Legends say that on the eve of midsummer, you can see the Silver Sorcerer under the glow of the moon’s light.

A bell chimed and Murat pulled his qama dagger out.  He stood in a forest clearing and a sudden gust of wind nearly knocked him over.  He gripped the hilt tightly and beads of cold sweat dampened his forehead.  The bell chimed again.  He turned his head and his breath caught in his throat.

Before him stood a young man with long silver hair and white robes.  Under the light of the moon, he appeared to have an aura.  Murat was taken aback since the other man had a face similar to his own, albeit with paler eyes.  It was like looking at a mirror with all the color drained out.  Murat himself had black hair that was much shorter and dark brown eyes.  He wore a dark blue chokha coat that stretched past his knees, a belt with dangling leather strips adorned with metal pieces, and black leather boots.

“Who are you?” Murat asked.  The silver-haired man smiled.

“Murat!” someone called out.  Murat tightened his grip on the hilt but recognized the voice as someone from his traveling group.

“Over here!” Murat called back, keeping his qama trained on the other man.  As the cacophony of rustled leaves, snapped twigs, and heavy footsteps grew louder, another gust of wind forced Murat’s eyes shut.  A third bell chime reverberated through the trees.

“Hah!” Giray exhaled as he bounded into the clearing.  “What are you doing here?  You’re supposed to be keeping watch!”

“I am!” Murat replied as he turned towards Giray.  “I heard a noise and I came out here and saw this…” He blinked at the empty space in front of him.  “There was someone standing here right before you came.”

“You must have imagined it.”

“No, he was definitely here!”

“Let’s just go back.  Your shift is over anyway.  Get some rest so we can return to the village in the morning.  Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Murat sighed and sheathed his qama.  “It’s Temur’s big day.”

“It’s your older brother’s wedding and he’s the chieftain’s eldest son.  It’s a big day for everyone.  Aren’t you happy for him?”

“Of course, I am.  I came on this trip so I could get him a gift from the city.”

They walked through the woods until they reached another small clearing.  A flickering flame danced over a jumble of branches.  Their fellow villagers lay huddled near its warmth.

“Where’d you go, Murat?” Khamzat asked through his gray bushy beard.

“I heard a bell,” Murat replied, “and I saw a man.”

“Murat’s imagination is getting the best of him again,” Giray said.

“A bell?” Khamzat said.  “What did the man look like?”

“He had long silver hair and white robes,” Murat said.

“Huh…” Khamzat sat himself up.  “You may have seen the Silver Sorcerer.”

“The Silver Sorcerer?” Murat said.  “The one from the legends?”

“Yes, tomorrow is the solstice, so it’s the right time of year.”

“But isn’t he supposed to be centuries old?  I was expecting someone with a long white beard.  The man I saw looked like he was my age.”

“Khamzat ran his wrinkled hand through his beard.  “The Silver Sorcerer is supposed to be a shapeshifter. How he appears to you is a reflection of what’s in your heart.”

“Really?” Murat said.  “His face looked a bit like mine.”

“Yes, because you’re self-absorbed,” Giray laughed.  Murat elbowed him in the arm.

“Anyway,” Khamzat continued.  “I’m not sure whether seeing him is a good or bad omen.  Let’s all just rest and hope for the best.”

***

The village was buzzing with activity.  Flower garlands were strewn across windows and ribbons flowed from structures made of whittled dragon’s bone.  A crowd had gathered in front of the chieftain’s house.  Temur was dressed in his finest chokha and a tall papakha hat.  Dangling from his waist was an ornate ceremonial dagger that Murat had gifted him from his journey to the lowlands.  He lifted the veil of his bride Maira.  She was radiant.  She wore a dome-shaped kokoshnik headdress and a high-collared white brocade gown.  The sleeves flowed halfway to the hems and were embroidered with gold thread.  The bride and groom said their vows and exchanged rings.  Their family members offered them blessings and well-wishes.

After the ceremony was over, Murat spotted his kunak in the crowd.  “Beslan!” he called out as he ran over.  They had known each other for years and had gone through the sworn brotherhood ritual, intertwining arms and drinking wine mixed with drops of each other’s blood while pledging lifelong loyalty to one another.  Beslan was half a head taller and had a more muscular build.  Like all the men of the village, he wore a chokha, carried a sheathed qama attached to his belt, and had black leather boots.

“Hey!” Beslan put an arm around Murat’s shoulder.  “How was the journey?  Heard you saw a ghost.”

“Hah, word travels fast,” Murat said.  “Khamzat thinks it might have been the Silver Sorcerer.”

“The Silver…huh, that’s interesting.  You’ll have to tell me about it after the festivities are over.  You know…”  He nudged Murat in the arm.  “Now that Temur’s getting married, you can finally marry Nadya.  Actually, there she is right now.”

Nadya was Murat’s betrothed.  Her face was like a delicate flower.  She wore a kokoshnik with a gossamer veil that flowed over her two long raven braids.  Her dress was richly embroidered with silver threads.  She lived on the same street as Murat and they had known each other since childhood.  However, custom dictated that Murat could not get married before his older brother.

“Nadya,” Murat said as he approached her.  She looked up at him through her dark eyelashes.

“Greetings Murat,” she said.  “Congratulations to your older brother.  How was your journey to the lowlands?”

“Pretty good.  I got you something from the market,” Murat reached into his chokha and handed her a colorful scarf.  

Nadya’s eyes lit up as she unfurled it.  It was decorated with intricate swirling patterns and images of flying birds.  “It’s beautiful.”  She was about to say more when the dhol drums started to beat and the bright lilting melodies of the zurna pierced the air.  The dancing had commenced.  

The women had graceful hand movements and glided in their long dresses so smoothly that they appeared to be floating above the ground.  The men spun back and forth with spirited arm movements and dynamic footwork.  Temur danced with Maira at the center of the circle of villagers.  Off to the side, Murat danced around Nadya as she blushed demurely.

Everyone was having such a joyous time that they did not notice the small group of strangers on horseback until they had galloped up to the wedding party.  The music stopped and the village men drew out their qama daggers.  The strangers wore robes with the insignia of the empire to the northeast.  One of them led his horse to the front of the group.

“We wish to speak to your leader,” he declared.  There was a tense murmur in the crowd.  People parted as a middle-aged man stepped forward.  It was Kosta, Temur and Murat’s father.

“That would be me,” Kosta bellowed.  “State your business.”

“We are the envoys of King Dragomir of the Vargoranth empire,” the stranger said.  “The Saradeyan empire of the southwest is making increasing incursions into the highlands.  We wish to offer you protection from them in exchange for your allegiance.”

“Heh,” Kosta said.  “The tribes of the highlands bow down to no one!  The Saradeyan envoys were just here last month offering protection from you.  This is a conflict between your two empires and we shall have no part in it.  Now begone before our celebratory mood sours further and we decide to send you back in pieces!”

Seeing that they were outnumbered, the Vargoranth envoys turned their horses around and galloped away.  Kosta sighed.  Temur and Murat approached him.

“Sorry, my son,” Kosta said to Temur.  “We thought we had picked an auspicious day for your wedding and then they showed up.”

“It’s all right, father,” Temur replied.  “These things happen and I will have to know how to handle them when the time comes.”

As the eldest son, Temur was expected to take over as chieftain when Kosta passed on.  He was a striking figure, tall with handsome chiseled features.  He excelled at sword fighting, archery, and horseback riding.  Everyone had high hopes for Temur.  When his engagement to Maira was formally announced years back, the other young women of the village bit their lips in disappointment while retaining smiling facades.

Murat, on the other hand, was Kosta’s unremarkable second son.  He was several years younger than Temur and their mother died shortly after giving birth to him.  A wet nurse kept him alive during his infancy and took care of him alongside her other children.  Sometimes he envied Temur for having memories of their mother, but in general, he enjoyed the freedom of not being constantly fussed over.  Although he was decent-looking, he had a smaller build than Temur and his sword-fighting skills were middling.  His arrows had an uncanny way of always missing their target and he tired easily.  

Since he was not expected to lead, he was generally left to his own devices as long as he completed his daily chores.  Most of his time was spent daydreaming and wandering through the neighboring forest.  Some people whispered that he would not have even been betrothed to Nadya if their families had not already been close friends.

“All this talk about protection from the other empire is nonsense,” Kosta said.  “They’re just after the dragon heart stones.”

***

A few days after Temur’s wedding, Murat was wandering around gathering edible plants.  His satchel was filled with nettles and sorrel from the forest’s periphery.  He ventured further inward to see if he could find some berries and nuts.  As he strolled through the dappled light under the canopy of trees, he thought about the Silver Sorcerer.  Would he ever encounter him again?  Did he even want to?  Was seeing him a bad omen that foreshadowed the interruption of Temur’s wedding?

A thunderous rumble shook him from his thoughts.  Ravens cawed and flew from tree branches.  The air smelled of acrid smoke.  Murat heard shouts coming from the village.

What’s going on? he thought.  He clutched his satchel and ran through the forest, tripping several times over fallen logs and arching tree roots.  His eyes watered and he coughed as the smoke's pungency grew stronger.  He lurched headlong and broke through the forest’s perimeter, landing on damp grass and scattering the feathery seeds of the dandelions.  Exhaling heavily, he looked up and gasped.

The village was in flames and a horde of Vargoranth soldiers on horseback were trampling everything in sight.  People ran chaotically and screamed as the soldiers threw torches at their homes.  Some of the villagers tried to fight the invaders but they were run through with swords and shot with arrows.  Murat stood up and reached for his qama, but his hand was shaking.  Should he fight or also run?

One Vargoranth soldier spotted Murat and aimed his crossbow directly at him.  Murat’s eyes widened and he froze.  The soldier pulled the trigger and let the arrow fly.