all over the northern realms that can send a person from one to the other almost instantaneously.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Brogus narrowing his eyes as he stopped walking and falling a few paces behind Robel.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” said the dark-cloaked man with a shrug of his shoulders. His pace did not diminish. “You will see soon enough, and, as I said, our window of opportunity is not wide. The link to the realms outside their immediate influence is somewhat… shaky.”
Soon enough they reached the low outskirts of even the small forts that marked the very edge of the military encampments and now tall pine trees and spongy ground cover made up most of the terrain. To their right the glistening blue of the bay was just visible between hills now and again while behind them the smoke of the city hung in a low haze. “It’s just a few more minutes to the site,” said Robel.
“I’m not sure I like the idea of being ported from one side of the continent to the other with magic,” said Petra to Milli, and the Halfling girl nodded her head. “I’m still trying to figure out how we are going to be sent to the south if these portals only work between one and the other and Corancil hasn’t built any down there yet.”
“That’s a good question!” chimed in Brogus who picked up the conversation.
“Here we are,” said Robel as they rounded a slight bend and suddenly the portal appeared.
Thirty or forty rectangular stones stood on a cleared patch of ground in a rough circle around a central rock. The stones shone unblemished white in the sunshine and almost blinded their vision even in the faded light of a winter morning in the northern realm. Each stone, except the central monolith, looked exactly like the other so much so that there was a strange illusion of looking in some sort of mirror in a mirror.
“By Davim,” said Brogus and pulled up short as he stared at the circle.
“What sort of stone is that?” said Dol and immediately moved forward toward the nearest of the monoliths.
“White marble,” said Robel as he moved forward with the tall dwarf. “Is that an apple in your hair?”
“No,” said Dol and brushed away the hand that moved towards his head. Within a stride he stood at the first of the stones and ran his hand up and down its surface with gentle motions.
“It is an apple,” said the black cloaked man and started to reach towards Dol again but the tall dwarf turned and gazed at him with, not hatred or anger, but simply with such a look of unadulterated menace that Robel put his hand back down. “Not that it matters, just a curiosity.”
“What sort of masonry could produce this,” said Brogus coming up to Dol and likewise running his palm over the smooth surface of the white stone.
“Magic,” said Dol in a low voice. “Very, very powerful magic.”
“But how?” said Brogus. “We dwarves are the finest workers of stone and I’ve never see the like of this in… our home.”
Dol shook his head and leaned close to smell the stone, “I don’t know. But it’s this Corancil that’s doing it.” Milli joined the two dwarves at the stone while Petra slowly followed Robel towards the center of the circle. Dol continued, “If he’s got the power to make these then maybe he has the power to unite the northern realm. Power to conquer the world.”
“Power beyond anything I’ve ever seen,” said Brogus his hand still gently touching the white marble.
“Maybe we should find out as much about this Black Rider as possible,” said Milli as her eyes took a faraway look for a moment. “Just to play it safe in case we ever do get back to Corancil. Or his messenger.”
Brogus nodded his head and Dol did as well although both dwarves seemed loathe to remove their hands from the surface of the stone. They touched it as a mother might caress her newborn infant.
“It hasn’t even been fully ensorcelled,” said Robel with a tight smile as he watched them from his position at the center of the circle. “You have no idea the trouble it took to manufacturer those stones.”
“Yes, yes I do,” said Dol and finally turned away from the monolith and walked over to the center of the circle. The orange-gray rock in the middle of the white stones stood in stark contrast to those around it, for it was raw, unshaped, unpolished, with hematite veins thick across its surface. Energy seemed to crackle on its surface as they approached and everyone felt the hairs on their hands and necks stand on end.
“Put your hand on the rock,” said Robel, “time is short.”
The four looked at each other but then did as instructed. The mage raised his arms and smiled broadly:
Dark stone, white light
Bring forth the calls of night
Fly east, fly west, fly left, fly right
My mind’s eye your final flight
Go now, with speed, do not…
Suddenly the voice of the wizard stopped and a wall of heat and light engulfed them.
Chapter 10
Five horsemen guided their lean steeds over the scrub desert and bantered among themselves. The sun hung overhead like a massive lantern and the heat blasted down on the desert floor so that even the horses, with their heat toughened hooves, had to keep moving over the hot dirt.
“By the Sands of Time I hate these daytime patrols,” said the tallest of the warriors who wore a curved sword at his side and a wide-brimmed straw hat on his head.
“Why do we have to do it?” said the rider to his left who wore similar headgear and rode a well-muscled gray steed with steamy sweat evident on its flank. “Who did you anger in the tribal council, Sufeka?”
“I called the chieftain a son of a camel herder,” said the first man with a laugh as he mopped the sweat off his brow with a cloth already soaked so through that it was difficult to tell whether it helped or hurt the situation.
“The punishment for that is far worse than a noon patrol,” said the second man with a laugh. “But you’ve always had the balls of a stallion, Sufeka.”
The leader of the patrol nodded his head and turned his horse deeper towards a series of small hills to their right.
“Why are we out this far anyway?” said a third member of the group of riders.
“Those foul Blackriders are on the move of late,” said the leader and spat into the dirt and sand mixture. “Their darkling king hopes to unite the nomads into a single force. We of the Farrider clan are the natural leaders of the nomads, not those degenerate half-breeds.”
“The chieftain thinks they plan some sort of daylight raid? Their darkling king is only capable of moonlight attacks,” said the second nomad with a great guffaw. “As long as he cannot bear the light of Ras then we have nothing to fear from the Black Horsemen.”
“Let them bring the full force of their might against the Farriders. Our people have always defeated the Blackriders and we always shall. We control the biggest territory and we always shall. I welcome the chance to kill them,” he said this last as he pulled out his curved sword with a swift motion and leaned forward in the saddle. “Death to the Black Horsemen, death to Ming, death to the darklings!” he shouted and brandished his sword which reflected the blinding sunlight far onto the horizon. The others watched him with smiles on their faces as they entered the low hilly region and were taken by surprise by the weak voice that came from almost at their feet. It said something in a foreign language that none of the riders understood but that startled them none-the-less.
The leader’s horse reared high, but he pulled the reins so that it wheeled to face the voice which came from a low cave in the hillside. He shouted towards the sound, “Who dares invade the territories of the Farriders!”
Brogus stared up at the shadowy figure, silhouetted by the sun, blinked his eyes lazily, and reached forward with a hand, “We are travelers, lost, without water. Can you help us?”
Sufeka laughed, “Invaders from the northern realm,” he shouted to his companions although he did not understand the words of the dwarf. “Let us help them die quickly rather than of thirst.” He made a little motion with his hand which prompted the four other horsemen to pull out their weapons, dismount, and take up position around the little cave entrance.
Brogus pulled out his little hand axe and straightened to his full height, still far shorter than the rangy
