by M. Gregg Roe
One book that he had consulted described ogres as primitive creatures that wore crude clothing and often dwelled in caves. They were to be feared and avoided, not to have as one’s neighbors. Looking out the window, he could see several of the large humanoids, and he spent some time observing them. He soon concluded that the ogres of Tritown were not typical. The tallest one he could see measured roughly three yards in height, shorter than what the book had described. Their skin was the color of copper, with dark hair and amber eyes. Chiseled features gave their broad faces a harsh look, but not overly so. Instead of animal pelts they wore typical peasant clothing, mostly in shades of brown and blue.
Other than their size, the houses that made up the village were unremarkable, crafted from large logs and with thatch roofs and stone chimneys. All the ones in view had small gardens as well as vegetation that was clearly ornamental. On the whole, it all looked orderly and well maintained.
He quickly toured what turned out to be the top floor of the keep. Besides the laboratory, there were two furnished bedrooms that shared a bathroom with a sink, a brass tub, and an alcove with the promised toilet. From the central hallway, a ladder led up to a wooden trapdoor in the stone ceiling that presumably allowed access to the roof of the structure. Access to lower floors was by a spiral stone staircase in one of the sharp corners.
He was hanging up some of his clothing in a wardrobe when Vurk finally returned. “There’s four small bedrooms on the floor below,” the gworn told him. “I’m going to take one of those. There’s also a dining room and a kitchen with a big pantry. There’s even some food in it already.”
“And below that?” Ferikellan inquired.
Vurk laughed harshly. “The ground floor’s got some storage, but it’s also got a wood-burning furnace that’s connected to big metal pipes that go up.”
Ferikellan had noticed iron grates in the floors of the rooms, but had assumed they must be for drainage. In reality they were part of the keep’s heating system. It was something that he had heard of but never seen personally. And it was certainly better than trying to heat everything with fireplaces.
“Unpack your things,” he ordered, not that Vurk had much in the way of possessions. “We will start organizing my laboratory tomorrow morning.”
“So I’ve got the rest of the day off?” the gworn asked eagerly.
Ferikellan waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, Vurk. Go frolic with the ogres. Enjoy yourself.”
“Thanks, boss. I’ll see you later.”
He was rooting among the bundles, trying to locate the one with his custom-made pillow, when he heard a quiet knock on the open door. “Your pardon,” said a soft voice. “I have come to welcome you to Tritown and to invite you to dinner. My name is Fern.”
Ferikellan turned and looked at the middle-aged human female standing in the doorway, clad in a beige cotton dress with a conservative design. Wavy brunette hair framed a weathered oval face with delicate features and pale green eyes. Like her speech, her posture was stiff and formal.
After bowing, he said, “I am Ferikellan. My servant is not present at the moment.”
A lovely smile blossomed upon her kind face. “I have already spoken with Vurk. He is the first gworn that I have ever encountered. What must it be like to have four arms?” she asked, angling her head.
Ferikellan didn’t know, but it was part of what made Vurk so useful. “We would be happy to dine with you,” he told her.
She nodded formally. “My husband is looking forward to meeting you.”
That would be Birchbark, the druid with the oddly appropriate name. And his wife also had a plant-related name. According to Audrey, the two were the only other non-ogres living in Tritown at the moment.
“That will be fine,” he said, smiling at the woman. “I look forward to meeting my neighbors.”
“Are there any types of food that you prefer not to eat?”
He found her formal speech enchanting. “No. Vurk and I are both omnivorous.”
“Then I will see you at dinner.” She turned and swept out.
After finally locating his pillow, Ferikellan dug out another bottle of his precious grape wine. He would take it along as a gift. After all, he might be living in Tritown for quite some time.
Dressed in his finest attire, Ferikellan waited for Vurk to close the keep’s large oak door. If the Triangular Keep was now his prison, then it was certainly a comfortable one. And it was a fine day, warm but not hot, with a light breeze that carried a variety of aromas, including those of cooking meet. His stomach rumbled as the two of them set out, with Vurk leading the way.
The first ogre they passed, an older male with graying hair and stooped shoulders, boomed out a greeting that Vurk returned cheerfully while Ferikellan simply waved. Up close, the creatures seemed much larger, their broad torsos and thick limbs radiating raw power as they loomed over the two of them. The creatures were, in fact, considered to be a type of giant. In their presence, he felt like a child.
“That way leads to the mill,” Vurk said, pointing down a branching path. “They make good bread. They’ll be bringing over fresh loaves in the morning.”
Ferikellan had noticed cows in one fenced-in area, so there should also be milk, butter, and cheese. And beef, of course.
“The population’s a little over two hundred,” Vurk continued, then called out a friendly greeting to a young couple holding hands as they strolled in the opposite direction. “They told me it’s pretty peaceful here,” he added after they had passed.
Of course it was safe. Who in their right mind would attack so many ogres?
Vurk continued his monologue as they wound around a cluster of nearly identical houses, some with children outside that stared wide-eyed at the two of them and shyly waved. Even they looked formidable to his eyes.
“This must be the place,” Ferikellan said as they reached the eastern side of the village. The house they were approaching was human-sized, surrounded by tall oaks and with immaculate landscaping that featured a variety of ferns. The thatch roof was also host to a variety of plants, including colorful flowers. To the left of the front door, he could see Fern through an open window, working in the kitchen.
The front door opened inward and a tall human stepped forward, smiling through his thick beard. “Welcome!” he called out in a deep voice. “I am Birchbark. You must be Ferikellan.”
“I am,” Ferikellan replied, bowing slightly.
He had rarely encountered a taller human. Birchbark held himself like a young man, but his lined and tanned face revealed him to be middle-aged. The man’s dark brown beard showed traces of gray, as did his short hair, which he parted on the right. His brown eyes crinkled as he returned Ferikellan’s gaze. Each could sense the other’s magical potential, as well as their predilection for earth magic. It made them comrades, of a sort.
“I’ll take the wine in and see if Fern needs help with anything,” Vurk said, making it sound as if he and the woman were old friends. Birchbark promptly stepped forward and to the side to allow the gworn entrance.
“I’ve met gworn before,” Birchbark remarked, keeping his voice low, “and killed more than one who served an enemy.” His eyes crinkled with mirth. “I always wanted one of my own, but apparently my meager researches don’t qualify.”
“Or perhaps gworn are not assigned to druids?” Ferikellan hazarded, wishing he was better at making small talk.
“Hmm,” Birchbark muttered, creasing his brow. “They are sometimes found in the service of clerics, but I can’t think of any examples of a druid having one. You may be right.”
It sounded as if gworn could be another topic of conversation between them, but he had a larger concern. “What can you tell me about the Guardian?” Ferikellan asked hesitantly.
Birchbark’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I know some of her background. I know that she takes the responsibility seriously. Do you know why ogres live here?”
The question caught Ferikellan off guard. “
I do not,” he replied quietly. “I know little of ogres.”
“These ogres are atypical because they once served an Eye of Andoran,” Birchbark explained. “Josara lived out the last years of her life in the Triangular Keep. The enchantment that kept her from aging needed to be renewed from time to time.”
“And that ceased after Andoran’s death,” Ferikellan breathed, trying not to picture what had probably been an unpleasant end. The time limit on the enchantment might have even been a way for Andoran to maintain control of his servants.
“A few of the ogres left after Josara died,” Birchbark went on, “but most stayed. And when they found out that Audrey was Andoran’s successor, they pledged their loyalty to her.”
“Is she as young as she looks?” Ferikellan asked, disconcerted by the revelation. Tritown truly was his prison.
“Yes, but don’t underestimate her.” Birchbark cracked a smile. “She keeps saying otherwise, but I think she was a superb choice for the power and responsibility. Bringing you here was smart, for example.”
That remained to be seen, but he understood what the man was getting at. Before he could ask any further questions, Vurk appeared to tell them that dinner was ready.
Sitting in the smaller of the two wooden chairs behind the house, Ferikellan wasn’t certain how to respond to the answer he had just received from Birchbark. Given the existence of the potions Audrey had described, it wasn’t unreasonable for Birchbark to claim to be from outside Andoran’s Realm. But to hail from a different continent? He strove to recall maps he had studied decades ago, caught up in the thirst for knowledge so often fueled by youth.
Fern had served a meal that was both sumptuous and filling. Vurk was even now helping her clean up and probably asking for recipes. But that was typical of the gworn. He was good at making friends and knew when to be tactful.
“My wife is also from outside,” Birchbark said casually, looking out at small copse of maple trees, beyond which lay gentle hills covered by the tall grass so common in the Plain of Winds. Aside from a few wisps of cloud, the darkening sky was clear.
“If memory serves,” Ferikellan said slowly, “Kaldir is the farthest continent from Thren.”
“About three-thousand miles to the west,” Birchbark agreed, nodding. “And farther south. But I didn’t travel to this continent by ship. Distance means nothing to teleportation magic.”
“I am originally from Zardis,” Ferikellan told him, then covered his mouth as he belched. He had, perhaps, eaten a bit too much.
“You have family there?” Birchbark asked, sounding genuinely interested.
“Only my parents. Do you have family on Kaldir?” he asked in return.
“No.”
The blunt reply gave Ferikellan pause; it was time to change the subject. He asked Birchbark about the potion that Audrey had mentioned, but the reply was disconcerting. Oljot, the man who had formulated the potion, not only lived on Kaldir but apparently had some way to transport himself between there and Andoran’s Realm.
“I don’t know how the spell works,” Birchbark said slowly, “but I suspect it involves passing through another plane of existence. I do know that it’s ninth-order, and that casting it exhausts him.”
That was the highest order of magic spell, well beyond Ferikellan’s capabilities. Few spell-casters attained that degree of expertise. It was also a method of bypassing the Realm’s teleportation restriction that had never occurred to him—a dangerous one, from the sound of it.
“Would it be possible to see the EarthStaff while I am here?” Ferikellan asked to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Yes, but you’ll be disappointed. Everyone always is.” Birchbark climbed to his feet and headed to the house’s back door.
Ferikellan was very curious to learn more of Birchbark’s past. Just how widely had the man traveled? What wonders had he seen? And how did he come to end up inside Andoran’s Realm? But it wouldn’t be polite to ask so many personal questions after they had just met.
When Birchbark returned, he walked over in front of Ferikellan’s chair. It looked for all the world like an ordinary walking stick, one made from an oak branch, complete with a knobby end that would provide a good grip. But the aura of strong earth magic was undeniable. And there was something else, a feeling that the staff and Birchbark were linked. He had sensed nothing like it.
“I understand that you employed the EarthStaff to restore areas of Gray Forest to normal,” Ferikellan said, staring at the magical artifact but not daring to touch it.
“I was,” the man replied, abruptly transferring the staff to his left hand. He returned to his chair and sat down heavily. “If you’re hoping to learn how the process works, you’ll again be disappointed.”
“I would still like to hear about it,” Ferikellan said, fearing he had touched a nerve.
Birchbark nodded somberly. “I began by repairing the damage that Ariana had caused to the Gray Forest. I walked along the passage she had made to the outer boundary, and it was horrific. The vegetation was all dead and brown. I assume the insects and animals also died, but no sign of them remained.”
“A druid did that?” Ferikellan asked, his thoughts awhirl. Druids were regarded as the land’s caretakers, protecting plants and animals alike.
“I suspect that some type of coercion was involved,” Birchbark said with a note of sadness. “I also suspect that she went to her death willingly, maybe as a form of atonement.” He placed the EarthStaff so that it lay across his thighs. “I willed the staff to restore the area behind me as I walked back, and it did. It felt to me like it wanted to go back to being gray. Who knows? It might have just healed up on its own if we had waited.”
Ferikellan had noticed nothing amiss when he and Vurk had gone back to where he had cast his spell, but his attention had been focused on the boundary. He had a bad feeling that there was now a perfect circle of dead vegetation.
“Restoring the areas that the Gray Forest had expanded into was different,” Birchbark continued. “The process killed nothing, and it was much more difficult. It took me the better part of the month to deal with it all.”
“What about the outer boundary?” Ferikellan asked. “Was it also affected?”
“Not according to Josara,” Birchbark replied, his enmity for the woman clear. “She had some way to observe Andoran’s Realm. Hmm. I never thought to ask Audrey about that.”
They were each lost in their own thoughts when the back door of the house opened. “It’s getting dark, boss,” Vurk said, walking up next to Ferikellan’s chair. “And I’m bushed,” he added, grinning.
“I am also fatigued,” Ferikellan returned, using the arms of the chair to push himself up. “Thank you for your hospitality, Birchbark.”
“Thank you for bringing that wine,” Birchbark said, also standing. “I haven’t had that type in years.”
Inside the house, Ferikellan again thanked Fern before he and Vurk took their leave. It was indeed getting dark, with hundreds of stars now visible. As they strolled back toward their new home, he put a question to Vurk.
“I noticed some newly dead birds,” the gworn replied after a moment, his blue brow furrowed in concentration. “What was left of them was just lying on the ground. You think the spell killed them?”
Ferikellan forced himself to smile and wave at a passing ogre couple. “Yes, I think that the spell killed everything in that area.” He despised the unnaturalness of the Gray Forest, but that didn’t mean he wanted everything trapped inside of it dead. But maybe there was no other way. Time would tell.
[ 6 ]
Problem Child
The ordeal had begun. Less than a minute into their journey Romee began speaking, seemingly voicing every thought that came into her head. Aliva was already tired of listening to the mindless prattle. But maybe it was partly nervousness. Moving to a new city and enrolling in a large school were both big steps for a fifteen-year-old girl.
It had been foggy and damp when she
walked to Draymund and Almera’s mansion early that morning to get Romee, and the weather was showing no signs of improving. At the docks, situated outside the city’s lofty circular wall, conditions would hopefully be better. Otherwise their ship might depart late.
The half-elf couple and their adult son had provided escort as far as the iron gate that was the only entrance to the grounds. (Audrey and her cousins had already said their goodbyes at breakfast.) Draymund and Almera were officially Romee’s parents, and that was what the girl was talking about at the moment.
“I’m really grateful to them,” Romee said in her girlish voice, “but I wish I hadn’t let them adopt me. I shouldn’t inherit anything from them when they die.”
It was a reference to the fact that Ilona and Iris had declined formal adoption. They were merely wards, not legally family. But Romee was overlooking something that should have been obvious.
“How much longer do you think Draymund and Almera will live?” Aliva asked her as they turned right onto a wide cobblestone street.
“Um… well… they’re half-elves. Forty years?” Romee frowned, scrunching up her face as her brown eyes widened. “I’ll be really old,” she said with a note of horror.
Aliva resisted the urge to roll her eyes. That was so typical of the girl. Romee had surely learned about racial lifespans as part of her education, but it just hadn’t sunk in. On average, humans like Romee with access to healing magic lived about seventy-five years, and elves twice that. Half-elves, as one might suspect, had an average lifespan that was midway between those figures.
“Draymund could easily live another sixty years,” Aliva explained, “and Almera is younger. They might both outlive you.”
“Really?” Romee scrunched up her face again, emphasizing her sharp cheekbones.
“Yes, really. Inheritance isn’t something you need to worry about for a long time, if ever.”