Year 1150 of the Third Epoch…

Around her the woods kept quiet as it were before she ever set foot inside the forests. The absence of winds had made her wary, the branches and the leaves so still that she could not help but look askance at the tall, deciduous trees. Something was amiss, she thought. The Dark Forests had never a good reputation, but there was nary an eerie feeling whenever she had ventured into the shadowy woodlands that dotted the lands of Galacor for leagues, covering a little less than half of the wide country. But today, as her feet plunged into the heart of the forest, her skin tingled at the coldness of the land, the stillness in the wind. Even the air seemed unwholesome.

The look and feel of the forest would have sent another person running, but she...would never be afraid. Fear was uncommon for her, like it never existed. And if there was any, she never showed it. She was Keyara, Princess of Alkameth, and she was not going to be afraid of anything. Not even the dark, not even the shadows that seemed to peek at her from behind the trees.

If it were not for the tiny baby in her hands, she would have stood her ground and fought, but now, worried for the life of the little one, she ran, her feet forging her own criss-crossed path. The roots that cropped up out of the ground mattered to her not.

She was being hunted. Or rather, her baby. She had to save her little boy at all costs and the best way to lose her hunters was to get to the other side of the river. If only she could get to it. The river was still a mile away and her feet groaned of pain, having run for leagues. She paused for a while, her breath coming in heavy gasps. Her right hand placed on the nearby tree, one with the broad trunk and its bark as rough and sinewy as it could get, she stood, her other hand patting the bald head of the baby. Keyara had not named him yet. There had been no time. As soon as the baby had been born, they had come. Vile creatures born out of darkness, far north under the icy glaciers of the doomed mountains. Her summer palace had been destroyed, now probably lying under charred debris. Her people dead, most of them at least, their blood wetting the grounds once considered holy and favorite to the Gods. They had attacked -- through land, sea, and air; riding on their fire-breathing dragons, sailing on their ships with dark sails, and mounted on what she could tell were horses, only mutilated and evil-looking. Men and women had quailed alike, as most often did under the cold glares of the minions of The Brothers Dark. She had wanted to fight, but Valakh, her counselor, had advised her to seek the refuges of Alkameth, her father’s city far to the west, and alert them to the rise of evil in the east. And she had run, shamelessly, oblivious to the fact that Valakh was surrounded by hellhounds by the time her feet paraded her out of her beloved palace.

An arrow struck the bark of the tree, its tip black and reeking of poison. The sheer force with which it had come left a whooshing irritation in her ears. She turned to look behind and caught a glimpse of her pursuers. They were still far behind, but she knew they would close in soon enough. A brief smirk decorated her face and covering her baby with a pink embroidered cloth, she ran again, this time her heart regretting the choice to not stand and fight.

She zigzagged through the woodlands, the dark figures howling at her. Arrows flew at her, but always missed. Her hands caught hold of a wooden branch, thick and rough, lying nearby and swiveling, threw at it one of her pursuers who had almost closed in. The wood hit him right on his nose and he fell down on the ground with a heavy thud, grunting and snarling in pain, his hands clasped on his bloodied nostrils. She let out a loud laugh and ran again.

Up above her the leaves began to rustle. Frowning, she looked above and saw a black smoke trailing, at its front and behind the figures of its arms showing, shaped like talons, sharp as a dragon’s claws. ‘Daemons,’ she cursed under her breath and heaving a deep sigh, she quickened her pace and hastened to her right. Far yet visible, she caught a gleam of water; her ears pricked up at the sound of a gushing stream. She smiled and made towards it. She was so near to getting to her destination. The daemons would not follow her over the water. Not yet.

But her hopes were short-lived. The daemon struck the earth with a dark force that sent her flying into the trees. She clutched her baby hard, her eyes wide with shock. The daemons usually never set foot on the ground, yet this one had done so. Her back struck the trunk of a tree and she squirmed in pain. Nonetheless no shriek left her mouth. She looked at the baby; he was safe. For the moment. Breathing heavy, she looked towards the river and saw the daemon lunging towards her, a flaming sword in his hands, the hilt of which she recognized to be darksteel, forged in the fires of the dark castles to the north. Indecision swept across her mind, her body feeling helpless, but by the time she had gathered herself, the daemon had covered a lot of ground. Sweat trickled down her forehead as the hand that held the fiery blade raised to smite her.

At the last moment, her figure wavered and ducked under the heavy blow, catapulting the daemon towards the tree, its black head butting against the bark of a tree. Keyara, carefully holding the baby, slithered under the wide legs of the gigantic monster, and ran towards the shimmering waters of the river that she knew was nigh. She heard the daemon roar, the sound of which sent shivers down her spine. Terror overcame her for a moment, making her stop where she was, her limbs as if ordered by someone. The air became colder and breezier. Turning behind she saw the daemon face her, its darksteel sword still in hand, and lunge towards her like a snarling and hungry wolf.

She knew she could not fight both the daemon and keep her baby safe. There was only one thing she could attempt to do and get the baby to safety first. She shook aside the gripping terror, her limbs relaxing as her maternal instincts of protection flowed through her body. Quickly plucking a long, slender twig from a nearby tree, she muttered a short incantation. As the daemon came and pawed at her, she swished the twig in the air from left to right. The daemon howled and fell backward. A silver but transparent wall separated the creature from her.

Keyara moved the twig on the ground in a circle while the daemon kept up its attempts to shatter the wall. But Keyara knew that the wall would stand as long as she was nearby. She stood her ground in the middle of the circle, its rims burning with a lightning blue fire. Breathing heavily, she closed her eyes and held the baby high in the air. Her pink lips moving, her black hair waving, the baby soon dematerialized into the air. She heaved a deep sigh, her bones suddenly weary. The spell of teleportation, she had been taught, was a dangerous magic to cast, especially for novice magicians with no practice and experience. But for one such novice, she had come far enough. She knew her spell had succeeded and she had lived. The baby was now safe. Her lips quirking, she prepared herself for a fight, just in case. She looked behind. The river was now near, the gushing of its waters loud. But far away behind the daemon she heard the howl of hounds, many in number. The wall would not be able to withstand a full attack. And so she ran towards the river, the twig in her hand turning into a sword that glowed with a bright light that dazzled the daemon away from the wall.

She was quite near the water, perhaps a hundred feet away, when she heard the wall behind her break. With a quick turn of her head, she saw the daemon standing rooted to its place, but in place of him, the hellhounds raced towards her, snarling and growling, baring its bloodthirsty teeth. Their gray eyes seemed so full of dark it made her shudder. But throwing aside the fear, she plunged her sword into the ground, blue ripples circling towards her enemies. Most hounds yelped as the magic burned through their furry skins, but some jumped above and made towards the sword behind which Keyara squatted, her hand clasping its hilt, her eyes determined to kill.

***