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  “Would you tell me the blade’s story? Even Master Rand wondered how such a weapon ended up in the hands of a Schulg chief’s son.”

  Lord Tandon nodded, thinking back to his grandfather. “My grandfather, Lord Cyn Tandon, was a scion forger like me. According to my family’s history, my grandfather’s son, my father, fell from his horse when he was a boy. He had a habit of going off on his own, riding for hours across the steppe. His father scolded him often but it would not deter him from his rides. When he fell, he broke his leg. It was such a serious fracture that it left him unable to walk. He was found by the Urgas, a small Schulg tribe that lived near the base of the mountains. They saved his life and nursed him back to health. In payment, my grandfather forged the chief that sword. The last I’d heard was that a young warrior had challenged that chief’s son to a bloodrite duel, which he won. It must have been this Tangar warrior that you spoke of. It pained me to think that the sword had fallen into another tribe’s hands.”

  “Sir,” Brant said, “I feel as if the blade belongs with your family.” Brant did not want to give up the blade, but now that he knew the history of it he somehow felt that it should return to the Tandon estate.

  Lord Tandon waved him off. “I thank you, son for your offer. But like I said, if Master Rand gave you that blade, then you are the man to have it. He must have felt you were worthy of it, and therefore I will have to agree with him. Besides, a blade such as this belongs in a warrior’s hand, not hanging on a wall. I asked around about you. It is said that you are Ull Therm. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lord Tandon pursed his lips and nodded. “Good. I am happy that an Ull Therm carries the blade. Is it true that you are also a Merger?”

  “It is.”

  “But you are not of noble heritage?”

  Brant shook his head, his face taking on an expression of pain mixed with anger, as it typically did when one spoke of us upbringing, or lack thereof. “I am not.”

  Lord Tandon caught the subtle change in Brant's expression as well as his guarded tone. “Worry not, son. My feelings about commoners born with the Way do not coincide with my colleague’s narrow mindedness about such matters.”

  “I am happy to hear that,” Brant said, noticeably relaxing.

  As they neared the ruins their conversation halted as they looked upon the ancient structure. The garrison was a giant wall that spanned the length of the small valley, the wall at least thirty paces high. The gatehouse was dead center, a large sturdy barbican the center point of the massive structure. Two towers double the height of the wall rose on either side of the barbican and battlements spanned the entire structure. As they came closer Brant noticed that there was no gate, the wood and metal structure long ago rusted and rotted away, removed to keep the path to Rygar permanently open. It was easy for Brant to imagine a picture long ago of hundreds of warriors patrolling the wall, a thick sturdy gate of solid oak and metal shutting out their enemies. But hundreds of years of peace had made the garrison obsolete, and now it was just a reminder of more precarious times.

  “I wonder how many men were stationed here at one time?” Cat asked as they grew ever closer to the ruins.

  “Look there on either side,” Brant indicated. When they got closer they could see that where the wall met the cliff face on either side, huge square buildings, built into the wall, rose even higher than the towers in the middle. It was hard to see at first as the gray stone they were made from mimicked the color of the valley wall, but as they neared they could clearly see that each side had buildings built into the wall, all accessible from the parapet along the main fortification. “I bet a lot of those are barracks,” Brant said. “And who knows how deep they penetrate into the cliff face. I don’t know, maybe a thousand men at any one time,” he added in reply to her question.

  “We have nearly thirty five hundred men and women. Where will they all stay?”

  Brant shrugged. “They will find a way. Perhaps there is more room than we think. I assume they will erect the bilts at the base of the wall.”

  “I have heard that at one time the garrison housed nearly four thousand men,” Lord Tandon said.

  “At least it looks to be in decent shape,” Cat added.

  “Perhaps, although we haven’t been inside yet,” Lord Tandon replied.

  “Well we will find out soon enough,” Brant said.

  It took them four days to make the ruins fit for habitation. The entire structure was cleaned and any debris unfit for use was removed. Long ago the structure had been stripped clean by scavengers and brigands, who had removed anything of value. There wasn’t much left to remove. Craftsmen went to work building shutters to block and seal all openings from the cold winter wind. Trees were cut down and lumber split and stacked to provide fuel for fires. Food stores were unpacked from the wagons and carts and brought inside, stored in cold basement structures that had been dug deep into the stone for just that purpose. Pens were erected outside the western wall for the livestock as well as the horses. The initial workload was heavy, but they all knew it would continue throughout the winter if they wanted to survive.

  Jarak sent out scouts to patrol the valley entrance just in case the Saricons had chosen to pursue them to the ruins. He didn’t think they would as food and supplies would be an issue for them, but he couldn't be sure. The last thing he wanted was to be caught off guard, which was why they had built the animal structures as well as extra housing on the western side of the wall. That way if the Saricons did attack, they could defend the eastern side and still protect the civilians and their temporary housing.

  There was still much to do, but unfortunately Jarak and his companions could stay no longer to help. Jarak had left Lord Rathiam in charge of the garrison and on the morning of the fifth day his party was preparing for departure near the gatehouse. Kay’il, Horse, Dayd, and five other Dygon Guards were there, their packs full of provisions and supplies. They talked quietly as they readied their equipment.

  King Jarak was talking with Cat, both of whom were double checking their supplies and equipment, when Lord Rathiam approached to see them off. “Lord Rathiam, I leave the ruins in good hands,” Jarak said.

  Lord Rathiam nodded his head. “Thank you, my King.”

  “However, besides the great task I have given you I have one more request for you.”

  “Anything.”

  “I would like you to start building siege machines. We will need as many catapults and siege towers as possible. Can you see to it?”

  “It will be done. Good luck to you.” The two shook hands and Lord Rathiam left them to their preparations.

  Serix and Endler were with them, loading additional equipment into several saddlebags carried by one of three mountain mules that were accompanying them. They had been bred for the cold harsh conditions at high elevations, with long thick coats of fur that hung to their lower extremities, protecting their legs from the frequent mountain snows. And their sturdy legs and strong hooves allowed them to easily navigate the steep rocky slopes of the mountains. The saddlebags had been arranged in an interesting configuration, one often used by the Dygon Guard to transport stores of Kul-brite. Strapped across their strong backs, padded and formed to fit them, was a sturdy length of wood, each end supporting two large bags made of strong leather. The top of each platform held an iron bound chest, strapped down with strong leather straps. The chests were made to carry the Kul-brite, and they had been used for that on numerous occasions. Where they were going horses could not traverse, but the Dygon Guard assured them that the sure footed mules would do just fine. They used them often to move the precious metals when traveling the higher elevation trails.

  Brant hefted his own pack and cinched the straps tight. He wore warm winter clothes lined with furs over his armor and his backpack was strapped over his thick winter cloak. He pulled on his fur gloves and looked over at the two Gyths and the Saricon. They too were ready, their own packs hefted and read for travel. A
ldgar was no longer required to wear his manacles, which precipitated a heated argument between Serix and Jarak. Jarak wanted the Saricon with them on the mission, that much he made clear. Aldgar had been the perfect prisoner, and had so far lived up to his word, providing valuable information about his people. Serix still didn’t trust him and warned Jarak about taking him with them.

  “He is of no harm to us,” Jarak said, stuffing an extra shirt into his pack.

  “How do you know?” Serix replied. “We know nothing of him. The Saricons are our enemy. He could be one of their spies.”

  “I can’t explain it, Serix. I just feel that we need not fear him. He may be of use to us and I want him with us, unfettered. He cannot travel in these conditions with steel manacles chaining his arms together. Besides, I have given the two Gyths the responsibility of his care.”

  Serix knew that he would not win the argument, as they had discussed the situation several times already. “Fine, but what happens if we run into trouble, which you know we will?”

  “We shall worry about that when we need too,” Jarak said as he hefted his pack.

  Serix shook his head but said nothing more.

  Brant, Ardra, Orin, and Aldgar joined them, ready to depart. “Where is Banrigar and Kivalla?” Brant asked.

  “Right here.” The voice came from behind them as Kivalla, followed by Banrigar, entered from the open gate entrance. At first Jarak had been opposed to having Kivalla join them, but after a long discussion the scholar convinced him otherwise. Kivalla spoke more languages than anyone and had more knowledge of the world than all of them combined. He would be a valuable asset and it didn’t take Jarak long to see this.

  During their brief stay at the ruins Banrigar had finally found time to speak with Jarak. Jarak had no idea that the Turari Order still existed and they had talked late into the night, discussing the Order and its role. Jarak, now aware of Banrigar’s skill set, allowed him to come along.

  Ari and Rath had both argued vehemently to let them come too, but Jarak would not allow it. Rath was no warrior, and his administrative skills would be well used at the ruins. Ari was too young and lacked the skills necessary for such a journey. Frustrated and angry at the king's decision he decided to visit Brant in his bilt the night before their departure to argue his case, hoping that Brant might convince Jarak to change his mind.

  “Brant, are you awake? It’s Ari,” he whispered through the bilt’s canvas opening. Hundreds of bilts had been brought with the army and erected outside the ruin’s walls. Most of the soldiers were able to be housed inside the barracks located within the garrison’s walls, but there was not enough room there for the civilians who had to form a make-shift village outside. There were not enough bilts to go around and five or more people had to share each one. Brant sat at a small table sharpening a hunting knife he had procured from the armory. Sleeping in their furs in the corner were the two Gyths, and sitting at the table with Brant was Aldgar, sipping a warm cup of mulled wine. A small fire, surrounded by hefty gray stones, burned brightly in the center of the room. Despite the cold outside the interior of the bilt was quite comfortable.

  “Come in,” Brant answered.

  Ari entered, striding towards him with purpose. “I’m sorry to disturb you but I’ve come to ask a favor.”

  “What is it?” Brant asked.

  “I want to go with you tomorrow.”

  Brant sighed, expecting that that might be what he wanted. “Ari, it is too dangerous and you are too young. I agree with the king on this one.”

  “But I’ve been with you since we fled. I don’t want to be left here alone,” he pleaded.

  Brant understood his concern and felt sorry for the boy. Master Rand, the only person who had cared for him for most of his life, was dead, and now he was being left behind by the very people who had filled that vacancy. But Jarak was right. They would be traveling over difficult terrain with heavy packs, possibly facing dangers around every corner. Ari would not be strong enough to survive. “I understand your frustration, Ari, but the journey will be difficult and dangerous. Your presence will endanger us all as we would have to protect you. I’m sorry, but you need to stay here.” Ari was just about to respond when Brant cut him off. “But don’t worry, we will see you soon when you head to Dy’ain with the army.”

  “But that might be a year from now,” Ari said.

  “Maybe, but that does not change my mind. I’m sorry.”

  “But what if I don’t see you again?”

  Brant smiled. “Ari, I survived the Schulg pits, I don’t think my destiny is to freeze to death in a mountain pass. I will be fine.”

  “You may be right. But promise me something,” Ari said as he withdrew a braided string from beneath his heavy wool tunic and lifted it over his head. Attached to the string and held in place by silver wire was a beautiful iridescent stone, in shades of blue and green, the size of a small egg. “I want you to keep this with you. It was my mother's and she said it would bring me good luck.”

  “I can’t take that,” Brant said.

  “You can give it back when I see you again. But I want you to have it. It will bring you luck.”

  Brant reluctantly took the necklace. “Thank you, Ari.”

  “Did it bring luck?” Aldgar asked, speaking up for the first time.

  Ari looked at the Saricon, surprised that he had spoken. “When my parents died I became an orphan. I was found by Master Rand and taken in. He gave me a good life. So yes, I believe it has protected me, as it will protect Brant.”

  “We Saricons not believe in this luck, as you say. It make men weak. Luck not made by stone, but by courage, skill, and strength. Perhaps you have these traits, young Ari, and not need stone.”

  Ari didn’t’ say anything as he thought about the Saricon’s words. Brant had grown to like the warrior, although they had not spoken much. He seemed genuine and honest, and he had to agree with Jarak that he did not seem to be a danger to them. “Nonetheless,” Ari finally said, “I will feel better if you wore it.”

  “Then I shall,” Brant said.

  Ari left and Brant placed the necklace over his head, the stone laying under his tunic. It seemed warm against his skin, but the thought was fleeting as his attention went back to sharpening his knife.

  The eighteen comrades, along with the three baggage mules, departed early, heading down the snow covered valley, the brisk winter breeze blowing around them, the swirling snow and wind mirroring their turbulent thoughts. None of them knew what was before them, but they all expected that they would be facing danger soon enough.

  Chapter 5

  According to the Dygon Guard the route to the abandoned mine would take them four days if the weather held. Luckily for them it had and there were only a few more inches of snow accumulation. The skies had cleared and remained so, but the temperature had dropped significantly and despite the lack of snow, the trek was arduous, freezing air flowing around them like water, finding every nook and cranny not protected by their winter clothes.

  Brant, to interrupt the monotony of putting one leg in front of the other, practiced often the technique that Angon had taught him to draw energy from the earth. In doing so he also worked on turning his towd on and off without having to close his eyes. He was getting more accomplished at that skill, but thus far had had little success in drawing any sizable amounts of energy from the freezing snow covered rock around them. Perhaps it was because of the terrain, or maybe he simply wasn’t focused enough. On a few occasions he felt a warming of his feet, which he had to admit felt good in the freezing cold temperatures, but it would do little to energize him in a fight. He would not give up though, and vowed that he would eventually master the technique.

  The nights were the worst but the Dygon Guard had long ago found a network of caves along the way that they used for shelters, which made the nights more bearable. Whenever they passed through the passes in the summer, or when the snows receded, they always stacked up wood in the cav
es in case they needed them during the winter. It was a common practice drilled into them by Kulvar Rand and every winter they were thankful for it.

  On the afternoon of the fourth day they reached the Kul-brite mine. The trail led to a large clearing tucked into a ravine, steep cliffs surrounding them on all sides. The clearing was more or less bare, the bilts long ago removed when the mine ran out of ore. There were still several log structures remaining that had been built along one cliff face, their solid wood walls and thick timber doors still intact. Besides several mine openings dug into the cliff walls, the simple structures were the only evidence that a prosperous mine had once been there.

  “How long has this mine been abandoned?” Jarak asked Kay’il.

  They all followed the Dygon Guard towards a large black opening, one of several mineshafts still visible.

  “This mine ran dry over ten years ago.”

  “Then why is Kul-brite stored here?” Cat asked. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to keep it more secure?”

  “You will see,” was all Kay’il said.

  One of the wooden structures had been built near the opening and Kay’il walked to it, removing a key from inside a leather pouch at his belt. The door was locked and he went about opening it. It took him a few moments as the lock was frozen, but finally the lock clicked and he opened the door.

  Everyone else had fanned out, watching the guards as they went about their duty. “What do you store here?” Kivalla asked Kay’il as the guard stepped just inside the opening.

  A few moments later he reappeared carrying a bundle of six torches. “Torches, oil, rope, a few other supplies that we might need.”

  “Kay’il, come here for a moment.” It was Horst and he was squatting near the cave entrance inspecting something on the ground.

  Kay’il approached him and everyone followed, looking down at what was attracting Horst’s attention. The snow that surrounded the entrance to the cave was scattered and churned up by what looked to be a collection of large tracks, each one the size of a buckler shield with five clawed stubby toes. Following them they found that some tracks led inside the cave while others led away from it, heading southwest along the trail.