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Chapter One

Sapphire and Obsidian

THE MAHROWAITH HAUNTED the shadows, unseen, wary, and hungry.

“It’s here, somewhere,” Cam whispered. “I can feel it.”

For weeks now, the presence of the Mahrowaith nibbled at Cam’s mind. He was constantly aware of it, knowing what it was feeling, sometimes even what it was thinking. This morning, he had followed the tenuous, gossamer link to this place in the hope of ridding himself of the beast once and for all. Now, it lurked on the other side of a clearing. Though he could smell its stench floating on the gentle breeze, why could he feel its essence? How could he? That question gnawed at him. He feared the answer more than he cared to admit.

Spider sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. “I smell the vile thing.”

The peculiar sulfuric stink of the Mahrowaith wafted over them. Cam covered his nose to avoid it, suppressing the gag reflex that almost emptied his stomach of a hurried breakfast.

He lay on his belly on a soft bed of damp oak and maple leaves, peering under a moss-covered log into a forest clearing. Dappled light danced through the morning shadows. Spider sprawled beside him, clutching a boar spear, scowling like his breakfast had soured in his stomach.

The great black prairie wolf, Draig, sat on his haunches, curiously silent. His intent green eyes fixed on the clearing, and his nostrils twitched. He didn’t snarl like Cam expected. The wolf had always been able to sense the presence of the Bragamahr, the dark magic from which they had been running for weeks. This time, he didn’t charge off after the beast. But why?

Still, Cam let the concealing embrace of the quiet woods settle around him. He wanted to be on the trail again. To get away from the protocol of the court and the constant reminders of that horrible scene in the Lonely Valley, where Rebecca lay trembling in agony as the Anarwyn and the Bragamahr sucked the life out of her, transferring it to Tara and Maelorn. So Cam convinced Spider to sneak out with him to see if they could locate the Mahrowaith.

Cam brushed his eyes with the back of his hands while glancing sideways at Spider, whose gaze remained focused on the clearing in front of them. Everyone acted like they were treading barefoot on prickly pear cacti every time they came near him. He was sick of the constant reminder that they pitied him—maybe even blamed him. Their silence was worse than an angry accusation would have been.

He could have fought against outright blame. But their avoidance of the subject chewed away at his patience until he thought he might burst. He had to get out of Yarwick. The city chafed at him, as did the long days waiting for the army to be ready to march out and meet Bardon. The monotony had been broken only by exhausting hours in which Lorna, the last remaining Varaná, and Laird, an Inverni healer, trained Cam and Spider in the use of the Anarwyn—teaching them how to access and control the power so they could understand their limits and enhance their potentials.

Cam’s bow lay discarded at his side. It would be of no use against the Mahrowaith if it attacked. Sad experience had taught them that. Instead, he grasped the Fire Stone, a chunk of amber, in one hand and the Protection Stone, a lump of turquoise, in the other. Because he had swallowed the Dûr Crishal, the sacred water of the Anarwyn, and accepted its magic into his soul, he could wield the ancient power. Amber was the only weapon Cam possessed that could kill a Mahrowaith, and turquoise allowed Cam to cast up a shimmering blue bubble of magic to conceal him and Spider from the beast. It would not protect him from human weapons, but no living creature could see them while they were within the bubble of magic—or so he believed. It had worked so far.

Spider rubbed a hand over his face and whispered, “Man, it stinks. Why can’t I feel it?”

It was true. This Mahrowaith didn’t create the creeping, throat-gripping terror tying Cam’s insides into knots that usually accompanied the beasts.

“This Mahrowaith feels different,” Cam said, his voice muffled by his sleeve where he kept his mouth and nose covered.

Leaves rustled as Spider adjusted to glare at Cam. “How do you intend to kill this thing now that we’ve found it?”

Cam glanced up. He’d come here to kill the beast with the Fire Stone, but now, he wasn’t so sure. It seemed wrong, like killing a piece of himself.

“I’ve heard this Mahrowaith speak in my mind,” Cam said. He had never admitted this to anyone. If he could hear it, maybe he had been damaged by the Bragamahr, and the Anarwyn was right to fear him.

Spider shifted, curling his long legs under his round body. It was no accident that Spider had acquired this nickname. Yet, he refused to answer to anything else—and certainly not to his given name of Ludo.

Spider scowled. “Did you try to speak to it?”

“Of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Well…” Cam didn’t have an answer. The beast had called him Master, and that fact alone disturbed him more than anything else. Why would a monster of the Bragamahr call him Master? Something had happened in Braganeth Valley when they escaped the grasping mist and fought with Zenek—something Cam did not understand. He remembered the flash of agony and disorientation but had thought it merely the effects of his encounter with the Bragamahr moments before.

For weeks now, he’d been hunted by these beasts and nearly killed by them on several occasions. But this one had been following him since he fled Braganeth Valley. He first encountered it by the creek in the hill country south of Goldereth and then again on the banks of the Brunen River. The beast saved him and Drakeman at the Lonely Valley on the plains west of Yarwick, where Cam’s failure to release Maelorn and Tara from the stone had cost Rebecca her life. The returning thought of Rebecca pierced him. Because of his failure, he would never hear her voice again nor feel her cool hand in his. Cam shook his head, trying to refocus.

“If it can sense you and speak to you,” Spider asked, “why hasn’t it come charging at us right now?”

Cam held up the lump of turquoise he had found on their way into Hannoch. “I’m using this.”

“Right,” Spider gazed up at the gentle blue glow that enclosed them. “You know Laird can hide himself with the agate.”

“Has Laird taught you how to do it?”

Spider shifted. “I’m still trying to learn how to heal. I figured that was more important than hiding.”

Rustling bushes behind them made Cam crane his head around to peer back the way they had come. The forest quieted, and a sense of anticipation hovered amid the trees. Draig glanced around without concern. His attention focused again on the clearing where Cam could still sense the presence of the Mahrowaith. A squirrel must have been scurrying up a tree or something else equally innocent.

Cam was struggling to decide what to do when crashing erupted on the other side of the glade where the Mahrowaith had been hiding. He spun to face it, rising to his hands and knees, ready to flee or fight. A deer bounded from the undergrowth into the slanting morning light that filled the open ground in front of them. Relief flooded into Cam’s chest. It was just a deer, but….

The deer stopped in mid-bound, caught by a wavering, shifting image before being slammed to the ground. Its throat burst in a shower of blood and hair, ripped open by invisible claws. A crimson stain gushed over the dried leaves. The beast shimmered into view, and the breath caught in Cam’s throat. It didn’t matter how many times he saw these monsters. They were always terrifying.

The Mahrowaith crouched over the quivering carcass of the deer with one great foot pressing it to the earth where it twitched in death. The monster ripped a chunk of flesh free with its clawed hand and stuffed it into its mouth—hair and all. Blood dripped from the beast’s flat snout, the same color as the glowing red irises of its close-set eyes with their black pupils. Wind shifted the canopy of leaves, sending shafts of morning light to glisten off the black obsidian armor that covered its body.

According to Lorna, the hideous beasts were created by the Bragamahr for a single purpose—to hunt the heirs of Anarwyn to extinction. So why did Cam experience this deep, disturbing connection with the beast and desire to protect it?

“Should we try to kill it?” Spider whispered.

“No…well…I don’t know,” Cam said, confused by his conflicting emotions. It was insane not to kill the thing.

Spider sniffed. “We can’t just have it running around eating people.”

“Has it killed anyone?”

Ever since the battle in the Lonely Valley where they had slain dozens of Mahrowaiths, there hadn’t been any reported sightings of the monsters or any unexplained brutal deaths—at least none that had reached Cam’s ears. And he had seen this Mahrowaith drag down and kill others of its kind.

“It’s a Mahrowaith,” Spider insisted, “a creature of evil created only to kill and destroy.”

“I know,” Cam said, trying to control his growing frustration. “But something is different about this one.” He rose to his feet. “Let’s see what it does if I don’t use the shield.”

“Uh, Cam?” Spider scrambled to his feet, gripping the boar spear tighter. “I don’t feel like getting ripped in half today.”

“Trust me,” Cam said, though he didn’t really trust himself.

“Sure, like the time you dropped me on my head when we were stealing hawk eggs out of the old oak?”

Cam smiled at Spider. “Ready?” A nervous shiver of anticipation swept through him. It was a crazy thing to do. Mad. Insane. And yet…. He let the turquoise shield drop.

The Mahrowaith’s head snapped up. The hairs on the back of its neck rattled. Blood dripped from its jaws. It straightened, standing tall on its hind legs, fixing its bloodred eyes on Cam. It took one step toward him.

Master. Its guttural voice echoed in Cam’s mind.

“I’m not your master,” Cam shouted at it.

“By the black sands,” Spider cursed and stepped back, holding his spear at the ready. “Don’t call it over.”

The beast’s voice penetrated Cam’s mind again. Blood of your body. Fragment of his soul.

Cam started. “Did you hear that, Spider?”

“Hear what? You shouting at it?”

“No. It said—” Cam stopped.

The Bragamahr had said those very words to Cam back in Braganeth Valley when they were fleeing toward Goldereth. He’d almost forgotten it. What did it mean? Blood of your body? Terror pinched his stomach.

“Master,” the Mahrowaith said with a guttural hiss and took another step toward them. A low growl rumbled in Draig’s throat. Cam rested a hand on the wolf to calm him. Draig’s hackles stood on end, but he didn’t charge after the beast. He wasn’t even looking at it.

Another rustle sounded behind them. Cam ignored it. He didn’t want to take his gaze off the Mahrowaith in case it disappeared and rushed them. He wanted answers.

Cam opened his mouth to ask the beast why it called him Master when the crashing behind him grew louder. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a ball of black fur and slashing teeth barreling toward him. Before Cam could respond, a black bear slammed him to the ground. His breath burst from his lungs, and the two stones bounced from his hands.

The momentum of the bear’s charge carried it past him. Cam fumbled in rising panic to get his hands on a weapon as he struggled to his feet, still fighting to fill his lungs with air. What was wrong with this bear? Black bears seldom attacked humans without provocation.

“Hey,” Spider shouted brandishing the boar spear, trying to deflect the bear’s attention away from Cam. The bear paid him no mind. It leaped at Cam again, and Draig met it with a snarl and slash of his fangs. The bear backed off and circled. Cam was breathing hard, his insides churning. The bear’s eyes glowed an unnatural aqua blue, giving it a wild, unearthly aspect. Couldn’t it smell the Mahrowaith? Why wasn’t it afraid of the beast? None of this made sense. Cam glanced around to see where the Mahrowaith had gone, afraid it might have seized the opportunity to approach them. It was nowhere to be seen.

Cam drew his sword and held it in one hand while he grabbled in the leaves, desperate to find the Fire Stone. It was his only protection against the Mahrowaith.

“What is with these bears?” Spider said. “I’m getting tired of them trying to kill us.”

This was the third bear attack in recent weeks—one in Bear Cave near Donmor, one that had attacked Spider near the Afon Fathwe, and now this one.

“Maybe they like the taste of spiders,” Cam said. “Now help me find the Fire Stone.” He could sense the Mahrowaith creeping toward them through the trees, though he couldn’t see it. It was hunting.

“Something’s coming,” Spider said. He assumed a fighting stance, gripping his spear. “You might want to hurry up.”

“Help me,” Cam shouted. Without the stones, they were defenseless against the Mahrowaith.

“There’s no time,” Spider cried in response. “Watch out!”

Another streak of fur rushed from the undergrowth right at them—this time a gray timber wolf. It dodged Spider’s spear thrust and leaped into the air. Cam rolled away, snatching up the longbow and fumbling for an arrow in his quiver. Too late. The wolf’s fangs tore a long gash down his arm as it flew past.

Cam came to one knee. Ignoring the pain in his arm, he whipped an arrow from his quiver, snapped it onto the string, drew, and released. Though it was a rushed shot, the arrow punched into the wolf’s side as it whirled to face them. It growled and bit at the arrow, snapping it to splinters before swinging its head to gaze at them. Its sapphire-blue eyes burned in the dappled light.

“Blood and ashes,” Spider cursed. “It’s rabid.”

Draig and the bear were tangled in a fight to the death, roaring as they tore at each other. Why was this happening? Cam sensed the Mahrowaith crouching in the shadow of the woods as if the beast had been struggling to decide what to do.

A hideous shriek pierced the forest. Only one creature could make a noise like that, and it was rushing toward them. Cam spun to search frantically among the churned leaves and earth for the stones he had dropped. Panic pinched his throat. It was like all the animals of the forest had gone mad. The timber wolf snarled and sprang at them again. It never reached them.

A glint of light sparkled off the obsidian armor of the Mahrowaith as it caught the timber wolf in mid-leap. The Mahrowaith’s claws tore the wolf’s throat open and hurled it against the trunk of a great oak tree. A sickening crunch echoed in the forest, and the wolf dropped to the earth, blood seeping from its torn neck as it twitched and shuddered.

The Mahrowaith turned toward Cam and straightened. Its bloodred eyes fixed on him. “Master,” it said aloud in a horrible, grinding voice that clearly was not used to speaking.

“What the—” Spider began, but his comment was cut off as the bear broke loose from Draig and charged them.

The Mahrowaith shrieked again and hurdled past Cam to intercept the bear. They tumbled to the earth in a ball of roaring fury. The Mahrowaith came out on top, tearing and rending until the bear was nothing but a trembling mass of black fur, blood, and raw flesh.

Cam gaped at the scene, unable to believe what he was witnessing. The Mahrowaith had protected them for the second time. Draig’s lips lifted in a snarl of warning but didn’t attack. The Mahrowaith straightened, blood dripping from its claws and sliding down its obsidian armor. It backed away from them and glanced at Cam.

“Master,” it said again in an audible voice that shivered in the clearing. A pleading sensation swept through Cam, and he scowled.

“Cam?” Spider’s voice quavered. “That thing is speaking to us.”

Cam didn’t know what to say. The Mahrowaith clearly meant them no harm. So many upheavals had occurred in recent weeks that Cam thought he’d be surprised at nothing. But this astonished him—an evil creature calling him Master and protecting him from animals that had gone crazy. And what about Draig? His kind were the most bitter enemies of the Bragamahr, and yet, he simply stood there with his hackles raised and his lips snarling without attacking. None of this made any sense. Worst of all was his deep, penetrating desire to protect this beast.

“What do you want?” Cam demanded. “Why do you follow me?”

The pounding of galloping horses thudded through the forest. The Mahrowaith crouched and sprang away into the trees. Draig trotted after it, showing no real desire to give chase.

“Draig, come back,” Cam shouted as he spun to face the riders. Hebron, Slone, and Laird ducked under the branches of a big oak and reined their horses to a stop in a shower of leaves and dirt.

Hebron scowled as he observed the scene. “What in the black sands do you think you’re doing?”

He rode a big stallion that was heavily lathered, probably from carrying Hebron’s immense, muscular body. The slanting sunlight flashed in Hebron’s red hair and beard. His magical sword, Dorandel, hung at his hip.

“Didn’t I manage to pound any sense into your thick skull?”

Cam grunted. Hebron had trained him since he was a child to fight and to survive. Still, he didn’t want a dressing down at the moment, and Hebron’s chiding got his back up.

“I’m taking a break,” Cam said.

“From what?”

“That stinking city and all the people who want to kill me—or use me.”

Hebron’s arrival had ruined his chance to find out what was going on with both the Mahrowaith and the Anarwyn. Cam glanced at Spider, who straightened with the boar spear dangling in his hands, looking for all the world like a little boy caught stealing chickens’ eggs.

“We just went hunting,” Cam said. They had been hunting—hunting a Mahrowaith. It wasn’t a lie.

“We heard a Mahrowaith scream,” Laird twitched his bullhorn mustache and dismounted. “I can still smell it.” He bent to make sure the wolf was dead. “Looks like the beast got hold of a wolf.”

“It kind of protected us,” Spider said.

“Kind of?” Hebron snapped as he dismounted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“See for yourself.” Spider pointed to the pile of flesh and fur that had been the bear.

Hebron stepped over to the mangled remains to study it. “It’s eyes,” he said. “They’re glowing blue.”

“We noticed,” Spider quipped.

Hebron spun to face Cam, his brows knitted in a glower. “You’re going to be a king. You can’t run off like that.”

Cam scowled. “It was either get out of Yarwick or go crazy. Besides, you know I’d make a better blacksmith than a king.”

Slone laughed, patting his barrel chest. “He’s just a lad, Hebron. Every little bird has to stretch its wings.”

Hebron narrowed his eyes. “You made that up just now, didn’t you?”

Slone grinned. “Nah. It’s an old saying up in Apland. Sometimes he reminds me of Rebecc—” His grin faded. “Sorry lad. I…” he trailed off.

Treading barefoot on prickly pears, Cam thought. They were all like that. Still, he understood. Slone had been devoted to Rebecca after she saved him from drowning in the Afon Fathwe River. He had taken her death hard. Cam couldn’t decide if Slone blamed him the way he blamed himself.

Laird bent to examine the imprint of the Mahrowaith’s foot in the churned-up soil. It resembled an elongated wolf’s foot but was much larger.

“What about that Mahrowaith?” he asked.

“It’s Cam’s new pet,” Spider answered.

Draig trotted up to Cam and sat on his haunches. Blood flecked his black coat from his fight with the bear, and he had a gash on his head that dribbled blood. The horses shied away from him, their noses twitching at the scent of the bear and reek of blood. Hebron glared at Cam, clearly waiting for an explanation about the Mahrowaith.

“It’s the same one that came to our camp up by Goldereth,” Cam said, “and tracked us to the Brunen River.”

“How do you know that?” Laird asked as he rose. His bullhorn mustache twitched again. His gaze focused on the blood on Cam’s arm, and he stepped over to him with a scowl. “Looks like one of them took a bite out of you.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Hold still,” Laird said, seizing Cam’s arm in a viselike grip. He drew a lump of agate from his pocket and cupped it in one hand. “It’s not too bad. Spider come here.”

Cam didn’t resist. He knew how eager Spider was to learn.

Laird washed the wound with water. “It’s best to clean the injury before you heal it. Specks of dirt can fester if left inside.”

Spider nodded.

“Now, place your hand on mine and close your eyes. Concentrate. You’ll be able to feel what I’m doing.”

Spider leaned on the boar spear and rested one hand on Laird’s as the golden light of Laird’s agate flared. Warmth rushed into Cam’s arm, followed by a sharp pain. He sucked in his breath, but the sting faded away as healing energy flooded his body.

Laird withdrew his hand. “Could you follow what I did?”

Spider grimaced. “Maybe.”

Laird chuckled and traced a finger over his mustache. “How does it feel?”

Cam shrugged his shoulder. “Good as new.”

Laird tended to Draig’s injuries in the same fashion and then rose. “You never answered my first question,” he insisted. “How do you know it’s the same Mahrowaith?”

“He can talk to it.” Spider said this like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hebron cursed under his breath. “So you went looking for it? Haven’t you had enough of those things?”

“Why didn’t you kill it?” Slone insisted. His hand slipped to the handle of the axe tucked under his belt, and he studied the shadows around them.

Spider pointed at Cam. “Ask him.”

Cam glared at Spider. He would have preferred to untangle this mystery before admitting to them that he had some deep connection with a monster of the Bragamahr. It wasn’t something he wanted to get spread around. “I don’t know. It’s not like the others. It’s connected to me somehow.”

“It called him Master,” Spider said, grinning as he emphasized the word. “Just now. I heard it.”

“Would you shut up?” Cam snapped.

“What?” Spider gestured toward the dead animals with his free hand. “You can see it’s the truth.”

All three men simply stared at them. Cam shuffled his feet, averting his gaze. Warm shame burned through him. He could guess what was going through their minds—either that he was completely crazy or he had joined the Bragamahr. He raised his hands in surrender. “Relax, I’m not creating some Mahrowaith army.”

“How do you explain it, then?” Laird asked. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

“I don’t,” Cam said.

The beast had said blood of your body. What could it mean? Lorna had warned him never to tell anyone that the black sand acted like the crystal water. Where the water gave a person the capacity to control the power of the Anarwyn, the black sand did the same for the Bragamahr. Cam scratched at his knuckles where the black sand remained embedded in his skin. He had been fleeing from the black magic for weeks, and now this beast of the Bragamahr had called him Master again. Had it meant that it had somehow taken Cam’s blood into itself? He didn’t have any answers, only questions.

“All I know is that this thing is connected to me somehow. I can sense its presence, but I don’t feel that horrible crippling terror. When we’re in danger, it protects us.”

“That makes no sense unless…” Laird trailed off, but a knowing look spread across his face as if he guessed something.

“What makes no sense,” Spider said, “is that a black bear and a timber wolf, both with glowing blue eyes, attacked us for no reason when a Mahrowaith was close by. It was like they were hunting us, and they weren’t scared of the beast at all.”

“Curious,” Slone said. “Has the Bragamahr found a new way to create creatures of evil?”

“But why would the Mahrowaith kill them, then?” Spider asked.

“Why, indeed.” Slone reined his horse around. “This is why the Anar disowned the magic long ago. It cannot be trusted. Now, if you two are done playing, the Regency Council is meeting in a couple of hours.”

Cam glanced back at the dead timber wolf and the mutilated body of the black bear. The sapphire blue of their eyes had faded to a murky blue. Why had these animals attacked them? It was against their nature to do so, just like it was against the nature of the Mahrowaith to protect him and speak to him. This was important. He needed to understand it before he could figure out what was happening to the Anarwyn. Something had changed back in the Lonely Valley when it refused to let him use the magic. Something frightening.

“We’ll need to tell Lorna about this,” Laird said as he and Hebron remounted.

“You’re going to make us walk?” Spider asked.

“Yep,” Hebron said and clicked his tongue. His horse trotted into the shadows.

Spider hefted the spear. “You ever get the feeling he likes to make us suffer?”

“Why would he be any different just because we’re in the West Mark?” Cam said.

“You are going to be king.”

“I’m not sure that makes any difference to Hebron.”

Slone reined his horse over to Cam and dragged his boot from the stirrup. “Get up here, laddie. We can’t have you become food for every hungry bear in the woods.”

“Just a minute.” Cam dropped to his knees and shuffled through the leaves, searching for the stones.

“Is he truffle hunting now?” Slone asked.

Cam found the two stones and held them up.

“Right,” Slone said.

Cam slipped the gemstones into his pouch, shrugged the quiver and the bow over his head so the string tugged tight against his chest, and reached a hand up to Slone.

“Up you get.” Slone grunted as he dragged Cam onto the horse’s rump behind the saddle.

Laird swung Spider up behind him, and they followed Hebron into the dappled shade of the forest. The Mahrowaith was still out there. Cam could feel it watching them as they retreated into the woods.

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