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.