Chapter XIII: Adventure on the Frontier
Jessar went back to the common room and found it empty. Reflecting on what Stefir had taught him, he sat by himself, nursing the mead of his hosts. He had actually grown quite fond of the heady beverage. Wondering what had become of his friends, he took lunch by himself before giving up on his friends showing up and heading to his room. Again he spent the afternoon studying his little book.
A knock came at his door. “Supper on the sun deck,” Ogador called out. Jessar left his room and headed topside for a meal of roast duck and stewed cabbage. He hadn’t seen Sabretha since breakfast, but she didn’t show up. After the meal, Ogador had the Lynx practice sword strokes again, covering some of the footwork that went along with an effective attack. After an hour of practice, the sun set, and the friends carried the table and chairs back to the common room. Again they played Chips, with dismal results for Ogador, as always.
“I think I’ll let you two play a few games. Sabretha will be looking for me soon to administer the treatment.”
“Wouldn’t want to miss that, would we, Jessar?” Ogador kidded.
The Lynx ignored the prince and headed to his room. After a few moments without Sabretha showing up, he went to her room and knocked.
“Yes, enter,” came her unintentionally sultry voice.
Jessar stepped into her room. “Hey, you only have one bed.”
The Valkara was sitting in her chair by the window. She actually seemed happy to see him. “Yes, but it is bigger than your bunks. I was just watching the trees go by to the south.”
“I just thought you might be ready for my treatment,” he said, rubbing a shoulder.
“What’s wrong with your shoulder?”
“Oh, nothing, just a little tightness from practicing with my sword earlier.”
“So you are serious about becoming a swordsman? Probably wise for a male in this world.”
“There’s a lot more to it than I figured. In fact, I’m kind of worn out just from swinging my blade, so I decided to see if you could treat my back.”
“I would have been over to see you in a moment. The girl is preparing everything now—“
Another knock sounded. “I’m sure that’s her. Come in.”
The serving girl entered, depositing a laver of steaming water and spearmint leaves on the bedstand and handing a towel to the Valkara. She left without comment.
“Very well now. You know the routine, Lynx.”
Jessar stripped off his tunic and jerkin and reclined on his stomach. She removed his bandage and spread the compress over his back. He must have been more tired than he realized, for as Sabretha started the massage, he fell asleep. The Lynx dreamed of lying next to a beautiful, nude elwen while he himself lay fully clothed. In his dream reality, he was paralyzed and could only admire his bedmate’s beauty.
On the fourth morning he awoke only when the rising sun shone through the open window. Disoriented, he looked for his upper bunk. Where was he?
Then he remembered; he’d fallen asleep in the Valkara’s room.
A knock came at the door, accompanied by a “Sabretha?”
Jessar jumped up as the door started to open. Ogador’s boot stepped in. “Sabretha, have you seen—“
“Ogador?”
“Jessar? What the—“
“I was tired after the sword practice last night, so I came here last night for the treatment—“ he began before noticing the prince was staring at his waist. The Lynx looked down, only to find that he wore only his underwear.
“It must have been a great treatment,” Ogador said, laughing.
“Look, I was wearing my breeches when I lay down.”
“I wonder what our good Valkara was wearing,” the prince said, grinning broadly.
Knowing the answer, Jessar groaned. He had lain next to the Valkara all night and had never known it. Although he had not been paralyzed, as in his dream, he might as well have been. No, certainly not paralyzed, stiff would be a more accurate description, at least for part of his body.
“Jessar, I didn’t know you had it in you,” the prince continued his jibbing.
“I didn’t – nothing—“
Sabretha rounded the corner into the room. “Lynx, I see you have finally arisen, some parts more than others. Sword fighting’s hard work isn’t it?” she remarked with a brief glance at Jessar’s waist.
Feeling the blood rush to his face, he reached over to the hook where his breeches hung. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were sleeping so well I didn’t want to awake you, so I hope you don’t mind if I slept in your bed.”
“No, not at all,” he stammered. “I can’t believe I stayed asleep so long with you lying next to me.”
“What?” she asked, confusion washing over her lovely features.
Ogador smirked. “You know, Sabretha. Jessar can’t believe he didn’t wake up if you were lying in bed with him.”
“What are you talking about? I wasn’t lying with him. I said I slept in his bed,” she pointed next door.
“Oh,” the Lynx forced a chuckle. “I see now. You didn’t stay here in your room.”
A shocked look replaced her confusion. “You thought – you believed I slept with you?”
“Well, it didn’t seem impossible.”
“We were both hoping you had,” Ogador said with his troublesome grin.
“Eww. What kind of girl did you take me for?”
“One with over nine thousand years of pent up desire?” the prince offered.
“You’re hopeless!” she shouted, storming off.
“Whew!” the Lynx exclaimed, wiping his palm over his forehead as he watched her leave.
“Why Jessar, I think you’re sweating.”
The Lynx shot Ogador a withering look. “Where’s Stefir?”
“We took breakfast up on the top deck. Come on up, there’s some sweet pastries left.”
When they got topside, they found the wizard leaning over the rail again communing with his owl. Politely waiting, Jessar and Ogador sat, and Jessar enjoyed breakfast and cider.
Stefir turned around. “Jessar, where were you?”
Seeing that Jessar was wondering how to explain things, Ogador supplied, “He was sleeping in Sabretha’s room.”
One of the wizard’s brows shot up. “Jessar, you did not—“
“No! Don’t worry. She slept in my room.”
The wizard started to ask something but instead said, “Never mind. I do not want to know.” He looked back to the north. “I am getting very concerned. Silentwing has monitored another orc clan on the march. Jessar, I fear your people are in for a major attack.”
The Lynx looked suddenly nervous. “I slept through the landing last night. Did you—“
“Yes, we left messages for the Border Guards, and we also asked the turtle masters heading west to carry warnings back to Bilaron,” Ogador said.
“Another interesting development, however, is the appearance of giant falcons, although I do not know what it portends.”
Ogador tilted his head and nodded with a studious expression. “That is interesting. The Bulk-men usually keep them too busy to be involved this far south.”
“I would hesitate to call two of the birds involvement, especially when one or even both of the birds often go unmanned. On one occasion, one of the birds even carried a female.”
“I’ve never heard of a female falcon-rider, although they do sometimes carry passengers. Why would the birds be carrying a woman over the frontier?”
“An interesting question, Ogador. Every time Silentwing attempted to get close enough to see who the female might be, the falcon-rider would give chase to the owl, shooting arrows.”
The three discussed what the development might mean for a while, reaching no conclusions. Finally, Stefir came over to the table and sat down, changing the subject. “Jessar, the only reason I did not tell you about my mind probe yesterday morning is because you would not want Sabretha to hear it.”
“Well, it appears we don’t need worry about that right now. Ogador got her pretty mad when we were in her room.”
“I thought you said she slept in your room? No, do not answer that. You can fill me in later.”
“Okay then, Stefir, can you please tell me about it? I’ll even be happy to deal with one of your long-winded explanations,” Jessar smiled, expecting the wizard’s finger to come up.
Instead, the wizard made a slow business of draining his mug and then simply stared into the dregs. “Jessar, this is embarrassing. My magic has never failed me like it has with you.”
Seeing an opening, Ogador said, “Well, it’s failed enough with me. I don’t know why you can’t do something useful with your magic, like simply whisking us to Almudra in time for the Rending.”
The wizard didn’t even rise to the prince’s baiting. “I searched long, Jessar, even more than when I used the mind probe in Plasis. But I learned little. The fog in your mind is simply too thick, despite the breeze eroding its edges.”
“Well, what did you learn?”
The silence turned awkward as the wizard gave his friend a long evaluative stare. “Jessar, I’m not sure you’re ready to hear this.”
Stefir’s speech had turned informal again. “Stefir, even finding out I was a murderer would be better than knowing nothing at all.”
“All right … but remember I warned you.”
The wizard inhaled sharply and said, all in rush, “Jessar, you were a passion slave.” The wizard hung his head and took a very long time to drain what little was left in his flagon.
Jessar contemplated the revelation for a moment, examining his emotions in the detached perspective he had mastered while living in Silarom.
Stefir looked approvingly if somewhat surprised at the Lynx. “You are not embarrassed?”
“No.”
“Upset?”
Jessar shook his head.
Ogador looked in exasperation from Stefir to Jessar and back again. “Why the long faces? If one must be a slave, that seems like the route to choose. I know men, one extremely well, who’ve actually paid for that kind of pleasure.”
It was another rare moment: Stefir was speechless. He stared at the prince in disbelief.
Jessar had also decided the trade had its advantages, but for other reasons. “At one time, Stefir, I might have been crushed by your news. However, after talking with Palin … well, it doesn’t seem so bad now. Given many of my dreams, I shouldn’t be surprised anyway. It actually explains a lot.”
Ogador clapped Jessar on the back. “There, there! That’s a proper attitude. I’ll make a Man of you yet.”
The wizard stabbed his staff at the prince. “That is precisely what I am afraid of. If you will excuse Jessar and I, we have something to discuss that requires a sense of decency to understand.”
The wizard turned his back on Ogador, who belched resoundingly. “That kind of decency is what has caused your dismal performance with the females.”
Stefir shook his head. “The good news, Jessar, is that the elwen who owned you for those twenty years shared you with only a select few of her neighbors. It seems passion slaves are not uncommon there, although, as Maili pointed out, they are rarely released from the island. Also, the fog hiding most of your memories is a safeguard the Shadow Elves of Langbard use on those slaves they do free. They do not want the rest of Talan to discover their great secret, Jessar.”
So the wizard had learned something. Perhaps not as much as Jessar had hoped, but as much as he could reasonably expect. “What about my mentor there?”
“Your memories of him are also heavily veiled. Based on shreds I picked out, I will offer the following conjecture: It seems your mistress was unaware of your involvement with the wizard, at least regarding your magical tutelage under him. I suspect she finally discovered your skills, and that is what precipitated your return to Plasis.”
“Don’t take this wrong, Jessar, but I wonder why she didn’t just kill you.”
“That I believe I can answer.” Again Stefir paused to gauge Jessar. “It appears that your mistress loved you.”
Things were getting more and more complex. The Yitrava wanted to be his lover; his mistress in Langbard was his lover; Jessar had just a few days ago loved a goddess; but he wanted nothing so much as to love Sabretha. Still, he maintained the stoic emotionally calm exterior despite the turmoil of feelings roiling within him.
Stefir looked at the Lynx with narrowed eyes, leaving Jessar to wonder how much his friend guessed at what he was really feeling. “So it is understandable that she could not bear to have you slain. But neither could she keep you any longer, as you had acquired, or would soon, the arcane means to escape with your memory intact. And that the Shadow Elves were not going to permit.”
The wizard ran an idle finger over the knobby head of his staff. “How they covered your memory is another mystery. I cannot believe the narcosists’ drugs would be so effective all by themselves.”
Stefir signaled Ogador for a refill. “And that, Jessar, is all I know. I will try again when you can consciously remember more, like you did in Galvek regarding the snakes guarding the villa.”
“So you can do nothing else?”
“Not until you consciously remember more. Since it looks as if only time or perhaps certain events can trigger your memories, we will just have to wait. Whatever they used to cloud your mind is not perfect, very good, but not perfect. We can at least be thankful for that much.”
They talked away the remainder of the morning, first in idle speculation about Jessar’s life in Langbard, with Ogador offering some colorful speculations.
Sabretha joined them topside for lunch, after which they all watched Jessar practicing his swordsmanship. The Valkara seemed to approve of the training so far, nodding now and then when the Lynx executed a complex maneuver properly and frowning when he botched a move. After dinner, she left, however, just as the turtle stalked up to a turtle village on the bank. Not wanting to repeat the previous night’s circumstances, Jessar rose to follow her.
“Joining us for a game tonight, Jessar?”
“I’m kind of tired tonight, Stefir. I’m heading to my room for the treatment.”
“Really, Jessar? Maybe you can get her to sleep with you tonight?”
The Lynx shook his head and headed below. A short time later Sabretha came to his room with her materials and administered Bidmaron’s prescribed spearmint compress and massage. Whether she was still angry for his misunderstanding that morning or for some other mysterious female reason, she confined the few words she shared to those necessary only to the task at hand. She left promptly afterward, so he went to sleep.
He awoke early the fifth morning to the sound of the nightly rain and found that he couldn’t sleep. Going to the common room, he found no one else awake. At dawn the turtle family stirred, and the woman brought him a hot cider.
“No sleep?”
“Just restless, I guess.”
“Master saddles turtle soon. Breakfast after.”
Jessar sipped the hot drink and watched the familiar operation of getting the ship onto the turtle. Only two of the three cargo turtles from Galvek had come this far to the east. Again the turtle master struggled with his distracted turtle, which insisted upon trying to mount one of the others.
Eventually, however, the turtle returned to the river, and the sons soon had the ship floating behind the swimming reptile. The other three travelers joined Jessar for a breakfast of pork gravy and flatbread with fried potatoes. The wizard drank the Bordana-mint tea he’d brought from Silarom.
As they completed their meal, Ogador, in his penchant for getting Jessar into trouble, prompted, “Jessar, what did you learn from Palin?”
Sabretha, who also drank the tea, frowned. “Yes, Lynx, what did she teach you?” she asked, in an icicle-laden voice.
Jessar winced and shot Ogador a why-did-you-have-to-bring-this-up-now look. He related the information Palin had shared with him, except the parts about females and Sabretha, and showed the new stone to his friends.
The wizard held the cube overhead. “Yes, this chart shows Lunivia, Palin’s star, quite well.” He returned the token to Jessar.
Ogador stamped his foot. “Something just occurred to me. So far, the only solid thing we know about the abilities of these stones is they’re related somehow to the person whose star is charted within, right?”
Jessar and Stefir nodded. “Yes. So you are suggesting this stone has powers related to Palin?”
“Yes.”
“And you think that is a revelation? Your powers of deduction overwhelm me. West-realm is so fortunate to have you.” Stefir’s voice was laden with sarcasm.
“Woah. Why don’t you take a long vacation to wherever it is you send your staff? Give me a moment; I’m still figuring this out. Didn’t you say Palin told you the use of the stone was very important to her personally?”
Jessar nodded again.
“Remember how the Prophecy of West-realm has been interpreted to mean new lands drained by the West Veinous will become part of the West-realm?”
“Yes, but you said yourself the original Doom had already promised that.” Jessar tried to puzzle out where the prince was taking this.
“Well, what if we’ve been interpreting it wrong? What if the West Veinous River itself expands to drain new lands? And what if that stone,” the prince pointed to the cube Jessar still held in his open palm, “causes that expansion?”
Stefir clapped Ogador on the shoulder. “You know, Ogador, I believe you are right for once. That makes everything fit so well, and it explains the part of your Prophecy that has bothered me for most of this age. Why would a Prophecy, after all, predict the same thing that its Doom had already guaranteed? Good thinking. Maybe the swim the other day did you some good.”
“Say again? I just figured out something you’ve been wondering about all your miserable life and all the thanks I get is ‘I believe you are right for once?’”
As she brought him another brew, Ogador looked concerned. “One thing about Palin’s words bothers me. What about the other star stone you haven’t found?”
“That would seem to be a problem. Somehow these relics are obviously integral to the Fulfillments of the Dooms. I am increasingly convinced that Jessar must be the one to use them. If we have left one behind, will there be another? Will it find us elsewhere?”
Jessar sipped his hot cider. He took another drink and leaned his elbows on the table. “No, Stefir, I don’t think we left it behind. Palin would’ve told me if she thought I might miss one of them. She was adamant that the Fulfillments wouldn’t happen if I just sit back and let events happen around me. She told me only my own struggles would bring the Prophecies to fruition.”
“Indeed, Jessar, I think you are correct. As Palin pointed out herself, the circumstances of Prophecy have a driving force of their own, almost as if your obtaining each stone was a Convergence in itself.”
Ogador paused from a draw on his mug. “If that’s the case, Stefir, why didn’t we see Jessar locating any of them on the Tapestry?”
“I said almost as if they were Convergences, Ogador. However, you bring up an interesting point. We didn’t even see Palin presenting her stone to Jessar. Since she is truly immortal, that can only mean that there was at least one future in which he would not reach the Veinous River. Since that has been our goal these last days, only one thing could have stopped us from getting to the river.”
“The Lynx’s death?” Sabretha asked with a sidelong glance at Jessar.
“Yes. And since we know Jessar meets his demise someday from an elwen or solowen—“
“There have been times when I wanted to kill him, but how do you know he will die that way?” the Valkara asked suspiciously.
“Sabretha,” Jessar explained, “shortly after we left Maili’s inn, the three of us went to the Observatory and I had my Ringing.”
“But you are not ten years old.” Her pretty brow compressed.
“It’s hard to explain, Sabretha, but we went back in time to when I was ten. In the Observatory, I saw the scene of my death on the Tapestry, and some female elf or perhaps solon will kill me someday.”
“Do you mean that Yitrava? I’ll take care of that witch!” she said with surprising fervor.
Stefir arched an eyebrow. “Yes, that makes sense, Sabretha. It appears, Jessar, that in one of the futures we somehow averted, the Yitrava would have killed you sometime between the Observatory and your Welcoming.”
The sword maiden almost snarled. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted her! I’ll bet she would have killed you if she’d made it to Galvek before you saw Palin. Maybe she was torn between cutting your hair or your neck.”
The Lynx swallowed uncomfortably. “Look, let’s talk of something besides my death, okay?”
“How about some early lessons, Jessar?” Ogador stood and pointed up.
“Okay, let’s go.”
The Lynx, under the close watch of the prince, continued practicing his basic sword moves. Ogador had him focus on defensive postures.
Just before lunch, the wizard came up. “I am worried, Jessar. Silentwing cannot find the orc clans today.”
Jessar dropped his guard and stood straight. Ogador, who had been standing close to the Lynx pretending to be an opponent, dashed in and struck the half-elf in the chest with his fingers. “Never let yourself get distracted during combat.”
“Ogador, that’s not fair.”
“What did I tell you the first lesson? If you are fighting someone, they are likely to be evil, else why would you be fighting? And an evil adversary isn’t likely to care about fairness.”
The Lynx nodded. “Okay, point taken.” He faced Stefir. “That doesn’t sound good. Maybe they turned back.”
“I do not think so. The owl has overflown any reasonable distance they might have covered.”
“Even if they marched all through the night?” Ogador asked.
“Yes.”
They spent the remainder of the day playing Chips and discussing what might have become of the orcs. They had come no closer to solving the problem by the end of the day. The Lynx even discussed it with Sabretha during her nursing that night.
Jessar went to sleep worried about the orcs. He dreamed of the beast men, who marched beneath trees toward a tree village. He awoke to memories of fire driving elves from their treehomes and of the screams of the elwen and children as the orcs slaughtered the males.
He sprang up on the sixth morning and found that they were already back out on the river. He found the wizard on the sun deck completing a breakfast with Sabretha and Ogador. “Stefir, I fear I know what became of the orcs.”
“Oh?” The wizard wiped his mouth and peered at Jessar.
“Stefir, send Silentwing ahead to check the south bank. Have him fly below the treetops in the forest near Klapek.”
“Do you think—“ the prince began.
“It’s the only thing that makes any sense,” Stefir finished, lapsing informal. The wizard shut his eyes and concentrated, sending the owl to range ahead.
“Silentwing was not too far from the village, but searching the northern bank, so we should have an answer soon. Jessar, what made you think of that?”
Jessar shrugged. “I had bad dreams last night.”
The chronologist turned his head as if he’d heard something. He closed his eyes again for several moments. “Jessar, you are right. The orcs are not far ahead, but they have somehow crossed the river during the night and are headed east.”
Sabretha seemed very concerned. “Can’t we do something? The elves in Klapek are doomed.”
Stefir only shook his head, but his expression showed the pain of his frustration. Ogador stood up and walked slowly to the railing on the Galbard side of their vessel. “As hard as it is to accept, Sabretha, we can do nothing.”
“But you are a prince, and he,” she pointed to the wizard, “is the most powerful chronologist in all Talan.”
“And you are a mistress of the long sword, capable of defeating any single adversary or even a small army. What would you have us do?”
“We should have traveled through the night to catch up with them,” she observed.
“So that we could perish alongside the elves?” the wizard asked rhetorically, joining the governor at the railing. “Sabretha, I have no skills to help in this matter. Even if I could somehow warn them, the elves in the small village would likely only prolong their demise. They are far outnumbered.”
She sighed. “I know we can’t help. It’s just frustrating.”
“The strange thing about this is that the orcs have done it at all. The wars haven’t been going well recently, what with the Bulks joining the disorganized forces arrayed against us. However, the evil forces of the frontier haven’t crossed into Galbard in over three hundred years. How did they cross in such large numbers?”
“I think I know. Look there,” Ogador pointed ahead on the south bank, where someone had cut down hundreds of the tall pines.
The wizard shook his head. “Ogador, you know as well as I that orcs cannot swim. So how did they get to the south bank?”
“No orcs can’t swim, but Bulk-men can. Jessar—“
“Yes, the Bulk-men and orcs frequently fight alongside one another.”
The chronologist still looked uncertain. “But Silentwing has seen no Bulk-men.”
The friends debated how the orcs might have crossed in sufficient numbers to cut down the trees, which they had then obviously used to float the rest of the clans across. Not content just with cutting down trees, however, the evil creatures had also started fires to widen their destruction. The devastation had left a terrible scar on his homeland, and it recalled another devastation he’d heard about recently. Yes, the Meteor Devastation. “Stefir, Palin—“
“Thinking about her again, Jessar? Your people may be getting attacked and you’re thinking about her?” Sabretha looked at the Lynx incredulously, her fists on her hips.
“No, no, it’s not like that. She spoke of the Reshaping and Meteor Devastation and suggested I ask Stefir about it.”
“And what made you think of that?” she wanted to know.
Knowing there was nothing he could say to dig his way out of the hole he’d stepped in, Jessar shot Stefir a plaintive look.
The chronologist smiled and winked at Jessar. “Well, but you did have a long chat with her, did you not? Very well then, I will attempt to explain. The two events are actually related, since the Meteor Devastation brought about the Reshaping. You see, Jessar, at the end of the Age of Technology, well before recorded history, a huge celestial body the size of a small moon smashed into Talan, completely destroying the civilizations of the time. Somehow, Man himself, along with many of the animal and plant species with which we are familiar, survived. This may have been because Man preserved members of many species in some kind of impenetrable cage somewhere, perhaps deep within the earth.”
“I always knew Man was better than Elf,” Ogador remarked.
“Elves, and even the Solon, did not exist in the Technological Age, Ogador. The Elves, along with most peoples other than Man, came about after the Reshaping. The Creator himself introduced the Solon to guide Man and the other Civilized Peoples back from the brink of extinction at the hands of the Monstrous Races. And Sabretha can tell you how the Evles came to be.”
The half-solowen dropped her fists and relaxed. “It was in the Age of Innocence that Solon mated with human females. Over several generations, the half breeds mated among themselves, ultimately creating the race we know as Elves today. It is actually quite a tragic but noble story. Stefir can probably tell the story better than I.”
“It is a long story, however.”
Ogador sighed. “Really? When has that ever stopped you before? For just this once, however, why don’t you just stick to what Jessar asked?”
Jessar noticed Ogador had actually leaned forward to sip his mead, a sure sign the prince was interested, despite his words.
The chronologist continued, “Anyway, the Monstrous Races were also spawned in the Reshaping and became woefully powerful as a result of their rapid reproduction. Man, you see, had maintained his dominance using a peculiar magic known as Science during the Technological Age. He was otherwise no match as a species against many of the beasts either then or now. With science now barred, Man and the other Civilized Peoples needed other strengths to protect themselves, so the Solon gave them other gifts – Steel and the many schools of magic other than science.”
“Wait, Stefir. You said all this was before recorded history, so how do you know all this?” Jessar asked.
Stefir slapped the table with his palm. “Jessar, have you learned nothing from my lessons in Chronology? You have but to journey far enough downstream on the River of Time to see these things.”
The Lynx hung his head. “Yes, I should have known it. There is only one past, so it’s easy enough to find your way downstream.”
The prince slammed his own palm on the table. “Woah, Stefir! Don’t be so hard on him. Do you mean to tell me you’ve journeyed that far back in time on the River?”
The chronologist pursed his lips and his eyes began their rapid scanning from side to side. “Well, no, I personally have not. It would take too much Flux to go back that far.”
“Well then don’t chastise Jessar!”
Sabretha put her fists back on her waist. “I agree, Wizard. You get angry at the Lynx for not knowing something, and then it turns out you can’t even do it yourself. So, I think it’s a good question: How do you know these things?”
Jessar smiled at the Valkara, thrilled to have her come to his defense, but the sword maiden didn’t even acknowledge him.
Stefir sat straight in his chair and made a fuss trying to smooth his smock over the Galbardian gardening suit he still wore underneath. “Indeed! I fail to see why everyone is so upset.”
“Get over it, Stefir. Just tell us how you know.” Ogador leaned back in his chair again.
“I am the Chronologist. It is my business to know these things.”
“Stefir!” the prince almost shouted, coming out of his chair.
“All right. Palin told me during my own Welcoming,” the wizard said quickly and quietly.
They all broke out laughing, all except Stefir. Ogador slapped his knee repeatedly, saying between chuckles, “You have – a goddess – to do with – as you will – and all you can – think of is to – ask her about – ancient history? That was your Welcoming?”
The Valkara had quit laughing and crossed her arms. “Now you wait a minute, Ogador. Just what’s wrong with Stefir choosing conversation over copulation?”
The wizard smiled, seeming to enjoy the prince’s discomfort.
After a pause during which he was obviously figuring out what to say, Ogador spat, “It’s just not natural, that’s all. A man and a woman—“
Sabretha stood and rolled her eyes, “You’re terrible! Lynx, what do you say? What’s wrong with conversation?”
Remembering how his time with Palin had begun, Jessar blushed.
“You’re no better than Ogador! I expected that from him, but you?” she whirled and started to walk away.
“Wait, Sabretha,” the chronologist said.
Sabretha stopped and even turned around expectantly.
Jessar had never figured out how Stefir had so much influence with the Valkara. Back in the Lynx’s treehome, the wizard had her serving food and drink, while she insisted Ogador and Jessar, except for the brief time the Lynx was confined to the bench due to his wound, get their own.
“Sabretha, Jessar obviously shared quite a bit of conversation with Palin. Most of our discussion today and yesterday stemmed from his words with her, so I would have to say Jessar thinks conversation is important.”
She put a sculpted nail to her lip. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. Very well, I’ll stay.” She returned to her seat.
“Thank Arien for that,” the prince muttered, earning him another roll of the Valkara’s aqua-hued eyes.
“Stefir,” Jessar reminded, “you were saying—“
“Yes,” the chronologist said in a tone that left little doubt he was glad to be back on a comfortable topic, and his finger came up, “I was about to tell about the Reshaping. You see, the meteor was not only the destruction of Mankind but also his deliverance, as the meteor was actually a celestial body from beyond our own galaxy, comprised almost entirely of the magic metal, pneumium.”
Sabretha, who sat with her chin resting on the heels of her fists, asked, “But Wizard, why do you say it was Man’s deliverance?”
If Jessar had asked the question, he’d almost certainly have been blessed with an ‘I was just getting to that’ comment from an irritated Stefir. Instead, the chronologist said, assuming his stage manner, “Ahh, Valkara, a good question. You see, in his arrogance, Man had advanced so far in the magic of science that he began to scar the very earth itself. Nature bore the wounds of Man’s carelessness. Waters became contaminated with poisons. Plants withered and died. Animals starved. Even the sky filled with grime.”
“It sounds terrible,” Sabretha observed, staring at the wizard.
The Lynx asked, “Stefir, what caused the meteor to hit?”
Turning to Jessar as if he just remembered there was someone present besides Sabretha, the wizard shot, “I was just getting to that. If you will be patient, please.”
Smiling and facing the Valkara, Stefir continued, “Man’s mastery of things grew so great that he decided to manipulate this world’s very orbit around the sun.”
“But why would they do that?” Sabretha asked, enthralled.
“Again a good question. In those ancient times, the year was not 364 days long as it is now. In fact, it was of such an odd length of time that the ancients had to adjust their calendars periodically, adding an extra day now and then in order to keep the year from sliding out of synchronization with the seasons.”
“How odd,” the Valkara observed.
Ogador shot Jessar a can-you-believe-this look.
Stefir continued, “Yes, it is difficult to comprehend. Nevertheless it is true. Anyway, the ancient mystics of the day used their command of science, in a way we cannot begin to understand, in order to slow Talan’s travel through the cosmos, until the year gradually became shorter.”
“So how did that cause the meteor to strike?”
The prince rolled his own eyes, and Jessar smiled, realizing she’d asked almost the same question the Lynx had asked to earn the wizard’s frustrated remark.
The chronologist grinned. “Ah, my good Valkara, an interesting and unexpected outcome, no doubt. Somehow, Man’s use of such powerful magic disrupted the motion of other celestial bodies, including that of the approaching meteor. The body would have simply shot by Talan to make a quick pass around the sun and return to the unknown regions of the void from whence it came. Instead, however, the powerful magic deflected the meteor just enough that it smashed into our home,” he said, sweeping his arms about him.
“This is fascinating, Stefir. So then what happened?”
Ogador mimed sticking his finger down his throat, and Jessar stifled a chuckle.
“Why, Sabretha, the impact further disturbed the orbit of Talan and our moon so that we now have the thirteen moons of the year, each exactly 28 days. The Creator pronounced the Technology Laws, forbidding the magic of science. The meteor’s impact ignited the internal fires of this world, and the lands reformed into their present configuration.”
“Hence the Reshaping?”
“Yes, exactly, Sabretha. But Nature had surprises in store for Man, who was no longer to be the only intelligent species on Talan. That, my friends, is the story of the Meteor Devastation and the subsequent Reshaping.”
Ogador clapped. “Well told, Stefir. I hadn’t heard that one myself. Now, how about some lunch?”
Before they finished their meal, Ogador again pointed to the south bank. Several large, crude rafts rested on the shore, abandoned by the orcs. “It looks like we now know for sure where the pines wound up.”
“Klapek cannot be more than a march ahead now,” Jessar said, his Galbardian map spread on the table before him. It was only a few minutes later, however, that the friends began to notice smoke rising over the trees ahead.
Soon thereafter, they saw a small pier jutting out from the bank, and fires still burned among the trees. Elves in the black uniforms of Border Guard regulars moved through the smoldering debris of the orc attack, combating the remaining fires with water from large, two-handled clay amphorae carried by pairs of troops. Others dug holes at the edge of the carnage, and the gentle depositing of elven bodies into them testified as to their purpose. There were only three surviving structures and a few scorched pines that had survived the attack. Two of these structures were simple watch platforms built high in trees along the bank. By the concentration of soldiers on one of these towers, the Border Guards were using it as a command post.
To the east, a platoon of guards kneeled at the ready, peering into the thick forest with halberds at the ready. Beyond them, on the edge of the thick undergrowth at the edge of the forest, stood a huge boulder. Just to the north of them was the other surviving structure, a large, tree-hugging cistern. Using a rope-suspended, articulated trough, soldiers were filling their amphorae for combating the fires.
One of the soldiers noticed the barge and shouted to a soldier wearing the red fox tail atop his wide-brimmed hat, marking an officer. The two gold stripes circling his hat indicated he was a captain, and the impressive figure ran toward the bank, waving at the turtle master.
Almek steered the reptile toward the steep southern bank, bringing the ship close to the steep southern bank. The sons threw lines to waiting soldiers, and they moored the ship to charred tree trunks. The turtle stayed close to the ship, walking along the flat bottom with only its neck protruding above the river surface.
The officer approached, beckoning to the turtle master. “I am Captain Talishar, and I exercise the rights of Emergency Transit negotiated in Plasis in the First Millennium. You are to carry the wounded to Jintaron.”
The turtle master nodded, unhooked himself from the bowsprit and joined the travelers. Sabretha, apparently alerted by the shouting, joined her friends. Almek pointed to the four one at a time. “Off turtle,” he said simply.
Ogador stood in surprise. “What? I paid for passage.”
Whistling, the turtle master said, “Must go. Turtle carry hurt ones to elf town down river.”
The prince started to complain again, but the captain called out, “You up there. Come down. I have commandeered the turtle ship according to law. I also request you assist us.”
The four friends went down from the sun deck to stand beside the captain.
“Jessar, what’s he talking about?”
“Ogador, the Eastern Civilizations share a body of common laws, and one of them is the right of Emergency Transit. The captain here needs the turtle ship to carry the wounded troops and townspeople to Jilaron.”
The Valkara smiled, “Captain, I’m sure we’ll be happy to help you. We understand you will require the ship.”
The prince shook his head. “Well, I don’t understand. Sure, we’ll help, but once we load the injured aboard, why can’t we stay on board?”
Sabretha put her fists on her hips. “Ogador, get over it. We have no medical training. If outbreak of disease occurs, we will simply be unnecessary carriers.”
The captain nodded. “Please get your belongings and report to me in the flat in that tree over there,” he pointed to one of only a half dozen pines that had somehow survived the fires of the orcs. “You may stay there as long as necessary to find alternate means of travel, or you may use the trail to Jilaron yourself.” He paced away to join a band of troops escorting orc prisoners to a makeshift pen.
Stefir snapped his fingers. “Almek, how many days is it to Jilaron?”
“Three, but turtle must forage one day also.”
“Ogador, we could use one of the orcs’ rafts.” Stefir smiled
“Of course, and if we paddle during the day and drift through the night….”
Jessar did some mental calculations, assuming a three-knot current. “We should get to Jilaron only one day after the turtle, and if the turtle lays over a day to forage….”
The turtle master nodded. “Almek wait.”
A short time later, carrying their packs, the travelers stood below the rope ladder leading to the command platform overhead. The captain descended, together with another officer with an additional half stripe on his hat.
Ogador saluted the second, more senior officer, who returned the salute and surveyed Ogador’s own black uniform, heavily augmented with the black leather patches that served almost as a light armor. The prince, in the fashion of the Border Scouts of his own land, bore only the peacock, lion, and winged horse tripartite shield emblem on his right shoulder, designating him as a member of West-realm’s military. The governor wore no unit designation or insignia of rank.
The major, on the other hand, wore not only the halberd crossed by long sword over palisade patch of the Border Guard, but also carried a small wooden shield painted with three hash marks above five additional such marks over two more: Second Company, Fifth Battalion, Third Regiment.
The governor eyed the elf’s sword. “Major, that is a fine blade you have there. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was Rudal steel, maybe even wrought back West.”
The senior officer smiled. “You have a discerning eye. It is indeed steel from that far away land, and I believe your own smiths in Alusha forged the blade. You look like a swordsman yourself, but what happened to your weapon?”
“That is a matter of some frustration for me. I was forced to part with it in Bilaron.”
The elven officer obviously assumed that the border station had taken the prince’s weapon from the way the elf shook his head. “I feared as much. I am sorry, but you must understand how desperate we are for fine weapons.”
“I understand, major. Where did you get an Alushan blade? I was under the impression that you folk didn’t have many weapons of the West.”
The major swelled visibly, stroking his scabbard. “King Avril gave it to me personally after I led my company deep into the frontier to retaliate against the Bulk-men. They came across the river during the Deep Freeze three hundred years ago.”
The prince clapped a hand on the elf’s shoulder and shared a wrist shake with him. “It is always a pleasure to meet a combat veteran, particularly one who has fought the forces of chaos. If I may ask: What has happened here?”
“Certainly, but what is your rank, sir, in the forces of West-realm? I had heard that you Realmers never wear rank or unit identification on a working uniform.”
In a very off-hand way, the governor answered, “Field Marshal, and you are correct. We learned quickly that the Emperor’s forces trained their archers to shoot ranking personnel. However, my shield badge has the peacock in the top field; that differentiates an officer from his men, who have the winged horse switched with the peacock.”
The major snapped to in recognition of Ogador’s high rank. “Sir, in answer to your question: Two clans of orcs somehow crossed the river and attacked Klapek. As you can see, they completely destroyed the village. Had we not come along, no one from the village would be alive.”
“There are survivors? Where?” Sabretha asked, looking about for any civilians.
Pointing to where the group of soldiers still kneeled at the ready, the major said, “They are over there with the remaining orcs.” As if for the first time, the officer noticed the Valkara’s steel, and his brows hiked in surprise.
The prince diverted the major’s attention again. “Ah, a hostage situation?”
“Yes, I see you have experience with the evil beast men?”
“Some,” the prince replied modestly. “I have been to Nordrak, the Undying Lands, many times.”
“Can you handle a hostage scenario?”
The captain suddenly became very agitated. “Sir,” he said to the major, “Nithar will be very mad if—“
“Nithar is an idiot, a bereaucrat.”
“I wouldn’t say that, sir. If Nithar finds out—“
“I am in command here, not Nithar.”
Ogador smiled. “I know the type, major. Unfortunately, we have the same problem with those who brainlessly comply with procedure back West.”
The major chuckled. “Sir, if you could be of any assistance, I would certainly appreciate it. I’ve never handled hostages before, and Nithar has been gone so long that I fear he may now also be a captive.”
Jessar marveled at how his countryman, normally as xenophobic as anyone could imagine, had so readily taken to Ogador, a man from the West-realm. He couldn’t help but envy the two their warrior’s bond, something the Lynx could never hope to experience.
“I would be happy to try. What are we dealing with?”
“Sir, my halberdiers are guarding the entrance to a root cellar where the orcs have taken refuge. There are probably about a dozen of them down there, and we believe they have three elwen and two young boys from Klapek, as well as two gypsies who were here for some reason. Of course, Nithar is also with them, trying to work out some agreement. The chieftain of one of the clans, an orc named Groz, is their leader, a really ugly bastard with a heavily scarred snout.”
“I see. Thanks, major. Now, let me give this a shot.” The prince, in his long warrior’s stride, headed for the halberdiers.
“Elves, make way for the field marshal,” the major called out, and the halberd-armed troops obediently drew aside, looks of respect on their faces.
The two elven officers, together with the other travelers, closed behind the guards.
The unarmed governor stepped confidently up to the crude stairs descending into the earth, peering into the darkness for several minutes. Beyond the prince some fifty paces was the huge bolder on the edge of the thick forest and undergrowth marking the wild. “I come to parley with the mighty Groz, chieftain of the great orc people.”
A terrible, wavering cry keened forth from the dark opening. The elven guards looked at one another with concern, the unspoken question writ large on their features.
The Valkara put her hand on her sword hilt. “If those vile creatures have harmed one of them—“
The governor signaled to her for silence. Iron-shorn boots rang against the stone steps, and an orc emerged.
It was the first time Jessar had seen one of the beast men, and this one was, from the descriptions the Lynx had heard, a rather large specimen. Stooped as he was in an ape-like posture, the creature was almost as tall as Ogador, himself unusually tall for a man. Groz wore only a set of boiled leather armor, although several crudely fashioned items of copper decorated the joints. He wore bracers of the same metal, and a steel skull cap with what looked like boar’s teeth arrayed in two rows along its riveted seam. Long black hair as coarse as straw hung from the back of his nape. A belt fashioned of finger bones strung on sinew held up a leather sarong, and the shoulder blades of some large bovine served as greaves. The complete ribcage of what was likely the same animal was stitched into the orc’s leather breastplate. A two-bladed axe of enormous proportions protruded over the imposing figure’s right shoulder, and its spear-tipped haft hung well below the sarong.
“I be Groz the mighty, slayer of tens of hundreds, bearer of Elf Cleaver,” he swept the flesh-swollen digits of his left hand along the axe blade, “leader of Bleeding Sun clan, devourer of marrow of elf bones, and sayer of wisdom. Who begs me forth?” As the major had warned, the orc was particularly ugly, even for one of his race. The flat profile nose covering fully one third of the beast man’s olive-colored face bore, in addition to the two vertical nostril slits, a network of scars that looked like the raking of fangs. As for fangs, Groz had two of them himself, hanging two knuckles below a jutting lower lip.
“I am Ogador, field marshal of the West, but unfit nevertheless to be in the presence of your august self.”
“It is good you recognize the superiority of my race and my divine authority. These elves,” he spat, “do not understand the natural order of the cosmos.”
“Yes, I know you have earned your place at the right hand of the Evil One. If you will pardon me, I have business to discuss, and I would not have the time for it were I to continue extolling your virtues and those of your race.”
The orc nodded, closing his eyes slowly and in deliberate manner.
“I am empowered to parley the release of your captives. I trust they and Nithar are unharmed?”
“Women, children, and weakling are well. The official is useless.”
“Doubtless. Nevertheless, might I see him for a moment before we discuss terms?”
Shaking his head in disgust, the orc said, “He is revolting. Ogador may have him.” Groz headed back into the cellar.
The same piercing cry rang out, and everyone looked uncertainly about. The halberdiers gripped their weapons tighter.
Just as the Lynx became convinced that things had gone awry, the head of a struggling elf appeared.
The prince moved a few steps into the cellar, giving assistance to the elf, who was both blindfolded and bound. Ogador removed the cord binding the elf’s wrists and then stripped off the blindfold.
Jessar gasped. It was the official from the border post!
Nithar blinked in the bright light. Looking about, he noticed the travelers and bellowed, “Captain, seize them. They are fugitives who are wanted for tax evasion, except for him,” the official pointed to Jessar. “Jessar, you are to go into the cellar. I have here a warrant for the arrest of these four.” He pulled a folded document from his uniform jacket and handed it to the captain.
The major came forward and snagged the document before the captain could take it. “I am in command here, Nithar. Not you and not the captain,” he said, glaring at his subordinate. “Now, Ogador, if you’d care to explain.”
Sabretha started to speak up, but Stefir shook his head almost imperceptibly. The Valkara remained quiet.
“Major, I do not doubt that you hold a warrant for our arrest.”
The official crossed his arms and nodded smugly.
“However, I do not believe it is valid. He,” Ogador said, nodding to the Lynx, “is your Foreign Minister. This bereaucrat attempted to levy an illegal tax against my party, who, according to Galbardian law, should be exempt, since a government official, Jessar, was our escort.”
Nithar fumed. “That is not true! The tax was legal. He,” he said, pointing a furiously shaking finger at the Lynx, “has been exiled by the King. Read the warrant!”
The captain spoke up. “Sir, I know you despise this elf, but he has the ear of the King. At least examine the warrant.”
Looking as if he were torn between reading or ripping the document, the major hesitated.
The prince sighed. “I understand, major, you have your duty.”
Unfolding the document, the officer scanned its contents. “This is no warrant.”
“I may have misspoken,” Nishar said. “It is not a warrant exactly, but it does empower me or any official to take these people into custody if they are found on Galbardian soil.”
The major returned to examining the vellum. “Although it is not a warrant – in fact it appears to be orders to the Ministry of Revenue – it does in fact appear legitimate, and it does mention that Jessar is now an exile. The four of you are declared fugitives upon return to Galbard.”
“May I?” Ogador requested.
“Certainly,” the major said, handing the vellum to the prince.
The official looked barely able to control himself. “Major, I’ll have you sent back to the frontier as a squire! Our documents are not for foreigners!”
The prince read aloud, “The aforesaid Jessar shall depart Galbard—“
“See,” Nishar yelled. “He hasn’t departed; here he stands!”
“Nishar, control yourself, or I shall rebind your hands. The Foreign Minister is here only because I commandeered their turtle for transport of the injured,” he gestured to the troops who were carrying stretchers onto the turtle ship. “Please continue, Ogador.”
“—never to return upon pain of death. However, as his last duty, he is to represent the illustrious King Avril one last time at the next Great Council of Countries.”
The major looked at the Lynx. “Sir, are you under orders to represent our liege?”
Jessar retrieved the sealed envelope Nishar had given him at the border post. “Yes. I carry sealed orders from the King himself,” he said, offering the missive to the officer.
“This is his seal,” the major agreed, handing the envelope back to Jessar.
“Major Zar, I am the Assistant Premier of the Ministry of Revenue, and it is within my power to give this order: Now, arrest these three and send Jessar into the cellar!”
The captain motioned for the halberdiers to step forward, but the major interceded. “Captain, put your troops at ease. Nishar, we seem to have a problem here. Although Jessar has been exiled, he remains, for the present until the Council, our Foreign Minister. Your orders, although they do provide for the arrest of these good people, are not valid currently since they are on our soil only at my invitation. Therefore, I must defer to higher authority.”
“Yes, you must,” Nishar began, “and I order you to arrest them!”
Again the captain summoned the troops. “Captain, I shall place you in irons if you threaten these good people one more time. Nishar, the higher authority here is Jessar. As the Foreign Minister, he outranks an Assistant Premier. Sir,” the major half-bowed to the Lynx, “is it your orders to take these three into custody and for yourself to proceed into the cellar?”
The beginnings of a plan were coming to Jessar. “No, do not take them into custody.”
“This is an outrage!”
The major grasped both elbows of Nishar. “And what of this elf?” he asked, a smile forming on his lips.
“Let him go,” he began, to the collective shocked glances of everyone in earshot. “I shall need his services before I go into the cellar.”
“Sir, you know your business, but I for one do not trust Groz. Why would he be summoning you?”
Sabretha stamped her foot. “I have been silent long enough,” she glared at the wizard, who was vigorously attempting to silence her. “Lynx—“
The captain rushed to Jessar’s side. “Major, you must reconsider. He is the Lynx. The gypsies have spread the warning about him. He is destined to destroy our very way of life.”
“That’s it, captain. I have had enough of your insubordination. Lieutenant,” he said, gesturing to the leader of the halberdiers, “relieve your captain of his duties and place him in hack. I hereby field promote you to the grade of Captain and give you the captain’s post.”
The Valkara stood with her fists on her hips. “Lynx, you cannot go down there.”
“And why not? Nishar came out unscathed,” Jessar pointed out.
Sabretha shot Stefir and Ogador a will-you-talk-sense-into-him look. The wizard was looking at Jessar in his appraising fashion. “Sabretha, I think Jessar has a plan. We should hear what he proposes.”
“Well I don’t like it, whatever it is.”
Ogador frowned. “I don’t like this either, Sabretha. Jessar, let me continue my negotiations.”
The major nodded. “Sir, Ogador appeared to be making progress. I agree, we should let him continue.”
Nishar grinned. “I know something you would find interesting, Jessar.”
“Well, let’s have it,” Zar demanded.
“Oh, no, major,” Nishar said sarcastically, “let the field marshal try.”
“Look, I’ve had about enough of your petty attitude,” Zar said, whipping out his sword. “Now, speak,” he demanded, holding the sword blade to the official’s throat.
The prince placed a restraining hand on the major’s blade. “Major, you have done enough on our behalf, and I do not want you getting yourself further into trouble with your superiors.”
Nishar looked back at Zar smugly. “Listen to the field marshal, Major, although you won’t hold that rank much longer when we get back to Bilaron.”
“Well, we’ll see about that,” the major responded uncertainly.
The prince returned to the cellar stairs. “Groz, I request your attendance,” he called out.
There was no response. Eventually, noticing the official’s confident smirk, the major said, “All right, Nishar, what is it you know?”
“Groz told me to tell you, Ogador, that his conditions are the release of he and his band, with transportation across the river. Once safely across, he will leave his hostages on the transport.”
Zar shook his head. “Those terms are unacceptable. How can we trust him? And even if we could, how are we to get the hostages back over here?”
“Swim?” Nishar asked innocently.
Ogador shook his head. “Take my word for it, the water is still too cold to swim all the way across the mighty West Veinous.”
Sabretha was looking carefully at the official. “You’re not telling us everything you know, are you Nishar?”
With his offensive smile, the official said, “Perhaps not. Jessar, there is someone in the cellar I believe you know.”
The Lynx’s heart raced. Could it be his mother?
As if Nishar could read his mind, the elf said, “But she may not be someone you want to see. It is the Yitrava Vilia.” The official obviously took great pleasure at Jessar’s consternation.
It was Sabretha’s reaction, however, that was most surprising. “That bitch again? Lynx, you cannot go in the cellar. She cursed you last time. Who knows what she’ll do this time?”
Something about the whole situation was troubling Jessar. He remembered a conversation he’d had with Stefir shortly after starting the river journey when the wizard made the friends hide while passing the first Galbardian village. “How did she get her before us? For that matter, how did you get here, Nishar?”
With a speed that amazed everyone, the prince suddenly held the elf by the throat, squeezing until the blood vessels pulsed in the elf’s temple. “Nishar, he’s right. There’s no way you could have beat us down the river.”
Fear burned in the official’s eyes, and he gurgled trying to speak. He pointed to a tree at the southern edge of the destruction. On two of the lower limbs sat enormous falcons, one a peregrine and the other a prairie, wearing the harness of falcon riders.
Zar said, “Field marshal, please release him. I believe the two of them were ferried here by Alakhid the falcon-rider.”
The prince released Nithar. “Yes, Alakhid flew me here yesterday,” the official said, rubbing his neck.
“Jessar, I thought you said Galbardians had no dealings with the falcon-riders,” Stefir commented.
The official said, “We don’t. The gypsy Ludar is the one who knows Alakhid.”
The Lynx groaned. “Ludar is here?”
“Not exactly. He may be in the gypsy campsite,” the official pointed east.
“And where is Alakhid?” Ogador wanted to know, still wearing a suspicious look.
The major said, “We don’t know for sure. One of my swordsmen saw him fleeing into the forest during the attack.”
Sabretha shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like any falcon-rider I’ve ever known, fleeing the scene of combat, especially on foot.”
Zar smiled. “Perhaps, but his birds harassed the orcs quite effectively.”
The prince faced Zar. “And how did the thought-deprived one here,” Ogador cocked a thumb at Nithar, “escape the carnage?”
Uncomfortably shuffling his feet, the major replied, “He was with us.”
Nithar smiled at the major’s discomfort. “Yes, it was I who saw the orcs yesterday while flying here. I had noticed these soldiers bivouacked on the trail to the west. So, at great personal risk,” the official said, hand to his chest, “I asked Alakhid to drop me off in their camp.”
“The orcs weren’t even on this side of the river, yesterday. The only risk you took was that the major would recognize you for the worm you are and put you in irons. Why did Ludar send the falcon-rider to bring you here anyway?” the prince, still suspicious, asked.
Eyes shifting in a way that convinced Jessar the official was still withholding the full truth, Nithar said, “I was the only Revenuer available, and Ludar was coming back to his home tribe to complete a trade.”
With a look of regret, Zar said, “Field Marshal, I hate to say it, but if Nithar hadn’t come to our camp, well, we weren’t scheduled to stop through Klapek for three more days. The only thing I can’t understand is how he knew the orcs would be crossing the river here.”
“It was the only thing that made any sense. There isn’t another settlement for them to attack until Jilaron,” Nithar said defensively.
The Lynx said, “I think the better question is why the orcs would cross the river for the first time in three hundred years just now. And what did they accomplish here?”
“Jessar, what they accomplished is disrupting the line of communication to Jilaron. If the major and his elves hadn’t been here, the orcs would now have this site as a base of operations. Ultimately, the forces of chaos might take Jilaron itself, driving a wedge between Galbard and Farzal to the east. As to why they’re doing this now….”
The chronologist took a position by Jessar. “All this is very interesting, but I want to hear your plan, Jessar.”
“Okay, but it’s not that great.”
“Allow us to make our own judgement there, Jessar,” Stefir chided. Silentwing swooped to the wizard’s shoulder.
“Fine. How much water remains in the cistern?”
The major turned to one of his troops who was filling another amphora. “Sergeant, how full is the cistern?”
“About half, sir.”
The Lynx turned to Nithar. “How large is the cellar compared to that cistern?”
“I was blindfolded, but my impression is that it’s roughly the same size.”
Ogador smiled. “Jessar, it was a good idea, but you won’t have enough water to drown the orcs.”
Nishar frowned. “And who’s to say the orcs won’t survive while the hostages die. Remember, their hands are bound, and they’re blindfolded.”
“Ogador, I think Stefir and I can make up the water deficit using the same trick on the deluge spell back in my treehome. As for your concern, Nishar, the orcs’ bodies are more dense than water, so they will sink, and they cannot swim. As for the hostages: Stefir, can you teach me the Sacred Tongue corresponding to ‘This place is about to be flooded. When the torches go out, each of you hold out your hands so I can cut your bindings. Then swim up the stairs?’”
Stefir smiled. “Very clever, Jessar. What makes you think I can summon enough water to complete filling the cellar?”
“You told me you can amplify a spell’s affects by supplementing the power required. Also, I am hoping that, by doing the same thing I did back at the treehome, I can further magnify the deluge.”
“Jessar, that is not possible.”
“Trust me on this, Stefir. I believe it is possible.”
Ogador winked at Jessar. “Stefir, back at Jessar’s treehome, you said it was impossible for the Lynx to complete your spell, if I recall.”
The wizard scratched his owl’s feathers. “Perhaps, but what if there is a problem below? I think we need a means you can use to signal us when to start.”
The Lynx thought for a moment and looked around. Some empty amphorae and three coils of light line lay by the trunk of the cistern tree. Jessar picked up one of the coils and tied a free end to his waist. He removed his sword. “Now, Ogador, you take the free end of the line. Once I am below, I will jerk the line when I am ready. Then, at the proper time in Stefir’s spell, give me a single tug back.” He dropped his pack and tucked his knife in his belt.
Nishar scoffed, “They are orcs, not idiots. They will know something is awry when they see the rope, and they certainly won’t let you keep that knife.”
“Stefir, do you have enough of your oil of concealment to cover the first few feet of this line and my knife?”
Sabretha smiled at Jessar. “Lynx, it is a brilliant plan. Let us hope that it works.”
The wizard rubbed the oil on the line and knife while the troops redirected the articulated trough toward the opening of the cellar.
The official confronted Jessar. “You must let me go with you, or Groz will kill you.”
Ogador shook his head. “Jessar, I wouldn’t trust him.”
Nishar crossed his arms. “Look, Man. I am an elf, and those are my people down in that cellar. Besides, I can help Jessar.”
“I don’t like this,” Ogador insisted. “Jessar, let me go with you.”
“I was down there almost an hour. I assure you, if anyone besides Jessar and I go, Groz will kill them and maybe the hostages as well.”
“It still doesn’t make sense. Why does he want Jessar?”
“The gypsy told Groz about the Lynx after she heard Ogador’s voice, and now Groz wants to meet the famouse Lynx.”
“Well, I still don’t like this. Major, I recommend you have your swordsmen ready to storm the cellar. Jessar, if things go awry and the plan won’t work, you jerk that line for all you’re worth!”
The Lynx nodded, and Stefir said, “This, Jessar is how you say what you want in the Sacred Tongue: Lubro zharte kelar orin eskadimon kelien. Lea dore mald lev vadron perkov ishlom feljien lev kulbethon. Belron lea hano gasel wegethon.”
Jessar practiced the translation several times. Then the guards loosely applied blindfolds to Jessar and Nishar and wrapped coils around their wrists.
Soon they were ready to carry out Jessar’s plan. With Nishar in the lead, the two walked slowly toward the cellar stairs. At the top, the official halted. “Groz, it’s me, Nishar. I’m coming back with the Lynx, as you wanted.”
No reply came, and the bureaucrat turned back to Jessar nervously. They waited for a minute and then headed below. A dank odor wafted up to meet Jessar. They moved slower as the light faded. Although their blindfolds were loose enough to permit them to see their feet, the going was dangerous due to the crudeness of the stone steps. After they had staggered down some fifteen steps, the passage turned sharply to the left toward the river. Jessar heard whimpering from ahead, as well as deep, animalistic breathing. Below the cloth over his eyes, he began to see flickering flame light. After only six more steps, they reached the cellar floor.
Jessar jostled into one of the orcs, judging from the rough hide. Before the Lynx could recite the words he’d rehearsed, Nishar’s voice yelled, “Get him. Find the cord. It’s a trap!”
The cellar instantly transformed into chaos. In the tight confines of the cellar, bodies bumped into Jessar violently. The Lynx started his speech, yelling loudly over guttural voices and grunts. He got as far as, “Lubro zharte kelar orin eskadimon kelien. Lea—“ before the strange cry broke out again, drowning out his words. The horrid sound came from just in front of him, as if Nishar himself had uttered it.
Elven voices cried out, “What? Flood? Start over!”
Expecting to feel a weapon blow at any moment, Jessar began his orders again, saying “Lubro zharte kelar orin eskadimon—“ this time to be interrupted when someone tripped over his cord, pulling the Lynx forcibly to the ground and knocking out his breath. He struggled to regain his feet and continue speaking, but his diaphragm just wouldn’t force the air he needed to speak. At the least, he managed to get the cords off his wrist and raised himself to his knees.
Just as he pulled the cloth from his eyes, the roar of rushing water erupted, followed closely by a two-foot wave funneling through the passage above. Just before a torch burning on the cellar floor in a corner flashed out, the scene in the rough chamber imprinted itself in his head. Examining the picture in his mind, he saw the two Holvenum elwen huddled in the far corner, the three elven boys between them. The Yitrava stood over them, fending off the orcs dashing about in a panic. To his shock, he saw that the orcs also wore cloths over their eyes and had bound hands. Most surprising, however, were the feet disappearing into a small tunnel exiting the rear of the chamber. A mound of dirt five feet high occupied the center of the already cramped domed compartment and was the source of consternation for the orcs, who tumbled to the floor as they scrambled around looking for the exit.
At any moment, he knew he’d feel the tug indicating Stefir was ready for Jessar’s augmentation of the spell. He fervently hoped both that he’d regain his breath and remember the proper words when the time came. In the meantime, he struggled to regain his breath. He wanted to help the elwen and boys, but he knew he had to wait for the signal. Then he realized that between the dirt pile and the bound, blind orcs, he probably didn’t need whatever excess volume of water he might be able to bring to bear with what he had hoped would be an amplification of Stefir’s deluge spell.
Jessar untied the cord at his waist. Then he moved toward the direction of the elwen, drawing his knife. By the time he struggled in the dark to their side, the water level was up to his chest, and he’d regained his breath. “I am the Lynx, and I am here to save you,” he said. “The oldest of you, hold your hands at my chest, and I’ll cut your bindings.”
A set of hands groped at him. He grasped one of the hands and carefully maneuvered the knife to slice the cords on her wrists. “Whoever’s hand I’m holding, take off your blind and get one of the boys now. The next oldest, hold out your hands!” The renewed and louder sound of water nearly drowned out his voice again as the wizard’s spell took hold.
He repeated the procedure, directing this elwen to grab another boy. “Vilia, your hands!” The water rose to his neck, and the noise level dropped as the cries of the orcs were silenced one by one.
“Lynx, I knew you would rescue me.”
Wondering why she would think he’d risk his life for the elwen who had cursed him, Jessar nevertheless freed her hands. “Please just get the last boy. Now, everyone follow my voice to the exit!”
The water lifted the Lynx off his feet, and he swam through the darkness, feeling the still-struggling bodies of orcs. One grasped his clothing, and it was then he realized the flaw to his plan: They’d all be drowned by the struggling orcs. Two sets of hands pulled him under the water. Lashing with his knife, he forced one of the orcs to release him and managed to reach the surface again.
The boys were crying out, and the elwen were calling out his name by the time he got his head above water again. One orc still tugged at his clothes, but another savage slash of the knife lopped off a finger, and the hands ceased their grasping. Flailing about, Jessar found the end of the rope. “Give me your hand,” he ordered the nearest elwen. “Hold this rope as tight as you can. When you get to the stairs, rush out and tell the soldiers outside to return for assistance.”
The water level had stabilized, leaving only enough air at the top of the chamber to gulp a breath. Not knowing which elwen he had helped escape, he called out, “Vilia?”
She did not respond. More hands grabbed at Jessar. The Lynx started to slash at them again, but, at the last moment, realized they were too small to belong to the orcs. Grasping at the hands, he hauled one of the boys to the surface. “Where’s Vilia?”
The boy sputtered, “I don’t know. She had hold of me, and then she just let go.”
The Lynx pulled the boy toward the dirt mound, where the youngster could stand. “Is there another elwen here?”
“Yes,” a terrified, gurgling voice answered.
“Good. Do you have a boy?”
“Yes, and he’s fine but scared.”
“Place the back of your hand on my face,” he ordered. When he felt the elwen’s soft skin, he placed the knife handle in her hand. “Now, do your best to free the boys. I’m going to see if I can find the Yitrava. Someone should be here momentarily to assist you.”
Taking a deep breath of the rapidly fouling air, Jessar plunged below the surface. He swam in orbits around the dirt mound, feeling for a buoyant body. The dense orcs would still be anchored to the bottom and should be nearly drowned by now. He marked his first orbit when he bumped into the elwen again. He noticed she shrank back in fear, but he patted her side gently to reassure her and continued on. He both widened and deepened his orbit, but still with no luck.
Lungs nearly bursting, he returned to the surface and gulped another breath. Thinking the foul air was already working tricks on his mind, he saw a dim blue glow toward the stairs. It grew brighter and Jessar recognized the shape of Stefir’s staff. He swam toward it and jerked it from the shocked wizard’s grasp. Shoving the bottom of the staff down the neck of his tunic to anchor it, he continued his desperate search, using the staff as an underwater beacon, glowing brightly about a foot ahead of him.
In the dim light of the staff, he saw all but one of the orcs piled like firewood about the floor of the chamber. One still moved slightly, clawing at the dirt mound with its tied hands. He saw no Yitrava, however. Then he noticed that one of the orcs had its arms stretched far over its head into the tunnel he’d seen just before the flood. He darted toward the tunnel and saw a graceful ankle in the orcs dead grip. Wishing for his knife, he instead saw an axe tucked in the orc’s belt. Grasping it, the Lynx chopped in fury at the beast man’s wrists, frustrated at the diminished force he could achieve underwater. Despite repeated chops, the dead fingers held the ankle just as strongly as before. He hacked through the first wrist as his lungs began protesting again. By the time he severed the second wrist, he wasn’t sure if he could make it back to the air bubble.
Knowing that if he required air, the Yitrava was much worse, he ignored the pressure in his chest. He saw that Vilia had attempted to leave through the upward-sloping tunnel. The passage appeared to be just wide enough that he could squeeze below the elwen and attempt to extract her through the narrow way. He twisted onto his back and moved below her. Overhead, he saw that the tunnel curved steeply upward, with sunlight illuminating the water’s surface some eight feet up the way. Clamping his lips against the pressure that seemed to be working its way out of his lungs and up his throat, he lunged past the Yitrava, marveling at what appeared to be her reposing beauty. He grabbed a handful of her long black hair and kicked off the dirt walls, starving for air.
Just as his breath exploded, he rocketed through the surface. Gasping, he reached below and hauled the motionless Yitrava up the slope, leaning her body against the sloping wall of the channel. “Help!” he yelled repeatedly, crawling over the still form. The staff, however, jammed against the low ceiling, shoving the column of wood farther down his tunic and ripping a gash down his back. The pain was so intense, he collapsed like a dead weight onto the Yitrava, and the force of his chest on hers caused a compulsive pressure within her lungs. A jet of water shot from her lips.
Jessar, surprised at her suddenly heaving body, thrust himself off her, only to have the long staff to bring him to a sudden springing halt a few knuckles off the Yitrava. Again he fell back atop the gypsy. Again she coughed a fountain of water, but this time she moved her head from other than the reaction of the Lynx’s weight. Spluttering, she struggled to get a few ragged breaths, turning her head and retching additional water from her lungs.
Slowly this time, the Lynx pushed himself off the witch. “Are you okay?” he asked hesitantly. Overhead somewhere, something was moved, and light flooded into the tunnel.
“Yes. Is that you, Jessar?” a female voice inquired hopefully.
Jessar looked up the slope just as the Valkara leaned her upper body into the tunnel. “Sabretha?” She had even used his given name rather than his nickname.
The sword maiden crawled in further until her lovely form blocked most of the light. “Jessar, I thought you had drowned. I’m so glad—“
The Lynx watched the joy on her face transform to fury.
The witch below him moaned, opened her eyes, and said weakly, “Jessar, it is you. I knew you’d come—“
A voice from outside yelled, “You found him, Sabretha? Good. Does he have my staff?”
“Yes,” she yelled in Jessar’s ear. The sword maiden grasped the head of the staff and jerked it as she leaned out of the tunnel.
“AHH!” Jessar yelled as the staff raked another agonizing track along his back.
Again he collapsed onto the Yitrava, but this time her arms encircled him, and her lips fastened on his. What was more shocking, however, was the tongue he felt pressing against his teeth. He attempted to break free, but she gripped him just as fervently as the dead orc’s earlier grip on her ankle.
A second voice called out from above: “Go get it, Jessar!”
He broke free, pushed himself off the so soft and inviting figure beneath him, and looked out. Ogador was standing there pumping his fist. Jessar started to crawl out, but then thought better of it as he felt the gypsy’s caressing, searching hands. “Ogador, will you please pull her out? She needs attention.”
“It looks as if she’s getting plenty now,” the prince said, smiling. He did reach into the passage, however, grasping the witch under her arms and extracting her as easily as if she were a pillow of down.
Wincing at the pain of his back, the Lynx crawled slowly forth. He arose, finding himself standing in a narrow wedge between a bush and a large boulder that had shielded the escape route from their view earlier. A thick wall of undergrowth separated he and Ogador from the less dense copse that had previously been the village of Klapek.
Emerging from the concealment, he saw a very wet and partially disrobed Stefir standing by the bush. “And you!” Jessar yelled. “I nearly drown and all you want to know is if I have your staff?”
“Are you not curious about the hostages?”
The Lynx felt guilty. “Yes, are they safe?”
The wizard smiled broadly. “Thanks to you, and, of course, a little help from me, why, yes, they are just fine.”
The prince strode smartly through the brush to fling an arm around Jessar.
The Lynx jumped nearly out of his grasp.
“What’s wrong?”
Jessar stripped off his jerkin and tunic and turned around.
Ogador whistled. “Ho-le laver of Arien, Jessar. Tell me, do you have a thing against your own back? You look like you’ve been whipped by a cat-o-nine-tails. It’ll take Sabretha a moon to heal that.”
Shaking his head, Jessar said, “Oh, I don’t think I need to worry about that. Didn’t you notice how she looked at the hole?” He flicked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Well, I couldn’t help but notice she looked furious enough to claw her way through a granite wall just for the chance to step on your toes. And I thought she was mad the last time….”
“Come, Jessar. We must return to the command post. You have made quite a name for yourself today.”
The major stood by the cistern tree, where the two elwen and the three boys sat in the care of a field medic. As for Livia, she lay on her back, apparently unconscious. A second medic stood from her side and joined the major. Of Sabretha, there was no trace.
“Your report?” the officer inquired.
“Sir, the gypsy girl is weak, but she should recover.” The medic turned to Jessar. “Lynx, my compliments in your treatment of her saturated lung tissue. A little blood-letting to get the drowning toxins out of her system, and she should be fine. If you could show me the technique you used?”
Somewhat numb at it all, the Lynx nodded.
The major smiled. “Later, medic. Can’t you see from this elf’s back that he is in need of a little treatment himself?”
“Forgive me, sir. Lynx, if you will just sit cross-legged and lean over.”
Jessar complied and looked up at the major. “What happened?”
“It worked exactly as planned.”
The prince held up a finger. “Well, not exactly. Although your plan sounded comprehensive, Jessar, tell me – did you just forget to tell us how the hostages were going to get out?”
“They were supposed to swim.”
“Ah, I see,” he nodded and twisted his head. “Well, the first elwen came up with not only a boy but an orc clinging to her. And the strange thing was, the orc had the same blindfold and tied wrists as the hostages.” The prince pointed toward the steps, from which Jessar heard guttural voices.
Jessar jerked around and regretted it as the medic’s needle jabbed his shoulder. “Sir, you must be still if I am to stitch you. Did you spend some time in the stockades?”
“Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that your back has recent scars as if you’d been whipped, Lynx.”
“That’s a long story. So, Ogador, you killed the orc?”
“He wasn’t in too much of a fighting mood, so I saved him for the elves to interrogate.”
“Okay, so then what happened?”
“Stefir stripped down, lit up his staff with his bug magnet spell, and dove in.”
“It is not a bug magnet spell, Ogador.”
“Sure. Whatever you say, Stefir. Anyway, up he comes a few minutes later with an elf lad but no staff. Then he disappears again and comes back with another boy. The mother popped up by herself just behind the wizard. The next thing I knew, we heard you call for help. Sabretha and I went to search for you.”
“I wonder where she is.”
The major said, “She took off to the west looking angry enough to chew glass. She said something about a raft.”
Three wet elves approached the major. “Sir, we’ve finished searching the cellar. We found eleven orc bodies, but no Groz. Also, no Nishar. Also, all the elves were blindfolded and had tied hands just like the one that escaped.”
The Lynx spoke up. “I forgot to mention something.”
The wizard raised a brow. “Indeed?”
“Yes, Nishar escaped out the same tunnel as did I.”
Ogador tossed up his hands. “Well, he’s gone by now.”
The major nodded at two of his troops and pointed two fingers into the forest. The two elves took off in the direction indicated.
“And what about Groz?” the major asked.
“I never heard or saw him. He must have used the tunnel before I got in the cellar. Also, Nishar betrayed me, trying to get the orcs to attack me. It was as if he didn’t know the orcs couldn’t see.”
The major nodded to another of his troops and pointed to the captive orc. The soldier went to where his friends were interrogating the orc.
“We’ll know in a moment,” the major said.
Before that moment was over, however, a gypsy emerged from the brush to the southeast. His jaw dropped in shock. In a half-aware manner, the elf sidled over to the soldiers, staring all the while at the destruction. Then he saw the surviving villagers and the Yitrava. At the sight of Vilia, he sank to his knees.
Taking pleasure in the elf’s discomfort, the Lynx approached from Ludar’s blind side. “Good day, Ludar. The orcs,” Jessar said, crossing in front of the bewildered elf, “took her—“
The gypsy fainted dead away.
Meanwhile, one of the soldiers from the interrogation returned and saluted the major. “Sir, the orc says Groz blindfolded them shortly after they retreated into the cellar. He doesn’t know where his chieftain has gone.”
“Why did they attack?”
“He says Groz made them.”
“What about the other clan of orcs?”
“He didn’t know, but they were afraid of Groz, and even the Bulk-men who got the two tribes together seemed to be under the chieftain’s control.”
“Odd, it is usually the other way around.”
Ogador requested, “Major, if I may?” When the major nodded, he asked the soldier, “How did they cross the river to cut the trees for their rafts?”
“They waited until they got close to Klapek and found a log of driftwood. Using the log, they ferried enough of them across to start the chopping. Once they built the first raft, well, the rest was only a matter of time.”
Stefir smiled. “Sometimes, it is the simple things that take you by surprise.”
The prince continued. “Why Klapek?”
“Field Marshal, sir, that’s the interesting part. The orc says Groz wanted to delay some elves on a turtle ship from reaching Almudra.”
Stefir not only arched both brows, but also placed his palm on his chest. “Well, it appears Groz has failed in that mission. If he had destroyed the rafts they used, he would have succeeded.”
The medic finished his work on Jessar’s back, fresh bandages surrounding the Lynx’s entire torso. “Lynx, sir, you must keep those wounds clean.”
“Thanks. I wish the Valkara would be around for more spearmint treatments.”
“Spearmint? What are you talking about, sir?”
“A ranger friend of ours said the spearmint would help the earlier wounds heal without scars.”
“Usually, this is not a concern with elves, but you are a half-elf. Yet, I don’t think spearmint has any particular curative properties other than its invigorating aroma.”
“Well, until recently, the sword maiden has been applying—“
At that moment, the two trackers returned, out of breath. “Major, sir, the trail just vanished, as if he’d been plucked off the earth.”
As one, they all turned to the tree where the falcons had been roosting. Sure enough, both the birds were gone. The major cried out, “Captain!”
The recently promoted leader ran forward, rendering a snappy salute. “Sir?”
“Ask all the troops if anyone remembers seeing Alakhid or saw his birds depart.”
“Yes, sir. Also, sir, the medics are ready to depart once these villagers and the Yitrava are on board.”
“Is it wise to take the villagers? The Yitrava I agree must be evacuated, but the villagers should be fine after some rest. Of course, there is no one to look after them….”
“That is my estimate, sir. We cannot afford to take them with us, and there is room for them on the sun deck if we rig a tent.”
“Very well, Captain.”
As the captain mustered the men, a work detail completed burying the dead villagers and soldiers. A second detail stacked the last orc body from the cellar onto a hill composed of his clansmen’s bodies. A swordsman poured lantern oil onto the bodies, but delayed lighting the pyre.
A moment later the reason became apparent, when a yell of pain rang out from the interrogation site. Jessar looked over in time to see a fount of blood shooting from the beast man’s jugular vein on his right side. One of the interrogators wiped a knife blade on the orc’s cape.
The yell grew silent as the blood stopped. Two of the soldiers dragged this last body to the heap, and the waiting elf dropped a flaming torch, igniting the pyre.
“Very efficient,” the prince commented.
Before his close personal experience with orcs, Jessar might have been inclined to complain, but after seeing the defiled bodies of their victims, he knew he’d lose no sleep over the death of the captive. Certainly a worse fate awaited the elwen and lads who had been in the cellar if the Border Guard hadn’t arrived in time.
That reminded Jessar of an inconsistency in the whole adventure. “This is an interesting puzzle, but one piece doesn’t quite fit.”
The wizard nodded. “Why would Nishar lead the troops here only to betray you to the orcs, Jessar?”
“Yes. It makes no sense. If he were in league with the orcs, he would be crazy to lead the major and his boys here. And if he weren’t in league with the orcs, why would he feel compelled to flee?”
The major rubbed his chin. “Yes, that is a poser. I’d love to help you solve the puzzle, but we must continue our patrol toward Jilaron, especially if I’m going to be without my medics for a few days. Good luck, gentlemen.”
Ogador shared a wrist shake with the major. “The same to you and your fine elves. May Arien guide the souls of your lost troops.”
The major faced Jessar. “That was a brilliant rescue, Lynx. If the legends are true, I shall be seeing you again. If not, may Arien bless you as well. I am honored to call you, at least for the moment, my countryman.”
“Major, I thank you, as well as your medic. You honor the West-realm steel you bear.”
The major curled two fingers in the direction of one of his swordsmen. The elf came forward, bearing a long sword and scabbard. “One last thing, Field Marshal. This blade is no match for the one you previously used, I’m sure, but please accept this. Idronar, its previous master, has taken to the Vortex. I know when he looks down upon us here on Talan in the future, he will be proud you now bear his weapon.”
The captain had the company arrayed in marching formation where the trail led off into the forest to the east. The major joined his soldiers, and the drummer sounded a marching cadence. In no time, they were gone.
“What do we do with him?” Ogador nodded toward the fainted gypsy.
“Leave him,” Jessar said, turning to the west. They angled toward the river, where Almek was maneuvering his turtle back out into the flow of the might river. “We have a long way to walk before we get to the rafts.”