Armies of the Silver Mage by Christian Freed

draw the tiny dagger given to her as birthday present by her father some years ago. Tarren opened her eyes and drew back to attack. She knew she had been caught and meant to inflict as much harm as possible. A gentle whuff made her lower her guard. Her eyes adjusted and a large dark form took shape. It was a pony. Young and golden brown with velvet eyes.
    Tarren glanced nervously about. She was frighteningly concerned about her surroundings. This had to be a trap. No one in their right mind would leave a perfectly good pack animal about in the wild. But what if the owner was dead? She looked the pony over and noticed it looked like it’d never been saddled. Curiously, the pony seemed to be smiling down on her. Tarren smiled back.
    “What are you doing out here all by yourself?” she asked in a gentle voice. “I used to know why I was here but that was before the storm. All I know now is that I’m tired and want to go home. But I can’t!”
    Tears welled in her eyes. The pony stepped closer and rubbed it’s muzzle against her.
    “My friends are in danger. They need me and I don’t know that I’m strong enough to help them,” she confided.
    She took silent comfort from the animal. It drew away the doubt and suffering she’d been going through and gave her new hope. Tarren knew she had a chance. Her spirits lifted. A new day was upon her and she had much to do to save her love.
     

THIRTEEN
    Melting snow and ice turned the roads into a muddy slush, slowing travel to a miserable crawl. Temperatures stayed low but just above freezing. Distant mountaintops remained buried in perpetual snow with strong winds swirling the loose powder about. Winter was still weeks away yet the skies were constantly growing darker.
    Norgen calmly combed the ice from his beard and watched the boys spar with carved wooden swords. They’d continually improved since leaving Feist a handful of days ago. The Dwarf knew it wouldn’t be enough to keep them alive in combat, but it was just enough to give them a chance to run. He prayed they never learned what combat was. The very nice they left Feist Norgen knew his prayers went unanswered. He felt that familiar chill. He knew then that a Gnaal had found them. They were being hunted.
    He managed to keep his fears to himself despite their constant nagging. Gnaal’s were horrible creatures with blood thirsty appetites and never relented. That he managed to survive one already was a miracle. Many good friends lay dead and rotting from one. Axes and swords were useless against their blackened flesh. The Dwarves fought with extreme valor and didn’t so much as cut the fell beast.
    Finally having had enough, Delin and Fennic lowered their swords and rejoined the Dwarf in youthful laughter. They were exhausted and drenched in sweat. Norgen had them rinse off at a nearby stream to keep from getting sick. They came back and shared a meager meal of dried meat and traveler’s bread. Norgen ignored their protests over not having a fire and bade them eat in silence. The sun was setting and that old chill returning.
    Creeping shadows stretched across the world in an open invitation for dark creatures and evil desires. A dead silence settled over their camp and all Norgen could do was watch the night. His knuckles were already white from the grip on his axe. Fennic was the first to notice.
    “What’s bothering you, Norgen? You haven’t been the same since we left Feist,” he commented. His own hand dropped to Phaelor.
    The Dwarf’s eyes were cold and distant. “There is danger near. We would do well to use caution. I like this not.”
    “What is it?”
    “Nothing I care to speak of.”
    Then came a rustling deep in the woods, followed by a high pitched scream. Some terrible menace was at work in the dark places of the world. Norgen leapt to his feet, axe in hand and ready for battle. His muscles bristled under the tight leather armor. The boys were suddenly aware of how powerful and lethal a Dwarf