A/N: Finally! Okay, so it doesn't end where I wanted it too, but I was tired of having this sit on my hard drive. Enjoy what's here anyway.

Chapter 6

He roused from his centuries long slumber as a shudder passed through his insubstantial body. Someone was disturbing his resting place! Possibly, the one he was waiting for.

Karigan picked her way across a fallow field strewn with black basalt. A breeze swept over her carrying the strong scent of the sea and the sound of gulls to her. She could still see the rugged, black coast in the distance. A deep blue ocean met the shore in crashes of white sea foam. Not far ahead of her was an expanse of freshly tilled black earth below wispy clouds and a dark blue sky. A strong overhead sun told Karigan that is was a good time to stop and eat the lunch that her aunt had packed for her before heading out at dawn.

Her destination was the west end of the island where the land was too rocky for anything other than laying the dead to rest. As she settled in the shadow of particularly large boulder, the fragrant and spicy scent of the panweed in her bread reached into her consciousness allowing her to relive her arrival.

Warm pleasantries had been exchanged, but there was too much to do around the property for a real conversation. Karigan pitched in with various chores; feeding chickens, grooming the horses and even attempting to milk a cow before dinner. She wasn't very successful, and the memory brought a light to smile to her mouth. Jarrod, Uncle Gabran's eight year old son, took over for her, giggling like mad over the fact that she couldn't perform such a simple task.

When the sun was low on the horizon, dinner was called, and the family poured into a warm kitchen, filled with the aroma of pan-fried flounder flavored with the common herb whose new growth now surrounded her as she sat. Dinner conversation soon turned to Karigan.

"So Karigan, my sisters find a husband for you yet?" Uncle Gabran asked cheekily. Karigan could only groan. Her aunts had been writing far too many hints in their letters about the young men she had been such good friends with in childhood. Considering the turmoil her emotions had been going through the past few months, all hints were completely disregarded.

"Yes dear, is there anyone who has struck your fancy recently?" Gabran's wife, Tam asked.

"No," Karigan answered, just a king I've fallen in love with.

Before the conversation could continue Jarrod and his brother Thom decided to bring up a topic that had been on their minds for quite some time. "Do you really know how to use that sword, or is it just to look tough?" Thom asked.

"It looks pretty beat up, have you used it a lot?" Jarrod added.

More than a little happy for a different topic, Karigan gave a short laugh and answered, "I know how to use it well enough, and it has saved my neck on several occasions."

"Will you teach us some moves?"

"Boys, no. Swords are not toys and I won't have you playing around weapons," Tam said sternly. It was a mother's command and allowed no room for argument. Karigan flashed them an apologetic look and took a bite of her recently neglected fish.

"I am beyond curious about this mission of yours. You've hardly mentioned anything. What are you looking for?" Grandfather Corin asked. All attention went to Karigan again. Sipping on her blackberry tea as she debated how much to reveal. Although her father had become more open minded about magic since the night of the coup, it did not extend to the rest of the family. They were among the majority of Sacoridians who believed that magic was not to be trusted—even feared as evil.

"Researchers at Selium found a journal and other documents during renovations of the school. They mention the possibility of some artifacts from the Long War being buried on the island."

"But why send a Rider, dear?" Tam asked. "Surely one of the researchers from Selium would be a better choice."

"The matter has caught the attention of the king. I probably shouldn't say much more." Her family grudgingly accepted her answer for the time being, and moved on to other topics. Ending the evening with Grandfather Corin's harrowing tales of life on the sea.

Coming out of her memories, Karigan realized she had finished her lunch some time ago, and it was time to be moving on. As the sun began to turn the horizon blood red she reached the edge of the burial fields. Cairns marked by engravings, by paint, and for some, by age dotted the landscape. Sun bleached coral pieces, carefully arranged in farewell messages, stood out against the black soil and rock. Hardy grasses created sparse tufts that jutted between cracks in the rock here and there.

The grave she was looking for was one of only a handful of true tombs on the island. Land that could be dug into was needed for farming. The land that was left was difficult to penetrate. As a result very few people were actually buried. The preferred method for laying the dead to rest was a cairn that was smoothed with limestone mortar.

At the edge of the field, she found the small tomb she remembered from her childhood visits to the island. As she approached it she felt a light breath at the back of her neck and a strange crawling sensation down her back. There was nothing behind her and no one else around. A warding maybe, she thought as she began to inspect the tomb. A skilled engraving of an oak tree spread across the seal, alive and full of life. Westrion and Salvister decorated either side of it, declaring the deceased a solider. Taking a deep breath and blowing it our slowly, Karigan started chiseling away at he seal with tools borrowed from her grandfather.

She was clearly of his blood and held great power; the wards would not have allowed her to break the seal otherwise. The question was whether or not she possessed enough control to wield his gem. It would be needed soon. He had felt Alessandros awaken from the sleep in which he was imprisoned. His taint was now reaching his far flung island, getting stronger by the day.

She entered his tomb warily. Advancing down rough steps with a small oil lamp before her, she entered the main chamber. It was an old lava tube with dry, rounded walls that were chiseled smooth. It was easily eight feet high and extended to the left and to the right for miles, ending in solid rock. Detailed frescos covered the walls with scenes of his life, a final gift from a talented grandson. Sealed from the outside world the colors and images were just as bright now as they were a thousand years ago.

His sword, shield and body armor were propped along one wall. It was all expertly crafted. His blade was sharp and perfectly balanced with a gilded pummel. The shield was emblazoned with Alessandros's sigil—a dead oak. And the body armor was covered with delicate filigree in bronze and gold. At one time he kept it highly polished. He would gleam like the sun on the back of a black war stallion as he lead armies into battle, into death. Even after he betrayed those armies, he would polish that armor, but never to its same brilliance. Objects from the life he made on Black Island were featured far more prominently. A piece of his first fishing boat, old nets and hook lines, and a board game his daughter had taken to.

Under a painting of a clear night sky, his body lay. Reduced to its skeletal base, blank sockets stared into eternity as the jaw hung slack. The girl let out a small scream as she turned and saw it. "By the gods I hate tombs," he heard her mutter. Then recognition flared, and he remembered a cool night under a bright full moon. He had gazed into a lake and seen this girl, this Rider. He grinned to himself; fate did enjoy its games!

A portion of wall that appeared patched. Upon closer examination, it was revealed to be a false wall. She chiseled through the wall in the same way she broke the seal to the tomb. It gave way quickly and revealed a small, dark room. Dust motes swirled in the dim light produced by her oil lamp as the first air in a thousand years entered the room. She saw a pedestal with a clear gem and a delicate dagger resting upon it. As her fingers surrounded the cool gem, she felt a gentle hum against her palm. The gem didn't look like a gem at all. Instead it looked and felt like a piece of heavy lead crystal that was given a jeweler's cut.

She turned her attention to the small dagger that lay on the pedestal. It was obviously finely wrought with a golden hilt and ivory inlays. Before she could touch the hilt a soft, eerie glow spread over the pedestal. When she looked up, an apparition was scrutinizing her. The face was more aged and worn than when she saw it last, but she still recognized it from her vision in the Mirror of the Moon. The ghost before her was Hadriax el Fex and he swiftly walked into her. Like her experience with F'ryan, she felt as though she was being filled with ice water as her mind was thrust into the background. She replaced the gem and picked up the dagger. Fear for what might come made her fight the presence that was in her, but Hadriax was stronger and she could do nothing as cold steel slit deep into her left palm. A blush of crimson blossomed and began to flow freely, dripping to the floor. Her bleeding hand reached for the gem and picked it up once again. Red began to seep into the interior as blood mixes with water. She began to feel a tug at her energy just as Hadriax left her body. Blackness blurred the edges of her vision, air left her lungs as the drain became stronger, she fell hard to her knees, but try as she might she could not release the gem. Before Karigan lost all consciousness she heard a ghostly voice.

"Be strong," he told her. It was time to see what strength this young woman held. He only hoped that she had the full strength of his line.

Karigan as she felt herself falling through an unfathomable space. Colors shifted and condensed into vague shapes only to break apart again. It gave her an overwhelming sense of vertigo that ended abruptly as a scene completely different from the one she left solidified around her. She was no longer in a centuries old tomb but a fresh battle field. Thick, congealed blood pooled around her boots and seeped into the soil. Contorted and maimed bodies littered the open field covering nearly all of the ground. Arrow and spear shafts bristled many of the bodies while others were clearly hewn open by a sword. Some look hardly injured at all. Most were dead, but she could hear the cries of anguish and pleas for help from those that still survived. In the distance able bodied survivors tended the dead and wounded. Carrion birds and jackals were beginning to congregate on the field, focusing on the much larger corpses of dead horses. The stench of viscera and death stuck in the back of her throat, making her vomit her meager lunch.

"There comes a time when it doesn't assail the senses anymore," a male voice said from behind her as the last dry heaves racked her body. Turning to meet her visitor, she recognized a young Hadriax standing regally in full armor, long sword in hand and covered in blood, dirt and grim. "Eventually, it doesn't mean anything beyond an accounting of the good men who were lost." His voice was rolling and pleasant; an incongruous characteristic for a man so unaffected by what surrounded him.

"What battle is this?" Karigan asked weakly.

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. They are all the same. Good men die brutally to serve a cause that should never have been there own. Take it," Karigan, taken aback by the sudden change in topic, gazed stupidly at him until she realized that a second sword had materialized in his other hand. Unlike his own it wasn't slicked in the blood of battlefield casualties. She gripped the leather wrapped hilt and tested the heft of the blade. It was well-made and balanced perfectly.

"Why do you show me this?" Karigan asked, shifting into a fighting stance in response to Hadriax doing the same.

"It is a place for testing," the first blow fell from Hadriax's blade, jarring Karigan to her teeth, "a place for tempering of the spirit." Another blow and another and another, the onslaught was dizzying. Karigan struggled to block but the force of the blows were robbing her strength and leaving her numb.

"I still don't understand."

"The Blood Gem was not meant to be wielded by those who are weak, Karigan. You must prove yourself now or it will destroy you." A particularly deft blow threw her off balance and she fell, but not on blood soaked earth. All remnants of the battle field, including the sword, were gone. The room she found herself in was a giant library with light green marble covering the floors and shelves filled with books covering the walls. Golden rays of a setting sun streamed through giant windows that surrounded the room illuminating comfortable chairs and pillows, side tables piled with odd volumes. Oak doors that were far larger than the great doors to the king's throne room loomed over the whole room. An intricate oak was carved into the wood of it and was vibrantly colored with jewel inlay.

"It's the royal library in Arcosia. I spent many hours of my youth in this room, often with Alessandros." Hadriax again stood before her, but this time he was a grown boy on the verge of becoming a man. He was dressed in a style that seemed odd to Karigan. Puffy sleeves met a tight, embroidered tunic and a small cape that reached his calves was fastened to his back. Even if it was odd, the fabrics were fine silks and the stitching perfect.

"And is this also a testing place?"

"All you will encounter in this state is a test. The sparring shows you have the physical strength to withstand the drain the Blood Gem causes, but that is the simplest of the hurdles."

"How many of these tests must I pass?"

"All of them."

"That's not—"

"I know, but the number does not matter. Only that you survive each one. Fail and you will die. Now, you must play." Between them an Intrigue board appeared on a small table accompanied by two chairs.

"No."

Hadriax delicately arched an eyebrow, "No?"

Feeling like a defiant child under his gaze, Karigan crossed her arms in front of her chest, "Every time I play that blasted game it means trouble in one way or another. Besides I never win."

Hadriax gave a soft chuckle. "I know and that is precisely why I chose this game. You never win because you never commit. Commit your mind to the game Karigan. Believe that your beloved country is about to be overrun and that only you can save it. The only way you can succeed is to play the game." Karigan recognized the truth of Hadriax's words, as unpleasant as they were. She unfolded her arms and warily took her seat. The scene shifted again.

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