by David
“Ma says dinner’s ready,” the boy reported. He frowned at Loric and told him, “You should put clothes on before you go in the house, though.”
“That is only proper,” Loric agreed. The knight grasped the sides of his tub and pulled himself into an upright position. He searched the ground around him before asking, “Kelvion, do you have my clothes?”
“Oh, yeah,” the boy began, his eyes lighting with sudden remembrance. “I forgot to bring them out. I’ll be right back.”
Kelvion sped toward the cottage as hurriedly as he had come from it. In less than a minute, he re-emerged from his home, bearing with him a stack of freshly laundered clothes for Loric.
“Here!” he chirped. The boy then beckoned them on with a wildly waving arm, saying, “Come on! Ma’s made stew!”
Loric quickly dressed. Then he held out an open palm to Warnyck, saying, “I will have the sword, if you please.”
Warnyck extended the weapon hilt first toward Loric. As the knight stretched his fingers to grasp its handle, the scout playfully moved it away and grinned. The other men chuckled. When Warnyck again tried to toy with his friend, Loric did not reach for the hilt. He feinted as though he was after the pommel, but with the swiftness of a striking panther, he caught his companion under the elbow with one hand and about the wrist with the other. A subtle application of pressure informed Warnyck that the game was up, so he yielded the blade over to Loric. Barag and Marblin laughed aloud at Warnyck’s squawk of discomfort, while they praised their shrewd leader.
Loric smiled, clapped his friend on the back and said, “Come. Our hosts have invited us to join them for what promises to be a good hot meal.”
Marblin and Barag heartily agreed. So did Kelvion, who grabbed Loric’s arm and tugged him toward the cottage. Warnyck rubbed his elbow with a grimace as he followed them. Marblin and Barag walked along close behind the scout, still chuckling over the scout’s forced surrender.
Loric caught the savory smell of lamb stew before he stepped into the house. The room he entered was in fact the kitchen. A large kettle was hanging in the stone fireplace along the far wall, its rising steam cruelly taunting his empty belly. To the right of the fireplace, there was a sturdy rectangular table, and to the left, a doorway opened onto another warmly furnished room.
The shepherd, Kelivoras, was present. At this, their second meeting, Loric took more care getting to know the man’s face. He had tightly drawn tan skin, with narrow lips that seldom smiled. Those worry lines on his countenance seemed significant to Loric. The knight tucked his observation away in his mind while he continued his study of Kelivoras. He had brown eyes and dark hair to match his eyes, which were set about a wide, overly large nose. Beneath that mildly crooked olfactory organ was a pair of thin mustaches that extended down to meet a short-cropped goatee.
Loric’s attention strayed to the woman of the house, who motioned for him to take a bowl from the table. He let her fill it with stew while he took in her features. Kelvion had two perfectly normal parents, while he himself was nothing less than extraordinary. His mother was five foot six and slight of build. Her long black hair was drawn up atop her head, but several strands hung wildly about her face. A fair face it was, with a lovely, but transparent smile. It seemed to Loric that the woman put on a false facade to hide great misfortune in her life. It was as if she wished to show teeth enough to display happiness for her and her husband. Loric’s curiosity about the host family increased tenfold.
Loric let mystery dangle in his mind and graciously accepted hot stew. Soon he and his companions sat around the table with Kelvion, Kelivoras and the shepherd’s wife, Udelia. All was quiet following welcomes and introductions, as four hungry warriors gulped down their first fine meal in five days.
Kelvion broke the silence in amazing fashion, asking, “How long until you are King of Beledon?”
Loric peered up at the boy, bewildered by his question. The knight could not deny that those fiery red lamps were staring back at him. He was dumbfounded. He did not know how to
respond to the boy’s query. The hollow clunk of spoons against wooden bowls stopped.
Everyone was staring in disbelief at the six-year-old.
Suddenly Kelivoras chuckled. Then he laughed in earnest and sighed, “Ah, the mind of a child. Kelvey has an imagination that never rests.”
The boy seemed distressed by his father’s words. He started, “But I saw-”
“You saw an opportunity to make us laugh and it worked,” Kelivoras interrupted firmly.
“That is enough. I’ve told you....”
I’ve told you.... ran through Loric’s mind. It could have been an oft-repeated warning that did not need to be finished for the boy to understand it, but the tone indicated there was meaning behind it. Perhaps the shepherd did not wish to conclude his statement and reveal the unspeakable and unnamable unknown to everyone present. Loric let his eyes shift from father, to mother, to child several times over. Kelivoras swallowed a bite of stew, but it looked like a bone going down. Udelia was horrible combination of nervousness, embarrassment and anger. The boy beside Loric was on the verge of tears. The family was hiding something. Loric suspected two adults were concealing a secret about their unusual child, Kelvion.
The boy began to cry. His father raised his arms defensively. “Please don’t, Kelvey!” he pleaded in panic.
“Kelvey, no!” his mother shrieked.
Their petitions went unanswered. Kelvey began to bawl. Loric placed a comforting hand on the lad’s shoulder. The knight felt something unlike anything he had ever felt before. He forgot the only thing comparable to it as a surge of energy raced through his palm. It spread through the rest of his body, causing his hair to stand on end. Kelvey’s skin simultaneously burned Loric, who withdrew his hand with a yelp. His palm was seared to blisters. As pain registered in his mind, there was a clap like thunder.
Kelivoras and his wife reeled backwards to the floor. Then slowly, ever so cautiously, they lowered their protective arms. Udelia moved uneasily toward her child, who now lay
unconscious on the floor. Meanwhile, the shepherd strode over to the kitchen window, looking desperately for some unnamed thing. “Great Donigan!” he cried. “The shed is on fire.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lost and Found
Loric looked to his companions for understanding of what had happened, only to find that they were as surprised as he was. At first, Loric feared that Hadregeon’s men had followed them to the shepherd’s home, bringing with them fire and death. Kelivoras rushed across the room, jerked open the door and sprinted into failing daylight, while everyone else was sorting out the meaning of this new calamity. Loric reached for the Sword of Logant and hastened after the distressed shepherd, ignoring the pain in his tingling hand.
As Loric stepped outside, he saw that the shed was on fire. It was not natural fire. At least, it was not the kind of burning set by common soldiers of Landolstadt. There was something uncanny about the flames--an ensorcelled something--for they included miniscule arcs of white lightning that shot through fiery tongues and smoke to regenerate into burning embers.
Kelivoras snatched up a pail from beside the cottage door and sprinted over to the boat that had served as Loric’s ice tub. Loric understood the man’s intentions, but he also sensed danger beyond his reckoning, so he outraced Kelivoras to the little craft. Loric firmly planted himself between the shepherd and the boat, giving the shepherd cause to reconsider challenging an armed soldier with only a bucket in hand. The truth struck him full in the face. He could do no more than watch the little shed blacken and shrivel in its vain attempt to escape the all-consuming blaze.
Kelivoras slumped to his knees, weeping. His fingers tightened around his brown locks and pulled. His fists continued clenching and unclenching amidst his curls for a slow twenty count.
The shepherd rocked back and forth. He tugged at his hair and moaned. At length Kelivoras shook his fist at the sky and cried out, “
Anomaktildor, why have you cursed my household? Oh, how I long to join you in the realm of spirits, so I can split your wicked skull with an axe! Laugh at the mischief your death has caused, foul dragon, but one day we will meet.”
Loric cautiously moved beside his host and extended his hand to him. Kelivoras accepted the comforting palm, clutching it as tightly as a lifeline. Loric tried not to wince for his blisters, as the shepherd pulled himself to shaky feet and locked eyes with the knight. He had a wild and threatening look about him as he asked, “Will you please take my boy away with you?”
Kelivoras dropped back to his knees, as he became more desperate in his plea. “You go to Dimwood Forest, correct? I have heard an old sorcerer lives in those woods. He is called Nimshar the Old.” The shepherd’s voice was trembling as he ventured, “Mayhap the old man can cure my Kelvey of his dark magic fits. Maybe he can teach him to control his black powers before anyone else can come to harm from them.”
Loric was uncertain how to respond. Kelivoras’ previous outburst and his present request prompted several new questions to enter the knight’s mind. The first was, How did the dragon Anomaktildor curse Kelvion? In a related query, and of greater importance, he wondered, Whom did the boy hurt with his powers? Of less relevance, but of concern to Loric nevertheless, Why are you crushing my sore hand when you seek a favor from me?
Loric chose to start with the most intriguing matter to enter his thoughts, “Who said my companions and I make for Dimwood Forest?”
“Five days ago Kelvion told me, Four travelers are coming to visit us and their leader will quest for a mighty sword, ” answered Kelivoras. “He went on to say, Nimshar the Old can help the knight find the sword, and he will find it. He’ll wear it at court one day, where he will sit as King of Beledon. ”
“Impossible!” Warnyck protested.
Kelivoras waved toward his burning shed and argued, “Ten minutes ago you would have
said the same thing of Kelvey’s fire, but you believe it now, don’t you?”
Loric conceded the point and asked, “Assuming the boy guesses correctly, what makes you think Nimshar can help him?”
“Kelvey guesses not!” snapped Kelivoras. With his eyes wide, he corrected, “He knows! He sees things in his dreams and they always come to pass.”
Loric felt connected to this lad. He had born the curse of foretelling dreams all his life. Loric wanted to know, as much for himself as for the boy, “What makes you think Nimshar could help him?”
“The old sorcerer is rumored to be wise,” Kelivoras responded. His eyes lit with excitement.
“The legend of his power came to my father, Keldirias, through a quest knight. My father believed the knight’s tale for the truth of the Great King. If any living man can cure my boy, it is he. Please, take Kelvey with you.”
Keldirias? thought Loric. Could it be same shepherd from The Knightly Log of Sir Palendar ? If so, I owe this man this favor, but.... “My road is too dangerous,” Loric flatly refused the shepherd. “We may not survive our journey into Dimwood-”
Kelivoras was angry as he fired back, “You’ve seen the boy’s magic! He has no control over it! He’s a danger to himself.... and to us,” he admitted
“And you believe he should endanger someone else--like us?” Warnyck proposed, his
hackles rising.
“The danger already walks with you, Chief Scout of Egolstadt,” Kelivoras responded, warily eyeing Loric.
“Explain yourself!” Warnyck demanded, baring steel.
“Peace, Warnyck,” Loric commanded, waving him down. To Kelivoras, he offered, “My
apologies, good shepherd, but we lack understanding. What do you mean?”
“When Great King Donigan slew Anomaktildor, the dragon fell into the Enchanted River, forever poisoning its waters,” Kelivoras explained. “My boy drank from the river,” he choked. “I only lost sight of Kelvey for a moment.... and.... by the time I found him, the curse was upon him--within him.”
“I too bear this curse,” Loric murmured.
The shepherd nodded and looked away. “Aye.”
“Tell me more,” Loric said.
“Ever since Kelvion drank of the Enchanted River, he has had visions and dreams,”
Kelivoras informed his guests. “His dreams are windows into the future, but they come at a cost.”
Loric prompted the shepherd, “Tell me of this cost. I would hear this, as it affects me too.”
“Whenever anything upsets Kelvion,” Kelivoras shared, “he is overcome by magical fits like the one he had today.”
“So starting magical fires is a regular occurrence for young Kelvion,” Loric proposed.
“The attacks don’t always take the shape of fire,” Kelivoras offered reluctantly. “Sometimes they come as a whirlwind or some other calamity....”
Loric listened with horror, as Warnyck filled in the blank, proposing, “Like the time Kelvey’s magic hurt someone.”
Kelivoras did not respond. He simply buried his face in his arms and sobbed. That was answer enough for Loric, but Warnyck pressed the man for a response. “This may be difficult for you, but we must know more about your boy’s condition if you expect us to take him with us.”
“We lived near Riverbluff at the time,” Kelivoras began slowly. “Kelvey used to play with his sister, Udelena, and her friend, Morena. Apparently, the girls did something to upset Kelvion and he had one of his fits. Witnesses claimed that a wheel fell from a passing wagon. It tumbled out of control.... It hit both girls and struck the shop where they were standing.”
Loric watched in silence as a huge tear pooled atop the shepherd’s quivering cheek. It hung there as Kelivoras delivered the bitter ending, saying, “The driver and Morena were badly injured and.... my precious Udelena was killed.” He sniffled his way through remaining details.
“After that, the townsfolk were dreadfully afraid of Kelvion, so we left our home, lest we should lose our boy to hateful murderers.”
Loric ignored yet another request to take Kelvion to Nimshar. He was lost in his own
thoughts, considering the significance of his dream. After all, there was an established bond between him and Kelvion in the future of his vision. Loric had no desire to have a six-year-old traipsing along behind him as he ventured into perils of Dimwood Forest, but his instincts told him to trust his dream.
A hand on Loric’s shoulder awakened him to the fact that Warnyck wished to have private counsel with his fellow adventurers. Loric willingly moved his feet until he and his friends were ten paces from Kelivoras. One glance at Warnyck assured Loric of the outburst to come.
“I hope you are not going to consider this,” the scout began. Upon seeing that Loric had already begun to do just that, Warnyck erupted, “This is madness! Just imagine the pleasure of dodging little Kelvey’s whirlwinds and fires while we fight off denizens of Dimwood. Or better yet-”
Loric stopped his friend’s tirade with an open palm. “But you cannot see what I have seen, nor should I share it, because I have doubts as to its meaning,” he argued. Loric searched each blank face and concluded that he had utterly baffled his companions, so he added, “One day this boy’s curse may become a wondrous gift.”
“And if it does not?” questioned Marblin.
“I am willing to risk related consequences, because I may be afflicted by the same curse,”
Loric reminded his companions. “If you fear the boy, you should fear me as well, because I too have partaken of the dragon water.”
“You have had no tantrum to spark a magical blaze, and neither have you caused any other disasters,” Warnyck argued.
“Nay, I have not,” Loric conceded. “However, nothing has upset me since I swallowed
tainted water. Perhaps my own curse will not become evident until I am angry or afraid. That is the risk all of you must face to travel with me.”
Each member of the party paused to ponder Loric’s observation. Marblin chewed his
fingernails in fright of Dimwood and Kelvion, and now Loric. Barag looked faraway and thoughtful. Warnyck showed visible apprehension toward this plan. He stared at Loric, questioning him with his eyes.
The scout shared his key remaining doubt, “The boy lacks an adult’s self-control, and thus, he is more prone to feel anxiety in the wild.”
Loric quickly dispelled that concern. “A young boy often views danger as adventure, for he does not have an adult’s good judgment.”
Barag spoke unexpectedly to say, “We must find this Nimshar character for Loric.”
Everyone looked at the big man, who seldom spoke. He went on, “Whether he can help Loric fulfill his quest or not, he may be able to provide remedy for the taint of the curse upon him. If he can help Loric, mayhap he can help this shepherd boy.”
Gently nodding heads of Marblin and Warnyck informed Loric that discussion was at its end. “It is decided. We will seek out this Nimshar character, and we will take Kelvion with us.”
“I don’t like it,” Marblin remarked. “Dimwood, spirits and now Nimshar the Insane!” he barked. “According to legend, he is a raving lunatic.”
Kelivoras chuckled at the Moonwatcher’s words. “Don’t judge Nimshar by legends,” the
shepherd cautioned him. “You may find that he is different from what you have heard.”
Marblin fell into sullen silence.
“So?” Kelivoras questioned. “Have you reached your decision?”
“We have,” Loric answered.
“We will do this thing that you have asked,” Warnyck affirmed.
Kelivoras smiled and thanked his guests.
Loric did not return the expression as he asked, “How do you intend to tell the boy that you are sending him away with four strangers?”
“I would tell him that I have found an apprenticeship for him,” Kelivoras began. “Supposing you never find the old sorcerer, I was hoping-”