Chapter Five

The watch fires burned steadily along the encampment's perimeter. Richard walked in the darkness outside the welcoming light cast by the flames. As Captain of the Honor Guard, his duties seemed endless. On the first night of a bivouac he preferred to check all security measures personally rather than entrust the duty to his seconds. He'd sent Roy and Wallace to scout the countryside ahead. They were overdue, but not long enough for alarm . . . yet.

Richard knew that he was covering his nervousness by walking the perimeter and checking on his night watch, for the third time since they'd pitched camp. He came on Post Three. Richard liked to set his outer listening posts according to a six-pointed star in order to maximize his listening capability. He whistled softly and waited for the appropriate challenge.

"Constant!" hissed the sentry.

"True," replied Richard. Richard had selected a simple challenge and response phrase, his family's own motto: Constant and True. However, he'd already decided that it'd be best to change it on the morrow; he'd only picked it because he'd been unable to think of anything else at the moment.

Richard approached the sentry who was standing his post quietly, yet alertly. Richard smiled in satisfaction when he saw that it was John Dunrobin. They had been pages together in Castle Wayne before the Graysons' untimely deaths prematurely elevated Richard's status. One day he was a page, the next he was sitting out his nightlong vigil prior to taking his knightly vows. Dunrobin had remained a loyal friend throughout these years.

"Sir John, well met this moonless night," Richard said softly in greeting. "Anything to report?"

"Nay, Sir Richard," Dunrobin's smile flashed in the gloom. "If anything with two legs crawls in yonder night, then it is comprised of shadows and air. I've heard nothing save the night owl and the occasional rabbit." Richard saw with approval that Dunrobin held a crossbow cocked and ready to let fly.

"Very well, John. All other sentries report much the same as you." Richard's pensive tone alerted his friend.

"Is there something wrong, Richard?" Richard stood there in the night gazing out at the endless darkness. Everything was quiet. Everything was fine. Intellectually he knew that, but he had a feeling he couldn't shake . . . a feeling of impending dread. Something was coming. He could feel it as surely as he was standing there. Dunrobin's light touch on his shoulder startled him back.

"What--? Oh, no, no," Richard denied, shaking his head. "There's nothing wrong." He smiled and shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. "Just jumping at *shadows and air* I suppose. I'd best turn in. When Roy and Wallace return from their reconnaissance, please send them directly to my quarters." Dunrobin nodded and saluted smartly.

****

Richard sat at his field table writing a short communique to Wayne. When finished, he sat and stared pensively at the long, dancing shadows on the canvas walls of his tent cast by the single burning taper. Thoughts of Barbara kept coming to the fore of his consciousness: Barbara standing over him, hands on hips, scolding him for sneaking out of the castle compound yet again; Barbara throwing her head back, laughing joyously during last year's Maypole Dance, her hair entwined with fresh spring flowers; Barbara looking up him in the moonlight, her eyes expressing her love. 

Richard smiled at the images and immediately took out a second sheaf of parchment, sharpened another quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing a short note to her. He'd send both missives by horse messenger at first light. As he wrote, Richard looked at the furnishings in his tent without really seeing them. He normally traveled lightly while on campaign. The interior of his tent was quite Spartan by the standards set by most nobles. He had a single cot, field table, and chair. He shared a squire with Wallace and Roy, because he hated to be fussed over by assistants.

The squire in question, Garfield walked in at this moment and cleared his throat.

"Will that be all for the night, Sir Richard? May I get you anything else prior to your turning in?"

Richard looked up and smiled. "Nay, and thank you for asking, Garfield. You'd best turn in, lad. We'll be breaking camp before first light, and you know how much Sir Wallace and Sir Roy require your careful ministrations in the morn." Garfield grimaced. He did indeed.

Unfortunately for the poor young squire, while Richard preferred to do as much for himself as possible, Wallace and Roy felt no such aversion to personal attention. Whereas all Richard required of the young lad was hot water in the mornings and evenings for shaving and washing, the other two required their meals brought to them, assistance in dressing and undressing, and just about all manner of pampering that the nobility took for granted.

Similarly, while Richard insisted on brushing and polishing his own boots, as well as, cleaning and oiling his own equipment, Wallace and Roy required that Garfield have theirs all ready before sunup.

Naturally, the young squire was exceptionally devoted to Richard. It was Richard who took the time to show him his knightly duties, spent time with him whenever possible in the fencing circle, and held him spellbound into the wee hours with tales from the Time of the Dark. Young Garfield was still a few years from his knightly vows, but he knew after whom he would model himself.

****

The shouts woke him. He was standing barefoot outside the perimeter of the encampment dressed only in a flimsy nightshirt. Wallace was holding him by his sword arm. Instinctively, Richard grabbed Wallace's wrist and in a single motion threw him head over heels. As Wallace landed on his posterior, Richard finally snapped out of his dream.

What was he doing out here? Others were soon running out towards them. Their Royal Highnesses' countenances showed deep concern. Both appeared in various states of hasty dress.

"Richard! What goes? Are you all right, cousin!?" Garth and Donna called out, their voices tinged with worry.

"Wallace! Here, let me help you up," Richard said offering Wallace his hand. As his royal cousins came up to him, it was all Richard could do to shake his head in confusion. "I do not understand. The last recollection I have is of going to bed. The next thing I know, I'm standing out here and tossing poor Wallace onto his backside."

"I'm all right, Richard, but we've got to get you back to your tent! You'll catch your death out here!" Wallace sounded just like Alfred, Richard thought amusedly, nodding distractedly. The guards who'd been alerted by Wallace's shouts, returned to their posts once satisfied that their captain was all right.

****

"Sleepwalking?" Orrin looked concerned. "This does not brook well, Richard. Your father was said to walk in his sleep when there was sorcery afoot." Richard looked at his uncle uncomprehendingly.

"I don't understand, Sire. I've ne'er heard tales of my father walking in his sleep." Orrin looked at his Queen; she nodded her head slightly. "Richard, it is high time you know of your Romany heritage." He paused. "But perhaps it is best that the Queen tell you herself." Diana raised a single eyebrow at her husband, but closed her eyes in acquiescence.

"Dear Richard," she began. "You have been raised by Lord Wayne for your own protection. The relative remoteness of Castle Wayne, Lord Wayne's own superior prowess as a swordsman, Captain Gordon's service to the Waynes and the Graysons . . . all of this added up to a safe haven for one whom we believe to be the last of the Romany sorcerers and the Emerald Guardians." She paused to let the news sink in. She needn't have bothered; she held Richard's attention completely.

"Your father, John Grayson, came to my village as a small boy. Even then, he was already remarkably gifted. He could call down the rains on parched lands, talk to animals as if he were one of them, and most importantly, he could will the Emerald Eye to do his bidding. You may imagine our astonishment to discover that not only did the Romany blood run strongly in one so young, but that an Emerald Eye had survived from the time of the Mage Wars."

"I don't understand, Your Majesty," Richard interrupted. "Why did father arrive in your village in the first place?"

"Because, dear nephew, my village is the last stronghold of the Amazon warrior women of legend. Generations before the time of the Great Mage War, our paradise island home in the Middle Sea was destroyed by the Macedonian legions. The last survivors found their way to Oa, a small storm-tossed island off the northeastern coast of Caledonia. There they were made welcome by a small enclave of the Order of Emerald Guardians. As warriors we promised our swords in the service of the Guardians because of their hospitality." She smiled.

"They turned us down . . . however, their Abbot, Father Jordan requested that we help others in distress and to offer safe haven to those in need. When Mordant's evil spread through the realm, the Emerald Guardians asked us to go out amongst Man's realm and seek others whom might be of assistance in the continuous war against the Forces of Darkness. The Guardians had already recruited the last of the wandering Romanys who lived in the foothills that separated the Caledonian Lowlands from the High Country to the North. They knew that once they faced off against Mordant's power that they would not be returning; however, they assured us that when the need arose again, others would follow." Richard and his cousins were spellbound by her story.

"About five and forty years ago, a small lad, barely knee high to a badger, wandered into our village. He was hungry, lost, and alone. He said that he and his family had been at sea returning to their home in the Lowlands, when their vessel was set upon by a sudden storm. The storm was unnatural in its make, for the lad sensed a malevolence in it that shook him to the very core . . . What frightened him even more so was that he *felt* the evil malignancy was after him. His presence was endangering the lives of the other passengers, including his beloved mother and father. Therefore, this small, frightened boy gave the ultimate sacrifice. He threw himself overboard in order to save the others. As soon as the vessel was beyond his reach, the storm abated, and the sea calmed." She shook her head in amazement.

"The lad managed to survive four days and nights out at sea. He was eventually washed on our shores and somehow dragged himself to our simple fishing village. We can only surmise that an outside power somehow saw to his safety. After a few days, he managed to regain sufficient strength to relate his tale to us. Naturally, we immediately dispatched a courier to his family's estate to inform them of his survival. Meanwhile, the lad began to wander through our small rugged island, exploring its many secrets. Eventually, he discovered the Emerald Guardians' monastery, and inexplicably drawn to it, he also found the Emerald Eye which now hangs around your neck." Richard unconsciously grabbed the Emerald Eye and felt its comforting warmth.

"Somehow, the Eye spoke to him. He was able to see beyond our physical realm to other nether realms. He knew that Mordant was coming soon, within a generation, and that we had to prepare. He also knew that he would not live to do final battle with the Evil One, but that another more powerful than he would emerge within the generation . . . his own son. You Richard . . . the last true scion of a Romany sorcerer with the heart of an Amazon warrior . . . the last of the Emerald Chosen." Diana paused dramatically.

"On the day of your Christening when we, your family, welcomed you into the service of Our Heavenly Father, your father's amulet began to glow. It quickly enveloped the interior of Melrose Abbey the traditional cathedral where all Clan Grayson heirs have been christened for generations." She paused in remembrance.

"A voice . . . and yet not a voice . . . spoke. It . . . he . . . she . . . addressed you . . .

****

"Richard John Grayson, you are the final hope of all Mankind . . . you are the Emerald Chosen . . . on you rests the power of the Emerald Warrior . . . Who is the Chosen's Champion?" Bruce Lord Wayne stepped forward.

"I am."

"Yes . . . you have been well chosen, Bruce Wayne . . . in you burn the fires of loyalty, integrity, and honor . . . rough hewn to perfection. You are the Dark Knight selected to protect the Chosen, the Emerald Warrior. You must prepare the child for the coming war against the Forces of Darkness. Within him lies the power of a thousand suns to cast Light upon the gathering Darkness; however, he must survive to his majority because the Dark seeks to extinguish the Light."

"I don't understand. How can *I* prepare him for such an event? I am but a man . . . " Wayne protested.

"And that is why you are the Chosen's Champion. For why should one who will wield the powers of the Old Gods take up the mantle to protect mere mortals if he doesn't learn to love what he fights for? It shall be your task to teach him to love his fellow man and to desire above all else to be Mankind's protector. For only then will the Emerald Warrior within awaken ready to do battle against the Heart of Darkness."

****

Diana continued her tale.

"Outside, the mysterious voice's pronouncement was greeted by the thundering rage of the Evil One. The skies turned black and opened as if in anger! It was if nature herself had been turned against us. We knew then that you had to be protected at all costs. Lord Wayne, your godfather and your father's best friend from childhood, swore fealty to the Crown and the Graysons by agreeing to take over as your personal guardian until the need arose when you'd be called upon to use your long dormant mage powers. The Emerald Eye calls you now, my dear nephew. It is time that you look inward and call forth that which is within you."

Richard sat stunned. Unconsciously, he fingered the Emerald Eye; as always, he felt a warmth spread from his fingertips and lightly envelop his entire being. He wanted to disbelieve his aunt's words, but knew deep inside that they were true. Almost effortlessly, he felt himself being drawn inwardly . . . the royal field headquarters began to dissolve around him, along with his cousins and his aunt and uncle . . .

****

"Welcome, Emerald Chosen," the solemn voice greets. "'Tis time." He opens his eyes. He is in a darkened corridor; he wishes for a light and suddenly a green glowing ember appears above and to his right. He blinks in the unexpected brightness. "Do not be afraid, Chosen . . . what you will witness are but shadows and air . . . they can neither see you nor hurt you. You will witness that which has past . . . and that which is yet to be."

"Where am I?" he asks. No answer is forthcoming. He follows the corridor to its end. He comes upon a closed door. He tries it but it is locked. "Now what?"

"Go through the door, Chosen," the voice whispers. "Simply will your body to walk through . . . the door has no substance; it is a mere shadow."

"The door has no substance," he whispers. "It is a shadow . . . my hand passes as through nothingness." As he says it, he tentatively reaches his hand out, and it quickly goes through the door up to his forearm. He pulls back in sudden panic!

"Be not afraid, Chosen. You are protected by the Emerald Eye . . . the power of the Emerald Warrior . . . and your own Romany blood." He takes several calming breaths, surreptitiously reaches for the Emerald Eye, then boldly steps through the door. He finds himself on the other side.

And immediately turns his head away in horror!

For he has walked into a place of unspeakable abominations. The missing children are here . . . each undergoing some torture more abhorrent than the previous. A child of no more than two summers lies on a table, slit from sternum to lower abdomen. The child's lifeless eyes stare out at him, reflecting the terror undergone his last few days in this realm. A creature in blood red robes carefully collects the child's blood in a vat; another almost lovingly removes his heart and each of his internal organs.

NO-OOO! He screams in his mind! NO-OOO! Please . . . my God . . . dear God in heaven . . . please! No more! No more!

He looks around in desperation. They can't *all* be dead! They can't! They CAN'T! He suddenly feels the glowing spark of life . . . weak but still alive. Over there! By the far wall . . . a young girl . . . about twelve. Her eyes are dull; the life force is weak within her, but it is there. He sees that she is hooked to some vile machinery that is pumping her life's blood from her very veins! He reaches to disconnect the evil contrivance, but his fingers go through it.

NO! Please, help me . . ! What can I do . . ? Please, let me help . . ! I've got to help her . . ! Help me help her . . !

He is on his knees in supplication to the heavens above . . . to the disembodied voice . . . to the Emerald Eye . . . to his beloved mother and father . . . to anyone who will listen to his heartfelt pleas.

"Are these shadows of the past? Or are these poor children even now being destined to meet this unspeakable fate?" No answer. "Please! I must know! Can I still *stop* this? Tell me . . . I beg you . . . tell me . . . "

The voice echoes softly in his head. "You cannot change that which has past . . . but you still have time to stop that which is yet to be."

He feels eyes upon him. He slowly raises his head and sees the hapless girl-child's eyes focus and look straight at him . . . she sees him . . . she can see him.

"Dear God in heaven, you can see me . . . " he says horrified.

"Help me," she whispers. "Please, help me . . . " Her blue eyes glaze over. Her life force expires.

He screams.

****

"Richard! Richard! You're here . . . you're safe!" Donna's voice cut through the screams. Who was screaming? Whoever it was sounded like an animal being tortured. Why didn't somebody make him stop screaming? Why . . ? The screaming suddenly stopped. He couldn't breathe! He couldn't see . . . Why was everything so dark? What was happening?

He opened his eyes; they teared against the sudden light.

Roy and Wallace were each practically sitting on top of him. Garth was trying to hold back his arms. Wallace had the looks of an ugly bruise spreading from his left eye down his cheek. He was firmly holding his hand over Richard's mouth. Coming to his senses suddenly, Richard stopped thrashing and attempted to take slow, measured breaths; he soon began to calm down.

Dazed, he looked around at his concerned family and friends. Wallace carefully removed his hand.

"What happened? What's going on?" Richard's friends looked relieved at his change in demeanor. Roy and Wallace began to climb off, when suddenly the nightmares that he'd witnessed came back to the fore. His face took on a horrified haunted look. Roy and Wallace immediately took up their positions again.

Richard didn't fight them this time. Instead, he turned his head away from them and began openly weeping unashamedly. With a cry, Donna shooed everybody away from her beloved cousin and took him gently in her arms.

"Oh, Richard . . . whatever it is, let us help you. Please, dearest cousin, you're breaking my heart. What can we do to help?" Richard held onto his cousin and cried helplessly in her arms. He hadn't sobbed this hard since news of his parents' deaths reached him all those years ago. Eventually, the storm passed and he lay quietly in her arms for a few more moments. Finally, swallowing and gathering his inner strength, Richard broke their contact first.

"Thank you, my dearest cousin . . . I shall never forget your kindness in my hour of deepest, darkest despair. But I have indulged in personal grief too long. It is time." Richard looked sadly at his beloved aunt and uncle. He stood slowly, then walked toward his King and Queen and kneeled before them.

"It is time, Your Majesties. Mordant even now crosses the Lowlands, burning and killing everything that is within his path. Within the fortnight, Graetheson Court will fall to his fires of destruction." Donna gasped.

"Oh, Richard . . . No! Not Graetheson Court! Your home!"

"Aye, Your Highness . . . she falls, but do not despair. Homes can be rebuilt. It is the coming loss of countless human lives that causes me grief; however, that which is to be that has yet to happen, may yet *not* be! And that is what we must prevent, Majesties. The loss of countless innocent human lives . . . the loss of the most innocent amongst us . . . the children!" At the look of horror on the faces of their Majesties, Richard nodded sadly. "Aye, Majesties . . . Mordant seeks human sacrifice . . . and the sacrifice he seeks is that of the blood of our innocent children."

Queen Diana, Amazon warrior-princess, gasped in shock. She quickly turned to her husband, who gently took her in his arms momentarily until she could regain her composure.  "What can we do to help, nephew?" King Orrin asked.

"Uncle, we must break camp immediately and head North. We must send word to Wayne Castle and to the main body of your forces, which are still garrisoned in Metropolis that we are at war. Mordant crosses the Lowlands within the fortnight and amasses his Dark Legions a full three days ride north of Wayne Castle!" Richard paused and looked intently at his aunt and uncle.

"And I . . . I must learn the secrets of the Emerald Eye between now and when we face Mordant and his Armies of the Night."

Chapter Six

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