Chapter 4

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Moonlight poured across the open fields, the dual rays of Dalaidin and her little sister Fiouin casting an odd glow through the mist rising from the earth. Gretchen knelt before the aspen fence, carefully feeling underneath the lowest rung for any loose dirt or tufts of fur.

If wolves were in the area, they would stay low to the ground, the ancient instincts of the hunt providing directions for stealthy movement. Thankfully, there was no sign of the wild beasts, and with her rounds of the outlying farmland complete, Gretchen sighed away a bit of tension.

Her gaze moved across the landscape with a practiced eye, knowing each inch of this territory. This was her home, the place her father’s father had purchased and laid down roots. What had been barren and empty soil, now bloomed with green fields and blossoming orchards. No, perhaps she hadn’t gotten to explore far off lands, but the dirt beneath her fingernails was evidence of hard fought success.

Gretchen smiled, embracing the chill and misty land, her decision made. This was her home, why should she leave a place and family she loved? Someday she might meet the right man, but it didn’t have to be today.

A brisk pace began to take her back in the direction of the farmstead, her thoughts contemplative and serene.

Until a dark form appeared beneath her feet. A man, lying utterly still.

Her gasp sounded loud, the telltale whispers of insects and night creatures suddenly silent. She knelt to inspect the body closer. Perhaps a wayward drunk?

But no. His chest did not rise with the heavy breath of someone asleep. And his arms, crossed at the chest, were the sign of a body ready for burial.

A return of fear entered Gretchen’s mind, the thought of wolves or bandits causing her to stand quickly and observe the surrounding darkness. Nothing. No sound, save the whisper of a distant wind. A whisper of words she could barely understand, a message she dare not heed.

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It spoke of terrible victories, and lost kingdoms.

Of passionate love and overwhelming power.

A subtle caress lifted the edges of her hair; she could see her mother’s dying gaze, her father’s quiet smile. She heard Salvie’s joyful laughter, the teasing of Brion and Bertram playing as only twins can, felt the thrill of Kadon and Temi swinging her by the arms on warm spring days.

And then, it was gone… replaced by a question.

Like unto an empty vessel, before being filled with purpose. A question of potential.

Shaking her head, Gretchen shivered suddenly as her skin prickled in aprehension. She fought a rising urge to run, to leave this mist and retreat into the warmth of her home and family.

She was no longer a child, scared by the tales told from passing bards. Long nights she had remained on watch, protecting the farm and fields from beasts and man. She was familiar with the hunt, and able to survive in the deep forest; what could a little wind and a dead body do to her?

Kneeling once more, she carefully patted the man’s clothing. He appeared young, yet something about his face… there was an ancient look carved across his features. Long dark hair, clean shaven, and with a single scar across his cheek. She almost wished his eyes remained open, to see what color hid beneath those dark eyebrows. But of course, to open a dead man's eyes was a taboo even she had no desire to cross.

He had to have been rich. It was the feel of the cloth that determined her evaluation. While the cut and shape was nothing more than a wealthy merchant might wear, the fabric slid between her fingers like the softest of feathers. Apparently, he had preferred darker colors in life, which was now rather fitting for his death. Too bad whatever killed him had destroyed such lovely cloth, tearing it into strips that lay loose upon his skin.

To Gretchen’s surprise, there was not a single thing he carried. Not a money pouch or staff, no sword or cane. She couldn’t imagine a journey without rations or water, but this man could truly have said he traveled light, with naught but the clothes on his back.

Most unsettling, was the lack of a wound. That the man was dead, there could be no doubt. The lack of breath and pallor flesh was evidence enough.

Why then had he died? And how had he found his way to this distant field, far from any city or main trail?

“It’s not right, I think.” Her voice broke the silence, even as her spoken thought disturbed her. Well, nonetheless, her father should be made aware of the body. Perhaps he would know more of such things.

In that moment, as she began to step around the body, a distant ray of moonlight shown upon his breast.

A pause… a shifting of fate, acted upon by an outside force.

For there, in the corner of her vision, she noticed something that before had remained hidden. A card, tucked beneath the strangers clasped hands. The light seemed to catch it’s silver frame, seeping within and enhancing it’s ethereal beauty; while the dark interior of the card simply absorbed the light and mist, drawing it into a voidless depth.

And so, Gretchen von Glaus leaned forward once more, unknowing of the forces at work, to carefully peel from dead fingers a card of destiny.

For a single instant, she held the card in a trembling palm, aware that some line had been crossed, some choice had been made.

Whereupon, the darkness covered her and silence reigned supreme once more.