by W. C. Conner
As the guardians of the forces of good, you are bound to the following three obligations:
First, it will be your responsibility to recognize the signs recorded within this scroll when the inevitable day comes that evil at last finds a weakening in the fabric between the opposing forces.
Second, when that time comes, you must seek a key to unlock the power of the Forest which is to be to be carried forth against the threatening evil.
Finally, should you be successful and find this key, you must see that it is prepared for the mighty battle it alone can confront.
This is a clouded prophecy, I fear, for while I can promise you that, given enough time, evil will one day find a weakness, I cannot promise you the key will exist at the time of need. For that, the future will be in the hands of the kind fates.
It seems clear that the rising classes of wizards will be involved. They have grown greatly in capability since we first assisted them in the nurturing of their magical potential, and they have assumed many of the lesser tasks of the stewardship of life from the elves. Though the signs are chaotic, they point to the increasing power of the wizards as being either the danger to or the salvation of the balance. It will fall to you at the time of peril to untangle that which remains in disorder as I write this scroll.
May the kind fates smile upon my descendants at the time of their need.
As he rolled the scroll and replaced the faded gray ribbon around it, Gleneagle’s face was thoughtful. Caron believes the time foretold is upon us. Perhaps it is. Perhaps I don’t see all that she does.
He had returned the scroll to its place in the intricately carved wooden box and closed the lid when something forced itself to the forefront of his consciousness. “In the retrieval of these scrolls from the case in which they are stored, you will have seen and touched the green gem which is my life-force elfstone.”
He opened the lid quickly and removed the several scrolls inside. The elfstone, which he clearly remembered from when he had read the scrolls in his youth, was missing from the box.
13
It was early morning and the sun had not yet penetrated the boundary of the horizon. The glow of false morning in the cold clear sky in these last few moments before the sun rose threw the battlements of the newly constructed great fortress on the Crelleon Plain into ominous relief. The shapes revealed suggested mass. The mass suggested ambition. The ambition suggested power. The power suggested magic. And magic was the source of the power that led to the ambition that led to the building of the fortress.
Power, rank and title for wizards were measured not only by their innate potential, but also by the magic they controlled. The Simple Wizards, as indicated by the name of their class, controlled only small and simple magics such as the healings of wounds of both the flesh and the heart, and the encouragement of plants and animals to grow and flourish. They were by far the largest in number of the three classes of wizards and ranged from those who could effect a single small magic to those who could manage many and varied spells, though they were limited in range and potency. This tended to be the class to which ambition and pride were almost unknown and which was closest to the land. As a group, they participated in the Wizards’ Guild only sporadically, if at all, unless their potential and skills crowded them toward the level of Lesser Wizards.
The Lesser Wizards were able to control greater amounts of magic in a greater variety of ways, or to control a single magic of a power of magnitude that would otherwise place them among the Great Wizards. Far fewer in number than the Simple Wizards, they were often to be found serving as court wizards to royalty, for they could project their magic to larger areas or groups and with more dramatic results. While still close to the land, they could be seen to be vain of their power and to covet yet more, particularly as their capabilities crowded them towards the top tier of the wizard hierarchy.
At the apex of the order were the Great Wizards, and never more than five or ten were there in any generation, whether because of fate or because of jealousy and power struggles among them as was often whispered among the lower orders. As with the lower classes of wizards, some had greater power than others. It was the members of this exclusive group who were most jealous of their own power and covetous of the power of others. In truth, it was the Great Wizards who were responsible for the reputation which painted all wizards as arrogant and hungry for power. These held the greatest promise for good or for ill, for men as well as for the lower orders of wizards who shared the earth with them. To some of these most powerful of wizards, the power was a trust to be honored. To others, it was a pathway to corruption. To all, the power was seductive and irresistible.
Wizards as a group were long lived. The magic under the control of each was the measure of his power, and that power equaled time, for the greater the individual’s powers, the longer was his life. Even the least among them enjoyed life spans of almost a hundred years unless taken by some calamity, while the Great Wizards counted their life spans in multiples of centuries, not decades.
Greyleige had stolen power wherever he could and he hoarded it and stored it within himself against the day there would be no force that could stand against him. As High Altarn of the Wizards’ Guild, Greyleige had set himself on a course to control all the magic and all the life upon the earth that he might live forever.
On this early morning, Greyleige pulled up the cowl of his cloak against the chill of the air. Standing before the tall unglazed window high in the recently constructed tower at the center of the Wizards’ Guild compound, he looked out over the buildings put in place by the elves themselves before they departed. The original structures of the compound still held remnants of elven magics which Greyleige could sense lurking about and he cursed his inability to capture and control them. He smiled grimly as he considered how he was working to put that unfortunate shortcoming to an end.
Those fools who work for the betterment of men and the land are unworthy to call themselves wizards, he mused. I once thought as those misguided fools do, but I have seen the truth of our powers. The grim smile changed to a frown as he pulled the cowl of his cloak closer as proof against the chill coming through the opening before him. Our powers were never meant to be debased in the service of others. Power of this sort is for those who have the vision to control the lives of both the unblessed and those too weak or stupid to see the truth of the gifts they squander.
With the recent construction of the massive outer and inner battlements around the entire complex, the wizards’ compound had ceased to be a simple gathering place for the study and sharing of knowledge. In form and purpose it was an atrocity committed against the heritage of those who had built the original buildings, and by its very existence it declared itself the center of a movement for control. It was massive, it was impregnable. It was a fortress worthy of its name. It was Blackstone.
It had been named for the deep black of the stone quarried for its construction from the mountains which could be seen rising at the edge of the plains to the north, but those not blinded by his honeyed words knew its name reflected the heart and soul of the leader of the Guild.
Greyleige brought his thoughts back from where they had been roaming as he searched for answers and openings. “Amos,” he said, turning his head to address his Sub-Altarn, “has there yet been any word from our agents regarding the missing key?”
“Still missing, Excellency,” Amos replied. “There has been no indication that he has learned of his heritage, and yet it appears he has gone to ground. Why he would do so is beyond my abilities to divine.”
“Gone to ground, perhaps, but not in the way you mean, I believe,” Greyleige responded. “He is hiding, yes, but not from us, Amos.” He smiled inwardly at his lieutenant’s puzzled look. “Whoever he is, he hides from himself. It haunts him, his power. It taunts him but he doesn’t know what it is that taunts. It makes him restless, unsatisfied with anything he faces in this life because it is never enough. It never truly challenges.”
He turned and looked again out of the window, his eyes losing their focus as they tried to pierce his own ignorance of the identity of this, the missing key.
“It is but a matter of time, Amos, and once we find this pure vessel, our greatest challenge and opportunity will be upon us. It will bring a time of peril, but the results will make a new world, and it will be ours alone.”
“That is what I work for, Excellency,” Amos said as he bowed and turned to leave. “I serve your greater vision of a future that is ours.”
Greyleige nodded his head in approval of Amos’ departure, his eyes still unfocused on the horizon. As Amos opened the door, he was met by the rotund Bertrand just arrived at the top of the long flight of stairs, puffing after the steep climb.
“Ah, Bertrand,” Greyleige said without turning as the door closed behind him. “What news?”
“The princess has disappeared, Excellency,” Bertrand replied. “Our agent reported she had set out with her retinue, ostensibly bound for Wrensfalls which is where we earlier intercepted one of her personal guards who was said to be in Dunlivit to visit a sister. But that guard never went to Dunlivit and he was asking questions around town about the former employee of a certain business. He left abruptly after only one day. It seems he became aware of our people watching him. He did not leave in haste, however. He rode out of town at a leisurely pace as if he was done with his business. Our people followed at a discrete distance, but he disappeared from the road as if something had dropped from the heavens and plucked him into the sky.”
Greyleige turned at last and frowned over at Bertrand. “I don’t want to hear about his abilities to disappear,” he said. “I want to know about our abilities to make him reappear.”
“Our men tracked him for slightly over a week in a protracted game of hide and seek which he did, of course, eventually lose.”
Bertrand smiled but did not reveal that Harold had not made any mistakes. His final place of concealment had been revealed to those hunting him when, while chasing a deer with the intention of replenishing their meat supply, they had disturbed a brown bear sow who had her yearling cubs with her. The ensuing panic and chase had resulted in one of the cubs tumbling over the lip of a small ravine where it dealt Harold a solid blow, crushing his leg against a boulder as it landed at his place of concealment. Greyleige’s men were delighted when they found their opponent wounded and they dispatched him, though at the cost of two of their own, plus one other who suffered severe injury to his sword arm before Harold succumbed.
Bertrand had no way of knowing that Harold had scrawled his hurried message to Caron when he heard his pursuers approaching, sealed it with a glob of clay, then placed it in his glove and flung it into the dense growth on the far side of the dry stream bed that had been his hiding spot.
“But they learned nothing of value,” Greyleige guessed dryly. Bertrand had no response.
“And the princess?” he prompted, his mouth tightly set in impatience.
“She and her retinue never made it to Wrensfalls,” Bertrand replied. “She left the castle, but returned within three days. According to our spies, she has not been seen by anyone since they returned.”
Greyleige scowled as Bertrand continued. “Mitchal has disappeared now, also. He was seen on his way to report to the prince upon their return but has not been seen since.”
Greyleige turned back to the window. “You are blind, Bertrand,” he hissed. “I have been aware for some time that the princess never returned to the castle and now Mitchal has joined her. They have both entered the game board.”
Bertrand stood still, unsure whether or not to speak and if so, what to say. His dilemma was resolved by Greyleige’s curt command, “You are dismissed, Bertrand.”
As the door closed, Greyleige reached up and slid back the cowl of his cloak. Striding quickly to a round table opposite the window he lifted a dark silken cloth, uncovering a large crystal globe in which vapors of indeterminate color curled and twisted upon themselves. Casting his mind into the mist within the globe, he fixed his thoughts upon Caron’s face, commanding the mists to show her to him, but they continued to curl and twist, revealing nothing.
Once again the wizard concentrated – deeper, longer – fixing her face in his mind. The globe began to pulsate with a red nimbus. The mists swirled violently now but still refused to coalesce into a coherent picture. Greyleige released his image of Caron and the nimbus died quickly away. The vapors returned to their sluggish movements as he placed the cloth back over the globe. A light sheen of perspiration stood on his forehead as he returned to the window and once again looked out.
She carries too much of the elven heritage for me to penetrate, he thought. I would that I had paid some attention to this Mitchal. Had I a full picture of him in my mind, it would take but a moment to find them both. He drummed his fingertips on the stone sill of the window as he considered his options. She is closed to me until I control the elven magic, and it will take her cooperation or that of her father to make it happen. His eyebrow lifted as he finished the thought. Now that Caron is not around, I believe it is time I call on Prince Gleneagle once again.
14
Wil froze where he stood in the road before the Three Oaks Inn, his past nipping at his heels, his future seeming to turn from an oncoming zephyr to a howling wind. The sensation of rushing through time and space that he had experienced that night at the boundary of the Old Forest disoriented him briefly before he came back to himself and turned toward the voice from the past that had called his name. He put on what he hoped was a friendly smile but it was a sickly effort at best.
Kemp had walked over to him by that time, accompanied by a person who could only be the warrior Scrubby had described to him the previous evening. One look into those eyes and Wil knew he never wanted to be this man’s prey. He sensed, as he looked into the warrior’s eyes, how a hare would feel upon drawing the gaze of a hungry wolf.
“Wil,” Kemp said, indicating the man accompanying him, “I would like you to meet Morgan whom I met but recently upon the road. He is a skilled and honorable warrior unjustly released from the service of the Duke of Confirth.” Wil bowed his head, acknowledging the presentation. “And Morgan, this is Wilton, formerly of Dunlivit and Wrensfalls.” The warrior bowed his return acknowledgement.
Kemp looked questioningly at Wil. “Have you found that which you have been seeking, Wil?”
Wil nodded. “There is peace here and contentment; things I had not known until I came to Wisdom.”
“And to what do you owe this peace and contentment?” Kemp asked, looking askance into the cart Wil held by its handle.
“Well, Kemp, I owe it to the man who did not back away when I vomited on his boots upon our first meeting. I owe it to the simple life of being assistant to the village swineherd.” He was secretly amused as he noted the question in Kemp’s gaze as he regarded the contents of the cart. He looked then to the warrior and was surprised at the understanding he saw on his face.
Kemp looked to the warrior also. “Wil and I have known each other for several years. I met him in Wrensfalls before he moved to Dunlivit. I ran across him again on my first trip there to pick up metals for Bork after he moved away, and over the years we have had many very interesting conversations about the directions of our lives.” He turned back to Wil and continued.
“When you disappeared so suddenly several months ago, I was concerned for you, especially since nobody seemed to know where you had gone. I thought of you the last time I went to Dunlivit.” As he said this last his demeanor changed. “Wil, Bork is dead. He died when the smithy burned during a thunderstorm.” He waited a moment, looking for any sort of reaction, but there was none. “That is why you find me here in Wisdom,” he finished. “There was nothing there for me anymore, and too much at the same time.”
Wil looked down at his feet. “The world outside holds no interest for me, Kemp,” he said. Then, without lifting his head, he started pulling the car
t toward what he now considered home. “I should get back. Scrubby will be looking for me.”
“Meet with us this evening here at the inn,” Kemp said as Wil walked away, “and bring this ‘Scrubby’ with you. We have much to catch up on.” Very much, he added to himself as he watched Wil trudge away, the little cart raising a small cloud of dust as it went.
The warrior watched Kemp thoughtfully before calling after Wil, “You must come. Come, eat and drink as our guests.”
A chill ran down Wil’s spine. He had heard almost those exact words with almost the exact intonation barely one week prior. You must come to me. He once again felt the sensation of a rushing motion and glimpsed within his mind the scrolls glowing before him. You must come.
“I don’t think so,” Scrubby told Wil. “I do dearly love Three Oaks’ ale, but I think I’d be too frightened by that warrior and too flustered to be near the girl.”
“Do you remember the day Tingle showed up?” Wil responded. “I think you said something like ‘I’m going to Three Oaks for a free tankard of ale and you’re a dullard if you don’t join me’.
“Well, something like that,” he finished as Scrubby shook his head at Wil’s tortured remembrance.
“It pretty much got you out of yourself that night, too,” Scrubby said. “And that’s the night I found I had a true friend.” Looking over at Wil, he smiled as he said, “Okay, I’ll go,” then added in a mocking tone, “but only to please you and for the free ale.”
The Three Oaks had a much larger than usual crowd as folk from all around gathered to get a look at the strangers that had arrived just the day before. The word had gone around quickly that they were as extraordinary a group as had ever been seen in Wisdom. As they fought their way through the door from the courtyard into the common room, Wil and Scrubby could easily see Kemp and Morgan where they leaned against the mantle talking to two women. While most of the folks were packed in rather tightly, the group at the hearth seemed not to be affected. Wil smiled to himself, knowing it was most likely due to the intimidating appearance of Morgan along with the sheer bulk of Kemp. For whatever the reason, it was clear that nobody cared to crowd them.