"What is left of the nations that were ruling in the Age before the Oblivion? Only wind-swept crumbs - relics that have been dug out of the sand or drowned by the centuries, barely withstanding the ravages of time.

The written sources either did not preserve or were purposely destroyed in the decades that followed the Oblivion. So few people survived, and even fewer wanted to remember what had been wiped out. Their children were left with a scorched earth where no grain germinated and no grass grew. Nor did the polluted seas provide a catch for anyone.

At least we know something: some names and sporadic phrases from those happy times. It was a time when mankind lived in its prime and the fields grew golden.

There was Vallahor, with its cloud cities where the tower blocks were reaching for the sky. The West was ruled by the mighty merchants of Sederia. Oh, and of course the most glorious was Shadaar, home of art and science. Also famous were Jikitaria in the east and the wealthy city-states of Poenad and Livakar.

There are said to have been others, small, perhaps even great places, whose stories were taken from us by the Oblivion."

- Andiol's Best Schoolbook, a chapter on ancient states, third edition, 1580.

* * *

Josel

"The boy is regaining consciousness," Josel heard a woman's voice say from somewhere nearby. The voice was hoarse and a little harsh, but it undoubtedly belonged to a woman.

Josel opened his eyes. In the glare of the lantern light, it took him a moment to realise that he was lying under some kind of canopy. They were not inside, but the open sides of the canopy gave a view into the darkness of the night.

The person who had just spoken was sitting in a squatting position next to him. The middle-aged woman's hair was grey and thick, but cut short in a manly way. Her cheeks were slightly sunken in the way that people with very little body fat do. Her worn face still bore traces of a former beauty. Josel thought she had once been a very beautiful woman.

"Where are we?" Josel asked after looking at the woman's face.

"By the road, in the middle of Veilwood."

Did she mean a road through the forest? Everything was groggy, not long ago Josel had been in the cemetery and thought it was his last moment. But where was Monteilon? He had to make sure that Zdain was all right...

He searched with his eyes for the other boy, "Where...?"

"Your friend is outside. He just woke up too," the grey-haired woman interrupted.

Josel tried to get up.

"Wait, I'll invite the others in," she stopped him. "The boy is awake," she announced in a louder voice.

Three people ducked their heads and stepped under the canopy. The first was Zdain, a relieved smile flashing across his face. The governor's son looked startled, his hair dishevelled and his clothes dirty. Otherwise he seemed fine. Their eyes locked for a moment, but then Josel's attention was drawn to the other two newcomers.

One was an old man, almost grandfatherly in his appearance, who immediately sat down on a wooden box under the canopy. He had a long face with sad lines. His nose was rather large, accentuated by his angular glasses. The eyes behind them were fixed searchingly on Josel.

Josel had to look away quickly and shift his attention to another stranger. He was a sombre-looking, tall and robust man whose hair, originally mousy brown, was already partly grey. He glanced at Josel and then dropped to one knee on the edge of the canopy. The man's hand rested on the hilt of the sword that hung from its sheath, and he watched the darkness outside the canopy intently, obviously ready for action.

The old man motioned to Zdain, who was still standing with his back bent, to sit down on a bundle of blankets next to Josel. As the boy settled down, the old man's eyes returned to Josel.

"You are awake and you seem lucid. Good. Most of those who have visited the military cemetery of the Shadaarian army have lost their minds permanently. Though very few have ventured there." The man's voice was strong for his age, but there was a melancholy note to it.

"Shadaarian army?" Josel dared to ask.

It made the robust man smack his mouth with irritation.

The spectacled old man, on the other hand, nodded gravely. "Yes, in the graves lie soldiers of the once great and powerful state of Shadaar. An army that was annihilated in this forest more than 1500 years ago. Actually, there was no forest here then. The world looked very different before the Oblivion...In any case, the Shadaarian generals were not prepared for a confrontation in these lands. The decisive battle was to be fought elsewhere. But someone had betrayed the army's hidden location to the enemy. They were taken by surprise. A battle ensued, the most terrible imaginable..."

"Perhaps all this has been shown to you?" he asked then, although there was a statement in his voice.

Zdain nodded, his face pale. A lump rose in Josel's throat as he remembered the clouds of soot and the beasts swooping through the air.

"It was one of the first battles of the Wars of Oblivion," the old man lectured, his eyes fixed on the distance. "The later casualties of the war were left to rot in their places, but the fallen of Shadaar were still given proper burials in the cemetery. But at a terrible price. Legend has it that it was not enough for the enemy to simply kill the enemy, but that they placed a black curse on the slain soldiers. They were doomed to haunt travellers crossing the ancient battlefield for all eternity. And the passing centuries have brought no peace to the victims. Their possessed souls still whisper in the night, beckoning travellers to join them in the graveyard. You two almost became part of the ghost army."

A chill ran through Josel as the old man's last words rippled through the air. Zdain beside him swallowed audibly as well.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Josel had to ask the old man.

"I believe that the world is much more special than it seems at first sight," was the answer. "Ghosts, hallucinations, nightmares - in the end it doesn't matter what you call the experience. What matters is that it happened to you."

It was impossible to say anything intelligent about that. Curses and ghosts should only exist in fairy tales - and so should the dreaders. Josel felt cold. They had not been dreaming, he was sure of that. And for some reason, the old man knew about the soldiers. The whole world had gone mad!

"Why have I never heard about this cemetery? There'd be stories about it," Josel said anyway. He tried to cling to another, more rational option. Maybe he and Zdain had been drugged, or had accidentally eaten mushrooms...

"Because this area is uninhabited," the old man explained. "Over time, people learned to avoid this place, and the plain grew into what we now know as Veilwood. It's easy to take the few individuals who talk about the cursed graveyard for lunatics or swindlers. Perhaps that is for the best. After all, folk don't want to know about such things. It's safer to believe it's all madness."

The grey-haired woman stared blankly ahead. The man clutching the handle of his sword coughed and continued to gaze into the darkness. Josel wanted to think of anything but dead soldiers.

It was the old man again who broke the silence. "I'm Zal, by the way," he introduced himself, gesturing to his comrades in turn. "This is Marl and Melgyera."

The sullen man grunted some sort of greeting. The woman even smiled a little and said: "You can call me Melgy."

Zal was not finished. "We also have Ragart. He's on guard duty. Actually, we are all on Ragart's errand, on the way to Ipalos."

The old man watched the boys with his sharp eyes. "But now, my young friends, it is time for you to tell us about yourselves. What on earth are you doing in Veilwood at midnight?"

Suddenly, a thousand wheels were rattling in Josel's head. These people had undoubtedly saved their lives, but did it mean anything in the end? Dad had forbidden him to trust anyone, and these travellers were strange. There was no point in revealing anything. Zdain was about to open his mouth, but Josel beat him to it.

"I'm Franz and this is my cousin Darren," Josel began, careful not to meet Zal's gaze. "We come from the village of the woodcutters, right on the edge of Veilwood. We are on our way to Ipalos to visit our aunt."

"It's a long way to Ipalos - especially on foot. Why were you in the middle of the forest and not on the road?" asked the woman who had introduced herself as Melgy.

Josel swallowed and tried desperately to think of an answer.

Fortunately, Zdain bailed him out. "You see, we were ambushed by a group of bandits. They took the horses. We managed to escape into the forest, but we got lost and had to wander around in the thicket for a couple of days."

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Josel mentally thanked Zdain and hoped that the explanation would be enough. Who knows if these people would hand them over to the ghosts again if they caught them in a lie.

Melgy, at least, still seemed suspicious. Marl was clearly not interested in the whole thing. Old Zal, on the other hand, turned his glare on the boys, who were trying their best to look like country boys lost in the forest.

"So the bandits took the horses," Zal murmured, looking so pensive that Josel almost shook with excitement. "Well, then you'd better travel with us. There's room in the wagons, isn't there, Melgy?"

The grey-haired woman raised her eyebrows and looked wary, but at least mumbled a brief affirmative.

"We should keep moving, there are many other dangers lurking here besides the cursed graveyard," Zal said. He got up from his seat and walked out into the open air.

Marl and Melgy answered the call, and together they began to dismantle the camp.

The boys realised from Melgy's fierce expression that they were in the way. They got out from under the canopy before it was folded up.

The starry sky and a couple of lanterns lit up the road as Josel looked around. The two wagons were stopped on the road. The canopy had been pulled between them. A total of eight horses were restlessly pawing the ground in front of the wagons. The gloomy forest stretched out on either side of the road.

A crow cawed in the darkness of the night. Was it the same bird they had encountered in the woods before the cemetery? The fear that had already dissipated was again pressing on Josel's chest. No force in the world could drive him back into Veilwood. That was why he did not want to refuse the wagon ride, even though it had been offered by strangers.

Josel flinched at the touch on his hand. Zdain tugged him by the sleeve away from the canopy, where Marl and Melgy were still hustling.

The governor's son stopped by the roadside. "Next time you lie, think your story through. You almost gave us away!" he snapped in a hushed voice.

"I bet you would have told the old man our real names yourself!" Josel replied as quietly as he could in anger.

Monteilon was about to say something, but instead of objecting, he sighed. He looked at Josel for a moment and then said: "Let's not argue. We're alive."

"Yes, alive," Josel repeated slowly.

Then a man carrying a lantern approached from the direction of the wagons. Dressed in a brown leather vest and a white collared shirt, he was of medium height, very stout and paunchy. His head was completely bald and each ear had a gold ring. The man's broad face held an equally broad smile.

"Greetings, young men!" the comer called from afar.

"Hello," Josel and Zdain mumbled in unison.

"Allow me to introduce myself, Ragart Zapp, at your service, gentlemen," the man said, bowing generously. "Or some people call me 'Fox' - they say I'm shrewd and sly. I also look like a nimble animal, don't I?"

Ragart grinned and raised his belt with both hands over his large belly. "And it's true what they say, a successful merchant can never be too cunning," he added with a loud chuckle. As he laughed, the belt slipped back under his belly.

The boys looked at each other. This man was cut from a different cloth to his fellow travellers.

"Who are you, by the way?" Ragart asked.

Josel introduced himself as Franz and Zdain let the name Darren slip out of his mouth, albeit a little stiffly.

Fortunately, the bald-headed man was not interested in asking about the boys' backgrounds. "Good!" he exclaimed. "Zal told me you were coming with us. I'll give you both a ride. Let Zal go in Melgy's and Marl's wagon. Actually, I own that cart as well! The cargo is also mine. You'll be comfortable in the wagon. Because I'm carrying carpets - the best quality!"

Josel and Zdain could only nod as the merchant continued: "You see, I managed to buy some first-class carpets at a bargain price from a merchant who came all the way from Afamat. The bastard thought he was selling me inferior copies, but Fox can smell a genuine Afamatian rug a mile away."

"Don't believe his stories," came Melgy's sour voice from behind Josel. "The wagons are ready to go," she added, walking away.

Ragart grinned at the boys after she had gone and whispered like a conspirator: "She's a toughie, don't ever pinch her butt. I made that mistake once and found out that Melgy can kick hard."

This drew polite laughter from Josel and Zdain.

Ragart climbed into the driver's seat and told the boys to get into the wagon and take the most comfortable berths they could find. He said that he avoided sleeping at night because the nights were too interesting to waste with your eyes closed.

The yawning Josel was not thrilled by the idea of staying awake. He followed Zdain into the wagon, where the interior was lit by a dim lantern. This and the countless rolls of carpet made the space almost atmospheric.

It turned out to be quite difficult to find a suitable place to sleep in the packed wagon. Eventually the boys settled down side by side.

Ragart had handed Zdain a bag of food, containing bread, cheese and a few dates. After a moment's fumbling, Josel found a wooden basket of water bottles among the carpets.

As the wagon began to move, the boys rushed to have a meal. For a moment, neither said a word, just stuffing the food down into their mouths. Josel could not remember the last time anything had tasted so good.

When his worst hunger was satisfied, Josel leaned his head against the pile of carpet. The horses' hooves bounced and the wagons rocked in a steady rhythm. He felt relaxed and pleasantly drowsy.

But Zdain's whisper forced him to wake up. "Do you trust these people?"

Josel shrugged. "Hard to say. Strange people."

"Indeed, but they rescued us without anything in return," Zdain pointed out.

Josel did not disagree. "Do you remember how it went? How did we get to safety?" he had not thought to ask until now.

"I only remember bits and pieces. You were screaming. I tried to run to you, but I fell. Then the ground gave way under my feet and I fell into one of the graves. That's when the gun went off and I think I hit my head. I had a terrible dream about the battle..."

"I saw the same thing," Josel interrupted. "Maybe everyone who gets lost in the cemetery sees it. Even the old man guessed what we'd seen."

Zdain took a thoughtful sip from the bottle. "Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I awoke to someone - I think it was Marl - dragging me down the road. Apparently you'd already been carried to the wagons. I fainted again and didn't wake up until I was in the tent. Luckily nobody had time to ask my name before you made one up for me."

Josel ignored the criticism. "How in the hell did they find us?"

Zdain had an answer for that too. "Marl and Zal didn't immediately notice I was awake. They were chatting freely and Marl mentioned a bird that had been screeching over the graveyard. That's how they knew to come to aid."

"The bird? Why would anyone care about a bird?" Josel wondered - in a voice so low that Ragart could not hear it.

"I don't know. There's a lot of bizarre things about them..."

Josel yawned and curled up into a more comfortable position.

"Sleeping might be a good idea," Zdain suggested.

"You're right, Darren," Josel replied with a mischievous smile.

Zdain sighed exaggeratedly and said, "What a stroke of genius to name me after that annoying friend of yours. Where's your imagination, Sand...Franz?"

"Well, if it had been up to you, you would have introduced yourself as the Emperor of Andiol and me as his servant."

"What a servant! Twice he had punched the emperor in the nose."

Josel chuckled to himself; chatting with Monteilon was almost entertaining at times. He closed his eyes and thought of his father. Perhaps he was currently on watch in Ipalos, wondering why his son had not arrived in the city by now. Seeing Dad would bring much comfort to the chaos: he would take all the responsibility and tell Josel what to do.

Maybe they could return to Paidos. They could pick up life more or less where they left it. But many things would be different: there would be no Curtus, and their home had been burned to the ground.

Josel could no longer resist the urge to sleep, and slowly drifted off. Calm breathing beside him told that Zdain had already fallen asleep.

* * *

Melgyera

Veilwood, Andiol Empire

Melgyera Dimossai sat in the driver's seat, combing a stubborn tangle out of her hair. While she was doing that, she took a good look at the old man holding the reins beside her.

Zal looked lost in thought, which was of course only the surface. In reality, he was as alert as a wolf that had smelled a hunter. That's how Melgyera had once imagined him, a wise old wolfhound, fleeing the hunter and stalking the prey at the same time.

Furthermore, it was often impossible to tell what Zal was thinking. Particularly now when they had to bear the burden of two adolescent nuisances. Even though Zal and Melgyera had enough problems already.

They had left Narrow Lake early yesterday morning. After so many failures, new clues promised much, forcing them to speed up their journey. They were driving to Ipalos in a hurry that had nothing to do with the Ragart's carpets. Anything could happen at their destination.

The excitement tickled her scalp. Melgyera deliberately squeezed the comb so hard that a few hairs came off by the roots. That night, a little pain did her good. It kept her alert for enemies old and new.

"Why did you take those scoundrels with us when everyone can see they're lying?" she inquired.

"Are they lying then?" Zal asked, his mouth and eyes round with surprise. From the look on his face, you would have thought Melgyera had just proposed to him.

The astonishment was only feigned, but Melgyera felt the need to share her findings. "I suppose you noticed their dirty but fashionable clothes. They come from some town in southern Andiol, perhaps Nissos, Paidos or Ipalos, but certainly not from any rural village. And the other boy's hair, blond as sunshine. Maybe the son of a merchant from the far west, but certainly not a local country bumpkin."

"You are always so sharp, Melgy," Zal replied with a smile, continuing his speech to the big crow-like bird sitting in the wagon fence: "Thank you, Krahh, for leading me to them."

Krahh croaked slightly, as if she understood her master's words.

I'm sure she did, Melgyera thought. After all, the black-feathered Krahh was a great jackdaw and the wisest animal Melgyera had ever met in her life.

"Why did you decide to save those boys and make trouble for us?" she asked again, as Krahh spread her wings and found a more peaceful place to sleep on the roof of the wagon.

"Out of sheer curiosity, I wanted to find out who would be crazy enough to defy the Shadaarian army on a night like this," Zal said.

"And then?"

"My curiosity grew even more when they began to concoct their little tale."

Melgyera snorted, the story had indeed been utterly helpless.

But Zal was not finished yet. "But there was something else about those youngsters..."

The words made a thought crackle in Melgyera's head. "What, is there Might in them?"

"Neither one has it, not a scrap."

"What do you mean then?" Melgyera asked, puzzled and a little disappointed. It was always so amazing when Zal sensed the Might in someone. It did not happen often, and very rarely was there enough Might to make that person useful - or dangerous, if it came to that.

Far more often dangerous than useful.

"It was not the Might. I am sure of that," Zal said.

"So what then?"

"I felt something else, in both of them. Very strange. I should talk to someone..." Zal interrupted with a sigh.

They both knew that there was no one with whom Zaltarim Fizol could discuss the matter. There had been none for a long time. Neither Taihan nor Anden...

After a while, the old man spoke again: "Let Ragart speak to them. Who knows, maybe these young fellows will come in handy to us."

Zal's sad smile was not enough to convince Melgyera. Those rascals would never do them any good. Instead, Melgyera had a hunch, a lot of harm and worry.

However, all she said was: "Sometimes I wonder how you can still get excited about such little things. It would have been much easier to let the ghost warriors eat them.

"Oh, Melgy, if I didn't get excited about everything trivial, I wouldn't have lived to be this old."

The grey-haired woman laughed faintly, but did not let Zal go back into his thoughts just yet. "I don't mind saving the boys. I just hope that bringing them along won't interfere with our hunt in Ipalos."

This time, behind the glasses, Zal's gaze was undisguisedly wary. When he replied, there was a strained tone in his voice. "The trace is blurry and based on hearsay. I'd still be a fool not to check it out. Wouldn't I?"

Melgyera agreed. There was no margin for error in this search.

* * *