The lord of the castle

chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

A distant land before recorded time

It was midnight on the Eve of First Harvest and he stood alone on a rocky pinnacle of his high mountain, watching the villagers far below as they danced around a fire blazing in the middle of the square.

No mere mortal could have discerned aught but the flames, but the wizard of Darkfest Keep could

clearly see the face and form of each man, woman, and child, hear their songs of joy, their shouts of carefree laughter.

He saw Adair, the cooper, flirting with a woman who was not his wife, saw young Muggins slip quietly into the shadows with the blacksmith's daughter.

Old Henrew was telling ribald  stories to a handful of young men, while Alys the midwife sat apart from the others telling a young maid's fortune.

Such foolishness, the wizard mused, singing and dancing during the dark of the moon. He could have told them that all the singing in the world would not protect their crops from weevils or drought, or ensure a bountiful harvest.

Dancing barefoot in the dirt would not make their women fertile, but who was he to vanquish their hopes and dreams, foolish though they might be?

And when the crops failed and the clouds with held their moisture, the villagers would take their courage in hand and climb the narrow rocky mountain path to his door.

Cowering with fear, careful not to meet his gaze, they would plead for his help.

They would bring him golden ears of corn and flasks of spiced wine, a lamb without blemish, the meager contents of the town's treasury.

They would grant him homage and beg for his mercy.

And if it suited his mood, he would accept their offerings and grant their boon, and they would hurry away, never meeting his eyes, careful to keep him from seeing that they made the sign against evil behind his back.

Their fear amused him.

He possessed many strange and wondrous powers, but, awesome as his talents might be, even he could not perform all the mystical feats of which they believed him capable.

The sound of lute and tambourine floated toward him, borne on the wings of a gentle east wind.

And then he heard a voice,her voice , as light as morning dew, as clear as crystal ice.

A lovely voice that threaded through the darkness and twined around his soul like a fine silken web.

Channa Leigh's voice.

It tugged at him, pulling him nearer the edge of the precipice on which he stood, tantalizing him, calling to something deep within his soul as it did each time he heard it.

He saw her clearly, sitting on the edge ofthe well in the center of the village square.

Her father, Dugald of Brynn, stood near her side, proud and protective, but Darkfest had eyes only for the fair Channa Leigh.

She wore a white apron over a simple blue dress.

Her hair, as bright as the sun on a summer day, fell in rippling waves down her back and over

her shoulders, glistening in the firelight like a river of molten gold.

This night, her voice beckoned him as never before.

Unable to resist, eager to more closely behold the face of the one blessed with the voice of an angel, he gathered his power close around him.

He felt it coalesce and he drew it close, feeling it surround him, and then he stepped out into the darkness of space, his body falling like a leaf from a tree, changing from wizard to wolf as he drifted downward to land, as light as dandelion down, on the ground.