BOOK FOUR.

-GOLDEN TIDE-.

Vail Kammerdan, Sky Strider of Vastion, had always dreamed of giving his life for his kingdom... he had just never supposed the chance would come like it did.

A storm was brewing on the horizon, darker and fiercer than any Vail had ever seen. It seemed as if the thunderheads were slowly eating away at the sky, consuming it mile by mile, ready to devour the heavens. Below him, the world crawled by at the mesmerizing rate he had come to know so well when flying.

For days the land of Vastion had been a carpet of rolling, forested foothills beneath him. As Vail kept watch, though, the foothills grew taller, higher, and stronger, until they were bastions of sharp-edged, flat-faced, blue-tinted stone: Stormness, the Rain Mountains. It was a sight to see, dark and forbidding under the gathering storm, but majestic enough to steal one's breath away.

Skreeeeeeeeeeee! The call of Windwing, the far-eagle that bore Vail and his companion, rent the air with its harsh beauty. The gigantic bird swooped almost low enough to brush the tops of the mountains, which had began to be dappled by snow. The crisp, cold air at the roof of the world nearly ripped Vail's breath from his lungs, but he had long since grown used to the high alt.i.tudes.

"Silence, Windwing," urged Vail's companion, "We know not what awaits us." The far-eagle twitched its head as it felt the command with both hearing and mind, as well as through a gentle but firm tug on the steering lines. It ended the call and flew on in silence.

By now the far-eagle's flight was taking them between cliffs and peaks as both Vail and his companion scanned the landscape below them with practiced eyes. After several minutes had gone by, however, there seemed to be no sign of their destination.

"I see nothing, Windmaster," Vail murmured without stopping his search to glance at his companion. Windmaster Karanel Winter had been his friend for years, and his master for even more, but she would spare him nothing if he let his attention stray, even now... especially now.

"How many times must I tell you, Vail?" his master sighed, shifting her position at his side, "You need more than your eyes to see..." Windmaster Karanel was scarce fifteen years older than he, and the youngest Windmaster in Vastion, but she never ceased to have something undeniably wise to say. As familiar as he was with her, Vail never lost the sense of awe she gave him.

"I'm not sure I understand, Ka- Windmaster," Vail shivered in the chilly, rushing air, and tried to mumble his way past the slip in her t.i.tle.

"Nor did you the last three times I told you," Karanel said with mock ferocity. Then, to Vail's surprise, she turned from keeping watch and nudged him to look at her. With an awkward twist Vail brought himself into a rough kneeling position facing her, unsure of what would come next.

The Windmaster's pale braid whipped back and forth behind her as she pursed her lips, staring hard at her student while still keeping a ready hand on Windwing's steering lines.

"Wind Striding is more than just jumping higher and leaping farther than anyone else, Vail. It's more than just controlling the wind... it's listening to it as well. The sky has a voice... it has currents just like the sea- we can all feel them. It has colors, too, only most people can't see them. Listen to the wind, and then maybe you will finally see the sky for what it is."

"I... I'll try," Vail stammered, knowing he'd missed an important point and now had to have it explained to him.

"No, you'll do it," Karanel told him, patting his shoulder with a free hand. "I know you can, Vail. Just keep trying- you have a fine future ahead of you."

"But what if we've missed it talking just now?"

"We haven't," was all she said before turning to scan the mountains again. Vail wondered how she could have sensed that- could she really be that powerful? He didn't doubt it.

Bowing his head, he moved back into his former position and let his eyes graze the swiftly moving landscape beneath them. The wind and floating snow seemed to rush at him from all angles, every solitary flake visible and vital in his heightened state of awareness.

The first snowflake brushed his cheek, carried by a winter breeze. Vail started violently, almost upsetting his place on Windwing, and causing the far-eagle to emit a high-pitched moan of distress.

"Vail! What's wrong?" Windmaster Karanel was instantly responsive, but he could not answer her.

The frost... the wind... it felt like fear. It smelled of blood and iron, and it... it was menacing him. It was darkening... the sky was darkening... On the edge of his hearing, he thought he could hear screaming... What was happening?

"The wind..." he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, "It's... it's..."

"Blast!" Karanel swore, and Vail winced at the Northland curse. "I can feel it! By Halla..."

"Wait, wait... I... I can see the wind! I can see it!" Vail could barely contain himself at the surge of mixed pride and fear. Whatever horrible thing had happened, the wind was bringing him news of it! He could see the currents like living things, flows of color and sound with individual meanings, instead of formless, howling bursts of air.

"Wind of the G.o.ds!" Karanel shouted, sending Windwing into a steep, right-turning dive. "There must be a battle raging in Amestone!"

PREVIEW OF.

-THE EXCATHER CYCLE-.

BOOK ONE.

-MORDRED-.

Night lay over all of Ancient Britton. It darkened the forests of Rience in the South and swept haughtily over the mountains of Dark.u.mbra in the North. It lay heavily over the forgotten realms of Albion and Cornwall, but over the western empire of Caledonia it floated like a dream. Great forests rustled mysteriously in the midnight wind, mingling sounds of beast and tree and fountain. Immense plains and fields of shadowed amber and muted green swayed in this same breath of air, and mountains rumbled and spoke with hidden thunder. As the wind blew across the realms of living men, the halls of wood and stone sent up to heaven a melody of their own, a silence built by years of toil and valorous deeds. Camelot, the mightiest city of that age, slept in a mantle of moonlight, a monumental guardian of the land.

"Arthur." A voice whispered through the night like a breath of wind. No answer.

"Arthur." It breathed through the forests, across the fields, under the mountains, and right to Camelot's doors. No answer.

"Arthur." A barely perceptible shiver ran through the walls and towers, keeps and steeples of the great city. No answer.

"Arthur." The King of Caledonia woke with a start, the voice calling his name through the halls of time.

"Arthur." He sat up slowly, feeling for Gwen and knowing she was beside him, asleep. Quietly, he slipped out of bed and dressed, all the while that whispering windy call driving him to wakefulness.

"Arthur." Slipping in and out of the nightly shadows, he made his way to the topmost tower of the palace: Merlin's observatory. Slowly and sleepily he made his way past all of the wizard's jumbled artifacts and books. There was a door in the opposite wall that would lead him to a balcony that looked out over the whole sleeping city.

"Arthur." Not sure what to expect, he opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. He was searching for someone, anyone, but there was no one there. Who was calling?

"Arthur." The king whirled and faced the wizard who had suddenly appeared. There was silence for a long time. Then- "Danger, my King. Your rule is failing, your knights are in disarray." Arthur tensed as the specter of his old friend spoke. "Merlin," the king whispered, "Can it truly be you?"

"Danger. Your rule is at an end. Beware of Mordred." Merlin's face suddenly shifted, wavered, and blew away in the wind, his body following.

"Beware." The wind whipped and roared around the king like a living thing.

Mordred is coming. Arthur cursed and grasped at the ghostly apparition, but the wizard was gone. In his place was a tall youth with long black hair. His white face was marred by what may have been a scar or a tattoo. His eyes shone with otherworldly light.

Doom. Expressionless, the stranger blocked Arthur's lunge and gave him a violent shove that sent the king over the edge of the parapet. There was a roaring wind, and Arthur was engulfed in a wet, grey mist that stopped his fall and blocked his vision. Sounds of battle sounded like thunder around him, and the king felt a sharp pain in his side. He put his hand to his body and took it away bloodied. And all around that horrible screaming wind- -Arthur woke up standing alone in a cold, desolate chamber, long abandoned. The king gritted his teeth. Of course. Merlin had been missing for years. He had somehow walked in his sleep all the way to the wizard's old and long since abandoned rooms. It had all been a dream. He turned to leave the lonely room- and stumbled on something he could not see. Hand outstretched, the king attempted to halt his fall by grasping at the door handle. Slipping to his knees, the Roman monarch cursed the dark and pulled himself back up.

Mordred. The name had been violently burned into the expensive wood of the observatory door. The black marks spread out in spidery lettering like a bleeding wound: Merlin's last prophecy. Underneath the name was a series of scorches and scratches that Arthur had never noticed there before. It was writing, Latin maybe, but in the shadows he couldn't tell what it said.

Lurching out into the darkened hall, the king made for his room once morea

end.