themselves. You know what is more important. The Stronghold will have no significance if Gamearth is destroyed."
The message stick crackled again. Layers of ash slid off, leaving little of the stick unconsumed. Drodanis's words became garbled, overwritten with a sound like frying fat.
"The other Outsiders do not know you are aware of their plans. The Rulewoman has slipped this message past them. But be prepared ¯ if they find out, they will do everything to stop you.
"I am begging you to find a way to protect the world. Do not be sidetracked. This is the grandest quest in our history ¯ not for entertainment, but survival."
The hissing grew louder, and chunks of words drifted up into the chimney. "I am well. Lellyn is ... gone. Preserve Gamearth."
The message stick crumbled in a final burst of light. The image of Drodanis scattered and vanished with the flames up the chimney, leaving only the logs and the low fire.
The morning air had a fuzziness to it, erasing sharp details of the forest and the countryside. Tarne kept watch at the Stronghold walls, looking down upon the few villagers who still tried to do field work in the rising midmorning heat. Other defenders moved within the empty Stronghold courtyard, waiting. Waiting.
Tarne could not be specific about the time of attack, nor could he even tell them what enemy they would face. He had gone out again later that night and stared at the aurora for hours. He rubbed his temples, trying to concentrate, willing the clues to come, but the Veil remained closed to him, nothing more than silent green-gray curtains suspended above the world.
After burning the message stick, the four of them had discussed possible solutions. Delrael had seemed upset at his father's instructions to ignore the threat to the Stronghold.
Tarne stood tall and stared at Delrael. "I will stay here and fight.
This is my home. The Veil has given us a brief warning, and I will not waste it."
Delrael turned to watch the fire. He pounded a fist into his palm. "I hate to leave you, especially if you might have a battle ¯ but you heard the Rulewoman's message. We have to go and confront the greater enemy, whatever it is."
" How ?" Vailret had said. "We need to cut this thing off somehow, protect ourselves. But we know nothing about our enemy. It's hard to make a plan when you're blind-folded and have both hands tied behind your back."
Bryl hung his head and looked dejected. "If only we had the Air Stone."
"What about the other Stones?" Tarne asked. "Weren't there four of them?"
"Yes." Vailret furrowed his forehead. "The only one we could get to in a few days is the Water Stone. Sardun keeps it in his Ice Palace, north of us.
That one controls the weather and water, and Sardun's a powerful Sorcerer himself."
Bryl scratched at his ears. "Maybe we should go and ask him for help."
Delrael looked at Vailret, who shrugged. "It's a start."
Tarne had rapped his knuckles on the table, feeling the charisma grow in him again. He remembered fighting with Drodanis, he remembered giving orders on the battlefield. "I will gather up all the fighters from the village. We'll be ready at dawn."
He had stared beyond the walls, pondering. "The others may have to leave the village for a time and hide in the forest. But don't worry ¯ I will take care of them."
Before dawn Delrael, Bryl, and Vailret set off northward, bearing their standard packs and the weapons they had chosen at random. Vailret's precious old manuscripts lay in a large buried chest sealed with wax to prevent dampness from getting in. Tarne had no idea when they would return. His world, his adventure focused on protecting the Stronghold.
Now, at dawn, other villagers furtively glanced up at the top of the Hill. The Stronghold had protected their homes for centuries. Tarne realized that most of them hoped his vision would prove false, but he knew better. He had never been so sure.
Each of his picked defenders had been armed, some with relics
The message stick crackled again. Layers of ash slid off, leaving little of the stick unconsumed. Drodanis's words became garbled, overwritten with a sound like frying fat.
"The other Outsiders do not know you are aware of their plans. The Rulewoman has slipped this message past them. But be prepared ¯ if they find out, they will do everything to stop you.
"I am begging you to find a way to protect the world. Do not be sidetracked. This is the grandest quest in our history ¯ not for entertainment, but survival."
The hissing grew louder, and chunks of words drifted up into the chimney. "I am well. Lellyn is ... gone. Preserve Gamearth."
The message stick crumbled in a final burst of light. The image of Drodanis scattered and vanished with the flames up the chimney, leaving only the logs and the low fire.
The morning air had a fuzziness to it, erasing sharp details of the forest and the countryside. Tarne kept watch at the Stronghold walls, looking down upon the few villagers who still tried to do field work in the rising midmorning heat. Other defenders moved within the empty Stronghold courtyard, waiting. Waiting.
Tarne could not be specific about the time of attack, nor could he even tell them what enemy they would face. He had gone out again later that night and stared at the aurora for hours. He rubbed his temples, trying to concentrate, willing the clues to come, but the Veil remained closed to him, nothing more than silent green-gray curtains suspended above the world.
After burning the message stick, the four of them had discussed possible solutions. Delrael had seemed upset at his father's instructions to ignore the threat to the Stronghold.
Tarne stood tall and stared at Delrael. "I will stay here and fight.
This is my home. The Veil has given us a brief warning, and I will not waste it."
Delrael turned to watch the fire. He pounded a fist into his palm. "I hate to leave you, especially if you might have a battle ¯ but you heard the Rulewoman's message. We have to go and confront the greater enemy, whatever it is."
" How ?" Vailret had said. "We need to cut this thing off somehow, protect ourselves. But we know nothing about our enemy. It's hard to make a plan when you're blind-folded and have both hands tied behind your back."
Bryl hung his head and looked dejected. "If only we had the Air Stone."
"What about the other Stones?" Tarne asked. "Weren't there four of them?"
"Yes." Vailret furrowed his forehead. "The only one we could get to in a few days is the Water Stone. Sardun keeps it in his Ice Palace, north of us.
That one controls the weather and water, and Sardun's a powerful Sorcerer himself."
Bryl scratched at his ears. "Maybe we should go and ask him for help."
Delrael looked at Vailret, who shrugged. "It's a start."
Tarne had rapped his knuckles on the table, feeling the charisma grow in him again. He remembered fighting with Drodanis, he remembered giving orders on the battlefield. "I will gather up all the fighters from the village. We'll be ready at dawn."
He had stared beyond the walls, pondering. "The others may have to leave the village for a time and hide in the forest. But don't worry ¯ I will take care of them."
Before dawn Delrael, Bryl, and Vailret set off northward, bearing their standard packs and the weapons they had chosen at random. Vailret's precious old manuscripts lay in a large buried chest sealed with wax to prevent dampness from getting in. Tarne had no idea when they would return. His world, his adventure focused on protecting the Stronghold.
Now, at dawn, other villagers furtively glanced up at the top of the Hill. The Stronghold had protected their homes for centuries. Tarne realized that most of them hoped his vision would prove false, but he knew better. He had never been so sure.
Each of his picked defenders had been armed, some with relics
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