Chapter 1

It appeared at dawn over the western coast of the United States. The size of three Greyhound buses, it glided effortlessly through the air, with hardly a beat from its leathery wings. Air traffic controllers at the nearby San Diego International Airport tried, repeatedly and unsuccessfully, to raise it on the radio. As per standard procedure, the controllers immediately notified the military, who proceeded to dispatch two F-14s from the nearby Mirimar Naval Station.

[Dragon 1 to Dragon Roost, we have visual of the target, verify we're in the right place.]

[Dragon Roost to Dragon 1, position verified, you should be able to flip the bird to whoever is flying that thing.]

[Dragon 1 to Roost, no one's flying it, it's flying itself.]

[Dragon Roost to Dragon 1, you said it's flying itself, what is it?]

[You're not going to believe me, Dragon Roost, I'm looking at it and I hardly believe it. From all appearances, it seems to be a red dragon, we await instructions.]

Meanwhile...

Pounding on my bedroom door, accompanied by a loud yell of 'Get your lazy fucking ass out of bed!' seems to have become the standard way to wake me up. Rolling out of bed, I cursed myself again for deciding to tell my born-again Christian parents that, not only would I not be going to church with them three days a week, but that I've been a Pagan for years. I've had people call me Wiccan, but that's not accurate. Granted there's a bit of divinity in the way I believe, but a more accurate description would be to call me a mage. Spells, those are my specialties.

Getting up, I begin my morning ritual. After the normal restroom break, I grab my short staff and move to the center of my room and begin my kata. Now would be a good time to describe myself, since my kata take a bit. I'm five foot, six inches tall and weight roughly one hundred and fifty pounds. I've got straight black hair that I keep combed back and trimmed to just below my shoulders. I've got an athletic build and my complexion is rather on the pale side, which is surprising considering that most of my time is either spent outdoors or in the forge I built in my parent's back yard. My worst feature, at least in my opinion, is my eyes. My eyes are almost never the same colour from day to day, sometimes they change by the hour, depending on my mood. Although they're usually green, blue, or grey, I've been told they turn black when I'm angry.

My normal routine after I finish my kata is to place my staff next to my altar, on the rack where I keep the rest of my weapons, and get dressed for school. Today, however, the routine changed.

"The hell?" I said out loud, looking at my altar where several of my tools seemed to be glowing. Picking up my wand, which was glowing a pale yellow, I felt an inrush of energy, causing me to drop it back onto the table. Looking around the room, I noticed several other objects had that strange glow around them, all of them items I had used in spells at one point in time. As the strangeness of all this disturbed the effect of my morning meditation, yes my kata are meditation for me, the glow disappeared.

Shaking my head, I picked some clothes from my closet and went to take a shower. Turning on the radio I keep in the bathroom, I started listening absently to the news while I get ready for school, expecting to hear nothing more then the usual celebrity gossip and inane conversation that traditionally takes the place of good music during the morning hours.

"... Now this is a strange story, it appears that several credible sources in San Diego have reported witnessing a air battle between two Navy F-14s and what is described as a large red dragon..."

This snapped me out of my daze and focused my attention on the radio. Nothing but more innocuous comments followed, mostly about the supposed level of drug use amongst the citizens of San Diego. Turning the radio off, I stepped out of the shower and tried to recall the dream I've been having lately.

The sky appears in a multitude of colours, the bright blue a background to waves of gold, silver, black, red, and deep blue. More colours in more shades than the imagination can truly appreciate. I stand on a hill, overlooking a vast plain where an army awaits, an army of men.

Beside me stands a dragon, sunlight reflecting off her silver scales. In a language I've never heard before, yet can understand, she looks over to me and says, "You know this must be done."

"I know," I say quietly in the same language, "But just because it has to be done does not mean I have to like it."

"I have no love for what we must do either, necromancer, but better a few of them die then all of us," she says with a gesture of her head.

Her gesture directs my attention back to the sky, back to where the entirety of dragon kind fly to make war with the army on the plain.

This is the point where I always wake up, and no matter how hard I try, I'm unable to continue the dream past that. The most disturbing part about the dream is when the dragon refers to me as Necromancer. It must be my subconscious invading my dreams as there's only one person who knows I deal with spirits. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not in the habit of stealing corpses, or any other act that movies and fantasy authors have attributed to necromancy. I deal with those spirits willing to aid me, and they're usually rewarded for their efforts.

Regardless of how well I reward those that help me, I'm still extremely picky in who I tell about that part of my magic. If you look at this from an outside perspective, my adoptive parents completely flipped when I told them about the Paganism, I'm positive if I told them some of my spells involve direct contact with the dead, they'd try to have me exorcised. Not that they haven't tried, of course. Fortunately our local Baptist church doesn't do exorcisms, I've heard they're quite unpleasant.

Having finished showering, I get dressed in my normal black jeans and long sleeved black button-up shirt. With my shoulder length black hair, I've been called a Goth, but that label is grossly inaccurate. I don't wear black as a fashion statement, I wear it because it feels unnatural to wear anything else. Pulling my pentacle out from under my shirt, I push the silver chain underneath the collar of my shirt, allowing the star within a circle to rest a couple inches below my collarbone.

I've got some heavy wards placed on my room, and some more minor ones placed on the rest of the house, to protect my parents and myself from trouble other practitioners of magic and the less friendly spirits are capable of causing. However strong those wards on the house are, they don't hold a candle to the most minor I keep stored in my pentacle. Hey, I deal with the dead on at least a weekly basis so I make damn sure they can't interfere in my life more then I allow them to.

Looking in the mirror to comb my hair, I'm brought to a halt not only by the vision of my pentacle glowing bright white, but the image of that same white glow spreading over my entire body. As I wasn't like this before I took a shower, I send another tendril of thought to my pentacle and deactivate the most powerful of the wards, one designed to protect me from a spirit bomb, the magical equivalent of a nuclear explosion. Amazingly, the glow fades away.

Filled with curiosity, but knowing that I've got to get to school, I head back into my room to put my boots on. Upon entering my room, my pentacle starts to warm slowly. I grab a pair of socks and take a seat on the edge of my bed. When I finish tying my boots, I hear a quiet girlish giggle. Now, my parents adopted me when I was a baby because they're unable to have children, so I know something is wrong, my mother never giggles. Looking around, I don't see anyone, I can even look in the closet from here as I don't have a door on it. Frowning, I hear another giggle and look in the direction it came from.

There, floating about two feet from the floor, is a small ball of light. Standing up, I walk over to it, and when it doesn't move more than a couple inches, I crouch down to take a closer look. "Holy shit," I exclaim, getting an eyeful of a naked woman. Long red hair, pale skin, luscious tits for her size. Of course, being six inches tall and having a pair of wings sticking out of her back keys me in immediately as to what she is.

"It's about time you noticed me," the fairy giggled. "I've been waiting here since before you came back in."

At this point, the alarm on my watch went off, signifying that it's time to head to school. "Sorry Tinkerbell," I say with a chuckle as I grab my coat, my sunglasses, and my staff then head out my bedroom door, "Got to go." I ran down the stairs and out the door, ignoring yells from my mom to grab my typically empty book bag. I never bring any of my books from school home. Why bother when I've got study hall last period and get all my homework done there. I only live a mile from school, so I usually walk. When I reached the first corner, Lis was already there, waiting as usual.

Lis, her full name is Allison Marcus, is sixteen, a year younger than me, and drop dead gorgeous. She's just under five feet tall, probably weighs ninety pounds. She's got waist length bright red hair that I've never seen her put in a ponytail, and has what I consider is the perfect body. To say I had a crush on her would be the understatement of the century, but she's been my friend since we met on the playground when I was four, and as a plus, she's Wiccan.

"Rayne, did you hear about the dragon on the news?" she asked excitedly when I got close.

I nodded and motioned that we should probably start walking. "That's a sight I'd like to see," I said, and changed the subject. As we walked, we discussed whatever came to mind, like usual. We were so caught up in our conversation, that neither of us noticed the crowd gathering behind us until we were both grabbed by the arms and my staff was ripped out of my hand. Looking around, I noticed that both of us were being held by football players, and that the rest of the team was moving around to stand in front of us.

"So, it the little witch boy," laughed Tony Bollard, star member of our high school's football team, "and his little witch slut." Tony is six foot, six inches tall and probably weighs close to three hundred pounds, about average for our football team. "We were all hoping you'd come by today."

"What do you want, Tony," I asked flatly, glancing towards Lis who looked completely terrified, "When I told you yesterday that I wasn't interested in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent, I wasn't implying that you should bring more, equally unarmed friends along."

Tony and several other members of the team simply laughed, probably not realizing they'd just been insulted. "Oh, we're going to have a battle alright," Tony said, "Me and the boys holding you are going to beat the shit out of you while the rest of the team goes over into that shed over there and has some fun with your little slut girlfriend."

That made me angry, which crept into my voice when I said, "You've obviously not realized that I couldn't care less if you hurt me, but if you even attempt to hurt Lis, you won't survive long." The answer to that came in the form of an uppercut impacting my stomach, driving the air out of my lungs. Lis started to scream, very loudly, until Tony stepped over to her and punched her in the face, silencing her. As I watched this, something inside me simply snapped. Feeling a power I've never felt before well up inside me, I simply blacked out and let it explode.

I stood once again upon the hill overlooking the plain. This time there was no assembled army, no dragons flying to war. Nothing except for a single woman walking up the hill to meet me. She was tall, easily over six feet in height, and moved with an almost supernatural grace. Her silver hair, allowed to flow almost to the ground, was held back from her face by a simply silver band that ran from just below her hairline to behind her pointed ears.

'Pointed ears? She must be an elf, ' I thought to myself.

"Yes, young one," she said as if sensing my thoughts, "I am of the race that you call elves."

I was taught it's impolite to call someone something they don't like, so I had to ask, "You don't call yourselves that, though?"

She laughed, a truly musical sound, and replied, "Of all the questions I thought you would ask first, that one never entered my mind. No, we do not call ourselves that, Valandil, although we do not mind being called such." Seeing a look of confusion in my eyes, she continues, "Our time here is short, my ability to pull you out of your time is limited so your questions will have to wait until later." With a wave of her hand, the scene shifts.

We're now back on the streets of Lincoln, where I live incidentally, and there is Lis being held by two of the football players. I immediately start to run to her when the elf puts her hand on my shoulder to restrain me. "Look closer, Valandil, and think before you react," she says softly. Taking a closer look, I realize that no person, animal, not even the leaves in the trees are moving. Nothing except the aura of power surrounding my frozen self moves. "Yes, your power is such that exists beyond the bounds of time, it is what has enabled me to speak to you this way," the elf says.

Looking over to her, I ask her name. "You may call me Artanis, you are Valandil Mithrandir, the warrior of prophesy."

"What..." I begin to ask, but stop as Artanis raises her hand.

"I told you," she says, "Our time is short, so your questions will have to wait. You are the warrior of prophesy. I don't have the time to tell you the prophesy, even though it would do you a great deal of good right now." She begins to look a little weak, but she continues, "You have within you great power, greater then you are displaying as we speak. This power is a conscious force and will abandon you if used incorrectly, remember to think before you act, and never let your emotions control your power."

As the scene, and Artanis, begins to fade, she says, "Trust your instincts, and listen to Ciara, I sent her there to help you if she can." As I begin to wonder who Ciara is, I suddenly find myself thrown back into my body. The sudden jolt from dream to consciousness felt like a punch to the gut, either that or it was Tony punching me in the gut. Hearing Lis start to scream, I remembered what came next, and knowing that I'd lose control if she was hurt, I dug into myself and encased myself in this new wellspring of power. The two players holding me suddenly found their hands burning, causing them to let go of me. As Tony reached back to punch Lis, I side stepped and moved in between them. He took a step back as I let the power flare, shrouding me in a silver aura of power "Touch her and I'll kill you," I said, letting my anger into my voice. Turning around, I looked at her. She gasped as I took my sunglasses off and looked at the two football players holding her. "You've got less then a second to let her go before I rip you to pieces," I growled, not even slightly amused with how quickly they complied. Not even bothering to look, I extended my hand towards the one holding my staff, and with a slight manipulation of power, caused my staff to fly from his grasp into mine.

Steering Lis out of the circle of shocked football players, I handed her my sunglasses and turned so she was behind me. Taking a step forward, I looked at the assembled football team, I let my aura dim down. "Now that you no longer hold someone I love to prevent me from acting, shall we continue with our little game," I asked them calmly, gently twirling my staff, letting some of my power bleed into it so it would glow.

"What the hell kinda freak are you? "Tony managed to stammer.