Evaliir Hall

The Evaliir Hall Estate perched on a small rise surrounded by row upon row of grape vines drenched in the golden afternoon sun of Leafsturn. The main house of the Estate had been erected some two hundred years past during the recovery of war-torn Eystlund. Visitors were often awestruck upon their arrival to this home which had been constructed to meet the needs of a knight. While many a knight and lesser lord might construct a practical, defensible building to house their family and retainers, a tower home perhaps, Evaliir Hall was as far in the opposite direction as could be. The exterior was draped in a brilliant green granite trimmed in polished white marble. Intricate carvings and detail adorned every surface, including the slate roof over the third story where all manner of fanciful gargoyles perched at the eves. Meticulously groomed pathways meandered through the grounds making stops at statues, fountains, and private gardens as well as the hand-full of auxiliary buildings nestled into the property.

Being a southern kingdom, Eystlund never really had cold, winter weather but, the end of the year did bring about cooler temperatures and an extended harvest period. Throughout Wolfmoon and Leafsturn Evaliir Hall would be bursting with servants. The great hall could sit nearly a hundred people and would double as sleeping quarters during these autumn months while the army of workers descended upon the grape vines, picking them clean of fruit and storing it in the winery cellars. The climate was ideal for this purpose, plenty of rain and sun with mild temperatures. The vineyard was nearly as old as the home which watched over it from the hill and had been planted with a clear purpose. The current stewards of the land held to the original plan and, in turn, continued to profit as had their ancestors before.

This business of picking grapes and transporting them in baskets and carts back to the cellar was tiresome and boring work though when a person was only ten years old. This was why young Aaliyah and her seasonal friends had slipped off to the north of the property, opposite the vineyard, and into the small grove of peach trees which sometimes supplemented the wine production. The four children had been in the orchard for much of the day, thinking themselves quite clever at having eluded the work taking place on the other side of the property. It was well past midday when they began running out of games to play and boredom set in. Of the four, Aaliyah was the only girl; a willowy thing with sharp facial features and striking green eyes topped with waves of hair shining like beaten copper. Two of the boys were brothers, Chett a scrawny lad of an age with Aaliyah and Robin who was about to reach his thirteenth name day. Both shared dark, unkempt hair and eyes like coal with bronze skin ripened by a lifetime out in the sun. The last of their band was Warren, who was also the girl’s age. His straw blonde hair hung near his shoulders and blue eyes seemed to drink in his environment, he was a bit more quiet and inquisitive than the other two but, no more high born. The boys were all sons to field hands and would likely take on the work of their parents in time. This did not faze Aaliyah though, she generally had no one to play with so, having interaction with anybody outside of the house staff and her aging hound was sheer enjoyment for the lass. Eventually the boys found some fallen branches. As would happen with boys, they began hacking at one-another, playing at knights. Never one to be left out, Aaliyah found her own “sword” and happily jumped into the melee.

As the game wore on, the children darted from tree to tree, waving their imagined steel at one-another until they happened upon a much more secluded area on the grounds. To the far north west edge of the property, the small peach grove opened out to an untamed glade overlooking the wild bosk known to Aaliyah as Twilight Dell though, her father once told her it had another name long ago. The glade and small forest of Aspens and Fir drifted lazily down hill from the high ground of the estate yet, hard against the edge of the orchard, a terraced garden was cut into earth. Broad steps led down past two tiers of long abandoned flower beds which were now home to creeping vines and twisted, wild brambles, to an oval of large flagstones. Up against the hill perched several large marble columns which had likely supported the roof of a pavilion once. Now the weather worn stone was home to a great mass of deep purple morning glory's, swaying gently in the breeze and drinking up the afternoon sunlight. Flanking the columns stood several statues in various poses. A woman sitting in a chair examined something in her hand with a strange device to her eye, another character, short and broad with a long braid down her back held a mug aloft in toast, a dangerous looking wolf sat silently, surveying the overgrown pavers. It was a strange grouping; others included a skinny old man in what appeared to be his nightclothes, a fierce looking man with a thick beard and long braided hair brandished a heavy axe, a well armed warrior in hard worn traveling clothes took aim with a long bow and, possibly the most impressive, a monstrous man in heavy plate armor leaning on the hilt of a two-handed sword. Rounding out the group, a statue of a woman was placed on the far side of the small plaza, lounging on a bench as if eating grapes and admiring the western sky while ivy crept thick around the legs of the bench making her seem adrift in a sea of green leaves.

Aaliyah had visited this area on only a few occasions when she felt especially adventurous. It was an old place that seemed to hold a bit of sadness and she lingered a few steps up from the terrace. The other children did not hold her same misgivings though, scurrying down the weed choked steps to the open landing below. The girl followed hesitantly, if only to keep the boys from causing trouble. She had never been forbidden to explore any part of the estate but, something in the pit of her stomach told her this was a special place that should be honored and protected. The boys ran around, weaving through the columns and exploring the statues, eventually stopping before the giant in plate armor.

“I wonder who that was.” Chett commented, awe clear in his voice as he craned his neck to look up at the marble giant looming over him.

“I bet he was some great knight if they made a statue of him.” Warren chimed in, brushing his straw colored hair out of his eyes for a better look.

“He sure was an ugly knight if that’s what he were.” Robin concluded. “I bet he never could save a fair maid; she would just run away!”

Mean spirited or no, Aaliyah could not argue the truth of the statement. The man was hulking, standing at least 20 hands tall or more, and wore no helmet, exposing his broad brow, flat nose and over-large chin complete with lower cuspids protruding over his top lip. Deep-set, brooding eyes gazed out over the forest beyond.

“He could sure skin you easy as can be!” Chided Chett, a mischievous smile on his lips.

“Not me.” Robin, the oldest rebuked. “I’m the Black Bull!” he declared pulling himself up as tall as he could and puffing out his chest. “I’ll best all challengers!”

Not to be left out, Chett jumped in brandishing his stick-sword. “Oh yea, you cannot stand against Sir Josef, The Splinter-Shield!”

Warren swung his stick with a flourish and smiled slyly as he dubbed himself. “I am The Nightwalker! Stand aside you tourney knights!”

The other boys hooted in mirth at the choice. “The Nightwalker?” Robin snorted. “He’s just a legend! That don’t count.”

Dutifully, Chett added to his brothers’ comments. “What would The Nightwalker do to a pair o’ knights in plate anyway? Would he shoot them with his tiny elf-bow or drink ‘imself into the gutter as they charged ‘im?” Chett snickered at his jab and Robin laughed outright.

The blond boy looked a bit crestfallen standing there dumbly, unsure what to say to that. Aaliyah felt anger boiling up inside of her. The day was going so well and now these petty boys had to go and ruin it all. Beside that, the brothers were wrong, she knew in her bones they were wrong. She had heard many stories told of The Nightwalker as he was known to many, a roguish elf who had lived many hundreds of years past. A tourney knight he had never been but he had been a knight of Eystlund and a deadly one at that. No longer able to hold her rising anger, the copper haired girl gathered herself up on the steps and opened her mouth to shout down the ignorant brothers.

A voice cracked like a whip above the children’s heads and it was not Aaliyah’s. “What’s this now?! What are you children doing here?”

Aaliyah knew the voice at once and knew the hard edged tone. She turned slowly yet, needn’t look to know that her mother stood upon the hill above them. Despite her plain dress and the grape-stained apron she wore, the woman standing above the children held a regal air and had an exotic look. Long copper hair that matched Aaliyah’s flowed down her back in many braids, but her green eyes were more almond shaped and her ears had an unusual chiseled form. For a woman of middle age she barely wore a hint of wrinkles. She stood there a moment with her hands planted on her hips, expectant.

Aaliyah was searching for a proper response when Robin found some courage and half turned to the matron of the estate hiding his stick behind him in the process, he confessed. “We was just playing m’lady. We weren’t looking for no trouble.”

“I see this. Unfortunately, you all had responsibilities today did you not?” Aaliyah’s mother’s gaze fell upon her, seeming to bore into her soul. The four of them wilted beneath the scrutiny, wondering what type of punishment might befall them. “it seems to me that the lot of you need to be taught some lessons. We shall get to that just as soon as supper is over. Now, drop those sticks and come along. It is time to get cleaned up.” With that, her mother turned and strode away. The children exchanged glances, wondering what these ‘lessons’ might entail before abandoning their pretend steel and scampering up the steps leading back to the manor.

The evening meal consisted of a thick venison stew served with bread fresh from the ovens. The great hall was a raucous scene of seasonal workers at long tables, laughing and socializing as they took their evening meal. This was the time for much needed relaxation for the common folk and the mood in the room reflected the melting away of the day’s stress. Within the kitchen, the Steele family took their meal, quietly removed from commotion of the great hall. In truth this was not uncommon, the hall had been designed for grand and elaborate dinner parties but, the sheer size of it made casual dining an uncomfortable affair. Unless an event was being held or, the workers were in attendance, the family at Evaliir Hall took their meals with the cook and their small staff within the cozy warmth of the kitchen.

This evening, they took three guests to their table making the accommodations even more snug than usual. Robin, Chett, and Warren sat quietly, eyes intent on their stew while Aaliyah’s mother and father chatted idly regarding the autumn harvest and the expected yield this season. Aaliyah sat anxiously, nibbling at the bread and occasionally stirring the stew, her stomach in too much upheaval to be hungry. Occasionally she would steal a glance at one of the boys who only seemed to have questioning looks in their eyes. She had no answers so, she went back to picking at her meal which now was cold. After a what seemed an eternity, the table was cleared and, the moment Aaliyah had dreaded was upon them. She just knew that her father was about to dole out their ‘lesson’. He was a tall man and strongly built with a disciplined demeanor. Mother said he had once been a squire before they married and he took up tending grapes instead. It was always father who enforced the rules so, it was quite a surprise when he stood and took his leave of them. The maid, the cook, and the steward also found they had other tasks awaiting them and took their leave as well leaving just the four children and her mother sitting at the table.

“Well, it seems you four didn’t have much of an appetite this evening. I would have expected you to be ravenous after your adventures.” Her mother said matter of factually, giving no hint on what might lie ahead.

Aaliyah felt obligated to defend them somehow and tried to put conviction in her voice though, it quavered regardless. “I think we are all just too tired to eat mother, it has been a long day.”

The others seemed happy for this and nodded their agreement, no doubt hoping for a quick end to this so they could scurry off to their own parents.

“I agree.” Said Lady Steele. “Let us get on with your lesson so you can all be rested and ready for morning.” She stood and gestured to the servant’s door leading out of the kitchen. “I believe my daughter knows the way out to the gallery. Lead on Aaliyah my dear.”

The gallery? The girl thought. What could be waiting in the gallery? Her mind racing, Aaliyah rose from her seat and skirted around her mother hesitantly, making her way for the door with leaden feet. The boys all rose slowly and followed, worry stamped plain on their faces.

The gallery wrapped around three sides of a large courtyard nestled in the center of the building. The fourth side of the courtyard adjoined the great hall. When the boys came into the first of the long corridors their breath caught. Paintings, sculptures, and tapestries lined the walls while intricately woven rugs with strange runes imprinted on them covered the polished marble floors. Crystalline sconces held tall candles to light the gallery. Aaliyah felt her chest swell at the boy’s reaction, she knew that her family's collection was a source of pride to her parents.

Her mother came in hard on their heels. “Around the corner please, take us down to the family portraits.”

The family portraits? This punishment was becoming more bizarre by the moment. The boys gave her questioning looks but, she could only shrug and lead them down the corridor obediently. The courtyard was a large rectangle and the family portraits hung at the center of the long corridor directly across from the great hall. Aaliyah’s mother had told her this was so that their family could always have a prominent view of the festivities here which, often spilled out into the courtyard. Dozens of large portraits hung from the gallery wall in heavy, ornate frames, staring across the room and out the courtyard windows at the birds and butterflies flitting about the manicured gardens in the late afternoon glow.

Lady Addison stepped before the paintings of herself and her husband, Nicholas Steele. Holding a cool expression, the lady of the house wasted no time in delivering the lesson. “You four managed to shirk your responsibility today and ventured into a very special place on the property. You have no doubt been wondering what these ‘lessons’ are and what torment it will bring you.” A slight smile touched her lips as she paused for effect. “This is good although, I am sure it is not going to be as you suspect.”

Lady Steele strode slowly up and down the line of paintings, studying them quietly as the children stood fidgeting in uncomfortable silence. She stopped abruptly in front of her daughter. “This lesson is for you three boys, that you might better understand some of the facts from history but, Aalyiah, this is also a long overdue lesson for you as well. Your father and I have failed to teach you your family’s place in the world.” Then the lesson began in earnest. “We bear the name Steele and we are descendant from Sir Dain Steele, who served honorably with The Duke of Blackfields in his many military campaigns.” Addison gestured gracefully to the painting of a lively looking man in plate armor standing next to a courser and leaning on a lance tipped with a fluttering banner. A great helm rested at his feet and flinty grey eyes watched them above a drooping black mustache and smartly trimmed beard. “Sir Dain was Aalyiah’s great, great, grandfather on her father’s side and was a magnificent knight in his own right.”

The boys jaws were agape and Aalyiah felt a bit taken aback, she had known some of their lineage on her father’s side but, never understood how close they might have been to the future King of Eystlund. Knowing that she now had the children’s full attention, Addison continued, moving a few paces down the gallery. “There is little question of the ability of the Steele line and, nobody can doubt their loyalty and service to this kingdom. Many of the faces upon this wall were strong and valiant knights in service to the King.” With a nod of her copper haired head, she indicated the next portrait. “Do you know this picture Aalyiah?”

The girl peered long and hard at the woman in the painting. Her skin was like porcelain, framed in thick black curls. The most perfect smile touched her lips and sky blue eyes twinkled with life. In the painting, the woman was spinning a pirouette, her long gown swirling about her bare feet. The scene had taken place on an oval shaped terrace overlooking a small valley.

She was still turning the puzzle over in her mind when Warren interrupted her thought. “It’s the garden we were in!”

“Ahh, very astute young man.” Addison nodded in agreement. “But, who is she?”

After a long silence with no answer, Lady Steele turned to her daughter. “This is your grandmother, my own mother, Ellora Beckett. She was the youngest grand daughter of Baron Rowan Beckett.”

“We never knew you was royalty m’lady.” Robin bowed his head seeming unsure if he should fall to his knees or remain standing. Chett and Warren exchanged glances and began to bow also.

“Boys, stop.” Addison’s smirk was unarming. “We are no more royal than you are. Our family as it stands is far outside of the lordships and knighthoods who make up the great houses of Eystlund.” The young men straightened in embarrassment, Robin was turning scarlet and looking desperately for an escape.

Lady Steele obliged him. “This is not to brag, and I am not attempting to make fools of anyone. You shall soon see my point I think.” Addison took two large steps backward revealing the next portrait in line. “This is why you were brought here.” Her tone was solemn and her voice was low.

The four children gazed upon the portrait in the frame. Though none of them had ever seen one, they all knew immediately that they were looking upon an elf, for only an elf could have such delicate features, such sharp eyes and high cheek bones, the pointed ears poking out through long hair the color of a newly minted penny. The elf posed in profile with a tall goblet in hand, his smile was easy and sincere and emerald eyes twinkled with mischief. Aalyiah had been in the gallery dozens of times, had looked at all of these paintings and yet, she felt as if she were looking at this one for the first time. A small plaque fastened to the bottom edge of the frame read: Sir Ademar Helyanwë. She had never considered who all of these faces were and how they related to her family history. Suddenly, she had a great urge to know more.

“Mother, who was this man?”

“You mean, who is this man? My dear, this is my father, your grandfather, Sir Ademar Helyanwë.” Lady Steele stood silently for a moment allowing the children to process what she had said.

“Helyanwë- That name sounds familiar but, I don’t remember mother. Your father was a knight; an elf-” Aalyiah was just beginning to put together the pieces of this puzzle and she had many and more questions.

“Is a knight, and one of some renown. I want to show you something. All of you, follow me.”

Aalyiah glanced about at her companions who all seemed as surprised as her before turning to hurry after her mother as her long strides carried her quickly out of the gallery. In a few moments, the small group emerged from the north side of the building on a small stoop in the lengthening shadows of the fading afternoon sunlight.

“Quickly now.” Her mother bade them as she set off across the lawn toward the peach grove. Another uncomfortable look was shared by the children before they resumed their march.

Descending the old, stone stairs to the secluded plaza again, Aalyiah’s breath caught. The space was ablaze in golden light as the sun hung low in the west. The marble statues glowed orange and gold as if from some divine power. The morning glories draping the ancient columns of the pavilion were closing up for the evening and crickets chirped deep in the brambles. Down in Twilight Dell, birds were circling and settling in to roost for the night, frogs croaked, and the night animals began to stir on the forest floor. It was a strange paradox where part of the world seemed to be settling in for the night while the garden they stood within was bathed in the most amazing, warm light, the last rays of the day. It was a magical sensation. Stealing a glance at her companions, she realized that the feeling was universal, they were all standing still, drinking in the experience.

“This plaza was built by your grandfather Aalyiah.” Addison’s voice was soft, a whisper on the evening breeze. “He came here often in the evening to remember and reflect. This was his sanctuary, where he could remember the past and honor those who were lost.”

The girl was beginning to understand the sense of sadness about this place, starting to understand what the statues might be.

“Those pillars used to hold up a roof under which your grandfather would sit and pray quietly to Sanastarus while sharing a drink with his old friends.”

“Begging your pardon m’lady but, your father kept some strange company.” Robin looked almost as surprised by his comment as everyone else. His hand snapped over his mouth as if that might prevent any more foolish words from spilling out.

Addison’s eyes spoke of mischief when she favored them with a smile. “Why yes, young man, my father did have rather, unusual companions. Of course, three laborers sons running about with a high born girl is also a bit strange. That is the essence of this lesson today. Think on your comments earlier. You thought that The Nightwalker was a legend, a fabrication, or perhaps real but, weak and craven. I will teach you some history today.”

She waved to the statues before them. “These were Sir Ademar’s companions through his youth. Those who befriended him, fought with him, often even died next to him. For a time, he abandoned his family name for reasons even I do not know, and used an alias: Nightwalker.” Lady Steele paused a moment to revel in the reaction of the four children. Robin, the oldest, was changing increasingly brighter shades of red, scanning the ground for a rock to hide beneath. His brother, Chett was abashed, his mouth working a silent apology for his earlier actions. Warren, the young boy who had brought up ‘The Nightwalker’ initially, stood a little taller, smiling at the obvious discomfort of his peers. Her daughter’s reaction was the greatest of them all. Addison watched as the pieces finally fell into place in Aalyiah’s mind and the realization of her grandfather’s true identity became clear. An expression of awe was stamped on her face but her green eyes burned with excitement and questions.

“There are many and more things I could tell you about my father. We could sit here in this garden for days and days and, I would still not have told you all there is to tell.” Lady Steele said. “I will give you the condensed version.”

And so she did, telling the children of how her father had adventured in the frozen lands of Eldridge before traveling all the way across the world to help King Darius I in war and, being knighted for it in the process. How he continued to serve Eystlund for a while before deciding to set off on a quest for an artifact, a sword the elves of Kemmermere called Est’ Peroleth, deep in the swamps of the Dodanna Freelands. She told them of how her father put his quest aside and built the estate that their family now looked after, naming it Evaliir Hall or, The Hall of Twilight Song as it translated from elvish. She even told the sad tale of how her mother, a human woman, had passed away of old age while Sir Ademar remained young. Heartbroken, the garden they stood in was built so he could reminisce the past.

Unable to contain her questions any longer, Aalyiah broke into her mother’s tale. “If grandfather is still alive, where is he now?”

A somber smile came to her mother’s face. “Why he’s out adventuring again. Your grandfather is not one to stay in place long. He traveled back to Eldridge.”

Aalyiah scrunched up her face in confusion. “Why would he want to go there?”

“Sometimes that which we believe will bring us the greatest happiness fails to deliver on that promise. And, sometimes a place calls to us in an unexpected way. There are times when a distraction is needed to help us through life and other times when we need to revisit our past to truly make us feel whole again. I think, he is trying to make himself whole again. He will return some day and you will meet him. Perhaps your new friends will even be able to make his acquaintance.”

The children were all smiling then, at the prospect of meeting someone whom they had thought was a myth just this morning.

“Now,” Addison broke in as the rim of the sun disappeared behind the trees. “I hope you have all learned the pitfalls of believing every tale and story you might hear.” She was standing near the bench and the statue of her mother, Ellora, as she regarded the boys and her daughter. They were bobbing their heads in agreement. “Good.” She said, pointing to the far side of the terrace. “Tomorrow, after you have had your morning meal, you will return to this place and begin restoring it to it’s former state.” At the edge of the flagstone oval sat a wheelbarrow full of gardening tools. Several groans arose from her young workers. “That is your punishment for evading your real duties today. I expect that by the week’s end, this garden will be presentable for Sir Ademar on his return. Now, it is time we return to the hall, you don’t want to be stumbling back in the dark.” With that she turned and left.

The boys followed quickly behind but Aalyiah remained. Walking to the stone bench, she gazed at the image of her grandmother wrought in fine white marble. Down at the edge of the bosk fireflies blinked in and out of sight and frogs croaked in the gathering darkness. The first of the evening stars were just visible in the deepening blue sky where a half moon hung low in the scattered clouds. A dragonfly flashed into view and perched on the outstretched hand of Ellora Beckett’s statue. There it sat, flexing it’s silvery wings, seemingly watching the girl as she stared back at it. For an instant she felt some sort of connection to the insect. For just a moment, she could almost hear it’s thoughts. Just as quickly though, the feeling was gone and so too was the dragonfly. With much to think about, the girl turned slowly from the garden and began her return to the house. It would be a long day tomorrow, she was going to need her rest and, with some luck, she could sneak a snack out of the kitchen before everyone was settled in for the night...

Blind Seer

Razell Silverfire was not an overly superstitious nor religious individual but, he was becoming desperate for answers and it was showing. Seated at a discarded mead keg which served as a table for the blind old "seer", Razell hesitantly extended his hand across the table to the man.  

I must be a loon, he thought to himself, looking for answers from this wine-soaked human. What could he possibly know? I wonder if Derek put him up to this; how else would he have known of my name? His group had been pushing through narrow, crowded streets when the old man had suddenly raised his head and called out "Razell! My lord!" those milky dead eyes looking right at him. Razell had tried to walk on and ignore the beggar, believing him to be just that, but he continued to cry out and attract attention, attention he and his companions could ill afford. When he cut through the press of humanus intent on throttling the man he was met again with those blank, pupil-less eyes which locked on his own silver irises seeming to see him clearly despite the contrary appearance. It had been quite unnerving but it would be nothing compared to the man's next words which came to him in the high elven tongue.

"The wandering lord of silver and fire seeks his past." It had been spoken by this old, broken man in a way that only elves were capable of doing and this fact hit Razell just as hard as the words he had spoken. 

The seer took Razell's hand in his own wrinkled and dirty appendage. Closing his eyes, the man seemed to fall into a transient state, quiet and still. Then he began speaking the elven tongue again in a voice which carried strength and conviction far beyond his frail body. "Silver of hair and fiery of heart, you seek a past which is hidden from you in the daylight; revealed only recently in fitful dreams. A powerful heirloom has been returned to your hands providing a light to shine upon the shadows of the past. The future will bring great bounty or great sorrow to your people and the key lies in the blindfold you wear." 

The old man's eyes opened, white and unfocused. A wet sheen covered his balding head and face. "Eh? Stopped in to have yer fortune told by old Bill? Three coppers it be, and don't you be thinkin' ye can cheat me on account of my blindness! I know an iron penny when I feel it!" 

Razell looked around at his companions. Derek stood nearby with a dumbfounded look across his sharp features, Vlad shifted uneasily from one foot to the other obviously uncomfortable with the situation, but it was Berkley Whitecloaks' sharp look of interest which gave him pause. The human had understood what the man had said and he knew something, or at least he had made some sort of connection. Razell had to know but this crowded market was not the place for such discussions. 

The silver haired elf pulled away from the old seer and stood hastily. Dropping a silver eagle to the keg which the drunken old man scooped up eagerly and bit down on with his few remaining teeth. "Silver!" The man trumpeted. "Thanks to ye good sir!" But Razell had already swept past the man, hurrying to the inn with his companions in tow. The puzzle before him had just become more complicated and now he was more determined than ever to solve it. 

Eye For an Eye

Kendrick Cwick, suffering many wounds and with all his supporters dead or dying, broke from the fight and raced out of the front door. I quickly pulled a masterwork arrow from its quiver and fired through the massive front portal. The flaming missile was barely out of the door when another followed and then a third, Est'Perolyne igniting and launching those deadly projectiles with such force the air shrieked as they raced the sixty-odd paces to their target.To Kendricks’ credit he was able to avoid the first two shots but his luck had expired. The third arrow struck true where the mans’ skull met his neck, a brief flare of orange flames roared across the back of his head as his hair caught alight. With a sickening thud the limp body of Kendrick Cwick landed, face first, on the frozen turf of the courtyard. Although this wound would likely be fatal the stubborn man would not stay down. Grunting and gasping for breath Cwick struggled to force his arms to do his bidding; to push his torso up off the ground.

Seeing this I dropped my bow and turned to retrieve my discarded swords. Dhaerow Athil (Traitors Bane) and Iriadors Drannor (Garnets Song) had been forged by Aben INSERT NAME HERE, a master craftsman of the north. These two newly crafted short swords would fulfill their purpose and end the life of Kendrick Cwick, avenging the loss of Deedra Garnet. Without hesitation I stalked through the open door and out into the courtyard.

I noticed several guards up on the outer wall, they were watching with interest yet, made no move to interfere. As I approached my one time friend and mentor the torch light from the building cast many copies of my shadow over his frame. He was still face down but had managed to push himself up on the backs of his wrists with his arms nearly locked straight. The effort in holding even that position strained the rogue and his body quivered in exertion.

For a mere heartbeat I stood there, in a surreal moment. My breath billowed into the night as great clouds of white mist. I could feel my heart pounding within my chest yet, while glancing at the razor sharp edges of my twin blades, they were steady and calm. I straddled his body and bent low, crossing my swords over his exposed throat. Dhaerow Athil and Iriadors Drannor reflected the torch light from their polished surfaces seeming to hold the full fury of the nine hells in their leaf-shaped form.

“Ademar.” Kendrick gasped.

I was not listening, nor was I to be swayed by any further words he might get out of his treacherous mouth. I leaned in close to his ear so that he would well understand my words.

“My blood oath is now fulfilled.” I stated.

Before a reply could leave his lips I began to rise, pulling up hard on my blades and dragging them out as I went. The keen edges bit hard and deep into the soft tissue and sinewy tendons alike. After only a few seconds of spasms and one last, pitiful gasp Kendrick Cwick collapsed into a quickly widening pool of his own blood.

When I rose I left the body lying there on the frozen ground. I cared not even to search his body. Glancing up at the walls, I met the gaze of a couple of the ‘guards’ standing there. None of them could hold my gaze and within minutes the walls were deserted.

Returning to recover Est’Perolyne, I felt strangely cold. I would have thought that killing my treacherous mentor would have put me at peace but I was not. I felt more hollow and alone than ever. My actions were wooden and unfocused. I could not tell you what events occurred the remainder of the night; my mind was so clouded and my heart ached again for my loss. I knew that night that, although my oath had been met, I would never shake the specter of Deedra Garnet nor could I ever escape the shame of the disaster that my actions had brought about. All I can pray to do now is survive my future trials and hope that Deedra approves from on high.

-Ademar Helyanwë

Friends and Acqaintances

Cor’Nal shifted uneasily while he lay in this dark chamber which, by the stink of it, likely doubled as a goat stable during daylight hours. His companions slept quietly, save for Raell who snored noisily, curled up in a cramped corner as far away from the others as possible (though not near enough in Cor’Nal’s opinion); as though he were conscious of the strange growling noises, and occasional sucking sounds he made when drawing air during sleep. Cor’Nal didn’t mind the smell (not nearly as much as he did Raell’s oral emanations anyway), because it was, after all, only natural for animals to smell as they did, but his recent accommodations on the road had spoiled him, made him more aware of the uncivilized, wilder world around him than he had been while hiding away in the warm beds of Henutsen and Goodale. Despite being away from the true wilderness, lying here under the cover of his own blanket (a blanket he admittedly did not need due to his own magical vestments) in this dirty cell made him feel a bit more connected to his calling, to his home, than he had expected. These things, coupled with the closeness of this tiny space annoyed him. But the truth of his irritation lay in his inability to relax long enough to meditate for the evening, an elf’s version of sleep.

This problem, the druid had reluctantly admitted to himself, was born of the visions, or perhaps more accurately: hallucinations, of the beautiful elf-woman who had tortured him each time without fail, with the same question. The inanity of which had grated on his mind with the passing of each fevered-dream.

“What are you searching for, druid?” She asked him each time.

“Foolishness.” Cor’Nal spoke the word aloud without realizing it. What are any of us searching for? He thought as he glanced around the small space within the grey, nondescript stone walls of Grodek Keep.

Well, aside from a cursed sword, a 10,000 gold piece bounty and enough riches to retire back to North Hembers on. He looked at Gareth; the subject of his most recent thought, as a candle in the corner flickered, casting a disjointed ballet of shadows to dance across his blanketed length. The candle, no doubt pilfered by Ademar from the mage they had just sought counsel from, was a requirement of the former human’s, since they had no fire to light the evening darkness with. Despite the assurance of the keep’s safety, as well as the fact that Gareth and all three of his companions could see as well in the dark as they could in the day, Gareth’s concerns about a possible evening ambush could not be assuaged. Cor’Nal had always sensed, but was now assured that Gareth had an irrational fear of the dark. He thought it comical, though no doubt admitted that due to his dark-sightedness, he could not ever understand the fear himself. Thinking about it for the first time he tried to imagine how he would feel if that ability were to be suddenly ripped away from him, this gift he had grown to take for granted. Would his attitude toward the night be so cavalier, as it is now? Or would he react in a cowardly manner as the former human seemed to? He would have to ask Raell in the morning, having been subjected to the experience himself, if the thought occurred to him to do so.

Raell; Cor’Nal shook his head when he thought of the half-man. His twisted sense of morality, and strange way of achieving his goals toward that end, were often annoying to him; even more so than his abominable snoring. As humorless as the druid was he found it difficult to resist laughter, thinking about Raell’s frantic proclamations while burning down the dead human woman’s house in Henutsen. A cursed woman in a cursed town, no doubt, but Raell’s foolish superstitions nearly had the entire group tossed into the Baron’s dungeons. “It’s evil, it must be purged.” He had repeated over and over while setting the banshee-woman’s window dressings alight. He had thought the half-elf had gone mad as they fled toward the safety of their tavern rooms as the light of the fully aflame estate cast dancing shadows across the town as Ademar’s stolen candle was doing in this room right now.

An odd lot, true enough, Cor’Nal thought as his too-awake eyes now moved to Ademar. If given the chance to choose his friends, he surely wouldn’t have chosen Gareth or Raell, to be sure. Would he have even chosen Ademar? Not likely, he thought reluctantly and with some shame. A druid and a thief do not usually make the best of friends potentially, and there were times when Ademar’s propensities toward certain vices strained their relationship even now, but Cor’Nal felt that if the circumstance warranted, he would lay his life down for the physically and emotionally scarred rogue. He expected the elf would do the same for him as well, though he would never admit it. Ademar has chosen to keep distance; careful not to get too close to anyone for fear that another may turn against him. But over the last two years, his guard had come down, his emotional walls crumbled for the druid, and while their mutual trust was at first due solely because they had both been elves, their bond had now transcended that early convenient partnership to an unspoken level of companionship.

To Cor’Nal, he had become more than a friend, he had become kin.

He expected that his differences from the other two, as well as their unlikely survivability, would never allow him to have a similar relationship, but Cor’Nal accepted that happily. Most people were likely to wander this life never having known even one such friend as close and trusted as he had in Ademar, and he thanked Kutenai for his blessing.

No, he again thought with some reluctance, Raell and Gareth would remain acquaintances; to be respected, but observed closely, to be certain. Their unpredictability thus far dictated as much on it's own.

Eventually, his thoughts returned to the forest-elf-maid of his miniature dreams, or hallucinations, whichever they were. He supposed he would have to deal with her in depth at some point. Was she a message, or messenger, from Kutenai, from Lantana? If so, why? What is it they expect me to glean from this cryptic imagery? He thought. She was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful elf he had ever seen, further proof of a likely message from the divine. He wondered if her beauty was of some significance, perhaps a temptation of some kind. A test of the flesh? No. It could not be. Cor’Nal had yet to take a woman to his bed, the forest having always been his mistress, and would likely be so until Lantana had sent him a woman worthy enough to procreate with. He had never even been tempted by a woman, and as beautiful as the one in his dreams had been, even she had not yet lit the fire of desire in his loins.

Cor’Nal decided that it was of no use to dwell on it. He assumed that whatever or whomever was sending the hallucinations would send more, and hopefully the answers, or the signs toward these answers, would be included within.

It was that last thought he took with him to his evening meditation. It drifted off and diminished as a morning fog will do at midday. His mind clear, he began to slip into trance, chanting barely audibly, his consciousness giving way to the spirit of the earth as he became one with All, his power having been used, exhausted, throughout the days travails, now slowly returned to him. Cor’Nal would once again become the force he had been before the light fell away from Atalanxia’s sky, giving way to Myrrdin’s Eye and the stars that fortified it. When the others awoke; he would once more be nature’s hammer.

Blighters of this land beware.

The Light from the Stair

Zender stood just outside the temple doors. The guardsmen were long gone with Bishop Drent in their care. Looking over head to see where the sun was in the sky, Zender said a small curse under his breath, he knew he was late. Not that it mattered, everyone needed the rest. As he rushed down the stairs, Zender heard a ringing reminder of his new armor. Zender tried to ignore the continuous sound of his armor clinking and clacking as he marched back through the streets, to the inn where his friends were waiting. He knew the straps needed to be adjusted to make it fit better and while he knew about arms and armor, plate mail was something he had never imagined he would own. Zender did not feel as if he belonged in this steel skin. He just kept telling himself that at some point he had to get used to it or at least he hoped so.

As Zender approached the inn where his companions were waiting, sober he hoped, Zender saw a sight that he would come to fear in later days. Lomark was outside in the street, pacing back and forth in front of the inn. Head down as if he was only watching the tips of his shoes, Lomark took slow and measured steps. Ten steps he would take then turning on the balls of his feet, he would pivot around and start the next ten. While there not many things in the world that stumped the quick witted mage, it was clear there was something wrong. Zender quickened his pace a bit when the mage stopped to stare at the priest in white.

“What took you so long?” Lomark said as Zender drew near.

“There were unexpected problems at the temple, things will be fine.” Not that Zender believed that yet. “What is going on, why are you out here pacing around?” Zender asked while looking around, wondering if his other companions were also out or nearby. When he felt the hand on his chest, his attention was drawn back to Lomark quickly.

“Do not worry about those fools, they are still sleeping. I have a problem and I may need your assistance.” The wizard said softly while looking the cleric in the eye. “There is an old tower not far from here; the city has built a wall around it.”

“Herelden's Tower, it is off limits by order of the King. Everyone knows that. More importantly you know that, it has been that way for years.” As he spoke, the cleric’s voice started to grow louder.

“Keep it down.” Lomark said quickly and sharply. “I passed by there on my way to see my master. I needed supplies before we return to that pit. I saw a vagrant child playing in the yard between the wall and the tower; I looked around and saw where some boards were pulled away. I could not stop myself from going in, I saw the child. The boy thought he was in trouble when I asked him what he was doing. He dashed head long into the tower. I wanted to follow him but it wouldn’t let me.”

“What wouldn’t let you?” Zender asked.

“There is something in that tower. It would not allow me to get close. I fear for that child Zender, you need to do something.”

“I need to do something? Why not call the guard, tell them what happened? How much time have you wasted standing here?”

“Only those of pure intent can enter the tower or so I have been told. It is part of the old legend, if it is true it may take a long time to find a guard who is able to enter the tower.”

“Go!” was all Zender had to say. He was furious with the mage. As they hurried through the streets, he took a sideways glance at the wizard. Lomarks eyes were focused and hard, he actually had a look of concern on his face. Zender wondered if under the cold exterior if the wizard actually had a heart. This was only the second time since he had known the wizard that Lomark had shown concern for anyone other than himself. Thinking more about it as they walked Zender recalled the look on the wizards face when he saw how the children were being kept in the cultist lair. Zender started to wonder if the cynical wizard had a soft spot for children. ‘No’ he thought, that can’t be right. There was something else at work there. As they drew closer to the tower Zender put it out of his mind.

“Come back here priest.” Lomark said as they approached the wooden wall that surrounded Herelden's Tower. It is unknown how long the tower had been in Eystlundtowne. Longer than Zender had been alive, of that he was sure. “Here, he went in here. Bend down you can squeeze through.” Removing his bag and shield from his back, Zender set them on the ground, looking at the opening. Turning aside thoughts of his own troubles, he studied the wood with his father’s eyes. As he looked on any thoughts of good in Lomark started to fade away.

“The breaks in the wood are fresh; you can see where someone pried the boards apart recently.” As he pointed to impressions left behind in the wood Zender said. “They used something round, like your staff. Would you like to tell me what really happened?”

“You are wasting time priest, that boy could be in trouble.” As Lomark spoke his eyes narrowed to mere slits.

“Tell me.” Zender said as he moved closer to the wizard. His hand falling to the war hammer he carried at his side.

“Perhaps I was not completely truthful, yet the fact still remains that the boy went in there and he has not come out.”

“What did you do Lomark?” Zender took another step closer to the mage. “Tell me now or I do nothing.”

“Who is telling lies now? You have to make up your mind, throttle me or search for the boy, which is it priest?”

“Lomark, just tell me.” Zender pleaded in a softer tone.

“Herelden was one of the most powerful mages to ever walk these lands. Where he went, no one knows. Perhaps I tried to get in there and found I was unable. Remembering what my master taught me about the tower, I tried to find another way. Perhaps I even paid a small homeless boy a large sum of gold to go explore the place for me. To bring me any books he might find inside.”

“And he has not come out yet? Afraid he ran off with your gold with nothing to show for it?”

“No priest, I am afraid something happened to him and it is my fault. It is an old tower, anything could have happened in there.”

“This is not over.” Zender told him as he turned away. Shaking his head he lowered himself down to squeeze into the narrow gap in the wooden wall. Once he was inside the ten foot high wall, all he could see was the tower and the door hanging open. Taking a moment to reach up to his chest, Zender said a quick prayer to Solarth, asking for guidance and protection. Before taking a step he turned back towards the opening. “Lomark?” he said.

“What?”

“I don’t care what you have to do, if I am not out of there in ten minutes, you find a way to get me out. Understood?”

“Yes, quite.” Lomark said softly, drawing out the words as long as he dared. Zender could only shake his head and started towards the waiting tower door.

“Blasted mage is going to get me killed.” Zender said under his breath. Standing in front of the open tower doorway, Zender looked inside. He wasn’t sure what he would find as he crossed the open space between the wall and the tower. Yet what he saw now, was the last thing he expected. While the bottom floor of the tower was dark, the light of day showed him all he needed to see. The walls and floors of the tower were pristine, not even as much as a speck of dust marred the floor. Looking down he could see where dust and dirt had built up over the years but none of it pushed past the archway into the tower itself. Zender was tempted for a small moment to kick a pile of dirt into the room but thought better of it. Moving closer to the door way, he kept waiting for something to happen, to feel something resist him, yet nothing did. As he stepped inside the tower, nothing happened at all. Reaching for his medallion once again, Zender lifted it over his head holding it ahead of him.

“Blessed Solarth, please illuminate my way so your servant may see all your blessings.” As soft white glow spread out from his hand and soon he could see the entire room on the bottom floor of the tower. While Zender understood there were many things about magic he didn’t know. He was dumbfounded at the size of the room. It had to be twice the size of the tower from the outside. Shining the light around the room, Zender couldn’t see any way out of the room short of going up the stairs. As he started towards the stairs he called out. “Boy, are you up there?” Pausing just before the first step to listen, he couldn’t hear a thing other than the wind blowing outside. Until he put his first foot on the bottom stair. Calling out to the boy again, he thought he heard a door latching closed. Keeping his back against the wall, Zender started to climb the stairs two at a time.

“Boy, can you hear me?” Zender called out again, racing up the stairs. It wasn’t until Zender noticed that the light he was seeing wasn’t coming from his hand anymore but ahead of him that he slowed down. “Boy, are you up there?”

“Yes.” A small voice said, the word echoed down the stair well.

“Are you ok boy, can you come down?” Zender asked.

“Yea, I am ok.” The voice said again, echoing down from above.

“Can you come down?” Zender asked as he started to move up the stairs again. Soon the light completely filled the stairwell. Dropping his medallion of Solarth into one of his robe pockets, he reached his hand out and placed it on the wall to steady himself. Looking down the stairs he saw nothing but darkness, ahead of him was nothing but light. For a small moment he imagined being trapped between a world of pure light and another that was just an abyss of darkness and despair. Zender shook his head and started to move upwards again. While the stairwell was well lit now, he still couldn’t see where the light was coming from. “Can you come down boy?” Zender asked again.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well then I will come get you then.” Zender called out to him.

“No, I don’t think so.” Zender paused at this, his foot stopping in mid air, just above a step.

“What do you mean boy?” Zender asked.

“I don’t think you can come get me” The boy said. Zender stopped again, the light ahead of him was growing brighter, yet he still couldn’t see where it was coming from.

“What is your name boy?” Zender asked while resting his back on the wall behind him. He felt as if he had been climbing the stairs for an hour. He wasn’t surprised that Lomark didn’t come to help him.

“Oh, I don’t know. Everyone just calls me boy, never really had a name before.”

“My name is Zender, will you please come down now.”

“No, I don’t think so. It is warm here. I like it warm. It gets really cold on the streets at night.”

“Boy, are you alone up there?” Zender asked him. “Is someone keeping you there?”

“No, no one is keeping me here.” Zender shook his head. The voice was closer, he started to move again.

“I’m coming to you boy. Just keep talking.” As Zender moved he looked straight up, soon he could see the light. It almost looked solid, ethereal strands drifted down the stair well, feeling about as if moved by a living thinking creature. “Boy” Zender called out again.

“Yes Zender” the voice was closer, louder. Gone was the echo from above. Zender froze in his tracks, then moving back two steps. Something about the boy’s voice filled him with dread. Not for himself but for the boy.

“I think we need to leave now boy. Come to me, I know you are close.” Zender could feel the light now, even as he started to back away. He could feel its warmth, inviting him to come closer. Zender knew that he didn’t want to get any closer than he already was.

“No, that is ok. I am gonna stay here.”

“Please boy, come down with me. I will take you to the temple of Solarth; make sure you are warm at night, lots of food there too.” Zender could feel the light inviting him to come closer. He wanted to go forward, yet something inside of him knew it wasn’t time. That if he went there, there was no coming back.

“No, that is ok. It is nice here.”

“Ok boy, I will come back again. To see if you have changed your mind.” Zender was now steadily moving down the stairs. Even if he wanted to, his feet would not stop.

“Ok, bye!” the boy’s voice echoed down from above again. By the time the echo stopped sounding off the walls of the tower, Zender was running down the steps three at a time. When he could no longer remember why he was running, he was standing outside of the tower again, looking into that large empty room once more. Looking back at the stairs, there was no trace of the light from above that he knew was just there. Knowing that he would be spending many hours in prayer about what he had just seen, Zender just shook his head and closed the tower door. As Zender squeezed back out to the other side of the wall, he saw Lomark standing off to the side staring at an object in the palm of his hand.

“What were you waiting for? I thought you were going to help me?” Zender asked him. The irritation in his voice was clear as the sky above.

“You were only gone five minutes” Lomark said to him holding up a small hour glass. “Where is the boy?”

“Are you sure it was only five minutes?” Zender asked as he knew he was in that tower for a lot longer than that.

“Yes, I am quite sure” Lomark said softly. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the cleric. “What did you see in there? Where is the boy?”

“Honestly I do not know.” Zender let out a sigh as he put his bag and shield over his back again. “Let’s go, the others will be wondering where we are.” Zender said as he turned from the wizard and the opening in the wall to Herelden's Tower. Reaching into his robe pocket for his medallion of Solarth he felt a bit of comfort as he pulled it out. He smiled to himself as he once again put the lanyard back over his head, kissing it once before dropping it inside of his robe.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Lomark asked when he caught up with the fast walking priest.

Zender smiled at the wizard and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps” Zender said, ignoring the look of scorn from the wizard. He could only smile at Lomark now, while he still didn’t understand what it was that he had experienced, he knew there was no evil there. No ill intent behind that childish voice or the bright light. Sparing one last look back at Herelden's Tower, Zender knew that he would keep his word and return to speak to the boy again.

Grodek Keep

The four companions huddled together before the mage in his cramped quarters. The room had probably been a broom closet before but with so many people crowded into Grodek Keep, every space was now in use. Candles blazed everywhere, illuminating the room and instilling within it a hot, oppressive, air. The wizard's dark curls were matted against his perspiring forehead but he paid no attention, focusing only on the items before him. Chanting softly the man worked his magic intently, weaving his spell with precision; he probed the items one at a time in an attempt to unlock their unknown enchantments. First the smooth, bleached-white, wooden wand then, the gold amulet emblazoned with a stylized tree who's branches and roots were shown bare and twisted in a circle around the trunk; finally, the man turned to the thick book of parchment bound in red leather.

In mere minutes, which felt like hours in the stuffy chamber, the wizard's work was complete. He turned his eyes up to meet those of his four anxious guests.

"These items would be very useful to Captain Herschel and his men." The mage spoke in an even tone betraying no emotion. After a short pause he continued. "The wand holds healing powers and, although I can not tell how many times it could be used, it would be of great use on the battle field." The mage picked up the amulet allowing it to dangle from his hand on a delicate looking gold chain. "This talisman, was crafted by the followers of Lantana. They do not believe in wearing any type of armor and so they use these amulets imbued with blessed magic from the Treemother to aid in protecting their faithful. This," He lowered the amulet to the table and placed his hand over the worn leather cover of the book. "is a spell book. I'm sure you have seen them before. I would be willing to waive the fee for identifying these items in exchange for this book." He raised his eyes to the group. His face was expressionless but, his eyes held an eager spark within their dark depths.

Ademar was quick to speak. "Tell us what magic is within these pages and we will consider your offer."

"I am afraid that I can not tell you that." The mage replied. "You see, magic is written in a special script to prevent those who are not magi from harming themselves or others. If you were a practitioner of the art, I would not have to tell you what is in this book."

The elf frowned. He did not trust this mage, he did not really trust anybody in this whole compound, especially Captain Herschel who had confiscated their weapons before bringing them to Greden Grodek's massive compound.

"I think we will just keep the book." Ademar replied. "What do we owe?"

The wizard looked somewhat disappointed but, his eyes showed hope as he responded. "Two hundred gold." He watched as the elf winced at hearing the price before reaching for his coin purse. "Of course, if you would rather keep your gold and perhaps turn a proffit-" Ademar's hand stopped just short of his belt. "I would be willing to pay you fifty gold in exchange for the spell book and we will consider the debt paid."

The pale elf glanced at his companions yet, found no answers in their expressions. "We will keep the book." He stated again as he counted out exactly two hundred pieces of gold stacked neatly ten high and two rows wide on the wizards table. "Our thanks for your services good sir." The rogue said as he deftly collected the three items and turned from the room. Quickly his three companions followed, all of them happy to be out of the stuffy chamber.

On their way back to the overcrowded barracks the small knot of companions discussed how their newly identified items might best suite their own needs. It was readily agreed upon that the ranger Raell would carry the Lantanan amulet. The other two items were not so easily placed though. Cor'Nal had historically been the protector and healer of the party and it seemed logical that he should carry the wand. On the other hand, Ademar argued that perhaps they would be better served if someone else, perhaps himself, keep the wand in the event that the druid were separated from the companions or incapacitated in some way. When their discussion of the matter ended the only thing they could agree upon was that they would do something with the wand the following day.

As they were nearing the barracks, the fourth member of the party spoke up quite unexpectedly. "Ademar," the voice of Gareth was even and serious. "what do you plan to gain by keeping that spell book?"

The rogue was road weary and mentally frayed from weeks on the trail fighting unknown enemies. All he wanted to do was lay his body on a cot and rest in the relative comfort afforded by their host. He did not want to have this conversation now nor here but, he remembered that Gareth was not yet used to the long life of an elf and he did not yet realize that there would always be another day for such discussions. Rubbing his open palms over his face, Ademar turned with a small sigh.

"I don't know exactly." He turned his emerald gaze upon their stalwart companion trying to show him that his words held no secrets. "I don't trust these men who we do not know and the wizard seemed too eager to have it."

"Perhaps the man is just eager to bolster his ability in order to help defend his homeland." Gareth offered in counterpoint. "Besides, you trusted them enough to take our weapons." He had intended it to be stated as a mere fact but when he heard it in his own ears it sounded like an accusation. The warrior noted a grief-stricken grimace cross the rogue's face. It passed quickly but he already regretted bringing up the confiscation of Est'Perolyne.

Choosing to let the slight pass without comment, Ademar paused a moment and picked his next words carefully. "Call it a feeling, and instinct. I just do not feel comfortable giving away something such as this to a stranger. I can not do it in good conscience." Behind them Raell snorted in quiet derision. Again he chose to let the barb pass without comment. "Let us hold it in safe keeping for the time-being. If a need for it arises we can address it then."

Gareth nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation. Ademar smiled and spoke as another idea entered his mind. "Come my friends, I think there is still a bottle of wine in my pack. We can share it and perhaps find someone inside who has some dancing dice!" Raell groaned and Ademar smiled all the wider.