Prologue

The black waters raged below as an oversized crescent moon hung from a silent curtain of stars above. The waves, like the great thundering of hooves, rolled in and waged war upon the feet of the cliffs that jutted out from the sea. The darkness of the night was heavy and darkness thick. Yet, the moon’s faint light revealed the outline of a figure traversing along the grassy hillside that met the edge of the highest cliff.

The hooded man trudged over bushes and rocks as his wind blown cloak dashed about. Moving at a steady pace, he was in no hurry, though he knew that he was being followed.

When he reached the pinnacle of the summit he moved surprisingly close to the edge of the cliff. Surveying the scene his gaze spanned from left to right. The cliffs of Alganthra spanned the Southern shores which gradually sank into the ocean's depths. To his right the Northern shore revealed a smooth beach that lined the island for miles, though, he knew that tonight, it was infested with hundreds of ships that would soon carry thousands of voyagers across the sea. And before him, the horizon, where the bejeweled Western sky meets the mysterious depths of a turbulent sea.

The man touched the white signalling horn at his side as he watched, then turned around, his back now to the edge. He remained silent and still as an iron statue. Thin and tall he stood regal in his hooded garb. The faint moonlight glimmered in his eyes as he waited.

In a moment a massive and dark figure emerged from around the face of a large boulder. Seeing the hooded man staring at him, he stopped. He was dressed entirely in black with a broad sword at his side and a black signally horn around his waist.

He snatched a bush nearby, uprooted it then three it halfway between the two of them. Then the man stretched out his hand out waving it in the direction of the bush and which instantly burst into brilliant red flames. Felsawn and the man were instantly illuminated and there was no hiding their presence now. All who had a view of the cliff could make out two figures in close proximity. The red glow revealed a crooked lopsided smile on the man’s face who spoke first.

“Felsawn,” he said in a deep and raspy voice. “Your intent is already well known. Why run? Do you think to hide?”

Felsawn’s eyes remained fixed on the man.

“My brother,” the man continued now beginning to creep towards Felsawn, “there is no power, no wizardry strong enough now that can waylay my efforts to obtain victory over your feeble attempts.”

He chuckled, “You are a fool. You always have been, Felsawn.” He paused, then added, clutching his fists at his side, “We will find it!”

The man had reached the blazing bush and was inching past it.

At that moment Felsawn began to slowly step backwards keeping distance between him and the man. A few more feet and the ground would drop three hundred feet or more.

“You are no longer my brother, Womlon,” Felsawn said, his hand on his white horn, ”And the power that you call great, will abandon you in that very hour when you need it most.”

Felsawn was at the edge of the cliff now, heals over the edge, he leaned slightly forward. Womlon growled then he let out a fit of maniacal laughter. Looking away from Felsawn, he waved both hands from his side up through the air. The flame of the bush grew rapidly and burst high into the sky. Womlon stepped closer.

“Where will you go?” Womlon’s lips curled into a wry smile as his chuckle resembled the scrapping of metal against stone. “What hope is there?”

“We will not meet again,” he said with tear filled eyes in a tone barely above a whisper. “Farewell.”

Felsawn never let his gaze off of his foe. His blue eyes were glowing as he pulled his horn to his lips, blew, then paused. Then, as if at a calculated moment, Felsawn leaned backwards and fell out of sight.

Womlon sprang to the edge of the cliff. He watched as Felsawn’s figure shrank rapidly. Something white caught Womlon’s eyes to the North as a massive figure moved toward where Felsawn was now falling.

It was the great, white dragon, Sedrak.

The dragon swerved, flapped its wings to slow in speed, paused, then turned in the direction opposite the cliff.

Felsawn had made his escape.

Just before the dragon turned to sail over the ocean, Womlon squinted and caught sight of a second figure on the back of the dragon. He watched as the dragon flew into the West and gradually disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Womlon looked up at the sky, still laying on the ground over the cliff, then looked at his own horn at his side. He stood up then pulled the horn to his lips and blew a long call. He waited, then far in the distance, the sound of an identical call was heard.

Womlon whipped around and faced the flaming bush. He waved his hands from left to right, and with a deafening crack, the bush exploded and shrouded the surrounding area in flame. The wind quickly carried the fire down the grassy side of the cliff.

Womlon ran down the hillside and was soon among the voyagers on the Northern shore.

“Nalthos! Belglaron! Is everything ready?” He shouted.

Several men started shouting then two large figures were produced from the crowd.

“Felsawn has fled,” Womlon said towering over the two men. “My assumptions were correct.”

Womlon surveyed the scene, “We must leave at once.”

“Yes,” they said in unison. “

Womlon reached the shore and approached one of the men standing near one of the hundreds of boats, “We will leave at once.” He said gruffly.

He looked at the cliff where he knew Felsawn had leapt from. Now, it was a blaze in red fire. He squinted and spoke through his clenched teeth, “The plan will fail.”

He turned, then announced in a bellowing voice, “Men...it is as I guessed.” Womlon turned to the men who were approaching on the shore in droves. “We sail west...and we will leave immediately.”