Dream of Anduir - Chapter II - White Mists
Dream of Anduir
(© by lunarsangel 2005, all rights reserved)
Disclaimer:
The following story is a work of pure fiction and contains homoerotism as well as some good ol’ medieval bow-and-sword action. If either of these offends you, you’re most probably here by accident anyway and should better leave now. Same advice for those under legal age to read stuff like this or living someplace where it’s illegal (wherever that may be). But maybe you have already decided on disobeying your authorities. In this case you might just as well read on. I can’t stop you anyway, can I?
And for everybody else, who actually came here to read this story: Glad you dropped by! Hope you had a nice start into the new year! And good luck with your New Year’s pledges. ; ) Enjoy the story!
Author’s note:
First, I want to thank all of you guys who went for filling up my in-box. Most of the mails I received were totally positive and supportive. I’m really happy about that and look forward to hear from you again! The rest were a few critical mails, but all of them solely constructive. I appreciate that just as much and will try to follow your tips and suggestions as far as I see it fit and my writing-skills will allow. I asked for it after all and would be glad to get further advice.
Secondly, I want to apologize for letting you wait so AWFULLY long for this chapter. The reason is that my studies are quite time consuming, leaving only several hours of free-time per day… and by then I’ve neither eaten nor watched ‘Simpsons’, so…
Thirdly, this chapter’s gonna contain lots of information about the characters and their background. Many of you specifically asked for it, although I had it planned that way anyhow. Hope it’s neither too much nor too boring. Of course I added some action, too...
What else to say? If you read the ‘author’s note’-part of the first chapter, you should know everything necessary to get along with this chapter, too... If you didn’t read it, don’t blame me. I told you I’d wash my hands of it. ; )
Chapter II – White Mists
They walked next to each other on their way to Thurbin Castle. The Firewood bordering the winding road had become less dense during the last hours and a comfortable light breeze cooled off the day’s sultry heat. Nightfall was nearing and the first calls of some early nocturnal birds could be heard in the distance. The sun had almost reached the horizon and sent its last warm rays shining through the leaves above.
Vincent glanced at Enorín. His companion turned his head slightly to meet his gaze, but smiled only weakly and focused back on the road again. Vincent sighed inwardly. Enorín had been engrossed in deep thought since they had left Hewings. Aside from some small talk during breakfast, which had been quite opulent thanks to the villagers’ generosity, they hadn’t talked much today. This was not exactly like he had pictured travelling together. Vincent felt a bit neglected and was admittedly almost bursting with curiosity. So many questions he wanted to ask and if it wasn’t for his ambition to give a good impression, he would already have assailed him. So he brought himself to wait and not disturb Enorín’s pondering.
It had to be yesterday’s funeral that still occupied his mind.
Estrith, the deceased cleric’s widow, had given Enorín a quite intensive private lesson to teach him the proper sermons and procedures. As a strange fate would have it, Estrith was the same elderly woman Vincent had seen hiding when the goblins attacked Hewings. Seemingly instigated by her husband’s sacrifice, she had spared no effort to make a proper ceremony possible and kept Enorín busy far into the night. During that night, somewhat missing his roommate, Vincent had asked himself several times why his new friend would not frankly tell her he was no ministrant and knew nothing whatsoever about human funerals and religion. One reason he came upon might have been that Enorín merely didn’t want to disappoint her. Although very admirable, he found another thought far more thrilling: What if he wanted to keep the villagers in the dark about his true identity? This would mean Enorín had shared a secret, his personal secret, just with him. Holding to this idea, Vincent had slept well that night at last.
The noon thereafter, the funeral had taken place. Enorín had played his part well, considering he had only one day to prepare himself. Of course there had been several stumbles during the longbreathed sermon, like most religious texts indited in the old Valmarian tongue, but he had really done his best. And although some of the elder villagers had given him critical glances when Enorín hesitated to call upon the Almighty’s blessings, quite unusual for a ministrant of the Church of Valmar, no one had mentioned it afterwards. Most probably they were just glad somebody had been there to hold the funeral and enabled them to finally go on with their lives. Besides they knew very well that without Enorín’s help and prayers, there would have been even more people to burry… and Vincent might have been one of them…
He looked at Enorín again, but this time the half-elf did not seem to notice. When they had left Hewings this morning, he had managed to surprise Vincent anew: His appearance showed clearly he was expecting more trouble to come.
Atop of his white shirt Enorín wore a tight fitting chain mail. Vincent was definitely no blacksmith, but judging by what he saw this armour was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. He had always expected such a thing to be noisy and encumbering, but the rings of this chain mail were so delicate and perfectly arranged that it merely made any noise as Enorín moved, seemingly unaware of his burden. Meanwhile, after walking next to him for almost a whole day, Vincent actually doubted it might offer any kind of protection at all, being simply a nice… a very nice accessory.
The armour’s material confirmed this assumption, as it seemed to be white gold, considering its colour and silvery shimmer. The silvery shimmer… at least one of the mysteries surrounding his companion was solved… even without asking. But as little as Vincent knew about weapons, armours and so forth, his expertise in alchemy told him that making a chain mail out of gold wouldn’t make any sense… It certainly had to be some kind of alloy… Hell, how could he ever expect to have all of his questions answered if new ones kept popping up all the time?
To his side, Enorín bore a slender, slightly curved sword which Vincent would refer to as rapier, albeit knowing this guess would most probably be wrong. The sheath was discretely yet beautifully ornamented with some kind of leaf pattern that carried on to the hilt. His unstringed bow, which towered the white-feathered arrow shafts jutting from the shouldered quiver, had similar vine-like carvings and therefore matched the other weapon perfectly. Vincent was sure Enorín carried a fortune about with him, probably without even being aware of it.
The sparkling of Enorín’s golden necklace attracted Vincent’s attention. Speaking of valuables, how could he forget about this one? The pendant attached to the slender chain, a golden rose, the petals carved from some beautiful dark-red gemstone, was so incredibly detailed that only its small size and of course the material kept Vincent from believing it might be real. In fact he envied the half-elf a bit for growing up amidst all this mystery and beauty. His hometown Dunburgh had to look like a dump compared to the place Enorín came from… wherever that might be.
Vincent almost tripped over a salient root. By now the sun had finally sunken below the tree tops and the growing shadows veiled their path. Apparently unaware, Enorín simply walked on. Somewhat irritated Vincent decided it was time to interrupt his companion’s thoughts.
“It’s getting dark. Maybe we should find a place to rest and light a fire…”
Enorín looked up, almost surprised to hear Vincent’s voice. “What? Oh, yeah… sure.” Awaking from of his virtually meditative state he checked their surrounding. Eventually he turned back to Vincent, pointing to his right.
“We could try to reach those red beeches over there. Looks like a nice place.”
Vincent could make out the group of close standing trees in the remainder of daylight. It really seemed to be a kind of sheltered spot. So he nodded, left the road and began to make his way through the undergrowth.
Enorín followed close by and caught up with him. “Sorry… I was kind of lost in thought”
“Tell me about it.” Vincent muttered under his breath.
“Um, well…” Enorín began, obviously a bit confused, “I think yesterday’s events…”
”Err, it’s only a saying.” Vincent interrupted, as a smile inevitably spread on his face despite his intention to pout for a while. “It means I noticed you were… and besides I already figured out why, so no need to tell me…”
Enorín grinned sheepishly. “Oh…sorry…”
Vincent shook his head in disbelief. Something about this boy made it impossible to be mad at him, even it was mostly pretended.
Finally they arrived underneath the beeches. Surrounding a small swale, the trees offered a perfect place to light a fire, which most probably could not be seen from the road going by less than a quarter mile away. So they piled up the wood they had collected after leaving the road in silent cooperation. Using flint and steel stored in a small side pocked of his backpack, Vincent got the fire started in no time.
As the flames were flickering happily, Vincent sat back leaning against a tree trunk and watched Enorín who was taking off his chain mail. He was determined to get at least one of his questions answered today, so he decided to give it a try.
“This is the most impressing piece of armour I’ve ever seen.”
Somewhat puzzled, Enorín looked at him for an instant before eying the metal fabric in his hands. As if recognizing its outward beauty for the first time, a slight smile accompanied the ambivalent memories connected with this heirloom.
“Yeah… it’s nice…”
“A bit more than just nice, if you ask me. Was… was it crafted by the elves?”
Once again, the elders’ words echoed in Enorín’s head. They had told him not to trust the humans, not to reveal any secret and not to tell anyone too much about himself. Enorín knew it had not been an order withal a well meant advice. Therefore this was exactly how he had planned to treat it, judging on his own who to trust and what to reveal. And somehow he felt that he could trust Vincent.
But instead of simply answering, he went over, crouched next to him and offered him the folded chain mail. Vincent hesitated a brief moment. But then his curiosity prevailed. Carefully, nigh reverently, he took the shimmering package, almost feeling like taking part in some strange ceremony. Although expecting it to a certain extent, he was quite surprised by its little weight.
“It’s… it’s barely heavier than cloth! What kind of metal is this? Kinda looks like white gold, but…”
“The elves call it Anovorn… Sunsteel. But please don’t ask me how they make it. I’ve absolutely no idea…“
Vincent let his fingertips slide over the cold surface. Under his gentle touch the metal got warm, adapting to his skin instantaneously. Sunsteel… despite its weight Vincent could almost feel its strength flowing through his fingers. By now the mere thought of doubting the armour’s protective properties appeared quite foolish to him.
Completely fascinated, he didn’t notice Enorín taking the food bag they had gotten shortly before their departure from Hewings and searching it for something to eat. Thus he was sort of startled when Enorín passed him a slice of bread and some cheese. Smiling, they exchanged food with chain mail and Enorín put the latter in his backpack, before he also began to eat.
In between two bites, considering how frank Enorín had been so far, Vincent wanted to risk a second, more personal question.
“Enorín, I was wondering… where exactly do you come from?”
A few moments of silence passed, only disturbed by the crackling of their fire and a sole owl’s call in the distance.
“Hmm… north of Dunburgh, I’d say.” Enorín answered, checking his mental image of the map he‘d seen several weeks ago.
“North? But there’s nothing but the Greywall Mountains… and beyond lies only wilderness!”
“You forgot the High Forests.“ Enorín stated kindly. “Enclosed by the mountains, they harbour Hûn Ethuil, the Heart of Spring, the place I was born and lived so far.” He shrugged. “What else reason could I have for passing through Hewings than taking the shortest route south to Thurbin Castle?”
“Yes, but… that…” Quite confused, Vincent tried to get his thoughts back into order, holding on to what he claimed to know. “But that cannot be. The High Forests are perfectly mapped… and there’s nothing but rocks and trees. How could a whole people live there without being discovered?”
“Because they don’t want to be.”
This answer hit Vincent like a brick stone. What incredible secrets must lie there, unnoticed by any human for ages…yet… there had been one exception!
“But… you said your father was human. How could he discover them?”
The vague shadow of pain appearing on Enorín’s face made Vincent regret this imprudent question immediately.
“You don’t have to tell me, of course…”
Enorín gave him a long, thoughtful look, then he shook his head slightly smiling. “No, it’s okay… But you’ll owe me some answers afterwards, too. Deal?“
Vincent nodded slowly, not too eager having to tell this boy about his own, not so glorious past. But it was only fair.
The half-elf tossed another log into their little fire, sending a flock of glowing sparks into the starlit night sky above.
“My father was a soldier, serving the army of your homeland. After years of loyal service, in the course of some ranking scheme, he… he had been accused of something… terrible he would never have done… But instead of simply awaiting an unjust punishment, he fled. He thought the mountains would offer him sufficient protection, at least for while, but he was wrong. Their blood hounds found him and he had to flee anew. They almost had hunted him down when he finally reached the High Forests. Badly injured and almost starving, he saw his last chance in hiding in the woods. That’s when my mother took notice of him. She caused the hounds to lose his track and thus led the persecutors astray. Afterwards, she went looking for my father and found him unconscious. Cause she didn’t have the heart to just leave him there to die, she took him to one of the hidden outposts, usually used for hunting and watching the borders, as it’s forbidden for non-elves to enter Hûn Ethuil. There she took care of him and while he slowly recovered, my mother noticed that, day by day, her feelings somehow became more than just compassion. For my father it must have been love at first sight… After some time and many deep glances and conversations, my mother decided she wanted him to be part of her life. So they performed the Song of Unison… that’s a ritual of engagement. Of course, she knew this overweighed most other laws and so she was able to take my father to Hûn Ethil. The other elves, first of all the elders, were more than displeased to see an ill-clad and open-mouthed human walking through their city. But there wasn’t much they could do about it despite of showing their disapproval every chance they got. And most of them did that quite well. Tired of being mostly ignored, my father tried to prove his worth and skill in several occasions, but without noteworthy success. One day he volunteered for a dangerous task none of the elves was willing to do… The ones sent to look for him returned with his body...”
A single tear ran down Enorín’s cheek but he didn’t seem to notice. Despite this tear, his voice was steady and strangely unaffected, almost as if he was talking about someone else’s past, not his own.
“Of course my mother was very upset and blamed the others’ haughty attitude and arrogance for his death. Tardily regretting and ashamed the elders decided to honour him by giving him an elven funeral… And that’s why yesterday’s ceremony occupied me that much… It was so different… and I wondered if my father can rest in peace without all those human rites…”
Enorín fell silent and stared into the fire. Although quite unusual for him, Vincent felt the urge to express his sympathy.
“I’m sorry… and I’m sure your father’s well, wherever he may be…”
The half-elf looked at him with a weak but grateful smile for several moments before gazing to the stars above. “Yes… of course he is…”
A long pause followed. Vincent knew it might be better not to inquire any further but his inquisitive mind desired to learn the rest of Enorín’s tale.
“But if your father… passed, how…?”
Guessing the intention of Vincent’s question, Enorín continued, still watching the dark sky. “My mother was already carrying me when he left. She knew but didn’t tell him. I think she didn’t want to hinder his ambition to get finally accepted. And so I was all she had left of him… that’s why she named me Enorín. It means ‘Memory of Enor’, my father. Yet it seems this wasn’t enough to fill the emptiness and ease the pain. She passed only a few months after she gave me birth… “
Now Vincent was truly struck. As much as he wished, he couldn’t think of anything to say to comfort Enorín… although he still didn’t appear to need any consolation.
“So I was given to one of the temples, where my mother’s older brother took care of me. He raised me in accordance with the teachings of Melyanna and when I was old enough to understand, he told me what happened to my parents. Although quite upsetting, I’ve to admit that no one in Hûn Ethil ever treated me with disrespect. So I think I’ve no reason to be angry with them. Most probably I’ve benefited from their feelings of guilt and will do so for the rest of my life. There’s not much I can do about it, so…”
Suddenly he lowered his gaze and looked straight at Vincent. “But what about you? You promised to answer some of my questions, too. So, please, tell me about yourself.”
Suddenly Vincent realized the great difference between their lives. Not their difference in race, profession or origin, but Enorín had lost his parents before he even had a chance to get them known. Vincent, on the other hand, had abandoned his parents, rejected them, because they wouldn’t accord with his wishes. His father absolutely wanted him to take over the family business. But Vincent had never wasted a thought on becoming a petty merchant like him… His less gifted younger brother would fit this role perfectly. How he had hated those endless debates about responsibility and family tradition…
Ever since Vincent had listened to the first tale of wise wizards and mightful warlocks, he dreamed of gaining such insight and power. And it’s safe to say that it would have remained a dream, if he hadn’t heard of Almaric one day. Being a sage and the baron’s advisor he was well known and somewhat feared in Dunburgh and beyond the city’s limits. And certainly he had been the only person able to make Vincent’s dream come true. Convincing Almaric to accept him as his apprentice and teach him his secrets surely had not been easy, as well as bringing up the courage to visit him in the first place. But finally Vincent’s iron determination had succeeded. Less than an hour passed until he had packed up his things and left his parent’s house. He couldn’t even remember if they were crying or shouting…
There was no way he could frankly tell Enorín all this. He would appear like a monster… and maybe he was… he had to come up with something else…
“There is nothing too interesting about my life in Dunburgh… as there’s nothing interesting about this place in general…” he stated with a faked smile, trying to cover his uneasiness. “Basically I have been fascinated by tales of wizards and magic as long as I can remember. And when I was finally old enough to be considered, I requested to become Almaric’s apprentice. He was - and still is - a well known sage in Dunburgh. My parents were not overly pleased, but it’s my life after all. In the end I was lucky enough to be accepted. So I went through years of hard study and work and… well, now I’m here. Not very spectacular…”
Enorín looked at him quizzically, making Vincent somewhat nervous. The half-elf remembered their first real conversation very well, that morning in Hewings’ inn. He had felt it right then, when Vincent mentioned his former master for the first time, that his leaving could not have been a friendly farewell.
“So you have completed your studies? Or was there any other reason for leaving?”
Although Vincent wasn’t too eager to talk about this topic, he was relieved having evaded another question about his family.
“Hmm, yes… something happened. It was no certain event, but… It appeared to me that Almaric almost tried to hinder my progress. He assigned me more and more quite senseless tasks having absolutely nothing to do with my studies and refused to give me the materials I needed. I don’t know why, cause when I asked, he always answered in an evasive manner. One day, now a bit more than a week ago, I was really fed up and I told him like it is. First we discussed, then we argued and finally we shouted. That’s when I left. Meanwhile I know enough to advance without this old fool’s help.”
The moment he spoke it out, he cursed himself inwardly. Hell! A great start for making a good impression! But Enorín did not seem to bother as he already came up with his next question.
“But what are you going to do now… I mean after visiting this mage in Thurbin Castle?”
Vincent hesitated. He had to admit that he hadn’t thought about it much. His journey, opposed to Enorín’s, was not a quest of higher merits. And he couldn’t possibly tell him that he wanted to roam the country to simply amass power and earn peoples’ respect and awe… That’s when he remembered something he once had read.
“I want to join the Liga Transmutate. That’s a reputable society of mages, a guild of Changers to be exact. But to be able to join, I’ve got to establish some reputation and get invited.”
It was a lie, yet if Enorín had noticed, he did not show. Actually Vincent never had thought about joining a guild. But now he had mentioned it, it didn’t seem to be such a bad idea after all. Maybe one day… so it hadn’t been a real lie… at least by now…
„Liga Transmutate? Hmm… sounds similar to those sermon texts. I wanted to ask Estrith about it, but forgot it in the end...” Enorín muttered, not really expecting an answer.
But Vincent was more than willing to distract the conversation from his person, so he swiftly replied, also glad to be able to show some of his qualities.
“That’s the old Valmarian tongue, also called Valcan. Although actually a dead language, it’s used in most religious and academical writings and therefore considered the language of scholars. Valmar once had been a big empire, but today it’s a duchy in the Southern Quarter of Branduria Kingdom. It’s said they’ve always nice weather down there… but besides it’s the religious centre of whole Branduria. The Custor’s Palace and Primal Dome are seated there.”
Noticing Enorín’s questioning look, he promptly added “Oh, the Custor is the head of the Valmarian Church, responsible to no one but the Almighty himself.”
“Ah, so he’s the High Priest of your deity.” Enorín concluded.
Vincent flinched, hearing this almost blasphemous entitlement. “Err… yeah… you could say so… but better don’t call him like that when you’re finally at St. Eustace’s. Our priests tend to be somewhat touchy concerning titles and the like.”
Enorín began to smile but it turned into a yawn.
“Perhaps we should call it a night.” Vincent suggested with a sly grin. More than content with all he learned today, the mage didn’t doubt he’d rest well, especially in Enorín’s pleasant company.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The next day Enorín seemed to have shaken off his pondering mood. As they walked, he hummed a soft, joyous melody which blended with the forest’s unobtrusive song. Often Vincent wasn’t able to tell without a doubt, whether Enorín paused or not. Once in a while the half-elf even sang short elvish verses, most probably unaware, as he almost whispered them. Fascinated by the strange words and unknown melodies as well as Enorín’s beautiful voice, Vincent enjoyed the morning, although they hadn’t talked much so far. Actually he did not mind that at all, as he was definitively no morning person and too much, perhaps even forced conversation in the morning could really spoil his mood. His parents, brother and former master knew this only too well...
After taking a short pause around noon to eat and rest their feet, Vincent felt ready to gather some more information about his companion as they continued walking.
“You’re a great singer… better than anyone I knew so far.”
Enorín smiled and even blushed a bit. “Thanks. It was all part of my training in the temple. I really hated it in the beginning... especially singing in front of others. But over the years I got used to it somehow. And now I actually enjoy it... but performing for a greater audience still freaks me out.” He looked at Vincent, the golden hue of his hazel eyes making the human’s heart skip a beat.
“Yesterday... you mentioned several temples. Has Melyanna more than just one temple in... Hûn Ethil?” Despite the fact it might be considered a bit childish, he felt somewhat proud to remember and, in his opinion, pronounce the city’s name correctly.
“No, there’s only one temple dedicated to the Lady of Dawn. But of course there are temples of other elven deities, too.” Enorín stated nonchalantly, trying to hide his amusement over Vincent’s predictable reaction he observed with a side glance.
“Other deities?!“ Vincent blurted out in disbelief. After acknowledging Enorín’s goddess, the possible the existence of other elven deities wouldn’t have posed a major problem to him. It was something else he found much more shocking: Of course the erudite mage had heard of polytheism, but he considered it to be a less civilised, not so say primitive, form of religion, nothing he would expect from an apparently more advanced culture like his imagination of the elven people.
“Sure.” Enorín answered calmly. “Melyanna, the Lady of Dawn, is our goddess of love, beauty, art, home and friendship. But we also revere other gods and goddesses, each one ruling over different aspects of our lives. I have to admit, it has to appear strange to someone used to see all power in the hands of one almighty god. But on the other hand...“
A sudden noise ahead interrupted Enorín’s explanations. Four goblins were literally bursting out of the bushes, not more than six yards away, as one of them had tripped under the weight of the brought down young boar they were carrying. Equally surprised the two parties stared at each other motionlessly.
Vincent became aware of their weapons, long knives and crossbows, used to kill the boar but also perfectly suitable to take out two travellers. A wicked grin spread on one of goblins’ face, revealing his yellowish, pointed teeth. Vincent’s decision was made. He would prove his worth.
With three quick steps he stood between Enorín and their opponents, already holding out his right hand.
“Rissin wanest karme!”
Bright flames flashed forth from his palm, engulfing the screaming goblins. The fire vanished as swift as it had appeared, although the three dead goblins’ rags and the boar’s fur were still burning. The fourth goblin stumbled backwards, clasping his burnt left arm in pain. He stared at the magician in disbelief and fear for the blink of an eye. Then he turned around and ran for his life, without looking at his dead comrades just once more.
Vincent turned back to Enorín with a self-confidant smile. Yet it faded quickly as he saw Enorín’s shocked expression, staring wide-eyed at the smouldering bodies. Vincent followed his gaze, now realizing the cruelty of this scene. The tripped goblin didn’t even have a chance to get up. He lay there in exactly the same position, except his scorched face and hands were twisted in agony. Averting his eyes, Vincent approached his companion. His mind, recovering fast from the exertion of spellcasting, raced to eloquently justify his deed. Enorín automatically backed a step away and looked discomposedly at Vincent, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. The desperation to find the proper words and his apparent failure made him angry, mostly with himself.
“I only tried to protect you!” Vincent blurted out. “They would have tried to kill us!” He turned around and walked away. With each step his anger faded and was gradually replaced by shame. Yet it was too late to apologize. He couldn’t undo what had happened.
Enorín followed a few steps behind, once again engrossed in thought.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
They put up their camp on a little clearing featuring several big sandstone rocks and a sandy soil almost without any grass or leaves, offering a good place for a campfire. So they started to collect some wood in the surrounding area.
As soon as the fire was built, they sat down to eat, leaning against the smooth sandstone. As they hadn’t talked since their encounter with the goblins, Vincent was a bit surprised when Enorín suddenly spoke.
“Tell me about it.”
“About what?” Vincent answered, still somewhat sullenly.
“About magic. I want to understand.”
“I thought the elves were such great magicians. Didn’t they teach you?” Vincent apparently tried to avoid eye contact and stared into the fire.
“I only know that I never witnessed anything like what you did today. I guess the essential thing about elven magic is you don’t notice it. At least I never did.” Vincent glanced at him, the spark of curiosity reflecting in his eyes. Knowing he had his friend’s attention now, Enorín continued.
“Four of them against the two of us... I know the goblins would have attacked us. But you’ve to understand that what you did was quite a shock to me. It’s nothing you’d actually expect to happen, is it? Yet I also want to understand. But I can’t without your help. So please tell me about human magic... about your magic.”
Vincent could not resist. Neither Enorín’s offer of reconciliation nor the opportunity to share his knowledge. Strangely those dark feelings of anger and shame, which usually would have gnawed at his mind for several days leastwise, faded quickly in Enorín’s presence. ‘The essential thing about elven magic is you don’t notice it’. His words certainly were true.
“Hmm, let’s see…” Although there were hundreds of books in Almaric’s library and he had read most of them, Vincent did not know where to begin. But after several moments of reflection, his face lit up, as he got the idea.
“Okay, listen. Once there was a really big federation of mages, called the ‘Great Guild’. Its members were spread all over the known world… Magic certainly must have been a lot more widespread back then. I’ve only heard of a handful of mages, knowing none of them in person but my former master… Well, more than a millennia ago the Guild’s High Council decided to divide all spells existing at the time into eight domains of magic and defined strict rules to classify and assign every upcoming new spell. Their intention was to create a more reliable and logical approach to magic, to make it more manageable, so to speak. But I’m sure they didn’t mind the good deal of extra control they gained that way, too. Nevertheless, to cut a long story short, the Great Guild doesn’t exist anymore. About six hundred years ago, several council members clashed due to rather petty questions of personal influence. But instead of settling the problems in a dignified manner, the quarrel dragged on and somewhat escalated. This caused quite a huff in the lower ranks and many mages resigned from the Guild. The High Council had lost its credibility. Yet many historians share the opinion that the break-up would merely have been a matter of time. The Guild had existed for too long and its old- established structures and deadlocked hierarchies were simply out of date.”
“But didn’t you talk about joining a guild?” Enorín interjected.
It took Vincent several moments to realize Enorín referred to yesterday’s little white lie. “Err… yes, I did. During the decades and centuries of the Guild’s steady and final decline, several scattered groups set up new organisations. Most of them were flashes in the pan, but a few grew strong and still exist today… like the Liga Transmutate. But none of them came even close to match the Great Guild’s magnitude and power, ever.”
“So the Great Guild has really vanished completely?”
“Almost. The only things remaining were some tales, legendary names and the Council’s division of magic, of course. Giving you this lesson in human history wouldn’t be necessary otherwise…” Vincent tossed in, worrying he might bore his new friend, his interest probably being only politeness.
Enorín smiled warmly. “That’s why I actually left the Heart of Spring, remember?”
“Oh, right...” Vincent muttered, partly abashed having misjudged him, partly glad to have a willing listener. “Well, those eight domains I mentioned before, they are called the ‘Eight Great Paths of Magic’ or the ‘Eight Arts’. Each one presents another philosophic approach to magic and therefore offers certain possibilities. While some effects are unique to one Path, others might be accomplished by various ways using different Arts.”
Vincent took a stick from the pile of wood they had collected to sustain their small campfire over night and began to scratch straight lines into the loose, sandy soil.
“That’s how it’s officially illustrated.” he continued, skilfully drawing on as he spoke. “The Eight Paths, each one being opposed by another, each one having two more ore less similar neighbours.”
He sat back and looked at the now finished and perfectly symmetric octagram. With a content nod, he added a strange rune right above the star’s upper point. “This symbol represents the Art of Changing, my chosen Path. It offers the power to alter reality, like manipulating the passage of time, varying one’s outward appearance, transmuting rock into dust…or air into fire.”
Their eyes met as Vincent wanted to check on his companion’s reaction. He was prepared to see objection or criticism. But he found nothing suchlike besides the desired astonishment. If Enorín still had qualms about his magic, he hid it well.
Quite relieved, Vincent carried on and drew another rune right under the opposing point. “This one stands for the Art of Warding. Contrary to the Art of Changing this Path seeks to preserve reality as it is, offering mostly protective, restricting and revoking magic.”
Proceeding rather quickly, he scratched a sign next to the left point. “The Art of Bringing evokes raw energies, elemental as well as physical, able to cause serious destruction but also usable for many other purposes. Well, leastways if things don’t get too complex.”
“But… wouldn’t flames... coming from your hand be one of those… elemental things?” Enorín asked, trying to keep up with Vincent’s explanations.
“Like I said, there can be several ways to accomplish an effect. As long as a rather small area is concerned, turning air into fire is much easier for me. But as the difficulty doing so would increase with every foot and inch affected, I had to rely on the Art of Bringing if I desired a really big blaze. However, I neither possess such a spell nor do I plan on it, so…”
Enorín seemed somewhat pleased as he smiled and focused his attention back on the drawing. Vincent took this as a sign to go on and with a swift movement of the stick another rune appeared next to the octagram’s right point.
“Here we have the Art of Charming whose spells influence thoughts, actions and abilities by using subtle, mainly mental energies. Therefore it is considered to be the antipole to the rather violent and physical Art of Bringing. But just as its opposite can be beneficial, charms can cause quite havoc, too. I think it’s always about how you use a Path, anyway.” A short pause followed as Vincent took a sip from his waterskin.
“The Paths I told you about so far are referred to as Primary Arts, cause they tend to affect their respective targets directly. The remaining points of the octagon are assigned to the four Mediate Arts. As one can easily guess, their effects are considered mainly indirect. Each Primary Art neighbours two Mediate Arts and vice versa.”
Vincent expertly drew the four missing runes and leaned back against the rock. While he continued talking, he fiddled with the stick, occasionally pointing at his sketch.
“The rune at the upper left point, in between Changing and Bringing, symbolizes the Art of Seeing. Clairvoyance, divination, discovery, gaining knowledge… you name it. Cause the most powerful visions can only be granted by higher powers - who- or whatever they might be - a Seer has to maintain a certain degree of humility and piety. And that’s why this Path contrasts the Art of Binding. It deals with summoning various beings, like animals, beasts, elemental spirits or even demons in the worst case, either to unleash a singular special power or to force them into enduring service. Therefore a Binder can’t and won’t accept anyone above himself. He’ll always try to have the upper hand in every situation and to gain ultimate control in the end.”
“Sounds not like someone I’d like to meet.” Enorín muttered, slightly uncomfortable.
“I can’t tell… never met one myself, so... But it’s said to be a quite dangerous Path, probably only matched by the Art of Calling. And I know for sure that I don’t want to acquaint with a Caller.”
“What on earth could be more dreadful than dealing with the fiends?!” The priest exclaimed, clearly showing he could not imagine anything worse.
“Maybe dealing with the dead.” Vincent stated as he pointed at the lower left rune. “Cause that’s what Callers do. To be honest, I don’t know too much detail about Calling and Binding, as my studies had other focal points. But I think there are only few Binders who actually engage in conjuring demonic powers, though every spell of Calling inevitably draws upon the netherworld and its denizens.”
Enorín almost shuddered in obvious discomfort. So Vincent decided to go on without any further examples.
“Well, one more to go. In between Changing and Charming you’ll find the Path of Weaving. Quite delicate just like Charming, its approach to magic is almost artistic. By manipulating light, shadow, sounds and so on, but also perception, its spells create illusions, seemingly change reality and deceive the senses. That’s why it’s opposed to the Art of Calling. Seems you can’t fool a ghost or the like with an illusion as it doesn’t belong to this world anymore. So when it’s brought back by one mean or another it is said to perceive reality way different from us. Vice versa a Caller, who meddled with the netherworld for too long, lacks the proper… aesthetic feeling for realistic detail to create believable phantasms or influence the senses of living beings.” Vincent took a deep breath.
“Hmm… that’s it. Now you know everything to become a mage yourself.” He said, a grin spreading on his face.
Enorín smiled and threw a strange glance at him. “Nah, I don’t think so. I can tell you’ve still got some secrets you didn’t reveal... and besides I like my vocation. But can I ask one more question?”
Secrets? Although he realized Enorín was only joking, Vincent clenched a bit. The half-elf couldn’t possibly suspect anything... could he? So he simply nodded, hoping he hadn’t given away to much by his bearing.
“You said each Path is somewhat similar to its neighbours… But how can something apparently good like Warding be linked with such sinister magic like Calling and Binding?”
“This division wasn’t based on ethical or moral values.” Vincent explained. “It’s just logical and practicable. Calling and Binding conjure powers and beings from unknown, probably horrible places. So the mage using these magics has to regard as well they might get out of control. That’s why both Paths offer possibilities to hinder, stop or even banish what has been conjured, just like the Art of Warding does. So they are considered similar. And by the way, Warding has its dark sides too… like banishing someone to really unpleasant places or creating a lifelong prison. Like I said before, it’s always about how you use a Path. Mostly there’s nothing good or bad to the magic itself.”
Enorín nodded slowly.
“I’ve to admit these similarities aren’t always obvious. Calling can mimic Seeing by using memories of the dead as a source of information. Seeing can be interpreted as altering your senses and state of knowledge and is therefore connected with Changing. Binding gives you control over one or more beings, something you can accomplish with Charming, too. Mighty spells of Bringing may sometimes call upon higher aid, similar to Seeing. Weaving changes reality, just like Changing does, yet those changes aren’t for real and on the other hand it meddles with the mind, resembling Charming, by influencing one’s perception...”
“Okay, okay... That’s enough.” Enorín interrupted Vincent’s flood of words with a kind laugh. “I can’t keep all that in mind at once. I should be glad if I remember half of it tomorrow morning.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Goblins were sitting around their bonfire, eating and chattering along in their harsh tongue. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the trees surrounding the little clearing. Vincent counted twelve of them… no, thirteen… another goblin just stepped out of the concealing shadows in between the trees. Obviously he had been sent out to collect more firewood as he carried an armful twigs and cut-off branches. Grunting, he threw them on the pile next to the fire and finally joined his comrades.
Their day had been quite uneventful, but about an hour after nightfall Enorín had noticed a reddish shimmer between the trees, too close to simply ignore it. Quickly they had put out their own small fire and approached the strange light to find out its source. Now they were watching the goblins’ little feast, crouching amid the lush undergrowth.
Vincent felt Enorín’s hand slightly touching his shoulder. The half-elf leaned over and whispered softly into his ear.
“I fear we have to leave the road behind… there are too many of them around.“
Enorín’s warm breath caressed his cheek, making him shudder. Right now Vincent wouldn’t have minded to stay here, just like this, the whole night, despite the goblins ahead. Then he actually realized Enorín’s words.
While they were hiding to observe the goblins, he had already made up a plan to defeat them. He had the element of surprise. Most probably he’d be able to blind them all at once, before they even knew what was happening. The rest would be a pushover. Of course he would protect himself with his magic shield until the offensive spell was finished, just for the case one of the goblins was quick witted enough to make use of its crossbow. Yet he had overestimated himself once and felt no desire to do so again. Furthermore, if his plan failed, they would likely have to face a hand to hand fight. He knew Enorín was a great archer and bore a sword, but he never saw him actually wielding it. If the goblins attacked, Vincent could defend himself by the means of his magic, but Enorín could get hurt… or even killed. The mere thought of it made his stomach cramp.
So he simply nodded and turned his head towards Enorín. In the pale moonlight his companion’s sincere face could nearly be mistaken for a porcelain mask, if it wasn’t for the sparkling in his eyes. Vincent had to resist the urge to kiss this boy right away. Instead, he whispered his answer.
“If we head straight westwards, we’ll get out the forest sooner or later. Then we can follow its border south and thus reach Thurbin Castle.”
Enorín gave a confirming nod and slowly got up to withdraw. After a short moment of confusion, Vincent followed him as quietly as possible. He surely didn’t expect him to leave right away. How on earth would they make their way through the forest at night? Here, the almost full moon was providing enough light to find a path between all the scrubs and roots. But if the trees got denser, getting on without breaking one’s neck would be quite a challenge.
The nasty chatter faded, as their distance to the clearing grew. The road was not more than fifteen yards away when Enorín stopped abruptly and looked up. It took Vincent several moments to discern the small yellowish eyes watching them from a branch above. The two ravens stared at Enorín and the half-elf returned their stare, almost as if some strange kind of conversation was taking place.
Many commoners regarded ravens as a bad omen. But although Vincent didn’t share their superstitions, it proved to be true in this case. Suddenly the ravens’ rough caws cut the silence of night. If they weren’t just ordinary birds, Vincent could have sworn they acted out of malice. Enorín cursed under his breath and readied his bow in a single, swift movement as the ravens took into the skies, still cawing. Vincent could hear the goblins’ agitated shouting from behind.
“Quick!” Enorín hissed. “We’ve got to get away!“
They started running and found themselves on the road in no time. Vincent looked back and saw the goblins’ vague shadows in between the trees. They were splitting up, trying to hunt them down like a pack of wolves. Enorín grabbed his arm and pulled him along. They reentered the woods on the other roadside. The half-elf kept holding Vincent’s hand as he found his way through the underwood with amazing ease. All of a sudden Vincent saw four humanoid silhouettes ahead. There was no way the goblins could already have overtaken them. These four must have been around and had certainly heard their comrades’ calls. Whatever reason, it didn’t change the fact they now tried to bar their way. Vincent let go of Enorín’s hand and stopped to concentrate.
“Sarbest, qulet o misar!”
The two streaks of dim, greenish light shot forth from his left hand and found their way in between the trees to their targets directly. As the magic crystals exploded, lighting the surrounding area, another goblin was killed by one of Enorín’s white feathered arrows. The fourth goblin dropped to the ground, hoping to evade a similar fate. There was no way he’d try to stop those two singlehandedly.
Vincent and Enorín exchanged a short glance as the half-elf took hold of his companion’s hand again. Though they were able to continue their escape, they had lost precious time. The persecuting goblins were getting closer and closer. First crossbow bolts were hissing through the air, missing them by inches, perhaps due to the obscuring shadows of night.
Enorín did his best to use the trees to cover their backs without losing their narrow margin. Another volley of bolts was fired at them and Vincent felt at least one hitting his backpack. But there was no time to think about let alone check on it, as Enorín gasped and clutched his left upper arm. He almost stumbled, but Vincent reacted quickly enough to support him. Enorín’s white shirt turned dark from his blood just underneath the short sleeve of his chain mail. Twigs whipped in Vincent’s face, as he continued to run, dedicating more attention to his companion than to his path.
“Vincent! Look ahead!” Enorín shouted, as he stopped running also trying to hold back the mage. Vincent got hold of a branch just in time. One more step and he’d have fallen off the steep slope in front of him. A dried out riverbed crossed their escape route, its slopes plunging down to a stony bottom. Hidden by grass and bushes, its edges were almost impossible to make out, especially at night.
Enorín looked at him with a helpless expression. Whatever direction they would choose, the goblins would be able to catch up with them for sure.
“Leave this to me.” Vincent said as calmly as his strain and nervousness would allow. He extended his arms and closed his eyes. Moving fingers, hands and forearms in wavelike motions, he began to whisper.
“Jeness cen kulme a rissin, qalass savar wavin numasa.”
When he reopened his eyes, thin strands of white mist had already appeared in the surrounding air. After a short glance in both directions Vincent chose the path to their right and started running, dragging Enorín along. Despite the dizziness he felt from casting one of his most potent spells, he felt obliged to take the lead, considering Enorín’s injury.
The half-elf turned his head as he ran to check on their persecutors and saw the full extend of Vincent’s spell. Like a ghostly river, thick fog was creeping uphill from the bottom of the trench with unnatural speed while the white mists above became denser with every instant, together creating a heavy, obscure cloud.
He focused back on their path, ignoring the pain as best he could. None of them turned around when they heard the miserable screaming behind, followed by several dull impacts.
They continued to run, but slowed down after a short while. Neither could they hear nor see any sign of the goblins.
Enorín crouched, panting heavily. “You’re a man... of many surprises... Vincent.” He looked up to the human as he firmly held his upper arm.
“Maybe... but I’m quickly... running out of them.” Although he had managed to get away without any injury besides several scratches on arms and face, Vincent was at least equally exhausted and leaned against a tree.
They waited several moments to recover their breath and listened to the sounds of the nightly forest. But there was still no sign of the goblins. Eventually Enorín stood up to check their surrounding.
“Look! Over there!” He pointed at a dark spot in the slope on the other side of the riverbed, maybe thirty yards away. Being only lighted by pale moonlight Vincent could barely make out what most probably was an opening of some sort.
“We could hide there for the rest of the night. Just in case they keep looking for us.” Vincent simply nodded. He’d go anywhere right now just to get some sleep.
Cautiously they climbed down the slope and made their way to the opening across the stony riverbed. It was bigger than they had expected, being rather a cave than just a cleft. As it was completely dark inside, Vincent took the torch they had gotten in Hewings and touched its head with his fingertips. It ignited instantly. Enorín lifted one eyebrow in surprise.
“No time for flint and steel.” Vincent stated nonchalantly and entered the cave. He enjoyed the fact he was also able to surprise the half-elf once in a while. Using the frail remainders of cast spell’s energies to perform little magics with ease was one thing Almaric taught him in the very beginning of his training. His former master always seemed to be very proud of this trick, treating the topic almost conspiratively.
“Uhh, what is this smell?” The air in the cave was musty carrying the faint scent of decay and feces. A few bones of small mammals were scattered on the floor.
Enorín, who had put up a few cut-off bushes in front of the cave to partly cover the entrance caught up with Vincent.
“A bear’s cave. They’re not nocturnal. If it’s not here now, it won’t return tonight.” The priest sat down on a large, clear spot on the ground, most probably the bear’s usual sleeping place, and took off his chain mail to examine his injury.
Vincent stuck the torch into the soil and sat next to him. He observed how Enorín washed and wrapped his wound, wincing now and then.
„Why don’t you… heal yourself like you healed me?”
Enorín shook is head, as a weak smile appeared on his face. “No, it’s okay. It’s just a graze, nothing serious. It’ll heal by and by, so no need to bother her.“
Unable to understand why not to use any given mystical power, Vincent shrugged and turned to his backpack. Two bolts had pierced the leather and were still jutting from the surface. He carefully pulled out both of them and checked his possessions. With a sigh of relief he found his spellbook unharmed. Only some of his clothes had been punctured.
Despite the fact that Enorín’s backpack had only been hit once, he evidently wasn’t that lucky. On a unfolded silken cloth on his lap lay the scattered shards of something that might once have been an alabaster figurine. Enorín’s sadness was obvious.
“A figurine of your goddess?” Vincent guessed gently.
Enorín’s voice was barely audible. “No. The last thing my mother made before she passed.” Vincent had never been good at comforting people, mainly because he hadn’t regarded anyone worthy of his comfort so far. Yet seeing Enorín in this state almost tore his heart. “My uncle said it didn’t picture her, yet...”
“May I have it for a moment?” The question confused Enorín for sure. He hesitantly looked at Vincent until the mage repeated his request.
“Please, give it to me.”
Enorín carefully took the cloth and passed it to Vincent, who spread it out on the ground. Sitting cross-legged, he meticulously rearranged the shards until they vaguely resembled their former shape. Then he closed his eyes and held out his hands over the broken figurine.
“In benet peroseso fer, dan perest fer!”
He repeated the words thrice while the shards began to pulsate. Enorín flinched as the fragments suddenly were drawn together, emitting a bluish flash of light and a high pitched clack.
Unbelieving Enorín stared at the reconstituted white figurine. Now Vincent could also see the incredible detail, showing almost every single strand of hair framing the angelic women’s face and each pleat of her beautiful gown. Still fascinated by the artwork, he wasn’t prepared for Enorín’s hearty hug, which almost tripped him over.
“Thank you! Thank you so much!” the half-elf exclaimed.
He enjoyed this closeness more than he could have imagined: The warmth of Enorín’s body as well as the smell of his hair, which was despite of their day’s troubles, still more than captivating. His mind raced for a modest answer.
“Glad it worked.” Enorín sat back and looked at Vincent, smiling and now seemingly unaware of his injury. “But now,” the mage continued, ”I fear I really ran out of surprises.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A deep growl awoke Vincent. Drowsily he patted his belly. Already so hungry to make his stomach grumble? They had eaten yesterday evening, hadn’t they? He blinked and made out a large hairy silhouette barring the entrance of the cave. The sun had already risen outside. Suddenly he became aware of their situation. The cave’s owner had returned. They were trapped.
He reached for Enorín, who was still sleeping next to him, and grabbed his shoulder, without losing sight of the bear.
“Enorín! Wake up!” he hissed, as he shook him persistently.
“Ow! My arm!” Enorín complained sleepily, clearly not glad being waken up this way.
Vincent immediately let go of his shoulder. “Sorry. But, we’ve got a problem here. The bear returned.”
This brought Enorín right away to alertness. He sat upright and blinked against the light coming from the cave’s entrance. The bear growled anew. It was a huge beast, its shoulders almost five feet over the ground. The shaggy dark brown fur only emphasized its menacing appearance, making it look even wilder.
Vincent slowly got up, also causing the bear to uprear. Now, standing on his hind legs, it towered the human by at least four feet. Yet Vincent seemed self-confident as he halfway turned to Enorín.
“Stand back. It’ll fear my fire for sure.”
“No! Wait!” Enorín exclaimed and got up quickly. In a flash he stood in front of Vincent, facing the bear. Its growling became even more aggressive and Vincent wondered if his companion was out of his mind. He didn’t doubt the beast would attack every moment now, tearing apart whatever it could get its claws and fangs on.
But Enorín signed Vincent to withdraw. The priest closed his eyes and chanted a verse in the melodious elvish tongue.
„Melyanna, Mistress of the forest bloom, I abide your blessing. Please lend me the voice of eagle, wolf and deer.”
His eyes still closed, he began to talk at the bear with a calm and steady voice. “Please, listen to me. We won’t do you any harm. I apologize for entering your home without your admission, yet we were in dire need.” Most surprising for Vincent, the half-elf knelt down.
“Please forgive me and my companion.”
The bear actually seemed to think for a moment, as its menacing expression faded. Vincent couldn’t believe his eyes as the bear got back on its fours and trotted grumbling out of the cave. Enorín got up and turned to the mage.
“Quick! Gather your things before she changes her mind.”
“She?” Vincent asked slightly ironically. “Seems as if somebody in here still has some surprises at hand.”
“You bet.” Enorín gave him a big beaming smile.
They grabbed their backpacks and the quenched torch and left the cave. The female bear waited outside. Despite her still respect-inspiring looks and slightly grumpy mood, she didn’t appear threatening to Vincent anymore, yet almost like an elderly person, disapproving of some youngsters’ misbehaviour. Enorín once again bowed to her, yet this time he was joined by Vincent.
“Thank you for your forgiveness.” the priest bid their farewell. “Melyanna may reward it and your hospitality.”
With a low grumble, she withdrew into her cave, not taking notice of the two men anymore.
Vincent couldn’t stifle a laugh of alleviation. “What did she say? Kinda sounded like ‘Yeah, whatever’ to me.”
Enorín joined his laughter. “You’re getting the hang of it real quickly! Couldn’t have translated it any better. Well, there’s more to some animals than most humans might admit.” he concluded more seriously.
Vincent nodded, remembering the two ravens from the night before. “Seems you’re not the only one who has to learn a thing or two about the ‘world out there’.”
Though quite impassable, they walked on the bottom of the riverbed for a while, to get away from the cave. Then they climbed the slope to their right and made their way westwards.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
After spending the whole day walking through the Firewood, they reached its western border the noon thereafter. Beyond, rolling hills grown with almost waist-high grass and scattered groups of trees awaited them.
“Now we’re out of the wood... and I hope we literally are...” Vincent mused as he blinked against the bright sunlight.
They decided to rest for a while, ate and lay down on the yellowish grass afterwards, relishing the warm midsummer sun tempered by occasional light breezes.
After almost an hour had passed, they started their trip southwards, following the border of the Firewood, yet keeping a cautious distance to it. None of them looked forward to be surprised by goblins bursting out of the undergrowth again. Despite those unpleasant memories they took their time, talking and strolling along without hurry.
As the sun neared the horizon, they started looking for a place to spend the night and found a small grove in sufficient distance to the forest. Enorín had even shot a pheasant he now prepared for dinner. This was exactly like Vincent had imagined his adventure and he enjoyed every moment of it.
The next morning, noon was still a few hours away, Enorín took notice of a little farm, seated in a dale between the softly rising hills, not far from their intended route.
“Over there! Maybe they’ll let us refresh our water... or even allow us to take a bath.”
Vincent could only agree. Five days had passed since they left Hewings. Five days of travelling through a forest, being hunted by goblins and spending a night in a bear’s smelly den. They could use a bath for sure.
They approached the farmhouse, surrounded by several small fields of grain, a little stable, a chicken-shed and a big garden providing herbs, fruits and vegetables. Next to the path leading to the house, a sign on a kennel warned possible intruders of the alert watchdog.
Vincent and Enorín lowered their pace, but the dog didn’t seem to notice them. Carefully Enorín neared the doghouse. First he thought the dog was just asleep, but then he took a closer look and receded quickly.
“Somebody killed him... strangled him with his chain.” Enorín stated in a low voice.
Vincent glanced over to the farmhouse and then back to Enorín. The half-elf simply nodded and they rushed to the front door. It had been torn open and carelessly reclosed. Vincent warily pushed it open and peeked through the crack, yet shut it immediately thereafter. He turned to Enorín, all colour drained from his face.
“Perhaps... you’d better not look.”
Less than two hours later they were silently standing in front of the five improvised tombstones, two bigger and three smaller ones. The farmer and his family had been slaughtered. The cruelty of the deed left no doubt about the murderers as well as the fact that all cattle and fowl had been stolen and the storeroom was plundered.
Enorín clenched his fist. “All righteous curses upon these goblins. Don’t they know every home is sacred, no matter whose?!” The bitterness of his voice was reflected in the priest’s face as he turned to Vincent. “Seems I’ve got to get used to holding human funerals...“
It unsettled Vincent to see his companion so strongly affected by this incident. But at least he was able to understand why. Enorín had told him his goddess was inter alia the guardian of homes. And seeing a home devastated and violated like this, surely had to upset the priest deeply. But there was nothing they could do they hadn’t already done.
So Vincent put his hand on the slightly bigger half-elf’s sound shoulder and led him away from the graves.
“We did all we could here. Now we should get cleaned up and leave. We wanted to report the occurrence in Hewings anyway when we arrive in Thurbin Castle, so we’ll also tell them about this one. This region most probably belongs to the baron’s sphere of influence. They’ll take care of it.”
Enorín nodded, the grief in his expression being replaced by determination as he made eye contact with Vincent.
“We’ll leave. But if the goblins dare to raid a farm outside the forest, we won’t be safe here either. We have to hurry to get to Thurbin Castle. What do you think, how far is it?”
Vincent thought for a moment before he offered his best guess. “Perhaps a bit more than a day’s walk, if we head straight south and ignore the course of the Firewood’s border.”
“So we could make it till tomorrow, if we walk the whole night?” Enorín asked, his voice making clear this was not a topic to be discussed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Indeed, they managed to travel the whole night. Meanwhile the moon was full and without the shade of the forest it provided enough light to find one’s way.
They reached Thurbin Castle in the very early hours of morning: The sun had not risen over the spacious valley of Malain River yet. The scattered little villages and numerous fields were still sleeping under a translucent veil of white morning mist, which had already started to withdraw. The lower town of Thurbin Castle stretched along the westwards flowing river, enclosing the upper town, the quarter inside the city walls. The actual castle was seated on a little hill at the northern wall, overlooking both, lower and upper town. Not far from the Firewood’s border a huge bridge, part of the Royal Trading Route, connected the lower town with a smaller quarter on the other side of Malain River.
Vincent and Enorín looked at each other with a relieved smile. Thurbin Castle. Finally.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
to be continued…
Famous last words:
Yeah! Finally!! I want to apologize again for letting you wait so long. *being really sorry* I wish I could promise chapter three will be posted next week, but sadly I can’t. So I just have to hope you’ll remain as patient as you were… I’ll do my best. Anything else? Oh, yes... quite a bunch conferring to my notes... So where do I begin...
First, I’m gonna confess! Yes!! I stole!!! But I won’t regret it *Bwahaha* What I’m talking about? Oh, sure, here you go: I already told you I was/am inspired by several sources. As I don’t know to what extend my ‘inspiration’ violates any copyright, I’ll state everything right here, just in case. I don’t want to get my ass sued, ya know. The bits of elvish language I used (and will use in future) are intellectual (and legal?) property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I don’t claim that grammar and stuff (yes, it does exist) will be correct, so if you’re a fan actually capable of speaking those languages (yes, they do exist, too) please don’t be mad at me. But if you want, I’d be more than happy to consult you as my advisor/translator/interpreter. Same applies for Valcan, by the way, which is obviously my personal violation of Latin. *g*
The second thing I used is the basic AD&D division of magic, although naming, explanation as well as the rest of ‘my magic’ has barely anything to do with the mechanics of this game. Okay, some magics might resemble certain AD&D spells, but you can’t copyright a general magic effect, can you?
Meanwhile you might already have noticed that I’ve made use of some... yeah, let’s be honest and name it like it is, clichés. I’m totally aware of that. Hell, that’s my first story ever! What did you expect?! I’ve got to get my ideas from somewhere! Right?! So I used them and will do so again. Completely unscrupulous. Whenever it pleases me! *Bwahaha* *kicking conscience into recycle bin*
Once again, I want to encourage you to drop me a line (lunarsangel@hotmail.com). Like I said before: Any constructive criticism is welcome. I also accept hymns of praise… as well as bar checks and similar symbols of appreciation *gg*. Please send anything dull and/or insulting to getsomefriends@youmightneedthem.com.
Oh, before I forget it: Have you noticed I’ve already got a pattern in the chapter-titles? *being proud*. Wanna know what the next title will be? Okay, sneak preview: The next chapter will be named ‘Black Cloaks’. Hmm, I wonder what’s going to happen... sounds somewhat sinister... So stay tuned! We’ll be right back after the commercial break...
Last but not least I want to announce that I’m going to post a reedited version of chapter one soon (less typos but some additional story-stuff). So if you’ve got any last comments concerning that one, hurry up and mail me. Could have posted it before, but I thought it wouldn’t be very nice. You know... “Oh, look! ‚Dream of Anduir“ is at top of the list. There’s surely gonna be a new chapter posted!” *klicks* “What?!? Only lousy chapter one?!? Again?!? Reposted?!? Dammit! I’m gonna send lunarsangel a mail packed with viruses!”
Scenes like that happen everyday in the world wide web... trust me ; )
Bye!