Imago Chronicles: Book Four, The Tears of God

Imago Chronicles:

Book Four, The Tears of God

L.T. Suzuki

Published by L.T. Suzuki at Smashwords

© Copyright 2004 L.T. Suzuki. (First Edition)

© Copyright 2021 L.T. Suzuki. (Second Edition)

All rights reserved worldwide

Registered with the WGAw (Writers Guild of America, West)

Book Cover, graphic design and layout:

Copyright © 2004 Shinobi Creative Productions

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

*****

CONTENTS

Title Page

Imagine…

Prologue

CHAPTER 1: the tears of god

CHAPTER 2: of friends and enemies

CHAPTER 3: the search begins

CHAPTER 4: the road to nowhere

CHAPTER 5: small mercies

CHAPTER 6: a trail of tears

CHAPTER 7: in the eye of the storm

CHAPTER 8: north to talibarr

CHAPTER 9: waiting for a miracle

CHAPTER 10: rainbow canyon

CHAPTER 11: disgrace and honour

CHAPTER 12: into the crucible

CHAPTER 13: closer to danger

CHAPTER 14: the most fitting punishment

CHAPTER 15: the painted desert

CHAPTER 16: on the edge

CHAPTER 17: from a pillar of sand

CHAPTER 18: with deadly intent

CHAPTER 19: trapped

CHAPTER 20: the nemesis

CHAPTER 21: undoing the past

CHAPTER 22: the wings of a dragon

About the Author

Other Books

IMAGINE

There is a secret place; unknown to most, forgotten by many,

but lives on only for those who believe.

Though you cannot look to a map to find this magical realm, it is still very real.

In this world, lost on a plane that exists in the twilight where one enters a dream as sleep takes over the mind and the body, Imago lives on.

Here, as in all places where mankind dwells, the eternal struggle between good and evil plays out. In this land, there are places fair and foul, heroes larger than life, and villains one hopes lurk only in our nightmares.

In this mystical world, life is an extraordinary adventure where revenge and redemption, betrayal and salvation, and even love, lost and found, are woven together to create this rich tapestry of life.

Where is this realm you ask?

To find Imago, all you must do is close your eyes and believe…

*****

PROLOGUE

Hold on! Hold on! shouted the old man. His stooped form shuffled across the room. No need to break the door down!

His words went unheeded as another loud round of pounding shook the panes of glass in the windows and rattled the door latch with the percussion of each violent blow. Sensing the urgency of the night visitor banging furiously with both fists on the thick planks of wood, his hands hastened to unlock the latch. He peered through the crack of the door into the darkness.

Who is it, Grandfather? asked a hushed voice from an adjacent room.

No need for concern, child. Go back to sleep. Do not wake your sister.

The old man watched as the boy quietly closed the door. Once the youngster was safely in his bedchamber, he turned his attention back to the unexpected caller. Slowly widening the crack of the door, his aging eyes squinted at the dark shadow silhouetted against the night as he held a candle before him. The flickering, amber flame peeled back the darkness to reveal a woman. She stepped forward into the light.

For a moment, she was silent. She gazed at his eyes, cloudy with the onset of cataracts. She could not help but notice the thinning crown of gray hair and the luxuriant growth of whiskers cascading down to form his moustache and full beard that sparkled with a silvery sheen in the candlelight.

If you seek the master of the house, he and the missus are tending to family matters in Dunedin, stated the old man.

The one I seek is Eldred, whispered the woman. Eldred Firestaff.

Eldred? His fingers tugged at his beard as he deliberated on this name. His shoulders arched in a shrug. There is no one living here by this name, not by Eldred or Firestaff.

Do not lie to me! snarled the woman, her hand rising to stop the door as he moved to close it.

Do I know you, young lady? queried the man, his wiry brows clenching into an agitated frown.

You should! growled the woman, drawing back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face.

The old man silently scrutinized her unfamiliar features.

You have obviously come to the wrong cottage, my good woman. There is no Eldred Firestaff here. And I certainly do not know you, he grunted. His voice tightened with concern as the woman’s dark eyes stared at him, burning with obvious anger.

Oh, you do know me, she snapped in disdain.

Turning away to close the door on this stranger, from the corner of his eye he saw a sudden burst of light. Momentarily blinded, he was unable to fend off the blow that caught him hard on his temple. A terrible pain coursed through his head. With a heavy ‘thud’, he crumpled to his knees. The candle tumbled from his grasp.

The old man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head; his world fading to black as the flame of the candle flickered out as it hit the floor.

In the other room, the young boy’s eyes snapped open as he bolted upright in his bed. Did you hear that?

His sister stretched and through a great yawn, answered, Hear what?

The boy scrambled across the bed. As he cautiously opened the door, the room was bathed in an unsettling darkness. An eerie hush enveloped him. The sensation of something evil lingered in the air. His fearful eyes darted about, taking in the deep shadows as he cautiously tiptoed to the open door. Standing on the porch, there was nothing to greet him, only the blackness of night and a cool, evening breeze rustling through the leaves of the surrounding trees.

Stepping back into the room, his bare foot trod upon an object on the floor. The boy knelt down to pick it up.

It was a candle.

His eyes could make out a thin, gray wisp of smoke as it curled from the smouldering wick to vanish into the night air. Glancing up, he saw his little sister peering out through the door.

Grandfather? she asked in a small voice as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Where is our grandfather?

*****

CHAPTER 1

THE TEARS OF GOD

"Stop right there! Do not even think of putting that into your mouth, Carys."

Oh, Momma, groaned the little girl; embarrassed she was caught attempting to sneak a bite.

Unless you enjoy eating the tiny insects making their home under the mushroom cap, then by all means, go right ahead, invited Nayla, knowing full well what response she’d receive.

Carys’ little nose wrinkled in disgust, dropping the mushroom from her mouth back into the willow basket.

Nayla gave her daughter a forgiving smile and then giggled, My dear girl, you know at the very least it should be given a good rinse before you eat it.

Carys flopped down onto the soft, green grass as she moaned wistfully, I am so bored... Why could I not go with papa?

Because you are too young and the business your father tends to, you would find far more boring, answered her mother, with a sympathetic smile. Besides, there is no safer place than Wyndwood for a precocious child like you.

You mean a more boring place, lamented Carys, her eyes rolling up to the heavens to lend greater emphasis to her current state of suffering.

Nayla frowned and then an understanding smile curled her lips as she gazed down at this little girl. For a moment, the fleeting thought that Carys felt as trapped in this forest as Nayla once did within the confines of the fortified walls of Nagana entered her mind. Or perhaps it was not this at all and her daughter merely shared the same wanderlust that was in her father’s heart.

Carys was blessed with her father’s sapphire eyes and fair complexion, but possessed Nayla’s dark tresses. Her flowing waves of hair were a few shades lighter, tumbling down around her little shoulders. These silken strands shone a burnished gold as a halo of light reflected the warm, spring sun from the crown of her head.

Though her daughter was quickly approaching her seventh year of existence, she was small even by mortal standards. At first, Nayla thought she would be small in stature like her, but Arerys assured her that Carys was growing normally for a child of mixed blood. And though she was no taller than a mortal child of five or six years, she, in typical Elven fashion, was intelligent beyond her years.

Nayla stroked Carys’ cheek, and then her fingertip pressed down gently on her daughter’s pouting lips to dispel the frown from this little face.

I tell you what. If you are a good girl, perhaps your father will take you on some grand adventure tomorrow when he returns.

Oh, yes! gasped Carys, her eyes sparkling with delight as her hands clapped with glee. Perhaps we can go to Carcross; see Uncle Markus!

We shall see, said Nayla, pleased by her daughter’s excitement.

Oh, please, Momma! It has been such a long time since we had visited Uncle Markus, she pleaded. I am sure he misses me immensely.

"Immensely, you say?"

Even more than that, declared Carys, speaking with confidence.

Nayla thought upon the Prince of Carcross. The last time she saw Markus was late last fall when she, along with Arerys and Carys rode to Whycliffe Castle to pay a visit to the aging King Bromwell and his son before the coming of the winter.

Perhaps we will, but remember, only if you are a good girl, decided Nayla.

"Am I not always a good girl?" Smiling ever so innocently, her eyes blinked in feigned dismay that her own mother would believe she was anything but good.

Good… and a tad bit cheeky at times, Nayla answered with a smile.

Along the shaded banks of the river, delectable mushrooms grew in profusion, peering through the leaf litter. Nayla picked up her basket to resume collecting these morsels with the Elf maidens in her company. She turned momentarily to watch Carys skip away.

Where are you going? asked Nayla.

Nowhere…

You, my dear, are always going somewhere, replied her mother, with raised eyebrows.

To the river, Carys replied sheepishly.

Now Carys, I do not want you going near the water, it is running dangerously fast today. Do you understand?

"But Momma, I will not go into the water."

"Into or near the water, my little love, corrected Nayla. Do we have an understanding?"

This is no fun, the child grumbled beneath her breath.

I heard that, cautioned Nayla, as her keen ears picked up Carys’ disgruntled words.

Then hear this, Momma, she whispered, her soft voice carried by the breeze, I wish you were more mortal than Elf; that way you would not hear every word I speak.

Nayla smiled as she whispered back, Know this, child; it matters not how much blood of the Elfkind flows through my veins. I am your mother. A mother always knows what is being said by her child.

In response, Carys mouthed the words: You jest. Smiling smugly as she dared her mother to decipher her unspoken words.

No, I do not, replied Nayla, her tone nonchalant as her daughter’s eyes widened in surprise. Besides, what is so important down there? What do you wish to do at the river?

I just want to see, answered the child.

See what?

"Things," replied Carys, her lower lip protruding in an obvious pout.

Standing before her daughter, Nayla considered this child. It was evident Carys was intent on whining, cajoling, and insisting – using whatever means at her disposal to have her way.

Nayla sighed in resignation as she recalled her own childhood memories as she, too, would use whatever method was available to get her way. It was like looking at a mirror. Nayla’s own mother refused to give in to her demands on the matter of principle, yet under most circumstances, she was willing to negotiate a compromise. Nayla realized she would have to be willing to do this with her own daughter, too.

Stay in this area where I can see you, Carys. You can go toward the river, but I do not want you going anywhere near the water, ordered Nayla.

Yes, Momma, responded Carys, her tiny shoulders slumping in defeat.

For a moment, Nayla watched as her daughter merrily skipped away. Adequately satisfied Carys would take heed of her warning, Nayla turned to join the others. Though it was not necessary for her to assist with the harvesting of mushrooms, she felt more at ease in the forest than in King Kal-lel’s royal residence.

Neither was she comfortable with having Tor-rin Greenshield’s daughter at her beck and call as her lady-in-waiting. However, in a bid to appease her father-in-law, and in turn, please her husband, Nayla abided by Kal-lel’s wishes, following protocol.

Glancing over at the willowy, fair Elf, she watched as Mar-ra’s delicate footsteps allowed her to float gently over the forest floor, moving in silence. Physically, Mar-ra was nothing at all like her former lady-in-waiting and dear friend, Nakoa. In many respects, this Elf was as shy and reserved as Nakoa was, but Mar-ra certainly lacked Nakoa’s fire, thought Nayla as she recalled her first encounter with the young Taijin woman who soundly doused her with an urn of cold water when she failed to garner her cooperation.

Given a choice, Nayla would have preferred having Nakoa by her side, but alas, she knew her long-time friend was destined for a new and better life far from Nagana.

Nayla thought upon the last message she received from Nakoa; she was now the proud mother of her third child, a much-anticipated son to join her brood of two daughters. Nayla gazed over at her own daughter, reflecting on how much their lives had changed in the eight years since she wed Arerys and came to live in Wyndwood.

Look, Momma! Look what I found! Carys smiled proudly as she thrust her small hand into Nayla’s face as she waved the Elf maiden over to join them. In her palm were nine perfectly round pebbles. Mar-ra, come see!

Mar-ra set aside her basket now brimming with mushrooms. Kneeling down before the excited child, she examined Carys’ precious find, admiring the tiny, translucent stones that rolled about in her small hands.

How lovely they are, cooed Mar-ra. These fine little pebbles are called agates.

Ag-gates? repeated the child, her eyes sparkling with wonder.

Agates, corrected Nayla, gazing down upon the pea-sized pebbles Carys displayed before her. "My mother’s people called them the Tears of God."

Oh, mother! Carys groaned in disbelief. "These are not tears; they are little stones."

"Do you know how these stones came to be? asked Nayla. Why the Taijin people call these agates the Tears of God?"

No, answered Carys, eyeing the polished pebbles nestled in the palm of her hand.

Do tell, my lady; this sounds most intriguing, insisted Mar-ra.

Well, long ago, in a far away land called Taija, there were two warring families. The leader of one clan had a son. He fell in love with the daughter of the high priest of the opposing clan. It was first thought their love would unite their families.

Like the way you and father united the Elves? asked Carys, wide-eyed with fascination.

Mar-ra discreetly giggled at the child’s comment; her dainty, slender hand coming up to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

I suppose, answered Nayla. But instead, because the rivalry between the two families had been bitter and long-standing, a great battle ensued. When her people returned to the village to announce their victory, she soon learned her own father had killed the young man she loved. The girl fled to the battlefield to search for her lost love. When she came upon this field, there remained only the carnage of war. The man she loved was gone. His people claimed his body and they had departed far from the valley. The girl followed a trail of blood and where her tears fell, mingling with the blood of her lover’s, these flowers grew.

Nayla’s hand reached beneath the shady undergrowth of a shrub to reveal a cluster of delicate, lacey, green leaves from where grew stems of perfect, heart-shaped flowers. Each bright magenta bloom had what appeared to be a single drop of blood that hung from the bottom of the bleeding heart.

Oooh, that poor girl! exclaimed Carys, touching the petals that came together to form the drop of blood. She must have travelled the whole, wide world looking for her lost love for these to be here.

I suppose that was how great her sorrow was. Perhaps she did search the entire world, said Nayla.

My lady, but what of the agates; the Tears of God? queried her lady-in-waiting.

"Ah yes, Mar-ra. The Tears of God came about when the girl realized her sorrow would be never-ending, just as her love was. God took great pity upon the poor girl. Gazing down upon her as she wept, He, too, cried in sorrow for He could not alter her lover’s fate. As the heavens opened up and silver tears rained down to cleanse away the traces of blood so she might end her desperate search, her tears mingled with His before being washed away. Yet, her grief was so great. Instead of absolving her of this overwhelming sorrow, these tears hardened to become these stones – a reminder for all time of her love and her loss."

Carys released a melancholy sigh. Now I am sad.

It was only a story, my dear, said Nayla, her hand gently lifting her daughter’s chin. There is no need to be sad.

Though it be only a story, my lady, it is still a sad story indeed, replied Mar-ra, her eyes moist with incipient tears she dabbed away with a silk kerchief. Such tales of undying or unrequited love always bring tears to my eyes.

Speaking of undying love, where is your husband today? asked Nayla.

Valtar is meeting with my father this morning, answered Mar-ra. Apparently, the elders wish to refurbish and expand the existing meeting hall. With Wyndwood now burgeoning with life once again since the return of your father’s people, the elders have decided we require greater space to accommodate for large gatherings.

So your father wishes Valtar to oversee its construction?

Yes, answered Mar-ra, smiling with pleasure.

That is a splendid idea.

Carys tugged at her mother’s sleeve. Momma, but what about the Tears of God?

What about them, my child?

These do not look like tears at all, replied Carys, with a quizzical frown. Her tiny finger gently rolled the perfect beads of translucent pebbles in her cupped hand.

Well, that is because the water, the current of the river has tumbled and worn these pebbles down, polishing them into this perfect, round shape.

How can water do that? These are hard – much harder than water. How can water be strong enough to do such a thing?

You would be amazed what water can do, little one, stated Nayla. It can alter the face of a mountain, it can reshape the lands, and yes, it can create these round beads of stone.

But how? queried the child.

One day when you have the patience to listen, then I will have the patience to tell you, answered her mother, with a knowing smile.

"Well, I am going to find a whole bunch more of these tears. I will make a special gift for you, something that you will always remember me by," announced Carys. She poured the pebbles into the pocket of her frock, turning to resume the hunt for more beads of precious agate.

Now, Carys, I do not want you splashing around in the water. The current is still strong in some parts of the river.

Oh, Momma, please! pleaded the girl. I promise I will not get wet. I promise I will not go into the water. I shall stay right here, on the river’s edge.

Nayla stood up, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun as it danced over the rushing water, gurgling and churning around the exposed rocks. The volume of water was not as great as it was earlier in the spring when the snow melted. It had receded significantly to bare the rocky riverbed along its edge.

Carys tugged once more at Nayla’s sleeve as she pleaded, Please, Momma. I promise; I will stay right over there. Right where I found these ag, aga – tears.

Very well, but remember, you promised to stay close to me. You are not to wander off, reminded Nayla.

Carys rolled her eyes as she groaned in a sarcastic tone, You must learn to trust me, Momma.

You cheeky child! scolded Nayla with a laugh, reaching out to swat the girl’s bottom. Carys giggled and dodged her mother’s hand as she cheerfully pranced off to the river.

Yes, she is very much her mother’s daughter – high-spirited, according to Prince Arerys, that is, remarked Mar-ra, as the other Elf maidens giggled in agreement.

Of course, and I would want her no other way, responded Nayla, picking up her willow basket.

Speaking of the Prince, do you miss the days when you would ride into battle by his side? asked Mar-ra.

Without hesitation, Nayla replied, Not in the least; going to war is a terrible business, one of which I have no desire to do again and yet…

Yes, my lady? prompted Mar-ra.

And yet, I know if I am ever called upon to defend our people and lands, to ensure my daughter can live in peace and safety, I would willingly take up my sword again, vowed Nayla, her eyes glancing over to the river where Carys hunted for agates. The sudden realization her daughter was not within her sight startled her. Nayla’s eyes quickly scanned the river and surrounding forest.

Carys! called out Nayla. She walked toward the river as she waited for a reply.

Carys! Come here this instant, shouted Nayla. Listening for her daughter’s response, her words were followed by a menacing silence. Immediately, she sensed something was wrong – very wrong. Nayla dropped her basket. She hastened her steps. I am not amused, Carys! Come out of hiding!

Mar-ra and the others stood up from their task, gazing in Nayla’s direction as she dashed to the river’s edge.

Panic filled Nayla’s heart as she called out for her daughter again. Carys! Where are you?

There was no answer. The churning waters carried her voice away. As these frantic words echoed through the forest, the birds and creatures of this hinterland fell silent. The quiet was agonizing. Mar-ra and the others rushed to Nayla’s side.

You do not suppose she had been washed down the river? gasped her lady-in-waiting.

I do not know. Nayla shouted again, her hands cupping around her mouth to amplify her anxious call. CARYS!

My lady, I was near to your daughter – down by the river. I swear I heard not a sound. If the Princess had fallen into the river, I did not hear the splash of water, nor a call for help, stated one Elf maiden.

Head to Aspenglow. Go for help! Now! ordered Nayla as she scrambled over the rocks and boulders, following the river’s edge. Mar-ra struggled to keep up with her as Nayla frantically searched. In desperation, she dashed in, wading hip-deep into the frigid waters. She followed the river’s flow southward, weaving her way to and fro, her fearful eyes penetrating the surface for signs of her child.

My lady, be careful! pleaded Mar-ra, her long, golden tresses tangling in the trees and shrubs as she made her way along the river’s edge. My lady, come out now – the waterfall!

The waterfall! gasped Nayla. An icy chill ran through her veins. Her heart quickened with dread.

Mar-ra watched helplessly as her mistress dove beneath the surface of the turbulent waters. In the distance, she could hear the bells of Aspenglow peal in alarm as she followed Nayla closer to the plumes of droplets sprayed up by the cascading waters.

My lady! Mar-ra screamed above the roar of the thundering water.

Nayla suddenly burst through to the surface, gasping for air.

Mar-ra looked on in horror as her mistress was immediately swept over the fall.

The sound of crashing water filled Nayla’s ears. Pummelling her body, the powerful, downward current slammed her against a boulder before hurling her into a deep pool below. She allowed the waters to carry her down into its murky depths where she felt her way around. Nayla’s hands desperately groped about, searching for clothing; hair; a small hand - anything leading to her child. With her lungs ready to burst, Nayla exploded to the surface.

My lady! Help is imminent. Please return to safety, pleaded Mar-ra, her hands frantically waving Nayla to come to shore.

In the distance, Nayla could hear the panicked voices of those racing through the forest. Unable to wait for help, Mar-ra’s words went unheeded. Again, Nayla dove into the turbulent water. If Carys was indeed swept away by the river’s strong current, in all likelihood, she’d be trapped between the boulders or sunken logs in this pool.

With the water heavily clouded by silt, Nayla blindly felt her way about, searching for her daughter. She was struggling against the fierce pull of the river when a log was washed over the waterfall. It hit the bottom of the pool, bouncing upward toward her. Striking her hard across her back, the roiling waters swept Nayla off her feet. The fast-moving current picked up and funnelled her body, wedging it between two large boulders. Nayla used both hands to wrench herself free, but once again, the log carried by the water slammed against her, pinning her just beneath the surface. As she fought against the powerful force of the current, her eyes made out the frantic forms of the Elves on the water’s edge.

The spent air slowly escaped her lungs as Nayla struggled in vain to free herself. She felt her energy ebbing away as she made another valiant bid to pry her body free. Her eyes slowly closed as a blur of bubbles floated past her face. Her arms floated up above her head.

The pressure of the log abruptly disappeared as it was forced away from her body. A powerful arm reached around Nayla’s waist, pulling her free to deliver her to safety.

Nayla released a mighty gasp for air as they burst through the water’s surface. Coughing and sputtering, she filled her aching lungs. She turned to see Valtar Briarwood. He had rescued her from this watery grave. Watching as the Elf plunged beneath the surface; Nayla filled her lungs with fresh air, ignoring Mar-ra’s pleas as she joined Valtar to search the depths of the pool. After several excruciatingly long minutes, both she and the Elf breached the surface.

Mar-ra could see the look of fear and disappointment on their faces as they clambered to shore, empty-handed.

She was not down there, Mar-ra, stated Nayla, between deep gasps as she fell to her knees before her. Carys is gone.

Mar-ra looked to Valtar, searching her husband’s eyes.

He shook his head. There was nothing.

My lady, if she was not there, that is good! We know she has not drowned, said Mar-ra, trying desperately to comfort her mistress.

Then where is she, Mar-ra? Where is Carys? sobbed Nayla, as Valtar and Mar-ra lifted her to her feet.

King Kal-lel, upon receiving word, charged to the river. As he dismounted from his steed, the melancholy of the Elves became apparent.

Where is my granddaughter? asked Kal-lel, staring into Nayla’s fear filled eyes. Tell me Carys was found.

Nayla choked back her tears in a bid to answer, but the words would not come.

She is gone, my lord, answered Valtar, speaking on Nayla’s behalf.

Gone where? Where did Carys go? he demanded to know.

She was near to us one minute, and then she was gone, answered Nayla. By what means, I do not know, but Carys is gone – vanished.

"No one vanishes from my domain! railed the King. If someone has stolen away with my grandchild, he will be found. He will pay with his life for this crime!"

Whoever had made off with Princess Carys could not have gotten far, even by horse, my lord, assessed Valtar, wringing the water from his raiment.

He is correct, Nayla, agreed Kal-lel. Listen to me; if some fiend has absconded with Carys, he is still in Wyndwood. We will find her. We will find them both.

We must coordinate our efforts, my lord, recommended Valtar. And we must do so quickly. Our borders must be secured, our sentries notified…

Back to Aspenglow, Nayla! ordered Kal-lel. I shall organize search parties to scour the forest.

No, we have not the time to spare. I must search for her now!

My lady, please listen to King Kal-lel’s wisdom. Let us return to Aspenglow, pleaded Mar-ra.

Organize the others, my lord, said Nayla, turning away from Kal-lel. My heart will not allow me to stand still as greater distance is placed between my child and me. Go! Do what must be done!

Kal-lel and the others watched as Nayla turned away, dashing southward, following the river.

Something evil has entered our forest! shouted Kal-lel. We must move quickly, before it is too late.

*****

Immediately upon returning to Aspenglow, the trumpeting of horns summoned the Elves. In the great courtyard, Kal-lel delivered word to the sentries posted throughout his domain to be ever vigilant. They were to keep a watchful eye out for his granddaughter and to vigorously interrogate any stranger to the forest.

Valtar divided the available citizens into ten groups of fifteen. Each party was to fan out from the point of Carys’ disappearance, radiating outwards from this location into the forest. The men and women were given specific instructions to look up every tree, beneath every shrub and search all the known caves and ravines in the forest.

Even the children joined in the search for their lost playmate, for they knew of every secret place Carys ever used when they played hide and seek. Other Elves remained in Aspenglow to conduct a thorough search of the stable, the royal residence; anywhere a child could possibly use as a hiding place.

In a matter of minutes, the Elves had dispersed from the courtyard to begin their search. Valtar returned from the stable with Nayla’s mare, mounting his own steed, he urged his stallion southward in a bid to find Nayla.

As the search commenced, the elders took up quill and parchment to deliver word to the other kingdoms of their desperate situation; to alert those in Cedona, Carcross and Darross of their plight and search for Carys Wingfield. Before the sun surrendered its light to the coming darkness, King Kal-lel’s white falcons were released into the skies, winging north, east and westward.

*****

In the distance, above the beating of her frantically pounding heart, Nayla could hear the horns echoing through the forest and the voices of the others now joining the search. Nayla crashed through the vegetation. Her eyes scrutinized her surroundings; hunting for any sign wielding a clue to her daughter’s whereabouts.

"CARYS!" she shouted again. Where are you? Answer me!

She stood still, praying for a response. There was only numbing silence. Still drenched from her plunge over the waterfall, she stood dripping wet. She visibly trembled, not from the cold, but instead, from the overwhelming fear and dread of what had become of her young daughter. Nayla fought back her tears. She struggled to remain calm, fighting the imaginary demons that had spirited her child away and above all else, fighting the panic in her heart that Carys was hurt, frightened and in need of her.

Nayla turned to gaze northward as the steady drumming of hoof beats galloping in her direction grew louder.

My lady, I have your horse. We shall cover more ground on our steeds, stated Valtar, reining in his stallion as he passed Cloud’s reins on to Nayla.

Thank you, Valtar, she responded gratefully.

She momentarily considered the Elf whom, from her earlier days in Orien, was more than just a mere vexation to her spirit. He was one Elf she truly despised; their mutual animosity toward each other was hard to conceal as he plotted to undermine her in a number of ways over the many years.

Almost a decade had passed since he saved her life, killing the tyrannical Regent Tisai Darraku, and during this time, this Elf had done much to atone for his reckless, self-serving ways. It became apparent residing in the Elf Kingdom of Wyndwood, the home of his forefathers, did wonders to change his disposition. No longer bitter because of the dark Elves’ exile from this place and now, free from the constant nagging pain brought on by an injury inflicted by the Sorcerer of Orien, Valtar Briarwood was far from the angry, embittered Elf she once knew.

Having long set aside their differences, Valtar proved to be loyal and devoted in his service to King Kal-lel and his family and most notably, he was now very respectful in his dealings with Nayla. She had no doubt his union with Mar-ra Greenshield, the daughter of a respected elder, had much to do with the mellowing of his temperament.

His deportment was above reproach and the formality with which he dealt with her was commendable. He was truly pleasant, but it took Nayla a good measure of time to realize Valtar was sincere in his attempts to make amends for all the grief he had caused her in the past.

You should know, my lady; all the citizens of Wyndwood have rallied together, young and old, to find Princess Carys. I have them combing the entire forest, every place a child could possibly be concealed, informed Valtar. They began their search by the river where your daughter was last seen and they radiate from that point. The sentries have also been alerted. Our borders are now secured. None shall pass their watchful eyes.

I pray you are right, Valtar, responded Nayla, as she hoisted herself onto her mare’s back. My greatest fear is that if this culprit was able to snatch Carys and make off with her right under our noses, will they once again slip by unnoticed, evading our sentries?

I assure you, my lady, the perpetrator of this ill deed came into our forest unnoticed, but he will not leave in the like manner, vowed the Elf.

Let us be off, said Nayla, urging Cloud on.

Where? In which direction do we proceed? asked Valtar, his eyes scanning the depths of the forest.

South. We shall follow the river.

Why south, my lady?

Do not ask why, Valtar. I just have a feeling… Something draws me this way. I must follow.

So be it. Valtar coaxed his stallion southward.

Your eyes are much better than mine. Be watchful for signs: broken branches, footprints… anything.

Of course, he responded with a nod.

As they charged onward, the forest passed by in a blur. Valtar brought his steed to an abrupt halt. Leaping off his mount, he knelt down to examine the ground.

What is it? asked Nayla, dismounting from her mare.

A footprint… A child’s footprint.

Nayla knelt by Valtar’s side. A small impression was left in the sandy edge of the river. Her fingers gently touched the disturbed ground.

Odd… This is a child’s footprint indeed, but Carys is far more Elf than mortal, she does not leave impressions like this. Her steps are light… delicate. These prints are larger than hers. Only a mortal child can leave a footprint like this.

Valtar’s sharp eyes quickly scanned the area. Up ahead, there were more prints that travelled along the dry riverbank. These were the same small, child-size impressions. I fail to understand this. What business does a mortal child have in Wyndwood?

What would a young child be doing alone in our forest to begin with? queried Nayla, her eyes following the small impressions.

Perhaps this child is lost?

Or perhaps, was used to lure my daughter away.

But why would a child do such a thing?

That is yet to be known, Valtar. These footprints are still relatively fresh. They could not have gone far.

Leading their horses by the reins, Valtar and Nayla followed the small impressions. All the while, the question churned in her head: Why were there no footprints where Carys had vanished and why now, would these prints suddenly appear?

Do you suppose the culprit heads to Elmgrove? asked Valtar, his eyes constantly searching for telltale signs of the young Princess’ whereabouts.

If they are heading to Elmgrove, I do not believe they would dare be brazen enough to venture straight through, not now that the southern forests once more bustle with life.

Perhaps you are right. Since our return, Elmgrove has become quite the hub of Elven activity, agreed Valtar. I suppose we have no other option but to follow these tracks – see where they will lead us.

The pair tracked the prints, following them along the river until they abruptly turned eastward. Where sand and earth gave way to soft, dense carpets of moss, the small footprints wove between the tall stands of aspen and birch, heading in a steady course to the borders of Wyndwood and Carcross.

As Nayla and Valtar followed the footprints, the tracks took another abrupt turn, this time, heading northward.

This is truly baffling, my lady, stated Valtar, shaking his head in confusion. If this truly is the fiend in question, why does he first head south following the river, then suddenly turns east and now, north? That would take them directly back to Aspenglow.

He means to confuse us; to throw us off his tracks, surmised Nayla, her eyes following the barely visible prints into a small clearing. Perhaps he believes that search efforts will be concentrated to the outlining areas, along the borders of Wyndwood, not in Aspenglow itself. It could very well be that he means to pass right before us, so close we would not even take notice.

If this is so, then he is either an absolute madman or he is cunning and calculating, denounced the Elf.

Perhaps both, whispered Nayla.

What is that? asked Valtar. His hand shielded his far-seeing eyes to penetrate through the last golden rays of the late afternoon sun filtering between the high, leafy branches. Straight ahead, at the edge of the clearing, a tattered, yellowed piece of parchment fluttered in the breeze. Impaled upon a small, broken branch, it rattled against the tree trunk, attempting to draw their attention.

Valtar noticed how the small footprints led directly to this tree, and then disappeared without a trace. Reaching up to remove the parchment, he quickly studied the note. As he read the words inscribed in blood, the Elf’s eyes lowered in sadness.

What is it, Valtar? What does it say? asked Nayla. The Elf shook his head as he passed the parchment on to her.

Snatching the note from his hand, Nayla read it. She began to visibly tremble as her heart and mind raced as the crimson words formed an ominous message:

Now you in turn shall be made to suffer.

Crumpling the parchment in her hand, Nayla fell to her knees. The crushing weight of this single sentence overwhelmed her with a kind of fear and dread her heart had never known. Tears spilled from her eyes. Great sobs racked her body as she wept for her lost child.

*****

CHAPTER 2

OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES

Markus, it has been well over a decade since Elana’s passing, said Bromwell, his aging eyes gazed to the portrait of his son and his beloved wife. You have grieved, mourning her death for far too long.

The years have melted, one into the next, replied Markus. His fingertips touched the painting, tracing the image of the chestnut brown hair that cascaded down around Elana’s shoulders. You would think that with the passing of time, memories would fade and with it, the sorrow of my loss.

It pains my heart to no end to see you languish in this manner; pining for a lost love, my son, stated King Bromwell. To mourn is one thing, but I feel that even Elana, as she watches over you from Heaven, would wish for you to go on with your life. I do not believe she would want you to mourn as you do.

Markus breathed a weary sigh as he gazed at Elana’s warm, hazel eyes staring back at him from the canvas. Father, can it be that your wish for me to carry on with my life is to ensure an heir to the throne?

You are as intuitive as you are wise, Markus, said Bromwell with a smile, giving his son a pat on his shoulder. True, as I enter the winter of my life, this issue has reared its head on more than one occasion. I would be a fool not to be concerned for the future of Carcross, however, my immediate concern is for you.

"For me?" asked Markus, perplexed by his father’s woes.

Yes, confessed the King. Though we have entered into this Third Age of Peace with nothing more than rumblings from the upstarts far to the north in the Shadow Mountains, this peace seems to afford you far too much time to dwell in the past. Where before you were concerned for the state of our country and the safety of our people, now all this free time allows you to long for bygone days, and for a love that will never be.

Oh yes, there is nothing like a good, old-fashioned battle – keeping your wits about you so you do not lose your head, to take your mind off of everything, chuckled Markus.

You know what I mean, my son, said Bromwell. And as much as you shall one day rule these lands in a manner becoming of this house, it is also my responsibility to ensure the banner of the House of Whycliffe flies high and proud from our watchtowers for years to come.

And you are telling me this responsibility shall one day rest upon my shoulders?

Indeed, it will, Markus. Without an heir, how do we ensure anarchy does not reign? What will become of our people, our kingdom if there is no heir to the throne?

So you wish for me to marry?

Perhaps not at this very moment, stated Bromwell, in an affable tone. But what harm is there in considering the possibilities? There are many fair maidens in Carcross. Even King Sebastian and King Augustyne know of a lady or two, women of refined breeding from their respective houses that would make a suitable wife for you.

Hmm… You are suggesting a marriage of convenience, noted Markus.

No, more out of necessity than convenience, my son.

I will have to think on this, Father.

Well, do not think on it for too long, Markus. Time waits for no one, not even one of royal lineage. Though you be a prince, the heir apparent to the throne of Carcross, keep in mind you are fast approaching your forty-fifth year.

Markus smiled as he responded, You make me sound so very long in the tooth!

A man should not wait until he is a balding, toothless, old coot suffering from memory loss before he finally decides to take a wife, stated Bromwell, waving a stern finger in his son’s face.

I am sure some women would still find your qualities quite charming, Father, teased Markus, with a chuckle.

Bromwell rolled his eyes. I was not speaking of myself, and you know it.

Why did you never remarry? asked Markus.

I already have the love of a wonderful son and an heir who will do me proud, stated Bromwell, patting Markus on his shoulder. Besides, I have not the patience to cater to the every whim of a woman just to keep her happy. Plus, I am too old and set in my ways to wish to be hen-pecked by any woman again.

Yet, you wish this for me? asked Markus. "And I hardly remember mother as the type to ‘hen-peck’ you."

"Your mother was a dear woman. Very headstrong, but she was a dear woman nonetheless. She was a devoted wife and a loving mother. A very good woman indeed, but believe me; she was very subtle in her manipulation. She always knew what she wanted and how to go about getting it. Even for a king, it was not long after we exchanged vows that ‘yes, dear’ became a regular part of my vocabulary."

"I believe you enjoyed her style of ‘manipulation’ if my observations were correct," noted the Prince, remembering a long marriage and a happy family life.

Bromwell smiled as he added, I miss her greatly, and there are times when I even miss saying ‘yes, dear’. But enough about me, Markus; nothing would please me more than to welcome a grandchild into our home, and of course, for you to find love again.

None can compare to Elana, lamented the Prince.

Only because you choose not to pay heed to the attention of the adoration cast your way by other comely maidens. How can you even make a comparison when you let none come near enough to you? You will not even give another woman a chance.

Markus drew a long, weary breath. He glanced up as heavy, rushed footsteps echoed down the long corridor, becoming louder as they neared.

Your Highness! called out a knight. An urgent message has arrived from Wyndwood.

Hmm, I wonder what can be so urgent? asked Bromwell, motioning the man to step forward.

The knight bowed as he handed him the small parchment. It only arrived now; sent forth by King Kal-lel’s white falcon.

Bromwell hastily unrolled the note. His eyesight, diminishing with age, forced him to squint as he struggled to read. And then he passed it on to his son. Markus, what do these words say?

Accepting the parchment, he read the message. His eyes widened as he gasped in dismay, turning the parchment over to search for Kal-lel’s insignia of the House of Wingfield as a sign of its authenticity.

What is it, my son? queried Bromwell, noting the look of concern on Markus’ face.

I wish these words were not so, answered Markus. King Kal-lel is requesting my help.

Help? Is it the rebels to the north?

No, it is far worse than that! Kal-lel’s granddaughter had been spirited away from Wyndwood. She is missing!

Arerys and Nayla’s daughter? How can that be so? No one, mortal or Elf, can enter or leave the enchanted forest without the Kal-lel’s sentries knowing, responded Bromwell.

Something evil is afoot, Father, I can feel it. Remain here; get word out to our people to keep a watch on our lands for strangers and unusual happenings; anything that might tie into my godchild’s disappearance, instructed Markus, turning down the corridor.

And what of you, my son? queried Bromwell. Where do you go?

I must leave immediately for Wyndwood.

But night will soon fall, Markus. Leave at the first light of morning, urged Bromwell.

No, I leave now.

*****

Silhouetted against a brilliant, orange sun sinking ever closer to the tranquil, azure ocean, a large man with a young child riding high on his shoulders strolled between the perfect rows of carefully pruned grapevines. With the warm days of spring, the plants were greening nicely, sending pale green tendrils to climb up the trellis. The girl’s arms were outstretched as she prompted her father to run so she could fly like a bird.

Faster, Papa! Go faster!

I am getting too old to move faster, Hannah. But listen!

Listen to what, Papa?

He turned to face the great Blue Divide, his one hand balancing the child on his shoulders as the other pointed to the mauve and crimson sky to the west. From the gentle, rolling hills of this vineyard, the sun’s radiant light shimmered across the vast body of water, casting everything it touched in a golden hue as this fiery orb prepared to make way for the night.

Can you hear that? he asked, cupping a hand to his ear while cocking his head to the sleepy blue ocean as the light of the setting sun sparkled, dancing across its surface.

Hear what? asked the inquisitive child.

"The sun, of course! Can you not hear it sizzle as it touches down into the ocean?"

Oh, Papa, you are so silly! The sun is not sizzling, insisted the little girl.

I can hear it as plain as sausages frying in a hot pan! Listen!

The little girl imitated her father, cupping each ear with a little hand. She tilted her head to the left, and then the right, to pick up the sounds of the burning sun as it sank further into the watery horizon.

I hear nothing, moaned the child in disappointment.

Shhh! Just listen, he coaxed again, turning her to face the warm glow of the sun.

Lando! A message – a message from Land’s End!

Aah, now the sun speaks! he stated in all seriousness.

Silly, Papa! scolded the girl as her small hands reached down to grasp her father’s face, turning him eastward. That was Momma calling for you.

Lando turned in the direction of his cottage. In the distance, he could see Nakoa with baby in arm and a toddler following close behind as she waved a scroll high over her head for her husband to see. For a moment, he gazed at this serene setting, as though he were living a wonderful dream.

Somehow, he had always imagined a life committed to shield and sword, to die in battle as he pledged his allegiance to protect king and country. In all his years as a knight and captain, Lando Bayliss never dreamed he would retire to such a contented life, complete with wife and children, tending to a vineyard immediately north of King Augustyne’s white castle in Land’s End.

He breathed in the air, fragrant with the earthy scent of freshly tilled soil, releasing a satisfied sigh as his great strides delivered him to Nakoa.

Down you go, Hannah, said Lando, as he gently lowered his daughter from his shoulders. Take Emma; go and play.

He smiled as he watched Hannah lead her little sister by the hand back to the cottage.

Lando, called Nakoa, shifting their son in her arms before passing the rolled parchment to him. This just arrived from King Augustyne’s messenger.

Hmm, I wonder what the King wants with me? queried Lando, as he broke the wax seal on the scroll. Nakoa watched as her husband’s