Battle Ground, Indiana

Claire cringed every time she saw the blackened skin on Cyrus. The poison was spreading too quickly. It crept up his neck to just below his chin. She tried not to look at it or think about how much pain he was in. He hid his hurt like a champion, finding other things to distract him, like talking about Kane.

After hearing about the evil sorcerer, she'd hardly slept. Her mind was too preoccupied with the alarming details Cyrus had given her. She often found herself pacing back and forth, going back over every aspect of Cyrus's retelling. Kane had three Dragon Stones. No one knew anything about him or his existence. No one knew of the dangers that awaited Dragonwall.

Worse than her lack of sleep was her increasing paranoia. She had taken up Cyrus's habit of checking the windows to ensure the yard was quiet. Her face could often be found peeping out of them, especially at night.

It was midafternoon on the seventh day of his stay when things took a turn for the worse. The sun was still hours from the horizon. She had convinced Cyrus to sit outside with her on the porch swing overlooking the west field—the one she had found him in. They sat side by side, sipping sweet tea with mint leaves, just like her mom made it. The humid afternoon air was less stifling as they swung back and forth.

"What else did you see in Kane's mind?" she asked. When they spoke of Kane, she often picked his brain for more information. Cyrus was a Mind Bender. She had discovered this when she realized how strange it was that he knew so much about his attacker's plans. After putting two and two together, she discovered that he had read her mind as well. He did it their first morning together. It had infuriated her to discover it, but he'd since apologized.

"Well, you already know about the wild dragons," he said. "Have I told you of the additional Vodar wraiths Kane plans to summon?"

She nodded. It was a frightening idea—more Vodar. A few were bad enough. Someone needed to stop him.

"And you already know about the Gobelins."

She did. She knew all about the frightening creatures Dragonwall faced. Wild dragons were cousins to the Drengr. According to Cyrus, these blood-thirsty creatures disappeared thousands of years ago. Somehow they had returned to Dragonwall and were ready to do Kane's bidding.

Like dragons, Gobelins weren't much better. These were green-skinned creatures no taller than a man's waist, who loved gold and riches more than anything in the world. Where the dragons were large, Gobelins were small. Their size easily fooled people. Gobelins had pointy black teeth perfect for ripping flesh apart—which helped explain why they smelled so badly. The most important thing to remember was they were quick.

"Never try to outrun a Gobelin," Cyrus had warned her. She had no intentions of doing so. It was a blessing the creatures were stuck in his world, not hers.

"What about Kane's Nasks?" he asked. "Have I told you about them yet?"

"Yes, but I'll hear the story again if you don't mind. Maybe there's a detail we missed."

Cyrus had grown very forgetful in the last day, many times telling her things she already knew. It was a sign of the poison's increasing hold on him.

"Tell me again," she encouraged. It helped distract him from the pain.

"Kane's Nasks are puppets. He uses them to do his bidding. It is impossible to tell who is possessed and who is not." Cyrus shook his head.

He blamed himself—she knew it even if he didn't admit it. Kane's Nasks had fooled everyone including him.

"Kane has two of them—right under our noses! I never would have guessed. It makes me sick to think the king is probably sitting down with them at this very moment, going over battle plans, oblivious to the fact that Kane is pulling their strings."

"His Lower Council," she said.

"Yes."

The king had two councils—the Upper Council and the Lower Council. The Upper Council consisted of the king's six Shields, and the Lower consisted of twenty nobles who represented each of the twenty Dragondoms. Dragondoms were smaller territories within the four main territories of Dragonwall.

There were two Nasks sitting on the king's Lower Council. Cyrus failed to spot them and the guilt was eating him alive nearly as much as the poison. It wasn't until he was in Kane's head that he discovered how far the sorcerer's deceit went.

"What will the king do when he finds out he's been betrayed?"

"He won't. Not unless you get there in time to tell him—before it is too late."

She sighed. They'd had this conversation too many times already. "Cyrus, I'm not going to Dragonwall. I don't know the way. Even if I did, how would I find the king's castle? Besides, I can't just...leave." He said nothing, forcing her to fill the silence. "Surely you are mistaken. Just because someone saw my face. I...I'm not meant to protect the Stones." How could she possibly travel across a country full of wild dragons, Vodar, Gobelins, and everything else?

"You are. It's meant to be you. Besides, your instincts will guide you."

She worried at her lower lip. Even if she did know the way to the king's castle, she couldn't simply run away and disappear into a foreign world simply because he asked her to.

Or...could she? There was no denying the allure Dragonwall held. The draw. She considered the hypothetical possibility for a moment—really considered it. What prospects did she have here? The one thing she had really wanted, the internship in Washington D.C., turned out to be nothing more than a failed pursuit. Her relationship with Jake was toast. She had no job lined up, and a long list of applications to fill out. And then there were her student loans. She almost groaned at the thought of them. A small pile of gold wasn't going to answer all of her problems.

She gazed out over the corn fields. The breeze rustled a strand of hair that had come lose. It tickled her cheek. She pushed it back behind her ear.

Why not run away? Why not ditch this life for a better one? Anyone in her shoes would, wouldn't they? Jump at the opportunity to chase a world that shouldn't have existed beyond her own? Why not do this for Cyrus?

The skin on her bottom lip broke and she tasted blood. She licked it away. Accepting this meant accepting that Cyrus would die. It was too much to think about. She simply couldn't. There had to be another way.

Cyrus sat just as silently, deep in thought.

"Cyrus?"

"Hmm?"

"Isn't it against the law to travel through the portal—through the Gate, I mean?"

He shrugged.

"Well? Won't I...won't I get in trouble or something?"

"Perhaps. I have not yet worked that out. But I trust the gods to get you there safely. You are resourceful. You will think of something."

"I'll think of something?" She gawked at him. "Are you serious? What—what happens to people who break your king's laws?"

"It depends on the law. But for a crime like that, beheading most likely."

She sputtered. "Are you insane?! You want me to risk my life?"

"There is no minimizing the task ahead of you. You would be treated as an outsider—tried in court as a threat to the kingdom—as a criminal. The law is the law. None are permitted to pass in any direction through the Gates. Exceptions can be made for those of our world, for reasons I am sure you can understand, but for those of yours? I've heard stories..." He did not look at her. His eyes traced the corn field.

She crossed her arms. "You're crazy, you know that? I'm not doing it. I'm not—you can't make me." So much for escaping into a magical world.

"Isn't the impending danger worth the risk, Claire? Think of all the lives you might save." He didn't meet her gaze. His voice sounded distracted. Something held his attention—a bird perhaps. His eyes narrowed.

"Yes, I've thought about that—about the lives I might save—and the answer is still no. You'll just have to push through the poison and hope that someone is coming to—"

"Quiet!" he hissed.

She was taken aback. Her brow furrowed. He still wasn't looking at her. Instead he sat erect, scowling into the distance. His expression changed. His iced tea glass dropped and shattered all over the porch. When he turned his wide eyes on her, her skin began to crawl.

"Cyrus..."

"They're here. They have come."

"No..." She shook her head—refused to believe it. This wasn't real. None of it. But that didn't stop the dreadful feeling that came over her. "What—what do we do?" she whispered.

They both jumped to their feet. He ripped the leather pouch from his neck and thrust it in her hands, wrapping her fingers around it. "Get inside and bolt the door. I will fight them. This is my fight." His sword was now drawn—his Sverak.

She looked from the blade to him. "Fight?" A strangled laugh left her chest. "Cyrus, you can hardly stand!" She shook her head. "No. No way. I'm not going to hide like a scared little girl."

"But you are scared. And you are a little girl. Now go!" His words stung."Claire! You must protect the Stones. I cannot protect you and them both. Do not make me tell you again. Get inside and stay out of sight." His voice had changed—was suddenly powerful and commanding. He towered over her now. A force to be reckoned with.

She pushed her fear down deep and went to the front door. He did not wait to see her go, striding quickly from the porch out onto the lawn. She wouldn't have known he suffered were it not for the black skin showing.

At the front door, she looked out over the field. Her eyes scanned the tops of the corn stalks, sweeping back and forth. Then she saw it. The stalks of corn were moving, bending and parting like a rolling wave. Something was advancing through the field towards the house. She stood frozen in place, watching, barely breathing. She clenched the warm leather pouch in her hand.

With each passing moment, her heartbeat grew stronger. The movement through the field came closer. Like a scene playing out in a movie, the stalks of corn parted and she felt a scream rise within her chest. Her hand flew to her mouth.

The figures gliding towards Cyrus were assuredly Vodar in every sense of the word's meaning. Their bodies were covered in black oily smoke. The illusion created rotting cloaks to cover the true terror beneath. Tendrils of black smoke trailed behind them like slithering snakes. Everything they touched died. The grass itself dried up in their wake, turning scorched and brown.

Smoke oozed like fog through the holes in their shrouds, as if they were smoking and burning beneath them. These wraiths had wings too, transparent wings of smoke that sprouted from their backs. They held them limply at their sides. In total there were six, and each grasped a sword much shorter and narrower than the one Cyrus held at the ready.

She didn't realize she was trembling as she watched her beloved Cyrus. How did he expect to fight six of these things? How?! "There's no way," she muttered. "There's no possible way."

She was his only hope.

Without wasting another moment, she slipped quietly inside. Cyrus may have commanded her to bolt the door, but a bolted door wouldn't stop these creatures. She raced to the dining room and pulled her mom's Starry Night painting from the wall. Her hands trembled as she entered the safe's combination. At last she ripped the large metal door open and flung the stones inside. Her grandfather's revolver was there—she grabbed it and the little case of bullets. Then she slammed the door shut, turned the dial, and replaced the painting.

Her father's shotgun was upstairs in his closet—two guns were better than one. With speed she never thought she possessed, she took the stairs two at a time. Recovering the shotgun and the box of ammunition, she flew down the stairs. She nearly slammed into the front door as she came to a halt.

Cyrus was out on the lawn, surrounded by predators. She allowed herself a quick glance as reassurance. He was still alive. The Vodar were circling him, closing in on him. He held his sword in position, waiting for their attack.

She dropped to her knees and began loading the shotgun first and then the revolver. Her unsteady fingers dropped bullets everywhere. They rolled away from her across the hall floor, but she managed. She also stuffed some shotgun shells into her pockets for later. When the guns were loaded, she stood at the window and watched, still trembling.

She had never been so uncertain in her life. Should she storm out firing everything she had, or wait until the fighting started before bursting through the door? Did she possess the courage for either? Having courage meant acting in the presence of fear. She was afraid, terrified, but could she take action?

Damn it all to hell! Why did heroism seem so effortless in movies and books? How come being brave looked easy? It wasn't easy! She wasn't even sure if it was possible for someone like her.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her eyes glued to Cyrus. He kept moving, turning, looking back and forth over his shoulder, waiting for the first move. And then in a rush they attacked all at once. At that moment, an admiration welled up within her. Cyrus moved with effortless grace. He performed a memorized dance—one he had done many times before. Even though there were six of them and only one of him, he managed to slice and dodge and kick and duck as quickly as they did.

His bravery was contagious. She was driven to be valiant like him. After all, he didn't run scared when he could have. He faced his enemy despite his fear. She wanted to be like that.

Quietly, she turned the knob of the door, opening it just a crack so that it still appeared shut. Then she turned her back on it, giving herself a final moment of clarity. She looked at the hall in front of her—filled with so many childhood memories—allowing her mind to go to its happy place. Then she tucked her grandfather's single action revolver into the back pocket of her jean shorts. She would use the shotgun first. That meant she would need to be close enough to pack a punch.

Concentrating, she went through each of her dad's drills in her head. Then she placed her non-firing hand on the hand stock of the shotgun, right in the middle just as he'd taught her. Her firing hand went on the grip of the gun, forefinger at the ready. The shotgun was double-barreled, so she would only get two shots before needing to reload. Each one had to count.

The sound of metal striking metal was ringing in her ears. She tried to ignore it. "Now or never, Claire," she whispered. "Now or never!" Taking one final deep breath and closing her eyes, she opened the door and slipped through.

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