Chapter 3

     For each of the last three days, Seth went through the same ritual. He ransacked Arnnon's cave. He threw over Arnnon's bed, tossing covers everywhere. Next, he proceeded to Arnnon's desk and trunk. There the procedure started anew. The contents of the desk were thrown on the floor, and then the contents of the trunk. He searched the wall next, no corner escaping scrutiny. Finally, everything was searched a second time. This time, dymen were summoned, who searched with such fury that Seth had to stand back to avoid being knocked down.

     Seth was disappointed. As he suspected, the Master had either used or taken the Mage-Balm Flower. He had hoped, however, that the Master would have left behind a few of the magical artifacts that Seth had become dependent upon, but apparently Arnnon had taken these too. He remembered how he had once begged his Master to give him his gazing mirror. Arnnon had laughed, saying that the mirror was a miserable creation of his youth. Arnnon insisted that one day Seth would create more useful artifacts, and that the most useful gift Arnnon could give him was knowledge of magic. Seth had since learned the truth of his Master's words, but still wondered why the Master would not give him the mirror. After all, Arnnon himself never used it, and it would certainly be useful now.

     Having finally given up the search for magical artifacts, Seth was ready to leave. Fakir had saddled Seth's large dappled gray mare and his own small black steed, throwing the supplies over the back of their packhorse. Now Fakir wore his old studded leather armor and a short sword at his side. A long war hammer hung from his horse. As Fakir saddled the horses, he began to daydream. The horses were given to them by Seth's father, and Arnnon kindly had kept the horses from aging. Fakir was glad. He had grown greatly attached to his small steed. His horse provided a tie to his past, to the old times. Fakir remembered Seth's father's last words. Gray-well died in a bar room scuffle he had entered to help Fakir. Before he died, he asked Fakir to look after his son. That had been 15 years ago. Seth's father told Fakir to seek out the sorcerer, Arnnon, who had been a friend in the past. Fakir had to gather all of his courage to overcome his distrust of magic and bring his small charge to Arnnon's cave. He soon discovered, however, that he had found a great friend in the sorcerer.

     Fakir thought back on his chance meeting with Gray-well. Gray-well was on the road between Morith and Sentin's End and was then engaged in profitable trade between Mindis-Sadir and the great city of Elsor on the southern coast. He had just been to Morith to consult Seers on business matters when he met Fakir. Fakir, who normally thieved out of cities, was trying his hand at highway robbery and had set an elaborate trap along the Morith road. Gray-well was to be the first victim. Fakir waited cautiously in the bushes and released a great net as Gray-well entered the trap. Fakir immediately rushed in, but found Gray-well off his horse, sword in hand, and a shredded net around his feet. In the battle that followed, Gray-well, an expert swordsman, had easily cuffed Fakir soundly on the head with the hilt of his sword. Instead of finishing off the unconscious dwarf, Gray-well took water from his saddle and splashed it on Fakir's face. When Fakir woke, he learned that Gray-well had become aware of the dwarf and his trap through the powers of a magic ring. He had continued pretending to be unaware of the trap, knowing that surprise and his greater size would be more than a match for the dwarf.

     Looking back on that incident, Fakir remembered with fondness his first meeting with Seth’s father. However, it was also this experience that sealed in him the ancestral hate of his people for magic.  After this meeting with Gray-well, Fakir had sworn never again to be bested by such trickery and had acquired quite a nose for smelling out things magical. Fakir continued in his daydreaming as he swung up into his horse's saddle. He sighed, remembering the “good old times,” and wished he could rejoin the friends of his past.

     “Let's go,” called Seth, as his horse pulled away from Fakir. Fakir said nothing and followed, still lost in the past. To the rear, the caves they had called home for many years grew smaller in the distance. As they rode away, dust devils rose from the ground, tearing foliage from nearby trees and shrubs, and the wind blew them toward the caves, covering the entrances.

          ****               ****

     The week of rest was passed comfortably by Pilar and her friends. However Pilar was greatly disappointed. This was indeed the town with which her father had traded. However the men that dealt with Fol-bear apparently had their own problems with trade to the west. They had left months ago to find out what was wrong. They had not returned and their shops now stood empty. Pilar was eager to go home, but couldn’t bear the thought of failure. Somehow she had to set things right and to go further west herself to see what was going on. This, however, was more than she bargained for, and her warrior instincts said there must be trouble waiting for them. So she and Tarkin inquired with the innkeeper about the possibility of hiring a local guide. The innkeeper told them that the lust for adventure was unknown in the town. They were simple farmers, thinking of nothing more than tending their fields and working hard for a living. The innkeeper advised them, however, that a well-traveled man by the name of Grendale lived several days ride up the road, and that they might gain valuable information if they talked to him. Pilar and Tarkin thanked the innkeeper again for his hospitality and the party left the town, riding into what now felt as a strange and unknown land.

     Despite Pilar’s misgivings, the countryside surrounding the town was peaceful. The road to the west was in excellent condition and bordered on each side by gently sloping farmlands and pastures filled with grazing cows. Occasionally, small cottages with lazy smoke rising from their chimneys could be seen in the distance, making the company feel at ease and happy to be on the road. By nightfall, the travelers had covered a large distance and eagerly settled down to their meal and beds.

     The following morning was crisp and followed by a warm sunny day. Past mid-day, the road had taken them to the foot of a range of hills that extended from the north to the south, covering the entire western horizon. Tomorrow, they would climb into these hills. This afternoon they had stopped early to camp on the southern tip of a large grove of trees. They hoped that these trees would provide some protection against the storm that was gathering over the hills. Since the storm seemed to pose no immediate threat, everyone was engaged in lively conversation. Pilar had even broken out some of Bal'ma-ki's ale.

     As they casually passed the time, Jess noticed a faint trail of smoke rising from deep within the grove of trees. Conversation immediately shifted to the smoke. It was decided that Pilar and Tarkin would investigate while the others tended camp and began building the evening fire.

     Pilar and Tarkin unpacked their horses and removed their heavy armor so that they could travel faster. In a few moments they were ready to go. Both hung their weapons loosely from their saddles and mounted their horses. Before they left, they were given bows and quivers. They now appeared to be nothing more than two hunters foraging through the forest.

     As Pilar and Tarkin entered the grove, they discovered a small winding path leading toward the smoke. They briefly glanced at each other in surprise. The forest path was surprisingly well tended. Even the branches of some of the trees had been cut back and there was a small wooden bridge over a briskly running stream. After a few minutes, their horses led them to a clearing. In the middle of the wide grassy area stood a curious cottage. The walls of the cottage were predominantly constructed from stone. Large sections of the walls, however, had been repaired with wooden beams as if the cottage had sustained massive damage. The door was open and smoke rose from the chimney.

     Pilar and Tarkin tied their horses to low growing scrub near the clearing boundary, and started toward the cabin through the high grass which slapped at their knees as they walked. Upon approaching the cottage, they could see a dull glow from the door. With no windows to peer through, Tarkin climbed up onto the low porch, walked to the open door, and knocked while scanning the room. A fire burned in the fireplace. There was no reply.

     Tarkin looked down at Pilar and motioned for her to join him on the porch. Tarkin then pushed the door open wider. Across the room sat a man in a crudely worked leather jerkin, eating from a large wood bowl with a huge wooden spoon.

     “Welcome,” he said. “What do you want?” He then quickly added, “Come on in and close the door, it's getting cold outside.”

     Both Pilar and Tarkin were startled. Tarkin was especially rattled by the presence of the man, since he had been certain that the cottage was empty. Pilar and Tarkin entered the room, pulling the door closed behind them.

     With the door closed, the cabin was quite dark. Pilar and Tarkin stood barely out of the doorway waiting for their eyes to adjust to the dim light. Only the occasional crackling of the fire that threw bright sparks from the fireplace disturbed the silence. The grave stillness increased their nervousness. Gradually their eyes could make out the huge man sitting across the room. The man continued to eat calmly out of the bowl that seemed to contain a thick porridge.

     “Well, what do you want?” asked the man in a louder voice. An awkward silence followed. Finally Pilar spoke up.

     “We're looking for someone,” she stated. “We were told to talk to Grendale.”

     “That's me,” the man said as he pushed his chair aside and rose from the table. Once standing, both Pilar and Tarkin were amazed at his large size. He stood a full cubit taller than Tarkin. His hands were huge, and the firelight glinted brightly off the large yellow stoned ring on his left hand. His hair was pulled together in the back and was fair of color, the exact shade difficult to determine in the firelight.

     “We were told that you were knowledgeable about the lands to the west,” said Pilar.

     “I have been known to wander those parts,” Grendale replied.

     “We were wondering,” added Tarkin, “if you could tell us what to expect west of the hills. Is there anything a traveler should know before venturing to those lands?”

     “Well,” replied the large man thoughtfully, “you come at an especially bad time.” He paused. “Not that any time is especially good,” he added, “but the west is troubled right now.”

     “Oh,” queried Pilar. “In what way?”

     There was a momentary silence. Grendale rubbed his chin. “Well,” began Grendale, “that's a long story that I'd rather not get into.” Grendale paused again, then continued. “But you should be warned that powerful magics have been unleashed in the west, and the countryside is under attack.”

     “Under attack? What do you mean?” asked Tarkin.

     “As I've said,” replied Grendale, “the story is involved and I’ve not the stomach for it. Just remember the land is dangerous. Finish your business quickly and leave as swiftly as you can.”

     With that, the big man sat down and picked up his spoon. “Good bye and good luck,” he said.

     “Wait,” complained Pilar. “We've come a long way! We know there's trouble to the west, but we need to know what kind! Can't you help us?” Pilar could see in the dim light that Grendale looked up from the table. His face was hidden in shadow and featureless.

     “I said I'd rather not discuss this!” insisted Grendale in a sterner voice. Silence followed. The fire crackled louder.

     Pilar and Tarkin became exceedingly nervous, reading strange emotions in Grendale's voice. Finally, Tarkin spoke. “Surely, sir, you want to help us. We...”

     “No!” injected Grendale. “The west is best left alone. If you must go there, go ahead! I won't stop you.” Again silence. Grendale's tone changed. In a more civil voice he continued. “There's grain and water out back for your horses if they need some. Good bye!”

     Pilar and Tarkin felt uncertain. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Tarkin whispered, “Come on.” They briskly filed out of the cottage, closing the door softly behind them.

     Outside the cottage both Pilar and Tarkin paused a moment staring at each other, not knowing quite what to do. “Does your horse need water or anything?” asked Tarkin.

     “No, I don't think so. Let's get out of here,” returned Pilar.

     Both travelers were soon on their horses and vanished into the forest, wondering how they would explain their strange encounter with Grendale, and the meaning of the dangers lying to the west. Pilar was full of mixed emotions. Here at last was adventure.

Reviews

[Hadewijch Lady of the N..]

Wonderfull writing! I loved this so very, very much. The characters are very interesting. your words bring me into antoher world. well done!


Hadewijch

[Ice Girl]

Pretty good! I loved it!

[Charles D. Moorer]

The story continues to flow very nicely; the way this chapter ends sets up the decision, do we or don't we go to the west knowing that there is trouble there. The languageis spot on and you can sense the tension building. Nicely done.

[James Watts]

This is just amazing writing. If an agent turns this down they are blind idiots. I take my hat off to you, sir, for I think I can learn a bit from you. I love this story.