2. Dinner and Conversation

A prophecy. A plot.

Excerpt from The Hero’s Guild Manual 586^th Edition, edited by Guild Master Grigor Mason

 

CHIEF STEWARDS

Because of the grave responsibilities inherent in the position, the compensation for a Guildhall Chief Steward is generous. Chief Stewards are paid a portion of each assignment tithing that is generated from his or her Guildhall, as well as a generous stipend from the Guild’s treasury as well. Chief Stewards are normally already wealthy by the time they reach their position, by the nature of the Guild’s compensation structure; those who survive and excel are rewarded.

 

There are other compensations for the Chief Steward as well. They are given a personal assistant for paperwork and organizational needs. They are also given the use of a carriage with a team of eight horses to draw it, as well as a driver and two riding horses for their own use. They also have access to Guild mages to create portals so that they might travel instantaneously from one location to another.

 

Each Guildhall has either on the grounds of the Hall itself, or nearby, a mansion that serves as the Chief Steward’s residence. The residence comes with servants to cook, clean and maintain, as well as additional office space so that the Chief Steward may work on sensitive Guild matters comfortably. It is said that more Guild business is transacted over good meals in the Chief Steward’s residence than in good conscience in the Chief Steward’s office.

 

                                    *          *          *

 

            The carriage arrived precisely at seven bells, driven by a taciturn golem who escorted Tristan to a large estate in the center of Safehaven, a mere five minute ride from the dormitory wing. Behind walls patrolled by men and golems were pleasantly landscaped gardens, a beautiful pond and a magnificent villa filled with gracious furnishings and works of art. Tristan would have thought this a palace for a king, but in the back of his mind a thought unbidden told him that this was merely the home of a wealthy man of good taste and breeding.

            The dining room was sumptuous, with an inlaid marble floor that Tristan’s host assured him had been quarried in Isher. Portraits of previous Chief Stewards lined the stone walls, staring down at the diners with sober confidence. The table was elegant, carved in Ekoningsberg from a reddish wood that nobody could identify. It was able to comfortably seat 20, although only five, including Tristan, dined there this night.

            Along with Jordan Armstead and his daughter was an elf whom Jordan introduced as Aquilan and a tall human named Connor Kerryman. The elf said little during the entire meal and seemed lost in thought. He did, however, occasionally regard Tristan with a frank and appraising gaze, which made the young man a bit uncomfortable. Tristan was no expert in elves, but he thought this one to be middle-aged or older; is hair was silver and long, braided on either side of his face elven-style. The elf’s eyes were blue, ageless like those of his folk. Like all elvenkind, he was taller than his human brethren. Tristan was tall as humans went, six feet and four inches in height. Aquilan was at least another three or four inches more. His clothes were particularly clean, his blouse of a white homespun material, a leather vest and breeches, and soft boots. Although Tristan had spent time with several elves while in training in Shile, this one seemed even more distant than the fair folk he had trained with, and none could have been called outgoing.

            Kerryman was a different kettle of fish entirely, a boisterous fellow with a wicked gleam in his eye, a golden earring in one ear and a blue crystal with a golden Guild emblem worn as a pendent around his neck, marking him as a Guild ranger, a rank even higher than Jordan Armstead. However, neither man named Kerryman’s rank, nor was either particularly deferential or the opposite towards each other, so Tristan prudently held his tongue about it. Kerryman spoke with a highlands brogue that disappeared at times. He was shorter and stockier than Tristan, two to four inches below six feet. His skin was dark and leathery, his hair and beard a reddish gold that looked almost coppery in color. His green eyes danced with good humor and it wasn’t long before Kerryman made the generally shy Tristan feel right at home. Tristan instinctively liked him, immensely in fact.

            During the short period of time Tristan could remember, he had enjoyed his share of memorable meals, but the repast that was served at the Armstead villa that night was the grandest he could remember. Little fish cakes, spicy and warm from the oven, led off the meal followed by a generous bowl of beef and barley soup. A casserole of partridge, vegetables and rice were next, while a tray of delicious local cheese in between meals filled time before the next course, roast boar with sage potatoes and a salty gravy, the latter of which Tristan didn’t especially care for. The next course was pork sausages with sautéed mushrooms and corn mash. Each course was accompanied by a different wine and bread. Desserts were mince pie, a sour cherry pudding and a sweet cake Jordan called a smiling mariner, which was heavy with rum and what Jordan took to be a local delicacy.

            At last, the meal came to an end and the five diners adjourned into an adjoining drawing room. A fire burned brightly in a large slate fireplace at one end of the room, and a pair of golden retrievers slept contentedly on a bearskin rug in front of it. The diners sat in comfortable leather chairs around a heavy oak table on which rested a leather satchel, while servers poured brandy in expensive crystal snifters before leaving unobtrusively. They sipped the exquisite liquid in silence before Jordan cleared his throat. “Tristan, you may wonder if I have every new novice to my home for a celebratory dinner, and the truth is I do not. You are here for a reason that will be revealed to you in due course. For now, there are some questions we must ask you and I expect you will answer them forthrightly and as honestly as you can. Believe me, we ask them of necessity, and your well-being is at the heart of it. Do you understand?”

            Tristan nodded the warm glow of the evening evaporating as he realized they were down to business. “I will do my best, Steward Armstead. It is obvious Ranger Kerryman is of the Guild; am I to assume that Priah Aquilan,” he said using the Elvish honorific, “is also of the Guild?” Kerryman chuckled and nodded. A slow smile spread over the Chief Steward’s face. “As a matter of fact, Priah Aquilan is not a Guild member, although he is here on Guild business. I was led to understand you had little contact with the fair folk, yet you knew to address him with the title Priah, which is quite proper. Is this one of the hidden skills you spoke of in my office?”

            Tristan smiled at that. “Actually, for once, I have to admit that I learned this in Shile. I have always been fascinated by the other cultures of the Realm, particularly the Elvish and the Dwarrow. I have learned as much as I can about them.” Jordan nodded. “I see. I know you talked about what you can remember of your past in my office earlier, but if you would be so kind to repeat that so that Connor and Aquilan might also hear, it would be immensely helpful.”

            Tristan straightened in his chair. “As I am sure you know, I have no memories whatsoever before three years ago, except for odd bits and pieces that I can make no sense of. I was found wandering the streets of Shile by Guild Chief Steward Ranmes Scarborough, ill with the Shaking Sickness.  He took me into his home and nursed me back to health, despite the danger from the sickness. He told me once he didn’t think I was a native of Shile; my accent speaks of a Northern background. Once I had returned to health, he saw to my training and education. Although he could not formally adopt me, as there is no evidence that I am fatherless or motherless, he has treated me as a son and I consider him my father. It is in his honor that I joined the Guild, although I will search for the parents of my birth until I find them, or until I die.”

            Aquilan and Connor both listened raptly. The elf said nothing, his eyes boring a hole into Tristan. Although he felt uncomfortable with the gaze, he continued. “During my training, it was discovered I already had skills with most of the weapons available to the Guild, as well as knowledge of the magic arts and of thievery as well. However, that knowledge only surfaces when I am under stress, or in need of those skills to appear. I cannot summon my abilities at will, although I can sometimes do certain types of magic that I am certain I did not learn in the Guild. Wizards and truthscries of the Guild, as well as other mages of Shile, have examined me. They have said that I am ensorcelled by a powerful spell, the nature of which they have been unable to determine, let alone undo. They have as yet been unable to even ascertain the origin of the spell, which does not appear to be malignant in nature, but for some reason I am prevented from remembering my past. The spell is complex and powerful enough that the one who cast it is at least as powerful as a Colorlord. I someday hope to be examined by the Council of Colors, but they obviously have better things to do with their time at the moment.”

            Kerryman laughed at this. “Don’t be too sure of that, laddy. It may become necessary for th’ Guild tae bring ye before th’ Council ourselves.” Tristan swallowed hard, not having expected to hear that. Why would the Guild find it important to seek an audience with the Council of Colors, the governing body of all things magic and arcane to discuss a brand new novice?

            Jordan smiled at the boy’s obvious discomfiture. “Don’t be surprised, young Tristan. After all, your past is a mystery, and the Guild loves nothing better than to solve a good mystery.” Tristan had to smile ruefully at that. Jordan continued, his smile fading a bit. “That leads me to why you are here tonight. Before I can tell you, I must inform you that what you hear this night does not leave this room for any reason. What we discuss is the Emperor’s business and the safety of the Realm itself. Knowing Ranmes Scarborough as I do, I believe you know the Guild’s Oath of Secrecy.”

            Tristan nodded and raised his right hand. “I swear upon my honor and on the lives of those I love, in the name of the Emperor and Lord Eidoron that what I hear this night will be secret from all other ears, no matter what duress to reveal what I hear.” The other Guild members in the room responded in the traditional manner, “May Lord Eidoron strike you down and the Guild shun you if you break your oath.” Jordan continued “So swear we all.”

            The atmosphere had become so solemn that Tristan felt the need to ask the obvious. “Excuse me, Chief Steward, Ranger Kerryman…but I must admit to being somewhat confused. You are obviously men of high rank within the Guild and I am but a novice who, I am sure, has been largely unknown to you before this day and yet you tell me you are going to entrust information involving the safety of the Realm into my care. This makes no sense to me, begging your pardon.”

            Connor smiled warmly at Tristan. “’Tis true, laddy, from appearances we’ve taken leave of our very senses. Yet much has been kept from ye, even from Chief Steward Scarborough, whose name ye bear and who I’m proud to call a friend. But I am here tae tell ye boyo, twas no mere chance that led Ranmes Scarborough tae ye in th’ streets of Shile that day. He was directed thar.”

            If a lightning bolt had passed through him at that moment, Tristan couldn’t have felt more disoriented. “Directed…” he managed to say through the roaring in his ears, “by whom?” The Chief Steward and the ranger exchanged a look, and it was Jordan Armstead who responded. “By the Council of Colors itself, Tristan.” The novice found his jaw hanging open and was unable to speak, so great was his shock. At last he stammered “B-b-b-but why? Why didn’t my father tell me?”

            Armsteads expression was sympathetic. “He was ordered not to reveal this to you, and it wasn’t until now that we were allowed to make this known to you. The Council of Colors bid that the Guild keep you safe in an inconspicuous place until instructed to bring you to Safehaven. We received the latter instructions a few weeks ago.” Tristan nodded, remembering the haste with which he was assigned to the caravan bound for Safehaven. Armstead continued, “As to who you are, the Council has not seen fit to inform us of your true identity, and made it very clear that we were not to inquire into the matter. When we made a few left-handed attempts to find out more two years ago, the Paladin Seat received an immediate summons from the Council of Colors and was given a severe censuring, with the authority of the Emperor himself behind it. In the Emperor’s own hand, no less.”

            Tristan’s head was spinning. “The…Emperor…?” Armstead nodded. “Yes son. You see, the events in motion that you may become part of if you choose to have ramifications going to the very core of the Realm, all the way to the Imperial Palace itself. The very highest level of the Guild, the Council of Colors and the Thieves Guild are all involved in bringing you here, to this room tonight.”

 “But…but…why?”

 “We will get to that in a moment. There is one other thing you should know. As you are aware, your father had your skills tested as the Council of Colors directed. It was to his great shock that he found your skills to be better than paladin level when provoked, the very highest standard in the Guild. Some of your skills were off any scale of measurement we possess. As accomplished as Connor, Aquilan, Ayren and I are, if we were to seriously attempt to kill you this very moment, there would be four dead bodies in this room and none of them would be yours.” The room was silent as Tristan tried to consider this information, which he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe.

            It was Ayren’s gentle voice that broke the silence. “Are you all right, Tristan?” she asked. Tristan shook his head. “My whole world has been turned on its ear, and yet I expect that I have not begun to have my world change. I must brace myself for further surprises.”

            Jordan’s gaze was compassionate. “Indeed, young Tristan, I commend you on your insight, and it is time that we reveal as much as we can.” Armstead turned and gestured to the elf, who rose from his seat expressionlessly. “I have deliberately refrained from introducing our elven guest to you beyond his name, young Tristan. It is he who can best explain why you are here. He is Aquilan Tolsever of Silverwood. He carries no standing within the Guild, but is greatly respected by those of us who know him. He has the ear of the Emperor, the Paladin Seat and the Council of Colors. His words carry the will of all three, so attend them well.”

            The elf inclined his head slightly at Tristan, who returned the gesture, trying desperately to remain composed. The elf spoke in a surprisingly deep, resonant voice. “What know you of the Orb of the Code?” Scarborough shook his head negatively. The elf continued, “And Kerland Rodo? Is that name familiar to you?” Tristan nodded. “Yes, I think so. As I recall, he was a pirate who fought the Black Fleet with some success during the Bad Times. Some say he distributed the spoils of his raids to the starving people of Shile, Skellos and Ekoning. I understand he disappeared after some sort of battle near here about 200 years ago?”

            The elf smiled slightly. “It was 257 years ago, to be precise. He was much loved in Safehaven �" there is a statue to him in Harbor Square. My grandfather Cintas was Rodo’s advisor and strategist. As far as history knows, Kerland Rodo and most of his Circle perished when his ship the Red Wind was cornered and sank near Hunter’s Point.” Tristan nodded, but couldn’t help wondering Interesting history lesson, but what has it to do with me?

            The elf glanced at Connor Kerryman. “The boy knows more of Kerland Rodo than most who live outside of the walls of Safehaven. I’m afraid he is little revered outside of Safehaven, Tristan Scarborough. Many heroes of that era are lost to the mists of history, their great deeds forgotten. It is the way of humankind to forget that which they choose to.” Kerryman rolled his eyes heavenward, and Tristan found himself stifling a grin. “The elf continued, not having seen the ranger’s antics. “It is the Orb that we must speak of first, for it is the object which commands our attention.

            “Who created the Orb is not known for certain. The Code of its name is unknown; some say that it was a society of powerful wizards who created it and named it for the code of their order. There is a story that my grandfather told me that I suppose some humans would find charming that it was thought that the Orb was created by a rather dim-witted maker of charms who received an order for an extremely potent love charm, of the sort that would make the bearer able to enchant the object of his or her desire to love them and no other. In order to make the charm more powerful, the maker bonded the spell to a diamond imbedded in a blue quartz crystal. However, what the fool took for a diamond was in fact a moonstone and what he thought was an ordinary crystal of blue quartz was in fact an unhatched dragon egg. When the enchantment was placed, the dragon’s egg amplified it a thousand fold and more, more than is measurable. The moonstone served to trap that power and wed it to the Orb.

            “What we know for certain that it surfaced more than five thousand years ago in a city near the present site of Barlyemohr. It has been spotted from time to time in the intervening years, finally disappearing more than two thousand years ago. Regardless of how it was formed, the Orb actually is the most powerful weapon ever created. Simply put, the Orb allows it’s bearer to impose their will on reality. Any wish would literally be their command. Choose to have every living thing grow a third eye in the center of its forehead; the Orb will cause it to be. They can cause the living and the dead to exchange places. They can alter the geography of the world, change time itself. If they wish it to rain lemon custard from the heavens, the Orb will cause it to happen. There is no limit to what the bearer of the Orb can accomplish beyond the boundaries of their own imagination. There is evidence that the Orb was used to create what we call the pocket dimensions; the City of the Undead, the Parallel Lands, Notime and many others.

            “It is believed by some that magic itself was greatly affected by the Orb. It is through the Orb that magic acquired colors, and because of the Orb that the Council of Colors was first created by the greatest magi of their day. The Council decreed that the Orb was too dangerous to be allowed to be continued to exist, and thus must be irrevocably destroyed. However, they discovered to their horror that each time the Orb had been used it had taken some of the magic from its user, amplified it and stored it. As well, each pocket dimension that had been created had been linked to the Orb and those dimensions in turn linked to our own reality. Destroying the Orb would entail destroying the pocket dimensions, which would in turn rupture our own reality beyond repair, destroying everything in it. It would be worse than death; it would be non-existence.”

            The entire room was quiet, punctuated only by the sound of the crackling wood in the fireplace and the snoring dogs. In a quiet, somber voice, Aquilan continued. “With the option of destroying the Orb taken away from them, the Council knew that they must insure that the Orb would never fall into the hands of the Spider Queen, who even then coveted the Orb as a means to her ultimate end. They sent the Orb and four false Orbs to a small, insignificant temple located far from her sight in the Western Isles. There, sheltered from the sunlight, away from the denizens of the darkness, the Orb slumbered these many centuries, forgotten. Every mention of the Orb was stricken from written record; it appears not on tablet, scroll or parchment. Those who knew of its existence were sworn to secrecy, and it became the responsibility of two Colorlords �" Lord White and one other of White’s choosing �" to guard the secret of its existence from the world.         

            “About three centuries ago, Zennar of the Blue Water Clan, a mystic and prophet from B’landes, began to write what he called the Great Prophecy. This was fifty years after the Army of the Glorious Dead had overrun the Imperial Golden Guard, and the Bad Times were well begun. Zennar’s prophecy mentioned the Orb of the Code by name �" a name not whispered in seventeen centuries. Zennar predicted that the Orb would be found, and described who would find it. He also predicted that the Orb would be used to banish the Spider Queen and the evil of Ur Bathog from our plane of existence forever. Also in the prophecy were some incomplete descriptions of the Orb’s resting place. Of course, it didn’t take long for the Spider Queen to hear about the Great Prophecy, and to set her Plaguebringers to work in deciphering where the Orb was.’

            “It took them 50 years, but eventually they did find the Temple and the pride of the Black Fleet was sent to retrieve it. Those who protected the Orb fought valiantly, but in the end, were slaughtered, save the High Priest who was captured and put on a ship with the Orb for passage back to Ur Bathog.

            `”Fortunately, Kerland Rodo intercepted the ship, not knowing who and what was aboard her. The High Priest was mortally wounded during the exchange, but lived long enough to tell Rodo and my grandfather about the Orb and to plead with them to keep it safe from the Spider Queen. Although initially both my grandfather and Kerland Rodo thought the High Priest mad, they later found scrolls that verified what he said. In addition, my grandfather described a kind of presence to the Orb, something not definable and alien but certainly of great power. He swore that he always felt uncomfortable around the device.

            “Kerland Rodo wasn’t sure if this was the Orb or one of the false Orbs, but he knew that irregardless he couldn’t chance that it was the True Orb of the Code and allow it to fall into the Spider Queen’s hands. He took possession of the artifact and brought it back to the caverns where he made his base. He hid the Orb in an antechamber so well-protected and hidden from view that none of his men could find it, just a select few of his inner circle, my grandfather being one of them.”

            Scarborough interrupted, “Why didn’t Rodo or your grandfather use the Orb to banish the Queen themselves?” The elf smiled at that and Ayren couldn’t help notice a look exchanged between her father and Connor Kerryman. They’re impressed, she thought. Gods, so am I. “The Orb is unimaginably powerful, young novice,” said the elf calmly. “Wielding the Orb would require a mage of great natural power, beyond that possessed even by the Council of Colors today. Anyone foolish enough to used the Orb would be consumed by it. Imagine a newborn babe placed on the back of an unbroken horse and handed the reins. My grandfather had sense enough not to even attempt it, although he was sorely tempted to.” The elf seemed to be lost in thought for a few moments, but he recovered quickly. “There was great suffering at the time, and he was eager to see it stopped. Still, he knew that should he use the Orb, he would be utterly destroyed and the Spider Queen would instantly be alerted to its presence.”

            The elf then pulled out an ancient scroll from the leather satchel. The scroll was worn and stained with years, and he held it with great reverence and respect. “This is the Great Prophecy of Zennar, and it tells us of a progression of events leading to the banishment of evil from the Realm. This belonged to my grandfather, who spent many years after the death of Kerland Rodo tracking down an original copy, penned in the hand of Zennar’s own scribe. Few of them still exist. The Council of Colors has one. The Imperial Library has one. The Spider Queen, I expect, has one. It was originally written in the Language of the Oracles of B’landes, a tongue spoken by few in the Realm. By it’s nature, B’landish is inexact and vague and while this is generally agreed to be the correct translation, there is certainly room for disagreement.” The elf cleared his throat and began reading.

 

The Lady of Night shall send her minions

To the slumbering jewel in it’s hidden place

Beneath the Island of Honey

 

She shall pluck it from the ages

And reveal it to the light

The Red Corsair shall ride the waves

Shall follow the wind

Tear the jewel from the web’s grasp

Hide it deep below

Protect it in life

Protect it in death

Until the Lost Child comes to claim it.

 

The Lost Child shall be born of Strong Heart

Nurtured by Strong Mind

Rent from the past and Abandoned in the Future

Brought to the door of Eidoron

In the City of Slumber

He will be tested, he will surpass.

 

The Lost Child will come to the Palace of the Red Corsair

Called by the ages to be the warrior prince

He shall speak to ghosts

His faith shall be strong

His strength will banish injustice

He will bring peace to the fallen

He will bring life from lifelessness

 

He will be the Protector of Life

The Protector shall not use the jewel, for he is a Warrior

For him  the jewel can only bring war

He shall keep the jewel in a great fortress on the water

He will marry the daughter of a king who will bear his name

He will lie with the daughter of a friend who will bear his son

He will be captive of the daughter of an enemy who will bear his love

He will be loved by the daughter of an ordinary man who will bear his shame

He shall ride in front of armies with the Jewel on his breast

He shall humble empires and kings

And pass the jewel to the Statesman

 

The Statesman shall not use the jewel for he is a Politician

For him the jewel can only bring tyranny

He is regent to the Orb and shall hold it in his house

And Kings shall pay him homage

And he shall be the keeper of peace

And he shall be loved by many

There will be those that hate him’

Jealous of his power

They will conspire and kill him but he shall not die until

He has passed on the Jewel to its rightful heir

 

The Great King at last will wield the jewel

And mighty nations will fall before him

Be he just and be he righteous

The Lady of Night shall see this realm nevermore

Be he cruel and be he greedy, then Darkness shall envelop the Realm

The Gods shall cry out in anger and snatch the jewel from him

They will banish the Realm from existence and memory

 

None shall survive, not king nor peasant

Not human, nor Dwarrow, nor Elven

Not even the Gods themselves shall remain

Nor the rocks and rivers and oceans and mountains

All will pass into oblivion

As if it had never been

And there will be none to remember

Life shall not pass from this realm

Life will never have been in this realm

None will mourn, none will weep

Time will end and all will be nothingness

 

            Silence gripped the table. “So,” said Connor in a quiet voice, “If the Drow get control of the Orb, then the Gods would be forced to destroy all of reality and themselves with it?” The elf nodded gravely. “If you believe in this prophecy, yes. However, it is only fair to tell you that the Spider Queen has heard this prophecy and does not believe it. She chooses to believe instead a prophecy written by an ancient Drow named Insab who wrote that the Queen would wrest the body of a Great King and use it to plunge the light into darkness everlasting. She interprets that to mean the Drow would rule the Aboveworld and roam it freely.”

            But why would she even risk the possibility of such absolute destruction?” wondered Scarborough. “She’d be destroying herself in the process, wouldn’t she?” Jordan smiled gently. “Novice Scarborough, the Spider Queen is quite mad. She doesn’t care if reality is wiped out of existence just so long as she is triumphant when it occurs.”

            This all seemed too much for the young man. He stood up, gesturing. “So, again, that leads us to why am I here? Do you think I know where the Orb is hidden?” Even the elf smiled at that, as Jordan and Connor broke out into hearty laughter. “Laddie,” Kerryman guffawed, “We know exactly where the Orb is. Retrieving it is another matter entirely.”

            Aquilan continued, “Shortly before he was murdered, my grandfather wrote the location on a scroll and gave it to my father, who in turned passed it on to me. Cintas, you see, knew the Drow wanted to find him and would stop at nothing to capture him which they eventually did, but not for long. He escaped his bonds but a Drow sentry shot him through the throat with a poisoned arrow. He took several weeks to die, but by then my father had safely returned him to the Silverwoods, where even the Drow could not touch him.”

            The elf turned to the fire and stared at it a few moments. “As he lay dying, my grandfather told my father that he’d performed an ancient Elvish ritual called the Shinia’a Zarus. It is not a rite we as a race are proud of, but Kerland Rodo insisted on it and my grandfather eventually saw the wisdom of it. The Shinia’a Zarus bonds the soul of the dying to an object or a place and compels that soul to protect that object or place �" in this case, the Orb �" for all eternity, or until certain specifications are met, again in the case of the Orb, the arrival of the Lost Child.

            “There are also three other men �" Jupa of the Windward Isles, Rhodes Jamar and Reid Sarkasian �" whose ghosts can also be summoned to aid the protector of the Orb. That protector, as you have probably already guessed, is Kerland Rodo himself, the ceremony performed after Rodo was mortally wounded at the Battle of Hunter’s Point.

            “The scroll gives detailed directions on how to navigate the complex passages of Rodo’s caverns, and explains how to find the Orb chamber. It also states that there are many traps and non-magical surprises that guard the Orb.”

            The youth, still standing, sat down, suddenly pale. “Am I to divine from this information that I am expected to go and retrieve the Orb? But didn’t you say that only the Lost Child can safely retrieve it?” At this, Kerryman laughed heartily. All eyes turned to him. “Ah, elves are ever meticulous and thorough and never answer any question with anything less than a sermon.” Aquilan shot him an annoyed look, but Kerryman ignored him. “Gods, Scarborough, have ye not guessed by now? Aquilan believes ye are the Lost Child.”

            Tristan felt the room spinning around him. He reached for the glass and took a hearty gulp of the brandy. Kerryman brayed with laughter, which brought a distasteful look to the handsome elven features of Aquilan. Jordan Armstead was smiling, but his gaze was riveted on the novice. Ayren, for her part, gazed at the youth thoughtfully as he struggled with the information. To his credit, he recovered quickly. “What makes you think so?” he asked in an exaggeratedly polite tone, his body language belying the calm tones and betraying the tension he felt.

            It was the chief steward who responded. “Zennar doesn’t describe the Lost Child in much detail, except to tell us that he will surpass his tests and that he will be brought to the door of Eidoron, which we can surmise is the Guild. Cintas knew it would be critical for the Lost Child to be properly identified, so after performing the Shinia’a Zarus on Kerland Rodo, Cintas fled to B’landes to visit the oracle, the same one who Kerland Rodo had used to predict his rise and fall. The scroll he brought back from B’landes has only been seen by a select few outside the family Tolsever. Cintas directed that the scroll must be copied and given to Lords White and Blue of the Council of Colors, the Warrior’s Arm of the Paladin Seat, and the Chief Steward of the Safehaven Chapter of the Hero’s Guild. The emperor is aware of the scroll’s existence, but hasn’t seen it himself. It is time that we read the scroll to you.”

            Jordan nodded at the elf, who from the satchel withdrew yet another scroll. His face was somber as he read.

            The Lost Child will not be beheld by you in life, although one of your line shall know him. Those who follow shall know him by these signs. He will have no memory of mother, father or home. He will feel out of place, belonging nowhere yet comfortable everywhere. He will be young but will possess wisdom beyond his years. He will fight as if born to it, yet no training will he need. He will have the skills of stealth and language, yet no training will he need. He will cast spells as a powerful mage, yet no training will he need. He will be the Bringer of Life and the Protector of Light. He will be drawn to the Orb like the moth to the flame, yet he will find the burden wearisome. Many shall love him and praise him, but lonely will he be in life. He will love one pure of heart, but he will lose her and his firstborn. Ten women shall love him, but only a king’s daughter will carry his name. He will be fair of face and strong of heart, but doubt of himself will he carry with him.

            Tristan steepled his fingers, pondering. “I agree, I fit much of that description, but I cannot be the only one.” Aquilan shrugged and reverently put the parchment away. “Yes, young human, there are many in these troubled days who have no memory of parent or home. There is one more thing, however, that the oracle gave to my grandfather. It was the crest of the Lost Child, a mark to identify him. ‘When all is in doubt, you shall know him by this mark,’ she told him. She said it so forcefully that he remembered it word for word many years after, even to his death. She drew this with her own hand and only one copy exists, and I bear it with me now.” From the satchel, the elf pulled a leather-bound folio which he opened.

            There was a collective gasp from all assembled. On a faded piece of parchment was a crude drawing, but nonetheless clearly recognizable; a tree with a griffin lying at it’s base, and four rampant griffins surrounding it. Tristan grabbed his head and sank back into the seat. He wondered if this was what it was to go mad. Jordan said gently, “Sometimes we do not have much control over our destiny, young Tristan. ‘Tis what the gods assign to us, and we must make the best of it. Aquilan has been searching for the Lost Child for more than a century, and you are the most likely candidate he has found.”

            The elf nodded gravely, his eyes boring through the novice like a firebeam. “’Tis true, young human. The answer to your question is, your purpose here this night is to allow us to assign you to the mission you were born to fulfill. That is to breach the caverns of Kerland Rodo and retrieve the Orb of the Code, then bring it back safely to the Guild. Thereafter, you will be charged with safeguarding the Orb, until such time as you turn it over to the Statesman. What say you, boy?”

            Before Tristan could speak, Jordan interrupted. “What my Elvish friend is leaving out is some specifics of the assignment. Cintas Tolsever, in performing the Shinia’a Zarus, charged the spirit of Kerland Rodo to relinquish the Orb to no-one but the Lost Child. Any others who attempt to take the Orb would be utterly destroyed by the spectre that was once Kerland Rodo. Therefore, if we are wrong and you are not the Lost Child, there is a horrible death awaiting you in the cavern where the Orb resides. Even the journey to the cavern is a dangerous one, through some places good men do not travel without pause. This is an extremely perilous mission, one not normally suited for a novice. However, if we are right about you, you are not truly a novice in the sense that we think about it.”

            The boy appeared to ponder this a moment. “How long do I have to decide?” The chief steward exchanged a look with the ranger and the elf, then responded “Sundown tomorrow. If we are to do this, we must assemble the team quickly who will accompany you to the cavern.” Tristan looked puzzled at this. “Others?”

            Jordan nodded. “Of course. The Hills of Westmarch are not to be traveled lightly even in the best of circumstances, and it is some of the darkest, most evil places you must travel through. It will take the skills of the best the Guild has to offer to safely transport you to the cavern and back again. After all, what point in retrieving the Orb if you are slain before you can arrive at the cavern? The team will be charged in keeping you and the Orb safe on both the journey to the cavern and on the return trip.”

            Scarborough nodded. “And if I decide not to go?” The elf scowled. “Then you are not the Lost Child and I must continue my search.” Tristan rested his head on his fist, thinking. A sudden burst of loud laughter from Connor pierced the silence. Aquilan’s expression was not pleasant as he glared at the ranger. “Ahhh, Aquilan, ye daft bugger, ain ye now th’ lad has already decided?” A slow grin spread across the novice’s face. Connor burst into a fresh gale of laughter, joined by Jordan, Ayren and Tristan. At last, Aquilan’s dour façade softened and he joined in the merriment, at least inasmuch as any elf could.

            Connor clapped Tristan on the shoulder. “Welcome to th’ most reckless team ever assembled by th’ Guild, lad. Twill be a wild ride, aye?” The novice grinned back at the highlander. “So it shall,” said the novice.