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  THE

  DIEYA

  CHRONICLES

  Incident on Ravar

  By

  John Migacz

  The Dieya Chronicles Incident at Ravar

  Copyright 2006 by John Migacz

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  www.johnmigacz.com

  of this author.

  ISBN 978-1-4303-0344-2

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I’d like to thank Marcia Migacz, Kevin Coyle, Jim Hamlett, Bob Strother, and Christa Rice for all their help in editing this novel. I’d especially like to thank Marcia for her love and support, and Prem Rawat for the courage and inspiration.

  PROLOGUE

  The Baron gazed out his bedchamber window at Ravar’s twin moons. Both hung full in a clear night sky with Flantra leading Monla in their eternal dance. For a moment their bright light illuminated memories of moonlit walks with fair maidens and he was young again, lost in the aroma of flowers and perfume.

  A cold draft ended his reverie and he snapped shut the heavy green drapes. Clutching his robe tighter around his wattled neck, he shuffled to the beckoning fireplace to warm his hands. The winter weather gnawed at him constantly, a telltale sign of his advancing years.

  Hands extended, he stared at the fire. The dancing flames on the glowing coals mesmerized him. Was life like fire? A fire that burned hottest in youth, then slowly cooled to embers, then ash? Was there anything beyond the ash?

  “I would have gotten those for you in a moment, M’lord.”

  He blinked and inclined his head. “What was that?”

  The elderly valet gestured toward the window. “The drapes, M’lord. I would have drawn those in a moment.”

  “That’s all right, Elaz. What you’re doing is more important.”

  The valet nodded and continued shuffling the three bronze bed-warming pans between the sheets. The Baron stared at the motion then sighed. Every year he seemed to need another pan.

  “All ready for you, Your Lordship,” said Elaz, placing the pans on the fireplace hearth.

  The Baron reached for his sash but the thought of forgoing the robe’s warmth gave him a chill. He left it on and climbed into bed. Elaz drew the heavy woolen quilt over his master and tucked it under his chin. The Baron sighed with pleasure. For a delightful moment he almost felt warm. “Thank you, Elaz.”

  “Will you be needing anything else, Sir?”

  “No, I’m fine. Good night.”

  “Good night, Sir.” Elaz drew the blood-red bed curtains and bent to cover any opening where drafts might enter. He blew out the candles and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

  The Baron felt weary to his bones and was glad that sleep came quickly.

  He awoke with a shiver. It was far colder in the room than it should be. Parting the bed curtains, he peered at the fire to see if it had gone out. The glowing coals told him otherwise.

  A breeze stirring the drapes caught his eye. What was this? Who had opened the window? “Is someone there?” he said, reaching up for the valet cord.

  A dark figure loomed over him and grabbed his wrist in a crushing grip. The Baron barely managed a gasp before a rough hand covered his mouth. Fear surged through him and he struggled but could not loosen the hand.

  “Quiet!” hissed a harsh voice.

  The smell of rancid oil invaded the Baron’s nostrils as a face moved closer to his. By the fire’s dying embers he saw his attacker’s cold eyes, bright now from the pleasure of inflicting pain. He trembled.

  “I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth,” the man said quietly. “Don’t say a word.”

  Suddenly the hand was gone. The Baron inhaled deeply. “Wh-what do you want?”

  A savage smile raised the corners of his attacker’s mouth. “I want you to scream.”

  “What?”

  “Scream!”

  The attacker’s grip tightened on the Baron’s wrist and bones snapped. His scream was cut short by a hard round object forced into his mouth. Panic filled him as the thing crawled deep into his throat on spidery legs. He thrashed and clawed wildly at his attacker with his free hand, but it was like fighting a man made of stone.

  “You should feel blessed to be so chosen.”

  The words didn’t reassure the Baron. He arched in agony as red-hot needles sizzled deep into his brain. He felt the thing drilling into the bone just below his eyes. Searing waves of fire surged through his body.

  With a blinding flash the pain suddenly ceased and he opened his eyes. All he saw was a wall of white, as if his eyes were no longer connected to his brain. He felt his memories disappearing, draining away one by one. His sense of self began to fade.

  As consciousness slipped into oblivion, his last thought was that finally, he was warm.