Blood of Mystery

Chapter 1. The raven sprang from the edge of the precipice, spreading dark wings like shadows, and soared into the fiery dawn sky. A wall of peaks fell away behind it, sharp as dragons' teeth, an impenetrable barrier of stone that stabbed at the sky. A wind howled off the mountains, slicing through the raven's feathers. It seemed the king toyed with his Stone again. The raven beat hard against the blast, righted himself, and fixed his eyes on the leafless forest that clung like mist to the land below. He had a message to deliver before the day died, to one in a place far to the south, and he would not fail in his task. The raven's name was Gauris. Eleven and one hundred times the ice floes of the Winter Sea had cracked, thawed, and frozen again since the day of his shell-sundering. Through all of those years, Gauris had served the king faithfully. True, his feathers were not so glossy as they once had been, and his beak and talons were duller. However, his black eyes were still keen, and not even the young ones of the brood, for all they puffed their sleek breasts in pride, could fly so far in a single day as Gauris. That was why this message had been entrusted to him, for it was a missive of particular importance. Or at least, so Gauris supposed. For no one, not even the king's closest minions, could know the king's thoughts and will. His heart was made of cold, enchanted iron, and some said the mind beneath his icy crown was forged of the same stuff. One thing Gauris knew for certain: The winds of war were blowing. And like a knight sharpening his blade and searching for chinks in his armor, the king needed to be sure all of his tools were at the ready. It was one of those tools--one of the most precious of them all--to which Gauris flew now. He swooped toward the forest, skimming just above the tops of the bare, silvery trees. It was still only early Sindath, but winter had already come to this part of Falengarth, and it would never depart again if the king had his way. Gauris awaited that day with great anticipation. Surely there would be need for swift couriers in the New Times: messengers to carry the king's commands throughout his vast realm, which would claim all of Falengarth from shore to shore. And none were swifter than the king's ravens, fed with dark meats over the centuries to grant them speed and strength. True, it was whispered by some that the king had his own master who would return in the New Times, a master whom some called the Nightlord and who had been wrongfully banished long ago. If this were so, would not the Nightlord be ruler of all things when the war was won? But surely the Nightlord would be grateful for the king's service, just as the king would be grateful for the swiftness of his ravens. Surely, in the New Times, there would be rewards for all who served on the victorious side. The forest fell behind him, and Gauris pumped strong wings as the sun edged higher. Sere fields slipped below, dotted by lakes that flashed like coins before vanishing behind. Another range of mountains hove into view. It was a weathered jumble of rocks far lower than the wall of bitter stone that barred the way into and out of the king's dominion (and which were woven with spells of madness, so that only his ravens and a few of his other servants could pass beyond them). Gauris struck toward the line of muted peaks and followed them southward. After a few more leagues, he spied a bowl-shaped valley in the mountains. In the valley was a lake; and in the center of the lake, on a jutting spur of rock, was a half-ruined fortress. Smoke belched up from the keep's towers, as if from arcane engines, and steam boiled from the nearby waters of the lake. A crimson flag snapped atop the keep's highest turret, its bloody field marked by a black crown encircling a silver tower. Tiny figures moved outside the walls of the fortress; light glinted off helms and swords.Anthony, Mark is the author of 'Blood of Mystery' with ISBN 9780553583328 and ISBN 0553583328.