SAMPLE CHAPTER FROM "The Promised Ones"

By - Robert Lee Beers, http://www.geocities.com/wells_end/wells_end.html, copyright 2001

Chapter 9

The blizzard’s winds shrieked in their fury, driving the swirling snow with the force of an ice bladed sledgehammer. Gilgafed stood at the entrance of his cave and savored the storm. When he finally came back to power he would insure that the entire world had storms such as this.

"Master?"

He turned to see his servant, Cobain scuttling towards him. The bandy-legged little fellow was bundled against the cold within a heavily furred cloak and his breath created clouds in the freezing air. "What is it Cobain?"

"Your repast awaits Master." Cobain’s teeth chattered despite his heavy cloak. He was beginning to lose feeling in the tip of his nose.

"Ah yes. Thank you Cobain. You may go, but first collect six of those icicles for me. There’s a good fellow."

Cobain looked in the direction his master pointed and his heart sunk. The icicles indicated were suspended from a ledge that bore the full fury of the storm.

"Well, go on. Quick now. I wish them to cool my wine." His master’s tone became petulant and Cobain knew he had no chance but to obey. He sighed and wrapped a fold of the cloak around so it covered his mouth and hid one of his eyes. Gritting his teeth he ventured out into the blizzard.

"Good man." Gilgafed called. "Bring them to me as soon as you can. I’ll be at my dinner." He turned and walked back into the cave.

 • • • 

"Hard work this. Workin’ in the snow." Flynn wiped his brow. He was sweating in spite of the chill in the air. Flurries of flakes swirled about and settled onto the pile of wood they were chopping for the kitchens.

"Reminds me of a time back when I was fresh from th’ monk’s school." Neely grunted as he swung the ax.

"Oh?"

"Aye." Neely placed another piece of wood onto the block. "I’d snuck out the’ back way. Never did take much to schoolin’ ya know."

Flynn chuckled and stacked the wood. "Aye, I know."

"Well, I was gettin mighty hungry by the’ time I found th’ farm. I talked th’ farmer into lettin’ me chop wood for me supper. ‘Bout halfway through the cord his daughter come out with a jug o’ lemin squash."

"Ho, ho."

"Ah, yer gettin’ ahead o’ me, bucko. Seems her daddy had to check on a problem in th’ fields so she’d come to check on me seein’ it was summer an’ all I had me shirt off. She was admirin’ the view, so to speak." He swung the ax and Flynn gathered the pieces.

"Seein’ it was such a hot day, she decided to offer me a dip in th’ creek. We wound up takin’ a dip together."

"No!"

"Oh aye, me first one it was. Always liked choppin’ wood after that." He swung the ax again.

 • • • 

"It took you long enough! My wine was getting insufferably warm" Gilgafed greeted his shivering servant with a glare.

His teeth chattering uncontrollably, Cobain fitted the icicles into the chaser that held the wine bottle. From the look of the wax around the cork it was one of the old ones.

"Ahhh. That’s better. This vintage needs to be properly chilled to enhance the subtleties of the snails."

Cobain looked at his master’s dinner. The chilling bottle of wine lay in its chaser next to a plate of snails. The snails moved. Cobain felt his gorge beginning to rise. A small bowl of scented water at the boil was in front of the plate of snails, center on. Lemon and a few sprigs of herbs lay on a small plate next to a stack of sour bread toast and a bowl of lightly steaming drawn butter.

Gilgafed picked up one of the snails with a set of silver tongs and dipped it in the hot water. Bubbles rose to the surface and broke, releasing glistening green concentric circles. He placed the herbs in the water and then removed the snail after about a minute. Holding it upside down with the tongs he squeezed a few drops of lemon into the shell and then brought it down sharply onto the table. Using a toothpick from a silver holder he then stabbed the quivering snail flesh, dipped it into the butter and popped the morsel into his mouth. His eyes closed as he savored the flavor and texture while he chewed. He then opened his eyes and reached for the bottle of wine. His gaze caught Cobain as he worked the wax away from the cork. He paused to place another snail into the water. "Cobain. You’re still here? These are simply marvelous. You must try one."

Cobain could contain himself no longer. Slapping his hand over his mouth he ran from his master’s presence, his complexion a decided green in color.

Gilgafed smiled to himself as he worked the ancient cork out of the bottle.

 • • • 

Cloutier, Earl of Berggren, tapped the hen’s egg with the small silver knife made for just that purpose. The eggshell cracked along the path of his tapping and he deftly lifted the top section away from the base. The stench that reached his nostrils caused his nose to wrinkle in disgust. He placed the top section back onto the eggshell.

"Youch!"

His manservant opened the door to his chamber. "Milord?"

Cloutier pushed the spoiled egg away from his place setting. "This is rotten. Find out from the kitchens where these eggs were acquired and have the farm kindled."

"Burn the farm Milord?"

"And everyone within it. Now leave me. I wish to compose myself."

 • • • 

Charity heard the knock at her chamber door. She tried to ignore it as she attempted to put an edge on the piece of slatting she’d worked away from the backside of the bureau. The knocking came again, this time a little louder.

"Please, Milady. I’d prefer not to have to force the door." Morgan’s voice.

She sighed and tucked the half sharpened slatting under her mattress and then crossed the room to the door. "Go away."

"I cannot Milady, my duty is to you." Morgan’s calm voice frustrated her.

She made her voice imperious. "I wish to be alone. Come back tomorrow."

She thought she heard muffled laughter from the other side of the door. "I said, you may come back tomorrow."

"I have something which may interest you." Morgan answered after a short while. "More than that wooden knife you’ve been working on."

Damn the man. She thought. How did he know? She opened the latch. "Very well. You may enter."

He opened the door and came through, walking in that fluid way she’d come to recognize. How did a man of such obviously advanced years move like that?

Charity turned and stalked over to one of a pair of wing backed chairs that flanked the main high window in her chamber. She sat down and placed her hands in her lap as she regarded her caretaker. "And just what do you have that may interest me?" She tried to pitch her voice so as to be as insulting as possible.

Morgan did not even blink. "A way to fill your days with something more enriching than staring at the window, Milady. If you please, may I demonstrate?"

Charity tried to hide the interest she felt. "You may."

Morgan seemed to relax at that. "Good." He pointed to a solid looking brass sculpture of a hunting dog sitting on the table next to Charity’s right elbow. "If you would be so good as to throw that at me as hard as you can."

Charity gaped at him, unmoving.

Morgan stood where was, his face impassive, but she thought she saw a glint in his eye. Toy with her would he? Her temper flared and her hand moved in a blur. The statue flew unerringly at the center of Morgan’s face and then he wasn’t there and the statue was placed gently on the mantle next to where he stood.

"You are fast, Milady. Much faster than the other ladies at court. Faster even than most of the men I’ve trained." He turned and fingered the sculpture. "And I must say...far more accurate."

Charity watched him, saying nothing.

Morgan paced back and forth in front of her. He reminded her of Adam when he was working out a problem. "I’m sure you’re wondering how I avoided being hit. I assure you, right now, nearly anyone else would either be unconscious or in pain."

"Ok. I’ll ask. How did you do it?" Charity relaxed and sat back into the chair.

"Training, Milady. There is a method of training both the body and the mind so the individual becomes the weapon, rather than just the one wielding the blade."

"That really doesn’t answer my question." Charity snorted.

Morgan nodded. "It is really much easier to demonstrate than describe."

Charity stood up. "So, demonstrate."

Morgan moved so he faced her. "Very well. Hold your hands like so." He positioned her hands so they suited him. He grunted in satisfaction and then pushed at one of her feet with the toe of his boot. "Now change your stance so you are balanced, like so."

He stepped back a couple of spaces and looked her up and down. He then closed the gap between them again and adjusted her pose and stance. He stepped back and examined her once more.

"I hope you like what you see." Charity said coldly. "What do I do now?"

Morgan copied her stance and told her. "Strike me."

She lashed out with a straight right that was neatly diverted to the side by a blocking forearm.

"Again."

Charity threw another punch in Morgan’s direction and it was blocked in the same fashion as the first one.

"Again."

She’d had enough of being blocked so she kicked him in the shin.

He yelped in surprise and grabbed at the offended limb and then he moved. Charity found herself upside down and held in such a way that any move caused pain.

"You cheated." His voice remained clam. She wondered how he did that.

"I improvised."

Morgan began to chuckle and then he laughed. He released her out of the hold and continued to laugh until tears ran down his cheeks.

Charity rubbed her wrists as she glared at him. He looked at her and broke out in more laughter.

"What’s so funny? Stop that!" She shouted at him.

He sat up and forced himself to settle the laughter. "You." He replied around chuckles. "You. Held against your will by a Lord you can know nothing about. Guarded by a stranger of whom you know only his name and yet, instead of acting as any other maiden would, you kick me in the shin and I let you do it!" He began laughing again.

Charity saw nothing funny in what he said but his laughter was becoming contagious and a smile started to twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Morgan saw the smile and pointed at her. "Aha! I knew there was a smile in you! I just had to draw it out."

She put a hand to her mouth as if to hide the evidence and then lowered it. "Very well. You saw a smile, but I couldn’t help it with you laughing like a loon. What was that thing you did after I kicked you?"

He stood to his feet and held out a hand. She took it and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. "Ok," He placed his right hand over her left with his fingers spread. "What I did was..."

 • • • 

The morning sun pierced Ethan’s eyelids like a hot blade. He flopped his arm over his face and tried to fall back to sleep. From past experience he knew what awaited him if he awoke fully after a night of drink.

"Mama. He moved." A little girl’s voice? Ethan used his other hand to gingerly feel around where he lay. He remembered...a goat and...some hay...and a nice jug of fortified wine and...a chicken? What he felt was none of those. Where was the hay? The mud? The goat droppings? He felt clean linen over ticking.

He cracked an eye and pulled his arm up to his forehead.

"He moved again mama!"

Ethan was greeted by two huge hazel eyes in a cherubic face framed with a mass of curly chestnut hair.

"Hi, man." The face spoke. The voice matched the face.

"Hi." His voice sounded like it was coming from the grave.

"His breath stinks mama!"

"Hush, Sari. Move aside now." A calico skirt filled his vision and a cool cloth blocked it entirely. "This should help your head feel better." The voice was a woman’s, low and soft with a throaty quality that he found soothing.

"Thank you." He moved his arm so his hand pressed the coolness into his forehead. "Why?"

Her soft laugh was self deprecating. "I have a habit of picking up strays and nursing them back to health. You looked to be in need of picking up."

"You could have left me. One night with the goats and the chickens wasn’t going to hurt me."

"You don’t know...?" Her breath caught and she stopped her sentence.

Ethan, now alarmed, tried to sit up and gasped with the pain and lay back. He’d felt it before. He’d been stabbed, deeply. The memory joined the others. Boots...and a blade and then darkness. "My pouch?"

"You had none when I found you." She replaced the cloth with a deft hand.

"Are you a physic? Who sewed me up?" He tried to see more of his surroundings.

"Hush, you’ll tear the stitchings." She stilled him with a hand to his upper chest. He saw her fingers from beneath the cloth. Slender, but strong looking. The glint of hard calluses said she’d spent most of her life working.

"I milked the goat mama." Another child’s voice. A little older than the first one, two summers maybe.

"Thank you Circumstance. Go see how Jonas is doing. There’s a good boy."

"Yes, mama." The boy sounded so serious. Ethan wondered how he played.

"You have three? He grunted as she checked the wound.

"I’m sorry. It must be painful, but I see no infection. Yes, I have three children." She finished retying his bandage and he felt her stand up.

"Jonas, Circumstance and...Sari?"

He heard her soft laugh again, "Your memory, at least, is not damaged."

Laughing hurt.

 • • • 

"Again, Milady."

Charity threw the punch and blocked Morgan’s return. The months of practice had built hard muscle on her and speeded up her reflexes to the point where she was nearly as quick as Morgan himself.

Cloutier’s infrequent visits seemed to be only for the purpose of assuring him his prize was still within reach. Other than that he seemed to show no interest in her whatsoever, so she took advantage of every opportunity to learn as much as she could from Morgan. But, even as early as today, she’d learned that speed and strength alone cannot equal technique and experience.

She’d caught Morgan hard enough to make him flinch during a fast complicated exchange that involved all four limbs including the hands and feet. When she tried to take advantage of it by tying him up in the same hold he’d used on her all those months ago, he reversed her initial hold and she found herself back in it again.

"Again."

She threw the punch again and again he blocked the return, but this time he didn’t end it there. She found herself blocking an even faster blow so she altered her pattern and then Morgan was on defense. Charity dropped and swept a kick across at knee height. Morgan drew his feet to his chest just in time and threw a palm strike at her head while she recovered but Charity had been waiting for him. He found himself being pulled in the direction of his punch and off balance to boot. He tucked his head to avoid having his nose crushed but he couldn’t avoid what came next; the completed roll left his arm in a bone breaker of a lock with a young woman’s hand poised to rupture his throat.

 • • • 

"The cold ends, the new life comes." The wolf walked up to stand at Adam’s side enjoying the scent of the flowers growing in the grotto.

"I smell you friend wolf." Adam dropped his hand to receive a lick from his four-legged friend.

"You will be leaving soon with your pack leader." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"I will miss our hunts together." The wolf’s tail wagged at the memory.

"As will I." Adam had become adept at following a spoor and at flushing out game for his hunting partner. "The rule of three is a good teacher."

"When one is wolf enough to learn." The word Adam translated as wolf actually meant The One’s That Hunt. "Good hunting, my friend."

"Good hunting." Adam felt a thickness in his throat. The wolf turned and soon vanished in the pines.

He heard a rustle to his left and turned to see who or what was approaching. The mass of white hair told him it was Milward.

He pushed his way past the Huckleberry bush and left the trees to stand next to Adam. "Aren’t the flowers bright this morning."

Adam stood there, waiting.

Milward rested both of his hands on the top of his staff and sniffed the air. "Smells like a good day to travel."

"I suppose so."

"What’s bothering you boy?" Milward look at him sharply.

"I can’t help feeling we should have left earlier and I also wish I could stay."

"Ah, conflicted." Milward shifted his hold on his staff and looked across the grotto. Some yellow and white butterflies fluttered from flower to flower. He lowered his chin to his chest as if in thought and then nodded.

"Adam." 

"Yeah?"

"I’ve something to confess and I want you to try to understand my reasoning for what I’ve done." He shifted as though uncomfortable.

Adam felt the familiar chill again. "Ok, go ahead."

"I know why you feel we should have left earlier. You want to be looking for your sister. The bond between twins can be even stronger than that between man and wife." He paused.

"Go on."

"I...know she is alive."

"So do I Milward."

"No. I actually do know she is alive."

Adam whirled to face the Wizard. "How!? And why keep it from me? Do you know where she is?"

Milward waved a hand. "All perfectly reasonable and understandable questions. As to how, I placed a small shaping on each of you when you first stayed with me. If either of you were to be gravely injured, or killed, I would know of it. You are both very special to me, you know.

"As to why I kept it from you, I have no good explanation. I wanted you to find out how to create the bond yourself, but primarily I’d forgotten about it, it had become as much a part of me as my aches in the morning.

"As to where she is? She’s in the world, I can tell you that but I cannot be any more specific."

"Why?"

"I just can’t!" Milward slammed the point of his staff into the ground. "I can’t."

Adam was nonplused. His anger at Milward suddenly had nowhere to go. The Wizard seemed more upset about his inability to locate Charity than Adam was upset about his being left out of the loop. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly embarrassed at being witness to Milward’s admission of weakness. He busied himself at checking his pack and sword.

Milward composed himself with difficulty and placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder. "We’d best be going, lad."

"Milward?"

"Yes Adam?"

"I understand." He didn’t see Milward’s smile.

 • • • 

"How far is this Whistle Bridge?" Adam helped Milward up the incline. The weeks of travel were beginning to weary him and he was anxious to reach the goal.

"Not far." Milward puffed. The climb had been long and somewhat slippery. "It crosses a chasm deemed by some to be endless in its depth. I don’t agree with them."

"You don’t?" Adam reached for the next handhold.

"No, I don’t. Everything created has its end as well as its obvious beginning." Milward held out his hand. "Help me up lad."

Adam helped him up to the next ledge of the incline. "How far to this chasm then?"

Milward rubbed dried mud off his robe as he thought. "Ummm, if this is the last rise...we should see the ravine leading to it by morning."

"Where do we camp then?" Adam looked around them. They stood on a flat section of a path that would have given a goat pause. Steep walls rose on either side of them with nary a hand or toehold to be seen. Spring was still new so ice glinted here and there in areas where the sun didn’t reach. Along the path before them the ground was strewn with pebbles and rocks. Sleeping would be uncomfortable at best.

Milward rubbed his chin. "If I recall correctly, and I usually do, there’s a widening with a nice grassy glen. There’s a few trees there for shelter if it rains. We should be comfortable enough for the night."

"Good. I hate sleeping wet."

"Me too lad, me too."

The Wizard recalled correctly. The path wound terribly for awhile but it eventually emptied onto a sylvan glen with soft green grass, wildflowers, a small grouping of pines and a brook that filled the glen with its silver song.

"See there, my boy. I told you so." 

Adam left Milward to his gloating and walked over to the brook. He refilled the water skins and then lay down to drink deeply from its waters.

"Leave some for me lad. Drink any more deeply and you’ll cause a drought." The wizard sat on a pine log that had conveniently fallen a number of seasons long gone.

Adam brought the water skins over and sat down on the log. His feet hurt but there was still the matter of setting up camp.

Milward noticed Adam’s look as he sat down. He reached out an arm and halted his attempt to rise again. "Leave the work to me my boy. Take this as an opportunity to learn something more about being a Wizard."

Adam felt the pressure again, building up outside of him. This time, however, it was in several places at once and it was moving. One part zipped into the trees while another group roamed about the glen gathering rocks, which were placed, into a fire circle. When the circle was nearly finished the part that went into the trees came back with a large bundle of sticks and broken dead branches and dropped them by the circle of rocks.

The pressure cut off and Adam looked at Milward. The Wizard was sweating, though the day still had some of the old chill of winter. He looked back at Adam. "Did you follow that?"

"You’re sweating."

"Of course I am!" Milward snapped. "A multiple shaping is one of the hardest to do. Especially if you work to maintain its smoothness."

"What do you mean, smoothness?" Adam rummaged in his pack and pulled out a cloth that he gave to the Wizard.

Milward wiped his brow with the cloth and then put it into a pocket. "See the rocks which make up the fire circle?" He pointed to them.

"Yes."

"Look at them closely. What, if anything, do you see of significance in them?"

Adam studied the rocks. As far as he could tell they were just rocks. He shrugged his shoulders. "Other than them being in a circle, nothing."

Milward snorted. "Look again."

Adam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. There was something the Wizard wanted him to see in the rocks, he was sure of it. Should he try a shaping to himself to figure it out? No, he’d probably wind up destroying the campsite and besides Milward would know as soon as he started. He stared at the rocks trying to see what would be there that Milward wanted him to find. Was it color? They were all a melange of gray, pink and brown. Shape? The shape varied little from the usual rounded lump. Size? Well, the size varied..."I see it!"

Milward leaned back. "You do, do you?"

"It’s the size. You lined them up according to size."

Milward smiled and touched a forefinger to his nose. "Right you are. I could have just had them drop in a circle willy nilly but I wanted you to see what can be done with a little control. You have strength Adam. More than I’ve seen in any other Wizard, including what I saw during the magic war but you lack control. That could make you as dangerous to yourself as you are to your enemy."

"Is this why we’re traveling this direction?"

"Partly. I thought it would be good for us to visit the Wing Lord."

"The Wing Lord? Who’s he?"

"He’s not a man if that’s what you mean." Milward lit the fire with a snap of his fingers. Adam felt the sudden rush of power.

"What is he then, another Wolf?"

"No, a Dragon."

"A Dragon?!" Adam surged to his feet. "Charity and I were nearly fried by a Dragon in the caves and you’re taking me to see one?"

Milward looked closely at him. "You never mentioned this before."

Adam told him about the Dragon they met in the caves and their narrow escape through the cave wall into the creek.

Milward rubbed his chin in thought. "Can you remember enough about this fire breather to describe it to me?"

"I think I can. It had to be at least twice the height of a tall horse at the shoulder. It walked on all fours, had spines running down the length of its back and...oh yes, it had things coming out from behind each jaw like eels."

"Like eels."

"Uh huh. Oh, and when it’s saliva hit the water it hissed like water hitting a hot stove,"

"I see. Do you remember seeing wings on this Dragon?"

Adam ran back over his memory of being chased through the caverns by the Dragon. He tried to picture its back. "No. No wings."

The old Wizard seemed to relax. "My boy. I’m glad to tell you that what you and your sister ran from was not a Dragon."

"Not a...but it breathed fire. It’s head was as big as...as a calf, at least!"

"Yes, I imagine so. The fire was one of the reasons I asked you to describe the creature."

"Not...a...Dragon." Adam repeated the statement, trying to get a handle on the concept.

"As I said," Milward replied slowly as if teaching a slow learner. "Not a Dragon. I’ve never had the opportunity to see one of the creatures you described, thank the creator, but I’ve read about them during my studies back before the war. They are called Firewyrms. A real Dragon has wings. What you saw doesn’t fly but it does breathe fire. Well, it doesn’t really breathe it, according to the legends. They are supposed to have a sort of second stomach that creates a gas that they can expel at high pressure. The saliva you mentioned causes the gas to burst into flame as it leaves the mouth, hence the fire breathing you saw."

"Do the flying dragons breathe fire?"

"I don’t think so...never heard of one doing it. I’m sure Mashglach would have mentioned it sometime..." His voice trailed off in thought.

"Whose Mashglach?"

"The Wing Lord of course. Didn’t I tell you his name earlier? No? Well...Mashglach is the chief of the Dragons, the Wing Lord. He is the Oldest and the wisest creature living. I don’t think anyone knows his origins, they’re shrouded in the past like so many of our beginnings."

"Are they dangerous? The Dragons?"

"Oh of course. As would be any creature as large or as strong. But if you mean, are they dangerous to you or I, then I would have to say no. Mashglach and his people are my friends, of course I’ve had a few centuries to get to know them. Give it time and they’ll be your friends as well."

Adam tossed a small stick into the fire. "Ok. I’ll give it a try."

Milward looked at Adam in a studying way. He found himself doing that more and more. He really didn’t know what to do with the boy. On one hand he was scared pissless with the sheer volume of power he could bring into a shaping and on the other he was dying to see what he could do with it."Yes, I suppose you will."

Adam got up and walked over to his pack. He opened the top and began pulling out supplies for supper. Some dried meat and a few herbs and spices packed in small individual skins, two small cheeses covered in wax and a bag of dried vegetables.

Milward watched his preparations. "Stew?"

Adam looked up from measuring out a dark green herb. "Yes. We’ve got the time and I think we’d both prefer it to eating the stuff cold and dry."

Milward grinned and smacked his lips. "On the money lad. I’ll get the water."

 • • • 

The rooster woke him. Ethan opened his eyes to the dim light that preceded dawn. He felt the thick bandage that wrapped his midsection. If he pushed on the part that covered his wound hard enough he could feel a bit of pain but only then. She did good work, this widow woman. He owed her his life. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the knowledge. Maybe after he was healed enough he’d see what he could do to repay her.

 • • • 

Plop! The peeled potato dropped into the water to join its fellows.

"Pass me ‘nother spud, Flynn." Neely held his hand out as he stared at the water.

Flynn reached into the pile and placed the potato into Neely’s hand. "’ere ya go Neely. These is fine lookin’ spuds, these is."

Neely grunted and peeled.

Flynn pulled another potato out of the pile and began peeling it. "I likes spuds. Good eatin’ they’s is." Plop!

Neely grunted again. "Hmmppf. Knew a man once. Ate so many spuds it near ruined him mixin’ it with the ladies."

"Oh c’mon!"

"It did, I tell ye. Ever look close at ‘em? Put two together. Kinda look like yer plums in the’ bag, don’t they?"

Flynn held up two potatoes together. "Well I’ll be..."

"I tell yer, anything that looks that much like...well, yer just gotta be careful that’s all." Plop!

"Tell me about th’ man, Neely." Flynn picked up another potato and handed it to his friend.

Neely paused in his peeling and leaned back against the stone wall of the prison kitchen. "This man, he had a terrible love of spuds, couldn’t get enough of ‘em. Just like ‘e couldn’t get enough o’ th’ ladies. Once, when he was lucky at Jack Th’ Spot, he took his winnin’s to Hattie’s Hoar House in Coverdale and spent the whole night with four of her lovelies."

"No! Four?"

"Yup. Four. Well, after that night he spent th’ rest on a breakfast of spuds. Gorged hisself he did. Th’ next day he got th’ stones so bad he couldn’t wear pants for a month. Shocked ever old lady in th’ village. Potatoes or nookie me lad, ya gotta chose one or th’ other. Mix ‘em ya got trouble. Remember that."

"I will Neely. I will." Plop!

 • • • 

They topped the rise and looked down into a rent in the earth. On either side of the ravine entrance the ground rose slightly and the fell away as the outer cliffs of two sheer plateaus.

Milward pointed to the opening. "There it is. The beginning of the ravine that leads to Whistle Bridge."

"Why is it called that?" Adam peered into the ravine. The sunlight only reached so far. The heart of it looked to be black as night.

"You’ll hear the reason yourself when we get to it. The wind creates a whistling sound as it passes over the bridge."

Adam looked thoughtful. "Who built the bridge?"

"So many questions." Milward stopped Adam’s apology with an upraised hand. "It’s all right, I don’t mind, really. I was the same way as a youth. Drove my parents and teachers to distraction I imagine." He patted his pouch belt. "Whistle Bridge wasn’t built as far as anyone can tell. If it was, it was before recorded history. Some say the wind carved the bridge out of the naked stone itself. Some say it was first water, and then wind. Some say the Dragons themselves made it back when they had their cities."

"Their cities?"

Milward set off down the path toward the ravine. "Yes, I said cities." His tone of voice betrayed mild annoyance. "Dragonkind is far, far older than mankind. Legend has it that one city still exists in the far north at the outer fringes of the frozen wastes. Chrysostom, I believe it is called. Some ancient texts say the Dragons even had ships that sailed to the stars."

"Did they?"

"Can’t say. Mashglach won’t speak of it. I think something about the subject embarrasses him. Just understand this Adam. When you meet Mashglach, you’re meeting a being that was alive nearly ten thousand years before you were born. Their concept of time is different from ours. Most of what mankind does is beneath their notice, like the Mayfly is to us."

"How did you become friends then?"

Milward smiled at the memory, though Adam didn’t see it. "I think it was because I kept turning up. Wizards live longer than other people, you see. Around my fourth century they began to notice I was the same little man they’d been bothered by the previous century. After that it was just a matter of communication."

Adam noticed it was becoming dark. He looked up. The opening that was the top of the ravine was far above them. He reached forward and tapped on Milward’s shoulder. "I can’t see where I’m going. Maybe we should walk a little more carefully."

"Not to worry lad. There’s nothing much between us and the bridge except the occasional pebble."

"What’s that I hear then?" Adam’s hand gripped Milward’s shoulder, stopping him.

"Eh? I hear nothing boy. We’re too far away to hear the wind in the chasm."

"I hear something. Listen."

Milward strained his ears. There was something. The boy had better ears than he did, being young had its points. It was a chattering, just on the edge of hearing. It put the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"Do you know what it is?"

He could feel Adam turning to put his back to his and the silken hiss of the sword leaving it’s scabbard. The lad has good defensive instincts at least, he thought." No, I’ve never heard anything like it. Jars the nerves, doesn’t it?"

"It puts mine right on edge." Adam agreed. "It’s getting louder."

"I hear it." Milward raised his staff. It began to glow and a crackling nimbus of octarine purple infused the staff, lighting the area where he and Adam stood as well as a radius around them of about two yards.

"It seems to be coming from everywhere. It...it sounds evil."

 • • • 

I have you now. Gilgafed watched the old Wizard in the scry glass. It had taken nearly all his available power but if he didn’t miss his guess, the brat was with the old fool, even though he couldn’t see him. What he had summoned would be more than enough to take care of them both, the old Wizard’s new strength of power and the security of the world be damned.

The single door to the scry chamber opened tentatively. He whirled to see Cobain with a silver service tray and a bottle of wine.

Gilgafed leveled a shaking finger at his servant. "How dare you!? Get out! Get out and don’t come in unless you are summoned."

Cobain shuffled backwards out the door and shut it.

The Sorcerer smiled and turn back to his scry glass. He did not want to miss a second of his triumph and his thorn’s removal.

 • • • 

The light from Milward’s staff threw the shadows of the ravine into a sharp, purple-edged focus. They could see things moving in them. The sound grew louder and a scent, equally as evil as the sound, reached their nostrils.

Adam’s lip curled in disgust and he growled in his throat.

"Steady lad, don’t go pack on me. We’ve no idea of what we face here." Milward cautioned him.

The sound was all around the edge of the light now. Adam’s sword wove an intricate pattern. "You don’t know what these things are?"

"I’ve only a vague suspicion Adam, and I am hoping by Bardoc’s beard that it’s wrong." Milward raised the hand not holding the staff.

Adam felt the pressure of a shaping. A glow began coalescing around the Wizard’s hand similar to that around the staff. Small arcs and streamers of energy leapt and spat from his fingertips. Adam felt the pressure increase and then let go. A blue white bar of fire shot from his hand and transfixed...a something. He had no name for what he saw, only that he wished he never saw anything like that again.

It’s coloring was dead black, like the ash found on a cook stove pipe. The head had no ears and no nose, only a gash that opened and closed continuously. The mouth dribbled and semi-thick drool spattered against the ravine wall it clung to. It had two arms that extended from a torso with no shoulders and short curly fur that resembled an advanced growth of mold. Four legs extended from the end of the torso, two on the front and two on the rear. The hands and feet were alike with two digits each ending in a hooked claw. There were no sexual organs visible. The eyes glowed with a sickly green illumination under the blaze of Milward’s fire.

It scuttled out of the shaped bolt and back into the shadows. The chattering came from the movement as its joints rubbed against each other.

"Balls!" Milward spat the expletive.

"You know what these things are?" Adam swung the sword up to block a swipe by one of the creatures. Sparks flew where blade met claw.

"They’re called Chivvin, if I’m any judge of legend. They’re not supposed to be here." Another bolt leapt from his hand.

"You mean this ravine?" Adam leaned back to avoid a lightening slash.

"No! I mean this world." Another bolt of fire lit the ravine. A metallic smell followed it. "These shapings should be destroying them. They only look like insects. They’re from someplace other than our reality. My power only sends them back into the shadows."

Something began tapping on the door of Adam’s mind. "Where do the legends say they come from?"

"They say they come from the other side." Milward sent forth his shaping again but the brilliance of the bolt was less than the ones before.

"The other side of what?"

"Dreams. These are the creatures of nightmare. They can only...Bardoc’s Beard. I’ll fry his filthy stinking guts!"

"What?"

"They had to be summoned. It’s that Sorcerer’s doing. That fool doesn’t know what he’s playing with. I’ll flay his hide from his bones. I’ll light his balls on fire and feed them to him whole. I’ll..."

"Light!" The door to Adam’s mind opened. He half turned to share his idea with Milward and had to duck as one of the Chivvin leapt at him. He swung upward at the juncture of head and torso from his knees. It felt as if he’d struck an anvil. A loud ‘CHINK’ and a shower of sparks followed the strike and the Chivvin flew over Milward in two pieces. The torso landed on its back and the legs clawed at the air like a beetle flipped onto its back.

"Aaarrgghh!" Milward cried out and began dancing around. The head had latched onto the toe of his right boot and the jaws worked, trying to chew through the tough leather. He pointed his staff at the head and sent it rolling into the darkness with a surge of energy.

He backed up against Adam and raised his voice to be heard above the increased chattering of the Chivvin. "You said something. What was it?"

"Light. It’s the light that scares them. I’d bet my sword on it."

Milward shook his head. "You may be right. I should have thought of it before, but now I’m nearly knackered. I doubt I could float a pebble."

"What can we do then?" Adam parried slashes from a group of Chivvin clinging to the ravine wall above him.

"You’ll have to do it lad. We’ll have to chance it."

"What do I do?"

"As you build your shaping, think of sunlight. Pure, white sunlight. Remember how it looks, how it feels and put those memories into the power and direct the shape of it where you want it to go." The Wizard looked around them. "In this case, I’d say everywhere."

Adam concentrated as Milward had instructed. He thought of light, pure and blinding white filling the ravine and built the shaping. He felt the pressure of the power grow and opened his eyes prior to releasing it. His skin and his clothing were glowing. Small sparkles, like diamond dust danced and skipped through his skin and the weave of his jerkin and tunic.

The Chivvin closest to them edged back from the glow. Their chattering was now loud enough to cause pain. Adam had to shout to make himself heard. "Close your eyes!"

He released the shaping the same time he closed his.

The Chivvin saw the targets glow and backed away from the irritation. The glow grew brighter and the irritation became pain. They increased their cry in defense but the pain grew and then it blossomed into agony. The Chivvin were enveloped by blinding white radiance and they began to break apart; smaller bits crumbling into smaller bits that floated away in the all consuming light and then they were gone.

"You can open your eyes now lad."

Adam opened his eyes. It must have worked. Milward didn’t use that tone of voice unless he was well pleased about something. Adam saw no Chivvin left in the ravine. It worked.

 • • • 

Cobain answered his master’s summons. He found Gilgafed roaring drunk, lying in a pool of ancient, very expensive wine, piss and vomit, surrounded by a number of empty bottles.

His master waved him over with the loose limbed movement of the very, very drunk.

"Ah, Cobain! He did it again. The brat destroyed them, even...even my sh, shumminmumums...summons failed. A toast!" He raised an almost empty glass. "A toast to failure.’ Hic’ A delicashee I’ve not tasted for nearly a...a...a thousand yearsh." He up-ended the glass and slurped loudly. He then brought the glass up close to his face." Drained. Jush like me." His eyes rolled back and he began to snore.

Cobain looked down at the slumbering sorcerer. A glint off to the side caught his eye. He bent to see what it was and found shards of glass. It was then he noticed the mirror Gilgafed used for scrying. Its frame was empty, the backing cracked and what remained of the beveled mirror glass scattered across the floor.

He looked back at his master. Gilgafed lay in a drunken stupor, snoring and hugging an empty bottle. Completely helpless, he would know nothing for days. Cobain bent and picked up a shard of glass and looked at his master. Then he bent once more and began picking up the rest.

 • • • 

Milward leaned on his staff. It had worked. The boy was learning fast. Far, far faster than he had when he was apprenticing. He felt completely worn out but his pride wouldn’t allow him to ask Adam for help in walking.

"May I help?"

He turned to see Adam holding out his arm for him to take as if he were an invalid. He straightened his back and strode off down the ravine, heels clicking against the stone. "No thank you boy. We’ve delayed here long enough."

Adam followed the old Wizard shaking his head. He knew Milward was nearly drained, he could feel it. His perceptions were growing. If he strained them a bit he could feel small snatches of shapings being worked. He didn’t have the subtlety to be able to tell how far off or where they were, but it was a beginning.

The path continued downward at a steady rate and the shadows grew deeper until Adam asked Milward. "Do you think I should try your torch trick? I can’t see my hand in front of my nose."

He heard the Wizard grunt. "First, it’s not a trick. It’s a shaping. Remember that. Ill-informed boobs call the things we do tricks. Secondly, additional practice wouldn’t hurt, would it?"

"No sir." Adam began to glow and the walls of the ravine came into focus. He felt a considerable relief in seeing bare rock sans Chivvin.

"You’ve got a good quality light there lad, but does it have to be you all over? How about just a hand?"

Adam concentrated, trying to move the light to his right hand. "I can’t get it to move. Sorry."

Milward sighed. "Ah well. I guess this will have to do. Mind you, it is a lot better than stubbing your toe in the dark."

The ravine narrowed until there was just enough room for them to squeeze through with their packs. Milward had to unbuckle his beloved pocket belt with its many pouches and sling it over his shoulder.

He grumbled about Gilgafed while they made their way through what Milward called the narrows. "Egotistical idiot! What does he think he’s playing at, a children’s game? Didn’t he realize what...damn and blast him to perdition. Chivvin! What in the pit was he thinking?" And so on.

Adam listened to Milward’s monologue with interest. The old Wizard had a marvelous grasp of language and exercised his gift with paramount skill in describing the Sorcerer’s many faults and failings.

At one point the narrows became too tight to traverse without inching up the wall and bracing the feet against one side and the back against the other and then covering the distance sideways like a crab.

They were able to get through the narrows without too many scrapes and bruises but Adam developed a good strawberry on his right elbow and Milward caught the back of his head against a protruding stone somewhere in the middle of the climb.

He felt the back of his head as they moved back into a more comfortable area of the path. "Damn. It’s gong to leave a knot, of that, I’m sure."

Adam felt his elbow gingerly. "Do we have enough water to make poultices?"

"No, and it’s a good few hours before we reach Dragonglade."

"I guess we’ll just have to suffer through then. Is your strength coming back?" Adam looked at Milward out of the corner of his eye.

"A little bit...but after such a..." He stopped and gave Adam a suspicious look, then he headed on down the widening path muttering about boys who are far too sharp for their own good.

The path’s downward slope increased after a while and the ravine widened to a distance of yards instead of feet. The walls curved inward several yards above their heads giving them the feeling of being in a massive hallway. The air grew cooler and the sound of water rose up in the background.

A light grew in the distance and Adam turned off the glow. He wondered why he felt none of the drain as Milward had, but that thought was swept away by what he saw as they entered the light.

"Behold Adam, Whistle Bridge."

Adam stood there, awestruck. What Milward told him on the way was inadequate to prepare him for what he saw. The bridge was merely the centerpiece of a magnificent gorge tableau as it stretched into the distance. An impossibly high waterfall lit by the sun fell from the gorge’s cliff to the left of where they stood. Bushes and small trees stubbornly clung to the cliffs, sprouting from cracks and outcrops that jutted into the mist. White birds flew in and out of the mist, some of them skimming the waterfall itself. An incredible rainbow spread its arch between the bridge and the waterfall. The sounds of the falls, the birds and the breeze whistling across the bridge blended into an ethereal harmony. He could hear the small patter of drips of condensed mist hitting the stone and the air had a sharp, washed scent like spring cleaning on a grand scale.

"Quite a sight isn’t it?" Milward eased himself over to Adam’s side.

"I...never dreamed anything like this even existed." Adam breathed.

"Well, it does, and has for tens of thousands of years. Some say it was here even before man came to be."

The old wizard pointed to the waterfall. "No one knows how far it falls. The chasm underneath the gorge falls away from the cataract and gives it no wall to fall against."

"What are those birds doing?" Adam pointed to them as they skimmed the falls.

"Fishing."

"What?"

Milward smiled. "I know it sounds strange, but that is exactly what they’re doing. They live off the small fish who come over the edge into the falls itself."

"Amazing." Adam stepped onto the bridge for a better angle to view the gorge.

Milward followed him onto the bridge. Whistle bridge was only wide enough for two walk it side by side and he passed Adam carefully. "Heights don’t bother you lad?"

Adam bent to look over the edge of the bridge, resting his hands on his knees. A jewel lit fog hundreds of yards below obscured his view of the actual depth. "They don’t seem to. Why?"

Adam didn’t see the Wizard shudder as he bent over the drop. "Oh, no reason. Just asking."

Adam straightened and shaded his eyes as he tried to see across the gorge to the other side of the bridge. "The other side’s a long ways off. How long till we get to Dragonglade from here?"

Milward looked up at the light coming into the top of the gorge. "I had hoped we’d be there before summer’s done. That’s when the gate is shut."

"Gate? What gate?"

 • • • 

Morgan slapped the chamber floor twice. The signal of surrender. Charity released him and stood up.

Morgan raised himself up onto one elbow and massaged his wrist. "You‘ve been practicing without me." He said wryly.

"You’re not angry?" Charity was a little surprised at his easy acceptance of defeat.

He stood up and brushed himself off. "Why would the teacher be angry when the student surpasses his expectations?"

Charity allowed herself a little smile. "I did do rather well, didn’t I?"

"You did splendidly, my dear student. You’ve learned what I could teach faster than I would have thought possible. I’m quite happy having to slap the floor." He gave her a half bow and left the room.

Cloutier was standing on his terrace overlooking the city of Berggren when Morgan found him.

"And how is my...guest faring in our care, Captain?"

"She is... adapting well, my Lord. She will be a woman any man would be proud to have at his side."

Cloutier turned and looked at Morgan with an upraised eyebrow. "I detect a note of affection in you Captain. Your loyalties would not be changing, would they?"

"Of course not, my Lord." Morgan said stiffly.

"I would hope not, Captain." Cloutier replied with equal stiffness. "I have plans for that young woman. She is ripening nicely and I plan to be the one to harvest her fruit."

"Yes, my Lord."

The Earl spun on his heel and looked back out over the city. The sun was beginning to set and the cities buildings were painted with the colors of the sunset. He motioned to Morgan. "See the colors? This is my favorite part of the day. The buildings look like they’re coated with blood. Delicious."

"Yes my Lord."

Cloutier turned again and looked the Captain up and down. "Captain, in all the years I’ve known you, you haven’t once committed an act contrary to the law."

"No my Lord."

"I’ve always found that to be a little disappointing."

"I am sorry to be a disappointment my Lord. Do you have any further need of me?" Morgan kept his gaze fixed straight ahead.

Cloutier turned away from him and waved him away with a languid hand. "No, not at this time. Go away. I wish to enjoy this sunset."

Charity looked up from her book at Morgan’s knock. She’d learned to recognize his particular single rap on the wood of the door. "Come in Morgan. I’m only reading."

He pushed open the door and entered the chamber.

Charity could see something had upset him. "What’s wrong?"

"I’ve something to tell you my Lady. You may not like it."

Charity got to her feet. "I don’t like it already. Go ahead, tell me."

"The Earl has plans for you. He means to take you at the moment you fully enter womanhood." Morgan’s face was set in stone.

Charity felt the beginnings of fear grow in her belly. She strode across the room and faced Morgan. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing, my Lady. It is his right within the law."

"What!?" Charity’s scream made him flinch. "HE has his WAY with ME and you’re just going to stand there and do nothing?"

Morgan stood beneath her verbal barrage ramrod straight as if on review. "I cannot circumvent the law my Lady, it is there for a purpose. I came here to tell you because I thought you should know and you could prepare yourself."

Charity began hitting him as she screamed. "Prepare myself? How? Perfume? Powder? Maybe I should have you bring in a trollop or two to teach me a few tricks?" She drew blood with her last blow and then she collapsed onto the settee and started to cry.

"I am sorry, my Lady." Morgan still stood where he was, blood trickled from his nose. "I meant prepare in another sense."

"What sense was that?" Charity replied through her sobs.

"Stand to your feet!" Morgan rapped out the command in a voice that brooked no disobedience.

Charity stood to her feet before she realized what she was doing.

"Guard yourself!" Morgan shifted into an attack stance and sent a series of lightening swift strikes her way.

Charity parried the blows as quickly as they came. High, low and then back to high. This continued for nearly a full half minute and then Morgan stepped back, placed his hands on his hips and nodded in satisfaction. "That sense, my Lady." He turned and walked out the door closing it behind him.

Charity stood where he’d left her. "That sense." She repeated the words slowly as a dangerous look came into her eyes.

 • • • 

"You don’t have to do this."

Ethan sat on the cottage porch of the woman he’d come to know as Ellona. He was putting the finishing touches on a Yew bow, small flecks of wood drifted to the ground under the touch of the small knife he wielded. The woman’s children, Sari, Jonas and Circumstance, sat or knelt around him as he worked.

He looked up at her voice. "Yes, I do. I’m not comfortable being in someone’s debt."

"You needed help. I gave it. That doesn’t mean you’re in debt to me." Her voice was reproachful.

Ethan finished his work on the bow and tossed the knife into a small block of wood a couple of yards away. The children ooo’d. "Maybe not to you, Ellona, but it does to me. A life debt isn’t something I can just forget."

He stood up and tested the flex of the bow, bracing one of the arms against the inside of his boot. It seemed to satisfy him and he reached into his jerkin and pulled out a bowstring made of several strands of a long, sturdy fiber with the ends looped and the center wrapped tightly. He fit the string to the bow with two sure movements and then pulled it back to his ear.

"It seems a good bow." Ellona stood on the porch, her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

Ethan grunted in agreement. "It should do the job. Now, we unstring it and then to the arrows."

A pile of shafts, made of small branches whittled to an even thickness lay on the porch near Ethan’s feet. Next to the shafts, an old pottery bowl sat full of feathers. Next to the feathers lay a small pile of odds and ends of scrap metal.

Ethan sat back down and picked up one of the shafts and one of the feathers. He held one end of the shaft and lined the feather against it lengthwise. Grunting his satisfaction with it, he then trimmed the feather with the knife. Then he picked up a length of hemp fiber and tied the feather in place with two snug loops. Picking up two more feathers, he repeated the trimming and secured them to the shaft as well. Carefully, he began wrapping another length of fiber around the feathers, making sure to cover only the quill portion at the base and at the top. Taking the small knife he added a notch into the end of the shaft and then picked up another to begin the process all over again.

When he’d finished putting fletchings onto all the shafts he picked up one of the metal scraps. "Where did you get these?" He said to Ellona.

"My husband used to collect them. He would save them up and sell the collection to the blacksmith in Bantering."

"Where is he now?"

"He died...a fever two summer’s ago. I’ve never thrown anything of his away." Her voice caught.

Ethan felt as if he were suddenly intruding. He turned away from Ellona to hide his embarrassment. "I’m sorry, I didn’t know."

"You had no way of knowing unless I told you." She wiped a corner of an eye with a fingertip. "I’m glad some of his things are being put to use,"

Ethan fingered the scrap he held. "I’ll try to make a good use of them."

The boy called Circumstance picked up one of the scraps and held it out for Ethan to take. "This one will work." His voice was high. Higher than it should have been for a boy his age.

Ethan took the scrap. "Thank you, Circumstance." The name sounded odd on his tongue. He looked at Ellona in question, she nodded.

"Run along now children, Ethan doesn’t need to be bothered while he finishes his work."

"Ah ma..."

"There’s nuthin’ to do..."

"Yes mama." This from Circumstance.

There is something different about the boy, Ethan thought. He balanced the scrap Circumstance had given him in his hand. He held it up for Ellona to see. "The boy has a good eye."

"He always has. It’s a knack of his."

"He’s not yours, is he." A statement, not a question.

"No." Ellona sat and hugged herself. "Russal brought him home after a hunting trip. It must be nearly ten years now. He was just a baby then and we had no children of our own"

"Russal was your husband?" Ethan began shaping the scrap with a file he’d found in the small shop behind her cottage.

"Yes. We were married almost thirteen years." She looked around at the cottage and the grounds. "He was a good husband and a good provider. It’s been hard, but we’ve managed."

"How did he find the baby?"

"He wouldn’t say, not entirely. It was happy chance that he found him at all."

"Oh?"

"He found the baby in a hollow log. He just happened to glance that way. Circumstance was cold and hungry, but he wasn’t crying. He hasn’t cried as long as I’ve known him."

"Hmm." Ethan finished filing on the scrap of metal. He reached down and picked up one of the fletched shafts. Using the small knife again, he split the end of the shaft to a depth of two fingers. He then worked the flange end of the shaped metal into the split and held it up to see.

"It looks deadly." Ellona commented.

"I hope it is. Game doesn’t throw itself into the cook pot just on the asking." Ethan began winding hemp fiber around the split so the crude arrowhead would remain in place during flight.  He finished the winding and examined the finished arrow. "Well...it looks all right. Only eleven more to go."

Ellona got up to leave the porch. "I’ll start making some hot food."

Ethan looked up at her. He noticed the way the sun caught the highlights in her hair. "I should be finished about then. Thanks."

Ellona walked into the cottage and Ethan heard the sounds of pots and pans being worked with. Soon the smell of cooking filled the air and Ethan realized he was hungrier than he’d thought. Anticipation moved him and he bent to his task with a will.

Ellona’s a fine woman. He thought. I wonder what she could do with a haunch of venison?

 • • • 

The sun rose in the east. The colors played across the Alpha Wolf’s muzzle as he watched the day being born.

His mate came up beside him and sniffed the early morning air. The plain below them was filled with wildflowers and the sounds of birdsong greeting the rising sun. "You think of the old one’s packmate."

He turned and greeted her." I smell you, my mate. Yes, I think of the young two legs. He learned quickly the way of the hunt and I feel as if a packmate of ours is journeying away from us for the first time."

"I too miss him but he will do well."

The Alpha Wolf’s mouth hung open in a wolf smile." He will."