The Third Sign

by Scott D. Muller

  They kept their backs near the stone wall while they stealthily exited the Keep and raced along the sheltered walkway toward the front yard and the gate. Ja’tar looked up at the dull glow of a cloud-shrouded moon. There were thick clouds this night; that was good. A heavy mist was slowly rising as the temperature of the day fell and dew covered the grass. The dancing fog wrapped itself around the trunks of trees and Ja’tar could swear he could hear the faeries whispering.

  Zedd’aki approached the corner of the yard carefully and gazed out at the allure and merlons to make sure there were no stargazers out for the night. The upper walkways appeared clear; so he gave Ja’tar the all-clear signal when he stepped out in front of the gate.

  Opening the gate wasn’t as formidable a task with the two of them working in tandem to remove the pole and undo the charms. The Keep used to leave the gate open during the days, expecting visitors and new charges. Now, they kept it locked. At night, strong wards were in place to prevent a variety of vile things from gaining access.

  Although the Keep didn’t have a portcullis, it did have the hefty lodge poles, which passed through steel rings attached to the iron clad doors, and into slots in the walls. Since they had great magic at their disposal, but no infantry, they had no use for a portcullis, the bastions or for that matter, the murder holes used above the arches that were so typical of the day.

  By any standard, the Keep didn’t look as though it would fare well under attack. Although in Zedd’aki’s opinion, the flowing arch over the door and the two bastions were still impressive. In reality, he knew it was their magic that kept attackers at bay. He grinned wryly at the rows of gargoyles perched along the roof, knowing they could be summoned to their defense at any time.

  After they made it through the gate, had summoned elementals to shutter the gate and restored wards, they hurried down to the stream. They crossed and turned up the rutted road, following the same path that Ja’tar had the previous night.

  Zedd’aki looked over his shoulder, enjoying the vision of the old rundown inn, a glamour meant to keep people away. The place looked horrid, decrepit and dilapidated. Nobody would risk crossing the wreckage that one could call a bridge to pilfer the place. Anything worth stealing would have long been gone.

  It wasn’t nearly as cold this evening as it was the day before, because the clouds kept some of the day’s heat in. But then again, Ja’tar thought it wasn’t nearly as beautiful either. There were only dark shadows cast off the mountains, but when the sky cleared for a second, the occasional light touch of silver on the tips of the trees displayed the glory of the Winseer Mountains.

  An eerie mist crept over the ground, twining around the trees, carried wherever the soft whisper of a breeze took it. The thin blanket appeared to have a life of its own as it rose from the warmer water in the river below. It obscured the bridge that crossed the rough water and hid the road on the other side. A hoot owl’s call echoed in the distance.

  Zedd’aki took it all in and pulled a deep satisfying lungful of night air. “Nice night.”

  “Mmm. It is not as cold as it was yesterday. We’ll warm up while we walk,” Ja’tar agreed, noticing the fragrance of old pine, cowbells, violets, comfrey and the elder, which were beginning to bloom along the road.

  Zedd’aki shivered and wasn’t quite so sure now. He pulled his cloak tight feeling the icy chill of mountain air being swept down the valley, its bone-chilling effect cut through his coat, numbing his arms and hands. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them and cursed because he forgot his moleskin gloves. The moisture-laden air from the highlands was colder than he thought, and for a second, he wished he were inside next to a warm fire drinking spiced wine.

  “Maybe we’ll see some ice faeries!” he said, with a smile, trying to see the bright side. After all, this is what he wished for.

  “You can never tell,” Ja’tar replied, while grinning. “We could call then, you know!”

  “Maybe on the trip back.”

  The thick fog swirled around the two friends walking down the road. Somewhere in the distance, a bullfrog sang its mating song, searching. Their boots made squeaks and scuffing sounds as they walked over the partially frozen ground. Old dead leaves, leftover from the previous fall, were scattered across the road and crackled as they walked along.

  “You remember the last time we were out of the Keep together?” Zedd’aki asked, squinting—trying to see through the murky stew.

  Ja’tar shook his head. “Can’t say that I can, but I know it’s been a damn long time.”

  “It was when we went to the elves to sign the agreement,” Zedd’aki blurted out.

  “Aegis, it just might have been. By the gods, that was a long time ago,” he whistled. “But with the glamour, we might not be remembering what we’re thinking we do ...”

  Zedd’aki shook his head despondently. “Aye!”

  They hurried on, heading straight toward the spot that Ja’tar had stopped the night before. They didn’t dilly-dally or allow any distractions to deter them from their quest. Ja’tar could feel his calves’ burn and his feet still ached from the previous night’s overexertion. Tonight wasn’t going to help.

  Zedd’aki could hear himself wheezing as they walked up a long hill and he mopped up the sweat that was beading on his forehead. The road was deeply rutted from the wagons that had struggled to the top in inclement weather, and made walking difficult. His ankles kept trying to roll over and he had to carefully place each step. He felt every stone, rock and rut through the soles of his boots.

  He paused half way up and wiped at his brow again. His breath was coming irregularly as he tried to pull enough air to keep going.

  “Can we slow down some?” he panted.

  Ja’tar glanced back over his shoulder and stopped short, allowing his friend to catch up the twenty or so paces he was lagging.

  “I’m not used to this,” he wheezed. “I need a short break.”

  He placed his hands on his knees and bent over, trying to catch his wind. His vision was a little blurred and his head throbbed from the lack of air. Zedd’aki stared at the ground and watched beads of sweat drop from his nose to the dirt, forming a small damp spot at his feet.

  “Is it much further?” he gasped.

  “A bit, but it levels out soon,” Ja’tar said impatiently, anxious to get moving again. The two stood there in the middle of the road breathing hard. Their breath left faint clouds in the frosty air and Zedd’aki felt ice forming on his mustache.

  “Let’s get moving,” Ja’tar suggested. “We’ll get stiff if we stop for too long.”

  Zedd’aki didn’t respond, but started anew up the hill, albeit at a much slower pace.

  They had reached the altitude where the forest and the trees were shaped by the fierce mountain winds. They were stunted and gnarled. Thick-knotted roots clung to the rocky soil and snaked along crags. The roots tried to gain purchase so as to make a stand against the bitter elements. Stunted and twisted branches reached out haphazardly, underdeveloped by the short mountain growing season. They barely reached over the road, even though the trees were hundreds of years old.

  They paused at the top of the pass and looked back toward the Keep, which appeared to float on a sea of fog below. They adjusted their vision for the glamour the Guild had set in place that made the Keep appear as an old rundown inn. Even though they knew the words to release the spell, it still took several seconds for the vision to clear. Soon, the tall towers became evident, silhouetted against a raging storm to the northeast. The towers were dark and barely visible in the murk even though they poked up through the gloom into the dim moonlight.

  Far in the distance, the violent storm rumbled. Flashes of lightning raced from cloud to cloud across the horizon, illuminating the tall peaks and the towers for brief instants. The clouds toward Five Peaks roiled as the storm gathered strength. They were black and so thick that the individual flashes couldn’t often be seen, but they shook the air. The loud claps
and rolling thunder broke the still silence of the night.

  “You think the storm will stay in the mountains?” Zedd’aki asked, motioning in the direction of Five Peaks.

  “Pray so!” Ja’tar stood looking out over the vista, his hands placed firmly on his hips. “I don’t see any reason why not. It was the same yesterday.”

  “That’s strange. I noticed the storm up there two or three days ago too,” Zedd’aki mentioned. “Do you think it is the same one?”

  Ja’tar laughed contritely while staring, “It might be, and if it is, then it must be a heck of a spring snow. Be glad we’re down here.”

  “Snow with thunder?” Zedd’aki blinked, rubbing his head.

  “Sure. I’ve seen thunder-snow. It’s when the storm is so intense that the snow comes down in buckets just like rain, and the clouds are rattling something fierce.”

  “Who’d have thought?” Zedd’aki grinned. “Maybe the boys will get a taste of that.”

  “Mayhap they will. Ifin’ they do, I’m sure we’ll hear about it from Dra’kor ....”

  Zedd’aki grinned. “I’ll wager you are right on the money with that call.”

  They turned and walked downhill back into the Dubh forest, watching their footing since the ice in the ruts made for easily twisted ankles. Ja’tar used his staff to prod ahead, checking for irregular ground. The further they walked the deeper into the lush valley they ventured. The trees grew taller and straighter here, sheltered from the strong winds and ice. They now reached far overhead, blocking what little moonlight was available. Dubh meant black, or dark in elvish, and the forest was aptly named.

  Ja’tar lit a light globe in the palm of his hand. He watched it float unsteadily in the air when he removed his hand. Lifting his staff, he motioned the globe over to the dragon’s eye. It floated in a jerky motion until it came to rest, balanced at the top, just above the glassine eye of the dragon, known as Voltaire, which Ja’tar had subjugated when he was younger. Ja’tar coaxed the globe to be brighter. He stopped and held his staff out, swinging it from side to side so that they could see the edges of the rutted road.

  Spring was more evident here on the southern slope of the mountain. Flowers and grass were beginning to poke up along the roadside, already growing next to the rocks that gathered heat during the day. There were a few leaves on the shrubs and brush, and even the poplar trees were starting to break bud, dangling pendulous catkins that swayed in the soft breeze.

  They continued down the narrow winding road that cut down the mountainside into the verdant valley until the trail leveled out. Walking was easier now, but Zedd’aki dreaded the trip back, his feet were beginning to get cold and his shoes were getting damp. The road here was muddy from the spring runoff. He wiggled his numb toes and could plainly see the water stains on the tops of the leather.

  “My feet are getting a little cold, are we stopping soon?” he asked.

  “You got magic, warm them,” Ja’tar replied curtly.

  Zedd’aki looked at Ja’tar blankly as the man continued down the path.

  He shook his head, feeling the idiot and cast a mild warming spell to heat his feet. Relief spread quickly and soon his toes began to thaw.

  In a matter of minutes, they reached an opening in the canopy that Ja’tar recognized.

  “We’re here! This is where I stopped last time,” Ja’tar said, pointing to the rock pile near the edge of the road. “I’m sure of it.”

  “You remember this place, but nothing else of the trip?” Zedd’aki asked.

  “I do,” Ja’tar replied slowly. “I have no idea how, but I built a fire there and I made the monument to To’paz over there.”

  He grunted as he removed his pack and tossed it next to the hefty twisted dead log that abutted the fire ring. Next, he removed his chape and medallion, and carefully placed them in the center of the giant flat rock that partially held the fallen tree, keeping it from touching the ground. He recalled using the tree for a chair. Zedd’aki followed his lead and set his medallion down right next to Ja’tar’s. Their bodies steamed when they hit the chilled night air.

  Ja’tar dug in his pocket and pulled out the delicate porcelain sculpture that Shar’ran had given him long ago. He removed the magic cloth that shielded its effects and set it on the rock next to the medallions.

  “What’s that?” Zedd’aki asked, pointing at the statue. He leaned over and scrutinized the fine casting of a thin little elf girl.

  “A gift from Shar’ran, they call it a Whisper Trap. It is used to silence the Spirits. It seems to help break the link to the Zylliac. To’paz used to have horrible nightmares of the spirit when she was small, and Shar’ran gave it to my Father as a gift. It helped her sleep.”

  Zedd’aki’s mouth was agape. “It really works?”

  “Seems so, I used it yesterday to make sure I wasn’t talking to the beast and was using old magic instead. At least that is what my journal says,” he said with a smirk on his face.

  “Now what?” Zedd’aki asked, shaking out his coat from his sweaty back and setting it on the log. “I don’t feel any different.”

  “Now we wait. It takes a while for the glamour to dissipate.”

  Zedd’aki felt a shiver as the cool breeze hit the sweat he had worked up on the trail. “How long did you say?”

  “About ten minutes or so, but I didn’t time myself yesterday.”

  Zedd’aki stomped his feet and rubbed his arms forcefully. “How will we know?”

  “Last time, I tried to think of my Da and early lessons from the Keep. I’ll try to remember Hagra. You said I spent years of my life with her. When I can recall those years, the spell has worn off.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I know, it seems too simple, but that is all I did last time. I imagine it will work this time too. “Can you stop it with all the questions? We just have to wait and see.”

  “My, aren’t we touchy all of a sudden!”

  Ja’tar frowned. “You’re being an old hen right now.”

  Zedd’aki snorted at the insult and the two sat in quiet for several minutes.

  Puzzled

  Zedd’aki complained, prattling while he rubbed his hands and arms briskly. “I’m chilled to the bone. I swear, I have never been colder. I can hardly feel my toes. I wish it were warmer.”

  “You can put your coat back on!” Ja’tar ignored his wining as he set about establishing the temporary camp.

  “We should make a fire,” Zedd’aki said, as he shivered, bent over and grabbed a handful of dead branches and tossed them haphazardly into the stone ring. He blew warm air into his hands and stomped his feet, trying to warm up. “I need to dry out from the sweat.”

  The stones were blackened on the fireside with partially charred logs and a deep bed of dead coals piled in the center. It appeared to Zedd’aki that more than a few travelers had used this place for refuge. It was sheltered from the wind by the tall rush, sedge and oat grass on the east side, clumps of interwoven evergreens on the north, and a thick canopy of hemlock hung overhead. All would provide some measure of protection from any storm, no matter how fierce. The ground was littered with a thick bed of rust colored needles that would make for nice bedding. All in all, the site was fairly idyllic.

  Ja’tar saw Zedd’aki shaking and wandered off into the dense woods, where he found armloads of dry branches. The snow was still deep in places under the trees where the sun didn’t reach, and he tottered as his leather boots slid over the slick surface before crunching through the crust. He sank to his knees and had to lift his legs high to take each step.

  It was spring in the low mountains, but it would take a long time for the deep white blanket to make its exit here. Sometimes, in bad years, the snow and ice would last till midsummer under the dense shade of the ancient trees. This last winter had been particularly harsh, with ravaging storms that had lingered for days, dumping foot upon foot of heavy wet snow in the mountains.

  After a few minutes of scavenging, t
hey had a reasonably sized stack of firewood that they figured would last most of the night. They broke some of the larger branches into pieces using knees and sometimes by resting the branches against the rocks and stomping down hard. The sound of the wood snapping and cracking echoed in the still night air. Zedd’aki cut some of the biggest branches with his sword, earning him a deep glower from Ja’tar. Dulling a blade intentionally was frowned upon. A man’s blade was his most precious object.

  Zedd’aki looked up.

  “Are you done ruining your blade?” Ja’tar spat.

  Zedd’aki rolled his eyes and cast a sharpening spell over the pitted surface. “There! Are you satisfied now?”

  “A man shouldn’t treat his weapon in such a fashion. It shows disrespect for the blade.”

  Zedd’aki pushed the blade into the ground and wiped his hands clean. “This blade is just iron. It is not a blade of the elves. It has not been imbued with consciousness.”

  Ja’tar grumbled.

  “It is but a simple blade, nothing more, and nothing less.”

  Ja’tar ignored the response and continued stacking wood in the pit. He staggered the wood so that air could flow through the stack. A strong fire needed two things, dry wood and air. He placed some fine shavings he had carved off a branch under the stack and eyed it critically.

  “You want to light it?” Ja’tar asked, wiping his brow. “If not, I’d like to try using the old magic.”

  Zedd’aki shrugged, putting away his steel and flint, “Go ahead. I’d love to see this old magic you talk about.”

  “It’s wearing off,” Ja’tar said, leaning over to his friend.