While whistling a cheerful tune, a whirlwind of air spun him swiftly in a circle. He found himself facing the other direction, panting in surprise, the sun shining down on his balding head.
In fright, he grabbed his robe, searching the road. He saw nothing unusual. A few moments later, a tornado of wind flung him to the edge of the road again. In his confusion, he almost forgot himself, becoming visible. He searched the road but saw no one. Throwing his hands in the air, he sat down refusing to go any farther. He’d let the Pendant of Power come to him instead. There was evil magic afoot on this road.
A half hour later, he spied a group of travelers riding toward him. Still invisible, he ran for the trees. The energiconometer hummed, the dials spinning uncontrollably. Deemer jumped up and ran back to the road, not caring if these people could sense his presence. One of these travelers wore the Pendant of Power!
As they drew close, Deemer inspected each of them. The front rider was obviously a pixie, but Vasu had given his pendant to a human. Then he noticed the large warrior. He wasn’t the one. Too old. A beautiful dryad rode next, but it wasn’t her either. Vasu had specifically said, young boy.
It had to be the blond-headed maverick hopping around the mounts with glee. He liked this joyful, innocent boy instantly. Sensing a kindred spirit, Deemer skipped forward, revealing himself. The energiconometer glowed and sparked as the group moved closer.
“Hi!” Deemer called, waving.
Kirth led them forward slowly. “Hello yourself, brother,” he said with reserve. “What brings you so far out into enemy territory?”
Deemer smiled mischievously. “I seek the Pendant of Power.”
Kirth turned quickly in his saddle, reaching for his bow. He fitted an arrow, and aimed it at the pixie, all in a fraction of a second. “Who are you and what do you want?”
The humble pixie bowed. “I am Deemer, My Lord. And I told you, I am sent to find the one who wears the Pendant of Power.” Kirth froze, mid turn, his mouth open in astonishment. “Wait. Deemer? Grandfather’s Deemer?”
“The very same,” he answered.
With a clenched jaw, Kalika ground her teeth. For three days she had been at the Black Castle, and already she felt the smoky tendrils of insanity pulling at her. And she hadn’t gleaned any useful information. Taking a deep breath, she threw open the doors to the Warlord’s outer room and stepped inside.
“Kalika,” he said, his bass voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Come with me. I want to show you something.” She had become his constant companion, always at his side. Kalika forced herself to follow with a serene smile. After stepping through the inner door, he locked it, and turned to face her.
Dread crept through her with icy tendrils.
“Look!” He pointed at a glowing orb that floated over a diamond vase in the corner. “The Eye of Tanúb,” he uttered reverently.
“It’s… beautiful,” she whispered, drawn toward the rotating cerulean sphere. “How did you get it?” She yearned to reach out and caress its viscous face. A powerful energy emanated from the glowing ball, a power she had never felt before. It beckoned to her.
“I have my ways, but I will tell you this… I took it from the most powerful being in existence.”
“You mean… Tanúb? Its Guardian?” Kalika realized the horror of what he was saying.
“The very one. She was beyond powerful, but in the end, I was stronger than she was. My cunning, greater than hers.” He moved close to the eye, his hand extended but not touching the glowing orb.
Kalika had heard stories of the mysterious Tanúb, this Watcher of all magical energy. If the tales were true, she was part creator of this world, part creator of magical essence. Through her “eye” she could see all, keeping the forces of nature and magic in balance. Kalika’s heart clenched in alarm. “What did you do?”
“I defeated her, or course. Killed her.” He stepped back, his hands clasped behind his back.
Kalika pushed her revulsion away, plastering a fake smile on her face. “I didn’t think the Eye could be touched.” She couldn’t rip her gaze from its hypnotic swirling.
“It can’t, but its base can be.”
His whole bearing—his stillness—unnerved her. The dark helmet turned, and she knew he studied her. Chills rippled down her back, the hair on her neck rising. She wanted nothing more than to run away and never look back.
Instead, she forced her feet to stay planted on the cold flagstones. Her mind raced, grappling for something intelligent to say. “Is it a gift… for me?” She made her lips form an adorable pout, hoping to mislead him from her true feelings of disgust.
“No.” He turned back to the eye, his bearing cold and distant. “I will harness its power for myself. It is not something to be shared.”
Kalika felt slapped, reprimanded, like a child asking for candy. Unexpectedly, a blush of shame rose to her face, blossoming crimson, and she hated herself for feeling so weak and pathetic.
Deemer turned to me and waved me forward. “My boy. My journey has ended, and you are found.”
I leaned against my mount with my arms folded on the saddle. “I think you’ve made a mistake,” I said. “I don’t wear the pendant anymore.”
A confused look appeared on the pixie’s face. “I don’t understand. It was sent to you.”
I squirmed, feeling like an idiot. How did I explain that I had given it away, that I’d been convinced of my own ineptness? “Well—”
“I have it.” Kirth rose and came around my tiger to stand next to me. He looked remarkably regal despite his small stature. “Both Zach and I felt that his mission was to stir me to action, so I could take my rightful place as the next Ancient and defeat the Warlord.”
Deemer stared in shocked silence. “But… but, it is the boy who must do this!”
“Why?” Kirth asked with a dismissive shake of his hand. “It’s my responsibility.”
Deemer pointed to me. “But you’re supposed to go to the Warlord’s castle and take the Eye of Tanúb,” Deemer said. “You. If you alter that path…”
We stared at one another in silence. No one seemed to want to speak first. I leaned forward and rested my chin on my arms, watching the pendant dangle from Kirth’s neck. It was now Kirth’s mission to defeat the Warlord. I had thrown the opportunity away because of self-doubt. I was beginning to realize—since Deemer came along—that I’d possibly made the most catastrophic mistake of my life.
“But… what about the Eye of Tanúb?” Lauren asked. “If the pendant is so powerful, why do we even need it?”
Deemer took a deep breath as though he were about to explain something important to a small child. “The Eye creates magical energy, keeping good and evil in balance. Whoever controls the eye, controls that balance. The wielder of the Eye has power to… well, do anything!”
“I wonder why the Warlord hasn’t used it?” Flitwicket asked, her blue eyes glowing with eerie light. “He’s had plenty of time.”
“Only one person can,” Deemer said, his smile returning. “Only one person has the authority.”
“Who?” we all asked at once.
"He who wears the Pendant of Power."
Vasu lay in his cell, hungry, alone, and shivering. Deemer had found the boy. He could feel it in his heart. The boy would pick up the reigns of leadership and take Vasu’s place. Peace filled him.
The rattling of the cell door brought him up slowly. “The Warlord requests your presence,” a guard called.
“Of course he does,” Vasu mumbled. “Let’s go then. It’s going to be a long walk.” Vasu stood on rickety legs. “I need my staff.”
“I’m sorry. But you’re not allowed to have it.” The guard stepped forward and bowed, his face contrite. “My family has always revered the Ancients of both the Legion and the Guild. If they knew one still lived and I had not given reverence, they would be dishonored. It would be my privilege to help you.”
Vasu was humbled. “Young man.” He placed his h
and on the guard’s head, “A blessing of prosperity I give to you and your family. The gift of compassion will always be yours.”
“Thank you,” the man answered in awe.
“You’re a drow, I see. I have always admired the drow people. But your skin is not as dark as most. I sense you have a human parent.”
The man’s expression fell in surprise. “How did you know? No one knows!”
“Ah, your secret is safe,” Vasu whispered, already out of breath. “It is your soul that matters, not your race.”
The guard gave a relieved smile. “Thank you.”
“Of course, of course.” Vasu walked four steps then leaned against the cold, rock wall, garnering energy. “I don’t believe I can make it,” he said.
“It may not be dignified, but I could carry you… if you’re willing.” The guard stepped forward ready to heft the old man.
“I’ll take that offer. What are you called?”
“I’m Dalfus. Here, stand on this step.” Dalfus stood two steps down, and then leaned back while the Ancient climbed on.
They made their way up the winding staircase, pausing frequently to rest. At the top, Dalfus set Vasu next to the Warlord’s thick iron doors and knocked.
“Enter!”
Dalfus pushed the doors open and stepped back, allowing Vasu to stumble in alone. The doors shut behind him.
The Warlord sat on his throne, fully garbed in his armor, a beautiful woman beside him. Her long, dark hair and glowing skin were enough to stop a man’s heart. The Warlord leaned forward, his armored arm resting on powerfully muscled legs. “Now, old man, tell me the secrets of the Eye!”
Vasu could barely raise his head. His long, white beard brushed his thighs. “I will not! Your evil choices pervade the land, causing death and destruction. Your own people hate you. I will not share sacred knowledge with you.”
“You wish to see your granddaughter die?” the Warlord taunted, his temper barely controlled.
“You haven’t heard? My granddaughter is tucked safely in her own bed at this very moment. You must not be well informed,” Vasu stated. “That is not a good sign of loyalty.”
“Enough!” the Warlord roared, rising. “I did not bring you here to berate me in front of my future wife.
“Future wife?” Vasu turned to the woman. “My dear, do not make a terrible mistake. This man may be pleasing to the eye and have power to be admired, but he will pull you down to the depths of misery and leave you there.”
“Shut up!” the Warlord bellowed in fury. He stormed over to Vasu, picked him up by the shirtfront and threw him against the wall. The force was so great that Vasu was knocked unconscious.
Kalika screamed in horror and hurled herself at the Warlord, kicking and punching his chest.
He held her at arm’s length, calm, waiting.
“How could you do that? How could you hurt a defenseless old man! What kind of person are you?” she screamed, out of control for the first time in her life.
“The kind who wields power. The kind who rules the world! You would do well to calm yourself, woman,” he said, still holding her at arm’s length.
Kalika stepped back, her eyes flashing, her hands fisted, her chest heaving. She was so filled with fury that she forgot to be afraid—forgot to be careful. His words had ripped through her like daggers with jagged edges. Marriage! He’d never mentioned one word of marriage to her. The thought left her blood frozen. “I will not marry you.”
Before she could blink, his arm whipped out, his iron fist gripping her around the neck. “Yes, Kalika, you will,” he said with thundering authority, bringing her close. “It’s time I take a wife, and you’re it.”
Kalika gasped for air, clutching at his fingers, her feet dangling. His crimson eyes bored into hers, unflinching, unrelenting. Her chest burned for air, and just as she thought she would pass out from lack of oxygen, he let go of her, letting her fall in a heap to the floor. He turned and stormed from the room, the iron doors slamming behind him.
With a heavy heart, she crawled to Vasu and patted his cheek. “Vasu? Can you hear me?”
Slowly, Vasu’s eyes fluttered in a grimace of pain. He moaned, trying to sit up, running a hand over his hip. Immediately the grimace disappeared.
“You have powers!” she whispered. “Why don’t you use them?”
“It’s not my place, my dear. The mantle has shifted. He who wears the Pendant of Power must defeat the Warlord now.” He let his head fall back to the floor, spent.
“You mean, Zach?”
“You know the boy?”
“We can’t discuss this now. I’ll find you,” she whispered, standing back up.
The doors flew open and in stepped two werewolf soldiers. “We’re to take him back to the dungeon.”
Vasu placed his hand on Kalika’s cheek. “Be mindful of what you eat and drink. The Warlord uses potions to get his way.”
Before Kalika could answer, the guards stepped forward, lifting him roughly. She reeled back on her heels, fury growing in her heart along with resolve. She would stop the Warlord’s evil designs, even if she died doing it!
I hid with the rest of my group behind the massive oak trees that lined the road next to the ominous castle. It was as close as we could get without being spotted. I wished I felt smarter and more capable, more of an asset to the group. “How do we get in?” I asked, no ideas coming to me.
“We wait for the cover of darkness,” Flitwicket suggested. “Attack while the castle sleeps.”
“Maybe we should wait for Kalika,” I reminded them. “She’s in there. She said she’d meet us.”
“There’s no time,” Dardanos whispered. “She’s either dead or unable to come.”
My chest knotted. The drow was my friend, maybe even more than that, and the thought of her actually being dead wrenched my heart. “She’s alive. I know it.”
Kirth moved forward, able to hide behind smaller trees. “We’ll see, but I agree. We go in tonight.”
The sun descended in amber glory, lighting the evening sky until everything was painted gold. I had never seen such brilliance, and wished it would last longer—delaying the confrontation that awaited us.
Too soon, darkness blanketed the forest. The shadows disappeared. Flitwicket and Lauren crept toward the castle, their wands pointed at a row of unsuspecting guards. “Collapse!” they whispered together. Instantly, the six guards fell to the ground, incapacitated.
Dardanos, Kirth, and I followed close behind, our swords raised. We slipped into the darkened castle, our eyes darting from side to side. As soon as we got to the main keep, we spotted two guards reclining against the castle walls, lazy in their watch. They were soon disarmed and unconscious.
To our left was a tall turret with a winding staircase. Our little band filed up the narrow, stone steps. The halls were empty and quiet.
“Should we explore these levels?” I asked, feeling more and more nervous as the seconds ticked by.
Stopping, we discussed our options.
“Maybe we should capture a servant or a guard,” Lauren offered. “They could tell us where the Eye of Tanúb is.”
“We’d have to be quick,” Flitwicket whispered. “If they raise an alarm, we’ll be in trouble.”
On the next landing, just as we stepped into the hall, a maid bustled out of a room by the stairs. She froze in surprise, staring. Dardanos grabbed her, scrambling to cover her mouth, but he was too slow. She let out a piercing scream, and seconds later we heard the stomping of many feet.
Dardanos swore under his breath and pushed the maid back into the hall. She fell against an approaching guard and collapsed to the floor. Other guards ran up the stairs behind them. Lauren and Flitwicket pointed their wands at the approaching men. I stood between them, a short sword in each fist, my heart pumping wildly.
There were too many soldiers to count, but the slamming of steel drove me to action. I turned down the stairs, jabbing and stabbing. Kirth let his
arrows fly, hitting a man five yards down the winding steps. The wounded man fell with a cry of pain against his comrades. I stayed at Kirth’s side, hoping to wound anyone who came close.
A goblin pushed through, his long sword swinging at Kirth’s chest. I watched in slow motion as the goblin thrust forward. No way would Kirth be able to move in time. But he jumped straight into the air, twisted, and then ran up the wall. He maneuvered his flip so fast, with such skill, that I found him back on his feet at my side before I took a second breath. The goblin lay dead, his throat slit by the dagger Kirth held. Kirth shrugged and picked up his bow.
A stout drow pushed his way up the steps, knives in each hand. His milky white teeth showing through a snarling smile. I balanced on the balls of my feet, moving from side to side, my eyes wide with anticipation. I wasn’t about to let him get the first thrust, so I feinted to the left and the drow countered me. I stabbed from the right, and the drow howled as a fresh blossom of blood grew on his shoulder.
I crouched, shooting my left leg out in a sweep below my enemy’s knees. The drow tumbled, causing the soldiers behind to stumble backwards like dominoes, and just as I was about to stand up, chills shivered through my entire body, and I fell to one knee, unable to move, frozen. Literally. Beads of perspiration formed along my brow as I tried to stand, and the smell of sulfur filled the corridor.
“Stop!” a deep voice thundered.
I struggled to turn, but my body would not respond. From the upper hall strode a man even larger than Dardanos, covered in steel armor. He wore a shining, silver helmet with deadly spikes that rose four inches at each corner, like a crown. His presence inspired a lethal awe, and I melted in fear before him.
All waited silently—against our will—as he approached.
The Warlord stopped at the landing and stared at the intruders, his eye slits glowing blood red.
Dardanos struggled to raise his sword. He swung in a slow, deadly arc. But the Warlord raised his armored hand, swiping the air, and Dardanos flew across the hall, hitting the rock wall with a grunt, then lying still. Lauren screamed, but could not move to help him.