Prologue

Emperor Forkuna strode briskly through the corridors of the Imperial Palace in Despair. Directly behind him were his closest advisor, Lord Kimner, and the emperor’s son, General Jaar. A squad of Imperial soldiers surrounded the three most important men in the Empire of Barouk. When they reached the emperor’s study, six soldiers followed the three men into the room while the rest of the squad took up positions in the corridor outside.

“You look quite pleased with yourself,” Lord Kimner stated as the emperor eased into his chair behind the desk. “Are you sure this is a wise move?”

“Perfectly sure,” smiled the emperor. “Our union with the Kingdom of Spino is only the beginning. This Federation that we have started today will blossom into a government that will encompass the entire continent. It is the only way to ensure our continued existence.”

“Spino cannot be considered an equal to the Empire of Barouk,” argued General Jaar. “I can well understand the need to expand, but not by giving up our sovereignty. If you desire to rule over Spino, you only need to give the word. My armies will conquer them within a few months.”

The emperor sighed heavily as he glanced at his son. He shook his head slowly with disappointment. “You still have not grasped what I am trying to do, Jaar. This gloom that hangs over the land affects all countries, not just the empire. We have the greatest wealth of minerals within our borders, but we must import everything else. As our fields begin to whither and die, where we will get food to eat?”

“That is what you are doing this for?” balked the general. “Just because of the gloom?”

“The gloom hangs heavily over our heads,” commented Lord Kimner, “but surely it will pass. The skies of Sirocca were once like this when the Pyres erupted years ago. It hardly means the end of everything.”

“This gloom was not caused by a volcanic eruption,” retorted the emperor. “As for Sirocca, it has ceased to exist. That entire country is now buried under a desert so vast that it is unimaginable. This is what you two do not understand. The gloom is not going away. Whatever caused it, it is here to stay. The only way for any of us to survive is to band together. Our union with the Kingdom of Spino is merely a first step for the Federation. In the coming months, I will negotiate with all of the countries of Zara. I will bring them all into the Federation.”

“Why?” frowned General Jaar. “I still do not understand. Why do we need to cede power to any of those countries? We can either conquer them or trade with them, but you want to take it further. I do not understand.”

“Aerta currently grows more food than they can eat,” explained the emperor, “but what will happen when their supply of food diminishes? Will they then be eager to sell us food?”

“Aerta will surely horde their food,” answered Lord Kimner.

“If they do,” scowled General Jaar, “I will march our armies into Giza and seize the food.”

“Will you?” countered Emperor Forkuna. “And what if you are met by the combined armies of Ertak, Aerta, and Candanar? Do you really think the Aertans are blind? You start marching our armies northward, and they will make allies with their neighbors long before we arrive. All you will accomplish is losing a large number of our soldiers. I suppose that might allow our food to go further, but it would also leave us rather vulnerable to any nation that coveted our minerals. Stop thinking like a bully in the playing field and start thinking like an emperor. The task of governing this empire will one day fall into your hands.”

“How does this Federation solve our problem?” retorted the general.

“Ertak and Aerta will join the Federation,” explained the emperor. “When they do, they will not be able to horde food for their own use. They will have an obligation to share it among the members of the Federation. Should they refuse, then the other members will surely side with us in the dispute. I am doing what must be done to ensure our continued existence. You must learn to follow my example.”

“There are risks to your plan,” interjected Lord Kimner. “Already there are whispers among the nobles. Surely you must know that many of our people are not happy with the formation of the Federation. They see it as a lessening of our importance.”

“They are small-minded fools,” sighed Emperor Forkuna. “Everyone thinks this gloom will disappear tomorrow, but no one can give me a logical reason for his beliefs. The King of Spino understood the problem well enough. He was as  eager to form the Federation as I was, and I think the other kingdoms will also agree when I present it to them. Aerta might have food, but it lacks the minerals that we possess. The Federation will be in their best interests as well as ours.”

“If you can get them to agree,” Lord Kimner replied in a dubious tone.

“That is what a ruler is supposed to do,” stated the emperor. “I will talk to the other rulers and explain the need to join together. I will be successful. Of that I have no doubts.”

Shouting erupted in the corridor outside the study, and the soldiers in the room stiffened and readied their weapons. General Jaar also drew his sword and stepped between his father’s desk and the door to the corridor. The sounds of battle could be heard outside the room and the six soldiers in the study moved towards the door.

“Evidently,” Lord Kimner said softly, “someone has taken exception to your plan to start the Federation.”

Emperor Forkuna rose to his feet and stared at the door. “Barricade the door,” he commanded before turning his gaze to his son. “Put your sword away, Jaar.”

“I will defend you with my life,” retorted the general as the soldiers began moving furniture in front of the door.

“That you will,” the emperor smiled thinly, “but not from this room. I will not allow anyone to catch the two of us together. My soldiers will hold off the enemy while you escape and rally forces loyal to us.”

“Escape?” balked the general. “I will not run like a frightened doe.”

“You will do as I command,” snapped Emperor Forkuna. “Get out the window while there is still time. Bring back only the most loyal troops and attack them from the rear. Hurry.”

General Jaar remained frozen for a moment before nodding his head and sheathing his sword. He ripped the curtains from the window and hastily fashioned a rope that he tied around a leg of the desk. He tossed the free end out the window and then climbed down to the ground. He stood in the dark for a moment as he listened to the sounds of the night. He could not hear any commotion coming from the palace, and he realized that no one was even aware of the attempted coup. He raced for the closest entrance to the palace, but he halted before he entered the cone of light cast by the torches. Two bodies were spread across the palace steps, and in that instant, General Jaar knew that there would be no help to be found inside the palace.

General Jaar turned around and raced through the dark night. He wormed his way into a tall hedge that grew alongside the walls of the estate and found the old hidden door he had discovered when he was a child. He quietly eased the door open and stepped through the wall into another hedge that lined the outside of wall. He peered out and saw that the street was deserted. Breaking free from the hedge, the general raced through the city streets to the garrison nearby. When he burst through the door of the garrison, the soldiers stiffened at his arrival. The general glanced at the faces of the men as if he could determine if any of them were in league with the rebels. He could not determine their loyalty, but their presence in the garrison indicated that they were not involved in the coup. Besides, Jaar had no choice in the matter. If the throne was to be saved, he needed to act quickly.

“Prepare for battle,” commanded the general. “Rebels are attempting to assassinate Emperor Forkuna. Move! Move! Move!”

The men scrambled to get into their boots and grab their weapons. The colonel in charge of the garrison approached the general and saluted.

“What are our orders?”

“We take the palace by force,” answered General Jaar. “Everyone inside the walls of the palace is suspect, with the exception of the emperor and Lord Kimner. Get these men inside the palace now.”

As the colonel shouted orders to his men, General Jaar stepped out onto the street. He stared towards the distant palace as the soldiers rushed out and formed ranks. With a thousand men at his back, General Jaar led the charge towards the palace. He made no attempt at a stealthy approach, but rather shouted death to the rebels. The soldiers manning the gates to the palace took one look at the charging army and ran. General Jaar and his men climbed over the gates and walls and then continued the charge towards the palace. Defending soldiers appeared on the steps of the palace.

General Jaar had no idea if the defenders were loyal or rebels, and he did not care. He shouted orders for his men to head towards the emperor’s study and then unsheathed his own sword. He led the charge into the defenders. For a brief moment, the charged halted as they battled, but General Jaar sliced his way through the knot of defenders, and his men quickly followed. Other defenders rushed into the large entry foyer, and Jaar’s men spread out to meet them. The general halted only briefly as he shouted instructions to his men. He ordered several squads to each side of the grand staircase to hold off the defenders while he led the rest of his men up the stairs. Uniformed bodies cluttered the floors of the corridors as the general led his men towards the emperor’s study. The general slipped on the blood-soaked floor and almost lost his balance. As he straightened himself, the colonel and several men raced by him. Jaar hurried after them.

The corridor outside the emperor’s study was littered with bodies, and the door to the study was shattered to pieces. The general could hear fighting still going on in the study, and his hopes rose for the first time since fleeing the study. He followed the colonel and a couple of soldiers into the room. Five black-clad men turned to meet the new threat. The assassins were highly skilled, and the colonel and two soldiers immediately fell to their blades. General Jaar veered to the right as his soldiers followed him into the room, his primary goal being the protection of his father. As he leaped over the bodies of his father’s guards, General Jaar saw the bodies of Lord Kimner and Emperor Forkuna. He turned with a vengeance to lash out at the assassins, but four of them were already dead. The fifth was fighting a losing battle against three soldiers.

“Capture him alive,” spat the general.

The three soldiers went to a defensive mode, and it cost them their lives as the assassin slashed out with precision strokes. General Jaar did not appear to notice as he knelt next to his father’s body. For several moments he knelt and stared into his father’s dead eyes and then he noticed that the room had gone silent. He rose and turned towards the door. Two soldiers held the limp form of the last assassin.

“Is he alive?” asked the general.

Both soldiers nodded silently.

“Take him to the dungeons and secure him. No one is to get near him until I am done with him.”

The two soldiers dragged the assassin out of the study as the other soldiers stood and stared at the general. General Jaar waved the men from the room, and they took up positions outside the shattered doors. For several long moments, Jaar did nothing but stare at his father’s corpse. Unexpectedly, he heard a moan behind him. Turning with his sword in hand, he gazed down at Lord Kimner. The emperor’s advisor held his hand over a bloody gash across his abdomen as he tried to sit up. The general moved across the room and knelt by his side.

“Stay still. I will have a healer brought to you.”

“I am beyond a healer’s touch,” the advisor said weakly, “but your father left a message for you. He knows that you do not care for his idea of the Federation, but he implores you to follow through with it.”

General Jaar called to the soldiers outside the door. He ordered them to get a healer and then turned his attention back to Lord Kimner.

“I will make a deal with you,” the general said with a thin smile. “You stay alive to help me, and I will pursue the Federation.”

The noble’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What do you need me for?”

“I am not a negotiator,” answered the general. “I am a warrior, and I can change enough to become an emperor, but I will not accept other countries as the equals of the empire. I need your skills in getting the other monarchs to accept my terms for this Federation.”

“There are many in the palace who can aid you with that task. Do not pin your hopes for the future on one old man who is dying.”

“There is no one in this palace that I can trust now. You alone stood alongside my father. You shall be my advisor.”

“Then take this advice to heart,” wheezed the noble. “Secure your family far away from this palace and keep them hidden.”

The general frowned deeply. “What are you saying?”

“It was not soldiers who came here tonight. They were hired assassins. Gaze upon their bodies.”

General Jaar rose and walked to the black-clad bodies. He already knew that the assassins wore no uniforms, but the significance had not registered with him. He knelt next to one of the bodies and frowned. He reached out and plucked a golden pin off the body’s chest. He held it up and let the torchlight glance off of it.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A badger,” Lord Kimner replied. “The Badgers are a private band of mercenaries. They have been around for centuries, but they are a secretive group. They are seldom seen in private or in public, and I have never heard of one being captured before tonight. Whoever sent them here today had planned to annihilate the emperor’s’ entire family. They will try again.”

“Then the soldiers we slew to get in here were not part of the coup?”

“The soldiers were probably defending the palace. The Badgers would not stoop to allying themselves with soldiers. They would sneak into the palace and eliminate any soldiers that got in their way.”

A healer rushed into the room, and the general rose to his feet. While the healer tended to the wounded noble, the general walked out of the room and headed for the dungeons. He had wanted the last assassin kept alive to make an example out of him, but now he wanted him more for the information that could be tortured out of him. When the general reached the dungeons, he demanded to know where the prisoner was being kept. The guards directed him to the deepest part of the dungeons where the general found two more guards standing outside the door to one of the cells. The guards stiffened at his approach.

“Open the door,” demanded the general.

Clutching the golden pin in one hand, the general snared a torch from the wall with his other hand and stepped into the small cell. He saw the assassin chained to the wall across from the door, and he strode across the room. At first, Jaar thought that the assassin was still unconscious, but his face clouded with anger when he noticed the blue tint to the man’s skin.

“What is the meaning of this?” shouted the general.

Both guards rushed into the room. One of them, noticing the general’s gaze, hurried to the assassin’s side. His brow furrowed in confusion as he examined the corpse.

“He is dead.”

“I ordered that he be kept alive,” snapped the general. “Which of you will take his place?”

“No one entered this cell once he was confined,” the nervous guard near the general stated. “No one.”

The guard closest to the corpse noticed a glint between the assassin’s teeth, and he forced the Badger’s mouth open. Stuck in the back of the assassin’s throat was a small golden pin.

“He must have ripped the pin off his chest with his teeth,” the guard mused as he reached in and extracted the pin.

“And choked on it?” scoffed the general.

The guard handling the spittle-encrusted pin was clumsy. As he was trying to give it to the general, it pricked his skin. The guard’s eyes immediately glazed over, and his body teetered before falling to the floor. The other guard rushed to his partner’s side, but refused to pick up the pin. He stared at it in disbelief.

“The pin is poisoned,” he announced. “Look at the tint near the tip.”

General Jaar’s eyes suddenly grew large as he opened his palm and stared at the golden pin in his hand. He dropped the torch to the floor and slowly opened a pouch on his belt. With agonizingly slow movements, the general eased the pin into his pouch. When the pin was safely in the pouch, the general let out a deep breath and then retreated from the cell. Unnerved by his close encounter with death, the general made his way to his own study. He slumped into his chair and called for his guard to bring a particular officer to him. A few minutes later, a colonel walked into the study. The officer saluted and waited for the general to speak.

“I have a secret task for you, Colonel Jurgon. I want you to assemble a force of one hundred men. Each man must be proven loyal to me, and he must be single.”

“Single, Sir?”

“Unmarried. You will have the pick of anyone you want, but no one is to know anything of what I tell you, even the men under your command. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, Sir. What will be the task for this group?”

“You will be assigned to safeguard my family. Once the force is assembled, I want you to find an estate far from the city. The estate must be unseen from any road or trail, and once your men are assigned to it, they may not leave. You alone, Colonel, will have leave to travel to Despair, and only for the purpose of speaking with me. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly, Sir. Your family will be kept safe and hidden. I stake my life on it.”

“And the lives of the men under your command,” declared the general.

Chapter 1

Undiscovered Portal

The demonkin was tall and handsome, his piercing blue eyes peeking out from beneath his short golden bangs. His skin was bronzed as if he spent his days under the sun tending to fields. His muscles bulged with impressive strength as he shed his fine garments and threw them into the massive fireplace. Feeling eyes upon him, Lycindor turned and saw the noble holding a pile of clothes staring at him. The demonkin’s lips curled upward in a menacing smile. If Lycindor had expected the human to tremble in fear, he was disappointed. The noble stared without emotion and then closed the door.

“You are very different from what I expected,” the noble stated as he crossed the room and handed a pile of clothes to the demonkin. “Your appearance is as far from K’san as anyone can be.”

“I am not K’san,” the demonkin replied contemptuously. “I am a Claw of Alutar.”

“A Claw of Alutar?” the noble echoed with a raised eyebrow. “And what does a Claw of Alutar do?”

“The Claws of Alutar are no concern of yours,” scowled Lycindor as he pulled on a pair of clean, but worn pants. “Your concern is to see that I have what is needed for my journey.”

The noble watched as the demonkin pulled on a gray tunic that matched his lowly pants. When Lycindor was done, the noble retrieved a few items from a dresser and handed them to the demonkin. Lycindor wrapped the belt around his waist and fastened it. Adjusting the sheath to his side, he slid a large hunting knife into it.

“There is a pack hanging from the mantle,” pointed the noble. “It contains everything you should need for a short journey. Check it, and I will supply whatever you feel is missing.”

Lycindor retrieved the pack and inspected it carelessly. He slung it onto his back and lifted a pair of boots off of the mantle. The boots were well worn, and the leather was deeply cracked in places.

“I was told that your clothing was to be clean, but also to hold the appearance of belonging to one who has traveled long and hard. I hope everything meets with your approval.”

“It is satisfactory. Where is the portal?”

“In the closet. Get your boots on and I will show you.”

Lycindor sat in a chair and pulled his boots on. He glanced up at the noble and waved dismissively. “I have everything I need. You may go.”

“I am not yours to dismiss,” scowled the noble. “I am the Chosen One of Alutar, and you will treat me with respect.”

Lycindor rose, the muscles under his tunic rippling the worn fabric. His piercing blue eyes bore into the noble’s eyes as he moved slowly towards his host, but the noble unflinchingly stood his ground. The demonkin halted with his face mere inches from the noble’s.

“You may be the Chosen One,” the demonkin said, his voice as soft as a whisper yet as firm as death itself, “but I am a Claw of Alutar. My purpose is none of your concern.”

“Perhaps not,” retorted the noble, “but this is my home, and I will not be ordered around within it. I will remain here until you have passed through to the other side.”

Lycindor remained in the noble’s face a few moments longer and then suddenly turned away as if some distant thought had demanded his attention. He strode to the closet, opened the door, and stepped into it. On the opposite wall of the closet was another door, much finer than the first. The hidden Door was finely crafted from expensive teakwood. While it would not have seemed out of place within the mansion he was leaving, Lycindor knew that the same could not be said on the other side. The demonkin opened the Door and stepped into Alcea.

The Claw of Alutar closed the Door and stood in the darkness for a moment to get his bearings. He moved aside a curtain hung to hide the impressive teak door. When he had repositioned the curtain once more, he halted again and listened to the night sounds. The hunter’s cabin was so small that the demonkin could almost feel the walls surrounding him. He strode silently to the front door of the cabin and stepped outside.

The old hunter’s cabin was situated in the forest five leagues northeast of Southland in the Targa Province of Alcea. It was far from any of the roads leading out of Southland, which made it an ideal place for a hidden Door.

Lycindor inhaled deeply, letting the crisp night air invigorate his body. After a few moments of listening to the forest sounds, the demonkin turned to the east and strode into the forest. He walked on through the night, and when the first signs of dawn arrived, he caught his first glimpse of the Tagaret-Southland Road below him. He moved down the hill towards the road, but he halted before exposing himself. Again he stood silently and listened. The sounds of distant horses caught his attention, and the demonkin paralleled the road, keeping to the trees for concealment. Minutes later, a squad of Alcean soldiers rode by heading for Southland. When they were out of sight, Lycindor took to the road and continued eastward.

There was not much traffic on the Tagaret-Southland Road, and those few people who did pass paid little attention to the lone traveler. It was well past high sun when the demonkin saw a farmhouse atop a small hill alongside the road. Lycindor left the road and strode up the hill. A young man and a young woman were toiling in the field near the barn while two young girls played with a dog near the farmhouse. All of them watched curiously as the stranger approached. When it became apparent that the stranger was heading for the farm, the young man straightened and walked out of the field to meet him. Lycindor smiled broadly.

“Hello,” Lycindor called as the young farmer drew near. “I am on my way to Tagaret, but I could use a few days of rest. Can you accommodate me?”

The demonkin held out his hand in a friendly greeting. The farmer hesitated only a moment before greeting the newcomer with his own hand.

“Lloyd Becker,” stated the farmer. “It is a long walk to Tagaret, but I suppose you already know that.”

Lycindor smiled and nodded. “I couldn’t afford a horse, so a long walk will have to do. I am called Lycindor.”

“Well met, Lycindor. As for putting you up, I’m afraid that we don’t have the space to house you.”

“The barn will do well enough for the likes of me,” smiled the demonkin, “and I don’t expect you to feed me out of charity. I can see your woman toiling in the field by your side. I am more than willing to give you a couple of days of labor for a roof over my head and a few simple meals.”

Lloyd hesitated while he tried to take measure of the stranger.

“I’m a hard worker,” offered Lycindor.

“We could get the back field plowed, Lloyd,” suggested the woman as she stepped alongside the farmer. “Goodness knows we will be hard pressed to do it ourselves.”

“I can handle a plow,” smiled Lycindor.

“Why are you heading for Tagaret?” Lloyd asked.

“I want to join the army,” answered the demonkin.

“There is a garrison in Southland,” frowned the farmer. “It’s a lot closer than Tagaret.”

“I was there,” lied the demonkin, “but they said that I had to go to Tagaret. That is the only place where the Red Swords are recruiting.”

“The Red Swords?” balked the farmer. “You can’t just walk into Tagaret and join the Red Swords. They are the King’s Own. Only the best of the army is offered an invitation to join them.”

“So I heard,” smiled Lycindor. “I fought alongside Red Swords in the Great War. Some of them told me that if I ever wanted to join, they would sponsor me. That is why I am bound for Tagaret.”

“You must be a great warrior then,” the farmer said in awe as he reappraised the stranger. “Come along and I will get you set up with the plow.”

“My name is Sophia,” offered the woman as the two men started walking away.

Lycindor looked back at the woman and smiled warmly. Lloyd led the demonkin to the barn and proceeded to get his lone horse hitched to the plow.

“I envy you,” Lloyd said as they worked together to ready the plow. “My father said I was too young to fight in the Great War. By the time I was old enough, it was all over. What battles did you fight in?”

“The Battle of Tagaret. I probably should have joined the Red Swords right then, but I was younger and wanted to see the world first.”

“You hardly look older than me,” commented the farmer. “You must have started training early.”

“I have been told that I possess a natural talent for killing,” smiled the demonkin. “I saw a squad of soldiers on the road earlier today. Do they often patrol this area?”

“They don’t really patrol here at all,” answered Lloyd, “but soldiers come by every week on their way to or from Southland. The squad you saw this morning will be coming back up the road in a couple of days. If I had a spare horse, you could ride to Tagaret with them.”

“Maybe I will get lucky,” the demonkin responded. “Perhaps they will have an extra mount with them.”

“I doubt it,” replied the farmer. “I have never seen them ride by with an unmounted horse.”

* * * *

Sophia Becker sat up in bed and felt the empty space next to her where her husband should be. She turned and glanced around the room as the distant hammering reached her ears. When her eyes fell on Lloyd standing in the moonlight coming through the window, her brow creased.

“Why are you up?” she asked softly.

“Lycindor is chopping wood again,” Lloyd answered.

“He does that every night. That is no reason for you to leave our bed. Is something bothering you?”

Lloyd did not answer.

“Lloyd,” Sophia pleaded softly, “come back to bed. You worry too much. You will not be worth anything in the morning without some sleep.”

“And when does he sleep?” Lloyd asked suspiciously. “He works all day and chops wood all night. When does he sleep?”

“I don’t know,” sighed Sophia. “Lloyd, you should be glad that he sleeps very little. He has the back field already sowed, and we have enough firewood to last through next winter. Be happy that he happened along.”

“I should be,” admitted Lloyd, “but something about him troubles me. Maybe it is the way he looks at us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you never noticed his eyes? He has the look of a fox staring at a henhouse.”

“So his eyes are strange. So what? I don’t care how he looks at us as long as he keeps working the way he has. We will have a bountiful harvest this year.”

Lloyd was quiet for a while as he stared out the window and watched Lycindor chopping wood. When he spoke it was barely a whisper.

“I suppose his unnatural gaze doesn’t bother me too much until he looks at you and the girls. A shiver races through my body when I see him eyeing you up.”

“Well, there is nothing we can do about it.”

“Actually,” Lloyd said as he turned away from the window and pulled his pants on, “there is something that I can do. I am going to ask him to leave.”

“We can use the extra help, Lloyd.”

“I know, but this farm doesn’t mean anything to me if it brings harm to you and the girls. I want him out of here in the morning. I am going to speak with him now. Go back to sleep. I may be a while.”

Sophia sighed and nodded. She knew that no one could change Lloyd’s mind once he made it up. She watched her husband leave the room and then put her head back on the pillow.

Lloyd went downstairs and exited the small farmhouse, gazing up at the full moon as he rounded the corner of the house. Lycindor must have heard him coming because he had leaned the axe against the barn and stood waiting for the farmer.

“Was I making too much noise?” Lycindor asked.

“Do you ever sleep?”

“A couple of hours is good enough for me. If the noise is bothering you, I will find something else to do.”

“You have already chopped enough wood to last the year.”

Lycindor nodded silently. Lloyd frowned at the thought of asking the man to leave the farm, but he could not shake the uncomfortable feeling of having him around his family.

“Have you thought about continuing your journey to Tagaret?” the farmer asked.

“I have.” Lycindor cocked his head and stared at the farmer. With a glance up at the farmer’s bedroom window, the demonkin decided that it was time to move on. “In fact, I will be leaving in the morning, but before I go, there is something in the barn I want to show you. It is rather exciting.”

Without waiting for a response, the demonkin turned and strode into the barn. The farmer followed, wondering what could possibly be exciting in the barn. When he stepped into the darkness, Lycindor turned and placed a hand on the farmer’s head. Lloyd tried to reach up and remove the hand, but his body refused to cooperate. His mind began to swim, and his vision soon turned to blackness.

Lycindor reached out with his free hand and supported the farmer’s sagging body while he pulled the memories from Lloyd’s mind. When he was done, the demonkin snapped the farmer’s neck and lifted his body off the ground. He moved to the barn door and glanced up at the window. No one was looking out. He carried the farmer’s body to the front door of the farmhouse and opened the door. Inside the house, the demonkin put the farmer’s body on the floor. He climbed the steps silently and slowly opened the door to the farmer’s bedroom.

“What did he say, Lloyd?” Sophia asked without rolling over.

Lycindor’s lips curled upward in a wicked smile as he raised his arm and sent a fireball streaming into Sophia’s back. The woman screamed loudly, but the screams died quickly. Lycindor turned and headed for the girls’ room. When he touched the door, the dog started growling. As soon as the demonkin opened the door enough to enter the room, the dog leaped at him. Lycindor grabbed the dog by the throat and threw him into the wall. With an anguished yelp, the dog’s body fell to the floor. The demonkin glanced at the bed the two girls slept in. Neither of the children was stirring. Without a thought, the demonkin tossed a fireball at the bed. The bed burst into flames without a whimper from the girls. The curtains caught fire and smoke started to gather at the ceiling. The demonkin turned and walked away.

When the demonkin reached the ground floor, he turned slowly and sent fireballs flying in every direction. Within minutes the farmhouse was a flaming inferno, and it started to collapse. Lycindor stood and watched the flames devour the structure. A burning beam fell from above and struck the demonkin, but he brushed it aside. With his clothes on fire, Lycindor walked out of the burning farmhouse and then extinguished the flames eating his clothing. He walked away from the house and then sat on a stump and watched the fire consume the farmhouse. When dawn arrived, the house was nothing more than a charred pile of rubble, although smoke still drifted lazily upward.

The soldiers arrived less than an hour after dawn. They left the road and came up the hill to see if they could help, but they soon realized that there was nothing for them to do.

“What happened here?” the sergeant asked Lycindor.

Lycindor did not respond. He merely sat on the stump, staring at the destroyed building, his face a mask of hopelessness.

“I think he is in shock,” one of the soldiers whispered to the sergeant.

The sergeant nodded in agreement and placed his hand firmly on Lycindor’s shoulder. “Snap out of it, lad. Tell us what happened.”

“They are all dead,” Lycindor said so softly that only the sergeant heard him. “Gone. I should be dead, too.”

The demonkin hung his head down and stared at the ground before his feet. The sergeant frowned with concern and placed both hands on the man’s shoulders. He shook him vigorously until Lycindor raised his head and looked the sergeant in the eye. Streams of tears flooded down the demonkin’s cheeks and he sniffed loudly.

“I don’t know how it started,” blubbered the demonkin. “I was in the barn trying to get an early start on the day. By the time I realized something was wrong, it was already too late. I tried to go inside anyway and save my family, but the fire had already devoured the stairs. My whole life has gone up in flames.”

Lycindor started bawling, and the sergeant turned to the soldier nearest him. “Get this man something to eat and drink and then find some clothes that will fit him.”

The soldier ran off and the sergeant examined the farmer from a distance. The farmer’s hair was singed, and his clothes were badly burned, but there didn’t appear to be any life-threatening wounds.

“Who was inside?” he asked softly.

“Sophia and my two little girls,” Lycindor answered shakily. “I can’t believe that they are gone.”

“No one survived that blaze,” the sergeant said sympathetically. “What is your name?”

“Lloyd Becker,” answered the demonkin.

“Well, Lloyd,” the sergeant replied compassionately, “we will take you back to Southland with us. Maybe you can find some people there to help you rebuild the house. Are you known in Southland?”

Lloyd wiped his eyes and looked up at the sergeant. Slowly he nodded. “There are people who know me in Southland, but I have no desire to go there.”

“You can’t just stay here alone,” cautioned the sergeant. “Being alone here will eat you up from the inside out. Let us take you back to Southland.”

“You misunderstand me, Sergeant. There is nothing left for me here. I will never repair this house, and I will never again work these fields. Without Sophia and the girls in my life, I want to get as far away from here as possible, and that does not mean going to Southland. If anything, I want to get away from this whole area of the country. Where are you heading?”

“We are going to Tagaret,” frowned the sergeant, “but we have no spare mounts to carry you.”

“I have an old nag in the barn. She is not a proper cavalry horse, but she will carry me.”

“And what will you do in Tagaret?” the sergeant asked with a disapproving tone. “You cannot just throw your life away over this.”

“I will start a new life,” Lloyd said with confidence. “I have heard rumors that war is coming once again to Alcea. Perhaps your men can teach me about soldiering along the way. At least that way my life will have some meaning.”

“Did you serve in the last war?”

“No. My family thought I was too young, but I am strong, and I am an excellent shot with a bow. Surely, the king must be looking for recruits?”

“Aye,” sighed the sergeant. “We are always looking for good men, but I advise you to think long and hard on this. A soldier’s life is not for everyone.”

“I know you are trying to stop me from doing something foolish, Sergeant, but a man’s life has to be worth something, or it is worth nothing. I farmed because that is what Sophia wanted me to do. Now she is gone, and she is never coming back. I never want to see another farm in my life. It would only remind me of what I have lost. Take me to Tagaret, Sergeant. Make a soldier out of me, and let my life have some meaning to it.”

The sergeant stared at the farmer for a moment and then nodded in acceptance. “All right, Lloyd. I will take you to Tagaret, and my men will teach you what they can in the few days that we will be together, but I urge you to give some sincere thought to your plans once we reach the city. As much as we need soldiers, I wouldn’t want any man taking up the sword for the wrong reason.”

“Agreed,” smiled Lloyd.

“You will call me Sergeant Toucker for the rest of our journey. I will expect you to follow my orders as if you were one of my men. If you cannot do that, I will leave you at the side of the road. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Sergeant Toucker,” Lloyd said with firmness.

* * * *

Sergeant Toucker sat on a log and watched the spar between Lloyd and one of his men. The fighters were using branches instead of swords so that the farmer did not get hurt, but the sergeant was beginning to wonder who would be the one getting hurt.

“The farmer is a natural fighter,” the soldier next to the sergeant commented. “Look at those moves. He is good.”

“Very good,” the sergeant replied suspiciously. “I find it hard to believe that Lloyd has never fought before.”

“Why would he lie?” asked the soldier.

“I don’t know,” frowned the sergeant, “but it is more than just his fighting skill. I watched him riding today. He is wary in a way that a battle-hardened veteran would be wary. When that herd of deer surprised us a couple of hours ago, Lloyd already knew that they were there. I could see it in the way he kept looking towards them, even though we could not see them.”

A resounding crack split the air as Lloyd’s sparring partner cracked his stick over the farmer’s shoulder. The stick broke in two, but Lloyd acted as if he had not felt it. He brought his own stick around and swept the soldier’s feet out from under him. The other soldiers in the camp gasped and applauded, but the sergeant narrowed his eyes. The farmer dropped his stick and stepped forward to extend a hand to the fallen soldier, ending the spar.

“Did you see that?” the soldier next to the sergeant asked excitedly. “He is a natural born warrior.”

“Perhaps,” mumbled the sergeant. “I plan to do some checking up on Lloyd Becker when we reach Tagaret. In the meantime, I want you to keep a close eye on him. Don’t let him catch you spying, but watch his every movement.”

“Will do, Sergeant, but I don’t understand why you are suspicious. They say that Alexander Tork was a natural born warrior. Why not Lloyd?”

“It is possible,” conceded the sergeant, “but it is my job to be suspicious. You just keep an eye on him and leave the thinking to me. I will know soon enough if he is who he says he is.”