Araman

~ PROLOGUE ~

   It was difficult for the small dark figure, making his way across the forest of gravestones, to navigate around each territory of soil which held the bed of a single hibernating corpse.

It would have been much easier for him if he had followed the route of his Master a few feet in front, who seemed ignorant of respect for the dead.

To the Master, the dead were none of his concern.

What did he care if his footsteps disturbed the inanimate shells that, for a time, had been home to what he called the spores of mankind?

Normal people.

Unaware of the greatness around them if it was not so named; King, Queen or Araman.

They were six and a half feet under and that is where they would remain until further notice.

The extra half a foot was traditional to the people of Namare. Short wooden spikes and a layer of pebbles were pushed into the soil; to prevent the evil part of a spirit trying to escape once the good had left the body.

Superstitious fools. The Master thought whilst kicking a smooth pebble through the dying winter grass.

It made a pathetic sound when it hit the next grave but broke through the tense silence enough to make his servant, who was trailing behind, freeze and peer through the deserted cemetery.

After a moment's thought about what kind of person you would have to be to wander around a graveyard in the dead of night, the servant realised that this was the type of person he was and reflected on the fact that you could be a creature, not a man.

He shook off the sinister feeling that accompanied these thoughts and came to the conclusion that he would rather be dead than up against the tall individual he had been struggling to keep up with.

Fog from the slight frost seemed to pull at his Master's feet like the fingers of death themselves.

Not every evil spirit was kept at bay by simple superstitions.

"I thought warlocks couldn't step on hallowed ground?" The smaller of the two grave wanderers said in a high pitched voice, once he had caught up with his master.

"For the last time, I am not a warlock." The Master replied in a deep and intolerant tone, without turning or stopping.

"Right, yes, sorry. I forgot." The servant slowed to place a little more distance between him and his portentous Master.

"And a Sinner has more right than most as to where he walks." The Master's voice was full of self importance. "But what I am is not what you should concern yourself with. It is what I will become that you should remember."

He stopped suddenly, in front of the unadorned wooden shack that lay on the outskirts of the graveyard.

"And believe me, everyone will." The Master finished in a quieter voice so that the small man didn't hear.

Turning abruptly and catching his quivering servant off guard, who fell on his plump behind over one of the lesser graves, the master bent down towards him and said in a stern tone, like someone addressing a child.

"Just do not forget what I told you earlier. You are to touch nothing once we are inside. It is of the gravest importance to your person." He straightened up again and turned his back on the little man, smiling to himself as he continued.

"No one is going to hold me responsible if you disobey. Only the dead are watching tonight, Welver." He started walking away.

Welver picked himself up from the wet ground and turned away from his Master, leaning against the grave he had fallen over.