It was just before dawn. The great city of Highfall slept while fog lay heavy in its streets. A cortège of wagons and horses wound its way slowly and quietly through the shadows towards the south gates of the city. As they approached the tall arch of the gatehouse and the open gates, guards, clad in silver mail, stood stiffly saluting the passing funeral procession as it made its way out of the city. Shrew turned in her saddle to watch the dark mouth of the gateway recede behind her. It would be some time before she would see those gates again.

It had been five days since her announcement to travel back to the Gloamril forest. The forest intrigued her. Even in the chill of half-light the depth of the forest seemed strangely warm and alluring. The sprites and the sylvan folk that lived there seemed at peace with their world — a stark contrast to those who inhabited the dark polluted alleyways of Highfall’s lower reaches.

She looked across to the fair-haired sylvan woman who rode by her side and their eyes met. “It’s kind of you to let me accompany you, my Lady. I just wish it were happier times.”

The woman’s blue eyes twinkled under her fringe of blonde hair. “So do I, my friend, but please call me Melowyn. I want to dispense with formalities until we reach Yuarith.”

Shrew nodded and offered a faint smile. Within the casket before them lay the mortal remains of Prince Cendil, eldest son of Annaiya, High Queen of Yuarith and the Lady Melowyn’s cousin. This was to be his last journey following his fall in battle. She recalled his last moments and those of the others who she had been proud to call companions, before breathing a short prayer of thanks to Latia, the goddess of luck, for her survival.

Her thoughts were broken as her horse veered for a moment and her attention was called to bring it back into line. She was a city dweller and her horse-riding skills were limited. She cursed under her breath as she brought the mare back under her control so that it followed the other riders and their escort. This included an impressive line of light cavalry from Highfall’s Middern Stables and a score of the fabled sylvan runners, armed with recurve bows and leaf-bladed spears, who jogged alongside them on foot. Shrew smiled. Surely even the boldest band of brigands would think twice before assaulting this well-guarded party.

As the cortège and its escort threaded its way southward and the rose blush of dawn filled the eastern sky, Shrew found herself brooding on her past and the events that had recently transpired. She was barely nineteen years old, but it felt as if she had lived a lifetime. Once a street urchin with a penchant for thievery and then a member of a clandestine organisation known as the Silent Knife, she had recently discovered her heritage. To her surprise she was the lost daughter of a noble, a legendary warrior, who happened to be the commander of the King of Highfall’s armies. Her lips moved, forming the beginning of a smile. Well, that may be, but as far as she was concerned little had changed. She was still a freebooter and skilled thief. Moreover, she had just been made the Master of the Silent Knife. So, she would continue to take advantage of whatever life had to offer. Voices deep inside her agreed. Her smile broadened as she mentally acknowledged the weapons that lay strapped across her back — two spirit blades known as Silfa and Sceral, empathetic daggers, each containing the soul of an ancient frost dragon. No, nothing changes, she reminded them, she would continue to milk each situation to her advantage.

“Shrew!” Her thoughts were interrupted again. Melowyn was calling her and pointing to the road ahead. “We are approaching the ferry road. It will take a few hours for all of us to cross the river, so would you like to carry on down and see the Tiel Cross while we wait?”

This was an opportunity not to be missed. Shrew recalled her father’s story which he had told just a few weeks before. The Tiel Cross was the meeting of ways where her mother had vanished whilst being abducted. “I’ll follow you,” she called back. “Maybe this visit will give me some answers. My father’s story was most strange.”

Their journey to the Tiel Cross was swift. The sun had barely risen when the old stone cross came into sight, resting amidst tall grasses upon a small knoll. They dismounted where the road split into two and led their horses around the base of the knoll.

Melowyn pulled back her hood revealing her long braided hair and gentle elfin features. “From the cross you can see for many leagues,” she explained. “On a clear day you can see as far as Polefast to the east and the forest to the west, but I have something else to show you.” She led Shrew along the easterly road for a short distance until she came to a spot where the ground was discoloured and glassy in appearance. “Here,” she said, pointing. “Even after all these years the grass doesn’t grow.”

Shrew stood in silent contemplation for a moment. Her eyes scanned the ground. “I found Father’s story hard to believe, but it seems he was speaking the truth.”

Melowyn nodded. “I’ve known your father a long time, Shrew. He would not lie about such a thing. When your mother was abducted, the kidnappers carried her from the city, but they didn’t get further than this point.”

Shrew felt her eyes filling with tears. “And she died here,” she said, as if affirming a fact.

Melowyn put an arm around Shrew’s shoulders. “Maybe not. Your father and I both think she was responsible for the intense heat that occurred here. While the remains of her abductors were found, nothing was found of her.”

Shrew turned and stepped away. “Then, where is she?” she asked, looking back. “People don’t just vanish, do they?”

“When we reach Yuarith I promise I will take you to see the elementalists. They may have some answers, but now we’d better get back to the ferry.”

As she prepared to mount her horse, something caught Shrew’s eye. The air seemed to shimmer where, just a moment before, they had both stood. She looked again, but it was gone. “This place is haunted,” she called. “Let’s go.”

Within seconds, they were riding back the way they had come.

Half-light marked winter in the Sillaesian calendar, yet as they approached the ferry landing by the river, they could feel the sun’s warmth in the clear blue sky. Shrew looked across the river towards the wall of trees that crowded the landing on the far side. The ferry was making its way slowly back, its bow inclined to the oncoming current. She could hear the calls of the ferrymen urging greater use of the oars. She dismounted and strolled around the landing platform enjoying the sunlight. Melowyn joined her. Most of the wagons were across: only a provisions’ wagon and half a dozen Middern cavalrymen remained.

An officer from the cavalry escort spotted it first. Crying out, he pointed to the heavens. “An omen for the passing of a prince,” he cried.

Shrew squinted as the object emerged from out of the glare of the sun. It was like a smaller sun, coursing at speed through the sky with a growing plume of smoke trailing behind it.

Melowyn shielded her eyes. “Sylvan sky watchers have recorded falling stars in daylight,” she informed them as everyone gazed skyward.

“Ahlune save us!” a man called from close by. “It’s surely a dragon. Look at the fire shooting out of it!”

The flaming object passed overhead and headed westward leaving an expanding column of smoke in its wake. Seconds later a thunderous sound broke upon them that was quickly followed by another as it disappeared over the forest.

Shrew picked herself up off the timber platform. “In Serreth’s name!” she muttered under her breath. “If that was an omen, it was fit for a king!”

For the remaining time, right up until the point when the ferry docked, the discussion was entirely about the strange object and the significance of its passing. Almost all agreed that it had come down in the forest and Shrew could detect a little nervousness amongst some of the men, given it was last seen heading westward in the direction they were going.

The passage across the river was uneventful and soon the cortège and its escort had assembled on the dusty road that was to take them into the depths of the Gloamril forest.

Melowyn pulled on the reins of her dusky mare and sidled up to Shrew. “We should reach Swanmere before nightfall, assuming we’re not delayed. I have heard you like the inn there, the Swan and Duck?”

Shrew’s attention appeared to be elsewhere. When at last she noticed Melowyn, she cast her a troubled look. “Something’s not been right since we left the Tiel Cross,” she whispered and looked back over her shoulder. “It’s the second time I’ve seen it and Silfa and Sceral noticed it also. They’re restless.”

“Seen what, Shrew?” Melowyn leaned closer, “Are we being trailed?” She followed her companion’s gaze back down the road as the rear guard of the escort passed by.

“The light or the air is behaving strangely,” Shrew answered and urged her horse forward. “I’ve never seen a beam of sunlight bend before, as if it’s avoiding something!”

Melowyn fell silent for a moment. “I have heard some sprites are well versed in the arts of sorcery and enchantment. Maybe we have a mischievous sprite on our hands!” She smiled at Shrew. “They can be quite playful!”

“Maybe,” Shrew replied and took another glance behind her. “Their playfulness might be the end of them. My blades are alert!”

At this time of the year many leaves had fallen, but there was still a profusion of colour amongst the tree canopies of the Gloamril, from shades of green and yellow through to magenta and violet. As they continued down the road the upper branches of the forest trees arched up and over them such that they rode within a tunnel that was a kaleidoscope of colour, set afire by the gold dappled sunlight. Shrew started to relax. Even during the season of half-light, when the sun was at its lowest in the sky, the weather in the Gloamril seemed quite different from elsewhere. She recalled the old Sillaesian saying, as she had many times before: ‘When the snow doth pile against Highfall’s walls, summer still sings in the Gloamril’. She smiled. There was an inn further up the road, a resting place for travellers on their journey between Highfall and Swanmere. Hopefully the cortège would stop there for a while. She was just entertaining the pleasant thought of a mug of woodman’s mead when a commotion further up the road brought her to her senses. Her first thought was bandits. As she reached for her daggers her horse suddenly bucked and it took all her strength and agility to hold tight of the reins and remain seated.

“The horses are spooked!” Melowyn cried. “Something’s in the sky!”

Shrew looked up for a moment and caught sight of a ring of bright lights moving high overhead above the trees. Her dragons growled deep within her, challenging the presence of this strange apparition. Her horse bucked again and she felt her grip loosen on the reins. In desperation she leapt from the saddle to land crouched in the road.

“This is sorcery!” she yelled, drawing out her two daggers from the harness on her back. Arcs of mist looped around her as the enchanted blades froze the air. Her eyes darted left and right, searching the forest. The miscreant had to be close by! Then she spotted something — a short distance inside the forest, the light and shade between some trees were moving in a strange manner. Gripping her daggers, she ignored the turmoil around her and crept into the forest. Close to the road the forest floor was overgrown with ferns and other forms of vegetation and she used this cover to stealthily move around her target. Her dragons, Silfa and Sceral, were growling warnings to her, but she bid them to be silent as she prepared an attack from the rear, for surely the miscreant’s attention had to be on the road and the mayhem they were causing. They must be using a cloak of invisibility she told herself as she stepped from behind a tree to strike her foe in the back. At that instant the world before her became grotesquely distorted as trees, ground and all things were bent and pulled around in a flickering circle of lambent colour. Her scream stuck in her throat as the circle grew rapidly, warping the world around it, before engulfing her in darkness.