Chapter 1

It was the year of Our Lord, one thousand, seven hundred and forty two. I had been summoned to an estate. The master of the estate, a Lord Northam, someone whom I did not know, had sent one of his servants to fetch me. The Master was quite ill and would perhaps not last the next day. It was a grave matter, according to the servant. I ignored the pun, in poor taste as it was. The unintended punster was quite adamant that I had to come with him to see his master.

I had no desire at all to visit a stranger, especially a sick man. But the man was adamant as stone and quite convinced me it would be in my best interests in attending him. He hinted that I was in line to the estate. I had no prefiguration of any title or estate in my family. These things had been known to happen; as we shared the same name I could entertain some hope in the matter and entrusted myself to the care of his servant.

We traveled by carriage all night. The wind whipped and rain pelted through the open windows of the coach. Occasionally, lightning tore through the sky and thunder rolled through the hills. It set a funereal air to the enterprise.

Near morning, we arrived at the estate. I was seen in and taken to a room where I changed into dry attire. A fire was roaring which made the room quite comfortable. My earlier misgivings were allayed. The servants all seemed quite deferent to me.

As the sun crested the hills and brought light to the window, the same servant arrived at my door. "The Master will see you now, if you please."

"Yes," I said. "Show me the way." I followed the man, now seeming more certain of himself, being in his usual environs. We came to a bedroom and entered.

On a large bed lay a wizened old man. His hair was all white and in disarray, his skin like thin parchment barely disguised the skull beneath, and his eyes rheumy. In short, he was at Death's door and staring into the abyss beyond. He waved the servant out of the room so that it was only the two of us. "Come closer," he mumbled. His scaly hands were like claws. He held one hand out, closed tightly on something. "Take it," he murmured then was wracked with a fit of coughing.

I put my hand under his as he released something into my hand. It was warm and metallic. I looked at it as he hacked. It was a ring, frankly an ugly ring, even in the now bright morning light it had no beauty or brightness. It had four stones of undistinguished appearance. The band was gold and worked like an ancient Celtic design but of very poor workmanship. Or so it seemed to me.

The master finally quit coughing. He looked up at me with rheumy eyes. "Don't be fooled by its aspect. That ring has been in our family for thousands of years. It looks old because it is old."

I was surprised. "Sir, you say our family?" I asked

He smiled, "Yes, lad, our family. Listen, you are my closest living male relative. As such, you are the proper heir to the Northam Estate, worth some eight thousand pounds. This land is entailed and must go to my closest male relative. The estate consists of the village, Vicarage, and the surrounding farms. But, of more importance than that is the ring you now hold in your hand. I want the ring to go to the holder of the land."

His eyes cleared for a moment and a broad smile appeared. "You find yourself the victim of extraordinary good luck, just as I found myself at your age." His claw like hand gripped my wrist. He had surprising strength. "Listen, this is a ring of power. Wear it at all times. If you lose it, if you give it away, you will fade away, just as I am about to." He had another coughing fit.

Continuing his story, "The four stones are a diamond, white representing the power of the ring; amethyst, purple representing the royal ability to command; ruby representing the color sanguine, of passion, that the ring controls; and last, chalcedony, for the purity of women, the subjects of the ring."

This story he was relating was beginning to sound like something these new popular novelists would dream up; men traveling to lands of midgets and giants, indeed. Would he be telling me of witches and their familiars next? On the other hand, if this really was a ring that had some unearthly power I wanted to know what kind? "Uncle, what does the ring do?"

His face was lighted by that smile again. "I am not your uncle. I am many generations removed from you. You are descended from my loins in unbroken line. As I said, I received the ring when I was your age; that was in the Year of Our Lord 1252."