Prologue


Seran knelt beside the mouth of the cave. His heart was racing, his breathing short and rapid. He looked back to where his friends would be, but they weren’t there. He had left them far behind. It didn’t matter; he was going to prove to them that he was strong despite his small stature. This was the perfect way; even the older boys, boys twice his age, were frightened when it came to be their turn to enter the cave and take the challenge. He wasn’t scared; Elves pride themselves on the strength of their children.

The small boy determinedly walked out in front of the cave and turned his face to it. It was dark inside, pitch black as though the very rock absorbed every ray of light that came through the opening. His pupils dilated; he could feel his chest tighten in fear. Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all he thought to himself. He looked down at his small pale hands. No one will think worse of me for turning back. I’m only eleven. Besides, no one even knows I am here.

He turned and looked back down the mountain at the small village he called home. A bunch of boys his age were playing farther down the mountain. The view was serene. The forest of tall hardwoods dominated the mountain side, and near the village he called home the tall waterfall splashed. This place, wonderful and full of life was his home. It was almost perfect, almost.

As he watched two of the older boys turned and began to taunt a smaller boy. He felt a deep kinship for that small boy although from this distance he couldn’t identify him. His resolve renewed, he turned again to the cave. No one will think any better of you either the brave little voice in his head rang out. How bad can it be? Before he could change his mind, he threw himself into the cave.

Seran looked around; it wasn’t much of a view. The darkness pressed against his face like a cold fog. It made no difference whether his pitch black eyes were open or closed. Walking backward, he looked back to the opening of the cave. As he walked farther away it grew smaller and smaller. He turned back around and continued to walk into the cave. This isn’t so bad a little voice in his head whispered.

Something very big and very fast flew by his head with a whooshing noise. Turning quickly around to see what is was he became aware of a horrible sensation. It was almost like being smothered, like the air had turned to smoke too thick to breathe. The feeling grew closer and closer. He couldn’t escape.

There was a sharp stabbing pain in his left eye. Seran raised his hand to touch it and felt blood. A horrible pain spread from the wound through the inside of his head; throbbing and burning, it was like no pain he had ever felt. He threw his hand to his face and ran them through his hair, but the more he tried to fight the inevitable unconsciousness the worse that pain got. It was like a war inside his head.

The young boy felt dizzy; as he staggered about trying to find a level place in the spinning cave, he caught his foot on something, a rock, maybe or his own foot, and fell to the ground. He rolled from one side to the other and arched his back in agony, but the pain grew to fill his head.

Then something changed; he was no longer in control. The pain stopped abruptly. He couldn’t move. Seran stared, unblinking at the ceiling and concentrated all his efforts on maintaining the rise and fall of his chest. His limbs might have been those of a cadaver for they were as cold and dead to him as those of a corpse. He almost began to wonder if he was dead; then the pain returned. It spread down into to his chest and from there out till it filled every bit of him. He felt his body spasm. All his muscles tensed; his shoulders pulled together, and his fists clenched. All he had left was the steady feel of the ground beneath him, and soon even that faded. He was so tired; he couldn’t fight any more. He allowed himself to fall quietly into the quenching water of unconsciousness.

Seran lay for the moment glad of the relief, but soon a strange feeling over took him. It was like he was being drowned, like something was pulling him down farther and farther into a dark pool of water. He realized in a flash that if he didn’t fight it he would never see the moonlight again. He struggled against the mysterious force that dragged him ever closer to his death.

He swam in and out of awareness. Nothing was cohesive; nothing made sense. The next thing he was aware of was moving down the mountain towards the village faster than he had ever moved before. The trees whipped by him at an alarming pace although he didn’t feel like he was running; he couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet. This flash of consciousness lasted only a moment; then he fell back into the smothering darkness. What happened after that was mostly lost to him. He became aware of the world for only brief moments, but in those fleeting seconds of consciousness he saw his fate unfold. He saw all the greatest mages of his village, the shaman himself included, standing in a line between him and the village. They all seemed to be busy strengthening the village’s protections. Then he was alone in a dark room with walls made of stone blocks. A door stood to one side and the broad powerful frame of his father stood silhouetted there in the fading light. His father muttered something, but he couldn’t hear it. Oh he had longed to hear what is father had to say. Then the darkness claimed him for an untold amount of time.

When next he awoke, he found himself in a state of delirium. He was pacing back and forth across the room, or at least his body was. He wasn’t in control of the actions. This state persisted for several weeks. He would pace nonstop, day and night, until he was too exhausted to move, then he would sleep. Everyday a guard would carefully open the door to deliver his meal, and everyday he would spring at the guard like a wild animal. In response to these attacks the guard would hit him, often hard enough to knock him out.

After a few weeks Seran was able to gain more control over the mysterious force inside him. He could sit and think rather than pacing wildly. Even with this new found self control he could feel a wild beast inside of him pushing to get out, but he could hold it off. It took months for the guards to grow less wary. Many of them still carried long sticks to fend him off with for months after he stopped attacking them.

He had no way to measure how long he had been in the cell. There were no windows, no daylight. He tried to keep track by counting the number of times the guards came in to feed him. Most days he forgot to count, and finally he gave up on it. Instead, he measured the time by how much his pants had shrunk, or how much shorter his cot was. Most days it didn’t matter; he just sat in the dark.

After a long time, maybe more than a year, the guards started growing less cautious around him. Some of them would talk to him and tell him what was going on around the village. He didn’t really care who was having a baby; he just craved the personal interaction. They would bring him books and he would read them hungrily; the dim light in his cell didn’t hinder his elven eyes. He almost felt like maybe he could forget the monster, but every time he got close he could feel it pressing against the backs of his eyes and pressing to get out.

One day a guard came to deliver his meal. It was a new guard, one he had never seen before. He approached the man to see if he had a book or something for him to read. The man smiled at him as he stepped into the room and left the door ajar. When he saw the open door left unguarded something jumped in Seran. The beast inside him reared up and with all the force it could muster it pushed him physically and mentally to escape. Seran dashed through the door and slammed it shut behind him. His moment of regret for the poor man he had locked inside was quickly eclipsed by his pleasure at feeling the wind on his face. Without another thought he threw his shoulders forward and sprinted into the forest.

As the sun was setting deep in the woods Seran stopped by a slow moving stream. He looked into the water and saw, for the first time, his left eye. A scar ran diagonally from the outer edge of his eyebrow to the bridge of his nose. The sight of the dark streak, contrasting so badly with his pale skin, shocked him. He raised his hand to the familiar raised line of scar tissue, and marveled at his disfigurement. The iris, which had once been black as night, was now electric green. He closed his right eye to test the vision in the injured eye. It was flawless, maybe even better than in the other, despite the scar through the pupil itself.

“It is an odd color,” his reflection said to him. Oh no, he thought, I’m going mad. “No,” his reflection said again, “you are not.”

“Who are you?” Seran asked confusedly.

“Jaron,” the thing replied, “though you may know me by a different name, Elf-Slayer maybe or Soul-Drinker? Either way it doesn’t matter. I have learned, over the centuries, everything your people know and much that is lost to them. Killing one by one your greatest minds, and in the moment of their death, I have stolen from them all they ever knew. I am your demon.”

These words hit Seran with the force of a charging bull. He covered his face with his hands, closed his eyes and tried to force the image of that thing out of his mind. Running his hands down through his hair and over his pointed elvish ears he thought I am the vessel for one of the most dangerous demons in the history! I am sheltering a being that ended the lives of thousands of elves and humans over a two thousand year killing spree!

Stunned by disbelief Seran thrust his hand into the water, breaking the surface and distorting the image past recognition. “You can’t get rid of me that easily young one,” a voice in his head echoed.

Mustering all his courage he screamed to the night air “You won’t control me, you won’t! I am small but not weak, and I won’t be your instrument! I will control you,” Seran called to the night struggling against the great power welling within him. “You will serve me!”

“Yes,” the thing answered. “I will.”

“Why?” questioned Seran, shocked at the being’s subservience. Catching himself, he added, “Not that I would prefer otherwise. I’m just curious.”

“Because boy,” Jaron shot back harshly, “I don’t have much of a choice, do I? I have killed men one thousand times your age with no trouble, but you, I have tried hundreds of times to kill you and failed. It is not me becoming weak so it must be you. I have been studying you. You have more, raw, untrained power in your frail form than I have seen in powerful shamans. So, I have come to accept the fact that I will live out my days as a reservoir for a boy, but in your current state even that life will be very short. I am going to teach you all you need to know and you are going to learn. That isn’t a request.”

“No!” Seran exclaimed defiantly. “I will not!” The familiar pain burned through his body again. He fell to his knees and gasped in pain.

“Listen little boy,” Jaron said quietly. “I might not be able to kill you, but I can make your life miserable. Now get up, tonight we eat and tomorrow we begin. Understand?” Seran nodded quickly unsure whether Jaron would get the message; after all he couldn’t see himself nod. The pain eased off. Assuming the Jaron had gotten the message Seran stood and began to walk toward a plant he recognized as edible.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seran saw the shadow of one of the trees move. Too late, Seran whirled around to face it. It wrapped itself around him, strangling him. This isn’t right he thought it didn’t happen this way!

Nightmare! The word echoed silently in his head as Seran gasped and sat up on his pallet in the woods. A cold sweat covered his bare face and chest. His right hand shot up to his stinging left eye. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to remember where he was. I am not a boy any more, He reminded himself. I’m a man, not even a young man any more, at least not by that reckoning. Anyone who counts his age in centuries is not a young man.

He could feel his demon moving inside his chest and head. Like a caged beast trying to escape and throwing itself against the bars of its prison, Jaron fought. He stood up and walked over to a nearby stump. He sat and rested his head in his hands for a moment hoping to stop the throbbing. He felt like a glass orb with a small steel ball rattling around inside him. “Stop!” he finally commanded screaming it to the night. Jaron was still. That was the first time in centuries he had needed to actually speak to calm Jaron. I am still in control, you stupid beast. Did you think your own student could not contain you? You are a part of me now, remember? You are mine to call upon! He could almost hear Jaron growl.

He drew his hand across his face and down over his nose till it covered his mouth. He could feel stubble growing on his cheeks. When was the last time I shaved? The thought flashed through his mind and was gone.

Fifteen hundred years isn’t all that old. He rationalized. Compared to the old men in his village he was still very young. He didn’t bother pondering his age any longer than he had to. It was, honestly, a waste of time. He instead turned his attention to more important matters.

He hadn’t dreamed about his training in the mountains and woods near his home for centuries. Breathing in and out slowly, he though about what it could mean. That was more than a thousand years ago, why was he thinking of it now?

He stood, closed his eyes and turned to the south. Just standing there he could feel the dark energy radiating. He bathed for a moment in the glorious chill of the darkness, but even as he did he was concerned about its growing intensity. He began to ponder the irony of a Dark Elf being concerned about dark energy, but stopped and called his hawk. The graceful creature flew down from the tree tops and settled on a rock nearby. He pulled some writing paper out of his bag and, dampening his fingers with his tongue, he quickly plucked a piece of charcoal from the fire.

He would have to find Creden. Who did he know who would know where Creden was? He addressed the letter to several people and included another letter and instructions to send it to Creden if they knew where he was. After running his fingers through the bird’s black and gray feathers, he sent the hawk on its way to each. The hawk instinctively headed for the nearest of the people. Seran stood and watched it go. One of them would know where Creden was. He would have to find his old comrade and warn him of the coming evil.


Far across the mountains Creden sat outside the temple and looked up at the stars lost in thought. I know Seran would never lie to me intentionally he thought but are his senses that good? Can he really know? He glanced back at the letter in his hand. It was from Seran warning him that the inevitable return of darkness was finally upon them and that the time to gather the three was now.

He remembered how he had met Seran. It was nearly a thousand years ago now, just days before the last stand of the first dark war. One of his officers, Kark, had come marching into his tent leading a dark elf, with hands tightly bound and ankles shackled, in tow. “I found him spying on us through the trees!” the Kark had said indignantly. “I will have him tortured and then executed. He will not report to his master on our doings.” The sparkle in that man’s eye at the thought of torture had been almost frightening.

“You think you will have him tortured and executed,” Seran had stated calmly. “In practice however I think you will find you will have a harder time of it than that.” Creden was briefly puzzled by the man’s odd manner of speaking.

“You think so?” The officer said. Before Creden could stop him the officer charged at Seran. Seran moved quickly to the right and tripped the officer as he rushed past with one of his now free hands he grabbed the back of the mans uniform just in time to keep him from hitting the ground. He then pulled the officer back on to his feet and pushed him back towards the middle of the tent.

Creden put his hand out to stop Kark from charging again. He surveyed the dark elf, who he now knew as Seran. There were no traces of either the bindings or the shackles. The guards in the tent drew their weapons, but Creden held up a hand to stop them. “What do you want?” Creden asked. “If you aren’t a spy then why would you be hiding?”

“If you must know I was trying to see who was in charge. I am here to help, but as I say that, I have my rules. I am not a soldier, and I will not be commanded as a soldier.” He replied coolly.

“I can’t give you command of men, and I can’t pay you. I don’t know what you expect me to do.” He said slamming his fist on a table. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t go around handing out command to strangers!” Seran turned to face one of the maps hanging on the tent wall. He heard one of his junior guardsmen gasp.

“I don’t require either of those things. Just let me ride by you in battle. I will take care of myself. Those are my terms. You can either accept my help or ignore it, but judging from the cloud of dark energy hanging over your camp, I think you need all the help you can get.” He said his voice still unbearably calm.

“I don’t see a cloud.” He said trying to figure out this riddle.

“Trust me,” he said. “It’s there. I can see it.” He waved a hand at his left eye which was covered by a small metal patch.

“Fine, leave.” Creden barked, something about this stranger intrigued him. It was almost as though he exuded a sense of power. Seran grinned slightly, revealing elongated canine teeth like a cat, and walked back through the tent flap. “You know of him?” He demanded of the junior guard who had gasped.

“I have heard stories, sir, nothing for sure.” The scared young man forced out.

“What have you heard?” He asked.

“I heard that he nearly destroyed an entire village when his son was killed.” The man answered. He had the almost childish look of one telling ghost stories around a fire.

“His son was killed?” I wouldn’t have pegged this man as a father, he thought.

“Yeah, they say his son was a monster who started killing people when he was only three years old. The people killed him for the good of the village, but apparently Seran didn’t view it that way.”

“Seran, that’s his name?” The young guard nodded. “Very well, at this point I am hardly in a position to turn down any able bodied man. Dismissed,” The guards quietly left him alone in his tent to ponder this strange man.

Seran had come through on all his promises. He had fought bravely and well during that battle, and he had earned the respect and trust of many men by the time they walked off the field. He was always willing to do what needed to be done. That is what had endeared him so much to Creden.

However that was a long time ago. Seran was still young and vaguely naïve then. Not anymore. No, now he was a man hardened by battle and that familiar personal pain that had haunted his eyes before, which through the years had grown a shiny black shell around itself and with it, it seemed, the rest of his feelings leaving him cold and quiet and totally, unbearably sane.

Yes I can trust Seran’s judgment on that matter, but these three. How am I sure that these three Seran has chosen are the right three, and how do I get them to come here? It’s a problem for tomorrow. He stretched out and fell into a fit full sleep.