The Third Sign

by Scott D. Muller

  Grit wasn’t sure if the elf was telling him the whole truth. He seemed to be implying that he should be able to control aging without the medallion. As he understood it, the medallion simply held the spell so that the wearer didn’t have to be casting the spell all the time. He just couldn’t understand why anyone would want to, or would be able to keep that up all day, and night!

  Shar’ran changed the subject. “You said Ja’tar? So, the old man is still in charge?” Shar’ran grinned widely.

  “You know he is,” Grit said, puzzled as he furrowed his brow. “You must talk all the time.”

  “We do? Why do you say that?” Shar’ran asked, just as befuddled.

  “Well, you are part of the Guild and you Guild members get together to talk and plan once a month or so.” Grit said.

  “Guild? There is no Guild ...” a shocked Shar’ran said, spitting to the ground.

  Grit was taken aback, “Did I say something to offend you?”

  Shar’ran recognized that Grit had not a clue, “No, not in particular, but mentioning the Guild, that abominable creation of the Ten. There is no Guild, hasn’t been for over a thousand years.”

  “I don’t understand,” Grit said, shaking his head in disbelief. “We get orders from the Guild all the time ...”

  Shar’ran shook his head in disbelief. “Then it must not be the same Guild of those days. The Ten didn’t tolerate the guidance of the Guild, so they disbanded it right after Ror, even before the final battles were fought. They withdrew the Keep from membership. We haven’t had any contact with the Keep since then. You are absolutely the first mage we have spoken to in over a millennia. Are the Ten still in control?”

  “The Ten? Heavens no! They disappeared right after Ror. Nobody knows exactly what happened to them. Do you?”

  Shar’ran shook his head. So, the Ten are gone, he thought.

  “So if the Guild is no more, and you haven’t spoken to him, who has Ja’tar been talking to every month? And why does Ja’tar say he’s taking orders from the Guild all the time?” Grit mumbled out loud, while deep in thought. “And more importantly, why has he mentioned your name? I had assumed it was your son, or grandson, but if he meant you, why would he lie?”

  Sharron’s pointed ears twitched as he furrowed his brow, “I honestly can’t tell you, but the Guild was disbanded by the Ten many, many centuries ago. We elves, and the dwarves for that matter, were only invited to participate for a short period of time. The Ten didn’t value our opinions, or our preferences. I haven’t talked to Ja’tar in almost as long. We used to be very close friends.”

  “Something isn’t right here ...” Grit mumbled, scrunching up his nose and rubbing his temples. “None of this makes any sense.”

  “I agree,” said Shar’ran, placing his hand on the mages back and leading him toward the path back to the village. “Let’s get to the village, get you cleaned up and have something to eat. Later, we must talk.”

  Grit turned to X’all. “Thanks for pulling me out of the lake.”

  X’all grinned. “It’s my son, Tou’far, you should be thanking. He is the one who found you and convinced me to come and see. You should be thanking him!”

  Shar’ran’s head snapped around as he recalled something X’all had signed to him. “You didn’t come here through the Gate?”

  “Gate? Are you talking about one of the traveling Gates?”

  Shar’ran shrugged. “But of course.”

  “No, I fell over a waterfall at Haagen’s cross. I’m not really sure how I got here. I must have been washed downstream while I was unconscious,” Grit said, shrugging. “To tell the truth, I have no idea where any of the gates are, or what they exactly look like. Ja’tar wasn’t very clear on that when he explained them to us.”

  Shar’ran lowered his head, turned and walked away. Grit was left standing there with X’all. “I wonder what that was all about?” Grit commented, looking to X’all for answers.

  X’all shrugged for he had no idea either. The two men turned and followed Shar’ran back to the village.

  Shar’ran was concerned. He knew of the underwater passage that was the source of their spring water for the lake. He just never imagined that someone could get washed from one side of the mountains to the other and still survive. He hoped that it was only though extraordinary magic that the mage actually managed to complete the journey. The fact that the mage had no recollection of the trip consoled him ... a bit. He would have to see if he could seal the entrance of the spring somehow, without preventing the water from entering. Perhaps Ironfist could give him some metal to use. Of course, that would mean he would have to actually travel to the deep mines of Trockrock and talk to the grumpy, antisocial dwarf. He sighed. Maybe he could send an emissary.

  News of the mage’s arrival spread fast, and soon, elves from the surrounding countryside poured into the little village to get a look at the rarity, known as a wizard. The main lodge where Shar’ran lived was bustling with activity by the time they completed the short walk from the lake. Elves, many of them far too young to have ever met a mage, clamored to get a prime spot around the fire where the council was to hold discussions later that evening.

  Although they had many sculptures and art pieces at the Keep that were gifts from the elves, including the dancing crystal ceiling in the great dining room, Grit had never before seen elven architecture and was stunned by the beauty of the delicate carvings and sweeping arches, most of which were made of hardwood and stone.

  The wood was intricately carved from huge oak trees that were interwoven into the community, providing shelter and shade and towering high above the ground. Small cottages were nestled in the trees and had ropes that dangled to the forest floor. Grit could see a few elves climbing hand over hand quickly and effortlessly up into the trees. Others scurried along on catwalks that bridged from tree to tree. Even the children climbed without a care that they were un-tethered and over a hundred feet off the ground.

  The largest of the earthbound buildings was made of polished stone, intricately stacked and carved so that the seams were all but impossible to see. They wrapped the giant trees and surrounded rock outcroppings. To Grit’s amazement, it looked as if they had built around every stone and tree, disturbing nothing. X’all said that they use no mortar and that the blocks are cut to lock together when he asked about it.

  Grit’s entrance to the celebration lodge was followed by ooh’s and ah’s and the murmur of whispered voices exclaiming surprise and even some bravado that the mage was as they expected.

  A young waist-high lad tugged on his robe as he passed, “I can speak like your tongue best as good!”

  Grit smiled and replied, “Yes, you do. Thank you!”

  The lad ran back to his mother with a huge grin. She nodded her thanks in a subtle, almost royal fashion.

  Grit glanced up at the tall arching roof engraved with runes and glyphs made from ancient logs and so expertly matched that the grain seemed to be that of a single tree.

  The windows were crystal, stained in multicolor hues that held designs of the ancients. The late afternoon sunlight filtered in and cast dancing shadows of yellows and reds, even some rainbow effects from the crystal prisms that were embedded in the columns around the room.

  X’all, Shar’ran, Grit and two other council members, both female, sat down on patchwork fur rugs around the central fire, while the meal was prepared. Grit had a hard time taking his eyes off of the female council members. They had joined them as they made their way through the small enclave. Their long light blond hair, fine features and well-toned figures made them alluring, almost irresistible.

  The council members were well aware of their effect on the lone mage and exchanged glances and secret elf signals between themselves. They were both dressed in sheer elvenelle, a woven metal that held in heat and was significantly stronger than most fine armor. The material clung to every curve and moved like a second skin. To Grit, it appeared that the material was finer than the si
lk that was used for royal garb. It also gave the illusion that they wore no clothing because the material was translucent.

  The nearest elf took a deep gulp of air and arched her back in a big stretch. Her finely shaped breasts pushed against the metal and outlined her firm nipples and her dress fell open along a tall slit, exposing a well-toned and muscular thigh. She looked over at Grit who was blushing. He quickly looked away. Secretively, she smiled to herself. She was pleasing to him.

  She turned to the mage and introduced herself, “Hello mage! My name is Kyra, daughter of Shar’ran.”

  Grit shook her hand and looked back at Shar’ran to see if he were angry because he had been staring at his daughter.

  Kyra smiled, “You don’t need to worry about my father. I am well of age and besides, it is not the elf way to worry about such things.”

  Grit didn’t trust what he was being told.

  “Do all of you speak our language?” he asked.

  She laughed at his lack of understanding of elf society. “Most do, although we don’t have an opportunity to speak much. We don’t get many visitors from the realms.”

  “Why not?” Grit asked.

  “We tend to keep to ourselves. It’s just ... better that way,” she said, with a soft smile. “We only get practice when we go out into the realms to trade.”

  “I think this place is beautiful.”

  “Thank you! What is the Keep like?” she asked, leaning in.

  Grit felt himself blushing when her arm brushed his, “It’s very big, ornate, made of stone. Parts of it are very dark, but some of it is very beautiful. We have gifts from the various races. Carvings, glass work, sculptures. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. We’re in the mountains! It has over a thousand rooms.”

  “Have you seen them all?”

  “No, not really,” he laughed. “I bet I’ve only seen maybe a hundred.”

  Kyra leaned over to Grit and asked a question, “How many sorceresses do you now have at the Keep?”

  Grit lowered his head, “I’m afraid we have none. Ja’tar’s sister was killed just last week. I believe she was the last one.”

  Kyra stared back with wet eyes, “I’m so sorry.” Kyra knew of the Mages and had been told stories by her father. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live alone, sequestered, without companionship. It was contrary to the elven way.

  “We’re not so great in number anymore ...” Grit explained. “We’re far less than a hundred ... we used to be thousands. People no longer wish to be wizards and sorceresses, they’ve stopped coming to the Keep for training.”

  Kyra was still curious, “So you have no females at the Keep?”

  Grit shook his head, “Oh, yes! We have a few local villagers’ wives who come and cook and help us keep the place running.”

  “But no young ... females, no sorceresses, nymphs, or witches?”

  Grit blushed, “No, no young females in centuries. We used to have a handful or two every year during the Time of Finding, but now ...” His voice trailed off, touched with a tinge of sadness.

  “How horrible!” Kyra smiled kindly, her coppery green eyes welling with tears, “What is to become of your race?”

  Grit shrugged, setting his hands in his lap. “With what I’ve seen lately, I’m not sure there is much of a future for any of us.”

  Kyra leaned over to talk to the other female elf. They talked in the elven tongue, so Grit couldn’t understand what was being said. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. They spoke in the language of the elves, which was a derivative of High Torren. He picked up a few word here and there, but not enough to make much sense of what was being said. The far elf laughed melodically.

  Shar’ran stood and the entire room went silent. He cleared his throat to address the group. The room was filled as everyone from the surrounding area had heard of and had come to see the mage.

  Sharron smiled, “Ve-æý kõmmen avá ikaý, welcome one and all!”

  The entire room bowed as one holding their hands palm up in front of themselves.

  “I’d like to welcome our friend Grit to our village. I hope that this will lead to renewed dialog with the Keep, for it has been far too long that we have lived estranged,” and with that, he raised his glass in a toast and everyone joined in.

  Grit hurried to his feet and spoke from his heart, “Thanks to all of you for your kindness. I-If someone were to have told me three days ago that I would be dining with the famed elf Shar’ran, I would have called him crazy, for I had been taught that he was killed in the battle of Ror. To find you here, well ...” He shook his head, “I was told that after the great battle the elves had left these realms and returned to their homes far away. Yet here you are!”

  This made more than a few surprised glances that circled the room. Murmurs and exclamations could be heard from nearly every corner, as well as confusion, because they had never left, this was their home.

  “Anyway, I left the Keep three short days ago with two dear friends. We were sent to explore the local realms and investigate what evil is lurking, for there have been reports of strange happenings that have made their way to the Keep.

  “Personally, until that day we left, I had never walked the forests, trails or roads, or for that matter, even left the grounds of the Keep. Over these past few days, I’ve clumsily managed to about get myself killed several times before I found myself drowning in your lake. I don’t even know how I got there,” Grit shrugged.

  “I’m discovering things we wizards at the Keep have been told and taught for centuries are inaccurate and some are just plain wrong. I can’t help but wonder why we have been told these things, and by whom. What’s more, I had thought that the order to explore the realms had been forbidden by the Guild, but just hours ago I found out that the Guild is a farce and furthermore, as I now know, has not been around for almost a millennium,” Grit sighed, shaking his head slowly in frustration.

  “I feel like I’m playing a game of cat and mouse, and I’m the mouse. I hope that between us we can figure out the truth and mend our relationship. I would like nothing better,” Grit finished, cracking a wide smile.

  Shar’ran stood and lifted his glass again, “To finding the truth!’

  “To the truth,” echoed the room in response.

  Platters of meats and vegetables were carried in by young elven girls, dressed in colorful celebration robes spun of nearly transparent silk. They danced and swirled while carrying the heaping platters of food. They set the full platters on tables around the room, and soon all were eating and discussing the events of the day, while the young ladies danced a seductive display in the center of the room. Their long decorated braids swung in unison as they danced.

  It took great effort for Grit to lower his sight from the young ladies who were writhing in ecstasy from their dance. Their young bodies glowed with a soft sheen of sweat as they pulsed and undulated in unison. They had bells on their ankles, on their hips and on their waist. Moreover, as Grit soon found out, each bell made a different sound and the girls played melodies and rhythms as they danced. The bells hanging from their waists induced an erotic thrusting motion that made Grit feel uneasy. Uneasy, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  A lithe beauty with emerald eyes walked in front of Grit and bowed deeply, a sly smile on her face. She wore a pair of silk pants that billowed and a top that might as well have not even been there. Kyra leaned over and spoke. “She is Tia-lee. She will dance for you!”

  Grit gulped. “For me?”

  Tia-lee began to rhythmically shake her ankle, then her knee. Her arms wove hypnotic patterns as her hips began to chime in. Grit’s eyes went wide when she began to thrust her hips in his direction and the low-pitched bells began to ring. Soon, all the bells on her body were playing a melody as she fell backwards, folding her legs beneath her as she lowered her back to the floor. Her hips still gyrated and thrust toward the ceiling as she drove the rhythm of the song. As she writhed, her knees rose and fell, ca
using the bells attached to each to ring out. Faster, and faster she danced until Grit felt himself to be short of breath. She moaned loudly as the music reached a crescendo and her body went still. She rolled to one side and looked directly at Grit, causing him to blush.

  Kyra turned to him. “Did you enjoy her dance?”

  Grit nodded, trying not to appear too awestruck, but Kyra could see the obvious bulge in his pants and knew otherwise.

  Grit caught a whiff of the roasted meat. He was famished, for he had not had a good warm meal in three days and his stomach growled loudly as the smells of the roasted venison filled the air.

  Grit blushed and Kyra rubbed his stomach and laughed. “You must be starving for your stomach to make such a sound!”

  A young elven girl with silvery blue baby doe eyes brought him a plate heaped with roast, flat bread and root vegetables. She smiled shyly as she handed him the dish. She knelt down next to him, so close he could feel her body heat. She brushed across him gently while she poured a generous amount of wine in his glass. As she leaned over her blouse fell open and he saw her firm breast. Grit nervously thanked her and lowered the dish to his lap hiding his excitement and dug in. He wondered to himself if all female elves were as beautiful.

  Shar’ran walked over and sat down next to Grit. “Are you enjoying the celebration?”

  Grit nodded enthusiastically.

  “The girls all dance for you. They think you would make a good mate ...” Shar’ran said, in his ear after leaning over. “You are in luck! I wouldn’t be surprised if several didn’t fight over sharing your bed tonight.”

  Grit turned bright red and his mouth fell open. Most of the girls in the room were mere youngsters, barely young adults.

  “Don’t let their appearance fool you,” Shar’ran said, seeing Grit’s color, “Most of them are close to a hundred years old. They start learning the spell of years as soon as they become women in their mid-teens.”