Part I: Shattered Youth

Few people penetrated the ancient wood. Yet deep within, near the forest's heart in a small clearing a small cottage stood. Ivy covered nearly every stone and the small wooden door was barely visible. A few windows formed holes in the dense growth. Vegetables grew in one corner of the clearing. It was still early in the season and much of the growth remained beneath the ground. Nearer to the cottage, in another garden, a young woman tended her herbs. She was small and slender, her finely chiseled face and pointed ears clearly marked her a member of the Elven race. She was clothed in the colors of the forest, greens and browns and sang in a soft melodic voice quietly to herself.

Her companion contrasted greatly. He too was clothed in greens and browns, but compared to the woman, the man was a giant. Where she was small and frail, he was large and sturdy. He stood tall and muscles rippled beneath his leather armor as swung his scimitar at the air before him. No one would ever confuse him for an elf.

The door to the cottage opened and from within emerged a young child. From her tiny build and auburn hair, she was very much an even smaller image of the woman tending the garden. The child stepped out into the clearing. She had both hands on the hilt of a scimitar nearly as long as she was tall. It took some time, but eventually the child managed to pull the blade all the way over to the man training with an identical sword.

"Papa," she called, "will you teach me now?"

The man gave a hearty laugh. "Not yet, my child, not yet. Don't worry, the time will come," he replied. He chuckled once more. "Why don't you help mother tend the garden." The child frowned upon hearing this, but the man continued. "Tonight's the full moon, you know, perhaps I might let you swing the sickle?" A smile returned to the child's face and she stalked off towards he mother, still dragging the sword behind her.

The afternoon wore on and soon the shadows of evening arrived. The family gathered their belonging, ready to head in and prepare the evening meal. As they approached the door, the stench of decay filled the clearing. All around the bushes shook in manners foreign to nature. The man's hand went to the hilt of his sword. "'Lyssa," he called softly.

"I am ready, Nymmon." She removed a sprig of mistletoe from on of her pouches. "Arilyn, get inside!"

The girl made a move to comply, but then the creatures broke through the bushes and entered the clearing. Laryssinala began mouthing the words of a spell, her soft voice in perfect harmony with nature. Nymmon drew his scimitar and took a defensive posture beside his wife.

The creatures, twelve in all, had long ceased living. Rotting flesh clung to visible bones. Laryssinala finished her spell and the very bushes that the undead creatures had just pushed their way through reached out and grasped them once more. Four were held thus, the others managing to free themselves without losing any body parts and continue their relentless march.

They moved slowly, yet it did not take long for them to cross the clearing and into Nymmon's waiting sword. Already his scimitar had bitten deep into one's torso. He raised his shield, blocking two long swords, but felt a sword strike the leather on his back. He pivoted, preparing to drive off the unseen foe. That notion was promptly forgotten as he noticed his wife had traded that sprig of mistletoe for a scimitar and had pierced the undead's back. She flashed a brief smile and he returned to three, well four now, which stood before him.

Back to back the couple fought off the onslaught, but unseen to them, around the corner of the cottage, another battle was taking place. Young Arilyn, eager to witness the battle, had not heeded her mother's advice. She watched her mother entangle a few of the creatures, but as the majority continued onward she grew worried. There were so many of them marching on her parents. All except for one, she noted, which was coming towards her! She froze in panic. The creature moved steadily closer.

Suddenly, getting inside sounded like an excellent idea. Arilyn turned, ready to dart inside the cottage. That was not to be though. The other creatures had already surrounded her parents and were blocking the door. She turned back toward the one that was approaching her. It was nearly on her!

Groaning with effort, she raised the sword she had been dragging about all day. The effort pained her greatly, it felt as though her arms would fall off. Then the undead thing was upon her.

The creature swung its sword at her. Arilyn weakly intercepted the blade with her own. The resulting clash sent a tingling down Arilyn's arm. She could no longer keep the scimitar aloft. It flew from her numb fingers and landed amidst the grass, out of reach.

The creature's next strike met no resistance. It sliced cleanly through the flesh of her arms. A shallow cut, but enough to feel fire in her numbed arms and bring tears to her eyes. In pain and desperation, she belted out a blood-curdling scream.

Unfortunately, the undead monster had no blood to curdle. Instead, the creature reached out with its free hand and grasped her by the throat. With inhuman strength it lifted her off the ground, ceasing her scream with a gurgle. Fear washed over her. Breathing became difficult, both from the choking grasp and the putrid smell emanating from it.

She saw dimly through clouding vision her parents rushing towards her, the few remaining creatures trailing relentlessly. Her father swung hard at the creature's arm and then she was falling. She found the ground with a painful suddenness. Her lungs burned as air rushed into them once again. Her head tilted weakly to the side and had she the strength to jump aside, she would have, for there beside her lay the hideous sight of the creatures arm. Waves of nausea washed over her.

Her mother stood over her, calling upon the forest to heal her. Nearby, her father fought off the few remaining creatures. Arilyn struggled to fight off the darkness, but the effort was far too much. Her world disappeared and was replaced with visions of the horrors the day had brought.

Nymmon's blade clove the creature in two. It's remains crumpled to the grass below. "That's the last of the vile things!" he called. Softly, he approached his wife. "How is she?" he asked.

Laryssinala looked up. Her face was flushed from the battle and her breathing was labored. "She will live. The wounds were not deep, but I fear there are wounds the magic cannot reach." She paused and sighed. "Help me move her inside."

The two carried the girl inside and laid her gently upon her bed. Letting the child rest peacefully, they left to gather and burn the remains. The gruesome task included finishing off a few of the creatures that had yet to realize that they were indeed dead. It did not take long for the pair to convince them otherwise.

"That necromancer is behind this, " Nymmon said as they watched the burning remains.

"You cannot know that for certain, dear. He is not the capable of creating undead," Laryssinala replied.

"True, but who else would attack our home? Who else would have had a reason?"

Laryssinala had no response to that.

"I will deal with him," Nymmon said firmly. His body shifted quickly, growing smaller and softer until it no longer resembled a man, but instead a hawk. Without pausing, the hawk took flight before his wife could mouth her response.

"Wait, husband, do not be rash," she said, but it did not matter, she spoke to empty air. Sighing, she began put out the fire. "That is good enough," she said to no one in particular. Bringing to mind a spell to create water, she doused the fire and returned inside to find a seat by her daughter.

Consciousness returned slowly to Arilyn. She shivered, shaking off the last vestiges of her dreams. She pushed them deep into her mind, not wishing to remember. She made an effort to rise, but a hand refrained her, pushing her softly back down against the bed. Her vision cleared and she saw her mother sitting next to her.

"I do not think so child," her mother said, removing her hand from the child's chest.

"I feel fine," Arilyn said. She looked around slowly. Turning too quickly made her head spin. "Where's Papa?" she asked.

Laryssinala smiled and said, "He had some business to take care of. I am certain the he shall return on the morrow."

"Oh," the child said. A few heartbeats she was sound asleep, the nightmares remaining at bay.

Nymmon did indeed return the next afternoon. When asked of his actions, he simply said, "The necromancer understands the consequences of disturbing our home again. I don't think he'll bother us again."

Life returned to normal for the family. Arilyn still suffered an occasional nightmare. She would awaken during the night, drenched with sweat, visions of a ghastly hand haunting her dreams. Seven years passed and Arilyn reached her thirteenth summer. Midsummer day, her father approached her, bearing a wide grin and hiding something behind his back. Arilyn looked on, curious as to what her father planned.

"The time has come, my child. You have grown much."

Arilyn frowned, unsure where her father was going with this. She did not have long to wait. With a flourish he revealed the object behind his back. A scimitar, and newly forged by the look of it. He held the hilt out for her to take. She took a step back. "Are...are you serious?" she stammered in shock.

Nymmon laughed deeply, his booming voice filling the clearing. "Am I serious! Am I serious! Ha, you shall have your first lesson now!" he bellowed.

Slowly, she stepped forward and took the proffered blade into her hands. How long she had waited for this. Her shock worn off, she eagerly followed her father's directions.

Nearby, her mother watched her only child work her way through the rudimentary sword forms. She smiled, well aware of what her child was getting involved in. It was not that long ago she had been in her daughter's position. Nymmon had been a demanding teacher. From what she could hear, the years had not changed that. She turned her attention back to the garden. She certainly was going to miss that extra pair of hands.

Much to her mother's pleasure, Arilyn did not entirely ignore the gardens. Herbalism was a skill Laryssinala wanted her daughter to possess. She greatly enjoyed the lessons she gave her daughter in the herbal garden, but the bulk of Arilyn's time was spent drilling with the scimitar. Alone or with Nymmon, it did not matter, the blade rarely left her hand.

At the end of her first year of training she received another gift. This time it was a small wooden shield and her training evolved to encompass the sword and shield form.

She began to journey with her father as he made sure the forest remained in balance. She made her first kill against a pack of goblins using the forest to waylay passing travelers. "Let them hide elsewhere," her father had said, "They'll bring unwanted attention to the forest."

Another year passed. Well into her fifteenth summer now, her father approached her. Expecting to begin her lessons for the day, he instead said, "Your armor is getting too small for you, isn't it? Well, we'll have fix that, won't we?" He beckoned for her to follow. He led her to the door in the floor that she had been told never to enter. She hesitated and heard her father's voice from below, "Well! Are you coming?" Shrugging, she entered the only part of the cottage she had never been.

What awaited her was a workshop of some sort. She looked around, trying to determine just what she was looking at. Her father spoke. "This is where I make our leather armor. And now I am going to teach you how." He took her through the room, describing the purpose of each item. He described the process of creating leather, of shaping it, and of hardening it in the boiling oil. A month went by and she had completed her first piece of armor.

Her father motioned her to try it on. The fit was far better than the old armor that was quickly growing to small. The two moved outside to begin sparring for the day. Their practice was interrupted a few hours later when a sparrow perched on Nymmon's shoulder.

"Lyssa!" he called, "We have visitors!"

Just then, four armored figures burst into the clearing. All were clad in chainmail and wielded longswords. No marks upon the armor identified them. Three began to move towards Nymmon, the fourth to Arilyn.

Nymmon's opponents engaged him immediately, wasting little time. Arilyn's, however, took his time. He wasn't as big as the others, but he was still a lot larger she was. His blonde hair was cut close to his head and he bore a long scar down the left side of his face.

Arilyn entered a defensive position. Her opponent laughed. "I like it when my women put up a fight. It makes the victory that much sweeter." She had no idea what he meant, but she didn't like the sound of it.

Her opponent lunged forward with his blade. The move was slow and obvious, and she easily knocked it aside. He swung again, harder this time, but just as slow. She had no trouble blocking it. He made several more attacks, each easily turned away. He's toying with me, she realized. He doesn't think I can use my sword. I'll show him, she thought.

Arilyn launched an offensive attack, her scimitar darting past his non-existent defenses, drawing blood along the right side of his face and wiping the confident look of his face. She pressed forward, trying to strike him again, but his sword met her each time. She retreated back to her defensive position, awaiting his attack, knowing he would toy with her no longer.

Her opponent grinned and attacked. He was quick, almost too fast. Young Arilyn was barely able to keep up with his blade. Forget the offensive, she was having difficulty maintaining a defense. Her father's lessons flashed through her mind as she struggled to find a way to break his attack. His blade just moved faster.

She had no idea how long the fight had been going on, but she knew she would not last much longer. Her shield was growing heavy, and her sword arm was completely numb. Her opponent, she noted, did not look the least bit tired.. His blows had slowed, but not nearly enough to matter.

Then he found a crack in her guard. His sword slipped through, just below her shield, striking her armor. It stung, badly. Her armor held, but Arilyn did not. She tried to recover, but she was exhausted. Her opponent reached out with his free hand and grasped the wrist of her sword arm. Squeezing, he forced her to drop her scimitar. She barely felt his hand upon her arm, but her body reacted anyway. She tried to use her shield to push him away, but she didn't have the strength to manage it.

Caught, she glanced over at her father. He was not faring well either. He bled from several wounds, his armor had been breached. One of his opponents had been wounded, though not nearly as badly as he. Where was her mother, she wondered. Then she noticed that only two men engaged her father. The third was gone.

As if on cue, a scream emanated from within the cottage. Her father tried not to let it distract him, but it did. Both opponents attacked at once. One Nymmon Nieva blocked, the other found its way above his shield and through his neck. He fell to the ground, dead or dying.

Arilyn pushed hard, struggling to break the grasp of her captor. The man chuckled and said to her, "Calm down sweetheart, you'll get your turn." She struggled harder, but to no avail, his grasp only tightened. He pulled her closer, bringing his lips down to hers, forcing his tongue into her closed mouth. She bit down, hard. Growling, he released her. As he did, he swung the hand that had held her. It struck the bare flesh of her cheek and sent her crashing to the ground below.

She hit the ground hard with her shoulder. Pain lanced through her side. The world above her spun around in circles. She tasted blood in her mouth. Hers or his she knew not, probably both.

"I'll be strong, father. I will," she whispered to herself. Doing her best to ignore the pain, she rolled over onto her stomach and tried to push herself up onto her knees. She was about halfway up when she heard footsteps approach her and felt the hard toe of a boot strike the armor of her underside. Despite the armor, she felt the full force of the impact. Arilyn found herself staring up at the sky once more.

Rough hands seized her arms and pinned them in place. Another set spread her legs apart. She stared up at him. It was the same man she had fought, the scar along the left side of his face and blood along the right clearly marking him. She grimly hoped the cut she gave him would scar as well.

"You put up a good fight, elfling, but now it's time for some fun," he told her. Arilyn pulled upon her arm, trying to free it, but whoever held her was not about to let go. Her captor's face loomed over her and then she felt as though her insides were being torn apart.

Closing her eyes, she stifled a scream. She turned her head to the side and let her eyes reopen. A mistake she soon realized. She had fallen near where her father had. His lifeless body lay next to her, his arm matching the position of the undead arm that haunted her dreams.

Arilyn shut her eyes once more, but that did not stop the image she saw. The arm, the hideous thing she could not escape, changed. It grew a body, her father's. It was he who held her by the throat now, strangling the life out of her. He was not there to rescue her now, no one was.

She fought her captor's now, as much to escape their torture as the images that would not go away. Dimly, she heard them laughing at her pitiful attempts to free herself. She supposed they were. She ceased her struggling.

With great effort she forced herself deeper into her mind, deeper than she had ever gone before. The image faded to white, the pain her body felt lessened as her body went numb. She was floating, though she knew not where.

The she felt it. A melody she not only heard, but reverberated within her. She was in harmony with it She was one with something she tried desperately to figure out. Memories leapt unbidden from her mind, filling the whiteness around her. Memories of her mother in her gardens, humming a soft melody as she tended them. The same melody she felt now.

Arilyn began humming as well, letting the melody wash over her completely. She was one with nature, one with the forest around her, she was whole. The whiteness around her evaporated, replaced with a blackness pierced with patches of white. She let her eyes open.

Her captor had risen and was buckling his pants. Someone still held her arms in place. The man spoke. "Keep her here, Danath. I'm gonna go see what the boss wants done with her. She wasn't part 'o the deal."

"Sure thing, Kaenor," a voice replied from behind her. "Hey, mind if I take a turn with her?"

"Eh, go ahead. Just don't let her get away." Kaenor turned and walked toward the cottage, entering it as if he owned the place.

The grip upon her arm faded away and Danath walked into view. No wonder she couldn't move, mused Arilyn, the guy was quite large. Several white bandages covered his body, her father's darting scimitar had slipped past his guard many times.

Arilyn bided her time, knowing her next move would decide whether she lived or died. The vision she had experienced had given her a newfound sense of hope, of strength. She watched the man standing over her. He was fumbling with the buckle on his belt. In a moment, he had it off and began lowering his pants.

Now she thought. She rolled to the side and scrambled to her feet. With as much speed as she could manage, she made her way through the brush and into the forest. She heard a voice behind her cry out some colorful expressions. As she moved deeper into the forest, the sound of heavy footfalls followed not to far behind.

She ran on, trying to put some distance between her and her pursuer. Knowing her strength would quickly wane, she had hoped to use her knowledge of the forest to evade the men. It was not working out that way. She could hear crashing through the trees as if they were not there.

Time was growing short. The sounds were growing closer and she was growing slower. The stream lay just ahead. Recent rains had filled the streams banks. She had intended to lose her pursuer long before this point. By the time she reached the water's edge, that notion had been forgotten. She paused only for a moment before she leapt into the water and gave herself over to the unseen current.

The water was not deep, but the current was strong. It grabbed her weakened body immediately, pulling her under, but also way from her pursuer. Arilyn struggled to remain afloat, to keep her head above the water, but it was futile. She didn't have the strength left. Breathing became difficult and then impossible.

She quit her struggles and calmed her panicked mind. She let the water rush over her, carrying her with it. The last thing she realized before unconsciousness took her was that she had just as much control of her situation now as she did before she had fled. The water around he grew darker and darker until it was black as a moonless light.

Arilyn awoke cold, wet, and quite alone. Still half submerged, she dragged herself completely out of the water. Sitting up, she coughed some of the water out of her lungs. She sat upon the shore for a long while, wheezing, waiting for breathing to become natural, not torture. It took some time, but eventually it stopped hurting.

Slowly she stood up. Too soon, she noted, as her knees buckled under the strain. She steadied herself against a tree and looked around. She did not know exactly where she was, but it did look familiar. She had probably passed through here on one of her trips downstream. She couldn't be more than a few hours from home then. Looking up to the sky, dusk was not too far in the distance.

Sighing, she took a few deep breaths. She reluctantly let go of the tree she was clutching and began the trip back upstream. It was probably not the best place to go, she thought, but she didn't have much of a choice at the moment. Both the thought of running into the mercenaries and the sight that awaited her at home made her shudder.

The journey upstream was not an easy one. She had to stop every few minutes and rest. She longed to start a fire, to warm herself and dry her wet clothes, but dared not take that risk. The sun had set before she had even made it more than a few miles.

With the darkness came the night chill. Her still damp clothing clung to her skin, making the evening that much colder. She let her eyes drift into infravision, the faint heat signatures guiding her body though the darkened forest. Time lost all meaning. Arilyn felt as though she was floating along, for she had lost all feeling in her legs. Through sheer force of will, she kept her body moving forward.

At the farthest edge of her infravision, she suddenly detected bright colors in humanoid form. Then came their forces, very familiar voices, shattering the quiet of the forest. She stopped, though it took a few steps before her feet caught up with mind. With all the stealth she could muster, she ducked off the path and moved out of their sight. She dropped her infravision as their torchlight grew closer. With the torchlight, came their words.

"We kill her! Which should have been done in the first place," said an unknown voice.

"I'm sorry boss. I didn't hear anything about killing the child too," replied a voice she recognized as Kaenor's.

"Our employer did not know the pair had a child. He did make it clear that all in that cottage were to perish and their corpses returned to him. You'd better hope the child's body turns up, Danath. I'd hate to think what..."

His last sentence grew quieter until the last words could no longer be understood. The torchlight was visible for a few moments longer and then it too faded away.

Breathing again, Arilyn slowly emerged from the hiding spot. She moved quicker now, pushing her weary legs as much as she could. She was afraid of what she would find, but neither did she wish to delay this any longer.

The moon hung high in the sky by the time she reached the clearing, shedding it's light upon the ground. Nothing stirred as she stepped into the clearing. An unnatural silence filled the area. A few paces in front of her, something metallic glinted in the moonlight. Wearily she stumbled toward it. Unable to hold them back any longer, tears at last clouded her vision. She took two steps and her foot struck an unseen dip in the ground. Her body soon met the grass below. The metallic object lay before her. Her father's scimitar, crimson tinted. Another tear trickled down her face, landing upon the sword below.

Pulling herself to her knees, Arilyn took the blade into her hands. Caressing it softly, she held the sword against her breast, over her heart.. She knelt there for a time, weeping softly. At last, when she had no tears left to shed, she arose and entered the cottage.

Lighting a nearby candle, she stared at the scene before her. Chairs and tables were overturned and sundry objects littered the floor. By the looks of it, her mother had struggled, but in the end, she had lost. She disturbed nothing as she maneuvered though the cottage, gathering the items she would need. After placing the items in a backpack and changing into a dry set of clothes, she snuffed the candle and stepped back out into the moonlit night.

Softly she walked to the center of the clearing. Turning herself around she stared out in each direction, weighing, evaluating. She knew she could not stay here. Not now and perhaps never. North and to the west she decided, toward the Druid's grove. They should hear of what occurred this day.

Arilyn walked to the edge of the clearing. Stopping, she turned and looked over the place that had been her home. "Goodbye mother, father," she spoke to the wind. "Death is but a part of the cycle of life," she continued, "I will find the reason. I will find out why you were killed." She paused, wiping one last tear from her face. "I will!"

Spinning quickly she stepped out of the clearing and into the forest, leaving behind a shattered youth and stepping into an uncertain future.

END PART I