Chapter 1

The border from sleeping to waking is a thin one, and Kilin came smashing through it. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his father’s sword and rushed out the door to face the danger that had woken him head on. Or at least he would have faced it, if he had found any danger to face. Or anything at all, actually. But the forest outside his treehut home was as still and quiet as any other night. Kilin turned to go back to his interrupted rest, when he heard two things: one, the lack of crickets and other nighttime creatures, and two, a far-off crashing and shouting that seemed to be coming in his direction. Kilin perked up a little. Nobody ever came into the forest except him. That was why he had made his home here after one too many early mornings of being beaten out of a villager’s barn. No one dared venture into the trees after him, even when he crept into the village at night to raid the henhouses and vegetable gardens or scare the sheep. That last he did only rarely; he understood the villagers feared him because he was an outlander, so he tried to leave them be. Still, when they set traps for him at the edge of the forest, scaring sheep was the least he could do. He had almost fallen into that last spike pit, curse them! Losing a few eggs now and again served them right for trying to murder him.

The crashing and shouting drew nearer. He could not quite make out the words yet, so he dropped quickly to the ground and began to creep closer to the clamor. Inwardly, he snickered. “Bet the villagers are all cowering in their beds at this racket,” he thought to himself. “Serves them right. Hope it isn’t anything too dangerous, though. Waving Father’s sword around might be enough to warn them off but I’ve a feeling anybody else would just laugh at me.”

By this time he had reached the source of the commotion. A large group of armed men were smashing their way methodically through the forest. “Keep your eyes open, men!” one shouted. Kilin assumed he was their leader. “First one to find that treehut gets the largest share of the reward!” Kilin dove into the nearest tree and scrambled upward until he had put a safe distance between himself and the group of warriors. A treehut? Why would they be looking for his home? He had been over every foot of the forest for miles around the village, he knew for a fact his was the only treehut. Worse, if they continued the direction they were going, they would find it shortly. He had not made any effort to hide it, since the only people around were the villagers. He quickly rejected the idea that they had hired these men. Kilin was no more than a minor annoyance to the village, egg-stealing or no. They really only hated him for being an outlander. There was no way they would spend their carefully hoarded gold to send anyone after him, let alone outland warriors as these clearly were.

His attention snapped quickly back to the men as their leader shouted again, “Make sure you don’t lose the boy! The reward on his head is enough to make us all rich men for life!” A loud cheer greeted his words. Kilin wished he could sprout wings and fly away. A reward on his head? No, this was definitely not about a few raided chicken coops, or being outland. “Only the king has the ability to put a price on someone’s head,” he thought frantically. Then almost fell out of the tree when a dry voice answered him, “Or the gods.” That voice had been in his head! Who could possibly be in his head? “Me. Obviously.” The voice spoke again, a touch of humor coloring its tone. At the same time, something shoved Kilin in the back. He managed not to scream this time, but he did fall out of the tree. Fortunately it wasn’t a long drop and he scrambled to his feet and turned to face what had shoved him, his father’s sword held high. “Most menacing,” the voice snorted. “I approve.” Despite the words, Kilin had the feeling he was being laughed at, a feeling which only solidified as he took in the creature that was, apparently, making itself quite comfortable in his head. “A horse?” he thought in disbelief, “a bloody horse is in my bloody head?”

“Now I’m insulted,” the creature huffed into Kilin’s head. “Really, when was the last time you saw a horse that could compare to me?” Kilin had to agree as he took in the inky black being before him, jumping back another few feet when enormous black wings erupted from the creature’s back. “I take it back,” he agreed out loud. “Definitely not horse. Perhaps a demon?” he continued in his head, forgetting already that the creature could still hear him. It snorted angrily and plastered its ears back against its skull. “I’m insulted! And confused! How could you possibly not recognize a zahn when you see one! You are astonishingly ignorant for a future zahntir.”

“A what now?” Kilin was beginning to feel overwhelmed. First armed men go crashing through his forest looking for his head, now a creature that looked like a horse with, he had to admit, bloody awesome wings was calling him names - inside his head. Dimly he wondered if he had managed to go insane.

“For the first part, it isn’t a name. Well, technically it is, more of a title really. Have you never heard of zahn? Or the Riders?” Kilin shook his head. “I don’t know much of anything, really. You’re the first...person...to speak to me for quite a while.” The creature sounded bewildered. “But you are still a child. Have you no guardians or friends to care for you?”

Memories of his life in the village flashed unbidden through Kilin’s head before he drew himself up proudly. “I’m sixteen years,” he stated firmly. “No longer a child.” The creature looked at him a bit sadly. “No, not a child,” he agreed. “You have not been a child for a long time, have you?” Before Kilin could question what it meant, it went on in what could only be described as a pedantic manner. “I am a zahn. It is a strange thing to me that you do not know what I am, or recognize me by sight. Every child knows what a zahn is. Do you know of the gods, at least?” Kilin nodded. “Well that’s something, I guess. I suppose the easiest way to describe zahn then would be younger cousins of the gods. We are divine, if not strictly immortal. All zahn are destined to find a Rider with whom to bond for eternity, through life and death. You are destined to bond with me, but because I am,” and here the zahn sounded extremely proud, “who I am, you will be far more than just a Rider. You will be zahntir, Captain and Ruler of all zahn and Riders. It is a position of great honor and power!” the zahn finished rather impressively. He blinked, and added, “Oh, and my name is Niilk.” Kilin opened his mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kilin,” he managed before falling over in a faint. Niilk made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker. “That wasn’t quite the response I anticipated. Oh well.” He levitated Kilin’s unconscious body onto his back, then took off, still snickering. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Marcus (unfinished)

Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred. She could not keep this up much longer. Already her legs were refusing to keep running, her feet starting to stumble. Fear and adrenaline had kept her on her feet this long, but she was fast coming to the end of their assistance.

She tripped, stumbled, and unable to catch herself, fell to her knees. This was the end. It had only been a few steps behind her, and now she could feet breath on the back of her neck. Then, darkness.

...

Marcus caught the girl as she started to fall. He grunted as he swung her over his shoulder and started the trek back to his cave. His lair, the villagers called it, and he the beast the lurked within. Many times they had come, armed with pitchforks and torches, to drive him out. Their friends always found them the next day, unharmed, peacefully asleep in the sunshine. He was no master kelok, but he did know some small magics, more than enough to protect himself from a few angry villagers.

He shifted the girl to his other shoulder. How had she gotten free? It was hard enough figuring out what to do with these girls they kept staking out for him without being led on a merry chase through the forest for hours. His anger burned as the thought of the first girl they had chained to a stake in the little clearing outside the village. He had no use for girls, virgin or otherwise. He had left her there, assuming the villagers would come in the morning and be overjoyed at finding her alive.

They had come, certainly. But they reacted with anger instead of joy. They blamed the girl, saying she must not have been a virgin, that she had failed, that she had put their entire village in jeopardy. Then they... He shook his head vigorously. Suffice it to say that the girl died there and the villagers went back to the village bearing the brands of murderers and rapists. It had been one of the few times he had wished himself actually able to take human life. The brands he had set on them ensured them their punishment at the hands of their fellow men, at least. Such marks could only be set upon the guilty. But since then he had been careful to collect the virgin offerings left for him.

Marcus ducked through the opening to his cave, careful to avoid hitting both his head and the girl's on the ceiling or walls. It was small, and strewn with bones and other grisly trophies. It truly looked a beast's lair. Two strides took him across to the opposite wall, where he laid his hand on the wall and whispered "open."

Molithe: Sunstrider Isle

I awoke to unfamiliar surroundings, uncertain as to how I had gotten there. My pet dragonhawk, Dragon, nuzzled my face...and judging from the drool all over me, had been doing so for quite a while.

"Dragon! Stop that, boy!" I pushed him away as I sprung gracefully to my feet. I am a blood elf, after all. We do everything gracefully. I looked around more closely. This must be Sunstrider Isle! I had heard stories of the place of course, but I had never visited. Few did. A nearby Magister beckoned me closer.

"Molithe! Your training awaits you!" she stated firmly. "You see all those mana wyrms over there? They've broken free of our control and need to be dealt with. I need you to kill a few for me." Without waiting for a reply, she turned to the young priest next to me, tossing "For the glory of the Sin'dorei!" over her shoulder. "Death to our enemies," I replied absently, my eyes already on a mana wyrm nearby, and my mind on how to best perform what would be my first kill. I was a little nervous, but if ever I was to make something of myself in this world of warcraft, adventure, and danger, I had to start somewhere!

After killing six of the wyrms, I returned to the Magister, eager to claim my reward. She gave me a sweet new belt and told me to check the mailbox. After buckling my new belt on, I pulled a giant package out of the mailbox and opened it excitedly. Inside was a note signed "Good luck! Mom" and several pieces of high quality armor! This was even better than a new belt! This armor would last me forever if I took good care of it, just as it had lasted my mother and probably her mother before her. After buckling on this new armor as well, I looked around for something to do. Remembering the Magister had told me to visit the experienced Ranger Sallina inside, I ran inside eagerly. Sallina wanted me to gain more experience killing the different creatures around the Isle, then practice my skills on the training dummies she had set up outside. It seemed several different people now had tasks for me to perform...an older elf wanted me to gather some of his property he had left carelessly sitting all over, the Magister wanted me to kill some lynxes that had gone feral and reclaim their leather collars, and an arcanist wanted to teach me how to suck the magic out of the area immediately around me. That last one gave me the shivers. I suffered from magic addiction, as did all blood elves, but stealing it from a living creature, even one I was going to kill anyway, just made me sick. I resolved to use this ability sparingly.

I retrieved the older gentlemen's belongings while crying over killing the baby lynx cubs and their mothers all over the isle. Did we really have kill them, just because they were feral? It wasn't like they were hurting anybody. I did as I was asked, however, and gathered collars from all of them to return to the Magister. She praised me and sent me on to her apprentice a bit down the path. He too wanted me to kill things, which made me a bit sad. I'd gone quickly from being all excited about my first kill to being tired of killing, already. I suspected I would see quite a bit more before I was through, though! At least this guy wanted me to kill tenders, which are just animated sticks, basically. These tenders had slipped out of their makers' control and essentially started running in circles. They weren't really dangerous, but they were annoying. After killing several, I returned to the apprentice, who gave me my first really important job: executing a leader of the Wretched. I despised the Wretched with that burning hatred one only feels for that which they truly fear. I knew that if I didn't control my addiction to magic, I too would end up a slave to it. So I killed the guy. I almost felt like I was putting him out of his misery. What kind of life is it to be so totally controlled by something that you would kill even those dear to you for just a taste of mana? I brought his head back to the apprentice guy as proof that I had completed my task. Ugh. I tell you what, a few coppers are NOT enough for me to go carrying bloody heads around in my pack. At least the self-cleaning magic my mother put on the pack is holding up well. I hardly notice it is there, but come to think of it, that might be why random blood elves keep glancing at me hungrily. And here I thought it was my stunning good looks and stellar personality. Oh well, a girl can dream, right?

Having delivered the head to what's-his-name the apprentice, he sent me to an outrunner at the edge of the Isle for further instructions. I don't even know what the guy is going to do with a head. Especially a Wretched head. If there's anything uglier than a wretched I don't know what it is! Maybe Forsaken. They look somewhat similar. Anyway, the outrunner sent me in search of a second outrunner that was supposed to be on her way to Falconwing Square with a package but never made it. I found her body a short ways down the road. Life is so short and easily snuffed out. I grabbed the package and ran back to the first outrunner, but she just gestured for me to continue down the road to Falconwing Square myself. Fair enough! I was happy to leave Sunstrider Isle. It was probably all the loose mana floating around, but the place made me feel very unsettled. I would be glad to get to Falconwing and take a nice nap in the inn.

Molithe

Molithe. The name both terrified and attracted her. Molithe. Slayer of a thousand dreams. Yet she had seen a glimpse of something else in those shadowed eyes, something more than death or dreams.

She was probably just lying to herself. After all, people tried to get close to Molithe all the time. She had seen one such person at the market just last week, babbling by turns of death and demons and angels and light. Nobody was quite sure what to do with these broken-minded wretches. Once a vengeance-crazed mother had found one wandering in an open field beside her house. The mere whisper of Molithe was enough to send her into a frenzy and she bashed his head in with her household god. She awoke the next morning to find her village in flames and her neighbors slaughtered. They fished her body out of the river a week later. After that, Molithe's cast-off lovers were treated with care, if not respect.

Yet still they came, once or twice a month, from every corner of the world. With Molithe's name on their lips and dreams in their eyes, they trudged straight up the temple steps. The great golden gates would swing open to receive them, and them alone. Some had mates or children trying to drag them back, yet still they strode forward.

Molithe. She shivered. What was it that brought men and women of every race to the Temple of Dreams? What could draw them so strongly? And why were they always found mindless, weeks or months or even years later?

Nobody knew what went on in the presence of Molithe. Those who went willingly, not drawn by dreams, found the gates closed to them. If they managed to climb the wall, they were found later missing both eyes and tongue.

Except her. She had seen Molithe. She had waylaid a dreamer and convinced him to smuggle her through the gates in his pack. She was small and he had been a large barbarian from the North. It had been easy to convince him, but then, dreamers would agree to anything so long as it didn't keep them from Molithe.

So far as she knew she was the first mortal to see Molithe and still retain all her sense. She wondered if she would start going slowly mad, or perhaps if this growing obsession with Molithe was how it started for dreamers. She almost thought it would be worth losing her mind to see Molithe just once more, this time without the hood and veils, face to face with the Keeper of Dreams.

So it was that she found herself striding up the long staircase to the great golden gates of the Temple of Dreams. The people gathered to watch her go by, muttering the same words of condolence and regret they always bestowed on a dreamer. "I'm not a dreamer!" she wanted to yell at them. "I just want to see Molithe!" But she held her peace. To her surprise and slight dismay, the gates swung open at her approach. She hesitated, then strode boldly through them before falling to her knees in front of Molithe. As her eyes met the eyes of the Keeper of Dreams, she felt a sense of peace. This was where she was meant to be. This is what she had been dreaming of all her life.