The War of Transition

  Prologue

      It was the darknest night in living memory when the soldiers came for them.

     Dryker swept across the room, his black cape trailing behind him. He nervously moved from window to window, peering out into the night. A few fingers of rain were heard patting against the roof of the house, a dimly light hovel in the small village of Thornstead.

     "Would you stop moving?" Vesta hissed from his chair. "You're scarin' the dog." The animal was huddled in the darkest corner of the room, whimpering softly, her tongue lolled from the side of its mouth.

     "She ain't been scared like that before, somethin' ain't right." As Dryker passed once again by the table, the light the of the candles revealed his face. His beard was black with strands of grey, poorly shaven for a man of forty years. His lips were thin, but even so, Vesta swore he could see them trembling. He had to turn to face Dryker as he stopped by another window, opening the shutters just a crack. Vesta heard the rain coming down harder now, but there was no wind. No voices could be heard. The village was often quiet at night, but even Vesta could admit that tonight was particularly strange.

     "There's a fog." Dryker uttered it like poison, peering through the half opened shutters with one eye.

     Vesta called to the dog. She remained as still as stone, her beady black eyes shining like distant stars in the shadows. "There's always a fog. What makes this fog different than the rest?" He was growing tired of his brother's paranoia. Ever since they had taken up black magic, he feared for his safety. Vesta remembered waking several times during the night to see Dryker still awake, glancing at the door, then to each window in turn as if the Alchemists were coming for him. While it was true that other villages practising black magic had been burned to the ground, their people put to the sword or hanged or worse, there were far too many of those villages--this one smaller than most--to raze them all.

     "I feel it. You may not understand brother, but what we're doing isn't right." Dryker turned to Vesta, thin locks of black hair falling over his face. Even with the ruddy light of the candle bouncing off his face, he looked as pale as stone.

     "It's not right cause the Alchemists say it ain't right. What's to say what they're doing is any better?" Vesta was fed up, and there was work to be done. On the table rested an open book. A large one at that. A tome Vesta had purchased some time ago for a fair price. Written inside it were passages of nonsense and designs that had been scratched and smudged over the years. Vesta couldn't read any of it. It was Dryker who knew how to read, but he had seemed to grow more fearful of the book very passing day. Tonight, he hadn't so much as glanced at it.

     "Tonight's different." His brother muttered, crossing the room again, this time approaching the dog. She shied away with her tail between her legs, whimpering at his presence. Vesta cast Dryker a curious glance, but his brother hadn't noticed. "She knows it too." He spat, moving around again, the cape flapping behind him. "These things we've been doing, these rituals that we've practiced end tonight. Do you understand?" 

     Being the older brother, Dryker was in control. It was he who moved the two of them to Thornstead, far out of the reach of the cities. Dryker was the one fascinated by the nameless tome that Vesta had brought back home. He translated the words and said they would practise the black magic held within. Vesta had protested then, but once he witnessed his brother harness those powers, it was he who wanted to continue and Dryker slowly transformed into someone else entirely.

     "I understand." Vesta muttered under his breath. Dryker hadn't heard. He was peering out into the darkness again, one hand on the shutters and another on his knife belt, same as always. "But perhaps we could try one last time." He added hopefully. His brother turned to him, his cheek wet from the rain. "One last time wouldn't hurt. We've already done so much. I swear I'll burn this book on the morrow."