Prologue The rain pounded down upon the forest, a relentless drumming that seemed to echo in the otherwise silent air. No birds sang in the trees, and the insects, which further down the worn path had filled the air with their buzzing, seemed to disappear a few metres away from the clearing ahead. They were getting close. Captain Hal Soren of the Riftwatch breathed on his hands to keep them warm beneath his gauntlets, and examined the footprint in front of him. The imprint was fresh, only a few minutes old, and he smiled. Whatever had made this was not human, he was sure- no man had feet with six toes, each one ending in a two-inch claw. The footprint faintly smouldered, as if the foot which created it had been on fire. Knowing what he was up against, Soren suspected that it had been. Looking up, Soren drew his longsword, motioning for the two men behind him to do the same. The clearing was the perfect place for an ambush. But he would not be the victim. Taking a step into the rain-sodden clearing, he waited. A few seconds later, their first assailant burst from the treeline on the right, closely followed by at least two dozen others. As Soren suspected, it was not human. The creature had the body of a reddish-skinned man, its flesh hardened and covered in cracks, from which leaked burning liquid, like congealed lamp oil. The head was not even remotely human, a shapeless lump between its grossly overgrown shoulder-blades, occupied by a huge, twisting crater in which four rows of teeth span madly. A demon. A denizen of the Rift. Soren raised a small crossbow, pulling the trigger and shooting the foul creature in the heart. As he had suspected, the demons had come at them from the side. Now, it was time for the ambush. When the demons were only a few metres away, a large man threw himself out of a tree beside them, landing in their midst and lashing out with a huge hammer. Surprised and confused, some of the demons veered away, but were met by a similar attack from the other side, this time by a smaller man wielding a long, heavy sabre. The rest of the group scattered, some charging forward on to the blades of Soren and the men beside him, others back-tracking quickly. Soren cursed. If any demons escaped, they would cause more chaos elsewhere. Raising his blade, he charged into the fray, intent on the retreating demons. Soren’s problem was solved quickly. As soon as the first running demon reached the treeline, a great howl rose up from around the clearing. In an instant, that demon was slain, beheaded by a slashing dark blade that seemed to have come from nowhere. The demons behind it were the next to fall- three large grey shapes leaped out from the trees, dragging one of them to the floor, while the other was impaled upon the whirling blade. A small figure emerged from the shadows, unmistakeably a human teenager, wielding a long dark sword with the skill of a trained soldier. A demon dived at him- in a second, it fell to the floor, cleaved in two. Three more were claimed by the grey shapes beside the boy. Soren ducked beneath a clumsy axe blow, putting his sword through the demon who had dealt it. In a few moments, it was over. No demon had been left alive, and five black-armoured men stood alone in the clearing. The boy and the grey shapes had vanished, into the darkness of the rain-soaked forest. “Everyone all right?” Soren asked the men around him, wiping blood off his helm. “I could use a hand,” groaned a faint voice from behind him. The small man with the sabre knelt there, cradling his left arm, “Quite literally.” Soren laughed, hauling him up and glancing at the wound on the man’s arm. It wasn’t very deep, but the man had lost a lot of blood. Soren beckoned for the nearest man to tend to it. “You did well for your first ambush, Isath,” he grinned, “Don’t worry if you got hurt. I nearly lost a leg on my first time. You’re doing well.” “Thanks, Hal.” Isath smiled. Soren nodded at him, and strode off towards the forest. “Where are you off to?” called Isath. Soren turned around. “To find our little friend.” Soren had only been looking for five minutes before he found the boy, or to be more exact, the boy found him. A twig snapped behind him as he ducked underneath a branch, and he instinctively span around. There was no-one there. Grunting and turning back, Captain Soren found the long, dark blade of the boy’s sword at his throat. “Who are you?” It was a demand, not a question. At first glance, the boy looked about eighteen years old, covered in mud and leaves, dressed in a worn, hardened leather cuirass and tattered cloth breeches. The sword pressed against Soren’s throat harder, and the demand was repeated. Soren spoke. “My name is Captain Soren of the Riftwatch. I tha-” “What are you doing here?” The boy cut him off with another question. “Me and my fellows came here to put an end to the demonic threat in this area. It is strange that the demons came this far north, but we have ended their taint once and for all.” This was true. Demons could not usually survive for long away from the Riftlands, but they could cause havoc anyway. Two hamlets already burned from the sadistic attention of this particular group. “So you are a friend, not a threat,” The boy lowered his sword, “I am sorry. But I did not know who you were, or what you wanted.” “Don’t you have a family to go back to? How old are you, anyway?” Soren inquired. The boy’s face fell. “Fifteen. I’m fifteen years old.” Soren gasped. The boy did not look a day under eighteen. Frowning, the boy continued. “I have no family to go back to. Not after what happened. No, don’t make me go back!” Soren put a hand on his shoulder. “You fought well today, boy. About as well as any trained Riftwatch member. You say you have nothing to go back to- why not join up? You’d have to start off in the city guard, but someone with your skill ought to be in the Riftwatch within two years. What do you say?” The boy seemed to think for a moment, then gave a half-hearted nod. “Perhaps.” “Well,” continued Soren, “Think about it. I take it you know where Carnu is?” The boy looked puzzled, and Soren sighed. “The big city?” he prompted, “About fifteen miles south? Past the Jawpeak mountains?” A look of recognition entered the boy’s face, and Soren grinned. “This should get you along if you want to go,” he pressed a few gold coins into the stunned boy’s hand, “If not, just use it however you wish. If you decide to go to Carnu, just go to any city guardsman and tell him Captain Soren sent you. Good luck.” Walking away from the boy, who was still in a state of shock, Soren turned round again. “By the way, I’m fed up with calling you “boy”. What’s your name?” The boy looked up for a moment, still shocked, then spoke. “Fardan. Fardan El’sare.”