Part 1: Watching From the Shadows

Chapter 1

Fateful Choices

He awoke. He was lying on his back, with a throbbing pain in his head. It took him a few moments to understand where he was, and he opened his eyes a fraction to confirm what his other senses were telling him. Above, big dark shapes wafted in the light wind; trees. He was outdoors, free. There was an instant of elation and relief. Until he remembered.

… A magical explosion ripped past him, sending him to his knees. After a few seconds of disorientation, he struggled upright, flicking a glance over his shoulder. He couldn't see any of the others now; even Sheila and Eric had disappeared from sight. There was too much smoke and more Orcs were coming from the sides. It was all he could do to keep moving, carrying the girl in his arms. He could only hope for the best. The others, they would be ok…they had to be… they should be…

The rest was a blurred fragment. He'd struggled onwards still carrying the stricken girl, his wounds from the fight making any movement painful. Somehow, he'd kept going fast enough to outpace the Orcs, and found his way back to the Village.

A familiar voice spoke from beside him; far away, almost as if he imagined it. He hoped he hadn't; he really hoped he hadn't. He would hate to be alone, now of all times.

'Hank? You gonna be OK?' asked the voice.

The Ranger tried to focus, but could only see a pale blur.

'Hank?' This time he recognised the voice.

'B-Bobby?'

The blur moved forward. It was indeed the Barbarian, looking pale and very frightened. A terrible, sinking feeling passed through the Ranger as Bobby's expression told him everything he needed to know. It had all gone wrong.

'Hank,' said Bobby once more. 'Sis, and the others. They didn't come back. Not even Uni.'

His four friends and the unicorn were missing, but he could only focus on Sheila, his beautiful Thief. Since the Darkling, the feelings they'd shared had grown, and barely a day had passed without them sharing a secret kiss.

He had to take a slow breath to steady himself. Bobby was her brother, and was as concerned as he was. The last time he'd see her, she was beside the Cavalier, his Shield held high against the blows of the Orcs. That was some comfort; it wasn't like Eric wouldn't look after her, of all people!

'Anything coulda happened,' said Bobby with a sniff. 'What are we gonna do?'

There was nothing to say that would help. Then the Barbarian started to cry. Hank could barely move, but he managed to reach out to touch the younger boy's shoulder.

'We'll find them, somehow. We'll find all of them.'

Bobby looked up, hopeful and trusting, making his skin crawl. He wished in vain that at least one of the others was here. This time, having to put a brave face on things for Bobby's sake was just making him feel worse. He longed to tell the Barbarian the truth: that they were well and truly fucked this time.

'What happened, Hank? D'you know?'

His eyes flickered shut. I don't think I want to remember…

'I'm not sure, Bobby. I don't remember much.'

It was all out of focus. He could only remember images and snippets of conversation, but he clamped down on the memories, and opened his eyes once more to look up at the Barbarian.

'They'll be ok,' he said, hoping he sounded more convincing to a ten-year-old boy than he did to himself. As the Ranger pushed himself upright, hoping that the world would stay still, there was the sound of footsteps to the right.

It was the Village Chief.

This was the last person he wanted to see, how was he going to face the man, after what'd happened?

He'd failed everybody this time. These people had lived in the vile darkness of Venger's shadow. Their village decimated, their hope gone; these were not people who gave their trust lightly. And I couldn't even keep a small promise…

The look on the Chief's face confirmed what Hank already suspected, but something made him ask anyway, just to be sure.

'Your daughter?'

The man looked back with empty eyes.

'She is dead.'

It was confirmation of his failure. Hank had to turn away. He had found her where the Seer had said she would be, but cold and still. He'd picked her up in his arms, and carried her past the Orcs, and past all the fighting, and past all his friends. He'd believed she could be brought back, and risked everything and everyone, on that assumption. He'd done all he could, and it still wasn't enough.

'I'm so sorry.'

His response was so empty, and so false. But he couldn't think of anything else to say. He'd promised to save her from the Orcs, no matter what, and now she was dead. The Chief didn't respond. He stood a short distance away, unable to speak, and finally, he just turned away, back to his brethren.

Minutes passed in silence, before the Barbarian asked:

'What are we gonna do now, Hank?'

Close by, cries of lamentation started, softly at first, but they grew in volume, until they echoed over the hills. The Daughter of the Chief; their light and their hope, was dead and the noise was enough to make tears start in the Ranger's eyes.

What are we gonna do now?

He didn't know.

There were no more Orcs left to torture.

The screams had finally stopped, and Venger leaned back in his throne to survey the devastation his anger had wrought. He would have to find someone to clear up the remains.

There was nothing to amuse him while he waited, so he turned and gazed at the blank surface of the Mirror.

Very, very few in this Realm could withstand its seductive allure; even he, the Great Arch-Mage, imbued with the power of his evil master, had to struggle to keep control. Little wonder the Old Man had hidden it.

But now, it was his, and with it the balance of power in the Realm would inevitably have to shift. For whoever mastered the Mirror could be Master of all.

The stench of charred Orc still hung in the air, a reminder that the Mirror was not yet subjugated to his will. If it had been, he would have known about the Seer and the tricks she used to coerce those foolish Young Ones into doing battle with his Orcs. He would have been better prepared.

'Master.'

The sibilant hiss of his Shadow-Slave broke though his musings. It hung low by the floor, as close as to got to kneeling in supplication.

'Master, the Drow have hastened to your summons. They are here.'

They had been quick; quicker than he'd anticipated. His summons must have been expected and they must be eager to help.

'Bring them!'

Within moments there were soft footfall behind him, and the Arch-Mage rose to face his new acolytes.

There were five if them, which pleased Venger. Their skin was as black as his Master's heart, offset by the pure whiteness of their hair. Each wore heavy, black furs above black and silver armour and the glint of narrow-bladed daggers could be seen in their belts.

The High Priestess stood at the front, flanked her two female assistants. Behind them stood two guards, each with bows strapped across their backs.

'Kneel,' he demanded.

The Priestess hesitated, for the Drow were a proud race, but he would tolerate nothing but complete service. The promise of reward must be great to lure these Dark Elves out of their underground lair, to kneel before a new master.

The four others followed her example.

'We have come as you commanded, Master.' Expressionless, she looked round at the remains of the Orc Captains. 'For we believe you will succeed.'

He gestured to the Weapon of Power sitting on the dais beside him. The Priestess did not hide her surprise.

'But it was to be the Ranger.'

Venger's lip twitched, but he refrained from lashing out a rebuke.

Yes, that was what he'd wanted. He had taken such delight in planning how he'd make that Ranger crawl on his knees and beg for release. Even now, impotent anger flared; it should have been the Ranger.

But he still had one of them in the dungeons, and thanks to the Ranger's error in judgement, the others were scattered. It would take time for them to regroup and, by then, it would be too late.

He rose.

'Let us begin the preparations.'