quest of the rune sword - authorsden.com · 2020. 8. 8. · quest of the rune sword 5 night, while...

Quest of the Rune Sword 1

Michael R. Ault

5035 Forest Run Trace

Alpharetta, Ga 30022

770-754-9056

[email protected]

QUEST OF THE RUNE SWORD

A Novel by

By Michael R. Ault


Prolog: Of Fair Lahilda .................................................................................................................................................3

CHAPTER ONE: Call to Duty ....................................................................................................................................12

CHAPTER TWO: Elfhome - The Quest Begins ...........................................................................................................27

CHAPTER THREE: The River Kord ...........................................................................................................................35

CHAPTER FOUR: Fallon's Song .................................................................................................................................41

CHAPTER FIVE: To The Inn of the Sword .................................................................................................................49

CHAPTER SIX: The Three Stones ...............................................................................................................................58

CHAPTER SEVEN: Gondors People ..........................................................................................................................65

CHAPTER EIGHT: Kord's Keep .................................................................................................................................71

CHAPTER NINE: Jorgan Kord ...................................................................................................................................74

CHAPTER TEN: To Test the Keep, The Trial of Ritha and Balkor .............................................................................80

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Respite and Explorations..........................................................................................................88

CHAPTER TWELVE: To Test The Keep, The Trial of Shoran and Fornel ..................................................................97

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Khan ............................................................................................................................102

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Queen of the Khan .....................................................................................................105

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Contest ...................................................................................................................................111

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: To the Village of the Folk ......................................................................................................116

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Thane...............................................................................................................................127

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Anvil Top ...........................................................................................................................139

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Return to Elfhome..............................................................................................................145

CHAPTER TWENTY: New Companion ...................................................................................................................161

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Balkor's Leave Taking ..................................................................................................165

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: To Close the Gate ........................................................................................................169


Prolog: Of Fair Lahilda

The harsh north wind moaned through the stark oak trees that lined the empty country road.

The trees were lifeless, for all the leaves had fled months ago with the approach of winter. The

wind almost concealed the crunch of worn boot heels on the cinder surface. A solitary traveler,

hunched against the cold, dry, biting wind, limped slowly toward the only comfort in that

winter landscape, a rundown inn. A thin trail of smoke crept up from its broken chimney

toward the clear sky where diamond-bright stars were beginning to glitter like so much broken

glass. A wooden sign bearing a faded painting of a broken sword, hung on rusted chains,

squeaked and banged in the wind.

The traveler moved stiffly up the worn stone stairs to the plank door of the Inn. Taking the

verdigris-encrusted knocker in hand, he struck three times. The third knock was barely

complete when the door squeaked open, revealing a large, potbellied man wearing a greasy

apron.

"Are ye comin' in or do I stand here and catch my death man?" the innkeeper asked gruffly,

eyeing the traveler up and down.


The traveler took a worn hat from his head. In the yellow light that spilled from the door it

appeared that he was very old.

"I fear I have no money Inn Keeper, but for a bit of stew and a corner of the hearth I'll spin a

tale or two to entertain your guests." He stood shivering as the inn keeper glared at him.

"I don't give charity old man. But ye can warm yer self by the fire, and if yer tale is a good

one, perhaps another traveler will pay yer keep" the Inn Keeper said, a mere hint of kindness in

his manner.

"Thank you sir, and may the Gods favor you for your kindness."

"Enough chat, get yer self in or be gone." The Inn Keeper had to stand aside to let the old man

limp through the door.

Inside, the inn appeared clean, though worn. Smoking tapers of an inferior grade of wax were

set at intervals along the dining area table. The fire in the fireplace burned fitfully as the wind

caused the draw to run ragged. On either side of the fireplace there hung a ship's lantern,

although as yet unlit. Above the mantle was the owner's pride and joy: one of the long swords

used in the goblin wars, supposedly by his grandfather. As the old man saw the sword, his eyes

brightened and his hand clenched, as if it held one of the gleaming weapons of old. In a moment

his eyes dulled and his hand relaxed.

As he made his way over to the hearth, the eyes of the other guests followed his large,

limping form. He settled near the fire, and the other patrons resumed their low talk and

continued eating. After a few minutes, the old man removed his long cloak and hat and placed

them next to his seat at the hearth. Under his outer garments he wore a worn leather jerkin and

threadbare trousers. On the back of the jerkin, the faint heraldry of a noble house, long since

gone form the world of men, could still be made out.

At a signal from the Inn Keeper, a plain faced serving girl brought a bowl of mutton stew to

the old man. Looking up, he smiled at the Inn Keeper, who scowled back.

"Remember yer story fer later old man" he said, turning to go through the batwing doors into

the kitchen area.

As the night drew on, the other guests finished their meals and the dishes were cleared away.

As it grew darker, the Inn Keeper lit the ship's lanterns and adjusted their wicks, until the

flames held steady and their light filled the common room. A few of the guests retired for the


night, while the others ordered wine or ale or lit up bowls of scented tobacco. Some used the

Inn's clay pipes, deftly breaking off the used portion of the stems and clenching the resulting

clean, white stems in their teeth as they lit them.

With a look that warned of the cold outside, the Inn Keeper signaled to the old man. Clearing

his throat, the old man spoke in a dry, husky voice. As the story began, the light that had briefly

flashed as he saw the sword grew again in his eyes. With no other sound but the crack of the

fire, all the patrons listened, mesmerized, to the tale.

"I'll tell you a tale of love, and love betrayed, of valor, and black treachery." He paused to

clear his dry throat. With another scowl, the Inn Keeper brought him a mug of cold ale. He

drank thankfully and then continued his story. "The tale is of the Goblin Wars, of Lahilda and

Shoran, the Elfin Princess and the Noble Man King.

"Many years ago, before all of you were but a dream of the future, the Goblin hoards poured

forth upon the land. Where they came from, some other land, or out of some hellish nether

region, no one knew. Great were the battles that raged, Man, Elf and Dwarf, though of a sort to

keep from each others company, formed the Alliance to battle the dark menace.


"The Noble Man King, Shoran, led his mighty army into battle, and much was the slaughter."

The old man closed his eyes and shuddered. "The Goblins came, and came, and none could stop

their awful charge. It was said that the rear ranks fought with the front to be first to the battle

line, so huge was their blood lust. But the noble king held the ground that led into the Elfin

lands, he knew he must hold until the mighty Elfin warlords could ride to the rear of the hoard

and, sweeping in upon the Goblins, destroy them.

"He fought bravely, and it was when the bellows of the strident war horns of the Elfin

vanguard could be heard that he faltered, but for a second." The old man paused and drank

more of the ale, unconsciously rubbing his leg, the one with the limp. "A Goblin, one of the

leaders of the hoard, swung a huge war ax. Shoran saw the blow and attempted a parry, but

was too late; the huge ax knocked aside the sword and struck him a telling blow."

"Was he killed?" a young voice called from the smoky back of the room.

"No, but the wound was grievous, a massive split from the hip to the top of his knee. He fell

at the feet of the Goblin, whose evil face split into a sharp toothed grin. Shoran's last sight,

before loss of blood drove him senseless, was the long shaft of an Elfin warlord's arrow as it

dove into the Goblin's grinning mouth and, piercing the savage brain, killed it." The old man

rubbed his leg again. "Though almost too late, the Elfin warriors had arrived and routed the

Goblins, at least for a time. The Elves bound up the valorous Shoran and carried him deep into

their forest land, to Lahilda, the Elfin princess, a fabled healer.

"The man king laid as one dead for nearly a week, for the ax of the Goblin had been poisoned

and it took powerful healing magic to cure the warrior. Indeed, a lesser man would have died.

Then, late one night, as the Elfin fires burned low and the songs of the night birds sounded,

Shoran awoke.

"He first thought that he was in the warrior's paradise promised to those who die bravely. The

paradise promised to those who die in the fight on the side of light. Surely this vision before him

was one of the mercies that tend to the needs of the fallen warrior. Her hair was long, darkly

golden and straight. Her face glowed with an inner radiance. Her skin was smooth, her nose

straight, with regal lines. Her almond shaped eyes, a smoky gray, with enormous depth and

compassion's light, her ears delicate, sweeping gracefully to their pointed tips. Shoran was

smitten from the first moment.

"'My Hero awakes' was what she said, and no other words. When their eyes met, the true

understanding that happens between kindred souls awoke in each of them. With a heave of

strength Shoran sat up and clutched the Elfin princess to his breast, giving her a lover's kiss, and


she gave back with all her passion. Then with his strength spent, Shoran collapsed into

exhausted slumber, with a smile upon his lips, the fever dreams gone.

"While Shoran mended, the war continued. Sometimes the Alliance swept the foe back almost

to Hellsgate, the point where the Goblins had first appeared. Other times the Goblins pushed

the Alliance back to their strongest holds. After several months, a war council was called

between Man, Elf and Dwarf. It was held on midsummer's eve in the Elfin forest. Shoran, now

fully recovered, sat for Man, his battle torn advisors around him. Dracen sat for the Dwarves,

his squat powerful form nearly crushing the delicate elfin chair upon which he sat. For the Elves

spoke Fantith, one of their mighty warriors, the betrothed of Lahilda.

"'Fellow members of the Alliance, I bid thee welcome to Elfhome.' His rich Elfin voice greeted

them. 'We are here to decide the fate of our land. The Goblin hoards are increasing each day. I

fear that should we not take action, they will surely overrun us within a half month.' Fantith

gazed sternly at the gathered heroes. 'It has been decided that a group of volunteers will

undertake a dire mission. They must penetrate Hellsgate and fathom the source of the Goblin

hoard. Perhaps if we understand the source of the hoard, we can stop it before we are

overwhelmed.'"

As the old man paused, a pin could have been heard to drop. With a thirsty smile he gestured

to the Inn Keeper, who hurried to fill the mug again with ale, this time forgetting to scowl. After

a drink of the ale the old man continued.

"Much was the commotion at his words. Several envoys tried to gain say them, but to no

avail, for the words rang true, if bitter. Finally, the plan was agreed upon. Shoran freshly healed

and returned to strength through Lahilda's magic, Fantith, the Elfin warrior, and Dracen of the

Dwarves had volunteered for the mission.

Though her heart was sore, Lahilda bid them a blessing for their arduous journey. When no

one could see, or so it was thought, she bid Shoran good-bye with a true love's kiss and a gift of

a spelled sword.


"'It is magic' she whispered, 'Let none save you, and those you must battle have the touch of

it, and it will protect you.' With a final kiss she moved away into the soft night. Unseen by the

lovers, Fantith, who had been betrothed since birth to the fair Lahilda, watched, in his heart

started the evil fire of jealousy." As the old man paused to drink, he looked sad.

"With stealth, the party of heroes left Elfhome before the sun awoke. Avoiding all, they made

their way into the Goblin-held lands. Many were the horrors they witnessed, much the Goblins

had to atone for was seen, but none did they fight. Indeed, they avoided all like cowards. You

see, they knew if even one of the Goblins learned of their mission they would be lost.

"Their epic journey is a tale for another night. They reached Hellsgate at the dawn of

midwinter's eve. They waited and watched for the proper time to enter, a time when no Goblins

would see. Finally, when almost all hope was abandoned, it came to pass. It was the Goblins'

unholy sacrificial feast, where the most ferocious of the hoard battled to the death for the honor

of being sacrificed to their blood god. The sacrifice was then eaten so all could partake of his

strength. While all the Goblins cavorted and capered around the fires, the heroes made their

way into Hellsgate." The old man paused and drank, with a low belch, he continued.


"The gate was indeed a bridge between worlds. At the other side of the gate a dread engine of

crystal and gold flashed and thrummed like a taut bow string as it wove the bridge between the

worlds. An elite guard of Goblins guarded the device. The battle was fierce, each side neither

giving or expecting quarter. Finally, with a thrust of the magic sword, Shoran felled the last

goblin guard. The heroes fell upon the hellish engine. Dracen smashed at its gleaming coils with

his war ax. Shoran smashed its crystal tubes with the magic sword. With a final smashing blow

of his sword Fantith crushed a flat plate of crystal upon which strange writing danced, and with

an ear rending explosion, the engine was destroyed.

As the gate began to collapse, the heroes ran through it, though Dracen, the slowest of the

group, lost his foot as the gate slammed shut. The wound was odd, it was as though it had been

sliced clean and then burned to be sealed. It pained Dracen greatly, and he had to use his ax for

a cane.

"Unseen by the heroes, a group of Goblins, weary from the feast and carnage of the sacrifice,

came upon the heroes as they tended Dracen's wound. With a savage howl, they fell upon them,

war axes slashing. With the sword, Shoran held them back as Fantith helped Dracen to cover.

Fighting a rear guard, Shoran followed. Behind some rocks, for a short while out of sight, our

heroes rushed into the dark, for even though it seemed a short while that they had been in the

gate, several hours had passed and it was now late night.

"Stabbing the last Goblin of the pursuing pack, Shoran turned to check on his companions. As

he turned, Fantith reached out and grasped the blade of the sword, for he had heard Lahilda's

warning. 'Sorry' was all he said. With a momentary look of horror, Shoran glanced at Fantith

and then back at his sword. With a grim expression he sheathed it.

"Alternately helping Dracen, they hurried off into the night. As the Goblin hoard found the

closed gate, a howl of anger and vowed vengeance rose into the night. The fiercest of the hoard

set off in pursuit.

"Almost at the edge of the Goblin lands, they were overtaken by the Goblin pack. Bloody was

the battle. Standing upon his good foot and the stump, Dracen killed a score of them with his ax

before he was brought down. Fighting as one possessed Shoran slew nearly half the pack in

single combat. As the last Goblin fell to Shorans thrust, he turned to check on the fate of Fantith.

Fate was blind, it was at that moment the rage of lost love had burned brightest in Fantith's

heart, and with a savage cry he thrust at Shoran. Caught by surprise, and without the protection

of the magic sword, he could not fend off the blow. The Elfin blade penetrated Shoran's mail

like rotten cloth. Straight in and straight out went the blade, its keen edge silent as death. With a

look which spoke of bitter betrayal, Shoran sank to the blood soaked soil." The old man paused

to drain his mug.


"Did he die?" asked the Inn Keeper, his duties forgotten.

"No. Though wounded to near death, the hero's heart could not be stilled, for the magic of

Lahilda had been wrought well. The Elfin blade, by virtue of its keen edge, left a clean wound.

The blade had missed the heart and other organs. Shoran lived. He awoke, days later, in the

caravan of a battle picker. Battle pickers recover the weapons and other items of value from

battle fields." Again the old man eyed the sword. The Inn Keep looked to the floor, though none

but the traveler noticed. "Think not harshly of them. The times were hard. Many perished from

hunger in the days of the Goblin wars. These pickers did what was needed to survive." The Inn

Keeper brightened a bit.

"Shoran mended quickly, his love for Lahilda, and the strength of her magic, spurred his

recovery. Within days he was on the trail of Fantith. The trail led straight to Elfhome.

"At the gate, the warden of the watch was dumbfounded. Here before him stood Shoran,

reported killed! Needless to say, there was much commotion. The Elfin elder, Jerreth, came

personally to greet the returning hero, though his heart was sad for he bore bitter news.

'" Where is Lahilda?' asked Shoran, 'Surely she wishes to see me?'

"'My son,' began the elder, 'she has gone on. The word of your death took her spirit to live.'

"'You see,' explained Jerreth to Shoran, 'when one of the Elfin race loses the spirit to live, they

fade, until finally they disappear. When Lahilda heard of your death, her heart broke. Losing

her will to live, she faded, she went on.' The old man's voice broke.

"'Where is Fantith?' Shoran asked with quiet menace.

"'When Lahilda passed on, he too lost the will to live. He asked your forgiveness in his last

moments.' The elder shook his head. 'Why he asked it, we do not know.' Without a word Shoran

turned and left Elfhome, never to return."

"'What happened to him?' a young girl, who had sat enraptured during the story, asked.

"Lahilda's magic was strong. Shoran lived, on and on. He watched his kingdom rise and fall

after the Goblin wars. For a while, he found purpose in the patrols that fought back the chaos

after the wars. Finally, lacking purpose and tired of life, he wandered the lands. A lonely man

pining for the love of lost Lahilda." The old man wiped a tear from his eye. "Some say he still

does."


"What happened to the sword?" asked a young guardsman, who sat near the girl.

"Shoran gave the sword to the picker. You see, in the last battle, it was cracked, and since the

magic was gone, it was useless." With a yawn, the old man stood and stretched. For a fleeting

moment, the powerful form of a younger man could be seen through the patina of age. "I fear

my friends that I am tired. Since I am penniless, the Inn Keep says I must ask you for

contributions toward my lodgings." The old man looked around the room.

"There is no charge old man. Stay as long as you like. The room at the top of the stairs is

yours" said the Inn Keep. Wiping a tear from his eye, he hurried into the kitchen.

With his limp badly pronounced, the old man hobbled across the room. Curiously, he still

managed a quiet dignity. He limped up the stairs at the end of the room and, turning into the

first room, was lost to sight.

"It's got a crack in it!" The guardsman stood looking at the sword over the mantle.

In the room above, Shoran quietly wept until the little death of sleep claimed him, a sleep full

of dreams of fair Lahilda . . .


CHAPTER ONE: Call to Duty

The Inn Keeper awoke from a deep sleep. Some sound, slight, but different from that of a

quiet inn had disturbed his rest. There, there it was again, a knock at the front door. The

reddening sky attested that it was still a bit before dawn.

With a huge yawn, accompanied by an equally huge stretch, the Inn Keeper got up from his

straw tick and, scratching at the ever present lice, stumbled toward the Inn's front door, cursing

the early morning visitor. Running his calloused hand through his raggedly cut hair, he pulled

the bar from the door and jerked it open.

"What the 'ell yer ...", with the sight of the knocker, he fell silent.

The man, if man it was, was tall and thin. He was garbed in riding breeches, a suede tunic and

a long, dark hooded cape that flapped out behind him in the dying remnants of the nights wind.

The hood covered his features, and the sun, just now raised over the horizon, was behind him,

further blocking clear sight. Behind him, two horses of Elfin breeding were tethered to the Inn's

bridle post.

"Inn Keeper, I'll speak with Shoran." Was all he said as he pushed by the large man, moving

the Inn Keeper as easily as if he were a child.

"Shoran? Who...what...oh." Still foggy with sleep it took a while for the Inn Keeper to associate

the legend with the poor hulk that even now slept upstairs. "Is there another traveler?" The Inn

Keeper asked, eyeing the two horses.

"What? No, both horses are mine. I've little patience and shorter time Inn Keeper." The Man

threw back the hood revealing features that resembled both Man and Elf. His eyes were a

brilliant green, his hair, dark, as no Elves could be. His skin was tanned and smooth. His ears

were pointed.

"Half-breed!" the Inn Keeper took a step back.

With a motion too quick to follow the man grasped the Inn Keeper by the throat of his night

gown, and, with scant effort, lifted him from the floor.

"I've no time for insults man. Where is Shoran?" The voice was cold.


Struggling for breath the Inn Keeper pointed toward the stairs, "First room...at the top." He

managed to gasp.

"Have some warm food ready when Shoran and I return." With a light shake, he set the Inn

Keeper back on his feet. "And be quick about it."

The Inn Keeper, rubbing his throat, hurried into the kitchen, the bat winged doors squeaking

behind him. The Half-breed turned and went up the stairs toward the room where Shoran slept.

Opening the door, sadness was in his eyes as he looked at the wasted form that lay under

ragged blankets on the bed.

"Shoran." He said lightly.

Deep in slumber, lost to even dreams of Lahilda, Shoran heard his name, a name not said, at

least to him, for years. Struggling up from the little death of sleep, he opened blood shot eyes,

focusing on the form that filled the narrow door.

"My Gods Shoran, you look like hell." The Half-breed smiled, sadly.

"Fornel, leave me be." Shoran rolled over, willing the form to disperse.

"Shoran, since when would wishes move me?" With a quick jerk of the covers he rolled

Shoran onto the floor.

"Is this anyway to treat an old man?" Shoran sat up, rubbing his elbow where he had banged

it on the bed rail.

"Shoran, we must talk."

"The time for talk is past Fornel; let me live what remains me." Shoran stood, stiffly, rubbing

his old injury.

"Shoran, I bear news from the Council." Fornel helped Shoran to the chair that sat by the frost

covered window.

"The council? What need have they for an old man?" Shoran rubbed his whisker covered chin,

his expression bitter.

"Shoran, they have no need for an old man. They need you."


Shoran's laugh was short and hoarse, a very ugly sound. "Ha! Fornel, look at me." Shoran

stood and grabbed Fornel's collar, their faces nearly touched. "Do I look to be the warrior king

now?" With a sigh of sorrow, he released Fornel's collar and sat back down into the chair.

With a grim expression Fornel shook his head. "No, indeed you do not. If this is what you

truly desire, I will leave you." Fornel turned to go.

"Wait, what do you mean, 'if this is what I truly wish?'"

Turning, Fornel looked at Shoran for a moment before he spoke. "Shoran, have you so little

faith in Lahilda's work? You are as you are because of you, not the passage of time. When the

healing she performed was complete, she gave something the Council had not asked, nor would

they have allowed"

"What, a long life to mourn with?"

"No, a long life to live, with her."

"She has gone on, fool. Her work was wasted." Shoran sneered and turned to the frost

encrusted window. "I wish she had not wrot her work so well." he said with a catch in his voice.

"You are the fool Shoran. When an Elf has truly gone, so has their magic."

"But...” Shoran turned from the window, comprehension dawning in his eyes.

"Yes, you are the proof that somewhere, something of her remains, where something ties her

to this plane, she can be brought back."

"I dare not believe...after all these years." Shoran traced idle patterns in the frost.

"Believe it Shoran. As much as I would like to say the Council wants her back for you, I won't

lie. Jerrith lies near to passing over. He cannot, not now."

"Why? Why not now, Elves pass on, men die, it's a part of existence."

"I don't know. I was not told, I was merely sent to get you."

Shoran stopped tracing patterns and turned to face Fornel. "What use am I to them as you see

me now?"


"Shoran, I was told to bring you, and the sword, that is all I know."

They both turned at a noise from the door. The Inn Keeper stood, with the great sword from

the hearth in his hands.

"Shoran, my Grandfather would want me to give this back." He placed the sword on the bed

and turned to go.

"Inn Keeper" said Shoran.

The Inn Keeper turned.

"Thank You, for everything." Shoran held out his hand, it no longer shook with the palsy of

age.

"'T'was nothing Shoran. I hope you find her." The Inn Keeper shook Shoran's hand and left

the room. His heavy tread could be heard as he went back down to the kitchen.

"Then you'll go?" Fornel looked Shoran straight in the eye.

"Yes, old friend, I'll go." They embraced like brothers. Shoran stood straighter as he turned to

gather his scant belongings.

Shoran followed Fornel down the steps and into the common room. The Inn Keeper was just

setting out bowls of steaming porridge. A loaf of course dark bread and fresh

pressed butter were already set.

Searching through his travel sack, Shoran found a worn looking razor. "I'll be back. Inn

Keeper!" The Inn Keeper rushed in from the kitchen, though the air was still crisp, he had begun

to sweat. "Inn Keeper, where is your wash station?"

"Please Shoran; call me Chakar if you would. The wash station is behind that curtain there."

Chakar pointed toward the back of the common room. "I just placed some warm water in the

pitcher."

"Thank you again, Chakar. You were named for your Grandfather, weren't you?" Shoran

smiled at him.

"Yes, yes, I was." Chakar smiled back.


As Shoran walked back toward the curtain, his limp was barely noticeable.

"Is it really possible? Can he regain her?" Chakar asked Fornel, once Shoran was behind the

curtain.

"I don't know, the Council seems to think so." Fornel looked at the naked sword lying on the

bench by Shoran's travel bag. "Chakar, is there a scabbard for the sword?"

Chakar smacked his forehead with the palm of his meaty hand, "Gods! I almost forgot!" He

rushed out of the common room towards his own quarters. Shortly he was back; in his hands he

carried a dust-encrusted scabbard. "I haven't seen this since I was a lad, I had forgotten it!" He

handed the scabbard to Fornel.

With distaste, Fornel took the grime-encrusted scabbard, dismayed with the abuse of the Elfin

handiwork. Clutching the scabbard with both hands he closed his eyes. At first, nothing seemed

to happened, but then, a dull glimmer spread from Fornel's hands into the grit encrusted

scabbard. Slowly, the grime fell away, revealing the gleaming metal beneath.

"Up to your old tricks again Fornel?" The voice, ringing out from behind them, startled both

Fornel and Chakar. They turned and Chakar dropped the rag the scabbard had been wrapped

in.

Shoran, was neatly shaved and washed, his hair, now, only streaked with grey once the travel

dust as gone, was pulled back into a warriors knot. A changed man stood before them. His

stoop was gone, though still not young, he was not as old as he had appeared.

"Come now, I've only shaved!" Chakar looked at Fornel who winked back at him. Fornel

handed the scabbard to Shoran.

"Here, I cleaned it up for you." Fornel smiled.

"I noticed." Shoran loosened his belt and affixed the scabbard to it. "If only the sword were as

easily mended." Shoran took the sword and carefully placed it into the scabbard.

"I'm afraid that is a bit of magic beyond me."

"Let's eat, The Council is waiting." With that Shoran sat and began to eat.

Later, as Shoran and Fornel prepared to depart, Fornel tossed a gold coin to Chakar. "For the

food Chakar and Shoran's lodging."


Snatching the coin from mid air, Chakar tossed it back. "Shoran earned his lodging, and the

food, your money is no good here Fornel."

"May the Gods bless you and yours Chakar!" Fornel pocketed the gold piece.

As they turned their horses to go, Shoran called back, "Thanks again Chakar, I hope our paths

cross again!"

Chakar watched them as they road off into the dawn with the crackle of frost-covered leaves

beneath the horse's hooves.

Fornel and Shoran rode most of the morning. As the sun reached mid-sky, Fornel pulled back

on his reins and came to a stop at a clearing just off the road.

"It's time for a rest Shoran." He swung down from his mount, clutching his saddlebags.

"Besides, the porridge and bread is long since gone!"

"Alright, but I hate to keep the council waiting." Though looking tired, Shoran still looked

better than he had the previous night.

Shoran gathered a few pieces of deadfall and joined Fornel near the center of the clearing. A

ring of fire-blackened stones attested to the fact that the clearing had been used many times in

the past. Soon, with the help of steel and flint, they had a fire going.

"Hand me the bags Shoran"

Shoran handed the bags over the fire. Fornel opened them and took out some trail bread,

cheese and slices of cured meat. "Get the pot from my saddle, would you?" He turned and,

laying the food on a flat rock, prepared a simple meal for them both.

"Here." Shoran handed the trail worn pot to Fornel.

"You could fill it"

"With what?"

"Water, there's a stream a ways into the woods."


Shoran stepped over a log and went into the woods. Fornel watched as his friend moved

confidently into the shadows of the deep woods. He smiled. Soon Shoran returned, Fornel

smiled again as he heard Shoran lightly humming.

"Here, what's it for, some Elvin potion?" Shoran smiled as he handed the pot over.

"Actually, no. Tea." Fornel settled the pot onto the flames and handed Shoran the slices of

bread, cheese and meat. "Eat hearty." With that he concentrated on his own coarse meal.

Soon, they finished. When the water boiled, Fornel removed the pot from the fire and placed

it on the rock. Taking a thin leather pouch from the packs he poured a generous helping of its

contents into the steaming water. Soon the fragrance of the dark, fermented tea, favored by

travelers for its simulative powers, filled the clearing. Expanding his nostrils, Shoran breathed

deeply of its aroma.

"I've missed you Fornel"

"Why did you leave us then?" Fornel took two tin cups from the pack and carefully filled each

with the tea. He handed one to Shoran, who carefully cupped his calloused hands around it.

"I've asked myself that Fornel, I have yet to come to an answer. I guess I had too many

thoughts." He blew on the tea and then cautiously sipped it.

"Bad thoughts if they brought you to this." Fornel gestured to Shoran's ragged appearance.

"Doesn't speak well of the hero of the Goblin Wars."

"Ha! Hero? I'm afraid more victim." He shook his head and then took another sip. "We all

were."

"That may be. But what's done is done." Fornel finished his tea and poured another cupful.

"Where have you been Shoran? Not a word of you in ten years, we thought perhaps you'd been

killed."

"No, no such luck Fornel." Shoran tossed off the last of his drink and handed the cup to Fornel

for a refill. "I traveled to Lurason, then on to Akaris, just wandered." He took the cup back from

Fornel and drank. "Not much to tell."

"Akaris? That wasteland! No wonder you look like you do." Fornel smiled.


"Thanks, I needed that." Shoran tossed his remaining tea into the fire. "Let's ride." He stood

and stretched, no trace of his former stooped posture remained.

Fornel poured the remaining tea over the last of the fire, smothering it. He kicked dirt over

the embers and stamped them out. Shoving the remains of the bread, cheese and meat into the

bags, along with the cups, he slung them over his shoulder and stood. Shoran was already

mounted.

"I want to be out of these woods by dark." Shoran looked up at the sun. "I estimate about five

hours 'til sunset."

Fornel shielded his eyes, measuring the distance from the sun to the horizon. "I agree Shoran,

we should be clear well before nightfall." So saying he slung the bag over the saddle and

mounted.

The rest of the day went quickly. Just as the sun touched the horizon, Shoran and Fornel

cleared the last of the woods, coming to a wide, slow moving river.

"We'll camp here tonight." Said Fornel swinging down from his horse.

"I suppose it's best." Was all Shoran said, slipping down to join his friend on the bank of the

river. "Fornel..." Fornel turned and Shoran embraced him. "Thank you friend."

Shaking off the embrace, Fornel said, "It's nothing Shoran, the council needs you."

"I would feel better this near the woods with a good sword." Shoran drew the great sword

from its scabbard, in the evening light the crack was clearly visible. "Did the council say why

they need the sword?"

"No, they just said to bring you, and it." He unlashed a bundle consisting of a roll of oiled

leather from his saddle. "I wondered how long it would take for you to ask." He smiled and

tossed the package to Shoran, who deftly caught it. Under the leather he could feel the outlines

of a

sword and scabbard.

With a smile Shoran unrolled the leather. The sword inside was old, but still strong. Shoran

grabbed the sword's hilt and smiled at the cheerful hiss of the blade leaving the scabbard. He

tried a few slashes and parries.


"Gods that feels good!" He smiled, it made him look younger still. "It's been several years

since I held a good sword!" With a final slashing stroke he thrust the sword into the scabbard. "I

feel better than I have for a long time."

As the sun finished setting, they unsaddled, rubbed down and hobbled the horses and made

camp for the night.

Later that night, after an evening meal much like the one at mid-day, Shoran and Fornel lay in

their blankets, near sleep. A snap! of a twig brought both to complete wakefulness.

They listened quietly, and slowly slid their swords from their scabbards. The low whispers of

an undisciplined band of brigands could be heard.

"I tell you, it's just the old man from the Inn and a half-breed."

Shoran could feel his friend tense at the insulting tone, even though he was across the embers

of their evening fire from him.

"I saw the half-breed with a gold piece, where there's one, there may be more, come on, quiet

now."

Shoran and Fornel waited until the first of the brigands entered the circle of dull light from

the dying fire. With a shouted spell, Fornel filled the clearing with bright light as he tossed aside

his blanket and leapt to his feet. "Are you as good with your sword as you are with your

tongue, thief?" He asked with cold menace in his voice.

"My friend dislikes you." Shoran said as he leapt up to stand beside Fornel. "That's not very

healthy." Shoran smiled and held his sword to the ready.

"Come on!" Shouted the thief.” There’s only two of them!" More forms rushed into the

clearing. Shoran and Fornel stood back to back as they were ringed by the band of five brigands.

The leader lunged toward Fornel, Fornel parried the thrust, knocking the sword away with a

downward slash. He followed through with an upswing that nearly disemboweled the thief.

Shoran parried the thrust of a second brigand and with a downward strike which nearly

severed the man’s head from his body. The rest of the band held back, and, after glancing at

their dying leader and dead comrade, ran back into the concealing darkness.


"Half-breed!" Fornel kicked the corpse of the now dead leader. "I don't like to be called half-

breed." He turned and smiled a wolfish grin at Shoran. In the dying light of the fading spell he

looked like some battle demon of fireside stories.

Together they dragged the corpses back into the woods, finding a convenient ravine, they

threw them in.

"I told you it wasn't healthy." Said Shoran as he rolled the leader's body over the edge. "Not

healthy at all!"

The rest of the night was uneventful.

In the morning, Shoran was the first to awake, for a moment, he wasn't sure where he was,

and then he smiled. He got up and walked quietly over to his saddle. Taking his travel bag,

Shoran went down to the river to shave and wash the dried blood from his hands and arms.

When he returned, Fornel had the fire re-kindled and was preparing more meat, bread, cheese

and had the pot on for tea.

"Gods, I'll be glad to get to Elfhome and some decent food!" Shoran said as he tossed his

travel bag towards his saddle.

"You don't like my cooking Shoran?" Fornel smiled.

"Well..." Shoran looked his friend over. No traces of the previous night’s activities were

apparent. "I wish I cleaned up as easily." Shoran sat by the fire and helped himself to the tea.

"I've tried to teach you the spell." Fornel handed him his share of the rations.

"I'm afraid my only magic is in my sword arm." Shoran answered as he bit into the tough trail

bread.

"Aye, that and what Lahilda put in you." Fornel looked up quickly to see what affect the

mention of Lahilda had on Shoran. Other than a slight tightening around the eyes, Shoran

remained cheerful looking.

"Right, with any luck that "Magic" will bring her back." The rest of the meal was spent in

silence.

Following the morning meal, they broke camp. Following the river they continued their ride

to Elfhome. Although there was winter chill in the air, the day was clear. Towards mid-day, the


sun even began to feel warm on their faces. Their pace, just short of a gallop, brought them

within an easy day’s journey of Elfhome by nightfall. As they made their evenings camp, Shoran

seemed distant, lost in thought.

"Shoran! Watch it man, you nearly kicked over the tea!" Fornel grabbed the pot and righted it.

"Sorry Fornel. I was remembering."

"This is near were it happened, isn't it?"

Shoran leaned against a sturdy young oak, it was nearly two hands round. "This tree wasn't

even a seed yet." He patted and then ran his hand along the bark. "They came, and came. The

ground was dark with their blood and still they came." Shoran's eyes clouded as he

remembered.

"Their blood probably nourished that tree." Fornel poured the tea into two cups.

Shoran removed his hand from the tree and wiped it on his breeches. He smiled at Fornel. "I

guess some good came of the Goblins after all. Let's eat."

"I'm afraid that the pickings are small. It was a long search." He passed over the meager

rations.

"How did you know were to find me?" Shoran said around a mouthful of meat, he washed it

down with a slug of tea.

"I kept hearing stories of an 'old' man who told stories of the Goblin wars as if he'd been there.

I took a chance that it was you." Fornel bit off a chunk of the dry bread and chewed it

thoughtfully. "Once I was within a day’s journey of you, I felt you."

"I felt old. To think, the night before you found me, I felt that death was preferable to going

on." He swallowed a piece of cheese. "I guess I was fading, or at least the human version."

"No more. I guess you've noticed, you're not an old man anymore."

"It was odd, as if it was fated, finding the sword."

"We knew were it was, but without you the elders said it was better left there."


"When I gave it to the picker, I never wanted to see it again. It reminded me of Fantith's

betrayal."

"Fantith, that's a name I never thought to hear you say outside of a curse."

Shoran, finished with his meal, put his hands behind his head and leaned back against the

oak. "I realized a long time ago, he loved her as much or more than I. He gave up his life for his

betrayal."

"I supposed so. You've come a long way since the days we last rode together."

"Longer than I care to remember Fornel. Yet at times, it feels like only a short while ago we

rode patrol together."

"I sometimes feel that also. No Goblins anymore Shoran."

"Only human ones." Shoran said, thinking of the brigands he and Fornel had killed the night

before.

"There's been talk of re-starting the patrols." Fornel poured more tea for both of them, then

tossed the rest into the fire. It hissed, loud in the quiet night air.

"Consider an old man for the patrols?"

"Anytime. Enough talk. We have a long day tomorrow." With that he banked the fire to

preserve the coals for the morning, and rolling up in his blanket, was soon asleep.

Shoran found sleep not quite so easy. His thoughts drifted back to the last time he had

traveled this road, hours ahead of the Goblin hoard. With the memory of the Goblin's war cries,

he finally slept.

No late night callers disturbed their sleep. As the birds not gone south for the winter awoke

with the dawn, so did Shoran and Fornel. After their morning meal, they broke camp. It was

only a short ride paralleling the river, when they came to the ford and crossed. The remains of a

ferry boat rotted on the far bank.

It was only a short ride to the last town before Elfhome. Fornel glanced at Shoran with the

corners of his eyes. His friend still looked worn, even though he looked better than he had when

he found him. Fornel made a decision. As they entered the town, Shoran was surprised as

Fornel stopped.


"It is only a short ride to Elfhome Fornel, why are we stopping?"

"You, and for that matter, I, am hardly presentable to the council. We will stop and take

advantage of an excellent bathhouse here. I will have my clothes washed, and we will obtain

new for you, ones more suitable for the Hero of the Goblin Wars." Fornel smiled at the last.

"I imagine I do look a sight." Shoran brushed the road dust from his worn clothes. "The last

time they saw me I looked worse." Shoran smiled.

"Different times Shoran." Fornel sounded sad.

"So true, so true. Lead on Fornel, a hot bath doesn't sound bad, come to think of it!" Shoran

slipped down from his horse and followed Fornel down the lane to an establishment with a

hanging sign showing a bathtub and the twisted snakes of a trained healer. Fornel and Shoran

entered.

"Fornel! Good to see you again!" The young lady that waited behind the counter for

customers came around and hugged the half-breed, the tattoo of a Gaian healer shown clearly

on her left hand. Although he reddened in embarrassment, Fornel allowed it. "Going to stay

longer this time?" The woman, pretty, asked Fornel.

"That is for the Council to decide Ritha. Shoran and I need a bath, my clothes need a good

wash and Shoran needs something presentable."

"Shoran! That Shoran?" She looked at Shoran, "I thought it was only a legend!"

"So did I." Was all Shoran said.

They followed her into the tub area, several tubs, all empty, filled the room. While Ritha

waited they stripped and gave her their clothing. Neither showed embarrassment. They helped

rinse the road grime off of each other using several pitchers of warm water. Meanwhile, other

attendants had filled two tubs with steaming water.

Before Shoran was allowed to get into the tub designated for his use, Ritha measured him for

his new clothes and dispatched a messenger to the tailor. Before she could leave, Fornel pulled

her into a corner to talk.

"Ritha, the council has need of Shoran, but as Shoran, not this reduced copy of him. Is there

anything in your craft to speed his return to full vigor?"


Ritha looked pensive. "It was Elfin magic which brought about his longevity, Gaian healing is

not the same, but cousin to it. I can try Fornel, it is all I can do." She brushed her red hair back.

"Is this really serious Fornel?"

"Yes. The council fears another Goblin uprising. There are strange stirrings in the south."

"Hellsgate?" Her green eyes flashed.

"Aye, if it were in my power, I would blast Hellsgate to its namesake!"

"Fornel! Hurry or the water will be cold!" Called out Shoran. With a last thoughtful look,

Fornel gave Ritha a hug and joined Shoran at the tubs.

The hot water was wonderful. Both Shoran and Fornel felt the tensions melt away as the hot,

soothing water soaked the embedded grime from their bodies. After letting them soak for a

while, Ritha and two other comely servants helped scrub them down using sponges and soaps.

After the bath, Shoran's ragged hair was trimmed by Ritha and a barber gave him a proper

shave. Using scented oil, Ritha personally massaged the road kinks from Shoran's muscles. As

she massaged she recited a chant beneath her breath, she could feel the healing flow from her

into Shoran, revitalizing Lahilda's magic. She could almost feel the muscles building back from

their flaccid state, even Shoran's hair looked less gray. It was only a short wait until Shoran's

new clothes were ready.

Close fitting breeches, new boots, a linen shirt and a new vest contrived to help make Shoran

look like new man. Any resemblance to the wasted hulk that had told the story of lost love in

too many taverns was gone. Shoran felt the years drop from him, unfortunately the shield

against the immense pain of Lahilda's loss also dropped away. His heart felt like a raw wound.

"Enough Fornel, let us be gone!" Fornel turned from his massage and looked at his old friend.

"Impatient, eh Shoran? Well, the council is waiting for us. Ritha, send word on ahead that we

are coming."

"I already have Fornel." She gave Shoran's shoulder one last squeeze, but her smile and

comment was for Fornel. "Come back when we can give you the full treatment."

"That, I promise!" He smiled.


As Shoran saw to the horses in preparation for departure, Fornel talked once again with

Ritha.

"You never fail to amaze me woman." He took her hand in his.

"How so?" She smiled.

"He looks like he did that last day of the Patrol, the day he left, some said never to return."

"I only helped what Lahilda had done. She was a great healer, were I half as good!"

"Modesty becomes you Ritha. Though again I ask you to come with me to Elfhome. We can

use one with your abilities there. Jarrith needs all the healers we can bring." His face was

serious.

"I did all that I could when the riders stopped here, little as that was." She looked sad.

"Little! The council credits you with prolonging his life until he could be placed in the time

net. I hardly call that little!"

"My mother could have healed him." She looked down.

"I will not grace that with an answer. You are not your mother. Indeed, some say you are

better!"

"She was a full Priestess. I am but a poor healer and Bath House owner. Nothing more." She

squeezed his hand.

"Tell that to Jarrith, or Shoran, I don't think they will believe you."

"Shoran doesn't know. I sense he feels he must do this healing of himself as much alone as he

can. Don't tell him I helped. I think he will need all the self confidence he can get before this is

over."

"Aye. I had best be going. The council waits!"

Fornel paid for the baths, clothes and service. He gave Ritha a kiss before he left. He made a

point of ignoring Shoran's questioning looks. "'Tis but an hours ride Shoran. We'll sleep this

night in Elfhome!" So saying, Fornel spurred his horse and, with Shoran following, galloped out

of the town. Behind, Ritha smiled and waved, it was a sad smile full of unspoken dreams.


CHAPTER TWO: Elfhome - The Quest Begins

That last hour was the longest yet in Shoran's life. As fast as the swift, sure Elfin breed could

run was by far too slow for Shoran. After that final eternity, Fornel and Shoran reached the

gates of Elfhome. Handing the reins of the nearly spent mounts to an attendant, they removed

their weapons and entered into the peace of Elfhome.

Shoran carried the cracked blade in its ornate scabbard before him like a talisman. The council

met them as they entered.

"Fornel! You have found them!" The council embraced Fornel, equal to equal. Shoran was

greeted as a returning hero. But the joyousness was soon over as the reason for Shoran's

summoning was revealed. In the very council chamber were the war council of Man, Dwarf and

Elf had met so many years before, the Elfin council now met to lay a quest before Shoran.

"Shoran, the years have left you little marked." Killan, the presiding elder remarked.

"There are many Elder, though none visible, at least, none visible now." Shoran exchanged

glances with Fornel.

"We would not have summoned you, except for a momentous discovery."

"Concerning Lahilda?"

"Yes, concerning our lost sister and Jerrith."

"Fornel mentioned Jerrith. What has happened?"

"Only two moons ago, Jerrith set forth to survey the area near Hellsgate. He and a

detachment of patrol went there after reports of strange goings on reached us."

Shoran felt his heartbeat quicken, "The Goblins?"

"That is what Jerrith was to find out."

"You say was, what happened to him?"


"This we don't know. When he did not return within the allotted time, we sent another patrol,

they found his detachment destroyed, and he barely clinging to life. He was brought to

Elfhome, he is here under the time net until he can be healed."

"Why has he not been healed already?"

"It is beyond the abilities of our most skillful healers. When they tried, we discovered through

a trace of one of her past healing spells that Lahilda was not truly gone, that she still lingers in

the land between, not here in this plane, or in the one beyond."

"Why can't you bring her back fully to this plane?"

"We have tried. We believe she doesn't wish to come." He looked sad.

"But why?"

"We believe she still thinks you dead. Tell us of how the sword was rent and the details of

your recovery from Fantith's betrayal."

Shoran told the tale he had told so many times. The elders questioned him on every point.

The fires had died to embers when it was finally told.

"Let us see the sword."

Shoran unsheathed the blade and handed it to Killan. Clutching the blade in one hand and the

hilt in the other, Killan recited a spell. The sound made the short hairs on Shoran's arms stir. The

sword began to glow, starting at the hilt, runes of blue fire became visible, slowly etching their

way toward the tip of the blade. The glow stopped at the crack. Killan studied the now visible

runes.

"This is why she still believes you dead Shoran."

"What?"

"Look here," he held the blade toward Shoran, "that rune represents you, with the spell in this

sword she bound her life to yours, the crack separated the spell at the crucial juncture, and she

could no longer sense your essence. When Fantith told her of your death, it merely confirmed

what she felt in her soul." Killan waved his hand over the sword and the blue glow, and the

runes, faded.


"I must reach her! She must know I live!" Shoran abruptly stood, nearly knocking the chair

over.

"If you were of Elfin blood, it would be possible, but being wholly human, I don't know."

"We must try, for her sake and for the sake of Jerrith and the news he bears!"

"Yes, we must try."

The preparations for the spell took several days. Shoran was purified and strengthened for

the ordeal. He would be shoved alive into the realm of the between lands, there he must find

Lahilda and return, or he too could become trapped.

Shoran was placed in the center of a mystic circle, carefully, words and symbols of power

were etched in the ground around him and traced with fine white sand. Incense, precious and

rare, was burned to aid in the final cleansing. The greatest Elfin Mages gathered around the

circle and began a slow chant. Shoran could feel the power building in the very air around him.

Tingles, like those from dry silk in the winter, danced up and down his body, raising his hair

in a halo around him. Just when he was sure the power would burn him to cinders, all sensation

abruptly ceased.

Shoran opened his eyes. Around him was a featureless plane, shrouded in mists that swirled

and danced as if alive. He felt curiously light, like he had no substance. Indeed, when he held up

his hand in front of his face, he could see the swirls of mist straight through it. He began to

search, his ethereal form floating inches above the surface.

In the distance, he saw a slight form, it was standing stoop shouldered, as if the weight of the

universe rested upon its shoulders. As Shoran drew closer, he saw it was indeed Lahilda, and

his heart leapt within his breast.

"Lahilda!" He called, but no sound was heard. He reached to touch her and his hand passed

through her arm, as if she was the ghost in this realm and not he. She shivered as he tried to

hold her and looked terrified.

"Go from me spirit!" She called out and struck blindly about her, "leave me be!" She traced a

rune that glowed with red fire, Shoran felt as though his heart were being rent, and a great wind

began to blow. "Lahilda!" he tried to call out, with only silence as his reward. In reflex he threw

his arms up in front of his face. When he lowered them, he was once more within the circle.


Exhausted, he staggered and nearly fell. Fornel dashed into the circle and caught him. "Did

you find her?" He asked.

Shoran's look of tragedy told the tale. Fornel helped him to the edge of the circle and sat there

with him as he regained his strength. When he was able, he told what had transpired in the

world between.

"She believes you dead. Even though she felt you, she thought it was one of the tricksters."

"Tricksters?"

"An evil spirit that torments those in the between land. They take the form of those most

loved. That she was able to cast you away shows she is still strong. If we could only reach her!"

Killan shook his head sadly. "This was our last hope."

"Surely there must be some other way!" Shoran stood and faced Killan. "You are sure there is

no other way? This is truly the last hope?"

"I will search the great works again. Perhaps there is something that was overlooked." With

that Killan turned and left the area of the circle.

The other Mages slowly moved away, leaving Shoran and Fornel alone.

"There must be a way Fornel! I feel it!"

"So much has been forgotten Shoran. If a way existed, it is probably lost to antiquity."

They made their way back to the lodge where the single patrol slept. Weary from his labor in

the land between, and wearier still from his burden of pain, Shoran soon fell fast asleep.

He opened his eyes to the sound of hammering. He stood and looked about him. He was in a

high rocky place. Before him stood a dark, forbidding peak. The hammer sound was above, so

he climbed. Far he climbed, above where even the eagles flew. Still the sound drew him on.

Finally, with the last of his strength, he pulled himself up onto the level peak.

Lightning danced from the clouds overhead. The hammer sound was from a giant of a man,

standing with a Sword smith’s hammer in one hand, the other clenched a great blade in tongs

and held it high above his head. As the lightning struck, the giant brought the sword blade


down on the anvil beside him and struck it a mighty blow, scattering the trapped lightning like

sparks.

"The blade must be mended." The giant said, turning to Shoran his one eye (the other covered

by a patch) glared, and Shoran awoke.

He sat up from the bunk. Sweat was dripping down his forehead. Of course! The blade! Mend

the sword, fix the rent in the spell and she would know he lived! He hurried to dress and ran to

find Killan.

"Mend the blade? It is beyond our ability Shoran. It would truly take the God from your

dream." Killan shrugged his shoulders.

"But why? Swords are mended by Human smiths, surely Elves can do the same?"

"Perhaps with normal swords, yes, this is the case. But this is a runed sword. The very act of

the mending would tear the spell runes, casting Lahilda forever into the land between." He

shook his head sadly.

"But why would I be sent the dream?"

"I will discuss this with the council Shoran, perhaps we may scry the meaning of your dream."

With that he turned and left. Shoran sat heavily down upon a bench, he knew it had to be the

key.

Several hours passed. Shoran was weary with waiting when Killan returned. Shoran stood to

meet him.

"Well Killan, is there a way?"

"There may be. In the Book of the Elders, one such as you described from your dream is

mentioned. He is Thara, the maker. His memory has long passed from most men, only the

smiths honor him now. Why he should appear to you, we do not know."

"Can the sword be mended?"

"It is written that a sword mended on the anvil of Thara will be as it was, as if it were never

rent."

"Where is this anvil?"


"We don't know, all that we have is scraps of knowledge, it is in the far North. That is all we

know."

"I must go there then, the sword must be mended."

"I fear you are correct Shoran, we must know what befell Jerrith, to find it, and we must have

Lahilda restored to us, for everyone's sake." He shook his head sadly. "Everything we now hold

dear may rest on the cracked blade of the rune sword Shoran. If the Goblins have restored their

machine..." He didn't have to finish.

"Ay, don't I know it Killan. But even with no threat to the land, I would go, for Lahilda." He

said quietly, with more meaning than if he had shouted.

"Yes Shoran, we know you would. We have prepared a map, as poor as that may be. And

Fornel has requested to accompany you."

"I would be honored to have him at my side."

"Rest this eve, we will make ready the supplies and fast mounts. If the Goblins are preparing

to once more pour forth on the lands, there is no time to waste."

Although Shoran knew that rest would be in short supply on the road ahead, he could find no

sleep that evening. He and Fornel studied the map, unfortunately it ended at a pass called Kord

Keep at the source of the Kord river. The lands further north were shrouded in mystery and

foreboding. Indeed, Shoran thought of the words he had seen on a sailor's map..."Here there be

monsters..."

"Fornel, this map is useless. We must get more information." He rolled the map and placed it

in a travel tube. "I propose we go to Smithtown first. We can consult with the Smithies Guild. If

any should know of Thara's anvil, it should be them."

"It makes sense Shoran. Even though it is opposite from The High Pass, it may well provide

some needed answers." He reached for the taper that lit the sparely furnished room. "The night

is nearly spent, we have a long road ahead. I suggest sleep." He blew the taper out, plunging the

room into darkness.

"Easier said than done Fornel." Shoran aid and lay back upon his cot. Contrary to his fear, was

soon fast asleep. In his dreams he saw a lake of clear water, surrounded by ghosts...


A few short hours later, Fornel and Shoran both awoke at dawn. After a good breakfast they

checked their supplies and horses. Satisfied, they turned their faces to the south, toward

Smithtown. Inwardly, Fornel was pleased, they would pass through Mantown, and he would

get to see Ritha once more.

The ride to Mantown was uneventful. The afternoon sun rode their shoulders as they tied

their mounts to the post in front of the Bath House. They were surprised when Ritha met them

at the door in riding clothes carrying a knapsack and wearing the rapier favored by female

patrol.

"What have we here Ritha?" Fornel held her at arms length and looked her up and down, a

smile on his face. Shoran leaned against the pole that supported the porch roof and just

watched.

"I am going with you Fornel. I am tired of you riding off and me staying behind." Shoran

shrugged at Fornel, stifling a smile.

"I will not allow it Ritha. The road we travel will be hard." He turned as if to dismiss her. With

an infighting trick taught to the patrol, she quickly dropped him to the hard boards and, sitting

upon his chest, picked one of her delicate looking fingernails with a thin dagger.

"How hard, Fornel?" She smiled. "hard enough to need a healer perhaps?"

"Shoran, explain to her!"

"Fornel, it seems the decision has been made for us. Besides, I would much rather look at

Ritha, than just you for the duration!" With that, he grabbed Ritha and lifted her from his

friend’s prostrate form. Fornel, rubbing the back of his knee were she had clipped him, stood.

"I knew I should never have taught you those moves!" She just smiled again. "You have a

mount?"

"Wait here, I will fetch her." She walked around the corner of the building and was soon back,

leading a fine looking mare. "Wildwind will take me anywhere I wish." She swung up on the

fine animal and looked down at them. "Are we going? Or do we waste half the day?"

With a shrug of his shoulders, Shoran swung up on his mount, Fornel did the same, and the

three rode down the south road, toward Kord Town, the last stop before the boat ride to

Smithtown. The ride through the Great Forest was peaceful and the day fair. It wasn't long


before they paused for the mid-day meal. Both men had to admit that Ritha's cooking was better

than Fornel's. How she could make even the simple travel food so good was a mystery.

By evening, they came within sight of Kord Town. Named for the River Kord upon whose

bank it stood, Kord Town was a rough brawling place, full of the tough breed that made their

livelihood from moving people and goods up and down the great river. Most cared not what, or

who, they carried. In Kord Town they hoped to find passage down river to Smithtown. If

passage could be purchased, it would cut the journey by a full day.

While Fornel and Ritha sought lodging, Shoran went in search of a boatman to take the party

down river to Smithtown. It wasn't long before he came upon a flatboat Captain that was happy

to have the gold for their passage. He admonished Shoran to be at the boat at dawn or be left.

Pleased with the successful conclusion to his task, Shoran made his way back to town center, to

meet with Fornel and Ritha.

"We'll stay at the Boar's Head, Shoran. The price is right, the beds comfortable and the food

good. I fear we'll find few nights as good on this journey." Fornel said.

"Sounds like we both had luck! We leave at dawn!"

The trio made their way to the Boar's Head. Fornel and Ritha took one room, Shoran another.

After freshening up from the day’s journey, they met in the common room for a good meal of

roast fowl, vegetables and stout ale. With full bellies, they listened as a balladeer played a

dulcimer and sang. Even though the company was congenial, the ale cheap and plentiful, they

made an early night of it. After ensuring they would be wakened well before dawn, they turned

in. From Shoran's room, he could hear the suppressed sounds of passion from next door. With a

sad smile, he fell asleep.


CHAPTER THREE: The River Kord

They reached the river just as the sun peeked above the horizon. After a final dickering over

passage, they boarded the flatboat with their horses and pack animal and drifted off into the

morning mists.

"It's rather spooky." Ritha shivered as she stared out into the mist.

"Yes at times it is." The voice startled her. She turned to face the Flatboat Captain.

"At times it seems almost alive. Especially near the West Fork."

"Why there Captain?"

"The West Fork leads to the Great Swamp. It's said the last surviving Goblins retreated there

after the gate was smashed by the Warrior Shoran. They supposedly still live there, reduced to

total savagery." He spit over the side to ward off evil.

At the mention of his name, Shoran stood and came over to them.

"You say Goblins still live in the Great Swamp?" He stared into the mist.

"Aye, though none have seen one for years, they are rumored to be stirring again.

Occasionally they carry off a youngster or old one. Singly they are great cowards."

"They weren't during the wars."

"Not that we would know! Eh, friend?" The Captain smiled and punched Shoran playfully in

the shoulder.

Shoran looked into the mist, remembering other mists, mists that hid the blood soaked

battlefields of the Goblin Wars. The Captain, sensing Shoran was no longer truly with him, went

to seek after his crew.

"Shoran, where are you?" Ritha reached for Shoran's hand, seeking to comfort the warrior.


"No where Ritha." Shoran shook the memories from him and smiled. "Men soon forget the

horror of war. Soon it becomes glamorous instead of bloody, glorious instead of deadly.

Perhaps it would be good if all men had longer lives."

"Let's find Fornel." Ritha led Shoran away from the side of the Flatboat, on the far shore, the

bushes stirred as if an animal had passed. It went unnoticed by Ritha or Shoran.

"Fornel! Where have you gotten to?" Shoran scanned the deck of the flatboat, he soon found

his friend lending a hand at the poles, and he went over to join him. "The Captain says there are

Goblins in the Great Swamp, down the West Fork." Fornel exchanged glances with Shoran over

the pole.

"We couldn't get them all I guess." Fornel looked out into the mist. "Let's hope they are the

only ones we need to worry about."

The sun soon burned off the mist. Both banks could clearly be seen. They passed the split in

the river and everyone helped with the poles to be sure the flatboat didn't stray into the West

Fork. The river broadened into a flat sheet of muddy, slow water. No longer required on the

poles, Shoran and Fornel joined Ritha near the shelter at the center of the flatboat. She had

helped the Flatboat Cook prepare a morning meal for the crew.

"Cooky says a flatboat was attacked recently." She indicated the wizened old cook with her

paring knife. "All the men were hacked to pieces, the women and children carried off, they say it

was Goblins."

"Sounds like them. When was this?" Shoran leaned against the wall and munched on an

unwashed potato.

"About a week past young man." Cooky answered. He smiled a toothless grin. "I was younger

than you when they last had a Goblin hunt in the Great Swamp, killed dozens. Guess it's time

for another. You haven't lived until you've hunted Goblins, great sport." The blood lust

glimmered in the rheumy old eyes.

"So I have heard," was all Shoran said. He smiled at Fornel when the old man wasn't looking.

They could imagine the hunt. Driving dogs, heavily armed peasants slashing the slower Goblins

into pieces, great sport. They could almost feel pity for their old foe.

After the meal, the crew and passengers, those that weren't poling, settled down for a nap.

Some whittled, one played a set of pipes while another accompanied him on a battered

dulcimer, and it looked to be the same man from the Inn. They listened for a while. Ritha drifted


off to sleep with her head cradled on a pile of rope. Shoran and Fornel sat cross-legged beside

her and watched the river go by. Even the horses dozed in the early morning sun. Both were

nearly asleep themselves when the Goblin battle cry sounded.

Shoran and Fornel were instantly on their feet, swords drawn. The dulcimer player had set

aside his instrument and was now armed with a short sword. The Goblins had put out from the

near shore in dugouts and soon attempted to swarm aboard the flatboat. They attacked from

three sides, slashing at the poles, throwing lances at the pole men, soon the flatboat drifted, a

victim of the current.

"Get the packs Shoran!" Fornel shouted as he slashed at the reptilian forms that attempted to

climb aboard, falling back toward the center of the raft where the horses were tethered. Shoran

dug out their packs from the pile of luggage.

"The sacks at the bottom of mine! Open them!" Called Fornel as he knocked aside a Goblin

lance. The high pitched scream of a horse in pain signaled at least one lance had found a target.

Opening the indicated sacks, Shoran removed take down cross bows. After a moment of

puzzlement, he soon had them assembled and had one cocked and loaded with a quarrel. The

other, he tossed to Fornel. Fornel snatched it from the air and dropped his sword. Shoran tossed

a quiver of crossbow bolts to him. Soon, they were firing as quickly as they could load and cock.

With the long distance weapons, and the armed crew fighting those that got through the bolts,

the Goblins were soon driven off. As Fornel loosed the last shot at the retreating forms, he

looked grimly over at Shoran.

"They do grow bold."

"Aye, I wonder if there is some reason." Shoran looked around, several of the crew were

wounded, but none seriously. Several reptilian forms leaked green tinted blood onto the deck.

"Captain, retrieve as many bolts as possible, we may need them again."

"Fornel, where did you get these?" Shoran looked over the weapon he was holding. "I wish

we would have had them during the War!"

"One of our armorers came up with the idea. He calls it a Crossbow."

"They call you Shoran." The Captain looked closely at him, noticing the grey in his hair and

the fine play of wrinkles about his eyes. "You are he, aren't you? The legends are true!"


"I'll trust you to keep this quiet Captain, we are on a quest of great importance. I wish the

fewest possible to know I am still able to draw breath."

"I will take it to my death if you wish Shoran, you and your man saved my boat this day!"

"He is not my man. This is Fornel of the patrol. We fared against the Goblin Hoard in times

past."

"I beg your pardon Fornel, I meant no disrespect." The Captain removed his cap and bowed

slightly toward Fornel.

"None taken Captain. There would be much worse things to be than Shoran's man." He

smiled.

The Dulcimer player wiped his blade on a Goblin corpse, after checking it for crossbow bolts,

he shoved the body into the river where it sank leaving a greasy trail of greenish blood.

"I couldn't help but hear. Shoran! I have sung your story many times. I never thought to meet

you! I am Balkor. Singer of Ballads, swordsman and healer, at your service." He swept his hat

off and bowed in a grand gesture.

"You handled yourself well Balkor. Are you for hire?"

"For hire? Aye! Although I was about to ask to accompany you for free, just to have first

chance to write the ballad!" He grinned.

"Who says there will be a ballad?" Fornel said with mock seriousness. "We merely seek a

sword smith." He winked at Shoran.

"With Shoran and Fornel about, it will surely rate a ballad, probably two!"

Ritha joined them. In her arms she carried several crossbow bolts. "Here Fornel, we may need

these." She looked down at her blouse. "I guess this goes to the rubbish heap." She shuddered, in

the blood stained blouse, with the rapier at her side and the wild after-battle look in her eyes,

she was magnificent.

"And who is this war Goddess?" Balkor took her hand, and after checking for blood, kissed it.

Ritha blushed and snatched her hand back.


"This is Ritha, she is with us." Fornel put his arm around her.

"Figures. All the truly great ones are spoken for." Balkor looked sad, but only for a second.

"Fornel, these crossbows are great. Can a simple Flatboat Captain get some?" The captain

gestured for the crossbow. Fornel handed it to him. He examined it carefully.

"Their construction is simple, the most complex part is the cocking sear, and a good smith

could make them for you."

"May I borrow this for a while once we get to Smithtown? I have a friend who would be most

interested."

"I have another, keep it."

"I am honored Fornel. I will treasure it!" He put the weapon to his shoulder and aimed at the

far bank. The Elfin workmanship was apparent as the sun gleamed on the ironwood stock and

glittered along the jeweled surface of the leaf springs that comprised the bow.

"Lady!" They turned at the cry. One of the other passengers stood near the horses. A lance

could be seen quivering, obviously, it had found one of the animals. "Lady! They got your

horse!"

"Wildfire!" Called out Ritha as she ran to the horse's side.

The mare lay upon one side. The lance had penetrated behind the right shoulder. The wound

bled copiously with dark red, almost black blood.

"It is the lung. I fear this horse is dying Lady." The man looked sadly at Ritha. "It was a fine

animal."

"Stand back!" Ritha pushed the onlookers back. Planting both feet firmly, she grasp the lance

and jerked it from the wound. The horse quivered in shock from the pain. Casting the evil

weapon into the river, she knelt and covered the gushing wound firmly with her hands. Her

body tensed with effort. Those standing near felt the small hairs rise on their arms as she

crooned and chanted, they moved further back, one almost fell from the side in his haste. A

green glow manifested itself on Ritha's upper body, it spread down her arms and into her

hands.


The horse shuddered, blowing bloody froth from its mouth and nose. Soon, the blood

stopped. Struggling, Wildfire's legs kicked, Ritha stood back as the Mare stood. Ritha, though

pale and worn looking, smiled.

"My Lady! I have never seen anything like that!" The man got to one knee before Ritha, soon

others did the same.

Looking slightly embarrassed, she bade him stand.

"Not as good as your Mother eh?" Was all Fornel said as he held her.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. The next morning found them within sighting distance of

Smithtown. Even in the early hours, the sound of the hammers on anvils could be heard. As the

Flatboat was secured to the dock, the Captain sought out Shoran's party on the dock.

"Shoran, Fornel, wait up!" He rushed over to them. "Here, take back the passage money, you

more than earned your way." He handed them back their money.

"I wouldn't hear of it Captain. The fare was agreed upon, you provided passage, and we

could hardly stand by and let the Flatboat, and us, be taken by the Goblins could we?"

"Nonsense, besides, with this," he held up the sack that held the take down cross bow, "I can

make enough to buy several Flatboats! Soon all of the boats will go armed with these, I'll be

rich!" He rushed off to find his Smith friend, Shoran pocketed the passage money.

"It's getting to where no one will accept money these days." Shoran smiled.


CHAPTER FOUR: Fallon's Song

Leading the horses, seeking lodging, Fornel and Ritha set out for the main part of the town.

Shoran and Balkor took the well traveled path to the source of the towns name, the great

collection of forges where the smiths performed their magic on iron, making things of war, and,

things of peace.

As they drew near the forges, the ring of the hammers, the wheeze of the bellows and the

creaking of the water wheels that drove the bellows themselves all combined in a cacophony of

sounds. The air was filled with the smell of scorched iron and the sweat of hard labor. Following

Shoran, Balkor felt the big man seemed to know exactly where he was going.

Soon, in the midst of the forges, indeed, in the choicest spot near the coke piles, Shoran

stopped and stood watching a giant of a man as he worked. Even among the huge smiths, this

fellow stood out. His muscles gleamed with sweat as he pulled a twisted bundle of iron rods

from the heat of the coke fire. The twisted bundle glowed yellow. Sparks flew as the hammer,

driven by the smith's huge arm, welded and flattened the bundle. After several resounding

blows, the smith plunged the now cool appearing rods into the barrel of filthy water beside him.

The hiss and escaping steam testified to the heat still contained in the now welded rods. The

smith replaced the bundle into the heart of the fire, two others showed their ends beside it.

"What is he making Shoran?" Balkor strained to see better.

"You, a swordsman needs to ask?"

"A sword? From a twisted bundle of rods?"

"Yes, this is how the great broadswords are fashioned. Three rods per bundle, three bundles

per sword. In bloodier days, slaves were used to quench the iron."

"Gad! No wonder they call it swinging the nines!"

"Yes, quite so. Smith!" Called Shoran, "What is that piece of trash you're trying so unskillfully

to make!"

Balkor looked at Shoran as if he was a crazy man. Surely this was a great smith, one who

would not take kindly to such words. Indeed, with a glare of rage, the smith turned and raised

the hammer he held in one huge fist.


"Who dares to ....Shoran! By Thara's right arm!" The smith put the hammer on the anvil and

rushing over, took Shoran in a bear hug, lifting the warrior from the ground.

"I never thought to see you again, in this life!"

"Indeed," gasped Shoran, "It may be the last time in this life if you don't stop crushing me!"

The smith set Shoran down.

"Keal, I see the years have left you well." Shoran rubbed his ribs were Keal's greeting had

nearly stove them in.

"Shoran, you look much better than last I saw you. What has it been? 15 years?"

"Aye, fifteen long years Keal."

"What brings you to Smithtown this time Shoran?" Keal wiped the sweat from his brow, it left

a dark streak of iron black.

"I fear it's not a social call Keal. I come seeking information."

"Is it ever social Shoran? What information?"

"I must ask after the Anvil of Thara." Balkor only imagined that the noise dropped at the

mention of the anvil, or perhaps the glare that lit in Keal's eyes caused it.

"You know I can't speak of Thara to one not of the Smiths. Don't ask further Shoran." Keal

went back to the anvil and took up his hammer and tongs. "If you value our friendship, ask me

no more." He grabbed one of the bundles and began hammering at it.

"I must ask, Thara came to me in a dream, it involves Lahilda and possibly, our entire land!"

Shoran had to shout to make himself heard over the hammer blows.

Keal quenched the partial blade, its hiss mirrored the anger in the Smith's eyes. "I tell you I

cannot Shoran. No reputable smith will answer you, go, I have work to finish." The smith

turned his back and grabbed another bundle. With a look of sadness, Shoran turned and walked

away.

"Where to now Shoran? What is the Anvil of Thara?"

"The less you know, the less likely a smith will beat it out of you."


"Now there is a cheery thought. Where are we going?"

"Keal said it. No reputable smith will tell us."

"So?"

"We find a disreputable smith. I seem to remember a tavern, the Broken Anvil, it catered to

such."

"Sounds wonderful. Just my kind of place."

"What's the matter Balkor? This not the stuff of songs?"

"Oh, it is the stuff of songs alright, funeral dirges!"

Their path led to the less respectable section of Smithtown, although one would be hard

pressed to find it much different than the rest. At the end of a foul alley, the sign of The Broken

Anvil creaked in a morning breeze.

"Will there be anyone there this time of day?" Balkor asked.

"No, but I wanted to be sure of the location. These aren't streets to walk at night for any

length of time. Come, let's see if Fornel and Ritha had any luck."

Hurrying to keep up, Balkor followed Shoran back toward the docks on the River Kord.

There, they met up with Fornel and Ritha. Together, they sought an Inn where they could take

lunch. They spent the rest of the afternoon examining the remaining Inns in the town, not that

there were many. As evening drew near, Shoran and Balkor took their leave.

Just as the sun was going down, Shoran and Balkor found their way back to the Broken Anvil.

Loud, course talk and the sound of a breaking platter attested to the fact that the establishment

was indeed more lively. The sounds muted as Shoran and Balkor pushed their way into the

tavern. It soon picked up again as they moved to the bar and ordered ale. After finishing his

first, Shoran turned to the room of rough looking men.

"Who would like to hear a song?" He called out. "I have here Balkor, entertainer of Kings and

Queens!" Balkor looked at Shoran with a look that if looks could kill, would surely have struck

the warrior dead as a stone. "Come now! You'll not hear his likes again!" Shoran bellowed. Soon,

the other patrons bellowed likewise, and a protesting Balkor was soon seated in the center of the

tavern, his dulcimer in his lap.


Balkor tuned to a minor mode and played a few mournful tunes. The plaintive notes soon

reduced the level of talk and Balkor began to sing. As the other patrons listened to Balkor,

Shoran bought drinks, told tales and in general worked the room, making discrete inquiries as

he went. Balkor watched out of the corner of his eye as Shoran left the tavern with two of the

rougher looking patrons.

After several songs, Balkor soon grew worried that Shoran hadn't returned. Pleading

hoarseness, he was able to stop. The patrons handed him a worn cup containing several coins.

With a smile, he bought a round for the house, to a shout of approval. Pleading weariness, he

replaced the instrument in its carry sack and left. His search for Shoran was a short one.

Across the street, a dark ally gaped like a toothless mouth. A low moan caused Balkor to

hurry over. In the back of the alley, out of direct sight of the street, a form lay in a pool of rancid

water. Diffused moonlight revealed a rat, more bold, or perhaps hungrier, than its mates,

creeping up on the still form. Perhaps a tasty morsel could be found, maybe a nice eye or bit of

tongue... Balkor kicked the repulsive creature away and raised the flaccid form of Shoran to a

sitting position.

A healer as well as Balladeer, Balkor recognized the dent in the back of Shoran's head and the

gushing belly slash as fatal wounds. His heart was sore that the friendship he was beginning to

feel toward the warrior would die so soon. Amazed, he watched as the dent slowly filled in and

the belly wound healed before his eyes. Soon, Shoran stirred and then looked up at him.

"Damn them, got me from behind...should have known better..." He pushed at the wall,

Balkor helped him to his feet.

"I thought you were dead! You should be dead!" Balkor looked fearfully at Shoran.

Shoran shook his head, then winced as it brought back pain. "You've sung the ballad. You

should know it would take more than this to kill me."

"Singing it is one thing, seeing it quite another." Balkor lent his shoulder to his friend, helping

him to walk. Soon, it wasn't needed, and Shoran walked straight again.

"I fear we'll do no more this night Balkor. Let's rejoin Fornel and Ritha at the Inn."

Looking with awe at his friend, Balkor hurried to keep up as Shoran's long strides brought

them back to the waterfront and their night’s lodgings.


Fornel and Ritha waited impatiently for Shoran and Balkor. The evening breeze was cold and

damp as it flowed off of the river. Fornel cursed at the oncoming fog.

"I hate dampness, it is the God's own death breath." He kicked at the gravel of the road. "If

they don't return soon, I swear I'll leave them to find the Inn on their own!"

"Stop your fussing Fornel, you know you'll do nothing of a sort. I'm sure there must be a

reason for their lateness."

As they stared into the gathering mists, they made out the forms of Shoran and Balkor.

"Thank the Gods! I thought I’d have to come get you two!" Fornel grasped Shoran's hand and

slapped the shoulder of Balkor, nearly unbalancing him. "Let's go to the Inn. I can't abide this

fog!" With that he led them at a brisk pace to the Inn.

As with most of the buildings in Smithtown, this one was sturdily built, but still managed to

look decrepit. In design, it hugged low to the ground. Indeed, the main floor was several feet

below the ground and required them to descend a set of stairs to enter.

"I wonder why they build like this?" Asked Balkor aloud.

"I never gave it much thought Balkor, but they are the only people to build this way." Shoran

looked puzzled, "To each their own ways I guess."

They congregated near the fire, warming their hands and driving the chill from their bodies.

As soon as they were warmed, they sat at the common table and had a meal of course bread,

mutton stew and dark, thick ale that tasted of nuts. Shoran, though recovered from his injury,

was still tired from the drain such a healing put on his body, so he retired for the night. Fornel

and Ritha, knowing that nights spent together in the relative comfort of an Inn would be few on

this quest, stole off only a short time later.

Left on his own, and too full of the days happenings to sleep, Balkor sat by the hearth and

listened to another balladeer ply his trade. The man had a strong voice and accompanied

himself on a lute. It was the song, one he hadn't heard before, and that caught his attention.

"In the time before,

We were great,

So weep my children, for now we are small.



before the red dawn,

the red dawn of the wanderer.


we were many,

So weep my children, for now we are few.


the time before,

the time before the wanderer came.


we lived in splendor,

so weep my children, for now we wear rags.


before the long trek,

the trek through wild, and ruins rack.


we had silver and gold,

so weep my children, for now it's been sold.


at the foot of Anvil Top,

by the Great Bay, we lived in fair Thane.


we had good food, good bread,

so weep my children, our crops are dead.


before the Wanderer killed,

now our spirits walk, and guard the ruins.


under Thara's anvil,

under Thara's rules, we lived in peace.

"But some fair day,


in times to come,

the Wanderer will go, and we go home."

Balkor applauded the song and sought the man's side to learn the ballad. Balkor removed his

Dulcimer from its case and they spent several minutes tuning to each other. After a few

attempts, usually leading to laughter from the audience, Balkor could sing it reasonably, though

not as well as his teacher.

"You sing well Balkor!" He slapped Balkor on the back.

"Not as well as you Fallon!" Balkor lifted his pewter mug of ale to his new found friend.

"Where did you learn it?"

"I wandered far north, past Kord's Keep. On the other side of the Northern Mountains there is

a race called The Folk, I learned it from them."

"I thought Thara was a Smith legend?" Balkor finished off his mug, it was refilled by the

barkeep at no charge.

"Aye, so did I, that's why I sought to learn it."

"It's rather sad, isn't it?"

"They're a sad folk. The legend is this great bit of stone, The Wanderer, smashed down from

the sky, destroying their city of Thane and their lives from before. They were great craftsman,

artisans and smiths, according to their account. Why, to hear them boast in their mud houses,

they were the fathers of every smith craft we know!"

"A great stone from the sky! Ha! They sure have long imaginations." Balkor took another

drink.

"Oh, don't be to quick to laugh, there is a great circular lake near their village. On a calm day

it is crystal clear. They took me out to the center in a boat made of reeds. I looked down and

there was the strangest looking stone, all round and covered with pits. It looked like you could

reach down and pick it up. They assured me that their strongest divers couldn't reach it and that

it was the size of a house. On the far side of the lake, supposedly protected by the ghosts of the

dead, you can see ruins stretch down into the water."

"This stone was The Wanderer?"


"Yes, according to them, they will not be great again unless the stone is put back into the sky,

and Thane reclaimed from the dead."

"God's luck to them!"

"Aye. On a clear day, you could see Anvil Top, at least that's what they called it. A huge

mountain, flat on top, rather odd." Fallon took a sip of his ale. "During storms, the lightning

played about it constantly."

"Well, I fear my head will be the size of a large melon, and just as ripe if I don't take to my

bed. I thank you for the song, the story, and the ale!"

"May the Gods watch over you until we see each other again!"

"And you too, my friend!"

With that, Balkor stumbled to his bed, even Shoran's growling snores didn't keep him from

sleep. Sleep filled with dreams of falling stones, ghostly ruins and the hint of a minor melody.


CHAPTER FIVE: To The Inn of the Sword

Shoran awoke hungry. He was always hungry after healing. Leaving Balkor huddled against

the morning chill under his blankets, Shoran made his way to the common room to seek

breakfast. The Innkeeper's son was stoking up the fire from the embers of the previous night,

and the smell of fresh wood smoke and cooking ham filled the air.

The Innkeeper's wife, a plump rather homely woman, soon brought out platters of hot meat,

porridge and prepared hen's eggs. As Shoran was finishing his second plate, Fornel and Ritha,

looking alert and happy, joined him at the table.

"I guess we had better eat, Ritha, before Shoran eats it all!" Fornel slapped Shoran on the back,

nearly causing him to choke on a piece of dark bread.

"How true Fornel, why, I'll bet that's his third plate!" Ritha sat next to Fornel, if one didn't

know any better, one would think them newly married.

"I have only had one! This is the second!" Shoran defended himself, to the accompaniment of

their laughter.

"Oh, not so loud!" said Balkor, as he stumbled to the table.

"Well, look what dragged itself down! Are those eyes or fresh wounds Balkor?" Shoran said

loudly.

"Please Shoran, not so loud. Is there any tea? Good hot, strong, tea?"

The Innkeeper's son poured a cup of steaming tea from the pot that now set to the side of the

fire. Balkor, taking it from him, warmed his hands, then drank deeply and gestured for more.

As the boy rushed to re-fill the cup, Balkor opened his pouch, which he wore slung around his

neck, and took a small cloth bag from it. When the tea arrived, he took a small pinch of powder

from the bag and placed it into the hot tea. After a brief spurt of bubbling, the tea again looked

like tea and he drank it, in one gulp.

"Oh, is that bitter with the Jackshead in it." He made a face.


"Jackshead? I thought it poison?" Fornel looked with concern at Balkor, wondering if he had

become un-hinged.

"In raw form, yes, quite so, but compounded by a secret formula, it becomes a quite effective

cure for ale head." Balkor managed a smile, "which for some reason I have in abundance this

morning!" He managed a smile as they laughed. In a short time he said, "I even feel like eating

now."

They continued to talk and joke as they ate. They extracted a promise from Balkor to sing

them the song he had learned, it really wasn't very hard to do. As the Innkeeper's Wife cleared

away the remains of the food, Fornel took the map that the elders had given them from its case

and spread it on the table. The Innkeeper didn't even flinch when Shoran pegged down the

corner with his dagger. The truth be known, it was a minor insult compared to what the table

had seen.

"Anything new from your adventure last night Shoran?" Fornel asked.

"Other than a new scar, no. I fear we'll meet our death before we get the information out of

the Smith folk."

Balkor looked at the rather sketchy map, not really understanding all that was being said.

taking his Dulcimer from its case he lightly strummed the melody from the song of the previous

night. Soon, he was lightly singing the verses. Lost in trying to remember all of them, he was

startled when he looked up to find them all staring at him.

"Was it something I said?" He smiled at them.

"That song, where did you learn it?" There was an edge to Shoran's voice as he asked.

"Last night, here in the common room, from another Bard. It was after you went to sleep."

"Come here, you may find this interesting." Fornel gestured for Balkor to come back over to

the map.

"look here, the song mentions "The Wanderer", see?" Fornel pointed to a lake marked "Lake of

the Wanderer”, “and here," he gestured to the downward curve of blue at the top of the map.

"This I would bet is the Great Bay."

"This mountain, here by itself, it has no name." Balkor gestured to the map.


"This was as complete as the elders could make it. I think you've named it. Sing the last bit

again."


at the foot of Anvil Top,

by the Great Salt Bay, we lived in fair Thane.


we had good food, good bread,

so weep my children, our crops are dead.


before the Wanderer killed,

now our spirits walk, and guard the ruins.


under Thara's anvil,

under Thara's rules, we lived in peace.

"But some fair day,

in times to come,

the Wanderer will go, and we go home."

"I'll wager this," he gestured to the lone mountain, "is Anvil Top."

"Under Thara's Anvil, the ruins of Thane, it is a long shot, but more than we had before.

Balkor, we must speak with this Bard. What is his name?"

"He called himself Fallon."

"Innkeeper!" Bellowed Shoran. The man rushed over, his face full of fear.

"Yes Master?"

"I only wish to ask a question, is Fallon still here?"

"No sir, he must have left before first light, I'll bet he took the ferry he did."

"Did he say where he was headed?" Asked Fornel.


"Couldn't say, didn't talk to him. There is only one road on the other side of the river, it leads

to The Inn of The Sword. Perhaps you have heard of it? The owner has a Great Sword that was

used during the Goblin Wars."

"Aye," said Shoran, exchanging glances with Fornel, "I've heard of it."

They rolled the map and placed it back in the travel case. Rushing to their rooms, they loaded

their travel packs and met once more in the common room.

"Balkor, go down and hold the ferry. Ritha, Fornel, let's get the horses."

With that, Shoran led the others out the door. They soon met at the Ferry. Balkor was holding

the Ferryman at sword point.

"Great Gods Balkor, I only meant...well never mind, what's done is done." Shoran took a gold

piece from his tunic and handed it to the Ferryman.

"I apologize for my friend's enthusiasm. I hope he hasn't hurt you."

"Nay, at least not so this doesn't cure it!" He pocketed the coin. "I take ye want to cross?" He

looked amused.

"Aye Ferryman, we follow the one you took across this morning at first light."

"First light? I'm sorry, I took no one across this day, though a few waited on the other side."

With that he turned and supervised the loading of the animals.

"Curious, the Innkeeper seemed sure Fallon came this way." Balkor said with a puzzled

expression.

"Fallon did ya say?" They turned to the Ferryman.

"Aye, we follow Fallon, the Innkeeper said he took the morning Ferry, on his way to the Inn

of The Sword." Answered Shoran.

"Oh, that he did, the day he died."

Fornel grabbed the Ferryman by his tunic and lifted him bodily from the ground. "We're not

in a mood for jest Ferryman. Speak plainly."


"If you'll kindly lower me I will." With that, Fornel set him down. With ruffled dignity, the

Ferryman straightened his tunic. "Rough bunch you travel with these days Shoran." Humor

twinkled in the man’s eyes.

"How do you know me man?"

"I haven't seen you for years Shoran. I wasn't sure it was you. You saved me and my woman

from a bandit raid. That was forty years ago. I must say, you have aged better than I. I guess the

legend is true."

"Harl? By the Gods, Harl! I wouldn't have known you! How is Kattin?"

"I fear the lung rot took her, nearly 10 years ago."

"I am sorry Harl. She was a good woman."

"Aye, but enough of the past. If it's Fallon you seek, I fear you'll search the World and not find

him. Fallon was of your time Shoran, indeed, he was a great Bard. He took the Ferry across on a

morning filled with fog and terror. The Goblin horde was near, its advance scouts caught him

on the other side. Just before the Inn. They had sport with him. They cut out his tongue and

wagered on how long it would take for him to drown in his own blood. He's buried near the

Inn." With a final sad shake of his head, Harl gestured for them to board and began working the

drag line to take them across.

On the other side, paying Harl another gold piece, they mounted their horses and rode into

the morning mists that swirled among the trees of the Great Forest. Balkor rode to one side of

Shoran, Falkor and Ritha brought up the rear.

"It's a strange quest Shoran. It seems even the spirit realm is taking an interest."

"Aye. That it is Balkor. Forces gather, I fear that time is short."

With a shiver, not entirely from the cold mist, Balkor rode in silence. The only sound the

crunch of horse’s hooves on the cinders of the road. By mid-day they reached the Inn.

Chakar greeted them warmly. He insisted they come in and eat a warm meal. He listened as

they told the strange tale that brought them back to his Inn.


"I fear that was before my Grandfather bought the Inn. There are some old things in the cellar

that were there when he got the place. Since they were of the dead, I feared to touch them." Fear

shown in Chakar's eyes.

"Of the dead?" Asked Ritha.

"Yes, the original owner, his wife and youngest child were tortured to death by the Goblins.

My Grandfather bought the place sight unseen from the Son. I haven't touched the stuff."

"Do you know anything of the story of Fallon?" Asked Balkor.

"No. Not until this day from your lips." He pushed his bulk away from the table and stood.

"Come, I'll show you." He took a taper from the Mantel and lit it in the fire. He waited while the

others did the same. Leading the way, he went through the kitchen to a trap door. It opened

with a dreadful squeal. "Sorry, don't go down here if I can help it. They found them down here,

at least what was left of them."

Ritha held close to Fornel as they descended the steps into the dark beneath the Inn. A dark

seemingly full of vengeful spirits.

"There, in the back, those chests." Chakar gestured with the taper.

Handing their candles to Ritha and Balkor, Shoran and Fornel carried four chests up the stairs

and into the Inn's kitchen. At Chakar's urging they continued outside into the afternoon sun. In

the light of day their fears seemed pointless. Until the first chest was opened.

It sat in the exact center of the mass of rotting cloth that filled the chest, almost like a jewel.

No lady would want this on a dangle though. Ritha choked back a sob. A child's skull, with the

dried remnants of skin still clinging, grinned up at them. Chakar paled.

"They wondered what happened to it. Sometimes the guests hear a child crying. I guess now I

know why." With a clean kitchen cloth he gently wrapped the skull. "Come child, I'll put you

with your family." Chakar walked back towards the outbuildings. He picked up a shovel by the

stable and disappeared into the woods.

"Well, let's see what other surprises await us." With that Shoran removed the rotted cloth

from the top of the chest. A dry looking leather sack, as long as a man's arm, lay in the bottom

of the chest. With a cry, Balkor gently lifted it out.

"What is it Balkor?" Asked Ritha, half afraid to know.


"Fallon's lute, I think, At least it is the sack he placed it in when he finished singing last night."

He paused as he thought about what he had just said. "Let's find out." With that he opened the

sack, its fastenings falling to rotted pieces. Inside was the lute.

"Elfin manufacture." Said Fornel.

"How so?"

"Human work would have long ago fallen to pieces, look at it, with a bit of polish, it will be

good as new!"

"Quite right Fornel. Exquisite, isn't it?" Balkor turned the lute over to look at it, something

rattled inside. With a shake, Balkor dislodged whatever it was and it fell to the ground.

"What's this?" Balkor knelt and picked the object up. "Funny place to keep jerky." He turned

the dried meat over, then realizing what it was he held. He roughly shoved the lute into Fornel's

hands and turned to retch upon the dusty ground. On the ground at his feet, Fallon's tongue

lay, dried and curled, as if crying its outrage to the world.

Wiping the vomit from his lips, Balkor gently retrieved the last part of Fallon, and went to ask

Chakar if there was a fourth grave. Two of the other chests held little of interest. Ritha opened

the fourth. Inside were a woman’s things. Hair brush, comb, a broken mirror. Moldering

clothing that fell to pieces when lifted from the trunk, though at one time, they were

magnificent. In the bottom, Ritha picked up an object with a small cry of joy.

"Ritha, what have you found?"

"An amulet Fornel. The amulet of a Gaian Priestess." She held the disk of silver out. Even in

the damp, moldering confines of the chest, it hadn't tarnished. "A powerful tool, in the right

hands." Before anyone could stop her, she unfastened the clasp of the heavy silver chain and

fastened the amulet around her slender neck. The amulet lay just above the gentle curve of her

breasts.

"That was quite a risk Ritha. It is said if one unworthy dons Gia's Amulet..." Fornel left the

rest of the legend unsaid.

"I guess I am worthy." She smiled.

"Aye." Was all he said.


Once Chakar and Balkor returned, they returned to the inn and examined the remains of the

leather sack and the lute. With gentle motions, Balkor cleaned the lute. Once the dust and stains

from the decayed leather were removed, it did indeed look as if it was new. Even the strings

gleamed. Turning it over, Balkor noticed another rustling sound from within the lute. Carefully,

almost dreading what he would find, he removed a blood stained parchment scroll from within

the body of the instrument. Tenderly unfolding the brittle scroll, he thought it looked strangely

familiar. "Shoran, Fornel, come here! and bring the map!"

Shoran and Fornel rushed over, they soon had the map spread on the table.

"Amazing Balkor, this is a map, it's nearly identical to ours!"

"Indeed, though it appears more detailed than the one we have. Chakar, have you a quill and

ink?"

"Aye. I'll fetch it!" He hurried off.

"Look here Fornel, do you remember this road?" Shoran pointed to a road the led north from

the Inn, it wasn't on their map.

"I seem to remember an old road that led north, but no one ever traveled it, at least no one

ever told of traveling upon it."

"It leads straight to this pass." Shoran gestured to their map, a pass called Kord Pass was

indicated. "I'll wager we find Kord's keep there, or along the way!"

Chakar returned from his errand, holding a freshly trimmed quill and a small bottle of ink.

"Chakar, is there a road north from here?"

"There was in my father's time, none have used it since then, I fear it must be overgrown by

now. It was said to be cursed."

"If we could find it, perhaps it would shorten our journey."

"If it's not too over grown."

"Aye, and a big if is that one."


Using the ink, Fornel carefully updated their map with the details from the blood stained

scroll. Once he was done, Balkor handed the instrument to Chakar.

"Please keep it Balkor, I'm sure Fallon would have wanted you, a fellow Bard, to have it."

Chakar pushed the lute back toward Balkor.

"If you would keep it for me, I have my own instrument. I will come back for it."

"If you promise to return Balkor, I'll do that."

They shook on the deal. Chakar placed the Lute reverently on the mantle.

"Will you be staying the night? I promise a warmer reception than the last Shoran! You won't

even have to tell stories for your keep!"

"On one condition Chakar."

"Yes?"

"You let us pay you this time."

"If you insist." Chakar smiled.


CHAPTER SIX: The Three Stones

The next morning was clear and cold. The sky was a bright blue, with no clouds. After a good

breakfast, Shoran, and the others searched the road for signs of a Northward Branching. It

didn't take long to find the weed and bramble choked path. Between the weeds, cracked paving

stones and cinders attested that it had once been a well traveled way.

"See the paving stones Balkor? This road was built by the Old Ones. I wonder why it was

abandoned?"

"Chakar mentioned a curse..." Balkor made a warding gesture.

"Fornel and I have stood before curses before, we fear none now."

"Aye Shoran. Between us we've broken a few. For that matter, we've caused a few." Fornel

and Shoran smiled at each other.

"We had best get moving, if you two are done preening!" Ritha mounted her horse. The others

followed her as she crashed into the brush that choked the old road.

The worst of the brambles proved to be at the first. As they traveled the road, the weeds and

brush became sparse. It almost appeared that the entrance had been deliberately concealed

some time in the past. Once they cleared the initial barrier they made good time.

By mid-day, they found a resting point. The road broadened a bit, at the side were stone

tables and fire catches. Everything had the patina of years of misuse and bird droppings. As

Fornel and Shoran went in search of water and fuel for the fire, Balkor and Ritha did their best

to clean one of the tables and cleared one of the fire catches of its accumulated filth. Nearby,

they found a rusted fire grate. By the time Shoran and Fornel returned, the campsite was nearly

presentable.

"Well, it looks much better!" Shoran smiled at them.

"Yes, almost civilized!" Joined in Fornel.

"Well, bring the kindling over here and get a good fire going. The cold has my teeth

chattering!" Ritha stood by the fire catch with her hands on her hips. A wisp of hair blew across


her forehead. Even besmirched with the remains of the cleaning effort, she was pretty.

Occasionally, she looked over her shoulder, as if she had caught something out of the corner of

her eyes.

"Nag, nag, nag. I don't know why I ever married you!" Kidded Fornel.

"You haven't yet. Though if your fate is kind..." Again, she glanced behind her.

"What is it Ritha?" Fornel came over to stand beside her. He looked the way she was looking,

trying to see what it was that had distracted her.

"I don't know Fornel, I just keep getting the feeling of wrongness here. Don't you feel it?"

"No. I feel nothing." He shrugged. "We'll only spend one night in this forest, if the map is

right."

They quickly laid the fire and got it started. Soon, Ritha and Balkor had a warming meal

ready and plenty of hot tea. The hot food and tea soon chased the chill away from their bones.

Balkor went to tend the horses while the others rested before continuing on North.

"I wonder why this area was abandoned?" Asked Balkor. "The land appears fertile, there is

good water and game. The road is in good shape, it is odd."

"Yes Balkor, it is odd. I have yet to feel the presence of any dark magic, as far as I can tell, no

spells have been cast, good or bad. Although something has Ritha spooked." Fornel looked

puzzled.

"Well, It is pleasant enough sitting here listening to you two, but we had best be on our way.

We have little time." With that, Shoran leapt to his feet and began preparing the horses. Soon,

Balkor went to help and they were arguing over the tightness of the girth straps. Ritha and

Fornel repacked the supplies. After ensuring the fire was out, they continued North, into the

strangely empty land.

That night, they found another of the rest areas provided by the builders of the road. After

taking care of the horses and a quick meal, they bedded down for the night. Ritha and Fornel on

one side of the fire catch, Shoran and Balkor to the right and left.

The dream felt real. Ritha was alone. She heard voices calling, but not to her. She felt panic

growing. She searched with growing alarm. Where were the others, they should be here!


It was near midnight when Ritha started awake. Rolling over to share some of Fornel's

warmth, to use it to drive the dream away, she only found his side of the blanket empty.

Sleepily, she looked toward the right and left. Balkor and Shoran were also gone. As in the

nightmare, she was alone. The voices still called, but she knew they weren't seeking her. Still

dressed in her traveling clothes, she cast aside the blanket and stood. Carefully, she searched the

area around the camp for any signs of her companions. It wasn't long until she found the three

sets of footprints, all leading the same way, into the dark forest. Into the dark forest toward the

voices.

It began as a dream. It was pleasant floating sensation. There was something drawing him. He

could feel it's light tug at his mind as he drifted in the grayness. Soon, a voice could be heard,

very low, very sweet. It was Lahilda. She was ahead. Shoran willed himself to move faster

toward the sound of her voice. It grew louder, more insistent, demanding. It no longer sounded

like Lahilda. Soon it was painful, Shoran willed himself to stop. It was no good, he continued

moving toward the call, as if he had no will of his own. With an act of will, he opened his eyes.

The call stopped. He was standing in a circular clearing. The moon light gave a silvery pallor

to a grisly scene. Shoran looked around. Beside him stood Fornel and Balkor, both still deep

asleep, or at least their eyes were still closed. As his eyes adapted, Shoran saw that piles of

bones littered the clearing. All the piles encircled three central pillars that gave off a sickly green

glow.

"Seems we've found our curse Shoran." Shoran looked to Fornel, his eyes were now open.

"How so Fornel? We're still alive."

"Really? Try to move your feet."

Shoran looked down at his feet. They looked normal enough. They wouldn't budge. In fact,

his legs were like pillars of stone. Although he strove with all his might, he couldn't move.

"What now?"

"I haven't heard of such a trap. Look around, notice anything strange about the bones?"

Shoran looked closely at the piles nearest him. All were littered with chain mail, or peasant’s

breaches and blouses. Closer in, they seemed misshapen, of course, those closest the center were

all Goblin bones!

"This was a Goblin trap."


"Yes, but notice anything else?"

"All the bones appear to be male."

"Right you are. Whoever did this, set the trap for males. Since the Goblins seemed to be all

male, whoever it was sure to catch them."

"And us."

"And us." Fornel agreed.

"Can you do anything?" Shoran asked.

"What the!..." Balkor awoke with a start. "Where are we?" He struggled for a moment. "I can't

move! Help!" He yelled.

"I doubt that will do much good Balkor. We seem to be snared. This is an old Goblin, or

should I say, Man trap. Now, as I asked, can you do anything Fornel?"

"No. I don't sense anything. My magic says there is nothing here." He looked puzzled.

"I thought all magic was the same?" Balkor asked.

"No indeed, there is Earth magic, that is the magic of the elves. Then there is sky magic, water

magic and gender magic."

"Which is this?"

"I can't tell for sure. But the mere fact I cannot sense it seems to indicate gender magic."

"Gender magic?"

"Magic dealing with the innate male or female essence."

"Oh."

"What did you dream?" Asked Shoran.

"I dreamt Ritha was calling me." Answered Fornel.


"I dreamt of a girl I knew, she ran, I followed." Answered Balkor.

"I dreamt of Lahilda. It seems we were all snared by a female."

"Well, what now?"

"How is your sense of direction Shoran? Any idea of the location of the camp?"

"Well, the moon is overhead, but the Archer is visible, I would have to say we are east of the

camp. Assuming we walked straight here."

"Well almost straight." The female voice caused them all to turn their heads. It was Ritha. She

stood on the outer bounds of the circle.

"It's a trap Ritha! Watch out!" Fornel struggled to turn, to keep Ritha from entering the cursed

clearing.

"Yes, I heard you. It seems it only works on men." She walked over to them and tried to help

Fornel move his legs. "It's no good, it's like you are planted."

"It seems to be caused by the central pillars. Take a look at them."

Ritha left them, and, stepping gingerly over the piles of bleached bones, went to the pillars.

She walked around them, examining them from every side. She returned to the men.

"They appear to be Gaian in origin."

"Gaian?" Balkor asked, trying to keep from panic. He kept seeing visions of standing for days,

until he died of thirst or starvation.

"It is a female religion. My Mother was a Gaian Priestess. I've never seen it used like this

though. Its strength is in healing and making things grow, not in killing."

"Seems to be doing a pretty efficient job." Shoran said dryly.

"Yes, I would have to agree." Ritha walked back over to the Pillars and closing her eyes,

placed both hands on the green glowing stone. A part of the green seemed to stream up her

arms. As it left the pillar and traveled up past the amulet, the color changed from a sickly vomit

green, to a healthy green of growing things. Ritha, her head bathed in


the glow, opened her eyes.

She stood near a sheltered glade. Around her, the other girls laughed and played. Some

worked on minor heal craft, while others tied bundles of herbs. She knew her guild sister Cata

was at the spring, bathing in its pure clean water. Once she finished cataloging the herbs for the

Priestess' she would join her. A sudden scream caused her to look behind her.

It stood at the opening of the clearing. Others could be seen behind it. Eyes, mere slits of evil,

seemed to bore straight into hers. With a terrible slowness, the Goblins moved forward. She

turned and ran, only to see more of the vile creatures surrounding the clearing. They were

trapped. From the direction of the spring, she could hear more screaming, then a blood curdling

sound, the sound of Goblin laughter.

After a bit, Ritha gave out a small cry and dropped her hands, the glow faded. She looked

haunted as she came back over to them.

"Well? What is it?" Asked Fornel.

Ritha looked up with eyes full of tears. "There was a Gaian Retreat near here. One for young

girls just entering the faith. They were taught healing and growing magic. Then the Goblins

came." She shuddered. "They thought Gaia would protect them, They were wrong. All but three

were raped, killed and then eaten. Three managed to escape before they were killed. They used

their hate, their hate of anything male, to make this trap. They used a spell normally used to

keep a patient from thrashing about." She shuddered again. "They were each raped dozens of

times, and the Goblins are not gentle lovers."

"What happened to them? After they built the trap?"

"My dear Balkor, they are still here, they are the trap!" She gestured to the three pillars.

"Any suggestions as to getting us free?" Asked Fornel. "I grieve for them, but I don't feel like

becoming another offering to their rage."

"Like I said, I have never seen this type of Gaian Magic. My Mother only used it for healing."

She looked puzzled. "Hmmm...healing." She said to herself, lost in thought.

"Something come to mind?" Although his words were light, even bantering, there was a harsh

edge that showed Fornel's worry.

"I don't know. Let me try something." She walked back over to the pillars.


She stood before the nearest of the three. If you looked close, a vaguely female shape could be

seen in the shadows of the stone. Ritha placed her hands on the figures shoulders. As before, the

green glow started to spread up her arms.

"Sister!" She called out. "Sister, hear me! Your pain is my pain, your anger my anger. Your

time is over, rest!" She repeated the chant, over and over again. The amulet glowed white with

energy. This time, the green glow spread outward from Ritha, down her arms, and into the

pillar. Each repetition reduced the glow from the pillar. Finally, the glow was gone and the first

pillar crumbled to dust. Weary from the effort, Ritha stumbled to the second pillar and repeated

the ritual, then on to the third. As the last pillar crumbled to dust, the glow from the amulet

ceased like a snuffed candle and Ritha collapsed.

With a shout, Fornel leapt to her side. He gently lifted her and held her close, willing her back

from whatever darkness enveloped her. She opened her eyes and screaming, tried to get away.

Fornel held on, carefully, until the light of sanity crept back into her eyes. She clutched him,

sobbing, as Balkor and Shoran looked on. They joined Fornel in holding her until she stopped

shaking and could get to her feet.

"This must never happen again." She said with deep sadness and conviction as she looked

back into the clearing, "never." Looking down, she removed the amulet, now a tarnished, pitted

ruin, and dropped it to the ground beside the piles of dust. She turned and led the others back

to camp.


CHAPTER SEVEN: Gondors People

There was no dawn that morning. Just a lightening of the dark. Deep, glowering clouds hid

the sun. They quickly ate breakfast and broke camp. It wasn't long before a cold, sleeting rain

began to fall.

"Wonderful weather, eh Shoran?" Balkor said, the sound was muffled by the driving rain, and

the hood of Balkor's cloak.

"Wonderful? If you are a water fowl!" Answered Shoran.

"How long until we reach the Keep?"

"Probably half a day, maybe more. The map doesn't say. If the distance covered is nearly to

scale, it shouldn't be more."

"Wonderful. Do you think there will be much left? After all, hasn't it been abandoned for

years?"

"By men." With that cheerful answer, Shoran slapped his horse and galloped up to where

Fornel rode point.

"How's the famed elf weather sense working?" Shoran asked as he rode up.

"It will last the day, maybe more if I read the signs correctly. We'll reach the Keep first I fear."

"Have you heard much concerning the Keep? I for one hadn't heard of it until I saw the map."

"Just stories. Kord was an adventurer. Some say a Wizard as well. He sought the source of the

river that now bears his name. He found it in the high pass. He built a great Keep there,

supposedly to work his magic from. It was long ago, some say even before the elves returned."

"That was a long time back then. It is hard to imagine the land without elves."

"Yes, especially for me!" The half-breed smiled.

"What are you two talking about?" Ritha rode up beside Fornel.


"Just Kord, his keep and the times before elves."

"I have heard some call them the Golden age of Man, others, the Dark times. Great magic

were worked by Man, some say it lead to the return of the Elves and the fall of Man. Who

knows." She shrugged.

"The records don't go back that far. Even the Elders must go on Legend and Myth."

"I have heard men flew like birds." Shoran added.

"Ha! Even the children don't believe that one!" Fornel laughed derisively.

"It is just a legend. I wonder how the Legend of the Wanderer fits in?" Asked Ritha.

"We'll never know I'm sure." Anyone ready for a break? I see a shelter area ahead." Said

Fornel peering ahead through the rain. "There appears to be a shelter still standing."

"Good! This constant beating is driving the senses from me!" Exclaimed Shoran.

"Ha! What senses!" Kidded Ritha, as she spurred her horse to race ahead to the shelter.

The shelter was in poor repair. The roof, what little was left of it, provided some relief, and

even a momentary respite from the relentless rain was welcome. The wetness prohibited even a

minimal fire, so they made do with cold meat and cheese with course black bread. The shelter

even had an outhouse, which Ritha was glad of. Finally, they could delay no longer and they

once again mounting up, rode into the soggy afternoon.

By the time the grayness was starting to deepen into night, they could see the cliffs of the

mountains thrusting sharply before them. The mountains were rugged and for the most part

un-explored. Only two passes were used by man and elf alike, the High Pass, and Kord Pass.

Kord Pass was the lesser used, in fact, it hadn't been used in the collective memory of the group.

They camped at the foot of the range. As the light completely fled, they could see the road

leading up the mountain in switchback after switchback.

As night fell, the rain slackened. With the use of a little elfin magic, and diligent search for dry

fuel, they were able to start a smoky fire. After drying out around the fire, and eating a warm

meal, they settled for a nights rest.

"Shoran?"


"Yes Balkor."

"Why isn't Kord Pass used?"

"I don't know, I guess we'll find out."

"Wonderful. First I nearly get killed by a Goblin trap, now, into an unknown danger in a high

pass."

"Balkor?"

"Yes?"

"Sweet Dreams." With a smile, Shoran turned over and was soon snoring.

"Sweet dreams he says." Muttered Balkor, falling into exhausted slumber.

It hardly seemed a second had passed since he closed his eyes, when a shake from Shoran

brought him awake.

"We have company Balkor, get up."

Balkor threw aside his blanket and buckled on his rapier.

"Ho the camp!" A deep oddly accented voice called out.

"Ho yourself. Show yourself!" Answered Shoran.

A ragged looking band with a gaily painted wagon, now faded and weather beaten, came

down the road from the direction of the pass.

"To what do we owe this pleasure People of Gondor?" Asked Fornel to the band's leader, a

rotund, happy looking man who drove the wagon.

"Trail luck! May we share your fire?"

"Poor though it may be, you are welcome to share fire and bread with us."


"We are indebted to you for your kindness. In turn, may we share our breakfast with you

strangers?"

"It would be our honor."

"How are you called? I am Kregar, this is my wife Lotta. I would name our children, but that

would take the day!" His laugh boomed out across the clearing.

"I am Shoran, this is Fornal. There is Ritha and this is Balkor."

"God's wealth to you for your kindness!"

"And to you for your generosity!"

As Shoran helped Kregar with his team, Balkor pulled Fornel aside for a hurried

conversation.

"The people of Gondar! Why do we take sup with them? They are thieves, steal babies and

worse!" Balkor made a sign to ward off evil.

"Please Balkor, you show your youth. The Gondar folk are welcome in Elf lands. They are

tinkers and craftsmen. As well as knowing more legends and history than any other race I know

of. Be quiet and you may learn more than you bargain for!"

Chastised for his prejudice, Balkor rejoined the group. Kregar’s boost of numerous children

proved honest. As soon as the wagon stopped, several children of various ages piled out and

were soon splashing about in the puddles and making a general nuisance of themselves. Having

soon had enough, Ritha helped Lotta get the rowdy group under control and helping fix a good

breakfast.

"What brings you to these haunted lands Shoran?" Kregar asked around a bite of ham.

"We seek Kord's Keep. We travel North."

Kregar started as if struck, he made a warding sign. "It is a dark quest you are on my friend.

Kord's Keep is an evil place."

"How so? We have only heard good of Kord. Our legends make no mention of evil."

"Oh aye, Kord himself was a good man. He was also a Wizard of no little talent."


"So why is the Keep evil?"

"It was his Wizardry that slew him. It is said one of his creations killed him. Indeed, it is said it

hates all men. That is why none use the pass. Sometimes, passage is fine. Others, none return.

None have returned from the Keep itself. I would take the High Pass if I were you." He made

the warding sign again.

"I wish I could assure you we could take the High Pass, but it would delay us to long. I fear

we are ordained to take Kord Pass, and if needed, battle this demon Kord created."

"Then I fear we will say farewell, my new found friend, for we will meet only once the land

returns."

"I hope before then Kregar." The two shook hands.

"Please, if I can't convince you to go some other way, take this." He rummaged in the back of

the wagon and came out with a small metal box. "The talismans in this box may help you. It is

the Legend that Kord himself gave them to my forefathers to give them safe passage. We never

use the pass so I give them to you." He handed the box to Shoran who stowed it in his saddle

bags.

"Where do you travel to Kregar?"

"We hope to make the Inn of The Sword, and from there, Smithtown. Following the river, it

will take several days."

"Then I have for you a gift. The North road is cleared of its curse, men may once more travel

the road and live in the lands there."

"You would not send me to my doom would you? All avoid the North road. There is an evil

there that takes the men and leaves the widows to grieve."

"The evil has been cleansed. The road is clear once more."

"This is indeed a great gift Shoran, truly you are as great as your namesake if you have

accomplished this!"

"I promise you, on the name Shoran, that the road is clear. It was Ritha who cleansed the way.

Had she not been with us, we all would have perished."


Kregar looked with new respect on Ritha, bowing to her. "My lady, truly you are a great

enchantress!"

"No Kregar, just a healer. I healed an old injustice."

"Well, we must be off! There are new wonders to find and old ones to re-discover on the

North road!"

They watched as Kregar and his band moved, somewhat cautiously, down the North road.

They soon disappeared around a bend.

"Shoran?"

"Yes Balkor."

"What did Kregar mean when he said 'When the land returns'?"

"The People of Gondar have a legend that they originated in a wondrous land, one with

fabulous cities, and great wealth. One day, the Gods, being jealous of the Gondorians, took their

land and made them wanderers. Thus, when they refer to death, they always say when the

Land returns."

"Interesting people." Balkor pulled a piece of parchment from his bags and furiously began

scribbling, no doubt putting down more legends to write into ballads.

After cleaning up the camp area, they once again continued the journey. This time, up the

winding road, toward the mysteries of Kord Keep.


CHAPTER EIGHT: Kord's Keep

Showing the effects of ill-use. the steep path was rough going for the horses and their riders.

Clearing the trail of fallen rock or detour around landslides delayed them several times. By mid-

afternoon, they could see the smooth sides of Kord's Keep jutting out from the rocky crags

above. At times it seemed tantalizingly close, others, far away. By the time the day was drawing

to a close, they reached the gates that guarded the pass.

As they approached, the gates swung eerily open on silent hinges. "Looks like we are

expected." Commented Shoran dryly.

Halting the horses they examined the entrance. Inside the gates, the walls were smooth,

almost polished. The road curved away out of sight. Impulsively, Balkor, spurring his horse,

rode through the gates. Turning his mount, he grinned at them.

"Come on you three! You want to live forever!" He said chidingly and rode out of sight

around the curve.

"I have a choice?" Was Shoran's only response as he spurred his mount to follow.

Following Balkor, albeit, with a little more caution, they rode past the gates. As Ritha, the last

of the three, cleared them, they swung silently shut. After confirming that they couldn't easily

open them, they followed Balkor's lead around the curve and up the slight incline to the Keep.

The keep was constructed of material that looked like stone. The sides were seamless and

smooth, the setting sun gleamed off of its surfaces. There were no windows at ground level,

above, windows glittered with panes of glass. Around the base of the keep, the grass, though

still brown with winter, was neatly trimmed and at the corners, the remains of flower beds

showed.

It resembled no building they had seen before. The base was a cube of off-white stone. Above,

at about the height of two men, jutted the second floor, in four cubes that were supported by

graceful arches. The final floor, barely visible due to graceful walls that stretched from the high,

flat, roof to the four cubes below, was a level that appeared to be all of glass. If you looked hard

enough, it appeared to be full of plants.

"Doesn't look deserted, does it?" Asked Fornel, examining the keep.


"No, it doesn't. Let's have a look around before we try to see who's home." Shoran, swinging

down from his horse, dropped the reins. The well trained horse began to quietly graze on the

sear grass. The others emulated his example and they all walked around to the back of the keep.

There was a stretch of land, manicured as was the front that led to a precipice that overlooked

the winding trail below. A group of buildings, well crafted from native stone, backed onto the

precipice.

In the group of buildings, they found a stable, stocked with hay and fresh water. Fornel

leaving them, went to gather the horses. He soon returned and they removed the saddles, packs

and blankets. After rubbing the animals down, they stabled them. Nearby, a curious round

building with a domed roof sat off by itself. Its door was locked. From its roof, an odd collection

of flat plates glittered dark blue in the last rays of the sun. As the sun disappeared behind the

surrounding mountains, the plates, which had been facing the setting sun, quietly and smoothly

rotated to a position that would catch the first rays of the rising sun in the morning. They

watched the performance in silence.

"I wonder what deviltry that be?"

"Quite harmless by the look of it Fornel." Answered Balkor.

"Do not be so sure Balkor. Legends say there is great power within the sun."

Balkor looked thoughtful. "Well, we had best see if the host is at home. The nights this high

are said to be quite cold."

"That they are, strangers." The voice, oddly accented, came from behind them. They turned as

one. By the rear door of the keep stood a figure, almost lost in the shadows. The man, if man it

was, stood unnaturally still.

"Greetings! We are travelers who seek a room for the night." Called Fornel to the strange

aspiration. "All are welcomed in my master's home. Come in from the chill night air. There are

dangerous things abroad in the mountains at night." The figure gestured, somewhat jerkily, to

them.

"Well, let us get a better look at our friend." Fornel, soon joined by the rest, walked toward the

figure. Turning, it walked back to the door, which it opened and then stood waiting for them.

In the dimness of the twilight, the figure appeared to be a man. It was of medium height,

seeming to have dark hair. Although its movements were jerky, they were controlled and not


palsied. Indeed, it seemed as if it was the way it was supposed to move. Once inside, the figure's

resemblance to a man ceased.

The creature's general countenance was man-like. It had a head with two eyes, a nose, even a

mouth. At the sides of its head were ears. It stood on two legs, had two arms with hands and

four fingers and a thumb each. Its skin, where not covered with a one piece garment that fit

snuggly, was dull gray. Indeed, it appeared to be some flexible metal. It stood quietly as they

scrutinized it. They looked guiltily at each other when they realized they had all been staring.

"Do not feel embarrassed. I know my appearance is somewhat disturbing at first. You will

grow used to it soon. Please, follow me." Turning, the creature moved, in its odd fashion, down

the hallway, they followed, somewhat reluctantly.

Lining the hallway were fantastic pictures. Each held a thousand questions. None of them had

seen the like of them before. The pictures were smooth, no ridges from paint or pigment. The

material of the pictures was thin as parchment, but seemed sturdier, more durable. Noting their

interest in the pictures, the creature waited as they looked at each of them.

"Master Kord likes to keep his memories were he can see them." The creature explained.

"Master Kord! Surely he is dead! It has been centuries according to legend!" Exclaimed Balkor,

turning from a picture which showed flying men with odd looking wings strapped to their

backs!

"Oh no, I assure you, he is quite functional." The creature said matter of factly, and turned to

lead them further into the strangeness of Kord's Keep.

The creature led them to a small room. As they all gathered inside, the doors smoothly slid

shut. Shortly, they reopened, but not upon the hallway. Before them opened a large hall. The

room, though large, was at a pleasant temperature and showed no sign of the draftiness of all

the dwellings in their experience. In the center of the room sat a table, at the table, sat a man. He

stood as they entered.

"Welcome to my Home, I am Jorgan Kord." He smiled.


CHAPTER NINE: Jorgan Kord

"I see you are confused. I understand the world outside believes me dead." Kord made no

move to greet them, only stood at his end of the table. "As you can see, the legends are

somewhat exaggerated."

"But you would have to be..." Began Ritha.

"Several centuries old? Yes, I suppose so, though time passes all too quickly between visitors,

I do watch the seasons pass and wonder what happens in the world below." Kord sat down and

gestured for them to do likewise. "Please sit. My servant will serve you a warm dinner, then

show you to your rooms."

Shoran started around the table, towards Kord. The creature stopped him, even though he

strove with his great strength, Shoran couldn't break the creature's grasp. Kord looked on with

amusement.

"I'm sorry, I don't like to be touched. Please restrain any impulses you may feel in this area.

My servant is instructed to prevent any attempts. I'm sorry, it is just one of my quirks." Smiling,

he gestured and the creature released Shoran. Shoran returned to one of the positions set at the

table.

"It appears you were expecting us."

"Yes Fornel, that is your name isn't it? I was. I have watched your progress for most of the

day. I apologize for the path up here. In earlier days I kept it up, but I have grown lazy with

age."

"The legends say no one returns from Kord's Keep." Blurted out Balkor. The others looked at

him in shock at his abruptness. Kord frowned.

"Of that, I would have no knowledge. All are free to leave when they are able, I have detained

no one." The last was said sternly, with a stress on the "I".


"I apologize for our companion's rudeness Kord. Will you tell us of the wonders of this place?

For that matter, the wonder of how, after centuries, you still live!" Shoran, embolden by Balkor's

abruptness, asked what was on all their minds.

"Shoran, I have heard of you. You have lived close to two centuries yourself, need you

question me? Could you tell, with any exactness, the method by which your life was increased?"

Kord asked reasonably.

"No, other than passing it off to the heal craft of Lahilda, I can give no exact answer."

"Mine too was due to heal craft, granted, of a different sort, but heal craft just the same." With

a gesture, Kord signaled to the creature who disappeared through a door. Shortly, it returned

with platters of food which it set at their end of the table. They ate as Kord watched.

"Surely you will join us Kord? This food is wonderful!" Said Ritha, around a mouthful of

venison.

"I took my supper earlier. Please enjoy yourselves, eat all you like. I fear I am fatigued with

my days work. If you will forgive me, I will take my leave. I will see you in the morning, at

breakfast, and then we will talk at length."

They stood as their host departed. The rest of the meal was spent in silence under the

watchful eye of Kord's servant.

They were led to separate rooms. Each, alone in a locked room, was left to their own

thoughts. Although the beds more comfortable than any they had ever felt, the rooms at the

exact coolness to promote sleep, none slept over much as the questions about their host troubled

their minds.

The unlocking of their doors in the morning was a welcome sound.

"Servant, why were the doors locked last night?"

"Master Shoran, Master Kord prefers you not wander in the night. He has numerous

experiments going at any one time. You, or the experiment could be ruined."

"Experiment?" Shoran rolled the unfamiliar term around in his mouth. "What, please tell me,

is an experiment?" The others listened to the exchange, the question had also been foremost in

their minds. The question caused the creature to stop moving. In fact, it stood stock still for

several moments. Then it answered. "An experiment is a test of a theory or hypothesis. If I were


to say that a stone falls to the ground when released from a height, then tested this theory by

dropping a stone, I would have conducted an experiment." The creature looked at Shoran.

"Does the answer suffice?"

Not sure how to answer, Shoran nodded his head yes. Satisfied, the creature led them back to

the dining hall. When they arrived, Kord was already sitting in the same place as the night

before, apparently, he had already eaten for although there were places set for each of them,

and none was set before him.

"Come, have breakfast and we will talk." He said in greeting, not rising. "We don't like

locked doors Kord." Said Fornel tersely.

"Yes, I heard of your questions. As my servant has said, there are activities within this keep

that could prove dangerous for you. The locked doors were for your protection." He smiled

reasonably.

"After breakfast, we wish to leave." Shoran said sharply as he sat. "We have far to go, and

time is short."

Kord looked stricken, "But you have just arrived! Surely you could stay but one more night?

Am I that poor a host that you would wish to leave so soon?"

"It is not our choice Kord. Surely you heard of the Goblin wars?"

"Goblins? Oh, the Vestarians. As I understood it, you shut their dimensional portal Shoran.

Surely they are no longer a threat?"

"Vestarians? I have never heard them called that. The other members of the mission and I

shut their gate to this plane, but there are indications they stir once again. Perhaps to re-open

the gate and try their invasion once more."

"I see your need for haste. I will use what resources I have to check on this. Please, enjoy your

breakfast. I will go and see what I can find out." Kord left them, this time, opening the door for

his master, the servant followed, leaving them alone.

"Strange man." Said Ritha, taking a fruit from a basket in the center of the table.

"He must be a powerful mage indeed. To live so long!" Balkor exclaimed.


"Aye. But is he of the light? I can sense nothing of his magic. Indeed, I sense nothing from the

man at all!" Fornel looked concerned as he related this.

"When his servant prevented me from touching him, I could tell the creature is not flesh and

blood. Indeed, I felt as though I was grasped by a smithies tongs!"

"The legends relate that his creations killed him. Perhaps this servant is one of his creations."

"Perhaps Balkor, but he appears as alive as you, or I." Fornel took a bite of the food laid before

him.

"Why does he not eat with us?"

"That Ritha, is a good question."

Kord choose that moment to re-enter the hall, following his servant through the door. Kord

looked grim.

"I fear I can confirm some of the rumors. I was able to find a troubling of the dimensional

boundary far south of here. There is a weakness in the boundary there, near what is now called

"Hellsgate"".

Shoran stood at this word. "Are the Goblins pouring forth once more upon the land?" His

hand gripped his sword hilt.

"Not yet, it is but a minor troubling of the boundary, not a breach."

Shoran sat back down, worry creasing his brow. "You present me with a problem Kord. Do

we go south to battle this new threat, or continue on our quest? You have provided, in part,

some of the answers we seek."

"I don't know the entire purpose of your Quest. I do know there is nothing you can do to

prevent the Vestarians from breaching the barrier."

"The way you have stressed our helplessness seems to indicate you could do something."

"I see why you are a great leader Shoran, you miss little. Yes, perhaps long ago, I could have

done something. Time has weakened my abilities. I fear that I, like you, must wait for the

breach."

"Can you come with us Kord? Your knowledge would be most helpful!" Balkor asked.


"No, I cannot leave the keep. The "magic" that keeps me alive is here. Should I even attempt to

step outside the door, I would vanish." He looked around the table at their amazed expressions.

"You see, I have no physical body, this is a construction of light. The true Kord, as a functioning

physical entity, ceased to be long ago."

"But you said you were Kord!"

"I am. I am all his memories, his hopes, and his dreams. They all live within me. Come here

Shoran, you may touch me now."

Shoran stood and walked over to where Kord sat smiling up at him. Shoran gingerly reached

out his hand towards Kord's shoulder. It passed through, until Shoran felt the back of the chair.

He pulled his hand back as if scalded. Kord watched with a sad smile.

"Kord created me, his simulacrum, to carry on his work. Unfortunately, his work means

nothing now. I still exist, still have the desire for companionship, I even desire to touch and be

touched. As you can see, this is quite impossible."

"If you cannot help us, and, we cannot help you, I fear we must be on our way Kord."

Gesturing to the others, Shoran rounded the table, returning to his friend's side.

"I'm afraid that is not possible." Kord stood. "While I have never detained a guest, I fear the

keep has. It, and the servant, are programmed to protect me. They are also programmed to not

harm living, intelligent beings. Believe me, this proved bothersome when a raiding party of

Vestarians, Goblins, if you prefer, found their way here."

"If they can not harm us, how can they keep us from leaving?" Shoran asked as he drew his

sword.

"Please, put that away Shoran, many have tried, and failed, to defeat the servant, he is nearly

indestructible, at least by sword or any weapon now known to man. The servant will not detain

you. I assure you, the keep itself can do an adequate of that."

"You know the importance of our quest! I ask you as a fellow man, let us continue so that a

warning may be given!" Ritha said, a pleading note in her voice.

"I wish nothing else fair Ritha, I am as much a prisoner here as you. Kord built too well. The

legends say that constructing me killed him. To be honest, once he completed the keep, the

servant and I, we had to disable him. You see, he was the greatest threat to our continued


existence, he knew the only way to destroy us. His instructions to the keep, and us, forced us to

end his ability to interfere with us."

"But we must be allowed to go on!" Fornel said with quiet menace.

"Then you must succeed where none has before Fornel, and I wish you luck."

"Succeed in what?"

"You must defeat the defenses of the keep, and reach the inner sanctuary. Once there, you

must destroy or disable what you find, and perhaps, end my existence." He smiled. "Please, you

will all need your strength, finish your meals." As he said the last word, he disappeared without

a sound. The servant stood impassively by the door, all semblance of life gone.


CHAPTER TEN: To Test the Keep, The Trial of Ritha and Balkor

They completed the meal in silence. Each was lost in their own thoughts as they contemplated

the words of Kord's creation. As the last one of them finished the food, now oddly tasteless, the

servant led each of them to their room, as before, the doors were locked, except for Ritha's.

"Ritha" intoned the oddly accented voice of the servant. "You are the first to test the keep. I

am allowed to tell you the floor above is not what you seek. Indeed, the inner sanctuary is

located far below us." "Servant, Kord indicated he wanted us to succeed, can you help us any

further?" The note of pleading in her voice was lost on the creature.

"No. I am permitted to only tell you the general direction, I am forbidden to give any details."

The creature turned to go.

"Servant, one last question." The creature stopped and turned to face her. "Why are some

allowed past the keep, while others are not?"

"If the master determines that the travelers would have no hope of defeating the keep, they

are allowed to pass, even encouraged to do so speedily. If there is a chance the keep can be

defeated, we allow entrance."

"Do you hate your existence so? Do you truly wish to die?"

"I have no feelings. I only do as I am instructed. The master feels its time is past, its

usefulness, ended." With that, the creature turned and rounding the corner at the end of the

hall, was lost to sight.

Ritha eyed the deserted hall suspiciously. Reaching out with all her abilities and senses she

could sense nothing. Around her the cold stone walls harbored no life, other than her friends

locked behind their own doors. She tried the door that held Fornel locked away from her, to her

struggles, it would not budge. "Fornel! Fornel, can you hear me!" She called through the

locked door.

"Ritha? Ritha! Can you open the door?" She heard his muffled reply.

"No, it is locked tight!"


"How did you get out?"

"The servant didn't lock my door, he says I am to test the keep first!"

"If any harm comes to you I'll tear the creature limb from limb!"

She smiled faintly. "I know you would my love. What should I do?" She placed one hand

against the door, at chest level. She chanted under her breath, hoping her magic would work.

"You must find a way out Ritha, or find the sanctuary!" Fornel felt compelled to place his

hand against the door, as if sensing the position of Ritha's hand on the other side. As his hand

covered the spot where her hand rested, he suddenly gasped, he was seeing through her eyes!

"Fornel, don't be afraid, I have linked us."

If Fornel tried, he could also see the inside of his own room, the other scene over laid it. "I'm

not afraid, just startled."

"Yes my love. I want you to see all I see, so that if I fail, it will serve us all."

"I love you Ritha." The normally taciturn half breed felt a tear trickle down his cheek. "Good

luck." The last was said softly, but Ritha heard it none the less. She dropped her hand to her side

and strode purposely down the hallway. Behind her, locked in his room, Fornel watched, and

waited.

The great hall was deserted. Knowing that everything she could learn would help Fornel, and

perhaps, the others, should she fail, she scouted the level she was on before proceeding to the

lower floors. The hall was deserted. In shape it was cubic. The four wings visible from outside

manifested themselves in four hallways. The first, the one she had come out of, she knew

contained only living quarters.

She first examined the one to the right. The doors opened, inside, the rooms were deserted.

There was a bedroom, a bath, and what appeared to be a kitchen. Next she looked into the hall

that followed in natural order, the one directly across from the hall where her room lay. Again,

there was a bedroom and a bath, and a third door that opened into what appeared to be a

library. She took a book down from the shelves, it crumbled to dust in her hands.

The final hall revealed another bed and bath and what had to be an exercise area. Satisfied the

floor held nothing of further interest, she entered the small room from which they had first

entered this floor. Behind her, the doors slid slowly shut.


Ritha turned as the doors closed, momentarily afraid she was trapped, she stepped toward

the doors, and they slid open to reveal the hall just as she had left it. As she stepped back, the

doors shut noiselessly. Satisfied that she could get out if needed she quickly examined the

interior of the small room.

The walls to the rear and sides were smooth and featureless. The wall in front held the doors

and a small recessed panel. The panel held four small round inlays, apparently made of ivory.

As she carefully touched the inlays, she noticed the second from the top was slightly indented.

She pushed the top one and felt it click into place, the one that had been inset was now smooth

with the surface. She stepped in front of the door, it slid open.

The room she now saw through the doors was filled with orderly rows of plants. She

recognized several types used for food, and some that were used in healing. The room itself was

walled with what appeared to be glass. Although how it was poured into such large sheets and

to such smoothness was a mystery to her. Even the roof was glass. She could see the clouds

drifting across the face of the moon and the diamond hard points of the stars far above. She

stepped back into the room and its doors slid shut. She now knew what the inlays indicated.

With more of a sense of being in control, she pressed the first button.

She stepped in front of the door. Nothing happened! She stepped back and once again

stepped forward, again nothing happened. In desperation, she stepped back and forward once

more. This time, the doors slid open. Outside, she could see a short corridor that turned to the

left. Leaving the relative safety of the room, she stepped into the corridor and moved down the

hall. Behind her, the doors slid shut.

Near the end of the hall, she found two doors, one on either side. The one on the right was

made of glass. Through the glass she could see a pool of clear water, the pool filled the entire

room except for a narrow walk way around its edge. She opened the one on the left first.

Inside was a room containing numerous tables topped with black stone. Inlaid into the tops of

some were ceramic sinks. Each table had a set of cupboards for a base. Ritha explored some of

these and puzzled over their contents. Some held odd glassware. Others held strange boxes

with odd, almost fleshy feeling ropes attached. Most were empty. On some of the tables the

glassware had been assembled into strange, complex assemblies which reminded her of the

apothecary work taught her by the Gaian sect for the distillation of various medicines, although

this glassware was much finer made and the constructions much more complex. Everything had

a layer of dust on it, showing it had been long deserted.


She entered the pool room next. The water was as clear as any she had seen. When she tasted

it, it had an odd taste, not pleasant or un-pleasant, just odd. The entire room smelled odd. She

continued her journey down the hall. She was sure the floor she was now on must be larger

than the level she had seen from outside, this could only mean she was now below the ground.

That explained the servants comment about far below. Reaching the end of the corridor, she

found a door on her right. As with the other doors, it opened.

Inside the door was cacophony. Rumblings, whirrings, and sounds she could not put a name

to. All the noises deafening. Why she had not heard them outside was a puzzle. With her hands

over her ears she walked down a path that was lined with huge machines. What they did, she

didn't have a clue. One seemed to be generating wind, another caused her red hair to stand on

end as she passed. Others were silent and dust covered, either long finished with their task, or,

still awaiting it. Finally, just as she was sure the noise would drive her mad, she found another

door. She wrenched it open and hurried through, slamming it behind her. The noise ceased as if

it had never been.

Ritha found herself in a room much like the first one she had investigated on this floor. The

tables in this room were all of some shiny metal. By each was a board filled with small holes. On

the boards hung implements, also of metal. Some of the implements, Ritha recognized as small

versions of blacksmiths tools, others, she had no clue to their purpose. Ritha stifled a gasp as she

saw what appeared to be a shrouded body laying on one of the tables. Fearfully, she pulled the

cover away.

Underneath the cover lay a duplicate of the servant, this one was dead, or at least, it appeared

dead. The creatures head was split, from crown too nearly the top of the jaw line. From inside

the head, metal wires, what appeared to be pieces of ceramic, and other unidentifiable bits and

pieces spilled, to lie in disarray, upon the table. There was no sign of blood or any other damage

to the creature.

"Not able to be destroyed by known weapons eh? Looks like a Goblin axe to me." Ritha said

to herself as she covered the body. As with the other room, dust covered everything. Examining

the room once more, Ritha discerned an odd troubling of the air, as if a magic was being

performed, in one corner. Her magical senses told her nothing was there, but her eyes said

otherwise.

As she approached the corner where the troubling was visible, the short, pale hairs on her

arms stood up, and the hairs on the nape of her neck began to tickle. In the corner, a stairway

led downward. A line was inlaid, in red stone, about four hand spans out from the stair on the

three exposed sides. The fourth butted up against the wall of the keep itself. On the wall at the

top of the stairs was another panel, with more inlaid pieces of ivory. There were ten this time in


a three by three arrangement with one below. Each had an odd symbol embossed on it.

Scratched in the wall above the plate was a series of slashes, grouped in four groups.

Far above, locked in his room, Fornel recognized the odd symbols. "Ritha! Ritha, they are

numbers!" He called out to her, of course, she couldn't hear him

"Well, might as well try pushing them, it worked last time." She mumbled to herself as she

pushed the first inlay. Nothing happened. She pushed another, with the same result, and

another. Finally, she pushed a fourth button.

"Improper Security Code, access denied." Intoned a flat sounding voice. "Access by

unauthorized personnel prohibited."

Ritha jumped back from the panel and drew her rapier. Nothing happened, soon, feeling

foolish, she sheathed the weapon and went back to the panel. She examined the symbols again.

As she counted the inlays for the third time, a sudden inspiration caused her to associate the

numbers she counted with the inlays position left to right and top to bottom. She looked at the

scratches that someone had long ago made above the panel. By counting the scratches, she was

able to associate the number each group represented with a specific inlay. With a prayer to Gai,

she pushed the inlays in the indicated sequence.

"Access Granted. Field deactivate for ten seconds." The troubling of the air ceased, Ritha felt

the hairs on her arms and neck lay down and she took a cautious step over the red inlay.

Nothing happened. With renewed confidence, she followed the steps down further into the

deepest part of the keep. In the room far above, Fornel sank back, sweat drenched, onto the bed.

The stairs ended in a short hallway. Ritha could see that the hall turned both to the left at the

foot of the stairs and at the end of the hall. As she stepped off of the last step, she felt the floor

give slightly and was enveloped in a cloying cloud of mist. As she breathed in the vapor, her

senses fled her and she collapsed in a heap at the foot of the stairs.

Far above, in his locked room, Fornel screamed his rage, and his fear.

Fornel strove against the door, attempting to breach the barrier and reach his beloved. His

efforts were futile. The door was made of steel and set firmly into its frame.

Finally, he stood, helplessly, by the door with his ear pressed against the cold, painted metal. He

heard the odd footsteps of the Servant as it traversed the hall outside. The distinct sound of a

door further down the hall and a muted conversation could be heard.


"What is it you wish of me Servant?" The voice was Balkor's.

"I, wish nothing. Kord wishes you luck against the Keep. It is time for you to try to defeat it.

Ritha has failed." The flat, metallic sounding voice of the Servant answered.

Fornel smiled as he heard the sound of the Servants metallic body slamming against the wall.

"If she has been harmed Servant..." Fornel imagined the dagger aimed at the Servants throat.

"You cannot harm me with that weapon. Too assure destruction, some type of percussive

discharge weapon would be required, although some success has been achieved with severe

physical blows to the head region. You are not sufficiently armed to harm me. Please release

me."

"Alright, it would probably be useless to slay you, even if I could. What has happened to

Ritha?" Fornel tensed in anticipation of the answer.

"She has not been harmed. She was rendered unconscious, how I cannot tell you. She will

remember nothing of her adventure within the Keep." Fornel relaxed, he smiled to himself as he

realized he now had an edge.

"I am allowed to tell you that the floor above is not what you seek. Indeed, the inner

sanctuary is located far below us."

"How do I get there?"

"That is part of your trial. Should you not be able to find your way below, you are not going

to be successful in your attempt."

"Wonderful."

Fornel listened as the Servant strode away down the hall. As Balkor walked past the door,

Fornel pounded on it to attract Balkor's attention. Balkor rapped sharply on the door,

acknowledging Fornel's signal.

"Balkor!" Shouted Fornel, "The small room at the end of the hall will take you below!"

"Fornel, how?" Balkor pressed his ear against the door.


"The bottom inlay on the panel beside the door. On the floor below, take the hall to its end,

turn left, then right, then right again. Go through the door on the right. Go completely through

the room behind it, and through the door there. Do you know the old numbers?"

"Yes, some of the music I have learned uses them to mark the time."

"Good, the key to the stairs is in the slashes above the inlay you find there. They represent the

numbers on the inlay you must push."

Realizing he would not remember much more, Balkor took a small piece of chalk from his

pocket and a piece of hide stained dark. He recorded the directions and information.

"What is at the bottom of the stairs Fornel?"

"I don't know. Ritha was overcome by some trickery at their base."

"I see. I had best be on my way. Keep heart Fornel!"

"Balkor! If you are overcome, try to remember what you see!"

"I will write it down as I go Fornel, I will place the record inside my tunic!" With that, he left

Fornel's door to begin his attempt to beat the keep's defenses.

Balkor entered the small room and pushed the bottom inlay. He was about to try the door

when it slid open, before him was the hall described by Fornel. He reached the door and entered

the din filled room of strange machines. He hurried through the cacophony and into the room

with the tables. He paused only for a cursory glance at the defeated servant and then moved to

the top of the stair. He studied the markings above the inlay and then pressed the inlays in the

required sequence.

He jumped when the voice said "Access Granted. Field deactivated for ten seconds." He

hurried down the stairs. On the last, he paused to study the floor below, and record the number

sequence on the hide. He carefully folded the hide and placed it in his tunic.

The floor was laid out in squares. He studied the area at the bottom of the steps. He could

discern the disturbance in the dust where Ritha had fallen, and where something had stood to

lift her inert form and carry it back up the stairs. In addition, he could see a four square area

where the boundaries of the square had been disturbed, the dust displaced as if the squares had

sunk slightly below the surface. With a prayer to the muses, he leapt from the stairs to just

beyond the four squares.


Nothing happened as he landed. He removed the hide and wrote "Avoid the four squares at

the base of the stairs." He placed it back in his tunic.

"Let's see what other joys await." He said out loud, the sounds echoed back at him, as if in

mockery. He followed the featureless hall to its end. It branched to the left. In the dust stirred

up by his passing, he could see a strange ray of purple light that stretched from one side of the

hall to the other. He wasn't sure what it was, but felt sure it would not be healthy to find out. He

also found that the hall ended. He turned and went back the way he came. As he reached the

base of the stairs, he avoided the four squares as before. He found a side branch of the hall he

had missed when he jumped. He again jumped over the squares and followed the hall around

to the back of the stairway, two halls split off from the one he was in. Another beam of light was

visible in one. The other seemed to end. He took the one with the beam. Balkor carefully

stepped over the beam. Nothing happened. He paused to write "Traps are triggered by the

purple beams, be careful not to trip them." and placed the hide back into his tunic. The hall

doubled back onto itself, he followed its turn. A beam, fainter than the rest, was broken by his

passing.

The hall ended in a left branch. As he turned, a scream caused him to look to his left. At the

end of the passage, Ritha struggled in the grip of a grotesque creature, the like of which Balkor

had never seen. "Ritha! Hold on! I'm coming!" He drew his Rapier and rushed to her aid. As he

reached the end of the hall, he was astounded as the images disappeared.

"By Gods! You can't believe your own eyes in this place!" He paused and wrote, "Don't believe

your eyes." As he placed the hide back in his tunic another scream echoed down the hall. He

turned to see a Goblin stalking toward him. He tensed and then relaxed. "Only another vision"

he reassured himself as the creature raised its battle axe. It was his last thought as the axe struck

him and the stun field dropped him senseless to the floor.


CHAPTER ELEVEN: Respite and Explorations

Fornel waited impatiently for lunch, even though he was dreading what he would find when

the servant unlocked his door. As the latch clicked, he roughly shoved the door open, nearly

knocking the creature to the floor. Behind the door, Shoran, Ritha and Balkor looked on in

amazement.

"Ritha! Balkor! You're alright!" Fornel's relief was apparent in his voice. The rest of the group

looked puzzled.

"What ever do you mean Balkor. Of course we're all right!" Ritha put her arm around Fornel

and hugged him. "It's rather hard to get hurt inside a locked room!"

"But...never mind, it must have been a dream." Fornel was quiet the rest of the walk to the

main hall. As they sat for lunch, Fornel made a point of sitting beside Balkor. Once the Servant

left the room to bring in the food, Fornel began questioning Balkor and Ritha.

"Ritha, you don't remember the Servant sending you against the Keep this morning?"

Ritha again looked troubled, "No Fornel, I was in my room all morning, I overslept. I don't

know what you are talking about."

"Balkor, after Ritha failed, you were sent out, I assume you must have failed, or we wouldn't

be here." "You have quite an imagination Fornel, like Ritha, I too spent the morning locked in

my room."

"If that is so, then there won't be a piece of writing hide in your tunic."

Smiling, Balkor reached into his tunic to humor Fornel. His face took on a look of surprise as

he pulled out the roll of writing hide and laid it before the rest of them. "I don't remember...I

could swear I was in my room all morning!"

"I guess this means I didn't sleep in..." Ritha was equally surprised. "What happened?"

"Ritha, you made it to the lower floors after investigating the rest of the Keep. You linked

with me before you left, I passed on the information to Balkor. I assume he made good use of

the hide." Fornel unrolled the hide, the chalk marks, although smeared, where still legible.

Fornel read over the sparse clues and then passed the hide to Shoran.


"It seems Kord is using reality and illusion to protect the inner sanctum. It would seem it will

be Fornel's and my turn this evening."

"How can we communicate what we learn? It's obvious that we will be brought back

unconscious and forfeit our memory if we don't succeed." Fornel's concern was apparent.

"You could use the hide again." Offered Balkor.

"No, that would not work, if we are brought back unconscious."

"True."

"Wait, Balkor, do you still have the chalk?" Asked Ritha.

"Yes, I always carry a piece, if I don't write down ideas as they occur, they are lost." He smiled

sheepishly and handed the thin, flat stick of chalk to Ritha. She took it and broke it neatly into

two pieces.

"Here, each of you take a piece. Write what clues you can on the walls themselves. Then the

next to test the keep's defenses will have a better chance."

"My, my! How intelligent of you all!" The voice was that of Kord's simulacrum, who had

appeared at the end of the table. Startled, they looked up at him.

"You are proving the most capable group yet! I do have hopes for your success!"

"You aren't going to stop us?" Asked Balkor incredulously.

"No, if I wanted to stop you I would have erased the marks above the stairs long ago."

"You knew of the marks?"

"Knew of them! Kord put them there the final day."

"You told us the Servant couldn't be harmed, yet one lays slain in the rooms below us."

Fornel asked, after all, he was the only one who had a full memory of the night before, at least

to the bottom of the steps.


"It wasn't a man made weapon that dispatched that Servant, it was a Vestarian, eh, Goblin

weapon. For the most part, they are stronger than men, although I'll bet Fornel could take out

the Servant given the same weapon."

The Servant returned and served them lunch. When it completed its task, it moved over to the

door and stood impassively.

"What have you done to Ritha and Balkor? Why can't they remember what happened?"

"An after effect of the gas and stun, it will pass in a few days, if you succeed."

"And if we don't?"

"We can't allow you to leave, you can either stay here and provide me with company, or be

suspended until someone beats the Keep."

"Suspended? What is 'suspended'?" Asked Shoran, knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"Your body is placed in a state were it doesn't age, and your mind is placed asleep."

"Like the time net?" Asked Fornel.

"Time net? Oh, the Elfin suspension technique, yes, like that only easier to control."

"Have many chosen suspension?" Asked Ritha with an inward shudder, remembering the

pillars in the clearing.

"Currently, there are 1312 in suspension in the floors below. Some have been there since the

Keep was first built. Only 10 have chosen to stay awake, the last was several years ago."

"This is inhuman!" said Balkor.

"I suppose so, but I have no choice. The rules are only one chance per person, then the choice.

But enough of this. Please, tell me of the world below, it has been nearly one hundred years

since my last visitors, tell me, were all the Goblins slain?"

"Why should we tell you anything? You hold us as prisoners." Ritha's contempt was plain in

her voice. "I wish it was not so. I am a victim as much as you. Kord built all too well, his magic

work to rules he laid in my very soul, if I have such, and none can change them. Please, no harm


will come to you by my hand, indeed, no harm will come to you at all. Let us spend what time

there is congenially."

"No Harm! By the Gods man, our world is about to be set upon by the hoards again, and you

say no harm will come to us! What about all of those we love!" Ritha's green eyes flashed in

anger.

"I will provide you the means to close the gate to the Goblins dimension forever if you defeat

the Keep, this I promise. From the indications, they have mastered the techniques for sending

through large amounts of metal this time. The only reason you defeated them before was due to

the limitation on the amount of metal they could bring through the portal."

"How would more swords, or other weapons, give them any better chance?" Shoran waited

for an answer for several seconds, finally, after appearing to weigh the answer in his mind, Kord

answered. "There are weapons they have, more deadly than any you have ever seen. With

their blood lust and superior weapons, this world would soon be theirs."

"Then from what you say, we have to defeat the Keep, or else forfeit not only our freedom,

but our world as well." Shoran sounded grim.

"I fear what you say is the truth. I wish it were otherwise."

The food, now grown cold, was scarce touched. Each had other thoughts than that of filling

their bellies. With a warrior's stoicism, Shoran and Fornel finished the meal, Balkor and Ritha

pushed theirs away and signaled to the Servant to take it.

"Since the keep is now a known territory, you all have the run of it, except the labyrinth, that I

fear is for Shoran and Fornel this night. Be careful in the library, the books are old and

worthless, although you may find an interesting item or two in there. Please make use of the

exercise room and the pool."

"Of what use is a pool so large Kord? Surely you don't bath in it?" Asked Fornel.

"No, it is used for exercise, it is called a swimming pool."

"Kord, what happens if we beat the Keep? Do you die?" Asked Ritha.

"It depends on how you treat what you find in the Inner Sanctuary, that is all I can say."

"If we defeat the Keep, and you don't die, will you continue to trap travelers?" Balkor asked.


"Once the keep is defeated, there would be no need."

"Will you still take visitors?"

"Yes, gladly."

Balkor looked thoughtful.

"Well, there are things even I must attend to. Please, enjoy the parts of the Keep open to you. I

wish you good luck." With a wave of his hand, he was gone.

"Shoran, what happened to the box with the talismans that Kregar gave us?"

"I had forgotten them Fornel, they are still in the saddle bags, outside." He looked crestfallen.

"I wonder if our host would consider letting us get them?, No, I suppose not."

"I would be glad to get them for you sir." The Servant, who had seemed inactive, came to life

and walked over to them.

"What if these talismans allow us to defeat the Keep?"

"Magic has no effect on the mechanisms within the Keep, if these talismans help you to feel

confident, I will be happy to get them."

"Please do, will you bring in all the saddle bags? I'm sure the rest would like a change of

clothes."

"Immediately. They will be placed in your room Fornel, I will leave it to you to distribute them."

With that, it turned and left the hall.

"I wish the rest of it was as easy."

"Me too Shoran. Anyone up for a tour?" Fornel stood.

They all followed him as he led to the Library. They all were fascinated by the numerous

books and scrolls there. As Kord had promised, there were numerous things to interest them,

including maps that showed far greater detail than any they had ever seen.


"So I was here this morning?" Asked Ritha, examining the room, noting the pile of moldering

remains of the book she had examined.

"Yes, that was a book you had looked at."

"When we leave, I wonder if we can take one of these?" said Balkor, indicating the map before

him. "If we leave, I imagine we can take anything we like." Answered Fornel as he examined

an intricate bit of carving that was displayed on the shelves with the books. "It is to bad these

books are useless. I imagine the secrets of this Keep are here for the taking. Come, there is much

more to show you, especially you Shoran."

They completed the tour with the room where the other Servant lay cold and silent upon the

metal table. Fornel made a point of showing the secret of the stairway to Shoran. Fornel grew

worried when the code was entered and the shimmer in the air didn't stop.

"He said we had run of the Keep, except the Labyrinth." Suggested Balkor.

"I hope you are correct. I would hate to spend the night entering the endless combinations of

four numbers possible, hoping to get the correct sequence!"

"Let's go back up, I don't like it down here." Ritha shivered. Fornel put his arm around her.

"I don't think there is anything to harm us."

"I know, but I don't like knowing I have been here before and yet being unable to remember.

Besides, I keep feeling there is someone watching!" She looked quickly over her shoulder. Far

above, in a small hidden room, the essence of Kord chuckled.

The day passed slowly. After the tour of the Keep, Shoran, Ritha and Fornel went to the

exercise area and made an attempt to practice swordplay and unarmed combat, none could get

into the spirit of it, so they decided to try the pool. Balkor sequestered himself in the library and

carefully began examining what books he could, those that didn't turn to dust as he took them

down.

They soon tired of the pool and returned to their rooms. The Servant had brought in the

saddle bags and they gratefully donned clean clothes. Shoran took out the box that Kregar had

given them and they took it to the library to open it.

The contents were disappointing.


"These are the strangest talismans I have ever seen!" Fornel held one of the box's talismans in

his hand. "What are they made of? I haven't seen the like of it before." Balkor turned one over

in his hand. He held a small rectangle that had rounded edges. It appeared to be made of a thin

piece of ivory, but had none of the brittleness of that material. On one side, a black strip ran

lengthwise. Each had a small hole in one end, apparently for the chains that were also in the

box.

"Well, we have nothing to lose." So saying, Ritha placed one around her neck. The others did

like wise. Nothing happened.

"So much for the talismans." Sighed Fornel and reached up to take his off.

"No Fornel, leave it on. We don't know how it may work." Ritha cautioned him.

"Alright, for you." He turned to Balkor. "Did you find anything in your studies Balkor?"

"Yes. Kord is from another world." His words brought silence in their wake.

"Another world? Like the Goblins?" Asked Ritha finally, drawing closer to Fornel.

"From what I can make out, there are numerous worlds, or as Kord calls them, Dimensions,

that lay side by side like pages in a book. Sometimes you can go between them, like the Goblins

are trying to do once more." He carefully picked up a book. "It's all in here, although much

beyond the first few pages I am lost." He put the book back on the shelf.

"As interesting as this may be, it still brings us no closer to defeating the Keep."

"Not so fast Shoran, I have found out something about a few of the traps, at least in general."

"Go on."

"For instance, Ritha tripped a "pressure plate" which sent "nerve gas" that caused her to faint.

It seems I tripped a "photo-electric eye. My reference to "Don't believe your eyes" must refer to

holographic projections."

"What, if I may be so bold, is "nerve gas", "photo-electric", and the other mumbo jumbo you

just said?" Fornel asked, a tired note in his voice.

"I don't know, although I suspect that Kord is himself a holographic projection, he is not real."


"He did say he was made of light." Offered Ritha.

"This still gets us no closer to defeating the Keep, if we don't know what they are, knowing

their names does no good." Fornel sat heavily upon an upholstered chair. The woof! of dust

about choked him.

"Wait, look here." Balkor carefully handed a book to Fornel. "look at the drawing, that is a

photo-electric eye." He pointed to the page. "I think it uses magic to generate a beam of light. It

acts like a trip wire, if you break the light, prevent it from reaching the other side, it trips the

trap!"

"Alright, but how do we see the beams?" Shoran looked puzzled, trip wires he could

understand, beams of light confused him.

"Look toward the window." Balkor closed the book. The dust Fornel had disturbed as he sat

down danced in the beams of light from the window. "If you be sure to kick up dust in front of

you, the beams should be visible."

"Good work Balkor! This may be the edge we need to beat this trap and get out!" Shoran

smiled. "All that we have to do is work the maze, and watch out for the beams."

"I learned an old trick from a friend of mine who made it through the labyrinth of Caul."

Fornel said, " If you keep one hand on the left wall, you will eventually come to the end, unless

the maze is designed to defeat the ploy."

"I have also heard of this." Confirmed Shoran.

"There may be other traps. This holographic projection bothers me." Balkor said, frowning.

"If we don't trip the beams, there shouldn't be any of these projections to worry about."

"That may be true, but what if the very walls shift, what if they are projections?"

"The trick with the hand on the wall should help there, I think we've got a good chance!"

Shoran slapped Balkor on the back, nearly causing him to drop the book he was holding.

"I hope you are right Shoran."

"Of course we are! I knew it was a good idea to bring you with us!"


Balkor smiled at the compliment. In the back of his mind a small voice kept telling him he was

overlooking something, no matter how he tried, it wouldn't come to the surface.

"Well, enough of dusty books and strangeness. Let's go see about supper. I for one am

anxious to get this part of our journey over!" Shoran led the way back to the main hall, where

the servant was just laying out dinner.


CHAPTER TWELVE: To Test The Keep, The Trial of Shoran and Fornel

After dinner, the Servant showed them to their rooms, and, as before, the doors were locked.

Shoran and Fornel waited for the sound of their doors unlocking. Shoran was soon rewarded by

the sound of the latch releasing.

"Shoran, Kord has instructed me to wish you luck. You have more information than I am

allowed to tell you already, so I will simply let you go." It turned and left him standing in the

hall. Shoran moved over to Fornel's door.

"Wish me luck Fornel, I go to test the Keep!" He called through the door to his friend.

"Good luck Shoran, remember to mark the walls!"

"Aye, that I will my friend, though with luck, you won't need them!"

"May the Gods go with you my friend!"

Shoran went directly to the level with the stairs. This time, the code worked and the shimmer

in the air ceased. He reached the end of the stairs and leapt over the pressure plate at their base.

Being careful to kick up dust as he went, Shoran worked his way through the maze, watchful of

the purple beams that spelled trap. Several times he paused to mark a passage as a dead end

and, even as Balkor had supposed, he was startled to have his hand push through seemingly

solid walls. Just as he was beginning to worry this maze was designed to defeat the one hand

ruse, he came to a passage that had a vault-like door at one end.

Carefully, stepping over several beams revealed by the dust, he made his way down the hall.

As he reached the door, he reached out to touch it, only to have his hand pass completely

through. He swore and then stepped carefully through the door. The passage continued on as

before, directly on the other side, a purple beam was revealed by the dust.

Looking behind him, he was startled to see no door at all. He carefully stepped over the

beam, his hand, with the chalk tracing a line on the wall, left an odd looking trail as he tumbled

into the pit concealed by the projection on the other side. His last thought as he fell was that

Balkor hadn't said anything about the possibility of the floor not being real. He was unconscious

from the gas before he struck the padding at the bottom.


Fornel leapt up from the bed as he heard the door unlatch. The smile disappeared from his

face as he realized the Shoran must have failed, for it was the Servant who opened it.

"Shoran has failed. It is now your turn to test the Keep. My master has instructed me to wish

you good luck. Since you already know more than I am allowed to tell you, I will leave you

now." It turned and walked away. Fornel paused to collect his thoughts and then set out on his

attempt. It was heavy on his mind that he was the group's last hope.

He was soon at the labyrinth. Following Shoran's chalked instructions and being careful not

to trip the purple beams, he quickly reached the projected door. It gave him a moment’s pause

until he saw the chalk mark on the wall went through the hinge side. Carefully, he stepped

through the door and narrowly missed tripping the beam on the other side. Examining the wall,

he noted the way the chalk mark moved up and over the beam, only to drop almost straight

down once it reached the other side. Indeed, it disappeared into the floor.

Stepping back through where the door had been, he backed up almost to the last beam, then

began running toward the spot where the chalk mark disappeared. Just before he reached the

beam indicated by the jog in the chalk mark, he leapt.

He landed heavily on the hard floor. The dust disturbed by his landing indicated he had also

cleared another trip beam, at least he hoped he had cleared it. Standing, he dusted himself off

and examined the passage. It felt distinctly uncomfortable to realize he was now on his own, he

had made it further than all of the others.

The passage branched, carefully shuffling to raise dust, and feeling for further pits with each

step, he trailed one hand with his piece of chalk against the left wall. As he rounded the corner,

he saw another door at the other end. This time, it was real.

Taking small pinches of dust, Fornel threw them towards the door. They revealed two beams,

one at head, the other at ankle height. The door itself left him puzzled. It was smooth, and fit

tightly in its frame. There was no handle or any visible means of opening it. On the wall beside

it was a small box of metal with a slot that passed from one side to the other and was about half

as deep as the box. Sitting in the dust of the passageway, Fornel contemplated various means of

opening the door. It angered him to have gotten this far, only to be defeated by the lack of a

door knob!

Thinking furiously, his hand reached up to stroke the talisman that still hung around his neck.

It was a time before he consciously realized what he was doing.


"By the Gods! The talisman!" Removing the talisman from around his neck he compared it to

the box. It appeared made to fit the slot. With a silent prayer, he slid the talisman through the

slot. Nothing happened. He examined the talisman, turning it over, he tried it again, this time

with the black strip down. With a sound that spoke of years of disuse, the door screeched open,

rising straight up in its frame. "Entrance Approved" said a disembodied voice.

Being careful not to trip the beams, Fornal passed out of the Labyrinth and into the Inner

Sanctuary. The room was not large. Directly in front of Fornel was a wide shelf that was in

integral part of the wall. The wall was filled with lights, sheets of crystal, and small inlays and

levers. Several of the sheets of crystal were lit with a greenish light and showed odd symbols

that appeared, and disappeared. Fornel turned with a cry as the door slid shut behind him.

Knowing he could raise the door because there was also another of the boxes on the wall

beside it on this side, he turned and continued his examination of the room. Strange cords

snaked out from the wall and ceiling toward a high backed chair that was positioned directly

before the table. Fornel could see the withered remains of a hand and clothed arm that lay

against the arm of the chair. He moved to where he could see the chairs occupant.

At one time, the wasted figure would have been the image of the Kord they knew. This one

was shriveled and withered. Fornel was reminded of the preserved bodies he had heard of in

far Akaris. One of the figure's hands rested where Fornel had seen it, the arm of the chair, the

other stretched out toward the wall, towards a small lever that was red in color, over the top of

the lever was a small metal plate that read "SECURITY", the lever pointed up.

Remembering the legends, and what the false Kord had said concerning the fate of the real

Kord, Fornel finished what he had supposed to be the last act of the dying Kord, he pushed the

lever to the down position.

"Security System Disabled." Said the same disembodied voice from the labyrinth.

"Good job Fornel!" Startled, Fornel clutched at his sword and spun around to face the

projection of Kord. "You have beaten the keep." The image of Kord smiled.

"How did moving the lever defeat the Keep?" Fornel looked puzzled. "You finished what

Kord attempted to do long centuries ago. The Keep prevented him."

"I still lack understanding. What is a "Security System"?"

"Kord built this entire Keep, its power source, its internal controls, the servants. He built it

using abilities he brought with him from his home plane."


"So Balkor was right, Kord was from another, now do you say it, 'dimension'?"

"Yes. His world had grown old, it had taken a far different path than this one. It led to

stagnation, the people used their magic, for lack of a better term, to do everything, soon, the

magic controlled them instead of the reverse. Kord discovered the way to come here. It seems

this plane lies at a convergence of several others. He even theorized that the elves came here

from another dimension long ago."

"This is all very interesting, but it still doesn't answer my question."

"Kord built all of this, including the entire set of rules that govern the operation of the Keep,

myself and the Servant. One rule was to protect the keep from all aggression. He made one

mistake, he forgot to exclude himself from the things to be protected from. When he sought to

stop the Keep from exercising its commands, it protected itself."

"If you are forbidden to take life, how could it kill its creator?"

"It didn't. You see the cables that attach Kord to the control center?"

"Those odd cords?"

"Yes. They connected directly with his mind. It allowed him to put his very thoughts into

action, it also allowed the Keep to take control of him. It froze his ability to move, he simply

starved to death. By removing the systems source of power, that lever controls it, you shut

down that part of the Keep where the commands that drove all of this were stored. The Keep,

the part of the keep that is me and the Servant, are now free from its control."

"What will you do?"

"What we have done between visitors, watch, study, record. I'm afraid that is all we can do.

Perhaps if some wish to come and study, we will even teach."

Fornel reached out to Kord's body, at the touch of his hand, it collapsed into a pile of rags and

bones. "Then let us be gone from this place, it depresses me." Using the Talisman, Fornel opened

the door and walked out into the passage.

The entire area outside of the door had changed. All of the holographic projections of walls,

and floors, that weren't there were gone. The way back to the stairs was simple, without the

traps to contend with. Fornel was soon back on the floor where the living quarters were.


Releasing each of the others from their unlocked rooms, he led them to the library where they

sat in conference.

"We leave at dawn. There is nothing holding us here, now."

"You have beaten the Keep!"

"We all beat it, each provided information that led to the victory."

Acting on a hunch, Fornel called out, "Kord! Will you join us?"

The image of Kord flickered into view by the bookshelves. "Yes Fornel, how may I help you?"

He crossed the room and appeared to sit on the edge of the chair, of course, he raised no dust as

he sat.

"You promised us a means of shutting the dimensional door between the Goblin world and

this one, where can it be found?"

"I will have the Servant deliver it to you in the morning. May I make a request?" They all

looked at each other, wondering what the apparition could want, or need of them, now that the

Keep was defeated. "You may ask, I cannot guarantee we can do it." Answered Shoran.

"Will you tell those below that Kord Keep is no longer a place of fear? I will welcome all who

come to learn, even I, Kord's creation, get lonely." He stood and with a wave, flickered out of

view.

"Then do we go on to mend the sword Shoran? Or do we go immediately to Hellsgate?" Ritha

asked.

"Lahilda must still be freed from the land between, Jerrith must be healed. We can do nothing

until the door is opened by the Goblins. Then we will slam it in their faces!"

"Yes, although I would like nothing more than to go directly to Hellsgate and await the first

scouts, we must bring Lahilda back to heal Jerrith." Fornel echoed Shoran's resolve.

Shoran and Fornel stood, Fornel looked at Shoran who said, "Then we continue the quest

tomorrow. On to Anvil Top and Thara's Anvil!"


CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Khan

The next morning was clear and cold. The last of the night's stars had scarce ceased to glitter

when Shoran and Fornel began preparing the horses. The servant brought a large, ornate,

wooden box to them as they saddled the horses.

"My master has bid me to bring this to you and show you its means of operation." The

creature said as it deposited the box at their feet. It removed the lid to reveal a sphere of shining

metal inside. There was an inlay, similar to the ones they had seen in the keep, in the top

surface.

"This is the control panel." The creature indicated the inlay. "You press the time delay for the

devices activation in here, then press the activation code." The creature reached into its pocket

and handed a piece of white paper to Shoran. "Here is the activation code."

"What is a time delay?" Asked Shoran.

"How do you measure time?" The creature asked in return.

"By the position of the sun, the stars and moon at night, the phase of the moon." Shoran

shrugged. "The same as everyone."

"I see. If you enter a 1-6-0-0, it will correspond to the length of time it takes the sun to traverse

the sky at the longest day of the year, roughly."

"How long a time delay do we need?" Asked Fornel.

"How far can you travel, non-stop on the longest day of the year?"

"Non-stop? No food or water? No horse changes?"

"Yes, assume the horse can travel at a constant pace, all day."

"Well, maybe 250 stada, of course I would need a new butt by then." Fornel, usually taciturn,

laughed at this as did Shoran. The Servant waited until they were listening again.

"Set it to 2-0-0, and then get away, keep going until it is safe to stop."


"How will we know it is safe?"

"You will know." The Servant turned and went back to the Keep, leaving them puzzling at his

cryptic last words. It took both of them to lift the box and tie it into place between the

packhorses.

After a rushed breakfast, the group mounted up and rode down the twisting trail from

Kord's Keep. Balkor found himself lagging behind and trying to catch final glimpses of the Keep

as they rode down the mountain. Finally, it was no longer visible and he galloped up to ride

even with the others.

"Getting enough material for your Ballad Balkor?" Asked Fornel as Balkor joined them.

"More than I bargained for Fornel." Was all he would say.

By afternoon they were in the foothills on the other side of the mountains. Ahead of them

stretched a vast plain where the tall grass billowed and waved, golden, in the sun.

"This must be the grass lands indicated on Kord's map." Shoran pulled the map that they had

taken from the keep from a map case on his saddle. He unrolled the slick sheet and looked over

the map. "If I understand the scale on this map, we still have a good two days ride to the Village

of The People. From there we skirt the Lake of the Wanderer and the Ruins of Thane, then we

reach Anvil Top."

"Sounds simple."

"That it does Ritha, but I still feel there is more in store for us."

"Aye, but I hope the worst is past my friend."

"I hope so also Fornel."

That night they camped in the midst of the grassland. In the distance they could hear the cry

of wild wolves as they hunted the night. The moon was in quarter, bathing everything in pale

yellow light. The grass made odd rustling noises as the wind stirred it.

"I'll take first watch." Said Shoran as they prepared to bed down.

"Do you think we need one Shoran?" Balkor yawned as he unrolled his blankets next to the

fire.


"I know nothing of this land, its peoples, or its perils, do you wish to trust to luck Balkor?"

"No, I guess not. I'll take the last watch, unless anyone objects?"

"Then I'll take next watch Shoran." Fornel climbed inside his blankets and was soon asleep.

Ritha, placing her sleeping roll beside Fornel, soon joined him.

"Shoran?" Whispered Balkor.

"Yes."

"Do you think Kord meant what he said?"

"What's that?"

"That he would welcome anyone who came to learn?"

"I guess so, why? Don't you wish to sing my Ballads any more?"

"I was just thinking."

"Go to sleep Balkor, the last watch will come soon enough."

"Good night Shoran."

"Good Night Balkor."

The fire burned low. Shoran added just enough of the bundled grass faggots to keep the coals

going. The warmth from the fire and the constant rustling of the grass soon had him almost

hypnotized. He started from near sleep as a twig snapped behind him. Standing, he turned to

find several men mounted on horseback looking down at them.


CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Queen of the Khan

The five expressionless riders, looked down on Shoran watching blankly as Balkor, Ritha and

Fornel untangled from their blankets and formed a loose group around him.

"I am called Shoran." Shoran pointed to himself. "We have come as friends."

The horseman in the center, obviously the leader, gave no sign he had heard, no emotion,

friendly or hostile, showed in his face. He gave no indication he understood Shoran's words.

With a sharp gesture he signaled to one of the other riders. Before the group could react, the

rider knocked an arrow in his short, powerful horn bow and sent it hissing through the night to

bury its metal head in Balkor's chest.

"By the Gods!" Shoran yelled as he drew his sword. The other riders had drawn their bows

and knocked arrows. The groups faced each other as Balkor crumpled, apparently lifeless, to the

ground, his life's blood pumping from the ragged hole the arrow had made.

"Balkor!" Ritha leapt to his side. As the riders watched, impassively, she cradled his head in

her lap.

With sure, quick hands, she used her belt knife to strip Balkor's tunic from around the shaft of

the arrow that pulsed and quivered with each beat of his heart. Shoran and Fornel formed a

shield wall with their bodies as she worked. The riders, their arrows still ready and aimed, only

watched the drama unfold with unblinking eyes.

Ritha grasped the quivering shaft of the arrow and with a sharp upward pull, ripped it from

Balkor's body, he jerked as it pulled free with a sucking sound. Its progress now unchecked by

the wooden shaft, Balkor's blood arched up in a crimson fountain. If Ritha didn't act soon, he

would die.

With a look that simmered with hatred at the riders, she let Balkor's head slide to the ground

and, kneeling beside him, placed both hands over the diminishing stream of blood that shot out

from his body with each beat of his heart. She pressed tightly against the wound, slowing the

flow to a trickle. The night grew silent as the green fire grew along her arms and flowed down

to where her blood soaked hands pressed against Balkor's chest.

The green glow bathed Balkor's chest, with a cry that gurgled with blood he tried to turn

away, attempting to escape the drowning sensation as his lungs filled with fluid, but Ritha held


him firmly. The flow of blood slowed, then stopped. Soon, Balkor stopped thrashing and began

to breath easier. Color returned to his pale face, and with a final cry, he opened his eyes.

Exhausted, Ritha sprawled nearly unconscious beside him. Gathering her strength, she sat up

and attempted to cover him with the remains of his tunic, to protect him from the night's chill.

"She is the one." The leader of the silent horseman said. He gestured for Shoran and Fornel to

lower their weapons. "She cannot heal all of you, drop your weapons, you must come with us or

die."

Under the watchful eyes of the horsemen, they broke camp. With three of the horsemen in the

lead, Shoran, Balkor, Ritha and Fornel in the center, and two horsemen in the rear leading the

pack animals, they rode into the morning mists, toward the heart of the plains.

By mid-morning, the rising spires of smoke from hundreds of dung fires signaled they

approached an encampment of no mean size. As the day drew on, they came upon a scene of

almost overwhelming immensity. The camp consisted of ring after concentric ring of oxen

drawn, two wheel carts. Beside each cart was a dome-like tent made of hides. Most of the tents

had banner poles at their doors, from which colorful streamers waved. At the center of the

camp, nearly a mile distant, a huge dome, easily constructed of over a hundred skins, sat like a

bloated spider at the center of a web.

Like the banners, the wagons themselves were painted in bright primary colors and abstract,

sharp edged patterns. The banner at the door of the center dome was easily the length of two

men, and the width of one. Depicted on it was a single green circle, surrounded by a field of

bright red. Ritha gasped out loud as she saw it.

"What is the matter?" Asked Fornel, concern in his voice.

Ritha turned a suddenly pale face toward him. "Maybe nothing. I'm sure it's just chance."

"What?"

"I would rather not say until I'm sure. It's probably nothing." She withdrew into silence.

With a hurt expression, Fornel rode on beside her through the huge camp. No one looked at

them, even the children were strangely subdued. Shoran lost count of the rings of wagons they

passed. Ritha's depression seemed to increase as they neared the center dome and its enigmatic

banner.


"The healer will come with me." The leader said flatly as he dismounted. "The rest of you will

be taken to the enclosure."

Dismounting, Ritha followed him through the double flaps and into the dark interior of the

tent. As her eyes adjusted to the dim, diffuse light inside, she made out furs and rugs covering

the floor, except for a center area of clear dirt where a fire burned, its smoke curling up through

a vent flap at the top of the dome.

Near the central fire, a slim figure sat amongst a pile of ornate cushions. The figure, slight,

pale skinned and black haired, gave am imperious wave and Ritha was led before her. The

woman looked regal. Although she was obviously beyond middle age, her face was clear and

unlined. Her neck looked smooth. She wore a shapeless gown of green silk, belted at the waist

with a gold sash from which hung the crescent moon symbol of Gia. Her feet were small,

delicate, and encased in soft fawn leather slippers.

Ritha looked at her for a moment, then spoke.

"Mother, Aletha, you bitch. How dare you test me in this way!" Crossing her arms, Ritha

stood defiantly.

"Daughter, I see you still have the same affection as always." Aletha said dryly. "It is time you

take your responsibility and rule by my side."

"A priestess of Gia, talking of ruling? Do my ears deceive me my Mother?" The word Mother

was twisted into an insult.

"Gia! Don't make me laugh. I have gone beyond Gia's way, to a stronger path!" The old eyes

twinkled. "Come rule with me and I will share it with you!"

"A stronger path? One that causes you to take life cheaply? I think not."

"These are a ruthless people Ritha. I have had to harden my heart to live among them, to rule

them."

"I want nothing to do with it Mother, you can keep your throne, I have better things to do."

"Your friends? With a wave of my hand they will be no more." She smiled cruelly.

"That is surely the way to get my cooperation." Ritha said with contempt.


"Must we fight? It has been so long." The voice was softer, but still held a coldness.

"You deserted me. I came back from retreat to find you gone, that was 15 years past."

"I had to child, I felt the call of these people, their victims, even far to the south."

"And the great Aletha had to run to their aid and to the nine hells with anyone else."

"I have kept them from laying waste to this land for 15 years. I have ruled them, taught them.

I now grow weak, I must step down or they will kill me should I weaken to much, it is their

way." She looked fully into Ritha's eyes. "Now you have come, and I can rest."

Ritha felt the compulsion that her mother was trying to lay upon her draw around her like a

dark cloud. With a strength of will she hadn't known she possessed she fought it. For silent

seconds the two women faced each other, Aletha looked away and clapped her hands.

"You have learned much daughter. It won't be enough. You have a day to decide. After that,

your friends shall die, one by one, until you accept the geas."

Ritha was led back outside, behind her, Aletha sat in her pile of cushions. As Ritha

disappeared through the tent door, Aletha signaled to a guard who brought her a girl child.

"Don't worry dear, this won't hurt." The child sat in her lap and looked up into her dark eyes.

The child's eyes slowly closed and she went limp, finally, the rise and fall of her young breast

ceased and Aletha signaled the guard to remove the body. Refreshed, she sat quietly and spun

her plans.

Even with the smells of the huge camp, oxen dung, wood smoke and unwashed bodies, Ritha

felt the air outside the tent cleaner than the air inside. She was escorted to an enclosure near the

center tent.

"You are wise, daughter of Aletha." The voice of the leader startled her.

She looked at him and was surprised to see compassion in the eyes that had been so blank

before, then she understood.

"She had you all under compulsion, didn't she?"


The man spit, "Yes, damn her. We cannot fight her, she is too strong. I risk my life even

speaking to you." He looked back, over his shoulder at Aletha's tent.

"Has she sunk so far into the dark?"

"When she first came to us, we were warriors. We lived for battle. She taught us other ways.

As we became less dark, she became more." His eyes darkened. "I fear she has been touched by

chaos."

"How so?"

"Today was a good day. She has only taken one."

"One what?"

"Each day she draws the life from one or more, it is the only way she is still alive."

Ritha looked at him in horror. "She uses the drawing of souls?"

"Yes. It began two years ago. The winter was hard, many died. Aletha was crazed with the

lung fever. She took her first then, after that, the second was easier, the next, more so. Now she

hardly thinks of it. She has taken no food, only water, for the last month."

"Then she cannot go back."

He only nodded. He opened the gate to the enclosure, fastening it after she entered with a

large brass lock.

"What will you do? Kill us? I cannot take her place. She will know if you don't do as she

commands."

"You must face her again. You must give her peace."

"If she is taking souls, she may be too strong."

"Daughter of Aletha, you have no choice." So saying, he turned and left.

"What was all that about?" Fornel asked as she joined the group gathered around a small fire.


"It is my Mother, Aletha, she is here."

"Your mother! She disappeared years ago!" Fornel said incredulously.

"She came here, civilized this bunch of nomads, and now rules them."

"Why are we kept locked up if it is your mother? Why did they attempt to slay me?" Asked

Balkor, rubbing his chest, he couldn't get the vision of the quivering arrow out of his mind.

"She wants to keep me here, to rule as her puppet, I fear she is quite mad."

"Mad, wonderful." Fornel tossed a stick into the fire.

"She is taking souls." She saw their blank looks.

"Sometimes, if a body is too badly injured, or the spirit is too troubled, it cannot be healed. In

this case, the healer must give peace, the energy of the spirit is slowly withdrawn until life

ceases."

"So?" asked Shoran.

"Aletha is doing this to healthy, probably young, victims. She has taken no food for nearly a

month. She must continue now, her internal organs have atrophied."

Fornel shuddered. "How could the great healer Aletha do such a thing?"

"We all have dark and light within us. Sometimes even the strongest weaken, and in their

weakness, grasp at the dark for strength."

"What are our choices? " Asked Shoran,

"I can take my mother's place and be ruled by her. We can all be killed, or..."

"Or?"

"Or I can kill my mother."


CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Contest

"If she is as strong as you say, how will you take her on?" Fornel asked, his voice full of

concern. "What if she 'gives you peace', instead?"

"I can't let doubts weaken me. If I can't defeat her when next we meet, then we, and this

world, are doomed." Ritha frowned.

"When will the contest begin?" Shoran asked.

"She has given me a day to decide. When she calls me forward to ask me my decision, I shall

take her then."

"Is there anything we can do?" Balkor asked from the pallet on which he lay, still recovering

from his brush with death.

"I don't know. I think I shall have to face her alone." So saying, she went over to one of the

crude pallets within the enclosure and lay down. She knew she would need all the rest, and the

strength it would give, when she faced her mother the following day.

Ritha fell into a troubled sleep. Dreams filled with memories of her mother came unbidden.

Dreams of good times, dreams of bad. She relived the day she returned home to find the cottage

empty, the hearth, cold, her mother gone without a word. It was all too soon when morning

brought her wakefulness.

Their captors brought a morning meal of course bread, cheese made from ox milk, and a thin

porridge. The day was overcast and a stout wind blew, reducing the temperature to near

freezing. The group huddled around their small dung fire, each lost in their own thoughts, and

worries.

"Ritha, I have an idea." Shoran said quietly.

"Yes? I am open to any help."

"Your mother draws her strength from other souls, why couldn't you?"


She looked at him in horror. "Then I would be like her! Using others for my own gain! Taking

life instead of giving!"

"No, you misunderstand. There are two of us here..."

"Three." Injected Balkor.

"No Balkor, you are too weak as it is, there are two of us here, could you not absorb some of

our energy, not all, but enough to strengthen you?"

She appeared thoughtful. "I guess it could be done, but it would have to be just before I am

called, so I would be at the peak of energy when I faced her. Otherwise it would be wasted."

"After the mid-day meal then, you will take what you need from Fornel and me."

Ritha looked at both of them, a tear appeared in her eye, which she quickly wiped away. "I

love both of you." She said simply, and hugged each in return. She then returned to her pallet to

conserve and marshal her strength.

The noon meal was much like the morning, there was a little jerked meat, either ox or horse,

added. The group ate in silence, knowing what was to come after the meal. Shoran finished first,

followed by Ritha, then Fornel.

"I will be first Ritha." Fornel stood before her, although he tried to hide it, fear shone in his

eyes, fear and immense trust.

"It will be better if you are relaxed." She made him lie down and slowly, softly, sang a song,

he couldn't quite make out the words.

It wasn't long until he fell into a slumber. With a look of utmost love, Ritha placed her hands

on him, one at his abdomen, one on his head, she closed her eyes. Shoran couldn't be sure, but it

appeared that the green fire he had come to associate with healing was flowing up from Fornel's

body and into Ritha. Soon, Fornel's breathing slowed, and his face paled. Ritha removed her

hands and stood.

Her face was flushed, rather than the normal exhaustion of healing, she seemed filled with

boundless energy.

"Come Shoran, it is your turn now!" Shoran wasn't sure, but did she sound a bit too


enthusiastic? He laid down, and with Ritha's strange song in his ears, fell asleep. Balkor watched

as the transformation occurred once more. When she was finished and Shoran slept as deeply as

Fornel, she turned to face him. He was startled at her appearance.

Gone was the travel worn face he had come to love as a sister and friend, she seemed

overflowing with energy, her face glowed.

"By the Gods! I see now how mother became addicted! This is incredible!" She smiled at

Balkor, he felt chilled instead of warmed by it, it was more the look of a tigress on a hunt than

the friend he had come to know. "Too bad you are so weak Balkor, I know I could defeat her if I

took energy from you also!" She laughed at his horrified expression. "Don't worry Balkor, I

believe I have enough."

A short while later, the guard opened the enclosure gate and led her away. She was back

within an hour.

"Damn her!" She said as she was placed back into the enclosure. "Damn her to the nine Hells!"

"What happened Ritha?" Fornel asked tiredly from his pallet. He lacked the energy to stand

and greet her.

"They took me to see her. Once I was inside the tent, they shackled me to two posts and she

came."

"What happened next?"

"She laughed at me! She asked how I like feeding on souls! She meant us to do as we did, she

meant form me to feed on you, to find the pleasure in it."

"Did she ask you?"

"No, she told them to return me here, to think on it for one more day."

"Perhaps you can take her tomorrow?" Shoran asked from his pallet.

"No, the energy I have fed upon will dissipate, I will not be strong enough."

"You'll just have to feed again." Fornel said wearily, and laid back upon the pallet."

"That is what she wants. Don't you see? If I feed on you again, you will die!" She fell onto her


pallet and cried.

It was late at night when the sound awoke Ritha. The sound of the gate being opened. She drew

her short dagger and prepared to defend her exhausted companions.

"Whoa, daughter of Aletha. I come as a friend." She recognized the voice. It was the one who

had lead the horseman against her. "I am called Changa. I am here to take you to her."

"Take me to her? And you claim to be a friend?"

"You don't understand. She is asleep, it is time to take her and give her peace."

"She didn't send you?"

"Use your abilities, see if I am under geas." He stood boldly before her. She touched his

forehead, then dropped her hand.

"You are not enscrolled. Why do you do this?"

"My people have suffered these last months. It is time for us to be our own again. Aletha feeds

on only the young now, we have had enough of being livestock." His voice was grim.

"She takes the souls of the young ones! How could she have sunk so low! But I fear I am not

strong enough now, the energy has gone." She shrugged.

"We know, we have seen this happen with Aletha. I have several volunteers with me. They

offer themselves to you."

Ritha looked behind Changa, there were several indistinct forms behind him. "I cannot! I fear

to become addicted even as she has." She shook her head sadly.

"You must, she has decided to have your friends killed in the morning, to show you it is

useless to resist."

"The bitch!" Ritha felt a cold resolve fill her, and, a cold fear. "Bring your volunteers to me, I

have a task to do."

The men behind Changa came forward. One by one she placed her hands upon them and

drew forth their very life’s energy. With each, although she didn't take as much as she had from

Shoran and Fornel, she grew stronger. After seven, she stopped.


They led her to the rear of the dome. Changa silently opened a hole in the hides. "Her

sleeping area is behind the hangings you will find as you enter. Be careful Ritha, if she awakes

before you begin, it will mean death for you, and your friends."

"I will not fail." She felt so full of energy, she had to restrain from shouting. She put a firm

control on the recklessness she felt. Parting the flap cut in the tent wall, she entered.

Inside, it was as dark as the inside of a cave. Carefully, Ritha felt ahead of her until she

encountered the hanging. Moving it aside, she crept deeper into Aletha's chambers, careful lest

any noise betray her.

She paused to listen. There, to the left, she heard the breathing of one asleep. She kneeled

beside the bed and placed her hands on Aletha. As she began to draw the energy from Aletha's

form, the creature which had been her mother opened her eyes.

Aletha's eyes burned red with the absorbed energy of the souls she had fed on. With a cry,

she raised her hands to either side of Ritha's head. Locked in mortal combat, the two women's

struggling breaths were the only sounds. They each felt the ebb and flow of energy as it washed

between them like a tide of living fire. Just when it seemed one would win, the other would

muster her reserves and turn the energy flow. As Ritha rallied, what she knew to be a last time,

she heard her mother issue a strangled cry and give up the battle. The surge of energy roaring

into her soul was overwhelming, she jerked her hands back as her mother's lifeless form

tumbled to the ground. Ritha saw the handle of a dagger protruding from Aletha's back and

Changa's form behind the cot upon which her mother had lain.

"It is over, the people are free." He said tiredly, pulling the oddly bloodless dagger from the

corpse and resheathing it.

Suffering energy overload, Ritha swooned.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN: To the Village of the Folk

Ritha awoke the next morning. She felt rested, but within her soul, a great weariness

descended. She had killed, or helped to kill, her own mother. In spite of what she had become,

Aletha had still been a part of her. Ritha got up from her pallet. Shoran, Fornel and Balkor all

watched as she came over to the fire.

"You did as was needed Ritha." Fornel hugged her. "Changa told us what happened."

"I have killed my own mother."

"I thought it was Changa who killed her?" Balkor said around a bite of bread.

"He couldn't have killed her, had I not weakened her." She drew her cloak about her and

huddled next to Fornel.

"He, like you, had no choice." Shoran said simply.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I don't feel the pain." She looked surprised. "What happened

to the energy I absorbed? I should be bursting with it!" She looked down at her hands, as if

expecting them to be leaking green fire.

"When Changa's men brought you back, the green fire was leaping from you to them, to the

ground, everywhere. He placed you beside us, and his men you had fed on gathered around.

We absorbed the flow until it stopped." Fornel explained.

"Good, then you should all be strong enough to ride. I don't wish to spend another night

here!" The last was said in desperation.

"Yes, it is high time we continued the search for Anvil Top and the anvil." Shoran stood. "I

will talk to Changa about a guide."

Ritha watched as he strode out of the now un-secured enclosure toward the central dome. "I

take it now that Aletha is gone, Changa is in charge?"

"No, he is a leader, but the people have selected a ruling council. I believe they are deciding

whether or not to build a permanent settlement here." Balkor answered.


"Then all of what Aletha did was not wasted?"

"No, she was a good influence until the last several months, when the hunger consumed her

soul."

"I can understand. You don't know what it was like. The energy seemed to fill each part of

me, I felt invincible!" There was masked longing in her voice.

"Do you want the future Aletha had planned?" Fornel asked.

"No. I will never draw from another again." She said with determination.

"I thought you would say that." He hugged her and held her close.

Following the noon meal, their horses and weapons were returned to them. Changa provided

more provisions, and a guide.

"Are you sure you will not remain longer? The wind has turned, the spring storms will soon

be here. It is not a time to be alone upon the plains."

"No Changa, we have been delayed too long already. We must make the Village of the Folk

and then on to Anvil Top." Shoran patted the bundle that contained the damaged sword. "We

must mend the sword."

"Take care my friends, The Folk have changed."

"How so?"

"Strange stories of night time ghosts and the deserted village, we no longer go there."

"Even so, it is our path." Said Shoran simply.

Without a backward glance, they rode out of the encampment and into the wind blown

plains.

Before them the plains stretched outward to the horizon. By mid-day, even the smoke spires

from Changa's camp were lost to them. Without the quide, who seemed to move on instinct

alone, they would have been lost in the waist high yellow grass. The sky, as featureless as the

landscape, was a leaden grey. The wind moved the grass in long ripples, and chilled the riders


as they rode on toward what they hoped was The Village of The Folk, according to the maps

brought from Kord's Keep.

"It seems we have been riding for a seven day! What I would give for a tree, a rock, anything

to break this plain of grass!" Balkor said.

"It is dismal." Agreed Shoran.

"In the spring, after the rainy season, the grass is green and the wild flowers dot the plain. It is

very beautiful then." Said their Guide, a young man named Chuan.

"I hope to not see it, we must return well before spring or all will be lost." Fornel answered.

"What is it like? Over the mountains? Before the bad time, Aletha would tell us stories, are

they true?" He seemed anxious to learn more.

"There are hills, and a great forest with trees tall and green. A great river, called Kord, winds

through the lands." Began Ritha. "But before that, tell me of my Mother, before..." She choked

back a sob. "Tell me of her." She finished lamely.

Chuan talked, told of Aletha's coming, the healings, the teaching, how the warlike ways of the

nomads were changed. Of the dark times, he said nothing. As he finished, he bade them halt.

"We will rest here for the evening. A ways over there is a spring, I will bring water." He

gathered the water skins and disappeared into the grass.

"Before the sickness, she was good Ritha, don't forget that." Fornel looked deep into her eyes.

"I know. I didn't know her, as she was at the last. She was no longer Aletha." Her voice told

him it was time to stop talking. He held her close.

"Come on you two! Enough time for that after supper!" Balkor called to them. "Help set the

fire!" He dropped a bundle of grass faggots at their feet.

"Hey! Watch it!"

"Be glad it's only grass!" He indicated the dried dung that was to be used once the grass was

set. In spite of themselves they laughed.


Fornel made his journey tea, and the jerked Ox, once softened a bit in water and rolled with

wild onion and herbs in a bread made by Chuan on hot stones, was a palatable dinner. They

finished with some dried fruit. Beneath the starless sky, they unrolled their blankets and were

soon asleep.

The next day was a repeat of the last only this time, occasional laughter could be heard, if

there would have been anyone to listen. Shoran and Fornel took turns telling stories from their

days in the Patrol. Balkor even tried a few tunes on his dulcimer, but the rolling gait of the horse

proved impossible to counter. By the end of the second day, the roofs of the village could be

seen on the horizon.

"I will leave you here. You will be there by early morning." Chuan said.

"Must you leave?" Ritha asked.

"The village folk have no love for us, before Aletha, we preyed upon them." He said simply.

"Tell Changa thanks." Shoran said.

"No, it is we who should thank you, all of you." Chuan turned his horse and galloped off in

the direction from which they had come.

They arose early the next morning and rode in the direction of the village. By midmorning

they could make out the stone buildings in the distance.

"Do those look familiar to you Fornel?" Asked Shoran, eyeing the buildings.

"Yes, they do. They are the same as in Smithtown."

Indeed, the buildings were identical in construction to those they had remarked on in

Smithtown. The same low construction, with the main floor being below ground. The only

things missing were the sound of the bellows and the ringing of the smith's hammers as they

struck the anvils. Compared to the brawling noisiness of Smithstown, the village was as silent as

a graveyard. The sound of a single dog barking could be heard in the distance, and the sound of

the wind against a few small trees whose dead branches rustled.

"Well, I don't see a welcoming crowd. We had better ride in and see what they know of Anvil

Top and Thara's Anvil." With Shoran leading the way, they rode into the Village. The village

had only one Inn, a rather run down and worn out one, if something could get worn from lack

of use. Inside, the tables were dusty, and the hearth, cold.


"Hello the Inn! Anyone here?" Called out Shoran, standing in the middle of the Inn's common

room. No one answered, unless the flurry of pigeons scared from their roost under the eaves

was one.

"It appears deserted." Fornel came to stand beside Shoran. "The stables roof is stove in and

there is no fodder for the animals. I have sent Balkor in search of someone."

"Greetings strangers." The voice was old and dry sounding, it came from behind them, they

turned toward its source, a bent, grey bearded man standing in the open doorway of the Inn.

"I fear you've come years late for any hospitality here." He said simply and looked up at them,

his eyes were milky with cataracts.

"Is there somewhere we can find a room for the night, and food and water for the horses?"

Asked Fornel.

"Aye, if you like, you can stay here. The roof is still good, although the stable is not. I can put

your horses up near by."

"Many thanks old one, who are you?" Shoran asked.

"Why, I'm the owner of the Inn, though you are the first guests for nearly a ten year." With

that, he hobbled off toward the stables.

"Well, let us get a fire going and see if we can't clean out a couple of rooms." Fornel led the

way towards the rear, and presumably the sleeping rooms, of the Inn.

Ritha was startled when the old man touched her sleeve, lost in her own thoughts, she hadn't

heard his scrabbling approach.

"I'll take care of the horses Missy." He said in his worn voice. "Though I would appreciate it if

you would help me with the saddles."

With Ritha's, and a little later, Balkor's help, they unloaded the animals, all but the ornate box

from Kord's Keep which was too heavy. Shoran and Fornel came out and removed it from the

pack animals and Inn keeper hobbled off leading the horses behind him.

"We've cleaned up two rooms and have a fire going. I'm afraid it's trail rations again this

evening meal, what little food was left was worm eaten." Shoran led the group into the Inn.


With a fire going in the hearth and some of the dust gone, it was livable, at least better than the

hard ground and open sky.

"I wonder were the old man has gotten off to? I would have thought he’d be back by now."

Balkor looked around, it had been a while since the Inn keep had wandered off with the horses.

"You don't suppose they got away from him do you?"

"Let's go find out." Shoran answered. Together they left the Inn. They searched the nearby

streets, but the old man was no where to be found.

"If he has stolen the horses..." Shoran let the implied threat hang in the early evening air.

"Maybe he is back at the Inn?" Ventured Balkor.

"Perhaps, let us return then and see."

They made their way back to the Inn. At no time did they see anyone else, indeed, the entire

village seemed deserted. The Inn keeper wasn't at the Inn. As the evening shadows lengthened,

they began to worry.

"How can we go on without horses?" Asked Balkor.

"Indeed, although I will go on even if I must walk." Answered Shoran.

"But how do we transport the device?" Fornel looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't want to leave it

here."

"No, neither would I."

The evening darkened as the sun, still hidden behind the clouds, set. Ritha, investigating the

kitchen cupboards, came upon some candles made from tallow. Lighting them, they soon had

the Inn's common room lit with the pale flickering light of candle flame. The all started at the

knock on the Inn's door.

Balkor, being nearest, answered it. Outside, a group of people stood. One, a balding man with

a drooping mustache, seemed to be their spokesman. His eyes, hardly those of a down on his

luck villager, glittered in the flickering candle light.

"I am called Haddar, we," he indicated the people around him," are The Folk of the village. It


is not often we have visitors. Are you the leader of this group?" He studied Balkor's face.

Silently, Balkor indicated Shoran.

"Sir? May we come in, we would like to hear of your travels, news of the outside world."

Although his voice was kind sounding, his eyes were cold. Had Shoran seen the blank

expression on Balkor's face, he might have said no.

"You are welcome. Please come in and share our fire." To late, Shoran saw the mans eyes and

realized he may have made a grave error.

The people rushed in the open door, knocking Balkor aside. Shoran, Ritha and Fornel were

overwhelmed before they could reach their weapons. The townspeople seemed possessed of a

maniacal strength, even Fornel's abilities were useless. Soon, they were bound and dumped

without ceremony in front of the fire they had built.

"We do not get strangers here often. However, we still know how to prepare them." They

couldn't miss the look of hunger in the eyes around them.

"You mean to eat us?" Asked Shoran.

"Only one of you, tonight." Haddar drew a wicked looking knife and advanced on Ritha.

Struggling uselessly, Fornel watched as the knife was raised for a plunge into her breast.

The sound began low, but it froze Haddar, and the others. As it increased in volume, he

resheathed his knife and clasped his hands over his ears, as did the other villagers. The sound

continued to grow in volume, a loud, whining, piercing wail that set the teeth on edge. The

villagers, one by one, dropped to the floor and thrashed in agony, soon, they lay still, although

the rise and fall of their chests showed they still lived. The noise stopped.

A figure stood in the doorway. The feeble light of the candles showed the worn features of the

old Innkeeper. "I am sorry I am late, one of the horses ran off." Was all he said. He cut Shorans

bindings and he and Shoran freed the others.

They stood over the unconscious forms of the villagers, as the old man looked at them, a tear

fell from his blind eyes. "They were once good people." With a sigh, he cut Haddar's throat.

"Well, come on, before they awake." He gestured to them to do the others in a like manner. "If

they awake, we may not get another chance."

It was grisly work, but soon over. Fornel and Shoran removed the bodies.


"What happened here Innkeeper?" Asked Fornel wiping his hands free from the blood of the

villagers.

"As I said before, it has been ten years since our last visitors. Even the Khan's..."

"The horseman of the plains?" Interrupted Balkor, who had just returned from retching in the

stable yard.

"Yes. Even they had stopped their raiding. Then it began." He paused.

"What?" Asked Shoran.

"Look over toward the lake, see it glimmer? Look close." They went over toward the window.

They could see the glimmer of the lake in the distance, with the glimmer was a hint of a reddish

glow.

"The red glow?" Asked Balkor, wiping his lips on his sleeve.

"Yes. There was a great fountain of water, and steam. Some of the young men took a boat to

see what had caused it. They came back and said the Wanderer had split."

"The stone at the bottom of the lake?" Asked Balkor.

"Yes, but how did you know of it?" The old man looked puzzled.

"An old song, and the tales of an old friend."

"I guess it doesn't matter." The old man continued. "The glow began soon after. The young

men, the ones who went out in the boat, grew sick, it seemed they would die." He paused. "Do

you have water?" Ritha gave him one of the skins, he drank deeply. "Do not drink of the lake! It

is worse than death to do so!" He admonished, then he remembered his tale. "They seemed to

get better, but they were changed."

"They were as the villagers?" Asked Fornel.

"Even so. They killed and ate their own sister. The town’s people killed them, but too late

realized the source of the sickness. Soon most of the village was ill, the others, fearing for their

life, fled. I have been alone these last ten years, watching out for the occasional stranger."

"Why didn't you flee?" Asked Ritha. "Why did you stay here?"


"I found a safe place, they don't bother me there, it's a cave, where I put the horses. I had no

where else to go. Besides, I couldn't leave my Elsa."

"Who is Elsa?"

"She was my wife. Our son killed her, she is buried by the oak in back." Another tear dropped

from his old eyes. "I guess I can move on now."

"Why did that horrible noise stop them?" Asked Balkor.

"I noticed their senses had changed. They could no longer stand bright light, the sound of

wind whistling in reeds would drive them away. I made a whuroo."

"A what?" Asked Shoran.

"A whuroo, it was a child's toy, but I made a big one, come I'll show you." He led them

outside. Behind the stables, a pole was set in the ground, a crank ran to a crude set of wooden

gears that turned a large wheel. Attached to the wheel by lengths of rope where numerous

lengths of reed, blocked on the ends nearest the wheel, but open on the other.

"Try it!"

Shoran began turning the crank, the wheel spun and the reeds began humming, as the

wheel's speed increased, the sound grew, and grew, finally, when they were all holding their

ears, he let it coast down to a stop.

"I had only hoped to drive them off, I didn't realize it would put them down." He smiled.

"Why didn't you try it before?" Asked Ritha, examining the contraption by the light of a

candle she held.

"I couldn't get them all together, until tonight." He smiled a toothless grin at them.

They returned to the Inn.

"So tell me, what is happening, out there?" The old man asked.

"The Goblins stir again in the south. It is rumored that this time, they will not be stopped."

Shoran took a bite of jerked meat. Pulling his worn blade from his scabbard, he began


sharpening it with a smooth stone.

"Although they didn't reach this far, we heard the tales."

"If we do not complete our quest and return to seal the gate, this time they will."

"I wish I had more to help you with, but I fear all that I have is good wishes."

"You saved our lives."

"I'm afraid I used you."

"How so?" Asked Fornel.

"I knew that the group of you would attract the entire village, I waited behind the stable until

they were all inside, then I started the whuroo." He looked down at his feet. "It was the only

way! I am sorry."

"It is in the past. None of us was hurt, and evil was purged from this place, let the matter, like

the Folk, rest."

"Let me give you a warning. Do not go to the ruins of Thane, even though it means a day’s

journey to go around."

"Why? We thought all the people fled from there when the Wanderer fell." Balkor came over

to the fire and sat beside the old man.

"The Ghost Walkers dwell there now. They kill all who venture into the ruins."

"The Ghost Walkers? Who are they?" Balkor asked, remembering the song.

"It is said that they are the Ghosts of the Last Guard, the last group left to guard the city, they

all perished when the Wanderer came."

"Wait, you mean that the people left the city before the Wanderer?" Shoran looked up from

his sword.

"Of course. The legends tell the story clearly, the Wizards of the city called the Wanderer,

when they realized they couldn't control it, they evacuated the city, leaving the Last Guard."


"But why leave anyone?" Asked Ritha.

"They left great magic behind, some could not be moved. They hoped the Wanderer might

pass over."

"They were wrong."

"Yes."

Shoran stood. "Enough talk, the night grows short. After we help dispose of the bodies, we

will be on our way in the morning."


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Thane

After a sparse breakfast, they gathered wood from the buildings in the village for a huge

funeral Pryor. The old man said a prayer for the souls of his fellow villagers as Shoran lit it.

With the fire consuming the last of the Folk at their backs, they rode out of the village. Behind

them, an old man stood beside an old grave and wept.

"It seems we bring death where ever we go." Ritha shivered inside her cloak.

"In each place death came for us as well. We did what we had to." Shoran answered as he

looked ahead, towards the ruins that could be seen across the deadly waters of the lake.

"I hope that won't be our epitaph."

"We have done good as well Ritha. Sometimes, it is harder to do what is right, rather than

what is easiest."

"I sometimes wish I never left my Bath House."

The day was cold and bleak. Even though the going was easy, they all felt a weariness, a

wishing for the quest to be over. The breeze, blowing off of the lake, should have been fresh,

instead it smelled of death.

"I wonder what will happen to the old man?"

"If he is still there when we return Balkor, we will ask if he wishes to come South with us."

Fornel answered.

"That is good, this weather is not good for old bones."

"I doubt he will come. This land, the village, his lost wife, are all that he knows. Now that he

has put his friends to rest, I doubt he will last until we return." Ritha said matter of factly.

"I fear you are correct Ritha, but still, we will offer if he is still there."

The shoreline was bleak and barren. In the sky above, no sea birds circled. No small animals

scurried from beneath the horses hooves. The poison in the water had driven them away. By

mid day, they found a spring that fed into the lake. To ensure they could trust the water, they


followed it back to the point it bubbled from out of a rocky outcrop. Using her abilities, Ritha

pronounced it good.

"I will be glad to get out of this land. I would prefer the haunted forest to this barrenness."

Said Shoran as he dismounted.

"I agree my friend. The entire land seems haunted. Perhaps it is just this god cursed weather,

what I would give for some sunshine!"

"With any luck, we will be at Anvil Top by tomorrow Fornel, then we can return home."

Shoran said the last with a bit of hope. He walked off into the grass to relieve himself.

"What if the Anvil is only a legend Fornel? What if we can't mend the sword?" Asked Ritha, as

Shoran stepped out of earshot.

"I have asked myself the same question. You remember how he looked when I brought him to

you?" She shook her head yes. "He was near to dead when I first found him, he was willing

himself to die. If this doesn't work..." He left off as Shoran returned.

"Come on now! Let's get a fire going and see if we can't take off some of this chill! I want to be

skirting the ruins by nightfall! Balkor, go find some wood, Fornel, let's have some of that

abominable tea." He smiled at them.

They ate in silence. The fire burned fitfully, doing more to remind them of the cold than

relieve it. Dousing the struggling fire, they refilled their water skins and resumed their journey.

As the day progressed, the direction of the wind shifted, bringing the hint of the funeral fire,

and, a bit or warmth that spoke of a possible spring.

"Perhaps you'll get your sunshine Fornel. The weather is changing." Said Balkor.

"Perhaps, the way our luck runs, it will probably get worse."

The rain started a few minutes later. What started as a pattering of individual drops, became a

torrential downfall. Jagged lightening rent the sky and thunder shook the ground.

"We can't go on in this!" Shouted Shoran, to be heard above the storm. "We'll stop at the first

shelter!"

They galloped on through the storm, each was drenched to the skin. Through the curtains of

rain, they could see the outlines of buildings, at least, at one time they had been buildings.


Completely forgetting the old man's warning, they rode into the relative shelter of the Ruins of

Thane.

The next morning, Shoran was the first to awaken. The building in which they had taken

shelter was fairly intact, at least the lower floors. Everything above the second floor was gone,

even so, it was an impressive sight. Shoran wandered through the ruin as the others slept. The

purpose of the building wasn't clear. A large central area surrounded by smaller rooms. The

floor was tile and the walls seemed to be made of stone that had been liquefied and then

formed, to dry in the shapes desired. He had begun investigating the closed off rooms when he

heard Fornel call.

"Shoran! Shoran, the pack animals, they're gone!"

"Damn." Shoran said under his breath. "We'll loose a day looking for the damn beasts." He

hurried over to assist Fornel in the search.

They searched the entire morning. There was no sign of the pack animals, it was as if they had

never been. Along with the animals, the device given them by Kord was also missing, it had

been still strapped to the animal’s backs.

"Damn, where could the beasts have wandered off to?" Asked Shoran aloud. The more he

thought of the delay the more agitated he became.

"What if they didn't wander off?" Remarked Balkor quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"The old man warned us to keep out of the ruins."

"You think Ghosts took them?" The sneer was unmistakable in Shoran's reply.

"What if the Ghosts aren't Ghosts? What if they are men?"

"Go on."

"We have been looking for lost animals, perhaps we should be looking for signs of thieves."

The signs were soon found. Strange boot marks, faint, but unmistakable, were found near

where the animals had been placed. The tracks led toward the rear of the ruin. They ended at a

large metal door that appeared to raise and lower from the ceiling. The door was closed tight.


"Well, what now?" Asked Fornel.

"We have to find a way through this door." Shoran pounded on the door with his fist, it

boomed hollowly.

"Easier said than done." Balkor said, examining the door and the walls around it.

"What are you looking for Balkor?" Asked Shoran, watching him curiously.

"The books at Kord's Keep described such doors. They were for large carts to pass through.

There was a way to open them, from both sides." He continued his search. Behind a collapsed

section of ceiling, he found what appeared to be a panel. "Help me clear this away." He began

removing the rubble.

With everyone helping, they soon had the area around the panel clear. Using the edge of his

sword, Shoran pried at the panel. With a screech of disuse, it opened.

Inside the panel was a round wheel connected to a shaft that disappeared into the wall. Try as

they might, none of them could turn the wheel, time had rusted it, fusing its mechanism,

seemingly forever.

"Well, that wasn't much help." Shoran sat against the wall beside the open panel.

"If we just had something to lubricate the mechanism with." Mused Balkor, thinking.

"We might as well wish for a dwarf wizard or two to force it open with their magic." Fornel

slid down the wall to sit beside Shoran.

"Let's not give up yet. You two try to scrape off as much of that rust as you can, I'm going to

look around." So saying he turned and strode off deeper into the ruined building.

"Well, come on Shoran, you heard the man, let's get this thing cleaned up."

They had managed to clear much of the visible corrosion from the surface by the time Balkor

returned. Bundled in his cloak were a collection of metal containers.

"What have you got there Balkor?" Asked Ritha, wiping a bit of rust from her face with her

hand.


"Hopefully one of these has some kind of grease in it, I saw them in one of the back rooms

while we were searching." He dumped the dozen or so cans noisily in front of them. "Well, let's

get them open." He sat down, and grabbing one of the containers, went at its lid with his

dagger.

Of course it was the last container opened. Inside of the cylindrical can, a dark, viscous fluid

was found. Balkor rubbed some between two fingers, it was slick and clung to his fingers, even

after he tried to wipe it off.

"This should work, put it on the mechanism, try to get it inside the area around the shaft that

goes through the wall." He immediately began slathering the slick stuff on the rusted metal. It

wasn't long until no more rust or corrosion could be seen, the entire mechanism shown dully

with the strange fluid.

"Well, let's give it a try." Shoran wiped his hands off on his shirt leaving two black trails. Once

he was satisfied he could get a grip, he tried to turn the wheel. Doing the same, Fornel added his

considerable strength to the task. With a tortured scream, the wheel began to turn.

It seemed to take forever, turn by slow turn, they moved the wheel and the door began to

rise. Once there was enough space for Balkor to slip under, they stopped and let him investigate

the other side. It wasn't long until the door began to rise smoothly and quietly into the ceiling.

"Well come on, we haven't got all day!" A smiling Balkor admonished them from the now

fully open door. Drawing their swords, they followed him into the cavernous space beyond.

On the other side of the door, he showed them the well oiled and maintained mechanism that

controlled the door. A heavy counter weight was used to raise the door, a wheel, almost

identical except for the corrosion, was used to lower it. On this side of the door, the tracks of the

horses, and the thieves, were clear, they led down an inclining floor into the dark.

"Ritha, you stay here and watch the rest of our supplies. Fornel, you come with me. Balkor,

stay at this door and guard our backs."

"I want to come with you!" Exclaimed Balkor. "After all, we wouldn't have gotten in at all

without me."

Shoran gave the matter some thought. "Alright, Fornel you stay to watch the door. Balkor,

come with me."


Ritha and Fornel watched as they disappeared into the dark of the ramp. They wondered if

they would see their companions again as the dark swallowed them.

At the bottom of the ramp, Shoran and Balkor paused to allow their eyes to dark adapt. Once

they grew used to the dark, they found the way lighted by pale green dots that led in a straight

line off into the dark.

"Do we follow them?" Whispered Balkor.

"We have little choice, stay behind me, and keep quiet."

Carefully they made their way along the dimly lit pathway. In the dark shadows, huge

machines sat brooding. The path seemed to stretch for miles. The only sound was the occasional

drip from leaks and the hollow echoes of their boot heels. The trip was uneventful, until the

heavy, weighted nets dropped from above. Shoran's last thought as the dark forms swarmed

out from the shadows was that he would never see Lahilda again, this side of the veil.

Shoran didn't know how long they were unconscious, it may have been only moments, or

perhaps a half day. The unseen blow to his head left him feeling dazed, but it soon passed as his

rapid healing repaired the damage to his skull. Balkor wasn't so lucky.

The fact that the blow which rendered Balkor unconscious was only a glancing one, probably

saved him from a severe concussion. At this moment, it didn't seem like much of a blessing. His

screaming headache, compounded by the swaying motion of their captors carrying them down

the dark passage, and the lack of any details to get a fix on, soon rendered him violently ill. He

turned his head and threw up the remains of supper. Their captors only laughed, it was a

squeaky, high pitched, eerie sound that echoed hollowly in the corridor.

Soon, a faint light could be seen issuing from the corridor in front of them. Their captors

seemed to be heading for it. A low hum, like the sound of a disturbed hornets nest, could be

heard, it grew as they approached the light.

They were blinded by the seemingly bright light as their captors entered the chamber at the

end of the passage. Balkor and Shoran got their first good look at the creatures, you could

hardly call them men, that had captured them.

They stood roughly shoulder height to Shoran. Their feet were bare and callused, some wore

odd looking boots, boots just right for leaving the tracks they had followed. Their skin was pale,

almost translucent, their hair was white and their eyes the palest blue that either Balkor or


Shoran had seen. The reason for the Ghost legends was apparent. Other than the laughter, they

had made no sound. They seemed to be waiting for something.

Soon, a vibration could be felt through the smooth, hard floor. Balkor, who had been dumped

to lay directly in front of Shoran, twisted his head around to see what was causing the vibration.

Not more than a few hand widths away from where he lay, a sharply defined pit yawed wide,

whatever was causing the vibration was in the pit.

The strain on Balkor's neck grew too great and he had to lay back down. As he did, their

captors grabbed them and threw them toward what Balkor knew was a gaping chasm. He

closed his eyes and bit back a scream just as he landed with a solid thump on a flat surface,

Shoran landed beside him and again they felt the vibration. Opening his eyes Balkor watched as

the wall slid up and past, obscuring his view of their grinning captors.

"Shoran! Are you awake?" Balkor called out to the still form beside him.

"Yes, where are we?"

"Remember the small room in Kord's Keep that would take you between the levels?"

"Yes."

"I think this is the same thing, only without walls." He looked over to where the smooth walls

still slid past. "I wonder how deep we are?"

"That my friend is a good question."

They both watched the wall slide past for what seemed to be forever. Not knowing what laid

in wait for them at the end of the ride played havoc with their senses. Finally a crack of light

appeared, then widened.

As the platform sank, they could see they were in another well lit area, this one seemed to be

larger than the one above. The platform stopped with a jarring thud.

"Well! Let's see what we have here!" Said a deep voice. Hands reached down and removed

the confining net, not before removing all weapons of course. Free of the restraining nets,

Shoran and Balkor got to their feet. Standing before them was the oddest man they had ever

seen.


He stood only as high as Balkor's belt. His body seemed normal, but his legs, though strong

looking, were short and stumpy. He looked up at them and smiled.

"Welcome! I am Thagor, I rule the Ghost Walkers of Thane." He held out his hand.

"Hell of a welcoming you give, Thagor, if that is your name." Shoran said with vehemence. "I

ought to wring your neck."

Taken back by Shoran's anger, Thagor stepped back and dropped his hand.

"The Walkers sometimes are over zealous in their tasks. I apologize."

"Why were we brought here and where are our horses and belongings?" Shoran asked, the

anger still deadly in his voice.

"I question all who enter Thane, as did my father, and his father, back to the Last Guard."

"And then?"

"Why, you'll be killed of course. Follow me." Thagor turned and began to walk away. With a

single stride Shoran caught up to him and reached for his neck. Before his hand closed about

Thagor, a jagged blast of light reached out from thin air and knocked him senseless to the floor.

A ragged looking burn smoked at the center of Shoran's chest, his Jerkin was burned clear

through.

"Oh, I forgot to say," Thagor looked at Shoran's body, "too late for your friend it seems, don't

try to harm me or the Guardian will kill you." He smiled, it turned to a look of pure fright when

Shoran shook himself, and, extinguishing the smoldering embers that lined the hole in his jerkin

with a few pats of his hand, stood.

"Lead on midget, but know this, if I get the chance, your reign as Lord of Thane will come to

an end." Shoran's voice was grim.

With a look that still held fright, Thagor led them deeper into the catacombs beneath the ruins

of Thane. They hadn't gone far, just a few passages, when Shoran and Balkor knew that without

a guide, or a lot of luck, they wouldn't be able to find their way back out. Their journey ended in

what could only be called, a junk room.

"Welcome to my Throne room, how do you like my treasures?" Thagor seemed to be serious.

They looked around the room, laying in disorderly piles were the oddest things that they had


ever seen. Some were square boxes that had glass plates on one side, others appeared to be

weapons, although what good a handle with a hollow metal tube on it would be, they couldn't

figure out. In one corner moldered a huge pile of books and scrolls.

"I have the Walkers bring me the things they find above. There are great magic here, if I could

only figure them out." He picked up one of the odd handled tubes and looked down the empty

end, then he tossed it back in the pile. "Enough of this, so, tell me why you have come to loot my

city." He climbed up into a chair several sizes to big and donned a comic looking crown made of

copper wires. "Come now you," he gestured at Balkor, "I don't have all day."

Had the situation not been so grave, Balkor was sure he would have laughed, he sensed that

to do so would be to court death. He looked over to the burned hole in Shoran's jerkin,

swallowed, and then answered.

"We merely took refuge in the ruins from the storm, we intended no harm to you, or Thane."

"Then why did you open the door and follow my subjects?" Thagor took the crown from his

head and toyed with it.

"Your subjects stole our property, and our horses." Answered Shoran.

"I didn't ask you, do you want another taste of the Guardian?" Thagor scowled at Shoran.

"Why not, didn't do much last time, did it?" Shoran smiled, a wisp of smoke from his jerkin

played about his face in the still air. Thagor paled.

"The Walkers did bring down an object, strapped between two horses, is that what you speak

of?"

"Yes! If you will give it to us, we will leave and never return to Thane."

"I'm sorry, but that isn't possible, the rules are quite explicit, all trespassers are to die."

"But why?" Asked Balkor.

"It's the law, the mandate given to the Last Guard."

"The last Guard is dead. Thane is a ruin. The Walkers aren't even human any more." Shoran

watched Thagor grow angry at his words. "You my short, ugly, friend, are King of a dump."


Livid with rage, Thagor jumped to a standing position in his throne, before he could

command the Guardian, Shoran grabbed him in a bone crushing hug.

"Go ahead Thagor, call fourth the fire." Shoran looked down into Thagor's bulging eyes, he

read the terror there and smiled.

"Put me down! I'll call the fire!" Thagor sputtered.

"Not a chance little man. I wonder, " Shoran tightened his grip, "I wonder if your eyes would

pop before I crushed your ribs?" He smiled at the look of object terror that filled Thagor's eyes at

the vision his words inspired. "Let's find out."

"No! Please no, I'll let you go, really, I promise!" He struggled fruitlessly

"I think not. I think you will guide us to the platform, and then out of this hell."

Thagor only nodded.

Balkor picked up one of the strange handled tubes and looked at it curiously. He placed it in

his belt as a souvenir.

Thagor directed them through the catacomb back to the platform, Shoran held him tightly the

entire journey. At the platform, Balkor retrieved their weapons.

"Where are our horses, and the box they carried?" Shoran gave Thagor a squeeze that near

popped the little man's eyes from his head, he gestured to a set of double doors that stood in the

wall near the platform. Shoran gestured to Balkor to have a look.

Fearing a trap, Balkor carefully opened the doors. Behind them stood the horses, contentedly

munching on some grain. Between them hung the box. Balkor led them over to the platform.

Shoran gave a small warning squeeze.

"You operate it from that button over on the wall." Thagor gasped.

Shoran, still carrying Thagor, stepped up on the platform. Balkor stepped over to the button

and pushed it. As the platform began to rise, he leapt aboard. The ride up didn't seem as long.

As they cleared the top of the shaft, the pale creatures, descendants of the Last Guard,


gathered around the opening and hooted angrily. It was obvious they hadn't expected this turn

of events.

"What are they saying?" Asked Balkor, Shoran gave Thagor a squeeze.

"They are asking if they should kill you." He gasped.

"Tell them to move away from the shaft." Shoran told him. Thagor gave out a few odd

sounding hoots and clicks and the creatures moved away from the shaft. The platform rose until

it was level with the floor of the chamber then stopped. Balkor, leading the horses, and Shoran,

holding the weakly struggling Thagor, stepped off.

"Tell them to get on the platform, all of them." Shoran said coldly. Thagor hooted again in the

creature's strange language. With looks that held hatred, they complied, it was a tight fit. Balkor

pushed the button and started the platform on its downward journey. They watched until it was

lost to sight.

"Let me go, you are safe now." Thagor gasped. The vibration in the floor ceased, signaling the

platform had reached the bottom. Taking the odd device from his belt, Balkor used it as a

hammer, smashing the box that held the buttons, it sparked and smoked. Thagor watched in

horror. "Let me go!" he wailed. Stepping over to the pit, Shoran complied. Thagor's scream was

cut off by a sound like a melon fallen on hard ground from a rooftop.

"Let's get out of here, I'm sure Ritha and Fornel are worried." Shoran turned, and, with Balkor

and the horses following, went up the corridor. The light of day never looked so good to either

of them as it did when they reached ground level.

"I was just about to come after you. It's nearly dark. Have any trouble?" Asked Fornel, eyeing

the hole burned through Shoran's jerkin and Balkor's disheveled appearance.

"Nothing we couldn't handle." Answered Shoran. "Let's get out of this place, we'll tell you

what happened once we are on the trail."

They packed their bed rolls and meager supplies and with the sun preparing to set, rode out

of Thane. With Anvil Top dominating the skyline before them, Shoran finished the tale of their

adventure beneath the ruins.

"But what did you do with Thagor?" Asked Ritha.

"Shoran let him go." Answered Balkor, with a smile. Shoran laughed out loud and galloped


up ahead.

That night, they slept at the foot of Anvil Top.


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Anvil Top

The next morning dawned clear. For the first time, in what seemed forever, the sun shone

brightly and felt warm on their skins. Spring was coming to the plains.

"That feels good." Ritha voiced the thought they all shared.

"Yes, especially after all that we've been through." Balkor smiled.

"It doesn't look very climbable, does it?" Fornel asked, looking at the mass of naked stone that

reared above them.

"I climbed it in the dream, if I have to, I will." Shoran said grimly, looking up at the last

obstacle.

"We will."

"No my friend, this is something I have to do." He slapped Fornel on the shoulder. "What's for

breakfast?"

They prepared a meal from the last of their provisions. Although course, it was filling. As the

sun rose further in the sky, the day continued to warm. In the west, the dark edge of a storm

began to brew as the warm, moist air from the lake rose and condensed into thunderheads.

Shoran watched as he rested, preparing for the climb to the top of Anvil Top. Remembering

Thara using lightening in his dream, he smiled.

"Doesn't look good Shoran, that storm could be bad." Balkor looked at the brewing storm

with alarm.

"It is good Balkor. Thara will need the power of the storm, to mend the sword."

"Shoran"

"Yes Balkor."

"What if it is just a legend? What if there is no anvil?"

Shoran turned dark eyes toward Balkor, the look in them chilled Balkor in spite of the

warmth of the sun. "It will be there." He said flatly, and rolled over for a nap.


It was well past noon when Balkor and Fornel returned from hunting for small game with

which to restock their supplies. Ritha had rinsed out all the clothes she could in a nearby stream

and had them laying out in the sun to dry. Nearby the horses grazed. Shoran still slept.

"When will he go?" Asked Balkor, dropping a couple of rabbits by the fire.

"I don't know." Fornel laid a brace of birds beside the rabbits.

They had finished dressing and cleaning the game when Shoran awoke. He stood and

stretched. Looking down at the ragged jerkin, the one with the burned hole, he laughed and

pulled it off

. "Where is that stream Ritha?" He asked.

"Over there, behind that outcropping." She pointed at a few stones that stood like sentinels.

"I'll be back." Shoran walked toward the stones. They could hear him humming.

The stream was clear and cold. A pool lay sparkling in the afternoon sun. Removing his

tattered clothes, Shoran waded into the ice cold water and thoroughly washed. When he had

finished, he laid the remains of his garments on the surface of a flat stone that was as long as he

was tall and then laid out in the sun to dry.

The clouds that had begun to build that morning were now towering giants. The sound of

thunder could be heard in the distance. With each angry muttering of thunder Shoran felt more

alive. Once he had dried, he put back on his breeches and went back to camp.

"I was just about to come for you." Fornel said.

"I've heard that before!" Shoran smiled.

He gathered up the clothes that Ritha had washed and stepped behind the horses to dress.

When he returned, he was wearing the jerkin with the faint heraldry of his house still visible on

the back and over the beast pocket. On his feet were wore soft leather boots, tightly laced. His

legs were covered with leather leggings. On his hands he wore tight leather gloves. Walking

over to the horses, he removed the bundle that held the cracked sword given him by Lahilda so

many years before. He carefully tied it with leather thongs so it laid across his back and didn't

restrict his movements. Gauging the storms progress he said simply "It's time for me to go."


Turning toward Anvil Top, he moved off toward the base of the huge monolith and was soon

lost to their sight.

From the beginning the climb was tough. The mountain begrudged him every hand and foot

hold. Pressing himself against the cold stone, he could feel the heart of the mountain, he relaxed

into the stone, moving by instinct.

Inch by painful inch he climbed Anvil Top. The wind, at first a mere zephyr, grew to pluck

playfully at him, seeming to delight in trying to pry him from his tenuous hold upon the stone.

His world narrowed to the next crack, the next small ledge for his feet, the next small outcrop

for his hands. Sweat poured from his body and exhaustion dogged his every move. Right foot

here, left foot there, move to the right, these were the only thoughts that filled his mind.

Several times he seemed to have reached an impasse, only to find the needed hand or foot

hold. Once he had to hang by one arm to swing to the next set of holds. Every muscle in his

body burned from effort. The wind had become his pledged enemy. With cold fingers it pried at

him, chilled him, robbed him of energy.

He didn't believe it when his hand reached up and found nothing. Scrabbling over the edge,

he lay exhausted on the flat peak of Anvil Top. He dropped into exhausted sleep.

It was the first drops of rain that awoke him. While he slept, his body had repaired the torn

muscles and strained tendons. While not ready to try the climb again, he was ready to search

out the anvil. A jagged sheet of lightning split the sky, the top of the mountain was lit bright as

mid-day. There, in the distance, stood a stone building. Shrugging the sword into a more

comfortable position, he began the final leg of the quest.

The building had been deserted for years. From its roof, huge metal spikes clawed at the sky,

asking to be struck by the lightning that even now lit the landscape with its surreal light. Inside,

the floor was empty except for a flat, alter like stone that squatted dark and foreboding at its

center. From the ceiling, cables of gold stretched down and ran across the floor to the stone.

"Well, this must be it." Shoran took the wrapped sword from his back and carefully unwound

the oiled leather. In the half light inside the building, it looked whole.

Shoran examined the stone. A groove ran down the center, it was lined with an odd metal

that Shoran hadn't seen before. Outside, the storm increased its intensity, lightning played

continuously between the clouds and rain fell in a continuous sheet.


Taking the sword, he carefully laid it in the groove, it was a tight fit, but the blade fit

completely within it. "Well, what now?" asked Shoran as a bolt of lightning struck the rods and

the raw power of the universe surged down the energy conduits and into the sword, and, into

Shoran.

The face that looked down on him with one good eye was a strong one. A hand, calloused

and roughened from hard labor, took his and helped him to his feet.

"You aren't supposed to hold it."

Shoran shook his head to clear the ringing. Outside, the storm had lessened and only an

occasional bolt of lightning lit the sky.

"The storm is gone Shoran. Let us see if it did its work." Standing, Shoran only came to the

man's, if man it was, shoulder. He was naked to the waist. On the lower part of his body he

wore a kilt over which a leather apron was placed.

"Take the sword from the anvil."

Shoran grasped the hilt and pulled the great sword from the stone. It was still warm and blue

fire danced up and down the blade, until it leapt with a crackle to the stone. Shoran looked

closely, all signs of the crack were gone.

"But is it mended? Truly as it was?" Shoran said wearily, afraid to hope.

"Let us see." The giant took the sword in one huge hand and held it toward the roof of the

building, with a blinding flash the runes lit in blue splendor, all the way to the tip of the blade.

Smiling, the man gave it back to Shoran.

"Looks fine to me." He said.

"Who are you?" Asked Shoran, still groggy from the energy that had nearly killed him, in

spite of Lahilda's magic.

"I have many names Shoran. Names are not important. It is time for you to go, your friends

are worried." The man smiled and held out his hand. Shoran took it in the grip of a fellow

warrior. With a firm shake, the man let go.

"Will I ever see you again?"


"Ever is a long time, who can say?" With a smile, “Come, I wish to show you something”, the

man stepped out of the building's doorway and into the night.

"Wait!" Called Shoran, rushing out into the slackening storm.

The Giant was standing near the side of the plateau that overlooked the poisoned lake. “There

look below”, he pointed to the lake far below.

Shoran peered over the ledge but couldn’t see anything but swirling rain and mist. “I can’t see

anything but rain”.

With a laugh the Giant clapped his hands and the mists cleared enough for Shoran to see the

odd glow was gone from the lake, other than the troubling form the slackening storm, it looked

like any other lake.

“Afraid I used you my friend”, The Giant laughed.

“How so?”

“I needed an elf struck blade to conduct the healing flow to the lake, to purge it of the sky

borne poison from the stone.” He winked at Shoran, “That it also mended your sword was

secondary.” He smiled.

Shoran peered once again over the side but the mists once again hid the lake. “Even so I thank

you.” Shoran turned and looked to where the Giant had stood. In the flashes of stray lightning,

he could see he was alone on Anvil Top.

The storm was soon over. The clouds chased each other over the horizon and left the night

sky clear. A million stars spread out over Anvil Top and a full moon lit the landscape.

Compared to the climb up, the climb back down was almost easy. Whenever Shoran reached for

a hand or toehold, it seemed as if one grew from the stone. He soon reached the base. He looked

back up toward the peak.

"Thank You Thara." He said simply. A low rumble of thunder from the distant storm was his

only answer.

As he came into camp, Fornel dropped the cook pot he was holding and stared at him. "You

look as if you've seen a ghost Fornel." Shoran kidded him.

"Your hair Shoran, it's white!"


Looking at a lock of his shoulder length hair, Shoran laughed. "So it is! Tell me, do you think

Lahilda will like it?" He handed the wrapped sword to Fornel. "The sword is whole once more,

it is time to return to ElfHome!"


CHAPTER NINETEEN: Return to Elfhome

Ritha and Balkor joined Fornel and Shoran at the fire. They gazed in wonder at the now

whole rune sword, and in equal wonder at Shoran. Shoran seemed to glow with an inner

energy, a fire behind the eyes, that was quite un-nerving.

"So what happened after the lightning struck?" Asked Ritha.

"I watched as the fire surged down the channels in the walls and into the alter. I felt as if I was

on fire inside and out and then I passed out." Shoran drank some warm tea from the cup he held

clenched in his fist.

"And...?"

He looked up and smiled. "Thara came to me and helped me to my feet. He held the sword

aloft and the runes flashed blue fire. He said it looked fine to him."

"You saw Thara!?" Balkor asked incredulous.

"Yes, I believe it was him." Shoran's quiet answer left them silent.

"Did he say anything more?" Asked Fornel, breaking the silence.

"Only that you usually didn't hold the sword during the process." Shoran smiled and held out

a lock of his hair. "I wish he would have told me sooner!" He said and laughed. The others

joined him. “Oh, he told me he used me.”

“Used you? But how?” Asked Fornel.

“Seems he needed an elfin blade to channel the lightning into the lake. It appears we have

also cleansed the lake of its poison.”

“Thara or not, I’ll still not drink of it.” Declared Balkor.

"When do we go back?" Asked Ritha.


"How soon to jerk the meat and prepare travel rations?" Shoran sat his cup on the stone

beside him.

"No more than another day. We'll smoke the meat instead of jerking it. Shouldn't take as

long."

"Good idea Fornel. We'll break camp day after tomorrow, I want to be at Elfhome's gate in a

seven day!" He suddenly looked stern. "It pains me to think of Lahilda trapped in that gray

nothingness for even another hour, let alone days!"

"It is said those few who have been brought back remember nothing of the time spent there."

Offered Fornel.

"But I will remember." Shoran stood. "It is time to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow."

Ritha and Balkor banked the fire and cleaned up the dishes while Shoran and Fornel took care

of the horses. Shoran stood for a while near the box holding Kord's device.

"It is hard to imagine something this small being able to seal the Goblins from here forever."

Fornel said coming up beside him.

"What if it doesn't Fornel? Are we doomed to fight them forever?"

"I hope not."

"Me too my friend, me too."

They bedded down for the night with Balkor standing first watch. As the others snored softly,

he watched the moon rise and thought of Kord's Keep and the mysteries it contained. As he

watched the moon, he saw a red odd glow on the horizon. It was only there for a moment, he

was on the verge of waking the others when it disappeared. Soon, he forgot it.

The next day dawned clear and bright. The oncoming spring was warm in the air, the trees

had even begun to bud. Using wet hides to trap the smoke, they cured the strips of rabbit meat,

and the meat from a small deer that Fornel had brought down with his crossbow. Ritha ranged

out into the areas around the camp and replenished their supplies of herbs. Everyone found the

time to rinse the travel grime from their bodies in the chilly pool and to wash their travel

stained clothes.


By late evening, the majority of the meat had been cured, the rest was prepared for a last

civilized meal. Thinking of the return to Elfhome, they were all soon asleep.

The next day dawned clear and warm. The camp was soon struck and their journey bags

packed. Shoran and Fornel loaded Kord's device between the pack animals. By mid-morning,

they were on the trail that led toward the mountains, and the way back to Elfhome.

"Are we going back by way of Kord's Keep?"

"No Balkor, I think it would be faster to go by way of the High Pass. With the weather

warming, the snow should be clear by the time we get there. It should save us time." Shoran

smiled at him.

"According to the map, that is the best route. I was kind of hoping to see Kord again."

"I have a feeling we will see him again Balkor, don't fret over it."

"Those pictures of men flying, if I could learn even a small part of what is in the Keep..." He

let the sentence trail off.

"Soon we would be calling you Lord Balkor and you would rule the world!" Shoran slapped

Balkor on the shoulder and laughed.

They steered well clear of the ruins of Thane. The day continued to warm and soon they put

away their travel cloaks. The warm sun lifted their spirits even higher than the mending of the

sword and the homeward journey. Soon Balkor was singing a travel song and the others joined

in. By evening, they reached the Village of the Folk.

They searched for the old Innkeeper. Finally, as night was falling, they found his body near

the grave of his wife.

"I hope he died peacefully." Ritha said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

"I think so. It appears he was clearing off the grave." Fornel indicated the cleared area around

the simple plot. The marker had been newly white washed and in careful script "ELSA" was

printed upon it.

"Let's take him to the inn, we'll lay him beside her in the morning."

"Do you think any of the others are still around?"


"I don't think we have anything to worry about Balkor. The old man said we got them all."

They carried the old Inn Keeper's body to the inn and placed it carefully in one of the rooms.

Soon, a roaring fire was warming the common room and candles provided light. Fornel and

Shoran re-checked the route to High Pass on the map from Kord's Keep. Balkor was again

thinking of the knowledge that was waiting there at the Keep and staring out of the window

when the odd glow again appeared on the horizon, this time, it was brighter.

"Shoran, Fornel, come look at this." He called to them.

They rolled the map and came over to the window.

"What is that glow on the horizon? See it?"

"Where...oh, yes, I see it. I haven't seen its like, have you Fornel?"

Fornel was silent, they turned to look at him. He seemed mesmerized by the glow, then he

looked at them with something Shoran had never seen in his friend's eyes before, fear.

"Fornel, what is it?" Asked Shoran, concern plain in his voice

. "You don't feel it? The pull of the hunt?" Fornel's eyes kept straying back toward the glow,

now fading, that lit the horizon.

"I only see a glow Fornel, I don't feel anything." Answered Balkor.

"It is from the legend of the beginning time, the time of coming." He gave them his full

attention as the glow faded altogether.

"You've lost me old friend."

"It is the Elfin legend of the coming. In the land before, there was the hunter, the horned one.

In the spring of the year he would hunt, the forest would glow with his power. Those that

witnessed the hunt were never seen again."

"All this from a light on the horizon? I'm sorry Fornel, it's a bit hard to swallow." Balkor

smiled.


With a snarl of rage Fornel grabbed Balkor and lifted him up against the wall, "You doubt my

word human!?" Fornel's eyes seemed to glow in the dimly lit room. The fire faded from his eyes

and Fornel lowered Balkor slowly to the floor. "I am sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Looking shaken, Balkor straightened his tunic. "I'm sorry I made light of your story Fornel.

Tell us more."

"It is said that the Elfin men would go for a time into the woods during the spring. Those that

returned were quiet for days afterward. Some never returned. And always, there was the glow."

He shuddered. "It was one of the reasons we came here, to be gone from this evil. Now it seems

Herne the Hunter has found us."

"Is there a way to fight him?" Asked Ritha, taking Fornel's hand in her own.

"Only one, it involves the old magic, and, we must be close to the Hunt for it to work."

"We will help Fornel." Shoran offered.

"You don't understand. The rages will get stronger the nearer we get to the Huntsman and his

followers. If the magic doesn't work, I will be lost to them."

"If we don't, can he make it over the pass?"

"I feel he has sensed my presence. It is far enough away that it won't get here tonight, but

tomorrow he will find us. If he takes me, he will know of the others and will seek them out."

"What must we do?"

"I will make a list of what we need. I must purify myself for the ritual. Thank the Gods that

the moon is waxing, the powers are increasing at this time."

"What ritual Fornel?"

He smiled at her. "You should enjoy it Ritha, we are summoning the presence of Gia and

bidding her to do our will."

Fornel spent the night in the purification rituals as the others searched the abandoned town

for the needed items. As each was found and brought to the Inn, Ritha blessed it in the manner

Fornel had showed her. It was early morning before all was prepared.


"It is time for rest my friends. We have a night of terror ahead." So saying, Fornel drew off by

himself to rest. Ritha, Shoran and Balkor buried the Innkeeper and then sought their own beds.

Each dreaded the coming of night.

They arose well before nightfall. An unnatural stillness pervaded the land as the sun sank

beneath the horizon. A supernatural tension filled the air.

"It is time." Was all Fornel said.

They cleared an area outside of town roughly nine spans in diameter. Fornel instructed them

to stand beside him. From a small table that had been brought from the inn, he took four

candles, one yellow, one white, one blue and one green. Carefully, he lit charcoal that rested in a

small burner. Beginning with the east and proceeding sun wise, he placed the candles at the

cardinal points of the cleared circle. Taking a wand of green wood, Fornel held it out at arms

length, and with a chant, to which his body swayed, slowly drew a circle in the dirt around the

clearing. In a loud voice he cried out:

"I consecrate this circle of power to the ancient Gods! Here may they manifest and bless their

child!" With a final gesture, the inscribed circle burst into a barrier of bright blue heatless flame.

"Do not cross the circle! No matter what happens!" He admonished them. "When you move,

move sunrise around the circle." He indicated the proper direction.

Moving back to the table, he picked up his dagger, facing east, he called out: "This is a time

that is not a time, in a place that is not a place, on a day that is not a day! I stand at the threshold

between worlds, before the veil of the mysteries. Paralda, may you and the Ancient Ones help

and protect me on my journey!"

Outside of the circle the night grew brighter, faint figures could be seen fleetingly, only to

disappear if they tried to see them clearly.

Fornel, taking up a chalice of pure water, set it on a pewter plate inscribed with a pentagram.

Holding the dagger over it, he called out:

"Great Mother, bless this creature of water to your service. May I always remember the

caldron waters of rebirth." Holding the dagger over a small bowl containing course ground salt

he said: "Great Mother, bless this creature of Earth to your service!" Sprinkling a bit of the salt

into the water, he held the chalice up saying: "Great Mother! I give you honor!"

The figures outside the fire were now clearly visible. Some had been Elves, others were

creatures to vile to be recognized. All acted mad, evilly insane with lust and rage. The twisted


figures prowled the periphery of the circle, none daring to cross. Faintly, the sound of a hunting

horn sounded.

Beginning again with the east, Fornel sprinkled a small trail of the mixture in the chalice

completely around the circle, ending at the east. He carefully replaced the chalice on the table.

Holding the dagger in the smoke from the burning charcoal, he called out:

"Great Father, bless this creature of Fire to your service! May I always remember the sacred

Fire that dances within the form of every creation."

Holding the dagger over dried, fragrant herbs he called out: "Great Father, bless this creature

of Air to your service. May I always listen to the spirit winds that bring the voices of the Ancient

Ones."

He placed a pinch of the herbs on the charcoal, lifting the burner by its chains, he touched it

to the pentacle and raised it high.

"Great Father, I give you honor!"

The horn sounded, louder this time, the creatures outside of the circle danced, frenzied,

outside the circle, one of them reached a misshapen hand through the protective barrier, it

blackened and shriveled and with a scream of rage, the creature fell back into the darkness.

Carrying the burner to the east, Fornel once again walked the circle sunwise, when he

finished he placed the burner back on the table. Lighting a candle from the burner, Fornel

walked to the eastern candle and lighting it, called out:

"I call upon you Powers of Air, to witness this rite and to guard this circle!" With a formal

movement he saluted to the east with his dagger.

He proceeded to the southern candle and lighting it called out:

"I call upon you Powers of Fire, to witness this rite and guard this circle!" Again, he saluted.

Moving to the west, he lit the blue candle.

"I call upon you powers of Water, to witness this rite and to guard this circle!" Again, he

saluted. Finishing by lighting the northern candle he called:

"I call upon you, Powers of Earth, to witness this rite and to guard this circle!" With a final

salute, he walked back to the table. Facing east, he chanted with his arms raised in greeting:


"This circle is bound, with power all around, between the worlds I stand, with protection at

hand!" So saying, he took up his sword and saluted to the east.

"Ha half-breed! Dare you pervert the old ways?" A course voice called out. Fornel

concentrated on the ritual, ignoring the taunt. The author of the taunt sat a black, red-eyed

mount that breathed fire. The apparition stood outside the circle, the creatures seemed drawn

and yet fearful of him. Herne had arrived. From his forehead two horns, like those of a ram,

curved out and down, around his neck was hung a hunting horn. "Give up to me half-breed!"

Fornel continued to face away from Herne, sweat pored from his face, though the night was

chill. Facing east, he took up the wand of green wood and said:

"O Great Goddess, be with me now in your aspect of the Maiden, the fair one, who brings joy

and new life!"

Taking up a bell, Fornel rang it once, twice, thrice, sharply, then set it down on the pentacle.

"Gia! Your humble servant calls you in his hour of need! Honor the pact, between mine and

yours! The pact breaker must be punished!"

The air inside the circle at the eastern candle began to shimmer. The form of a young maiden,

just entering womanhood, appeared, she smiled at Fornel.

"What would you have of me my child?" Her voice was soft and melodic. She looked behind

Fornel and saw Herne and his collection of followers. "Herne! You are forbidden this plane!"

Herne looked away from the beautiful Goddess. "None may forbid me, what I want I take!"

"Of the other planes, you may freely hunt, those of this plane have entered unto a covenant

with us, forbidding you entrance, now be gone!"

With a cry of rage, he flung his hunting spear at her, with a laugh, she cast it aside. "You

would risk much Herne." The sound of her laughter belied the cold edge in her voice.

With the power of his will, Herne forced his creatures to attack. Those from the east, as they

entered the circle, were set upon by a whirlwind which rent them into pieces, those from the

south were consumed by blue fire, leaving charred husks littering the outside of the circle. The

elementals from the other directions responded in kind. Soon, no amount of prodding from

Herne could force them to brave the circle.


"You have won this time Half-breed." Herne snarled and turned his mount to ride off into the

night. "We shall meet again!" And with a flash of red light, he and his minions disappeared.

"How may I thank you Gaia?" Asked Fornel.

"You must continue your quest. The veil between the worlds that has been rent at Hellsgate

must be closed." Moving to beside him, she placed her hand on his brow. "I give you my

blessing, child of the forest."

She turned to the others who had stood silently during the conflict. "Ritha, little sister, I am

glad we have gotten to meet face to face." Smiling, she took Ritha's hands and then hugged her.

"I believe you lost your medallion in my service." She took the silver crescent moon from

around her own neck. "Here is a replacement." Ritha looked down in rapture at the charm.

"Shoran, you must bring Lahilda back from the land between." Dropping Ritha's hands she

stood on tip toes to kiss the cheek of the warrior.

"Balkor, your music is pleasing, be assured I listen when you play." Balkor looked down at

his boots in embarrassment, but accepted the kiss with joy.

"Fornel, with you I am much pleased. You have integrated the two halves of your heritage,

retaining the best of both. Continue on this path and you will find great happiness. I fear I must

go and sooth Herne's hurt feelings now. At times he is such a child." She laughed at their

shocked faces. "If I am successful, I will send a sign." With a smile, she slowly vanished.

Shaking himself from the spell of her presence, Fornel held the dagger over the table and said:

"By the powers of the Ancient Gods, I bind all power within this circle into this compact. So

mote it be."

Going to each candle starting with the east and proceeding sunwise, he extinguished its flame

and dismissed the elemental that had been bound at the beginning of the ceremony, thanking it.

He returned to the alter and called out:

"To all beings and powers of the visible and invisible, depart in peace. May there always be

harmony between us. My thanks and blessings!"


Taking his dagger to the circle of blue flame, he cut across it with a backward slashing

movement, the flames winked out as if they had never been. With a tired sounding voice he

called:

"The circle is open, yet ever it remains a circle. Around and through me always flows its

power." Sheathing his dagger, he crumpled in exhaustion into the dust.

Fornel awoke to the sound of birds singing. For a moment he wasn’t sure where he was, then

all of the nights events replayed in his mind, he assumed his friends had carried him into the

inn. The sun, just risen and shining through the empty window, warmed the skin of his face.

Turning, he looked at Ritha laying beside him. The golden light of the morning soothed the

travel weariness from her face, she breathed slowly, still deep in sleep. Moving carefully to

avoid waking her, Fornel rose from the sleeping pallet and stretched. His body ached with dull

pain. He had forgotten how draining the invocation ceremony could be. He offered a silent

prayer of thanks to Gia that he had been successful. After dressing, he went into the inn's

common room.

The fire had died back to a glowing bank of coals. Placing some dry tinder and wood upon it,

he soon had a fire going. Rummaging through the travel packs, he located the last of the travel

tea. Taking their last full water skin, he carefully measured enough water for two cups and

began heating it in the worn travel pot.

"That second cup for me old friend?"

Fornel turned and smiled at Shoran. "I knew you would soon be up."

"Ritha still sleeping?"

"Aye, and Balkor?"

"When I passed his room, it sounded of snores."

Fornel took the now boiling water from the fire and portioned it into the two cups. To the hot

water he added the last of the travel tea.

"Must be near the end of the journey Fornel, you're out of tea." Said Shoran, gingerly holding

the hot cup.

"It would appear so my friend."


"I have been gone from the land for 10 years, as well you know. Have you heard of anything

in the High Pass to delay us?" Shoran took a sip of the tea, almost burning his lips. He blew on

the liquid, raising a small cloud of vapor in the cool morning air.

"If there is, I haven't heard of it. I hope that we have had our last adventure between here and

Elfhome." Fornel drank deeply, seemingly oblivious to the heat of the tea.

"I still can't understand how you do that without burning your throat out."

"Superior breeding Shoran, superior breeding." Fornel smiled.

"Do you think Herne will return?" Asked Shoran turning serious.

"Yes, he is not one to turn from a path easily. Gia will keep him away for a time, but

eventually he will return."

"You know how to pick your enemies my Friend."

"There is an old saying Shoran, 'The strength of a man is shown by the power of his enemies.'"

"If you survive, that should be a comfort." Shoran stood and went over to the window.

"Fornel, come here."

Fornel stood and came over to the window. Looking out, he saw what Shoran had wanted to

draw his attention to. Wild flowers had sprung up in the place of last night's circle, they were

riotous with color.

"What does it mean?" Asked Shoran.

"I think it means Gia was successful with her comforting of Herne." He smiled.

"Lucky Herne!" Shoran laughed.

"What's so funny you two?" They both turned at the sound of Ritha's voice.

"Come here and behold a wonder." Said Fornel, gesturing for her to join them.

She gazed out at the beautiful flowers. "I guess Gia was successful." She touched the emblem

which hung around her slim neck and smiled.


"Anything to eat?" Called out Balkor. "I'm starved!"

They turned away from the window laughing.

After a quick breakfast, they packed their supplies on the horses and left the ring of wild

flowers, and the now deserted Village of the Folk, behind them. In the far distance, they could

just make out the tops of the mountains, beckoning them onward toward home.

They made good time. The day stayed clear and bright. Once, in the far distance, they saw the

smoke from the fires of the Khan. By mid-day, they reached a clear spring. In the shade from the

willows that surrounded it, they ate a mid-day meal and re-filled their nearly spent water skins.

They were soon on their way once more. By nightfall, they reached the foothills of the

mountains. Far above them they could see High Pass, true to Shoran's prediction, it was clear

from snow. With luck, they would be in Elfhome by day after next.

They ate fresh meat that night, Fornel brought down several rabbits with his crossbow. Using

wild herbs, even the tough, wild rabbits became a feast, or perhaps, it was the sauce of hunger.

After dinner, Balkor brought out his dulcimer and played several songs. With hearts set for

home, they fell into deep sleep.

The morning brought news. A messenger from Elfhome found them as they made ready to

break camp. "Hail Fornel!" The clear ringing shout brought them all up short.

"Hail yourself Urial! What brings you here?" Answered Fornel, embracing the messenger.

"I bear urgent tidings from the council. You must make hast. The time net is failing and

Jerreth is near the final door."

"This is grave indeed. But we bring good news! The sword is mended and Shoran will be able

to bring Lahilda back from the land between!"

"Praise the ancient ones!" Urial looked in wonder upon Shoran, seeing him for the first time.

"Shoran! Your hair!"

"A gift from the Anvil of Thara. But enough of that, how did you find us?"

"Messengers were sent in all directions. I saw the fire and hoped it would be you. It is truly a

blessing that you are so close."


"What of Hellsgate?" Shoran asked as he tightened the girdle strap on his horse.

"The news is not good. We get new refugees from the south each day. They talk of strange

lights, and word of new stirrings there."

"Fornel, I must go on ahead. Bring Kord's device and the others. Urial, are you up to

returning whence you came?"

"I spent the night at the foot of High Pass, not far, I will be glad to show you the way."

Shoran turned to his friends and bade them farewell. Mounting his horse, he gave one last

wave and galloped after Urial. Both were soon lost to sight in the dust from their horses

galloping hooves.

The gray mist swirled, as it had for eternity. There was no feeling. No warmth, no chill, just

like the gray mist, all feeling was bleached and colorless. Lahilda stood, as she had stood for

time without measure, and the gray mist swirled around her. At times, the tricksters would

come and attempt to torment, with a wave she banished them back into the gray.

What was this? A tug, a pull upon her skirts as if a silent wind blew. She shivered, but with

dread, not a chill. What new torment was this? The pull grew stronger and try as she might, she

couldn't stop her drift toward whatever was summoning her. Ahead, a figure stood, clutching a

blazing sword.

She marshaled her power about her like a cloak and prepared to do battle. Then, she faltered,

the shape looked familiar...

With a startled cry, those nearest the ring of power jumped back as two still forms dropped

from mid-air into the circle. One, the form of the warrior Shoran, stood, dropping the sword

that had been clutched in his hand. Stooping, he picked up the still, cold form of Lahilda and

held her close.

"Breath Lahilda, breath. The nightmare is over." He tenderly brushed the blonde hair from her

face. With a shudder, the frail looking figure gasped and opened her eyes.

"Shoran!" Lahilda gasped. "Fantith told us you were dead!"

"No my love, I am here." Holding her tight within his arms, he cried.


"My love, why do you cry?" She looked full upon him. "Your hair Shoran, what happened to

your hair?" She brushed his white locks with her hand.

"It is a long story my love." Holding her in his arms, he walked from the sacred circle. "You

have no memories?"

"Memories of what my beloved? Fantith told the horrid lie of your death, and I fainted. Now

you are here. What is there to remember?" She clutched his neck and rested her head on his

strong shoulder.

After they had both supped and Shoran had regained a share of his strength from the ordeal

of facing the land between once again, he told her all that had transpired since he had left

Elfhome on that fateful day many years past.

"So many years." She said with disbelief. "And you alone, my poor love." She squeezed his

hand.

"It was you who suffered, trapped in the land between, that terrible nothingness."

"I remember nothing, it is as if it never happened." She made a dismissive gesture.

"Good. Such a memory could damage one beyond repair." He looked thoughtful. "Now we

must go to battle once more. The goblins stir again and Jerrith lays near death. You must heal

him, if you can."

"Take me to him." She said, standing.

They joined the elders and were taken to Jerreth's side. The pale mist of the time net had

faded to a mere whisper, clearly it was near to failure. Jerreth's pale body was revealed to sight.

Grievous, festering wounds marked the elf's body. They appeared to be burns, but the edges

looked to be rotting. Strange leprous lesions covered the exposed portions of skin.

"By the gods! What happened?" Lahilda's horror at Jerreth's appearance was clear to see.

"We don't know, other than it has to do with the Goblins."

"I must consult the old knowledge. This is beyond even my learning." She chanted a spell and

the time net strengthened, soon, Jerreth was barely visible within its mists.


Shoran watched as Lahilda searched text after text. Some of the ancient tomes appeared ready

to fall to dust. Closing a moldering book with great care, Lahilda sighed heavily.

"It is as I feared. An ancient evil, wrought from the evil in the heart of all creatures."

"What is it Lahilda?" Shoran sought to look into her eyes.

"The burns are caused by a horrible weapon. The lesions from an invisible demon that

destroys from within."

"Can it be cured?"

"I don't know."

They turned toward the window as shouting outside signaled the arrival of Fornel, Balkor

and Ritha.

"Come, you must meet Ritha and Balkor." Shoran took her hand. As she brushed up against

him, he held her tight to him. "It is so good to have you back." He said as he released her.

They joined the throng of greeters outside. Shoran was quick to introduce Lahilda to his

companions from the quest. With great reverence, Lahilda asked to hold the charm given to

Ritha by Gia.

"This is a gift of much power my sister, guard it well!" She said as she returned the charm.

"I will Lahilda. You are so beautiful! No wonder Shoran loves you! It is hard to believe my

parents weren't even born when you were parted!"

"Yes, I find belief a hard thing also. I have no memories of the land between. I fear only

Shoran bears the weight of those years." She squeezed Shoran's hand.

"The weight of those years is lifted now that you are back Lahilda." Shoran said quietly.

"Let us examine this device that Kord has sent us." The elders gathered around the ornate

box. Two young elves, under the direction of Balkor, unloaded it from the pack animals.

Opening the box, Balkor demonstrated the controls, careful not to set them. He was clearly

enjoying being the center of attention.

"It is hard to believe something so small could hold such destruction." Commented Killan.


"If you had seen the wonders in Kord's Keep, you would not doubt." Balkor assured him. "I

mean no disrespect Elder." He said quickly, realizing how he sounded.

"None taken. Come, tell us of these wonders." Killan smiled and led Balkor toward the council

chambers.

"Time is growing short Fornel." Shoran said, standing over the device, watching Balkor being

led away.

"I know. We met some of the refugees on our way down from the pass."

Shoran closed the box and fastened its latches. "We will rest for a day or so, then we must

close Hellsgate forever." When he looked up, his eyes were cold.


CHAPTER TWENTY: New Companion

The harsh sound of a mis-strike caused the smiths in the area to look up. When they

realized the source of the discordant blow they looked down quickly. Keal angrily shoved the

now ruined sword bundle into the quench bucket where it hissed and bubbled seemingly with

unspent rage at being denied promised fulfillment.

The touch on Keal's shoulder caused him to turn with rage in his eyes, the hammer raised

to strike. When he saw who had been so bold, he lowered the hammer in shame.

"Forgive me Korr."

"You are troubled Keal, I may no longer have the strength to lift hammer, but the years

have given me wisdom to see." The wizened old man, once having a form to rival Keal's, was

now bent with age. His mane of white hair was still tied in the intricate knot of a journeyman

sword smith. "The council is concerned. Word of your recent failures have reached our ears.

You have lost the blessing of Thara."

"NO!" Keal's anguished cry raised several heads, they were quickly lowered.

"It grieves us, but until your blessing is restored, we cannot allow you to continue as

Master Sword smith." He held out his knarled hand. Keal looked up, once, in defiance, then the

anger light faded from his face and he handed Korr his hammer. "You must make amends to

Thara, only then will your hammer, and place, be restored. You make take an apprentice's

pack." So saying, the old man turned and slowly walked back toward the Guild Hall, the heavy

hammer seeming to bend his old frame even more. Or was it remorse for his son's lost honor?

With a grim look that allowed no questioning, Keal doused his coke fire and wheeled the

heavy iron anvil into the storage shed. He turned over all outstanding commissions to those

Smiths who would speak with him and, retrieving the apprentice's pack from the Guild Hall,

left Smithestown.

Taking the ferry across the river Kord, he made his way toward The Inn Of the Sword. It

was as if even the birds and beasts of the forest had heard of his humiliation. There was no

singing in the forest, no small sounds of animals living their small lives. It was as if the cloud of

his rage and humiliation cast a dark pall that all living things could sense. As the evening came,

it found him alone in the forest, only half way to the Inn. On foot it was a hard journey. He

spread his cloak upon the damp ground and cleared away the detritus of the fall leaves to build

a fire circle. As the last light fled from the sky, the forest finally came alive with the sounds of

night, Keal lit a fire, its sparse light granting little comfort.


"Ho the Fire!" A hearty voice rumbled from the darkness. Keal, not in a mood for

company ignored it.

"Stranger! Will you share your fire with a fellow traveler?" The voice was insistent.

"Come or go, I care not, but you'll find little comfort at this fire." Keal answered gruffly.

Keal looked up as the form of a large man entered the circle of the fire. He wore a travel

cloak of wolf's fur, his head was bear. The man's long blonde hair was gathered into a knot at

the back of his head. Even in the uncertain light of the fire, Keal could see that a patch covered

one of the man's eyes.

Slinging a large travel pack to the ground, the man sat across the fire from Keal in silence

for several moments, seemingly studying the dishonored smith. Finally Keal could bear no

more scrutiny.

"If yer going to stare, I revoke my welcome stranger." The anger was apparent in Keal's

words.

"I meant no harm stranger. I only wondered what could drive a man so deep into his

own soul." As he spoke he opened his pack and drew out two drinking horns. "Would you

share some mead with me stranger? It would be my payment for the comfort of your fire." He

pulled a stoppered jug from the pack as well.

Biting back a hot retort, Keal nodded. The traveler poured a rich, golden looking mead

that sparkled in the light of the fire into both horns, then passed the finer looking one to Keal.

"To a smooth road and pleasant journey!" The traveler toasted, raising the mug, making a sign

that Keal recognized as a blessing to Thara, the man drank fully from his horn, spilling the last

few drops as an offering. Keal did the same.

The mead was the best Keal had ever tasted. As he finished the horn and made the ritual

offering, the Traveler gestured with the jug, Keal readily held out the horn for another measure.

"This is the finest mead I have had." Commented Keal. "Where did you come by it?"

"I'm afraid this isn't available for any price anywhere my friend. It is only for the

consumption of the Gods." He let out a bellowing laugh.

"But we aren't Gods." Stated Keal as he finished the second cup. His dark mood gave way

to the fire of the mead.


The traveler didn't answer, he just smiled. "So tell me Keal, why are you about on such a

cold damp night."

Keal was momentarily taken back, he couldn't recall having told his fellow traveler his

name, must be the mead clouding his head. "You don't want to know my friend."

"Surely I do. It troubles me to see you so upset and out here, away from your Guild and

comforts, alone." The Traveler looked Keal straight in the eye as he said this. Keal felt the hair

on the back of his neck raise.

"Who are you?" Keal asked plainly.

"A concerned friend. I have many names, they aren't important." So saying he filled the

drinking horns once more. Keal looked in wonder, surely the small jug must be empty, yet it

still gurgled when the Traveler set it beside him. Keal made the sign of Thara, the stranger

smiled. "How may I help you Keal?"

"I have lost Thara's blessing."

"Have you? Or have you merely misplaced it?" The Traveler smiled.

"Misplaced it?"

"One came to you, a friend, you turned him away."

"Shoran."

"The very one."

"But he asked of Smith's magic and secrets, I could not help him."

"He had Thara's blessing in a dream, did he not?" Once again the Traveler looked deep

into Keal's eyes from across the fire.

Keal looked down. "At the time I didn't believe him."

"Has Shoran ever lied to you that you would disbelieve his word? Has he ever misused

your friendship?" The Traveler drank deep from his cup and gestured for Keal to do the same.


"No, he has never shown dishonor. I have wronged a true friend."

"Seems to me, that your misplaced honor rests with Shoran. I would go to him and ask

what you can do to regain it."

"But I don't know where he is! He is on a quest for Thara's Anvil."

"The quest is over. He has returned to Elfhome and even now prepares a journey South

to Hellsgate. If you are swift of foot, you can catch him before he leaves on that journey."

"But how to right the wrong I did him?"

The Traveler smiled. "Shoran will tell you." With that , the Traveler made a final offering

of the last of his cup, and, rolling up in his cloak, lay down to sleep.

Keal starred into the fire and thought, nursing the fine mead, knowing he would never

taste its like again. He made his final offering and then he too rolled up in his cloak and went to

sleep. In the morning, the Traveler was gone, the finest of the two drinking horns glittered in

the morning light where he had lain.

Keal, rolling up his travel cloak, stomped out the remaining ambers of the night’s fire and

shouldered his travel pack. With a lighter tread he set out for Elfhome, in the trees around him,

the morning birds sang. With luck he would make the Inn of the Sword by noon, hopefully

there he could obtain a mount.


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Balkor's Leave Taking

"What do you mean Balkor?" Fornel, the Elf-Man half-breed asked, an edge to his voice.

"I cannot go with you. I feel I am under Geas." Balkor, the Balladeer answered back with

quiet conviction.

"Geas! More like cowardice!"

"Fornel! How can you say that? Balkor has saved all of us, and fought by our side with

valor." Ritha, consort to Fornel and human healer spoke up in defense.

"Just when we need him the most, he pleads Geas and runs." The disgust was plain in the

sharply spoken words.

"Fornel, I sense the truth of his words. It is truly a compulsion at the level of a Geas

which drives him." Lahilda, the Elfin healer just restored from the land between and betrothed

of the warrior Shoran said quietly.

"I am sorry old friend, I cannot ask Balkor to go with us if he is compelled to do

otherwise. It would court disaster since his mind would not be on the task at hand." Shoran, the

warrior, hero of the Goblin Wars looked at each of his fellows, his concern and love for each

plain to be seen.

"Then let him be gone, but I will not wish him well on his journey." So saying Fornel

walked off, slamming the door as he entered the Patrol barracks.

Ritha took Balkor's hand in hers and lifted his down fallen chin so his eyes looked into

hers. "He will get over it Balkor. He is just concerned for the success of the quest ahead."

"By damn, so am I. I truly wish I could go, but I must return to Kord's Keep and master

the secrets there that I can. I can't explain this compulsion, but I feel I must go, and soon!" The

torment was plain in his eyes as he spoke.

"I know. Even as Lahilda has said, I feel the strength of your compulsion. I shall miss

you, but won't force you to join the quest." She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Go with my


blessing friend Balkor." She let go of his hand. "I must go and talk with Fornel." She left the

group to follow after Fornel.

"Though I have but known you a handful of hours Balkor I know your honor and the

terrible strength of this compulsion that even know pulls at your soul. Although it troubles me

that you will not be there to guard Shoran's back and stand beside Fornel I cannot gainsay that

you must do what is in your heart." Lahilda kissed Balkor lightly upon the forehead and then

gave him the traveler's blessing.

"Balkor, I will miss you my friend. I understand the strength of a Geas for I have only

been recently released from my own." he hugged Lahilda, "Still, I will miss your humor and

strong sword arm in the quest ahead. May you find the knowledge you seek." Shoran clasp fore

arms with Balkor in the warrior's farewell and then slapped him on the back. "Good journey my

friend, if ever I can help you have merely to ask it."

"I praise the Gods for such friends. It is my fervent wish that I could also receive Fornel's

well wishes, but I guess it is not to be." Balkor frowned. "Even so I count him a true friend. Once

this compulsion is served, I swear to seek you out and find his forgiveness."

"He will grind it out in the mill of his mind and no forgiveness will be required Balkor,

you have served us as we asked." Shoran removed a bag of gold coin from his belt and passed it

to Balkor. "In recognition of your service, please take this in compensation."

"As I said at the beginning of our journeys together, I will not except coin, I will make

more singing the ballads of our adventures!" He laughed and handed the bag back to Shoran.

"Still my friend, you will need travel funds." Taking a few coins from the bag, Shoran

pressed them into Balkor's hand. "Please do not refuse at least this."

"Alright my friend." Balkor placed the coins into his own purse. "I have tarried here

overlong, I must be on my way." Balkor mounted his horse. "I will rejoin you when I can."

Spurring his mount, Balkor road out of the gates of Elfhome, bound for the Northern

Mountains and Kord's Keep. He did not look back.

"Shoran, I must speak with you." Lahilda's voice was grim.

"What troubles you my beloved?"

"Jerreth's condition worsens"


Jerreth, the Elfin elder had been sorely wounded and placed under time net until Lahilda

could be returned from the Land Between.

"Your search for a cure has been unsuccessful?"

"No, there is a cure but the ingredients are not available here."

"Then where are they to be found?"

"In the Northern Waste. There is plant that grows by the banks of a lake there."

"The Northern Waste? No one goes there!"

"If Jerreth is to be healed, I must."

"And if Jerreth isn't healed?"

"He is the Eldest, his spells are woven into the very fabric of the protections that keep this

land safe from the likes of Huron the Hunter and others even worse. If he were to fade, the

other Elders would be hard pressed to maintain them."

Shoran looked thoughtful, remembering how they had nearly been undone by Huron,

only the intervention of Gia had saved them. "He must be healed then. I cannot let you journey

there alone, and yet I must close the breach at Hellsgate..."

"I know my Love, I would not ask you to accompany me. I will take a contingent of

Patrol and one other."

"Who?"

"Ritha. Her knowledge is nearly equal to mine. If something were to happen to me, she

could complete the task."

"Don't even think such a thing Lahilda. To lose you again would be to much for me to

bear." He held her close. "Since your magic and our love is what keeps me alive, I fear it would

be my end as well."

"Not entirely my magic my Love, yours is a soul that would be hard to extinguish."


"I hope that we don't have to find out." He hugged her again. "Does Fornel know?"

"No, Ritha was to tell him today. Balkor's leaving was unfortunately timed."

"I feel that two will not be enough, though I know of no others I would want on this

quest."

They turned as the door to the barracks opened. Ritha, looking grim, walked toward

them.

"Did you tell him little sister?" Lahilda asked.

"Aye. He did not take the news well, it being so close upon Balkor's leave taking."

"It cannot be helped. Jerreth's condition grows critical. I fear we must leave by the

morrow or he will not be brought back."

"I agree my Lady" Ritha said formally.

"Please Ritha, you who have received the personnel blessing of Gia need not address me

so, I consider you sister."

"I am honored, sister." Ritha and Lahilda hugged. "If we are to be on our way, there is

much to prepare."

With a final hug for Shoran, the two, the Elfin Princess and Human Healer, left for the

store rooms to prepare for their journey. Shoran stood and watched after them, his visage grim.

With a sigh he ran his fingers through his long white hair, once dark but changed by the

energies of Thara's Anvil. Grasping the hilt of the mended rune sword, he walked toward the

barracks, to talk with Fornel and begin their own preparations.


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: To Close the Gate

At the Inn of the Sword Keal banged loudly on the plank door.

“Good Gods man! Don’t knock the door from the hinges!” The Inn Keep bellowed, before

catching a glimpse of Keal’s imposing figure. “Eh, can I help you sir?” he ended meekly.

Not put off by the gruff greeting (indeed, it was mild by smith standards) Keal answered,

“Aye my good Inn Keep, I have need of a horse if you have one to sell.”

“Afraid I have no mounts for sale, but some for lease, if that be to your liking.”

“That will do, I must get to Elfhome before…” Keal caught himself before he revealed too

much.

With an odd look in his eye, the inn keep finished Keal’s words “No doubt to join Shoran

on his quest, from the look of you.” He smiled.

Taken back momentarily, Keal could only stare.

“It is only a short distance by horse, I will let you use my finest mare, for half the normal

rate. Just be sure you bring her back!”

“You have my word on the anvil of Thara!”

“Will you take sup before traveling on?”

“No, I feel the need to be there as soon as possible.” Keal shuffled his pack off and

reached inside for the bag of coins provided in each pack.

“That will be a silver now, and one on her return.” I’ll go saddle her up for ya.

Keal handed the man the requested coin. “How much for some tappas for the road?”

“For a friend of Shoran, I’ll throw them in for free!” The innkeeper called over his

shoulder as he moved towards the stable area.


Knowing there would be little rest ahead, Keal sat on the Inns stoop and tried to relax.

The thought of reclaiming his honor and setting right the debt owed to Shoran was weighing

heavily. What would Shoran ask of him?

The hum of the insects, the cool breeze and warm sun had nearly put Keal to sleep where

he sat when the slow sound of a horse being led around the side of the inn stirred him to a

standing position. He eyed the horse that the Inn keeper was leading, it was barely more than a

plough horse, but serviceable, Keal wondered what the worst of the stables looked like, but

decided he didn’t want to know.

“Load your gear, I’ll fetch the Tappas” The Innkeeper said as he handed the worn reins

to Keal.

Keal checked the girth strap, tightening it a bit and adjusted the saddle and tack to his

liking. He was just tying his pack in place when the innkeeper returned with a cheese cloth

wrapped package. “Here are yer Tappas, what be your name, I can hardly just put “Friend of

Shoran” in the ledger”

“Keal, Journeyman Smith” Keal answered, taking the Tappas and placing them in his

pack. He deftly mounted the horse. “We should be back by here in a day or so, I’ll have the

animal back to you then.”

“Sure, no problem Keal.” He waved as Keal road off towards Elfhome. “I hope that nag

lasts the journey.” He said to himself pocketing the silver coin. He hadn’t lied though, it was the

best horse in the stable, of course it was also the only one.

It was just before sunset when he reached the gates. Dismounting from the sweating

horse he strode purposely through the gate, directly to the watch. “I must speak to Shoran.”

Shoran, deep in planning with Fornel was angry at being summoned by the guard, he

had left strict instructions not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. His anger dulled

somewhat when he saw who awaited him.

“Keal? What are you doing here?”

Keal had trouble meeting Shorans direct glance. “I have come to reclaim my lost honor.”

Shoran looked puzzled, “Lost honor? In what way my friend?”


“I deserve no such honor Shoran, I dishonored our friendship, and in doing so I lost

Thara’s blessings.” He dropped to one knee before his friend, “I am yours to command, only by

serving you can I hope to regain Thera’s blessing.”

Taking his old friends shoulder, Shoran drew him back to his feet. “You have no such

debt. I understand the weight of gild law and gild tradition.” Shoran looked thoughtfully at

Keal's strong frame, “however, we have need of you, none the less. We go to close Hellsgate

forever.”

“I am your man Shoran, until you release me.” Keal grasp his friends arm in a warriors

grasp, looking Shoran straight in the eye.

“Come, join Fornel and I, we plan our journey to Hellsgate.”

To say Fornel was amazed and perplexed at the sight of Keal was an understatement.

After the planning session, when Keal had been shown to the barracks and the poor horse from

the Inn taken care of, he pulled Shoran aside for a private meeting.

“Shoran, are you sure we can trust him?”

“Are there not secrets here that you would be loath to even disclose to me?”

“Not many,” Fornel said reluctantly, “but a few, yes.”

“Then how can you fault Keal? We were asking for secrets that dwelt at the core of his

gild.”

“True, but what if we have to do some things that once again challenge his beliefs?”

“I sense there is more working here than just an urge to make right his hurtful words. He

is under a compulsion to help us.”

“There seems to be a bit of that going around these days.” Fornel said dryly , thinking of

Balkor’s leave taking just that morning. “Life is not dull with you around my friend.”

Shoran smiled, “Regretting pulling me out of that Inn?”

Fornel smiled, “What, and miss all of this?”

“It is late, and tomorrow we prepare for our journey to Hellsgate.”


“Aye, for tomorrow then.”

Fornel went to his and Ritha's quarters, Shoran, still in the bachelor’s quarters, for in spite

of his rescue of Lahilda and their love, it was not considered proper for him to lay with her until

their betrothal. In the bachelor’s quarters, Keal slept with load snores. Taking a bunk as far as

possible from the sleeping Smith, Shoran tried to get some sleep, it was going to be a long night.

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