1 Prologue: The Darkness Inside

Darkening orange light streaked into blue as the sun began to settle behind the mountains in the West. A man, clad in a long dark cloak with a cowl that shadowed his face, walked with the sun to his back as he traveled over a small glade. A large longbow, made of a sharp black wood, was slung over his shoulder. The string was tight and taunt against his cloak, ready to fire the deadly arrows hidden under his cloak in a similar-colored quiver.

It took him only a few strides of the thick grass to reach the small entrance of a cave, leading downward under the sheer side of a great mountain, hidden by mossy boulders that he ran his hand softly against as he slipped inside the sloping hole. The stone ground was surprisingly flat, and not far ahead a torch glowed on the hall to light his path. It glowed against his face, streaks of brightness in his dark, cold eyes.

"He comes," a soft voice whispered from the darkness, only occasionally flared by flickering torches.

"He's already unhappy," another voice, in the same scratchy yet quiet tone, echoed from the small tunnels high in the walls--a few were even in the ceiling. As he crossed past another torch, he saw a slim creature scuttle across the wall, a long tail flicking through the air as sharp claws scratched over the stone.

"Wait until he hears the news," a third creature, or maybe the first, let out a soft hiss of dark amusement.

"The anger in his heart." Large gray-white eyes shined from one of the small tunnels, and a monster crawled out; it resembled a thin cat, but its form was made of twisting shadows, no real definition to its figure.

Another cat watched him from a tunnel, saying nothing because of the thick roll of parchment clamped in its dull gray fangs. It tilted its head slightly, black ears flicking.

"'Damn Shadow Cats,'" the man recognized his own voice coming from one of the creatures, but still showed no sign of acknowledging them, despite the fact the being had copied his thoughts.

"He hates us," one laughed.

"Fears us," another agreed.

"He wants to know our secrets." One creature watched him excitedly from the ceiling, leaning its head down with its mouth open slightly, showing the thick abyss inside.

"They all do," snickered a Shadow Cat crouched on the ground, its large eyes staring deep into his soul.

"Oh, shut it," the man growled, finally reaching the end of the tunnel, feeling a soft relief as it opened into a small cave. There were two new tunnels, one leading forward and one to the right, both blocked by large doors. The only furnishing in the room was that of a simple wooden table next to the door in front, which was guarded by two huge wolves. They had to be the same size as a horse, with powerful shoulders and necks that rivaled the thickness of a bear. One of them, with pale gray fur turned orange by the torchlight, flickered a large tongue over huge gleaming white fangs.

He approached the table quietly, slipping his large bow from his back and setting it softly on the smooth wood. With a small flourish and a wave of wind that ruffled the torches' flames he removed his cloak, revealing simple black clothing and tall riding boots. A belt around his waist held a large knife on each side, with a smaller throwing knife next to each. He unbuckled the belt and placed it next to the other items, then finally pulled off his quiver, the arrows rattling as they were settled on the table.

Finally, he turned to the wolves, stepping between them and falling still before approaching the door. They sniffed him, smelling for the sharp scent of steel, but they withdrew quickly and one licked their muzzle. He was tempted to pet one, but they were not the same as his own wolf, these were guardians with one purpose: protect.

He pulled open the door, the loud squeal of the hinges to his satisfaction--a loud door stops you from being snuck up on. But yet, in the small office inside, the man sitting at the desk didn't seem to notice. His wolf, a large gray male, raised its head, but it's eyes found that of a friend and he rested again, tail twitching.

The man behind the desk was older, with only a tint of brown in his mostly-gray hair, which was short and neat. A short beard covered his face, though it was thin enough to show that he was pressing his lips together, humming softly as he looked at the paper before him, one finger tapping softly.

"Sir," said the man quietly.

The elder man jumped slightly, pale blue eyes shooting up as one hand clutched his chest. "Great Mallika, Taren! Haven't we talked about you knocking?"

"Haven't we talked about you paying attention to your surroundings, my Lord?" responded Taren, moving forward to sit in an empty chair before the desk.

"If we did, I wasn't paying attention," Jerdigan Imversa grumbled, moving the parchment he was previously looking at to a disheveled pile of papers to his right. How he ever found anything was a wonder--he had plenty of drawers to organize his things along the side walls, but Taren knew if he looked in them they would either be empty, crammed with old papers of no use, or more books that he couldn't fit on the huge bookshelf behind him, which curled around a door that led into his private bedchamber.

"I assume you didn't call for no reason? If you wanted a sparkling conversation, I suggest Rider Dumer, or perhaps Rider Hyrn if you wish to converse for five hours about why the sky is blue and how dragons fly."

"Taren, once again, I can only remember so many names--adding surnames to the mix just makes things so complicated, but on that subject Ryken and I did have a great time discussing grass last night," Lord Jerdigan said thoughtfully. "How come it's green? Wouldn't the world be much more interesting if it were, say, violet? Or crimson?"

"I seem to have no trouble turning grass crimson myself," Taren responded coolly, his eyes steady.

Jerdigan looked at him with a slightly annoyed expression. "You're not very fun," he complained.

"Yes, I've been told. I would prefer to go back to brooding if you don't mind, so could you finally tell me why you summoned me?"

Jerdigan instantly looked uncomfortable. "Are you sure you don't want to discuss why we're unable to look at the sun? Ryken loves that subject."

"Sure--I'm surprised that Ryken has not lost his sight, with all the times he looks up. Now, what are you avoiding?"

Jerdigan sighed, leaning toward his towering pile of papers and letters. He looked through briefly, then moved to the one on his left. There, he finally pulled out an unsealed letter. "I would like you to deliver this for me," he said, setting it on the desk, too far for Taren to reach.

"I'm not a courier," Taren growled, "why can't a Shellic do it?"

"Because it's a Summoning," he said simply.

A light briefly glowed in Taren's eyes, swiftly replaced by a cold darkness. "A Summoning? Why didn't I know about this?" He leaned forward, his stubbled jaw forming a tight line. On his bed, the gray wolf raised his head, a soft growl in his throat. Jerdigan raised a hand at the wolf, and he settled, though his eyes still watched Taren with a deep look--friendly or not, he would protect his master with his life.

"Well, I've been planning to tell you for quite a while, but seeing as I know this conversation is going to end badly I've been procrastinating--I've realized I do that a lot, I should probably stop… Maybe another time."

"How long have you known? A year?" That was the normal time; how the Shadow Cats' leader, Hern, could tell when a Rider was coming was a complete unknown to everybody but the creatures themselves, usually sensing the new recruits a year or so in advance.

"Three," said Jerdigan quietly, busying himself with organizing the papers on his desk for the first time in years, though his eyes kept flicking to Taren's face.

"Three years?" Taren leaned back quietly, rubbing his chin briefly with his hand. "Why haven't you told me? Does the rest of the Council know? You're supposed to tell us when you find out!" Frustration boiled inside him, tingling like little ants crawling on his skin.

"They knew almost immediately, but I never found the right time to tell you," Jerdigan said softly.

"Why not?" There was a glow of betrayal in Taren's eyes. "Do you not trust me?"

"Not with who it is," was Jerdigan's whispered response, sliding the letter closer to Taren.

Slowly, Taren moved forward, grabbing the soft paper but never letting his eyes leave the Lord's, not until he had unfolded it and looked at who it was addressed to. For quite a few moments, he was silent, staring at the name as if it would wash off like it had never been there. Then, very slowly, he stood up. He held the letter in one hand so hard that the paper crinkled softly, but Jerdigan said nothing.

Taren made a quiet, slow way to the door. He pulled it open, the creak agonizingly loud. Then, in a voice the Dragon Lord could barely hear, he said, "I will mentor him--no one else." Then he slipped out, and left the Lord to sit there in silence.