Chapter One: Bad Dreams

Hungry flames ate at the stones, the walls, and the wood, attempting to devour everything like a raging, hungry monster. 

“GIVE HIM TO ME, TAELIA!”

A growling, booming voice like thunder and rock yelled over the flames, which flared up at the sound of the voice. 

“He is not here! You are too late!” 

“LIES! I SENSE HIM!” 

Putrid yellow and green orbs pierced through the flames. They were eyes, and their malice burned hotter than the fire surrounding them. A beautiful blonde woman stood defiant against those eyes. Her ears were pointed, but her skin was silver and white scales. She wore brilliant armor like a shining star within the darkness and flame. 

In her right hand was a blade of radiant light, a silver-tongued beacon of power that the woman raised up against the eyes. A chuckle that sent shivers down the spine emanated from the surrounding darkness around the eyes. 

A darkness that was not darkness but scales blacker than a starless, moonless night. Like a giant glacier, the darkness moved, and scarlet light built within the darkness before it rushed out like the tide. Blazing fire bathed the woman, but when the flame died, the woman still stood, unburnt. 

“YOUR POWER HAS GROWN, TAELIA. IT WILL NOT BE ENOUGH. GIVE ME THE BABE AND YOUR DEATH WILL BE QUICK.” 

In answer, the woman raised her silver sword. 

“Come, betrayer! We shall see who dies this day!” 

Away from the fire, the woman, and the malicious eyes, another woman was in a tunnel deep under the now-burning castle. She clutched a small form to her chest and sat astride a huge black horse. She spurred the horse onward, and it began to trot and then run before galloping as fast as it could. 

It was some time before she emerged from the tunnel into a dark forest. 

The great voice roared from behind her, but the woman paid no attention to it. Instead, as if carried on the whispering wind, words stirred the form she clutched to her chest. 

“Ash Lorcan,” the words that began as a whisper grew into a gale. 

“ASH LORCAN!” 

_____________

 Ash opened his eyes, his hands snapping to his throat, certain his lungs were filled with smoke. 

“Fore’s teeth, boy, you’re sweating like a pig. Calm yourself, and get ready. We have chores to get done.” 

His rapid heart slowed at his uncle’s words, and he lowered his hands, forcing himself to take more measured breaths. The air was clean, and there was no smoke at all. He still felt hot all over, like a fire burned inside him. It’s the same every time, he thought. 

Chores? He blinked. Nothing is burning. I’m still in Sarvhall, on the farm. 

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He sat up, rubbing his arms; his skin was sweaty and nearly burned at the touch. 

Outside his window, it was still dark, but this had been his life since he was old enough to use his hands, and he knew dawn wasn’t too far off. He pushed himself out of bed, and his uncle’s nose wrinkled. 

“I suggest a shower before you head out, lad.” 

Ash opened his mouth, but his uncle raised one of his burly hands, 

“I know, it’s better to take one after, but you reek, boy. Like ashes and rotting wood. Best you take two, eh? I think the scripts can handle it. Go on, now.” 

His uncle stood up from the edge of his bed, and he was so big that he took up most of the room, especially with his dark clothes, wool cape, and shepherd staff. He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, a habit Ash knew he had picked up from the military. 

“I’ll take care of gathering the feed, but it’s your turn to do the mucking out today.” 

His uncle swept his brown eyes over the room, raising an eyebrow. He picked up the basket of rocks near his feet and moved them aside so they were less in the way. Then he picked up a discarded book, raising an eyebrow at his nephew as he held the book. 

“And by Fore’s burly beard, boy, would it kill you to get rid of some of this stuff? Do you need all of those books, eh? Or these rocks?” 

Ash rubbed the back of his neck, smiling and lowering his eyes. 

His uncle shook his head, 

“Some things never change. Get to it, boy. Your aunt will have breakfast waiting for us after we’re done. Then, we have the house to get ready for Remembrance Day.” 

Ash nodded, and before his uncle left, he paused, muttering something to himself that Ash couldn’t hear. He went to his bathroom. All he had to do was touch the script on the wall under the spigot, and the script along the metal lit up red and blue as water poured out of it in a steady stream. 

He adjusted the heat by running his fingers over the script to the right. The red light responded by glowing ever so brighter than the blue. For not the first time, he wondered how it worked. No one around could explain it to him. 

Only adventurers knew about that sort of thing, and the very few that had passed through Al’Herder farm hadn’t been in the mood to answer a sixteen-year-old’s questions. As the hot water washed away the sweat and stink, he again yearned to travel the world. 

Dominion was a vast continent that had not yet been fully explored, even by the four large kingdoms that covered it. 

Most of all, he yearned to be an adventurer. 

He scrubbed his hair under the water, rolling his neck. Swiping right over the script, the red light completely overpowered the blue now. 

The heat had never bothered him. He had only ever felt hot when he had that dream. 

After his shower, he dressed, not as heavy as his uncle, because the cold rarely bothered him. His shepherd's staff was a simple piece of wood but comfortable in his hands. Longingly, he looked at the large collection of rocks he had found in his walks on the farm and nearby forest. 

They were all bright, and one of his favorite things was to polish them, placing them one by one into the basket they resided in. His books were unorganized, seemingly thrown on the shelves haphazardly, and many of their pages were bent at the ear. 

I better head out before Uncle Derrick gives me an earful, he thought. Leaving the room, he headed for the sheep pens. The huge pitchfork he used waited for him by the pens. The sheep paid him no mind, not only used to him but used to the authority of the staff. 

He moved them to one side of the pen with the staff, touching them gently with the hook at the end of his staff. If they didn’t listen, he’d get Bruce, the old sheepdog that had been in the family since he was an infant. 

His flock was so well trained that he hardly ever had to worry about it. After moving the sheep, he started on the mucking. It took time, but he had done this job many times. So many times, in fact, he was hardly bothered by the smell anymore. 

He was finished in less than two hours. 

He wiped his brow, watching his breath turn white as it hit the air. Dawn’s light began to play across the farm, and a rooster crowed. He was about to help his uncle with the other chores, and a chilling howl split the air. 

Ash whipped his head around. Wolves? That didn’t make sense. Wolves didn’t just attack out of nowhere. 

But sure enough, he saw several gray forms emerge from the forest, fangs bared. 

They were headed right for him and the sheep, a wild light in their eyes. 

His hands tightened on his pitchfork, and his heart began to hammer on the anvil of his ribs.