Conan sensed it. Something was wrong, very wrong with the Lands.

He rolled over on his hard, uncomfortable cot and rested his chin on his long fingers. He felt again the numbing prick in his hands; he had been playing for Northumbrio's dark harsh voice all morning. Never had he shown himself, the master, that day, but the hot breath had been searing and the young minstrel's face was still hot from it. Why was the master so angry this day? Something was indeed quite wrong. In just the past several days Conan had served Northumbrio in his mountain peak stronghold, amid the snow and the foul stench that smelled nearly pleasant to his dulled senses now, his lute music had worked on his mysterious master like a magic charm. Indeed, only that morning Northumbrio had snapped at his music, asking if Conan was a magician in truth. Conan had forced back a loud laugh at the notion and had bowed his head to stare at the cold clear marble in meek servitude, muttering some praise for the master's wit. Whatever rebellion he had felt when first taken to Northumbrio's home had been burnt out and washed down with the all-encompassing sheerness of his master's dark magical powers. It was a strange thing, was magic. Conan remembered faintly the tunes he used to play, of brave knights and graceful princesses, of courageous deeds and gentle lullabyes whispered into a small child's sleepy ear...of good magic. Yet whenever he attempted to play something of that nature or to force his weary burned mind to refresh itself with something regarding wholesome and good things, Northumbrio's reeling power struck his senses and he quickly vanquished whatever bad thought had been in his mind. Conan was pleased to serve a master who gave his recognition for his talents and who taught him the right way to live his Life. It was almost like a dream, this wonderful pleasure that seeped into him at the master's long low purring grin. He could feel the approval in Northumbrio's shudderingly huge essence. It gave him joy to feel it; so he kept on with his work, his work amongst the darkness that was growing gray instead of black to his twisted mind, and minded not the crazed uttering of the newer captives who looked at him in horror. Once he had overheard a new guard stammering under Northumbrio's painful power, wondering aloud to himself why the stronghold minstrel could bear to give up the sweetness of his past Life. Conan felt the master's pleasure as he had laughed long and loud at that. Coming from the shadows, startling the guard, he quoted Northumbrio himself in saying that he had no Life before his service to the dark powers. Indeed, why call them dark? They were good and right! They were pleasing to the master, that was all that mattered to Conan anymore, was pleasing his master, going about his work in such a way as to never feel that terrible pain in his mind again.

Slowly, oh so slowly Conan was slipping from the kind, patient grasp of goodness. He was forgetting, by his own will, everything his dear little mother had taught him, ever good and right and just notion he had allowed to surge through his beautiful lute music. His music was not his anymore, it was Northumbrio's. The master made him play until blood lay upon the worn strings from Conan's long tired fingers, until the sweat dripped down his face and his breath came hard and quick. Then, and only then, would the great dusky duke let him stop and return to his quarters. Usually Conan was too weary after one of these tortuous sessions that he never left his room until it was time to play again. He would not stir from his cot, he would not eat a bite. Strange thing, but the mysterious little girl with stringy gray hair and bandaged hands would bring him his meals on a tray every meal time. Rarely did he eat it, but the girl was faithful. Conan had learned to pay her no heed, even in such a short time as he had been at the stronghold of his new dark master, yet...yet every now and then, despite a prickle of pain in his useless burned-out mind, Conan wondered why the young bland girl persisted in showing him forbidden kindness.

There came a timid knock at the door. Conan did not bother to answer, for the girl did not bother to wait, but opened the door anyway. "I have brought you your dinner," said the girl. Seldom did she speak! Her voice was soft and sad. Conan turned in surprise to stare at her. She fidgeted and shifted her slight weight from one foot to the other under his gaze.

"Why do you do this?" the young minstrel asked. The girl looked up, a rare spark of something like hope alighting in her colorless eyes. For that was what Northumbrio's power did; it not only burned out the old Life, no matter how strong the victim was, but also flushed out any color in the old self. The girl, strangely enough, seemed not to be affected by the painful numbing as Conan was; he did not know that the girl was possessing of a unique soul that could not be touched by the hideous powers; her body might be ravaged, her spirit broken, but Evil would not have her soul.

"I do not want you to live your precious life like this," the girl answer shyly. At the minstrel's beck, she sat down upon his hard cot.

"How do you mean, my life?" asked Conan curiously. Without meaning to, he began to eat the tasteless food.

"You have no idea what Northumbrio really is, do you?" asked the girl. Conan shrugged.

"He is my master, the ruler of the dark arts...a mighty man and a strong unperishable being." He stopped and frowned at the girl nodded sadly.

"Do you not see how far you have let your soul slip into Darkness?" she asked gently. Carefully she fingered the sharp silver nails stuck into Conan's heavy boots. He snarled and jerked his foot away. "I am one of a sect of outcasts, who will not let their souls be touched by Evil. Not by ourselves do we do this, but we are aided by the Great One and live in hopes that his Son, who will be called Shaddai and born to a pure one of the Lands, will be our Redeemer and deliver us from the grasp of Evil and the tyranny of he who calls himself King of these lands."

Conan was stunned into silence, his meal forgotten. Surely, these were treacherous and dangerous words! He expected to see the girl fall into writhing agony at Northumbrio's onslaught of ferocious power, but she remained still, blinking at him through suddenly bright eyes.

"I am a Shaddai-Truster. My father is their leader, Gabriel. We have been cast from the Lands, cursed to live on the edge of the king's power...but we serve a higher and greater King."

Conan looked around as if fearful that someone would hear him when he said, "Tell me more, child."

For the next hour, the minstrel listened to the little girl explain her faith. He also learned that she had been a lute-player as well, but because of her unfaithfulness to the powers of the Evil One, her hands had been burnt so that he could no longer pluck the strings. Conan's blackening heart was mad to listen closely to every word she said. He was hungry for this. No instrument of black magic nor Evil could quench this thirst, he was finally coming to realize what he had become. A puppet, a toy, a beast with no feelings and no self-will, no love for the Life that could be his if he was strong and discerning enough to grasp it and never let go, at any cost. Evil's pain grew to a throbbing ache inside his head as his eyes lighted with joy at the girl's speaking. Yes. Yes, this was what he needed, what he had been needing his entire life...but could the girl's Great One forgive him his terrible sins against the Life He offered?

"Yes!" cried the little girl with delight, when asked. "The Great One is willing to forgive anything you might have done! Indeed..." and her voice grew sadly soft, "...He once offered Northumbrio the beautiful life He now offers you, but the Evil had consumed his very being and he was too arrogant to grasp the wonderful gift. The Great One offers it freely to all, but few accept it." Conan nodded soberly. Evil was so strong! Goodness seemed so weak at times...but not now. Now, Conan's old Life was surging back through his veins, making the pain grow fiercer and fiercer...but he cared not.

"Little child," he said hastily, lest the pain slur his speaking, "I long to be guided to the heart of your Great One. I wish to become one of the Shaddai-Trusters." The girl collapsed into sobbing and together, in the dark cold room filled with the stench of Evil that suddenly became apparent to Conan's restored senses, he accepted the Life of the Great One and the black Evil fled from his mind. The pain still exploded strong in his head, but it was not so horrific as it had been. Somehow Conan could bear it better. He was a new man.

The little girl laughingly wiped at her damp eyes. "If only my father, Gabriel, could see you now!" she grinned. "He would be so pleased. I...I..." and she broke again into sobbing, broken-hearted crying now, "I wish I could see my poor dear father. Is there no way I can escape Evil and run for love?"

Conan grew serious and walked to the window, looking out with a stern expression. Dare he? So quick after his conversion? It might kill him. Suddenly the love for the broken child sitting lonely on his cot and the amazing grace that had infused his very being spread out into a small smile.

"Yes," he said, turning around to face the sobbing child, "there is a way. Go and ready yourself and then meet me by the front gate. Fear not, ask no questions, and hurry!"

An hour later the little girl met Conan by the gate. No one was about, the mess hall was reverberating with loud laughter and beast-like feasting. Only a few guards milled about playing cards; no one noticed a little girl hiding a pouch of provisions under her cloak walking beside Northumbrio's minstrel. Conan shivered against the steadily growing warning pain in his head and the cold needles of ice driving at his face. He knelt and embraced the little girl tightly.

"Thank you," he whispered into her ear. "The Great One has used you to guide me to Him. May He make His face to shine upon you in all glory...and may the Redeemer save us all."

The girl gave him a look of such fondness and hope that it tore at his heart and wiped out the pain momentarily. He opened the gate for her without a sound, the faint creak lost in the wintery winds, and watched as her small dark figure, running tall and proudly away, vanished into the night.

Suddenly from behind him came a frenzied shout. The girl was lost to sight, thanks be to the Great One, as Northumbrio himself came striding from his castle, scaring the guards at their card games and allowing his heavy black cloak to billow out behind him as a fiery blaze ignited his dark red eyes.

"Traitor!" he screamed, his deep voice harsh and grating. Conan stood tall under the onslaught of pain hit his senses in sickening waves that sought to double him over and crumple him to the ground...yet he remained standing, the love of the Great One and the promise of His Son still hot within his soul, as Northumbrio stormed to him and caught his collar in one rough meaty fist.

"How dare you defy me, your supreme master!" he shouted in his face. Conan nearly yelled at the blast of withering flames hit his face and blackened his cheek. Could the Great One's strength last forever under the terrible torments that assuredly awaited his "treachery"? Yet perhaps the hour of perfect peace and joy he had experienced basking in the new Life budding within his soul was worth anything Northumbrio could wreak upon him.

"Stupid little miserable worthless dog!" Northumbrio followed this tirade with a wave of cursing as he dragged Conan around the jagged black castle and shoved open a hidden door in the huge gray flagstones. Conan gritted his teeth as a slap of the death-stench hit his face. Northumbrio slammed the door behind him, enveloping them both in darkness, and threw Conan to the ground. Conan grunted as his body hit slimy scraping stones. He nearly lost his grand thinking when he recognized the smell and deep pitch darkness of the dungeon.

"Great One, help me!" he prayed as Northumbrio's fiery heat wrapped around his helpless body like a searing, acidic cloak. "Help me to bear it."