Chapter 1
An old man in a fine blue robe hurried across an open vineyard, his leather boots leaving faint prints in the soft summer earth. Behind him stood the white walls of Castle Linden, towering above the thick tendrils of the emerald grapevines. “Trik,” he shouted as he neared the edge of the vineyard.
The elf stood at the edge of the vineyard with a young woman hanging on his arm. He was dressed in a dark tunic and gray trousers. His long hair draped over his shoulders and covered his ears. “Yes, My Baron,” he said, surprised.
The Baron halted in front of Trik. He was out of breath, and his brow was slick with sweat. “I request your company,” said the Baron to Trik. “Yours and yours alone.”
Trik glanced at his fair companion, a young woman with dark eyes and curly brown hair. “Excuse me, my lady,” he said to her. “I won’t be long.”
Trik joined the Baron for a walk along the edge of the vineyard. For a while the Baron said nothing as they walked in the dying light of the evening. Then he turned to Trik and said, “Certain matters have come to my attention.”
“Matters?” said Trik.
“Duke Mortimer of Gipoli,” said the Baron. “I believe you know him.”
“I have heard of him,” said Trik, “and what I have heard I do not like.”
“What you have heard,” said the Baron, “is only a fraction of what there is not to like. I have come upon worrying news from my spies in the east. They warn me that the Duke is in league with King Orodrin of the Dwarves, who is even now readying a great army to march upon the Empire.”
Trik halted in the shade of an oak tree, and his brow furrowed. “Orodrin,” he said.
“Yes,” said the Baron, halting beside Trik. “I know of your misfortunes at the defense of Alaquonde so many years ago.”
Trik looked to the east, at the Darken Hills and the mountains beyond. “Not so long ago for me,” he said.
“Be that as it may,” said the Baron, “I have need of you now.”
“Need, My Lord?” said Trik.
“Yes,” said the Baron. “My spies inform me that Duke Mortimer is headed for the capital of Rule with his army. He has promised the Emperor his aid in defense of the city. But in secret, he seeks the throne.”
“The Emperor welcomes a spider into his house,” said Trik.
“Exactly,” said the Baron, “a spider who weaves webs of lies. Mortimer has told the Emperor that Orodrin intends to attack from the south, but my spies tell me that he will march north over the frozen tundra.”
“That shall put Orodrin only a hundred miles from Rule,” said Trik. “The legions could not arrive in time to defend the city.”
“You are seeing the truth in it,” said the Baron, “as I knew you would.”
“What response have you planned, My Lord?” asked Trik.
“I will send my son Durben with a message to the Emperor,” said the Baron. “The Emperor knows me and trusts my counsel. He must be warned of Mortimer’s betrayal.”
“He will need an escort,” said Trik.
“Yes,” said the Baron, “and I have chosen you.”
Triks’s eyes widened. “But I am not a knight, My Baron,” he said.
“My son requests it,” said the Baron. “You are the one man I know I can trust.”
“My Lord,” said Trik, “it would be better to send Sir Morgen to protect your son. I am no friend of the Emperor. Sir Morgen is wise and strong. He would—”
“You must go,” interrupted the Baron. “You must protect my son.”
Trik sighed. “My Lord,” he said, “I do not think it wise.”
The Baron’s expression hardened. “I’ll decide what is wise,” he said.
“Yes, My Baron,” said Trik.
“My son will depart with you in the morning,” said the Baron. “You will ride to the city of Rule and deliver this message from me.” He handed Trik a sealed scroll. “If what my spies say is true, I fear dark times lie ahead.”
Trik tucked the scroll into his tunic. “Have no fear,” said Trik. “The Emperor will receive your message.”
The Baron patted Trik on the shoulder and smiled. “I knew I could trust you,” he said.
