1 Chapter 1: Prologue

*One Year Ago...*

Evartan slowly made his way up the treacherous mountain slope. He had never been much of a climber before, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And this definitely qualified as a desperate time.

Grimacing, he dug his aged fingers into the loose soil at the top of the vertical trail. With a grunt of effort, he heaved himself up and onto the ledge. Panting slightly, he raised his gaze and looked around.

Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of pride as he gazed out over the world of Geyron. Magic flourished in this land, from the deepest recesses of its core to the highest peaks of the mountains of Trazmor, where Evartan stood close to. He could almost see all the way from the desert of Aridus, far to the south, to the northern tundra of Koll. From the eastern Lerian forest to the Valinae provinces of the elves in the west, from the ruins of the great empire Shindar to the land's mighty capitol, Wethelnar, Geyron sparkled in the morning dew, marking the start of another day.

For a moment, Evartan allowed himself to bask in the sun and to catch his breath. Then he shook himself out of his reverie. He couldn't afford to dawdle.

He glanced behind him, looking over the woods surrounding Druid's Hollow. He was fairly certain that he'd left Makuran far behind, but he knew the warrior was still on his trail. He had to run and hide before he was captured again.

Breathing deeply, he turned his gaze to the rough path down the mountain side. If he was going to make his escape successfully, he needed to move fast.

He placed his feet on the slope and slid down, barely keeping his balance. Within seconds, he hit the base of the mountain and flipped over, face-planting into the dirt. He got to his knees, spitting out sod and massaging his bruised jaw. Once he was sure that there was no critical damage, he got to his feet and ran.

He didn't care where he ended up, as long as it was away from his brother.

* * *

As night fell, Geyron's central plains were transformed. During the day, the wide expanse of grassland and sparse woods was alive with the sounds of woodland creatures and insects. At night, though, it was silent, save for the soft hum of wind dancing through the bushes that dotted the landscape.

A lone figure appeared at the crest of a hill, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. He slowly looked around, sweeping his gaze across the deserted plains. Nodding stiffly, he motioned with his hand.

Four hulking creatures crawled out from nearby bushes. Grunting softly, they gathered behind the first figure, raising axes. With a soft thump, a shadowy form dropped from a small tree onto its knees and watched with interest.

"I don't know how far he is by now," the first figure growled, "but we can't let him escape. Find him and kill him."

The four brutes snarled with glee and shuffled off, swinging their axes in anticipation.

After a few moments, the shadowy form got to its feet and hurried over to the first figure. "I sincerely doubt that four Urts will be enough to take him down, Master. Even at his age, his skills have not deserted him."

"I feel the same," the first figure growled. "I want to test him, to see just how his skills have held up over the years. Once I'm sure of how much force we'll need, Kaston, I'll let you do the honors."

Kaston smiled. "Thank you, Master. I'll wait for you back at the castle." With a nod, he walked off, vanishing into the darkness.

Makuran watched him go, smiling slightly. Once Evartan had been worn down enough, Kaston would be more than a match for him. It was a pity that his brother was too dangerous for him to approach directly; he would have much liked to spill Evartan's blood himself. But it would be worth it, as long as he was taken care of before he had a chance to reveal himself to the world.

*I'll make sure that never happens*, he vowed silently. *Before he spills my secrets, I will make sure he can never speak again.*

* * *

It was a vow that Makuran would keep for about a year. His servants hounded Evartan endlessly, giving him no opportunity to reveal his knowledge. They could never quite catch him- as it turned out, his skills had not deserted him at all- but they could ensure his silence. The preparations were all but complete, and soon Makuran would be able to give up on chasing his brother.

But a day came when he was able to slip by them.

And the battle for Geyron began.