The lightnings flared behind and before him, growing stronger by the minute. As the scarred man rode toward the Forest, the wind returned with the force of a gale, and the horses reared, struggling against the currents. Arlan bent over the black stallion's ear and uttered its true Name in Druidian:

"Vortanion, Cerile Dei, Ervon il Keltiad se melier les veniel!"  ["Vortanion, Steadfast One, for Ervon and Keltiad you must fly like the wind!"]

Vortanion bellowed a challenge, and plunged headlong into the gathering storm. The druid's skin fairly tingled under the electrified atmosphere as they reached the shelter of the trees at the Forest's edge.

Once there he looked back at Cair Llewelyn, and Saw a silvery dome of protection enclosing the town. Their mages were apt to the task, and though a number of buildings had caught fire, Llewelyn would survive. Arlan sped into the Forest with one dire thought: he would just have to see to the rest of Keltiad.

Lightning ignited a tree a few paces from Arlan's horse. It burst into flames just as he passed it. The hot wind howled unceasingly between the boles, tearing away at branches savagely. Almost at once, several bolts of lightning struck, and trees near and far shattered like glass. Arlan rode low behind Vortanion. It was almost all he could do to keep his concentration on maintaining his shields, and that of the horses. He could feel they were ready to bolt, despite the calming spell he had placed upon them.

A shadow suddenly materialized across Arlan's path, and he reined his horse just in time to see the flame-reflected, frightened eyes of a mandrake. "Marsh!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Master Calidar sent me to bring you back," Marsh puffed. "'Tis the boy—"

The mandrake's stricken eyes said it all. Clearly he could not bring himself to speak of Jared and the nightmare this peaceful night had become.

"I know," said Arlan grimly. "Mount one of the horses. Fear not, they are spelled and will follow my lead."

With great reluctance, Marsh approached the brown mare. It regarded him with a wary eye as he climbed gingerly onto its back.

* * * * * * * * *

The rest of the journey was an ordeal for the young mandrake, who was perhaps the first mandrake ever in a hundred years or so to ride a horse. Raised with their feet anchored to the earth, mandrakes distrusted any mode of travel other than their own two feet. Marsh thought his heart would leap out of his chest with every gallop the steed made. The once lush forest, now smoldering, passed by with a swift, dreamlike quality. He closed his eyes and held tightly on the reins.

They burst into the clearing where the Healer's hut stood. Just as they passed the Sentinel trees, the destructive wind ceased instantly. Arlan swiftly dismounted while Marsh awkwardly slid down his horse's flank. The old Healer sat by Jared's side, just beyond the hut's entrance.

* * * * * * * * *

Calidar's eyes locked upon Arlan's, and he shook his head helplessly. "We are in the eye of the storm, with Jared at its center, but I'm afraid not for long," the Healer stated in a hollow voice.

Jared lay still under the rough blankets, his face a deathly pallor. Arlan could see the boy's shield flicker like a dying candle, protecting him to the very end, draining his remaining life force.

The druid knelt and placed his hand over Jared, his Power surrounding him with a blue glow. But nothing happened. Either the boy was too weak to make use of it, or his own Power rejected it, Arlan couldn't tell.

With a curse he rose and walked a few steps to the center of the clearing, looking up at the night sky, his thoughts in turmoil. 

A tinge of light purple hung over the horizon. Dawn was rapidly approaching.

The Soulless' words seemed to whisper into his mind:

The Child will not live through the night.

He will die, by the very forces that have felled his kind.

Arlan's face hardened, his hands clenched into fists at his side.
'I can't even begin to count the lives that have been shed in this war, the sacrifices no mortal should bear ...the blood on my hands. No, I can't let him die! Not when the fate of this world is at stake.'

Steeling himself, with deliberate steps he returned to where Calidar and Marsh knelt beside the boy. "He doesn't have much time. There is a way to save him, though you must know that if there is any other way than this, I would have taken it."

Arlan lifted Jared up in his arms, blankets and all.

Rising to his feet, the younger mandrake inquired anxiously. "Where you be taking him, Lord Arlan?"

Arlan grimaced, the moonlight making the scar on his face stand out. "A place where no sane man would ever dare venture. You have to trust me on this. I promise I will return with Jared, however long it takes."

He walked to where the horses were tethered to a nearby tree, Marsh holding Jared while he mounted Vortanion. Taking the boy from Marsh so he lay in front of him, supported between his arms, he turned his horse toward the Forest and the raging storm beyond.

"See to your safety until the storm abates." Arlan bowed his head at the Healer and the young mandrake. "I am grateful to you both. Jared would not have survived this day if not for your aid."

Marsh's large eyes glistened, unable to speak, while Calidar nodded solemnly, "We will await your return, Lord Druid."

* * * * * * * * *

Arlan spurred his horse forward, fighting against the howling, unrelenting winds, narrowly avoiding the smoldering branches that fell on either side. Jared lay still against his shoulder, covered protectively under his cloak. Finally, they emerged from the Forest's canopy, the druid reining the stallion to a stop.

As the faint, blue sliver of Ervon's sun peeked above the horizon, Arlan steeled himself, and spoke the dreaded name under his breath:

"Mergenthaal."

Suddenly the wind died down and the lightnings ceased, as if a great unseen hand had snuffed out the storm's violence effortlessly. A thick, heavy mist gathered over the hills before them. The druid's horse nickered nervously, pawing at the earth.

Arlan dismounted, carrying the boy in his arms. He whispered to Vortanion, releasing his hold over the steed. "Go, my friend, you have served me well."

The black stallion whickered, nuzzled him once, before turning its great head toward the Forest. Arlan hoped Vortanion would find his way back to the Healer's hut.

The scarred man squinted at the thick, roiling fog, gathering his Power, prepared for any eventuality.

A tall hooded figure gradually materialized in the gray mist, cloak billowing despite the lack of wind. The lower half of its face beneath the hood and its hands were as pale as the mist.

A Dardraath.

But there was something different about this Soulless; it moved with a fluid grace so unlike its undead nature.

"Follow me, Druid." It spoke in a voice that was dark, almost mesmerizing in its intensity. Half turning, the creature added, "Tread closely, lest you fall into the hollow depths."

Arlan frowned at the mocking tone, his wariness rising to new heights. He realized now who he truly faced. Mergenthaal had indeed come for Jared— in the body of a Soulless!

The Dardraath weaved its way through the unnatural mist, as Arlan followed suit, barely able to keep up. The damnable heavy fog was disorienting, stifling his senses. But that was nothing compared to what transpired next—

Where the hills of Keltiad sprawled around him just a moment ago, the peaks of towering mountains and jagged cliffs now loomed before him. Astounded, Arlan stopped briefly to get his bearings.

"What is this place?" He muttered, not really expecting an answer as he gazed at the strange landscape, devoid of any vegetation and life.

"A very few of your kind who lived to tell the tale, call this place the Realm of Shadows." The hooded figure turned to face him, as if that explanation was enough. "Stay close, Druid. It is not far, but the way is perilous."

Arlan checked on the unconscious boy, gathered in his arms and wrapped snuggly in his cloak. Jared's labored breathing had eased somewhat, lapsing into a quiet stupor. The druid squared his shoulders, rousing himself and doggedly followed the Soulless' lead.

The terrain shifted in the mist, once again, the jagged peaks giving way to a vast dark plain, the bare earth dry and cracked. A dozen steps into the roiling mist and Arlan found himself standing on the shores of a dark, turbulent sea. He felt Jared stir, as if he sensed something troubling within the waters.

Arlan gave up trying to make sense of the impossible sights before him. Mergenthaal's realm clearly defied all of Ervon's natural laws!

Distracted, the druid almost stepped into open air, stopping himself just in time with an audible curse. He stood on the edge of a precipice, several thousand feet above ground. Before he could catch a breath, the Dardraath turned into a bend on the cliff's narrow trail. Fearing to lose the creature in the incessant fog, he kept pace, keeping an eye on the treacherous path.

Nothing could have prepared him for what lay on the other side of that bend.

A fortress with towers that reached into the sky floated in the mist, its walls black as the darkest night.

The Soulless stopped, and turned to him with alien grace. "This is where we part, Druid."

Cloaked and hooded shadows materialized in the mist into four Dardraath. They flanked his guide, the tall Soulless, on either side. Before he could react, one of the undead minions approached him. Arlan tensed, but he noticed the assassin's dark blade remained sheathed at its side.

"Hand Rhyshannon over to me." The Soulless, their Lord and leader, spoke in a compelling voice. "For no other Power in this world or another can deliver him from his fate, save for the one that stands before you."

Arlan held the boy close, his thoughts warring inside him. Gritting his teeth, his eyes bleak as frost, he tried to force the words out. "Promise me that no harm shall befall him. Promise me that he will live."

The Soulless raised its head, its eyes glittering like black stars. "I give you my word."

For a moment, Arlan felt it, deep within its empty eyes—a Power so great and fathomless that he drew a sharp breath. It was only for a brief second, but in that second he knew that with this Being, Jared would have a chance.

Still, as he surrendered the child over to the waiting Dardraath, the druid couldn't help but feel that he was handing the boy over to an even darker future, should he survive.

Jared looked small, a fragile thing in the undead's clutches as it rejoined its companions. The fortress seemed to shift along with the mist, engulfing the Dardraath and the child in its silvery tendrils.

Only Mergenthaal's voice lingered to give him one last, parting advice. "Await my call in three days hence. This is the only place I will leave untouched by the shadows. Stray from this place-- and suffer at your own peril."