Lord of the realm

As the soldiers hauled Sikaren to his feet and dragged him from the hall, Vasthren approached the altar. He placed his hands upon its cool surface, feeling the slight thrum of ancient powers within the stone.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then, with a grinding sound of stone against stone, the altar began to sink into the floor. Dust rose as centuries-old mechanisms engaged, and a stairway was revealed, spiraling down into darkness that seemed to swallow the torchlight.

Morveth peered into the depths, her expression hungry. "After all these years, the weapons of the ending—we have found them. The Lord will reward us greatly for this."

"Send word to Hilda," Vastren commanded the youngest soldier.

"Tell her that we have breached the Vault. And summon the specialists—whatever protections lie below, I want them dismantled systematically. We take no chances."

As his orders were carried out, Vasthren stood at the edge of the stairway, gazing into the darkness below. Somewhere down there lay artifacts and knowledge from an age before the current order, before the Council of witches had imposed its restrictions on Origin, before power had been tamed and controlled.

Soon, very soon, that would change.

The old world would rise again, and the Blaedred Skull would be the hand that lifted it from its grave.

***

The western road from the Tharkia Mountain was little more than a dirt track, winding through increasingly dense forest as it led away from civilization. It was present between the north and west parts of the empire, home to lots of distinct races.

Three figures moved along it with grim purpose, their horses' hooves throwing up small clouds of dust in the late afternoon light.

Darian rode at the point, his bearing unmistakably that of a knight despite his lack of formal armor. He wore a leather cuirass reinforced with steel plates, practical gear for hard travel, and a longsword hung at his hip. His face was weathered and serious. But it was his eyes—a striking grey—that spoke of keen intelligence and unwavering determination.

"The trail is already two days cold," he said, his voice carrying the clipped tones of someone accustomed to command.

"Every hour we lose makes finding them that much harder."

"Then perhaps we should spend less time stating the obvious and more time riding," Raelana replied from his left, though there was no real heat in her words.

The witch cut a striking figure astride her black mare. Her travel attire was all wrinkled, and the small pouches were hanging to her waist, swaying by the movement of the horse.

The third member of their party was younger than both, though he held himself with the confidence of someone who'd seen real battle.

Taeryn, his spear was strapped to his saddle, its blade wrapped in oiled cloth, and he wore simple but well-maintained chain mail over padded leather. His face was open and honest, framed by shaggy dark hair, and his eyes constantly scanned their surroundings with alert wariness.

"I still don't understand how they could have been taken so easily," Taeryn said, giving voice to the concern that had plagued them all since discovering Rena and Baren's disappearance. "Baren's nearly unstoppable in a fight, and Rena, young as she is, has real power. For them to get kidnapped..."

"Which means they weren't overcome in direct combat," Raelana said grimly.

"We aren't sure who took them and if the dark legions are the ones behind the kidnapping..." She shook her head.

"I'm not sure why they would even want them. If they were after the chosen ones, they would have simply killed them. I can't understand the reason behind their plan."

"They want them alive," Darian interjected.

"It's clear seeing that there was no battle or any marks of resistance from those two; they have taken them, either by overpowering them or sedating them."

"Whatever it was or whoever, I will find my friends," Taeryn said with resolve.

His worry had become doubled hearing them talk, and he could only hope that his friends were safe.

And he looked upwards, wondering where Jaenor was. If he had been with them, maybe he wouldn't have let them be taken away like that.

They rode in silence for a while, each lost in their own dark thoughts. The forest around them grew thicker, the trees pressing closer to the road. Age-old oaks and towering pines created a canopy that filtered the sunlight into green-tinted shadows. Birdsong had faded as they'd traveled deeper into the wild lands, replaced by an oppressive quiet that set Taeryn's teeth on edge.

"We should reach Marrhilr by nightfall," Darian said, consulting the position of the sun through the canopy.

"It's the last settlement before the deep forest. We should be able to track them easily from here on."

"Assuming they took the main road," Raelana pointed out.

"There are a dozen game trails and old paths through these woods. They could have avoided settlements entirely."

"Then we hope they got careless." Darian's jaw set.

"We'll ask questions, follow any leads we find. I won't abandon them."

The conviction in his voice was absolute, and Taeryn felt a surge of gratitude for the knight's steadfastness.

Darin was able to quickly find the trail of the ones who took Rena and Baren. Darian had been an expert in taking the lead and followed the trail left behind them. Not many were capable of such feats.

"We'll find them," he said, as much to reassure himself as to reassure Taeryn.

"We have to."

As if in answer, Raelana's horse suddenly nickered nervously, tossing its head. The witch was quickly alerted, her posture shifting to readiness.

"Something's wrong," she said quietly.

Darian had already drawn his sword, the blade sliding free with a whisper of steel. Taeryn grabbed his spear, unwrapping the blade as his eyes scanned the treeline.

The forest had gone completely silent.

For a long moment, nothing moved.

Then, with a rustling of underbrush, figures emerged from the trees on both sides of the road. Eight of them, dressed in mismatched leather and hides, armed with everything from crude clubs to rusted swords. Bandits, the sort that plagued isolated roads and preyed on unwary travelers.

Their leader, a gap-toothed man with a scarred face and greasy hair, stepped forward with an arrogant swagger.

"Well now," he said, his voice rough.

"What have we here? Knight, witch, and boy. Fancy travelers for such a lonely road. I think you owe us a toll for safe passage."

Darian's expression didn't change.

"Stand aside. We've no time for this, and you don't want to test us."

The bandit leader laughed, a harsh sound.

"Oh, I think we do. See, you're outnumbered, and—"

He never finished the sentence.

Raelana raised her hand, her fingers blazing to power with emerald light. The ground beneath three of the bandits suddenly erupted upward, roots tearing free from the ground to wrap around their legs and drag them down. Their screams were cut short as the roots constricted, binding them helplessly.

Darian didn't wait to see the effect.

He spurred his horse forward, his blade taking one bandit across the chest before the man could even raise his club in defense. The knight flowed from horseback to ground in a smooth motion, his sword already moving in a defensive pattern that drove two more attackers back.

Taeryn found himself facing the leader and one other bandit, his spear suddenly feeling very light in his hands.

Training took over.

He pivoted, using his superior reach to keep them at bay, the spear's point dancing between them in a pattern his instructor had drilled into him hundreds of times.

The leader snarled and rushed forward, trying to get past the spear's reach.

Taeryn sidestepped, brought the butt of the spear up into the man's jaw, then reversed his grip to catch the second attacker across the shoulder with the blade. Blood flew, and the wounded man stumbled back with a cry of pain.

The leader recovered faster than Taeryn expected, but by then, Raelana was there.

She raised both hands, origin energy shimmering around her, and the air itself seemed to solidify around the bandit leader, holding him immobile. His eyes went wide with terror as he strained against the invisible force.

"I warned you," Darian said coldly, his blade at the man's throat.

The other bandits—those still conscious and mobile—had already fled into the forest.

"Now you'll answer our questions, and if I'm satisfied with your answers, you might live to regret this day's work."

The bandit leader's eyes darted between them, calculation warring with fear.

Finally, he nodded as much as Raelana's spell would allow.

"Good," Darian said.

"Now, anyone passed by these woods, possibly with prisoners. Any carriage of sorts or people held onto horses."

The man's eyes shifted, and Darian pressed the blade harder against his throat.

"The truth. I'll know if you're lying."

"Two days back," the bandit gasped.

"Dawn. Two women on horses had two others slung over their saddles like sacks. Headed west toward Verdant Emera. We didn't interfere—they had the look of professionals about them, and we're not paid enough to tangle with that sort."