by L. L. Bower
“I can cast the spell so that the armor will fit whatever size you transform into. It won’t be made as well as the gnomes can manufacture, but it’ll do.”
“Okay.” He grins. “Let’s do it then.”
“While you’re doing that,” I say, “I’ll head to my room to get dressed and armored. I’ll also bring Noblesse.”
Brutus barks.
“Yes, Brutus, you can come too.” I must remember to treat him like a wolf in public to keep his identity secret.
When I return from my room, Tumea still lies unconscious on the floor. The oreads show up, appalled and saddened by Olea’s corpse. They say they’ll stay with Tumea until he wakes.
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After we’re equipped, which includes my newly “magicked” helmet that Crisa left outside my room this morning, Mordea, Brutus and I slip out through the narrow stone crevice. Brutus slides through without a sound, but my armor and Mordea’s clang against the rock. I hope the noise doesn’t upset the snakes, but Crisa reassures us that, because the sun has risen, they won’t strike. I don’t know how they’d strike through our armor anyway.
When I reach the outside air, a cool breeze hits my face, along with the scent of pine trees and even a faint whiff of cedar. Even though the sun has peeked over the horizon, some of the western landscape is still in shadow, masked by mountains. A few stars glimmer in the west, and a full moon has almost set on the horizon. I’m struck by how premonitory Olea’s tattoo was. He was born under a full moon, and last night, he died under a full moon.
We reach the edge of the plateau and climb down the rocky, steep terrain. I’m sweating under my armor when we reach the forest floor. We travel some distance before we find trampled plants on the ground and large footprints the size of an ogre or minotaur along the trail.
While Galdo’s troops know that Crisa’s hiding place is somewhere in this area, I’m sure they have no idea she lives inside the mountain.
Brutus sniffs the prints and growls.
“My wolf has dark creature radar,” I tell Mordea. “He senses that whoever was here was dark. Let’s search the surrounding area.”
For a long time, we look for additional evidence. We find more trampled vegetation and footprints, but no creatures attached to those prints. My helmet doesn’t signal any threats.
“Well, that settles it,” Mordea says. “Some darkling or darklings associated with Galdo were here waiting for Olea to show up, but they’ve since left the area.”
I nod. “It’s lucky for us but not good for Olea that he was dead before he could rendezvous with them. They didn’t get any valuable information. I think our location is secure, and it’s still safe to attack. Not today, though. Judging from the sun, we’re at least an hour late in heading toward the prison.”
“I agree. Without the cover of darkness, we’ll lose the element of surprise.”
I’m not sure if the telepathy spell Crisa cast yesterday still works, and if it works, whether it will transmit from this distance. Still, I decide to try and project my thoughts to her.
“We found evidence of guards waiting for Olea in the forest, but he never reached the rendezvous point. And those guards are long gone. That means Galdo isn’t aware of your location or our plans to attack the prison.”
The connection is still good because her response is immediate. “That’s great news.”
“Since we’re late getting started, I think we should postpone our attack today.”
“Then we need to get word to Pholas and Chearon about what’s happened, so they don’t create a diversion without us. I’ll send a hummingbird to them. That’s the only way to get the message there in time.”
“Sounds good.”
I tell Mordea, “I spoke telepathically with Crisa, and she agrees that it’s too late to attack today. She’s sending a hummingbird to relay that message to the centaurs.”
After we hike back up the mountain, a hummingbird appears over our heads.
I’m amazed by Fairyland’s tiny messengers and their dedication to their important work. They must fly around the forest looking for opportunities to serve. Even when I’ve verbally expressed the need for a messenger, one has appeared to aid me. Of course, Crisa can send a mental summons to them at a moment’s notice.
The bird dips its head and hovers. His wings move so fast they’re indistinct. “At your service, Sir Calen. I’m Flit, son of Fletch. Will you let Her Highness know that I delivered her message to the centaurs? I was quick and caught them while they were marching through the forest on their way to the ‘killing’ cave.”
I bow. “Thanks, Flit, I’m indebted to you.”
“No, Sir Calen, I’m indebted to you.” Flit bows. Then he darts off.
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When we crawl back inside our damp cave home, Olea’s body has been removed. Grog is standing beside Tumea’s down-for-the-count form.
“Where are the oreads, and why did they leave you alone with Tumea?” I ask.
Grog shrugs. “Bored. Went to look for breakfast.”
I shake my head in disgust and sit down to wait for Tumea to come to. Mordea stands near me.
When Tumea stirs from his lightning-induced blackout and sits up, he gives Grog a look of pure hatred, which makes the bugbear back away.
Tumea groans. “Who shot me?” Tumea tries to reach around behind to feel the damage, but can’t.
I raise my hand. “I did.”
He fires me a nasty look.
I add, “But you weren’t shot. You were electrocuted. I wasn’t going to let you hurt my friend.”
“You’re as bad as he is.” Using the cave wall as leverage, Tumea crouches, then stands. He grunts in pain. A lightning strike, even a mild one, would debilitate a human for quite a while, if not permanently, but then he’s a numinal and not subject to human standards.
The new day’s sunlight has been building and now floods through the ceiling opening near us. Its bright rays bathe all four of us in a golden glow.
I stand and turn to Tumea, who’s shuffled a few steps. “You need to apologize to Grog. If you knew him better, you’d know he’d never hurt anyone who’s on the noble side of this war.”
Tumea scowls at Grog like he wants to continue the fight. The sun backlights Grog and forms a halo around his head. I chuckle to myself. For a bugbear, he couldn’t look more angelic.
“You won’t get me to apologize to any dark creature.” Tumea’s loud voice echoes through the cave.
I shake my head in disgust. “When will you get it through your head that not all creatures you’ve termed ‘dark’ are any darker than we are?” I tilt my head toward him. “How about that goblin who brought me my sword in prison? Would you say he’s dark too?”
Tumea puffs out his chest. “We only have your word for what happened there, don’t we? I have my doubts. It’s obvious Galdo wanted you and us to escape, probably just to get Olea to infiltrate this place. That goblin was likely another of his pawns.”
“Okay, how about the fact that Grog could have defended himself when you attacked him, but he chose to let you pummel him instead. Doesn’t that prove anything?”
Mordea grunts. “If you’d tried to batter me like that, I wouldn’t have taken it.”
Tumea sneers. “That just proves he’s a cowardly dark creature.”
“Grog no coward.” The bugbear growls and shakes his fists at Tumea. “Want me show you?” He steps toward Tumea.
“Okay, that’s enough. No more fighting. I can call down more weather if I need to.” I put myself between Grog and Tumea. Grog backs off.
But I’m not willing to let Tumea get away with his prejudiced attitude. He needs to readjust his thinking.
“What about the dragons?” I ask. “They wouldn’t have joined Galdo if he hadn’t forced them to. I wonder how many other so-called dark creatures have been coerced into fighting on his side. How many are truly loyal to that evil sorcerer, and how many would like to see this war end? You’ve
got to recognize we no longer have defined sides in this war and re-evaluate your definition of ‘dark.’ ”
“And you,” Tumea points at me, “need to re-examine your biases. After all, you raised a dragon, a dark creature whose nature you don’t understand, from birth, a stupid move that could’ve gotten you killed.”
Tumea’s voice takes on a professorial tone as he leans forward. “You humans have no frame of reference for these evil creatures. We have hundreds of years of abuse at their hands. I believe you’ve become a ‘dark’ sympathizer, not a good role for our self-styled hero, which makes me question your loyalty to our cause.”
I feel my face get hot as anger billows within me. “You have the gall to accuse me of disloyalty after all I’ve sacrificed?” I raise my fists. “Maybe that’s why this war has gone on as long as it has. Because of stubborn, prejudiced beings like you who fuel their hate for no reason, who are unwilling to negotiate or even communicate with the other side. With your kind of attitude, this war will never end.”
Tumea whips out the stun rod in his waistband. “You take that back.”
“Why should I? It’s the truth.” I draw Noblesse and point her blade at Tumea. My heart thumps in my ears.
Grog pushes my sword to one side and jumps in front of me to plant his feet wide apart, like a brick wall that won’t be moved. “You no hurt Calen. I guard. You want Grog? Come get Grog.” Brutus joins Grog and growls low and long at Tumea. I shoot an inward thanks to the Creator for giving me such good protectors.
I peek around Grog.
Crisa has heard the commotion and comes running as Mordea moves to Tumea’s side, wrests the shock rod from his hand, and says, “You’re being foolish, Tumea. Grog has done nothing to warrant your hatred. If Calen trusts him, then we must too.”
I wonder why Mordea has changed his attitude toward Grog, but maybe he was impressed with how Grog didn’t fight back when his own safety was involved, but has shown he’ll protect me at any cost.
Crisa pulls her wand out, I assume in case the situation gets out of hand.
“Oh, so now you’re on Calen’s side?” Tumea’s voice rises in pitch with obvious frustration.
“And you’re not?” Mordea scowls at him. “He’s put himself in grave danger by traveling all over Fairyland to train us to fight.” He pauses. “And what about Olea? He was going to betray us.”
“Because he was forced to turn dark.” Tumea tries to steal the stun rod back, but Mordea holds it behind his back, out of Tumea’s reach. Tumea raises his fists.
“That’s what I’m saying, Tumea.” I sheath my sword, exasperated that I can’t get through to him. “If light creatures can be forced into dark deeds, wouldn’t some dark ones choose the light, if they were allowed to?”
I lower my hands to my sides to indicate I’m not willing to fight, and sidle next to Grog who puts one arm out between me and Tumea.
“Stand down, Tumea,” Mordea demands, “or you’ll have me to contend with. There are no dark creatures here.”
Tumea drops his fists to his sides but keeps them balled up as if his anger is still burning.
“We all have to work together if we’re going to have a successful rescue tomorrow.” Crisa pauses and then jokes, “I’d say you all have to kiss and make up, but I’ll settle for handshakes all around.”
I reach out my hand, as does Grog. Tumea stretches around Grog to grab my hand, but Mordea grasps Grog’s hand and shakes it with vigor, which causes Grog to grin.
Mordea tilts his head toward Tumea and then at Grog to indicate that Tumea should do the same. Tumea crosses his arms, but Mordea pokes him in the ribs. “Come on, Grog doesn’t bite. Do you?” he asks Grog.
Grog smiles. “Only when Grog hungry. Me not like tomte to eat.”
Tumea’s lips quiver like he’s trying hard not to smile. He accepts Grog’s proffered hand, grasping only the tips of his fingers. Then Grog does something to Tumea that he did to me when we first met. He yells, “Boo!”
Tumea jumps, and Mordea and I laugh. Grog grins like the Cheshire cat.
“Stop that!” Tumea shouts. “Do you want me to trust you or not?”
“Sorry,” Grog bows his head. “Me not funny.”
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After a sumptuous breakfast, I spend the morning in calisthenics to strengthen my body and then spar with Tumea and Mordea to sharpen my battle skills. They tell me the shave and haircut make me look more like a champion and less like a bum.
Later, I practice alone with Grog, as the tomtes aren’t willing to trust him yet as a sparring partner. I hope that, when they see him in battle and how well he fights dark beings, they’ll understand his nature better.
Afterward, I’m more tired than sweaty, so I go back to my room and doze for a while. Then I take a long bath in the geothermal hot tub and afterward, stretch out in my reading chair and peruse a fishing magazine. A person could get used to living here.
The rest of the evening passes uneventfully, and we all go to bed early.
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Well before first light the next morning, we’re treated to a delicious and filling breakfast of sausage, pancakes, biscuits and gravy.
Geryen, the friendly blue giant, is still in bed with the flu, but Simean, the ex-champion, shuffles out of his room to join us in the main dining hall. He still looks emaciated. Esmeralda, in human form, has agreed to minister to them both today after we leave. While she’s normally a black cat, as a human she’s tall and dark-headed with piercing green eyes. I’m sure Geryen and Simean will enjoy being tended to by such a beautiful nurse.
After breakfast, I get a chance to talk with Simean privately for a few moments before we leave for the prison. “How are you feeling?” I ask.
A coughing fit assaults him before he can answer, “Better. I see you’ve gotten a haircut.”
“Yes, Crisa did that.” I run my fingers through my hair.
He rubs his long beard. “I think I’ll ask Crisa to spiff me up too.”
I nod and change the subject. “Let’s see, if I remember right, your Creator-given power is communing with animals.”
Simean’s striking blue orbs pierce into me. “Yes, Galdo said he’d use my power to command his dragons. He plans to bring even the animal kingdom under his control.”
I shake my head. “His craving for power has no end, nor does his treachery.”
“You’re so right.” He emphasizes each word. He adds, with a questioning lilt to his cracking voice, “So you must have special powers too?”
“I can control the weather and initiate storms, if need be. I spent time with the storm nymphs who taught me to harness sunlight and fire too. I was supposed to educate them in hand-to-hand fighting, but they taught me so much more—the real extent of my power.”
Simean raises his eyebrows. “Ah, the teacher became the student. And that is a formidable power. I can see why Galdo craves it.”
He pauses and then smiles. “And now Galdo has two human champions who’ll fight against him, once I regain my strength, that is.”
I smile in return. “I’m looking forward to fighting with you. Right now though, we’re heading back to the prison to get Crisa’s books and rescue the dragons.”
“I heard about that.”
I place a hand on his arm. “I’ve got to join the others, but I’ll see you when I return.”
He looks down. “Wish I could come too. But may the Creator be with you.”
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When Tumea, Mordea, Caroom, Lawra, Grog and I meet at Crisa’s cave entrance, I’m surprised the oreads and Tumea now have armor too. Crisa must be responsible. Their suits aren’t custom-made like mine, but they fit well enough to do the trick.
Brutus and Crisa join us, but the rest of our party stays behind. Claymont, who hopes Baru will show up soon, will be in charge while we’re gone. Crisa places her viewing ball on the dining table and programs it to signal Claymont if Baru does return, and we should be back before ni
ghtfall.
We exit Crisa’s rocky compound through the front to find the night still in full swing with a full moon and glittery stars, although a smattering of rain clouds threaten overhead (not produced by me). My enhanced sense of smell catches whiffs of sweet wildflowers and an earthy scent, like moss and wet greenery. The air is chilly, but I only feel it on my exposed hands. I’ve opted not to wear the chain mail gloves that Tumea and Mordea have on.
Crisa is dressed in a lightweight black jacket and black pants with high-top black boots. A black knit cap completely covers her golden hair. Her outfit resembles the special-forces garb I’ve seen before. This black getup makes her blend into the night, and only her intense blue eyes give her away.
She carries a small leather pouch over one shoulder. I ask her about it, and she says, “It’s to carry the spell books in, after we raid the lab.” I wonder how they’ll all fit, but then I’ve seen stranger things in Fairyland.
When we reach a clearing, my super hearing picks up twigs crackling on the forest floor behind us. Brutus’s ears perk up.
“We’re being followed,” I whisper.
I draw Noblesse and turn to face the noise but see nothing. I rush toward the bushes at our rear, with Brutus following, and slash through the greenery with my sword. The bushes are empty.
We’ve gone only a little farther into the trees when my neck hair prickles, and Brutus begins to growl.
More twigs snap, these sounds sounding closer than before.
Suddenly, the bushes next to us rustle, and a gaggle of goblins, at least thirty strong, slinks out from the undergrowth all around us.
Even though their weapons are smaller, they’re well-armed with shields, swords, maces, axes and flails, and we’re greatly outnumbered.
Their black eyes glitter in the dark as they yell some kind of battle cry and rush us.
Chapter 10 – The Source of Evil