Spectre Valley

Another of my early writings. Spectre Valley is a dark-fantasy novella, and my only story that could be considered a romance as well.

 

 

 

            I suppose the beginning’s always a fair place to begin, and this tale begins in a tavern in a town called Linofir, on the lee of the great “Heart of Gray” mountains.

            I was sitting at a private table, greatly enjoying the first proper meal I’d had in over a week. What it was that I ate, I do not recall, but I’m sure that I was fully satisfied. For the food at the “Trapper’s Hovel” was a ritual to me that I greatly looked forward to in all my journeys through the “Grayhearts”. If I remember right, that time I had led a small group of merchants who’d paid me handsomely. The money was hard earned, though, those men were painfully out of sorts in the wild, and being that it was in the springtime, the bandit activity in the mountains was fresh and frenzied. But I’d seen them through and was well rewarded with a full purse, a hot meal, and a heavy tankard of beer. I had no intentions of scrounging up a fare for the return trip. All I wanted to do was to spend the night at the “Trapper’s Hovel”, and head back to Wrentro for some time off.

            And so I sat, engorging my well-earned meal, when I was interrupted by a voice from behind.

            “Good morrow, sir, would you be Jarred, the tracker-guide?”

            I turned and beheld a woman, very elderly, holding the smallest hound I’d ever seen. She stood straight and distinguished, yet she was obviously very thin and frail, most likely ill.

            “Yes, that is me.”

            She smiled politely and said “The guard at the gate said I would find you here. I am told you are the safest and most trustworthy guide through the “Heart-of-Grays”.”

            “Hmmph. It is true I know them better than most, milady, but I don’t know about being the best.”

            She shook her head and laughed, “No need to be coy, Jarred, I am old, I don’t have time for those types of games.” Then she looked levelly at me, “I have need of the best.”

            I studied her for a moment for there was an ambiguity in her appearance that made her hard to caste. She wore a dark cloak and a plain, brown dress. Both garments were sturdy, as if for travel, too sturdy to be afforded a peasant, yet they contained no decoration whatsoever, and she wore absolutely no jewelry. A woman of station would die before being garbed in such a manner. I would have decided that she was probably a widowed nurse-maid or nanny, but she wore her long silver hair in curls of a girlish style, loosely drawn back by a brown leather thong at the nape of her thin neck. It seemed much too frivolous for a widow or nursemaid. As she waited for my reply, she absent-mindedly stroked the little fellow with the long, blonde hair. He panted contentedly, tucked beneath her arm. Honestly, I was intrigued.

            I asked her “What is your name, milady?”

            “Majel.” She answered. And suddenly it occurred to me that, in her youth, the wizened creature before me must have been a lady of exquisite beauty. Her stately bearing and clear blue eyes, plus the grace and pride with which she spoke her name, all of it suggested that she had been a handsome young maiden. Of course none of that made much difference to whatever would transpire, but I was intrigued further. I bade her join me, which she did with another polite smile.

            “Can you keep a secret, milady?”

            “Of course.”

            “Well, in my heart of hearts, I do consider myself to be the most skilled tracker in the region. Please don’t think me vain.”

            She laughed sweetly, “Dear Jarred, of course not. I’m sure it’s true.”

            “Now it’s only fair that I warn you, I wasn’t planning on accepting a party back across the mountains, but I just might be interested in helping you. First of all, where do you need to go?”

            The woman looked deep into my eyes and answered grimly, “Spectre Valley.”

            Well, needless to say I was quite surprised. There has never been a time when I haven’t heard evil rumors of that place. All varieties of dark and sinister creatures and many other nameless horrors were said to lurk in that valley, slithering and skittering and lurching about in search of blood. I suppose I made up my mind right then that I wouldn’t lead her group there, but I was more curious then ever after hearing that.

            “Respectfully, ma’am, what possible reason could anyone have for wanting to go to Spectre Valley?”

            “I must return to the ruined city.”

            “The ruins? . . You must return to the ruins? Could you please explain this.”

            “I’m afraid I cannot, but it really is urgent.” She brought forth a small bag from beneath her cloak and set it before me, without taking her eyes from mine. “I’ve been told that forty silver coins is a fair price for a journey of that length, yet I realize that mine is an uncommon destination. So there’s forty silver pieces and ten coins of pure gold. I’m sure it is enough.” Her manner had suddenly become odd. She acted as though she expected me to backhand her for suggesting I take her to such a place, yet she was forcing herself to appear dignified and arrogant.

            “Begging your pardon, milady, but I assume you have guards?”

            She smiled sadly and looked down at her shaggy companion. “Only Sunshine.” she said, scratching his neck. Hearing his name, the hound looked up at her face with one of those canine-type smiles, and his curved tail began to beat against her thin shoulder. “That’s nearly all the coin I have, sir, I cannot afford guards.”

            “So you’re going alone?”

            “I’d rather not.” She said, raising her eyes to mine. Hope and vulnerability were plain to see in the gentle and once-beautiful face.

            I had to avert my eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am, it is a fool’s errand, I cannot lead you there. Perhaps, if you wish, I could take you. . .”

            “I think not.” She stood swiftly and snatched the purse. I spied her face filling with emotions as she turned. Defeat, rejection, and hopelessness were all evident, and tears were already falling. She began to walk away as swiftly as her frail legs would allow, and called over her shoulder in a wavering voice, “I’m sorry to have troubled you.” Then, abruptly, she was gone.

            I must tell you I felt bad, I felt real bad. For some reason I had gotten the impression that she had chosen me, and only me, to entrust with her life, as if I were her last and only hope. Maybe I was reading too much into it for the information I’d had at the time, but there was no denying that I’d refused to help her, and she reacted as though her heart had been crushed. But how could I, in good faith, lead her to a place, so ripe with danger, that entire compliments of armored men avoided it with trembling hearts. Yet, truly, if she had no choice but to go, I probably was the only man in Linofer who could help her. The men of that town were of a caliber that any of them would have greedily accepted her offer, then slit her throat as soon as they were out of sight of the town’s walls. I hoped beyond measure that Majel had enough sense not to proposition anyone else, and would abandon any notion of going to Spectre Valley. For that matter, I hoped she would abandon any notion of leaving the city at all. It was a time of repression and decadence and the mountains were an especially dangerous place to travel without someone like me. I knew the secret paths that were safe, the paths that were ripe for ambush, and the signs of any hazard there whatsoever, be it man, nature, beast, or worse. For the Grayheart mountains had specters of their own. 

            And so I sat, plagued with guilt and worry for the lonely old woman, until a fresh tankard of beer was rudely slapped before me. I knew without looking that it was my old friend, Krouse, the burly proprietor of the “Trapper’s Hovel”.

            “Shame on you, Jarred, you old scoundrel, I saw you make that poor old woman cry. What’s the matter? Wouldn’t you give her yer wigglin’ winker?” He laughed riotously, an annoying, bellowing sound. Then he slapped his passing barmaid on the bottom and said, “Keep ‘em coming, Hildy, ‘twill be a long night!”

            I shook my head and said “Krouse, have I ever told you that you are extremely uncouth.”

            “Many times, old friend!” He bellowed again, “And ye ‘kin cease when’eer ye wish, for I’m quite aware of the fact. Now drink up! We’ve got to make room for the new barrels yer merchant friends’ve brung!”

 

            Knowing now of the events that began on the following day, it seems so strange to me that I should have completely forgotten about the old woman that night. But I suppose an old friend and an overabundance of beer has that effect on most men.

 

            Alas, it was not until the following day, as I approached the town’s gate, that I remembered her. I recall cursing myself and the leaden pack about my shoulders for the foolishness that had brought the nasty stinging to my skull, when I looked up to find my path blocked by two people in a heated debate. One was another friend of mine, Korban the gate-sergeant, and the other was Majel. She also carried a pack on her shoulders (albeit not a very big one), and some sort of a walking staff. Sunshine was darting between their feet, yapping at Korban who was pleading with the old woman about this peril and that peril and the other. I knew fully too well what was happening. I hung my head and groaned, and Korban noticed my presence.

            “Jarred! Well met! You do not know how glad I am that you are here right now! It seems that this lady wishes to cross the mountains! ...And with none to protect her!”

            Korban was one of the few good men in Linofer. He was idealistic, passionate, intelligent, righteous, and perhaps much too naive. I had a certain “little-brother” type affection for the man and felt sorry that he had taken it upon himself to get involved with this woman’s burden. Remembering how terrible I felt the day before, I was sure that this was something that would haunt a man like Korban for months.

            “Hullo Korban, I see you’ve met my friend, Majel. Would you excuse us while she and I have a word?”

            “Gladly.” He seemed relieved. He must have thought that I was planning on offering to guide her.

            Majel said good morning without looking at me, as Korban returned to his post near the gate.

            “Good morning to you as well, milady, I see you still plan on traveling today.”

            “Yes, Jarred, I do. Unfortunately, though, it is none of your concern. Now if you’ll please excuse me, I’ve got a long way to go, and this pack is already getting heavy.”

            “Well, please, let me take me take it then. . . to Wrentro.” I placed my hand, gently mind you, on her pack's shoulder strap, and was easing it off, when she jerked away.

            “Absolutely not!” Her voice was trembling and she still didn’t look me in the eye. “I’m afraid you have no concept of what’s going on. Yes, it is true that I need help in crossing the mountains, in fact I need you, Jarred, you’re the only one here that can help me, I have made inquiries, you know. But, unfortunately, I have but one possible destination, and that is Spectre Valley. Not Wrentro, or Round Tree, or any other town, especially this louse-ridden piece of filth! I must reach the ruined citadel in Spectre Valley or nowhere!” Her voice was shaking, in fact, her whole body was shaking. And despite her mouth which was quivering on the verge of frustrated tears, her jaw was set.

            I truly wanted to help her, more than anything, but it simply was not possible. I could not ignore my conscience. Speaking softly, I said, “Please, milady, this is my final offer. I will guide you to any town in this whole region, free of charge, but I cannot lead you to a certain death.”

            Hoarsely, she replied, “Then you cannot help me.” And made her way to the gate leaning heavily on her staff. Sunshine looked at me for a moment, peculiarly, with a tilted head and a cocked ear, then with a yawn and a quiet whine, he turned and followed his master.

            “Jarred! What’s going on? You can’t let her leave!” Korban was calling to me while blocking Majel bodily. He stood under the gate with outstretched arms and an expression of worried confusion, while the red-faced old woman tried pushing her way past him. I shook my head and began to walk toward the gate, then I stopped short as Captain Kardigon, Korban’s supervisor, stepped in front of me, cutting me off. He stomped gruffly toward the gate.

            “See here, Sergeant,” He said in his raspy voice, “What’d be the meaning of this?”

            “Now, sir, I know how this looks,” Korban spoke stiffly, “But this woman is trying to leave town and. . .”

            “Zat so? And wot crime has she committed that we shouldn’t allow ‘er t’do that?”

            “Well, sir, it’s just that she wants to travel across the mountains, and she hasn’t got a guide.”

            “Weelll. . .” He began craning his head around on his chubby neck, “I thart I saw. . . Ah, yes, Jarred. Come here, boy. Would ‘ee be kind enough to escort this lady across the mountains?”

            I looked sadly at Majel, she stood with folded arms and her back partially to us, waiting for us to decide her fate. “Well, captain, we’ve discussed that possibility and. . . I’m afraid we couldn’t agree to the terms.”

            “Hmm, I see. Well, Sergeant, listen up. It’s her neck to do with as she pleases, either she goes with the tracker by his terms or she goes by herself. Yer not to detain ‘er any further, do I make myself clear?”

            Korban looked away and ground his teeth “Yes, sir!”

            “Goood, carry on.” And with that, Kardigon left.

            Wordlessly, Korban stepped aside, and the old woman and her dog moved through the gate and started up the mountain road.

            Once she had passed a ways, Korban turned to me with venom in his eyes. “Have you become so greedy that you cannot come to terms with an old woman, who is all alone and traveling down the most dangerous road in the country?”

            “I suppose I have indeed become greedy, Korban, my terms were ‘any town in the region, free of charge,’ and her terms were ‘take me to Spectre Valley or get the hell out of my way.’ Unfortunately, she didn’t have enough money to pay the fee I usually charge for leading people to certain death, so I kicked her in the a*s and sent her away.”

            Korban’s jaw dropped. “You must be joking! Or surely you misunderstood. She couldn’t want to go there.”

            I sighed and leaned heavily against the gate. From that vantage point I could see Majel moving slowly down the road with Sunshine hopping around at her feet, wanting to play. From the back, because of her thick, girlish hair, I could almost believe that she was a fair maiden walking away toward disaster, a regular damsel-in-distress. It didn’t make me feel any better. “I swear to you, Korban, there was nothing I could do to make her change her mind. She will only agree to let me come with her if we go to Spectre Valley, and there’s just no way I’ll be a part of that.”

            He watched her too, shaking his head, “This is unbelievable, she must be mad.?”

            “I don’t think so. Tell me, what do you know of her?”

            “Well, uh. . . She’s been here a few weeks. She came from the plains direction by carriage, and as soon as she got here, she began making inquiries about crossing the mountains. Someone sent her to me with your mane, so I told her about you. After that, she seemed excited and decided to wait here until you arrived to help her. Of course I didn’t know than what she truly had in mind, but she seemed so hopeful, like a weight had been lifted.”

            “And I dropped the weight and crushed her hopes. I wish I knew why she needed to go to Spectre Valley.”

            Then at that moment, Korban and I saw the woman stumble and drop her small pack. She stood and looked at it for a moment, then bent to pick it up with a hand to her back as if in pain. Korban turned to me with a deep passion in his eyes and voice.

            “Tell me, Jarred, does it really matter why she’s going there? She just is and there’s nothing you can do to change it. But if any man exists that could safely see her through, then I know it to be you.”

            I sighed and shook my head, Korban was indeed a good man. Too good. “I suppose you’re right.” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. “If only I had a dozen men like you to go with me.”  And with that, I turned to go back into the town and made my way towards Milo’s Smithy.

 

            It took a few hours to procure a donkey and the other supplies I felt we’d need, so it was nearly mid-day when I caught up with her. From a distance, I saw her sitting on a stump, resting, and I was surprised at what a short distance she had come. She raised her head when she heard the approaching donkey, and stood. It seemed as though she were steeling herself for another confrontation, yet she could not hide the age and weariness that stooped her shoulders and slackened her lined face.

            “I pray, Jarred, that you have not come in hope of continuing our argument.”

            “No, actually I’m on my way to Spectre Valley,” I said, squinting off into the distance, “Would you care to join me?”

            She exhaled and seemed very relieved, yet she spoke sternly. “When I had my youth, I would have refused your help out of pride.” Then she smiled and tears of joy swelled in her eyes. “But all I can do now is thank you, Jarred, you’ve made an old woman very happy.” She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, then brushed a tear from her eyes. Regaining her composure, she brought forth the purse and said, “I simply must pay you now, and I will not take no for an answer.”

            “Tell you what, I can’t rightfully. . .”

            “Oh no you don’t, I insist. You take this money, it’s so kind of you to be here, I will not have it any other way.” She tossed the bag at me and I caught it out of reflex. I have to admit, it’s weight felt real good. It was solid and heavy, and I imagined that I could feel the gold coins through the leather. My whole life I’d possessed only three other gold coins. Now, I know you might be thinking that, yes, every man has his price, and you may be right. But I was honestly planning on helping her without charge, for I’m not a man who strives for materiel wealth. But by the same token, I’m not so stupid that I’ll refuse what could rightfully be mine. So I pocketed the purse, and thanked her with a broad smile. It seemed that, by accepting the money, Id once again made her happy. She held her head high with a thin smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

            “Well then, are you ready to travel?” She nodded and accepted my outstretched hand. I helped her onto the donkey, marveling at how light she was.

            I was fairly amused when she insisted on sitting sidesaddle. It wasn’t as if it were prized horseflesh, yet she was a true lady through-and-through, so I made no mention of practicality. We set off at a somewhat meager pace. As I led the donkey up the slowly inclining path, Sunshine was zipping around, to-and-fro, happy as always.

            I knew the road well. So many times had I tread upon it, with so many faces, following blindly. I was comfortable there, in my element, with just another face behind me, trusting my judgment with their life. Even at that time, though, I knew that this was not just another routine journey. I remember having to force myself to ignore the sensation that something profound and incredible waited for me, somewhere along that familiar road. It was so unnerving that I was having trouble concentrating on the environment, which was bad. Vigilance was the key to my duty, and many times had it saved my charges and me.

            In an attempt to refocus myself, I began to describe to Majel how our journey would progress.

            “I figure it should take us two and a half days to reach the valley. The layout is basically like this; the Heart-of-Grays run perfectly north and south, with Linofer on their east border, and Wrentro on their west border almost straight across from each other. Now, Spectre Valley is near the exact center, but offset to the north and west. Quite a few trails are interwoven between the two cities in a sort of a meandering pattern, so that it makes it impossible to control. So when we come to a fork, neither choice will take us too far from our destination, so I always just choose whichever one instinctively feels safer. It’s not possible to consistently second-guess the bandits, so I have had parties ambushed, but my luck seems to be much better than the other local guides.”

            “Come now, Jarred, from what I’ve heard, luck has nothing to do with it. You simply know what you’re doing.”

            “Well, only a fool rules out the effects of luck, but you’re right in that there is always some sign as to which routes are safe. Mostly I know from experience exactly where bandits are likely to be. Some paths are too open for them to hide in ambush, so if I’m traveling with a decent number of fighting men, I’ll lead them through the open.   Some paths are naturally too treacherous for the bandits to want to fight upon, some paths meander so widely that they are mostly unused and the bandits will not waste their time watching, and then there are still one or two paths that are so well hidden, none know of them but me. I gave chosen these for us. There is only one place that concerns me, but that’s okay, this place is a constant trouble and I’ve dealt with it safely each time so far.”

            “What is this place?”

            “Well, it’s directly south of Spectre Valley. The only thing that all the roads in the region have in common is that they swing widely south of the valley. Therefore nearly all of them converge into two roads, and obviously, the bandits normally watch these. The easiest way for us to go would be to go there and head north, straight up the middle of the valley. But there’s another path that’s never used anymore because it doesn’t swing south of the valley. It cuts straight across it. The problem with that is that it’s steep in most places, and has filled with rubble and decay because of disuse. I’ve used it twice before, and both times there were many places where the trail disappeared altogether. It took all of my skill as a tracker to stay on course.”

            “That sounds like a problem, Jarred, which route will we take?”

            “I’m not going to decide yet. We’ve got until tomorrow and I’d rather see how we’ve fared before I make that choice.”

            “I agree. I can see I’ve hired the right man for the job.”

            “You’ll change your mind if I lead us into an ambush.”

            “Well then, if that happens, I’ll just have to take my money back, wouldn’t I?”

            I got quite a laugh out of that. I was pleased to discover that Majel had a sense of humor. I knew that our journey would be much more enjoyable for it. Being a tracker was so much less like a chore when I traveled with those who wished to be a companion, and not an employer. The lines in her wizened face agreed nicely with the smile, and I decided right then that I would do whatever I could to continue viewing that event. Thus we began talking casually as we went, both of us taking every opportunity to expound upon some light-hearted witticism. Now, I’ve never considered myself as being a humorous man, but I think this woman brought out the best in me. She reminded me of my great-aunt Mayoral whose laugher at my childhood antics always filled my soul with contentment, and made me want act even sillier to make her laugh more. Comparing Majel to ‘Auntie-M’, suddenly created a deeper affection for her; as though she, too, was a cherished relative. It was only a short while later before we had built up an affectionate rapture’ that was strangely comfortable and fulfilling.

            And yet, the conversation never seemed to turn to her reasons for wanting to go to the ruins. In fact, we never discussed anything of her personally at all, although she was greatly interested in my travels and my history and asked many questions of me. After a few hours, though, I began to sense a strained quality about her. It seemed that she had already tired again and did not want me to know. So I didn’t. Instead I suggested we stop for a while so that I could take a cat-nap. I explained to her that I normally operated by napping at rest stops, and then taking watch throughout the night so that my charges could have a full night of uninterrupted sleep. She agreed with the idea, readily, saying that it was quite professional of me.

            Too bad not a word of my rest plan was true.

            Things might have progressed differently if only I had been straightforward with her and worked out a rest plan that was mutually beneficial. But at the time, I was thinking only of her comfort, and not of my need for sharp senses.

            Anyhow, we stopped and I slept for maybe half an hour while she rested her ancient frame and had a bite to eat with Sunshine. When we moved on, I noticed that she was not quite as rejuvenated as she had been after the last stop, where we had met. Riding the a*s (whom we called Captain Kordigan) seemed to be much easier for her than walking, but ultimately, it was still strenuous for her. All that jostling about could not have been comfortable for she had no meat on her brittle bones. I could have offered to pad the saddle with my cloak but I knew that she would be insulted and refuse. So, unfortunately, there was nothing I could do.

            We still walked the main road, being close enough to Linofer that we were out of bandit territory. The road twisted and rose through shallow mountain passes filled with all varieties of plant life. This was, to me, the most scenic leg of the journeys between Linofer and Wrentro. Rich green trees were abundant and set against craggy gray cliffs that soared in some places, while in others, they shrunk to ground level and formed, instead, rocky inclines or wondrous stone sculptures crafted by mother nature herself. Essentially, we were skirting between the various mountains, yet we rose steadily. We were constantly treated to miraculous visions of craggy canyons and chasms with streams rushing far below toward waterfalls scattered about like rare jewels. In some places walls of sheer rock closed protectively about us, while in others, the whole world was laid bare before us, with gigantic gray peaks stretching away from us until they faded into the mists of distance. I felt that old, familiar feeling of being in my own private world; I owned this place in spirit, it was mine to behold, and mine to master. Deep inside I truly felt that these mountains were solely my domain. All others were trespassers, for they did not know them as I knew them, or love them like I loved them.

            You must understand; the mountains formed the foundation of my world, and although it sounds silly and awkward to say these things out loud, that is how I felt, and I think that that is what made me such a good tracker.

            We came, at length, to the point at which I had decided to branch off. We had, by this time, avoided all other branchings that were not the main thoroughfare, so I had the feeling that Majel was concerned when I struck out in a direction where there was no visible path. This was, however, the first of my ‘secret routes’. I led her through a draw choked with vegetation, to a natural stairway that led to a shelf. We followed the shelf as it climbed higher toward a bare saddle between two peaks. I was pleased that Majel showed no fear while riding along the narrow ledge. This meant that I would not have to avoid the paths that made most people nervous.

            Majel was, however, exhausted again, so we stopped just short of the saddle. Being that we were now in bandit territory, I chose ‘the scoop’ in which to rest. It was a place along the shelf where a huge portion of rock had seemingly been ‘scooped’ out of the cliff face. ‘The scoop’ was my name for it, for I was the only one who knew it existed. Majel was the first person I’d ever trusted my secret places with, so that made her the second human to ever lay eyes on it. . . Well, as far as I knew. There were no signs of anyone having ever traveled down that draw, so I was reasonably sure that this place was safe from unfriendly eyes.

            I lay down on the bare rock but could not fall asleep. I simply wasn’t tired. She sat against the wall of the scoop petting Sunshine who lay curled in her lap. Her head was nodding and her eyes strained to stay open. As I watched, she rested her head against the wall and fell soundly asleep with a hand frozen on her pet in mid-scratch.

            For some reason, I moved closer. Sunshine raised his head inquisitively, but did not protest as I examined her face, deeply. I saw lines, and furrows, and wrinkles, and crows feet. Her entire face was caked in withered skin that clung loosely to the bones of her skull. There was no doubt about it – she  was old.

            There was something else to be seen in her face. Being this close to her, I could picture what she must have looked like when she was young. With the hand of a god, I erased the deep lines around her mouth, and the furrows in her brow, and the sagging wrinkles in her temples. Using my imagination, the veins, the spots, and the gray pallor all vanished, and I was astonished by what I saw.

            Majel had been a creature of perfect beauty.

            Her eyes were deeply shaded by rich, luxurious brows, her mouth was both small and full, poised above a pixie-ish chin, and the bones of her cheeks and nose were perfectly sculpted in the way that artists have tried to capture since the first paints were mixed. When she was young, no woman could have been more graceful or noble in her beauty.

            I struggled with myself, trying to discover what meanings, if any, this realization held. I could find none. I suppose it was then that I first wondered what it was like to be old, and through my fears, a new, sorrowful respect grew for Majel. Once upon a time she was strong and beautiful, and now, she was not. Why?

            The answer, of course, was cruelly simple. Time.

            I sat back and studied her a moment longer. My imagination had let her grow old again, and I almost blamed myself for taking her beauty. I must admit, I came very close to crying. To prevent that, I woke her gently.

            The wrinkled lids fluttered open revealing wise blue eyes.

            “Jarred, is something wrong?”

            “No. It’s just that we have to move on. You cannot sleep here. I know a good place, though, less than an hour away.”

            I helped her to her feet, then back up on Kordigon’s back, noticing once again how painfully thin she was. Then we were off.

            Once over the saddle, I led the donkey down an incline, choosing carefully where he would step. A dry streambed was cut into the foot of the hill, and this we followed while the sky darkened. Already the mountains had blanketed us in shadow.

            I paused to collect wood just before the streambed entered a cliff-face. This stream had cut a deep but narrow channel through this mountain, and it twisted sharply into many hairpin corners. Selecting a somewhat wider spot, I halted.

            “Where is your bedroll?” I asked, helping her down.

            She smiled weakly and said, “I do not have one, my pack contains naught but a little food. I’m afraid I could not carry much else.”

            “That’s fine,” I smiled, “You can use mine. I’ll be keeping watch and tending to the fire.”

            “But, Jarred, won’t bandits see the fire?”

            “Oh, no. Don’t worry about that. They’d only see it if they were standing on top of this mountain, looking down from the edge of the cleft. I would see them, or hear them coming then, long before they could make their way to us.”

            “I see. It was silly of me to question you. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

            “If you say so, milady.”

            “I do.”

            “Well then,” I said, bowing and kissing her frail hand melodramatically, “It is time I bid thee good night.”

            “And a good night to you, too, milord.” She said with a curtsy and a smile.

            I unrolled my bag and she promptly curled up and went to sleep with Sunshine nestled close. I set about building the fire to keep her warm, yet not so close as to cause her discomfort.

           When my chores were done and camp was complete, I sat wearily upon a small boulder and spent the rest of the night deep in thought.

 

            That morning, I guarantee you, was wonderfully pleasant for that sweet, brave woman. I’ve spent years in the wild, sleeping under the stars and finding my sustenance along the way. But the breakfast I’d prepared that morning was the best of my career. I’d put an arrow in a rabbit at the break of dawn, and collected several nameless herbs of which I knew to taste rich and spicy. These fried together in my small skillet issuing a thick, meaty aroma, while the rest of her plate was set with wild blackberries, and bread and cheese taken from her store.

            It was all I could do to protect the food from the little, blonde mongrel with the eagerly wagging tail until she finally awoke. And once she did, her eyes grew wide and she breathed deeply.

            “Oh Jarred, you dear sweet man! Did you go to all this trouble for me?”

            “It was no trouble.” I said, looking up from my skillet.

            “Well, I’m sure it wasn’t, the rabbit must have walked right up with a pawful of herbs and berries and pleaded with you to cook him.” We both laughed together while the sun warmed the chill morning air. ”I’ve found something else.” I said, handing her a frilly, white wildflower. She accepted it, blushing.

            “Jarred. Really. I don’t deserve all this.”

            “And why shouldn’t you?” I said, placing two thick strips of meat on her plate and handing it to her.

            She took the plate and stared at it thoughtfully for a moment.

            “You must think I’m incredibly old.” She said, not looking up, “You may find this hard to believe, but I’ve never been given a flower by a man before.”

            “Oh, Majel, that’s terrible. It’s such a simple gesture. It makes me ashamed to be a man to know that there are so many that are so callous, that they cannot bend down to pluck a flower for a lady.”

            “Oh, Jarred,” She said, smiling, “You shouldn’t feel terrible. You should feel proud. You are a remarkable man. In fact, you’re the first I’ve ever trusted.”

            At that I became quiet. For some time I had been looking for an opportunity to get some answers from her, and suddenly the moment was ripe. I gravely hated to spoil the mood, but I sensed that I’d never have a better opportunity to ask the question we had avoided for so long.

            “Do you trust me enough to tell me why we’re going to Spectre Valley?”

            “Yes, I definitely do.” She was smiling, sadly, “Trust, unfortunately, is not the issue, Jarred. I’m very sorry. But there are other reasons why I cannot tell you this. Please understand.”

            I sighed. “Yes, I understand. But can you tell me what will happen after we’ve reached the citadel?”

            The smile faded, “I suppose I’ve been unfair to you. I owe it to you at least to tell you what you can expect. . . once we reach. . . the ruins. . .” Her voice faltered and she averted her gaze, “I, I shan’t be needing your services anymore. You’ll be dismissed.”

            It was then that the truth finally hit me. I could kick myself for not seeing it before. . . Majel was going to the ruins to die.

            I could not speak.

            The words reverberated throughout my hollow soul. She was dying, and the cold truth hit me so hard and plain that I was frozen in its grip. I was simply dumbstruck and could not reply.

            Tensely, Majel began eating, turning her attention away from me while I faltered for words. But what could I have said? I was at an utter loss. I gave up. I began moving around the camp, blindly performing a few meaningless tasks in the guise of packing. Inside my head, however, thoughts spun madly about, shifting, growing, and collapsing in disjointed turmoil. I was trying to see why I had been so ignorant, I was wondering how she was dying and why she had to go to the ruins, and I was straining for a way to prevent the inevitable. I could not focus on any one thought long enough to come to any conclusions before it was replaced by another. I was left cold, helpless, and utterly defeated. But in my misery, a bit of Korban’s wisdom was sparked.

            This was inevitable. I could not change it. The best I could do was to be there to help her. This thought was truthfully simple, and so clear that my helplessness was replaced by fierce determination. Right then I made a vow to myself. I vowed, with unconditional loyalty, to see her safely through to the end. I would do everything in my power to make her last days pleasant, refusing to let her die without her pride or dignity. And then, if possible, I would be by her side, holding her small hand as she breathed her last breath.

            Once I finally achieved such clarity of purpose, I felt greatly relieved. I don’t know what Majel was thinking the whole time I was making my determinations, but the time had come to begin my vow, so I turned to her with a sincere smile.

            “Well milady, we are officially un-camped. Shall we begin?”

            She smiled as well, erasing the last vestiges of unpleasantness. “I think so. I seem to have eaten both of our meals so there doesn’t appear to be anything left to attend to.”

            “Very good.” I helped her to her feet and led her to the donkey. I began humming a cheerful tune as I helped her up, and we set off. We headed deeper into the cleft, and soon I was singing to her outright. This was very unusual for me, for I was a tracker, not a minstrel, but it felt right and made her smile, so I did not stop. By our midmorning rest, I had sung to her every happy song I knew.

            Try as I might, I could not get it out of my head that my ancient but smiling companion was on her way to death. I did not feel as happy as I was acting. She never noticed, however, in fact, several times she commented on what a good mood I was in. I’m glad that’s what she thought. She was enjoying my company and having a good time, and I was loath to spoil it.

            Remembering what she said about never being given flowers before, I went out of my way to pluck one of every wildflower in sight. Each time a new variety was presented, she would accept it graciously, and with as much gratitude as the first.

            It was a clear day in the mountains, the lush greenery contrasted more sharply than ever against the bold gray rocks. Being morning, the sun was still mostly hidden from us by the gracious peaks which cast their cool shadows over us. The wind was slight, yet carried with it the ripe, living scents of spring. Mother Nature had provided Majel with a gorgeous day as one of her last, and that made me glad. However, my thoughts kept returning to the mortality of my companion, and, another concern began to take shape.

            I was getting sleepy.

            Once we stopped for our meal, I promptly fell asleep and slept deeply for some length of time. I awoke in mid-afternoon to find that Majel had also fallen off amidst the remains of a decent meal. I ate, packed, and then woke her. Few words were spoken once we continued, both of us being too groggy for conversation. Try as I might, I could not think of a way to regain the pleasantness of the morning, my mind was simply too dulled to function properly. I cursed myself for my condition. I knew that I was not focusing on our environment as I should have been. Instead, I was distracted by the need for sleep, worry for Majel, and even by the fact that I wasn’t doing my job properly. By this time, my secret path had led back to a route that was more commonly known, and I needed to be sharp.

            The road here was plenty wide enough for a wagon, and led through a sort of a ditch whose walls were roughly two man-heights tall. Ferns and trees grew on either side of this ditch, and I realized then, with a sick feeling, that I had stumbled blindly into a prime ambush area. I halted us immediately.

            We stood deadly-still while I listened. I could not see or hear anything out of the ordinary, yet my nose seemed to detect a gossamer scrap of a scent which I did not recognize. It was faint, yet it gave me the feeling that there was an element there that did not belong. Again I cursed myself. I should have scouted this ditch before I led Majel to it, but because of my own stupidity, I’d been too tired to realize it was coming up.

            I think it was, perhaps, the disgust at myself, which made me want to double back that day, as if I could start that part over and get it right. Ordinarily, a slight unfamiliar scent would not cause me to abandon a track, after all, there’s caution, and then there’s paranoia. But whatever it was, it was a damn lucky thing that I changed my mind. We turned.

            The bandits, seeing that their quarry would not walk blindly into their trap, dropped from the banks of the ditch and charged toward us in a screaming rage. They were roughly twelve in number, dressed in rags and carrying simple weapons. Most had glorified farming implements, but a few held old swords, rusted and brittle. My armament, on the other hand, consisted of an oaken short-bow, two shining rapiers, and a sharp dagger. I was overwhelmed as far as numbers went, but I was good at fighting multiple attackers, especially those untrained in combat. My only chance was to make sure I kept my attackers abreast of each other and to not let them behind me, where Majel would be.

            I could see that she was scared, but she stayed remarkably calm while I handed her the dagger and instructed her to dismount and stay close to me.

            I had a moment left before they reached me (we had been a decent distance from their ambush), so I swiftly took my bow off my shoulder, nocked an arrow, and sent it flying toward the bandits. I threw the bow away and drew my swords as the arrow impaled itself, deeply, in the abdomen of the foremost attacker.

            If Majel had not been with me, I would have taken a position with my back to the wall of the ditch, but as it was, I could let none pass me, so I stood boldly in the center of the ditch and readied my weapons for their onslaught.

            The battle went well at first. The first to reach me was dispatched quickly, one block, one thrust, and he crumpled to the ground, spraying blood. Then I was faced with three opponents. Tip-to-tip my swords reached the entire width of the ditch, so they kept themselves busy by trying to hold my guard long enough for one of them to slip past. Already they had decided that reaching Majel was the key to an easy victory. My swords zipped back and forth, dislodging a clumsy weapon here, slashing a face there, and forever blocking and parrying and deflecting their weak blows.

            The ragtag mob surged forward, pressing their front rank deep into my kill zone. The bandit in the middle panicked and, with wide eyes, tried to fight his way back through the crowd. I made a few calculations, then brought the right rapier back in, viciously cramming the point through his side and straight through his internal organs. I whirled through a mist of blood, spinning my left sword behind me, pulling my right free in the same motion, while my left rapier arced up and removed the head of the dazzled attacker that had been on my right. This left the left half of the ditch unguarded momentarily, but that did not matter. While they stumbled over the bodies I’d left there, I took a step back and to the left and assumed an identical position.

            The bandits were frustrated. Five had fallen and only maybe seven remained. Someone near the back of their group began barking orders and they came in again. A bit more respectfully this time.

            I was warmed up by then. I’d reached the ultimate mental state for fighting prowess where my mind was calm, detached, and calculating. The swords were extensions of my limbs, and my limbs flowed smoothly, swiftly traveling to exactly where they needed to be. I could, and did, put my swordtips wherever I wished; in this bandits eye-socket, in that one’s neck, lopping off that one’s hand, and soon there were four left.

            I felt a wolfish smile grow on my face. Four, out of twelve, were left. If I succeeded, I would have quite a tale for Krouse; by his arrogant opinion, it was impossible for one man to defeat more than ten.

            The four remaining bandits were nervously staying back. This made me suspicious. I chanced a quick look over my shoulder and saw Majel, shaking and staring back blankly. She still held the dagger, awkwardly pointing at the bandits. I had no chance to feel pity for her though, a dingy little man was preparing to drop into the ditch behind her.

            “Majel look out! Above you!”

            She turned too late. The man swooped down and caught her about the shoulders. She screamed and tried to cut him, but she was too frail even for one of these mountain dogs. Manhandling her roughly, he twisted the dagger out of her hand and backhanded her sharply across the mouth.

            Sunshine lunged at him with a high-pitched snarl and locked his teeth into the man’s shin. The man’s leg recoiled as he struggled to keep hold of Majel. Simultaneously, his arm went about her neck in a brutal chokehold, while his injured leg snapped forward, vaulting the little hound high into the air with a yelp.

            I was torn. The four men before me would never let me get close enough to help her, and I couldn’t kill all four of them before he killed her. The man brought the dagger, my dagger, up under Majel’s chin and smiled while she began to hyperventilate.

            “It seems ‘eve got yer mother, Milord. I’m thinkin’ ya ought t’be droppin’ yer swords.” His voice was oily and his rotted teeth were exposed through his impudent leer. I remember feeling an uncontrollable urge to stalk up and ram my sword down his throat, but I knew I could not. I only had one choice, to comply. . . Then would begin a game of cunning.

            The bandits laughed triumphantly as I slowly placed my swords on the ground.

            I stood and fixed him with my boldest stare. “Release her, and the two of us will just walk away, the swords will just stay where they lay.”

            “Ah, but yer fergettin’ somthin,” the words slid from his mouth like grease, “we ‘arven’t yet got yer purse.”

            I undid the leather bag at my belt and tossed it on the ground without hesitation. It landed halfway between us.

            He thought for a moment, realizing that he’d have to let go of Majel to pick it up, or his nervous men would have to pass close to me in order to get to it. Finally he smiled, and said, “Stake ‘im out, boys.”

            They did not respond and it was my turn to chuckle. They looked at their feet sheepishly while their leader’s eyes narrowed to thin slits. “You stupid curs, ‘e won’t be resistin’ ya, I’ve got ‘is mother.” They still did not move, and he turned to me. “Look ‘ere, tracker, I’ve got a plan that’ll be good fer the both of us. You give me yer word that ya won’t resist, then as soon as yer tied I’ll let yer mother go free. Once we leave, she kin come back, and untie ye.”

            “Very well,” I said, “but I’ll need your word first, on your honor as a thief.”

            “I swear by me honor as a thief.” He said, smirking.

            Now, I had no doubt that he’d never intended for a moment to do what he’d said, but I still had an ace up my sleeve, I just needed to get Majel away, first.

            One bandit approached me cautiously, producing a coil of rope. I crossed my wrists and held them out to him, but just as he was about to wrap the rope about them, I said “Halt.”

            The man froze with wide eyes. I turned back to the leader and said, “I have given you my word as a gentleman, and I intend to keep that word. But I think I shall need proof that the word of a thief is just as good. Release her now, and I’ll allow him to proceed.”

            The leader smiled darkly and wordlessly dropped his hands away from Majel. Majel blinked at me, confusion and worry evident in her wrinkled expression.

            “It’s okay,” I said, “go. . . they’ll keep their word.” Hah! and horses fly. Thankfully, even though she must have had the same suspicions, Majel trusted that I knew what I was doing and walked away. She knelt to pick up her unconscious pet, looked at me over her shoulder, then continued walking until she was out of sight. It’s damn hard to say, in retrospect, what thoughts she had been thinking behind that unchanging expression.

            I nodded to the bandit, and he tied my hands together, quite well, actually. Then he instructed me to hold my hands above my head while he moved behind me. While this was happening one bandit stood guard, pointing my own sword at me, another bandit was driving stakes into the ground, the fourth was going through out gear, and their leader was counting my silver coins.

            Once behind me, my captor jerked on the rope and kicked me behind my kneecap. I fell flat on my back. He bound the loose end of the rope to a stake, then returned and tied my ankles with another rope. The loose end of this was wrapped around another stake, pulling my body taught, then tied. I was, to them, effectively helpless.

            “Forty shining coins of pure silver, lads.” The leader grinned. “We’ve made quite a profit, even counting the loss of eight dogs.”

            “Ere sir, I’ve found another fifteen on the arse. The wench’d let ‘er purse dangle about from the saddle.”

            “Ah, wot a day.”

            “Thief,” I interrupted, “I have another proposition for you.”

            “Ya do, ay?” He stood over me and spit very near to my head. “Wotta you got left that I’d want?”

            “Ten more coins, pure gold, if you’ll leave me only my dagger. I’ll tell you where they’re hidden in exchange for your word that you’ll leave at least my dagger, so that I still have a small chance of providing food and protecting us.”

            “Sounds fair t’me.” He said, smirking again.

            “Do I have your word?”

            “Oh, aye, on me honor as a thief.” He nodded innocently while his fools tried not to laugh.

            “Very well, then. Under my shirt, you’ll find a small leather pouch on a chain about my neck. That’s where the coins are.”

            “Very well, indeed, Milord,” he said as he bent and reached for my shirt, “If they are there then ye’ll certainly be gettin yer dagger back, without any delay.”

            Now, I was a tall man, but thin and wiry. For this reason, every man who’d ever fought me was surprised by my strength. Luckily the bandit who’d driven in the stakes was not an exception. As soon as the leader’s head was near my chest, I went for it. The stake came out easily, and my arms flew over his head and behind his neck. I crushed his head to my chest while the bandit, quite surprised, screamed in agony from the snapping noise behind his head.

            “You gave yer word! You lied!” He screamed as I smothered his head.

            “No.” I hissed in his ear, “That was a gentleman’s promise which will be kept. But the word of a thief isn’t worth spit.” I twisted on his head and he screamed. “I know that as soon as you leave, you’ll hunt her down and kill her, and leave me here to die. Therefore, my friend, I have decided that it is necessary to take forceful action, and ensure that our agreement is kept.”

            The other bandits shifted indecisively, uncomfortable in not knowing what to do. Their leader resisted, weakly testing my grip. I held the ropes at the base of his skull and my hands turned purple for lack of blood, I was squeezing his tiny neck for all I was worth. He groaned and sobbed, then began to grow desperate.

            “Fine, ye’ve got me! Bully fer you! Now wotta ya gonna do? Ye won’t be gettin away unless I tell them to spare ye. Let. . . Me. . . GO!”

            “I’ve go a much better idea,” I said, never letting up, “Tell one of your flunkies to bring me my swords and untie my feet. And tell him. . . “ I twisted violently, to which he again screamed, “. . .No tricks.”

            “Gackk, do as ‘e says, you dolt! And no tricks er I’ll flay ye meself!” The mighty leader ended with a pitiful sob.

            The man who’d tied me collected my swords, and approached cautiously. He laid them close to me, yet thinking himself clever, laid them closer to his chief.

            “Forget they’re there.” I told my prisoner, “You’d never live to curl your hand around the hilt.”

            The other bandit looked away nervously and began untying my feet. When he was through, I ordered him to move away, and spoke again to the leader.

            “Now comes the sensitive part. I’m going to loosen my grip the least little bit, and I want you to roll over and face up. The first time I lose sight of one of your hands, I snap your neck. Do as you’re told, and in a few moments you’ll be a free man, with ten golden coins. Are you ready?”

            “Aye.”

            The moment I lessened my grip, the piece of filth tried to jerk away. The poor, predictable fool, this time the snap that his neck made had a more ominous crunch to it.

            “Ahhh! Ye’ve broke it!”

            “Shut up! It’s not broken. If it were you would be dead! It is definitely injured however, and I can guarantee you that the next time it is strained, no matter how minor the strain may be, it will break in half, and you will die.”

            The man was now crying, the pain and frustration overwhelmed him and he sobbed against my chest. Ironically, it would have appeared as though I were comforting him, but I assure you, I had no sympathy for that cutthroat.

            “Let’s try that again.” I lessened my grip, and he willingly turned over. I placed the ropes directly over his windpipe and said, “Now, untie my hands.”

            There were no complaints as he did so. Once free, I kept my stronger, right forearm locked tightly to his throat, and secured one of my swords with my free hand. I placed the tip to his temple and whispered in his other ear “Let’s stand, shall we?”

            I knew, without his having to reply, that he would be completely cooperative. It was a somewhat awkward maneuver, trying to stand while keeping my arm to his throat and my sword to his head. Out of the kindness of his heart, the bandit-leader was quite patient with me, and soon we were both on our feet.

            “See how easy this could have been if you’d cooperated when I’d asked you to?”

            “Indeed Milord, I’ve done as ye’ve asked and now yer free. So where is the gold?”

            “You’ll have your damned gold.” I thrust him from me forcefully, and he sprawled on the ground. As I retrieved my other sword he rose, slowly, to a sitting position, and began rubbing the back of his neck. I casually sheathed one of my rapiers, then brought forth the pouch containing the gold coins.  “You see? The word of a gentleman.” I tossed it to him, chain and all.

            He caught the package and poured the coins into his hand. Then he smiled, much as I had done when I first knew them to be mine.

            “You are a clever one, aren’t you Milord? First ye outfight our little band, and then ye outsmart us. But bandits are such a stupid lot, aren’t they Milord?”

            “I tell you my friend, unless you’ve got a point to make, I have business elsewhere and really must be going.”

            “Me point is, Milord. . . Wot about Piper?”

            “Who’s Piper?”

            In answer, he simply pointed into the trees beyond the ditch. I realized then that the bandits were indeed smarter than I’d given them credit for.

            I did not see the hidden archer until I felt an arrow, my arrow, slide deep between my ribs. I clutched a hand around the familiar red fletchings protruding from my chest and gasped as pain exploded.

            The leader's face was leering and laughing, but I could not hear him over the rushing sound inside my head. I became dizzy and staggered. I heard a hideous howl of fear and pain, though, and it was not my own.

            I looked back into the trees and saw my murderer, beating his flaming head. We fell simultaneously. My body burned red hot, and I curled into a fetal position as my mind slid toward blackness. The last thing I saw was the bandit-leader drop to the ground, facing me, the last thing I remember thinking was “I’ll never know what’s going on,” for flames had engulfed his head also.

 

            I awoke suddenly, disoriented. The first thing that registered was Majel, unconscious, draped over my chest. In her hand she held part of an arrow that was charred where it ended. Then I realized that I felt no pain whatsoever. In fact I felt wonderful, as robust as ever before, and not the least bit tired, hungry, or thirsty. I put my hand to my ribs where the arrow had struck, and felt only smooth, healthy skin.

            I looked around and saw at least two other supine figures. Their bodies were perfectly unscathed, yet blackened skulls with grisly bits of charred flesh protruded form their necks. There was only one explanation.

            Magic.

            And Majel was the source. Realizing this, I waited curiously for my reaction. More curious, though, was the fact that none came. It seemed that this new information made no difference to me, whatsoever. She was still Majel, magic or no, and I was still fiercely loyal to her. I would not shun her, or fear her, nor could I possibly have any greater respect for her. I knew, without a doubt, that my feelings for her would not change the slightest bit because of the great secret that I now knew. I think the only change would have been that I became even more curious about her then ever before. But my questions would have to wait. There were things to do.

            I rolled her gently off me and laid her in a comfortable position. Then I checked her for injuries. Her cheek was bruised where the bandit-chief had struck her, but that was all. Her unconsciousness seemed only to be a deep restful slumber, yet I was still concerned for I could not rouse her.

            I knew nothing of magic, so all I could do was hope that this was but a normal side effect of expending so much mystical energy. It was but a theory, but it made sense and comforted me. Soon she would wake up and things would be back to normal. Well. . . as normal as they could be. I covered her with my cloak and tucked it in around her, then began to go about other business.

            First; the roll call. The leader was dead, Piper, the archer, was dead (I retrieved my bow and arrows), and two more were dead, all of them had burned skulls. This left two bandits unaccounted for, probably they had fled from the wrath of the sorceress.

            Next I inventoried our remaining possessions. All my weapons were recovered, and my pack was intact where I’d dropped it. Of Majel's possessions all that remained was her queer staff lying in the ditch, and her beloved pet. Apparently she had healed Sunshine too, for the little hound came trotting up the road as soon as I began to move around. He sniffed my leg in greeting, then went and sat next to his master, apparently unconcerned. Her condition was not upsetting to the animal, so I took it to mean that he had seen her this way before, perhaps many times.

            I concluded, by it’s track’s, that the donkey made its escape when the fires began, taking with it all the spare equipment I’d loaded it with. The two bandits had stopped to take the money from their leader, then followed in the direction of the donkey, back the way we’d come. I counted it lost.

            My next priority was to get us out of there. From the position of the sun, I knew I’d been out for at least an hour, and the bandits could return at any time with reinforcements. I began by kicking some dirt into the faces of each of the dozen corpses. This was my version of a victor’s burial. Then I repacked my pack for the bandits had gone through it in search of loot. I used some of the rope I’d been bound with to make a sling for Majel’s staff, then loaded up to move. I donned the backpack, slung my bow across my back, slung the staff next to it, then picked up my ancient companion and cradled her in my arms. I started up the ditch with Sunshine padding behind me.

            The ditch ended at a downward incline that formed the bank of a good-size picturesque pond. The road skirted the pond toward a particularly triangular-shaped mountain that rose steeply above it. I knew that the road wound around to skirt the steep mountain, also, and then we would be near my second secret path. It was late afternoon so there wasn’t much sunlight left. I planned to find a safe place along my secret path where we could rest in private until Majel awoke.

            I followed the road, then branched off where my path began and continued until I came to a natural bowl between two rocky outcroppings. Soft moss had somehow found it’s way here and managed to thrive until it lined the entire floor of the bowl. The sun was setting as I gratefully lay Majel down on the soft floor; even her slight weight had been a burden after that two-hour hike. I did not complain though, she was safe. That was the important thing.

            Unfortunately, we were not quite safe enough for a fire, judging by the day’s events, but it had seemed a good enough place for me to sleep as well. However, just in case, I lay myself down with a naked rapier in each hand.

           

            I awoke in the morning and checked the camp right off. Nothing had been disturbed. Majel however, was still asleep, and apparently hadn’t even shifted her position. Concerned, I went to her.

            “Majel?” I shook her gently.

            Nothing happened for a moment, then her eyebrows furrowed and she turned her head. Momentarily restraining my relief, I shook her again.

            “Majel, wake up. It’s me. It’s Jarred.”

            Her eyes opened for a brief moment, and her hand found mine.

            “Majel? Are you okay?”

            She opened her eyes heavily and squinted up at me.

            “Jarred.” She mumbled. Then she took a deep breath and stretched her tiny arms above her head.

            Needless to say, I was greatly relieved. It took a few moments and a few yawns, but soon she was sitting up, soaking in the morning atmosphere.

            I watched her closely until she finally spoke, “Oh, that was exhausting,” she breathed, “That’s why I try to avoid doing it now that I’m old.”

            I knelt before her and deliberately placed my face in her field of vision. “Majel,” I said as our eyes locked, “I want to thank you for saving my life.”

            She looked away and burst into tears. Concerned that what I’d said was inappropriate for that moment, I said “I’m sorry Majel, I should have delayed my thanks until. . .”

            “It’s not you.” She said through her tears, “It’s me. I’m tired of this worthless husk of a body and tired of being so old that I cannot use my skills without sleeping for a day afterwards.  And. . . And. . .” She looked at me with deep expression in her eyes, “I’m tired of being ugly!”

            Where that thought stemmed from, I didn’t know, but nonetheless, I put my arms around her and hugged her gently. “Hey now, don’t say that. You’re not ugly. In fact you’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met.”

            She continued to cry with her head against my shoulder. “Oh, Jarred, I know this must seem silly to you, but you don’t know what it’s like. I wish you could have seen me when I had a young face.”

            “Shh, I understand. Sometimes when I look at you I can see that young face, but just because it isn’t there anymore doesn’t make you any less human. I want you to know. . . How much I care about you, even without a young face.”

            She looked into my eyes and almost smiled through the tears. “Truly?”

            “Yes, of course.” I laughed a little, “Did you think I was here for the money?”

            “No.” She wiped away a teardrop and sniffled as she began to regain her composure. “I’m sorry, Jarred. I’m sure by now you think I’m just some silly old bird who only cares about her appearance.”

            “No, I don’t.”

            “Well, that’s nice of you to say but I’m sure it must sound that way. You see, I’m not so much concerned about how I look, it’s more like. . . frustration, over losing my strength of character and strength of body that I thought I’d always be able to count on.”

            “There’s nothing wrong with your character, Majel.”

            “Yes, there is. You just don’t know it because you didn’t know me before. Aging has a cumulative effect I’m afraid.”

            “If you say so.”

            “I do.”

            “Then it must be true.”          

            “Come, Jarred, let’s not talk of this anymore. Did the bandits leave us any food?”

            “Yes, and that’s about all they’ve left us. The food will last us the rest of the trip, however.”

            “And how long will that be?”

            “We’ll be there this afternoon, I think.”

            I fetched bread and strips of dried meat from my pack, and we had our meal in relative silence. We began walking immediately after the meal and made decent progress. It was another fine day, and the scenery was no less beautiful.

            Without words, a mood had grown between us. It was one of deep companionship that was both joyful and sad. We did not have to speak, we were content to just be together, and we cherished each passing breath and heartbeat. Only once before lunch did we exchange words. Majel asked if I would keep Sunshine with me when I left the valley, and solemnly I accepted.

            After lunch, we remained just as quiet. Occasionally, though, I experienced a nagging panic that we should talk, pour out our entire life stories with every thought and experience. Almost immediately the serenity would return, whenever I thought about it, I would realize that there was nothing, really, to say. We knew enough about each other already to be as close as two friends could ever possibly be. More information would somehow mar that delicate perfection of silence, and silently, we strode closer and closer to her death.

            My secret path eventually led us to the trail that would cut straight across the valley. I took Majel’s hand and began to focus more of my attention on keeping track of the often-interrupted path. The mood was not spoiled, however, for I could almost feel her support and her trust flowing through her hand to mine as I diligently scanned our environment for the elusive path.

            We soon came to a shallow creek. Not wanting her to get her dainty feet wet, I hoisted her into my arms and carried her across. She put her head on my chest and I could tell that she was crying, for her body was wracked by sobbing. The sorrow between us was intense and pure. What we were doing was so overwhelmingly sad, that I felt joy at the purity of emotion. It was good to care.

            I reached the far bank and set her feet down, but I did not release my embrace, I just let her cry. We stayed that way for a long time

           

            Either I misjudged our distance from the valley, or we tarried longer than I thought. Either way, we were forced to eat our evening meal swiftly so that we might still reach the valley before nightfall. We continued walking, her hand in mine, as the sun sank slowly into the mountains behind us. As we neared the crest of the final ridge before the slope of Spectre Valley, I spoke again to Majel.

            “I’m not sure you’re aware of the reputation of this place.”

            “I am.” She said without looking at me. I watched her intently for a moment, waiting vainly for her to elaborate. She did not.

            Finally I began to recite an excerpt for the ‘Song of Spectres’, a collection of ancient local legends, probably to put myself in a wary mental state.

            “. . . The slanting rays of the sunset crawl swiftly out of Spectre Canyon, for the curse must be fulfilled nightly at dusk. With molding eyes, the dead arise, and scourge the streets for blood.”

            Majel still did not look at me. “That’s very comforting.” She said with an inflection that was not sarcasm.

            A moment later, our destination stretched before us. Spectre Valley was deep and green, lying at the bottom of a steep slope. Our trail terminated there, at the edge of a tangled web of green brush, trees, and vines. I have never seen a jungle, but from the stories I’ve heard, Spectre Valley was a reasonable version of this. Mist swirled beneath the canopy of vegetation, and the valley echoed with many terrible cries of unseen wild beasts. I felt Majel shiver unconsciously through the bones of her thin hand, as we both fixed our sight on the ruined city.

            From this distance, the citadel looked like a roughly circular scattering of crumbling bricks. In actuality, they were dark, towering buildings looming over the thick fauna, crumbling and dropping rubble into the trees. A tall, smooth wall once surrounded the city, but now stood a shambles, cracked, broken. and smashed to an encircling mound of rocks. The city was decaying, obviously, but the ruin of the wall was somehow more total and troubling. It seemed as though some powerful, arcane force had risen from the wilds of the jungle to smash every block of the wall simultaneously.

            I looked to Majel, hoping that, now, she would change her mind. I knew she wouldn’t, and I was right. She took a deep breath, released my hand, and started down the slope. Sunshine looked at me, raising a questioning ear. Alas, it was too late to stop her, so I merely shook my head and followed. The hound trailed me, nervously sniffing the air and trying to keep his eyes everywhere at once.

            She waited for us at the edge of brush, and smiled weakly as I joined her. Closer examination of the tangled undergrowth made it quite clear to me that there was but one way through. I drew my swords and began hacking and chopping away. The citadel stood but a few short miles away, yet they were some of the most exhausting miles I’ve ever encountered. The stalks and vines did not give way easily, and by the time we’d reached the clear surrounding the destroyed wall, my arms were quite sore.

            There was still some daylight left, but the sun was no longer visible below the mountains. Although I needed a break badly, I knew there was no time. We had to enter the city and find a place that was safe for the night before it was completely dark. I led on toward the wall, thinking how unnatural it was that, amidst such dense vegetation, bare earth could exist without so much as a blade of grass. It was as if all life, even plant life, shunned the poisoned ground on which the citadel squatted.

            I selected a spot where the broken bits of wall were not piled too high, and we entered cautiously. The sun was officially setting at that time, and as the last of the illumination was sucked into shadow, I struggled to memorize every detail of our environment.

            We were surrounded by the lifeless remnants of what was once a grand and monumental architecture. Each building was a work of art, richly adorned with decorative elements portraying themes that were pleasing at a glance, yet disturbing upon inspection. Looking too closely at one faded mosaic in particular, I saw that what I thought was a portrayal of a family picnic beneath a tree, was actually several warriors lounging about, mincing body parts severed from their enemies. The buildings themselves had that same characteristic. If you were to watch the cobbles before your feet as you walked, your peripheral vision would show you to be passing through harmonious and beautiful structures. Looking directly at them, though, gave me a sense of dread. Dark, empty windows leered above gaping portals, while parts of the structures were sagging or broken away as if the building were a leper. Their sheer, monumental height was oppressive enough. 

            Needless to say, I searched rapidly, for a safe place. Sunshine, bristling fur and tail tucked between his legs, followed close behind Majel and I as we passed through the cobbled streets. They formed a haphazard network between the buildings, as I searched for a structure, any structure, that did not appear too eager to swallow and digest us.

            I still held Majel’s hand as we moved. Each moment that passed brought thicker darkness and a more urgent sense of impending terror. I imagined that I heard bestial moans carried on the wind and tried to pull Majel along more quickly. She seemed to be resisting.

            After an uncomfortable silence, she halted and pulled her hand free.

            “Jarred, you must leave now.” She said, forcefully.

            Shocked, I turned to her, “You can’t be serious, Majel, I can’t leave you now!”

            “You must!” Her eyes were stony, and challenging.

            “I will not. Please, Majel, I think I know why you needed to come here, and I want to be here with you, to see you through to the end.”

            “Whatever it is that you think I came here for, I guarantee you it is dead wrong. And you cannot help me through this.”

            I could barely make out her face in the darkness, but the expression I saw there sent a chill through me. It was dangerous and determined, and made her seem as sinister as the dreadful ruins. I almost believed, for a moment, that she truly belonged here. Shivering, I forced that thought out of my mind. I did not know what change had come over her, but she was still my dear, sweet Majel.

            “It’s far too dangerous for me to leave you now, please, just allow me to stay with you for a short while longer.”

            “There’s no time to argue, Jarred, just please go, I’ll be okay, you must trust me. . . I know a safe place.”

            “Then let me. . .”

            Majel suddenly shrieked. I smelled the horror before I saw it. The odors of fresh dirt and rancid garbage mingled in my nose as I turned and beheld the staggering corpse. Mold-colored flesh, half-decomposed, hung in loose swaths with large patches of blackened, cancerous rot. Her face was a horrible blank mask of decay and her eye-sockets were empty. Arms hung loose at her sides as she teetered towards us. Her death-shroud was blackened and almost totally rotted away, revealing her pubic area to be ravaged by decomposition and wriggling carrion slugs.

            Instantly, I planted a crushing fist on the bridge of her nose. The skull collapsed like an eggshell, and my hand was submerged in a cold, slimy jelly. It fell as my fist jerked free, trailing thick, wet clumps of dark ooze. No sooner had she hit the ground, then she began jerking and twitching, trying to stand again.

            Sickened, I grabbed Majel (with my clean hand) and began hurrying her up the street. I didn’t even look at her as I said “I’m coming with you to your safe place.”

            She made no argument. Instead she started directing me towards it. “To your left, Jarred, straight up there.”

            I rounded the corner, where she’d indicated, and we fled down a narrow alley between two buildings. As we neared the opening to the street, another grisly shadow shambled into the corridor.

            Putting on speed, I cocked my shoulder, ducked my head, and slammed into the monster, flattening it easily. We stumbled into the street, narrowly avoiding another clutching, rotted hand. I wheeled, drawing my sword, and Majel spun behind me almost losing her balance. Using the centrifugal force from the motion of my body, my sword sliced forward in a wide, smoothly powerful arc. It zipped through the air and barely slowed as it parted the jelly-like flesh and soft bone. The horrible corpse, never noticing the loss of its forearm, staggered closer.

            I kept my weapon in it’s swing, round behind my head, then screaming straight forward like a striking snake. It slid straight through the creature’s gullet with a slick, squishing sound, unstopping til the hilt rested against his abdomen. It’s hand struck forward, faster than I would have expected, and clutched the side of my face. Brittle nails cracked and split as they gouged into my flesh. I yelped with pain and twisted away, bringing my leg up into a roundhouse kick. My sword followed me, pulling free a string of entrails as my kick, landing squarely on his hip, swept him to the ground. Not pausing to engage the other corpse that had, by then, regained it’s feet, I grabbed Majel’s arm and started dragging her up the street.

            Shapes lunged from out of the darkness on all sides. With the speed and grace of a deer, I dodged and danced a path between them, never slowing and desperate for life, we ran down the street, pursued by the spectral profanities. Those I could not avoid, I cut down.

            Miraculously, Majel stayed with me. I had no time to check on her, though, the shambling horrors seemed to be crawling from every dark nook and crevice like roaches. My mind was blank and animalistic, driven by the need to survive. Panic fluttered in my chest, driving me to inhuman feats of speed and dexterity. Before the presence of a ghastly face could be registered in my brain, it was split by my sword. It had a strength and mind of it’s own as it cleared a path through the army of corpses like a scythe mows through wheat.

            Dimly, I heard a sound behind me. It was Majel, gasping “The square, Jarred! The square!” I altered our course and headed for the skeletal remains of what had once been a park square, on the far side of an upcoming intersection.

            We fled through an open gate in the low wall surrounding the park, and abruptly, I was forced to stop short. Four rotting corpses blocked the path, silent and unmoving. Enraged, I released Majel and drew my other sword. They hadn’t the means to resist my fury as I lit into them, swords hacking and mincing them mercilessly. Soon all four twitched helplessly on the blackened turf, lacking sufficient body parts to rise again.

            To my dismay, I discovered that, while I’d been dealing with those four, numerous others had encircled us. We were trapped. I screamed in disgusted rage. Loathe and hatred cursed through my veins as they closed in, shambling ridiculously on skewed limbs. Tensely I waited for them to get close enough for me to rip them open, and spill more of the foul, dark, clumpy substance that was their blood.

            Before I got my chance, however, a blood-curdling scream of terror pierced the night, and I turned to find Majel being pawed by another undead apparition.

            He had his arms around her from behind, and his naked hips were convulsing in an obscene motion. In his pathetic, mindless ignorance, he’d turned his back to me. Not caring how he’d managed to get between us, I stalked in. As his head lolled and his buttocks muscles flexed, I reached around to his face and grasped his gibbering chin. Jerking back violently, his filthy head came off in my hands. I slammed it on the ground and stomped it to mush as his body toppled slowly backwards.

            I reached for my dazed companion and swung her into my arms. She immediately put her arms around my neck and curled against my chest, trembling with relief. She was not safe, yet, though. With a warrior’s scream I charged and crashed through the line of corpses, knocking two of them to the ground.

            I could hear them moaning and scraping behind me as I ran for all I was worth, wind rushing past my face. I heard Majel croak my name, and “Straight ahead,” as I continued toward the center of the square.

            I was heading toward what appeared to be a single, wide column, leaning at a terrific angle. As I approached, I was surprised to see that it was actually a disembodied staircase, ending in mid-air. A lone corpse stood stupidly on the lowest stair, but immediately understanding the strategic ramifications of a dead-end staircase, I made a beeline for it.

            The corpse heard us approach and twisted it’s head around to face us. Disgusted, I saw that its face was starting to slide off it’s skull. I halted before it, it reached for us, and I administered a swift sidekick to its kneecap. The leg folded in half backwards with a crunch, and the ghoul toppled slowly off the stair, arms still stiffly outstretched.

            I mounted the stairs and sent Majel up. I climbed maybe six steps, turned, and drew my swords again, ready to defend the stairway all night if need be. Sunshine, appearing suddenly from the blackness, darted between my legs and shot up the stair. In my haste, I had forgotten all about the poor, terrified mongrel. I was glad he made it.

            Soon they came. An entire horde of them materialized from out of the darkness, moaning, tripping, mumbling, and stumbling towards me, mindless and slow. Driven by unspeakable sorceress they approached, with absolutely no thought save for destruction, my destruction. Rotted, maggot-infested claws reached for me, eager to add my shredded corpse to their ranks.

            I began my tireless dance. My swords sang a harmony of death as they rose to the sky, over and over again, raining down bone-crushing blow after bone-crushing blow. I piled their twitching body-parts about the base of the stair in a high mound, soaked with a variety of putrescent body fluids.

            Each hand that reached for me was severed, each skull that leered at me was lopped off, and every leg that mounted my stair was hacked away. And I remained unscathed, rising high above it all with every pore sweating thickly, and my mind as destructively blank as theirs. The only difference was that I still possessed the flower of life, and I would protect it fiercely, slaying each of them a million times over if I had to.

            And so there I was, arms pumping over and over again in a volley of blows that seemed to have no end, when I heard a voice, far away, calling my name.

            It took a moment to exhume my humanity form the dark soil of my mind before I recognized Majel’s voice.

            “Come this way, Jarred! Hurry, please !”

             I could not immediately recall where I’d left her.

            “Oh, God, Jarred, hurry!!! The door won’t stay open much longer!”

            I chanced a quick glance over my shoulder and saw Majel, leaning out of a rectangular pool of light at the head of the stair. After all I’d seen, I was not too surprised.

            “Please! God! Hurry! I can’t keep it open much longer!” There was a terrified edge to her voice and she beckoned dramatically.

            I yelled as I brought my swords over my head for a final strike. Two corpses were climbing the stairs abreast of each other. My swords streaked down, cleaving both of their heads to their clavicles. They fell backwards into their fiendish friends, temporarily confounding their ascent. I turned and thundered up the stairs.

            The portal flickered and shimmered as I approached. The vertical borders began to move toward each other, and I realized, with horror, that it was closing. I panicked.

            I dove from the last step, and seemed to fly in slow motion toward the white slit and worried face. My heart stilled when I realized that if I did not make it, I would plummet from the top of the stairs and break my neck on the ground, only to be set upon by decomposing jackals.

            I closed my eyes and waited for an eternity while I continued to be airborne. Then there was a bone-jarring impact. Stunned, I laid, for a moment, in a crumpled heap, wondering how many of my aches were indeed, broken bones. I was angry, frustrated, and terrified all at the same time. I waited with eyes shut tight for the first maggot-torn claw to sink into my tender flesh and begin to peel and rend it away.

            “Oh, thank-god, Jarred, you’ve made it, you’re safe!”

            Relieved, I collapsed even further. I could not yet open my eyes as I felt her lift my head and cradle it into her lap. I felt her warm, fragile hands lightly brushing my tangled, sweat-soaked hair out of my face as she sobbed out of pure joy. An excited dog was barking somewhere nearby. I was so grateful that stinging tears rolled from my own eyes. I tried to speak, but couldn’t force words around the knot in my throat.

            “Shh, it’s okay now. you’re safe.”

            We’d made it. To where, I didn’t know, but I’d safely seen us through unspeakable horror and grave danger, and the knowledge was more comforting than anything I’d ever felt before. Majel’s hands cupped my face tenderly and I sensed her face moving toward me. I knew what she was about to do, and it was fine and natural. I loved her too. It was the transcendent love of sacred friends that was eternal, and far too pure to be marred by the stigmatic pitfalls of romance. I was feeling fulfillment and satisfaction, and warm breath on my face as her lips lightly brushed my forehead. I opened my eyes and saw, for one fleeting instant, her young and beautiful face, filled with joy and sorrow, as she pulled away from me. I deeply regretted the return to reality, but it was inevitable. I could not comprehend what I was seeing beyond her.

            We were totally surrounded in white light, yet it was more. It was intensely bright, yet I had a sensation of unfathomable depth, with a multitude of life within it. I knew that it was someplace incomprehensible to the frail mind of a mortal, and sensed that it was safer not knowing it’s myriad wonders. My curiosity, however, was far too great.

            “What is this place?” I asked.

            Suddenly her manner became guarded. “Why, Jarred, what do you see?”

            “All I can see is this intense, white light, and it’s sort of pulsing, like a heartbeat. But I seem to feel life behind it. It’s hidden. . . Yet wonderful. Miraculous.”

            “Jarred can you sit up?”

            “Yes. I’m sore but I don’t think I’m injured.”

            “Good, let me help you.” She lifted while I rose to a sitting position. I sat for a moment trying to ignore the various aches and breathing heavy. Then she pointed. “What do you see over there?”

            I looked and saw nothing, then an image formed from the whiteness. “It’s a gate. A golden gate. . . And it’s slightly ajar.”

            She exhaled and seemed to be relieved. “Good, that means you are worthy. Not that I ever doubted it.” she ended with a smile. “Come, let’s go.”

            She helped me to my feet, and I stretched, greatly, acclimatizing myself to the dull pains. Then I picked up my weapons and followed her to the gate, while Sunshine, grateful to be out of the horrible city, trotted joyfully along behind.

            “Think of this place as a foyer. It’s far more than that, but it leads to a place where you will be safe.” An odd expression of sadness and humor settled on her face as she pushed open the gate, “Actually, you’ll be far beyond safe.”

            What I saw beyond the gate astounded me. . . No, I must say I was completely floored by what I saw.

            We were looking into a fragrant garden completely filled with sensuous women. There were tidy hedges, and pools, and fountains with sculpted marble nudes. Rich red roses were generously scattered about among stone benches, gnarly fruit trees and whitewashed, latticed gazebos. The women, though. . . The women were glorious to behold.

            Those that were clothed wore only short, white tunics, made of a simple, filmy gauze. They were women of all colors and sizes, yet all were the picture of perfection in feminine poise and graceful beauty. The absence of clothing was compensated for by an abundance of shining gold and glittering gems. Each piece of jewelry was extravagant and priceless and the items were lavished thickly about their wrists, ankles, necks, navels, and ears.

            The women lounged about, draped over benches, talking softly in groups, or splashing in the pools. At least half of them were engaged in some type of artistic pursuit. Many groups of musicians added to a pleasing cacophony of melodies of all styles and moods. They strummed lutes, plucked harps, blew sadly on pipes and cheerfully on flutes, and crashed cymbals together joyfully while others danced and sang the choruses. Many women sat alone, apart form the rest, writing with quills or sketching and painting the natural wonders of the gardens. The few who noticed us nodded in greeting with warm smiles.

            To my shame, I suddenly noticed that I was gawking at them. I snapped my mouth shut and turned to Majel, totally bewildered.

            “What is this place?”

            “It is called ‘The Seraglio of No-Man’.” The same mixture of sorrow and humor was on her face.

            “You mean they’re all. . . w****s?”

            “Heavens, no Jarred! They’re courtesans at best, for it is extremely rare that any man ever sets foot here. It may appear to be a man’s paradise, but I assure you, it is not. It is more of a woman’s retreat. These women were all admitted into the order because they had sufficient need or desire to escape the outside world, the stifling world of men. Here they are free to develop their minds and respective artistic abilities without the insistent influence of men. They all have skills, or artistic abilities, or ideas that benefit the order, and none may enter that are counterproductive to the order. That’s partially the purpose of the ‘foyer’. If you were a man of arrogant opinion, or extreme lust, you would have been confronted by visions that were. . . shall we say, a bit more sinister. In any case, it may interest you to know that, at one time, I tried to join the order.” The humor faded, and left pure sadness as Majel bent down and picked up Sunshine. She cradled him, tenderly stroking him behind the ears.

            After a moment of deep silence she spoke again, “Since the money was stolen, this is all I can think of to repay you with. These women are happy here, yet they are starved for the company of a man.” At that moment, I believe Majel was more unhappy than I’d ever seen her. She thrust Sunshine into my arms and turned to leave as she said, “Good-bye, my sweet Jarred, you may stay here as long as you wish.”

            “What!? Majel, wait! Where are you going?”

            “Please, Jarred, I’ve got to take care of my business now.” She stopped with her back to me, yet she did not return. She simply stood there, sadly, with a bowed head and slumped shoulders.

            “Well. . . can I come with you?”

            “What?” Then she turned, an odd expression was on her face. “Don’t you want to stay and frolic with the women?”

            I looked at the courtesans, imagining the myriad of possibilities, yet never truly considering staying. “No, they’re not for me. Sure they’re seductive and beautiful, but I’m a mountain man. My place is alone among the solid reality of rocks and mountains. I’ve no use for fantasies. Besides, I think you may need me by your side while you’re ‘taking care of business’.”

            I could’ve sworn that for a brief moment, hope shined through her eyes. Then, abruptly, it was gone.

            “No, I absolutely do not.”

            “Yes, you absolutely do.”

            “Jarred, you don’t understand,” she pleaded, “I cannot allow you to come with me!” Her voice cracked and she started to cry.

            “You don’t have to allow me, I’ll just follow you wherever you go until you kill me.” She laughed a little, despite the tears. “Look, Majel, I’m vowing to myself, right now, on my honor as a gentleman, to stay by your side until the very end, so I can be holding your hand when whatever happens will happen. Now I’ve never broken my word, milady, so please, I beg of you, let me stay with you. It’s a matter of honor now.”

            “Very well, Jarred,” her smile was actually grateful, “put that way, I could never refuse you now. But I think you may find yourself far too busy to be holding my hand.”

            With that, she turned and began walking, somewhat briskly, toward a stone footpath. When I’d caught up to her, she told me “My business lies within the house of the Chancellor.” She had an air of determination about her, now, and I feared to distract her with questions. I knew that, soon, the mystery would be over anyway, and so I waited for understanding.  Instead I contented myself with enjoying the splendor of the garden.

            The path wound lackadaisically through the gardens, as if it existed more for aesthetic value than practicality. We passed leisurely by lilac trees, sunflowers, and endless green bushes displaying robust, blood-red roses. Several groups of women called cheerfully to us, inviting us to join their pleasant activities. We declined, politely, each time. Only once was I truly tempted to linger. We had passed a raised platform upon which several women in volumous, gaily-colored gowns were acting out some form of a play. I could not understand the delicate tongue they spoke, but I was intrigued by their body language. They seemed to be expressing a theme of royal formality by their lofty, erect poses, and broad, smooth gestures. I was fascinated and wanted sorely to stay and watch, and figure out what was happening, but Majel never slowed. Regretfully, I left them behind.

            The gardens were much larger then I would have imagined, filled with a seemingly infinite population of passionately beautiful women. The path continued to wind, between small hillocks covered with lush and green, closely-trimmed grass, and over small, arched, stone footbridges that spanned babbling, crystalline brooks. My pace count told me that we had walked nearly a mile (a mile bursting with eye-pleasing wonderment) before we finally approached a building.

            I was surprised to note that the house of the chancellor was built form the same monumental, blocky architecture as the ruins. Yet while those structures were rundown, and assumed belligerent, male aspects, this building was sound, delicate, and extremely feminine. Tall, fluted columns, while thick and massive, ended at frilly, vegetative capitals. These lined the front, and stretched halfway down the sides of the gigantic structure. Smooth marble stairs began beyond the columns, leading up to a set of tall double doors set in an arched recess. The lintel of the arch was gold-plated and carved into a leafy design, while the posts were formed by two dancing nudes, carved in relief, and painted pearly white. The jewels these sculptures wore were authentic; a veritable kings ransom in diamonds and sterling silver.

            As the path led us closer to the building, I could see that it was constructed of neat, glossy blocks, light gray in color, and perfectly smooth with thin lines of white mortar in between them. A deep green, leafy ivy clung to the flanking walls, ending just before a heavy eave. This was decorated by a black and turquoise frieze portraying the women of the garden festively going about their normal activities.

            A short while later we passed between the soaring columns and mounted the marble stairs. As we climbed, our boots made a slapping noise which reverberated through the cavernous colonnaded portico. We reached the top, and Majel, never slowing, pushed her way through the lacquered walnut doors.

            We found ourselves in a wide aisle with several black doors lining each wall. Paintings, sculptures, and woven tapestries, all bursting with color, were crowded into the spaces between each door, and were displayed on easels down the center of the aisle. This place must have served as their art-gallery. The aisle ended quite a ways down at a row of slender columns. Beyond this appeared to be a great hall.

            Majel never paused to examine any of the artworks, instead, she stalked down the aisle, never looking to her right or left. I continued to follow her until she finally stopped, in front of the fifth door to the right.

            Majel stood there, fists clenched at her sides and nose inches from the door. She was very silent and very still, as if concentrating, for a very long time. I dared not disturb her. Instead I looked at her dustmop of a hound, he sat back on his haunches and yawned, then looked expectantly as his matron, as if she were about to throw him a bone.

            I neither saw, heard, nor felt anything from Majel, yet I could sense powerful forces gathering within her, and my scalp began to prickle. My pulse rose and adrenaline surged through me in violent waves. We were alone in the hall, yet I knew that danger, black and wicked, was nearby. It tasted powerful, and I began to get scared, feeling inferior to the threat. I nervously unslung my bow and nocked an arrow. I did not know what waiting evil had me so nervous, but I swore to myself that, whatever it was, it would feel the searing fire of a swift arrow before it destroyed me.

            And then, without warning, the door exploded away from us.

            So violent was the force of the invisible blast, that only match-sized splinters zipped through the air into the dusky bedchamber.

            “Allister!” Majel’s thin voice shrieked, sending another chill through me. “I’ve come to reclaim what you’ve stolen.”

            Three nude garden-nymphs streaked from the canopied bed and scurried for the corners of the spacious flat. A handsome young man with dark hair, stripped to the waist, smiled maliciously from his reclined position on the bed. He laughed at Majel, a dark, cruel laugh, then gestured towards her with an absent-minded flip of his hand. Several pitch black shapes bled forth from the shadow beneath the bed and streaked toward Majel in a dark blur.

            The wispy blobs wrapped themselves around her and began constricting. Majel, her face red, tried to resist, but could not; they simply held her too tightly.

            Finally I stepped from behind her and drew deeply on my bow. I released the arrow and it made a sharp hiss as it streaked towards the young sorcerer’s exposed ribcage. Slowly, almost casually, he waved his hand with a wolfish smile.

            The arrow burst into flames, incinerating instantly. Harmless black ashes drifted to the floor. Looking smug, the man put his hands behind his head and reclined even deeper into his thick pillows.

            I glanced at Majel to check on her progress with the shadows and rage flared in my chest. A black tendril had slithered up and wrapped itself around Majel’s throat. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale as she gasped for breath and staggered drunkenly. Throwing my bow aside, I rushed to her to try to pull the thing off, yet my hands merely passed through it as if it were truly only a shadow. For Majel, though, the dark spawn was painfully solid.

            I screamed desperately at the man, “Release her, you fiend!”

            “I’m greatly sorry, sir, but at the present time, I do not feel inclined to do so.” His eyes sparkled and he smiled mischievously. “Ooh, wait! How ‘bout if we fight about it?”

            He sprang out of the bed and began dancing a silly little, circular jig. After he danced the last step, He clapped his hands together twice, still in time to the music. Then he swung them to his sides and brilliant white light exploded momentarily in each palm. Then the light faded back to normal, revealing him to be holding twin black rapiers with a thin wisp of smoke curling form each tip.

             He seemed to be feeling quite festive as he looked back at me and said, “Damn it’s good to be young!”

            Just then, Majel passed out from lack of air. I caught her and lowered her gently to the floor. I remained over her in a kneeling position for a brief moment, hoping beyond hope and blindly furious. I knew that it was now up to me to try to kill the gloating madman and release his nameless evil grip on Majel. I had precious few moments, and if I were to fail, she would die.

            I stood and freed my blades as Allister advanced on me, smiling and swinging his ethereal swords in swirling, playful flourishes. Spiraling patterns were formed by the trail of smoke his points were leaving behind. Taking a chance that the man was as overconfident as he appeared, I darted in, low and quick, with one sword extended forward and the other ready to block.

            With a smooth side-step, Allister’s black blades dipped down to meet mine, and he spun, circling his swords behind him, then back around front to catch me as I passed. Thankfully, I had prepared for this. I had not expected a man so young to be so skilled. I could already tell that he was as experienced a swordsman as any man ten years his senior.

            After my clumsy block, I snapped back into my normal fighting stance, ready to meet him. Grinning, he swung at me with a ridiculously wide side-swing, I raised my defense, and then out swords never met; it was a feint. Quickly I shifted my block to the other side, and sure enough, that blade was well on its way to my throat. Again, Allister halted his slash in mid-air; another feint. Again I shifted, and again I met only air. He was toying with me, I could tell by his smile. I was incensed. Before he could launch another dummy, my left rapier darted towards his windpipe. His rapier flashed in more quickly than I’d ever seen a sword move before, and my thrust was slapped away, long before I’d even gotten close.

            Allister smirked almost disinterestedly and began a flurry of swift attacks, that to me, was rain, thunder, and lightning. Yet he acted as though he might yawn at any moment.

            My arms swiftly became sorely fatigued from the desperate effort to trying to keep up with him. My blade would lurch to one place, suffer a bone-jarring impact, and then instantly have to be in another place to experience another shattering blow. There was no time to rest or recover. It seemed each block was a minute fraction of a second slower then the one before, barely making it by an alarmingly greater margin each time. Allister, though, never slowed.

            He was tireless and powerful, and it seemed that he would continue his battering onslaught forever, of at least until he grew bored. For the first time in my life, I was severely outclassed. I realized that soon, only a short moment from now, there would be a strike that I could not block, and I would be defeated.

            I would die.

            I began to panic. The four swords clattered and rang against each other, dashing and twirling so fast, that the eye could not keep up, much less the mind. A dizzying blur raged between us, moving ever closer to my body regardless of how many times I stepped back.

            He looked coolly at me over the miniature battlefield between us. He must have been seeing a ragged, frightened face, dripping sweat and gagging on the clouds of smoke his weapons had created. I was ashamed, and enraged because of my shame. I wanted so much to just be able to cleave that smug expression. I yearned to be allowed to see my sword resting deep between two identical halves of his head. And at this point, I did see something.

            Allister had been methodically maneuvering me toward the rear wall of the bedchamber, and soon he was between Majel and me. It was then that I saw our audience, over his shoulder, with my peripheral vision.

            A small crowd of women had entered the room and stood well back covering their mouths and eyes. Several of them were kneeling on the floor over a limp, supine body. The shadows were gone, and that meant only one thing; their work was done and Majel was dead.

            Suddenly a new strength entered my arms. In that moment, I had been catapulted utterly beyond any rage I’d ever felt before. Hatred exploded within me in crushing red waves of anger that added superhuman power to my violence. My lips parted and a shrieking, bloodthirsty cry spilt forth, and would not end.

            Screaming, I began wildly hacking away at him with blows that could shatter towers. I sliced with enough power to cleave a stone wall, I slashed with enough strength to topple the mightiest of trees, and then I jabbed with enough force to punch a hole straight through the most solid mountain in the Grayhearts.

            The tables were turned. Now it was he who tried vainly to match his blocks with my blows. It was his turn to stare across the razor-sharp maelstrom with wild eyes and sweating brow, for it was he who now panicked, realizing that each of his blocks was just a hair slower than the one before.

            And still I screamed. I was berserk. My battle rage was so total that I was conscious of nothing but my new identity; I was now the man who had been put on the Earth to murder Allister, and then bathe in his blood.

            For a moment, Allister had been the most fabulous swordsman I’d ever met. That having failed him, he reverted to his profane sorceries to save his miserable skin. Even in my mindless rage, I understood why he then began to mumble, yet I knew that it could not help him. I let him chant until I could see hope in his eyes, and then, knowing that he was near the end of his spell, I slipped my foot in between the flying blades and planted a kick squarely on his chest. His face dropped as he lost his spell staggering backwards.

            Cruelly, I pressed my advantage, but the b*****d barely managed to maintain his guard. It could have only been sheer luck, for I saw in his eyes that he had just realized how doomed he was. Allister was breathing his final breaths, and my insane battle cry turned into laughter;  the insidious laughter of a madman. Dogged and dominated, Allister was backed into the very wall he had tried to trap me against.

            His death was close, I could feel it. It was only a few more blows away. He had lost hope and his guard was floundering, while my strikes were majestic and pure. He had already lost and I had already won, we both knew it. I felt a rushing surge of joy as I cocked back both my swords for the final attack that would sever his life, and then Allister won.

            I was paralyzed.

            As death descended on him, he simply dropped his weapons and held forth his hands as if to catch each of my razor-sharp blades. My arms just halted, they froze in mid-air. Suddenly I was a stone sculpture of a warrior administering a death blow, except for the fact that I had suddenly become the loser of the battle.

            Allister’s horrified expression melted into a pure mask of relief. Eyes shining, the handsome young man shook his head. “I must say, Milord, you really had me worried for a moment. Tis been decades since any man’s come close to besting me.”

            The chamber was silent as Allister walked a slow circle around my frozen form, studying me. He returned to my front and watched me with amusement for a long moment. “Imagine. . . The likes of you nearly defeating one so powerful as I. It must be a sign that I’ve become too confident. . . Yes, that’s it. . . I must not underestimate my opponents so casually. Many thanks to you for the message, my friend. I hope the smile hasn’t fooled you, though, I’m actually quite angry with you. Therefore, I must kill you in a way that is succulent and torturous.”

            He nodded once, then extended his hand before him. Then slowly he clenched it into a strained fist. As his fingers closed I realized the nature of his torture.

            I was in the grip of a gigantic, invisible hand and it, too, was slowly closing. It’s brute strength forced the air out of my lungs. Their soft muscles tried vainly to expand again, but could not. The hand was cold and strong and would not relent until I was smashed putty. The pressure was unbearable and, not being able to breathe, I was sufficiently panic stricken, then the slowly increasing force on my ribs began to snap them, one by one, like thin, dry twigs. If I’d had the breath, I would have squealed in agony, yet I was denied even that. I felt my eyes bulging and a thick rope of drool hanging from my bottom lip, while Allister sighed with an almost affectionate amusement.

            The b*****d stood there, killing me slowly, with a wistful, loving look on his face. But it was not love for me that made him seem so nostalgic, it was love of death, and more specifically, love of cold-blooded murder. God, how I wished I could scream.

            The soulless fiend still added more bone-crushing pressure with each passing second. My head was dizzy and spinning and felt like it was inflating. I was sure that at any moment it would burst, providing a forceful outlet for my pressurized innards. A sweet teardrop rolled down the young man’s beaming cheek and hopelessly, I resigned myself to death. My last wish was that none of my internal gore would splatter onto the sensual goddess’s standing behind me in horror.

            My loss of consciousness was accompanied by strange, surreal visions. A gnarled hand clapping over Allister’s face, brilliant white light spilling from between the arthritic knuckles, a fierce hissing, then everything was washed away in the bright light.

            I found myself on my hands and knees breathing harder and more deeply than I ever had before. My head was throbbing and intense pain burned in my chest cavity. I looked for my executioner.

            I found him and, at that moment, saw him for what he really was, as a graceful, supple hand pulled away from his face. Allister was, perhaps, the most ancient human being I’ve ever laid eyes on. I first noticed the few wisps of bone-white hair clinging tenaciously to a pale, misshapen scalp, covered in brown splotches and blue winding veins. Loose folds of withered flesh hung loosely form his face, making it appear to be caving in around the nose. His eyeholes hung about a half-an-inch too far down his cheeks, revealing the moist, glistening, red and yellow tissue below his sunken, bloodshot eyes. Overall, his face was the most intricate web of wrinkles and ruts I’d ever seen. Even the flesh between the lines in his face was textured with more, smaller wrinkles. Finally his mouth, it hung open as if he’d just been screaming in terror (I was sorry I’d missed that). He had not a single tooth, and his tongue and gums had a charcoal-gray pallor, interrupted only by shining, blood-red sores. These colors, a moment later, were replaced by a singular tan hue, as was the entire structure of the being called Allister. His clothing, flesh, and hair were soon all the same pale yellow color. He had been turned to sand!

            Once the process was complete, each grain simultaneously dropped from its place in the sculpture, and landed in a shapeless mound. Standing above and behind the pile of sand was the most perfect achievement of delicate beauty.

            It was Majel, and her face was young.

            As our eyes met, I knew that this was no trick of magic, this was the true Majel, now free of whatever dark power had had her in it’s curse.

            There were no words fitting the depth of that moment. I was speechless and could only stare in wonder at this face. A small, full mouth, thick, rich eyebrows, luxurious black curls pulled back in the girlish style; it was the exact face I’d pictured two days before, in the scoop.

            Without looking away from those deep brown eyes, I could sense people surging in around us. They were chattering. My consciousness caught only snatches of their conversation.

            “. . .Allister the whole time.”

            “. . . he was banned for. . . “

            “. . . sick fiend.”

            “I can’t believe I actually. . .”

            Then another, more forceful authoritative voice spoke directly to us. “Whoever you are, thank-you. He was not welcome here, but unfortunately, we did not recognize him. May I ask how you knew?”

            Regretfully, our spell was broken. Hesitantly, our eyes disengaged and focused on the speaker. This, presumably, was the Chancellor. She was a tall red-haired woman slightly older than the rest, yet no less beautiful. She was nude but for a thick golden circlet clustered with emeralds and rubies poised gracefully atop her flaming twisting tresses. In her hand stood a tall, dignified staff of carved gold and surmounted by an orb of smooth, rich, green glass. I stood, out of respect.

            Distractedly, Majel spoke to her in a soft voice that was like a summer’s breeze rustling the leaves on the trees. “Allister was the brother of my great, great grandfather. He retained me as his apprentice when I was a child, and then stole my youth and left me for dead. All so he could come here and fulfill his perverse fantasies.”

            After Majel spoke, a young blonde woman leaned in and whispered in the Chancellor’s ear. The Chancellor nodded and spoke.

            “Would you be Majel Holiraven, of Oakroot-Shire?”

            Majel nodded.

            “Well then. We had no idea you were so. . . talented. I think, after today’s events, that I simply must grant your request to join the order. You’d be a truly welcome addition to our way of life.”

            Majel looked at me briefly, then laughed musically, putting a delicate hand to her mouth. She looked back at the Chancellor, still smiling. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. You see, I made that request when I thought all men were like my uncle. And now. . .” 

            She looked back at me, her smile now gone, replaced by a deep, unfathomable expression. My heart skipped a beat as the wondrous creature walked toward me, slowly, never altering her intense lock on my eyes. She stopped mere inches from my body, and I think I began to tremble. Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned in, and her soft, warm mouth brushed against mine.

            I felt her breath warmly on my cheek as she said the words;

            “I’m in love.”