Chapter 1

Little Girl

Kamyll ran for what felt like days, but she knew she had only gone a few miles at best. Exhausted and emotionally drained, she stopped. She clumsily mad her way to an old stump where she plopped down and rested her head in her hands.

“Drayden… Drayden…” Her chapped lips formed the words silently.

It had finally stopped raining, but everything was soaked; her clothes, her hair, her bag, the map, everything. She unhooked her cloak, wrung it as dry as she could, then wrapped it back around her and immediately felt its enchantment begin to work.

She felt dry and warm. Her head began drooping and every time her chin hit her chest, she sat up quickly, shaking herself from sleep.

Suddenly, a fireplace appeared in front of her. She reached out her hands and felt the blazing heat. The stump beneath her became a large and comfortable bed. The forest canopy above her faded and was replaced by a grand ceiling covered in wonderfully vivid murals depicting vast scenes of rolling emerald hills, clear blue skies, mountains, flowers, and animals of every kind.

She was rudely awakened from her dream when she heard a footstep—just one. She lifted her head suddenly and blinked several times. The forest around her seemed blurry. She had not slept in days.

She stood up quickly and nearly fell over again. Her tired head swam and throbbed. She drew her sword.

“Who’s there?” She called in a deceivingly alert tone.

I’m not going to hurt you. She heard the gentle voice reply, but it did not come from far off in the trees. She heard it inside her own mind.

“How…” She began to ask aloud, and then remembered a certain kind of magic that Drayden had once told her about.

“Most of the time, you can only put things in their heads. Only Magicians know how to get inside people’s minds and take things out.” She remembered him saying.

“Who are you?” She asked, gripping her sword tightly.

“A Magician.” The voice answered coolly.

Kamyll turned on her heels, her heart racing. She couldn’t see the man. He was hidden by shadows and trees as well as a hooded cloak and mask. She only saw the glittering point of his sword as it caught a shard of moonlight through the branches. With inhuman speed she raised her blade to meet his. The metal crashed like lighting in the silence.

“Well done.” He said sincerely. “Who taught you?”

“My father and...” She trailed off. Drayden had taught her more about the art of swordplay, while her father, who was a skilled and dedicated warrior, taught her tact.

“Pray tell, little girl, who is your father?” He said with an odd friendly tone in his voice.

“That’s none of your business.” Their swords met again. This time Kamyll nearly lost her foothold.

“Ah, so is that your weakness? You handle your sword beautifully, but how is your footwork?” He began to move.

Kamyll watched him closely and moved accordingly.

“But it’s not all about footwork and swordplay, how’s your balance?” He struck a hard blow at her blade near the base. The sword flew from her hands and she stood defenseless.

He drew close enough to her for her to see that it was not a mask at all. It was simply a black cloth carefully tucked across his face as to hide all of his face, but his eyes; his deep, dark eyes.

She stared into them for a moment, tongue tied.

“Grip your sword too tightly and you’ll be thrown to the ground with it, but hold it too gently and it will be easily thrown from you. Hold it as you would a lover’s hand. Remember that, and maybe next time, little girl, you’ll get the better of me. But, until then...” In one swift motion the man removed one of his black gloves and stretched his hand foreword and rested it on her face.

She could feel him drawing her energy. She wanted to reach up and push him away, but her tongue was bound, as was her body.

Her eyes rolled back into her head as her knees weakened and she slowly began to sink. His gentle arm caught her before she hit the ground. The last thing she remembered before drifting out of consciousness was the sound of his footsteps echoing in the dark.