Lost Stones of Elyria

1248 (200 years after Darkness)
Lofhaven Forest
Mildaar

East to the province of Mildaar, where the shadows swayed to the melody of the wolfgar and the ancient creatures of Babusk hunted, a young boy scurried. Through the forest, he sprinted, avoiding the brightly adorned limps of the Moon-jade trees, their branches swaying, slashing into his flesh, obeying the echoing shrieks of Sarwyn, the Dark Sorceress. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out the fear he knew was there, but couldn’t take the time to acknowledge. Keep moving, his mind screamed.

Valan, guardian of the Elyrian Stone-bearers, would be at the edge of the trees. That was his salvation. Valan would keep him safe from Sarwyn. All he had to do was keep moving, avoiding the traps of the Sorceress’ magic. His hands burned, the pain sharp yet bearable. The Fyre of Wylowen, its enchantment greatest of all elemental stones, flowed through him, making his veins burn with power. Stolen from Sarwyn, who knew the legends of Gamor; predicting the darkness would be destroyed, bringing peace to the lands. Sarwyn sought after the gems, to crown herself the Dark Queen. But Valan had known of her treachery, believing the Guardians were Carinthia’s only hope against the Dark Sorceress and her evil legion.

He could see the edge of Lofhaven Forest, only a little further and Valan would have the Fyre and both of them would be safe. Something touched the flesh of his neck, a whisper upon the wind. He looked back expecting her; nothing. He continued on; feeling, no, knowing she was close behind. Keeping his eyes focused, he saw torches up ahead. There, the Riders of Lothaodia and Valan waited. They saw him; their tension and pawing horses gave way to the eagerness to flee. Faster he paced, his lungs ready to burst, chanting under his breath, almost there, almost there. Suddenly she burst through the jade trees, bringing him to a painful halt. Beautiful as evil could wish itself, her eyes glowed sapphire ice. He could hear Valan and the others shouting for him, telling him to protect the stone. But he couldn’t do it, his body tired and drained of its fight and she knew this. She’d toyed with him, making him believe for a moment he’d gotten away.

Her voice a siren’s call, its honeyed tones laced with menace. “So Valan,” she murmured tauntingly, “is sending children to do his bidding now?”

His heart tripped a beat as he saw the glowing eyes in the forest. His fear, like an aphrodisiac, enticed the creatures from their hidings. Growls of hunger echoed through the silence, while the Dark Sorceress smiled impiously.

“Give it over boy, the Fyre is mine. He,” her gaze swung slowly to Valan, “cannot save you. Not here, in this place. His feet cannot touch these grounds,” Sarwyn spoke softly. “Be a good lad now, and hand over the stone,” she said extending her hand, “I’ll not harm you if you obey.”

He knew she was lying, but he didn’t know what choice he had. Valan and the Riders were not allowed to step foot into the Lofhaven. He was so tired, so frightened. He wished it hadn’t done this, the fear rising in him as he watched a grotesque creature, with its tusks dripping with blood and poison and its eyes gleaming with hunger, reached out its claws, slashing into his arms. The stone dropped heavily to the ground, its glow dimming. Sarwyn’s laugh boomed through the forest, echoing throughout the night sky.

“A mistake was made, boy. Your precious guardian will watch until you breathe your last bit of life.” Grabbing the stone, Sarwyn turned to Valan and the Riders, her silver mane like a glittering star in the night’s sky.

“Valan (different language),” her honeyed voice deepening to a baritone, the evils that possessed her soul chanting, “Your misfortune merits death. This life will end. The Fyre of Wylowen is mine, as will all the stones of Elyria be. I will be Queen!” Shadows consumed the Dark Sorceress, her voice chanting a spell into the savage forest. The evil creatures, born from the darkest realm of Laveran; were slithering from the shadow of the moon-jades, a lonely prey awaiting death.

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Valan watched, silently grieving, as the boy, Adair was ripped apart; his shrieks of agony sending daggers into the immortal’s heart.

One of the Riders approached, the clang of his armor drowning out the last of Adair’s cries.  Liaron, leader of the Riders, knew the guardian’s sorrow but both the stone of Elyria and its young master were lost to them.

“Valan, we must depart. There is nothing we can do here.  The witch will send Trolarcs after us if we do not flee now.”

He knew Liaron was right; turning away from the wolfgar as they ravaged over the flesh of a Tellurian son.  It sickened him, the evils Sarwyn had conjured from the book of Balmor.  But nothing sickened him more than to know the death of the boy lay on his soul.

“We’ll depart now, but she will not go unpunished.  Signal your men to give fire to the trees. Her creatures will feel my wrath.”  Ignoring the Rider’s gaze, Valan guided his gelding, Davinth through the camp; watching stoically as Liaron’s men gathered torches for the destruction of Lofhaven.

Trudging away, the inferno created a mounting glow upon Lofhaven and Valan knew that the Dark Queen would seek vengence on him and he would be ready when she did.