A fantasy novel.
One Knight, when he became a Baron
1. A Surprising Departure
“A bad omen,” Gladriel thought, “They’ll say the goart trees are a bad omen. That’s one more piece of bad luck, this week.”
An early bloom would have to happen on his year to travel to Lackland. As the youngest son of a Baron, his chance to be trained as a Knight, at the Academy there, was an honor, and more, as his mother was an Elf. The Baron, Gideon Samovar, had many wives, but only a single elvish one. Gladriel, was not only the youngest of the children, but was the only half-elf in the Castle, as well. He could imagine the comments about his having used some kind of 'Elven magic' to cause the trees to bloom early. Suddenly, from somewhere behind him, the young man heard a noise. Not a normal sound of the forest, but something else. Something not normal.
Gladriel was not so dear, to his father, as to have passed many of his eighteen years at Castle Samovar. Even as that thought passed through his mind, he could hear the Baroness saying it. Insofar as he was able to determine, Gladriel was more of an embarrassment than a son. That’s why he was slipping away, unnoticed, he hoped. He never imagined that something would track him, as soon as he left the place. He knew he shouldn’t be on this trail, not today. His mother had gone to Targun last evening, and he realized he should have gone with her.
While Gladriel was close to his mother, the High Elf Jana, she didn’t actually live at the Castle. Of those who did, only the wife Esmerelda, tried to provide him some affection. Neither the Baroness Amerynthia, any of the other wives, nor the myriad of children, were close to him. They all lived at the Castle, either because they had a genuine chance of succession, or because they did not. Only Gladriel lived elsewhere. He was 'semi-royal', and if he desired to be more, he should have to earn it. Being too far from secession to hope for a title, and half-elf as well, he must have something more, to have a life worth living. But he should have left yesterday evening. He realized that, now.
In spite of the late winter chill, Gladriel had been up and out early today. If he were to avoid all of the Castle residents, he needed stealth. The corridor outside his room, had been cold, and not even the ornate, hand woven, rug, gifted to keep the floors from being such a challenge in the winter, was barely enough. Even with shoes, the stone, so intricate and attractive in the daylight, was a dank pattern of shadow and grey in the darkness, cold and almost frightening. Unable to summon much in the way of sadness at leaving, for Gladriel it seemed easier to simply go, avoid contact, and try not to have to lie.
Gladriel was not bitter, or even angry, although, at the moment he was more than a little scared. His life hadn’t been terrible, just lonely. Honestly, when he thought of escaping the loneliness, he was thrilled to be leaving this place, with its cold walls and colder people, and going to a new, and, he hoped, better life. In the predawn blackness he went to the stable, found his mount Sharpie, and rubbed him down with a special ‘warming salve’. Sharpie didn’t care for cold, and could be temperamental, or what some would call downright mean, until he warmed up. The salve was designed to make the late winter chill less uncomfortable. It wasn’t enough, but Gladriel and Sharpie were old friends, and it would do. He often talked to Sharpie, since he usually had no other company, and wondered just how much his mount understood. He was sure that terms like, stone cold mausoleum, Ice palace, and colder than a… well anyway it shouldn’t have been this chilly, this late in winter. Especially not with the early warming and bloom in the woods. Then again what cannot be cured, must be endured, his training instructor was fond of saying. All well and good, Gladriel thought, but he’s not the one making a trip to Targun, on a cold, dark, morning. And there was something behind him, he knew it.
He remembered saddling up, with his best saddlebags in place, he had strapped on his sword, and the repeating crossbow his late uncle had given him. In the back of his mind, he still recalled an exchange with his mother, “Yes, mother,” went the thought, “I’m wearing my training armor to travel.” It had become so natural that he seldom thought about it, consciously.
Then he was ready to leave. Fortunately, almost everything owned fit into the saddlebags, leaving enough room for some curative herbs, and a snack. It was Thirday, and the caravan he was taking should have left on Firstday. That group was delayed, and he was forced, by tradition, to make a final visit to the Castle. His mother had been here, making it even more of a mandate. He probably should have gone with his mother, last evening, but his half brother’s remark about going to town with mommy, had stayed him. It was a bad decision, he could see that now. So he was forced to escape in the darkness, trying to avoid what would, otherwise, not have been a pleasant exit. And to top it all off, the trees had bloomed. A late start, an ‘omen’ in the bloom of the trees, and having to play the silent assassin as he left. A wonderful start to what should have been a long, boring, journey. Now he was being followed by who knew what, in a dark forest before dawn.
“Come on Sharpie,” he had coaxed his mount earlier, “Let's see what else can go wrong.” Now he was about to find out.
Gladriel had led Sharpie into the predawn darkness of the courtyard. The gravel pathway, well packed in the center, allowed silence, if he kept to that part of it. The trees were dark strangers today, overshadowing the bushes, giving the scene an almost surrealistic look. His years of practice allowed him to cross those grounds and exit the Castle, without disturbing a soul. He had often done this, when he had slept at the Castle, because he had to rise before dawn to reach the Academy on time. With luck, today was the last day he would make this journey. He had dreamt of this day, to be leaving for the last time. So a frosty morning came, when the Castle was quiet, so much so that even the breeze seemed held in abeyance, when the Knight-to-be rode out. He would eat as he rode, not an unusual thing, on a trip so often made.
He was glad, now,he had used the 'warming salve', because pre-dawn was downright cold, and Sharpie was not amused. At least no one would be able to accuse him of changing the temperature, as well. And never again would he hear the comment, “pointy-eared, half-elf, son of the Baron's forest wench”. Still, he could almost hear the comments about the trees, and their blooming prematurely. Just another annoyance he was leaving behind him. Now, if he could just get Sharpie to quit acting like there was a creature in the woods. Or if there weren’t one there to annoy him.
It had been his intention to reach Targun before daylight. He had a caravan to catch. The trip should have been about two hours, and so he had used that as an excuse for his early leaving, as usual. Before the first of dawn’s light arrived, he was gone.
The darkness gave way before his elven sight, the chill did not. Elves could see in the dark, everyone knew that. They couldn’t ignore the cold, Gladriel knew that. Crisp and almost too cold, the path was silent, as only a forest can be, just before dawn. The nocturnal creatures were bedding down, as day approached, and the diurnal creatures had yet to arise. Gladriel heard another small noise, and hoped it was from the Castle. For a moment, it seemed that someone had noticed his departure. He made a silent wish that it was not so. He began using the ‘scouting skills’ that he had spent so many months perfecting, hoping he could get away without any encounters. Had he known what lurked in the predawn darkness, he might have wished he were in Targun already, or anywhere but where he was. Had he been able to see the future, and the horror it held, he might have chosen another time to depart.
Gladriel was still a bit worried about his reception in Chevalier. He was a half-elf, and were he graduating from the Targun Academy, he could not have become a knight. Gladriel was glad the Lackland Academy was not so provincial in its attitude. At least he’d read that in the information they sent him. He had gotten an approval letter in the fall, for the Spring semester. So he would make the journey, by caravan, so he could be sure that he’d arrive on time. Now, with his passage paid on the caravan, he was already beyond the point of no return. He felt a small thrill of what was almost fear, as he contemplated the future. He wondered, not for the first time, if he had made the wrong choice. Bravery had never been his strong suit.
He had considered going, instead, to live among his mother's people, but Lady Jana quickly disabused that idea. Being 'half-human' was no easier than being half-elf, she explained, and besides, he had grown up among humans and would have to learn a whole new society. Half-Humans were no less the subject of prejudice among the Elves, than half-Elves among the humans. The realization that he had no 'place' in the world, prompted Gladriel to seek this different route, a path to somewhere he was unknown. In this new place, where he would be a stranger from the west, he hoped to find a better life.
Again, something moved in the distance. His ears, with hearing sharper than almost any human, picked up the distant sound. It was something moving, but not nearby. It sounded fairly large, like a wild goat, or something similar. He caught no unusual scents on the wind, and the Castle was devoid of any smell, save the wafting scent of the kitchen ovens, as bread was baked for the day. At least it wasn't a precursor to being 'hailed' and having to halt and explain that he was off to Chevalier. After five years of constant, hard work, he had secured his appointment to the Academy at Lackland. That was something no one believed was possible, when, and if, they learned of his plan.
“Half-Elves are almost never accepted in Lackland”, was a common remark, as was “From a backwater Barony like Samovar, you'll never get in.” His schoolmates were at least civil, those few locals, who found out, acted as if the entire scheme was some fantastic joke, never losing a chance to laugh, at his expense. Even the other members of the Samovar Family, one he was loath to call his own, did little to encourage his attempts. This was the reason he was up and mounted and on his way hoping even the baker hadn't noticed. Most of the household was still sleeping as he took to the road, and he was glad of it. For a moment, then, he wondered if anyone would remember today was his day to depart for Chevalier. He suddenly doubted it. With the beginning of the holiday season and all that it entailed, he would probably never cross their minds. In fact, he had no faith in their believing he had an actual appointment. “No one’s actually seen my appointment letter”, he thought, “I suppose they just don’t care, all that much.”
“Well, Sharpie,” Gladriel told Sharpie, as they took the road, “The time has finally come to leave this depressing pile of stones. From here on we'll be on our way to Knighthood.”
Going down the road to Targun, he automatically scouted the forest around him. Since he lacked some of the skills, common among his fellow candidates, for scouting, he had learned ways to compensate. In training most of his life, it was normal enough, for him, to simply fall into the scouting routine. He never lost the chance to practice, using the hearing and vision he had inherited from his mother as a help. His scouting training took over, his surroundings became, not the forest of his childhood, but a path he traveled, winding its way through the trees to Targun. It was, almost, an extension of his senses. He observed the hardwood, nut, and fruit trees, instead of simply riding past them. He catalogued plants, even the youngerberry vines, some ripe with fruit. The occasional meadow, or glade, that used to simply break up the tree-filled monotony, became a place to examine, in detail. Something else was there, but it defied his best attempts at discovery. The local forest hid it.
He realized he was not in a true forest. It was more of a corrie (from the Dwarvish) or cwm (an elvish word for "valley"). Gladriel knew that the most dangerous thing roaming here should be timberwolves, if that. Those creatures kept the local militia busy, since they were known to eat young domestic animals and, according to rumor, children. There was an advantage to living in the Castle, near a large town. Dangerous creatures avoided settled areas, as a rule, and so he didn’t feel quite so ‘exposed’ as he might have, under other circumstances. This road was familiar, often used and the scents of people clung to it. It was as well known as anything in his life.
As he rode, the familiarity of the route caused his mind to wander, although he did not cease to scout. He’d been in training so long that he often dreamed he was scouting when he slept. It occurred to him that his upcoming journey would be through areas holding much more dangerous creatures, than these woods. It had been decades, at least, since true monsters had been sighted, even by the caravansary, who traversed the roads from city to city. However, this close to the castle and the town? Trees, and little else appeared. There was, simply, nothing here. Even hunters went beyond this area to look for game. It was certain that nothing like dangerous animals, who lived in the huge forests between Targun and Chevalier, could be found in this part of Samovar. But then that distant sound, from somewhere a bit closer, came again, as if to punctuate some impossible chance of a threat. It was closer now, so he scouted more alertly, perhaps wishing, in some small place in his heart, that there would be ‘something’. Maybe he was just scared, by the dark, silent, woods. Inside he wished for anything to make him feel less like a boy, going on a man’s journey. He was aware that he needed to concentrate, but riding down the same trail he had ridden all his life, certain that there was nothing to see, made it hard. Anyone who lived in this area, knew that nothing truly dangerous would appear. Then, from nowhere he understood, his mind filled with a vision of monsters, destroying Castle Samovar. He could smell the smoke, hear the cries, of the monsters and victims, alike. He shook himself, striving to return to the normal world. People around here would think him crazy, if they knew of his wild daydreams. “Too many stories,” they’d say. He put it down to not having had his nutbrew, this morning.
Gladriel imagined it was a different life, among those who traveled for a living. The caravan guards always had stories. Campfire stories, about things that came leaping from the trees, to kill and devour. Legends of the winged terrors, and distant monsters heard in the night. But such tales were always about things 'over there', never anything nearby. His mother, for example, had told him a tale of Hobgoblins, seen about a century ago, far to the north of Samovar proper, but nothing since. Still, there were enough wild boars, wolves, Cave bears, and longtooth lions, to keep the guards honest and the caravans cautious. The path, shrouded in the predawn darkness, was still the same one he had ridden since he was four, and besides, Sharpie knew the road, at least as well as he did. This trip was solitary, especially so, since this might be the last time he ever made it. If only he had known how true that thought was.
Normal silence had returned to the trail, and Gladriel tried not to let his mind wander. Fortunately, scouting always called a portion of his mind to the path before him, but riding in the dark was almost boring. There were more than a few things Gladriel wanted to keep from his thoughts, so he thought, instead, about Castle Samovar. He was leaving forever, he supposed. But no, he considered, he was leaving Castle Samovar, forever was more like the place he was going. Still, it seemed, all he had of the keep were the legends. Legends told to the children, telling of a Castle built in the time when monsters roamed the land. By oral tradition, this was the reason it had not only bastion walls and a moat, but crenelated merlons and an actual drawbridge. The Castle lore also said that these repelled Trolls, Goblins, Hobgoblins, Umfs, and even the occasional Rogue Were-creature. And there were Dire Wolves, Giants, and Wyverns, said to be real enough, just not recent. Most people claimed that all the monsters had died out, but there were still the old tales. Giants, he thought, creatures twenty feet tall. How could such a humanoid even stand upright? Probably just a made up monster, to frighten him and his half brothers and sisters. Still, Gladriel was secretly glad to be going somewhere that hadn't seen such creatures in millennia. You could never be sure how much truth was in an ‘old tale’.
Suddenly something moved, and broke into Gladriel’s reverie. Over there, off in the woods, it still wasn’t close, the local creatures ignored it, so Gladriel filed it, in his mind. He would worry if it got closer. He still could not seem to focus. It was as if some part of him was trying to memorize as much of his surroundings as possible, prior to leaving. Perhaps it was a kind of prescience. He needed to stop musing about huge, dangerous, creatures, and worry about where he was, and what he was doing. Monsters lived in the ‘Great Forests’ ahead. He had to accept that he knew little of those massive gathering of trees he would soon face, and realize that most of what he did know came, again, from stories. What he thought of as monsters, might be native to the areas. The books, at the academy, tended to gloss over the forest domain. Some scholarly tomes existed, concerning the ecology, but they, generally, covered only biota, with a broad overview of such. There was almost nothing specific, in the books he’d found, concerning the flora and fauna in wilderness woodlands. It was a Human library, and Humans tended to leave the forests to Elves. “Focus your mind.” was advice he’d gotten from every instructor he’d ever had. His mind wandered, and it would be the death of him, unless he could overcome it.
He looked around, for some activity, to keep his mind focused on the here, and now. Ultimately, he decided that foraging, on the way to Targun, was a good idea. Now that the sun was about to rise, he could clearly see the berries along the road. He hoped they would banish the stories of monsters, which the dark brought to mind. He was supposed to be a grown man, going to a man’s endeavor, children’s tales shouldn’t frighten him. He moved to the drainage ditch, cut beside the shoulder of the road, and tried to scout and pick berries, so that he wouldn’t think about ‘things’. Going all the way to Chevalier, and,from there, to Lackland Castle, home of his new Academy, should have been on his mind. The closest metropolis to Lackland Castle, Chevalier was a true city, the first Gladriel would ever see. He tried to avoid thinking about that, he didn't want to build up false hopes, or expectations.
He looked around, for some activity, to keep his mind focused on the here, and now. Ultimately, he decided that foraging, on the way to Targun, was a good idea. Now that the sun was about to rise, he could clearly see the berries along the road. He hoped they would banish the stories of monsters, which the dark brought to mind. He was supposed to be a grown man, going to a man’s endeavor, children’s tales shouldn’t frighten him. He moved to the drainage ditch, cut beside the shoulder of the road, and tried to scout and pick berries, so that he wouldn’t think about ‘things’. Going all the way to Chevalier, and,from there, to Lackland Castle, home of his new Academy, should have been on his mind. The closest metropolis to Lackland Castle, Chevalier was a true city, the first Gladriel would ever see. He tried to avoid thinking about that, he didn't want to build up false hopes, or expectations.
Riding close to the edge of the road was easy, for Gladriel, since he was not yet in possession of a horse. His riding lizard, Sharpie, although more than able to carry as much as a warhorse, was slower than a destrier, and not considered a 'fighting mount'. (Thralzs were actually quite loyal and would kill any minor foe that attacked their rider, but a warhorse could kill almost anything, short of the mythic Ogre) Thralz were a smoother ride, than the average horse, and the ditch was no challenge for Sharpie. His six-inch claws could cling to the surface, making the slanted path seem level. Sharpie was also as accustomed to Gladriel, as the young man was to his mount. Gladriel shifted his balance as the lizard moved, automatically, without the slightest thought. Sharpie kept the saddle more or less upright, making the process easier.
Gladriel availed himself of more than a few youngerberries as he rode, reflecting upon the beauty and richness of his homeland. The silver cast of night began to fade, and the light of that child of morning, dawn, was just beginning to appear. Shadows moved, in response to his passing, making the dark places in the forest full of things unseen. The silence began to give way to the morning sounds, of birds, and small animals, moving in the underbrush. As the forest awoke, and the 'normal' noises began to occur, he took comfort in that feeling, that sense of normalcy. He may have taken more berries than he needed, but he so wanted to banish his childish thoughts. He was anxious enough about being 'a country bumpkin', when he arrived at Lackland Academy. As if being half-elf were not bad enough, he had to worry about where he had been born. At least his home was not some tiny spot in the hinterlands of nowhere. Where nowhere was concerned, it was a huge plot .
His musings about monsters must have made him more alert, or perhaps he was still afraid. Whatever the reason, he found a sudden cause for real alarm. The ‘normal’ sounds almost ceased. There really was something in the woods that did not belong. Gladriel had been training for five years at Targun, since he was thirteen, and he knew when something wasn’t 'normal'. It moved wrong and was misshapen. The small creatures of the woods ran from it, and it made noises that were not familiar. He readied his weapons, and stopped picking berries. He brought up his crossbow, and made sure his sword was free. He didn't have his shield, it was being repaired. It didn't matter anyway, he was better with a weapon in each hand, than with a shield. Even as his eyes and ears searched the woods, he wondered what he was seeking.
“Here we go, I knew something else would happen. Pick up the pace, Sharpie” he told his mount, urging it to a trot, “Something's out there that we really don't want to meet.”
The largest Barony in the southwest of the Newhome Lands, Samovar had the most unused area. That made it both a blessing and a curse, to live there. The Backbone Mountains, where legend spoke of creatures best left to the realm of nightmares, formed the western border of the lands. Gladriel wondered if, perhaps, he had found one of those creatures. While the land was a blessing, being fertile and easy to farm, it was very sparsely settled. There were large areas with no population, so, as luck would have it, no farms or ranches were nearby. Gladriel had Sharpie pick up his pace even more, and began watching carefully for any signs of pursuit. He found more than he wanted.
From the bushes beside the road it came. Short and kind of a bluish-green, in the near-darkness, it was like something out of one of those tales. Without thinking, Gladriel sent a bolt from his crossbow into the thing, following automatically with a cut, across its torso. The maneuver was one he had learned at the Academy, and it worked. The thing twisted and tried to recover, moving ahead, seeking advantage. Gladriel tried to stab into the carcass of his enemy, but it was too fast. It started to turn its attention to Sharpie. The Thralz had halted, but, still agitated, Sharpie was looking for a target, and this ‘thing’ that was trying to hurt him, was perfect. Claws, suited for clinging, delivered a blow, and a bite, from teeth designed to catch and kill small prey, drew blood, or ichor, and that injury sent the creature scurrying into the woods. Gladriel, scored a fairly deep stab, as his target leapt by. Unsure if the foe be alone, Sharpie, and his rider, made even more haste for town. Neither of the two was a hero, and the town guard was paid to deal with this kind of thing. Gladriel suddenly understood his Academy training. His reactions were as he had been trained, without thought. Had he taken time to think, he would have tried to run away, and probably ended up injured or worse. He never actually got a good look at the thing he had attacked. It was a target, might have been anything, in the deceptively pale morning light. As he rode, he told himself that it was the shadowy roadway, the lack of light in general and an overactive imagination, that caused him to visualize a 'monster'. This was the very heart of Samovar, there couldn't be any monsters here. He chose to ignore the scent, adding it to that overactive imagination.
“Move it, Sharpie,” Gladriel said as a command, “We're going to put some space between us and that, or those, things.”
Thralz have no gait that can be considered a gallop, but Sharpie was clearly trying to invent one. He and Gladriel were far from certain that the creature, if it was one, was alone. He shuddered, thinking that it might be part of a pack. No one knew he was on the road, and no one would really miss him if he never made it to town. He was totally on his own, perhaps more so than he had ever been. In spite of his conviction that it was his imagination at work, he tested the wind as he rode, alert to any sign of the scent he had 'imagined'.
At the moment, Samovar had a personal blessing for Gladriel, the town of Targun. Although it was some distance from Castle Samovar, Targun was where Gladriel had actually been reared. This blessing was close at hand, but he kept his nose, eyes, and ears, tuned for the thing in the forest. He knew the town, and was familiar with the guard, he knew that guardsmen would be up and about, with the sun. He was moving about as quickly as he could, with Sharpie moving as only he could, a low, running, gait, that the lizard could maintain for at least an hour. It was as close to a gallop as the frightened mount had. Certain that something was following him, Gladriel had decided to inform the town guard ,as soon as he arrived. He didn’t need to remind himself, again, that he was no hero. Gladriel was scared. He would let ‘them’ worry about it, whoever ‘they’ turned out to be, and whatever ‘it’ was. The Guard would expect nothing more from a 'half-elf', anyway.
Gladriel was no stranger to half-elf prejudice. In point of fact, he saw it everywhere. That his father was a Baron had done little, in his estimation, to insulate him. The, not so subtle, actions of those who mistrusted anyone having elven heritage, had always been part of his life. It was his devout hope that he would escape such, in the city. He was both sad and happy to be going. If only there had been someone, or something, here to make this place ‘home’. Still, Targun would be a welcome sight, when he reached it. He was fairly certain that it was close. The increase in speed should have brought them very near to the town.
Being only half-human had encouraged the boy to avoid the Castle, when possible. If he’d only avoided this one time more, he wouldn’t be running for his life, through the woods. He had gone to Targun’s boarding school as he was old enough, and from there to Academy, again, as soon as age permitted. His Elven mother had rooms in Targun. He could have stayed there. He usually did, since he was excluded, at the Castle. All he really had was his strong relationship with his mother, the High Elf Jana. She was his strength, in coping with the constant prejudice.
Gladriel wasn't wasting time, since he had 'imagined' that same scent twice as he moved toward town, and not from the same source. He didn't need to urge Sharpie, because the lizard could smell at least as well as Gladriel, and had come to the decision that his rider was right, in avoiding the source of that miasma. Sounds were lost in the rush, but had they heard anything, it's likely that Sharpie would have found that gallop, hidden in his repertoire. The young man set his sights on reaching the streets of Targun, and the security it offered. At last he found focus, solely concerned with what he was doing in this moment. His concentration grew, as he realized that his life might depend on it. Why hadn’t he just waited for the Caravan in Targun? His family were all instructed to remain 'at arm's length' anyway, by his father. It must have been his brush with death, that brought these thoughts to the young man’s mind, seeking safety in town.
His mother’s apartments, where Gladriel stayed when not in school, to spare himself a ride to and from Castle Samovar, held no interest today. He vaguely wished he had stayed at those rooms, instead of going to the Castle, but it was the celebration of ‘the end of winter equinox’. Spring, as a season, was still a short time away, but this was the first of its festivals. Tradition decreed that families should gather for it, so that even his mother had been there. Last night, they had spoken of his future. She had left early, going to Targun she said, for personal reasons. Why his Mother, Jana, stayed in the town, instead of the Castle, was easy to understand. She was an elf. Elves even ate what humans called 'strange food'. While Elves ate meat and vegetables, they were prepared differently than 'human food', with elven spices. Elves also ate things that some humans would not have considered food.
Gladriel really wished he had gone with her, since whatever was following him was gaining. Finally, after what seemed hours, he rounded the last turn, and there was Targun. He was never so glad to see the place, as on this day. The sensation of pursuit ceased, and Gladriel began scanning for a guardsman. He decided to go straight to the stables, as soon as he found one. Gladriel wondered, from time to time, how his mother managed to be a Baroness and an Elflady, at the same time. Her responsibilities must be great, and the demands on her time made Gladriel feel more special, when she made time for him.
Gladriel had arrived in Targun feeling more than a little scared, and more than a little ready, to begin the two or three month journey to Lackland. He was also moving at what, for Sharpie, amounted to a dead run. He calmed the creature, and worked at getting him slowed to a 'respectable pace'. He finally spotted a city guard he knew and stopped, so he could mention having been 'tracked' by something on the way to town.
Gladriel had arrived in Targun feeling more than a little scared, and more than a little ready, to begin the two or three month journey to Lackland. He was also moving at what, for Sharpie, amounted to a dead run. He calmed the creature, and worked at getting him slowed to a 'respectable pace'. He finally spotted a city guard he knew and stopped, so he could mention having been 'tracked' by something on the way to town.
“Jessie!” he called, “ A moment of your time?”
“ Ho, Ears,” Jessie answered, using the epithet Gladriel had so often heard, “ What can I do you for?”
“ Something was tracking me, as I came from the Castle this morning,” Gladriel left out the encounter entirely, “ I’m not sure what it was, but if it will track a man on a Thralz, I figured I should report it.”
“Hot Damn!” came the response, “ I was hopin that somethin would break up the boredom this mornin. I’ll tell the cap’n and we’ll get right after it.”
A sortie into the woods would be a break from the usual patrols around town. If only someone had realized what the occurrence actually presaged, it would have made all the difference. But Gladriel was hoping that the Caravan he was joining would leave today, and joining it filled his mind. He was anxious not to be even a tiny bit tardy, not even if it meant keeping quiet about the exact nature of the threat.
He was sure that his mother had made preparations for him, that being her 'personal business' in Targun. Glad, for once, that no one would think to question a half-elf about anything, he thought no more about the 'monster', and went on, toward his destination.
As he approached the stable, and the attached inn, a familiar feeling grew. This had been his stable for years, and it was as close to an actual home as the boy knew. So much so that Gladriel was stunned to see a destrier in his rented stall. That was his stall, in his stable, and he kept it paid for, out of his allowance. The horse should be either his, or his mother's, and it couldn't be hers. Lady Jana rode a 'daymare', and it was well known among the townspeople. Knowing that his mother had gone back to Byredale for the spring rites, and that she would have left over an hour ago, meant that this must be Gladriel’s warhorse. At the Castle last evening, when they spoke, Lady Jana told him that he would find all in readiness for his journey. She hadn't mentioned a horse, let alone an Elven Destrier. Gladriel looked out at the town, for a moment, just to reassure himself that all else was normal. It had already been a strange enough day.
Gladriel had made his ride to Targun early in the day for several reasons, besides leaving the Castle well before daylight. For one thing, he wanted to reach Targun at first light, when morning shadows lay long across the streets. Then the buildings seemed taller than the two or three stories that Gladriel knew them to be. Shops in most towns had living quarters for their owners attached. Often there were other rooms as well. The various tradesmen dens, Smiths, Tanneries, Bowyer/Fletcher, Mills, and even the Alchemist, were not only places to craft or produce goods, but places to live as well. No tradesman or craftsman would live too far from the goods he made. Morning sounds were just beginning to fill the place, and those coming and going were mostly the denizens who ran Targun's many shops and businesses. This also kept it from being as ‘fragrant’ as a small town could be. Targun, during the day, was awash in smells that his half-elven senses had trouble ignoring. Gladriel had also hoped to arrive before his mother left, but he hadn’t arisen as early as he might have, and so she was probably gone before he made the halfway point from the Castle. It never occurred to the boy that the creature that had found him, was probably seeking his mother instead.
Of all the buildings in Targun, only the Academy was actually tall, and Gladriel could see it, standing in the distance, all five stories gleaming, as the sun found it, this last morning. Today he would not go to the classrooms. Today, he would not spend hours training on the 'quad'. Today, he was off to a 'real' academy, at Lackland. Once there, he would spend four years becoming a Knight of the Realm, in service to the King. Nine years of training was not a real inconvenience to Gladriel. Half-Elves, like him, often lived for centuries. No one, not even he, would ever know that he had saved his mother’s life today.
Of all the buildings in Targun, only the Academy was actually tall, and Gladriel could see it, standing in the distance, all five stories gleaming, as the sun found it, this last morning. Today he would not go to the classrooms. Today, he would not spend hours training on the 'quad'. Today, he was off to a 'real' academy, at Lackland. Once there, he would spend four years becoming a Knight of the Realm, in service to the King. Nine years of training was not a real inconvenience to Gladriel. Half-Elves, like him, often lived for centuries. No one, not even he, would ever know that he had saved his mother’s life today.
His ticket out, that’s what this was, and if, somehow, it didn’t work, at least it was a chance to visit another realm, months away. Gladriel looked forward to the experience with anticipation. If it worked, he would have a life he could understand. He wanted to be a Knight, at least insofar as he understood being such, and he would be the best Knight he could be. He wanted a structured, ordered, role, but one which did not force him to decide for others. Gladriel wanted to be himself, not something he was forced to be. He had no aspirations to 'glory', and didn't even care about such events as meeting royalty. Without a clue as to what he was undertaking, his only concern was that he might, one day, actually meet the King. He had, of course, never met King Egbert, and probably never would, but he would see the King, whenever the Knights passed in review. That was as much as he desired. That, and experiencing a different culture, seeing all the sights, and getting out of Targun. Even the journey was going to be an experience to remember. Only as a very young child had he ever been in a caravan, and he only had scattered memories of that. He was glad to get away from those who had no use for him. He was glad to be starting his life, perhaps even becoming someone of reputation and merit, and being away from the provincial attitudes and prejudices of Samovar. He didn't want, or need a title. He was unaware of the actual duties and responsibilities of a Knight, and had no clue that Royal Knights were entitled by ceremony. He knew that Knights were addressed as Sir, but had never made the connection.
Gladriel felt that he understood why some people took an instant dislike to him. Not everyone did, but some seemed ready to find any excuse not to like him. Some said it was just his appearance. He was taller than your average elf, being just over six feet, and had the good looks that being half-elf usually insured. He had human-looking eyes, that were a deep forest green. His ears were elvish enough that he usually kept his hair long, to cover them. And there was the fact that his hair was probably his best feature. Long and shiny, almost completely straight, with just a hint of curl, even some of the girls he knew envied it. His skin tone was dark, for an elf, and light, for a human. Since he was neither, he could pass in either group. He simply looked heroic, and this, combined with his skill in the lists, was enough to make him a local hero. But there were those who hated him, and he knew it was for his mixed blood. This had to be the reason, because it was so obvious. They seemed to feel his being half-elf was sufficient reason to mistrust and denigrate him. He was so tired of that being the crux of his life. His arrival at the stable meant, to him, the first step out of that life. It was a life he found less than pleasant. He had no idea what the future would bring, but he looked forward to it. How often we fail to see what lies before us.
As Gladriel dismounted at the Stable, a tall blue man came to greet him.
"Kerlock," Gladriel greeted him, " What brings you to the stable so early?"
"Kerlock," Gladriel greeted him, " What brings you to the stable so early?"
" As if you didn't know, Gladdy" only Kerlock called Gladriel 'Gladdy', most of his acquaintances just called him Sam, " Your mother came by, and left a pack horse’s worth of things for you, and instructions that no one but you were to see them."
“Gone to Byredale already, has she?” Gladriel said, “ I knew she’d leave at first light, but it was too far to come, and be here when she left.”
“She was after a coal of fire, she was,” Kerlock returned, “ I can’t imagine why, but she was all in a hurry today,”
“She’s on the council at Byredale,” Gladriel explained, “She’s got to be there when the season changes.”
“Seems to be the seasons do all right on their on,” Kerlock observed, “Can’t think why they would need her to adjudicate.”
Kerlock occasionally would let a word, or observation slip that revealed his intelligence, but it was rare. Like Gladriel, he made ‘fitting in’ a skill, and practiced it constantly. His one failure at this was the place he owned and operated. The finest Inn in Targun, and easily the largest stable, Kerlock had a personal code about the establishment. The stable was clean, cleaner than most inns. Kerlock saw to that, and also saw to his ‘clients’ in that stable. He didn’t discriminate between mounts and those who rode them, since both paid for lodging. The rumor that he could talk to the animals in the stable was probably more true than not. He was also aware that keeping such cleanliness would prevent illness, and that would improve his inn’s reputation. A shrewd business man, Kerlock was also a talented leader and manager. Had he not been a blue man, he probably would have been Lord Mayor of Targun.
Kerlock was a person of mixed parentage, as was Gladriel, which made for an instant friendship, even though they shared only the human part of their heritage. The Blue Man was from a different group than Gladriel knew, something almost alien. It was understandable that Kerlock had come to see Gladriel off to Lackland, but not that Gladriel had supplies for the trip. He hadn't even expected the horse. He'd saved a small bag of silver, over months, to finance his trip, and was glad that he might not need it.
Gladriel was puzzled, wondering what his mother had left, since he was going to Lackland to study, not on vacation, or to be on display. Again, Gladriel failed to understand the path he was taking. Kerlock went to the Stable and fitted the packsaddle to Sharpie. Thralzs were often used as pack animals, so that Sharpie was no stranger to the gear. After this morning’s ride, he probably welcomed it. He had become Gladriel's mount because there were too many pack animals at the Castle. While Kerlock loaded the animal with goods, Gladriel quietly went into near shock.
First were his new clothes, fit for any Lord to wear, and enough to keep him a year or more. Next were the three cloaks, each finer than the last, and two traveling cloaks, one for dry and one for wet. Next was a suit of training armor, finer than any Gladriel had ever owned, and a suit of dress armor. The ‘formal’ armor was at least made by elven artisans, and was better than any his father, the Baron, owned. As if this weren't enough, there was protective wear for the journey. Several ensembles containing a fine light mail, some with leggings that were both fashionable and good armor. With several outfits like this, he would always be protected, whatever the situation. Gladriel began to realize his entire life was changing.
The saddle and Tack were Elven, and of the finest make. Even the bit and bridle were fitted to the Stallion, and the young man was almost awed by them. The gear that accompanied these things was no less fine, and had not Gladriel just spent years in training, he might have been taken by the accessories. As it was, there were other things which captured his attention.
As a knight candidate, Gladriel found the most amazing things were the weapons. First was a flail, one of the 'morning star' varieties, with a handle, chain, and spiked ball. It had a truly odd look, with a long, twisted, handle, and a short chain, that made it almost resemble a mace. Somehow it seemed something from another time and place. He wondered at its origin.
The saddle and Tack were Elven, and of the finest make. Even the bit and bridle were fitted to the Stallion, and the young man was almost awed by them. The gear that accompanied these things was no less fine, and had not Gladriel just spent years in training, he might have been taken by the accessories. As it was, there were other things which captured his attention.
As a knight candidate, Gladriel found the most amazing things were the weapons. First was a flail, one of the 'morning star' varieties, with a handle, chain, and spiked ball. It had a truly odd look, with a long, twisted, handle, and a short chain, that made it almost resemble a mace. Somehow it seemed something from another time and place. He wondered at its origin.
Next Gladriel found a set of javelin, spear, and lance. He was almost upset to find both a short sword, and a broadsword, each too ornate for casual use and obviously to be worn with his dress armor. These would make him far too noticeable. On this trip, the young man wanted to be inconspicuous, not a cynosure. He was glad to see that there was no bow, since his repeating crossbow was a gift from his Elven grandfather and, some said, worth it's weight in silver mithril. It had an inexhaustible supply of magically created bolts. As he helped Kerlock pack the enchanted saddlebags, he noticed that his mother had included a bag of Elven travel rations, and wondered why. He must have said something, or thought it too loudly, as Kerlock answered him, almost at once.
" You know your mother, " he laughed, "She always tries to prepare for any eventuality."
"What's this, then?" Gladriel wondered aloud, having encountered a small box, made neither of stone, wood nor gemstone.
"That would be from your Father, the Baron" Kerlock responded, " I've no clue what it's made from, nor what it contains".
Gladriel had grown up in a Castle full of those older, and closer to the Title, than he was, and that trained him in caution, above all things. He moved to a quiet spot in the stables, where neither he, nor the contents of the box, would be easily observed, and looked well before he opened it. The opening would have been impossible except that it was a 'family lock', one which worked on that series of touches and pressures he had been taught all his life. The box opened in one try, because Gladriel had a good memory and had been teased enough to make him careful in his movements.
Within the box was what could best be described as an amulet on a chain, although the chain was made of some sort of woven black rope and the thing at its end neither moved nor could be detached. It was as if the entire object had been made complete, a single part, which was the entire thing. The end piece was golden, but not gold, and semi-transparent, save for the center, which was opaque blue. The gold and blue were separate, but it was impossible to discern the end of one color and the beginning of the next. Looking at the border between the colors always made it appear that the actual point of color change was either slightly to the right, left, above or below your point of focus. Gladriel was aware that it must be magic, but he was one of those rare people who could not see anything magical. While he could use items that had intrinsic magic, like armor and weapons, he couldn't use any spell, or magic requiring activation. He doubted his father would give him a magic amulet. They, usually, required a spell, or verbal activation. It would be like giving a parachute to a fish.
Having decided that, he surmised that the item must be very valuable. In giving him this, his father had provided him with 'emergency funds', in the form of a salable item. Certainly this was more portable than coinage would have been. He quickly put the necklace on, hid the rope that held it under his clothes, and resolved to wear is constantly, against need. The box would be safe enough in his travel pack, because without its contents it probably was much less valuable. He doubted he would ever sell it, since it was the only thing he could recall having ever received from his father. There was also a letter from his Mother, written in elvish script, in her own hand, and on vellum parchment. Gladriel would need time to read it, since his reading and writing of Elvish had not kept up with his speech. He packed it away for later.
" You know your mother, " he laughed, "She always tries to prepare for any eventuality."
"What's this, then?" Gladriel wondered aloud, having encountered a small box, made neither of stone, wood nor gemstone.
"That would be from your Father, the Baron" Kerlock responded, " I've no clue what it's made from, nor what it contains".
Gladriel had grown up in a Castle full of those older, and closer to the Title, than he was, and that trained him in caution, above all things. He moved to a quiet spot in the stables, where neither he, nor the contents of the box, would be easily observed, and looked well before he opened it. The opening would have been impossible except that it was a 'family lock', one which worked on that series of touches and pressures he had been taught all his life. The box opened in one try, because Gladriel had a good memory and had been teased enough to make him careful in his movements.
Within the box was what could best be described as an amulet on a chain, although the chain was made of some sort of woven black rope and the thing at its end neither moved nor could be detached. It was as if the entire object had been made complete, a single part, which was the entire thing. The end piece was golden, but not gold, and semi-transparent, save for the center, which was opaque blue. The gold and blue were separate, but it was impossible to discern the end of one color and the beginning of the next. Looking at the border between the colors always made it appear that the actual point of color change was either slightly to the right, left, above or below your point of focus. Gladriel was aware that it must be magic, but he was one of those rare people who could not see anything magical. While he could use items that had intrinsic magic, like armor and weapons, he couldn't use any spell, or magic requiring activation. He doubted his father would give him a magic amulet. They, usually, required a spell, or verbal activation. It would be like giving a parachute to a fish.
Having decided that, he surmised that the item must be very valuable. In giving him this, his father had provided him with 'emergency funds', in the form of a salable item. Certainly this was more portable than coinage would have been. He quickly put the necklace on, hid the rope that held it under his clothes, and resolved to wear is constantly, against need. The box would be safe enough in his travel pack, because without its contents it probably was much less valuable. He doubted he would ever sell it, since it was the only thing he could recall having ever received from his father. There was also a letter from his Mother, written in elvish script, in her own hand, and on vellum parchment. Gladriel would need time to read it, since his reading and writing of Elvish had not kept up with his speech. He packed it away for later.
"What puzzles me," Kerlock finally remarked, as he finished his task, " Is how your mother paid for all this on her allowance."
"My mother has her own wealth, unlike the other mothers," Gladriel answered, "She's Elven royalty, has some inheritance, and other claims to wealth, among her people."
"This is some inheritance," Kerlock returned, " and that's for sure. I would never have believed that she had this kind of wealth."
"It probably came from her relatives and friends," Gladriel said, "Elves do that kind of thing, when the occasion arises."
"Just remember that you can get stud fees from the stallion," Kerlock told him, " He's probably worth more as a stud than Targun is as a town."
Gladriel began cleaning his sword, that he had used earlier, and stopped, again nonplussed.
“ Kerlock, not to change the subject,” he said, changing the subject, “ But what kind of blood is this?” He indicated the sword held.
“ Let me see that,” Kerlock demanded, taking the weapon, “Where did you find goblin blood, in Samovar?”
“Inside a Goblin,” Gladriel confessed, and then shared the morning’s happenings with his only friend in Targun. Kerlock was not amused.
“I came to Targun almost a century ago,” Kerlock said, “ To escape the creatures of the mountains. Most people here don’t even believe they are real, because they’re so rare. But to find one outside of town, and a Goblin, at that. Those things travel in bands, and never alone. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Gladriel was more concerned with the impression he would make, in all this finery, than with a band of Goblins, who would easily be dispatched by the town patrol. The last thing he wanted was to be 'noticed' in the Caravan. He resolved to wear the 'traveling clothes' instead of one of the 'suits', so that he would be less conspicuous. And he would tell no one else of his ‘goblin encounter’. Had he been more experienced, older, or wiser, it might have occurred to him that there was much about his mother he did not know, and that a ‘band’ of Goblins would hardly have been traveling alone.
2. A Caravan to remember
Gladriel wasted no time, then, getting into his 'traveling clothes', now that he had some. It was so exciting to have protection, that looked like normal clothes, and could be worn for the entire trip. Changing in the stable was no problem, since it was cleaner than most of the town’s other inns. Gladriel was glad of Kerlock’s regard for the animals he boarded, and for his clients in the inn, which kept the accommodations uniformly above average. Changing and getting mounted were the work of only a moment, and it was time to ‘sally forth’. The Knight-to-be forgot that when one sallied forth, it was usually to do something difficult, or dangerous, or both.
Putting on his new protection was the rest of the rite of passage, which had begun with the stallion. It caused him to feel more adult than he ever had before, without being showy, or excessively noticeable. Somehow it made the entire city of Targun, which the Caravansary called a village, look almost provincial. He felt like he had grown, in the short time he had been in the stables. The streets, only a few of which were paved, looked more narrow, and the buildings seemed a trifle smaller, somehow. The shops, homes, workshops, the Tavern and Inn, all of which used to be large in his eyes, seemed to recede. He would learn, over the coming weeks and months, that battle did that. It simply had a way of altering those who experienced it.
Now he was thinking of the world before him, his perspective continuing to change. Of course, it could have been that the sun was rising, and the shadows were shorter. The Academy was suddenly just a College in a small town, albeit one with a solid reputation for martial skills. No Academy trained its cadets better in unarmed combat than the one at Targun, it was almost legendary. With a last check, to make sure the thralz's lead was hooked on his new saddle, and a quick glance, to make sure his new amulet was safely concealed, Gladriel mounted. Perhaps, had he known that Targun would not, again, be free of monsters for decades, Gladriel might have tried to exchange passage for a later group. Maybe he would have felt that he needed to protect the place where he had grown up. Probably not, because it had never protected him, and he was tired of being there.
He was ready to ride out and join the caravan, but not without a moment of unease, at the prospect of spending day after day in the saddle. He was an accomplished rider, but the Thralz had a smoother gait than a horse and he knew that he would spend a week or more getting accustomed to horsemanship. Still, he felt at home on his mount almost at once, and put his worries aside. He had enough to worry about just being half-elf. He suspected that getting used to the smells and sounds of the entourage would be harder than getting used to riding. Getting to the Caravan park, however, was a matter of only a few minutes ride, and the route was well known to everyone, especially a young would-be Knight, who had grown up seeing one after another caravan depart from Targun, year round. Those who traveled by caravan, and the caravansery themselves, were good customers, one and all. Everyone had some last minute ‘thing’ that they were sure to need, but had forgotten. This particular Caravan was a regular excursion, from Targun to Chevalier, and back again, sometimes three times a year. It was familiar to Gladriel, and he’d bought passage as soon as his letter arrived. He wanted to be in the company of people he at least knew, and found the members of this group to be sociable and less likely given to bad habits.
The caravan was led by a tall, muscular person who was known, locally, only as Hodan. Without clear origin, and since no one was absolutely certain of his complete parentage, this Caravan Leader was generally just regarded as the boss, with no modifier. Some groups had a ‘Master’ or Captain, and some had retired officers, but Hoden was just ‘the boss’, even though that title carried more weight than the others. Gladriel knew the man had to be learned. His knowledge of the world, and the contents thereof, bespoke someone who had studied, somewhere, if not anywhere anyone could name. His awareness of rank, and air of authority told of some background in the service. The collection of aides and assistants was as myriad as the places any Caravan had ever travelled, and all of them regarded him as a leader of the first order. Hodan made his regular trips, from Samovar to Chevalier, owing primarily to the market for the 'pitch black' nut brew, finest when harvested from the mountains of southern Samovar. The closer the arbors were to the region of dense trees and rain, (which was called simply 'the tropics') the finer the nuts. Nuts from the mountains within the tropics were more expensive than their weight in electrum, and harder to find. With only one real city, Bobuktu, the tropics were seldom visited by anyone not having business there. Even the Archduke Archibald, of Bobuktu, was a figure of legend.
Hoden made a good living on the Nut trade, but he augmented his cargo, with whatever novel thing Samovar might have to sell. This trip was to be varied, because the winter, even one as mild as was the normal for Samovar, still made for time to spend at the carving and magic tables. Making items less functional, and more for artistic enjoyment was profitable. There would be everything. From toys and Fireworks, to fine carved furniture, as well as statuary and paintings, ornate glass and pottery, and some furs and cloth, for any who be interested. It was a rich load for Hoden, and he knew it. He'd brought four extra caravan guards, just for the return trip. How he always knew the nature of his cargo, before even leaving Lackland, was a subject of conjecture, both among those who knew him, and those who didn't. What Gladriel found most likable about Hodan was that he didn't seem to care about the half-elven thing.
Gladriel took his time passing the various liftants, mules, Oxen, Thralz, komels and other beasts, scouting for something unusual, but never locating it. It was only slightly worthy of note that someone had sold a fine looking pair of Hippogriffs, caged, but obviously trained to ride. Hoden would probably turn them to a massive profit, once in Lackland. Such steeds were rarer than Griffins, with a greater carrying capacity, but were only caught and trained far to the North, above the Great Plateau. Still, there was something, a difference that he couldn't quite place. It was as if he sensed the future, it worried him. It didn’t seem to be among the passengers, or even the various cargo loads, but it was there, nonetheless. So many things, and so much variety, made the caravan an adventure just to ride past. There was a section where the very rich had their caravan wagons, sequestered for privacy and security, and among them was a cargo wagon with guards. Certainly worthy of note, but still not the source of that ‘out of tune’ feeling Gladriel was experiencing. Caravan wagons, whether for personal transport or for hauling goods, were magicked. Their wheels and suspension wouldn’t fail easily, and the sides and tops were reinforced in similar fashion. Still, something ‘new’ was playing on this journey, like a fragment of a tune, heard on the wind. The young man passed toward the head of the line, trying to miss nothing, but not wanting to seem too interested.
As the beasts of burden and the riding animals finally passed behind him, Gladriel found himself looking at the huge creatures that pulled the main wagons of Hoden himself. Called Oliphants, they were over twice the height of a man, and wider than most wagons. Trained and nourished magically, these creatures were not cheap. Why Hoden had chosen to bring them was something of a mystery, but not the source of Gladriel’s unease. He was surprised that the Tents were loaded and everything was ready to go, because Hoden's Caravan usually departed on First Day, for luck.
The caravan was led by a tall, muscular person who was known, locally, only as Hodan. Without clear origin, and since no one was absolutely certain of his complete parentage, this Caravan Leader was generally just regarded as the boss, with no modifier. Some groups had a ‘Master’ or Captain, and some had retired officers, but Hoden was just ‘the boss’, even though that title carried more weight than the others. Gladriel knew the man had to be learned. His knowledge of the world, and the contents thereof, bespoke someone who had studied, somewhere, if not anywhere anyone could name. His awareness of rank, and air of authority told of some background in the service. The collection of aides and assistants was as myriad as the places any Caravan had ever travelled, and all of them regarded him as a leader of the first order. Hodan made his regular trips, from Samovar to Chevalier, owing primarily to the market for the 'pitch black' nut brew, finest when harvested from the mountains of southern Samovar. The closer the arbors were to the region of dense trees and rain, (which was called simply 'the tropics') the finer the nuts. Nuts from the mountains within the tropics were more expensive than their weight in electrum, and harder to find. With only one real city, Bobuktu, the tropics were seldom visited by anyone not having business there. Even the Archduke Archibald, of Bobuktu, was a figure of legend.
Hoden made a good living on the Nut trade, but he augmented his cargo, with whatever novel thing Samovar might have to sell. This trip was to be varied, because the winter, even one as mild as was the normal for Samovar, still made for time to spend at the carving and magic tables. Making items less functional, and more for artistic enjoyment was profitable. There would be everything. From toys and Fireworks, to fine carved furniture, as well as statuary and paintings, ornate glass and pottery, and some furs and cloth, for any who be interested. It was a rich load for Hoden, and he knew it. He'd brought four extra caravan guards, just for the return trip. How he always knew the nature of his cargo, before even leaving Lackland, was a subject of conjecture, both among those who knew him, and those who didn't. What Gladriel found most likable about Hodan was that he didn't seem to care about the half-elven thing.
Gladriel took his time passing the various liftants, mules, Oxen, Thralz, komels and other beasts, scouting for something unusual, but never locating it. It was only slightly worthy of note that someone had sold a fine looking pair of Hippogriffs, caged, but obviously trained to ride. Hoden would probably turn them to a massive profit, once in Lackland. Such steeds were rarer than Griffins, with a greater carrying capacity, but were only caught and trained far to the North, above the Great Plateau. Still, there was something, a difference that he couldn't quite place. It was as if he sensed the future, it worried him. It didn’t seem to be among the passengers, or even the various cargo loads, but it was there, nonetheless. So many things, and so much variety, made the caravan an adventure just to ride past. There was a section where the very rich had their caravan wagons, sequestered for privacy and security, and among them was a cargo wagon with guards. Certainly worthy of note, but still not the source of that ‘out of tune’ feeling Gladriel was experiencing. Caravan wagons, whether for personal transport or for hauling goods, were magicked. Their wheels and suspension wouldn’t fail easily, and the sides and tops were reinforced in similar fashion. Still, something ‘new’ was playing on this journey, like a fragment of a tune, heard on the wind. The young man passed toward the head of the line, trying to miss nothing, but not wanting to seem too interested.
As the beasts of burden and the riding animals finally passed behind him, Gladriel found himself looking at the huge creatures that pulled the main wagons of Hoden himself. Called Oliphants, they were over twice the height of a man, and wider than most wagons. Trained and nourished magically, these creatures were not cheap. Why Hoden had chosen to bring them was something of a mystery, but not the source of Gladriel’s unease. He was surprised that the Tents were loaded and everything was ready to go, because Hoden's Caravan usually departed on First Day, for luck.
"Are we leaving on third day then?" Gladriel asked the first familiar face he saw, a Skinner named Maney.
"Unless Hodan finds a way to wind back the clock." Maney shot back,
"There's rumor afoot that someone is bringin' a flock of tearns over from Seacliff, and Hodan wants these Hippogriffs to beat them to Market."
Gladriel understood instantly, since Tearns were huge flying carnivores that could be trained to carry warriors into battle, and were deadly fighters themselves. A flock of Tearns would surely depress the market for not only Griffins but Hippogriffs as well, and Hoden was not fond of depressed markets.
"Gladriel!" Hoden's voice came from beyond the big wagon, "Is that you?, I hope it is because otherwise you'll be riding that...," Hoden emerged from beyond the huge caravan wagon and was speechless for an instant. " Where in all the realms did you get that Goldenwood Destrier?"
"My mother's people", Gladriel answered, suddenly aware of just how much horse he was riding. " She surprised me with him."
"What's his name?" Hoden shot back.
"I just got him this morning, I've no idea. I'm hoping there's a letter or something from Her Grace Jana that will tell me more." Gladriel was caught flat-footed, having failed to identify the animal and, as such, unprepared that he needed to know it's name.
"No need for that," Hoden reassured him, " I'll ask, and tell you, right off."
" I'd be honored if you did," Gladriel answered at once, since the art of learning an Elven Horse's name was not common and usually cost a pretty penny.
" Dismount and stand at his head, he knows you and will be easier to talk to." Hoden explained.
Gladriel wasted no time, since he had never seen this done, and moreover was greatly pleased that it was being done here, at the beginning of the Caravan journey. The superstitious drivers, and lesser guards, would surely see the name learning as a good omen, which would make for a more pleasant journey all round.
"Unless Hodan finds a way to wind back the clock." Maney shot back,
"There's rumor afoot that someone is bringin' a flock of tearns over from Seacliff, and Hodan wants these Hippogriffs to beat them to Market."
Gladriel understood instantly, since Tearns were huge flying carnivores that could be trained to carry warriors into battle, and were deadly fighters themselves. A flock of Tearns would surely depress the market for not only Griffins but Hippogriffs as well, and Hoden was not fond of depressed markets.
"Gladriel!" Hoden's voice came from beyond the big wagon, "Is that you?, I hope it is because otherwise you'll be riding that...," Hoden emerged from beyond the huge caravan wagon and was speechless for an instant. " Where in all the realms did you get that Goldenwood Destrier?"
"My mother's people", Gladriel answered, suddenly aware of just how much horse he was riding. " She surprised me with him."
"What's his name?" Hoden shot back.
"I just got him this morning, I've no idea. I'm hoping there's a letter or something from Her Grace Jana that will tell me more." Gladriel was caught flat-footed, having failed to identify the animal and, as such, unprepared that he needed to know it's name.
"No need for that," Hoden reassured him, " I'll ask, and tell you, right off."
" I'd be honored if you did," Gladriel answered at once, since the art of learning an Elven Horse's name was not common and usually cost a pretty penny.
" Dismount and stand at his head, he knows you and will be easier to talk to." Hoden explained.
Gladriel wasted no time, since he had never seen this done, and moreover was greatly pleased that it was being done here, at the beginning of the Caravan journey. The superstitious drivers, and lesser guards, would surely see the name learning as a good omen, which would make for a more pleasant journey all round.
Hoden approached the massive horse with confidence, and an expression of goodwill that seemed to extend into the air around him. Gladriel suspected magic at once, but could not tell for certain, because of his magic blindness. The steady stream of calm, quiet conversation, inaudible to any but the horse, and the gentle touch that accompanied the words seemed to bespeak a bond between the grizzled Boss, and the magnificent warhorse he faced. It seemed to take a long time, but in only a few minutes, Hoden stepped away with a broad smile.
"You're riding Waekahn", he announced, " Son of Haephilis, from Goldenwood itself".
Gladriel was set back again, another massive surprise, on this day of bewilderment. Haephilis was famous, and as his son, Waekahn would be a warhorse of inestimable value. How, and why, his mother had procured the creature Gladriel could only guess, barely. He began to wonder about the armor and weapons he had received. Was he magicked, like a real Knight? That would mean that someone had cast an augury and he was at the center of it. He decided to keep that to himself, as the omens for the journey were good, so far. He did not want to risk stirring up the dark superstitious fears that came with auguries, and the associated events. He wondered, briefly, if the amulet, he so recently acquired, was yet another indication of things to come. He devoutly hoped not.
As if learning the horse's name had been a sort of signal, The Boss suddenly started everyone in his charge, into motion. Within a matter of moments, all the wagons were beginning to form a line, all the loaded beasts were filing into order, and the various travelers were finding places to stand, all in preparation to move. Since no normal person could walk as long, and as far, as one of the animals pulling the loads, everyone would ride, at least occasionally. Gladriel took a moment, to greet and introduce himself to Waekahn, as he knew he should do, before joining the procession himself. The last to form up were the Guards, each waiting to see how the travelers would group, before finding their proper place in the perimeter. Those members of the Caravan who had made the trip before, found this procedure easy, as did Gladriel. He had been present at more than one departure, although never as a traveler, mounted in the line. It occurred to Gladriel that his horse must be making him an object of attention, a thing he would really like to avoid.
Suddenly ill at ease, Gladriel began to softly sing an old song, one traditionally used as a method of passing the time, during a journey. He'd learned it from an elder Elf years ago, when his family had gone to Lackland, for some celebration he could no longer recall. Surprised at even remembering the song, Gladriel continued to sing it as the Caravan moved off. He quickly fell into the movement and rhythm of the march, as the song soothed him, his mount, and even those around him. The Caravan to Lackland was underway. Gladriel had the feeling he was finally escaping something, but had no clue what it might be. He was, in so many ways, correct.
"You're riding Waekahn", he announced, " Son of Haephilis, from Goldenwood itself".
Gladriel was set back again, another massive surprise, on this day of bewilderment. Haephilis was famous, and as his son, Waekahn would be a warhorse of inestimable value. How, and why, his mother had procured the creature Gladriel could only guess, barely. He began to wonder about the armor and weapons he had received. Was he magicked, like a real Knight? That would mean that someone had cast an augury and he was at the center of it. He decided to keep that to himself, as the omens for the journey were good, so far. He did not want to risk stirring up the dark superstitious fears that came with auguries, and the associated events. He wondered, briefly, if the amulet, he so recently acquired, was yet another indication of things to come. He devoutly hoped not.
As if learning the horse's name had been a sort of signal, The Boss suddenly started everyone in his charge, into motion. Within a matter of moments, all the wagons were beginning to form a line, all the loaded beasts were filing into order, and the various travelers were finding places to stand, all in preparation to move. Since no normal person could walk as long, and as far, as one of the animals pulling the loads, everyone would ride, at least occasionally. Gladriel took a moment, to greet and introduce himself to Waekahn, as he knew he should do, before joining the procession himself. The last to form up were the Guards, each waiting to see how the travelers would group, before finding their proper place in the perimeter. Those members of the Caravan who had made the trip before, found this procedure easy, as did Gladriel. He had been present at more than one departure, although never as a traveler, mounted in the line. It occurred to Gladriel that his horse must be making him an object of attention, a thing he would really like to avoid.
Suddenly ill at ease, Gladriel began to softly sing an old song, one traditionally used as a method of passing the time, during a journey. He'd learned it from an elder Elf years ago, when his family had gone to Lackland, for some celebration he could no longer recall. Surprised at even remembering the song, Gladriel continued to sing it as the Caravan moved off. He quickly fell into the movement and rhythm of the march, as the song soothed him, his mount, and even those around him. The Caravan to Lackland was underway. Gladriel had the feeling he was finally escaping something, but had no clue what it might be. He was, in so many ways, correct.
3. Leaving on an Elf Horse
The first day of the march was a series of settling in experiences. Finding the pace, learning how to move within the ordered ranks, so as to observe the road. Even the process of eating and drinking, with only breakfast and dinner served while stationary, required adjustment. It was another world for Gladriel, but he was quick to adapt. He found the pace leisurely, the scenery enjoyable and the company good. His scouting was an automatic reflex, learned over years, and no effort. He had seen caravans with characters whom he would have avoided, but this group had none. There was no one of whom Gladriel need beware. That made it almost a pleasure to be traveling, if one left out the constant horseback riding, lack of real diversion, perpetual smell, noise of pack animals, sense of going too slowly toward a much-desired destination, and lack of privy facilities. That last was something that required real adjustment. Gladriel had at least three incidents in the first day during which he was deeply thankful that he was not a woman. He was also glad that his protective gear was not too complex to remove, and replace, since time was of the essence. The evening was a time during which everyone took a walk in the woods, either with members of the same sex, or alone. Gladriel chose to go alone, and was amazed to find that there was a creature watching the Caravan, from a distant perch. It seriously upset his toilet.
Being magic blind was that handicap which had made Gladriel more observant than most. He was never able to 'sense' the presence of another creature, magically, nor could he 'scry', to see if he were being observed. So he scouted. No magic, just a careful, watchful, eye and a sense of the ‘melody’, of nature. Anything that disrupted the normal ‘tune’ of the world around him, gave Gladriel pause. Now his automatic exercise of a trained skill, had put him in an awkward situation. He fell back on his training again, to report the creature, and not even try to disturb it. It was large and appeared to be some sort of primate, but not natural to the area.
When he returned to the camp proper, Gladriel told Hoden what he had observed, at once. To his surprise, Hoden went to a member of the expedition and had that person use a seeing crystal to make sure of security. In a matter of only a moment, six of the senior Caravan Guards quietly faded into the woods. As the camp made preparations to sleep, Gladriel noticed that wards had been set, not usual for a camp only a day out of Targun. It was much later when the Senior Guards returned, and one was injured. Gladriel lost some of his sense of security at that, since the Guards in question were in no way easy to injure. Gladriel decided to sleep in his mail shirt, with his mace close at hand The night passed, not without dreams, but at least without interruption.
Gladriel was not surprised to hear the rumor mill running at breakfast, and it took longer than it should have for the caravan to get underway. Oddly, fear seemed to have fueled the appetite of many. Travelers were armed and looking about, and the Guards moved in a pattern to prevent any from being in front or behind for too long. It seemed that everyone was ready for something to happen, and that included Hoden. He was carrying what was clearly a magical weapon of arcane origin. It was something bladed on both ends, with a buckler designed in the center of what otherwise would have been a staff. Gladriel found himself looking for any signs he could spot, from birds to moving game, in order to see an otherwise hidden adversary. The old growth of the forest began to look sinister, and every leaf was a creature waiting to kill and destroy. The trainee, for such Gladriel was, found a new companion, on his journey. Fear was riding on his shoulders, and wearing him down. Vines became snakes, and bushes were hiding places for all manner of fantastic beasts. Finally he had to resort to another song, under his breath at first, to relax. It was one of his father's favorite marching songs, about bravery and resolve, and diligence. Eventually, almost as if the song were motivating them, those Guards who could sing, or hum, took up the melody, beginning to move with more of a deliberate confidence, while the drivers and travelers began to act as though they were less worried. Whistling and humming, and some singing along, it spread to most of the people in the caravan. Gladriel could not help but reflect on the positive effect of a traditional marching song, when it came to bolstering confidence. That didn't mean he would fail to query Hoden, after the wagons halted.
The train continued until much later than even the Guards expected, but it turned out that Hoden was aware of a location that was, actually, slightly defensible. This was hardly surprising, since the man traveled this route three times per year, and had for decades. There were ruins of some sort, a dwelling, or perhaps a small temple. The ruins were ancient, in their way, being probably three thousand years old, but much newer than the central building, which stood like a new construction. Those constructions which predated Mankind were subject to no decay, and always looked new. There was room to congregate, and enough cleared space to place wards, well away from that main grouping. With the availability of cover, that could be used by archers, and a raised platform in the center of the clearing, as well, the location was much better than a simple 'camp along the road.' Gladriel took advantage of the late meal to find Hoden and see if he could learn anything.
Gladriel was not surprised to hear the rumor mill running at breakfast, and it took longer than it should have for the caravan to get underway. Oddly, fear seemed to have fueled the appetite of many. Travelers were armed and looking about, and the Guards moved in a pattern to prevent any from being in front or behind for too long. It seemed that everyone was ready for something to happen, and that included Hoden. He was carrying what was clearly a magical weapon of arcane origin. It was something bladed on both ends, with a buckler designed in the center of what otherwise would have been a staff. Gladriel found himself looking for any signs he could spot, from birds to moving game, in order to see an otherwise hidden adversary. The old growth of the forest began to look sinister, and every leaf was a creature waiting to kill and destroy. The trainee, for such Gladriel was, found a new companion, on his journey. Fear was riding on his shoulders, and wearing him down. Vines became snakes, and bushes were hiding places for all manner of fantastic beasts. Finally he had to resort to another song, under his breath at first, to relax. It was one of his father's favorite marching songs, about bravery and resolve, and diligence. Eventually, almost as if the song were motivating them, those Guards who could sing, or hum, took up the melody, beginning to move with more of a deliberate confidence, while the drivers and travelers began to act as though they were less worried. Whistling and humming, and some singing along, it spread to most of the people in the caravan. Gladriel could not help but reflect on the positive effect of a traditional marching song, when it came to bolstering confidence. That didn't mean he would fail to query Hoden, after the wagons halted.
The train continued until much later than even the Guards expected, but it turned out that Hoden was aware of a location that was, actually, slightly defensible. This was hardly surprising, since the man traveled this route three times per year, and had for decades. There were ruins of some sort, a dwelling, or perhaps a small temple. The ruins were ancient, in their way, being probably three thousand years old, but much newer than the central building, which stood like a new construction. Those constructions which predated Mankind were subject to no decay, and always looked new. There was room to congregate, and enough cleared space to place wards, well away from that main grouping. With the availability of cover, that could be used by archers, and a raised platform in the center of the clearing, as well, the location was much better than a simple 'camp along the road.' Gladriel took advantage of the late meal to find Hoden and see if he could learn anything.
"So, it would seem that all goes well," Gladriel opened, hoping that he would receive affirmation.
"As well as a Caravan can be," he answered, "When it's being followed."
"Why?" Gladriel asked, before he thought, "What can we be carrying that anyone wants badly enough to stalk us?"
" We've yet to determine that," Hoden evaded, "But we know that it must be important. That was a Blood Monkey you spotted yesterday. Thanks for that, by the way."
"As well as a Caravan can be," he answered, "When it's being followed."
"Why?" Gladriel asked, before he thought, "What can we be carrying that anyone wants badly enough to stalk us?"
" We've yet to determine that," Hoden evaded, "But we know that it must be important. That was a Blood Monkey you spotted yesterday. Thanks for that, by the way."
" Blood Monkeys don't come cheap," Gladriel noted, "Neither do their Handlers."
"Let's hope that the Ferryman knows that," Hoden answered, "When he charges them passage over the river. Handler as well."
Gladriel realized that the Guards who went out had faced a pack of trained Blood Monkeys and their handler, and in the woods at that. He was suddenly impressed that only one had been injured, and none killed. Blood Monkeys were one of those monsters that many considered a myth, but Gladriel's father, the Baron, had a skull of one that he had killed. That was a tale Gladriel had heard, often enough that he wondered if he would sleep this night. The creatures were at home in the trees, had claws on every limb, huge teeth, and little, if any, fear. They would leap on prey, and could hear, smell, and see, better than any person. The skull was larger than Gladriel's chest. It was used as an end table, with a short wooden riser beneath it. Even with his half-Elven sight and hearing, Gladriel knew himself no match for one of the creatures in single combat. Not without some sort of magic, he wasn't.
During the next few days, Gladriel was able to spot various creatures, of the unfamiliar sort, in the rocks and trees, some distance from the Caravan. It was usually after camp had been made, but, after a while, it happened while moving, during the day. Never slow to pass the information to Hoden, he saw that, in almost every case, the spy or spies would be dealt with. Only one time was his message to Hodan different.
"There's a corpse with one of my crossbow bolts in it, off to the left among those hawthorn bushes," he told Hoden.
" I'll send someone for the bolt," Hoden answered, " You just watch for more." Hoden knew how to marshall his assets, and wasn’t going to risk the best scout in the Caravan without necessity.
Gladriel was not reassured when his crossbow ammunition came back stained with some ichor he had never seen. He had begun using bolts that were magicked, instead of the ones his crossbow created, because the magicked bolts he had were fearsome. They had cost, not silver, but gold, and had come from Magic Isle. Such ammunition was rare, but under the circumstances, it seemed worth it. He knew that the heart shot he’d dealt the unknown avian beast had been a huge stroke of luck, but still, it made him feel less useless.
The days turned into a week, and then more, but still the spying eyes persisted. The route would have been a sylvan delight, but for that. Huge trees and meadows ripe with spring flowers, everything newly green and full of the heady perfume of life. In the distance, the smallish mountains that divided Samovar from Wayne. To the South, lower, flatter, lands that were normally alive with birds. Passing this beauty, spoiled by creatures who should have been myths, or dead, was depressing, but the road went by. Finally the Caravan approached Crossroads, a place where the Old Road crossed the High Road they were using. It was barely more than a trading post, with a few buildings, inhabitants who made a fair living in trade, and a single inn. The trader there always liked to see Hoden arrive. It meant Travelers, who would stay a night at the Inn, and perhaps buy something from the trading post.
The settlement was a short distance toward Targun from the actual crossroads, since the area where the two roads crossed, was magical to the point of being uncomfortable for long endurance, let alone sleeping. It disturbed the mind and caused nightmares. It was, perhaps, a mixing of the magics of each road. All roads were, to some extent, magic. They would have decayed away, had they not been so.
The Caravan was called to a halt unexpectedly, as it approached that point in the road where the small village should have appeared. Gladriel, with his exceptional observational skills, was instantly armed, and not just with a crossbow. He had a sword in his hand, and did not even remember drawing it. Something was very wrong up ahead. As the armed Guards and Scouts surveyed ahead, word was passed for the travelers and drivers to armor up, which, it turned out was a waste of effort. Every person in the group was already in that state, and had weapon in hand as well. It would seem that Gladriel had become a person to watch. As soon and he drew his sword, people began to ready themselves. Gladriel, for his part, was no longer a novice, but had gained a sense of that ability called ‘battle readiness’ by Veterans.
"Let's hope that the Ferryman knows that," Hoden answered, "When he charges them passage over the river. Handler as well."
Gladriel realized that the Guards who went out had faced a pack of trained Blood Monkeys and their handler, and in the woods at that. He was suddenly impressed that only one had been injured, and none killed. Blood Monkeys were one of those monsters that many considered a myth, but Gladriel's father, the Baron, had a skull of one that he had killed. That was a tale Gladriel had heard, often enough that he wondered if he would sleep this night. The creatures were at home in the trees, had claws on every limb, huge teeth, and little, if any, fear. They would leap on prey, and could hear, smell, and see, better than any person. The skull was larger than Gladriel's chest. It was used as an end table, with a short wooden riser beneath it. Even with his half-Elven sight and hearing, Gladriel knew himself no match for one of the creatures in single combat. Not without some sort of magic, he wasn't.
During the next few days, Gladriel was able to spot various creatures, of the unfamiliar sort, in the rocks and trees, some distance from the Caravan. It was usually after camp had been made, but, after a while, it happened while moving, during the day. Never slow to pass the information to Hoden, he saw that, in almost every case, the spy or spies would be dealt with. Only one time was his message to Hodan different.
"There's a corpse with one of my crossbow bolts in it, off to the left among those hawthorn bushes," he told Hoden.
" I'll send someone for the bolt," Hoden answered, " You just watch for more." Hoden knew how to marshall his assets, and wasn’t going to risk the best scout in the Caravan without necessity.
Gladriel was not reassured when his crossbow ammunition came back stained with some ichor he had never seen. He had begun using bolts that were magicked, instead of the ones his crossbow created, because the magicked bolts he had were fearsome. They had cost, not silver, but gold, and had come from Magic Isle. Such ammunition was rare, but under the circumstances, it seemed worth it. He knew that the heart shot he’d dealt the unknown avian beast had been a huge stroke of luck, but still, it made him feel less useless.
The days turned into a week, and then more, but still the spying eyes persisted. The route would have been a sylvan delight, but for that. Huge trees and meadows ripe with spring flowers, everything newly green and full of the heady perfume of life. In the distance, the smallish mountains that divided Samovar from Wayne. To the South, lower, flatter, lands that were normally alive with birds. Passing this beauty, spoiled by creatures who should have been myths, or dead, was depressing, but the road went by. Finally the Caravan approached Crossroads, a place where the Old Road crossed the High Road they were using. It was barely more than a trading post, with a few buildings, inhabitants who made a fair living in trade, and a single inn. The trader there always liked to see Hoden arrive. It meant Travelers, who would stay a night at the Inn, and perhaps buy something from the trading post.
The settlement was a short distance toward Targun from the actual crossroads, since the area where the two roads crossed, was magical to the point of being uncomfortable for long endurance, let alone sleeping. It disturbed the mind and caused nightmares. It was, perhaps, a mixing of the magics of each road. All roads were, to some extent, magic. They would have decayed away, had they not been so.
The Caravan was called to a halt unexpectedly, as it approached that point in the road where the small village should have appeared. Gladriel, with his exceptional observational skills, was instantly armed, and not just with a crossbow. He had a sword in his hand, and did not even remember drawing it. Something was very wrong up ahead. As the armed Guards and Scouts surveyed ahead, word was passed for the travelers and drivers to armor up, which, it turned out was a waste of effort. Every person in the group was already in that state, and had weapon in hand as well. It would seem that Gladriel had become a person to watch. As soon and he drew his sword, people began to ready themselves. Gladriel, for his part, was no longer a novice, but had gained a sense of that ability called ‘battle readiness’ by Veterans.
The smell had helped, faint though it was. It was a mixing, the scent of burned wood, the sickly sweet miasma of things newly dead, and it hung in the air, just noticeable, to Gladriel’s finely honed senses. As the Caravan cautiously approached the area, there could be seen the remains of homes, a small forge, and the skeleton of both the inn, and the trading post. Nothing moved, and there were only partial bodies to be seen. The silence of that death, was no deeper than the silence in the Caravan. Even the animals seemed aware of something unnatural having visited this place. Gladriel sought vainly for any sign of life, and was unable to find anything natural. He did, however, notice something unnatural. Waekahn cantered up to Hoden, as if reading Gladriel's mind.
"Over there," beyond the remains of the trading post was a pile of debris, "That's wrong, it shouldn't be there." Gladriel finished his remark to Hoden, who looked with interest.
"Ragorhn," he spoke quietly, but a scout seemed almost to materialize at his side, " Take a careful look at that pile of rubble, but be what you would call careful. It seems out of place to our watcher here." he indicated Gladriel.
"Aye, and you can spend that in a store," Ragorhn returned, " Everything but that pile is burned. There be something evil gathered there."
While Ragorhn was carefully moving, to see what he could see, Hoden signaled his best men to gather in the direction of the pile. The other Scouts were carefully scrying about, in order to assure that no trap had been set, with the rubble as bait. Ragorhn was using hand signals to send information to those gathering. Gladriel had a sudden epiphany, from his training at the Academy. The hand signals reminded him of something learned there. He moved to a location where the Rubble was just hidden, but not too distant. He reassured himself that he was not just avoiding the battle, because he really felt he needed to make sure that his training was nothing more than paranoia. Besides, his training had kept him alive twice already.
"Ragorhn," he spoke quietly, but a scout seemed almost to materialize at his side, " Take a careful look at that pile of rubble, but be what you would call careful. It seems out of place to our watcher here." he indicated Gladriel.
"Aye, and you can spend that in a store," Ragorhn returned, " Everything but that pile is burned. There be something evil gathered there."
While Ragorhn was carefully moving, to see what he could see, Hoden signaled his best men to gather in the direction of the pile. The other Scouts were carefully scrying about, in order to assure that no trap had been set, with the rubble as bait. Ragorhn was using hand signals to send information to those gathering. Gladriel had a sudden epiphany, from his training at the Academy. The hand signals reminded him of something learned there. He moved to a location where the Rubble was just hidden, but not too distant. He reassured himself that he was not just avoiding the battle, because he really felt he needed to make sure that his training was nothing more than paranoia. Besides, his training had kept him alive twice already.
Once he was clear of the main force, he scouted as well as he was able, looking for high spots in the earth. Most he found were natural, one was not. He spoke to his steed.
"Waekahn," he was surprised at the fear in his own voice, " I need to run my lance into that patch of ground, as soon as we can arrange it."
To his surprise, Waekahn understood exactly what he wanted, and took him to Sharpie, for the long, magic, lance. Gladriel took it, set it in the saddle, and made ready, as if for a joust. Waekahn then began a gentle acceleration, toward the spot in the ground that Gladriel had noticed.
While Gladriel had been occupied with his search and preparation, the Senior Caravan Guards had moved into position, without a noise or obvious sign, they began a systematic advance on the pile of rubble. The best of the archers in the party moved to a position of advantage, to fire at any targets of opportunity that might appear. Once they were in place, the Guards advanced like the well-trained force they were. They came suddenly upon the enemy, without pause or warning.
The rubble erupted as they attacked, with creatures of myth and nightmare boiling out of the ground, dozens of them finally appearing. The archers began taking their toll. The Guards were fighting with almost superhuman skill and strength, thanks to magic weapons and armor. Even though they were Hobgoblins, larger than men in size, the Guards knew that they could win, especially with the archers behind them. There weren't enough of the creatures to overrun the Caravan alone. They would have needed help, and massive help, to be sure. It was at this moment Gladriel obtained a target. While he had hoped to spear the foe before it emerged, he was a trifle late.
"Waekahn," he was surprised at the fear in his own voice, " I need to run my lance into that patch of ground, as soon as we can arrange it."
To his surprise, Waekahn understood exactly what he wanted, and took him to Sharpie, for the long, magic, lance. Gladriel took it, set it in the saddle, and made ready, as if for a joust. Waekahn then began a gentle acceleration, toward the spot in the ground that Gladriel had noticed.
While Gladriel had been occupied with his search and preparation, the Senior Caravan Guards had moved into position, without a noise or obvious sign, they began a systematic advance on the pile of rubble. The best of the archers in the party moved to a position of advantage, to fire at any targets of opportunity that might appear. Once they were in place, the Guards advanced like the well-trained force they were. They came suddenly upon the enemy, without pause or warning.
The rubble erupted as they attacked, with creatures of myth and nightmare boiling out of the ground, dozens of them finally appearing. The archers began taking their toll. The Guards were fighting with almost superhuman skill and strength, thanks to magic weapons and armor. Even though they were Hobgoblins, larger than men in size, the Guards knew that they could win, especially with the archers behind them. There weren't enough of the creatures to overrun the Caravan alone. They would have needed help, and massive help, to be sure. It was at this moment Gladriel obtained a target. While he had hoped to spear the foe before it emerged, he was a trifle late.
As Gladriel accelerated to the charge, soundlessly thanks to Waekahn's superb training, the almost unnoticeable mound moved. A huge stone slid aside, with a huge hand attached. An Ogre stood, the height of a mounted soldier, bearing a club as big as a man. Gladriel, already frightened beyond words by the Hobgoblins, saw his target, but could not believe what he was seeing. Over nine feet tall, and probably five feet across the shoulders, it was simply more than he could process. The process of lancing the creature was automatic, trained into him so well that he need not consciously think. This was a good thing, as his thought processes were confined to expressions of terror. The ogre was behind those Guardsmen attacking the rubble mound, so that the noise of battle had concealed his rise. As he made to step from the pit which had hidden him, Gladriel arrived, his training still in command. Aiming at the point of ‘Ogre, maximum lance damage’, he followed through the exercise. The force of his charge drove his lance all the way through the Ogre, and probably angered the monster, in the process.
Ogres were tough, and Gladriel knew it, from classes in such creatures. He had also heard enough about them, from stories, to know that they would fight, even with a lance sticking through their body, and never pause. He understood that the arm with the club was now his target, and drew his broadsword, striking in the same motion. He was moving on his training alone, because fear had yet to allow thought into his mind.
Gladriel's training continued to come in very handy, as he had been forced to abandon the lance, move to attack, and draw his broadsword. He was proficient in this process, because it was the move which he used to pass his senior exams at the Academy. With a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess Kalichkell, Gladriel began to worry the Ogre's right arm from the rear, backing Waekahn as the monster turned, knowing that he must remain behind it. He had to be mounted, to even reach so giant a target. The Guardsmen had not heard the encounter, but the Archers had. As the Ogre turned his head, to see what small thing he had to kill, his face was toward two of the archers. Ogres eyes are larger than an adult man's hand, and Gladriel learned ,in that instant, that each of the creature's eyes could easily hold two arrows.
Suddenly blind, the monster lashed out, but at nothing, since Gladriel was still behind him. Still, even a blind Ogre could kill, just by its hearing and sense of smell, and Gladriel was wishing someone nearby could, perhaps, give him some assistance. He got his wish as, from the ground and moving like a striking serpent, a pitch black blur of motion struck the Ogre. It made a single wound, but the cut was incredibly deep and precisely below the arm, where the muscles attached. Distracted, the Ogre tried to locate this new threat, since it smelled different, from the surrounding creatures. Gladriel suddenly saw his moment to strike, and used a jumping maneuver that would have gotten him detention at the academy, but allowed him to put all of his strength and weight into an attack on the neck of the Ogre. He cut away a cleft as large as his forearm, and the artery to the creature's brain with it. Mortally wounded, the Ogre slapped backward with its off hand and Gladriel flew like an albatross, beautiful in flight, but terrible at his landing. The ogre fell, and the streak of dark, armored death, which had already attacked it, proceeded to pierce it in a dozen places. It would not rise again. Gladriel decided that getting up was more than he could manage, at the moment.
Gladriel's training continued to come in very handy, as he had been forced to abandon the lance, move to attack, and draw his broadsword. He was proficient in this process, because it was the move which he used to pass his senior exams at the Academy. With a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess Kalichkell, Gladriel began to worry the Ogre's right arm from the rear, backing Waekahn as the monster turned, knowing that he must remain behind it. He had to be mounted, to even reach so giant a target. The Guardsmen had not heard the encounter, but the Archers had. As the Ogre turned his head, to see what small thing he had to kill, his face was toward two of the archers. Ogres eyes are larger than an adult man's hand, and Gladriel learned ,in that instant, that each of the creature's eyes could easily hold two arrows.
Suddenly blind, the monster lashed out, but at nothing, since Gladriel was still behind him. Still, even a blind Ogre could kill, just by its hearing and sense of smell, and Gladriel was wishing someone nearby could, perhaps, give him some assistance. He got his wish as, from the ground and moving like a striking serpent, a pitch black blur of motion struck the Ogre. It made a single wound, but the cut was incredibly deep and precisely below the arm, where the muscles attached. Distracted, the Ogre tried to locate this new threat, since it smelled different, from the surrounding creatures. Gladriel suddenly saw his moment to strike, and used a jumping maneuver that would have gotten him detention at the academy, but allowed him to put all of his strength and weight into an attack on the neck of the Ogre. He cut away a cleft as large as his forearm, and the artery to the creature's brain with it. Mortally wounded, the Ogre slapped backward with its off hand and Gladriel flew like an albatross, beautiful in flight, but terrible at his landing. The ogre fell, and the streak of dark, armored death, which had already attacked it, proceeded to pierce it in a dozen places. It would not rise again. Gladriel decided that getting up was more than he could manage, at the moment.
Elsewhere, the pile of rubble was proving even less of a challenge than it first appeared. A Dwarf, with a very large ax, had joined the fray, and his blows bisected one of the hobgoblins almost every time he struck. With the skill of the guardsmen and the support of both the archers and the deadly Dwarf, the encounter never even reached the point of being a full fledged battle. None of the Caravan people were noticeably injured, and the only person down was Gladriel, although his armor had resulted in his receiving no cuts or major abrasions, some cracked ribs, and only a few thousand bruises. Gladriel was happy, for once, that he had no lady love, because if he had possessed such, and she had come to hold him after the battle, he might have been forced to kill her. There was an adequate amount of pain, associated with the broken ribs, and bruises, that covered his body. His armor was undamaged.
An entire group of the Caravan travelers, who had not been involved in the fighting, were suddenly present and offering to heal even the smallest cut. Someone passed Gladriel a potion that began a rapid healing of his bruises, with an almost instant end to that pain. He was happy to have received it. A Druid, named Linda, took his morning star and hung it on Waekahn, and then healed him of several cracked ribs and a few dozen abrasions and small cuts. She took her time examining him, while he learned her name, and that she was going to Chevalier. He developed a strong liking for Linda, since she was the first nurse he had ever known. In actual point of fact, she was the first woman he had met, who was not part of his family, or a fellow student.
An entire group of the Caravan travelers, who had not been involved in the fighting, were suddenly present and offering to heal even the smallest cut. Someone passed Gladriel a potion that began a rapid healing of his bruises, with an almost instant end to that pain. He was happy to have received it. A Druid, named Linda, took his morning star and hung it on Waekahn, and then healed him of several cracked ribs and a few dozen abrasions and small cuts. She took her time examining him, while he learned her name, and that she was going to Chevalier. He developed a strong liking for Linda, since she was the first nurse he had ever known. In actual point of fact, she was the first woman he had met, who was not part of his family, or a fellow student.
The mysterious, dark-armored, person, who had aided Gladriel in the fight, turned out to be an actual Dark Elf, a rarity anyplace north of Narl, and a member of the Caravan. He explained that he had been traveling in disguise, since Dark Elves were given a bad reputation since, well, forever, and he wished to avoid being a source of discord. He was quickly assured that his presence here was welcome, and he need not resort to further disguise. He had helped kill an Ogre, and that was more than enough for most of the people around him. Others noted that he had saved a half-elf, no surprise there.
Monsters, that is the ones created by dark magic, are attracted to precious metals, gems, and anything magical. No one has ever successfully explained the reason for this, unless somehow those items sustain them and the dark magic which animates them. Because of this, any such creature will have some item on its person that has value. Without such a talisman, the creature simply could not exist. It became the task of one and all to retrieve such trinkets, coins and magical gee haws from the fallen. Once the monsters had been stripped of all they had, the horde was divided, with half going to the fighters and half to the Caravan. Even split in so many pieces, Gladriel wound up with a sack full of more coin than he had brought. Then the Caravan moved onward, a short distance beyond the crossroads, to camp, and sleep.
Monsters, that is the ones created by dark magic, are attracted to precious metals, gems, and anything magical. No one has ever successfully explained the reason for this, unless somehow those items sustain them and the dark magic which animates them. Because of this, any such creature will have some item on its person that has value. Without such a talisman, the creature simply could not exist. It became the task of one and all to retrieve such trinkets, coins and magical gee haws from the fallen. Once the monsters had been stripped of all they had, the horde was divided, with half going to the fighters and half to the Caravan. Even split in so many pieces, Gladriel wound up with a sack full of more coin than he had brought. Then the Caravan moved onward, a short distance beyond the crossroads, to camp, and sleep.
4. A Rocky Mountain Height
Sleep didn't arrive easily, and when it did, it was broken by any sound that might have presaged an alarm, so that Gladriel was still somewhat tired when dawn broke. What a surprise that was. Still recovering, sore, and bruised, the young man was slow to breakfast, and held his cup in both hands, as they say. The Caravan had been travelling through forested, low, hills, but with the passage beyond the crossroads, one saw mountains to the north, and the flatlands to the south. The mountains, large enough to most people, were small to Gladriel. They sat well below twenty thousand feet, at the tallest. The Backbone mountains, of his homeland, were over thirty, and in some places, around forty. He went to breakfast with a pack of nutbrew in his pouch, just in case he needed it. It promised to be a two cup day, at least. He noticed that the rumors had stopped, and people seemed to be in good sorts, considering, so that the Caravan broke camp and moved out, pretty much on schedule. Gladriel was operating on a schedule of his own, and his scouting was not as wonderful today, as it had been yesterday. They went north, on the ancient road, and that seemed to be a different route than expected. Those given to idle talk, found reason to question the route being taken, since it would miss a few of the planned stops, for the train. Around noon, Hoden called a halt to progress in a large open meadow. Two of the warders went out and began to circle the meadow, and Gladriel was surprised to see two Wizards with them. Magic was being woven, and wards were being set, although why was a mystery. When the four had completed their circle, a single woman, in a plain tunic, began circling the camp, touching plants, trees and the ground itself, from time to time. Gladriel realized it was Linda, and that she was casting some form of spell.
"Forest magic", someone commented.
"We're being hidden, that's for sure" another voice spoke.
After long minutes of preparation, Hoden believed all was in readiness. He called the Caravan to order.
"You may all remember that we were going to take the High road to Cambre, and the Royal Road to Chevalier," Hoden began, "But there's been a change in plans."
"Those of you going to Cambre will have to backtrack from Nushire," he continued, with sudden attention spreading through the group, " We're going to take the Old Road to the Pass of Tuan, and from there go down into Lackland, by that same Ancient Way. That will cut two weeks off our trip, and make us the very devil to track. There’s a trade route on the far side of the pass that will allow those wanting to do so, a chance to go to Nushire from the other side, and from there to Cambre."
" Some of us paid to travel to Cambre," a voice began.
" And you four will get a gold sovereign for your trouble," Hoden cut him off, "We've attracted some unwanted attention, and to avoid the bandits that are otherwise in our immediate future, we'll be changing paths. No discussion and no delay to be tolerated."
" What kind of attention could redirect a well-guarded Caravan such as this?" a Dwarvish voice was heard.
" A creature's spoor was found, that divides the hoof in three, and leaves a smell of rotting meat." Hoden answered.
" I know that one, " shot back the Dwarf, "And I've personal knowledge of the Breed. They're Cavebarrows, you can well know, and if even one is after us, I'll personally clout the fool who tries to keep to our original course. Up the pass it's cold, and the creatures can't stand that. If nothing else it will stop them from following, and there's no easy place for ambush on the down side of the Ancient Way. It's wide and has the old travel houses all along it, we'll have more than adequate defense at our camps."
"Do Cavebarrows really exist?" one voice seemed full of doubt.
"I've a bootjack made from one's shoulder blade," Gladriel spoke, "If you'd like to see it."
The item was probably 800 years old, but the magic of the creature made it almost indestructible. Gladriel knew how hard it could be to remove boots in a cold, wet place. He had brought it before he knew the extent of his mother's generosity, but, if they were going through the pass, he would need it for the snow camp.
"Forest magic", someone commented.
"We're being hidden, that's for sure" another voice spoke.
After long minutes of preparation, Hoden believed all was in readiness. He called the Caravan to order.
"You may all remember that we were going to take the High road to Cambre, and the Royal Road to Chevalier," Hoden began, "But there's been a change in plans."
"Those of you going to Cambre will have to backtrack from Nushire," he continued, with sudden attention spreading through the group, " We're going to take the Old Road to the Pass of Tuan, and from there go down into Lackland, by that same Ancient Way. That will cut two weeks off our trip, and make us the very devil to track. There’s a trade route on the far side of the pass that will allow those wanting to do so, a chance to go to Nushire from the other side, and from there to Cambre."
" Some of us paid to travel to Cambre," a voice began.
" And you four will get a gold sovereign for your trouble," Hoden cut him off, "We've attracted some unwanted attention, and to avoid the bandits that are otherwise in our immediate future, we'll be changing paths. No discussion and no delay to be tolerated."
" What kind of attention could redirect a well-guarded Caravan such as this?" a Dwarvish voice was heard.
" A creature's spoor was found, that divides the hoof in three, and leaves a smell of rotting meat." Hoden answered.
" I know that one, " shot back the Dwarf, "And I've personal knowledge of the Breed. They're Cavebarrows, you can well know, and if even one is after us, I'll personally clout the fool who tries to keep to our original course. Up the pass it's cold, and the creatures can't stand that. If nothing else it will stop them from following, and there's no easy place for ambush on the down side of the Ancient Way. It's wide and has the old travel houses all along it, we'll have more than adequate defense at our camps."
"Do Cavebarrows really exist?" one voice seemed full of doubt.
"I've a bootjack made from one's shoulder blade," Gladriel spoke, "If you'd like to see it."
The item was probably 800 years old, but the magic of the creature made it almost indestructible. Gladriel knew how hard it could be to remove boots in a cold, wet place. He had brought it before he knew the extent of his mother's generosity, but, if they were going through the pass, he would need it for the snow camp.
Another hour was spent setting a false trail, and making sure that no trail led, from the crossroads, which might lead a searcher toward the Pass. The senior guards had been obscuring the Caravan trail all morning, far enough in arrears that no one saw. Gladriel worked on that obscuring of the passage of the Caravan to the North, and, as was his wont, he sang to make the work lighter. Everyone had come to appreciate his songs. His voice, while not loud, seemed to brighten the mood of all who heard it. Finally the Caravan’s camp was gone, no trace remained. They moved off along the Old Road, a track broad and smooth, but covered with dust. During the Dragon wars, it had ceased to be an easy route for trade, as it’s width made it convenient for Dragon attacks, and it was still almost unused these days. While it was, actually, easier to traverse, it was also a steady climb into the mountains, north of the longer route. It was wide and easy to defend, unless you were fighting Dragons. That was something that all the Travelers would appreciate as no one living had ever seen a Dragon, up close. With the labor of creating a false trail, and hiding the real one for a long distance, everyone was exhausted by the time they halted. Even Waekahn, having been to the Crossroads and back several times, was not as fresh as he might have been.
They set wards and ate cold rations, so as not to have cooking fires. It reminded all the Veterans of a camp in the field, during wartime. No one spoke above a soft tone, and stealth was the order of the day. Everyone slept in some version of armor and with at least one weapon. Dawn came, and a path up into the mountains lay before the Caravan. Several people, whose magic was applicable, worked together to create enough hot breakfast and nutbrew so that all could partake. It goes without saying that those responsible earned enough love to equal that of having cured the plague. The animals were harnessed and mounts saddled. The Caravan moved off as if it were a shadow moving across the land, driven by the sunrise. No one noticed the forests today, except to sweep their eyes and magical senses over them. No one appreciated a birdsong, or a small mammal in the brush. Every sound, every movement, was noticed and only ignored when it was certain that the commotion was of a normal sort. People ate rations that they carried, in small bits, so that they had no need to pause for a meal. Talk was very low, and limited to what was necessary for the passage of the Caravan. It was as if they were expecting trouble behind every blade of grass.
Gladriel, amazed at the stealth of such a group, chalked it up to fear. It was his first experience with how powerful that emotion can be. Whatever the reason, the Caravan made time as if it were on a level road. What should have been a day and a quarter's journey along the trail, was covered by sunset. No one went on a 'solitary walk' that evening, and Gladriel noticed that the women were not as concerned about being away from the men as they had been previously. Nobody wanted to be alone, at all. Linda even sought out Gladriel, for company on that, usually private, journey.
Several days passed, then it was a week, and finally almost two weeks. The trail became more steep, but the Magic wielders spent time teaching, those who could learn, how to 'lighten' the loads borne by the animals and wagons. Because everyone who could, was working on this, the speed of the Caravan only decreased slightly as the trail became steeper. Finally it became switchbacks and hairpin turns, tending to concentrate the worst of the climbs into smaller areas. That gave the magic wielders respite. Weariness became the normal feeling of everyone, instead of being rested, because everyone was doing everything in his or her power to speed up the passage. Even Gladriel found himself never rested, as if something was drawing his normal strength. He sang almost constantly, but not with any volume. Somehow it seemed to ease the passage for all concerned. Still, the fear, the constant effort at magic, and the strain of having to be ready to fight at any moment, began to tell on the travelers.
They set wards and ate cold rations, so as not to have cooking fires. It reminded all the Veterans of a camp in the field, during wartime. No one spoke above a soft tone, and stealth was the order of the day. Everyone slept in some version of armor and with at least one weapon. Dawn came, and a path up into the mountains lay before the Caravan. Several people, whose magic was applicable, worked together to create enough hot breakfast and nutbrew so that all could partake. It goes without saying that those responsible earned enough love to equal that of having cured the plague. The animals were harnessed and mounts saddled. The Caravan moved off as if it were a shadow moving across the land, driven by the sunrise. No one noticed the forests today, except to sweep their eyes and magical senses over them. No one appreciated a birdsong, or a small mammal in the brush. Every sound, every movement, was noticed and only ignored when it was certain that the commotion was of a normal sort. People ate rations that they carried, in small bits, so that they had no need to pause for a meal. Talk was very low, and limited to what was necessary for the passage of the Caravan. It was as if they were expecting trouble behind every blade of grass.
Gladriel, amazed at the stealth of such a group, chalked it up to fear. It was his first experience with how powerful that emotion can be. Whatever the reason, the Caravan made time as if it were on a level road. What should have been a day and a quarter's journey along the trail, was covered by sunset. No one went on a 'solitary walk' that evening, and Gladriel noticed that the women were not as concerned about being away from the men as they had been previously. Nobody wanted to be alone, at all. Linda even sought out Gladriel, for company on that, usually private, journey.
Several days passed, then it was a week, and finally almost two weeks. The trail became more steep, but the Magic wielders spent time teaching, those who could learn, how to 'lighten' the loads borne by the animals and wagons. Because everyone who could, was working on this, the speed of the Caravan only decreased slightly as the trail became steeper. Finally it became switchbacks and hairpin turns, tending to concentrate the worst of the climbs into smaller areas. That gave the magic wielders respite. Weariness became the normal feeling of everyone, instead of being rested, because everyone was doing everything in his or her power to speed up the passage. Even Gladriel found himself never rested, as if something was drawing his normal strength. He sang almost constantly, but not with any volume. Somehow it seemed to ease the passage for all concerned. Still, the fear, the constant effort at magic, and the strain of having to be ready to fight at any moment, began to tell on the travelers.
Not at first, so that the constant magic actually sped the Caravan up, instead of four weeks to the Pass, it was three weeks and a day. They never even paused at the little used side roads, which branched out at intervals from the Ancient way. Those people who would have taken the smaller roads to places like Cambre and Nushire elected to stay with the Caravan, not wanting to risk travel alone. Nights grew cold, but the large tent was warm. It became a Barn for the animals, and smaller tents went up inside it. All in all, it was cold, scary, tiring, and stressful. Aside from that, it was cold food and warm water, and hushed conversation, that made everyone feel hunted. A wonderful time was had by none.
The area of the Pass decreed that some time be spent in recovery. No one had the wherewithal to continue, without rest. Trying the downhill with tired men and animals was to invite injury, and besides, the Caravan was six days ahead of schedule already. At the center of the passage was a long-unused barracks and stable. The pass entry, and its exit, had larger buildings, former fortresses. Hoden suspected that, had anyone come looking, either by magic or stealth, they would expect those edifices to be prime choices. It proved wise of Hoden to take the center buildings, because Linda, a powerful Druid by any measure, had been gathering ingredients, all the way up the Pass. She was able to give the smaller buildings a look of empty ruins, even as they were occupied and warm. The upthrust, snow covered, mountains, rising from the very foundations of the fortresses, made the pass seem like an enclosed area, and Druid magic enhanced that effect. From any place of observation, the pass was empty, as it had been for over a thousand years. The first night was simply an exercise in how to collapse in an orderly fashion.
The area of the Pass decreed that some time be spent in recovery. No one had the wherewithal to continue, without rest. Trying the downhill with tired men and animals was to invite injury, and besides, the Caravan was six days ahead of schedule already. At the center of the passage was a long-unused barracks and stable. The pass entry, and its exit, had larger buildings, former fortresses. Hoden suspected that, had anyone come looking, either by magic or stealth, they would expect those edifices to be prime choices. It proved wise of Hoden to take the center buildings, because Linda, a powerful Druid by any measure, had been gathering ingredients, all the way up the Pass. She was able to give the smaller buildings a look of empty ruins, even as they were occupied and warm. The upthrust, snow covered, mountains, rising from the very foundations of the fortresses, made the pass seem like an enclosed area, and Druid magic enhanced that effect. From any place of observation, the pass was empty, as it had been for over a thousand years. The first night was simply an exercise in how to collapse in an orderly fashion.
"We keep being able to stay a step or two ahead of our foes, " Hoden observed during breakfast on the second day, "Whomever they be."
" I think it's a matter of good choices," Eartle, one of the ostlers, spoke.
" Choices are based on information, " Hoden replied, " And I've had the good fortune of getting plenty of information, both magical and non, for these past weeks."
" Still," Walker, one of the Scouts, broke in, " We know they accepted the false trail at the crossroads, without a sign that it was a trick, and that was a blessin', but they'll be hard after us in a few days when they can find no other sign."
"There's two roads as branch from the road we're on, " Tagernoab, the Dwarf, spoke now, " they may be low roads, but either one could pass us with care, so that'll slow 'em down a bit, at least for a couple more days."
"By then we'll be well on our way down the pass," Hoden agreed, "And they'll be hard pressed to catch us, even if they think they can lay ambush on the Ancient Road."
"If they do," one of the Guards remarked, " I just might take exception to their having caused me such a rough trip."
" I've an ax to grind upon them as well," Tag put in.
" I think there are about sixty fairly accomplished warriors and battle mages in this group." Hoden said, "If they all are as tired of running as I am, it should be a good fight."
" I think it's a matter of good choices," Eartle, one of the ostlers, spoke.
" Choices are based on information, " Hoden replied, " And I've had the good fortune of getting plenty of information, both magical and non, for these past weeks."
" Still," Walker, one of the Scouts, broke in, " We know they accepted the false trail at the crossroads, without a sign that it was a trick, and that was a blessin', but they'll be hard after us in a few days when they can find no other sign."
"There's two roads as branch from the road we're on, " Tagernoab, the Dwarf, spoke now, " they may be low roads, but either one could pass us with care, so that'll slow 'em down a bit, at least for a couple more days."
"By then we'll be well on our way down the pass," Hoden agreed, "And they'll be hard pressed to catch us, even if they think they can lay ambush on the Ancient Road."
"If they do," one of the Guards remarked, " I just might take exception to their having caused me such a rough trip."
" I've an ax to grind upon them as well," Tag put in.
" I think there are about sixty fairly accomplished warriors and battle mages in this group." Hoden said, "If they all are as tired of running as I am, it should be a good fight."
Tagernoab was a Dwarf to remember. He was as broad as he was tall, with arms and legs like stone columns. His dark brown beard was to his waist and his hair was as shaggy and curly as any Dwarf's ever was. He had piercing eyes, that were a golden brown hue. His hands were large, even for a dwarf, and actually muscled. All in all, he was a scary creature, his height only serving to make him look more dangerous. Everyone was glad he had come along.
"There's nothing like a good fight to get the juices flowin', " He remarked, " and to teach lessons to those who'd rob and kill".
5. Eve of Destruction
Morning on the third day, after arriving at the Pass, everyone ate well and convened, at Hoden's request, in the main barracks hall.
" Today we'll pack up," he began, " And tomorrow we'll begin the journey down the pass. Remember that the way will be easy and the animals will want to speed somewhat, but don't rush. The chance of a stumble is just as great as ever, and, at speed, it could cost us an animal. We can't afford that and we need to avoid it.
"There's no reason to hurry now", he continued, "We've left our pursuers behind, and we'll be back in civilized lands in two weeks or a bit more. If they come upon us now, it'll be better that we're not as tired, and are ready to defend ourselves. I trust you lot are as tired of running as I?"
" There will be Blood," from somewhere in the crowd, that was heard, neither loud nor obviously angry, it nonetheless carried to every ear, a simple statement, as if it be fact, in the accent of a Dark Elf.
The chorus of aye, too right, and even Damn Right, was loud and clear. The group was made up of many veteran adventurers, who were known to be, in some cases, a bit hotheaded. It had reached the point, however, that every traveler in the group was tired of running, ready to visit retribution on someone for the flight of the past month and a half. From the look of the core of deadly fighters and battle mages present, one could indeed imagine that "There would be Blood". The Gods might well pity any bandits who came upon this Caravan, if it come to pass.
The packing procedure was conducted with almost a military air. Each person in the party who had armor wore it, and weapons as well. The Dwarf, Tagernoab, who told Gladriel to call him Tag, was a block of Adamantium, the metal preferred by his people, and his ax looked too large to be wielded, since the blade was almost the size of a tower shield. Other adventurers were wearing magical armor as well, more than a few. Everyone wore some sort of protection that was more than purely physical.
Gladriel found himself wearing his 'best' armor, not for show, but out of more than a tiny bit of trepidation, one might even say he was afraid of the coming conflict. But he was in good company there.
"No shame in a drop of fear," Tag assured him, " Might even keep you alive for a minute or two longer, if it comes to that. "
"Call it what you will," the Dark elf, whom everyone had begun calling 'the black cat' due to his speed and ferocity, remarked, " trepidation, caution, nerves, or even fear, it all amounts to the same thing. Your common sense reminding you to be careful and not die."
"And try not to jump on any Ogre's heads, if you can avoid it," Gladriel came back, "they can hurt you." Everyone laughed at that.
"There's no reason to hurry now", he continued, "We've left our pursuers behind, and we'll be back in civilized lands in two weeks or a bit more. If they come upon us now, it'll be better that we're not as tired, and are ready to defend ourselves. I trust you lot are as tired of running as I?"
" There will be Blood," from somewhere in the crowd, that was heard, neither loud nor obviously angry, it nonetheless carried to every ear, a simple statement, as if it be fact, in the accent of a Dark Elf.
The chorus of aye, too right, and even Damn Right, was loud and clear. The group was made up of many veteran adventurers, who were known to be, in some cases, a bit hotheaded. It had reached the point, however, that every traveler in the group was tired of running, ready to visit retribution on someone for the flight of the past month and a half. From the look of the core of deadly fighters and battle mages present, one could indeed imagine that "There would be Blood". The Gods might well pity any bandits who came upon this Caravan, if it come to pass.
The packing procedure was conducted with almost a military air. Each person in the party who had armor wore it, and weapons as well. The Dwarf, Tagernoab, who told Gladriel to call him Tag, was a block of Adamantium, the metal preferred by his people, and his ax looked too large to be wielded, since the blade was almost the size of a tower shield. Other adventurers were wearing magical armor as well, more than a few. Everyone wore some sort of protection that was more than purely physical.
Gladriel found himself wearing his 'best' armor, not for show, but out of more than a tiny bit of trepidation, one might even say he was afraid of the coming conflict. But he was in good company there.
"No shame in a drop of fear," Tag assured him, " Might even keep you alive for a minute or two longer, if it comes to that. "
"Call it what you will," the Dark elf, whom everyone had begun calling 'the black cat' due to his speed and ferocity, remarked, " trepidation, caution, nerves, or even fear, it all amounts to the same thing. Your common sense reminding you to be careful and not die."
"And try not to jump on any Ogre's heads, if you can avoid it," Gladriel came back, "they can hurt you." Everyone laughed at that.
* * *
The route down the pass was both pleasant and disquieting. Pleasant for the scenery, trees well away from the road, and berries, both ripe and soon to ripen, which somehow found their way into every one's diet. The disquieting part lay in that nothing appeared, no spies, no trace of any kind of pursuit, and no danger. It was altogether too quiet and peaceful, like the calm before a storm.
Gladriel took to circling the entire Caravan, albeit at close range. He would slow so that the group passed on his left side, then he cross behind the last of the travelers. Then he would pick up his pace, to pass to the front of the group without hurrying. In this way he could see both sides of the road for long stretches. It gave him something to do, searching for any 'monsters' that might appear. On one such pass, Hoden suggested that he look for game, as fresh meat might make the evening meal more enjoyable. After a few of his circles, Gladriel spied a carrobier, a large herbivore of the cattle family. He mentioned it to Hodan, and offered to bring it in.
"We'll send a party," Hoden decided, "You can go with, if you like."
Gladriel was only too happy to be a part of a hunting party in this wild area. He had less fear of the normal predators, since his Ogre encounter, and was eager for a break in the stress of not knowing when, or if, the next attack would occur. He joined two scouts, an archer and two other Guardsmen as they moved out toward the line of trees. They passed a few 'berry pickers' in the process, but nothing to speak of. After only a moment, Gladriel had spotted spoor, from his earlier sighting, and the Caravan was still close. One of the Guards tensed at this, but Gladriel couldn't determine why.
"Meat on the Hoof", the other guard whispered. " Left and forward."
A shot from the archer, a bolt from Gladriel, and a javelin from the scout all struck within an eye-blink, and the creature turned. It was a trophy animal, though none of the group cared. They were hunting the thirty stone, and more, of meat, that the creature represented, not the thirty points on his antlers. Gladriel doubted if anyone in the Caravan had a recipe for horns, in any form.
"My kill," the guard who had tensed spoke, just loudly enough for his voice to carry.
The arrow and bolt strikes had caused the animal to freeze, in place. This was very fortunate, as it could have run for miles. The guard who had spoken was no stranger to these animals, he moved so that the creature was against the trees with respect to him, his movements were deliberate, but not slow. His horse moved like it was a part of his body, taking him close enough to slice the animal's throat from ear to ear, and moving away even more quickly than his initial approach. His escape was clean, but only just. The massive rack of the carrobier, awaiting a target, swung through the place he had occupied, less than a second after he moved. It was probably eight stone of horn, spike, and anger, that might well have killed him outright, had it connected. It was a moment in which Gladriel realized that he couldn't have taken the thing alone, or even with a hunting party from Castle Samovar. This creature required experience, and skill, to slay.
Even as the creature fell, the hunters took it in tow, because bleeding, cleaning and skinning a fresh kill had to be performed within the hour, anything less would 'taint' the meat with the musk of the animal. Even Gladriel was enough of a hunter to assist in this action, using his shortsword to 'gut' the carcass, and bleeding it by hanging it in a tree. The skinning was work for several anxious minutes, since all of the hunters knew that the smell of blood would attract scavengers, and perhaps a predator of size as well. Anything that could hunt this animal would be well avoided. Gladriel had another moment of real fear, when he realized that something in these woods actually hunted the creature that he, and the others, had slain. With skin-wrapped, quartered, carcass in tow, the group moved back toward the Caravan, but the scout noticed a movement in the sky that gave him pause.
"Incoming," he announced, and everyone looked up.
"What the..." a guard said, " That bird's as large as a liftant, and its claws are as long as my arm."
" That's a Wartearn," the black cat spoke, from nowhere, " It's got a saddle and something riding it, although I'll pass on the species astride that saddle."
"Let us make haste," the guard who had killed the carrobier said, "I would not want to be a part of the meal that this bird and rider might make of our kill and horses, not to mention us as well."
Suddenly frightened beyond measure, one of the Scouts took an arrow out of his quiver, spoke to it briefly and fired it into the air, with all the strength he possessed. Almost as soon as it left his hand, it burst into magical flame, making a line of fire all the way to the armor of the Wartearn. It burst against that protection with a huge spread of sparkling light, larger by half than the bird. The bird, interrupted in its dive, had to reorient, before beginning again. In the moment of respite, those moving the carcass urged their mounts to greatest effort, anxious to be closer to the Caravan, where the Wartearn would be less likely to mount an assault. Gladriel found himself at the rear, because of retrieving the ropes, and because Waekahn was the strongest of the various mounts. He wasn’t needed to move the carcass, and so it seemed a good time to fire a few crossbow bolts.
"Hope the other scouts and guards saw that," he said, "We could use more eyes and arrows and, if it has friends, it could be very bad."
The guards and Scouts had indeed seen the shot, as had everyone else on the Caravan. By the time the Wartearn had begun his descent, he was traveling to meet almost a score of arrows, most either magic or magicked. More than a few pierced his armor, and every shot was on target. The creature riding the Wartearn was trying in vain to get it to veer away, and was hit by more than a few arrows itself. As it approached the ground, someone cried out an identification of the rider.
"An ahnis!" came the call, "right out of the storybooks".
Indeed the creature was a tall, skeletal form, with claws and fangs that matched the old stories, but none in living memory,(and elves are long-lived) had ever seen one. It was about human sized, but gave off a constant aura of dark magic, as if it be undead. Gladriel was fortunate to be magic blind, so that he could neither see the dark aura, nor be intimidated by it. Still, he moved along smartly, because he could see signs of terror in everyone, and knew that something which scared an entire caravan, should probably be avoided. The arrows which had struck the creature remained embedded, but there was no sign of blood, or ichor, where the creature was pierced. It had to be a magically animated construct, of immense power.
The dive continued, now with a cluster of guards at its focus, and an elder warrior leapt to the fore. Striking the ground with his hammer and uttering a word of power, he called forth a circle of protection, then hurled his hammer toward the ahnis. The hammer struck the birdlike creature a glancing blow to the head, then struck the ahnis full in the chest. The combination of the ward and the blow unseated the rider, causing it to fall among the guard. The bird, only too happy to be rid of its rider, banked away, into the distance, receding toward the horizon. As it fell the creature sent forth a wave, that should have killed, but it was too far away. As it landed, those nearby paid dearly.
Two of the Guards were directly struck as the ahnis landed. It seemed to bounce into the air, and the two Guards were thrown from the battle, torn by the impact of the ahnis' claws. Two more of the Guards were then struck. Also thrown from the battle, they were wounded seriously. The creature started to rise then, still active, but it was felled, by a blow from Tag, who cut off its legs at the knees. Undaunted, the creature rose on its stumps, prepared, again, to return to battle. Its elbow drove Tag back, but did little damage, and its claws sought more victims from the Guard, who had retreated slightly. Those who had them raised shields. The ahnis cast a spell at Gladriel, but it did no damage.
Gladriel had begun his approach to the ahnis, but had not expected it to bounce when it landed. He was out of position to use his sword. The creature was about to cast another spell, this one to simply kill the caravan, guard and all. Though he had missed the first spellcast, due to his magic blindness, Gladriel saw the motions and realized that something dire was coming. Using the morning star he had been given, he sought to stop this second one. The strength of his charge on Waekahn, and the weapon itself, which seemed to seek the ahnis, drawing both power, and speed, from ancient magics, helped Gladriel exert all of his strength. The weapon seemed to draw power from the ahnis, glowing as the young warrior closed to strike. When it impacted the monster, it was with such force that the creature's head was driven explosively from its body, and carried almost a span away. The smoke, and explosive detritus, traveled for yards, in all directions. At the last moment it had attempted to claw Gladriel, even as it was struck, realizing it had no time to finish its spell. All at once, the battle with the Ahnis was over. Gladriel was surprised that the creature had struck him. He hadn't felt the blow, and his armor had shielded him from major injury. He was soot covered, from the explosive impact, and the black residue burned, where it touched his skin. He realized that he would need magical help to clean his armor. The armor however seemed not to be affected by the black dust coating.
It was at that moment Gladriel decided it was high time he read his mother's letter, to learn what he might of the weapons he carried. The injured Guardsmen survived, but not without massive magical healing. The minor injuries seemed to just have appeared, none from the Wartearn, But the feet of the ahnis had continued to fight until the creature was dead. Magic armor in use had saved lives, as did Linda. She made certain to visit Gladriel, to make sure he was properly cared for. A talented Smith, who had more than a little magic, put any damaged magical armor to rights. He was able to remove the black, sooty, debris from Gladriel’s armor, without even having to remove it. Gladriel, relieved that his mace had proven so adequate, was puzzled as to the reason. When he paid a visit to the smith, he left a coin of platinum. The Smith had asked no payment, but Gladriel wanted to forge a friendship if he could. Smiths were to be valued, in a world where metal often preserved your life. As he rode, he began the almost painful process of reading his mother's note. Since it was written in her flowery script, and high elf as well, it was almost encoded, for all that anyone else could have seen. Gladriel had no way of knowing he was the only one who could read it. He couldn’t tell that the message was heavily magicked, and attuned to its surroundings as well. Since all the magical viewing that could be done, was being done, Gladriel felt safe taking a break from his almost constant watching. He used the time to work through the complex script, grammar and form. Waekahn ignored his preoccupation and kept up with the Caravan.
The dive continued, now with a cluster of guards at its focus, and an elder warrior leapt to the fore. Striking the ground with his hammer and uttering a word of power, he called forth a circle of protection, then hurled his hammer toward the ahnis. The hammer struck the birdlike creature a glancing blow to the head, then struck the ahnis full in the chest. The combination of the ward and the blow unseated the rider, causing it to fall among the guard. The bird, only too happy to be rid of its rider, banked away, into the distance, receding toward the horizon. As it fell the creature sent forth a wave, that should have killed, but it was too far away. As it landed, those nearby paid dearly.
Two of the Guards were directly struck as the ahnis landed. It seemed to bounce into the air, and the two Guards were thrown from the battle, torn by the impact of the ahnis' claws. Two more of the Guards were then struck. Also thrown from the battle, they were wounded seriously. The creature started to rise then, still active, but it was felled, by a blow from Tag, who cut off its legs at the knees. Undaunted, the creature rose on its stumps, prepared, again, to return to battle. Its elbow drove Tag back, but did little damage, and its claws sought more victims from the Guard, who had retreated slightly. Those who had them raised shields. The ahnis cast a spell at Gladriel, but it did no damage.
Gladriel had begun his approach to the ahnis, but had not expected it to bounce when it landed. He was out of position to use his sword. The creature was about to cast another spell, this one to simply kill the caravan, guard and all. Though he had missed the first spellcast, due to his magic blindness, Gladriel saw the motions and realized that something dire was coming. Using the morning star he had been given, he sought to stop this second one. The strength of his charge on Waekahn, and the weapon itself, which seemed to seek the ahnis, drawing both power, and speed, from ancient magics, helped Gladriel exert all of his strength. The weapon seemed to draw power from the ahnis, glowing as the young warrior closed to strike. When it impacted the monster, it was with such force that the creature's head was driven explosively from its body, and carried almost a span away. The smoke, and explosive detritus, traveled for yards, in all directions. At the last moment it had attempted to claw Gladriel, even as it was struck, realizing it had no time to finish its spell. All at once, the battle with the Ahnis was over. Gladriel was surprised that the creature had struck him. He hadn't felt the blow, and his armor had shielded him from major injury. He was soot covered, from the explosive impact, and the black residue burned, where it touched his skin. He realized that he would need magical help to clean his armor. The armor however seemed not to be affected by the black dust coating.
It was at that moment Gladriel decided it was high time he read his mother's letter, to learn what he might of the weapons he carried. The injured Guardsmen survived, but not without massive magical healing. The minor injuries seemed to just have appeared, none from the Wartearn, But the feet of the ahnis had continued to fight until the creature was dead. Magic armor in use had saved lives, as did Linda. She made certain to visit Gladriel, to make sure he was properly cared for. A talented Smith, who had more than a little magic, put any damaged magical armor to rights. He was able to remove the black, sooty, debris from Gladriel’s armor, without even having to remove it. Gladriel, relieved that his mace had proven so adequate, was puzzled as to the reason. When he paid a visit to the smith, he left a coin of platinum. The Smith had asked no payment, but Gladriel wanted to forge a friendship if he could. Smiths were to be valued, in a world where metal often preserved your life. As he rode, he began the almost painful process of reading his mother's note. Since it was written in her flowery script, and high elf as well, it was almost encoded, for all that anyone else could have seen. Gladriel had no way of knowing he was the only one who could read it. He couldn’t tell that the message was heavily magicked, and attuned to its surroundings as well. Since all the magical viewing that could be done, was being done, Gladriel felt safe taking a break from his almost constant watching. He used the time to work through the complex script, grammar and form. Waekahn ignored his preoccupation and kept up with the Caravan.
6. M is for the Many Things You Gave Me
" Gladriel, my part human, part Elven son" it began, " For you there is no title prepared, and yet a crown may find you if the future proceeds along its more likely path."
At this point, Gladriel already understood much, the predictions of Elvenkind were almost at the level of Prophecy. They had been perfected for millennia. His mother would have made her decisions, choices, and expenditures, based on what was most likely to lead to the future she had chosen, for her son. This would have been without discussion, or consideration of any desire, or need, he might have had. Since he'd waited almost half the trip, before reading her missive, he was probably too late to make any decision, of his own. He went back to the letter.
"The seers of Brightwood have seen a possibility that all Elves, Dwarves, and men, have long awaited. Within your future exists a path, which leads to the destruction of the ancient evil, which drove us all from Old Home, beyond the Backbone Mountains. Sometimes this evil is personified as Fifnir, but it has grown into a vast army of monsters, not all of whom can distinguished by their appearance. Those who have come under that evil influence, will try to destroy you, because in you lies hope, and hope is their greatest enemy. To protect that hope, the Elves and Dwarves have come together to assist you, so that you may have the chance to become that which is within your future.
"The seers of Brightwood have seen a possibility that all Elves, Dwarves, and men, have long awaited. Within your future exists a path, which leads to the destruction of the ancient evil, which drove us all from Old Home, beyond the Backbone Mountains. Sometimes this evil is personified as Fifnir, but it has grown into a vast army of monsters, not all of whom can distinguished by their appearance. Those who have come under that evil influence, will try to destroy you, because in you lies hope, and hope is their greatest enemy. To protect that hope, the Elves and Dwarves have come together to assist you, so that you may have the chance to become that which is within your future.
Your weapons, the sword and shortsword, are from the Elves, with runes of power on each. They will strike with more than your strength and speed, and shield you from many blows. Your Armor came from the Dwarven Forges, and the Elves gave the Mithril to add to the adamantite so that they would be lighter. The magics give the armor greater strength, less bulk and weight and will aid you in healing faster. As to your weapons, they are as follows.
• A sword from the Hall of Goldenwood, inscribed and magicked beyond any normal blade.
• A short sword from the Tunnels of the Small-folk, named Follower, which is as good as a shield and a strong piercing weapon.
• A Javelin, which, when the need arises can daily unleash a small lightning into its target.
• Your spear is such that it travels farther, strikes more truly and wounds more deeply, able to pierce any normal armor or hide and some that are magicked.
• Your lance is from Byredale, and is heroic in itself. It will give you balance and speed beyond your normal limits, and is almost unbreakable.
• The mace, or more properly, morning star, is from your siblings, and was found in the castle family treasures. It is supposed to have come from Old Home, and is one of the most ancient things I have ever examined. It neither corrodes, tarnishes nor becomes blunt and I could find nothing which would mark it. It detects of a magic that is older than modern history, and seems to be attuned to the monsters of Fifnir himself, as your bootjack elicits a small glow when the mace is brought near it. Your siblings decided to gift it, because they were not comfortable with its being in the hands of any who were to remain at home.
" Now, I suppose, I should speak of Waekahn, the Steed given you by those horsemen of the Mountain Family. He is much smarter than any horse you have ever known, he knows his name, your name, and many commands. I suspect that he will teach you as much as the instructors at Lackland, because his training is complete, and he is an Elven horse, who can live more than a century. Ten years of training have made him sure in battle and able to defend you well, sometimes knowing your needs before you do. If any other attempt to steal him, you should pity them, and tend any wounds that Waekahn may have when he returns to you. By the time he returns, it will be too late to tend the injuries of any thief involved.
Among your rations, which you may need, are several healing cakes and potions, for you and any companions you feel may deserve such. Also are some magic apples, not for you, but for Waekahn, one of them each day will feed him, when forage and food are lacking.
When you arrive at Lackland, probably in the city of Chevalier, you may encounter my second cousin, a ranger and mage by the name of Seana. She is a good friend to me, and will be the same to you, not to mention a warrior, and mage, of some reputation, should it come to pass that those skills are needed. Do not put your trust into anyone you do not know, unless she, your father, or I, vouch for them. Everyone may be an enemy, and some will be. Change what you are called, Waekahn suggests the name Sam, as it suits you and you used it at the Academy. It will shield you from those who have but a name to use to find you. I have faith in you, because I have raised you well, but I wish you were a few decades older. This is no trial for a child, such as you. I send this with my Love,
Jana of Byredale, Lady of the First Planting and Elflady."
• A sword from the Hall of Goldenwood, inscribed and magicked beyond any normal blade.
• A short sword from the Tunnels of the Small-folk, named Follower, which is as good as a shield and a strong piercing weapon.
• A Javelin, which, when the need arises can daily unleash a small lightning into its target.
• Your spear is such that it travels farther, strikes more truly and wounds more deeply, able to pierce any normal armor or hide and some that are magicked.
• Your lance is from Byredale, and is heroic in itself. It will give you balance and speed beyond your normal limits, and is almost unbreakable.
• The mace, or more properly, morning star, is from your siblings, and was found in the castle family treasures. It is supposed to have come from Old Home, and is one of the most ancient things I have ever examined. It neither corrodes, tarnishes nor becomes blunt and I could find nothing which would mark it. It detects of a magic that is older than modern history, and seems to be attuned to the monsters of Fifnir himself, as your bootjack elicits a small glow when the mace is brought near it. Your siblings decided to gift it, because they were not comfortable with its being in the hands of any who were to remain at home.
" Now, I suppose, I should speak of Waekahn, the Steed given you by those horsemen of the Mountain Family. He is much smarter than any horse you have ever known, he knows his name, your name, and many commands. I suspect that he will teach you as much as the instructors at Lackland, because his training is complete, and he is an Elven horse, who can live more than a century. Ten years of training have made him sure in battle and able to defend you well, sometimes knowing your needs before you do. If any other attempt to steal him, you should pity them, and tend any wounds that Waekahn may have when he returns to you. By the time he returns, it will be too late to tend the injuries of any thief involved.
Among your rations, which you may need, are several healing cakes and potions, for you and any companions you feel may deserve such. Also are some magic apples, not for you, but for Waekahn, one of them each day will feed him, when forage and food are lacking.
When you arrive at Lackland, probably in the city of Chevalier, you may encounter my second cousin, a ranger and mage by the name of Seana. She is a good friend to me, and will be the same to you, not to mention a warrior, and mage, of some reputation, should it come to pass that those skills are needed. Do not put your trust into anyone you do not know, unless she, your father, or I, vouch for them. Everyone may be an enemy, and some will be. Change what you are called, Waekahn suggests the name Sam, as it suits you and you used it at the Academy. It will shield you from those who have but a name to use to find you. I have faith in you, because I have raised you well, but I wish you were a few decades older. This is no trial for a child, such as you. I send this with my Love,
Jana of Byredale, Lady of the First Planting and Elflady."
Gladriel took a moment to be terrified, and then let his emotions sink, to the level of simply 'scared out of his mind'. Fifnir was a creature from children's stories, and not supposed to be real. Even the idea of crossing the backbone mountains, was something that gave Gladriel a tingling sensation in his hands and feet, as though he were looking down from a great precipice. The concept of having hordes of enemies out to kill him, was worse. Something that he would have expected from a hero in a book, not a part of his future. The only part of the letter that he actually liked was the line in which his mother suggested he use the name Sam, because he much preferred it to Gladriel. He resolved to make that a goal, and set himself a mental reminder to seek out this Elf named Seana, in Lackland. He hoped she was in Chavalier, so the process would be easier. He also expected her to be much like his mother, and someone who would 'keep an eye' on him, thereby ruining his chances of having any fun. When his terror subsided a bit more, Gladriel, or Sam, as he had decided to be called, was ashamed of not having read the missive sooner. Possibly he should have read it before leaving with this Caravan. He was personally convinced that it was his presence in the party which had caused the various attacks during the trip. Unsure what to do now, whether to put distance between himself and the others, or to continue on to Chevalier, he moved toward the front of the Caravan. He needn't have worried on either count. There was a conference of travelers called by Hoden before he could make any decision.
7. The Ambush Makeover
" The time has come," Hoden declared, as soon as the Caravan had assembled along the Ancient Road, " For me to make known, to you all, a few facts.
"First, and most importantly, we are traveling with Tagernoab, one of the Council Members from the Court of Egbert the wise. The information he bears is critical to the Court, and may have led to our attacker's interest." he paused, but did not give any indication he was finished.
" Secondly, and perhaps almost as important,'' he continued, "We have a shipment among our goods for Saul Baric, and, as he is perhaps the wealthiest merchant in all of commerce, you may be assured of it's value. It comes from Bobuktu and is priceless." again he paused.
"Finally, and it pains me to say it, I've taken on my most profitable load in decades. The goods I purchased in Targun this time are worth at least twice as much as my normal haul." Hoden allowed this to sink in, " We haven't been accosted by a party of bandits, probably because they weren't able to get into position to strike, that owing to our sharp lookouts and quick responses."
"That will change, because they'll be desperate now, having lost so much in the way of spies and searchers, they'll need to, at least try, to take the goods we carry, if not the information, or treasures. We can't even know how much they're aware of, or if they even know what they seek. It's not unheard of, for certain of the more powerful crime figures, to hire bandits to do their dirty work, and pay them out of the treasure, never revealing the true nature of the raid, nor what it was actually worth. It is certain that brute monsters, with little in the way of Speech or intelligence, would not know why they had been ordered to loot a Caravan."
Hoden seemed to have reached the end, and Tag moved up to him, obviously anxious to speak.
"If you've reached a place where ye can pause", the Dwarf said to him, "I'll be needing to pass along some information of my own." Hoden agreed silently, but Tag knew the man had more to say.
"I'll be brief," Tag began, " What I've learned at Whitsno is no less than terrible, and must go to the council as soon as may be. I chose this Caravan because it was leavin' early and I thought it would make good time, from the folk in it. I was right, but it's more than likely that those forces, who want my knowledge to remain concealed, have learned that I left wi' this group. Hoden is right that they'll be desperate, but I've managed to use a magical device that we council members carry, in order to alert the forces in Lackland. I should expect them tomorrow, at the latest, to provide safe escort."
"That having been said," Hoden again took the center, "I've also managed to alert Saul Baric of our plight, and because he values this cargo beyond its worth, he's sending some additional Guards, from those he keeps as part of his personal entourage."
Gladriel was listening carefully, and realized that his presence on this Caravan was probably not even known to those who would want him dead. He was leaving early, and traveling not to Lackland proper, but to Chevalier, from where he would make his own way to the Castle complex. Perhaps his presence here was more of a boon to the Caravan, than a bane. This argument made just enough sense for Sam to convince himself that travel with the Caravan was best. Fear also added it’s assurance, in that he really didn’t want to die before even having the chance to train as a Knight. He made his way back to the point from which he would begin his watch, once the caravan began moving.
No sooner was the trip well begun than Waekahn began to shift as he moved, obviously aware of something Gladriel, or rather Sam, had not noticed.
"What have you?" Sam asked him, "Something to notice?"
As soon as he spoke, Waekahn took to a swift canter and soon was at the front of the formation. From there he began crossing, back and forth, in front of the troupe, almost in a dressage motion. Sam strained his eyes and hearing, but it was his nose, that finally alerted him.
"In the Trees ahead", He called to Hoden as he turned and rode toward him.
No one had noticed anything, but Sam had a reputation of spotting danger early, and the Caravan came to a halt, as if everyone had noticed the same thing he had.
" Do ya smell that?" Tag asked Hoden, having quickly arrived alongside Sam.
" Actually I do," Hoden answered, "But if we hadn't halted, I might have missed it."
All along the head of the Caravan, you could see people noticing the miasma, and realizing that an attack was imminent. The wagons came into a protective formation, with practiced efficiency, and the animals were brought in while archers found vantage from the shelter of the wagons. Guards raised shield, to remove as much target as they might, from possible archers or javelineers, or even spearmen, if it come to that. Those mounted and armored began to form into a group, so as to be able to carry the fight to whatever came. And it came, from woods on both sides and rising from the high grass at a run. The assailants had chosen a good spot for ambush, but it was ahead of the Caravan, where the trees closed in considerably. Now the attackers would have to close over what was not an inconsiderable distance.
The assailants were in three groups, dogmen who carried bows, goblins who simply ran at the Caravan Guards, and a mounted group of bandits who were a mix of lizard, human, and whatever else one could imagine finding a mount. This mounted force was at least slightly armored and had a better grade of weapon. They were at a disadvantage, in that they were discovered before the Caravan got close, and had to make up the distance either on foot or riding. The dogmen were especially hurt, since the longbows in the Caravan could reach them before their short bows could return fire. They couldn't halt and they couldn't effectively shield themselves while running. They were being shot to pieces, but soon they would be close enough to force their prey to find cover.
It's a well known fact that Goblins don't like fire, and especially the magic sort. Someone in the Caravan had a spell for fire, and it went off about ten feet in front of the charging Goblins, effectively breaking up their charge. Some died, but most just stopped, or turned, or even reversed direction. Goblins fell over one another, and could not resume their approach as anything like an organized force. It did not bode well for them. The dogmen continued to attempt to reach their effective range, but the Goblins hampered their movement. This kept them out of bowshot, for their weapons, but not for the longbows and magicked crossbows of the defenders. The remainder of the force took a moment to form into a line, then two, and finally three, each fifty creatures strong. They began a slow march, gaining speed little by little. obviously building to a full-fledged cavalry charge as the Goblins and Dogmen worked to engage the Caravan fully. The mounted group was timing their charge, to give the advance force time to spread out into the defenders.
The members and Guards of the Caravan were outnumbered three to one, but each resolved to give a good account of himself, whatever the outcome of the battle. Sam realized that he might be at the end of his journey, instead of the middle. He refused to allow fear a place in his actions or thoughts. Fear was with him, but not his master, he had trained at least that well, at the Academy. Perhaps a few weeks ago, or at the beginning of his journey, he would have been paralyzed with terror. Now, he had killed an Ogre, an Ahnis, and a host of other creatures, in battles he wouldn’t have believed real, before this trip. He understood his fear, and the reasons for it, and was becoming its master. It didn't hurt to be wearing the best of armor and wielding magic weapons, either.
All along the head of the Caravan, you could see people noticing the miasma, and realizing that an attack was imminent. The wagons came into a protective formation, with practiced efficiency, and the animals were brought in while archers found vantage from the shelter of the wagons. Guards raised shield, to remove as much target as they might, from possible archers or javelineers, or even spearmen, if it come to that. Those mounted and armored began to form into a group, so as to be able to carry the fight to whatever came. And it came, from woods on both sides and rising from the high grass at a run. The assailants had chosen a good spot for ambush, but it was ahead of the Caravan, where the trees closed in considerably. Now the attackers would have to close over what was not an inconsiderable distance.
The assailants were in three groups, dogmen who carried bows, goblins who simply ran at the Caravan Guards, and a mounted group of bandits who were a mix of lizard, human, and whatever else one could imagine finding a mount. This mounted force was at least slightly armored and had a better grade of weapon. They were at a disadvantage, in that they were discovered before the Caravan got close, and had to make up the distance either on foot or riding. The dogmen were especially hurt, since the longbows in the Caravan could reach them before their short bows could return fire. They couldn't halt and they couldn't effectively shield themselves while running. They were being shot to pieces, but soon they would be close enough to force their prey to find cover.
It's a well known fact that Goblins don't like fire, and especially the magic sort. Someone in the Caravan had a spell for fire, and it went off about ten feet in front of the charging Goblins, effectively breaking up their charge. Some died, but most just stopped, or turned, or even reversed direction. Goblins fell over one another, and could not resume their approach as anything like an organized force. It did not bode well for them. The dogmen continued to attempt to reach their effective range, but the Goblins hampered their movement. This kept them out of bowshot, for their weapons, but not for the longbows and magicked crossbows of the defenders. The remainder of the force took a moment to form into a line, then two, and finally three, each fifty creatures strong. They began a slow march, gaining speed little by little. obviously building to a full-fledged cavalry charge as the Goblins and Dogmen worked to engage the Caravan fully. The mounted group was timing their charge, to give the advance force time to spread out into the defenders.
The members and Guards of the Caravan were outnumbered three to one, but each resolved to give a good account of himself, whatever the outcome of the battle. Sam realized that he might be at the end of his journey, instead of the middle. He refused to allow fear a place in his actions or thoughts. Fear was with him, but not his master, he had trained at least that well, at the Academy. Perhaps a few weeks ago, or at the beginning of his journey, he would have been paralyzed with terror. Now, he had killed an Ogre, an Ahnis, and a host of other creatures, in battles he wouldn’t have believed real, before this trip. He understood his fear, and the reasons for it, and was becoming its master. It didn't hurt to be wearing the best of armor and wielding magic weapons, either.
Suddenly the Caravan was awash in the surviving Goblins. Small creatures that they were, as their kind were wont to do, they climbed, failing to realize that those within the wagon hex, were just as dangerous as those outside. They leapt into the center and were either crushed by the pack animals, or quickly faced the nearly berserk women and non-mounted men, some of whom were wielding magic, as well as magic weapons. The magic darts, something everyone seemed to know, except Sam, were especially effective against Goblins, and even the dogmen could only endure a few without falling. Sam practically emptied his crossbow, never missing a single target, spurred on by that fear, ever present in his mind. He used his lance to gather up a string of about five enemies, in a mixed group of dogmen and goblins, and left it impaled in something larger that was part of the Goblin horde. Then it was a matter of sword and shortsword, while he hoped the armor would stop any stray arrow that might come by. Arrows weren't a very large danger by then, the press of bodies among the Goblin and Dogmen attackers too great to allow much in the way of accuracy, with a shortbow. It also helped that any Dogman who found a vantage point from which to shoot drew fire, and died quickly for his efforts. The Dogmen became less quick to rise above the press.
As is true in any close combat, it became a story of block, cut, slash, block, shift and stab, over and over. Every combat move he had ever practiced came in handy for Sam. He learned, in that desperate melee, his training was more than just a routine to pass exams. It was a method of preserving his own life, by taking the lives of his enemies. He became less squeamish, since edged weapons and a mace, in close combat, can be messy. He also found the power that comes to you, when you conquer fear and use it as a driving force. The foe became no more than a series of moving targets, not even living things anymore. He scarcely noticed the blows that got past his guard, and nothing slowed Waekahn, in his effort to keep Sam in the forefront of the battle. It quickly became obvious that the mounted force was the greatest danger, but the rabble around him held Sam back from any effort to confront them. The fight continued for long minutes, as the last group gained speed, soon to close with killing power. Some of the Guards fought free, to face the charge, and Sam was finally able to retrieve his lance, leaving a pile of bodies tall enough for some of the Caravan Archers to use as cover.
He rode down every creature in his path, and Waekahn seemed almost to enjoy running over them. He quickly reached the Caravan line of those facing the charge. A dozen formed up while the rest of the Caravan fought Goblins, since almost all of the Dogmen were dead. It looked bleak, but suddenly it got less depressing.
Somewhere in Lackland, some Archmage took time, out of his busy schedule, to cast a portal. His target was the location where, magic told him, the Caravan lay. He was of above average skill, in that it opened directly in front of the approaching charge. This was fortunate, as about a hundred of the King's Knights burst onto the scene. They had intended to make a display for the Caravan. What they did instead, was scare the contents out of about 150 thieves, who found themselves charging fully armored knights. The Knights, never ones to look foolish, simply spread out across the road and began to systematically target those charging them, with lance and sword. Magic strikes went out ahead of them and they moved to a gallop. The thieves were brave, to be sure, but the sight of those knights was more than they had signed on for, and they began to find ways to begin the journey away from the fight. This was especially true as the Goblins were about done dying, and someone cast a fireburst within the third rank of the bandits.
Sam fell in behind the Knights, and when one of the enemy actually made it through, it was to find Sam's lance in his face.(assuming he had a face, some didn't) Sam unhorsed two, injured another and finally took the head off one as he rode by. He was struck himself, and injured, but he had so many cuts and bruises that he simply shook off the effects, and unhorsed yet another. Since his Lance was unshielded, every enemy he lanced hit the ground quite dead. Waekahn seemed to know what to do as quickly as Sam. Alone among his dead opponents, Sam realized that not a single target had survived. He had a clear field before him. The same was true of all the Caravan fighters, except Tag. The old Dwarf found himself having to stand on the bodies of those he had slain in order to reach new victims. In only a matter of minutes, then, the fight was over, save for the Knights running down those who were trying to flee. The King's Knights believe that you either surrender or die, and running away isn't surrendering. You could come back later, if they let you flee alive.
Sam dismounted and began tending to Waekahn's wounds, ignoring his own. He now believed that his armor was all he needed to heal. Tagernoab, the Dwarf, walked up to him and spoke.
Sam dismounted and began tending to Waekahn's wounds, ignoring his own. He now believed that his armor was all he needed to heal. Tagernoab, the Dwarf, walked up to him and spoke.
"Tend to the worst of his, and then the worst of yours, Sam," He had decided to use Sam, as it sounded less like a 'sissy Elf name', in his words. "You can tend his minor wounds later, if you're not down from your own."
"Thank you for the wisdom" Sam responded," I'll do just that."
8. After the battle's over
Once he had spread healing salve on all the major wounds on Waekahn, and made sure that they were closing, Sam reached into his saddlebag and retrieved one of his mother's healing potions. He drank as if it were a draught of water. As the magic and medicine hit him, Sam was forced to sit beside Waekahn, because he was no longer able to stand. He had not realized the extent of his own wounds, and he might have collapsed from sheer loss of blood, had not Tag stopped him. Sam realized that he was going to have some trouble cleaning his armor, not to mention his weapons and saddle, because of the blood and gore on them. He also realized that he would need to see a healer, since the potion had only removed the worst of his injuries. Suddenly he felt arms lifting him, and heard the voice of Linda, whom he was thrilled to see, speaking to him.
"Here now," she began, " You've been a hero for long enough. It's time you got properly cleaned up and healed, since you saved so many lives today."
Sam explained he would have to care for Waekahn himself, because he was an Elven horse, but was surprised to learn that there was an Elf in the company who cared for mounts and would be available to assist him. An Elven Equerry would be a blessing, they were rare outside of Elven settlements.
He avoided removing his armor, citing modesty, but actually so that the armor's healing properties could help Linda’s ministrations. Therefore, he was able to attend the remainder of Waekahn's injuries, in short order. Not that he was uninjured, but he reached the point that he could attend Waekahn and continue to heal. In that interim, much happened.
"Here now," she began, " You've been a hero for long enough. It's time you got properly cleaned up and healed, since you saved so many lives today."
Sam explained he would have to care for Waekahn himself, because he was an Elven horse, but was surprised to learn that there was an Elf in the company who cared for mounts and would be available to assist him. An Elven Equerry would be a blessing, they were rare outside of Elven settlements.
He avoided removing his armor, citing modesty, but actually so that the armor's healing properties could help Linda’s ministrations. Therefore, he was able to attend the remainder of Waekahn's injuries, in short order. Not that he was uninjured, but he reached the point that he could attend Waekahn and continue to heal. In that interim, much happened.
The Knights returned, and were regaled, by Tagernoab, with the entire story of Sam, the Knight trainee, on his way to Lackland, and already a hero in his own right. This while they discussed what they had witnessed, and either healed each other, or were healed by various others and sundry. While the knights were not predisposed to place much credence in a tale told by a Dwarf, they quickly learned that everyone on the Caravan, even the seasoned Guards, felt the young man had performed at least above normal, if not heroically. Once they realized that the 'Knight' who had stood the line behind them, preventing any of the raiders from reaching the caravan, was he, their respect grew immensely. Had the Knights been aware of Sam's unique problem, and known of the nature of the adversaries he had been told to expect, they would have been even more impressed. Sam, it seemed, had made a name for himself, even though his actual name never came up in conversation. It was probably due to the fact that Tagernoab didn't like Sam's given name. At least he worked hard to make sure the Elf-like name never got mentioned.
Sam, having been sewn up and cleaned up, was tending to Waekahn with the help of a very knowledgeable Elf. Mostly he was trying to become presentable before facing a cadre of the King's Knights. He had no idea of the discussion involving him. By the time he got himself in order, as much as he was able, the Knights had come to him. They were around a large campfire, where nut brew was being made.
Sam, having been sewn up and cleaned up, was tending to Waekahn with the help of a very knowledgeable Elf. Mostly he was trying to become presentable before facing a cadre of the King's Knights. He had no idea of the discussion involving him. By the time he got himself in order, as much as he was able, the Knights had come to him. They were around a large campfire, where nut brew was being made.
"Fancy a cup of Joe?", one of the Knights inquired, "You look as if you could use it."
"If there's plenty," Sam responded, feeling quite intimidated by the Knights.
"From what I've heard, and what I saw," the Knight responded, "You've earned a cup and more, even if there isn't enough."
" I've got some Samovar fine in my pack," Sam volunteered, "If we run short."
"Fights like a squad of regulars," another Knight put in," And has his own Nutbrew to boot. That's Knight material if I ever saw it!"
With a laugh the first speaker added, "And Samovar Fine as well, there's a young man who knows his nutbrew."
"You're Sam, right?" the second speaker put in, "I'm Sir Elkin, and the man before you is our Commander, Sir Albren."
"I'm from the Academy at Targun," Sam thought quickly, "I'm called Sam and I've been accepted to train at Lackland."
" I shouldn't wonder," the Knight Commander responded, "I'd take you into my ranks as you are, with the skills you have and the bravery you showed. You can't teach bravery, a man either has it or he doesn't."
As the evening wore on, the Knights became acquainted with Waekahn, since Sam continued to check on him. Nothing would do, but the Knights had to admire the Elven horse, a creature almost never seen outside of Elven Realms. It gradually became less and less formal, with finally the 'sirs' being dropped, everyone using just names and talking about the season, various nutbrews, and the quality of various types of healing. Sam's sword drew some comment, as it was 'better than most', and the morning star made the rounds to everyone, because of its 'strange magic'. None of the Knights, save Sir Albren, had actually seen an Elven Destrier, up close. Waekahn got more attention than even he deserved. His shoes and coat were carefully examined, with advice from one and all on what might be best for him. The Elf, who had helped attend to Waekahn, made sure to veto any bad advice, and praise anything good that he heard. Sam learned more than a few things that he made sure to remember, to make Waekahn's care of a higher quality.
Finally it was night, and Sam made ready to take a watch circling the Caravan, as he always did.
"Sam," Knight Commander Albren spoke to him, "You and Waekahn have earned a night of solid rest, to heal and appreciate the rewards of heroism."
"Are you sure, Sir", Sam looked concerned, " I wouldn't want to inconvenience any of the Knights."
"We were sent as an Escort," Albren answered, "And the other Caravansary are already fast asleep. If they get to sleep, you certainly do. Only Lord Tagernoab performed as well as you, and he's a veteran of many wars and hundreds of years old."
Sam knew of one other who had performed with skill and without fear, felling probably a score of dogmen and even more of the Goblins, but he respected the Black Cat enough not to mention him. Anyway, that strange Dark Elf was probably watching, from a perch somewhere, already. Sam took a moment to consider, and then said he would check one last time on Waekahn and go to bed. Albren told him to do so, with what was almost an open laugh.
The night came and went, as night does, and sleep was not broken by any violent moments. It appeared to the Knights that all of the attackers had perished at the ambush, and the trip to Chavalier would be without incident. Hoden, Tag and Sam were not so sure. After that much expenditure, it seemed an overconfident attitude to assume another try would not be made.
"They would need a company of attackers, and I doubt they have that nearby," was all that Sir Albren would say.
Sam and Tag discussed it, and had to agree that Sir Albren was probably correct. This close to Lackland itself, a large group of lawless bandits, of the skill needed to mount an effective offense against this Caravan, might be hard to find, and would take more time than whoever was behind this had left. Only if the force was being assembled for some other purpose would they be able to attack. Then the Caravan reached the Guards sent by Saul Baric. Those valiant fighters were bandaged, limping and leading injured horses. They looked as if they had encountered a squad of Hel's legions.
"Amicus?" Sir Albren rode up to the leader of the injured band, " What in 'Er Blood's name did you encounter? A dragon?"
"Worse", came the answer, " There were at least half a dozen Green Trolls, no less than four Ogres, a pack of hags, complete with Magic, and an, honest to Ar, Umf, so awful that you had to fight it without looking at it."
"Oh is that all?" Sir Albren returned, "I was afraid that it was something dangerous."
"Fights like a squad of regulars," another Knight put in," And has his own Nutbrew to boot. That's Knight material if I ever saw it!"
With a laugh the first speaker added, "And Samovar Fine as well, there's a young man who knows his nutbrew."
"You're Sam, right?" the second speaker put in, "I'm Sir Elkin, and the man before you is our Commander, Sir Albren."
"I'm from the Academy at Targun," Sam thought quickly, "I'm called Sam and I've been accepted to train at Lackland."
" I shouldn't wonder," the Knight Commander responded, "I'd take you into my ranks as you are, with the skills you have and the bravery you showed. You can't teach bravery, a man either has it or he doesn't."
As the evening wore on, the Knights became acquainted with Waekahn, since Sam continued to check on him. Nothing would do, but the Knights had to admire the Elven horse, a creature almost never seen outside of Elven Realms. It gradually became less and less formal, with finally the 'sirs' being dropped, everyone using just names and talking about the season, various nutbrews, and the quality of various types of healing. Sam's sword drew some comment, as it was 'better than most', and the morning star made the rounds to everyone, because of its 'strange magic'. None of the Knights, save Sir Albren, had actually seen an Elven Destrier, up close. Waekahn got more attention than even he deserved. His shoes and coat were carefully examined, with advice from one and all on what might be best for him. The Elf, who had helped attend to Waekahn, made sure to veto any bad advice, and praise anything good that he heard. Sam learned more than a few things that he made sure to remember, to make Waekahn's care of a higher quality.
Finally it was night, and Sam made ready to take a watch circling the Caravan, as he always did.
"Sam," Knight Commander Albren spoke to him, "You and Waekahn have earned a night of solid rest, to heal and appreciate the rewards of heroism."
"Are you sure, Sir", Sam looked concerned, " I wouldn't want to inconvenience any of the Knights."
"We were sent as an Escort," Albren answered, "And the other Caravansary are already fast asleep. If they get to sleep, you certainly do. Only Lord Tagernoab performed as well as you, and he's a veteran of many wars and hundreds of years old."
Sam knew of one other who had performed with skill and without fear, felling probably a score of dogmen and even more of the Goblins, but he respected the Black Cat enough not to mention him. Anyway, that strange Dark Elf was probably watching, from a perch somewhere, already. Sam took a moment to consider, and then said he would check one last time on Waekahn and go to bed. Albren told him to do so, with what was almost an open laugh.
The night came and went, as night does, and sleep was not broken by any violent moments. It appeared to the Knights that all of the attackers had perished at the ambush, and the trip to Chavalier would be without incident. Hoden, Tag and Sam were not so sure. After that much expenditure, it seemed an overconfident attitude to assume another try would not be made.
"They would need a company of attackers, and I doubt they have that nearby," was all that Sir Albren would say.
Sam and Tag discussed it, and had to agree that Sir Albren was probably correct. This close to Lackland itself, a large group of lawless bandits, of the skill needed to mount an effective offense against this Caravan, might be hard to find, and would take more time than whoever was behind this had left. Only if the force was being assembled for some other purpose would they be able to attack. Then the Caravan reached the Guards sent by Saul Baric. Those valiant fighters were bandaged, limping and leading injured horses. They looked as if they had encountered a squad of Hel's legions.
"Amicus?" Sir Albren rode up to the leader of the injured band, " What in 'Er Blood's name did you encounter? A dragon?"
"Worse", came the answer, " There were at least half a dozen Green Trolls, no less than four Ogres, a pack of hags, complete with Magic, and an, honest to Ar, Umf, so awful that you had to fight it without looking at it."
"Oh is that all?" Sir Albren returned, "I was afraid that it was something dangerous."
" They left when we put up the 'wards and lightning'," Amicus went on, " and took the platoon of goons with them."
"Left to where?" Sir Albren was suddenly serious.
" Down the road toward Chevalier," Amicus answered, " They seemed to be looking for someone else, probably you lot."
Sir Albren wasted no time, but told Sir Elkin to attend to the injured men and horses while he spoke with Hoden.
"We need to call a halt and have a conference," he said to Hoden, without preamble, "There's some major trouble ahead."
The Caravan stopped, yet again, and the healers went to work. Linda was in evidence, and very busy. Sam gave one of the men in the party a healing cake, because he looked as if he would not be able to recover otherwise, and then learned he was a mage and had saved the entire band by leading the 'wards and lightning' spell. Leading such a spell was very draining, and the healing cake was probably the best remedy available. The mage searched his face, memorizing it for future use.
When all the principles were able to gather, and information was about to be laid out, an old man came up from the Caravan wagons, with several retainers obviously trying to quiet him.
"I don't care what the excuse is, this time," he told his retainers, "I will know why my journey has been interrupted again. What caused us to halt?" this question was aimed in the general direction of Hoden.
"I did," Sir Albren answered, "and if you'll shut up and listen, you'll learn why."
"I am Lord Eglion, High Archmage of the Order of Air on Magic Isle," the old man responded, "I'm not often told to shut up and listen."
" And I am Sir Albren, High Commander of His Majesty's Knights, Order of the Realm," came his answer, "And I often tell others to shut up and listen, it's a perquisite of my position."
" Down the road toward Chevalier," Amicus answered, " They seemed to be looking for someone else, probably you lot."
Sir Albren wasted no time, but told Sir Elkin to attend to the injured men and horses while he spoke with Hoden.
"We need to call a halt and have a conference," he said to Hoden, without preamble, "There's some major trouble ahead."
The Caravan stopped, yet again, and the healers went to work. Linda was in evidence, and very busy. Sam gave one of the men in the party a healing cake, because he looked as if he would not be able to recover otherwise, and then learned he was a mage and had saved the entire band by leading the 'wards and lightning' spell. Leading such a spell was very draining, and the healing cake was probably the best remedy available. The mage searched his face, memorizing it for future use.
When all the principles were able to gather, and information was about to be laid out, an old man came up from the Caravan wagons, with several retainers obviously trying to quiet him.
"I don't care what the excuse is, this time," he told his retainers, "I will know why my journey has been interrupted again. What caused us to halt?" this question was aimed in the general direction of Hoden.
"I did," Sir Albren answered, "and if you'll shut up and listen, you'll learn why."
"I am Lord Eglion, High Archmage of the Order of Air on Magic Isle," the old man responded, "I'm not often told to shut up and listen."
" And I am Sir Albren, High Commander of His Majesty's Knights, Order of the Realm," came his answer, "And I often tell others to shut up and listen, it's a perquisite of my position."
"Fair enough," came the answer from the Archmage, "I'll take your advice, as I know of the Knights of the Realm and would not willing cross them."
His retainers were silenced, by virtue of having witnessed the first time their master had shown respect to anyone, ever. The Archmage listened to the description of the monstrous force awaiting them and his complexion varied from white, to red, to almost blue and finally back to normal, with difficulty. Sam lost any trace of composure he might have had, and if Tagernoab had not been beside him and the Knights before him, he might have taken Waekahn and tried a cross country route to Chevalier. He realized that there was work to be done on his newly found ‘mastery of fear’. Tag looked serious, and for a Dwarf that is no easy task, as one would always think them serious until seeing the look that Tag bore. It was an expression to melt lead. Hoden was upset, for as much as he maintained an air of authority over the Caravan, this gave him pause, and his look did not bode well for any enemy he might encounter. Oddly, it was the Archmage Eglion who spoke first.
His retainers were silenced, by virtue of having witnessed the first time their master had shown respect to anyone, ever. The Archmage listened to the description of the monstrous force awaiting them and his complexion varied from white, to red, to almost blue and finally back to normal, with difficulty. Sam lost any trace of composure he might have had, and if Tagernoab had not been beside him and the Knights before him, he might have taken Waekahn and tried a cross country route to Chevalier. He realized that there was work to be done on his newly found ‘mastery of fear’. Tag looked serious, and for a Dwarf that is no easy task, as one would always think them serious until seeing the look that Tag bore. It was an expression to melt lead. Hoden was upset, for as much as he maintained an air of authority over the Caravan, this gave him pause, and his look did not bode well for any enemy he might encounter. Oddly, it was the Archmage Eglion who spoke first.
"The time has come for me to intervene," he remarked, "Wards, with Lightning, is a good solid spell, but we need something with bite and fire, for this."
"I could not agree more," Sir Albren came back, " What, if I may ask, do you have in mind?"
Without answering him, Archmage Eglion turned to his closest retainer, "Fetch me my third book of Spells, the one about Dragons," was all he said.
9. Taking it to the Streets
Every person who had magic was preparing it, and every corner and cubby was searched for any herb that might be of use, either in battle or healing. The Guard alternated from setting up whatever magic they possessed to patrolling the camp. Sam rode a wide patrol, stopping to gather herbs whenever he found any that were of value. He was suddenly glad of being the youngest sibling, because it caused him to have to learn herbs and how to gather them. He found little, but even some was better than none, and one find was truly a treasure. With small white flowers and starburst leaves, and unique to the Amerynth family of healing herbs, it was Whitestar. It is one of the strongest herbs that can be used, in compounding Healing draughts, and Sam found a pouch full. That earned him smiles and a kiss from Linda who was brewing draughts as fast as she regained strength. Making the draughts was as draining as casting the spell, and so the healers were bone weary by day's end. Meanwhile, over in the Archmage's wagon, big things were afoot.
Shortly after the Archmage made his decision, Eglion was engrossed in his 'third book of magic'. It was a tome as large as half a man's arm length and a hand thick. In only a few minutes, he was heard to exclaim "Ah Ha! Eureka!" and, putting a bookmark in his book, he took it and almost ran into his Caravan wagon. Another few minutes passed and the wagon began to glow blue, as a sign appeared on the door declaring, "Disturbing this wagon may be hazardous to your health". There was little likelihood of anyone disturbing an Archmage, let alone a High Archmage, and even less when his wagon was glowing with blue fire. The sign just made certain that if anyone were killed, by touching the conveyance, they would have been adequately warned.
Time passed, as it has a way of doing, the sun finally giving up to the evening, and the large moon rose. Sam took time to find, and thank, The Black Cat, for his part in the battle. He found the dark elf distant, and yet easy to talk to, as if the barrier was one of habit, a perpetual way of addressing the world at large. It was a bright night, because of a clear sky and visible stars. Also the tiny moon, Lemuel, was behind the large one, Aine, when they rose, but would take longer on its passage through the sky. It would be visible in only a few hours adding light to the already bright mix. Both moons were nearly full, so that the evening sky would be well lit. On a bright night, like this one, everyone came to the evening meal. It was quite a gathering, when the Archmage arrived, looking as if Death had been unable to force itself to take him. He smiled, and didn't look much better.
"I did it," he announced, " For the first time in over a thousand years, I bespoke a Dragon".
"Sweet merciful mounds of masticated mulch!" a voice said quietly.
Shortly after the Archmage made his decision, Eglion was engrossed in his 'third book of magic'. It was a tome as large as half a man's arm length and a hand thick. In only a few minutes, he was heard to exclaim "Ah Ha! Eureka!" and, putting a bookmark in his book, he took it and almost ran into his Caravan wagon. Another few minutes passed and the wagon began to glow blue, as a sign appeared on the door declaring, "Disturbing this wagon may be hazardous to your health". There was little likelihood of anyone disturbing an Archmage, let alone a High Archmage, and even less when his wagon was glowing with blue fire. The sign just made certain that if anyone were killed, by touching the conveyance, they would have been adequately warned.
Time passed, as it has a way of doing, the sun finally giving up to the evening, and the large moon rose. Sam took time to find, and thank, The Black Cat, for his part in the battle. He found the dark elf distant, and yet easy to talk to, as if the barrier was one of habit, a perpetual way of addressing the world at large. It was a bright night, because of a clear sky and visible stars. Also the tiny moon, Lemuel, was behind the large one, Aine, when they rose, but would take longer on its passage through the sky. It would be visible in only a few hours adding light to the already bright mix. Both moons were nearly full, so that the evening sky would be well lit. On a bright night, like this one, everyone came to the evening meal. It was quite a gathering, when the Archmage arrived, looking as if Death had been unable to force itself to take him. He smiled, and didn't look much better.
"I did it," he announced, " For the first time in over a thousand years, I bespoke a Dragon".
"Sweet merciful mounds of masticated mulch!" a voice said quietly.
"To what end?" Hoden's voice was quiet, but almost hopeful.
" Oh," Eglion answered, " I had read that righteous Dragons hated Umfs, and would seek out and destroy them, so I found one and told him of our encounter. He was most interested and will be here by dawn."
"Ah, I see," said Albren, "We can expect a Dragon to add to our woes."
" Oh," Eglion answered, " I had read that righteous Dragons hated Umfs, and would seek out and destroy them, so I found one and told him of our encounter. He was most interested and will be here by dawn."
"Ah, I see," said Albren, "We can expect a Dragon to add to our woes."
"A righteous Dragon," Eglion corrected him, "One of those who fought alongside men in the Ancient War."
"I thought those were all long passed" said Tagernoab, thoughtfully.
" We, in the Halls of Magic Isle, have long known of several who still watch over Mankind," said Eglion, "But usually they haunt the backbone mountains. I was fortunate to find one this far East. He was above the Great Plateau, hunting a creature so terrible that it frightens even me, an ahnis!"
"Like the one Sam killed the other day?", came a voice from the dark.
" I seriously doubt that any of you, or all of you, could have accomplished that feat" Eglion returned.
" Want to see the head?" Hoden asked, "I've got it in a jar."
" If you had such a thing," Eglion replied, "I would buy it from you with a sack of Emperor's Tears".
Hoden was up and moving in an instant, and back in two more, since a single one of the stones called 'Emperor's Tears' was worth more than a year's wages for any merchant or officer. He had a covered jar that he, carefully, passed over to Eglion.
" This is it," he said, " Sam took its head off, with his morning star."
"I thought those were all long passed" said Tagernoab, thoughtfully.
" We, in the Halls of Magic Isle, have long known of several who still watch over Mankind," said Eglion, "But usually they haunt the backbone mountains. I was fortunate to find one this far East. He was above the Great Plateau, hunting a creature so terrible that it frightens even me, an ahnis!"
"Like the one Sam killed the other day?", came a voice from the dark.
" I seriously doubt that any of you, or all of you, could have accomplished that feat" Eglion returned.
" Want to see the head?" Hoden asked, "I've got it in a jar."
" If you had such a thing," Eglion replied, "I would buy it from you with a sack of Emperor's Tears".
Hoden was up and moving in an instant, and back in two more, since a single one of the stones called 'Emperor's Tears' was worth more than a year's wages for any merchant or officer. He had a covered jar that he, carefully, passed over to Eglion.
" This is it," he said, " Sam took its head off, with his morning star."
" We shall see," Eglion spoke while untying the bag, "What manner of creature this really,,,," his voice trailed off, as he saw the head, submerged in a fluid that kept it in stasis.
Hoden was not so much worried about the head rotting as he was afraid that it might spring to life and attack.
"Sam," Eglion said quietly, "With what, did you kill this thing?"
Sam picked up his morning star, which he carried because it had almost no weight, and sitting by the fire was difficult, wearing a broadsword.
Sam picked up his morning star, which he carried because it had almost no weight, and sitting by the fire was difficult, wearing a broadsword.
"Here it is," he told Eglion.
"The star of Sedelma," Eglion said, almost at once, "Well I suppose that would have done it. Did it hurt you much to wield it?"
"The star of Sedelma," Eglion said, almost at once, "Well I suppose that would have done it. Did it hurt you much to wield it?"
" I'm almost completely magic blind," Sam answered, " It was painless, at least to me".
" The forces in this can maim or kill the one who wields it," Eglion told Sam, "Unless the wielder is precisely attuned to the weapon. I can see you are indeed a fortunate young man."
"At least I don't have worry about its being stolen," Sam rejoined, " No one else can use it."
"Very few, if any," agreed Eglion " and they would probably not know unless they tried. A dangerous game at best, since a mistake could be fatal." .
"Back to this Dragon," Albren broke in, "Just which one did you say it was?"
"I didn't say," Eglion answered, "But since you asked, it's Alhabra, himself."
"His very self," Tagernoab joined the discussion, "The Lord of the Dragons?"
"His title is actually chief defender of humankind and Dragonkind," Eglion said, "But he isn't big on titles, and prefers to be called Alhabra."
"My head," Hoden said, referring to the ahnis head that Eglion still held.
"I really wish you'd take me up on that bag of gems," Eglion responded, "Alhabra would be most appreciative if I could present him with this."
"We'll present it as a gift from the Caravan, and from Sam, who killed it", said Hoden.
"Even better," Eglion agreed, " That way he'll not only kill the Umf, but probably the others as well."
"Should make for an interesting day, all round," came the voice from the dark.
That having been said, dinner was finished and those who could do so went to sleep. Some did not.
10. Dragon the line
When morning arrived, Sam wasted no time in going to the Breakfast Campfire, both because he wanted to have a morning cup, and because he wanted to hear any news about the Dragon. As he and Linda approached the area, he saw Hoden, who was talking to a tall, muscular man, with pure silver hair. The man was not familiar, and that was a surprise, because Sam knew just about all of his fellow travelers by now, if some just by sight. He wondered if the stranger had brought news of the Dragon, he hoped so.
"Ah, Sam", Hoden called as he saw the young man, "I've a guest I think you'd like to meet."
"My name is Sam," Sam said to the stranger, "and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Well spoken, young Samovar," the stranger returned, "I am Alhabra, of whom you have heard. I've come to help deal with a problem you and your fellow travelers are having with an Umf."
Sam was struck speechless, even though he knew from the stories he had heard that some Dragons could magically assume human form. He could think of nothing to say, and then tentatively he recalled an item from the last evening's conversation.
"Ah, Sam", Hoden called as he saw the young man, "I've a guest I think you'd like to meet."
"My name is Sam," Sam said to the stranger, "and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Well spoken, young Samovar," the stranger returned, "I am Alhabra, of whom you have heard. I've come to help deal with a problem you and your fellow travelers are having with an Umf."
Sam was struck speechless, even though he knew from the stories he had heard that some Dragons could magically assume human form. He could think of nothing to say, and then tentatively he recalled an item from the last evening's conversation.
"I believe I may have killed the ahnis you were tracking," he said, apologetically, "Well, me, and those with me."
"And glad am I, that the thing is dead," Alhabra answered, "I've seen the head, and it's the very one I was seeking. I believe we can assume that Eglion will buy it, and be glad to get it."
"I can only thank you for coming," Sam returned, "We'll have enough trouble with the other monsters, without having to deal with an Umf as well."
"Perhaps I can be of service in that," Alhabra remarked, "Green Trolls and Hags have no business among the lands of humankind, and Ogres just get right up my nose."
In spite of himself, and perhaps because of nerves, Sam laughed at the image of a huge Dragon with an Ogre up his nose. He started to apologize but Hoden laughed as well, and then Albern made a comment about toasted green troll being a delicacy in some quarters, and Alhabra had to laugh as well. Breakfast went well from that point, with Alhabra proving he was a Dragon by eating enough for three men. Tagernoab, not to be outdone, ate enough for two. Sam almost forgot to eat, until Alhabra passed him a piece of carrobier and told him it tasted fresh and was cooked to perfection. The hunt and kill of the creature was suddenly on everyone's lips, since it was something of a triumph to take one so large, and in such a dangerous place as well. Sam couldn’t figure out what had happened to Linda, she just wasn’t there, when he turned to introduce her.
"And glad am I, that the thing is dead," Alhabra answered, "I've seen the head, and it's the very one I was seeking. I believe we can assume that Eglion will buy it, and be glad to get it."
"I can only thank you for coming," Sam returned, "We'll have enough trouble with the other monsters, without having to deal with an Umf as well."
"Perhaps I can be of service in that," Alhabra remarked, "Green Trolls and Hags have no business among the lands of humankind, and Ogres just get right up my nose."
In spite of himself, and perhaps because of nerves, Sam laughed at the image of a huge Dragon with an Ogre up his nose. He started to apologize but Hoden laughed as well, and then Albern made a comment about toasted green troll being a delicacy in some quarters, and Alhabra had to laugh as well. Breakfast went well from that point, with Alhabra proving he was a Dragon by eating enough for three men. Tagernoab, not to be outdone, ate enough for two. Sam almost forgot to eat, until Alhabra passed him a piece of carrobier and told him it tasted fresh and was cooked to perfection. The hunt and kill of the creature was suddenly on everyone's lips, since it was something of a triumph to take one so large, and in such a dangerous place as well. Sam couldn’t figure out what had happened to Linda, she just wasn’t there, when he turned to introduce her.
"That must've drawn the Ahnis' Wartearn," Alhabra mused, thinking about the encounter "The monster would have been enraged by that."
"Perhaps that explains its attack on the Guard," Sam agreed, "I would have expected one of its deadly magics, but it just struck with claw and fang.", Sam still did not know that the creature had cast a spell at him.
The talk continued until the time arrived for moving the Caravan onward toward Chevalier. Alhabra chose to travel on foot, since he might have to change and fly without notice. As the caravan came into motion, conversation could be heard on the usual subjects, but much was also said about how nice and personable Alhabra had proven to be. He wasn't scary at all, to any of the Caravansary, although the mounts. hauling, and pack animals, shied at his presence. That didn't include Waekahn however, and Sam realized that the horse was having a conversation with the Dragon. Sam missed most of it, but it seemed to be a description of the journey from Targun, as viewed by Waekahn. Sam hoped he didn't come off too badly. Later on, he would wonder if Alhabra had chosen to walk solely for the purpose of talking to Waekahn. It would be years before he learned why Linda had chosen not to meet the Dragon. Retrospect certainly showed that the Dragon knew more, and knows more, than he tells. After a while, as the Troop moved down the Ancient Road, Sam began to sing one of his Traveling songs. To his great surprise, Alhabra joined him in an intricate harmony that quickly caused everyone who heard it to join in. In minutes, the entire Caravan was singing the road song, and the Caravan began to travel more quickly. The pace hadn't changed, but the road seemed to rise to meet them, and they moved as if in a magic field. It was both strange and exhilarating for Sam and he went through every verse he knew, and then the first and last again, before ending the song. Every person was alert and poised for action, with morale high and fears very low. Somehow everyone knew that this would be a day of victory and the battle was as good as won. The mood was good, for awhile.
Presently, Sam noticed that the birds had abandoned the trees, and there was a lack of small animals in the brush. The sides of the road seemed devoid of life, and then he noticed that there were no flying insects to be seen.
"Something's wrong," He spoke softly to Alhabra, "Even the insects seem to have gone."
"Hags do that," Alhabra explained, "They summon the insects to use as a weapon. It's one of the things I don't like about them. It's bad enough when the Druids do it, but at least they care about the bugs."
"Form up," Sam said to a passing Knight, there's something we can't yet see, ahead." Alhabra was silent.
The Road dipped ahead, forming a hollow at about a quarter mile ahead, but it was deceptive in its depth. The low lying area was just enough cover for the waiting Hags and Goons, with the Trolls, Ogres and Umf forced to hide in the tree line a hundred yards on both sides of the way. Sam had a sudden epiphany and rode up to Albren.
"Perhaps some of our Archers could arc some arrows beyond the rise, just to be sure the space is empty." He suggested.
"It would take a magic arrow to stir that lot," Albren replied, "If they're even there."
"I'd like to try it," Sam continued, "With your permission, of course."
" It's your arrow," Albren said, "I just hope there's nothing there, I'd like to be closer to the city when we're attacked, all things considered."
Sam selected one of the magic bolts that remained to him, not trusting those the crossbow made. In a short while, a couple of the archers came up to inquire just what the flack he was doing. After Sam's brief explanation, one of the archers took a handful of arrows, dribbled a bit of something on them and said something obviously in the way of a spell. He then split the arrows with the other Archer and they began firing at the greatest range they could reach. Sam hadn't fired, but was singing a song about little arrows that hit everyone, every now and then. It actually seemed to help the Archers find the range, as the Caravan closed on the hidden area. Everyone in the forefront of the Caravan heard the first real scream, it was obviously something that was hurt and angry, and not even vaguely human. It was also loud. Somehow, Alhabra had gotten lost, Sam had no idea what had become of him.
Hodan had arranged a signal for his Drivers to halt, in case of something like this, and used it now. The knights, already aware of the danger, galloped into a phalanx. The Caravan Guards, and Saul Baric's unit, found a way to screen the front of the Caravan, while being mostly covered with shield. Sam, still singing his arrow tune took aim on the top of the yet empty rise, and as he reached the line about the arrows coming out of the blue, he loosed his bolt toward what was only a tiny suggestion of movement, just beyond the rise.
While the crossbow bolt was in flight, and more quickly than any man could have moved, a couple of goons and a hag came over the top. The hag had an arrow in one of her eyes, and had probably been the source of the scream. Sam's bolt went right through the goon in front of her and lodged in her chest, effectively ending whatever spell she was about to unleash. At some command, lost to any non-Knight in the group, a charge began, with the Guards moving up sharply behind the heavily armored force. A burst of flame erupted, beyond the rise, sent from the Caravan by the mage who had the long distance fire spell.
"Something's wrong," He spoke softly to Alhabra, "Even the insects seem to have gone."
"Hags do that," Alhabra explained, "They summon the insects to use as a weapon. It's one of the things I don't like about them. It's bad enough when the Druids do it, but at least they care about the bugs."
"Form up," Sam said to a passing Knight, there's something we can't yet see, ahead." Alhabra was silent.
The Road dipped ahead, forming a hollow at about a quarter mile ahead, but it was deceptive in its depth. The low lying area was just enough cover for the waiting Hags and Goons, with the Trolls, Ogres and Umf forced to hide in the tree line a hundred yards on both sides of the way. Sam had a sudden epiphany and rode up to Albren.
"Perhaps some of our Archers could arc some arrows beyond the rise, just to be sure the space is empty." He suggested.
"It would take a magic arrow to stir that lot," Albren replied, "If they're even there."
"I'd like to try it," Sam continued, "With your permission, of course."
" It's your arrow," Albren said, "I just hope there's nothing there, I'd like to be closer to the city when we're attacked, all things considered."
Sam selected one of the magic bolts that remained to him, not trusting those the crossbow made. In a short while, a couple of the archers came up to inquire just what the flack he was doing. After Sam's brief explanation, one of the archers took a handful of arrows, dribbled a bit of something on them and said something obviously in the way of a spell. He then split the arrows with the other Archer and they began firing at the greatest range they could reach. Sam hadn't fired, but was singing a song about little arrows that hit everyone, every now and then. It actually seemed to help the Archers find the range, as the Caravan closed on the hidden area. Everyone in the forefront of the Caravan heard the first real scream, it was obviously something that was hurt and angry, and not even vaguely human. It was also loud. Somehow, Alhabra had gotten lost, Sam had no idea what had become of him.
Hodan had arranged a signal for his Drivers to halt, in case of something like this, and used it now. The knights, already aware of the danger, galloped into a phalanx. The Caravan Guards, and Saul Baric's unit, found a way to screen the front of the Caravan, while being mostly covered with shield. Sam, still singing his arrow tune took aim on the top of the yet empty rise, and as he reached the line about the arrows coming out of the blue, he loosed his bolt toward what was only a tiny suggestion of movement, just beyond the rise.
While the crossbow bolt was in flight, and more quickly than any man could have moved, a couple of goons and a hag came over the top. The hag had an arrow in one of her eyes, and had probably been the source of the scream. Sam's bolt went right through the goon in front of her and lodged in her chest, effectively ending whatever spell she was about to unleash. At some command, lost to any non-Knight in the group, a charge began, with the Guards moving up sharply behind the heavily armored force. A burst of flame erupted, beyond the rise, sent from the Caravan by the mage who had the long distance fire spell.
Sam didn't remember moving up, but Waekahn carried him to the top of the rise just after the knights cleared it. He found a melee below, with Knights killing Goons almost with abandon, and the Hags reduced to spells they could use without killing their own. Sam, with his repeating crossbow, put five bolts into the air so quickly that the last was fired before the first reached target. Then, Elven sword in his main hand and mace in his right, he entered the battle. It was harder to kill the Goons than it had been to kill Goblins, they were canny fighters and strong, with either a club or some other blunt weapon that had to be blocked. Both the Sword and the morning star proved more than adequate weapons, and his Elven armor aided him in avoiding blows. Waekahn was, as usual, fully barded, seeming not to notice the Goons unless it was to kick one or bite a handy appendage. Sam was making no progress, but he did seem to be helping to keep the right flank of the Knights formation less crowded, so that they could press forward into the foe. Then the Caravan Guards arrived, and Goons began to die like flies on a sweet poison.
Sam remembered, from his training: " A mortal wound is a very severe and serious injury (almost always a form of penetration or laceration) whether accidental or inflicted intentionally, leading directly to the death of the victim. Death need not be instantaneous, but follows soon after." He strove to fulfill the definition as many times as he could. The Knights would wound the Goons and pass them on, so that the Guards could finish them. It was an efficient strategy that allowed the knights to close on the hags. Suddenly the Hags quit caring about the Goons and lightning and fire were everywhere. Then, as suddenly as the spells began, they halted. The knights had ridden down every hag who tried to concentrate on a spell, and that left only those that the guard killed. Even though they were not unscathed, they were all alive, and the Knights and Guards looked up to see what was next.
In the sky there was a solid cloud of Gold, it had wings and was fully ninety feet from tip to tail. The wings spread probably sixty feet outward from the body, on each side, and moved with a lazy motion that seemed almost casual. Sam understood where Alhabra had gone, it must have taken some time to achieve that altitude and position. As the Trolls and Ogres left the shelter of the trees, the Dragon watched, until the Umf emerged. It was hideous and its wail could terrify, or even kill, but it reacted to Dragon's Breath in the same way anything else does. It took damage. In an instant the creature put up a magical shield that blocked the fire from Alhabra, but it failed to realize that it was more than a target of opportunity, it was ground zero.
Sam remembered, from his training: " A mortal wound is a very severe and serious injury (almost always a form of penetration or laceration) whether accidental or inflicted intentionally, leading directly to the death of the victim. Death need not be instantaneous, but follows soon after." He strove to fulfill the definition as many times as he could. The Knights would wound the Goons and pass them on, so that the Guards could finish them. It was an efficient strategy that allowed the knights to close on the hags. Suddenly the Hags quit caring about the Goons and lightning and fire were everywhere. Then, as suddenly as the spells began, they halted. The knights had ridden down every hag who tried to concentrate on a spell, and that left only those that the guard killed. Even though they were not unscathed, they were all alive, and the Knights and Guards looked up to see what was next.
In the sky there was a solid cloud of Gold, it had wings and was fully ninety feet from tip to tail. The wings spread probably sixty feet outward from the body, on each side, and moved with a lazy motion that seemed almost casual. Sam understood where Alhabra had gone, it must have taken some time to achieve that altitude and position. As the Trolls and Ogres left the shelter of the trees, the Dragon watched, until the Umf emerged. It was hideous and its wail could terrify, or even kill, but it reacted to Dragon's Breath in the same way anything else does. It took damage. In an instant the creature put up a magical shield that blocked the fire from Alhabra, but it failed to realize that it was more than a target of opportunity, it was ground zero.
Alhabra dove, scattering Green Trolls and Ogres in all directions. He seized the Umf and mounted to the sky. As soon as he was high above the battle, the Dragon released the Umf with extreme prejudice, and dove on the Ogres, to vent his rage at the Umf for being shielded. Ogres aren't as strong as Dragons, and they have no claws, so Alhabra was able to maul several of them on a pass toward the Umf. the Umf was not unhurt, but neither was it crippled. It had been hurled several hundred feet to the road surface, and was still able to move and fight. The ancient Wyrm curved around, in preparation for another attack. Before Alhabra could complete his maneuver, Sam rode up to the Umf from behind and struck him repeatedly with his morning star. Such was the hideous countenance of the Umf, that Sam could not look at it. If he moved in front of the creature, he would be paralyzed and helpless. Waekahn was his usual magnificent self, and remained behind the Umf, no matter how it turned. As the spiked morning star whipped against the hide, of the horror Sam was attacking, sparks flew, until the Amulet the creature wore finally flew off its neck. The loss of the amulet broke the spell that had stopped Alhabra’s fire, and gave Waekahn and Sam a reason to leave. Almost immediately, the Umf was vulnerable. Before the Umf could react, Sam and Waekahn moved away as if a Dragon was coming, because he was. The Umf made a bad tactical decision at that moment, deciding to turn on Sam and Waekahn instead of dealing with the angry Dragon who was approaching. Somehow the creature was more concerned with the agony of the morning star attack than the danger of the approaching Dragon. This was not a real display of wisdom on the creature’s part. The Umf made ready to wail, and unleash a spell of Death, which would have slain Sam and Waekahn outright. Sam did not look back, too concentrated on the most rapid retreat he could make. Well before the Umf was ready to unleash his foul power, a Dragon smote him. It appeared to be a surprise. The Umf was caught from the side, and mauled in a most impressive fashion. Breathing, as a weapon, claws, from four appendages, a bite, from huge teeth, and both wing, and tail, strikes, accompanied a magic spell, made for a spectacular end to the Ugly beast. To say that the Umf was killed, would be a gross understatement of the truth. No single word, not trucidation, iccusion, slaughter, nor any other, could describe the death of the Umf. It was as if Alhabra had taken personal umbrage at its existence, and the fact that it was prepared for a Dragon attack, and responded accordingly. Whatever the cause, the effect left Sam slightly awed.
For some reason, neither the Green Trolls, nor the Ogres, presented a huge challenge any longer. Terrified as they were by the Dragons presence, they mostly just tried to overrun the Knights. The Knight's lances and spears kind of ruined that approach. Sam speared one of the Green Trolls, but needed to set it aflame, for the creatures can only be killed by something that destroys them utterly. It is axiomatic that green trolls grow back like some horrible pond scum, only much more rapidly. Then, from somewhere, someone set the creature aflame with magic. Sam was quick to add a flask of oil from his saddlebag, opening it, and throwing it onto the creature. As the oil ignited, it quickly burst the container, bathing the Troll in fire. Shortly thereafter Sam withdrew his lance and looked for another target. He failed to find one. Off to one side, the spell caster who had set the Troll aflame, gave Sam a small salute. Sam recognized the man to whom he had given a healing cake. It seemed like long ago, but it had only been a few days.
The battle, without fanfare, had ended. As it began in chaos, it ended as chaos is wont to end, with damage, much debris, carnage, and the sound of those wounded, but conscious, who were in pain. It tore at the heart strings to hear his comrades in arms suffering, but Sam was remarkably uninjured. Waekahn had not so much as a scratch. The Destrier was getting the hang of close combat without rules. The Dragon soon found Sam, checking to make sure that none of the fallen monsters were faking injury. Alhabra was in human form, and had somehow come up to Sam without the young man realizing. Alhabra was more than impressed by the boy, having witnessed his combat, and seeing how well he had borne the battle. Many of those around him had done more poorly, and some were crying for mothers, wives or some other person to come and tend them. Battles bring out heroes and cowards, sometimes in the same person.
The battle, without fanfare, had ended. As it began in chaos, it ended as chaos is wont to end, with damage, much debris, carnage, and the sound of those wounded, but conscious, who were in pain. It tore at the heart strings to hear his comrades in arms suffering, but Sam was remarkably uninjured. Waekahn had not so much as a scratch. The Destrier was getting the hang of close combat without rules. The Dragon soon found Sam, checking to make sure that none of the fallen monsters were faking injury. Alhabra was in human form, and had somehow come up to Sam without the young man realizing. Alhabra was more than impressed by the boy, having witnessed his combat, and seeing how well he had borne the battle. Many of those around him had done more poorly, and some were crying for mothers, wives or some other person to come and tend them. Battles bring out heroes and cowards, sometimes in the same person.
Alhabra took the young warrior with him, to the place where the Umf had fallen. There Sam was instructed to find the amulet he had struck from the creature. He was further instructed not to touch the thing when he found it, but to call Alhabra to look at it. The Dragon then busied himself locating various objects. Those he piled in the center of the road. Some in one pile, and some in another. Others, when they realized what he was doing, began bringing objects to add to the piles. Each grew to a considerable lump of 'stuff'. When Sam finally found the amulet, across the road and in the grass, he summoned the Dragon to where it lay.
"Well, what you thought about that?" Alhabra said quietly after he had observed it, "It's not cursed."
He carefully turned it over and even used a tiny spark of magic on it.
"Well, what you thought about that?" Alhabra said quietly after he had observed it, "It's not cursed."
He carefully turned it over and even used a tiny spark of magic on it.
"I can find no hurt in the thing," he announced, "Pick it up and put it on, so I can see it's effect on you."
Had any human or creature other than Alhabra made that request, Sam would have declined. Since it was Alhabra who said it, Sam picked up the Amulet, cord and all and looped it around his neck, tying the cord where it was broken. After studying Sam for a few moments, Alhabra decided that Sam could wear the amulet without ill effect.
Had any human or creature other than Alhabra made that request, Sam would have declined. Since it was Alhabra who said it, Sam picked up the Amulet, cord and all and looped it around his neck, tying the cord where it was broken. After studying Sam for a few moments, Alhabra decided that Sam could wear the amulet without ill effect.
"And who knows?" he said mischievously, " Someday an evil Dragon might try to breathe on you and you'll need the thing".
"I'll get a proper chain in Chevalier," Sam promised, "But I hope the amulet is something I never actually need."
"Or how about this?" Alhabra was grinning, "You could charge into a mass of the enemy, and when they all ran at you, I could breathe and destroy them, leaving you undamaged in their midst."
"Or how about this?" Alhabra was grinning, "You could charge into a mass of the enemy, and when they all ran at you, I could breathe and destroy them, leaving you undamaged in their midst."
"Uh, let’s save that maneuver for a desperate situation, shall we?" Sam replied as Alhabra laughed.
When all the various debris had been checked for cursed items, and several added from the loot previously acquired by the Caravansary and Knights, Alhabra cleared everyone away from that pile. The other he moved away, to the edge of the road, inasmuch as it contained no cursed items. He simply made a pushing motion, with his hand, and the entire pile slid, as one object, away from the other. The he spoke.
"We Dragons," he began, with a wink, "At least those of us most ancient and learned, have several types of fire that we can use." He paused and moved slightly, placing himself in what appeared to be an exact position with reference to the pile of cursed items.
"We have, of course the red fire, which is a magical fire that all of you know," he continued, " And we have both a Blue Flame, which is hotter, and a Green Flame, which is more deadly to life. We also have another flame which looks," he cleared his throat, " Much like this."
When all the various debris had been checked for cursed items, and several added from the loot previously acquired by the Caravansary and Knights, Alhabra cleared everyone away from that pile. The other he moved away, to the edge of the road, inasmuch as it contained no cursed items. He simply made a pushing motion, with his hand, and the entire pile slid, as one object, away from the other. The he spoke.
"We Dragons," he began, with a wink, "At least those of us most ancient and learned, have several types of fire that we can use." He paused and moved slightly, placing himself in what appeared to be an exact position with reference to the pile of cursed items.
"We have, of course the red fire, which is a magical fire that all of you know," he continued, " And we have both a Blue Flame, which is hotter, and a Green Flame, which is more deadly to life. We also have another flame which looks," he cleared his throat, " Much like this."
He suddenly opened his mouth and seemed to spit a thin line of pure white light. When it collided with the cursed items, it consumed them utterly, and was so hot that it left the stones of the road fire polished, and like fine porcelain. The chorus of Oohs and Ahhs was almost as impressive as the fire itself. Sam found that he was holding his new amulet, that was about his neck, in his hand, without even thinking. That had impressed him more than anything Alhabra had done previously. To be able to destroy almost anything with a flame that was so pure, and white, and to do it without being in Dragon form, made Alhabra seem more than mortal. Had Sam known that he was immortal, the young man might have thought the Dragon a God.
When the more seriously wounded had been placed in wagons or on travois, the Caravan moved along the Ancient road, to a building standing alongside the way. This was a larger example of what many people called a way station, or perhaps traveler's House. Although it appeared of fairly recent construction, it was incredibly ancient. Alhabra explained that these places were here when men first came to the land, just like the Ancient roads, which the buildings bordered. The food and rest that they provided was in addition to the building being comfortable. It was never hot and never cold within one of these structures, and the food was always there, enough for a score of travelers, replenishing itself without any assistance, from mortals. Its source of power, how it made food, and even why it was indestructible, were a mystery to all. The wounded were placed there, where they could be easily fed, and tended, while a couple of healers stayed with them. Everyone else found a Tent, or pitched one, the Caravan fed itself, and sleep became the order of the day. Sam looked for Linda, but she was simply nowhere to be found. He was puzzled, but felt sure that she would return, in her own time. Everyone was tired, even the Guards had become lax, because of tiredness, and only a few remained vigilant.
Sam found himself to be unaccountably restless, mounting the way station to a small square location on its top. From there he could see for miles, up the trail to the pass or down the trail toward Chevalier. For a moment, when the night was darkest, he almost thought he could see the lights of the city. He had time to reflect upon his situation, and was glad that things were going so well. But his mind quickly turned to the future, and he knew that the worst was probably yet to come, for him. So far there had been no indication that he was in any way special, except for his fighting skill, and he was no better than a Knight of the Realm in that. Perhaps something else would happen to make his future more clear. Finally he slept in his armor, exhaustion taking its toll.
When the more seriously wounded had been placed in wagons or on travois, the Caravan moved along the Ancient road, to a building standing alongside the way. This was a larger example of what many people called a way station, or perhaps traveler's House. Although it appeared of fairly recent construction, it was incredibly ancient. Alhabra explained that these places were here when men first came to the land, just like the Ancient roads, which the buildings bordered. The food and rest that they provided was in addition to the building being comfortable. It was never hot and never cold within one of these structures, and the food was always there, enough for a score of travelers, replenishing itself without any assistance, from mortals. Its source of power, how it made food, and even why it was indestructible, were a mystery to all. The wounded were placed there, where they could be easily fed, and tended, while a couple of healers stayed with them. Everyone else found a Tent, or pitched one, the Caravan fed itself, and sleep became the order of the day. Sam looked for Linda, but she was simply nowhere to be found. He was puzzled, but felt sure that she would return, in her own time. Everyone was tired, even the Guards had become lax, because of tiredness, and only a few remained vigilant.
Sam found himself to be unaccountably restless, mounting the way station to a small square location on its top. From there he could see for miles, up the trail to the pass or down the trail toward Chevalier. For a moment, when the night was darkest, he almost thought he could see the lights of the city. He had time to reflect upon his situation, and was glad that things were going so well. But his mind quickly turned to the future, and he knew that the worst was probably yet to come, for him. So far there had been no indication that he was in any way special, except for his fighting skill, and he was no better than a Knight of the Realm in that. Perhaps something else would happen to make his future more clear. Finally he slept in his armor, exhaustion taking its toll.
11. Reaching Town
When morning brought dawn, and the sun marched into the sky, it found Sam unready for another day. He was weary, in a way that he had never known, tired of the fighting and death, the injuries and repeated healing. He wanted to curl into a ball and sleep, but the light, that filled the box-like refuge he had found the previous night, refused him that luxury. He decided to find something to eat, and perhaps a cup of nutbrew. He might even put honey and milk in his drink, so that it would be less bitter and more comforting. He was not only depressed, but awash in self-pity and perhaps some guilt. He had never felt such ennui. Alhabra met him at the ground.
"What is that you wear around your neck?" he asked.
Sam realized that he was wearing two amulets, the one he had gotten from Alhabra, and the one his father had given him. He took his father's gift off, and showed it to Alhabra.
"What is that you wear around your neck?" he asked.
Sam realized that he was wearing two amulets, the one he had gotten from Alhabra, and the one his father had given him. He took his father's gift off, and showed it to Alhabra.
" My father gave me this, without a word of explanation," Sam told him," I just assumed that it was something of great value to assist me in times of financial trouble, if such occur."
"It blocks spells from hitting you," Alhabra told him, "at least most spells. It should be made into your girdle, for there it will also increase your strength." Alhabra realized that this amulet had saved Sam from the spell of the ahnis, one that should have killed him.
Sam had on his 'good' Armor, having slept in it, and it included an armored Girdle which helped protect the space between his plackart and cuisse. That area was vulnerable because a Knight had to bend, turn and lean, and all of those required flexibility at the waist. Alhabra examined this Girdle, finding a place where it had a lamellar plate, in the center. Taking that plate in his hands he transmuted it into Adamantium, while inserting the Amulet of Sam's Father into the mix. It molded in his hands, guided by almost five thousand years of experience, becoming a magical whole, and an intrinsic part of the Armor. Sam felt the strength immediately and felt his mood alter perceptibly. He said as much to Alhabra.
"Always remember Baronet",the Dragon cautioned him, "Wearing two of the same type of item will cause the magic to interfere, and if the items be strong enough, it will kill you." He paused for a moment and then resumed speaking,
"It blocks spells from hitting you," Alhabra told him, "at least most spells. It should be made into your girdle, for there it will also increase your strength." Alhabra realized that this amulet had saved Sam from the spell of the ahnis, one that should have killed him.
Sam had on his 'good' Armor, having slept in it, and it included an armored Girdle which helped protect the space between his plackart and cuisse. That area was vulnerable because a Knight had to bend, turn and lean, and all of those required flexibility at the waist. Alhabra examined this Girdle, finding a place where it had a lamellar plate, in the center. Taking that plate in his hands he transmuted it into Adamantium, while inserting the Amulet of Sam's Father into the mix. It molded in his hands, guided by almost five thousand years of experience, becoming a magical whole, and an intrinsic part of the Armor. Sam felt the strength immediately and felt his mood alter perceptibly. He said as much to Alhabra.
"Always remember Baronet",the Dragon cautioned him, "Wearing two of the same type of item will cause the magic to interfere, and if the items be strong enough, it will kill you." He paused for a moment and then resumed speaking,
" There are many things I could tell you, and probably should, however, in the interest of keeping you among the living, I will but say this. You will be betrayed by powerful people and you will need to have friends, some of which you have met already. You cannot ever take tomorrow for granted, since anything can happen to you, and it may happen without warning. Train as though your life depended on it, because it does. The last advice is; keep who you are as hidden as is practical, even in training, because there are those who seek an end to the Samovar line, especially you. Now, how about breakfast. I hear green troll is on the menu."
The sudden change in Alhabra was not lost on Sam, who realized that others were approaching and the Dragon chose not to appear serious before them. Affable and likable, he was the picture of a friendly soul, off to breakfast with a young warrior he liked. Sam fell into step and casually asked what sauce was best with green troll. Alhabra responded instantly with a remark about either Charcutroll sauce or Bearnaise with Green peppers. Sam shot back that mushrooms from an Eogre tunnel were the best sauce additive. They continued the quips all the way to the breakfast table.
After Breakfast, when the leaders of the Caravan were in conference, they called Sam over to talk. They had a plan to make their entrance into Chevalier less conspicuous, by making it more conspicuous. What they had in mind was for Sam to dress as an Elflord, and for Tag to ride in on Sharpie. Since he belonged to Sam. With Sam on his destrier, and Tag mounted, and in full Armor, the Caravan leaders were hoping that no one would realize the true identity of the Caravan.
The sudden change in Alhabra was not lost on Sam, who realized that others were approaching and the Dragon chose not to appear serious before them. Affable and likable, he was the picture of a friendly soul, off to breakfast with a young warrior he liked. Sam fell into step and casually asked what sauce was best with green troll. Alhabra responded instantly with a remark about either Charcutroll sauce or Bearnaise with Green peppers. Sam shot back that mushrooms from an Eogre tunnel were the best sauce additive. They continued the quips all the way to the breakfast table.
After Breakfast, when the leaders of the Caravan were in conference, they called Sam over to talk. They had a plan to make their entrance into Chevalier less conspicuous, by making it more conspicuous. What they had in mind was for Sam to dress as an Elflord, and for Tag to ride in on Sharpie. Since he belonged to Sam. With Sam on his destrier, and Tag mounted, and in full Armor, the Caravan leaders were hoping that no one would realize the true identity of the Caravan.
They could pass as just two more visiting dignitaries, traveling with an innocuous caravan, and not worthy of comment. Those same leaders asked Sam if he had a Dress cloak, and he responded that he had three, and would they like to choose one. When they saw the cloaks the opinion was unanimous, the Elven Green cloak was perfect, and was magicked to conceal the wearer. It would cover any non-Elven features that Sam had, and would make him look more unassailable, richer, as it were. When the two were outfitted, and mounted, the illusion was almost perfect. A quick spell by the mage of the Knights, and no one would easily be able to detect them, especially as the magics of armor, weapons, and cloaks would blend into the magic of the spell. It would be unnoticeable to any but the closest of scrutiny. The Knights assured them that no such scrutiny would occur, because no one would get that close. Sam actually spent a few moments wondering where Linda had gone. She simply wasn’t there, and he had wanted Alhabra to meet her.
* * *
Chevalier is a City built on an ancient City. The original cluster of edifices had been there when men arrived, and had the same kind of durability and power as the wayfarer stations along the ancient road. The tall spires, favored by whomever built the original place, were dotted among newer constructions. Some of the 'newer' places looked older than the original buildings, because they weren't indestructible and hadn't held up as well, over time. Stone was the construction material, both by choice, and by law, with interior plumbing and connection to the sewer system also mandated. The sewers were so vast that they had inhabitants, although these were usually confined to thieves and worse. Stations in the sewers filtered and sterilized the water, so that it was never quite as bad as it might have been. Tourists came to Chevalier just to view the sewers, because of their size, and style of construction.
Sam missed all of this, because he was otherwise occupied. He didn't really notice the towers, minarets, or even the bridges that crossed the streets high above the surface. Sam simply entered Chevalier. He missed seeing the parks, and restaurants and sculpture. He didn’t have a chance to hear the music, or see the various street entertainers. He didn’t even see the many vendors who sold their wares along the boulevards. He was disguised as a highlord Elf, so well disguised, that no one knew he had arrived, not even him. It was late afternoon, when he learned that transport would be leaving for Lackland Castle in the morning. He had seen almost nothing of the city, being occupied with a route of travel chosen to reflect the interests of an Elven Lord. He had a moment, to hope that he could spend some time visiting the city, but then one of the Guards informed him an Elf was looking for him. Once he realized that it was his cousin, Seana, he had to get Sir Elkin to tell her about his disguise, so that she could meet with him without disturbing it. Seana was delighted to learn that her 'Highlord' cousin had arrived, and greeted him in style, enhancing the disguise and laughing every time she thought about what she was doing. At 5' 6”, Seana was the Elf everyone would like to meet. Ageless, fair to the point of paleness, with honey-colored eyes and hair, she was flawless. In an outfit that was both formal, and armor, for an Elven Warrior-Mage, Seana was nothing like Sam expected. He was just a tiny bit thunderstruck to learn that Seana was an Elf Lady, herself. As for Seana, she was more than taken with Tagernoab, even inviting him to dinner with her and Sam. The end result was that a Dwarf, an Elflord, and an Elven Lady made the trip to Lackland Castle. There the Knights had arranged for Sam to vanish into the Academy, so not to spoil the pretense. Sam was finally to begin training as a Knight of the Realm. The young man asked his cousin Seana to see if she could learn what had happened to Linda, as he missed the beautiful, young, Druid healer. Seana assured him that she would, but seemed somehow disturbed by the news that Sam had a female friend. It was his first such.
12. Well begun is half done
With the rush of arrival, the stress of disguise, the social pressure of masquerading as an Elflord, and the rush to Lackland Castle, Sam saw little of his surroundings in detail. He had images of a crowded city, myriad citizens moving in the streets, architecture and objects from every place he'd ever even heard of, and more attention than he would have believed possible, albeit, not directed at the real him. Elflords got noticed, as did Tagernoab, even though he was simply another Dwarven Lord in his disguise. Sam had been unaware of the differences in behavior of the average person when a celebrity was involved.
As the Knights hurried him into the Lackland Academy, the magic of his disguise faded. Magic didn't work too well among the various protections applied to the training facility. After he had cleaned himself up and learned where he would stay, Sam was taken to the Headmaster's office. This was a place that somehow intimidated the supplicant, probably from some arcane magic designed to do so. Since Lord Albren introduced him as a candidate from the Lands Samovar, on scholarship from the Academy at Targun, the paperwork failed to note any other name than "Sam", and his birthright was not mentioned.
"A down-the-list heir," the registrar guessed, "Good to keep the title out of it, since the Headmaster doesn't care for making Knights of entitled applicants. He worries about nepotism and undue influence in the selection process."
"A baker's dozen or more," affirmed Lord Albren, "And a bit long in the ear to ever hold a title as well"
"Don't hold with that, myself", the registrar caught the veiled reference to Sam’s half-elven heritage, "But I know of some who would rather a title expire than that an elf, or half-elf for that matter, gets it."
"Just mark him as a holder of the Knight's Hero," Lord Albren said, "I'm putting him in for it myself, and I've got fifty witnesses among the Knights, and Councilman Tagernoab, not to mention a Caravan of populace."
"There'll be discussion," the registrar shot back, "What with him being half and all."
"Kingsman Hodan won't like that," Lord Albren answered, "Did I mention he was one of the witnesses?"
"Holder of the Knight's Hero it is," said the registrar, without further comment,
Sam was not privy to this conversation, as he was waiting for his interview with the Commandant. It was, perhaps, a trifle unusual for the Commandant to interview an applicant, but it was the first time Lord Albren had brought a supplicant to the Lackland Academy. Commandant Geoffrey wanted to assess this one himself. After spying on the conversation between Lord Albren and the registrar, The Commandant had Sam called into the office.
"Heard you had a rough trip from Targun," Commandant Geoffrey said.
"I've been told it was worse than normal, Sir," Sam answered, "But I can't judge, since I've not made the trip before."
"Your first Caravan?" Commandant Geoffrey couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.
" Yes Sir," Sam answered.
The Commandant was nonplussed. What could a first time traveler have possibly done that would not only have impressed his entire Caravan, but a Platoon of Knights as well? How could he have made any impression on Kingsman Hodan, when the man was a legend himself? And how did one impress a Dwarf? He hadn't believed that was possible. He decided he had to know the details.
"Tell me about the trip", Commandant Geoffrey tried to sound casual, "I'm curious."
Sam began his tale in Targun, and tried to be as concise and he could, without leaving out any of the events. Commandant Geoffrey interspersed questions often, getting such details as Sam might not have considered important, such as the name of the Leader of Saul Baric's Guard. Amicus was a man well known to the Commandant, and one to be respected for his leadership and honor. By the time the description of the journey was complete, Geoffrey had made his decision. He had only one caveat to require.
"You'll promise not to deliberately kill any of the other trainees," he said easily, "They won't have your experience or skill and as such would be easy targets."
"I've never injured another trainee," Sam affirmed, "I consider it a point of honor."
"That's good enough for me," Commandant Geoffrey replied, "Your honor's good as gold in my book."
As the Knights hurried him into the Lackland Academy, the magic of his disguise faded. Magic didn't work too well among the various protections applied to the training facility. After he had cleaned himself up and learned where he would stay, Sam was taken to the Headmaster's office. This was a place that somehow intimidated the supplicant, probably from some arcane magic designed to do so. Since Lord Albren introduced him as a candidate from the Lands Samovar, on scholarship from the Academy at Targun, the paperwork failed to note any other name than "Sam", and his birthright was not mentioned.
"A down-the-list heir," the registrar guessed, "Good to keep the title out of it, since the Headmaster doesn't care for making Knights of entitled applicants. He worries about nepotism and undue influence in the selection process."
"A baker's dozen or more," affirmed Lord Albren, "And a bit long in the ear to ever hold a title as well"
"Don't hold with that, myself", the registrar caught the veiled reference to Sam’s half-elven heritage, "But I know of some who would rather a title expire than that an elf, or half-elf for that matter, gets it."
"Just mark him as a holder of the Knight's Hero," Lord Albren said, "I'm putting him in for it myself, and I've got fifty witnesses among the Knights, and Councilman Tagernoab, not to mention a Caravan of populace."
"There'll be discussion," the registrar shot back, "What with him being half and all."
"Kingsman Hodan won't like that," Lord Albren answered, "Did I mention he was one of the witnesses?"
"Holder of the Knight's Hero it is," said the registrar, without further comment,
Sam was not privy to this conversation, as he was waiting for his interview with the Commandant. It was, perhaps, a trifle unusual for the Commandant to interview an applicant, but it was the first time Lord Albren had brought a supplicant to the Lackland Academy. Commandant Geoffrey wanted to assess this one himself. After spying on the conversation between Lord Albren and the registrar, The Commandant had Sam called into the office.
"Heard you had a rough trip from Targun," Commandant Geoffrey said.
"I've been told it was worse than normal, Sir," Sam answered, "But I can't judge, since I've not made the trip before."
"Your first Caravan?" Commandant Geoffrey couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.
" Yes Sir," Sam answered.
The Commandant was nonplussed. What could a first time traveler have possibly done that would not only have impressed his entire Caravan, but a Platoon of Knights as well? How could he have made any impression on Kingsman Hodan, when the man was a legend himself? And how did one impress a Dwarf? He hadn't believed that was possible. He decided he had to know the details.
"Tell me about the trip", Commandant Geoffrey tried to sound casual, "I'm curious."
Sam began his tale in Targun, and tried to be as concise and he could, without leaving out any of the events. Commandant Geoffrey interspersed questions often, getting such details as Sam might not have considered important, such as the name of the Leader of Saul Baric's Guard. Amicus was a man well known to the Commandant, and one to be respected for his leadership and honor. By the time the description of the journey was complete, Geoffrey had made his decision. He had only one caveat to require.
"You'll promise not to deliberately kill any of the other trainees," he said easily, "They won't have your experience or skill and as such would be easy targets."
"I've never injured another trainee," Sam affirmed, "I consider it a point of honor."
"That's good enough for me," Commandant Geoffrey replied, "Your honor's good as gold in my book."
13. Settling In
Sam was glad that the interview seemed to have gone so well. He was glad it had centered on the journey, since his training in Targun might have given away who he was, had he been forced to discuss it. As it was, he could take a moment to sight see and make sure of Waekahn's stabling. His goods had arrived at his room, and the other trainees were noticing that actual Knights brought them, not even allowing Sam to carry his own belongings. They seemed to be doing it out of friendship, a thing the other trainees instantly envied. Waekahn had a stall as big as a room at the average inn, owing to his being an Elven Destrier, and the first such at the Lackland Academy. Sam made sure of his rations and care, inasmuch as they differed slightly from non-Elven mounts, but the Stable master was half-Elven, and knew more than Sam about the breed.
"Waekahn will be treated like the hero that he is," the man assured Sam, "From what the Knights say of him, he's earned it. At least a dozen of 'em have been by to check on his accommodations." after a pause, the stablemaster went on, “ We sort have to stick together, as it is.” He touched his ear, where it was pointed. Sam understood at once.
Sam turned his attention from the stable to the Academy proper. It was larger than the one in Targun, and had more than one area for training. He was given to understand that there were hundreds of trainees, at least half of whom would never finish training. It seemed that succeeding here was a matter of being in the upper 40% of the applicants. That wasn't due to any quota, it was just how the culling process tended to work out. About 60 % of those who tried to become knights just weren't able to pass the training. He exited the Academy section of the Castle and was taken aback by the sheer size of Lackland Castle.
"Waekahn will be treated like the hero that he is," the man assured Sam, "From what the Knights say of him, he's earned it. At least a dozen of 'em have been by to check on his accommodations." after a pause, the stablemaster went on, “ We sort have to stick together, as it is.” He touched his ear, where it was pointed. Sam understood at once.
Sam turned his attention from the stable to the Academy proper. It was larger than the one in Targun, and had more than one area for training. He was given to understand that there were hundreds of trainees, at least half of whom would never finish training. It seemed that succeeding here was a matter of being in the upper 40% of the applicants. That wasn't due to any quota, it was just how the culling process tended to work out. About 60 % of those who tried to become knights just weren't able to pass the training. He exited the Academy section of the Castle and was taken aback by the sheer size of Lackland Castle.
For all it's size, the Academy was just an outbuilding. The main Castle was so tall that Sam couldn't estimate its height. It was as long and wide as all of Targun, even the outskirts, and the walls were of commensurate size. Sam reflected that one could 'get religion' while falling from the top of one of those walls, and have time to learn about a system of beliefs as well. He sincerely hoped that they were magicked to prevent such a fall, as one could easily die of fright and screaming on the way down. He took a personal tour of the public areas of the Castle, and the walk took him almost an hour. How, he wondered would Linda ever find him here? He knew he’d never be able to find her, he didn’t even know where to look. Maybe Seana could help. He finished his walking because he realized it was almost time for the noon meal was to be served in the Academy, and hurried to get 'checked in' so he could eat. He’d worry about Linda after he got settled in.
The process of 'checking in' was handled magically, required less than a few minutes, and was easier since he had his own 'training armor', a thing not universal to the candidates. Sam was amazed at his schedule, it was ten hours a day of classroom, field training, and weapons training inside. Six days of every week, with mealtime included, he would spend about 14 hours in the Academy, and would probably study for an hour or two as well. Thank goodness for Seven Day, traditionally a day for religion and rest. Sam hadn't considered, that many of the applicants were aiming to become Paladins, and as such would not have much rest on that day either. He tabled such thoughts and concentrated on learning the food procedures.
Eating was a matter of getting a proportioned meal, eating utensils, a drink of something better not examined, and finding a table. The first task was just walking to the buffet line and getting a universal eating tool. The next part, picking up a meal-lunch-half-Elven, was harder than it sounded. Only the bins were marked, not the meals. Moving to the beverage line, where everyone got a 'lunch drink' whatever that was, was a nightmare. There was no choice of drink, they were all identical, and marked on the bottom as to type. They were in a kind of wax box, and supposed to emerge when reached for, which they did, sometimes. Sam had to reach until he succeeded three times, first getting a drink, breakfast, and then a few attempts that yielded nothing, and two 'drinks, lunch' on his final successful try. With no way to replace any of the cartons, he just gathered them up and moved along.
Then it was time to find a place to sit. Sam hadn't spent five years at the Academy in Targun without learning that where you sat, and with whom, was a critical part of your social standing. As he knew no one, he began to scout the tables, looking for those who seemed at ease, and yet had space at their table. It took him several minutes of intense study, although knew most would have used magic, to make his tentative decision. He had, finally, settled on what seemed to be a group of mostly new arrivals. He noticed a schedule near one plate, and a map of the grounds near another. He moved to the table, inquired about his welcome, and when no one objected, he sat. The table was full of conversation, which was just as well, since his meal turned out to be 'meal-Elven-dinner' and was not only a trifle strange, but packed with protein and carbs. Sam was glad his mother had taken him to eat on occasion, otherwise he might have eaten the garnish.
The drinks were worthy of conversation, although not in mixed company, since they seemed to the candidates to most resemble either ichor, or urine, from some monster. They were drinkable, and had a texture between honey and wax, except for the bottom, which contained dregs.
"I wonder if we're supposed to shake them," someone observed.
"I'd be scared to shake that," another said, "It might go off."
"Yeah, or morph into a monster that you'd have to kill." another voice declared.
"I've got another," Sam announced, "Everyone get clear, I'm going to shake it."
When he had shaken it and opened it, everyone made quiet cheering noises, and laughed. It was, once shaken, not of a bad flavor, not too thick and without dregs. It appeared that an instruction to 'shake well' would not have been remiss.
The process of 'checking in' was handled magically, required less than a few minutes, and was easier since he had his own 'training armor', a thing not universal to the candidates. Sam was amazed at his schedule, it was ten hours a day of classroom, field training, and weapons training inside. Six days of every week, with mealtime included, he would spend about 14 hours in the Academy, and would probably study for an hour or two as well. Thank goodness for Seven Day, traditionally a day for religion and rest. Sam hadn't considered, that many of the applicants were aiming to become Paladins, and as such would not have much rest on that day either. He tabled such thoughts and concentrated on learning the food procedures.
Eating was a matter of getting a proportioned meal, eating utensils, a drink of something better not examined, and finding a table. The first task was just walking to the buffet line and getting a universal eating tool. The next part, picking up a meal-lunch-half-Elven, was harder than it sounded. Only the bins were marked, not the meals. Moving to the beverage line, where everyone got a 'lunch drink' whatever that was, was a nightmare. There was no choice of drink, they were all identical, and marked on the bottom as to type. They were in a kind of wax box, and supposed to emerge when reached for, which they did, sometimes. Sam had to reach until he succeeded three times, first getting a drink, breakfast, and then a few attempts that yielded nothing, and two 'drinks, lunch' on his final successful try. With no way to replace any of the cartons, he just gathered them up and moved along.
Then it was time to find a place to sit. Sam hadn't spent five years at the Academy in Targun without learning that where you sat, and with whom, was a critical part of your social standing. As he knew no one, he began to scout the tables, looking for those who seemed at ease, and yet had space at their table. It took him several minutes of intense study, although knew most would have used magic, to make his tentative decision. He had, finally, settled on what seemed to be a group of mostly new arrivals. He noticed a schedule near one plate, and a map of the grounds near another. He moved to the table, inquired about his welcome, and when no one objected, he sat. The table was full of conversation, which was just as well, since his meal turned out to be 'meal-Elven-dinner' and was not only a trifle strange, but packed with protein and carbs. Sam was glad his mother had taken him to eat on occasion, otherwise he might have eaten the garnish.
The drinks were worthy of conversation, although not in mixed company, since they seemed to the candidates to most resemble either ichor, or urine, from some monster. They were drinkable, and had a texture between honey and wax, except for the bottom, which contained dregs.
"I wonder if we're supposed to shake them," someone observed.
"I'd be scared to shake that," another said, "It might go off."
"Yeah, or morph into a monster that you'd have to kill." another voice declared.
"I've got another," Sam announced, "Everyone get clear, I'm going to shake it."
When he had shaken it and opened it, everyone made quiet cheering noises, and laughed. It was, once shaken, not of a bad flavor, not too thick and without dregs. It appeared that an instruction to 'shake well' would not have been remiss.
"My turn," the man next to Sam declared, "What will you take for that Breakfast brew?"
"I was about to offer you money to take it," Sam confessed, "Here, have at you, but don't die."
"I can survive anything," the man shot back, "I am, after all, Prince Acernon."
"Really," Sam answered, "Well I guess that makes me Baron of Samovar."
"No, really," Acernon said, "If half of Seacliff should die, I could become King, someday."
"The High King and council could reorder the succession," someone offered.
"They'd have to practically reorder the census," Acernon noted sadly," My father, and his wives, were what you might call 'prolific'".
"I was about to offer you money to take it," Sam confessed, "Here, have at you, but don't die."
"I can survive anything," the man shot back, "I am, after all, Prince Acernon."
"Really," Sam answered, "Well I guess that makes me Baron of Samovar."
"No, really," Acernon said, "If half of Seacliff should die, I could become King, someday."
"The High King and council could reorder the succession," someone offered.
"They'd have to practically reorder the census," Acernon noted sadly," My father, and his wives, were what you might call 'prolific'".
In actual point of fact, Acernon looked every inch the Prince who would become King. He was tall, athletic, and handsome. His red-brown hair was exactly the right length, his eyes were a complementary, if darker, shade of brown, and his skin was that color you always wished was your own. Perfectly proportioned, he was neither fat, nor thin, but a perfect balance. It made Sam realize that he was not 'all that' himself, and being in company with Acernon just might make him invisible. Even as he searched for a remark to make, Sam decided that he'd found a friend, at least while he was here. He more than understood what it meant to be a 'lesser son'. Sam chose to keep any comments about that to himself, not eager to be recognized as an actual member of the Samovar clan. He also realized that Acernon would help him not to be quite so noticeable among the cadets.
"I'm called Sam, by my friends," he said instead, " And 'from the afterlife', by my enemies,"
That line got a good laugh, and introductions proceeded all around the table. Deborah, from the Hills of Rob, with her brother Ted, were across the table. Flanking them were Aloe, a maid from Vannah, and Michael, an initiate of the healing orders, come for Knight Training and hopeful of Paladin status. With Sendie, Arnold, Johnny and Frank, the table was neither empty nor full. All of them had arrived within the last few days, and the entire table would begin training on the next First Day. Sam was glad he'd chosen this table, it made blending in so much easier. If only he'd known what lay in store.
"I'm called Sam, by my friends," he said instead, " And 'from the afterlife', by my enemies,"
That line got a good laugh, and introductions proceeded all around the table. Deborah, from the Hills of Rob, with her brother Ted, were across the table. Flanking them were Aloe, a maid from Vannah, and Michael, an initiate of the healing orders, come for Knight Training and hopeful of Paladin status. With Sendie, Arnold, Johnny and Frank, the table was neither empty nor full. All of them had arrived within the last few days, and the entire table would begin training on the next First Day. Sam was glad he'd chosen this table, it made blending in so much easier. If only he'd known what lay in store.
14. Testing his Medal
It was Fifth Day tomorrow, but by evening meal Sam felt he'd been at the Lackland Academy for days. Learning what his new friends knew was a marathon of movement and memory. Here were the showers, and here were the dressing rooms for combat and weapons training. This is the kind of thing you wear to class, and this for special occasions. Here is where the Chapel services are held, and here is where you visit the healers. This is the posting board for exams, and here is where changes in schedule are posted. That last spot was beside the message board, and both had notices that were for one and all.
It seemed that on the upcoming Sixth Day, in the main Hall of the Castle, there would be a ceremony involving all academy members and many others as well. A caravan from Targun had arrived and information needed to be spread to the populace, as well as awards given for those who safeguarded it's arrival. The entire ceremony was being held now, in a great rush, because preparations, for a response to the threat discovered, would forbid such a gathering in the near future. Attendance was mandatory and full dress required. The training schedule was interrupted, no classes or exams would occur and nothing would resume until the following First Day, with even the Paladin candidates excused for this. The message was a prime object of discussion at the evening meal, and Sam's table was very quiet so as to hear what went on around them.
"It has to be something to do with a war," one trainee observed, "Else they wouldn't have obstructed training."
"A proclamation and a ceremony?" someone said, "That means the Knights will be deployed, and the standards may be lowered a tiny bit."
"The standards may be less," another voice observed, "But the risk in the field will more than compensate."
"There's that," another agreed, "Once you get out there it may be kill or be killed, even more than normal."
"I'll bet it's to do with something political," a voice was heard, "Just more of the usual."
"Maybe it's to do with the rumor of monsters between here and Targun," someone suggested.
"Ah, that's senseless," came the response, "Monsters died out centuries ago, along with Dragons."
Up till then Sam had held his peace, but that made him laugh aloud. Everyone turned to him in puzzlement. Silence gripped the room, while everyone waited for an explanation.
"I was on that Caravan," he explained, " And saw more than one monster en route."
"Like what?" a voice from across the room demanded, "A goblin?"
" There were those," Sam answered, "Attacking alongside the forty or so Dogmen, in front of the raiders."
"Do tell," the mystery voice came back, "Anything else?"
"I'm to keep quiet about most of it," Sam said, "But no one said I couldn't mention the Ogre."
Silence fell as if it had been poured on the room. No one wanted to believe that there really were monsters, and yet, the post on the board, the upcoming proclamation and the ceremony all bespoke something of the like. Finally the mystery voice resumed.
"I, for one, will wait to see what's spoken of at the gathering," came the remark, " I'm not so trusting as to put faith in every story I hear."
The conversation turned to other topics at that, and Sam finished his meal in silence. He went back to his room to rest, leaving the dining hall alone, since he'd eaten like a machine and finished first. He was unsettled at his lack of control, speaking out in the dining hall was so dangerous, and he knew it.
Every single one of his new acquaintances came to his room after dinner. They were too curious not to do so. They had their questions, and Sam had to explain that some things were not his to reveal, but he told them what he could. It was all information they had either guessed or heard as rumor, but the strangest thing Sam noticed was that he couldn't mention Alhabra. The Dragon hadn't asked him to keep silent, but somehow he couldn't mention even the existence of the creature. He told only about having encountered the Knights, and that more battles occurred, but was careful to leave out Amicus, and any mention of the ahnis or the Umf. Those he knew to avoid in conversation.
The next morning was a wonderful surprise to Sam, or perhaps not. He was awakened by a knock on his door, at about the moment when the first sliver of the sun broke above the horizon. It turned quickly into a parade of protocol specialists, groomers, experts in court manners, and numerous others, informing him that he was to receive a medal, and that it was necessary for him to be aware of the proper place to stand, the right thing to say, and what not to do or say. It continued until he was brought breakfast, and while he ate. It went on for another two hours, while he was dressed in his show armor, and coiffed, to be at his very best appearance. He couldn't understand why this was being done, until yet another official appeared, announcing that the rehearsal was about to begin.
The rehearsal involved going to the main hall, and walking through each part of the award ceremony until he had it perfect. Magicians lined the walls, for some reason, and Everyone involved was present. The entire story of the Caravan trek, from Targun all the way to Chevalier, and even including the deception practiced on entering Chevalier and traveling to Castle Lackland was recited. The characters involved either told their parts, or gave testimony as to the accuracy of the telling. Sam found himself having to tell his part of the story, and both Knights and others testified as to his veracity. Tagernoab also had a part to tell, and gave no little credit to Sam, for what he had done. Hoden even told his part, making sure to cast Sam in the role of Caravan hero, and making Sam blush the first time or two that the recital went on. Finally it simply became rote, with even Albren's part being less exciting. When everyone was satisfied with the recital, the presentation was practiced. Sam almost fell out when he received his medal. The Order of The Knight's Hero was an honor that no one had received in probably two centuries. He was certain that there had been a mistake, and that someone would run up and make a correction at any moment. After the three 'run throughs' that the organizers required, Sam finally had to admit to himself that he was, in fact, getting the medal. Now he knew why he had his own room. When the organizers declared that they had what they wanted, the assorted Mages around the room moved to cast spells. At that moment, Eglion came into the room.
"I must protest not being included in the illusive phase of the ceremony", he said, "I myself cannot be a part, due to my immunity to the illusions involved, but my expertise is invaluable in making the record lifelike and permanent. I should think that would have occurred to someone."
It had, but no one had been brave enough to ask him. He was amused at that and quickly went forward in creating the illusive record. He made it a permanent illusion encased in a crystal, complete with sounds, smells and ancillary movement, even including the bystanders as though they were an audience. It was indeed a masterful piece of magic, and was due, no doubt, to the fact that the account did not include an illusion of him or Alhabra, since these were magically impossible. It was so carefully done, that one would have thought it the personal property of the Archmage Eglion. Sam suddenly understood what was happening. He was not going to actually be in a ceremony on Six Day, it would be this recording of the event. That meant no one could target him, or anyone, during the process. Since no one would know of the illusion, it would protect everyone involved. It would also mean he could be with his friends, at the back of the room, when the event took place. He was dying to see their faces.
Once the record was complete, the council watched it, together with the various 'Senior Nobles' whose approval would be needed. While some seemed less than thrilled that a Half-Elf was getting the highest award in the land, no one was willing to speak out against Hoden, Tag, and Lord Sir Albren, all at the same time. The thought that they would also be insulting the Archmage Eglion probably crossed their minds as well. Once the voting was done and the discussion passed, King Egbert came down from his throne and into the room proper.
No one except Hoden knew what to do at that, the High King was usually unassailable in the main hall.
"Hoden!", the High King called, "I need a word."
"What is it Egbert?" Hoden responded, "I'm trying to sell a caravan at the moment."
"If nobody else buys it," King Egbert said, "I will. Now, tell me the truth, was it really as bad as that?"
"It was worse," Hoden answered him, now that their 'secret phrases' had been exchanged, Hoden and the King were suddenly serious, " If the Dragon and Sam hadn't been there, we'd probably all be dead now."
"Boy?" King Egbert turned to Sam, "Are you really just another Half-Elf? How is it that you're such a hero?"
"Lady Jana says," Sam began, but Egbert cut him off.
"What your mother says we shall hear in chambers, with only a few ears that I trust." High King Egbert suddenly looked like the King he was.
"Hoden, Tag, Albren, and you, Eglion," the High King commanded, "With Sam and me."
He began a march out of the hall that bespoke his century or more of age, yet forced everyone he had instructed to hurry, to match pace. When they came to the private Audience Chamber, the King spoke quietly to Eglion. Eglion quickly walked the circumference of the room and sprinkled a bit of some powder as he went. Then he cast such a spell as to make the walls glow blue, really. He then informed the King that only a God or Alhabra could listen in.
"That's the Mage I remember from the old days" the High King said.
"Older days than I'd like to admit," Eglion replied.
"Now, Gladriel Samovar, or Sir Gladriel, now that you've the medal," King Egbert turned to Sam, "Tell us what Her Grace, Jana, has shared with you."
"That's the Mage I remember from the old days" the High King said.
"Older days than I'd like to admit," Eglion replied.
"Now, Gladriel Samovar, or Sir Gladriel, now that you've the medal," King Egbert turned to Sam, "Tell us what Her Grace, Jana, has shared with you."
15. My Momma done told me
"I'm not sure of the exact reasons," Sam began, "But the Elven Council cast an augury for my mother, concerning me and found something alarming."
"Have you anything from her?" Egbert asked, interrupting.
"Only her letter," Sam was surprised to find it in his armor, as though it had secreted itself there, "Oh, here it is."
"May I?" Egbert asked him
"I doubt even you can read this," Sam admitted, "I think my mother magicked it."
"I'll read it," Eglion offered, "Jana can't hide her words from me. Never could."
After a moment he handed it to Egbert, "You'll need to use the stone," he said, "It's closed by the Council themselves. I can't make out a letter."
Egbert, the High King, seemed worried. What could be so dangerous? He went to his cabinet and removed a box which was a puzzle to open, and required a power word. Inside the box was a multicolored gem, obviously magic, ancient, and powerful. He held the gem above the page and made ready to look into it. Before he could do so, the presence of the gem activated a spell, hidden in the script.
"To his majesty Egbert the Wise, High King in Lackland and an Elf friend of many decades", came a voice, obviously from the letter itself. "We of the Elven Council have made this message, in hopes that it might be heard by you and before witnesses. Only the gem you hold can activate the spell, it will not repeat, and the letter will be blank, even if scryed. It will play out only when Gladriel, youngest son of Baron Gideon von Samovar, stands with you as well as witnesses to the message who can assist you in relaying it to your council." there was a momentary pause, as the magic identified Sam, Tag and the others, and then the voice began again.
"The young man before you," the message continued, " Stands at the crossroads of fate. His is the choice, to battle evil, or succumb to it. That ancient evil from beyond the mountains, Fifnir, stirs again, and sends his minions into the domain of Mankind. Followers are suborned, and monsters dispatched. We have directed this child to conceal himself, so that you may know him as Sam. It is well that Gladriel vanish and Sam labor to become a Knight, even though he has much to overcome on that road. We cannot stress enough that he be concealed, for if he is found out, the agents of Fifnir will spare nothing to destroy him. While he lives, the path of fate is random, but if he be removed, there may nothing stand to oppose Fifnir.
"If all goes as the path we have striven to choose," the message concluded," The boy will become a man of note, and may even begin the end of Fifnir. He has not the means, but those means may find him, in his quest to grow and become that which he desires to be. Assist him as you may, but do not mark him among his peers for more than that which he has done. Any accolades must be earned, as was his medal. We have seen this and it is the first mark toward the end of Fifnir."
By the action of the High Council of Elves, and through their word this is declared true and inexorable. So let it be recorded. Tha sinn, an àrd-chomhairle na Elves, air co-dhùnadh seo a bhith fìor, mar sin bithidh e bhith air a sgrìobhadh."
Sam wondered if he would be allowed to take a moment to adjust to this, or perhaps a decade. Then he came to the decision that a century was just what he needed. Fishing off the coast to the South of Seacliff, just North of Magic Isle. That would be just about long enough for everyone to forget this nonsense and allow him a life. He really didn't know what he was going to do. Monsters, Evil plots, enemies, and who knew what the bloody hell might come next. On a scale where fairness was measured on a line, this was in another realm. He needed a drink, and not that thick mess from the dining hall.
16. A proclamation
Sam found that he was not to be able to seek out a tavern. It almost hurt not to be able to get in his cups, even though he had seldom done so. Maybe once, at midwinter's fest two years ago, he had gotten what his half-brother had referred to as 'smashed'. Sam had go back to his room, put away his good armor, and dress casually. He couldn't even mention tomorrow to his new acquaintances, let alone the terrible curse he was under, in his own eyes. To his relief, the conversation was all about the proclamation, and what it might contain, presage and/or relate to. Sam really didn't know what King Egbert was going to say, because he had no part in that 'recording' although he was sure one had been made. He was just looking forward to being able to see the faces on his new acquaintances as they watched him receive his medal. It promised to be fun.
Dinner was abysmal, as usual, and he found that he very much wished he could have gone somewhere else to dine. Because of the prohibition on his appearing in advance of the ceremony, and his need to be anonymous, Sam just didn't feel up to it. He promised himself that he'd at least look for someone to make a chain for his Amulet, the one from Alhabra. He felt sure that there was some kind of place, within the Castle complex, where such a thing could be bought. He was given to understand that the various monsters he had fought had given him a respectable share of the gain earned by the Caravan. That should give him ample coin to buy a suitable chain or something to replace the broken one that he was now using. He made a plan to seek for such tomorrow. He had no idea that his share, of the treasure earned by the Caravan, was enough to buy the shop that made the jewelry in Castle Market, and a fair space of the market as well. Alhabra had made certain of that.
On the morrow, or in the morning, whichever you prefer, Sam took a few friends and went in search of a Chain. He quickly learned that there was a section of the Castle Grounds where almost anything worth having could be bought, if it be legal to have it. He took Ted, Debbie, Sendie, Arnold and Aloe, because he valued their opinions, and Acernon because he enjoyed the good company. They went from shop to shop, and finally found a jeweler's, with a gold and silversmith. Sam explained what he wanted and showed the Amulet.
"If you'll give me the broken one," the merchant offered, "I'll trade you a magic silver one that's not broken."
Sam opted for one of magicked silver Mithril, and so, for a couple of Gold sovereigns, got a woven, magic, silver Mithril, chain for his Amulet. He was sad to lose the broken chain, but was well aware that he couldn't have afforded to have that item repaired. He had more wealth than he needed, but not that much more. In truth, he had enough to have commissioned a suit of armor, made of the magic material which had been the chain of his amulet. Debbie and Aloe declared the chain to be perfect, but Ted remarked that it was 'severe' and took something from the charm that the amulet had when it had a more 'flamboyant' look. Still, it was just the look Sam wanted, fancy enough to look like jewelry but not so fancy as to invite thieves. Stealing it would have taken the action of ‘The Black Cat’, since no non-drow possessed that level of skill.
At that, they all went off to the ceremony and proclamation. Sam made as if to separate himself from the others, so that he could be in the ceremony, but rejoined them in the back of the Main Hall just before it began. They all wanted to question him, but were cut off as the hall came to attention and the ceremony was put into motion. Eglion was as true as his word, the ceremony looked, sounded, and even smelled real. Sam's friends were amazed at the quality of the illusion and then more amazed as the awards were presented. When, at last, Sam received his medal, his friends couldn't even applaud, because they were beyond shock and well into awe. Somehow Sam found it funny. Acernon just patted him on the back and remarked that even a blind squirrel would find the occasional nut. The most unusual aspect of the ceremony was that no one ever learned of Lord Eglion’s having taken a copy for himself.
Dinner was abysmal, as usual, and he found that he very much wished he could have gone somewhere else to dine. Because of the prohibition on his appearing in advance of the ceremony, and his need to be anonymous, Sam just didn't feel up to it. He promised himself that he'd at least look for someone to make a chain for his Amulet, the one from Alhabra. He felt sure that there was some kind of place, within the Castle complex, where such a thing could be bought. He was given to understand that the various monsters he had fought had given him a respectable share of the gain earned by the Caravan. That should give him ample coin to buy a suitable chain or something to replace the broken one that he was now using. He made a plan to seek for such tomorrow. He had no idea that his share, of the treasure earned by the Caravan, was enough to buy the shop that made the jewelry in Castle Market, and a fair space of the market as well. Alhabra had made certain of that.
On the morrow, or in the morning, whichever you prefer, Sam took a few friends and went in search of a Chain. He quickly learned that there was a section of the Castle Grounds where almost anything worth having could be bought, if it be legal to have it. He took Ted, Debbie, Sendie, Arnold and Aloe, because he valued their opinions, and Acernon because he enjoyed the good company. They went from shop to shop, and finally found a jeweler's, with a gold and silversmith. Sam explained what he wanted and showed the Amulet.
"If you'll give me the broken one," the merchant offered, "I'll trade you a magic silver one that's not broken."
Sam opted for one of magicked silver Mithril, and so, for a couple of Gold sovereigns, got a woven, magic, silver Mithril, chain for his Amulet. He was sad to lose the broken chain, but was well aware that he couldn't have afforded to have that item repaired. He had more wealth than he needed, but not that much more. In truth, he had enough to have commissioned a suit of armor, made of the magic material which had been the chain of his amulet. Debbie and Aloe declared the chain to be perfect, but Ted remarked that it was 'severe' and took something from the charm that the amulet had when it had a more 'flamboyant' look. Still, it was just the look Sam wanted, fancy enough to look like jewelry but not so fancy as to invite thieves. Stealing it would have taken the action of ‘The Black Cat’, since no non-drow possessed that level of skill.
At that, they all went off to the ceremony and proclamation. Sam made as if to separate himself from the others, so that he could be in the ceremony, but rejoined them in the back of the Main Hall just before it began. They all wanted to question him, but were cut off as the hall came to attention and the ceremony was put into motion. Eglion was as true as his word, the ceremony looked, sounded, and even smelled real. Sam's friends were amazed at the quality of the illusion and then more amazed as the awards were presented. When, at last, Sam received his medal, his friends couldn't even applaud, because they were beyond shock and well into awe. Somehow Sam found it funny. Acernon just patted him on the back and remarked that even a blind squirrel would find the occasional nut. The most unusual aspect of the ceremony was that no one ever learned of Lord Eglion’s having taken a copy for himself.
* * *
Sam had just received the highest medal in the land, and so expected to have to endure jealousy. He wasn't prepared for the mix of jealousy, prejudice, anger and outright hatred he encountered shortly thereafter. He was just out in the corridor, where the cadets had clustered to talk about the ceremony, when he was accosted.
He had noticed that a group of the cadets, who were watching the magical presentation, were less than pleased, but hadn't known why. Sam had grown up as the son of a Baron. Prejudice existed in his small world of Samovar and Targun, but somewhat covertly, in deference to his status. This he had not known. He was taken aback by the verbal attack he received when those same students confronted him. Had they known he was the son of a Baron, it would probably have been worse.
"Yo! pointy ears! " a voice called to him, " See ya got a nice, shiny piece of tin to wear in parades. Don't think it makes any difference to the rest of us."
"Yeah," came another voice, "We're the Knights who Know, and we know a half-elf is just one step from an Elf, and that means he's one step from a Knight as well!"
"Makes him a day's march closer than you guys," Acernon shot back, "And at least he won't have to stand bare chested in formation."
“ I didn’t know halvies had chests”, a voice returned, “I thought only men had those.”
“You’ll learn, soon enough, if ‘halvies’ have chests,” John answered him, “When you’re lying on the quad looking up at it.”
“I guess there aren’t any men among your group then,” Ted observed, at the same moment, “At least not enough to show.”
“You want to go outside and repeat that?” one of the hecklers asked.
Words and a shoving match passed between those with Sam and “The Knights who Know” obviously a group of prejudice, privileged, children of the wealthy human families, who distrusted anything not ‘fully human’.
The exchange would have gone on, but an officer arrived and reminded one and all that they had to be in the Main Chamber for the proclamation. That broke up what was becoming an ugly encounter, and put off the confrontation until later. The knight candidates were unaware of the authority bestowed by the ‘Knight’s Hero medal’. Had they been caught calling him names, they could have been dismissed from the Academy. When they learned this, and they would, it would probably make things worse.
The Castle Main Hall, usually just called “The Main", was large enough, with the tiers on either side, to accommodate thousands. It was at capacity on this day, because those who had come for the awarding of medals had stayed. The local government had come for the proclamation as well as anybody who "was anybody" in local Society. Then there were those of the various envoys, ambassadors, representatives and assorted Nobles. In short, it was a gathering of everyone who wanted to know what was being presented, and those who wished to be seen with them. There were also a few thousand commoners, who just came for the spectacle. Proclamations had a way of affecting politics, economics and even social interaction. They were also good entertainment.
The proclamation had been magically recorded on the previous day, with all due secrecy, so that no one could profit from advance information. It also prevented assassins from coming to the affair in order to complete a contract for the death of anyone who might be involved. Assassins were too often common, since there were those who sought power by whatever means available. The crowd was called to order, and a mage began the illusion. A procession of people were suddenly seen to be moving toward the Dais, at the front of the Main. The perfect illusion had begun.
" We are the Councilors of King Egbert, the wise," the program began, "And we come here as witness to the Truth and Importance of this Royal proclamation."
King Egbert came to the fore, and mounted the dais. He looked solemn, as if he were giving the eulogy at a friend's funeral. His words quickly gave credence to his demeanor.
"This proclamation," he began, " Shall be to all who give allegiance to the High King, and those who are bound by any treaty or agreement having bearing hereunto."
The King paused to let this sink in, knowing that the Elves, Dwarves, and many other groups, would be profoundly affected by his news.
"Information of the most reliable sort has come to us, and it is of such a nature as to require immediate action. The monsters from beyond the backbone mountains have begun entering our lands. They are coming in force and have already caused much death and destruction in that part of Newhome which borders the Mountains. Effective immediately a state of war is proclaimed, until such time as this threat has been neutralized, either by extermination or by the creation of a method to prevent the ingress of future hordes of evil."
A buzz of sound passed through the crowd, and Egbert paused while it subsided. The various dragomen were making sure everything was understood, using their skills at translation, and then silence resumed.
"An ahnis and an Umf were both seen," Egbert did not pause, but left the information to filter in slowly, " and defeated by the Knights of the kingdom. There were also Trolls, Goons, and others too numerous to mention. It has come to our attention, that there are some who have aligned themselves with these monsters and that which controls them. Those persons shall be located and dealt with, posthaste. The Kingdom Guard, Knights of the Realm, and Paladins of Time, are herewith called to action.
"Those units which are, by treaty or custom, subject to enlistment, are forthwith requested to join the effort. This would include, but is not limited to, The Army of Faith, the Protectors of the Forests of Byredale, Brightwood, and Goldenwood, as well as the Mountain patrol, and the Army of Iron. Duke John, of the Duchy of Wayne, is appointed commander of the combined forces.
"Any and all forces, including, but not limited to, local militia or those which are not specifically mentioned in this proclamation, are instructed to extend their patrol to such areas as may be less well defended during the coming months. Any available experienced warriors who are available, for whatever reason, shall be assigned as officers to assist such endeavors.
Capitol Warrants shall be issued for any group using, or attempting to use this time for pursuit of illegal activities including Highway robbery, raiding, and/or pillaging. Those institutions instructing the populace in self defense, or training guardsmen, Knights or any other fighting force shall be under martial law, providing a portion of their trainees to the army. Any school already instructing forces for the Guard, Knights or general army will have its budget increased so as to allow for a greater output."
The proclamation went on for another twenty minutes, covering such items as trade and transport, border security and the establishment of several new fortifications to safeguard the roads. A tax for defensive purposes was revealed, being based not on income or property, but on the ability to pay, with those who had more being instructed to pay more. Magic would insure that remuneration was equitable. Property was protected, but any increase in security would have to be purchased, through the government, to prevent infiltration. Those in training, who failed to achieve the status of their chosen academy, were instructed to move to the next lower training facility and attempt to be graduated there. In this way, the maximum number of recruits could be inducted, allowing the army to swell with an influx of trained soldiery. Travel was to be limited to armed groups, approved by local government, or higher, so that the monsters would find no easy targets. Weaponsmiths, and those who crafted Magics of either defense or offense, were instructed to accept government contracts for goods up to, but not forced to exceed, 75% of their total workload. Only when His Highness had enumerated these, and other pertinent facts, did he close the proclamation with these words.
"The first, and greatest, war with this ancient evil almost destroyed mankind." He looked out over the crowd, to be sure they were listening. The Dragomen, and any other translator who might be present, fell silent. He went on, " The second war was horrible, but the monsters were driven beyond the Backbone Mountains. Now the mountains are becoming riddled with passages, most too high for the evil creatures to use, but some accessible. We are faced with a war which may rival the first. The Mages of Magic Isle have assured me that they have magics of a sort unknown during the first war, and we know that our warriors are orders of magnitude beyond those of our ancestors. We have the resources, and the will, to win this war, and if predictions prove true, we may even defeat that ancient evil, Fifnir, who has dominated the lands known as Old Home, beyond the mountains. Whatever the outcome, we shall not accede defeat, we shall not flee, and we shall not lose. We will continue this war, until we have either ceased to exist, or have achieved victory."
Sporadic cheers and applause greeted this, in spite of what was sure to be a river of panic in the populace. Only the knowledge that the Guard and the Knights were on the job kept the people in the Main from running home to pack. Egbert knew that panic and terror would be two of his primary enemies, and he was wise enough to know how to combat them. If he did not draft from his people, allowing them to enlist instead, they would not realize the severity of the situation. By allowing those who failed at one academy to immediately apply to another, he would easily double his guards and men at arms, not to mention taking some of the responsibility off of the shoulders of the academies who trained Knights. Training could be quicker, and more Knights would result, without lowering standards. His only worry was that some Knights would avoid the standards by using the political power of their families. He would have to deal with that possibility as he firmly believed “a chain is only as strong as it's weakest link”.
The exchange would have gone on, but an officer arrived and reminded one and all that they had to be in the Main Chamber for the proclamation. That broke up what was becoming an ugly encounter, and put off the confrontation until later. The knight candidates were unaware of the authority bestowed by the ‘Knight’s Hero medal’. Had they been caught calling him names, they could have been dismissed from the Academy. When they learned this, and they would, it would probably make things worse.
The Castle Main Hall, usually just called “The Main", was large enough, with the tiers on either side, to accommodate thousands. It was at capacity on this day, because those who had come for the awarding of medals had stayed. The local government had come for the proclamation as well as anybody who "was anybody" in local Society. Then there were those of the various envoys, ambassadors, representatives and assorted Nobles. In short, it was a gathering of everyone who wanted to know what was being presented, and those who wished to be seen with them. There were also a few thousand commoners, who just came for the spectacle. Proclamations had a way of affecting politics, economics and even social interaction. They were also good entertainment.
The proclamation had been magically recorded on the previous day, with all due secrecy, so that no one could profit from advance information. It also prevented assassins from coming to the affair in order to complete a contract for the death of anyone who might be involved. Assassins were too often common, since there were those who sought power by whatever means available. The crowd was called to order, and a mage began the illusion. A procession of people were suddenly seen to be moving toward the Dais, at the front of the Main. The perfect illusion had begun.
" We are the Councilors of King Egbert, the wise," the program began, "And we come here as witness to the Truth and Importance of this Royal proclamation."
King Egbert came to the fore, and mounted the dais. He looked solemn, as if he were giving the eulogy at a friend's funeral. His words quickly gave credence to his demeanor.
"This proclamation," he began, " Shall be to all who give allegiance to the High King, and those who are bound by any treaty or agreement having bearing hereunto."
The King paused to let this sink in, knowing that the Elves, Dwarves, and many other groups, would be profoundly affected by his news.
"Information of the most reliable sort has come to us, and it is of such a nature as to require immediate action. The monsters from beyond the backbone mountains have begun entering our lands. They are coming in force and have already caused much death and destruction in that part of Newhome which borders the Mountains. Effective immediately a state of war is proclaimed, until such time as this threat has been neutralized, either by extermination or by the creation of a method to prevent the ingress of future hordes of evil."
A buzz of sound passed through the crowd, and Egbert paused while it subsided. The various dragomen were making sure everything was understood, using their skills at translation, and then silence resumed.
"An ahnis and an Umf were both seen," Egbert did not pause, but left the information to filter in slowly, " and defeated by the Knights of the kingdom. There were also Trolls, Goons, and others too numerous to mention. It has come to our attention, that there are some who have aligned themselves with these monsters and that which controls them. Those persons shall be located and dealt with, posthaste. The Kingdom Guard, Knights of the Realm, and Paladins of Time, are herewith called to action.
"Those units which are, by treaty or custom, subject to enlistment, are forthwith requested to join the effort. This would include, but is not limited to, The Army of Faith, the Protectors of the Forests of Byredale, Brightwood, and Goldenwood, as well as the Mountain patrol, and the Army of Iron. Duke John, of the Duchy of Wayne, is appointed commander of the combined forces.
"Any and all forces, including, but not limited to, local militia or those which are not specifically mentioned in this proclamation, are instructed to extend their patrol to such areas as may be less well defended during the coming months. Any available experienced warriors who are available, for whatever reason, shall be assigned as officers to assist such endeavors.
Capitol Warrants shall be issued for any group using, or attempting to use this time for pursuit of illegal activities including Highway robbery, raiding, and/or pillaging. Those institutions instructing the populace in self defense, or training guardsmen, Knights or any other fighting force shall be under martial law, providing a portion of their trainees to the army. Any school already instructing forces for the Guard, Knights or general army will have its budget increased so as to allow for a greater output."
The proclamation went on for another twenty minutes, covering such items as trade and transport, border security and the establishment of several new fortifications to safeguard the roads. A tax for defensive purposes was revealed, being based not on income or property, but on the ability to pay, with those who had more being instructed to pay more. Magic would insure that remuneration was equitable. Property was protected, but any increase in security would have to be purchased, through the government, to prevent infiltration. Those in training, who failed to achieve the status of their chosen academy, were instructed to move to the next lower training facility and attempt to be graduated there. In this way, the maximum number of recruits could be inducted, allowing the army to swell with an influx of trained soldiery. Travel was to be limited to armed groups, approved by local government, or higher, so that the monsters would find no easy targets. Weaponsmiths, and those who crafted Magics of either defense or offense, were instructed to accept government contracts for goods up to, but not forced to exceed, 75% of their total workload. Only when His Highness had enumerated these, and other pertinent facts, did he close the proclamation with these words.
"The first, and greatest, war with this ancient evil almost destroyed mankind." He looked out over the crowd, to be sure they were listening. The Dragomen, and any other translator who might be present, fell silent. He went on, " The second war was horrible, but the monsters were driven beyond the Backbone Mountains. Now the mountains are becoming riddled with passages, most too high for the evil creatures to use, but some accessible. We are faced with a war which may rival the first. The Mages of Magic Isle have assured me that they have magics of a sort unknown during the first war, and we know that our warriors are orders of magnitude beyond those of our ancestors. We have the resources, and the will, to win this war, and if predictions prove true, we may even defeat that ancient evil, Fifnir, who has dominated the lands known as Old Home, beyond the mountains. Whatever the outcome, we shall not accede defeat, we shall not flee, and we shall not lose. We will continue this war, until we have either ceased to exist, or have achieved victory."
Sporadic cheers and applause greeted this, in spite of what was sure to be a river of panic in the populace. Only the knowledge that the Guard and the Knights were on the job kept the people in the Main from running home to pack. Egbert knew that panic and terror would be two of his primary enemies, and he was wise enough to know how to combat them. If he did not draft from his people, allowing them to enlist instead, they would not realize the severity of the situation. By allowing those who failed at one academy to immediately apply to another, he would easily double his guards and men at arms, not to mention taking some of the responsibility off of the shoulders of the academies who trained Knights. Training could be quicker, and more Knights would result, without lowering standards. His only worry was that some Knights would avoid the standards by using the political power of their families. He would have to deal with that possibility as he firmly believed “a chain is only as strong as it's weakest link”.
The Main emptied quickly and the trainees hurried back to the Academy, anxious to be the first to spot any changes in curricula that might be advanced. The message board had been redone during the proclamation, since the principals of the Academy had been present during its recording. Classes were now shorter, and field training longer. Sixday would be devoted half to unarmed and close order combat, indoors, with the other half being weapon instruction, including sword, mace, shield, spear (not cast), pole weapons, daggers, and a host of other implements, some as exotic as the Jamadhar Katar. Pell training would be relegated to field training, but would also be included in weapon instruction, as needed. Essentially, the Knight would be able to fight with anything that could be used as a weapon, and be proficient with it. Sam realized that sleep would NOT be a priority. Spells to compress sleeping time were also available to those who wished to spend the silver they cost. Sam did some quick math, realizing he could sleep twice in a week, and only short himself two days. Then he could buy a potion, for the lost sleep, and have Sevenday to rest up for the next week. He would have to be careful to visit chapel, and read for at least three hours in the library, on that day. Appearances were important, after all.
17. Making the Grade
In the next three minutes or so, it seemed, a month went by. One glanced away, and it was tomorrow. Meals were silent affairs, when one ate as much as you could get, as fast as you could consume it, and almost ran, either to class or to the field, or to your room. The hour or so in your room, or in the common room of your barracks, was all you had, if you were going to sleep a few hours, and make the next day's breakfast. This time was when the young candidate learned he had a friend that he’d never expected. Black Cat began visiting him, bringing small magics from the exotic world of the dark elf. Sleep became less a priority, and yet he was often well rested. He learned concentration techniques for learning weapons, and Black Cat sparred with him when they could slip onto the quad without being caught. Sam learned that he was only fairly good, compared to the, lightning fast dark elf. His training now included how to use those natural advantages of being elf, something only Black Cat could have taught him. He learned to move more smoothly and strike with greater speed and accuracy. Black Cat seemed to know that the young trainee was going to need everything he could get, and before long. Sam, for his part, was glad that the unbelievably hectic schedule left him little time to wonder what had happened to Linda.
Gladriel also became good friends with Ace, with those who shared his table, and even some other classmates, but not on the field. Sam had no equal there, save Black Cat, and when given the task of sparring with anyone, it was a foregone conclusion that he would win. Ace often gave him some exercise, and Tonya, a fighter from Oceanside, was surprising in her ability to combine multiple maneuvers into a single move. Ace often claimed to the be better combatant, but almost never won, unless Sam was tired, or distracted. Not that Sam was ever really challenged, until the day Magrout challenged him.
Magrout, it turned out, was leader of "The Knights who Know" and he honestly believed that Sam wasn't really as good as his record showed. He issued challenge, and the Field instructor allowed it, with the proviso that a pair of healers stood by, in case Sam should inadvertently kill his opponent. They each brought a hardwood sword, tempered not to splinter and to allow for moves that otherwise would not be possible. What no one knew was that Magrout had another magic on his weapon, one that added speed and accuracy to his form and style. He was confidant that he could seriously injure the 'half-elf' and thus end his bid to be a knight. He was so wrong.
The bout began and Sam realized he needed to 'up his game'. As he had been trained, and with the added experience of having fought monsters, he just moved into defensive mode for a moment and studied his opponent. Black Cat had taught him that ‘the moment will come, if you wait’. Once he realized what he was fighting, he began to score one point after another. He struck only when his challenger left an opening, and then only if he was certain it was not deliberate. Magrout had never fought for his life, and so was sorely disadvantaged. Sam had fought creatures that were magic, and deadlier than any of the trainees in the Academy. That he was alive was testament to his skill, and his training with Black Cat had put him in a class by himself. After long minutes of fighting, without pause, Sam managed to disarm Magrout and in the process leave him flat on the ground. Jumping to his feet, enraged that he had lost, and in front of everyone, He approached Sam and remarked that a sword could make anyone look good, but the real test was unarmed combat. He then went to the Field Instructor to make his request.
This time the instructor simply laughed and said, "Knock yourself out." He couldn't believe that Magrout didn't know about the Academy at Targun. It was noted only for its superior unarmed combat training. It was the equal of any Academy, in that area, and Sam had five long years in Targun. The battle began, and soon was simply a comedy of errors. The assailant would attack and fall down. Sam would bide his time and then suddenly his opponent, the arrogant, would-be knight, would fall down. Finally Magrout fell on his head and the healer had to come and take care of him. The Instructor called the match because Sam was so far ahead that even if the match continued all night, the challenger didn't have enough time to win. In his anger, once he was healed, Magrout threw his wooden sword at Sam, who dodged easily. The sword, enhanced as it was, continued all the way across the Quadrangle, until the Field Instructor snatched it out of the air as it flew past him. He realized at once that the weapon had been 'magicked' and constituted cheating of the highest order. He spoke to no one, but took the weapon and Magrout to the Commandant's office. His anger showed both in his demeanor and movement.
A few days later, there was a brief break in training, while the cheating cadet was expelled in a short ceremony. The reason was simply 'cheating and failing to uphold a Knights, honor'. No explanation was forthcoming, so no one knew exactly what had occurred, except his cronies. "The Knights who Know", for some reason,were silent on the subject. Sam did not confuse their silence with acquiescence, he was well aware of their prejudice, and dislike for anything Elven or Half-Elven. He made a mental note to avoid them if at all possible, and sent his mother a letter in High Elvish, with their names and the story as he knew it. He figured that they might have connections outside the Academy and wanted what protection his family might provide. His mother copied Lord Eglion, Tagernoab, Sir Albren, and HRM Egbert. She believed that there was strength in numbers. The association fostered by this, was largely responsible for Sam’s being able to weather the storm when things got serious.
Magrout, it turned out, was leader of "The Knights who Know" and he honestly believed that Sam wasn't really as good as his record showed. He issued challenge, and the Field instructor allowed it, with the proviso that a pair of healers stood by, in case Sam should inadvertently kill his opponent. They each brought a hardwood sword, tempered not to splinter and to allow for moves that otherwise would not be possible. What no one knew was that Magrout had another magic on his weapon, one that added speed and accuracy to his form and style. He was confidant that he could seriously injure the 'half-elf' and thus end his bid to be a knight. He was so wrong.
The bout began and Sam realized he needed to 'up his game'. As he had been trained, and with the added experience of having fought monsters, he just moved into defensive mode for a moment and studied his opponent. Black Cat had taught him that ‘the moment will come, if you wait’. Once he realized what he was fighting, he began to score one point after another. He struck only when his challenger left an opening, and then only if he was certain it was not deliberate. Magrout had never fought for his life, and so was sorely disadvantaged. Sam had fought creatures that were magic, and deadlier than any of the trainees in the Academy. That he was alive was testament to his skill, and his training with Black Cat had put him in a class by himself. After long minutes of fighting, without pause, Sam managed to disarm Magrout and in the process leave him flat on the ground. Jumping to his feet, enraged that he had lost, and in front of everyone, He approached Sam and remarked that a sword could make anyone look good, but the real test was unarmed combat. He then went to the Field Instructor to make his request.
This time the instructor simply laughed and said, "Knock yourself out." He couldn't believe that Magrout didn't know about the Academy at Targun. It was noted only for its superior unarmed combat training. It was the equal of any Academy, in that area, and Sam had five long years in Targun. The battle began, and soon was simply a comedy of errors. The assailant would attack and fall down. Sam would bide his time and then suddenly his opponent, the arrogant, would-be knight, would fall down. Finally Magrout fell on his head and the healer had to come and take care of him. The Instructor called the match because Sam was so far ahead that even if the match continued all night, the challenger didn't have enough time to win. In his anger, once he was healed, Magrout threw his wooden sword at Sam, who dodged easily. The sword, enhanced as it was, continued all the way across the Quadrangle, until the Field Instructor snatched it out of the air as it flew past him. He realized at once that the weapon had been 'magicked' and constituted cheating of the highest order. He spoke to no one, but took the weapon and Magrout to the Commandant's office. His anger showed both in his demeanor and movement.
A few days later, there was a brief break in training, while the cheating cadet was expelled in a short ceremony. The reason was simply 'cheating and failing to uphold a Knights, honor'. No explanation was forthcoming, so no one knew exactly what had occurred, except his cronies. "The Knights who Know", for some reason,were silent on the subject. Sam did not confuse their silence with acquiescence, he was well aware of their prejudice, and dislike for anything Elven or Half-Elven. He made a mental note to avoid them if at all possible, and sent his mother a letter in High Elvish, with their names and the story as he knew it. He figured that they might have connections outside the Academy and wanted what protection his family might provide. His mother copied Lord Eglion, Tagernoab, Sir Albren, and HRM Egbert. She believed that there was strength in numbers. The association fostered by this, was largely responsible for Sam’s being able to weather the storm when things got serious.
***
Time passes swiftly when you're busy, and in what seemed no time at all, Sam found himself a second year. Well fourth actually, since his time at Targun had earned him third year status initially, and it had been sixteen months since. Sam was aware that a fourth year could 'test out' and become a Knight if he were trained well enough, so he asked to be given the initial written tests in order to ascertain his chances for that achievement. Because he had been surviving on sleep concentration and library relaxation, Sam was able to pass every test that did not require magic use. He was exempt from those, being 'magic blind', but did well on all the others. He began training even harder on Sixday, to learn the miscellaneous weapons, and shield combat, that were his current weaknesses. He actually found that he liked the scimitar as a weapon, probably because he had an Elven Destrier and needed a mounted weapon more. Now, if he could just find a magicked Scimitar. He never did truly master a shield though. He was looking forward to being a Knight, and maybe finally finding out what had become of Linda.
Finally all was in readiness. Sam had finished his weapons training crash course, under the incredibly expert tutelage of Black Cat, and was well able to excel in any 'normal weapon'. He made application for the advance testing and, in a matter of four days, was approved. He wondered if having a Knight's Commander anxious to get him into his command was partly responsible. Sir Albren had been more than serious when he told Sam that he was 'good enough' before Sam even reached the Academy. The next day it all fell down.
18. Death of a Dream
Morning came to Lackland, and Sam was up and at breakfast as soon as chow was served. He was scheduled to take his practical exams today and felt ready, however, something was making him anxious, beyond the usual pre-exam jitters. He felt something was terribly wrong, but he had no idea what it was. He was on his way from the dining hall when the messenger found him.
"You are wanted at the Commandant's office", was the entire message. The messenger was unfamiliar, and looked as if he fully expected to be killed for the news he had brought. Sam knew that he had been worried for a reason. Wasting no time in his passage to the Commandant's Office the Knight in training was to have the worst day of his life. It could only be bad news, if not worse.
"You are wanted at the Commandant's office", was the entire message. The messenger was unfamiliar, and looked as if he fully expected to be killed for the news he had brought. Sam knew that he had been worried for a reason. Wasting no time in his passage to the Commandant's Office the Knight in training was to have the worst day of his life. It could only be bad news, if not worse.
"Sam," the Commandant looked miserable as he greeted the young man, "I have terrible news."
Sam suddenly realized that his cousin, Seana was there, as well as Sir Albren and Tagernoab. There were others, but Sam had no time to notice them.
"Cousin," Seana spoke softly, "The family at Samovar is no more."
Sam looked at her, but did not speak. He had no answer for that. He turned to the Commandant. "What,... The Castle, How did..?" He couldn't make a coherent sentence.
" As near as we can determine," the commandant responded gently, " Two or three weeks ago, a horde of monsters came down out of the mountains and overran Castle Samovar. They lost many in the attack, but left no one alive that we can locate." he paused.
"The Castle remains under the dominion of a Horde of Monsters," he finally continued. "Until such time as we can mount an offensive to dislodge them."
Sam suddenly realized that his cousin, Seana was there, as well as Sir Albren and Tagernoab. There were others, but Sam had no time to notice them.
"Cousin," Seana spoke softly, "The family at Samovar is no more."
Sam looked at her, but did not speak. He had no answer for that. He turned to the Commandant. "What,... The Castle, How did..?" He couldn't make a coherent sentence.
" As near as we can determine," the commandant responded gently, " Two or three weeks ago, a horde of monsters came down out of the mountains and overran Castle Samovar. They lost many in the attack, but left no one alive that we can locate." he paused.
"The Castle remains under the dominion of a Horde of Monsters," he finally continued. "Until such time as we can mount an offensive to dislodge them."
"Your mother lives," Seana told him, "She was in Byredale when they came, and is on her way here."
"As far as testing," Sir Albren put in, "I've already seen to the approvals, along with four of my Captains. You're a Knight, and we'll do what we can to back you for the Title."
"There are those who'll object to you being declared Baron Samovar" Tagernoab put in, "But there are more who'll back you, including His Majesty. We should be able to override any objections and get you confirmed in a Month."
"I'll attend to our young Baron until then," Seana assured them, "He'll need to be sequestered anyway, for mourning."
Sam looked around the room, and it all seemed an illusion. Sure, he'd been the youngest, and not too popular, but they were his family, and Samovar was his home, and what would he do? He just didn't know. He had never prepared to be Baron, he didn’t want to be Baron. He didn’t want to fight Fifnir. It seemed, suddenly, as if his life was reduced to things he ‘didn’t want’. Baron? His father was Baron, or his eldest brother, not him. How could he, a half-elf, and the youngest member of the family, be Baron?
"As far as testing," Sir Albren put in, "I've already seen to the approvals, along with four of my Captains. You're a Knight, and we'll do what we can to back you for the Title."
"There are those who'll object to you being declared Baron Samovar" Tagernoab put in, "But there are more who'll back you, including His Majesty. We should be able to override any objections and get you confirmed in a Month."
"I'll attend to our young Baron until then," Seana assured them, "He'll need to be sequestered anyway, for mourning."
Sam looked around the room, and it all seemed an illusion. Sure, he'd been the youngest, and not too popular, but they were his family, and Samovar was his home, and what would he do? He just didn't know. He had never prepared to be Baron, he didn’t want to be Baron. He didn’t want to fight Fifnir. It seemed, suddenly, as if his life was reduced to things he ‘didn’t want’. Baron? His father was Baron, or his eldest brother, not him. How could he, a half-elf, and the youngest member of the family, be Baron?
Seana took Sam to Chevalier, where she got him a room and some 'common clothes' so he could roam the city, if he so desired. Sam just followed along, not really aware of what was happening, almost lost in his thoughts. It was evening when it hit him. He was no longer the youngest son of a Baron, he was the only son of a Baron who had died. He turned to Seana and spoke, what was probably his first coherent sentence since the news.
"You're my cousin" he said, as if it be the first time he had realized it, " Mother says I should trust you. Do you know anywhere, nearby, that I can learn how to be a Baron? "
Seana's response was in her kindest voice, " As a matter of fact, I just may know a place, and it's one where you can also learn how to be a person."
Sam took a moment to digest this information. He had never realized that his training and early life was not conducive to being a 'normal person'. The realization of how different his life was from commoners was something that would have shocked him yesterday, but then, that was yesterday. Yesterday he had been a Knight candidate, with a few friends, who was going to 'test out' and be a knight. He still didn't know what he was today. What were they doing now, his friends, since they probably didn't even know what had happened to him?
"You're my cousin" he said, as if it be the first time he had realized it, " Mother says I should trust you. Do you know anywhere, nearby, that I can learn how to be a Baron? "
Seana's response was in her kindest voice, " As a matter of fact, I just may know a place, and it's one where you can also learn how to be a person."
Sam took a moment to digest this information. He had never realized that his training and early life was not conducive to being a 'normal person'. The realization of how different his life was from commoners was something that would have shocked him yesterday, but then, that was yesterday. Yesterday he had been a Knight candidate, with a few friends, who was going to 'test out' and be a knight. He still didn't know what he was today. What were they doing now, his friends, since they probably didn't even know what had happened to him?
* * *
Acernon took time to look for Sam, just before lunch. He had gotten a 'pass' to see Sam take his trial exams, but the event, for some reason, hadn't occurred. He and Ted, with Debbie and Aloe were searching as they could, between classes. It was a puzzle.
"Any luck?" Johnny queried, as they dressed for field training.
" He's as gone as fat in a famine," Acernon replied, " I've checked, and his room is empty. It's like he was spirited away by some arcane magic."
" The magic of prejudice and hatred, more likely," Frank interjected, " There's a group of ‘Knights who know’ wanna-be Knights who would stop at nothing to get him kicked out."
" I've heard they have a sympathetic ear in court," Arnold chimed in, " Some Lady named Barbara, who seems to have 'an agenda' where he's concerned."
" If something ill has befallen him, " Michael remarked, " I may not be able to earn my distinction as Paladin. I would have to spend much time in Chapel to avoid the sin of revenge."
" Call it righteous retribution and make it a 'Holy Quest'." Aloe suggested, "Then you'd be Father Michael, and one big step closer to Paladin status."
"And we could be your companions," Acernon put in, " It could be our ‘Knight's quest’. To follow Father Michael to whatever end his ‘Holy Quest’ should determine."
The young men and women, who were talking idly, had no idea of the prophecy in their words. When Black Cat dropped by and told them the actual news, shock would have been a polite term for their reaction. That his entire family was wiped out, was terrible, and that he was now out of the Academy, as a Knight, but en route to an insane attempt to become a half-elf Baron, was worse. He was facing prejudice, hatred, the entrenched nobles who were anti-elf, or more properly anything not 100% human, and a system that had excluded mixed parentage for as long as it had existed. To a person, they vowed to support and assist the young Baron-to-be, and help him in whatever way they could. It was at that moment, the instant of decision, in which all of their lives changed forever.
" He's as gone as fat in a famine," Acernon replied, " I've checked, and his room is empty. It's like he was spirited away by some arcane magic."
" The magic of prejudice and hatred, more likely," Frank interjected, " There's a group of ‘Knights who know’ wanna-be Knights who would stop at nothing to get him kicked out."
" I've heard they have a sympathetic ear in court," Arnold chimed in, " Some Lady named Barbara, who seems to have 'an agenda' where he's concerned."
" If something ill has befallen him, " Michael remarked, " I may not be able to earn my distinction as Paladin. I would have to spend much time in Chapel to avoid the sin of revenge."
" Call it righteous retribution and make it a 'Holy Quest'." Aloe suggested, "Then you'd be Father Michael, and one big step closer to Paladin status."
"And we could be your companions," Acernon put in, " It could be our ‘Knight's quest’. To follow Father Michael to whatever end his ‘Holy Quest’ should determine."
The young men and women, who were talking idly, had no idea of the prophecy in their words. When Black Cat dropped by and told them the actual news, shock would have been a polite term for their reaction. That his entire family was wiped out, was terrible, and that he was now out of the Academy, as a Knight, but en route to an insane attempt to become a half-elf Baron, was worse. He was facing prejudice, hatred, the entrenched nobles who were anti-elf, or more properly anything not 100% human, and a system that had excluded mixed parentage for as long as it had existed. To a person, they vowed to support and assist the young Baron-to-be, and help him in whatever way they could. It was at that moment, the instant of decision, in which all of their lives changed forever.
The Lady Barbara unveiled
In the apartments of one Lady Barbara, things were happening.
"Is the poison in hand?" she asked the dark elf before her, "I want it to coincide with the boy's presence in the Main."
"We have what you seek," came the answer, "But we will have no part in the death of the High King. He has friends, even among the Drough. Our lives would have no value, if we be linked to his passing."
"Do not trouble yourself with that," Lady Barbara assured him, "Young Samovar will bear the blame for the poisoning, I have seen to that."
"Make sure of your fellow conspirators," the dark elf warned her, "You would not fare well in prison."
"I have documents that will incriminate any who betray me," she answered, "And I keep them with me at all times, in a locked, Magicked box that is proof against even a mage's tampering."
"Just so long as I am not among the people you have named," the dark elf warned her, "there are worse things than prison."
"I don't even know your name," Lady Barbara answered, "How could I include you?"
"See that you don't," came the reply, " I would hate having to sell you in Port Narl, to one of the houses of pain there." he paused.
"But I might need the coin to hide myself, so I would do it," he finished.
Lady Barbara shuddered, thinking of the possibility. She knew Port Narl, and had heard much of the illegal 'houses of pain', with their victims who never lived too long. She had no desire to be one.
"Is the poison in hand?" she asked the dark elf before her, "I want it to coincide with the boy's presence in the Main."
"We have what you seek," came the answer, "But we will have no part in the death of the High King. He has friends, even among the Drough. Our lives would have no value, if we be linked to his passing."
"Do not trouble yourself with that," Lady Barbara assured him, "Young Samovar will bear the blame for the poisoning, I have seen to that."
"Make sure of your fellow conspirators," the dark elf warned her, "You would not fare well in prison."
"I have documents that will incriminate any who betray me," she answered, "And I keep them with me at all times, in a locked, Magicked box that is proof against even a mage's tampering."
"Just so long as I am not among the people you have named," the dark elf warned her, "there are worse things than prison."
"I don't even know your name," Lady Barbara answered, "How could I include you?"
"See that you don't," came the reply, " I would hate having to sell you in Port Narl, to one of the houses of pain there." he paused.
"But I might need the coin to hide myself, so I would do it," he finished.
Lady Barbara shuddered, thinking of the possibility. She knew Port Narl, and had heard much of the illegal 'houses of pain', with their victims who never lived too long. She had no desire to be one.
Sam was unaware of any of this, being busy with his cousin's suggestion. He was entertaining guests who knew him, and some who didn't, in a 'crash course', to become suitable for the Title which had come upon him, without warning. The etiquette and manners were not as difficult as the memorization of protocols and titular distinctions. Who was Lord and who was His Grace or His Lordship or Prince. Who should be His Majesty, and who His Highness? Fortunately there was only one Royal majesty, and very few Royal Highness titles in the Land. With his eidetic memory, Sam could keep the knowledge forever, but only if he placed it in his long-term memory. That required repetition of every name, title, and mode of address, until it became rote. Then there was his training as a person.
Sam spent at least one day of each week in the company of "The Black Cat". Somehow this strange, dark, Elf had an honest appreciation of just how disconnected Sam was. It was as if he had descended from royalty himself. All the name Sam had for him was Black Cat, so he used it. He began to understand just how sheltered his life had been. Black Cat called their time together, ‘quality time’. This time varied from public house, to inn, with stops at taverns, and other places. On several occasions, the camaraderie would descend into a brawl, and end with a hurried flight; into the night. Black Cat was adamant about Sam not being caught by the local constabulary. He felt that Seana might not approve, and he feared Seana. Sam learned much from Black Cat that was not actually a part of any 'approved teaching'. For example, and among other things, he learned how to spot a person who had money and was becoming drunk, how to enter, or leave, an establishment, without attracting attention, to slip into the darkness, leaving little or no trace, and even how to 'pass' a lock, getting into, or out of, a place and leaving the security unbroached, insofar as anyone would know. These were not things that Seana would have approved, but they kept him out of lockup, on more than one occasion.
Without realizing it, Sam also learned what it meant to be a commoner. How it felt to have to give way and be respectful to those who did not deserve it. What it meant to have someone able to take from you, just because they were born with an advantage. He learned that being 'entitled' usually meant that you could have the best of everything, without having earned it. Sam learned what he would need to know if he were ever to be a Baron that was beloved of his people. It was a hard lesson, but would have been harder had he been entitled, and learned it from the top down. Black Cat had intended to teach this, if nothing else, because he realized that Gladriel would need the support of his people, insofar as he could gain it. It went without saying that Gladriel would never have disrespected his people, but now he would value them, as the resource and strength of his land. His time 'on the bottom', with Black Cat, assured he would never again take the 'top' for granted. Black Cat was satisfied with the young man, and their bond grew very strong. That, and one more, would make two bonds in Black Cat’s life.
The 'month' that had been predicted for Sam to be confirmed as Baron had stretched into a season, and more. Winter had come and gone, and Spring was well underway when the call came for him to visit the Castle. Sam was as ready as he could be, having practiced courtly manners with Elves, Dwarves, Lords and Ladies. Lord Eglion himself had taken to visiting Sam, since he was of a Higher Rank than a Baron, or even a Duke. This surprised Sam, since the titles and rankings in the demesne of Magic Isle were very different than elsewhere. It didn't really matter though, since Lord Eglion was a master at 'implanting knowledge' and could give Sam a month's worth of court experience in a single day. This he did on several occasions, since he felt that his 'favorite Baron' was going to be famous. This was a spell that ‘The Baron’ would have cause to remember, as it became crucial to his ongoing life.
Sam went to court, as per his summons. Actually, in deep disguise, King Egbert had visited Sam and they had spent some time discussing the need for Sam, as Baron, to take a Force and liberate his childhood home. It was a matter of some need, as the monsters coming from beyond the Mountains were using it as a base. Sam vowed that he would make it the first priority of his term as Baron. The retaking of Castle Samovar would be his quest until it was done. King Egbert was pleased, and reassured Sam that the court would back him in his quest. Then he went over the procedure for installing Sam as Baron Gladriel von Samovar, son of Gideon. It was a long and involved process, with even a toast to the Barony as part of the ceremony. Sam had just had a visit from Eglion earlier, and was able to memorize the entire process instantly. King Egbert was impressed.
On the day of his planned installation, Sam got dressed up as well as he was able. He wore Elven chain under his finery, because Seana insisted, and had on every magical protection he owned. He even wore his Girdle, although that seemed, to young Samovar, to be a bit much. He almost balked at the Elven cloak, but Seana reminded him that there would be Elven royalty in evidence, and it would look well if he gave obeisance to them. As he viewed himself in the mirror, Seana's, he had to admit he looked almost grown-up. He was to become a Baron today and needed that ‘look’, very much. He hoped some of his friends would be there to wish him well. He especially missed Linda, Acernon, and Sindie.
As Sam was leaving for the ceremony, the woman from the caravan arrived. His Linda, the same one who 'magicked' the buildings at the pass, and provided ward on other occasions. She had healed him on several occasions, and he liked her, very much. Now she was very different from the plain traveler, whom he had known. Sam knew that this was Linda, but had never seen her like this. She was dressed in a fortune's worth of forest finery. Linda looked like the High Druid herself, but Sam couldn't understand why. Then she explained.
"I am Linda, Druid of the Ninth Circle" she began, "I come with a Boon and request of you"
Sam was, to say the least, unprepared for her. " I am anxious to hear how I may be of service, Your Holiness" he responded as he had been trained.
"Forget that Holiness ordure", she said, "I'm Linda, you're Sam, and I need a favor."
"Tell me what you need, Linda" Sam responded instantly.
" The High Druids are afraid that the Forest outside Byredale will go to the Elves when you become Baron," she said without preamble, " They've long wanted it and your Mother is Jana, after all."
"I've already thought about that," Sam responded, "And my mother is taking a 'suggestion' to the Elven Council that the Forest, both Byrewood and the Druid holdings, be constituted as a 'shared dominion' between the Elves and Druids. In that way, the Half-Elven druids can have a place that is less hostile to them."
"Marvelous idea, Sam!" Linda was clearly excited, "I can push that through Council without any real opposition. Do you think the Elven Council will buy it?"
"Have you ever know my mother not to get what she wants?" Sam asked with a grin.
"True enough," Linda said, " Would you mind having me as your 'Cleric in attendance' at your installation?"
To say that Sam was pleased would be a gross understatement. Having a 'cleric in attendance' was something he had been wishing for, but his half-Elven heritage had gotten in the way. None of the religious leaders was willing to be cast in the role of supporting his assumption to the title, due to political and social opposition. Since High Druids were rare, even in ceremonies involving the entire realm, having one at his installation would be a serious ''Coup d'état', as the dark elves would say.
"I think I'll just welcome you to my ceremony," Sam answered, "As a kiss on the mouth might be a broach of protocol."
"I'll collect on that kiss after the ceremony," Linda assured him, " I always wanted to Bed a Baron."
Seana had been at the door during the entire exchange, but the last remark broke through her Elven reserve and she almost collapsed in laughter.
The trip to the Castle was uneventful, except for a single sign, on the exterior main wall. It said only "No pointy-eared Barens allowed " and Sam hoped it wasn't a portent, of things to come. Sam, and his entourage, came into the Main, and the ceremony began. There was some stir as it became known that his Clergy in attendance was one of the High Druid council. There was another moment of surprise when Tagernoab came to his group, in capacity as a representative of the Dwarven Empire. It got worse when his mother brought the High Elven Ruler of Goldenwood to his side. His Highness Marchant was one of the Mountain Elves, and well over a thousand years old. The various forms and procedures proceeded apace, with all eyes on the soon to be Baron. No one would speak out against him, because the members of his entourage represented a wealth of political and economic power. Finally it was time for the toast to the new Baron. King Egbert himself came forward and took a cup, one especially set aside for him, and drank.
Within a few seconds, all went wrong. His Royal Highness, King Egbert the wise, collapsed to the floor, and pandemonium ensued. Within seconds, Linda was at his side, and the angry look on her face told everyone what she knew.
" His Royal Majesty has been poisoned!" she told the room, in a voice that carried to every ear, " I shall attend him. "
No one would argue with her, as she was probably one of the foremost experts in the land where poisons were concerned. A druid knew substances well, and one of the High Druids was the best chance for the King. Sam stood, not knowing what else to do, until Tag urged him to move to the door, in case things 'got ugly'.
"As I have said", a lesser noble was standing, "Half-Elves are a danger to the nobility. Now see what has transpired. His Royal Majesty poisoned so that he might not oppose the new Baron!"
Lord Eglion had appeared from somewhere. He approached Linda quietly.
"Perhaps I may be of assistance?" he said, "I am the Lord of Air from Magic Isle and my magics may be more efficacious than those of a member of the High Druid Council"
"Perhaps that is so," Linda's voice still carried, "But I am not merely a High Druid, I am THE High Druid!"
This last was delivered with some emotion, and the room became as still as unmagical death. Then Linda thought and continued.
"I would however appreciate your assistance." after another moment she added, "The poison came from the cup, which my Baron never touched. I think you might be able to find a trace of who was responsible in the aura of it."
"The poison came from the Dark Elves of Narl, " he announced after a moment, "And has been in the Castle domain for months. I think we may assume the holder was human, but some very dark magic lingers on the cup itself."
Sam had, by this time, reached the door, and even Black Cat would have been proud of his movements. When the guards came to detain him, he was not there. Then the High Counselor spoke to the entire audience.
" There shall be an investigation," he announced, "And the wealth of Samovar shall be held in abeyance until its conclusion."
" The perpetrators of this heinous act shall be uncovered," he went on, "And punished to the fullest extent of the law. In the interim, no one shall be incarcerated."
Sam was glad he wouldn't be going to prison, but did not relish going to the poorhouse either. He departed swiftly, before anyone had a chance to change their mind. More than a few were disappointed by this turn of events, and at least one was angered.
* * *
To the intense anger of Lady Barbara, the King did not die. The ministrations of the High Druid, along with Lord Eglion, kept him among the living, and it was a good thing. The poison he had been given was designed to cause permanent death, without the possibility of revival, and was extremely potent. Only the presence of Her Holiness, the High Druid, and the arrival of High Lord Eglion, had spared the King. Barbara did not care why, she wanted someone to suffer from the failure.
"Where's that mud-Elf?" she demanded of her staff, "He said the dross was foolproof, and that the target would die. He owes me a refund."
No one in her staff was aware of the whereabouts of the dark elf, and as no one knew his name, they could not make inquiries. Not even among the unsavory types who had led them to him originally.
"I'll have him found and flayed," she promised to no one in particular, " I know someone who is dangerous, even to him."
Even a veiled reference to the 'thing' that she sometimes consulted, was enough to empty her chambers. In but a few moments she had gone to her closet and removed a mirror, with a pure black glass. When she had ensconced it on her wall, and spoken a command word, she settled back to wait. Sometimes her answer was slow in coming.
"Why have you waited to call me?" a voice came from the mirror, "Have you failed?"
" I administered the poison, just as you commanded," she answered, "But the King is not dead."
"How can this be?" the voice demanded. "The poison I ordered is without remedy, and swift in its action."
" I cannot say," Lady Barbara returned " There was a druid at the ceremony, and an Archmage as well, but perhaps the poison was flawed."
"I examined the poison," the voice went on, "But perhaps the Drow was remiss in his delivery. I shall speak with him about it."
Lady Barbara was relieved to have someone else blamed for the fiasco. She knew that the creature of the mirror, whom she knew only as Malovil, was not renowned for his mercy. She could only hope that he would be satisfied with a single victim for his ire.
She avoided mention that the young Baron-to-be was not yet blamed, she knew that her luck was not so good as to find another scapegoat so quickly. She only hoped that her blackmail documents would keep her from being involved in any investigation. She checked her purse, a magical one that held more than appeared possible. The box was there and safe.
19. Becoming a Sewer Rat
Two weeks went by, and King Egbert still lay at death's door. He was alive, and even seemed to be recovering, but it would take time. The investigation into his poisoning was even slower than his recovery. If there was a bureaucratic process that could slow the process, it seemed that someone would point it out. Nothing was being done in the meantime.
Sam realized that the proceeds from his Caravan experience were running low. He needed a method of supporting himself while he waited for the results of the investigation. If the judgment was against him, although there was a very small chance of this, he needed to find someone else to be. Black Cat was there with a single answer to both his problems.
"You need to become a sewer rat", he advised, "With your skill and the treasure down there, you could live well, and maybe find some good stuff."
About a day later, and much conversation having passed, Sam decided to go with Black Cat into the Sewers of Chevalier, in order to keep from having to depend on his cousin for funds. Seana listened quietly and finally gave her approval, provided that she could come along occasionally. The thought of 'some good stuff' interested her.
Seana had also been keeping Sam's friends from the Academy up to date, insofar as she could, it was a shame that the current trouble barred them from seeing Sam personally. It was from his friends that Seana first learned of the Lady Barbara. She was glad that Black Cat had come up with this sewer thing. It would keep Sam occupied and hard to locate. That might hinder whoever this Lady Barbara was. It was certain that Seana had found a 'new best friend'.
Sam's first trip into the sewers was uneventful, with only the odd creature appearing. Sam killed one that appeared rabid, and was treated to a fifty copper reward. He and Black Cat found that to be enough for a party among the other 'sewer rats', and to spare. Fifty copper translated to five silver, which was half a gold. A gold was a year’s wage for a professional, and probably close to two years for the average commoner. Black Cat had told Sam that he needed to make friends among the others in order to learn where the 'best spots' were, for hunting. Sam found this less difficult than he expected. The presence of 'free ale' made the process even simpler. He spent six month’s wage on the party, but it was worth it.
After a few trips in, Sam encountered a giant rat. It was almost the size of a pony, and as fast and deadly as any creature its size that the man had ever faced. It carried a five gold reward, and Sam earned it. He was wearing his 'training armor' so as not to be noticed among the other 'sewer rats' but that encounter showed him that he had to make other arrangements. He spent some time with Seana the next day, and she took him to someone she knew who disguised his 'best armor' so that it wouldn't be noticed, when he went into the sewers. He also resolved to carry his sword and mace with him, because the mace was more efficient with the armored insect types he encountered in the sewer. His final change was to begin wearing one of the robes that his mother had provided. It was one that made him harder to see in the dark, concealing his body heat from others. In the sewers this would be more than handy. Thus prepared, Sam went back to the sewers.
After almost a month, Sam had become, "The Rat", and was known among the others as such. He went into places that were dangerous, and had killed more than one rat were, and even a full sized 'sewer crawler'. He had earned enough gold to pay his expenses, as a Baron-to-be, and even had some to spare. Seana had provided him with a backpack that would hold much more than it should have, due to magic. The trips went on, and eventually Black Cat took to accompanying 'Rat' into the sewers, not to protect him, but to share in the booty. There was more than enough for two. Seana began to look into the possibility of accompanying the pair, but she hated tunnels and the underground. Then the Rat brought her something.
Seana had confessed to a love for bags, purses, and the like, having quite a collection. Sam eventually brought her a box that would fit in her hand but held as much as a trunk. She decided it was a fair trade for the backpack. Seana also decided they needed her to go along. No sewer was dank, or dark, enough to keep her away from things as desirable as that box. So it was, that one trip deep in the night, when Seana, Black Cat and 'Rat' were all together, they ran into some others that Sam knew. These adventurers confessed that they were not going on, because of the trace of Were Rat, that they had discovered. Were rats, unlike rat weres, were people who had a disease that turned them into giant rats. The ones who did not seek a cure were almost always criminals, and they usually sought the company of other skin walkers who were on the wrong side of the law. A brief consultation caused Sam, Seana and Black Cat to decide it was time to take a major risk, and they set off on the trail.
The sewers seemed darker than usual, even to Black Cat. It was as though some evil force had snatched the light away, leaving a supernatural darkness in its wake. Sam was watching the darkness, not for enemies, but for the path, since it was black on black, and to step off of it meant being in sewer water. He had already been in sewer water, and did not want to repeat the experience. Seana went with the duo, until she finally grew impatient and cast a spell into the tunnel before them. It was a light that only an Elf could see, but Sam and Black Cat qualified. There, in the distance, were several of the creatures they sought, and none were Elves. A group of Were rats, a few rat weres, one or two Werewolves, and at least two others. A bear seemed to be in charge, or perhaps the Tiger, but they neither had the air of a commander. Someone, or something, was pulling their strings, and playing them for the puppets they were.
The sewers seemed darker than usual, even to Black Cat. It was as though some evil force had snatched the light away, leaving a supernatural darkness in its wake. Sam was watching the darkness, not for enemies, but for the path, since it was black on black, and to step off of it meant being in sewer water. He had already been in sewer water, and did not want to repeat the experience. Seana went with the duo, until she finally grew impatient and cast a spell into the tunnel before them. It was a light that only an Elf could see, but Sam and Black Cat qualified. There, in the distance, were several of the creatures they sought, and none were Elves. A group of Were rats, a few rat weres, one or two Werewolves, and at least two others. A bear seemed to be in charge, or perhaps the Tiger, but they neither had the air of a commander. Someone, or something, was pulling their strings, and playing them for the puppets they were.
The trio crept closer, concealing themselves alongside the tunnel, in case something with magical sight should appear. Silence was the order of the day, but it did not apply to the monsters.
"Brought something," a voice said from down the tunnel, "Come see."
"Bring it down here, idiot," One of the werewolves commanded, " Easier for you to move than us."
Something as large as a man, and either near death or dead, was dragged down the tunnel by three rat like creatures. They seemed proud of their catch.
"Sweet mother," the bear exclaimed, "That's the dark elf that HE wants."
"Well," the tiger put in, "Don't kill it, he wants it alive."
"It been bit already," the rat said, "but it live."
All attention was on the captive, and Black Cat saw his chance. Moving like a shadow, he struck as quickly as he could, and took almost half of the creatures before they noticed they were dying. As soon as they noticed, every single surviving creature charged Black Cat. He jumped upward and swung over to the side of the tunnel on a pipe. As he reached the side he ran along the narrow ledge until he could leap to a series of pipes carrying him across the span of water. The rats simply leapt into the stream, swimming across, but Black Cat was way ahead of that maneuver. He ran back toward the captive, and then used a few handy pipes and a protrusion to cross back to the original side. The monsters turned to go back toward him, but a burst of lightning drove them aside. Seana had guessed Black Cat's strategy, and had made a quick end of all the rats still swimming. Electricity likes sewer water, and travels through it quite well. The surviving monsters knew that they had to rush the Spell-caster and break her concentration, least she cast something more. They didn't know that a machine of Death lay between them and her. Sam was out and swinging before they even saw him. The Bear fell into the water, sorely wounded, and the tiger lost his ability to think coherently as the mace cracked his skull.
These two put aside, Sam slashed the rats to oblivion, more swiftly than Seana and Black Cat could believe. Sam felt the power of his mace coursing through him, and his strength enhancement from his girdle was more than usual. He struck with the power of a giant, and accuracy of an Elven Archer. Black Cat had to hurry to get a few targets before Sam killed them all. Finally only the Bear and the captive were left alive.
"Who wants the dark elf?" he asked the bear.
"I'll be long dead and cold before I tell you that," the bear said and might have said more, but Black Cat rolled him over and poured something on his wound. It foamed and the Bear's eyes rolled back in his head such that Seana and Sam were afraid the Bear might die on the spot. He did not. His wound ceased to bleed and he, finally caught his breath.
"Oh haell no, you ain't gonna die." Black Cat informed him. "You gonna tell me who, nice and easy, or you gonna suffer until you tell me who it is. That much I can promise."
"And I'll know if you lie," Seana added, "I've a spell for that."
" And don't hope for rescue," Sam put in, "Unless you want to watch them die."
The Bear realized that he had no choice, and said," Yfel Malovil is his name, and he is the arm of Fifnir on this side of the Mountains."
"Brought something," a voice said from down the tunnel, "Come see."
"Bring it down here, idiot," One of the werewolves commanded, " Easier for you to move than us."
Something as large as a man, and either near death or dead, was dragged down the tunnel by three rat like creatures. They seemed proud of their catch.
"Sweet mother," the bear exclaimed, "That's the dark elf that HE wants."
"Well," the tiger put in, "Don't kill it, he wants it alive."
"It been bit already," the rat said, "but it live."
All attention was on the captive, and Black Cat saw his chance. Moving like a shadow, he struck as quickly as he could, and took almost half of the creatures before they noticed they were dying. As soon as they noticed, every single surviving creature charged Black Cat. He jumped upward and swung over to the side of the tunnel on a pipe. As he reached the side he ran along the narrow ledge until he could leap to a series of pipes carrying him across the span of water. The rats simply leapt into the stream, swimming across, but Black Cat was way ahead of that maneuver. He ran back toward the captive, and then used a few handy pipes and a protrusion to cross back to the original side. The monsters turned to go back toward him, but a burst of lightning drove them aside. Seana had guessed Black Cat's strategy, and had made a quick end of all the rats still swimming. Electricity likes sewer water, and travels through it quite well. The surviving monsters knew that they had to rush the Spell-caster and break her concentration, least she cast something more. They didn't know that a machine of Death lay between them and her. Sam was out and swinging before they even saw him. The Bear fell into the water, sorely wounded, and the tiger lost his ability to think coherently as the mace cracked his skull.
These two put aside, Sam slashed the rats to oblivion, more swiftly than Seana and Black Cat could believe. Sam felt the power of his mace coursing through him, and his strength enhancement from his girdle was more than usual. He struck with the power of a giant, and accuracy of an Elven Archer. Black Cat had to hurry to get a few targets before Sam killed them all. Finally only the Bear and the captive were left alive.
"Who wants the dark elf?" he asked the bear.
"I'll be long dead and cold before I tell you that," the bear said and might have said more, but Black Cat rolled him over and poured something on his wound. It foamed and the Bear's eyes rolled back in his head such that Seana and Sam were afraid the Bear might die on the spot. He did not. His wound ceased to bleed and he, finally caught his breath.
"Oh haell no, you ain't gonna die." Black Cat informed him. "You gonna tell me who, nice and easy, or you gonna suffer until you tell me who it is. That much I can promise."
"And I'll know if you lie," Seana added, "I've a spell for that."
" And don't hope for rescue," Sam put in, "Unless you want to watch them die."
The Bear realized that he had no choice, and said," Yfel Malovil is his name, and he is the arm of Fifnir on this side of the Mountains."
"Nice to know who I have to kill", Black Cat said, " And who he thinks he is."
" I'll cast lots with you for the kill," Sam remarked, "After all, I owe him; Large and long."
"What to do with this", Seana mused, "Let him go or turn him in."
"Probably a price on his head," Black Cat noted, "But it's your call Sam."
"What do you want?" Sam asked the Werebear. "Death, Freedom, or the Guard?"
"There's no capitol warrant out on me," the Bear answered, "And I'll probably live longer in prison. Turn me in, to the Guard. I'll go quietly."
Once the Bear was tethered and his wounds cleaned, since nobody trusts a rogue were, Sam, Seana and Black Cat, turned to the erstwhile captive. The Dark Elf was obviously in a bad way, but he refused to be healed.
"The rats bit me and I've got the were disease," he said without emotion, "Kill me before I turn."
"I've got a potion of Monkshood," Sam told him, "If it doesn't kill you, it will cure the Lycanthrope illness. It's about a fifty-fifty chance."
"What I got to do to get it?" the dark elf asked.
"Tell me why Yfel Malovil wanted you," Sam told him, "and it's yours."
"No problem," the dark elf began, " I sold him a poison for the Lady Barbara to use to kill the King and it didn't work."
Sam gave the dark elf the potion, helped him drink it, and hoped fervently that it wouldn't kill him.
" I'll cast lots with you for the kill," Sam remarked, "After all, I owe him; Large and long."
"What to do with this", Seana mused, "Let him go or turn him in."
"Probably a price on his head," Black Cat noted, "But it's your call Sam."
"What do you want?" Sam asked the Werebear. "Death, Freedom, or the Guard?"
"There's no capitol warrant out on me," the Bear answered, "And I'll probably live longer in prison. Turn me in, to the Guard. I'll go quietly."
Once the Bear was tethered and his wounds cleaned, since nobody trusts a rogue were, Sam, Seana and Black Cat, turned to the erstwhile captive. The Dark Elf was obviously in a bad way, but he refused to be healed.
"The rats bit me and I've got the were disease," he said without emotion, "Kill me before I turn."
"I've got a potion of Monkshood," Sam told him, "If it doesn't kill you, it will cure the Lycanthrope illness. It's about a fifty-fifty chance."
"What I got to do to get it?" the dark elf asked.
"Tell me why Yfel Malovil wanted you," Sam told him, "and it's yours."
"No problem," the dark elf began, " I sold him a poison for the Lady Barbara to use to kill the King and it didn't work."
Sam gave the dark elf the potion, helped him drink it, and hoped fervently that it wouldn't kill him.
* * *
When the bear was turned over to the guard, he believed the dark elf had died, either from the potion, the disease, or his wounds. The admin, passing out rewards for the various killed monsters, made sure to include the usual healing warrant in case any of the group was 'damaged'. They got four, one for each of the troop, but it was obvious that one member was going to use them all. There was also a chest, which the trio had decided to bring back with them, because it was both locked and trapped, and as such probably contained 'something good'.
A trip to the healer, and then home, was accomplished before dawn. The trio did not want to be seen any more than need be. The chest turned out to be something that Seana and Black could open, as a team, without killing anyone, or setting fire to the apartments. It contained much that was magic, and even a long dagger for Black Cat. The Bow was as good as Seana's, but she and Sam felt that Lady Jana would like it, since her 'good bow' had been in Samovar when it was sacked. There was also a scimitar, and it detected for intense magic. Inasmuch as it was not cursed, and Sam liked it, he took it. He had been fascinated with a scimitar's suitability for mounted combat, and its slashing ability. In his hands the sword seemed to be highly effective. It moved so quickly for him that it was difficult to follow his strokes, even for Black Cat.
When the day broke, Seana began to investigate Lady Barbara, and Black Cat took Sam aside.
"You and me and that Eglion mage," he began, "need some quality time."
"Whatever you say," Sam answered, puzzled, "But you'll have to give him a reason to come."
"You are going to have to steal something from the Lady Barbara, and you'll have to know much more about how. As it happens, I know much more. "
Sam knew that Black Cat had spent time talking to the other dark elf, but didn't speak the language well enough to understand more than that they were discussing the Lady Barbara at length. He couldn't imagine what she had that he needed to steal, nor why Black Cat couldn't steal it himself. He said as much, after he thought about it.
"You have to understand," Black Cat explained, "Anyone who touches something leaves a 'trace' on it. Magic can find that trace and the Magician can determine who it was that touched it. We don't want me to appear in this, at all, so if it's going to be stolen, you'll have to be the one to do it."
"An intelligent Drough," a voice was heard to say, "One might even say a genius."
Black Cat turned as only he could, and Sam almost had to restrain him.
"So pleased to make your acquaintance Monsignor," Lord Eglion said, "I am Lord Eglion of Magic Isle. I will simply call you Black Cat, unless you prefer your title."
"I believe it better that I remain as anonymous as possible", Black Cat responded, "For the nonce, I shall remain Black Cat."
Sam wondered if he knew anything about anyone he ever met. Then he ceased to think of anything but thievery, and the how, why, when and what of the trade, for hours.
"How soon should I return?" Lord Eglion asked, " Will you be able to continue tomorrow? Anything more than a few hours a day, every other day, is dangerous, because of the drain on you and the pressure on the subject."
"As much as the boy can stand," Black Cat told him, "I'm tougher than he is."
"No doubt," Lord Eglion remarked, "But there may be nightmares."
"I got a spell to quell nightmares," Black Cat answered, "I learned it years ago."
"Still no doubt appears," Lord Eglion said.
"You and me and that Eglion mage," he began, "need some quality time."
"Whatever you say," Sam answered, puzzled, "But you'll have to give him a reason to come."
"You are going to have to steal something from the Lady Barbara, and you'll have to know much more about how. As it happens, I know much more. "
Sam knew that Black Cat had spent time talking to the other dark elf, but didn't speak the language well enough to understand more than that they were discussing the Lady Barbara at length. He couldn't imagine what she had that he needed to steal, nor why Black Cat couldn't steal it himself. He said as much, after he thought about it.
"You have to understand," Black Cat explained, "Anyone who touches something leaves a 'trace' on it. Magic can find that trace and the Magician can determine who it was that touched it. We don't want me to appear in this, at all, so if it's going to be stolen, you'll have to be the one to do it."
"An intelligent Drough," a voice was heard to say, "One might even say a genius."
Black Cat turned as only he could, and Sam almost had to restrain him.
"So pleased to make your acquaintance Monsignor," Lord Eglion said, "I am Lord Eglion of Magic Isle. I will simply call you Black Cat, unless you prefer your title."
"I believe it better that I remain as anonymous as possible", Black Cat responded, "For the nonce, I shall remain Black Cat."
Sam wondered if he knew anything about anyone he ever met. Then he ceased to think of anything but thievery, and the how, why, when and what of the trade, for hours.
"How soon should I return?" Lord Eglion asked, " Will you be able to continue tomorrow? Anything more than a few hours a day, every other day, is dangerous, because of the drain on you and the pressure on the subject."
"As much as the boy can stand," Black Cat told him, "I'm tougher than he is."
"No doubt," Lord Eglion remarked, "But there may be nightmares."
"I got a spell to quell nightmares," Black Cat answered, "I learned it years ago."
"Still no doubt appears," Lord Eglion said.
* * *
Sam learned more in the next two weeks than should have been humanly possible. The pace only slowed when the nightmares began to overpower the spell against them. Then it was time for a trip through the streets of Chevalier. Sam learned how to apply his skills during the trip, and more trips, and finally a night time soiree, that took him across rooftops and into dark alleys. Only the need to avoid being arrested kept Black Cat from having Sam steal things. Even with training and Black Cat to oversee, accidents can happen. Sam didn't need a record.
The next week turned out to be the final one, not because Sam had learned everything, but because Seana had learned something. The Lady Barbara was about to take action. She had arranged for false witnesses to be brought in to accuse Sam and members of the Guard of complicity in the plot to remove Egbert from his throne. Lady Barbara was trying to claim that the whole idea of a war on the monsters was an Elvish Plot, supported by the Guard, and Knights, with a plan to seize power, under the guise of War Powers. The attack on Castle Samovar was actually, according to Barbara, something done by Elves, and the few monsters at the Castle were simply there because it had been empty. Sam had to act.
The next week turned out to be the final one, not because Sam had learned everything, but because Seana had learned something. The Lady Barbara was about to take action. She had arranged for false witnesses to be brought in to accuse Sam and members of the Guard of complicity in the plot to remove Egbert from his throne. Lady Barbara was trying to claim that the whole idea of a war on the monsters was an Elvish Plot, supported by the Guard, and Knights, with a plan to seize power, under the guise of War Powers. The attack on Castle Samovar was actually, according to Barbara, something done by Elves, and the few monsters at the Castle were simply there because it had been empty. Sam had to act.
20. Taking it back to the Streets
Sam had come up with a plan, that Black Cat approved. Lady Barbara carried her 'bag' everywhere she went. In that bag were the things she used constantly, and more. She had makeup, perfume, a few 'trinkets' for adornment at need, and coinage. She also carried a special 'box'. that had enough evidence to convict her, and most of her co-conspirators. Sam knew he would not be able to steal the purse and escape. He also knew that one purse could look much like another. In Seana's research concerning the Lady Barbara, she 'just happened' to have learned what jewelry she carried, what perfume she wore and her chosen brand of makeup. Seana also ‘happened’ to have a bag that was almost the twin of that carried by Lady Barbara. Once Lord Eglion had spent some time with the purse, it even carried the 'aura' of Lady Barbara.
Sam, or was it Rat, went out the very next morning, in a disguise that made him jump, when he passed his first mirror. As the rat, he came upon Lady Barbara, leaving to shop, as usual, surrounded by her 'personal guard'. One of the guardsmen's luck ran out and he was in the path of 'The Rat'. To everyone watching, including Lady Barbara and even the poor guardsman, it seemed that Rat was hurled into the Lady, falling to the ground. The poor man clutched his bag of possessions to his chest, as the guard manhandled him to the curb. Lady Barbara retrieved her purse and berated the Guard for his clumsiness as she continued down the street. Shortly thereafter, the Rat got up and went home, becoming Sam as soon as he arrived.
When the purse, which he had purloined, was opened, and the box retrieved, Black Cat was faced with a dilemma. If he used his, not inconsiderable, skills to open the box, not only would several days have passed, but his 'trace' would be indelible upon it. He was trying to come up with an alternate plan, when the Mage Lord interrupted him, having simply appeared in the room, as before.
"What have we here?" he asked, "A puzzle box,? Oh, do let me try it, I just love those things."
A few minutes later, and without leaving a trace of either himself, or his magic, he spoke, feigning disappointment.
"Not much of a prize here," he said, "Just a bunch of documents and magic records. Some of it bears the council seal though, it might be worth something in court. Why don't I take it to the Castle? I'm sure I could find a few interested parties there."
The consensus was that every friend that Sam still had in Court, and there were many, would be contacted so that the contents of the Box could be best 'enjoyed' by all parties concerned. It promised to be a very interesting day in the Castle.
Sam, or was it Rat, went out the very next morning, in a disguise that made him jump, when he passed his first mirror. As the rat, he came upon Lady Barbara, leaving to shop, as usual, surrounded by her 'personal guard'. One of the guardsmen's luck ran out and he was in the path of 'The Rat'. To everyone watching, including Lady Barbara and even the poor guardsman, it seemed that Rat was hurled into the Lady, falling to the ground. The poor man clutched his bag of possessions to his chest, as the guard manhandled him to the curb. Lady Barbara retrieved her purse and berated the Guard for his clumsiness as she continued down the street. Shortly thereafter, the Rat got up and went home, becoming Sam as soon as he arrived.
When the purse, which he had purloined, was opened, and the box retrieved, Black Cat was faced with a dilemma. If he used his, not inconsiderable, skills to open the box, not only would several days have passed, but his 'trace' would be indelible upon it. He was trying to come up with an alternate plan, when the Mage Lord interrupted him, having simply appeared in the room, as before.
"What have we here?" he asked, "A puzzle box,? Oh, do let me try it, I just love those things."
A few minutes later, and without leaving a trace of either himself, or his magic, he spoke, feigning disappointment.
"Not much of a prize here," he said, "Just a bunch of documents and magic records. Some of it bears the council seal though, it might be worth something in court. Why don't I take it to the Castle? I'm sure I could find a few interested parties there."
The consensus was that every friend that Sam still had in Court, and there were many, would be contacted so that the contents of the Box could be best 'enjoyed' by all parties concerned. It promised to be a very interesting day in the Castle.
* * *
Meanwhile, back at the Castle, in the Academy specifically, Sam's friends had been far from idle. Michael was now Father Michael, pending the outcome of the investigation, with a quest to restore Castle Samovar and the new Baron, if he come to be such. The Chief Cleric remembered Sam, and had been more than a little ashamed not to be at the ceremony when he was to have become a Baron. He felt that he could have detected the poison in advance and prevented the entire catastrophe. He was wrong in his belief, but his unjustified guilt made him support cadet Michael's request for a 'Paladin's Quest' to drive the evil back beyond the mountains. The restoration of Samovar would go a long way toward accomplishing such a goal, and so the quest was tentatively approved. Those who opposed it did not believe the young Baron would be found innocent and so allowed the Quest, resulting in an eventual unanimous approval. Only the pending judgment delayed its start.
The Knight candidates, who were Sam's friends, used Michael’s Quest as a point of honor, in choosing their 'Knight Errant Quests’. While not of the same importance as a 'Paladin's Quest', these tasks were the defining marks of the candidates. Doing well on them guaranteed success in joining one of the more prestigious Knight organizations. They had no difficulty getting approval to aid Father Michael, since the senior officers, to a man, believed in Sam, and wanted to support him.
During all of this, Acernon, Ted and Aloe took advantage of any free time to 'observe' the Lady Barbara. Due to connections they all had, and because Debbie made time for a certain 'lesser noble' to entertain her, they learned much. All of the information they had, about the machinations of Lady Barbara, was only hearsay, with a few exceptions, but they took it to Lord Sir Albren anyway. He was not amused, and set about to investigate the Lady Himself. He used his myriad of contacts to set her up for a fall. His trap just about coincided with Sam spending the day as "The Rat".
When High Lord Eglion took his information to the Castle, and gathered the High Commander of the Knights among the various Nobles for it's release, it became the icing on the cake which Lady Barbara was about to have to eat. They waited until she got her chance to speak to the assemblage, thinking her support in place.
She began with a speech about how the Elves had been behind the massacre at Samovar, and was about to continue when one of the Nobles begged a question.
"When did you learn of the Elves involvement?" he asked, "Would that have been before, or after, you assisted in the action, by providing the Castle Plans to the monsters?"
Lady Barbara was incensed. She began a tirade about false accusations that was ended abruptly by the passage of a paper to the front of the assembly. The High councilor viewed it with interest, inasmuch as it was proof positive that Lady Barbara had done that very thing.
Over the next few hours, one by one, her involvement with every single incursion of the monsters, as well as her co-conspirators, was outed. The presence of papers could prove most of it, and there were solid witnesses to the rest. It was more than she could stand. She went to her purse to get the information she had on others, that was to have protected her. What little color she had, and it was not much, fled as she realized her 'box' was gone. It had been replaced by a copy, that had no real magic, and was empty. Only a note saying "The Baron sends his regards" was left.
She began with a speech about how the Elves had been behind the massacre at Samovar, and was about to continue when one of the Nobles begged a question.
"When did you learn of the Elves involvement?" he asked, "Would that have been before, or after, you assisted in the action, by providing the Castle Plans to the monsters?"
Lady Barbara was incensed. She began a tirade about false accusations that was ended abruptly by the passage of a paper to the front of the assembly. The High councilor viewed it with interest, inasmuch as it was proof positive that Lady Barbara had done that very thing.
Over the next few hours, one by one, her involvement with every single incursion of the monsters, as well as her co-conspirators, was outed. The presence of papers could prove most of it, and there were solid witnesses to the rest. It was more than she could stand. She went to her purse to get the information she had on others, that was to have protected her. What little color she had, and it was not much, fled as she realized her 'box' was gone. It had been replaced by a copy, that had no real magic, and was empty. Only a note saying "The Baron sends his regards" was left.
Lady Barbara knew one lethal spell. It was a word of power, that inflicted death on a target, or an area. She searched the audience for Sam, found him, and screamed it. It never reached him, thanks to his amulet, but a number of the Nobles assembled felt the effects of being nearby. As they recovered, Knights took Lady Barbara into custody. It seemed everyone agreed that the use of Death Spells was not proper conduct, in parliamentary debate.
Lord Eglion remarked that he had been forced to block her spell, because he had been far too close to Sam, and such a spell might well have ruined his dinner. Sam agreed that it was probably for the best, as he was buying the evening meal. Being dead would have made that especially difficult. Seana noted that she might have had to assault the Lady, but Linda simply pointed out that she would have 'snatched the bitch bald'. Tagernoab said something about needing a new broom if Linda decided to gather that poorly colored straw. The remarks went on for awhile, getting steadily worse. When they began to approach the crude language of the streets, Jana called a halt to them.
"You shouldn't denigrate the disadvantaged," she told them, "Her parentage is not her fault, nor did she choose to be born stupid and ugly."
Lord Eglion remarked that he had been forced to block her spell, because he had been far too close to Sam, and such a spell might well have ruined his dinner. Sam agreed that it was probably for the best, as he was buying the evening meal. Being dead would have made that especially difficult. Seana noted that she might have had to assault the Lady, but Linda simply pointed out that she would have 'snatched the bitch bald'. Tagernoab said something about needing a new broom if Linda decided to gather that poorly colored straw. The remarks went on for awhile, getting steadily worse. When they began to approach the crude language of the streets, Jana called a halt to them.
"You shouldn't denigrate the disadvantaged," she told them, "Her parentage is not her fault, nor did she choose to be born stupid and ugly."
21. All my Trials
The trial of Lady Barbara was delayed, until she had been questioned concerning one Yfel Malovil. The Mirror, and other instruments of his control, had been confiscated and taken to the college of Mages, for examination. The various Archmages of Magic Isle chose that period to visit Lackland College of Mages, and were only too happy to add their expertise to the examination. Besides, this was the first time they had been able to get their hands on anything from Fifnir. They were seeking any weakness, or flaw, to exploit. A good time was had by all. Well, excepting Lady Barbara, since her questioning was conducted by some of history's most powerful mages. She told things that she had forgotten she knew, and was humiliated and exposed in every facet of her psyche. Only a gang rape could have been worse, but the information had to be obtained. Had she not been such a devoted minion of Fifnir, she might have survived the ordeal, and the subsequent death sentence would have been imprisonment, or something else, besides death.
The trial exposed some fifteen Nobles who had let their prejudice and hatred for Half-elves over ride their good sense. Five of these faced the gallows, for the poisoning attempt, and the other ten would become commoners, without status or fortune. Sam would get the bulk of the Civil forfeiture, with twenty per cent going to other uses, and he would receive any lands which bordered on Samovar as part of his Barony. Since the lands of several Earls bordered his to the south east, Samovar would be larger than some Duchies after the reallocation. The Baron Gladriel would also face the prospect of having to find people to replace those nobles who had been removed.
The Mages involved were certain that Fifnir, through his minion Malovil, was bound to attempt to silence both the witnesses and the guilty. This being true, they made certain that such magics would not function, in the Castle. All the principles involved in the case were sequestered, within the apartments used for such activities, and Sam had time on his hands, for the first time since he arrived in Lackland. He used it to reacquaint himself with some friends from the Academy. Now that they were 'all in this together', the people becoming Knights, and Father Michael securely on his way to becoming a paladin, spent all their time either telling about themselves, questioning others about themselves, or listening as others told about themselves. Sam also found more than a little time for Linda, who somehow had gotten assigned to the same room as he.
In a few short weeks the trial ended, with Egbert himself on the Dais as it came to a close. Since an attempt on the life of the High King was an offense as serious as slaying him outright, the punishment was a forgone conclusion. Only Lady Barbara was not in tears at her conviction. She seemed to welcome death, as an end to questioning.
Yfel Malovil was declared an enemy of the state, and a reward was offered for his head or all of him, whichever was easiest. The initial reward was large, but it swelled as adventurers, Knights, Caravan Masters, Nobles, and Merchants, added to it. Egbert was a beloved King, and everyone wanted to see the last day of the one who had so very nearly killed him. The reward grew so large, that when Hoden brought in two traveling trunks of platinum pieces, it was only an addition, not a major event. Since one platinum piece is 100 gold, this was a sizeable amount, but was dwarfed by the quantity already present. Sam even kicked in a bag of gems that he'd found in the sewers, but they got upgraded when the Mages noticed that all of them were magic stones, and each worth a small fortune. In this manner, the reward for Yfel grew, until there was a reward for information, location, and/or the body(s) of, even henchmen, or followers. There was more than enough to pay for all of it, and every adventurer with the means set out to find a henchman, or follower. Yfel Malovil found himself unable to get good help, without paying a premium, and selecting employees who left much to be desired in the way of trust and ability.
Sam had purchased a house in Chevalier, with his new found wealth. Everyone who was involved with the Baron was living there. It was a large home. Knights from the academy came to live there, anxious to be a part of the ‘Samovar Quest. There were adventurers, who had heard stories about the prowess of Sir Sam, the Knight, and that he had become the Baron of Samovar. Samovar was rich, and there were ruins in that area where creatures laired who had treasure. More than a few came to be part of the forays into the Samovar homeland. All of this was part and parcel of the transformation of Sam to Baron Gladriel von Samovar. A noble who, at the moment was a figure of some notoriety. None of this would have occurred without his friends, and the new Baron was more than aware of it.
The trial exposed some fifteen Nobles who had let their prejudice and hatred for Half-elves over ride their good sense. Five of these faced the gallows, for the poisoning attempt, and the other ten would become commoners, without status or fortune. Sam would get the bulk of the Civil forfeiture, with twenty per cent going to other uses, and he would receive any lands which bordered on Samovar as part of his Barony. Since the lands of several Earls bordered his to the south east, Samovar would be larger than some Duchies after the reallocation. The Baron Gladriel would also face the prospect of having to find people to replace those nobles who had been removed.
The Mages involved were certain that Fifnir, through his minion Malovil, was bound to attempt to silence both the witnesses and the guilty. This being true, they made certain that such magics would not function, in the Castle. All the principles involved in the case were sequestered, within the apartments used for such activities, and Sam had time on his hands, for the first time since he arrived in Lackland. He used it to reacquaint himself with some friends from the Academy. Now that they were 'all in this together', the people becoming Knights, and Father Michael securely on his way to becoming a paladin, spent all their time either telling about themselves, questioning others about themselves, or listening as others told about themselves. Sam also found more than a little time for Linda, who somehow had gotten assigned to the same room as he.
In a few short weeks the trial ended, with Egbert himself on the Dais as it came to a close. Since an attempt on the life of the High King was an offense as serious as slaying him outright, the punishment was a forgone conclusion. Only Lady Barbara was not in tears at her conviction. She seemed to welcome death, as an end to questioning.
Yfel Malovil was declared an enemy of the state, and a reward was offered for his head or all of him, whichever was easiest. The initial reward was large, but it swelled as adventurers, Knights, Caravan Masters, Nobles, and Merchants, added to it. Egbert was a beloved King, and everyone wanted to see the last day of the one who had so very nearly killed him. The reward grew so large, that when Hoden brought in two traveling trunks of platinum pieces, it was only an addition, not a major event. Since one platinum piece is 100 gold, this was a sizeable amount, but was dwarfed by the quantity already present. Sam even kicked in a bag of gems that he'd found in the sewers, but they got upgraded when the Mages noticed that all of them were magic stones, and each worth a small fortune. In this manner, the reward for Yfel grew, until there was a reward for information, location, and/or the body(s) of, even henchmen, or followers. There was more than enough to pay for all of it, and every adventurer with the means set out to find a henchman, or follower. Yfel Malovil found himself unable to get good help, without paying a premium, and selecting employees who left much to be desired in the way of trust and ability.
Sam had purchased a house in Chevalier, with his new found wealth. Everyone who was involved with the Baron was living there. It was a large home. Knights from the academy came to live there, anxious to be a part of the ‘Samovar Quest. There were adventurers, who had heard stories about the prowess of Sir Sam, the Knight, and that he had become the Baron of Samovar. Samovar was rich, and there were ruins in that area where creatures laired who had treasure. More than a few came to be part of the forays into the Samovar homeland. All of this was part and parcel of the transformation of Sam to Baron Gladriel von Samovar. A noble who, at the moment was a figure of some notoriety. None of this would have occurred without his friends, and the new Baron was more than aware of it.
Sam commented to Black Cat that it was a stroke of good fortune that the Dark Elf they found had not died of the Monkshood he drank. Black Cat chose that moment to inform him that Dark Elves are highly resistant to poison, and that the potion had almost no chance of killing the Elf. In fact, Black Cat told him,
"He works for me now,"Black Cat smiled, a scary thing to see, "And he has chosen to become a loyal subject of the Baron Samovar, once we get the place in order."
"He works for me now,"Black Cat smiled, a scary thing to see, "And he has chosen to become a loyal subject of the Baron Samovar, once we get the place in order."
Epilogue
Gladriel has become Sam, the Knight, and a Baron in exile, without his Castle or lands. He must decide whether to begin the war on monsters, in what is now his home. There is much to do, but can he do it? Will he give up the future he was groomed to have, and choose instead, to be a Baron in absentia?
It began as a normal trip to the Library, with Sam, the knights, his mother, cousin, Archmage friend, and various others in attendance. Everyone was researching monsters, and just what sort of creatures they might face. What weaknesses could be found, and what unknown allies might be sought, were the primary topics of conversation. As was normal, the entire group was armed for battle. It was common knowledge that Yfel Malovil wanted Sam dead, and everyone expected him to make an attempt on the Baron’s life.
In other circumstances, the attack would have been well planned. The attackers had noted that the young Baron traveled without guards, with just a group of friends. The attack was planned to drive off the friends, so that a mage could transmute the Baron to metal. In this way they would avoid casualties to themselves and have an object to bring to Malovil for the reward. They could also sell the statue. It seemed perfect. It wasn't.
First of all the friends didn't cooperate. Instead of being driven off, they sprouted weapons and begin to kill their attackers. Acernon even began to carry the fight to the assassins, with his fellow Knights. The counter-attack was better executed than the primary which spawned it. Sam himself turned and began to protect two who were beside him, his mother and Lord Eglion, and they proved to be battle mages, sending spell after spell into the would be murderers. The attacking mage, for his part, did manage to cast the spell he had spent days preparing, but to no avail. Sam's amulet turned the casting, causing it to strike his house instead of him, turning a large section of the front stone wall into Platinum.
"Not my boy, you don't" Jana remarked,cleanly putting a broadleaf arrow between the mage's eyes, "That should disrupt your concentration for a moment."
First of all the friends didn't cooperate. Instead of being driven off, they sprouted weapons and begin to kill their attackers. Acernon even began to carry the fight to the assassins, with his fellow Knights. The counter-attack was better executed than the primary which spawned it. Sam himself turned and began to protect two who were beside him, his mother and Lord Eglion, and they proved to be battle mages, sending spell after spell into the would be murderers. The attacking mage, for his part, did manage to cast the spell he had spent days preparing, but to no avail. Sam's amulet turned the casting, causing it to strike his house instead of him, turning a large section of the front stone wall into Platinum.
"Not my boy, you don't" Jana remarked,cleanly putting a broadleaf arrow between the mage's eyes, "That should disrupt your concentration for a moment."
She very much liked her new bow, and sought any occasion to use it.
"Watch close, yeah," Black Cat told the others, and began to leap from one object to another, walls, items in the street and even a carriage. He used every available object to pass over the assailants, striking at them from behind, above and both sides. "We all gonna learn to do this," he announced, "It turns out it's more effective than the normal way, and besides, it's fun!" He spoke without showing any signs that the exercise was difficult, and never missed a strike.
"Watch close, yeah," Black Cat told the others, and began to leap from one object to another, walls, items in the street and even a carriage. He used every available object to pass over the assailants, striking at them from behind, above and both sides. "We all gonna learn to do this," he announced, "It turns out it's more effective than the normal way, and besides, it's fun!" He spoke without showing any signs that the exercise was difficult, and never missed a strike.
Tagernoab, for his part, was every inch the Dwarven Warrior. For too long he had been forced to carry the standard of diplomat, and now, he was unbound. His ax, somehow never separated from him, became like a living thing, never stopping in its passage, a blur of destruction, poetry of war.
The end?
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