He stared at Jeran a long time, and Jeran tensed, half-expecting Dahr to hit him. Finally, the larger boy shook himself, taking a deep, calming breath. "I'm sorry," he said meekly. "I didn't mean to get angry. I know why you don't believe me. I'm just bigger than other people my age, that's all!"

Jeran did not look convinced, so Dahr asked, "How do you know you're fourteen winters old?"

The question caught Jeran by surprise. He frowned in confusion before saying, "How do I know? I just am! My uncle told me. What has that to do . . . Oh!" He had the decency to look embarra.s.sed. "I understand. I guess I don't really know I'm fourteen winters any more than you know you're twelve."

He looked apologetic as he stared into Dahr's golden-brown eyes. "I didn't mean to doubt you, Dahr. I don't think you're a liar. Besides, who would say they were younger than they really were anyway?"

Dahr nodded in agreement, neither considering that someday being younger than their actual age might not seem such a terrible thing.

Jeran looked Dahr up and down one more time. "But you're so big!" he exclaimed, unable to fathom someone so young being Dahr's size.

Dahr's cheeks grew red. "I just grow fast," he said sheepishly. Then, with a smile, he added, "Maybe I'm the normal one. Maybe you and everyone else are just small!" The notion was so ridiculous that Jeran started to chuckle. Soon, both boys laughed uncontrollably.

Jeran waved Dahr forward, and they continued down the forest trail at a run. They were still chuckling when they reached their destination. They were in a small clearing, surrounded by tiny bushes, each dotted with red berries.

Dahr plucked a berry from the nearest bush and looked at it suspiciously. "How do you know they're safe to eat?" he asked cautiously.

"My uncle told me these were okay," Jeran replied. "Besides, I've eaten them before!" He reached out, picked a berry, and popped it into his mouth to prove to Dahr they were not dangerous. Dahr frowned, still inspecting the berry he held in his hand, sniffing it gingerly from time to time. Finally, after a long hesitation, he bit the small fruit in half. His satisfied grunt indicated that he was pleased with the sweet taste. The boys fell silent, greedily shoving handful after handful of berries into their mouths.

A while later, their hunger temporarily satiated, they returned to the streambed, eager to try their luck at fishing. After another long period of wasted effort, Jeran discovered the flaw in Dahr's technique. "Look, Dahr!" he said, his voice full of excitement. "From where we're laying, our shadows fall into the stream." He pointed at the dark, cool waters. "See how the fish are swimming around that area? Maybe they know we're here because they can see our shadows! We'll have better luck if we find some place with more shade!"

Dahr nodded and stood, allowing Jeran to lead him downstream. Eventually, they found a more secluded and naturally dark section of water.

Dahr glanced at Jeran hopefully as he pulled off his shirt and dropped to the bank. Jeran followed suit, separating himself from Dahr by ten paces. Not long after, Dahr shouted in joy. Jeran looked up to see a large river trout flopping about on the ground behind Dahr. With a smile, Jeran focused on the stream and redoubled his efforts.

By the time the sun was sinking in the west, they had a reasonable catch, though most of the fish were Dahr's. Jeran was not as patient as his new friend, and his eagerness often warned his prey of his approach, giving them ample time to escape. Jeran watched the sun as it fell toward the horizon and decided he should start back to the farm. He did not want his uncle to worry.

They divided the fish and were about to part company when Jeran had an idea. "You should come home with me, Dahr!" he said. "At the very least, Uncle Aryn would share dinner with you." He looked at the bundle at his side. "After all," he admitted, "you caught most of the fish. Besides, Uncle Aryn might be able to find some work for you. He's always complaining about how much work we have to do. Maybe you can stay with us, since you have nowhere else to go. That is, if you want to stay," Jeran amended. "If not, he can tell you where to go. Uncle Aryn's been to a lot of different places. Before I was born, he and my father fought in the Tachan War."

"I- I think I would like to come . . . at least for dinner," Dahr answered, surprised by Jeran's offer. He was not used to such kindness; not from the people he knew, and certainly not from strangers. Smiling, Jeran crossed the stream and headed north.

Dahr followed Jeran along the winding path. The Boundary lay ahead of them, and though the mountains were still far away, a hard day's ride on horseback, Jeran could never look at them without feeling a stab of fear. They turned at a bend in the path, and the mountains came into view. Jeran shuddered, and the unexpected motion caught Dahr's attention. Jeran laughed at his foolishness. "I always feel a little scared when I see the Boundary."

Dahr's face was blank. "The boundary of what?"

Jeran looked at his new friend in utter amazement. He pointed to the vast range of dark rock rising before them. "The mountains!" he said, excitement causing his voice to rise in pitch, "That's the . . . You've never heard of the Boundary?"

Everyone knew what the Boundary was. Dahr hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Well, I've had an isolated life," he responded carefully, "and I grew up far from here." He lifted his head and looked Jeran straight in the eyes. "Besides, I've lived near mountains all my life. They're just large piles of rock! These seem to be no different from any other, so why should I be afraid of them?"

Realizing that Dahr had no idea what stood before him, Jeran stood dumbfounded. He took it upon himself to educate his new friend. As they walked north along the trail, he told Dahr every story he had ever heard about the Boundary, both what he knew to be true and what he had only heard as rumor, oftentimes allowing the different stories to run together. As he told the history of the Boundary, he kept his voice low, as if he were afraid of what might be listening.

Behind those mountains, the evil wizard Lorthas was imprisoned. Lorthas, who had tried to take over the world. Lorthas, who stood twenty hands tall, with long, curving horns growing from his head and razor sharp claws on his hands. Lorthas, the Darklord, who would have enslaved the Four Races if High Wizard Aemon had not rallied them together to fight the Darklord's armies.

Jeran diverged from his tales of the Boundary to tell Dahr about the MageWar. The MageWar was the long, b.l.o.o.d.y battle between the armies of Lorthas and the nations allied under Aemon and his Magi.

The terrible war raged across the continent of Madryn, lasting more than three centuries. The stories say the war would have lasted longer, except Aemon convinced the other Magi to raise the Boundary.

Jeran admitted that he did not believe that particular story. Aemon could not have rallied the four Races at the beginning of the war and then raised the Boundary three centuries later. Unlike the immortal Elves, Humans did not live that long.

The Boundary extended around the northwest of Madryn, and it was not just a range of mountains. The mountains kept Lorthas' armies entrapped, thus ending the fighting, but the real purpose of the Boundary was something altogether different. Deep within the dark mountains was an invisible barrier through which nothing of magic could pa.s.s. This barrier caused great pain, and sometimes death, to anyone who tried using magic near it. This magical wall was the actual Boundary, created to keep Lorthas, and those Magi foolish enough to follow him, imprisoned for all eternity.

Jeran's stories fascinated Dahr, who had never heard them before. He looked to the north again, and this time, his face betrayed a vague feeling of uneasiness. After a while, Jeran fell silent, his knowledge of the Boundary waning.

To fill the void, Dahr shared some of the tales he had heard while growing up. Jeran listened attentively at first, then the two boys began trading stories, taking turns reciting the many legends they had collected.

Dahr had grown up in northern Rachannon, not far from the wild lands where the Garun'ah lived. The Garun'ah were a race of giants, he told Jeran, their bodies covered with thick fur. They had sharp claws and long fangs and hunted everything, killing animals and people alike for sport. They were a vicious, primitive race who did not build houses, preferring to sleep out in the open.

Jeran had heard different stories about the Garun'ah. The Garun'ah were an honorable and proud race. They and the Humans had been allies for thousands of winters, ever since they had freed themselves from their bondage to the Elves. The Garun'ah lived in tribes and constantly fought with each other to decide which tribe was the most powerful. Every Garun'ah could speak with animals and most had lions or bears or wolves for pets.

Dahr talked about the reclusive Elves, of whom Jeran knew little. The Elves were about the same height as Humans but smaller and weaker. They were immortal, and their Emperor had been alive since the dawn of time. They lived high in the trees of their forest, far to the north of Dahr's homeland. The Elves were powerful Magi, and could make themselves invisible at will. They were uncomparable archers, the worst of them better than the best Human. Blindfolded, they could shoot the center of a cherry at a thousand paces! They talked of the Lost Race, the Orog, though neither knew much about them. The Orog were supposedly giants, larger even than the mighty Garun'ah. The Orog hated anything magical, since they had no control of magic themselves. That was why they betrayed Aemon during the MageWar.

Aemon had utterly destroyed them for their betrayal, sealing the few who survived on the far side of the Boundary with Lorthas and his armies.

Jeran told Dahr about Portal, the monstrous fortress guarding the one pa.s.s through the Boundary; the sole means into and out of Ael Shataq. For centuries, ever since the Boundary had been raised, the Human lands had banished their criminals and traitors through the portal. He told Dahr of the most famous: Turas the Swift and Fayrd the Betrayer; Hralla of the Drekka tribe; and most recently, Tylor and Salos Durange, princes of Ra Tachan, who were responsible for the destruction of the Magi nearly twenty winters ago.

The boys had barely scratched the surface of their combined knowledge of myth, legend, and folklore when they left the forested trail behind and arrived at the southeastern edge of Jeran's village. Jeran gestured around him with pride, welcoming Dahr to Keryn's Rest. Together, they walked down the main thoroughfare, and Jeran told Dahr about the village.

Keryn's Rest had nearly four hundred inhabitants, including those farmers living outside the village proper, making it virtually a city in this part of Alrendria. The only place within a score of days with more people was Portal Keep.

Though only one road went through the village, and it just hard-packed dirt, Keryn's Rest boasted a small inn; a chandler; a cooper; a fletcher; and not one, but two, blacksmiths. Many artisans and craftsmen lived in the village.

As they walked through town, Jeran recited some of the village's long history to Dahr. Keryn's Rest was named in honor of Lord Vaso Keryn, one of Aemon's commanders during the MageWar. After the war ended, he and his troops stopped in this area while returning to Kaper. Lord Keryn, exhausted from many seasons of battle and relieved that the war was finally over, ordered his army to make camp, thinking his troops deserved some rest before the long march home.

The Guardsmen, however, thought they deserved some celebration. The festivities that began here lasted over two winters.

People came from all over Madryn to join in the merriment. The King of Alrendria even made an appearance for the midsummer celebrations. Suffice it to say, little resting was done during their stay. "In fact," Jeran told Dahr, "My uncle tells me that in other parts of Alrendria, 'Going to Keryn's Rest' means you're going to a party. Most people don't even realize Keryn's Rest is a real place!"

Jeran continued his story, explaining how Lord Keryn fell in love with the area and eventually resettled there. The village square was supposedly the site of Keryn's original cottage. The village's original inhabitants consisted of Lord Keryn; his family; and four other small cottages, all belonging to his subcommanders.

Since then, Keryn's Rest had grown into a prosperous farming community. Most of the village's business came from supplying goods to the mighty fortress of Portal. The village made wares of excellent quality, good enough to keep it flourishing. Though the villagers used to carry their wares to Portal, the Guardsmen now traveled south to buy Keryn's Rest goods, often joking that the Resters were the most industrious people in all Alrendria. They said they would feel guilty if they took the townsmen away from their work for too long.

Besides its goods, the area around Keryn's Rest was known for its fertile farmland. Jeran's uncle was one of the village's farmers. He too had fallen in love with the area while serving in the Alrendrian Guard, and like Lord Keryn more than seven centuries before, decided to move here after the Tachan War ended.

He and Jeran lived in a modest sized farm just north of the village. Finding a farm situated so close to the village proper was unusual, but Uncle Aryn had been head of the village council since Jeran was a small child. He always a.s.sumed that his uncle built the farm close to Keryn's Rest so he could more easily conduct council business.

They drew many stares as they walked through the village. While visitors were not unwelcome in Keryn's Rest, they were far from common. The presence of a stranger was often the subject of gossip for days.

Even when Lord Talbot came from Portal to order supplies and talk to the village council - something he did once or twice a four-season - the townspeople talked as if his visit were the most amazing event in their lives.

"Did you see his sword?" and "Is that the current fashion in Portal?" The fashion in Portal is and always had been full armor. "Has there been any trouble in the pa.s.s?" The Portal was quiet, just as always. "Lord Talbot looks remarkably well, doesn't he? He hasn't aged a day!" In this case, the stranger was someone the villagers had never before seen, and a child at that, if a large one. Jeran was sure his new friend would prefer to avoid the attention, but more than likely, Dahr would be a topic of conversation for at least a season. He put a rea.s.suring hand on Dahr's shoulder as they neared the village square.

Jeran waved to the villagers as they pa.s.sed through town, calling the younger people by name. The villagers often waved back, sometimes calling out a greeting of their own. Though their words were for Jeran, their eyes never left Dahr. Sweat beaded on Dahr's forehead, and he looked uneasy under all those eyes. Jeran understood his friend's feelings; he would not have liked a bunch of strange eyes on him either.

They made it to the center of the village without incident, pausing to drink from the well. They rested for a few moments, until Dahr regained some measure of calm. Jeran nudged Dahr in the shoulder, signaling that they should continue walking. Dahr nodded and they started north again.

"What have you got there, little Jeran?" called a loud, crackling voice from out of nowhere. "Did you pull him out of the river with those fish, or did he come from somewhere else?" The two boys jumped at the unexpected sound.

Dahr pivoted, his eyes wild, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.