As I’ve had too many requests to sing the song I did at the end of last year, I’ve posted the lyrics here so you can sing it yourselves. It’s by an american comedian called Tom Lehrer. Enjoy!

About a maid I’ll sing a song,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
About a maid I’ll sing a song,
Who didn’t have her fam’ly long.
Not only did she do them wrong,
She did ev’ryone of them in, them in,
She did ev’ryone of them in.

One morning in a fit of pique,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
One morning in a fit of pique,
She drowned her father in the creek.
The water tasted bad for a week,
And we had to make do with gin, with gin,
We had to make do with gin.

Her mother she could never stand,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
Her mother she could never stand,
And so a cyanide soup she planned.
The mother died with the spoon in her hand,
And her face in a hideous grin, a grin,
Her face in a hideous grin.

She set her sister’s hair on fire,
a-Rickety-tickety-tin,
She set her sister’s hair on fire,
And as the smoke and flame rose high’r,
Danced around the funeral pyre,
Playin’ a violin, -olin,
Playin’ a violin.

She weighted her brother down with stones,
a-Rickety-tickety-tin,
She weighted her brother down with stones,
And sent him off to Davy Jones.
All they ever found were some bones,
And occasional pieces of skin, of skin,
Occasional pieces of skin.

One day when she had nothing to do,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
One day when she had nothing to do,
She cut her baby brother in two,
And served him up as an Irish stew,
And invited the neighbors in, -bors in,
Invited the neighbors in.

And when at last the police came by,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
And when at last the police came by,
Her little pranks she did not deny.
To do so she would have had to lie,
And lying, she knew, was a sin, a sin,
Lying, she knew, was a sin.

My tragic tale I won’t prolong,
Rickety-tickety-tin,
My tragic tale I won’t prolong,
And if you do not enjoy my song,
You’ve yourselves to blame if it’s too long,
You should never have let me begin, begin,
You should never have let me begin.

I can’t post all of this on the website, so I’ve skipped a bit to one of the larger battles…

Chapter 15- The North Road
 
     The cowled man marched past the gates of the ruined tower, giving the utter devastation around it the merest of glances. Soldiers could be replaced, doors could be rebuilt and the gurgling creatures lying in pools of their own blood could be cleared away. He strode towards a new sentry, a large demon that fingered its bow as it watched him approach.
“New orders from our master,” the man hissed, “I will need a horse saddling within the hour for my ride to Carnul,” he hesitated in thought for a moment, “And dispatch a message to our forward scouts. Give them orders to intercept some… friends of mine on the North Road.” He chuckled to himself.
“El’sare will never live to reach the city.”
 
     It was a damp, cold and miserable late autumn morning when a damp, cold and miserable Fardan El’sare emerged from the woods and made his way towards the watchtower. He swore silently and repeatedly as he thought of his comrades’ reactions to him. Isath seemed all right, but what would happen to his friendship with the other men? The friendly but ferocious Karath Heanes, the jolly twins, the dry yet good-natured Varnes? Would he lose all of those?
Even Keria?
     He was already imagining a furious mob with burning torches when the portcullis clanked up before him, revealing a fatigued Horas leaning against the stone wall. His friend looked him up and down a few times, before unexpectedly smiling in relief.
“You look like hell.”
     Fardan glanced down at himself- soaking wet, muddy and dressed only in a pair of trousers, he looked like some kind of beggar. He laughed for the first time that day, relieved at the thought that at least some of his friends didn’t mind. Looking back up at Horas, he noted the bags under his friend’s eyes and the tired way he slumped against the wall.
“You can talk! What were you doing last night?”
“Handling your little escapade,” Horas grinned and grabbed Fardan’s shoulder, “I’ll help you inside.”
     As he entered the courtyard, Fardan was shocked to see the whole of the garrison standing in front of him. There were no weapons or burning torches- just his comrades. Except… Fardan glanced around quickly. There was no sign of Keria. Stony silence hovered in the air for a moment, before Juran spoke.
“Sir, you have a very strange idea of a good night out.”
     The quiet tableau of the courtyard exploded into laughter. Fardan looked on, stunned, as Karath Heanes nodded at him amiably.
“Welcome back, sir. Had a rough night?” Fardan tapped Horas on the shoulder.
“This isn’t what I expected,” he whispered, “I was thinking more along the lines of them wanting to kill me.” Horas stared, then shrugged and spoke the words that Fardan had wanted to hear for thirteen years.
“They’re your friends. Why should they care?”
 
*  *  *  *  *
     Half an hour later, Fardan made his way down to the stables, his arms full of the items he would need to take with him to Carnul. Captain Isath had told the whole garrison that there was a chance they would not return to the tower, especially if the demons were planning a full-scale invasion. So Fardan had packed up his equipment, leaving nothing except the furniture back in his room.
     Opening the gate to one of the pens, he patted the black stallion inside with a spare hand as he dropped his equipment onto the floor beside it. The horse’s name was Myrku, a large black animal with a lighter, silvery mane, and Fardan had spent quite a lot of money acquiring him- he seemed to be an amiable creature, and Fardan had never ridden a faster stallion. Saddling him quickly, Fardan attached Moonfang’s scabbard to a strap on Myrku’s flank, and placed his crossbow beside it- it wasn’t unheard of to be attacked on the way to the city, either by bandits or demons. However, Fardan didn’t bother donning his armour, instead placing the chain shirt and carved breastplate into a saddlebag. He preferred riding without it on long journeys, and the ride would take the best part of a day to complete.
     Five minutes later, Fardan vaulted into Myrku’s saddle and urged the stallion forward, into the courtyard where the others were waiting. Isath gave him a nod, then turned his horse around and rode out of the gates. As Fardan followed him, he glanced behind him at the watchtower, knowing that he may not see his home again, and wondering why his life had suddenly been turned upside down.
 
*  *  *  *  *
     The North Road was a bit of an overstatement. Over the years, Riftwatch watchtower garrisons had taken to using a certain route north to the city of Carnul, a particular way that was both quick and easy. Eventually the many horses had beaten a track across the hills, creating what became known, by unspoken accord, as the North Road.
     Fardan rode near the head of the column of horses, keeping pace beside Isath. The captain seemed to enjoy riding, insofar as it was a more comfortable alternative to walking. On his other side was Keria. She hadn’t spoken for the whole three hours they had been riding- in fact, she hadn’t spoken at all to him since the incident the previous night. Now she sat silently on her dun mare, her head down. Fardan shifted his gaze, suddenly feeling guilty. Deep down, he knew that her depressed condition was his fault.
     Sergeant Varnes led the garrison, his hand constantly fingering the longbow strapped to his horse’s side, his one keen eye constantly scanning the bleak landscape. Fardan knew that the Sergeant was once a hunter in a village near him, and didn’t doubt that Varnes could easily spot- and shoot with ease- anything that meant them harm.
     Fardan diverted his course slightly, riding up to Isath.
“How far now?” he asked.
“At this rate, I’d say another two hours or so.” replied the captain. Fardan nodded his thanks. Once they were in the city, perhaps he would have a chance to talk to Keria. She deserved an explanation.
Yes, he thought, the sooner we get there, the better.
As if hearing his thoughts, the sky rumbled, and began to rain.
 
*  *  *  *  *
     Another hour and a half later, Fardan swore repeatedly, wishing that he had at least had the sense to wear a cloak. The rain was a pounding torrent now, and he was soaked to the skin. Cresting another hill, he put a hand to his eyes and attempted to stare through the punishing deluge. No luck- he knew that from this hill he would usually be able to see Carnul in the distance, but in this weather he had no chance.
     Fardan’s head rattled. Donning his helmet as protection from the rain had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it was proving to be a nuisance. The sheer force of the rainfall vibrated it so much that the heavy pattering was the only sound he could hear. Almost.
     As he rode to the side of the column, Fardan thought he heard something else. For a second, what seemed to be a cry from his left had broken through the monotonous sound of the rainfall. Pulling off his helmet, he brought Myrku to a halt. Captain Isath trotted up to him, followed by Varnes and Keria.
“What-” began Isath, but Fardan cut him off, raising a hand for silence and pointing to his left, where a score of dark shapes were racing across the grass and hillocks towards them, only a few hundred metres away.
Through the echo of the pattering rain came the sound of war-cries.
      “Not human,” muttered Varnes, squinting with his one eye as he attempted to calm his shuddering horse, “Demons. On horses, or… something like them. Friends of yours?”
“No… we’ve only just met.” replied Fardan. Isath swore.
“Flanking attack on the left!” he screamed, “Everyone to me!”
“Same on this side too, sir!” came Ferrick’s voice from the other side of the road, sounding panicked. The world-weary cry of one of the twins came from the rear of the column.
“They’re behind us, too.”
     As Fardan watched, some of the demons broke off from the group coming from the left, spreading out in a pincer movement.
“They’re trying to surround us!” yelled Isath, snatching up his crossbow, “Erdae, how many are there altogether?” There was a pause while Erdae took stock of the amount of demons on each side, before she spoke.
“At least fifty,” the woman groaned behind them, “We’re outnumbered almost five to one.”
“Then let’s even up those odds a bit,” the Captain grinned as he cocked the crossbow, “Open fire!”
     Varnes already had his longbow up, and a moment later a three-foot arrow flew past Fardan’s ear, smashing a dark figure off its steed as the shapes grew closer. As Fardan grabbed his crossbow and cocked it frantically, he noticed that the demons were now clearly visible, humanoid creatures in the strange bone armour, mounted upon hideous beasts that seemed like a hybrid between dog and lizard. Wondering why he had ever joined the Riftwatch, Fardan sighed and fired.
     One by one, the soldiers pulled their triggers. One by one, the demonic riders dropped, punched backwards by a crossbow bolt or nailed to their steeds by one of Varnes’ arrows. But it was not enough. Riderless, some of the demonic hybrids were still coming up the hill, following their companions that still had masters. The demons held on to the creatures with their legs, holding barbed spears or crude axes in their hands. Some attempted pot-shots with small bows, but due to both poor aim and fast riding, none of them hit their targets, instead falling short of the unarmoured Riftwatch.
     At a distance of only a hundred metres, Isath clipped his crossbow back onto his saddle.
“There’s too many of them to shoot!” he screamed, “Draw your weapons and follow me!” Urging his horse around, the Captain rode to the north edge of the hill, with the others hot on his heels. Fardan glanced down, and saw Isath’s plan. The demons had not yet finished encircling the hill- a quickly narrowing gap in their mob was visible as the groups from each side rushed to join with each other. If the soldiers rode through that, there was a chance that they could escape the ambush. Drawing his blade, Fardan kicked Myrku forwards and the horse bolted towards the gap in the demons’ line.
At that precise moment, the flanking demon riders burst onto the hilltop.
     The first demons to reach the garrison died very quickly. Erdae was on one side, and Keria was on the other. In a flash, both demons were beheaded- one by a flashing axe blade, the other by a whirling scimitar. Fardan ducked as something huge flew towards him, throwing himself to one side and instinctively lashing out with Moonfang. A deafening howl rang out, and the shape fell to the grass. Turning to look, Fardan saw one of the lizard-like creatures writhing on the floor with a gash across its throat. The rider, a thin, human-like beast with cracked grey skin, jumped to its feet and tried to bring its spear to bear- a bad idea, as it turned out. Panicked and angry, Myrku reared up, his thick hooves flailing at the creature. The spear shaft snapped under a thunderous impact, swiftly followed by the shocked demon’s neck.
“Good boy.” Fardan grunted in the horse’s ear.
     “Break off!” came Isath’s voice from ahead, “Head for the gap!” Kicking another demonic steed on its nose, Fardan rode towards the Captain, who was holding his dripping sabre with a look of annoyance on his face. The others turned their horses around and followed, closely pursued by a mob of mounted demons. The creatures the demons rode were fast- faster than even horses, it seemed. Riding at the rear of the group, Dranos and Juran were taking the brunt of the assault, almost completely surrounded by demons. They were nearly lying flat in the saddle to increase speed as they lashed out low, clipping the enemy steeds’ heads in an attempt to slow them down.
     Fardan galloped alongside a huge, riderless dog-like beast, its loping pace easily keeping up with his black stallion. Closing in, the beast leaped, clamping its jaws on Fardan’s shoulder. He cried out at the sharp pain as its teeth ripped through the meagre protection of his cloth shirt, sinking into flesh and pulling him sideways with the demon’s weight. Sheathing his sword, he drew a knife from his belt and plunged it into the creature’s unprotected eye. Black blood spurted as he twisted the blade and yanked it back out, and the corpse fell back without a sound.
     A scream from the side brought his eyes away from the swiftly closing gap ahead. Just ahead of him, on the left, Keria was struggling with a demon larger than her. The demon, a brown-skinned humanoid with a goat’s head, was standing up on its mount beside her, holding on to it with one hand and clutching the wrist of her sword arm with the other. Clubbing it with her spare hand, Keria lashed out with her foot, kicking the beast it was standing on, which recoiled. Bereft of its steed, the demon swung over and held on to Keria’s horse with its legs as it pulled a wicked, cleaver-like axe from its belt. As Fardan watched, the demon brought the axe down, splitting the skull of Keria’s horse. The dun mare collapsed in a heap, taking Keria with it.
     Fardan acted without thinking. Steering Myrku around to face the way he had come, he galloped towards Keria. Three demon riders blocked his way- he impaled one on the point of his sword, brought a knife down in an arc to slash the throat of the second and simply urged Myrku over the third, the demon’s mount standing no chance under the stallion’s angry hooves. The last of the garrison rode past him, accompanied by a yelled “Sir! Get back!” from the twins. Fardan ignored them, and the mass of demons heading his way. His eyes were fixed on the brown-skinned creature raising an axe over Keria’s head.
Fardan’s vision went red.
 
*  *  *  *  *
     Keria rolled to one side as the axe came down, swearing constantly as tears ran down her face. She was going to die. She knew it, this time. The others had gone, and Keria knew that Isath would not risk more lives to save her. As the axe buried itself in the corpse of her horse beside her, she found it odd that she could not stop thinking about Fardan. She had stubbornly ignored him all day, simply because of what he was. Keria had turned her back on the man who had saved her life.
The man she loved.
     Wrenching her foot from underneath the remains of the horse, Keria brought up her scimitar, intending to block the next crude axe blow with it. The two blades met with a grinding noise, but the demon stamped on her crushed foot and she winced in pain. The moment of weakness was all the demon needed- the axe rose again and fell with deadly speed, bouncing off a half-hearted parry from the woman and embedding itself in her good leg. The pain shot up Keria’s body like a red-hot arrow, making her scream in agony as her vision swam, almost blacking out.
     A bellow of anger boomed from nearby, echoing throughout the battleground, a howl of pure rage. Keria looked up, realising that it was not the demon above her. Whoever had made that sounded human…
Keria stared.
     Pounding towards her, like some furious beast of legend, was a lone figure on a black horse, screaming a terrifying battle cry as it flourished a long, dark blade. The demons fled before the warrior- the ones that didn’t were cut down or trampled in seconds.
     Turning to face this new threat, the creature above Keria only had time to scream as the black horse ran him down. Keria felt a hand seize her shoulder, and put up no resistance as she was dragged upwards onto the stallion. Raising her head to see her saviour, she gasped in shock.
“You?”
“Who else?” grunted Fardan El’sare.
 
*  *  *  *  *
     With difficulty, Fardan tore his eyes away from Keria’s shocked face, satisfied that she was safe.
“You’d better hold on to that,” he muttered, pointing at her scimitar without looking, “You’ll need it.”
     The gap in the demon line was gone, along with the rest of the Riftwatch. Fardan cursed as he realised that the score of remaining demons had not pursued his companions, instead going for the easier prey- him and Keria. Now they slowly closed in from all sides, aware that they would easily defeat the two humans, but cautious, not wanting to be the first to attack. Fardan drew his sword, and charged.
     The demons immediately before the charging horse fell, cut down by the flashing blades of the two riders, but there were too many to kill. In moments, the momentum of the charge had slowed as more demons stabbed at the riders and more of the foul steeds pounced.
Then, a voice rang out.
“Fire!”
     Five of the demons fell with their steeds, clutching at the crossbow bolts that had broken through their armour. Fardan, through a haze of blood and sweat, saw a gleaming blade slice a path through the creatures. They fell back before the terrifying sight of Captain Isath, yelling commands as he wielded his blood-soaked sabre with ease.
     Fardan didn’t waste time. Kicking Myrku as hard as he could, he galloped through the temporary gap, passing Isath, who sheathed his sabre and followed. The garrison were lined up on the road, clipping their crossbows back onto their belts. As Fardan and Keria reached them, they too began to ride along the road.
     A quick look back revealed that the demons had recovered and were not far behind, urging their strange mounts forward and catching up. The rain was slowing, and Fardan took full advantage of the increased visibility to stare ahead. At this speed, surely they could not be far from the city…
     The rain stopped, and something huge loomed up ahead of him. He laughed out loud and felt Keria hug him as he recognised it. It was the wall of Carnul- fifty feet of ten-metre thick solid stone at the base, with one huge oaken gate, backed by a steel portcullis. They had arrived.
     An alarmed cry rang out from above, swiftly followed by the pounding of booted feet. A hail of long arrows sailed into the ranks of the mounted demons, sending them screaming from their steeds. Three volleys of barbed shafts from the archers on the wall were all it took. As the men rode in through the massive, intimidating archway below the gatehouse, the last of their pursuers died.
Isath trotted up alongside Fardan, grinning with relief.

“Welcome to Carnul.”

Hi everyone, got another instalment of the novel for you to have a look at…

Chapter 2- Just another day
 
     “It is nearly ready, master. All we now need is a sacrifice”
“Good. Find a suitable minion for your spells.”
“I… I cannot, master. For the ritual to work, one of a strong will must be sacrificed.”
“You have foreseen this person?”
“Indeed I have, master.”
“Go then. Find this strong-willed one of which you speak. The ritual must be completed.”
“Thy will be done.”
 
     Fardan sat down at one of the tables in the main hall of the watchtower and looked down at the meal on the plate in front of him. It was a standard Riftwatch ration, decoratively spread around a plate. The
meal- if you could call it that- consisted of two small slices of salted beef, an apple and a cold, solitary carrot. It may be all dressed up, Fardan thought, but it’s still the same old thing we have for every meal of the day. Every day.
     Even so, he thought, gazing down at the pitiful amount of food on his plate, the sooner I eat it, the sooner I can get out on patrol. With Keria. This last thought made him strangely happy, and he began to eat his meal quickly in anticipation. Only one thing was on his mind as he shovelled the salted beef down his throat. A certain female lieutenant in the Riftwatch.
 
*  *  *  *  *
    A few minutes later, Fardan stood before his squad in the courtyard of the watchtower. They were a motley bunch, four men of varying sizes and equipment, but Fardan knew otherwise. These men were the finest that the cities of the north had to offer. They had proven themselves worthy of the Riftwatch a dozen times over.
     There was Karath Heanes, a massive man who stood well over the height of Fardan, and Fardan was tall. Karath wasn’t just tall though, he was also immensely broad, and it was all muscle. Fardan imagined that Karath could probably push his way through a solid stone wall. Not that there’s much difference between the two, Fardan thought to himself. Sergeant Heanes was not as bright as most people, but possessed a kind of brute stubbornness that lesser men lacked, and his bravery was unmatched in battle. Karath carried a huge, single handed mace in his belt, which, Fardan guessed, powered by his enormous muscles, could probably smash a fortress gate apart. Over his back was slung a shield that was as broad as Fardan and nearly as tall- a veritable wall of black steel that was nearly impossible to penetrate. Fardan himself had seen swords and axes snap like twigs as they hit it.
    Then there were the twins, Dranos and Juran, identical in almost every way. Around the same height as Fardan, they both carried a short sword and a dirk each, as well as an impressive selection of knives between them. Fardan had seen them use their weapons before- the two brothers formed a whirlwind of flashing blades in battle, and often an unwary foe had taken a carefully thrown knife in the throat after venturing too close. When on patrol, however, they were by far the most talkative of the squad. Between them, the twins had an almost endless roster of stories to tell, humorous quips to make, or, if they were in a good mood, classic drinking songs to sing. Fardan groaned at the thought, but was still pleased to have them with him. The added protection and company of the brothers was well worth the price of having to listen to them bawl out songs about ale.
    Finally, there was Corporal Horas. Gaunt and extremely grim-looking, he was the squad’s ranged weapon specialist. Horas was a crack shot with any sort of crossbow, and had long been a valuable addition to the Riftwatch. A razor sharp, slightly curved blade hung at his side, and Fardan knew that he could use it. The Corporal was also one of the best mages in the watchtower, a true master of the spark of magical energy that lurked inside all human beings. However, there was something about him that made Fardan think that perhaps he too had something to hide from the rest of them. Perhaps it was the way that he almost never spoke, and when he did, used as few words as possible. Occasionally, Fardan would awaken at night to find Horas gazing into the glowing embers of the campfire, lost in some deep thought or memory. No emotion was ever visible on his face, except perhaps a glimmer of something like immense sadness or shame in the depths of his dark eyes. In battle, Horas fought with what seemed to be barely contained fury, and a strange ferocity unmatched by any others in the squad.
     Fardan looked them up and down a few times, then began to speak.
“All right. You know the drill. Today’s patrol route’s along the south-east path- not much to see there except trees, as usual. Get your armour and weapons ready for patrol. I want you all back here within ten minutes. Squad dismissed.”
“Yes, sir!” Karath grinned as he said it.
“Short and sweet, just how I like it.” muttered Dranos. Both brothers stifled a giggle.
Horas merely nodded.
     As the four men walked inside to retrieve their equipment, Fardan watched the squad parallel to his get dismissed by Keria. She caught his eye and grinned at him. Fardan blushed deeply for the third time that day, but managed a friendly smile. He nearly had a heart attack as she walked over to him. She stopped next to him, frowning at the clouds above.
“Looks like rain,” she grumbled, “Trust our luck to be out on a double patrol when it’s pouring down.” Fardan nodded.
“You reckon we’ll get any contact today?” he asked, referring to the frequent clashes with demons that often happened on a patrol. Usually Fardan came across raiding parties of twenty to thirty demons, but very rarely small armies came through, intent on destruction. In Fardan’s first year on a watchtower posting, three garrisons, including theirs, had to pull back to Carnul, the city nearest to the Rift and the only one in the Riftlands, as a huge invasion force of demons besieged them. Fardan was not anxious to see it happen again. Keria frowned again.
“It’s strange,” she muttered, “We haven’t had a contact for two weeks. Neither has the Captain, and from what I’ve heard, you haven’t either. I’m not sure, but I have a bad feeling about it. The little gits are probably planning something.” Fardan nodded again.
     Keria gave a weak smile and pulled out her crossbow, checking the magazine, then sat down and drew her thin scimitar, sharpening it on a rock. She inspected the edge and grimaced.
“I’m going to have to make a visit to the city on my next leave,” she held up her blade, revealing a few notches on the edge, “It’s over a year since this thing got its edge repaired. I don’t know… you’d think the enchantments would prevent damage, but no, they just make it sharper and lighter.” Fardan glanced at the sword and noticed the faintly glowing runes carved into it. Then, he made his mistake.
“I’ll go with you if you want,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Fardan swore silently. He hadn’t meant to say that. Keria looked up, her face pleasantly surprised. After a moment’s silence, she stood up and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Yes,” she whispered, and smiled, “Yes, I’d like that.”
     The conversation was quickly interrupted by clanking, voices and a loud wolf-whistle from one of the twins, signalling that Fardan’s squad had returned. Keria smiled and strode back to where her squad were waiting. Fardan turned towards his squad as the men formed a rough line in front of him. He grinned. No mockery from the twins was going to ruin his good mood now.
“Well then, lads,” he shouted in his best parade ground voice, “Not much to see today, so just keep your heads down and hope we don’t get a contact, because it’s going to be a long day! All set? Let’s get going!”
As they strode underneath the black steel portcullis and turned away onto the south-east path, Fardan was sure that Keria winked at him.

Part 1- Ten years later Chapter 1 A boy, no more than twelve years old, lies in a bed. The window opens. A shadow-shrouded shape emerges from outside. A mouth opens, exposing sharp canine fangs, glinting in the light of the full moon…. Fardan El’sare sat bolt upright in bed, his adult body drenched in cold sweat. Groaning, the big man hauled himself out. The dreams were coming to him again, worse than before. They always came close to the full moon. He instinctively brought his eyes around to meet the scar on his wrist.A bite, no more than a scratch, but it had done what was intended. Fardan began to get dressed. In the tall mirror that hung on the wall of his sleeping quarters, he could see quite clearly the amulet that pressed against his throat. A sign of his curse, unable to remove it. Reviled, cast out of his village for what he had become…. Once dressed, he began to haul on the helmet and breastplate that were standard issue for the Riftwatch. They were made of black steel, a substance found only where the Rift was near. Next, he began to inspect his weapons. A light crossbow hung on the wall, a strange weapon that had a magazine for bolts mounted above the stock. Fardan had a look, unclipped the magazine and made sure it was full of bolts. Then, he drew his sword, Moonfang, a long hand-and-a-half sword with the name carved into the handle and strange runes inscribed onto the dark metal of the razor-sharp blade. Fardan had long suspected that there was some enchantment upon the thing, as it was always sharp and seemed to glow as it sliced through demon flesh and armour with ease. Even now, he could not quite understand how he had found the sword, all those years ago. Running with the pack, needing a weapon. A black blade, lying in the pack’s den. The boy had taken it, kept it… Fardan shook his head, unsettling the short, brown hair sprouting from it, attempting to drive the dreams from his head. These were not ordinary dreams. They were visions of his childhood. * * * * * Fifteen miles away, the Rift shimmered above a ruined city. It was not immediately noticeable to the naked eye, but a careful observer would notice a displacing of the air, almost like heat rising off a surface, and a slight patch of darkness, as the light was sucked away. No one quite knew how the Rift had appeared. It was said by some that a great demonic creature had torn into this world, rending the fabric of reality apart and laying waste to the city and the lands around it, reducing them to a harsh desert where nothing would ever grow and madness and mutation awaited those that lingered too long nearby. Another darker, but possible theory was that the ancient sorcerers of the aeons-old city had meddled in powers too great to control, tearing the barrier between the dimensions in a single, almost apocalyptic explosion. However it had been created, the Rift was well known as a place of peril, a great planar hole where demons and entities that were the stuff of nightmares poured through and ran amok. In fact, only a few demons ever came out at a time, but this was enough to stop anyone from even considering going near. Except for a few. A group of warriors whose duty was to protect the world from the creatures within the Rift. The Riftwatch. The Riftwatch was strangely organised compared to most other fighting forces, which was not really surprising, as it was by far superior to those, in both skill and fame. A small army created and trained solely for the purpose of destroying demons, the Riftwatch took only the best- either from a local army such as the Carnu Guard, or sometimes wandering warriors from far distant lands. These were issued with the best equipment, although unlike other armies, they did not always issue weapons. Members were encouraged to use the weapon they were most skilled with, whether the standard issue weapon of the army they were part of, a personal weapon or something they had a natural talent with. The Riftwatch was organised into several garrisons, each split up into three squads of five men. The squads consisted of a senior officer, a Sergeant and three Corporals- promotion to Corporal was the normal procedure after a recruit had passed the three years of Riftwatch training. Each garrison spent most of their time in one of the ten watchtowers surrounding the outskirts of the Inner Riftlands, the area fifteen miles away from the Rift itself, where its influence was strongest. This was a depressing place, where the sun was barely able to poke itself through the masses of swirling clouds that loomed over the hills, forests and moors that the Riftwatch had to patrol over each day. Dawn was usually only visible by the lightening of the black clouds. Each squad in each garrison had a different patrol route, and their job was to trudge along it each day, in the pouring rain, the only respite from the dreariness being the quite common skirmish with a warband of demons, in which each squad member had to fight, kill and risk their lives in battle. It was one hell of a job. * * * * * Fardan opened the door of his room and began to walk down the winding stairway that led from his room to the first floor landing, where the many stairways of this particular watchtower joined before leading down to the main floor of the building. This was where Fardan was heading. The watchtower could be very confusing at times, huge as it was. It was the home of three squads of the Riftwatch. Fardan led one of the squads, as, being a lieutenant, he shared the second highest rank in the watchtower. The highest ranking officer, leading another squad, was Captain Isath, who also effectively ruled the watchtower. The third squad was led by Keria. Keria. Fardan didn’t quite understand his feelings for her. He respected her, of course, as she was a great warrior in her own way and already shared the second highest rank in the garrison, being a lieutenant like Fardan. But there was something else….. a tiny spark of something, something that made him turn his head to look at her on patrol and made him shy to speak to her. She had a strange, almost exotic beauty about her, and wielded the foreign scimitar she carried in her belt with immense, perhaps unearthly skill- you could never tell the difference with some members of the Riftwatch. Look at me, Fardan thought, they let me in, even with my un-naturalness. Fardan knew that this was not quite true. None of the Riftwatch knew his secret, at least, not as far as he knew. He doubted that he would have been allowed into a city, let alone the Riftwatch, if they did. Most people did not tolerate those who were different from them, especially in the way that Fardan was. Lost in his thoughts, Fardan forgot to look where he was going and strode headlong into someone. He blushed deeply as he untangled himself and realised that it was Keria. “S..s.. sorry!” he stammered as he hauled her upright, “I wasn’t…” “Watching where you were going?” Lieutenant Keria smiled at him in an affectionate way, resulting in more embarrassed blushing. “Um… yes.” Fardan muttered, then realised that Keria was also in full armour. She noticed what he was looking at and frowned. “Early patrol.” she explained, “That blasted Captain Isath wanted two squads out today, on separate paths. All part of his new effectiveness plan for the Watch.” Fardan rolled his eyes and groaned aloud. He was well accustomed to Isath’s ‘effectiveness plans.’ “More like his latest scheme to steal the tower’s salted beef supply!” he muttered. Keria burst out laughing and gave him a playful shove. Fardan staggered back three feet. Keria might have been shorter than him- her head, even with it’s long, light brown hair, only came up to his neck- but she was very strong. Fardan shakily regained his footing and began to walk down the main flight of stairs with her, swapping jokes and stories as they went. Someday, thought Fardan, as Keria began to recite one of her famous long-winded jokes, I will get to know her better. Someday soon.

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.”