The Gloomcatcher

PROLOGUE

N A R H O R I O N

City of Perth, Tohan, Tethoris.

    The setting sun cast extended shadows that danced eerily across the oaken doors of Narhorion's home. An ominous knock resounded through the stiff air, sending shudders down his crest.

    "Narhorion Rinado Nightwind," cried out a knight from the Crownwatch, his voice echoing with authority, "you have transgressed the law. It has been uncovered that you practice the forbidden art of a Gloomcatcher. By the decree of the Imperial Throne, your arrest, along with that of your family, has been sanctioned. Surrender willingly, or we shall resort to extreme measures."

    Narhorion reluctantly rose from the whiny chair where he had been reading to his four-year-old daughter. His gaze fixated upon the once-welcoming doors that had now become the sole barrier protecting his family from the Imperials. He had carried a lingering fear of this moment ever since he had first embraced the clandestine path of a Gloomcatcher.

    "Dreer madis, sire," he spoke in Meriead nervously from behind the closed doors.

    "I don't need your greetings, traitor. Submit to the Throne!"

    "Father, what is going on?" questioned his daughter—dark-haired, two little braids on either side, clung to his legs, the book he was reading abandoned on the floor.

    A petite woman emerged from the inside room; a baby bundled in a warm, brown blanket was cradled in her arms, sleeping soundlessly. "What shall we do now?"

    Narhorion looked from his beautiful wife, her brows; arched black were woven together in imperceptible worry, to the very big eyes of his terrified daughter who was fisting the hem of his tunic, hardly breathing at all as she held her doll close to her chest. He bent down quickly, hating to see her smile fading into a quiver of pale lips, and drew the child in a hug—he could hear the thundering of her heart.

    "Nothing will harm you, my dear," he whispered, pressing a tender kiss upon her head. "Trust me, my sweetheart, nothing."

    "Narhorion," urged the knight, now a clamorous bang on the jerky wood, which surprisingly was still upright, "in the name of the Supreme Five, unbind the damning devilry on this door. Do not forget you have been warned."

    Summoning every ounce of courage, he replied, "I shall comply, but, please, please in the name of the holy Mother Above, spare my family; they are innocent!"

    "Your bloody children carry the taint of your abilities—"

    "No, Sire, they shall never tread the path of a Gloomcatcher, I promise!" he lied, aware that the inherited power of Gloomcatching was an undeniable fate but he had no choice apart from a false assurance.

    "It is decreed. Your family dies with you, Narhorion, and your wife, Avaline, shares your fate as a Nightwind."

    Cold sweat dripped down his face. Ayag Madis, give me strength. Have mercy on my family!

    "You won't take him, you cur!" his wife defiantly retorted, holding the baby tightly as it wailed in response to the escalating commotion.

    "I say, Sire Wierhook, burn the house and eliminate these descendants of Primals!" a man croaked, inciting a chorus of support from the crowd.