It wasn’t the darkness itself that alarmed him, but the screams that jolted him awake. They sliced through the void of the night, each one beginning and ending in the same manner—sounds of defiance transitioning to hopelessness within a single breath. One after another, they reverberated down the corridor, each progressively closer to his room. Panor’s mind tormented him as he struggled to comprehend the unknown danger. The pounding of his heart crescendoed, while his breathing became shallow and labored, both intensifying, twisting his insides and amplifying his pain and confusion.
The shattering of glass outside his room warned Panor that the origin of his distress now lingered just beyond his door. Trembling, he felt the full weight of his fear pressing down upon him. He whimpered, his cries harmonizing with the screams outside, now understanding that these were the sounds of men clinging to their final moments of life before death claimed them.
Mustering barely enough strength, Panor wrapped the covers tightly around himself. The warmth of his blankets provided neither comfort nor protection. He clutched a toy bear, a gift from his sister the day before at his seventh-season celebration, securely between his forearm and chest. Panor gripped the toy as tightly as his own distress gripped him.
The door creaked, opening slightly, affording him a glimpse outside. Men’s shouts and the sounds of steel clashing against steel poured into the room. Faint moonlight streaming through the shattered corridor windows across the hallway offered no insight into what was transpiring. Shadowy figures flickered in and out of his view. The door opened wider, and several men hurried into his room. A loud slam and the screeching of the metal bar sliding into place informed Panor that his door was now barricaded from the inside.
Darkness enveloped him once again.
“Panor, come to me!” a gruff voice demanded.
The young boy recognized it: stern, yet reassuring, the voice made Panor feel momentarily safer. He leaped out of bed and sprinted through the darkness towards the center of the room, following the gruff man’s command.
The blast came next, unexpectedly.
The explosion’s accompanying sound was deafening, resembling thunder but lacking the typical rumbling that followed. The sheer force of the blast hurled Panor backward. Something between him and the hard wall behind buffered his impact, but not enough to prevent his lungs from being emptied of air. Settling dust caked in Panor’s throat, causing him to choke and cough. He wondered if anyone else had survived or if he was alone again. He blinked several times with great effort, attempting to regain his focus.
Odefel, his teacher, palace wizard, and the gruff voice in the darkness, began to speak. Panor recognized the words, an incantation. It was a simple spell, one even he knew; the spell brightened the room, forcing the shadows to retreat to the corners.
Panor glanced behind him, discovering what had softened his blow and most likely saved his life. It was a soldier—one of his soldiers; his eyes still open, were vacant and lifeless. Panor recalled the dead guard’s name—Talin.
He looked around amongst the debris, where several more of his protectors lay twisted in unnatural positions. Like Talin, they were obviously dead. Still, some had survived and were attempting to get back on their feet. Odefel, his grey beard and hair disheveled, rushed to Panor’s side and began inspecting him for injuries.
“Steady my young novitiate, you’re not dead yet,” the wizard whispered in what sounded like a relieved tone.
Panor watched as Odefel turned and began barking orders to the surviving guards.
“Get up! Protect the young prince. They will be coming through any moment now. Be steady, it’s your life or theirs—make certain it’s theirs!
Leaning forward, Panor rested his weight on one hand. The sourness in his stomach had turned to nausea. Lightheaded and distracted, he didn’t notice Odefel motioning to him.
“…up!”
“…stand up!”
Odefel reached down and placed his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Panor, can you stand up?”
He looked up at him, unable to find the words to answer. He simply nodded.
“Good, very good, now stand tall and settle behind me. I need you with your wits about you!” Odefel said, turning again to the men.
Despite the queasiness, Panor stood. His heart racing wildly while stabbing pains radiated from his temples to the base of his neck. Something warm and wet trickled down his forehead and he felt it smear as he wiped it away. Rubbing his fingers together, the ooze felt smooth and sticky, and he recognized it. It was blood—his blood. He shuddered.
Panor stood close to Odefel. To their front, his guards waited in defensive postures. The enemy’s blast had unintentionally provided the defenders a small advantage. Instead of the door, rubble from the partially collapsed ceiling, now blocked the opening into Panor’s room, affording no more than a single enemy soldier at a time to enter.
Panor’s guards cut the invaders down as fast as they entered. The dead began piling up.
“There are just too many of them,” one of the guards shouted as their enemy climbed over their own fallen to get further into the room.
Odefel pulled back the tattered sleeves of his white robe. Dirt and blood stains gave the cloth the semblance of a butcher’s apron, but the gold trim of a master striker was unmistakable.
Panor felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. The static charge building gave him clue even before he saw the lightening begin to materialize from the Odefel’s fingertips. The energy arced out, striking down several of the closest attackers. Spectacular in display, yet terrifying at the same time.
Odefel continued his arcane assault, casting in quick succession but Panor knew his mentor was not strong enough to smite them all. Exhaustion would eventually weaken him and the last of them would fall.
Odefel’s breathing became erratic as the magic took its exhausting toll. Between assailments and struggling for breath, he shouted orders, alternating between the two and coordinating his strikes with Panor’s personal guards’ assault upon the intruders. They continued to fight, and they continued to fall.
Panor’s fists tightened as his last defender fell. The sight of his dead men filled him with rage unlike he had ever known. He watched as the enemy entered his room unchallenged now. There were about twelve assailants remaining. Glancing from Odefel to Panor, and then back to Odefel, they kept their distance, fearful of both of them—master and apprentice.
“I want to kill them!” Panor cried. His arms shook as he clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Odefel did not take his eyes off the enemy. He reached a hand backward, finding Panor and pulling him tightly to his side.
The soldiers parted, creating a pathway for a tall, slender man, who glanced around at all of the dead. His look seemed almost sad before becoming stern. Panor knew immediately that this man too, was a wizard, though he wore no robes, and his clothes showed no distinguishing marks or colored trim. But Panor knew. This was the one who had blasted the door only moments earlier. He had been waiting as Odefel exhausted himself.
The wizard spoke. His voice was beautiful with a harmonic quality that cast a stark contrast against the bloody surroundings of his room: “Such a senseless waste of life.”
“A Keeper!” Panor blurted out.
The Keeper continued, not taking his eyes off of Odefel. “I detest my part in it. Really, I’ve no stomach for this nor have I any quarrel with you or your people or interest in your politics. In fact, I am only here for one reason. Let me fulfill my duty and I will go peacefully. I’ll let you return to your ways without any further interference, you may even win back the night if I and my fellow watchers leave now—but you must give us the boy.”
The Keeper gestured toward his soldiers, and they cleared a path out of the room. “No one will stop you—I’ll even escort you out safely but choose quickly as I grow impatient!”
Odefel remained silent and held fast.
The Keeper went on, “Let’s not waste any more life this night. This much death wasn’t what my people wanted.” His voice raised, he pointed at the young prince. “I am going to take him, and you dying for it will have prevented nothing.”
Panor studied the Keeper as intently as did Odefel. The two of them must have seemed quite a sight for their enemy—defiant despite the Keeper’s credible threats.
As the Keeper continued, exasperated by their silence, the prince heard Odefel begin to invoke a spell. He began to hug Odefel more securely. This time there was no lightning. Instead, fire arced out from Odefel’s hands, burning those closest before him. The Keeper quickly countered. The spell and counter-spell sparked out of existence at their clashing. Instinctively, Odefel threw another and another, but each one was countered swiftly by the Keeper.
The Keeper was much stronger than Odefel and in short order turned the tides. Odefel was the one now countering as the power shifted between the two. His magic weakened, and the spells inched closer and closer until one landed. The magic touched Odefel’s skin, burning his arm and neck causing the wizard almost to drop to his knees.
Panor felt the intensity of the heat that burned his teacher.
Odefel struggled, and then went back on the offensive. The wizard enchanted weapons from the dead and flung them toward the Keeper.
The Keeper’s hands blazed in a blue glow that quickly deflected the weapons into the crowd of soldiers behind him. A few screamed as the weapons impaled them. Others scattered, seeking shelter and distancing themselves from the dueling wizards.
“You can’t beat me,” the Keeper said, triumphantly. “Your powers are weak. But I will not enjoy killing a fellow practitioner, no matter how insignificant your power. This is your doing; you bring this upon yourself!”
The young prince, being completely ignored now, searched deep inside himself. His mind reached down where the magic hid, and he seized it like his teacher had taught him to do. Holding onto the power, his hatred burned at the sight of the Keeper. Panor had never thought these foreigners, to be much different than his own kind, save their beautiful voices. But they were! This wizard, his pale skin, green eyes, and greying hair, must be a disguise and underneath hiding a terrible monster. What else except something evil would bring so much death. Panor’s anger intensified. No attack spells came to mind; he had never been taught any; fueled emotionally he concentrated and envisioned what he wanted to happen and without a warning, thought became action. There was no thundering blast like earlier, only a soft pop.
The room shook everyone like a small earthquake, everyone except for him and Odefel. Panor created a bubble of warm, unseen energy and it surrounded the two. Everywhere else the energy radiated outward. The explosion, uncontrolled, unguided, and wild, was much more destructive than the Keeper’s had been—and much deadlier.
Odefel reeled at the sudden show of power. He looked down at his apprentice, the boy’s small arms still raised high in the air, as his own had been during the short battle. Panor’s spell left the enemy crumpled and thrown about. The young princes’ legs buckled beneath him; his strength fully spent from the spell.
Odefel caught him before he collapsed and helped him into a crouching position. He then quickly raced over to the Keeper, who was wriggling in pain on the floor. A bone protruded from an open fracture on his right arm.
“Your people will come to regret this day,” Odefel told him.
The Keeper laughed through his pain.
“Your world can’t hide one small boy, if not today then tomorrow, the entirety of my people will come crashing down upon you if necessary. We won’t stop until we take him.”
Odefel picked up a sword that was lying on the ground and thrust the tip deeply into the Keeper. “If that day does come, you won’t be there to see it.”
The Keeper expended his last breath.
With their wizard dead, Odefel surveyed their options. More soldiers would surely come. He looked around and found that Panor’s spontaneous release of power had breached the outer wall. That side of the castle, protected by the natural defense of a raging river, provided their only chance of salvation.
“Hold your breath, Panor!”
Grasping Panor securely, Odefel jumped, and together they fell four stories into the icy water below. They raced and flipped about in the strong current, the river’s force threatening to drown them both. The sounds from the castle were immediately lost against the cascading river.
The wizard and the prince fought against the rapids, clinging to each other. Panor choked as water entered his lungs; he panicked and began struggling in Odefel’s grip, thrashing about and trying to swim.
“Calm yourself. I have you!” Odefel shouted at the young prince.
The river’s current pushed harder around them, trying to separate them, and Odefel knew the waterfall was getting closer. He paddled with all the strength he had, swimming the two of them to the river’s bank, grasping at anything that would stop them. Finally, he was able to grab a tree branch that was leaning over the water’s edge. Too exhausted to do much more than lift the young prince, Odefel helped him up onto the tree.
“Climb, Panor! Pull yourself up.”
An enemy soldier came floating by and tried to grab ahold of them, but Odefel kicked the man away. They watched as he went over the waterfall’s edge. His scream quickly disappeared into the darkness, leaving only the roar of the water. By the time both of them managed to get up on shore, they witnessed six other enemy soldiers go over the falls to their deaths.
Scared and wet, Panor shivered in the cold. His teeth chattered as he spoke. “What about my family?”
“I can’t help them now, Panor. We barely escaped ourselves.” Odefel searched the tree line, scanning for any immediate danger. “We have to get you to safety.” Odefel took the prince by the arm.
Panor resisted and pulled back in an attempt to get away from his teacher. “We can’t leave them,” he yelled.
Odefel smacked the prince, stunning him. “Panor Lefelwen Danhain, you listen to me! We can’t go back! We must go now! They will be coming for you!”
The slap stung and Panor cried.
Odefel pulled the prince into the folds of his arms and hugged him tightly. Lowering and calming his voice he said, “Be brave, young master. I promise I will do all I can for your family once I get you to safety. I will build us an army. I will do whatever is required to rescue them. I swear it.”
Panor yielded, accepting that nothing else could be done at this moment. Odefel picked him up and began making his way through the woods. In the distance, dogs could be heard barking in pursuit. The river had not carried them far from the castle.
Odefel sat the prince down. “We can’t outrun them, but I have an idea.” He pulled out a pouch and fumbled with the strings that secured the bag’s contents.
Panor watched him withdraw a single stone from the small sack. “Once we had many just like this one,” he said, looking at the prince. “The knowledge to create them was tragically lost during the Great War between the Races. Now they are all gone save this one.”
Even in the darkness, the square stone’s smooth surface resembled polished jade and sparkled under the moonlight. The teacher began reciting words in an unfamiliar language, which the prince did not recognize. He watched and listened while the dogs’ barks grew nearer. Odefel paid no attention to the approaching danger and continued to speak to the stone. The rock began to emit a faint glow that gradually intensified into a rich green hue. Suddenly, the stone burst into thousands of tiny brightly colored specks of light that flickered and moved about but remained suspended in mid-air.
“The enemy won’t miss that,” Odefel attempted to reassure Panor with a smile. “But we shall be gone before they get here.”
The colors began to blend and form patterns, creating images that grew increasingly clear. As they merged, a scene emerged that appeared to be a painting floating in midair, framed in the same rich green glow as the stone had been moments before. But it was no ordinary painting; it seemed to be an opening, leading to a strange landscape with a forest background that contrasted starkly with their surroundings.
“Quickly, Panor,” his teacher ordered, “jump through now! The tunnel will only last a few seconds.”
Panor did not hesitate and leaped through the framed square doorway that the stone had created. Odefel followed closely behind. As they looked back from the other side, the green glow around the edges of the frame began to pulse and fade.
“Back up, it’s collapsing!”
Panor did as he was told, now surrounded by the foreign landscape he looked back through the portal to view the clearing they had just departed. Two vicious Grievous Hounds broke through the brush. He had never seen any alive before but there was no mistaking them. Rabid in appearance, tortured and trained from birth to do one thing, kill. They had clearly been spotted from the other side of the portal and the hounds charged, mouths frothing, razor teeth bared at the site of their prey.
“Abhorrent Filth!” Odefel swore. He drew a dagger, stepping out of view from their side of the portal.
The green frame began to sizzle and pop. The view of the other side blurred slightly and then blinked out of existence. A leaping hound, exiting through the portal failed to see Odefel out of view. Odefel’s knife tore through the animal, using its own momentum to gut it. It barely made a yelp as it fell to the ground, dead at Panor’s feet.
Odefel nudged the half carcasses with his foot. “That was a bit close,” he said letting out a sigh of relief, satisfied the threat was over.
“I’m scared Master Odefel!” Panor’s voice cracked.
“We are somewhere very safe; they can’t follow us here. You needn’t be frightened now.”
Panor nodded. “What about your promise?”
“I will do all I can for your family. You have my word. But I need you to be strong. Can you do that for me?”
“I will be strong,” Panor replied wearily, on the verge of exhaustion.
Odefel gathered some wood and made a hasty fire. “Rest now. I am going to take you to someone who will help us. He will protect you until I can return for you. You must not speak to anyone about what happened. Say it!”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
Panor looked from Odefel to the fire. The heat was comforting. He closed his eyes and dreamed strange and wonderous things with people he had never seen before and of the palace to which they took him.