Part One: Shadow of the Vulgraths

Chapter 1: The Light Portal

It wasn't so much fast as blinding: simply a silver sword that arched out of the night leaving a ball of rancid vapour where their companion had stood.

Instantly, the three remaining sentries were all weapons, snarls and astonishment. Violence is as natural as thirst to desigarg, so that the three were both armed and eager at a moment's notice -- as ready to fight as they could possibly be.

Much good it did them.

The menace of their unseen assailant was continuous, irresistible and deadly. For 15 seconds the night air was ripped with the sounds of guttural cursing and startled agony. Then the silence of night closed over the scene, like water over a sinking stone.

Some minutes later, Chira, the larger of Grenwilde's two moons, slid from behind silver streaked clouds and cast its cold eye on the scene. Strewn on the ground where oddments of armour: bracelets, bucklers, swords and maces. No trace of a living thing remained.

~ ~ ~

In the hills east of Cair Galinal, the tattered remnant of the army of Grenwilde lay in stupefied exhaustion. The living lay where they dropped, the dead lay miles away along the broken defence of the Great Wall. In the entire encampment -- if such a dishevelled bivouac deserved that name -- only Marion remained awake. His partner, young Jainos, had succumbed to sleep long ago. But Marion was the king's chief sentry and despite agonizing fatigue he was determined to stand through his watch.

But he was kept on his feet by more than duty: it's no easy thing to see men you've lived and fought with burned alive. The scar of seeing the death of Grenwilde's army was seared into him. He felt sure that sleep -- with such images blazoned on his brain -- would only invite a repetition of the nightmare.

Four hours since the retreating army had arrived in these hills and still he was shaking. Oh, Creator, mercy...

Snap.

It was not a loud sound, but it drew him out of his revery and focused his attention on the margin of the clearing. What was that? Something furtive was moving just beyond his line of sight.

"Lad, look alive," Marion hissed and prodded his sleeping partner.

With all the energy of guilt Jainos came speedily to his feet.

"What..."

"Shh," Marion warned, "There." he indicated with a nod of his head. Jainos peered into the gloom beyond the edge of the trees. There was certainly movement but what was it?

"Come, lad." Marion whispered. Jainos recovered his helmet and spear, and then carefully the two men crept toward the edge of the glade. Marion realized that while their visitor seemed invisible they walked in the open clearing beneath the naked moon. At a spear's length from the trees the two stopped and waited. The night was perfectly still, but Marion felt certain that someone was out there.

He was right.

As nearly as Marion could afterwards determine the attack came right across the top of his spear. He wondered what weapon his foe had used. At the time, though, he didn't wonder; he only caught a flashing impression -- a silver blur moving toward his head -- and then he didn't know anything for a very long time.

~ ~ ~

Within the tent the king awoke; he saw the figure of a man standing in his doorway. He knew right away that this was no soldier of Grenwilde.

"Who are you?" the king stammered.

Without answering, the man extended his left hand, palm foremost, toward the king. Searing light shot from that hand washing around and through the stunned monarch. The king sat there open mouthed, immobile. He was, however, acutely aware of how the stranger stared at him. His eyes, no less than the light from his hands, seemed to knife through him.

~ ~ ~

The bird song of early dawn broke the quiet night and mingled with the sounds of hoof, metal and leather - the distinct sounds of horse and rider. Through the last mists of the retreating darkness, slowly rising from the valley, the horse continued down the deserted road.

Tired though he was the horse walked very carefully, so as not to disturb his drowsing Master. He was sensitive to every mood of this man whom he loved, as sensitive to his moods as to the motions of his hands and the movement of his legs.

Yes, Sky-born was intelligent, but he did not think in words. Rather, vivid impressions of the night's adventure galloped across his vision, super-imposed against a back-drop of lustrous reds and brilliant blues -- for these were the colours of his Master's emotions. Sky had felt the raw battle energy surge through his master as a volcano of pure gold.

Not all the visions were pleasant. Sky whickered at the remembered faces of some they had fought: their red eyes and rancid breath.

"Easy, fellow," the man murmured stirring in his half-sleep. For the knight was only slightly less sensitive to Sky than the horse was to him.

Sky knew, as always, the intention of his Master's words. The words were like oil being gently rubbed on his body. Sky's ears twitched as he continued down the road, and gradually the images of night faded with the night's vanishing mists.

After a time the horse came to a halt and the cessation of motion seemed to rouse the knight, who sat up and looked about him. The horse waited patiently. He appeared to think that this particular stretch of road was important. The knight sat listening for a moment and then laughed softly, "You're right as usual, Sky. Let's go."

The horse whinnied softly and turned from the road into the wood. He continued for some minutes, wending his way through glittering dew and rain soaked branches before coming to a halt near a small river.

The stranger dismounted and in doing so revealed a frame that was easily six and a half feet tall, yet looked taller still as he casually stretched his arms toward the sky -- a motion that seemed somehow balanced between a chance gesture and worship. His cape hung open, exposing a glistening silver shield upon which was blazoned a blood red cross and a white bird in flight. Looking up the stranger smiled slowly as if some delicious fragrance had come over him.

"Logos and home," he breathed softly as he drew his silver sword from its scabbard. He then produced a small dagger from his belt and -- as if sharpening his sword -- ran the dagger smoothly along the full length of his blade.

The blade rang from this action, just as one might have expected. What one could not quite have anticipated was the musical tone of that ringing, it sounded almost like a chime. If the sword had seemed to glow previously, it now became positively radiant with an extraordinary light, one that continued for some moments. The knight held the gleaming blade aloft.

He gazed at the blade lovingly. He could not hold Logos in this way without feeling certain that somehow the Quest would succeed.

Then, as if in answer to the sword's summons, there descended into the glade the most remarkable white bird. It too glowed exactly as did the sword, so that one wondered at what kinship lay between the two.

For a moment the bird silently hovered in mid air, but presently there rose from the glade the most haunting of sounds, soft, reed-like and vibrant. Did the bird sing? It appeared not to be the case, but if willows could be translated into song, this certainly would be their melody.

As the song continued there grew a brightness in the air. The air rippled, liquid with joy; it wavered under a musical and dazzling birth, until at last there hung in the ether a circular portal of light that was nearly ten feet across, standing upright above the surface of the stream.

The knight gently laid hold of Sky's reins, and with movements that somehow thrilled, blending as it seemed the perfectly casual with the splendidly devout, he and his horse stepped through the portal of light and disappeared from view.