Prologue

“…And in the days of two suns, when the races have gorged themselves on peace, darkness will unfold in tiny hands and silently stalk the land. Woe to the seen and the unseen for all will be war.”
--Rock of Prophecy

Chapter 1

Cade awoke. Every muscle groaned as he slowly eased up onto one elbow, tiny sand particles digging into his skin. He was so thirsty. As if in answer to the thought, a dry gust of sand blew into his already red and cracking face. He tried to swallow but could not draw the spittle to do so small a task.

He groaned, muscles screaming and forced himself into a sitting position. Head bowed low he tried to force his body to obey his mind. The dual suns gleamed off the hilt of his sword some yards away. He fell twice trying to stand. He was weak and needed water soon. The throbbing in his head echoed a tremendous tattoo with every step he took.

His clothes were ragged and would afford no protection from the sand or the burning suns. Cade shook his head hoping to shake loose the memory of how he came to be here and in this shape. Nothing, just a pain so sharp it almost sent him to his knees.

The last thing he remembered was sitting in an alcove of a rather splendid hasma with a beautiful woman. What was her name? He shook his head again, sending sand flying out of his long black hair.
The recent rash of missing citizens drew Cade to the sordid city of Amstel and his hunger to the hasma. He grimaced for not using more caution, a common mistake of new Wardexes but generally not one of his caliber. He believed the festival the culprit of the missing men, and was sure once the festival saw its last day the men would return to their families. Poorer and possibly worse for the wear, but return all the same. So he entered the city with food and a good night’s rest foremost in his mind.

Cade wanted to spit with disgust. A robbery and a well executed one. How many times had he seen this particular crime carried out? A beautiful decoy slips a debilitating poison into a targets food or drink, she and her accomplices steal everything and dump the victim far away from the scene.

Cade was in too much pain to be thankful he was still alive. He grimaced and hoped the Captain never got wind of it. He knew without a doubt the clever thieves did not intend him to live. The aching in his muscles confirmed the drug Coron, which is always lethal after first painfully seizing every muscle in the victim’s body. It was expensive, excruciating to watch and therefore seldom used by thieves who generally just wanted profit.

He knew without feeling his interior pocket the fist sized emerald, his only clan inheritance was gone. His fur pelt, a most prized possession was missing. And obviously the thieves did something with Razar or the giant war hound would even now be at his side.

Cade clenched his teeth in agony as he slowly walked toward his sword. He groaned with pain and bent to retrieve it.

He laughed, a short barking sound coming from his dry parched throat. They took the emerald but left the true prize. Magus looked an ordinary, nay, less than ordinary sword. Very few knew its secrets. Fewer still would even look twice at such a relic. Their folly was his gain, a half smile, half snarl curled Cade’s lips.

He slid Magus slowly back into its worn leather sheath on his back and looked up into the biting glare of the two suns. Thirst burned deep in his throat. A fitting punishment he thought. He gauged the time of day by their positions and started walking east. He would return to the hasma and to Rotta, yes that was her name. Dear sweet Rotta who could not keep her hands to herself. Maybe, if she were lucky, he’d leave her hands.

Chapter 2

“We must help him,” Mikael said as Cade passed his invisible form.

“It is not our place to interfere,” Gainrel said stroking his long white beard.

Mikael stretched the long white wings on his back. “It is MY place,” he hotly answered.

Gainrel looked at the younger Legna, an exact replica of himself, minus the long white beard. Beautiful is what the humans of old called them, other races had other names, but ultimately the only way to discern the age of a Legna was in the length of his beard, when he so chose to show it. Gainrel’s beard was past his waist.
“You are to look after him Mikael, not control his life.”

“He can not beat the desert!” Mikael cried. “He has too far to go and no water! The poison circulating through his blood is causing havoc with his body. He will not make it walking a half day!”

Gainrel sighed. “You must learn patience Mikael.”

“And while I am learning this lesson, will my human suffer and die?” Mikael said and flapped his enormous wings once.

Gainrel cocked a white eyebrow. “Your human? Are you so enamored of this human that you call yourself his Just Creator?”

Mikael held his hands before him. “I would not dare call myself the Just Creator. I am not so foolish as that. But I do not take lightly my responsibility for this one.”

Gainrel waived his hand and looked back toward Cade. “We will watch for awhile.”

Mikael wanted to argue, wanted to scream his impatience. Why did the elders always counsel patience? He was a Legna of action, and thus was assigned to a man of action. Waiting was not something he or his human did well.

Mikael chaffed. He argued with Gainrel just two short days ago while trying to save Cade from the clutches of the scheming Rotta and her evil family of thieves. Gainrel forbid it, but later allowed Mikael the pittance of keeping Cade’s heart from seizing from the Coron and killing him.

“Would you permit me to tend Razar?” Mikael asked as calmly as his anger would allow. There was no use reliving the argument. For all their beauty, Legna’s ran a very tight rank structure. Apprentices always trained with a master Legna and always in perfect obedience. There wasn’t an army in this world or any other more efficient and effective.

“The hound?” Gainrel asked.

Mikael gave a curt nod.

Gainrel’s eyes narrowed. “We are not the hound’s keepers Mikael. Why would you even lower yourself to play guardian to a dog?”

Mikael was more than ready for Gainrel’s question. “I have trained under you for the last five hundred years while I waited for my human to be brought forth. In my training you taught me that his health is only part of what must be safeguarded. You teach a human’s mind and inner spirit must be guarded without respite. I believe Cade loves Razar, love being one of the emotions of the inner spirit. Losing Razar will cause my human damage in his inner spirit. Damage that need not happen.”

Gainrel snorted but his keen eyes took in every nuance of Mikael's reaction. “Nothing he can’t survive.”

Mikael started to reply but Gainrel’s cool stare convinced him better.

Gainrel chuckled. He had his doubts about Mikael the day the Just Creator brought him forth to be trained over 500 years ago. He was young and often acted before thinking, a problem easily solved with 500 more years of training. However, prophecy was unfolding and Mikael was assigned a human before his training complete.

Gainrel sighed. Despite Mikael’s rashness of nature, he was the strongest most able bodied Legna to date. He would make a fine major, perhaps even a general someday, once his human was released from his physical bonds. But until such a time, Gainrel was tasked, as were many of the masters lately, to watch over his not entirely trained pupil and intercede when necessary.

Gainrel didn’t mind the job, had even become over involved in what he knew was only supposed to be a cursory supervision. The thought of starting over so soon, with a new pupil just wasn’t appealing. He was created to attach to a pupil for a minimum of one thousand years. Anything less seemed like sending a lamb to slaughter. He could not let go. Not yet.

Gainrel smiled. “You may go and rescue the hound.”

Mikael smiled, happy to be doing something, anything, for his human. He started to wing away when Gainrel reached out and touched his sleeve. “I am proud of you Mikael, for thinking of the hound, for knowing the depth of emotion your human holds for the animal. He is a loyal hound and one I would not like to see harmed.”

Mikael’s heart lifted with the words of praise, so rare from his teacher. He winged away before the moment could be ruined.

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