PROLOGUE
Deep beneath the northern mountains, where the world ended and the wilds began, a low groan began.It seemed to come from the depths of the earth, a low, primordial rumble that echoed through forgotten caverns, stirring dust from ceilings untouched for centuries.
A tremor accompanied the rumble, but there was no man there to wonder which was a result of the other.Only the malformed and disfigured ears of beasts picked up the disturbance.They paused.Some looked to the sky, pierced by the craggy peaks.Others looked at the ground beneath their cloven feet.Still others searched the mountains themselves for an answer.
They sensed something was happening.Something was about to change.
And it was.
Deep down, in the heart of this subterranean abyss, the shifting of the rock put pressure on a set of seals.Seals that were older than the Ring itself, forged in the fires of creation and bound by spells woven when the world was young.
They had lain intact, hidden, forgotten for millennia.
The pressure increased, and the low grumble intensified, filling the pitch-black caverns and passageways, as the world shifted again.
Then another noise echoed off the stone walls.
A sharp sound, like bones breaking in the dark as the ancient seals shifted and then cracked.
More dust fell to the floor, then there was silence as the world settled down to its slumber once again.But it was already too late.The damage had been done.Damage that could not be undone.
Far to the south, away from the jagged peaks that marked the northern edge of the Ring, the first signs of that damage also went unnoticed.It began with a faint shimmer in the air, something the guards patrolling on both sides of the vast canyon put down as a trick of the light, if they even noticed it.Then a hairline fracture appeared in the shimmering wall known as the Shield.
For generations, it had stood unbroken, a barrier of ethereal energy that encircled the kingdom, repelling invaders and preserving the hard-won peace and safety of those who dwelt within its comforting embrace.
Then it had been destroyed, heralding a period of upheaval, not just within the Ring itself, but in every far-flung corner of the world.A period that had seen empires rise and crumble, kings and queens die, others reign supreme.It had seen a boy, Thorgrin, become a man, then a warrior, then something far more powerful, the King of the Druids.
Fifteen years ago, he had defeated his greatest foe, the Blood Lord, and restored the Shield once more.Since then, the Ring and those within it had flourished.They had rebuilt what had been destroyed, created something even more spectacular.
Some had even forgotten that outside the protective ring that surrounded the kingdom, hideous dangers lurked.They, too, had thrived.Grown in number and in strength.They had always eyed the shimmering ring with fear, with awe.It didn't stop some attempting to break through it, tempted by the promise of sweeter meat on the other side.
Those too brave or too stupid to not give in to those desires were met with instant death, the mysterious force dealing a fatal blow.But now, some primal instinct inside them drew them nearer to the canyon.They sensed something had changed.Some slithered and tumbled down the vast vertical walls.Others hung around one of the two bridges that crossed the vast chasm that circled the Ring.
Still, the soldiers on sentry duty were impervious to any change.Years of safety had allowed their guard to slip.The Shield had held strong, nothing had got through.Nothing could.
Or so they thought.
The shimmering in the air intensified, then spread to the Shield itself.A crack, tiny at first, appeared, snaking down the huge surface, disappearing down into the depths of the canyon and the mists that swirled, obliterating the floor below.The crack widened with a hiss like escaping steam, the air warping and twisting as the Shield's magic faltered.
The creatures saw it now, no longer having to rely on their senses.They bolted for the breach, snarling, pushing others out of their way in their haste to break through.Monstrous creatures, twisted horrors dredged up from the darkest of nightmares.Hulking beasts with hides of jagged rock, eyes like burning coals, and claws that dripped acidic venom.Troll-like in stature but far more grotesque, their faces were maws of serrated teeth, and though their movements looked stiff and cumbersome, when they needed to, like when they saw their opportunity to break through the Shield, they moved with unnatural speed.
The first wave burst through the gap, a dozen strong, snarling and rampaging across the dark ground.Behind them came scores more, spilling out like ink from a shattered vial.The breach shimmered once more, and then with a buzz of static, it began to heal itself, slamming shut on an unfortunate beast halfway through, sending its startled roar over the landscape along with the aroma of charred meat.
The ones that had been lucky, the ones that had made it through unscathed, cared little for those behind.They had only one thought.
To feed their bellies with fresh, tender human meat.Some had forgotten what it tasted like, it had been so long.Others had never had the pleasure, but all of them knew that it was like nothing they would sample in the Wilds.
They charged southward, toward the nearest outpost of the Ring, their bellies rumbling.
CHAPTER ONE
Far to the south, in the rebuilt splendor of King's Court, young Guwayne woke with a start, his heart pounding as if he'd been running from shadows.He sat up in his bed, the silk sheets tangled around him, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool breeze wafting through the open window of his chamber.The first light of dawn filtered in, casting a golden hue over the tapestries depicting his parents' legendary quests—the defeat of the Blood Lord, the restoration of the Shield, the Day of Seven Weddings.
As usual, his stomach gave a subtle lurch at the sight.The constant reminder of who his parents were and what was expected of him.Most people, he knew, would see it as a blessing, coming from such stock, but he did not.He was increasingly becoming to see it as a curse.
How could you follow in the footsteps of someone whom many saw as a god?How could you live up to what his mother and father had done?Even if such demands were never stated explicitly, Guwayne felt them in every look, every training session, every comment.
Guwayne was fifteen now, tall and broad-shouldered like his father, with the same stormy gray eyes and a mop of wavy blond hair that fell to his shoulders.He had grown into a young man of striking presence, his features a blend of Thorgrin's rugged determination and Gwendolyn's graceful poise.As the heir to the throne, he had been trained in the arts of war and leadership from a young age: swordplay with Uncle Reece, archery with Uncle Erec, strategy with his mother, and the subtle magics of the druids from Aunt Alistair.Yet despite his prowess—he was already the finest swordsman among the youth of the court—Guwayne often felt a restlessness, a pull toward something greater, something undefined.
