(Early Spring, in the year 1090 of the Etruscan empire).

  The ghosts of nine Shadow daemons kept watch in the darkness as an old man, wearing a tattered cloak over his rags and a staff in his hand, slogged up a hill through the slashing rain.

  Seven ghosts in the shape of grey ravens watched him from the trees as he passed underneath, their black eyes unblinking as the forest he trudged through gave way to a wall of massive weathered stones, carved with ancient runic symbols and glyphs. The old man leaned on his iron-shod staff as he read them, the ragged hood covering his head plastered to his skull. Then he walked parallel to the stones until he reached a wooden door set into the largest piece of hewn rock, its carved archway inscribed with runes of power and warding.

  One daemon ghost in the shape of a grey cat crouched down beside a rock sticking out of the mud as the old man rapped on the door with the iron-capped bottom of his staff. No answer. Again he rapped and a third time, but as he prepared to strike the door yet again, a gruff voice behind the door called out in the Celtic tongue, “Aye, abide. I’m coming.” There was a loud thump and the scraping of wood before a small slot at eye level opened. “Pan’s bloody hooves, it’s after midnight. What in Hades’ name do you want?”

  “Shelter from the storm, my lord,” the old man replied in a querulous voice as thunder rumbled behind him. “I mean to see the priestesses about an urgent matter—”

  “There be inns o’ plenty in Haven,” the gruff male voice said, interrupting. “Go back and buy a room for the night, then return after the dawn services.”

  “Please, my lord,” the old man whined, “I haven’t the coins to spare. The Etruscan Empire’s soldiers are abandoning their posts and becoming bandits in the South.”

  “Aye,” the gruff voice answered, “I’ve heard about that. Stole your coin, eh?”

  “And almost my life. It’s the civil war, my lord, that’s causing all this. It’s not just Britannia throwing off Etrusca, but the Gauls across the water to the south as well. I’ve even heard tales that not only is the kingdom of Aegyptus rebelling, but General Konstan has taken the eastern provinces and proclaimed himself Emperor of the East.”

  “Huh. Is that wise? I thought there was some other decadent empire always making trouble on Etrusca’s eastern border.”

  “That would be the Sasnayam Empire, my lord. From what I hear, the ruler’s son has rebelled against his father, and that empire is in chaos as well.”

  “Sounds like chaos everywhere. You seem like a well-traveled man,” the gruff voice said, growing more friendly. “Tell me, do you know anything more about these events? Stuck here in the Temple of Pan, we don’t get much news of the outside world.”

  “My lord, I’ll gladly tell you everything I know for a chance to get out of the rain… and perhaps,” the old man’s voice growing plaintive, “a bite o’ bread with a cup o’ ale to wash it down?”

  The gruff voice chuckled. “For a bit of news, we’ll gladly fatten you up until you’re sleek again. Bide a moment while I make sure you’re alone.” The voice went silent for a time before speaking a single word. “Solas.”

  The last daemon ghost in the shape of a grey, sad-eyed gremlin, hid behind the trunk of a tree as a rune carved into the archway flared with a golden light, illuminating the old man. Lean as a lone wolf deep in winter, his clean-shaven face appeared more weathered than the ancient stone doorway, while his hands bore scars from both blade and the claws of beasts. Most of his hair lay bound in a braid under the cloak’s ragged hood, though a few silvery-grey strands had worked themselves free and now lay plastered against his skull.

  His dark eyes watched the brown eyes on the other side of the door as they looked past him, surveying the area illuminated by the glowing rune. “All clear. Stad Solas,” he said, the light fading as several wooden thumps came from the other side. The door creaked on its hinges as it opened, revealing a bearded man in leather armor, his axe and the horn meant to sound an alarm on a bench beside him. “Aye, come inside. You look like a drowned rat,” he added as the old man entered the stone gatehouse, squelching with every step. As he moved to close the door, he said, “By what name are you known?”

  “They call me Ghostdog,” the old man replied. Then the staff whipped up and he thrust hard with the iron tip, crushing the guard’s windpipe.

  The guard staggered back, wheezing as he fell against the bench, clawing for the horn. Ghostdog dropped the staff and grabbed his arms, easing the guard to the ground as the man thrashed about, Ghostdog holding him as easily as the man could’ve held a young child. “I’m sorry,” he said to the guard as the man struggled to get air into his lungs. “You’re a good person and I’ve done a terrible thing to you. Yet, it has to be this way.” He held the guard until his struggling slowed to a faint twitching, then pulled him out the door into the rain and propped him up against the stone wall.

  Ghostdog went back inside the gatehouse. Unseen by normal eyes, the archway had faint blue lines of power stretching in a crisscross pattern, and Ghostdog studied them for a moment as he pulled his hood back, revealing his silvery-grey hair. Taking a deep breath, he put his hands between the lines in the largest space he could find as his hair began to glow. A grey circle formed between his palms, and as he removed his hands, it slowly began to enlarge, its edges gently pushing the blue lines aside until the grey oval formed a clear space as wide around as the length of his forearm. Ghostdog put his little fingers to his lips and whistled.

  Seven grey ravens swooped through the hole, followed by the cat, who leaped through. The sad-eyed gremlin came last, doing a tuck and roll as it landed on the grass. It rose to its feet and followed the other eight toward the center of the large open area to another, smaller ring of weathered stones in a round wall, with an open doorway made of two upright stones and a third placed on top, set into the rocks. Ghostdog sprinted after them as the ravens swooped through the gateway into the space inside.

  Lightning flashed in the sky overhead as the cat and the gremlin raced through the doorway after the ravens. Ghostdog had almost reached it himself when a deep male voice a ways behind him boomed, “Defiler! Guards, a Shadow-walker has breached the walls. If you love your god, stop him from touching the Tree!” Ghostdog gave the voice a sardonic smile as he entered the circle.

  Inside the stone ring were a half dozen rune-carved stones, tall as a man and set in a loose circle around a dead, grey tree. Blue lines of power emanating from the stones touched the tree’s branches at their smallest tips, the stones gathering power and converting it to a form the temple could use, Ghostdog realized as he ran straight for the tree trunk.

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  From outside the circle he could hear shouts and the ring of steel as he passed inside the standing stones. Ghostdog laughed as he opened his arms. Too late, my old friend. Seven grey ravens circled the dead, grey tree as the cat raced around it and the gremlin did a hop dance as Ghostdog put his hands upon the trunk.

  The branches of the dead tree moved to embrace him, power flowing through his body as his hair shone like a silvery-grey beacon. Removing his hands from the gnarled trunk, Ghostdog took hold of the weakened barrier separating the real world from the unseen and pushed out with all his strength.

  A great oval ring expanded outward, encompassing the inner circle of stones before moving onward, and as it passed, all the color leached from the world, leaving only shades of grey. Earth and stone remained as they were, but the grass within the circle became only blades of dark shadow, as did the trees of the forest beyond. The thunderstorm was gone as if it had never existed. However, the guards remained as they were, bursting through the doorway before skidding to a halt. They looked around in bewilderment. “Bloody hooves,” the lead guard said. “What just happened?”

  The tree, now a mass of writhing grey tendrils, let him go and Ghostdog turned around with a smile. “Welcome to the Shadowlands, my friends; an unseen world connected to all other possible worlds and populated by such beauties as my servants.” He motioned towards the nine.

  Seven ravens were now seven Shadow Raptors, winged creatures with lizard bodies larger than any stallion and wings like a monstrous bat. The cat had become a Shadow Panther, larger than the biggest ice bear, and the gremlin, standing nine feet tall with horns and long claws, had a mouth full of jagged teeth. Each creature appeared desiccated, resembling unwrapped mummies come alive, yet each moved with a delicate grace, making them beautiful in a horrible way. Their eyes were red as heart’s blood and filled with hate.

  Ghostdog made an open gesture with his hands. “You men are fortunate that these nine are my servants, here for a specific task and naught more,” he said as the seven Shadow Raptors swooped away over the inner circle of stones. The other two remained on either side of him as Ghostdog motioned towards the open doorway. “I’ve already murdered one good man tonight to gain entry, and I’d hate to see the rest of you die in vain. Go, return to your master and live to fight another day.” For a moment, the guards hesitated.

  Then the lead guard shook his head. “I don’t know what evil you’re planning, sorcerer, but you’ll not get away with it.” He raised his long axe. “Pan is with us… Charge!” Ghostdog sighed as he glanced to either side.

  The Shadow Panther leaped onto the lead guard and knocked him to the ground, shredding his chest armor like padded cloth as the man screamed in terror. Beside her, the horned giant lifted the next man off his feet and shoved his head into its monstrous mouth before biting down. The neck bones gave a loud crack as the man’s arms and legs flailed about. Then his limbs went limp as the monster dropped the body and spat out the head at the rest of the warriors, hitting one man solidly in the face as the rest flinched away. The giant roared at them as the Shadow Panther ripped out the lead guard’s heart with her fangs and spat it out as well.

  Two warriors found their courage and attacked the feline, striking the grey creature across its withered back. Instead of biting deep, their axe blades barely penetrated, as if the Shadow Panther’s hide was too tough or the strength had fled from their arms, as the panther turned and growled. Then she pounced on one man, knocking him down as it had the first, while the horned giant bent down and ripped the second one’s long axe from his hands. The creature gave the man staring up at it in horror, a terrible smile of jagged teeth.

  The rest of the guards broke hard. They ran for the open doorway, the Shadow Panther moving off the man on the ground while the horned giant threw the long axe in its hand over the inner circle of stones like a child’s toy. The man on his back rolled to his feet and sprinted after the rest, while the other, still staring at the giant with his hands raised in supplication, turned around and bolted for the doorway as well.

  The Shadow Panther shook itself, then began batting the head around like a kitten with a ball while the giant picked up the headless body and flung it over the stone wall. Then it took the head away from the Shadow Panther and pitched it over the wall as well. Ghostdog walked over to the lead guard, his torn up heart a few feet away as floating tendrils of grey mist slithered past Ghostdog and settled into the dead man’s chest where his heart had been.

  The guard’s eyes opened. “Congratulations,” Ghostdog said as an expression of shock came over the man’s face. “You’ve just managed to make yourself a walking dead man. The Grey, which is another name for the Shadowlands, is healing you as I speak, and before a quarter hour passes, you’ll be able to get up and walk around. However, I’d advise you to remain still until the Shadowlands recedes and the real world returns, as it eventually will. Right now, the Shadowlands overlaps Pan’s temple up to the outer ring of stones, so if you remain where you are, you’ll get to die a normal death.”

  Ghostdog held up a warning finger. “But if you stupidly decide to move past the overlapping area, you’ll move into the Shadowlands themselves and become a ghost in the Grey, unable to leave and torn apart over and over again as you wander, hopelessly looking for a way out. Not a pleasant way to spend eternity, I assure you.” The dead man pointed a finger at Ghostdog, who touched a hand to his own heart. “I’m a Shadow-walker, if that’s what you’re asking, a rare person who has power over the Grey. There used to be more of us, but they died and I never replaced them… well, except for one. To be frank, I didn’t see the need for any more than just him, though there might still be one or two others left in the world.” The sound of a girl shrieking reached his ears and he looked up. “Oh good, my servants are returning.”

  A Shadow Raptor skimmed over the inner ring of stones, bearing in its claws a girl around thirteen summers old, her hair the color of blood but with two bangs of hair the color of molten gold at each temple. It dropped the girl at Ghostdog’s feet and swooped upward once more. “Shh, it’s going to be alright,” he said, kneeling down and grasping the girl’s bony shoulders before she could run away. “I’ll explain everything later but for now, sleep.” He placed his hand on her forehead.

  She slumped against him and he laid her down on the ground, watching as two more Shadow Raptors brought him an older girl and a matronly woman, both with hair the color of molten gold, dumping them at his feet before joining the first circling the mass of writhing tendrils. Ghostdog spoke the same words he’d said to the young girl and put them to sleep as well. He noted with satisfaction the grey tendrils now forming cages around each of them as a fourth Shadow Raptor approached with two glowing objects in its claws.

  Ghostdog held out his hands and two lizard scales the size of dinner plates, one glowing blood red while the other glowed a golden color, were dropped onto his palms. Placing both in one hand, Ghostdog reached under the rags he wore and pulled out a leather pouch large enough to hold them secure. He smiled as he tied it shut. As he glanced down, the last tendril formed a bar across the matronly woman’s cage, and he reached down to give it a tug. The tendril felt like padded iron. Nodding to himself, Ghostdog whistled and six Shadow Raptors swooped down to grasp the bars, two per cage, with each pair lifting their captive up into the grey sky while the seventh kept watch overhead. Without prompting, the Shadow Panther leaped onto one of the inner ring’s weathered stones while the giant grasped the top of another, and both went after the departing Shadow Raptors as Ghostdog reached back behind him under his cloak.

  A ringing sound like a crystal glass being tapped sounded as he pulled his sword free of its sheathe. Shaped like a katana from the far east, the handle was worn leather with a round pommel, but the blade was black with glowing runes the same color as his silvery-grey hair. It looked slender as a butterfly’s wing and deadly as a scorpion’s kiss. While the front half of the blade was razor sharp, the bottom half of the back blade had no edge, and Ghostdog rested it on his shoulder as the heavy tread of running footsteps came close.

  A large figure bent over as he passed through the doorway. “Shadow-walker,” the deep voice boomed as he raised up to his full seven foot height, “I don’t know who you are, but I swear—” The figure halted where he was. “Ghostdog?”

  “Hello, Pan,” Ghostdog replied cheerfully, looking up at him. “It’s been a while.”