Preface

The training room was empty in the early hours of morning darkness as Yew’na entered through a sliding side door barefoot, tip-toeing up the worn redwood steps which led to the canvas sparring area. Taking the first turn she loped down the ornate paper hallway toward the iron-barred chest at the far end. Beyond the lock was her prize: a coveted and priceless ancient sword constructed during the Mar Yhain dynasty of the First Age, before that knowledge was forever lost.

Imbued with a deep and forbidding power, the azure crystal blade would never chip, its edge never dull. The most treasured possession of the Maitsialong House of Honorable Fighting and Theater, of which Yew’na had been a ward and student for fifteen years — most of her life. Yet that all ended tonight. For not simply would she run away, she would steal their most valuable item, their very heart.

She’d taken the key from the neck of the abbot, the final time she would share his bed. For too many years he’d manipulated her. The favors promised but never arriving; help forever ungiven as merely the rumor of their relationship generated endless scorn and resentment among her classmates. At first she’d spurned his advances and been labeled a whore for her trouble. Finally relenting to his desires, she’d proved it.

Exhausted by the bullying, consumed by the mockery, she became filled with a constant burning indignation. In the practice arena she could defeat every member of her rank, and more than a few above her, yet they still despised and tormented her at every turn. She was ostracized by nearly everyone, rejected from even the smallest moments of pleasure and affection. Only one ally ever she’d had, one friend and one love, the lone mate to her soul: dearest Go’wann’gi. The only person who’d ever cared one inch for her well-being. So when last night Yew’na learned of her humiliation and death, the decision was finally made.

Now having become more miserable, more utterly alone than she’d been in her entire dejected life, nothing could prevent her escape but death, a freedom she would gladly welcome as relief from the endless torment. Only vengeance narrowly prevented it. More necessary now than even the solace of void: they must be made to understand; to know what they’ve done; and they must pay. The fresh depths of her misery granted a new clarity and brutal freedom. While the abbot bled to death in his bed, neck opened, she pulled the sword from its cradle, dropped a candle onto the spilling lamp oil slowly covering the floor and away she fled.

* * *

He’d always been the strongest. Always been the biggest. No one had tried to fight him in years. Most people in their small village stopped talking to him after twelve when his horns began to grow. It wasn’t until his thirteenth birthday that his mother finally admitted the obvious: he was not entirely human. She wept as she told him.

He’d never known his father and she refused to speak of him. She merely confessed that he was indeed some part Aardish. Crying often, apologizing and shamed, she made it difficult to ask more. But over the next few years as his skin began to tinge blue he realized he was probably as much Aard as Man. It was hard to believe he was only a quarter, as she originally claimed. Aards are triple the size of a human, and young Yjormachiah was seven foot tall and muscled like a bull before he was fourteen. He’d always stood out in their rural town, and although he tried to be kind and generous, it was impossible not to intimidate people, especially with six jutting curving horns coming out his head, parting his hair, and shedding bloody velvet each spring. He’d long known he would have to leave, but was unsure where to go. He asked the gods for guidance and trusted himself into their providence as he set out into an unaccommodating world.

* * *

Being a diplomat was not an enjoyable occupation for Ibn Mal’Isho Alwae-Hinshin, as he had only ever longed to study and travel. He’d been reading about foreign lands for most of his life and now finally decided it was time for a serious journey into the unknown dangers of the rustic north. Exactly as he’d told the Court Librarian and Court Astronomer, his best friends, the night before he left. Though he purposefully neglected to tell the Emperor, for fear he would not be allowed to leave. Perhaps he was deserting his duties and might be reprimanded upon his (hopeful) return. But his aim was only for knowledge, and that would aid the crown. He hoped His Excellency would understand. Ibn had tutored the young prince for many years before the boy had ascended the throne. He knew there was still affection there, although the Emperor now rarely showed it. Perhaps that’s why he was leaving now. When not in favor, courtly life becomes a daily struggle. He hoped there was enough good will to avoid a death sentence — these days being handed out all too casually. But after all, the world is a very dangerous place, and he might never return. Yet, to be safe, he left in the middle of the night.

He planned to write a detailed account of his travels, and hoped it would please the Emperor (and maybe grant himself some scholarly fame as well). He expected to be gone for many years and perhaps the current regime would not even last that long. Politics being quite rapacious in the Matashaadian Empire, each noble family rarely ruled for more than a couple generations. There were so many lords and barons, so many fiefdoms and duchies, that prolonged dynastic rule had been absent for hundreds of years; much to the detriment of the Empire, or so people often said, usually right before and after each violent coup.

Now Ibn would cross the wide sea and travel north along the fragmented and dangerous trade routes in hopes of learning some truth about the northern wonders only vaguely described in books. He planned to uncover the secrets of these lands while having all the many wondrous adventures he anticipated of the exciting open road.