The Arkanist

Prologue

Prologue

Harion was on his way to the capital when the sky began to darken. It was midday and the grey was slowly turning black, the winds creeping through his wool cloaks. The morning had passed swiftly and his pace had been prompt. The cold grey mists had burned away soon after the sun had climbed past the barrier of thick grey clouds, the snows glistening gold as if the world was cloaked in a halo of light. The beauty was brief, and the sudden arrival the bitter winds reminded the Ever Winter was still there.

Past the pinnacle of midday, the track turned to frozen dirt, with tumbles of dirty grey snow crowded on either side. Fragile fingers of naked brush were choked in the heavy white robe that covered all and dead brown leaves rested on the glassy snow floor. Old black trunks rose like pillars from the white sea, clad in grey-green bristles that shivered in the cold, huddled with stout, grim soldier firs shrouded in heavy snow. The wood rose for leagues to his left and to his right, the wood faded, dipping into a grey valley, patched with snow and jagged rock. The clouds rolled dark and ominous above, challenged only by the meek sinking sunlight.

         Harion’s horse was a well-bred palfrey, thick and broad with a glossy black sheen that gleamed silver in the grey light. His hair was snipped short and streaked with tan. It wore white socks and dark hooves that marched along the dirt road. Frosted moss crunched underfoot, smothering all possible sound as the grey-green carpet pocked the ruts in the beaten road. It was well used, and heavily traveled; a main trade route through the land. This day, the road was desolate and bare as a naked tree, its leaves torn from its fingers and strewn across the ground. Harion was thankful.

         Groaning behind his mount, an old wagon hobbled through the ruts, covered with a ratty grey pall, hay peeking through the rips and gaps in the fabric. Three days ago, Harion had repaired the right wheel, for the spokes had cracked as he climbed his way over the rocky passes and through the distant mountains back west. Broken branches had replaced them, and had held so far. Harion was thankful.

It was still a long trek until he reached the capital though, and it was essential he arrive with his cargo. Hidden beneath the pall, deep within the wooden storage of the wagon was an object of immense value. It was worth more than any amount of gold, silver, or bronze coin; more than any jewel known to man kind, more than an ancient dragon egg the crazed priests cherish in the Damned Lands; more than a spell-forged staff from the Shadows Beyond. It was supposed to be lost from the known world, crushed with those who bore it.

         Harion had found it.

         The moon was crowned with a pallid gold halo as it began to crawl out of the grey expanse. Harion could see the stars glimmer meekly around it, adorning the darkening sky with a faint elegance. His eyes darted to the road as he heard the patter of an elk’s feet scamper by. He watched it dash off into the wood, weaving between the crowded trees, snow spraying into the cold air. A large black cloud covered the moon as he looked back up into the sky and the shadows began to walk amongst him like the ghosts of his nightmares.

         The road forked. One path took him deeper into the forest; the track turning white with snow and the other sloped down, the wood clearing a bit further down. Harion led his horse into the descent, slowly and carefully, the wagon moaning behind him as the wheels turned and the rusted iron screeched. He pulled up his hood as the winds screamed to life, the naked trees bowing humbly as he passed.

         The snow had halted for much of his journey so far this day and the paths had only been dusted in frost. Some days in the Ever Winter the roads were hidden under several feet of snow and trade stood at a stand still, as did the realm. As the wind brushed against Harion’s icy cheek, he felt a flake of snow kiss his lips. The first flake was followed soon after by a light flurry that lingered for a long while and which took Harion out of the wood and onto a wide cobble road, lined with a high jut of granite.