Badmoonrising: The Gates of Bonshea, Book I

Copyright © 2010, 2012 by Paul Hardt.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-5582-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-5584-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-5583-5 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 10/18/2012

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Epilogue

Introduction

Beveled scales glinting black and green over bestial muscle and sleek predator’s wings heralded the malignant evil emerging from Agrinor’s Gate. The Assinoth beat scythe-like wings gaining altitude, then sailed a wide circle checking for threat before flaring its wings to land in Bonshea, trapping a gaping Gromfel under one clawed foot. A horned head snaked back on its sinuous neck, and rows of serrated teeth squelched the Gromfel’s screams in mid howl. Bones crunched in powerful jaws.

Yeminon Drakuar, Supreme Warlord of Agrinor’s Legions, dismounted from the Assinoth’s broad back and approached his command tent. Yeminon glanced back at what remained of the Gromfel and sneered. The Gromfel should not have stood with its mouth open and never moved. Malice kindled a thin smile as he walked. His Assinoth had needs.

Fear slithered through the Satteraul stationed outside the command tent when he recognized that particular Assinoth—the largest and most vicious of the ill-tempered predators. But the hulking Satteraul knew the Assinoth’s menace paled when compared to its master’s. He quickly slammed the butt of his sword against the command tent’s door frame, then swept aside the door’s flap. The World Breaker comes! he grunted hoarsely to the five Warlords waiting for that news.

The Warlords stiffened. One waved a hand in acknowledgment, and the nervous Satteraul resumed his post, wishing he were anywhere but here. Gripping his brutal sword tightly, he tried not to tremble. He couldn’t help but stare. Yeminon was like a Hero of the Breaking.

Columbrae flowed over Yeminon’s arms, legs, and chest in green snakes of glowing runes that seemed to pulse with the beat of his heart. Primal power gleaned from the heart of Agrinor, Columbrae helped Yeminon survive the terrible power of Gaesomn. Yeminon’s muscles rippled and flowed powerfully under skin so black it seemed to have depth. Bluish green brindled the black in diagonal stripes like those of the ferocious predator worms of Agrinor’s deadly steppes; the irregular stripes marking Yeminon as Dread Lord. Gaesomn smoldered malignantly behind eyes fired by Fate and holding no concept of pity. The Satteraul sighed with relief when the Warlords emerged from the command tent and hurried to meet Yeminon.

Yeminon scowled as they came up. Where is the Kelinscag?

Here, Lord, Meninvoth said, scurrying up and bowing. Meninvoth did not have the mad red eyes and bulging muscles of Satteraul, or the vicious, shimmering green eyes and tall, chiseled form of Dread Lord. Meninvoth was small and slender. Meninvoth was Kelinscag, a taker of souls. Meninvoth turned purple-tinged eyes swirling with evil up to Yeminon.

Yeminon held up a gnarled and crooked black staff weeping crimson blood from each of its severed ends. The disgusting thing still reached for his soul. He would be glad to rid himself of it. Here is your Bodoch Rib, Kelinscag.

The Kelinscag reverently took the bleeding staff in hand. You did well, Great Lord!

Yeminon grimaced. He had torn the tortuously twisted and vile staff from a Bodoch tree. It had not been easy. The Bodoch tree was from Agrinor where everything that lived killed to live. But the Bodoch had not the power to claim Yeminon. Yeminon was the Chosen One, claimed by Gaesomn as her Champion, and marked by prophecy to lead Agrinor to glory. Prepare the Black Staff, Kelinscag. Yeminon held up a finger ending in a wicked claw. One thousand souls, Meninvoth. That is your charge.

Meninvoth ran his hands lovingly over the bleeding staff, marveling at the evil probing his soul, barely acknowledging Yeminon with a brief nod.

Has the Blue Demon named her Champion?

Meninvoth tore his attention from the bleeding staff and bowed. No, Great Lord. She hides him from your terrible wrath.

Yeminon nodded. The longer it took the Blue Demon to claim her Champion, the better for Agrinor. His eyes narrowed with threat. Choose your victims wisely, Kelinscag! Do not be seen at your task by humans.

It will be as you say, Great Lord, answered Meninvoth, reveling in the glorious evil radiating from the staff.

Yeminon ignored the Kelinscag and looked out over the deep and wide valley. Hammers rang crafting weapons and armor from smithies lining the north side of the valley from one end to the other. To the south, colossal Slabberjaw labored building war machines, their huge bodies moving slowly in concert with their feeble minds. Green fire snaked into the Slabberjaw. They howled and picked up their pace. Yeminon lips stretched back from his fangs in a smile. The Dread Lord would keep the Slabberjaw in hand. They would rebel and run amok otherwise. But pain would keep them pliable and busy. Unfortunately, Agrinor had to smith weapons, armor, and everything else in Bonshea, on this side of Agrinor’s Gate. But that wasn’t a problem anymore. The Soul Storm Reach was rich in metal ores. Agrinor held it tightly now in a bloody fist.

Yeminon looked out over a valley bustling with preparations for war. Bonshea’s humans had no inkling Agrinor massed her legions in the north. No human had survived the Soul Storm Reach in centuries. Noture were very good at finding and killing humans.

When do we march, Lord? asked one of his more foolish Warlords.

Patience, Sinov. We are not yet ready. I will have the Black Staff before we begin.

Sinov scowled. Let us march now, Yeminon! We stand ready. We have no need of the staff to harvest this world!

Yeminon’s eyes suddenly burned more brightly malevolent green. He had had enough of Sinov’s insolence! Columbrae flared luminescent, writhing and snaking his arms, legs, and chest. Gaesomn slid sinuously over her Champion, wrapping Yeminon in green flames, roaring in his veins, seething in Gaesomn’s vast weave, and firing his heart with hatred.

Sinov gasped and stepped back. Raising his hands, Sinov pleaded, Forgive me, Great Lord!

But Sinov had spoken his mind too casually and once too often.

Smoldering Gaesomn shards screamed from Yeminon’s hands, buffeting the Warlords with blazing heat, hurling Sinov burned and blackened to the ground. Foul, greasy smoke curled from Sinov’s quivering carcass as the evil magic burned deeper with a heat almost white.

We will crush Bonshea when I say, Sinov, Yeminon growled.

The remaining Warlords snarled in satisfaction, their eyes burning red with savagery, their muscles swelling and nerves burning from the stench of death at their feet. In the blink of an eye, Yeminon could slay a hundred Sinovs—a thousand—who could say what was possible for Agrinor’s World Breaker? They didn’t know and didn’t care. Each reveled in Sinov’s gruesome death. Each smugly aware of one less threat in the chain of command.

Yeminon turned away from Sinov’s gruesome carcass and ran his eyes over the remaining four Warlords. Taekor, what news of Kryon?

Taekor bowed. Kryon should be in position soon, Great Lord.

Yeminon nodded. Let us hope Kryon takes many of the fiends. The cursed, massive Lan’sa’nere had been a thorn in Agrinor’s side for centuries. Bonshea’s warrior clans roaming her great plains had tamed the fierce and intelligent Lan’sa’nere into formidable cavalry mounts. Yeminon wanted as many dead as possible before he launched Agrinor’s might. He did not expect Kryon to survive his mission, but he had no thought to mourn if Kryon did not. The Naughal would be a loss, but such were the necessities of war. Yeminon now had many Naughals to replace him. Keep your Fists hidden, but step up our raids. We want the humans ripe, soft, and not ready.

The Warlords bowed and answered as one. It will be as you say, Great Lord.

Yeminon looked out over Agrinor’s war preparations, soaring on the fires raging in his soul. Bonshea would bleed for him. It was his destiny. Chosen by Fate, he could not, would not, fail! Bonshea lay ripe with her soft belly exposed, and Agrinor desperately needed the harvest. He turned glowing eyes swirling with Gaesomn south. But that would be only the beginning. There was another world soft, extravagant with souls, and ripe for harvest within reach. Another world arrogant with useless weapons and unschooled in the ways of power lay beyond Bonshea’s steel. The wretched humans had fled into that world a thousand years ago to escape Agrinor’s Legions, only to regroup and drive Agrinor back into the Soul Storm Reach.

Yeminon’s lips stretched back from his fangs in a snarl. This time Agrinor’s Legions would follow the humans into that world! Evil would once more find its rightful place among humans. All he needed was one gate. Just one gate, and the night would shriek with their dead!

Three leagues south, two Heartwood scouts run a deadly gauntlet.

Two Heartwood Elves deep in the merciless mountains of northern Bonshea pant heavily from a long run. Breathing is difficult here. Agrinor fouls these mountains and valleys through the Horrok Gate; the air is heavy with the stench of brimstone. Sweat slides from their bodies to speckle the ground when they stop to listen. Each time they stop, the howls and insane gibbering of Noture sound closer.

Aaron Moonspear leaped over a cleft in the rock, turned, and reached out a hand. Hurry, Kya! They are almost upon us!

She gasped in pain as he pulled her across and fell to her knees, her strength gone. The black quarrel lodged between her ribs raked her with agony with each breath she took. She leaned against the rock and turned beautiful blue eyes sharp with fear up to him. Aaron, I cannot make it! You must go on without me.

The yips and howls of Noture strengthened, and Aaron knew they had but a matter of minutes. He kneeled and tenderly kissed her lips. You are my life, Kya. We will walk the long trail together.

Kya placed a hand on his cheek, savoring the touch of his face. We will not. I will hold them for a time. Let my love lend your steps wings, Beloved. You must warn the Council.

Aaron forced a smile for her and sealed his promise with his eyes. I will find you again, My Heart.

A last kiss, and he was running down the path, tears blurring his vision, his heart shredding with each step. They were deep within the Soul Storm Reach, a hard twenty days from Heartwood.

Kya struggled to her feet and notched an arrow, readying her bow. Horror had come again. Agrinor massed in numbers not seen since the Breaking, and the cursed Dread Lords and Naughals were with them. Aaron must reach Heartwood so others would know. She shuddered from a deep breath that racked her with pain and raised her bow. Forcing shaking hands to steady, she loosed an arrow. Noture scrabbled up the trail, teeth bared in slavering jaws, eager to be the first to reach her.

Chapter 1

Midnight clouds roiling with shades of deepest purple threatened spring rain. Rumbling thunder, they rolled arrogantly through the Vermont night, carelessly shadowing a luminescent full moon. A multitude of stars joined the intermittent moonlight illuminating layers of darkness in the forest below where silvered trees tossed by restless winds cast swaying shadows on the mountain trail and the young man running upon it.

Ethan Hawk ran the mountain, immersed in the rhythms of night. He was a wolf, running tirelessly, exulting in his strength, at home in the forest of his father’s. He felt a gust of cool breeze and smiled. A little rain wouldn’t bother him. This mountain was the one place he could escape the Willholden Military Academy in the valley below. He had been here two months. Just one stop among many ordered by his uncle. He often wondered how it would feel to have a home and family. He didn’t remember his parents, and he was beginning to lose memory of his uncle. He had been five years old the last time he had seen Bonigar Hawk. Military academies around the world had been his home for the past twelve years. Ethan chased thoughts of his uncle away. He was here to lighten his mood, not dredge up that stuff.

Blue eyes wide to catch the light, black hair wet with the sweat running down his hardened, lean body, Ethan challenged the mountain. He leaped, spun, and kicked. Crack! A dead limb two feet over his head splintered. He found the spot he wanted and landed, rolled, and then flipped over a storm-downed tree lying across the path, laughing with the joy of muscles that flexed and sang with what was no longer a challenge. He loved running at night! At night the forest shed its familiar cloak and assumed another, hinting at things unseen and mysterious slipping through the secrets of darkness. Here his imagination could run free, unfettered from the boring life in the academy below. Here he was not the shelved vassal of his uncle.

A Whip-poor-will called forlornly in the sighing of wind-tossed leaves, and a Barred Owl hooted, answered by another. Ethan slowed to a walk to listen, and then stopped altogether when the Whip-poor-will ceased abruptly in mid call, and the owls fell silent. Something had frightened the birds. Ethan quietly stepped into the shadow of a nearby maple, unsettled by a sudden, unknown dread. Angry with himself, he tried to shake off the feeling. Don’t be stupid. There is nothing to be afraid of in this forest. If he was lucky, he might get to see what had spooked the birds. He scanned the forest, annoyed for being frightened, but he couldn’t shake the growing apprehension coiling in his stomach. Moonlight fell like a silvered blanket on the mountain, but wind moaning through trees tossed shadows swaying and shifting, groping the forest with suddenly sinister gloom.

Ethan put his back to the trunk of the maple and slowly circled it, a prickly shiver running down his arms. He knew this forest well, and something was wrong. This was not the same forest of a moment ago. He felt it like a cold breath on his skin. Something bad was close. It was as though he had mistakenly taken a secret path in the dead of night into a forbidding forest where the rules were different. Because he knew now, was certain. Something dreadful hunted the night—something evil. He caught a glimmer of movement, and a dark shape stepped out of the shadows into moonlight.

Ethan grunted quietly and crouched, trying to be small in the darkness. A frantic voice in his mind whispered, Don’t move!

It was man-shaped and rangy under a concealing cloak that billowed in the gusting wind, weaving with shadows like spider silk or the fabric of night. Large, yellow eyes burned above narrow lips and glinting teeth in a pale face the color of bruises fading to yellow. White, ropey scars traced its forehead and jaw in brutal, ritualistic savagery. Its hands were a jaundiced yellow, like old ivory; the fingers long and slender ending in black claws. Each hand gripped a wickedly curved blade, the edge flashing silver in the moonlight. It moved like a wolf into the shadows, disappearing; and then it reappeared like a phantom, its glowing, yellow eyes scanning the darkness with the fevered heat of a hungry predator.

Cold fingers raked Ethan’s back and grabbed his thoughts and squeezed. Gods, what was it? The thing could have stepped out of a bad nightmare! Had it seen him?

The creature lifted its scarred face to scent the air—and turned toward Ethan.

Ethan’s rolling stomach clenched. The thing was here for him! He forced himself to breath and tried to break the panic rooting him in place. He thought of flight, but somehow knew the creature would just run him down. Straining for some sound from the thing, he only heard wind moaning through trees.

The creature cackled quietly and yellow eyes flared in darkness.

It had seen him! Ethan’s eyes frantically searched the forest for a weapon—anything would do! But there was nothing, just the night closing around him, no longer friendly, threatening untold secrets. Cold sweat slid slowly down his back. This thing meant to kill him!

The creature stepped toward him and hissed in a voice forged of pitiless malice. The time is come, boy. The harvest is due. The moon will see blood this night, and flight will avail you nothing! You are marked, and I have traveled far. Cackling evilly, the thing rushed him, yellow eyes burning violence, teeth bared in grinning anticipation!

Ethan grunted from what felt like a physical blow as terror slammed him hard. He knew from one heartbeat to the next that he had no chance against those wicked blades! But he wasn’t going to just stand there and let the thing kill him! No, he had one chance. Take one of those blades! He was halfway to the creature when steel glinted in the moonlight, and a dagger thudded into the thing’s chest! Again the glint of steel, and a throwing star spun into the creature’s throat! Ethan desperately slid to a halt, scrambling now to stay out of the reach of those wicked blades carving the air.

Gagging on the steel in its throat, the creature staggered forward three strides, stumbled, and crashed to the ground. Yellow eyes wide in disbelief, the thing gurgled and clutched its throat, legs thrashing uselessly, black blood spraying its life into the night.

Ethan watched it die, drew a shaky breath, and searched the shadows.

Do you ken he came alone? asked the man slipping from the shadows to his left.

Aye, ’tis the way of the Bojuke to do so, as you well know, said another to his right.

Ethan released a long held breath. Bjorn—Lodi—how are you here? I mean thanks and all… Ethan frowned. What is that thing?

Bjorn walked over to Ethan. In the darkness, his thick body and very broad shoulders made him look shorter than his six feet. He sheathed a bastard sword in a blur of steel. Bjorn’s hands were quicksilver when he wanted. Brown eyes and white teeth flashed in the moonlight.

Aye, laddie. Enjoying the night?

Ethan glared at Bjorn.

Lodi called out from where he was searching the dead Bojuke. No House marks him that I can see. Lodi cleaned both throwing star and dagger on the Bojuke’s cloak. Lodi was just taller than Bjorn and not as wide. Lodi was all whipcord muscle and honed reflexes. He glided through the night and handed Bjorn the dagger.

Lodi always made Ethan think of green and ancient forests. Tonight his silver-blond hair fell below his shoulders in a silken mass contained with leather ties. Almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes focused on Ethan. And what was your strategy for this encounter? You could not have outpaced him.

Ethan ducked his head. I planned to roll, take his feet, and then close.

Lodi fixed him with a scathing stare. Are you armed?

No, Ethan said, shifting his feet uncomfortably. He knew what was coming next.

You had lost before you started without steel to hand, Bjorn said, his brown eyes mirroring the rebuke he just got from Lodi. Bjorn laid a big hand on Ethan’s shoulder. Let this be a lesson, laddie. You must always be ready to defend yourself. It is when you least expect it that bad things happen.

Ethan grimaced from a lecture he had heard before. How was he supposed to always go armed? Besides, steel was heavy to carry when you ran.

Bjorn shook his head and looked up at the moon. We best get started. We have a far piece to travel.

Ethan clinched his fists, glaring at them both. "Wait! What is going on? You can’t just jump out of the night, kill that—that whatever it is—and then say, Let’s go. Tell me what is happening!"

Lad, you’ll do your foot a mischief if you stomp around like that, Bjorn said, grinning. All will be revealed, but not here.

Bjorn turned to Lodi. We can’t leave the likes of a Bojuke for the locals.

Lodi pulled a flask of dark liquid from a pocket, poured it over the corpse, and carefully picked up the two Bojuke blades.

Let’s be off, lad, Bjorn said, turning down the mountain.

Smoke billowed from the corpse, and then white heat flamed the night. Ethan shielded his eyes and followed Bjorn. How had they known? His stomach knotted and churned. He knew nothing of this.

They climbed into a black Hummer and drove back to Willholden. Bjorn talked at the headmaster while Ethan changed into sweats and grabbed his few belongings. They loaded back into the Hummer and took off.

Where are we going? Ethan asked from the back seat, trying to understand what was happening to him.

Your uncle has a wish to see you, lad, Bjorn said.

What’s going on, Bjorn? Ethan hadn’t seen his crazy uncle in twelve years.

It’s important, Ethan. Bonigar will tell it.

Well, what was that thing? Where did it come from?

All will be revealed. Sit back and learn patience.

Ethan glared at the back of Bjorn’s head, sorely tempted to swat it.

Lodi turned and grinned at him. He looks mad enough to bite, Bjorn.

Bjorn chuckled and waved his fingers at Ethan, keeping his eyes on the road and his other hand on the steering wheel.

Be at peace, Ethan. Your uncle will reveal all, Lodi said, and turned to face the road again.

And that’s all they will tell me, Ethan thought. He knew from long years of unanswered questions they would not say more. Bjorn Iron Fist and Lodi Skyfire were good at keeping secrets, and they had always been a bit of a mystery themselves. They had not seemed to age in the years Ethan had known them, but had looked exactly the same for as long as he could remember. While Ethan grew up, they had stayed the same. From the time Bonigar Hawk had sent Ethan away, Bjorn and Lodi saw him every month, along with the rest of the tutors sent by his uncle that badgered and challenged him with their knowledge. But Bjorn and Lodi didn’t come just once a month. Bjorn and Lodi also came on holidays and during summer breaks. Ethan spent holidays and summer breaks with either a blade or a gun in his hand.

They were expert in hand-to-hand combat and skilled with firearms. If you could think of it, Bjorn and Lodi could shoot it well. They were masters of honed steel. Those two could kill you with a blade so quickly and in so many ways it was scary. They had skills no one else knew anymore. Ethan thought that to be true because he had spent more than one summer training with blade masters in India and the Philippines where men still fought mortal battles with steel. But no matter who Ethan trained with, none of them could match Bjorn or Lodi. Of course, when he asked them about it, they just ignored him like they always did when they didn’t want to answer his questions.

They had hammered on him for twelve years, and he loved them both with a fierce heat burning deep in his heart. They had shaped who he was. Bjorn and Lodi valued truth to yourself, honor, courage, and compassion for others—tempered with a ruthless bond to those you called friend. They had never answered questions about his uncle, and Ethan assumed they were honor-bound to not do so. They would not start now. He scowled and muttered, You do make me mad enough to bite.

Ethan stared out the window and saw his face reflected in the glass. He looked scared. I am scared! He had a feeling he was about to learn things he would rather not know. Ethan wondered what his uncle wanted with him after twelve years, and a familiar anger swept through him. He had decided long ago his eccentric uncle was not altogether sane. For the past twelve years, Bonigar Hawk had forced Ethan to delve deeply into ancient military campaigns, battlefield tactics, and weapons now obsolete. Ethan had an uncomfortable feeling he was about to find out why.

That thing had almost killed him—would have if not for Bjorn and Lodi. What kind of creature was a Bojuke? Why had it singled him out for death? What made him a target for a creature not of this world? Ethan frowned. How had Bjorn and Lodi known the thing was hunting him? He shook his head. Maybe his uncle had some answers. He was only sure of one thing. Well, two things really. A creature not of this world had stepped out of the night and changed his life forever. And he was never going anywhere again without a weapon easy to hand.

Chapter 2

Something large was poking him in the shoulder. Groggy and disoriented, Ethan awoke to find Bjorn poking him with a big finger. Awake with you, lad. We have landed. Ethan stretched and climbed out of the plane. He wasn’t surprised to see Estoy Talendor standing next to another Hummer.

Estoy was a walking encyclopedia of the logistics and tactics of war. Estoy’s scathing remarks on Ethan’s understanding of such often left him feeling inadequate and dumb as a rock. Ethan smiled and waved. Estoy stood ramrod straight as usual. His grey-streaked, fiery-red hair waved wildly about his head in the gusting wind. Little silver bells dangling from both of his ears tinkled and winked in the dying sunlight. Ethan had asked about those bells once. He had never found the courage to ask a second time. They seemed a part of Estoy now. Ethan had no idea how old Estoy was. Estoy was in his twilight years, but he had a rigorous mind, sharp from exacting use. Like Bjorn and Lodi, Estoy was a valued mentor and was family as far as Ethan was concerned.

Hail and well met, Ethan, Estoy said, placing both hands on Ethan’s shoulders. I know you have been questioning these two unmercifully, but have patience and all will be revealed.

Ethan smiled. I am really tired of hearing that, Estoy. At least tell me where we are. These two won’t tell me anything except all will be revealed, have patience, and just shut up.

Estoy’s smile widened. He motioned Ethan into the Hummer with a wave. That’s good advice they give you. Follow it, and all will be revealed.

Bjorn and Lodi laughed, Bjorn slapping Ethan on the back with a blow nearly bringing him face down onto the rear seat of the Hummer. Get in, lad. The sooner we leave, the sooner Bonigar can explain.

Ethan scowled at Bjorn and found a seat. They weren’t going to tell him anything anyway.

Bjorn drove them from the private airfield. They were in mountains thick with trees. There was little traffic on the double-lane highway, and they passed no towns. They topped a hill, and Ethan was looking at a large estate enclosed by high stone walls. Armed guards patrolled the area outside the walls, some with Rottweilers on leash, others in teams of two. Bjorn drove them to a heavy steel gate leading into the estate, stopping next to a guard house. Security personnel manned the small structure dressed in grey and black camouflage combat fatigues like the other guards.

Welcome to Blackthorn Manor, said the large, bronzed-faced man at the gate. A Sig Sauer P226 pistol rode his hip, and a Hecklor & Koch HK416 assault rifle slanted across his chest secured by his equipment harness. Ethan knew the weapons well because Bjorn and Lodi had trained him in their hot and lethal roar of gunpowder and bullets until his fingers cramped.

We are pleased you are finally home, the guard said with a smile.

Ethan frowned at him wondering if the guard could use those weapons.

Aye, he is safe and sound and bristling with questions I would divert to his kin. Bjorn said.

He awaits you at the house, the man said and passed them through the gate.

The manor house was a mixture of old and new. Huge stone blocks home to a healthy growth of lichen and ivy made up what appeared to be the original and middle portion. Chimneys dotted its roof, and Ethan guessed it held three floors judging by the windows. Two L-shaped wings of more recent construction flanked the middle structure with stone. A lush green lawn surrounded the building with more of the mountain pines growing in solitary age. No flower beds or carefully trimmed, picturesque hedges were present. The area offered clear fields of vision for the watchful eyes of guards patrolling the compound.

Several outbuildings, all of modern construction, stood within the defensive walls. He later learned they were the guard’s quarters, infirmary, mess hall, armory, and storage buildings. The area within the walls was so large the manor house seemed to stand alone within it. The road led to a circular driveway before the main doors.

The double doors opened as they left the Hummer, and an old man in a wheelchair pushed by a younger man came through waving a welcome. The old man wore grey wool slacks, a dark blue shirt, and a pull-over black sweater with a fierce, golden hawk embroidered on the chest where a pocket would be. Ethan noticed the same hawk as a large brass crest over the massive doors. Inscribed as a part of the crest were the words, ‘Blood and Steel, Duty and Honor’. I remember that hawk and those words, he thought, just as the two men reached him. Ethan suddenly realized the old man was his uncle, but not the vigorous man he had last seen twelve years ago. His once black hair was now predominately grey, and his eyes had faded to a pale, watery blue. His face was a shallow yellow, not the healthy, sun-browned tan he wore the last time Ethan had seen him. Bonigar Hawk was a shrunken memory of the compact, muscular man he once had been. Ethan wondered what had happened to him. But he could not deny the pull of blood to blood as his uncle clasped his hand with a firm handshake. It is wonderful to see you again, Ethan. Welcome home.

Home is what you never gave me these past twelve years, Ethan thought bitterly, shaking his uncle’s hand. He didn’t try to force a smile he didn’t feel. This man had sheltered and educated him, and for that Ethan was grateful. But his uncle had his own agenda, demanding Ethan assiduously apply himself to a curriculum best suited for another era.

Bonigar Hawk looked into Ethan’s eyes. I know you must harbor some resentment of me, Ethan. Please hold your judgment until you have learned of your heritage. There is much you must now be told and time is an issue.

His uncle waved a hand to the man who had pushed the wheelchair through the door. You remember Hansel Dandred, my personal assistant who sees to things for me.

Hansel greeted Ethan with a warm smile and a firm handshake. Welcome home, Ethan. You have become a man since I saw you last.

Ethan shook Hansel’s hand with mixed feelings. He barely remembered Hansel as a soft voice of compassion in the turmoil of a frightening world turned upside down when Bonigar Hawk had sent Ethan away to be educated.

Bonigar Hawk turned to Bjorn and Lodi. Shadows of Hawk, we are in your debt once again. Bonigar’s pale eyes hardened and he said, Blood and Steel!

Bjorn and Lodi answered, Duty and Honor! like they meant it.

Ethan watched them wondering, What are Shadows of Hawk?

His uncle smiled. Welcome home. Estoy will brief you with what has happened in your absence.

Bjorn and Lodi followed Estoy into the manor. Ethan turned his attention to his uncle. What was that Blood and Steel, Duty and Honor business? This compound was a well guarded, hardened site. What was his uncle involved in?

Come, Ethan. You have had a difficult time and must be tired.

Ethan followed his uncle, feeling as though he was in a dream he couldn’t wake from. Forgotten memories pecked and prodded at him, revealing brief glimpses of people and events seen from the eyes of a child just leaning to toddle around on his own. The shadowy memories seemed to belong to someone else.

Bonigar Hawk led Ethan into a great hall opening up from the massive doors. Faded, old banners embellished the walls, some fire blackened, most tattered and torn; blood stained or not, all were a dark grey with a fierce golden hawk embroidered on black-bordered grey.

Banners of our house carried into battle, his uncle explained as they moved down the hall.

Ethan barely remembered this hall. His thoughts spun and circled back to one glaring truth. These are our family’s banners?

Aye, they date back to a time lost to history.

One banner drew Ethan’s eye. The golden hawk was charred, and a red stain nearly black covered much of the grey. It was faded and torn and proudly hanging separated from the rest. It looked ancient. Oberon Race fired in his thoughts, a memory he barely grasped before it flitted away.

How lost, Uncle?

Oh, I suppose the oldest date back to 1100 ad or so.

Ethan stopped and stared at his uncle. You can trace our family back so far?

His uncle turned his wheelchair around to face him. Ethan, our family has stood on this ground since the time of the Vikings. Your ancestors fought alongside William Wallace and Robert the Bruce to free Scotland from England’s yoke. They were the first to build ships to transport iron ore from Sweden and have been foremost in the manufacture of steel for its many uses. We have served Scotland in one capacity or another for centuries.

Ethan looked at the proud banners and then back to his uncle. His uncle had no right to keep this from him! Ethan had often longed for a heritage, a family, something to be a part of. Instead his crazy uncle had treated Ethan as an unwelcome and undervalued distant relative with no real family ties. Ethan clenched his fists, glaring at his uncle. Why wasn’t I told of all this!

Bonigar frowned. Stay your wrath, Ethan. It was for love and concern for your safety, nothing more. Your parents decided long ago, and I agreed, that you should be protected until you were ready to make your own way. Bonigar sighed and shrugged. I might have done differently, but it was not my decision to make, Ethan.

Ethan grudgingly saw the sympathy in his uncle’s eyes. His uncle spoke truth. Then I apologize, Uncle Bonigar.

Bonigar smiled. I see you have gained your mother’s tolerance as well as your father’s fire. Come, Ethan. I will hold nothing back. Much depends on your decisions and you must not act rashly.

Ethan frowned, wondering what his uncle meant by those words. He followed Bonigar through the hall into a grand sitting room. A huge fireplace dominated the space from one wall. A dark hardwood table that would seat a score of guests stood in the center of the room. Hawk shields, swords, axes, battle hammers, and other weapons of war waited expectantly on the walls. They looked ancient—and well used.

A large tapestry hanging over the fireplace drew Ethan’s memory with its faded but still vivid colors. White clouds sailed blue skies in stacked armadas and gay free abandon. Castles dotted its surface nestled in red, brown, and grey mountains and among green forests of majestic trees. Blue rivers and lakes snaked and spread and faded to green. Meticulous craftsmanship almost made it seem alive. Someone had lovingly invested time and skill in the tapestry. Ethan remembered it well and wondered whose dream it was. What is this, Uncle?

Bonigar was silent for so long Ethan turned to look at him.

Ah, lad, that tapestry represents a memory, a lovely land replete with magic and beauty. It is the bones and marrow of what we must discuss.

His uncle rolled to the head of the table, waving for Ethan to sit to his right. Ethan, it is difficult to find a good beginning for what you must know.

You can start with that creature that tried to kill me, Ethan said. The Bojuke was still an ominous, unexplained mystery rattling around in his head, scaring him every time he thought of it.

Yes, I suppose that would be as good a beginning as another. But keep your peace. You must have the full tale to understand your part in it.

His uncle settled himself more comfortably in his chair. That was a Bojuke, a creature not of this world but come from another across a fold in space. They are a clan of assassins, skillful and merciless. The Bojuke came for you because of your heritage and what it means in the world to which that creature belongs.

Ethan jumped from his chair. "How could I be considered a threat to some creature from another world!" He had come to think his uncle more than passing strange. Now it sounded like Bonigar Hawk should be in a padded cell somewhere counting the buttons on his shirt over and over!

Bonigar held up both hands in a placating gesture. Calm yourself, Ethan. Please, take your seat, and I will try and explain.

His uncle seemed sane. His eyes were calm. He was even smiling. But his story was hard to swallow. Still, Ethan had seen the Bojuke with his own eyes. That thing did not belong in this world. There had to be a reason for the walled compound and all the guards. Either his uncle was deep into a world of fantasy, or Ethan was learning of those things he had thought he would rather not know. Ethan decided he had better find out which it was. He took his seat. I apologize, Uncle Bonigar. How is our family connected to this another world?

Bonigar’s eyes shifted to the tapestry over the fireplace. Our family is a part of that world, Ethan. We are of the Kingdom of Hawk, a realm within Bonshea. Bonigar paused and drilled Ethan with watery, blue eyes. "Evil found its way there, and Bonshea was nearly lost to darkness.

Magic coupled with arrogance stirs a dangerous cauldron, Ethan. That is why we nearly lost Bonshea to Agrinor, and that is how we traveled to Earth.

Ethan slumped back in his chair. Magic? Someone was trying to kill him, and the only support he had was a delusional uncle who believed in fairy tale magic! Ethan grimaced. Fairy tale magic and some mysterious world Ethan had never heard of. Come on, Uncle Bonigar! You mean like turn you into a frog magic?

Bonigar’s blue eyes were like ice. No, Ethan. I mean like flay your skin, melt your bones, and rip you to shreds magic!

Little needles dug into Ethan’s back. You’re serious, aren’t you?

If you ever come to blows with a mage, you will learn to believe very quickly, Nephew.

Ethan’s scalp crawled. Magic was no more difficult to believe than traveling to another world. In for a penny, in for pound, he thought, daring to believe just a little. I’m sorry, Uncle Bonigar. Please go on.

Bonigar gave him a long look. The most powerful among the gifted were the Powerstriders. Arrogant with their power, a small group sought to travel to other worlds. Not knowing where it might lead, those Powerstriders opened a rift into a world of evil—Agrinor, the Horrok world.

His uncle scowled and shook his head. Once the gate opened, the fools could not close it. Horrok poured through the gate into a land unprepared for their butchery. It was at their darkest hour, when all seemed lost, that the Powerstriders opened other gates. They did not know where the gates would open, but they felt there was no other recourse. They had learned to key a gate so that only a spoken phrase would trigger and reveal the gate, and that gave them confidence. Six of the surviving kingdoms agreed to host a Kingdom Gate. Thus our people journeyed here, sparing many and giving them a chance to regroup and rearm.

Ethan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This sounded too complex to be the ravings of a crazy old man. What happened? Did they defeat Agrinor?

Aye, we beat the Horrok back and fought them to a standstill at the swift waters of Oberon Race. Now we hold them at bay in the mountains and valleys of the Soul Storm Reach.

Oberon Race! Ethan suddenly remembered his uncle holding Ethan’s hand, pointing at the faded banner he had seen in the hall, telling him of some great battle. Visions of a river red with blood and beasts with smoldering red eyes unlocked from a suppressed memory—a nightmare he had known as a child. A nightmare, according to his uncle, that had actually happened. A chill swept through him when he realized that he had to at least consider what he was hearing. Twelve years of study and training took over. He wondered if Bonshea had progressed from medieval weaponry. Do you use modern weapons in Bonshea?

The gates will not pass through anything from Earth altered from its natural state, Ethan. No one knows why. Perhaps the Powerstriders made it so thinking to protect Bonshea from further abuse. Perhaps it is some aspect of dimensional travel, but it is so.

What about manufacturing modern weapons on the other side?

We have tried, but that doesn’t work. Cannon and muskets do no damage to the Horrok. It is thought the physics of these weapons are so far removed from that of the Horrok world that they simply don’t exist for them.

Bonigar shrugged. Some believe travelers across dimensions are slightly out of phase, and the speed of modern weapons simply passes them by. I cannot say, but cold steel and magic are the only weapons that will cut down creatures from Agrinor, as well as the supernatural beings of Bonshea.

Bonigar grinned. Tell me, Ethan. You have heard the legend of the werewolf that can’t be slain by a normal bullet from a gun, but must be killed with a silver one?

Ethan sat back in his chair. Just when he was beginning to accept what his uncle told him, Bonigar comes up with this. Werewolves? Where was this going? Next his uncle would be talking of vampires, fairies, and gnomes.

Well, they can’t be slain with a silver bullet either. Only a blade or magic will put them down. His uncle paused, and just when Ethan was about to ask him if werewolves were real, said, And I know you are familiar with the vampire; how a holy cross will turn him, but only a wooden stake will slay him?

I knew it, Ethan thought, nodding warily.

The cross might amuse him, nothing more. That is an untruth started by the Catholic Church to further its own ends. But a wooden stake will surely make him unhappy, and beheading one is certain death. Old legends, Ethan, made into fairy tales but based on fact.

Ethan shook his head. His uncle had fallen out of a tree and landed on his head after all. Uncle Bonigar, you think vampires and werewolves are real?

Bonigar Hawk’s blue eyes gleamed, like he thought werewolves and vampires were fun. I don’t think it, Ethan. I know it! He winked at Ethan like he was telling a funny joke. Frightening, is it not? Those creatures and others like them come into this world from Bonshea.

Ethan opened his mouth to ask how those creatures get to Earth from Bonshea, but his uncle held up a hand.

Early in the war with Agrinor, a Powerstrider opened several wild gates for small enclaves of people at jeopardy in remote areas. This was before the Powerstriders learned to key a gate. I think he may have been one of those who opened the gate into Agrinor. Few documents have survived from that era, but in one he states what he had done. Unfortunately, he does not say where or how many gates he opened. We don’t know where they are, or what happened to the people who used them. However, I think there are only a few wild gates.

Bonigar Hawk shrugged and grinned at him. Occasionally a creature from Bonshea will wander through. Creatures like vampires, werewolves, and other nightmares. They are invulnerable to modern weapons. Why this is so, I cannot say. But you had better know it for fact.

Ethan sighed. His uncle believed in magic and vampires and werewolves. But then there was that Bojuke. That thing had been all too real. What if all of this was real? His heart started to bang in his chest. You mean the wild gates are still open?

"Nephew, you need to pay attention. I told you the Powerstriders could not close a gate once opened. It apparently becomes a fixture of nature, not a magical door of some kind. If Agrinor ever discovers those wild gates, this world will burn."

Where is the Hawk Gate located, Uncle? If he could see this thing, maybe he could believe the rest of it.

His uncle smiled as though he knew what Ethan was thinking. It is here, within this compound. But before you cross to Bonshea, you must prepare for what you find there.

Suddenly his uncle gasped and hunched over the table. Hansel was there to support him in an instant. You have done enough for today, my lord. You must now rest.

Aye, this thing will have its due, growled his uncle, pale and trembling. I am sorry, Ethan. I must rest before we go further. I will send Estoy to show you to your room. We will speak further tomorrow.

Is there anything I can do for you, Uncle Bonigar? His uncle suddenly looked very ill.

Bonigar waved a hand. Nay, lad. There is nothing to be done.

Ethan watched Hansel push his uncle away from the table. Goodnight then, Uncle Bonigar. May you rest well.

Estoy led Ethan to a bedroom in one of the manor’s newer wings.

What is wrong with my uncle? Ethan asked, as Estoy turned to take his leave.

How much has Bonigar told you of things as they are?

Ethan grimaced, raised his hands, then let them fall to his side. He said my family was from another world, at war with evil creatures, and other things I find hard to believe. Frankly, I wonder at his sanity, Estoy. Why does he try to make me believe such nonsense?

Estoy gave him a calculating look of displeasure Ethan had experienced before. Are you so wise in the ways of the world that you can learn no new things, Ethan? Have you not wondered at the unconventional life you have led? Have you never questioned the unorthodox education you have received?

Yes! Ethan shouted. Of course I have wondered why my uncle has shunned me like a leper! Of course I have wondered why he has forced me to pursue a path not of my making! What I wouldn’t give for a normal life, with a normal family, instead of this crazy old man!

Estoy’s blue eyes blazed. "You asked what was wrong with that crazy old man as you put it? He is dying, Ethan! He was poisoned by an Abkrtch, a Bojuke’s blade, trying to discover the plot on your life. Why do you think Bjorn and Lodi were there to save you from the Bojuke? He has kept you at arm’s length to protect your identity from those who would see you dead! When we heard rumors an enemy had discovered you and dispatched an assassin, your uncle went through the Hawk Gate to learn what he could to protect you. Memories of those lost to him make it painful for him to return to Bonshea, but he went anyway. As should be obvious, his mission was successful. But he was fatally wounded and will not see many more days!"

The hair on the back of Ethan’s neck stiffened. He had never seen Estoy so upset. And there was that Bojuke. He had seen that with his own eyes. You mean it’s all true? The Kingdom Gates, the passage to another world, the war in Bonshea—all of it is true?

Estoy’s heat softened. Yes, Ethan. It’s all true. I know it must be difficult for you to take in, but you must do so for your own sake as well as others.

Estoy placed both hands on Ethan’s shoulders as he often did when he wished to push home a point. We have prepared you as well as we could, Ethan. Now you must accept what is, break down the walls of your comfort, and extend your vision to encompass new understanding of the universe you live in.

Ethan’s knees wobbled and he said weakly, That is a large leap, Estoy. I will try.

That is all anyone can do, Ethan. Rest well, the morrow will be long and taxing.

Estoy left, and Ethan abruptly sat on the bed. I’m in the Twilight Zone, about to travel through space and time to another dimension. I wonder if Rod Sterling is from Bonshea, he said to the empty room, and grimaced and rubbed his face. Geez, I have to get a grip.

Everything Bonigar had told him was true. He had to understand and accept everything he had learned, and he had to do it now. But it was just so hard to believe. The only foothold he had on reason was that he had known Estoy, Bjorn, and Lodi for as long as he could remember. They were certainly real. Why had his uncle called Bjorn and Lodi Shadows of Hawk? And why had they answered him with those words inscribed beneath the bronze hawk over the door. Blood and Steel, Duty and Honor, sounded like a vow or an oath. It sounded dangerous is what it sounded like.

What was he to do about his uncle? Bonigar Hawk was apparently dying because of him. His stomach rolled and guilt stabbed him hard. All the years of resentment he had felt for his uncle had been wrong. Bonigar Hawk had been trying to protect him, and now Bonigar was dying