Chapter 9 Part 3

The sky was a deep purple in color as the setting sun transformed the clouds into a kaleidoscope of beauty. The scene below, however, was anything but beautiful. A bonfire burned angrily, sending long tendrils of oily black smoke drifting skyward. Nearby, a young woman sat cross-legged before the flames. She swayed gently to the rhythm of beating drums played by two men seated not far away.

An older woman approached the young raven-haired maiden. The elder was dressed in a long flowing gown of many colors and wore an elaborate headdress composed of flowers and bird plumage. She carried a bowl filled with a deep blue potion, which she gave to the younger woman.

The younger woman took the concoction and drank deeply. The dark liquid ran out the sides of her mouth and down onto her light yellow tunic. Then she placed the bowl on the ground at her side and climbed to her feet.

The tempo of the music increased and the dancing youth gyrated and whirled in time as the narcotic potion settled into her system. She let the music guide her and she heard the voice of her elder as the other woman sang the words that were so ancient and powerful.

Many long moments passed as the music and song continued. The dancing woman whirled like a deverish about the bonfire until at last the flames went out in a loud pop.
A cloud of smoke mushroomed into the evening sky revealing from it’s midst a bipedal figure. Bright red skin accented the black eye sockets and wickedly curved horns rising from the midst of the eyebrows.

“With flame, song, and dance thou hast called,” it hissed with a forked tongue. “I have come.”

The elder woman threw herself prostrate before the creature. “Oh master of the lower realms,” she sang in an euphoric chant, “we have called in obedience. To grant you entrance into this world I offer that which you see before you.”

The devil ignored the woman’s words. The old woman had long ago sold her soul to his own master in trade for her power of witchcraft. She was correct in that she had summoned him out of obedience. His master had so ordered her to do the deed. It granted him with an entrance into the realm of men, that otherwise would not be possible for a dweller of the Underworld.

The devil slowly circled the young woman kneeling before him. He brushed the crone aside like the insect she was. He approved of the host he was to possess. Gender was not a true manifestation to his kind, but when dealing with the mortals of the realm of men, it became a powerful weapon. In the form of a beautiful youthful woman he would be able to take advantage of certain attributes to achieve his goals.

From behind, the devil leaned over the woman and placed his hands upon her shoulders. Then adjusting the ethereal substance of his body, he slowly knelt into the flesh of the human.

The woman’s soul resisted violently in a timeless moment as they struggled to determine mastery of the body. Though she had voluntarily accepted his domination outwardly, her soul rebelled in its attempt to survive. It was a well-kept secret that the soul of the possessed was damned to the realm of Hell. Had the young woman known it consciously, she surely would not have submitted willingly to his domination of her.

But although she had submitted, her soul knew instinctively what being possessed meant and it fought the devil’s presence even as it was devoured by the diabolical presence of the creature. The battle lasted less than a second and immediately the invading entity became master of the flesh.

The young woman stood. To those around her, she looked practically the same. None of her physical characteristics had changed, but in the eyes there was something strange. The light of life, the twinkle of childhood memories and the inherent goodness that comes with the ability to love was gone. The eyes were flat and dull, vacant. It was not something that could be defined or measured, but was instinctive.

The elderly woman had seen the process of possession before. She recognized the disorientation of the body and new inhabitant, and took measures to assist her master’s agent. With a wave of her hand, two men stepped forward and guided the young woman and her possessing devil to a hut where she could rest.

As the possessed woman was taken away, the elder addressed those who had gathered to watch the ritual. “Friends and family,” she began. “Each day our people strengthen the ties that we have with our hereditary protectors. The Spirits of the Underworld have pledged to protect us from our enemies. But to do this we must make sacrifices. Each youth who volunteers to host our protectors will be exalted at the time of our final victory.”

There was an extemporaneous outburst of cheering as the gathered observers showed their support for their protectors. The witch, for that was her profession and she was proud of it, waited for the cheering to diminish. Her people called themselves the Chira. They inhabited the region of the deep, southern lands. To the north lay the great open plains beyond which were the great cities, nearest of which was Allentown. To the south was the southern seas and the many islands therein. To the east lay the eastern seas and to the west was the vast swampland called The Grog.

Their enemies, a race of ruthless and vicious people called the Keld, existed as a collection of clans inhabiting the lands in and around The Grog. There were parts of the swamplands that were very habitable and the swamp itself formed a natural defense for the Keld.

For generations, the Keld would emerge from the wetlands and raid the Chira villages. They took children and livestock and killed all those who opposed them. Only the efforts of the Chira’s patron goddess had kept the Keld raids at a minimum, but when the gods were destroyed at Gly-ou-vogue, the Chira were without protection. And so it was that they had turned to the Spirits of the Underworld.

The Keld were strong in the lore of earth magic, the same magic that the druids used. That was why the Chira had needed divine protection. That was why they had turned to the devils and made a pact with the Underworld.

The witch left her audience to their own thoughts. She followed the path that the recently possessed younger woman had been led.

The hut was not very large. Its function was simply a place of rest and private conversation for few people. At present, it held two.

“The adjustment continues,” the young woman’s voice said in broken syllables. It was clear that the devil was still struggling to master control of its new vocal cords.

“We are to serve as best we can,” the witch answered. “Our master demands obedience.”
“Well said,” the devil agreed. “The master thanks you for making this host available on such notice.”

“It is of no consequence,” the witch stated. “The girl will be missed, but her family are faithful to our traditions.”

“That is a favorable thing to learn,” the devil decided.

The witch nodded. They were in no danger from their enemies, and she had done as her master had instructed her, but even though she was a witch, she was still human with human curiosities. “May I ask,” she ventured, “why you have come to the realm of man?”

“The master has recently acquired a relic of great power. It grants unparalleled influence in this realm. But our enemies also hold icons of power that could oppose us. It will be I, and others like me who will quietly and systematically neutralize those who can stop us. Then when we have eliminated all opposition, we shall add the realm of man to the kingdom of Hell."

Chapter 9 Part 2

Crystal dragged Dylan around like a rag doll for two days. She introduced him to dozens of strangers and showed him the mill where her family were making the blue cloth that was making them very successful. A good number of the village inhabitants were employed there. “Ever since my grandfather discovered this weave,” she told her companion, “popularity and demand for it has grown.” She picked up a strip of the cloth and pulled at it hard. “It may not be quite as strong as leather, but it’s much softer, much easier to make, and can be manufactured and sold in large amounts. It’s almost entirely made from cotton.”

Dylan and Crystal visited the blacksmith afterward where Crystal concluded some business involving the manufacture of a new kettle for the tavern. They then returned to the tavern where the end of the day had drawn a sizable crowd of patrons for the evening.
Dylan joined his master and the others at the table near the fire.

They discussed the upcoming continuation of their journey northward. Coran stated that he intended to travel on to Tycho, but that first he wanted to stop and visit his parents for at least a day. Rathe stated that he too could only afford a token visit with Gage’s parents. Kraal was more or less obligated to remain with Gage. He was, after all an employee on loan by Gage’s uncles. Crystal was adamant, however that she was going to stop at and spend a great deal of time with Gage’s parents.

That evening, Dylan ate and sat with Kraal and Rathe as the local bard sang songs and told tales. The songs were common tunes that Dylan had been hearing all his life and he joined the other in the singing.

The next day, Dylan was back under Gage’s tutelage. His assignment was an exercise in the derivation of field equations of conjuration magic. It was not a pleasant assignment as conjuration was a very volatile form of magic.

Finally, the day passed and the evening approached. Dylan retired from his lessons to the common hall of the tavern where Rathe and Kraal were again seated near the fire. Coran was in one corner talking to a young woman. The lady was all smiles and giggled annoyingly.

Dylan joined Kraal and Rathe. He had come to like the huge Minotaan. The creature possessed a very likable personality. He and Kraal were singing a tune about a young lady seamstress. The lyrics of the song involved a great deal of drinking and lewd innuendos.

At one point, a serving man arrived with two glasses and a pitcher of dark brown liquid. Dylan assumed that it was some kind of ale. The server placed the pitcher on the table along with the glasses. Without a word, or second thought, Rathe nodded and gestured at Dylan. The server responded by placing a cup before the boy.

Dylan looked at the dark liquid. “I’m not allowed to drink ale,” he informed his company.

“This isn’t ale,” Rathe told him. “It’s port.”

Kraal stifled a chuckle, but Dylan missed it. “Port?” he asked curiously. He tasted the contents of the cup. The brew was very bitter and he frowned in spite of himself. Both of his companions laughed aloud.

Dylan grinned back. He was not about to wimp out, so holding his breath, Dylan steeled himself and guzzled the drink quickly. It had a strange taste. There was no bitter bite of alcohol that he had heard about in ales. The drink was very smooth and tasted more like a medicinal potion.

When Dylan finished the drink, Rathe laughed aloud and refilled the boy’s cup. “Good job lad,” he said.

Dylan drank another cup. This time he did not hold his breath, but instead tasted the liquid. By the time he finished the second cup, he had determined that it really did not taste all that bad, but neither was it as good as juice or tea. He really did not see what all the fuss was about.

In spite of all that, he still did not object when Rathe poured yet another cup full for him. Kraal laughed and leaned close. “Boy you’d better slow down drinking that stuff.”

Dylan did not understand what the fuss was all about. He felt fine. In fact he felt better than he had in weeks. “What’s the big deal?” he asked. “I haven’t felt this good in a tong line.” Dylan paused and giggled. “Oops. I mean a long time.”

“You’re right, kid,” Rathe agreed. “There’s nothing to fear.”

“Who’s afraid?” Dylan asked with genuine bravado.

“I am,” Kraal teased. “If Gage finds out you’re getting drunk, he might start looking for a couple of heads to hang on his wall.”

There was no need to worry. After Dylan finished his third cup, Kraal and Rathe refused to give him any more much to his dismay. Dylan was feeling very very good. But after about an hour, he began to feel sleepy, and could not understand why the two non-humans kept making him drink so much water and would not let him go to bed.

“Trust me kid,” Rathe explained. “You may feel sleepy right now, but the last thing you need is to go to sleep.”

Dylan fidgeted in his seat. He needed to go to the outhouse badly. “The way you keep giving me water,” Dylan complained, “I’ll be up all night.”

“You’re going to be up all night anyway,” Kraal answered. “Whether it’s to go to the outhouse, or to get sick is up to you.”

Dylan’s memory of the rest of the night was somewhat fuzzy. He remembered a little of it. But for the most part, all he could recall were bits and pieces right up to the moment when he was finally taken to bed.

When morning finally arrived, Dylan got out of bed and immediately went to the outhouse. His head was pounding and the very thought of breakfast made him nauseous. He then dutifully reported to the commons room of the tavern as he had every morning. There he found all those who were going with them gathered.

“How is your head?” Gage asked. It was fairly evident that he was a little displeased with the previous night’s activities.

“I really don’t feel very good,” he answered. “I may be getting sick.”

“Hardly,” Gage added. “You may think so, but eventually it will pass. In the meantime, you may ride in the wagon and try to keep your breakfast down.”

At the mention of breakfast, Dylan made a face indicating that he would rather skip the meal altogether, but Gage insisted and after a few bites of the scrambled egg and ground corn, he began to realize his true hunger.

“And one more word of advice,” Coran leaned close and whispered to Dylan as he ate. “If I were you I’d think twice before letting Kraal or Rathe talk you into drinking something you have never drank before.”

Later that morning, Dylan was in the back of the wagon. His stomach was feeling quite tender, but his head had stopped hurting. Gage had made him drink so much water at breakfast that he felt like a bloated bladder.

The wagon rocked gently as they rode down the trail northward. Crystal and Gage sat on the driver’s bench while Kraal and Rathe walked behind. In the lead was Coran. His new mount was a large powerfully built stallion with a deep brown color. He wore his breastplate and mail and carried his sword lightly resting in a scabbard at the mount’s side. On the opposite side was the large shield bearing the crest of the Tycarian Guard.

Dylan’s reading assignment that day covered geographical history. He had been given a text on the migrations of men to the far west and the establishment of the colonies that would become Pandara, Haganaw, Topas, and Gramm. The text included a brief essay on the initial meetings between men and the centaurs of the Janus Valley as well as the tragic first exposure of the Minotaans to humanity. It was a meeting that resulted in a fear driven massacre and drove the Minotaans back to the isolation of their small island kingdom. It took almost three hundred years for the Minotaans to return to the mainland.

The day wore on as the wagon rocked and bumped its way along. By midday, however, they had turned onto a major highway and the ride became fairly smooth. Crystal had moved back to the main part of the wagon with Dylan and had propped herself up with a large sack of meal. Then having pulled a hood over her head to shield the sunlight, she had dozed off and was sleeping quietly.

They stopped for the night in a clearing along side the road. It was obviously a well-used place where many campfires had been built. They ate their evening meal at sunset and bedded down immediately after with Kraal, Coran and Rathe sharing the watch duties.
The next morning, Dylan awoke early. He helped himself to Kraal’s broth and potato breakfast before anyone else awoke.

The day was dark and dreary. Rain threatened all morning long. The clouds teased them like a barnyard bully, never letting them hope for a dry day, and yet never breaking the suspense by beginning the downpour to come.

It was near the end of the day when the rains began. It announced itself as a long misty drizzle about an hour before dark, and they once again pulled off the road and made their camp. At least, to Dylan’s relief, they had the tents up before the skies opened and the floods came pouring down.

The rain continued for two more days and the travel was slower as a result. By the end of the second day, though, the clouds broke in the far west and the afternoon sunlight streamed from behind the peaks of the Orkon mountain range.

That evening, Dylan sat up late with Rathe. The huge creature told him of the land of Minota, and how his father had long ago been involved in the great war of the God Eater.
Dylan listened well into the night, long after he and Rathe were the only ones awake. But eventually he grew sleepy and finally bade the dark giant a good night and turned in.

Dylan slept fitfully. There was a rock beneath his bedroll, and the previous days of hard rain had made one of his blankets damp. He drifted in and out of sleep, only occasionally glancing out the tent opening at the fire.

He was not sure what it was, but at one point something woke him with a deep chill. He looked out at the fire to see Kraal feeding more wood to the pyre.

The uncomfortable chill wavered briefly before relenting. Then just as it was about to disappear, it sharply returned with enough shock to cause him to sit upright in alarm. He was not sure what it was, but he felt that something was terribly wrong.

Looking once again outside the tent, he saw a figure emerge from the shadows across the encampment. At first he thought it was Coran coming to relieve Kraal, but the centaur did not seem to see him. Then as the figure circled the edge of the campfire’s light, Dylan knew that it was not the warrior, but something else. What ever it was, it was not solid. He could partially see through it and it did not walk, but seemed to glide across the ground.

Dylan struggled to rise. He was entangled in his blanket and could not get loose, but he could shout. “Kraal!”

The centaur turned at his shout. He was about to take a step when the ghostly figure reached out from the shadow and touched him. The Janusian suddenly went rigid. Kraal’s mouth opened in a noiseless cry of anguish and horror as the spectral being gripped the centaur’s neck and head.

Dylan heard the response to his shout. Coran’s voice also could be heard. “Specters! Everyone to the fire!”

Dylan renewed his struggle with the blanket. He could hear the camp struggling to wake itself, all the while still hypnotically watching Kraal writhe in pain and dread. He saw the Janusian that he had come to like wither and shrink before his very eyes.

A flash to the left erupted lighting the entire campsite. He could hear his master casting another spell as the bright light seemed to have an effect on the specter that had been attacking Kraal.

Coran came into view waving his sword. The blade shimmered with a light of its own. Dylan had heard of the power of magic swords, but it was the first one he had ever seen.
The blanket finally released him and Dylan crawled in a fast scamper from the tent. He sprinted towards the melee as Coran drove the specter back from the fallen Kraal.

Gage rushed towards him as did Crystal and Rathe. They all took up positions near the fire facing the darkness beyond.

There in the night several more of the incorporeal forms drifted. “Can we hold them off?” Crystal asked.

“How many are there?” Rathe added.

“I count six on this side,” Coran said. He was immediately to Dylan’s left.

“Five over here,” Gage added. “That is too many. How is Kraal?”

Coran glanced briefly down at his feet and knelt while keeping watch at the circling specters. He quickly stood again and grunted. “Kraal’s dead.”

Dylan felt himself go cold again. He was unsure what to think. Kraal had been such a fun person to travel with. He had been a companion, and now he was dead. Dylan had never seen anyone die in the midst of combat before. He stared long at the corpse. Coran stood to his side and had calmly announced the Janusian dead. It was an emotional twist that completely threw the youth.

“I do not think I have magic that can harm them,” Gage said. “Light makes them uncomfortable, but only your sword will actually harm them.”

Coran swore. “There’re too many of them for me to fight alone.”

“I am going to call father,” Gage decided.

Coran was silent for a moment. “Of course you’re right. I hate to do it, but we don’t have a choice. We either call father or Kraal will have company.”

“Can he get here in time?” Rathe asked. For all his bullish strength, the dark giant was helpless against foes such as the ones he faced now.

Dylan listened grimly. He was terrified with the ghostly creatures that were drifting around them. The specters were slowly circling them like a pack of hungry wolves toying with them, inciting terror in their victims.

“For goodness sake,” Crystal urged, “hurry, Gage!”

“Stay calm,” Coran urged. “They partially feed on fear. They’ll try to make you as scared as possible before moving in for the kill.” Coran lunged as he spoke. The blow did no harm to its target, as the specter was out of reach, but the magic aura of the sword did force the specter to give a bit of ground and back off a bit.

Coran knew that it was just a matter of time before the specters rushed them. They needed help soon. “Hurry Gage,” he hissed over his shoulder.

Dylan watched his master. The elven mage closed his eyes. His brows furrowed in concentration. Coran had a similar expression on his face as well.

For a long moment there was nothing. There was no sound nor sign that Gage nor his brother were successful. Then as the host of phantasms began to close in upon them, they announced the commencement of their attack with a deep resonating moan.

At one point, one of them passed close enough to Dylan that he could have reached out and touched the ghostly image. He was intrigued in the concept that something that he could see through could do him harm.

It was the chilling image of Kraal, lying on his side, with his mouth open and eyes wide that stayed his hand.

“Arrh!” There was a grunt to his side, and Dylan saw the huge Minotaan retreating from an advancing Specter. Rathe was holding his arm protectively. The large axe that he had brandished fell useless to the ground.

“Mnerach vortant ia salit!” Rathe’s curse was in his native language. He ducked and circled around the fire with the specter lazily in pursuit.

There was a sharp gasp, and Dylan saw his master fall to his knees. A specter hovered nearby. It grinned with vacant blank eyes. Then it reached out to grab the mage again.

Gage was spared a second attack from the specter by Coran’s intervention. The warrior, sword in hand attacked. And although the glowing blade passed through the incorporeal form with no apparent effort, the specter did react. It violently backed away clawing at the air before it.

Dylan felt a hand grab his shoulder. He jerked reflexively until he saw that it was Crystal. She pulled him close, protectively. “Hang in there,” she whispered. “Help’s on the way.”

In spite of Crystal’s assurances, the specters continued to close in on them. Coran interposed himself and the magic of his blade between the specters and Crystal and Dylan.

Gage cast another spell. In rapid succession, nine bolts of yellow light leapt from his pointed finger and harassed the specters. The creatures reacted angrily and gave the mage plenty of room, but appeared physically unhurt.

Rathe stood close to the mage’s back. His own weapon was useless, so he was taking refuge in the vicinity of Gage. The specters whirled faster around them. Their groaning had increased in pitch and volume as they smelled the fear and life energy of their intended victims.

“We can’t hold out much longer,” Coran exclaimed through clenched teeth. He grunted as he lunged at another specter. He knew that the metal of the blade was useless against the creature, but the enchantment within did harm it somewhat. Unfortunately, it was only a minor enchantment and was little more than a deterrent to the undead being.

“What do we do?” Crystal asked. She was clearly frightened. “Gage’s getting tired, and you can’t hold them off forever with that sword.”

Without warning, the flames of the fire turned bright blue. The entire camp was bathed in a soft light and from a thicket of bushes a giant beast crashed. The thing was wolf-like, but almost as big as a horse. Dylan had heard of such monsters. They were called coyodiaks.
A man immediately followed the coyodiak. He was much shorter than Coran, but a little taller than Gage. He had gray hair and wore leather clothing that was colored in shades of green and brown.

The specters took notice of the newcomer. They abandoned their siege of the campers and all attacked the newcomer en masse. Like bees they swarmed after the man, who calmly drew his own sword and spoke loudly in a language that Dylan had never heard before.

One specter attacked the man. It grabbed at him just as Dylan had seen it attack Kraal. But instead of falling, the intended victim reached out and swatted the specter away as if it were nothing more than a mere nuisance.

Enraged, all the other specters fell upon the man, covering him in a frenzy of ghostly motion.

Again the man spoke, and his voice rolled like thunder. Then there was a flash of bright light, and when the glare of the light faded, the specters were all gone. Only the man and the huge coyodiak remained.

Crystal sighed and released her protective hold on Dylan.

Rathe also relaxed visibly. He joined Crystal and Dylan while Coran and Gage approached the newcomer. “Well,” Rathe grunted. “I guess that’s yet another story of the Forester that can be told around campfires.”

“The Forester?” Dylan asked. He re-examined the man. The stories he had heard once again surfaced in his memory. The giant coyodiak companion and the unconquerable power and magic of the legend were clear.

“It’s a family secret,” Crystal advised him. “Gage and Coran are the sons of The Forester. It’s something that you must never tell anyone.”

“Why not?” Dylan wanted to know. To him it would be fantastic to be able to say that his master’s father was the legendary Forester.

“There are many reasons,” Rathe offered. “I’m sure that you can imagine the number and power of enemies that someone like The Forester makes. They might try to harm Gage or Coran as a way to attack The Forester.”

“Also” Crystal added, “Coran and Gage would always be treated differently than they deserved because of who their father is. That’s not what they want. They want to be free to make their own names in the world.”

Dylan understood. “I won’t tell,” he promised, though he wished that he could. He would like to have seen Cindy’s reaction to learn just who their master had been.

The fight was over and Crystal, Rathe and Dylan joined the Coran, Gage and their father around the body of their fallen comrade. “Isn’t there anything you can do for him?” Crystal asked.

The Forester knelt and placed a hand on Kraal’s body. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “He’s already dead. It isn’t a physical death, but a spiritual death. That’s how specters kill. If he’d died because of an injury, then it might be different. All we can do now is burn the body to spare his soul the horror of becoming one of the undead and the ensuing condemnation to the realms of Hell.”

Dylan felt both alarmed and saddened. Surely, he thought, the Forester if anyone could have saved Kraal. Yet this man was proclaiming that the best thing they could do for Kraal was to burn his body.

The Forester knelt at the centaur’s side and laid a hand on the pale cheek of the fallen Janusian. “I’m sorry, my friend. Rest in peace.” And having said that, he lifted Kraal’s body.

Kraal was fully grown. He had the torso, head and arms of a man, but the lower body of a horse. He must have weighed hundreds of pounds, and yet The Forester lifted him effortlessly, then gently laid the body on the lazily flickering blue flames of the fire. It almost seemed that he should have been burned, but the man’s arms were unscathed as he withdrew them from the fire.

“Let us leave this place,” he said to those he had rescued. “No person should have to experience the smell of a burning friend.”

The man approached and accepted a hug from Crystal. Then he clasped hands with Rathe and finally turned his attention to Dylan. The boy was petrified at being addressed by a living legend.

The Forester’s eyes were solid yellow, without pupils and it was at that moment that Dylan remembered his presence at the Academy when Gage had been promoted to the rank of master.

“For those of us who have yet to prove their trustworthiness,” he said. “I fear that the way home must remain secret.”

Dylan watched transfixed as The Forester, the legendary guardian of the Great Deep reached out and touched his forehead.

Chapter 9 Part 1

Danger in the Dark

Fortunately Gage’s injury was not severe. With Kraal’s assistance, Dylan gathered the remains of their belongings on the shore.

“The sun has risen,” Kraal assured him. “They won’t return until nightfall, and we’ll be long gone by then.”

Gage rubbed his head. He was still groggy, but he had regained consciousness from the magical attack in time to see his apprentice successfully cast the sleep spell. “Dylan,” he called to the boy.

Dylan approached his master and knelt where the mage was sitting. “How are you, master?”

Gage smiled and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I am well. The magic missiles were more painful than anything else. I was not without defenses.” The mage appraised the youth. Dylan was swaying slightly. The drain of the spell was hitting him harder than he was openly showing. The boy had pride and courage.

“You did very well,” Gage told him. “You may have very well saved all our lives. I am proud of you.”

Dylan took the praise humbly. Privately he had been thrilled that the spell had functioned so well and that it had been his magic that had cast it. At the time, though, he had simply been terrified and acted in desperation.

Coran’s injuries, were somewhat more severe, and Gage tended his brother’s hurts as best as he could given their lack of supplies and the fact that they were on foot. For the most part, Coran rode on Kraal’s back. The centaur also was showing signs of minor injury, but said nothing.

“Where to?” Gage asked as he conferred with the Janusian.

“Gryden Creek isn’t too far away,” Kraal suggested. “We can make that by tomorrow night. Calista and her family’re still living there. We should be able to get resupplied there, and get Coran patched up.”

They stopped early. Coran’s wounds were serious, but his need for rest was even more pressing. His breathing was labored, and his skin felt clammy. He drifted in and out of consciousness with increasing frequency.

“If we march late into the night, his health will deteriorate more rapidly. The rest will help him retain a little of his strength for tomorrow. When we get to Gryden Creek, we will find help.”

Dylan felt a sense of belonging that night and the next day. He did more than just respond to his master’s orders or tend to his regular chores. He went out of his way to assume the responsibility for other things to lighten the load placed on Kraal, Gage and especially Coran.

When morning arrived, the warrior looked a little better, but was still in very bad shape. Kraal confided to the apprentice that wounds inflicted by the undead would not heal naturally. Only a priest or healer could bind Coran’s wounds, and if left unchecked, the warrior would grow weaker and weaker until he eventually died. Then with the setting of the sun, Coran would arise as a vampire himself.

The very thought of Coran coming after him as a vampire sent chills up Dylan’s spine.

“That’s terrible,” he proclaimed. “But at least he’d be alive, wouldn’t he?”

“Not really,” Gage answered. “Being undead is very similar to being possessed. When an undead body arises, it is taken over by a minor demon or devil. They do not have the power to control a living body as the greater demons and devils do. So they take over a dead body and use it. Coran’s spirit would be taken to Hell or the Abyss and enslaved there until his undead body was destroyed.” The mage sighed. “For the love of my brother, one of us, me, my uncles or my father, would have to kill him to set his soul free.”

“I don’t foresee that as being a problem,” Kraal stated. “We’re not far from a village that has friends. Once there, we can get help for him and he’s not in any immediate danger of dying.”

“I’d always heard that vampires bit their victims,” Dylan questioned. He recollected the tales told late at night in the common house on the plantation.

“They bite to feed,” Gage told him. “It kills faster, but is not the only way that they can kill. They can use magic or they claw with talon like hands.”

Dylan noted Coran, slumped in a seated position on Kraal’s back. The warrior was deathly pale. He swayed wearily with each passing moment.

The hours and miles both passed slowly, but by mid afternoon, they arrived at their destination. Gryden Creek was a good sized village. Several large buildings were huddled near an aqueduct where water from the flue fed several waterwheels and applied power to some hidden workings within.

“The mills are owned by Calista’s father,” Gage told his student. “They manufacture a very strong form of fabric here.”

“That would be Crystal’s grandfather?”

“Yes,” Gage answered. “Crystal and her mother manage a tavern near the edge of town, near the temple.”

They located the tavern with no problems, and when they helped the terribly weakened Coran through the door, Crystal immediately dropped an arm load of dirty drinking vessels and rushed over to them.

“What happened,” she demanded.

“We were attacked by vampires in a village about two days walk from here. We lost our mounts and wagon. Coran took some serious damage in the battle.” Gage helped Kraal sit the groggy warrior on a bench. Coran slumped forward onto the table. “Is your father around?”

“No,” Crystal answered. “He’s in Keron, but there are several clerics at the temple. They should be able to heal these wounds.” She helped Coran to his feet. “Why didn’t you call your father? He could’ve cured this.”

“We do not summon father unless it is a matter of life and death,” Gage told her.
Leaving Kraal at the tavern, they walked Coran outside and down the street to the temple. It was a well-kept building with fresh paint and beautiful beds of multicolored flowers. There were two young men diligently tending the landscaping. They hummed in unison with each other and paid little attention to the approaching party.

Crystal opened the foyer door and led Coran and the others through. “Those monks are brothers of The Hive,” she told them. “They serve here and help out with the upkeep of the temple. Father likes The Hive.”

Crystal closed the door behind them and then picked up a small striker and rang a bell that was displayed on a table. The chime sounded with a high pitch.

Several seconds later, the heavy door to the sanctuary opened and a middle-aged man with a hint of gray at the crest of his hair stepped into the foyer. “May the blessings of the Creator be upon you all,” he greeted them with a bow.

Gage, and Crystal did likewise. Dylan mimicked his master.

“Father Sneva,” Crystal began. “We have a traveler who was injured in battle with the undead. We seek the divine healing power of the Creator to restore his health.”

“The healing hand of the Creator is given freely to those who work in His name. If it be His will, thy comrade will be healed.” The priest stepped aside and beckoned them to enter the sanctuary.

Dylan had been schooled in the basic structure of the cleric system. Theirs was a similar method of training as were the mages, but the clergy emphasized faith, obedience and meditation instead of the magi method of knowledge, study and research.

Down the rows of benches where the faithful would sit to hear the sermons, the priest led them. Near the front was an altar where an assortment of symbolic items was arranged amidst a bed of flowers.

The priest knelt briefly as he passed before the altar. Crystal and Gage did likewise and Dylan again mimicked his master’s movements. He had not been schooled in the ritual of the church, so when in doubt, he relied upon the actions of the others to avoid giving insult.

The priest walked around behind the altar and took a single flower from the altar top. He kissed the blossom and then slowly caressed Coran’s forehead with it. Then he lay the flower back upon the altar.

Beside the altar was a podium upon which a large book lay. The priest opened the book and read several lines of the text aloud in an unfamiliar tongue. Then he again reached out and placed his hand upon Coran’s chest.

The temple interior became silent. The light in the room grew and the fragrance of the flowers was replaced with that of a freshly fallen rain.

Coran inhaled sharply and jerked his body erect. Then he blinked and looked around. “What happened?”

“His will be done,” the priest chanted as he turned back toward the altar and began to give thanks.

Coran rubbed his head and yawned. “I remember the village and the vampires, but not much after that.”

“Do you remember making a stand in the shallows of that river?” Gage asked.

“No,” Coran admitted.

Gage chuckled. “That is just as well then.” He turned to the priest. “We thank you for your aid.”

“Go in peace,” the priest replied with outstretched hands. “As you seek so shall you find.”
Crystal led them out of the temple. As the outer doors closed behind her, she sighed.

“The father can be a little stuffy at times,” she said. “He has a good heart, but sometimes he takes his position a little too seriously.”

Crystal led them all back to the tavern. Coran immediately ordered a cup of ale as he sat at the table nearest the fire.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Crystal scolded him. “You’ve just undergone a divine healing and you’re not about to drink tonight.”

Gage laughed. “Sorry, brother mine, but she is right. You would be drunk before you finished the first cup.”

“All the more reason to have one then,” Coran objected with a grin. “I can get one heck of a buzz without going broke to do it.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Crystal told him.

Dylan sat next to the warrior. Gage joined them. “Where’s Kraal,” Coran asked.

“He is around somewhere,” Gage answered. “He may have gone to the stables to try and locate more mounts. Your horse was killed in the fight.”

Coran closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I’ll miss that animal. He was a good friend.”

“He went down fighting,” Gage said.

Crystal returned with a cup of wine and two cups of water. The wine she gave to Gage. “Mother’ll be so glad to see you.”

“Where is she?” Coran asked.

“She’s at the mill with grandfather. They’re thinking about starting another mill up in Seron.”

“Are things going that well?” Gage asked.

“As of last year,” Crystal explained, “we’re officially rich.”

“Rich?”

“Rich enough that grandfather could buy himself a barony with Tycho,” she answered.

“I didn’t know that nobility could be bought or sold,” Dylan commented.

“Only baronies can be bought,” Gage replied. “Higher rankings can only bestowed by a royal order from the king and even then a generation must pass before a purchased barony can be elevated to the rank of count.”

“How long’ll you be visiting,” Crystal asked.

“A few days, I suppose,” Gage answered. “We want Coran to have time to recover fully before setting out again. We are headed up to see mother and father before pressing onward to Tycho. I am going to do some research there and Dylan, here is going to help me.”

“Well be careful on the road,” Crystal sighed. “There has been talk of attacks between here and Tycho.”

“Bandits?” Coran asked. “I thought the Tycarian Militia had thinned that rabble out.”

Coran’s tone was full of frustrations. As an officer in that paramilitary unit, he had taken a great deal of pride in the lack of rogue activity on the highways between villages under Tycarian protection.

“Actually it’s not bandits that’re causing trouble,” Crystal objected, “From what I hear it’s mostly zombies, skeletons and ghouls.”

“More undead?” Coran asked amazed.

“They’re crawling out of the woodwork,” Crystal confirmed. “And it’s driving your father crazy. Even he can’t cover the entire region.”

“There has never been an undead problem in this part of the world,” Gage complained. “Now there are vampires, skeletons, zombies and ghouls in abundance.”

“And devils,” Dylan added.

“What?” Gage asked at the interruption.

“When we visited Keron, Crystal’s father received a visitor who reported the appearance of devils in the Southlands,” Dylan explained.

“Dylan’s right,” Crystal agreed. “I remember that.”

“This is moving beyond the realm of coincidence,” Coran noted. “Is father aware of all these appearances?”

“I’m sure that he’s aware of those in the vicinity,” Crystal answered. “I can guarantee he doesn’t know about the village of vampires or else he would’ve done something about it already. And, I doubt he’s heard of the devils in the southlands.”

“I will fill him in when I see him,” Gage decided. “Just as soon as Coran is back to traveling strength, we will head on up that way.”

“I think I’ll go with you,” Crystal offered. “I haven’t seen your folks in a long time. Rathe probably will want to go too.”

“Rathe? Is he here too?” Coran asked.

“He’s been here for a few weeks. He was about to go back up to Tycho soon. Mr. Thundersledge has the freighter that Rathe is first mate on in dry dock getting refitted. Rathe came down to visit until the ship’s ready to run again.”

“Well, between the six of us we should be safe enough,” Coran decided. “Rathe can fight well enough. So we could leave earlier if you want to.”

“No,” Gage objected. “There is no rush. Let us wait a few days.”

Dylan found himself in the company of Crystal for the most part of the next two days. Gage studied and sat with Coran while Kraal and Rathe, a Minotaan, drank heavily at the tavern. Just as Dylan’s first exposure to the centaur had been quite an experience, so too was his introduction to the Minotaan. Rathe was almost ten feet in height and just as powerfully built. The creature’s thighs were each the size of Dylan’s own waist. His body was a very deep red, almost black, in color, and his head very closely resembled that of a bull. The only exception was that the nostrils were slightly smaller and the skull was a bit wider allowing both eyes to face forward. Two shiny black horns curled upward and came to sharp well-groomed points.

The Minotaan greeted Dylan with a smile and a laugh that shook the room. Kraal and he tempted the boy with an offer of wine, but Crystal would not hear of it and chastised the huge pair to great lengths. Her comparatively tiny frame stood on a stool shaking her finger at them with the other hand on her hip, while yelling at the top of her lungs. The scene had Coran laughing uncontrollably in spite of his injuries and after several moments, she turned a cool eye to him as well. The warrior went silent and resumed studying the bottom of the bowl of soup that he had been eating.

Chapter 8 Part 3

It was several hours later when Dylan awoke. Coran was still awake, but the others were asleep. Dylan got up and excused himself to go out doors to take care of bodily needs. Coran nodded as he passed.

Dylan stepped out into the half-light of the twin moons. A bank of clouds was rolling in and the moons were partially obscured. He stepped around the corner of the building and commenced to take care of his business.

It was while engaged in that activity that he began to sense the oppressive weight on his mind. Though he could see nothing and had no reason to think that anyone was nearby, Dylan encountered the sensation that strange alien eyes were upon him.

The smoke poured steadily from the chimney and drifted through the trees like a ribbon of hazy gray in the wind. The night was silent and the air felt still even though a breeze filled the night.

Panic began to build within Dylan’s breath as he finished his business and hurried back into the building. As he entered, Coran noted his anxiety.

“Are you ok?” the tall dark warrior asked.

“Yeah,” Dylan answered. “It’s just very creepy out there tonight.”

Coran smiled. “I suppose so. But don’t worry, I’m keeping watch.” Somehow that reassurance made Dylan feel much better. He really did not know Coran that well, but he trusted Gage, Coran’s brother, completely. Dylan returned to his bedding and went back to sleep.

A couple of hours later, Dylan woke again. Kraal was keeping watch and poking at the fire. He smiled as Dylan lifted his head. Dylan returned the smile and was about to lay back down when the strange feeling fell over him again. He glanced nervously around the room. His chief concerns were the door, the broken window, and the darkened stairway that led up into the inn.

Kraal did not miss Dylan’s start, and casually glanced about the room. But only Dylan, from his angle, could see the shadow drifting like a night mist through the broken window. In a dreamlike state, Dylan watched as the mist floated in and hovered momentarily before it began to take shape and solidify.

They would deduce later that Dylan was already under the hypnotic affect that their visitors often used to mesmerize their victims, but at that moment, Dylan simply stared mutely as the pale creatures took form. They looked like people. There were three of them, with sickly white flesh and vacant eyes. As soon as the first one had fully formed from the dark cloud, it reached out with a clawed hand toward Kraal.

By some unknown means, whether by luck, or by some inner strength, Dylan momentarily broke free of the spelled state he was in long enough to raise a weak alarm.
Weak as it was, the alarm was enough to alert Kraal who immediately jumped out of reach of the hooked claw that had tried to grab him.

The creature stared with eyes now filled with burning hunger and hatred at Kraal then at Dylan. The other two creatures had formed, and were joining the first while Kraal had awakened Gage and Coran.

The monster that had attempted to kill Kraal stared at Dylan. The awful presence settled upon the boy like the stinking cold of a slaughterhouse. Dylan gazed back, transfixed with horror as the unholy mouth opened to reveal the dagger like teeth, fangs which could pierce flesh effortlessly.

“Vampires!” Coran’s voice broke the trance, snapping Dylan back to reality. In one smooth motion, the warrior drew his sword and placed himself between the nearest creature and the boy. The creature that had been stalking towards the entranced youth pulled up short as the sword came up.

Gage also jumped to his feet. “Kraal, get the team ready. We ride immediately!” The centaur used the power of his equine body to leap across half the room to the door. With his rear pair of legs, he bucked and blasted the door from its hinges. Splinters went flying into the night beyond. Then the Janusian turned and bolted outside.

Gage grabbed Dylan by the shoulder and steered the boy toward the door. The three creatures hissed angrily and Dylan heard the whoosh and thunking sound of a sword striking flesh.

“Quickly,” Coran barked. “I can’t hold them long.”

“Outside,” Gage instructed his charge. “Go to Kraal, now!”

Dylan sprinted out the door, only narrowly missing an outreached claw as he passed.
Not knowing what occurred behind him, he scanned frantically for the centaur.

“Here, boy,” Kraal called to him from the wagon. He was tossing a set of bags over his body and reaching for more supplies from the wagon. Nearby Coran’s mount was also standing with a fair amount of baggage aboard.

“We haven’t the time to hitch the team. We can only take what’s important and escape as best we can. Help me get the things that’re needed.”

Dylan quickly scrambled into the wagon and began grabbing the things that he knew were important to his master. He, himself, did not have anything of value that they had brought with them.

Coran burst through the door with Gage right behind him. The mage turned quickly and made a gesture hidden from Dylan’s view. Immediately the interior of the tavern was bathed in the bright orange glow of an inferno.

Up the street, in the fire’s light, Dylan noted a multitude of the same kind of creatures slowly plodding towards them from the other buildings.

Gage retreated and helped Coran as the warrior, showing a blood soaked sword arm staggered to his horse. With Gage’s help, the warrior was mounted and with a swoop of strong arms, Kraal lifted Dylan up and placed him behind Coran.

“You will have to help him,” Gage told his apprentice. “He has been hurt badly and may lose consciousness.”

Gage checked the wagon to make sure they had not left anything of import behind, then vaulted upon Kraal’s back. The centaur broke into a trot with Coran’s steed close behind. In their wake they left the abandoned wagon and mules to the ravenous hunger of the undead predators that were infesting the town.

As soon as they were sure of the security of the riders and cargo, Kraal increased his pace as did Coran’s horse. Within moments they were out of the town, but not safe. The dark misty shadow that had formed the vampires in the tavern swirled around them as they rode.

Gage reassured his apprentice that in the mist form, the vampires could not harm him nor could they out run the horses. As long as they kept moving, they would be able to avoid danger.

But laden horses tire, whereas a floating mist does not, so it was not long before Kraal and Coran’s mount began to slow down. Gage became alarmed as the more rapid mists passed them by. It was obvious that they were moving ahead of them to resume their solid forms and attack.

“We have to change direction,” Coran ordered as they crossed an animal path. “I think this way leads to the river.”

“It appears that they are setting up an ambush ahead of us,” Gage agreed. He directed Kraal to follow the animal path. And Coran’s horse followed.

Dylan held tightly to Coran. The tall man coughed harshly several times and was beginning to sway in the saddle, but he kept his composure and would not give in to the fatigue and blood loss.

The forest abruptly burst forth with a wailing full of rage. Kraal claimed that it was the vampires just starting to realize that they had changed direction. “Did anyone get an idea of how many there were?”

“No,” Gage answered. “There were only the three in the tavern, but I saw others in the village and more than twelve passed us back there trying to get ahead of us.”

“How many’d you kill with that spell in the tavern,” Kraal asked between pants. The hard work of carrying Gage and luggage were wearing on him.

“None,” Gage told him. “Vampires are very tough. A little fire is hardly enough to kill them.”

“Can they catch us?” Dylan asked. The fear had crept in his voice. They had been fleeing for over an hour and he could feel the sweat on Coran’s mount with his legs.

“Eventually,” Gage admitted. “But we are very close to sunrise and vampires fear the sun. If we can stay away from them a little longer, they will most likely retreat and we can get away from them.”

Several moments later they broke from the denser forest at the bank of a river. Unfortunately they emerged at a bluff with an almost ten foot drop straight down into the deepest part of the water.

Kraal turned and followed the stream up river, away from the village, looking for a place to ford the waters. Though they could hear the howling and shrieking as the vampires pursued and searched, they still maintained a steady and quiet pace.

By the time they had rounded the bend, and the bluff gave way to a broad sand bar, the sky had started to brighten with the promise of approaching dawn.

Kraal led them out onto the sand and toward the quiet water. From their left, six of the vampires emerged from the forest.

“Hurry,” Gage urged. “Get into the water!”

Coran urged his horse deeply into the current with Kraal right beside him. The horse was about four feet deep in the gently flowing current when Gage called a halt. Behind them the vampires gathered at the edge of the water.

“I addition to sunlight,” Gage explained. “They do not like the purity of running water.”

“So we are safe?” Dylan asked.

“Temporarily,” Coran coughed. “Vampires often are led by a leader who can use magic. If that’s the case here, he could attack us and there’s very little that we could do. Gage can try to defend us for a while, but eventually we’ll be overwhelmed.”

The vampires groaned and wailed as their prey lingered just out of their reach. Then the small crowd of undead parted to admit a seventh member. This one seemed more coherent and less brutal. His eyes held intelligence.

The vampiric mage raised its hands and hummed a long loud groan. The noise was followed by a low buzzing sound as thousands of tiny insects emerged from the forest winging out over the waters. The swarm descended upon them like a living fog, all intent of delivering lethal stings.

“Stay together,” Gage urged. The mage was weaving a spell of his own. The swarm dove towards them only to be rejected by a dimly shimmering light surrounding them all. The shielding spell provided a temporary defense, but as the insects were turned aside, each one drained the shield a bit more. The sheer number of them was weakening the shield rapidly.

The lead vampire was not satisfied to let the insect swarm carry out the attack. While they were watching Gage’s shield collapse around them, he cast another spell.

Four blips of pale yellow light shot from the vampire’s eyes and flailed into Gage. The mage was thrown from Kraal’s back, and if not for the centaur’s quick reaction would have fallen unconscious under the water and drowned.

It was at that same time that the shield that Gage had erected finally collapsed. The insects attacked with renewed vengeance. Their closest target was Dylan, Coran, and the warrior’s horse. Coran, still conscious and coherent, threw himself off the horse and into the water, dragging Dylan with him. They both went underwater for a few moments.

When he resurfaced, Dylan saw that Coran’s steed was covered with the stinging insects. The animal cried in pain and agony as thousands of venomous stingers inflicted deadly pain. The animal thrashed and jumped trying to shake loose its attackers, taking it farther away from Dylan and Coran with each second.

Within moments, the poor creature succumbed and went silent as it slid into the gentle current and beneath the surface. The insects again took to the air seeking another victim.
What happened then would forever be in Dylan’s memory. It happened as if a dream.

Dylan felt his entire body become very calm and alert. The whole world seemed to move in slow motion. As the swarm of killer insects approached Coran and himself hungrily, Dylan raised his left hand and spread his four fingers and thumb widely. The he spoke the spell his master had taught him. “Sleep,” he ordered.

Instantly every last one of the insects went dormant and fell into the water. On the shore, the lead vampire screamed in outrage. But instead of retaliating, he turned to mist and drifted back into the dark wood.

Almost immediately the sun crested the horizon.

Chapter 8 Part 2

Three days passed as they worked their way northward deeper into the countryside. Coran amused Dylan with tales of brigands and skirmishes with outlaw bands in the northeastern parts. It helped the time and leagues seem not so boring.

“With the fall of the old Aspberg,” Coran added, “only Freon and far away Gramm give haven to the openly evil in this world.”

“Isn’t there a southern city that also accepts immoral citizenry?” Kraal asked from the team where he was pouring water into a bucket.

“I have heard that Barcshall Bog is open to pirates and slavers,” Coran admitted, “but I have never heard it from someone who has actually been there.”

“Barcshall Bog is just off the southern coast,” Gage pointed out. “Only seafarers routinely visit that place. You would probably have to go to Keron or Pandara to meet someone from there.”

The conversation went on as they sat around a thick set of trees one midafternoon. Kraal was watering the animals, while the others were resting in the shade. It was at that point that Kraal stopped what he was doing and sniffed the air nervously.

Coran noticed and immediately became alert, knowing that the Janusian had sharper senses in certain areas. “What is it Kraal?”

The centaur sniffed again as did Coran’s horse. The animal snorted anxiously. “Smoke,” Kraal answered.

“Someone may be setting up a camp,” Dylan suggested.

“Perhaps,” Kraal agreed. “On the other hand, what I smell is burning grass and leaves as well as wood.”

“That is not a good thing,” Gage proclaimed as he began to pack his belongings with haste.

“Let’s get back on the road,” Coran agreed as he went to his horse. “If there’s a fire in the woods, I’d like to get north of it before it cuts us off. This trail isn’t a very good fire break.”
By the time Dylan and Gage were in the wagon, the road ahead of them had become hazy and even Dylan could smell the smoke on the gentle breeze.

“This wind’s going to make things worse,” Kraal informed them. “It’ll spread the fire.”

“Can you keep the animals from getting spooked?” Gage asked.

“I think so, but if they see flames, I won’t be able to keep them from bolting.” Kraal took the team by the lead in one hand and murmured soothing words to the animals.

Within a few moments the road became thick with smoke, and the team leading the wagon was becoming very difficult for the Janusian to control. Even Coran’s mount, a trained animal, was agitated.

The crackling sound of a roaring fire could be heard to the west of the road, and the gentle breeze was blowing the smoke across their path. The visibility was getting worse and the fire was horribly close. Small animals, normally afraid of people, were crossing the road in reckless terror.

Kraal led the team as rapidly as he could until they came to a wide stream and bridge. The bridge was out due to a fallen tree and the stream bed was obviously too rocky and treacherous for the wagon.

“If memory serves,” Kraal suggested, “there’s a small village downstream a bit. They should have a ford there.”

“What of the fire?” Dylan asked.

Coran nodded to the bridge. “Once we get across the river, we should be safe enough.”

“Okay Kraal,” Gage decided. “Lead on.”

Dylan rode nervously. He glanced over his shoulder often looking for the tell tale signs of the pursuing fire, but as they moved on the cause of concern fell farther behind them until only a wisp of the odor was carried on the wind.

When they reached the ford of the river, they saw the village nestled against the opposite shore. “Well, at least the village should be safe from the fire,” Gage stated.

“Unless the flames jump the river.” Coran sounded cynical.

“That shouldn’t happen,” Kraal offered.

“The fire shouldn’t have started to begin with,” Coran explained. “The vegetation here isn’t dry. That fire must have started with help.”

“Well let us not wait on it to get here,” Gage decided. “We must first cross the river and then we can talk about the fire.”

Kraal urged the animals across the shallow waters with very little difficulty. But once on the opposite shore, the team began to stamp wildly as did Coran’s horse.

“What is wrong,” Gage asked as the wagon rocked beneath him.

“They’re scared,” Kraal stated as he glanced around curiously. “I don’t understand it.”
Dylan along with the others surveyed the village. The first impression was that it was a pleasant, quiet village. Then it became apparent why it was so quiet. There were no people.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Coran muttered as he fingered the hilt of his sword.

“They may all be out trying to fight the fire,” Kraal suggested.

“I think we would have passed some of them on that trail we came down if that were the case,” Gage disagreed. “Go further into the town and see if they are all in some kind of town meeting.”

They rode cautiously down the main street. There were no lights and many windows and doors were boarded up. Some of the cottages had been boarded up and then broken into. Signs of struggles appeared here and there, but no sign of a general war or disaster.

“Plague?” Kraal asked.

“I don’t think so,” Coran said. “No graves or burned refuse. When plague strikes, the inhabitants burn the contaminated stuff.”

“Bandits?” Gage suggested.

“Possibly,” Coran agreed in part. “But most likely slavers. In spite of the fall of Aspberg, slavery’s still big in some cities. That’d also explain the lack of graves or bodies.”

“I’ve never heard of slavers hitting a whole village,” Kraal declared doubtfully.

“This place is fairly small,” Coran noted. “Probably less than ten experienced fighters in the whole town. It wouldn’t take much more to capture the entire village.”

“Well from the looks of some of these buildings, it has been weeks since they were inhabited. So if it was slavers, they are long gone. We can probably settle in for the night. There should be a tavern with good beds. We can heat up some water and have a nice hot meal and bathe if you want,” Gage decided.

“That sounds like a plan,” Coran agreed. He flashed a perfect smile at Dylan and the youth found himself thankful to have the tall human warrior nearby. Something about the town was unsettling.

They passed several shops before they discovered the tavern. Coran ducked into one small building, a general store it appeared. He later returned with some very strange news. “Even slavers or bandits will steal money,” he observed. “But there’s still gold and silver in there.”

“That is really strange,” Gage agreed.

“Did you get the money?” Kraal asked.

“Why would I take someone else’s money?” Coran questioned.

“Well,” Kraal argued, “if it belonged to anyone, they certainly wouldn’t have left it laying around, so it must not be anyone’s.”

“Nonsense,” Gage laughed. “Just because it is unguarded does not mean that it is for the taking.”

“That’s not how my people feel,” Kraal objected.

“We’re not in the Janus Valley,” Coran pointed out. “This is the Great Deep and the people here believe in private property.”

Gage chuckled and leaned over to whisper to Dylan. “Janusians are communistic by nature. They do not believe in private property. They take what they need and give away what they do not need.”

“It sounds like a workable system,” Dylan commented.

“It is as long as you are satisfied with what you have and do not want anything more,” Gage agreed. “For Janusians, that is an attitude that has been ingrained in their culture for many generations. But common men and women always seem to want more than they have. It is human nature to want to grow and improve.”

At the tavern, they entered the building and used some abandoned woodpile to build a large fire in the main hall’s fireplace. Coran located a large pot and Kraal fetched some clean water from a well.

By sunset, they had a pot of stew cooking on the fire. While Kraal tended the cooking, Dylan studied by the light of the fire while Coran and Gage sat at a nearby table talking.
Since they were the only inhabitants of the town as far as they knew, it was no surprise that there was no music or fancy dining that night. Coran made a comment a few hours after dark that it had been a long time since he had stayed at a tavern without any entertainment or drink.

Gage reminded him that it had also been a long time since he had stayed at a tavern for free as well, so he really could not complain about the lack of service. And with nothing to keep them awake, Dylan soon announced that he was sleepy.

Kraal suggested a bed, since none of the rooms were occupied, but Coran objected strongly. He reasoned that since they really did not know what had happened there to all the people that they needed to stay together and sleep there by the fireplace. “We have a roof over our heads, a dry floor, and a warm fire. What else could you ask for?”

So they bedded down on the floor of the abandoned commons room next to the great fireplace. The room was littered somewhat with unkept tables and a few chairs. A broken window on the far side allowed a night breeze to drift into the room.

Dylan drifted off to sleep to the lulling crackle of the fire and the low murmuring of Coran and Gage. Kraal was also kneeling on all four of his legs and dozing near the fire.

Chapter 8 Part 1

Perilous Journeys

Over the next few weeks, Dylan became well acquainted with hard work. His studies occupied almost every waking hour, and what little time he was not under Gage’s tutelage, he spent helping Kraal with the chores. Only the periodic passing of a village or other traveler broke the monotony of the passing landscape.

One morning after visiting a village where a sleight of hand artist was amusing passers by for pocket change, Gage announced that it was time for Dylan to learn his first bit of magic.

“Won’t the guild object to you teaching spells to an apprentice?” Dylan asked his teacher.

“I am not going to teach you spells,” Gage answered. “At least not yet. I am going to teach you a few cantrips. All apprentices learn them. They will help you learn to control magic without causing serious damage should you miscast one of them. A cantrip manipulates the magic that is ambient in your immediate area. It does not summon magic therefore it needs no preamble.”

Gage handed a flask of water to Dylan. “Your first task will be to chill this water. Now even though you will not need a preamble or to balance an equation, you do have to keep the basic laws of magic in mind.”

“Such as?” Dylan asked inspecting the flask.

“To chill the water, you must remove the heat that is in the water. If you remove it, you must do something with it.”

“I see. So how should I get rid of the heat?”

Gage passed a second flask to his student. “Use the heat you drain from that flask to heat the water in this one. If you succeed, we will have cold water in one flask and hot water in the other.”

“I think I can see some good uses for that,” Dylan admitted.

With Gage’s tutelage, Dylan was guided through the casting of his first cantrip. It was his first use of magic and the tingly sensation that he would learn accompanied the use of magic filled his virgin body.

That night Dylan was left to practice his cantrip well into the evening. It was near midnight when Gage finally was satisfied that Dylan had gotten the hang of that particular exercise.
“There are four flasks of water near the fire,” Gage informed him. “First thing in the morning I want you to use what you have learned to arrange for me to have two flasks of warm water without the benefit of the fire. Kraal will show you some grist so that you can prepare a warm breakfast without a fire. This lesson will be very useful should you ever find yourself in a situation where a fire is undesirable or unavailable.

The following morning Dylan awoke and prepared to do as he had been instructed. He found the flasks and set them out before the fire so that he could easily see what he was doing in the predawn twilight.

Kraal watched from his sentry post curiously. “It’s not a difficult thing to do, lad,” the centaur cheered. “Don’t over think the process. Just pick the water up and do the deed.”
Dylan nodded and addressed the containers. He reached out and took one in each hand.

Closing his eyes, he envisioned a misty stream of deep red fog drifting from one of the containers to the other. His thoughts pushed for several long moments and the weariness of the effort began to dampen his brow when to his relief he felt the temperature of the flasks begin to change. One flask was indeed growing cooler while the other was getting warm. Reassured, he renewed his efforts to drain every last bit of the heat from the one flask. He gritted his teeth and strained deeply until the flask in his left hand suddenly shattered.

Dylan’s concentration was broken by the unexpected action. He opened his eyes and looked down to see the broken flask on the ground. A large flask shaped chunk of ice lay among the broken pieces.

“And that is yet one more lesson you must keep in mind,” Gage told him from his bedroll. Apparently Dylan’s master had awakened to observe his student’s efforts. “As with many other things, when you drain or add too much heat you will either freeze, evaporate, or melt what you are working with. In the case of water, when you freeze the water it is too large for the vessel in which you had placed it and so it shattered the clay jug.”

“I see,” Dylan admitted as he knelt to pick up the pieces of the broken ceramic flask.

“However,” Gage added as he inspected the warm flask, “you have provided me with enough hot water to have breakfast. Thank you.”

That week Dylan spent many hours learning and practicing various cantrips. He learned to put himself to sleep, a cantrip that Gage would not allow him to practice during his lessons or chores. He also learned a cantrip to make his balance much better. He liked that one. For almost two hours, he walked backwards across the top of the wagon wheel as they traveled up the road.

By the end of the week, Dylan was able to maintain his balance on the narrow side of the wagon for as much as four hours in spite of bumps and dips in the road. He was also able to put himself to sleep in spite of a dreary rain and cold night with the aid of his other cantrip. The next morning was damp and threatened to rain, a promise that the weather quickly kept well before noon. Nevertheless Dylan felt surprisingly well rested. Kraal, on the other hand, complained of being cold and a lack of sleep.

“Well we will make Marin Hollow by nightfall,” Gage reminded the grouchy centaur. “You should be able to get a good night’s sleep there.”

“All I want is a dry place to lay down for about a week.”

They reached the village late that afternoon. Gage and Dylan left the wagon with Kraal and checked into an inn with a tavern attached to one side. After depositing their belongings in their room, they returned to the tavern and claimed a spot at the table near the fireplace. The table was fairly long, and other patrons sat at the other end.

The fire gave off plenty of warmth, which was welcome to anyone who was coming in out of the hard rain outside. To one side a bard was strumming his harp and singing a cheerful drinking song along with several off key and slightly intoxicated customers.

After several long moments, Kraal trotted in through the front door, ducking his head as he passed through the portal. Several patrons gave him curious looks while others simply spared him only a cursory glance before returning to their business. The lack of commotion led Dylan to conclude that seeing a centaur was not a very unusual sight in those parts. His conclusion was verified when Kraal approached a rack near the door and grabbed a large thick blanket and tossed it on the floor near the table where they sat.

Then the Janusian settled the Equine part of his body on the cushioned mat.

“I take it the wagon and animals are secure?” Gage asked.

“They are,” Kraal answered. “Now where’s the ale?” He glanced around and spied a young lady carrying a tray of empty cups. ”Madam,” he called to her.

While Kraal arranged for drinks to be brought, Dylan was distracted by the applause being paid to the bard near the fire.

“Thank you my friends,” the singer bowed deeply. “And now a special tale: as the moons both climb high into the skies at midnight and approach their full phases, the Moon of the Maiden approaches. It’s an old custom still practiced in many of the smaller villages in the upper Orkon regions.” He strummed a chord and hummed quietly to himself. “Traditions are important things, and like so many traditions, the Festival of the Roses has its origins in legend and truth.”

Dylan had heard of the Festival of Roses that occurred on the Moon of the Maiden. It was a northern tradition in which suitors would toss flowers at the feet of eligible maidens who were seeking marriage when they became of age. It was usually a very joyous occasion and most of the young women would select their husbands from the roses that were offered to them.

It was not a tradition practiced in the southern plantation region where Dylan was from. More often than not, those marriages were arranged far in advance and without the consent of the bride or groom.

“This then is the story of the Rose of the Maiden,” the minstrel announced and he then struck a chord that had a sad and haunting sound to it.

Lands of green and beauty’s dream in the land of Gal-Ron-Dal.
Let come now the men so foul and seek our daughter’s hands.
Blessed by Aphrodite’s kiss unmatched so fair and fine.
Seek and fail let none prevail in the land of Gal-Ron-Dal.

Dusk and dawn the years are long in the silence of the womb.
No man was found who could be bound to win a maiden’s hand.
Time rolled on for men come and gone with none to pass their name.
The folk grew old their folly untold in the land of Gal-Ron-Dal.

To Hera’s call they bowed one and all their patron’s word to heed.
To learn their crime of betrayal and pride their curse was soon revealed.
Death of the blood was the price to pay at the hand of beauty’s pride.
Vanity’s daughters’ refused to mate in the land of Gal-Ron-Dal.

To Zeus they turned to spare them the curse and save the family blood.
And raised a temple to him they built greater than all the rest.
“Bring forth your sons,” he whispered then, “and bring your daughters too.
Choose or wane this one last time in the land of Gal-Ron-Dal.”

And so they came from end to end to ask for beauty’s hand.
“Choose me, choose me!” was the cry they heard from all the lonely men.
But each, the girls spoiled all their life, dismissed with cruel scorn.
And to the last was rejected there in the land of Gal-Ron-Dal.

And with the rising of the next day’s sun the final curse was seen.
Not one was left of the good young men the girls had turned away.
Instead there stood a rosebush, it’s branches covered with buds.
One bloom for each man turned away in the land of Gal-Ron-Dal.

The seasons turn and the years go by sadly for all concerned.
One by one the old were taken by death’s cold cruel hand.
Until finally the world passed them by taking the last life there
And leaving cold and empty the streets of Gal-Ron-Dal.

Dylan listened enchanted at the sad and moving tale. He had heard the story before, but never had anyone sang that song with such feeling and pain. He spontaneously joined the other patrons as they rewarded the singer with a polite round of applause.

“I’ve never met anyone who’s been involved in the Festival of the Rose,” Dylan declared to his companions.

“Actually you have,” Gage informed him. “Crystal’s mother and father were wedded during that festival.”

“Really?” Dylan was intrigued. “I’m sure that that’s an exciting story. Where I come from, marriages are arranged.”

Gage smiled. “Well perhaps you should ask her about it then,” he said. “They do not live far from where we will be, and I am sure that we will visit them several times in the near future.”

“Are you talking about Calista,” Kraal asked.

“Yes,” Gage answered. “She and Sam were joined during the Moon of the Maiden.”

“I’d heard that,” Kraal said. “As I recall, though, it was under some unusual circumstances.”

“I believe so,” Gage agreed. He glanced back at his pupil. “I am sure they will tell you if you wish to know.”

Dylan yawned involuntarily, and Gage decided that they should go to bed. Kraal, being a Janusian, preferred to sleep in special stables that were furnished to a centaur’s accommodations. He was not tired, though and decided to stay up a while longer.

Gage bade Kraal a good night with instructions to meet them for breakfast. Then with Dylan in tow, he retired to the room he had rented.

“Will we be leaving tomorrow?” Dylan asked.

“Probably,” Gage answered. “My brother should be here by morning. He will be traveling with us to Tycho.”

Gage made Dylan demonstrate his progress in the practicing of his cantrips before he bedded down. Then he too retired to his cot, dimming the oil lamp to a minimum before pulling his blanket close and laying back to rest.

The elven mage, regarded his pupil in the darkness. The boy had grown much over the last few years. Dylan had matured mentally, emotionally and physically right before his eyes. The youth had such a strong grasp on the fundamental ideas of magic, and was very quick to learn that Gage wondered just how long it would be before Dylan was tempted to cast a real spell.

Though publicly discouraged, it was not unheard of for a master to teach his apprentice a spell of self-defense to use in emergencies. Gage knew that outside of the Academy environment, an apprentice was at a far greater danger, especially in the company of a mage for hire. He was also aware that although his family was quite capable of taking care of themselves and Dylan, they did have some powerful enemies. Gage was fearful of the possibility that the boy’s life could be threatened by an attack directed at someone else.

Dylan’s breathing was deep and slow as he dreamed of haystacks, girls with heaving bosoms and scarlet braids and of sneaking down to the river to watch the women bathe.

Gage made a mental note to teach Dylan a simple spell as soon as possible. He would have to drill the spell into his memory as the boy was not yet ready to create spells extemporaneously yet. The only question Gage had was which spell to use.

Dylan woke the next morning to discover that his master was snoozing at a table next to a burned out candle. Apparently Gage had fallen asleep while reading a heavy, leather bound book.

Quietly, the apprentice left the room and made his way down to the commons area. There he found the innkeeper and arranged for hot porridge and fresh bread to be delivered to Gage’s room. Then Dylan fetched some clean water and a cake of soap. He put the soap in his pocket and then carried his bucket to the fireplace. There he chose a second pail from those stacked nearby and poured hot water from the community kettle hanging over the fire. The steward, who was in charge of keeping the fire and water, nodded politely as the patron lifted his two pails and returned to his room.

When he arrived, a worker was just coming up from the kitchen with the breakfast he had ordered. Dylan opened the door and with the errand boy in tow entered the room.
He placed his buckets on the stand next to a mirror and some fresh towels that the innkeeper had also sent up. He directed the boy to leave the food and excused the deliverer.

Dylan broke the bread and poured a cup of wine. The he put the bowl and bread on the table next to Gage’s softly snoring head. The commotion of movement woke this master and Gage blinked sleepily. Seeing his apprentice’s efforts, he smiled approvingly and invited the boy to join him.

“I have decided,” Gage informed his charge, “that for your own protection, I am going to teach you a defensive spell.”

Dylan could hardly contain his excitement. “I don’t mean to question you,” he stammered, “but isn’t it forbidden for apprentices to practice magic?”

“It is,” Gage told him. “And you will not be practicing magic. You will cast this spell only if your life is in danger. If it saves your life, then I will gladly face the guild and defend my decision.”

Dylan was taken aback by the enormous amount of faith that his master was displaying in him.

Gage smiled and gave the boy a pat on the shoulder. “This is not the first time a master has taught his apprentice a spell of defense. It is not done in the Academy, but for traveling apprentice like yourself, it is fairly common.”

The moment was broken by a knock on the door. Gage held Dylan’s attention for a moment longer then nodded to the door. Dylan opened the door and was greeted by Gage’s brother, Coran.

“Well good morning young fellow,” the tall dark human greeted him, with a pat on his shoulder. “You seem to’ve grown somewhat since I last saw you at the Academy.”

“Come in Coran,” Gage called from the table.

“No thanks,” the man answered. “I just came up to inform you that the wagon’s ready to go. “Kraal and I will wait for you down stairs. I’ve settled the account with the innkeeper.”

“Thank you,” Gage answered.

The master spooned several swallows of hot gruel into his mouth then took a long drink from the wine. “Dylan I want you to take the bags that are already packed down to the wagon. I will follow in a few moments with the rest of them.”

Dylan did as he was directed and lugged the two heavy bags down to the entrance of the inn. Coran helped him load them on the wagon as Kraal fussed over the team. After several moments Gage emerged with the remaining smaller bags. He tossed them into the wagon and directed Dylan to secure them as he climbed into the driver seat of the wagon. Then with Kraal leading the way, Gage directed his team to follow the centaur. Coran mounted a beautiful black stallion and followed the wagon. Very quickly they left the village and were back on the open road.

That morning Dylan listened quietly as Coran, Kraal and Gage conversed about Coran’s travels and the road ahead. Apparently they were still weeks away from their destination.
Around lunchtime, Gage asked Kraal to take control of the team. As they ate quietly near a pool of water, Gage explained his afternoon’s plans to his student.

“The spell you are going to learn is a sleep spell,” the elf stated. “It is a fairly easy spell and should enable you to escape from harm should the need arise, but it will not harm you if it backfires.”

That afternoon Gage instructed Dylan in the mechanics of the spell that he was to learn. “Now I know that you are not ready for all the intricacies of this spell, so I want you to just memorize how to cast it. It is not difficult.”

Gage and Dylan went over the incantation several times until Dylan could recite the formula from memory and could list the words of power and where they should go. Gage then satisfactorily decided that it was enough for one day and gave Dylan a reading assignment.

That evening, they camped in a grove of trees well off the road. Kraal prepared a hot meal and Coran tended to his horse and the team. Then he sat near the fire and took a well-used wet rock from his bag and began sharpening a heavy sword.

Gage and Dylan reviewed once more how to cast the spell they had talked about earlier, and when Gage was satisfied that Dylan had retained all the knowledge, he directed the apprentice to cast the spell on Coran.

“You want me to put Coran to sleep?” Dylan asked startled.

“It will not work on him,” Gage explained. “His psyche is too strong for you to overcome, but it will allow me to watch you cast the spell and make sure you do it right.”

“You mean this spell won’t work on everyone?”

“That is right. It will work on most people, especially if they do not expect it, but experienced people who think and use their heads a lot will be immune.”

“That’s not very comforting,” Dylan muttered as he reviewed the spell silently.

“You would be surprised how many people it will affect,” Gage assured him confidently.
Dylan nodded. He fixed Coran with his gaze. The warrior was polishing his shield and was oblivious to what the mage and apprentice were doing.

With a bit of nervousness, Dylan began the incantation. He used the preamble to summon a small amount of energy, gave it form and purpose then released it at Coran. Then he paused as the spell began to operate. He felt a tightening in his chest and heard Gage whisper “close” from his left. Dylan panicked in the realization that he had not finished the spell and that he had what mages refer to as wild magic in operation. But due to Gage’s caution in drilling the commands into him all day, the closure of the spell came easily to Dylan and the spell terminated normally.

Coran looked up sharply and Dylan found his gaze penetratingly frightening. “Gage” the dark man muttered, “as if the boy won’t pick up bad habits from you as it is, now you’re teaching him to be mischievous?”

“Did you really feel it?” Dylan asked excitedly.

“That I did, young man. I suppose your master failed to tell you that that particular spell wouldn’t work on me?”

“Oh, I told him,” Gage interrupted. “I just needed to see him cast it to make sure he had it down pat.”

“It felt tingly,” Dylan described to himself. His whole body felt like tiny pinpricks were everywhere. “Can we do it again?”

“I doubt if you are able,” Gage answered. “Using magic is very demanding on a body. Perhaps you should get some sleep instead."

Dylan did not want to. He had had his first taste of magic and wanted more right then, but Gage was his master and he had to obey. He stood to go to his bedroll and immediately fell to the ground on weak legs.

“That is what I was talking about,” Gage told him. “You are very tired right now because the magic drained your stamina quite a bit.”

“Is it like this every time you cast a spell?”

“No,” Gage answered. “Just like with working or lessons, you get stronger with practice. But that will have to wait until you are a journeyman.

The next day Dylan felt as if he were tired and had not slept even though he had actually slept almost nine hours. Gage had told him that it was normal after a first spell casting for him to be slow to recover his strength. “Let that be a lesson to you,” he added. “You should not cast that spell unless it is an emergency, as it will sap your strength greatly. It will also be obvious, to me and to anyone with experience, that you have cast a spell. That is how apprentices who attempt magic on their own get caught most of the time.”

By noon, Dylan was feeling much better. Gage had let him forgo the lessons and most of the chores that morning. After the noon meal, he was back to normal.