Sons of Saoghal: The Five Tasks

PROLOGUE Realm of Saoghal Year of the Dark One

The mob was waning. Prince Rourke could tell they were falling behind, exhausted with some hurt, and even though there was still a constant screeching in his head of voices he did not recognize, he could only now barely sense the drenching, bitter smell of their murderous rage.

The shock of the newfound sense of smell was so overpowering that he could not tell if he was running from that, or certain death.

He ran anyway, continuing through the forest, with steps and breaths that burnt. The instinctual urge to escape, into the dark depths of the forest, had taken over and was not of his doing. The troll, the creature he was becoming, could do no more than flee the angry humans, whereas the Prince would have stood fast and commanded order.

His feet continued to move and the children of Gwrtheryn stumbled on behind him without question, as if he were dragging them along by their thorn-blooded arms. They followed him across the small clearing and over the bridge, deeper and deeper into the forest. Their eyes meeting the ground every time he glanced over his shoulders.

Prince Rourke ran deeper into the forest until he could no longer smell the mob's putrid hate. Then with a sudden, unspoken command the others halted along with him. He was certain that the others no longer sensed danger as well, nor would they stop until told.

He stood in place panting and in pain. The cold was numbing but not enough to ease the fire of pain in his lungs and his body. His thoughts were racing but the voices in his head had finally stopped.

The children's eyes were on his back now as they waited for him to either move again or allow them to rest. With gnarled, bare and bloodied feet he waited. Like the others, his garments had long been discarded and in their place the now crinkled, oily skin of the creature was covering his body.

Rourke looked into the human eyes of the creatures. The fear and exhaustion was clear. A wee babe of a creature was clinging to the humped back of what would have been a bigger sister, its eyes no longer innocent but aware.

The babe's eyes never left Rourke's as it slid to the ground and stood, strong and sure like a much older warrior, ready for battle. There was a hushed tension as their Prince looked every one of them in their eyes.

The scene they had escaped earlier etched confusion on every face.

The courtyard had been alight. An angry mob held torches high in one hand while brandishing weapons in the other. The children, almost surrounded by angry glares, had awaited the inevitable - death. Menacing faces of mothers, fathers and neighbors had begun to enclose them when Rourke had reached the courtyard. The vulnerable children had all turned like startled deer toward him, as if sensing his presence. They instinctively followed him out of the gates, through the abandoned village and into the forest.

This had to be the work of Daegon, Rourke thought, he will pay for casting this spell upon the children of Gwrtheryn. Father and the old wizard will see to it. To the children he said, "Brothers, today we rest, tomorrow we go home. Long live the King!"

"Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King!" returned the band of grotesque trolls. Peasant and aristocrat alike.