Prologue
The wood is silent; a deathly calm that is abnormal in the extreme. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her skin glistens with a sheen of sweat, as she scans the forest around her, doing her best to remain silent and unnoticed.
A primal scream of rage, most certainly non-human, shatters the stillness, coming from somewhere to her right. Her senses, keen due to years of living in the wood, are drawn to the direction from where the sound emanated. Even though she has fought for years to help keep her people safe, a nervous pit, based in fear, forms within her stomach… she knows what hunts her.
She tries her best to put those feelings aside, to bury them deep, and to concentrate on the task before her. Her grip on her takouba tightens reflexively in an attempt to maintain her grasp on her weapon, her palms slick with sweat.
A mist begins to flow across the forest floor, moving inexorably in her direction… the beast has found her.
Suddenly, before she has a chance to react, the fangs are at her neck. She feels the fetid breath upon her skin as her life's blood flows from her mangled throat; the beast's claws are ripping through her leather armor and into her soft belly, spilling her entrails onto the ground, her lifeless eyes staring into the great void.
The beast begins to feed.
Seventeen years later…
Chapter One
"We cannot leave our homes, this place of our ancestors. This is where we belong. We must fight to keep it," says Grinta. He looks at the array of people around him, all seated in a large circle around the great fire burning in the hearth. Few nod in agreement; many show doubt and outright divergence, displayed in the fact that they shake their heads fervently.
"Do my words mean nothing?" asks Grinta. "Would you leave all we have to go elsewhere, into the unknown lands beyond the forest?" B'shora stands, slowly, elegantly. She waits for a moment, making a show of collecting her thoughts, allowing the fervor to die down. Then, she speaks, her voice soft, but with undertones of great power, garnered through the respect she has been shown by her people.
B'shora begins, "I do not doubt the courage of Grinta; his deeds and words are noble and much he says is true, though I believe he is mistaken. We are a defeated people." She pauses a moment to allow her words to be considered by the mass of people around her.
"We lose far more warriors each moon than we have births. If this continues, and, if we stay here, it surely shall, then very soon we will cease to exist. The beasts that hunt us are merciless and they will never stop. Our warriors die, our magic is futile; there is but one choice left to us."
"The Darkness is upon us and we cannot hope to prevail. We are now too few; we have lost far too many; too many friends and too much blood. Our Elvin allies are retreating deeper into the forest, protecting their own in the only way they know how, by using the magic of the wood to hide them and their kin. We have no such power over the wood. We have only the power of our blood, and we have lost too many mages to the Master. Our power is all but gone. We must leave, while we still can."
B'shora's words are followed by silence, as each considers her words. A white haired man then speaks. "B'shora, your words are wise, but even more importantly, they are true. Which way do you believe we should go and how far do we need to travel?"
"Thank you, Zelion," B'shora says as she bows gracefully to the elder. "It is my belief that there is but one way to go. The Master and his minions have left us only one direction, I do not know for how long our scouts and fighters can keep that path clear. We must go north and west, and we must do it soon, before the next season, preferably sooner."
Zelion nods. "The elders require time to consider the words spoken here. Our decision will be aired on the morrow, at this time, in this place."
Seven months later…
Chapter Two
"The rear guard is failing, they are besieged on three sides and are taking heavy losses!" exclaims Ushim. "You must move faster!"
"We can go no faster, we have the old and young, and they can only cover so much ground. It is three days to the foot of the mountains, perhaps four. The rear guard must not fail, or all is lost," says Kish. "You must hold, or we all die."
Ushim nods. "We will do all we can." "No," says Kish, "you will fight, and you will hold them back. I know you will."
Ushim mounts and rides back through the throng of humanity towards the rear of the column. Hundreds of people, broken, battered, and homeless, watch with a forlorn hope as the warrior heads back to the rear guard, back to the battle that will determine the fate of the people.
As Ushim draws nearer to the lines of the rear guard, the sounds of battle reach his ears. The screams of his dying warriors echo through the woodlands and the howls of the enemy are numerous. Ushim knows this battle will be the last many of his men and women will see in this world; perhaps even his last. But that is a matter of little concern to him.
Ushim finds his captains and gets a quick update of the situation; it is indeed grim. The enemy has been probing for weak points and nearly broken through the lines in a number of areas. There just aren't enough warriors to cover the entire front, he must somehow shorten his lines, consolidate his forces. The only answer is to retreat, but the question is, how to disengage from the enemy without it becoming a total rout.
Ushim quickly issues orders to his commanders. A narrow defile is but 2 leagues away, if his men can make it they can set up a strong defensive position and hold the enemy at bay for a good amount of time; time his people need to escape to the relative safety of the mountains.
Chapter 3
Dusk… Now or Never.
Ushim issues the command and a flaming arrow rockets into the night air. Immediately, scores of burning missiles follow and the entire battlefront is consumed in flames, for as far as the eye can see. His warriors hurriedly disengage and proceed, in rapid but good order, to make a fighting withdrawal the two leagues to the defensive position he has chosen.
The fires consume the pine forest, some trees exploding in the great heat generated. Ushim can see beastly shapes among the flames, writhing in agony, being burned alive; their screams can be heard even above the roar of the conflagration. Ushim's lips curl into a grin, though his eyes show nothing but a cold, calculating menace. Something has finally gone right; perhaps some of his battle weary warriors will live to tell the tale of this battle to their grandchildren.
Suddenly there is movement on the left; evidently some of the enemy had already been among his lines before the flames were lit. Ushim draws his weapon and hurriedly gathers what men and women he can around him. He grasps the warhorn hanging from a thong at his belt and, drawing a huge breath, brings the warhorn to his lips. The call to battle is long and loud, heard even by those non-fighters in the column of humanity that are fleeing for their lives toward the mountains.
Ushim and his small band of brave men and women, forming a wedge, charge the enemy forces on the edge of the burning forest. The battle is intense, but over in mere minutes. The enemy has been vanquished, but at a cost.
Aftermath, Dawn of the Next Day
"Enter," says Kish, upon hearing the scratching at the entrance to her tent. Arborvond, Captain of the Second Company walks in slowly, his face bearing a mask of pain and suffering. He is covered is blood and soot, his face blackened, with the exception of the tear streaks upon his cheeks. He bows deeply and, his voice cracking with emotion, says, "Commander Kish, I bring you grim tidings of Battallion Commander Ushim, who has fallen in the action of the rear guard."
Commander Kish momentarily looks at the ground, stricken at the loss of her best battalion commander, and her friend. Regaining her composure, she bids Arborvond to sit and tell her the details of the battle.
Arborvond tells her of the battle, the fire, and the ordered withdraw to the narrow defile. He tells her of the sudden appearance of the enemy upon the left flank and the immediate reaction by Ushim and the small band he hurriedly assembled with him. He explains, in detail, of the heroic fall of Ushim. "Captain Ushim," he says, "fell after drawing the enemy to him so that the survivors of his small band could escape to the relative safety of the defile."
"He sacrificed his life so that his soldiers could live to fight on. Thanks to his plan and his sacrifice, we now have a very strong defensive position, which we can hold indefinitely. I regret to say his body was unrecoverable," the Commander of the Second Company says. Kish nods slowly, then smiles softly at Arborvond. "He will live on within us all Captain," she says. "His sacrifice shall be remembered in the histories of our people, this I swear."
"Get some rest Captain," Kish says, "you are now the new battalion commander. You and your troops have fought valiantly and with honor. You have saved our people with your sacrifices. We all owe you and your warriors a debt we cannot hope to repay. You have done well."
Chapter 4
We Grow Stronger For It
"Wild carrots again?" whines four year old Salston. "I don't like wild carrots Mother. I want something else." Ja'hav, his mother, is a thin woman with short dark hair who has rarely smiled since the death of her husband in an avalanche 11 moons ago. The pain and sadness in her eyes speak volumes. Left to raise her child alone she does the best she can, but, like many other mothers, she longs to be able to provide more for her child.
"Salston," she says, "the mountains are hard, and so must we be, to survive. If the mountain provides carrots, then we eat carrots; and we grow stronger for it. If you eat your carrots I will tell you a story, a story of a hero of our people." The young child eats his carrots, though the look of distaste upon his face is very evident.
"I ate them all, Mother," Salston says. "Very good," his mother says. "You have earned your story."
"Long ago," she begins, "the people were besieged by a mighty foe; a foe we could not defeat. Our ancestors had to flee our homeland far to the southeast, but the enemy pursued them. They fled to these mountains, though much further southeast than we are now. But, before they entered these mountains, they were nearly destroyed. If it weren't for one man, the people would have all been killed. His name was Ushim…
The Mountains End
Struggling for many, many years to survive in the mountainous region they fled to, the people move on. There are fewer than before, but they are not in danger of extinction. Though many have been lost through the years to battle, starvation, and sickness, they are still a proud people, though homeless, with no sense of belonging, as they once had. They have no true home.
Longing for a home, such as they had within the forest, the people once again strike out, to the northwest. They travel for many seasons, their pace slowed due to their numbers and the need to protect the elderly and young. They hunt and forage as they travel, managing to eek out an existence, surviving, but barely.
Finally, travel-weary and footsore, they manage to cross the mountains and enter into a region of grasslands and rolling hills. Travel is easier, but there is nothing to keep the people here; this does not feel like home; besides, there are signs of others about. The Seers say they must continue until the breezes blow hot and the ground under their feet sings to them. They will know when they have found a new home.
The Ground That Sings
The sun overhead is merciless; its rays are death to anything not of this land. In the distance, there is movement, a long, dark line at the base of a rising cloud of dust. As the line draws across the sand, inexorably going deeper into the scorching desert, more details become apparent. It is a multitude of people, a proud and, though battered, undefeated people. The air is hot, the desolation complete; not another living thing is within sight, other than The People. The winds grow more intense shortly after the coming of the dawn.
Suddenly, the sands begin to sing, their song calling to the people, beckoning them home.
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