Prologue

The sun filtered through the leaves outside the window, casting dappled shadows on the white walls inside the large room where four wizened old men sat in silence.  Three of them cast furtive and anxious looks at each other while the fourth consulted a large book set on the table in the centre of the room.  Eventually, he looked up, and sighed.  Before he spoke, he cast a steely grey eye around the room, taking in the men sat before him, each the most powerful mages from the four continents of the world.

"Gentlemen.  The Rite of Kanmesh is the most difficult piece of magic any of us will have ever performed, as there is no guarantee that it will work.  It has never been performed before.  It is dangerous and difficult magic, as I said before.  We must be in complete agreement if we are to continue this course."  He looked to each mage as he spoke to await their approval.  "I, Hawkbane of Elmholm, ask this of you. Fernbright, from Arrakesh in the South, do you approve?"

Fernbright, a wizard dressed in yellow and red robes, nodded his assent. "The Realm of Fire assents."

Hawkbane nodded, and turned to the next mage.  "Larkspur, of Moldnor of the North, do you assent?"

Larkspur, dressed in white, also nodded.  "The Realm of Air assents."

"Rowan, from Golnor in the West, do you assent?"

Rowan, dressed in green and brown, hesitated for a moment, then gave a curt nod.  "The Realm of Earth assents."

"And I, Hawkbane, of Elmholm in the East, give the assent of the Realm of Water.  So be it – the assent is given, the rite shall be performed.  We shall meet again tomorrow, to give us time to prepare."  

Rowan remained seated until all the mages had left the room.  He stood, smiled to himself, then walked over and closed the book on the table.  He straightened, and listened.  The sound of singing birds floated in from the open window, and the gentle rustle of leaves stirring in the breeze, but no other sound disturbed the quiet room.  Nevertheless, Rowan smiled. "How long have you been there?"  He asked the seemingly empty room.

"Long enough," came the reply, after a few moments.  A very elderly woman appeared in the centre of the room.  Silver hair lay around her head, held back with a leather band.  She held a staff in her hand, though she used it more for support than for any magical purpose. Rowan bowed his head as she walked over to him, and looked at the book still in his hands.  "The Rite of Kanmesh, then?"

"Lady, what do you think of it?"  Rowan asked her.  He had studied under her long enough to recognise the glint of hope in her eyes.

"There is only one being powerful enough to fend off the darkness which we now face.  But the rite of Kanmesh will have to be strong indeed to..." she trailed off, and smiled at Rowan.  "But you have no need to listen to the ramblings of an old woman.  Go, and rest.  You will need all your strength for tomorrow."

Rowan sighed, knowing it was useless to argue against her, and walked to his room.  But his mistress's last words haunted him.  [i]The Rite will have to be strong indeed to...what?  What does she know that she isn't telling us?  What being is she talking about?  In all our studies together of demons and monsters, she has never mentioned one with such great power. [/i]

Rowan reached his room, threw himself onto the small bed in the corner of the room, and fell into a fitful sleep, full of monsters and demons chasing him in circles.  But eventually the monsters faded away, and Rowan's dreams took a different turn.  In his dream, Rowan began to take notice.  As an apprentice he had learnt the importance of dreams and how and when to pay attention to them.  In his dream he stood in a dark room, a single light shining above his head.  The faint glow slightly illuminated the path under his feet, and in the distance he could just about make out a building of some sort.  He tried to move towards it, but found he could not move.  The light above his head, however, did move, and made its way down the road towards the building, leaving Rowan in darkness.  Rowan glimpsed tall pillars of white stone, and pale shapes moving between them, some carrying faint banners that glistened like mist on a winter's morning, no more than wisps of cloud.  The light passed them, and was gone, vanishing into the white stones of the building, leaving Rowan in total darkness.  But not alone – the pale shapes he had seen now became voices, though Rowan could not make out the words as they were in a language unknown to him.  Eventually they faded, and Rowan woke to the morning birdsong, unsure as to what the dream meant or foretold.