Fanon:The Shadow of Winter (a short story by 0a1s2d3f4g5h)

So here's the deal guys. Gollum recently encouraged me to put this short story I wrote on the wiki to get some feedback/reactions. It is part of a much larger storyline that I am working on, but 99% of it works on its own. Without any further ado, I present to you:

The Shadow of Winter.
It was that time of winter when the world stands still; that time when a veil seems to hang over the mountains and rivers, the oceans and islands; that time when cold embeds itself deep into the rocks and roots, freezing every soul; that time when snow comes swirling out of the heavens, coating the ground in a blanket that silences life.

A lone raven sweeped across the gray skies, soaring above the towering summits and high notches, passing over frozen streams and snow-buried valleys. Below him, a lonely trail of tracks snaked across the snow. The raven followed the tracks up through a high pass, and then spotted a man, struggling to pull himself through the deep snow drifts. Releasing a sudden sharp call, the raven dove, landing roughly on the shoulder of a young man. The young man startled, but then let out a gentle laugh as the raven hopped onto his wrist.

“Kalikh, where have you been? It couldn’t have taken three days to search the nearby area.”  Kalikh croaked and flapped his wings. The young man frowned.

“Gálkiks? How many?” he asked. The raven squawked while ruffling his feathers. The young man looked ahead, his eyes filled with concern, and then said, “Alright, we will head further west at the next pass, and hopefully we will miss those miserable wretches.”  He put Kalikh back on his shoulder, adjusted his heavy, fur hat over his light brown hair, and continued the uphill struggle through the deep snow. Kalikh frequently took off, scouting ahead, as these were very dangerous parts of the mountains. The young man, who was known as Arengin, remained in deep thought as they reached the top of the rise, and began the gradual descent to the next pass.

Arengin had been fighting a long, desperate struggle for many years. He was the last Protector of Phraran, a large continent on the western shores of the Great Sea. Phraran had long been ruled by the Five Kingdoms, which the Protectors guarded against all danger. There had always been twelve Protectors at a time, and each had possession of one of the twelve Nalrék, or Swords of Spirit. The Nalrék could only be wielded by a Protector, and had secret powers that could be awakened in times of despair. With each Nalrék went a Nalyàk, or Gem of Spirit. The Nalyàk, in their own right, were powerful weapons, but when combined with a Nalrék and a Protector, few things could stand in their way.

Then, some hundred years ago, a large army of unknown creatures invaded the northern plains of the Fifth Kingdom, and the Wars came, with one kingdom falling after another against this new and powerful foe. Eventually, there was only one kingdom left, the Amlòrä Kingdom, and only four Protectors remained to defend it, with the others having been lost in battle or mysteriously disappearing. The Swords of Spirit owned by the fallen Protectors vanished along with their wielders, causing great fear that they had fallen into enemy hands. Eventually, the last kingdom was forced back into its final haven, a small piece of land between the Bînölk Mountains and the Malainik River, where they constantly fought for survival against the invaders, called Gálkiks, which meant ‘inevitable death.’

At first it seemed the Gálkiks followed no master but attacked in a wildly disordered yet overwhelming manner. But soon it became obvious that there was a Lord of the Gálkiks, secretly whispering his commands, and the attacks became more cunning and deadly with each passing day. The Gálkiks set up headquarters to the north of the Last Kingdom, in what used to be the green plains of the Third Kingdom. The Gálkiks called their empire Tàlôr, and all the land outside the small Amlòrä Kingdom became known as the Desolation of Tàlôr. The Lord Tàlôr gave his orders from the summit of Mount Glâlskik, a lone mountain to the north of the Bînölk Mountains.

Suddenly, two years ago, the invasions stopped. The red glow which had always shone out from Mount Glâlskik ceased. The final four Protectors and Arengin, who was still an apprentice, watched and waited for answers to these new events. During that time, three Protectors mysteriously disappeared without a trace, their Nalrék and Nalyàk vanishing with them. Aregin and his master, the last trained Protector, searched endlessly for the missing Protectors and weapons, but found nothing. Then came a great battle in the west, in which some unknown spell produced a great white flash that knocked down both Arengin and his master. His master vanished, and when Arengin finally woke up he found himself alone and helpless.

Arengin immediately continued the search for the missing Nalrék and Nalyàk. His quest led him throughout the continent, but every time he thought he had found the location of a sword or gem, he found that he was wrong. Protectors can normally predict the future with a good deal of accuracy, but Arengin found he could not predict the locations of the Nalrék and Nalyàk, and he started to lose confidence in himself. A new fear also began to seize him, as he began to believe that the Lord Tàlôr may not be the true master of evil in Phraran. Arengin thought nervously of the thickening black mist gathering around Calîkё Rock. Calîkё Rock was where the Sorcerer had lived before being destroyed by the Protectors centuries ago. A permanent evil still clung to the small island, engulfing it in a swirling black fog, forbidding and intimidating.

Arengin shuddered as he stopped and adjusted the pack on his shoulder, and then continued down the slope toward Tàlôr where he clearly foresaw a sword of spirit should lay. Arengin felt confident about his mission. Before he had always thought maybe a sword will be found over here, maybe a gem over there, but now he felt certain. At the base of these mountains in the Desolation of Tàlôr, he would find a sword. He knew this.

At the next pass, Arengin turned, heading further west into the mountains. The snow became deeper and a strong wind off the ocean started to whip it around, blinding him. He trudged on for several more hours, taking the easiest notches and passes as they came. When the sun set, he made a camp in a cave. Using some leaves, he lit a fire and then gathered as much wet wood as he could find. Finally, the fire started to blaze. Kalikh croaked happily and settled himself close, ruffling his feathers. Arengin opened his pack and gave Kalikh some berries which he hungrily devoured, while Arengin thoughtfully chewed a piece of dried salted meat.

The next morning the wind had stopped, but a new batch of snow had fallen during the night, completely covering the cave entrance. After freeing himself from the wintery prison, Arengin resumed his march. It was mostly downhill now, and Arengin hoped to reach his destination by noon. The sun shone brighter today, but it did little to warm up the bitterly cold mountains. Kalikh was becoming increasingly cold and tired in these conditions, and Arengin knew he had to get him to a warmer climate soon. Well, at least their destination would be warmer, he thought wryly.

A few hours before noon, Arengin came to the top of a small ridge overlooking the Desolation of Tàlôr. The ground was covered with scorched, black grass, the majority of it trampled flat by the thousands of Gálkiks roaming the plain, a terrifying army. Mount Glâlskik rose high beyond the plain, casting a dark shadow. Arengin began to somberly descend along a ledge. The temperature rapidly increased, and Kalikh squawked happily. Suddenly, Arengin halted, alert. He could hear the measured stamping of feet. He quickly climbed down from the ledge, clinging to some rocks on the side of the cliff. Kalikh flew up a short distance, and then came diving down, quietly croaking the answer Arengin did not want to hear. The marching became louder, and Arengin pulled himself close to the cliff. He was disturbed, for he had not predicted encountering enemies. The Gálkiks were now directly above them, and Arengin could see their metal boots as they passed by. Then he slipped, barely catching himself. The marching stopped. A Gálkik’s head appeared, completely covered in a metal helmet, with two small slits for the fiery red eyes that shone with delight as they gazed on the helpless, hanging man.

“What have we here?” the Gálkik said, “A scout? A thrill seeker? Well, none of that matters. You are trespassing on Tàlôr and will be punished accordingly.”  The Gálkik  reached down and easily lifted Arengin onto the ledge, where fifty Gálkiks were waiting. He thought he should be able to hold his own against them for awhile if he could foresee every move. But, at the moment, he found he could not see the future at all, and he did not want to risk such a bold attack against so many Gálkiks. He would have to stay calm and watch for an opportunity. The Gálkiks took his sword and tied his hands together, then forced him to march near the front of the line. Well, this was one way to get to his destination, he thought, if only he could find an escape before he was brought to the heart of Tàlôr. They marched at a brisk pace, but Arengin had no trouble keeping up, in fact, now that the first terror and dread was over, he was optimistic about escaping and getting to his goal. Kalikh flew high above, unnoticed by the enemies. As they descended down and down, the temperature continued to climb and the rocks became black and cracked. Arengin saw that the bottom was approaching quickly and the time for his escape had come. He looked up at Kalikh and nodded his head. Kalikh dove quickly out of the sky and ripped through the ropes binding Arengin’s hands  Arengin knocked down the Gálkiks immediately around him with lightning quick strikes. Then he wrenched his sword from one of the downed Gálkiks, flipped over the Gálkiks in front of him, striking down a few more that stood in his way, before racing down the path.

Arrows flew by his head, and Arengin could hear running behind him. The ledge became rougher and more jagged as it approached the floor, and he almost fell twice. Then Arengin stopped short, as the path dropped suddenly before his feet. The last thirty feet of the ledge were almost vertical. Taking a deep breath, he began the descent, slipping and sliding down the remainder of the ledge. Above him, he heard the Gálkiks also begin to descend the cliff. Arengin’s feet hit the ground, and he let out his breath. Then he continued to run, knowing his destination was close. The Gálkiks reached the floor and fired more arrows. Using his limited foresight, Arengin was barely able to avoid all the arrows. He saw his goal ahead, a flat rock face in the mountains to his left. This hid an ancient Protector temple, the place where his foresight showed him a sword was being kept. The Gálkiks were blowing horns and summoning reinforcements as Arengin stopped before the stone, placed his hand on it, and murmured a few words. The stone trembled, and began to rise.

Gálkiks began closing in on all sides as Arengin slipped beneath the rising door and hastily ordered it to shut again. He was aware that only a Protector could open such a door, and it troubled him that a sword could be hidden here. It meant that someone else had mastered the powers of the Protectors. The image of the black mist over Calîkё Rock flashed in his mind, but he shrugged off the feeling for now and began to slowly walk down a long passageway lit by permanent pale lights set in walls covered with carvings and writing.

He felt at home with the carved figures and peaceful lights. Kalikh fluttered along beside Arengin, often landing on his shoulder. The passage continued for what seemed like miles, but finally Arengin saw an opening cut into the rock. A bright light spilled out into the passage. He broke into a run, passing through the door. As he entered the room, he stopped suddenly, blinking in the brightness. The room was large, built in the same style as the passageway, with carvings and writings on the walls. Lights on the ceiling shone forth strongly, illuminating a spot at the end of the room. There stood an altar with a red, thin cushion on top. Behind the altar was a brilliantly painted statue, towering up towards the ceiling. Arengin didn’t know or care who the statue was supposed to represent; he only had eyes for the altar. There he knew he would find a sword. He knew it. His confidence was now flooding back strongly. The end of his quest was in sight. This sword would lead him to the others, and soon nothing would stand in his way. He stopped before the altar, which was also covered in writing from a language he could not understand, and he slowly looked down. The lights dimmed, and the very mountains shook as Arengin recoiled, his hands trembling. How could this be? How could he be so wrong? He fell to his knees in anguish.

Arengin slowly stood, coming to his senses. He once again went to the altar, and, for a second time, he found it empty. No, not empty, for there was a small piece of metal. Arengin picked it up and studied it. His confidence completely shattered as his heart throbbed and his mind whirled. Engraved in the piece of metal was the symbol of Calîkё Castle-two bears fighting to the death.

Arengin slipped the piece of metal into his pocket and stumbled towards the door. He now could see no future. He had heard stories of Protectors who had rushed to conclusions or picked the wrong future to follow, and as a result, lost their powers. Was he now one of these? Arengin looked around for Kalikh and found him hovering nearby.

“Kalikh,” Arengin said, his voice quivering, “how did I misjudge this? If only my master was here to help me.”  With that, Arengin sank to the floor, his head in his hands. Kalikh landed on his shoulder and softly pecked his ear. Angrily, Arengin reached up to brush him away, then froze. So he had lost most of his Protector powers. That didn’t matter because he now knew where all the swords and gems were, and who was responsible for the evil in Phraran-the Sorcerer of Calîkё Rock. Arengin knew what he had to do. He had to go there and defeat the Sorcerer alone. Even his small power gave him a better chance of defeating the enemy without soldiers. They would only get in the way and be easily destroyed.

But now Arengin had to focus on getting out of the temple. He slowly made his way back to the main door in deep thought. The fact that the Sorcerer was back explained how the temple had been opened in the first place. The Sorcerer had similar powers to a Protector. Arengin listened carefully to any movements outside, but heard nothing, maybe because the door was soundproof, or maybe because no one was out there. Arengin drew his sword and put his hand on the door, murmuring the passwords. The door started to rise, and Arengin let out a sigh of relief. At least he had enough power to raise a temple door. He soon found out that the door was soundproof, as a large army of Gálkiks was waiting on the other side. It seemed the evil creatures could not enter the temple, and their arrows exploded before they flew through the door, so Arengin had time to consider his next move. If he had all his power and foresight, Arengin might have stood a chance against the large army for long enough to make it to the ledge. But Arengin did not trust himself enough for such a risky attack. It was much more dangerous than attacking the fifty enemies on the ledge, and he had even less power now. But what was the alternative? Let himself get captured again and make an escape? Arengin looked for any weakness in the angry mob waiting for him, but there seemed to be no way out save by fighting. He looked down at his plain, normal sword and wished it was a Nalrék.

Suddenly, there came the sound of a horn being blown. Off to the left, an army of men appeared on the crest of a small rise in the black plains-the long awaited offensive by the king! The Gálkiks yelled angrily and quickly moved away to meet the invaders. Arengin raced out of the temple and headed towards the ledge in the midst of the confusion, dueling several Gálkiks on the way. Once he was on the ledge, he looked back and saw with dismay that there were about twice as many Gálkiks as men. Well, we have been known to win in such situations before, Arengin thought. The Gálkiks charged first, and numbers were clearly to their advantage in the charge. The men were being pushed back immediately, and Arengin feared the King had underestimated his enemy. Arengin looked at his sword again. If he got involved now, he could help change the tide. Even a weak Protector was as good as a thousand men. But would that be enough? And if it wasn’t enough and he ended up dead, then Phraran would lose its last Protector and complete defeat would be certain. Yet even if the men won today, the Sorcerer was still waiting on his island. Who would deal with him?

“Yes,” Arengin decided, “my mission is to defeat the Sorcerer and get back the Nalrék and Nalyàk.”  Kalikh croaked his approval, and Arengin sadly turned and headed up the trail. If he destroyed the Sorcerer, then it would be easy to take down Tàlôr. Behind him Arengin heard the sounds of the battle. There was the clash of steel and the splinter of shields. There were the cries of desperate men and the laughter of triumphant Gálkiks. A knot formed inside him, and he hesitated, almost turning to aid the men.

“They saved me from the Gálkiks by showing up when they did. And now they have to die while I run. Oh Kalikh, this is terrible. I don’t know how I will live with myself. I fear I made the wrong choice,” Arengin lamented. Kalikh made a sympathetic croak, and then flew up to scout the area. Arengin sighed, and ran up the trail toward the mountain passes as fast as he could. The battle soon ended, with a small group of survivors making a swift retreat. They were all that was left of the army. Now the kingdom was undefended and at Tàlôr’s mercy.

Arengin struggled up the mountain passes he had earlier descended so eagerly. Evening was settling in, and it was starting to snow again. He found another cave to camp in, and then continued on for the next two nights. By noon on the third day, Arengin came to a small summit and found himself looking down on the Amlòrä Kingdom. Amlòrä was also snow covered, but it was not nearly as cold as the tall mountains. The kingdom’s southern border was the Malainik River, beyond which lay the Fire of Tàlôr, a black plain similar to the Desolation of Tàlôr to the north except here there were lakes of lava everywhere and small erupting volcanic cones, making passage through this area nearly impossible, even for the enemy.

Arengin scrambled down the final slopes, carefully navigating the rocks, frozen ponds, and snow drifts. Eventually, he arrived on the flat plains and came to the gate of one of four cities in the kingdom, Ninál. He decided against entering it and headed down the road toward the capital city, Archlin. It would take about a week to reach Archlin, but he didn’t mind, for a long march through nice, level terrain without the deep snow of the mountains was just what he needed. Kalikh seemed pleased to be back in a reasonable climate without extremes of cold or heat. Flying happily high above, he squawked joyfully as he darted across the sky while Arengin walked along the snow covered road, marked by a series of small stone pillars. There was an occasional bare tree, mournfully waving its leafless branches. The terrible battle in the north haunted his thoughts. He dearly hoped more than a few survivors would make their way back. Finally, he angrily pushed the battle out of his mind. It happened, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

Night slowly descended on the kingdom, and Arengin made camp beside the road. He found some wood scattered on the ground near a tree and started a fire. The next few days varied little. On the fourth day, he saw a large stone marking a junction ahead. He needed to turn left at this junction to head north towards the capital. As he approached he saw someone resting there. Still weighed by the past events, he was reluctant to talk with anyone. He decided he would attempt to head down the road as quickly as possible, only talking enough to avoid seeming rude. As he got closer he saw that it was a tall young woman with long red hair. She was sitting with her back to the stone reading a book.

The girl looked up and said with a smile, “Another traveller! I thought these roads were empty except for me! Where are you going, wayfarer?”  Arengin took a few steps back, stunned by the exuberant greeting. He steadied himself and answered, “I’m going to Archlin.” The girl looked at Arengin expectantly, and Arengin grudgingly added,  “Where are you going?”  The girl closed her book and said, “I am also going to Archlin! My aunt lives there and she has wanted me to visit for a long while now. I live in Olôk with my mother. She was terrified about me making the journey alone, but she can not travel anymore since she broke her ankle, and we do not have any friends who wanted to make the trip. Maybe someone would have gone if it wasn’t winter, but you know how difficult it is to travel in winter. The roads are in awful shape…”  the girl kept talking and Arengin began to feel an overwhelming desire to turn and run back down the road, but he couldn’t let his mission be delayed by an overly friendly girl, he thought. He turned his attention back to the girl, who had abruptly stopped.

“...Oh, I’m sorry, have I been rambling on? I tend to do that and I never catch myself until it is too late. I haven't even introduced myself yet! My name is Elîssa, what is your name?” Arengin gathered himself together and answered, “Arengin. I am Arengin.”

“Arengin!”  Elîssa said excitedly, “That was my grandfather’s name!” Elîssa stood up and warmly shook Arengin’s hand. Arengin was starting to feel more comfortable. Maybe having Elîssa as a companion on the road wouldn’t be so bad. It would be like the many journeys he had had with his master so long ago.

At this moment Kalikh dove down from the sky where he had been hovering and landed on Arengin’s shoulder, squawking in a friendly tone.

“Goodness!” Elîssa exclaimed, taking a few steps back, “Where did that thing come from?”  Arengin laughed and answered while letting Kalikh hop onto his wrist, “This is my raven, Kalikh. I found him sick on the side of a road many years ago and I rescued him.”  Arengin scratched Kalikh’s head and the bird croaked happily.

“I’ve never heard of anyone taming a bird before,” Elîssa said with wonder as she cautiously reached forward to pet Kalikh. Arengin hoped she didn’t ask how and why he had tamed Kalikh, as that would involve telling her that he was a Protector, which he could not do. So he quickly changed the subject. “You said earlier that you are going to Archlin. As long as we are going in the same direction we might as well travel together. Your mother is right, it is dangerous to travel alone especially if you are unarmed...” Elîssa spun around quickly, drawing a sword from beneath her cloak and swinging it near Arengin. Kalikh fluttered into the air with an alarmed squawk while Arengin blocked the blow with his own sword. Elîssa stepped back and a little smile creeped onto her face.

“You could have killed me!” Arengin fumed.

“A young man like you who can’t survive a surprise attack deserves to die,” Elîssa said as she sheathed her sword, “I am not weaponless, as you can see,” Elîssa continued. Kalikh slowly flew back down and alighted on Arengin’s shoulder. Arengin sheathed his own sword and, clearing his throat, answered, “Indeed. Anyway, it is still dangerous to travel alone, armed or unarmed.”

“Yes it is. You are right, we should go together,” Elîssa said, smiling brightly as she put her pack on her shoulder.

So they set off north. The road ran through a large gap in the mountains. At the end of this gap was the city of Archlin, situated on the coast. Elîssa barely stopped talking during the journey. Arengin stayed quiet during most of the day, surprised to find himself content to listen. By evening they had made good progress down the road, and they hoped to reach Archlin by the next night.

As they were preparing the camp for the night, Elîssa grew quiet and watched the stars shining in the clear sky. As Arengin was tending to the fire, she suddenly asked, “do you ever wonder about the future?”  Arengin looked up, shocked.

“Sometimes, I suppose,” He answered, carefully choosing his words, “The future is a mysterious thing. You can spend your whole life trying to learn it’s secrets, and just when you think you know all about the future and what it holds, you find how little you really do know.” Elîssa nodded in agreement.

“Sometimes I feel like I can almost see what will happen next,” she said, “but when I try to reach out and grab the future, it hovers just beyond my grasp. Like an illusive utopia, always promising perfection and seeming so close, yet so far at the same time,” Elîssa became silent again, and Arengin turned back to the dying fire, still surprised by her question. He fell into deep thought over his own fast approaching future until the fire finally went out and he settled down to try to sleep.

The next day, Elîssa seemed to never run out of things to talk about. Arengin had learned by this point almost every important and not so important happening in Olôk as well as nearly all of Elîssa’s family history. But he still didn’t mind, as the constant talking kept his mind off the terrible battle and his loss of power. Arengin had spent much of the night thinking about Elîssa’s description of the future. It was very true, he had decided, and he was surprised to find such a profound thought from someone who spent most of the time talking endlessly about essentially nothing. It was mid-afternoon on the second day when they caught their first sight of the city in the distance.

“...there is Archlin now,” Elîssa was saying, “It has been two years since I’ve visited. How big it it is! I always remember it smaller. I don’t see why we fear Tàlôr so much, as I can’t see how anyone could break those walls! And the army has probably already won the victory the King hoped for in the north…” Elîssa kept talking but Arengin had stopped listening. How much of the population was also excitedly expecting news of a victory and what would they do when they learned the awful truth? He felt the knot tighten inside of him and his thoughts drifted towards what the inevitable future seemed to be. He was surprised to find he could foresee small fragments of future, but those fragments depressed him more than having no foresight at all. He accidently sighed and Elîssa stopped talking and looked at him.

“I have been rambling on again, haven’t I? I am so dearly sorry, you must be dead tired of my talking. I can be quiet when I try very hard,” she said. Arengin shook his head and answered, “Keep talking. I don’t mind it. I am not upset about your talking.”  Elîssa continued to look at Arengin as they walked and said, “Well, something is bothering you, but you don’t have to tell me. I am, after all, still virtually a stranger, and it is none of my business to ask what is bothering people I don’t know well. My uncle never learned this lesson. He used to…”  Arengin smiled, and felt at peace again.

They continued on into the evening and a light snow began to fall. The sun set behind the mountains, and they made camp a few miles outside of the city, since no one was allowed to enter at night. There was a small group of trees nearby, so Arengin had no trouble starting a fire. Elîssa had stopped talking a few minutes before, and Arengin was wondering if she had finally run out of things to say, or was about to ask another deep question. He took some dried meat out of his bag and started to warm it over the fire. His thoughts turned to his dangerous and almost certainly deadly mission ahead. He did not truly know what he would find on the small island besides the Sorcerer. Would all the swords and gems be there? Would Calîkё Castle still be standing? Arengin struggled to see what was hidden from him. Elîssa sat quietly a little distance away. She suddenly sighed and opened her bag, pulling out an object. Arengin immediately looked up, letting his meat drop into the fire. Elîssa was staring at the object in her hands, turning it over and over. Arengin stood up and slowly walked towards her. He looked down at the object she held. He stumbled back, almost falling into the fire. Trembling, he steadied himself. It was a Nalyàk! The gem shone a brilliant red, sending beams of light out from its innumerable number of faces. This was a Nalyàk. Arengin could feel it. There wasn’t any doubt about it. Elîssa turned and looked back at him.

“Is there anything wrong?” She asked as she noticed Arengin’s pale face. Arengin pointed to the gem and said, hoarsely, “Where did you get that?”  Elîssa looked back down at the gem and then answered with a frown on her face, “This is my family heirloom. My father gave it to me before going off to war. It has been passed down for many generations. I always take it with me wherever I go. It brings me comfort.”

Elîssa’s story made little sense to him. How could a Nalyàk be in the hands of a normal family? Was one of Elîssa’s ancestors a Protector and somehow his gem ended up in the family and they forgot what it really was? Or did one of her ancestors find it on a battlefield next to a fallen Protector? Arengin’s mind raced with these thoughts, but he decided it didn’t matter how she ended up with the gem as long as she understood what it was...and why he so desperately needed it.

“Do you know what that is?” Arengin asked slowly, his voice still shaking. Elîssa stood up, still frowning.

“It's a gem,” she answered hesitantly, “It’s a beautiful and very rare gem.”  Arengin watched as she put the gem back into her pack and closed it tightly. His mind was spinning uncontrollably and he wasn’t sure how to tell her it was not a normal gem. His whole being yearned to use this gem in his battle against the Sorcerer. Such a sacred weapon would give him a huge advantage, even with his limited powers.

“That would be very useful to me,” Arengin said without thinking. Elîssa suddenly stood straight, picking up her pack and glaring at Arengin. She could see his deep desire for her beautiful gem across his face. She put her pack on her shoulder and drew her sword, stepping back quickly. Then, she turned and ran into the night, leaving Arengin standing by the fire, yearning for the gem.

Elîssa didn’t know how long she had been running before she finally stopped. She sheathed her sword while she looked around, panting. She had left the road in her flight, and did not know where she was. The Bînölk mountains rose before her and a lone tree stood nearby, shining silver in the moonlight. The wind howled across the plains while she dropped to her knees, taking off her pack. She could see the city’s lights in the distance and thought she shouldn’t have any trouble reaching it tomorrow. Her thoughts turned to Arengin as she unloaded her pack. The world had enough enemies in it without men like him lurking around causing even more trouble, she thought angrily. She reached into her pack and took out the gem again, thankful to still have it. She studied its enchanting glow and its perfect shape as she cradled it in her cupped hands. She wanted to feel angry and vengeful towards Arengin, but some inner voice was telling her Arengin was not a thief and she had made a mistake leaving him. She was upset and confused by this voice. She tried to ignore it but found it was growing stronger by the minute. Then images started to come to her, images of Arengin facing a powerful enemy and being struck down. The inner voice began to speak to her again, whispering, “He’s a Protector, a defender of Light, and you are, too…”

Arengin tried to pretend he didn’t care about Elîssa running off. He knew he wasn’t a thief and that’s all that mattered, he told himself. And yet as the rising sun found him still awake, he realized that he was indeed troubled by her opinion of him. Why should I be? He angrily packed his bag and set off immediately, ignoring Kalikh’s attempts to cheer him up. Expecting to reach the harbor by noon, he continued down the road towards the city. He couldn't help but feel disappointed that he had to face the Sorcerer without a Nalyàk, but he tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

As the morning wore on, he began to feel more and more uneasy, almost as if he was being watched. He sent Kalikh on search missions multiple times but he always reported no one in sight. Arengin shrugged off the feeling, blaming it on his weak and unsteady powers. The city walls rose high above him as he arrived at Archlin. He stealthily made his way around the walls, and at midday found himself looking out over the harbor towards CaIîkë Rock.

Elîssa had not slept that night either. She kept seeing vivid images in her head of Arengin facing a Sorcerer and losing. She saw him in some sort of temple approaching an altar. She saw him find the emblem of Calîkё Castle on the altar. Suddenly she understood his mission and saw his problems. She did not fully believe these images and kept trying to find some rational explanation for them. The voice in her head kept repeating that he was a Protector. Elîssa found this nearly impossible to believe. Weren’t all the Protectors dead? By morning she was extremely confused. She did not head for the city immediately. Instead, she found her way to a small ledge looking over the road. There she saw Arengin slowly walking towards Archlin. Surely he was a poor thief and would just enter the city when he reached it. Elîssa continued to follow him throughout the morning, always finding cover when that raven of his flew around. Around noon time, she climbed a small foothill of the mountains near the city and watched as Arengin approached Archlin. She dearly hoped he would simply enter the city and she could dismiss all these weird images. Then she saw him turn left, going around the walls instead of entering Archlin. Her heart beat quickly as she watched him make his way towards the empty harbor. It was a small harbor, with one wooden pier running out into the water. She watched as Arengin walked along the pier to a small sailboat. He set the sail and began to navigate towards the black island. Elîssa felt her heart turn ice cold as she gazed at the mysterious island. She paced around nervously on the hill for a few moments, and then, to her complete surprise, she dashed down the hill towards the harbor, her eyes fixed on Arengin’s boat as it approached the island.

Arengin carefully held the rudder of the boat, keeping a straight course. There was a very strong wind and the small boat sped quickly across the water, rising and falling over the waves. Black mist completely engulfed the island, hiding any details of the place. The hours crawled by, and as they did the wind shifted, coming directly from the north. This slowed Arengin’s progress considerably, but he still managed to reach the vicinity of the island before the sun completely set. The little boat entered the black mist, sending chills down Arengin’s spine. He could barely see through the thick fog, but he stayed on course, and, just as night was settling in, he moored the boat on the blackened shore and slowly looked up at the dark castle towering above him.

It was that time of winter when the world stands still; that time when a veil seems to hang over the mountains and rivers, the oceans and islands; that time when cold embeds itself deep into the rocks and roots, freezing every soul; that time when snow comes swirling out of the heavens, coating the ground in a blanket that silences life.

Black mist hung in the air, covering the small island in utter darkness. Grey rocks sloped up to the ancient castle, which had large towers and pillars lying in ruin on the ground. From the top of the tallest remaining tower near the back of the castle, a bright red light shone out, menacing yet beckoning. Arengin reluctantly made his way, navigating the slippery stones with great care.

As he approached the castle, strange sounds filled the air, terrifying long moans, frightening enough to stop the hearts of most men, yet Arengin continued on, oblivious to the mist and sounds, intent only on reaching his goal. Kalikh strongly voiced his disapproval of the island, but Arengin commanded him to be silent. He drew his sword and threw off his cloak as he arrived at a series of steps leading to a large set of double doors. His steps created loud thuds as he climbed the ruined stairs. A loud moan caused Arengin to spin around, swinging his sword at an enemy he couldn’t see. He drew in a deep breath and started to climb again. At the door, he took hold of the circular handle and slowly began to push. It moved inward, creaking loudly. He quickly passed through, finding himself in a large chamber.

A faded red carpet, coated in a thick layer of dust, covered the floor. Across the room on the back wall were two open doors. The one on the right led to the part of the castle that laid in ruins. He carefully crossed the room toward the door on the left. On the other side he found a long hallway, with more doors along it. The ghostly sounds surrounded him, making his heart race and his hands tremble as he moved cautiously down the hall. The red carpet ended and there was only a bare stone floor beneath his steps, which echoed loudly. Torches along the walls provided light, and Arengin removed one from its mount, holding it in his left hand as he walked with his sword gripped tightly in his right hand. The hall ended with two new passageways diverging from it. Arengin again opted to go left, but he sent Kalikh to the right.

He immediately missed Kalikh’s company in this gloomy place. The unnerving sounds had stopped for the moment, yet Arengin hated the silence even more than the awful sounds. He jumped at the smallest noise, swinging his sword and torch in every direction frequently. Suddenly, he came to an open door on the right. He cautiously investigated, slowly entering the room. Inside he found a table and chairs in what had obviously once been a dining room. Arengin was about to turn back when he saw a shape on the far side of the room. He slowly made his way towards the shape and held his torch over it. The color drained from Arengin’s face. Before him was a skeleton, a skeleton of a Protector. Arengin could sense it. He spun around and ran back into the hall, his breath coming in gasps. So this is where the Protectors had disappeared, Arengin thought. The final pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. Nervously, he continued along the hall. The eerie sounds started again as he reached a winding, half-destroyed staircase. He carefully started to climb the stairs, which spiraled up one of the towers. Arengin began to strongly sense that someone or something was very close by. His breathing became heavy. A red light appeared as Arengin climbed higher. He left his torch on a step because he no longer needed it. The stairs finally came to an end at a large wooden door. Arengin gripped the handle and pushed it in. The door opened very slowly on its old, rusty hinges. The bright red light, previously only shining through from the cracks in the door, came pouring out from the other side, blinding Arengin for a moment. He then found himself staring into a large circular room. Cobwebs hung along the ceiling and walls, casting thin shadow across the dusty red carpet lining the floor. Across the room, there was another door which opened onto a balcony. On a small round table in the center of the room was a large ball which was emitting the red light. Arengin’s eyes turned to an open chest against the wall. He drew in a ragged breath. At last, he had found the Nalrék and Nalyàk.

He took a few eager steps into the room, but then stopped short, his body becoming numb and cold. A deep and menacing laugh suddenly sprang forth from the balcony, and the Sorcerer of CaIîkë Rock emerged from the shadows. He was almost transparent, and appeared as a tall, white, glowing figure. He looked very much like a skeleton, but was not all bones as one could still see the details of a scowling face. In each ghostly hand he held a pale, nearly transparent sword, which were not Nalrék, for even he could not wield a Nalrék.

“Finally I have you before me,” the Sorcerer said in a deep, harsh voice, “I have looked forward to this day for a long time, the day the last of the Protectors shall fall.” Now that he was face to face with his enemy, Arengin felt a calm, steady strength spread through him.

“You can try to destroy me,” Arengin cooly replied, “but you will never be able to destroy the power of Light. Darkness can never fully conquer.”  The Sorcerer again laughed.

“You are right, but Light can not completely vanquish darkness either,” the Sorcerer retorted, “Today it will be Evil that suppresses Light, for you are outmatched, my young friend.”

“We shall see,” Arengin said, raising his sword. The Sorcerer leaped from the balcony, flipping through the air, and locking his swords on Arengin’s. Arengin quickly stepped back, swinging his sword wildly at the Sorcerer. The Sorcerer blocked Arengin’s blows easily, and soon forced Arengin onto the defensive, using his two swords to his advantage. Arengin had to continuously step backwards, avoiding the arc of one sword while blocking the other. He knew he couldn’t hold out forever; he had to choose a better location for this encounter. So he turned, racing back down the winding stairs. He could sense the Sorcerer gaining on him, and stopped halfway, suddenly attacking the Sorcerer again. The Sorcerer was taken slightly off guard at first, but soon was forcing Arengin back down the stairs. The Sorcerer‘s white glow provided all the light they needed, and all Arengin could see in the darkness of the castle were the swinging, half invisible arms and swords of the Sorcerer. They reached the bottom of the winding stairs and Arengin ran down the hall, retracing his steps. The Sorcerer attacked Arengin again, but Arengin quickly slid to the side, causing the Sorcerer to tumble onto the ground. He was up in a flash, before Arengin could make any move, and pinned Arengin against the wall, locking one of his swords against Arengin’s sword while placing the other on Arengin’s neck. Arengin desperately wished he could foresee his enemy’s moves. He wished he had his full powers. More than anything, he wished his master was here. The Sorcerer now began to laugh slowly, and said menacingly, “I know what troubles you. You are weak, half-trained, and alone. Your confidence is broken and your spirit is crushed. You want your master to save you? He can not save you, but you may see him again before we are finished, though I doubt the sight of him will bring you any joy.”

Arengin grabbed hold of the Sorcerer’s hand, trying to wrestle the sword from his neck. He glared up at his enemy’s face, and met the cold eyes that pierced his soul. Arengin struggled, but he found the Sorcerer too strong. In desperation, he kicked out at the Sorcerer,  who seemed to have half expected the move, but even so he stepped back slightly. It was enough for Arengin to suddenly drop down, slide off to the side, and run down the hall before the Sorcerer could strike again. Arengin reached the hallway he had sent Kalikh down earlier. What had happened to that bird? He raced down the hall, looking for Kalikh as well as a place to hide and catch his breath. Abruptly, he stopped, for ahead of him, out of the darkness, he could make out four more glowing figures approaching him. He looked behind and found he couldn’t see the Sorcerer. He held his sword unsteadily. Was there more than one Sorcerer? Arengin dearly hoped not, as he was having a hard enough time with only one. The new figures were not as tall as the Sorcerer, and seemed less skeletal-like. Then Arengin let out a cry. The new figures were Protectors! Arengin recognized the faces of three Protectors he used to travel with. And then the color completely drained from his face, for he recognized the fourth new figure as his master!

“Master!” Aregin cried, “Master, what has the Sorcerer done to you?”  The figures did not answer or show any signs of having heard Arengin’s outburst. He raised his sword, watching in horror as the four glowing Protectors continued their forward march. Arengin realized that some Protectors had met a fate worse than death in this cursed place. The ghostly Protectors met Arengin’s raised sword with powerful blows. Arengin blocked the first few strikes before turning and running. He had no wish to fight former Protectors, even if they had been turned into Sorcerers. Arengin raced down the hall leading to the main entrance. He was outmatched and now thought only of escaping this place to figure out his next move. He burst through the door, rushing down the steps towards the sea. Then Arengin stumbled to a halt and sank to his knees in despair. Ahead of him, blocking his way to the boat, stood the Sorcerer. Behind him Arengin felt the advancing fallen Protectors. He dropped his head into his hands and waited for his death, but then an image flooded his mind, a brief piece of the future! He jerked up again, alert. He suddenly could see several futures laid before him, and felt some of his powers coming back. He slowly stood and glared down the steps at the Sorcerer. The Sorcerer didn’t move, but a slow smile appeared on his face. Raising his sword, Arengin charged down the remaining steps with a harsh yell. The Sorcerer hissed and held his swords ready. Arengin swung his sword at the Sorcerer with great force, unbalancing him. The fallen Protectors arrived, and Arengin fought madly, only seeing five Sorcerers that must be wiped out, not caring anymore what they might once have been. His sword darted about with lightning speed, causing one of the Sorcerer Protectors to fall to the ground, and as it did it suddenly took the form of a real Protector, now at peace. He hadn’t killed the Protector, he realized. All he had done was destroy the curse that had taken over the Protector, a curse that had kept him trapped between life and death.

Arengin forced the remaining Sorcerers back near the water, foreseeing almost every move. He could feel most of his powers surging back, but he still struggled to defend himself against his multiple opponents. Another Sorcerer Protector fell under Arengin’s attack, and Arengin felt a knot in his stomach as he briefly saw the lifeless, yet peaceful, face of a Protector. A particularly hard blow sent Arengin to his knees, with his sword over his head, blocking the onslaught of swords. Then a sudden scream filled the air and Arengin felt his heart uplift. Through a rare gap in the mist, Arengin and his enemies watched as a small black cloud shot up from across the ocean and dissipated into the star filled night. The Sorcerers hissed and backed away, unsteady and confused. Something had disrupted their power. Something had happened across the Great Sea in Marlonoran. Had they finally destroyed Morarlan, the evil lord they had feared for so long on that continent, Arengin wondered. He seized the moment and viciously attacked the weakened Sorcerers, causing another corrupted Protector to fall. Arengin looked down at the fallen Protector and saw with astonishment that this one was still clinging to life. The Protector breathed heavily for a moment, and then, looking up at Arengin with a smile, whispered, “thank you,” with his last breath. Arengin redoubled his attack on the two remaining Sorcerers, now forcing them back towards the castle. The last remaining Sorcerer Protector was his master, and Arengin suddenly felt overwhelmed with anguish fighting even this hideous variation of his past mentor and friend. Arengin gazed at the pale, transparent face, and his eyes filled with tears. He then knew he had to free his master from this terrible fate, and there was only one way to do it: he had to kill him.

The Sorcerers turned and fled back into the castle, with Arengin close behind. As the enemies mounted the winding stairs, Kalikh flew out of the side hall.

“Kalikh! Where in Pharan have you been this whole time!” Arengin barked in frustration. Kalikh squawked a response as he flew alongside Arengin.

“Yes, Kalikh, I noticed there is more than one Sorcerer! Are they what kept you stuck back there?”  Kalikh gave an affirmative croak followed by a rapid series of croaks.

“We can exchange war stories after we finish the war!” Arengin interjected, “now let’s focus on getting rid of these pathetic creatures!”  They followed the Sorcerers back up the winding stairs, arriving at the top of the tower again. There the Sorcerers turned and waited for Arengin. Arengin fiercely attacked, while Kalikh hovered above, diving and pecking at the enemies whenever he could. Arengin fought his way to the chest by the wall. He quickly discarded his old sword for two Nalrék. At his touch, the Nalrék began to glow, highlighting the intricate designs carved on their blades and hilts. The sword in Arengin’s right hand glowed green and the one in his left hand glowed red. The Nalrék felt as light as feathers, and he was able to swing them so quickly that all that could be seen were red and green blurs. The Sorcerer and his corrupted master managed to hold their own, for they both had a form of Protector powers. The fight raged on, with Arengin now having a clear advantage over his opponents. But then the Sorcerer suddenly jumped back with lightning speed as Arengin lunged, swinging his sword, causing him to fall to the floor. His corrupted master stepped on him, pinning him down. The Sorcerer held his swords above Arengin with a laugh and said, “A fine fight, one that I was proud to participate in. You will now die with honor, Arengin, and with you the last of the Protectors will die.”

“He is not the last of the Protectors,” a voice interjected from the stairs. Arengin saw Elîssa at the doorway, holding her sword in one hand and her gem in the other, which was glowing a vivid red. The Sorcerer was silent for a moment and then said with a hiss, “So, you found yourself an apprentice, Arengin. That is not so easy to do these days. But you have wasted your effort trying to train a new Protector. Now she must die, too.”

“Neither I nor Arengin will die today,” Elîssa said, and she suddenly charged forward, swinging her sword at the Sorcerers and forcing them off Arengin. He was up in a flash and immediately fighting again, greatly bewildered by this new turn of events. Elîssa is a Protector? She held her gem forward, and a bright flash came from it, knocking the Sorcerers to the edge of the balcony. They charged forward again, attacking Elîssa this time, not Arengin. Arengin shouted, “Elîssa!” and tossed her the green glowing Nalrék. “Throw me the gem!” He cried. Elîssa hesitated, then met Arengin’s pleading gaze, and quickly threw it to him. He inserted it into a slot in the hilt of his red Nalrék, and the sword immediately blazed with triple the intensity it had before. He grasped the sword with both hands and held it steadily at his enemies. It emitted a bright flash causing them to stumble backwards. His corrupted master fell to the ground at Arengin’s feet. He raised his sword, paused, then forced himself to deliver the final blow. He cried out as he saw his master become who he remembered him to be as he lay on the floor, still breathing.

“Master!” Arengin called, dropping to his side. His master looked up at him with a gentle smile.

“Arengin,” he gasped, his gaze shifting to the glowing the Nalrék. “You have completed our mission. You have done well.”  HIs master’s breaths grew shorter as he looked past Arengin at Elîssa struggling against the real Sorcerer.

“Teach the girl,” he said, and then he fell silent and still.

Arengin shuddered as he brushed the tears from his eyes, but there would be time to grieve later. Now, he must finish off the Sorcerer. Elîssa had been pushed back to the railing of the balcony, and Arengin rushed to her aid, attacking fiercely. The Sorcerer swung his sword at his head, and Arengin barely leapt out of the way, but the tip of the sword left its mark. He fell back as the Sorcerer flew at Elîssa, and Arengin froze in disbelief as she tumbled over the railing, screaming into the darkness below.

“Elîssa!” he shouted. Anger surged through him and his tightly gripped sword burned. With a loud yell, he rushed the Sorcerer, attacking with renewed strength. The Sorcerer fell back into the room, but Arengin leaped behind him, slamming shut the door to the stairs. The Sorcerer hissed, and Arengin attacked again, pushing the Sorcerer back against the wall, their swords locking.

“Light may never fully conquer,” Arengin said quietly, “but tonight, Light scores a victory.”  And with that, Arengin struck. The Sorcerer screamed, and the white, glowing form shot into the air. The red glowing ball on the table went dark and the mist slowly began to lift. Arengin sank to his knees, exhausted, grieving. Kalikh flew to his shoulder with a sympathetic croak as Arengin slowly rose to his feet,walking heavily through the door and down the stairs.

The front door shut behind him with a clang, and he collapsed against it, releasing a weary sigh. The moon and stars shone brightly in the sky, reluctant to yield to the first grey light of dawn in the east. The mountains and plains were still and silent. Everything seemed at peace, despite the darkness that still hung over the land. Much had been lost to Evil, and it would take a long time to rebuild. Arengin sighed again, but a movement to his right startled him abruptly. He gripped his sword tightly. Someone was slowly approaching. Then his eyes widened in disbelief. It was Elîssa! Of course she was able to save herself, Arengin thought, she’s a Protector. A Protector. I’m not alone anymore.  He staggered down the stairs as the first beams of sunlight broke the horizon, illuminating the few remaining mist clouds. Hope swelled within Arengin. The world may still be covered by the shadow of winter, but every winter eventually comes to an end.