Two

Anna kicked and screamed, but the scary painted man was too strong. He snarled something at her that she didn't understand, but he sounded like Davon did when he was mad at her about something. She stopped struggling, and that seemed to make the painted man happy.

He carried her towards the center of the village. There was fire, and screaming, and other things that Anna didn't want to think about. She was scared, and hid her face against the painted man's side, even if his clothes smelled bad.

After a few minutes, the screaming had faded a little, and Anna peeked out to see what was going on. She saw a bunch of people she knew from the village tied together with ropes and walking in the same direction as the painted man. Many of them were crying, and a few had blood on their faces. Anna wanted to cry too, but she remembered what Davon had said, and tried to be brave. She also didn't want to make the painted man angry with her again.

The painted man walked past a troll that wore a bearskin like a cloak. He carried a whip in one hand, and when one of the people in the line fought or fell, he would yell at them and crack the whip. The painted man said something to the troll. The troll looked over, saw Anna being carried under his arm, and said something back. Anna didn't like his voice -- it sounded mean. The troll looked at Anna and smiled, showing his sharp teeth. Anna whimpered and hid her face against the painted man's shirt again. The troll laughed, and then started yelling again.

A few moments later, the painted man stopped walking and Anna smelled horses. Anna peeked out again and saw that he was standing next to a big wagon that had a cage on the back. Sitting on the wagon's seat was a dwarf with a messy red beard and nasty scar. The painted man said something to the dwarf, who grunted in response and jerked a thumb at the back of the wagon.

The painted man walked around to the back of the wagon. She saw some people she knew lined up near the back of the cage, and two orks dressed in leather were untying them and pushing them up a ramp and through a door into the cage. The painted man said something to them. One of the orks replied, and the painted man swung Anna out from under his arm and set her down on the ground

Anna though about running like Davon had told her to, but before she could move the first ork grabbed her under her arms and lifted her into the wagon, giving her a rough push through the cage door. Anna fell down and scraped her knee. She cried out in pain, and the orks and the painted man laughed.

An angry voice from inside the cage said something in their language, and the first ork snarled, banging the cage with his fist. The angry voice inside the cage didn't reply, and the orks went back to untying people and shoving them into the cage.

Anna huddled on the floor of the wagon, tired, cold, and afraid. A moment later, she felt somebody touch her back, and a gentle female voice said, "Anna, are you all right?"

Anna looked up, and saw her cousin Marielle. Marielle was a couple of years older than her brother, and had started training to be a Songsmith. Anna liked Marielle -- she was pretty, and often entertained the younger children in the village with stories and songs.

The familiar face and kind words broke something inside her, and Anna threw herself into Marielle's arms, sobbing. Marielle hugged her and made soothing noises, stroking the young girl's hair.

Anna cried for a few minutes, happy that she could stop being brave for a little while. As she cried, she heard the dwarf in the wagon's seat yell something, and felt the wagon start to move. The other people in the wagon began whispering.

"What's going on?"

"Who are these people?"

"Where are they taking us?"

Marielle's voice cut through the whispering. "These bandits are taking us to a meeting where they will sell us to a Theran slave trader."

This piece of news started a new round of frightened whispering.

"Slavery?"

"We're going to die in chains!"

"We need to escape!"

"Everyone calm down," said Marielle. "If we remain calm and don't cause them any trouble, they won't hurt us. Damaged goods don't fetch as high a price." She lowered her voice and added, "Besides, if we act like dull witted sheep, we may lull them into complacency, and find it easier to escape."

Anna smiled at the thought of people acting like sheep, and felt a little better.

Marielle continued speaking. "Until then, I suggest everyone get some sleep. We're all weary and frightened. There's no telling what dawn may bring. I'll stay awake, listen to what these ruffians are saying, and see what else I can learn."

Anna pulled away from Marielle a little bit and wiped her nose. "Marielle?" she asked.

Marielle looked down at her. "What is it, Anna?"

"How can you understand what they're saying?"

Marielle smiled. "Magic."

Anna's eyes widened. "You know magic? Like my momma? Can it help us escape?"

The older girl chuckled. "Not really. I'm only an apprentice, and what little magic I know is different from your momma's. She's an Elementalist, and her magic works with the five elements."

Anna answered by rote. "Earth, air, fire, water, and wood."

"That's right," said Marielle, tousling the girl's hair. "I bet your momma's magic helped her escape, and she's following the wagons right now, waiting for a chance to rescue us."

She was still a little scared, but the thought of her momma coming to save her made Anna feel better.

"Marielle?"

"Yes, Anna?"

"Do you think my brother is okay?"

"I'm sure he is. I didn't see him in any of the wagons, so he's probably with your momma right now."

"Coming to save us?"

"Coming to save us."

"Good."

"Go to sleep now. It's been a busy night, and you need your rest."

The wagons rattled on in silence for a few minutes.

"Marielle?"

"What is it, Anna?"

"Momma usually sings me to sleep. Do you think you could sing for me?"

Marielle didn't say anything. Anna looked up and saw the older girl looking down at her. Her cheeks were wet. When looked away and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes.

"Of course, Anna. Get comfortable, and I'll sing for you."

Anna snuggled into the crook of the older girl's arm. Marielle stroked her hair and began singing in a low, quiet voice. The song didn't have any real words -- at least, none that Anna could understand -- but it reminded her of home. The slow, rocking melody was comforting, and Anna felt her eyelids get heavy. It wasn't long before she drifted into sleep, away from the fear and uncertainty that lay ahead.

One

Davon woke up to the smell of smoke and the sounds of battle. Remembering what his parents had told him, he threw the light linen aside and rolled out of bed. He pulled on a pair of breeches, and pulled the drawstring tight around his waist. He didn't bother with a shirt or boots -- it was a warm night, and his feet went unshod all summer, the soles toughened by his wanderings in the nearby woods.

He swung onto the ladder that led from his loft bedroom to the kitchen of their cottage. He was halfway down when he heard the sound of the front door crashing open, and a quick, startled cry from his mother. He felt a sudden rush of anger, and leapt to the ground. His balance wavered for a moment, but he managed to keep his feet and darted toward the opening between the kitchen and the cottage's living area. He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene before him.

Davon's mother, Jaina, stood in the living room facing away from her son. In one hand she held the fireplace poker, pointing it like a sword towards the unfamiliar figure that loomed in the front door.

Even in the dim light, Davon could tell the threatening figure was a troll. No trolls lived in Aspen Glen, but they occasionally traveled with the caravans that came to visit the village. He stood just over eight feet tall, and the asymmetrical horns that twisted up from his forehead added another nine or ten inches.

The troll was dressed in leather and mail, a patchwork of pieces salvaged from fallen opponents. A coiled whip hung from his belt, and in his massive fist was a sword that most people would need two hands to wield.

The troll's eyes met Davon's from across the room, and the hard face shifted into a wicked smile. Dirty canines came into view, half masked by a shaggy black mustache and beard. Fear knotted Davon's gut, anchoring his feet to the floor.

Jaina noticed the shift in the troll's attention, and glanced over her shoulder to see her son. She realized she had an opportunity, and seized it.

She took two quick steps toward the side table, grabbed the lantern sitting there, and threw it at the invader. Unfortunately her aim was off, and the lantern shattered against the doorframe. The troll, caught off guard by the assault, growled something in a language Davon couldn't understand, and turned his attention back to the woman.

Jaina said one word, "Ignace," and the oil that had spattered the troll's face and shoulder burst into flame. He roared in pain, dropped his sword, and began beating at the fire that quickly engulfed his head. The smell of burning flesh filled the room as the troll flailed about

Jaina called over at her son, "Davon, get your sister! Quickly now!"

His mother's order cut through Davon's paralyzed fear. He turned and crossed the kitchen towards the room his father had built as an addition the summer before his sister was born, six years ago. He pushed open the door and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Anna was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes, her voice muffled with sleep. "Davon?"

Davon spoke as reassuringly as possible. "We need to leave, Anna. Get up and get dressed, quickly."

Amazingly, the girl listened to him, got out of bed, and began pulling on some clothes. While she did, Davon opened the shutters to the room's only window. Outside, he could see that several of the other buildings in town were on fire. Beyond the burning buildings lay the forest, dark and inviting. If they could reach the line of trees, they would be safe until the attack was over.

There was a sudden crash from the direction of the living room, and another scream from Jaina -- whether in pain or anger, Davon couldn't tell. Hearing her mother scream brought Anna out of her groggy half-sleep. "What's happening to momma?" she asked, her voice tinged with fear.

Davon didn't bother with explanations. In truth, he didn't want to think about what might be happening to their mother a dozen feet from where they stood. "Help me move the bed over to the window."

The girl did her best, but Davon did most of the work dragging the bed across the room. When it was in place, Davon boosted himself up, his lanky, early adolescent frame slipping through the window like a fish through reeds. The mossy ground behind the cottage absorbed the force of his landing, and it was only a moment before he was back on his feet, helping Anna through the window. She whimpered when she saw the devastation being wrought on Aspen Glen.

"Come now," urged Davon. "Quietly. We're going to hide in the forest until it's safe to come back."

"What about momma and poppa?"

"They'll be along soon. Don't worry." Somehow, Davon's voice managed to carry a tone of reassurance that he didn't feel. Anna accepted his answer, took his hand, and the pair began making their way towards the edge of the forest, about a hundred yards away.

In a few moments, they had crossed half the distance to the tree line, and the sounds of fighting were starting to fall behind them. Their escape appeared to have gone unnoticed, and Davon's hopes began to lift.

Then, suddenly, a crash sounded from the woodcutter's shed just ahead of them. Davon and Anna froze as a large human emerged from the shed. He was dressed like the troll in the cottage -- leather and mail, a broadsword at his side. His head was shaved, and decorated with elaborate tattoos. In one hand he held a sack of spoils from the shed, and in the other he held a torch. As the children watched, the raider turned and lit the thatch roof with the torch. He watched for a few moments as the flames spread, his back towards the pair.

Davon was just considering making a break for the trees when the raider turned, and saw the children in the light of the blooming fire. The human dropped the sack he had been carrying, and drew his sword. He spoke in that unfamiliar language, and laughed. Davon pushed Anna behind him, placing himself between the raider and his sister.

Seeing Davon take a defensive stance, the raider laughed again. Davon didn't like the tone of that laugh -- it promised pain, and the raider looked all too willing to deliver on that promise.

The raider called out, and his call was answered with raised voices from the direction of the village green. Davon looked back over his shoulder and saw two more raiders come around the side of a nearby building. When he looked back at the tattooed human, he saw the raider had moved between them and the forest.

Despite the warmth of the night, Davon felt a chill run down his spine. The situation was getting desperate. They could easily have lost any pursuing raiders in the darkness of the woods, but that avenue of escape had been cut off. Davon cursed himself for not running towards the forest at the first opportunity.

Anna clutched at him, peeking out at the tattooed warrior from around his leg. Davon could feel her whimpering in fear, though the sound was drowned out by the calls of the approaching raiders.

Davon looked down at his sister, caressed her hair, and did his best to keep his voice steady. "Anna, do you remember the way to the fairy spring?" The girl nodded, her eyes wide with fear. "Then when I tell you, run into the forest, and tell the fairy to help hide you." Davon hoped the elemental spirit of the spring would be up to the task.

"Don't look back while you run, and I'll be along as soon as I can." He saw his sister's eyes begin to fill with tears. "No crying now... I'll be close behind you, and Momma and Poppa will be along to find us as soon as it's safe." The girl nodded again, her face screwed up with the childish determination not to cry.

The raiders had closed, spreading out to cut off any other avenue of escape. Davon gave his sister one final, gentle pat on the head. "Be brave, Anna. Remember, run as fast as you can and don't look back." Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed his sister to one side and ran towards the tattooed raider, screaming, "Now, Anna! Run!"

The raider expected the sudden movement. He sidestepped Davon's charge, stuck his leg out, and sent Davon sprawling to the ground. In the same movement, he extended his arm and caught Anna around the waist, scooping the girl up in a secure grip under his sword arm.

Wind knocked out of him by the fall, Davon heard his sister's scream. His heart sank as he watched the tattooed raider carry his sister back towards the village. The other two raiders had drawn their weapons and approached slowly.

The one on the left was human, short and stocky, wearing a heavy leather doublet studded with rivets. His light brown hair was tied back in a braid, and his left eye was covered with a patch. He held a small axe in his hand. Another axe hung from a loop at his belt. Both were stained dark with blood.

The one on the right was an ork, burly and bare-armed. His cropped black hair stuck out from his head in random directions. He was dressed in a dirty wolf skin, and his chipped tusks stuck up over his upper lip. He held a curved sword in his hand, and a broad bladed dagger hung from his belt.

Davon knew he had one last chance. He took a deep breath and staggered to his feet, acting more dazed than he felt. He watched the way the raiders relaxed, confident that the boy posed no real threat.

Davon waited as they closed the distance. Five paces... four... three...

When the raiders were two paces away, he launched himself at Wolfskin with a roar of defiance. One hand grabbed the ork's wrist, keeping the raider from bringing his weapon to bear. The other grabbed at the dagger and drew it from its sheath.

The youth's sudden assault caught the ork off guard, and Davon's momentum sent the pair tumbling to the ground. With all the strength he could muster, Davon plunged the dagger into the ork's gut.

Davon barely registered the feeling of warm blood washing over his hand. He rolled away from Wolfskin, jabbing the dagger wound with his elbow as he did so. The ork bellowed in pain and rolled away from the youth, clutching his wounded side.

Eyepatch swore and stepped forward, swinging his axe. Davon saw the weapon coming for him and tried to roll out of the way.

He almost succeeded. The blow opened a gash in his right shoulder. Davon cried out in pain, and dropped the dagger. He struggled to his knees, and began crawling away from the angry raider. Eyepatch followed and kicked Davon in the stomach, sprawling the youth onto the ground.

The beating only lasted a few moments, but to Davon it felt like hours. He curled into a protective huddle as the raider continued to kick him. The wound on his shoulder stung in the open air, and the blood smeared across his arm and back picked up dirt and debris from the ground.

Wolfskin got to his feet and staggered over, retrieving his sword and dagger. He said something to Eyepatch, and the raider stopped kicking. The two began talking to each other, the ork's tone indicating that he was planning some kind of painful revenge on the youth.

Davon struggled to crawl away, hoping that the two were distracted enough to allow him to reach some kind of shelter. His shoulder burned, and he found it hard to breathe. He had made it perhaps a dozen feet when Eyepatch noticed what he was doing, and snarled what sounded like a threat. Davon felt a meaty hand close on his ankle.

His hopes of escape dashed, Davon whispered a prayer to Garlen, asking her to watch over Anna. He braced himself for the deathblow... that didn't land.

A new voice called out from the center of the village, and the two raiders uttered what sounded like frustrated oaths. Wolfskin knelt and grabbed Davon by the hair, lifting his head off the ground and staring the boy in the eye. He snarled a few words in the unintelligible language, his foul breath sending a wave of nausea through the boy's stomach.

Whatever curse or warning he gave Davon drew an iron edged laugh from Eyepatch. Wolfskin let go of Davon's hair, and the boy's head thumped into the ground. As the two raiders turned to go, Davon found the strength for one last act of defiance. He raised himself to his elbows, his vision swimming, and said, "If I meet you again, I'll kill you."

Wolfskin turned, uttering a short curse, and kicked Davon squarely in the jaw. There was a sickening crack, Davon's head snapped back, and he slumped to the ground, letting unconsciousness dull the pain.

Zero

Long ago -- so long ago that it lies nearly forgotten in our oldest myths -- magic was alive in the world. The races of the world -- dwarf and elf, ork and human -- learned to wield these mystic energies and began to build cities and civilizations. It was the dawn of a golden age -- an age of legend.

But, like all things, this blooming paradise of art and culture would not last forever. An elf scholar named Elianar Messias, while translating some ancient books he had found in a remote monastery, learned that as the magic level of the world rose, it would allow foul, demonic creatures from the depths of astral space to cross the void, invade our world, and wreak untold havoc. This knowledge so unnerved Messias that he tore his eyes from his head, burnt them in a fire, and vanished into the night.

In the hopes of finding some way to prevent the arrival of these entities -- called Horrors -- Messias's protégé Kearos Navarim took the fragmented notes his mentor left behind and founded a retreat where scholars and magicians from all over the world could come and share their knowledge with one another. He Named the place Thera, which means "Foundation," to indicate that this place would be the foundation of the world's survival.

After decades of work and study, they learned that while there was no way to prevent the Horrors from coming, their time in the world was limited. Just as the rise of magic brought them to our plane, the ebb of magic would drive them away. All that would be needed was patience -- four hundred years of patience.

Kearos Navarim unveiled the first stage of their great work -- the Rites of Protection and Passage. The mystic wards and protections contained in the rites would allow the people of the world to survive the Horrors' depredations. Whether behind the magically reinforced walls of their cities, or the warded and trapped labyrinth of an underground kaer, these places would provide safe haven during the time of the Horrors -- which came to be known as the Scourge.

The Therans were not interested in simply giving the Rites away, however. The settlement had grown over the years, and the construction of their citadel would cost a great deal in both materials and labor. If other lands wanted to share in the Theran rites, they would have to pay -- one way or another.

In order to secure the magical rites needed to protect them from the coming Horrors, many cities and nations raided their neighbors, selling them to the Therans as slaves -- this met the Theran's need for cheap labor. Many smaller villages and towns, unable to pay the asking price for the Rites, sold themselves into slavery, feeling it was better to survive a slave -- and hope that their descendents would earn their freedom -- than be devoured or driven mad by the Horrors.

As time passed, and the wealth earned from their virtual monopoly on the Rites of Protection and Passage rolled in, the island became the center of a powerful magical empire.

Nations went to war over the resources needed to construct effective defenses -- most precious of all was the magical metal orichalcum. Without this rare and valuable mineral, even the most physically defensible kaer or citadel would fall before the magical might of the Horrors.

Finally, after centuries of preparation, the Scourge arrived. Thera sealed its citadel, and the other nations of the world retreated to whatever haven they had constructed to wait out the long night.

Generations lived and died in the kaers, never seeing the sun, never knowing the touch of the wind on their face. During the four hundred years of the Horrors' reign on the surface, many kaers and citadels fell, their people slaughtered, their culture and heritage lost forever.

But as with all things, time -- and the Scourge -- passed. Gradually, the peoples of the world returned to the surface, finding the world changed. Where there had once been lush valleys and verdant forests the Horrors had left blasted wastelands and twisted, poisonous jungles. Even in the face of such devastation, there was hope. The Scourge was over, and those who had survived would reclaim the world, rebuilding and rediscovering all they had lost.

The efforts to reclaim the surface are spearheaded by adepts, individuals who pursue mystical philosophies that allow them to shape and wield the magical energies of the world. Some of these magical practitioners cast spells, but many channel their magic into more physical arts, like the Warrior who toughens his skin and strengthens his muscle, or the Beastmaster who communes with and takes on qualities of the animal world.

While this new age is marked by a new hope, the legacy of the Horrors lives on. Not all of the foul beings retreated to their astral home as the magic fell, and not all of the breached kaers were exterminated. Some survived by making Faustian pacts, buying themselves time by sacrificing others to their new dark masters.

The Horrors aren't the only threat, either. Thera survived the Scourge as well, and their magical airships have gone out into the world once again. In their mind, the world owes its survival to them, and the Therans intend to collect on that debt. The people of the world will pay one way or another -- and the Empire sill has a demand for cheap labor.