Twinsoul: Chapter 6

Chapter 6:  Tasks

                       

The hills and valleys between Reylyn’s lair and Cagar-Tugan had a special kind of majesty about them.  The dawning spring gave way to lush grasses that grew from the fecund soil of the northern hills.  Where there was no vegetation, proud stone pushed up from the ground in proclamation of the earth’s strength.  The foothills of the Tharkas Mountains further south were awash in green, a sea of life washing at the base of the eternal monuments of stone.  Such grand sights made the trip worth it in Varcor’s opinion. 

The landscape was indeed beautiful, but to Varcor, much more impressive were the inhabitants.  He saw independent farms and larger farming villages dotting the landscape from the vista atop Reylyn’s mountain, but experiencing them up close gave Varcor a deeper insight to his kin.  Wherever he went, he saw honest, hardworking people doing their best to live a quiet life.  The simple folk, not knowing him or his companion, smiled and nodded in greeting as they passed through, courteous and respectful. 

From what he had read, this was far different from the orcs of the past.  The orcs were once known and hated across Kayledon as a warlike, vicious, cruel existence, a plague upon the good people of the world.  They constantly sought to increase their territories, and when not at war with humans or elves, constantly bickered amongst themselves and murdered each other.  Now, only their superior physical strength and tusked faces made them any different from the other folk of Kayledon. 

In a week’s time, they arrived at the gates of Cagar-Tugan.  This sprawling mountain city was the result of hundreds of years of architectural advancement and decades of building.  Besides its reliable structure, its tactical placement was well thought out and utilized to its fullest.  The city was nestled among the lower, inner mountains of the Tharkas range, guarded on the south and east by its taller outer peaks, and the Shosoran River giving additional support to the south.  The main road that traveled to  Olimport and Martoth and ran through the city was made to follow the natural contours of the range, making the roads more defensible.  There was also a road that led out of the kingdom, passing through Westway, the Valoran outpost that served as trading ground for the two countries, but it could easily be closed off from would be intruders, leaving the west the only viable direction for attack.  Only a fool would try to siege the orcs.  This had indeed been their saving grace during the time of the Horde.

Varcor had mixed feelings as he approached the high stonewalls and forbidding, heavy doors.  He had always thought of the High City as strong and proud, a bastion of orcan accomplishment.  It was his home.  But now that he had returned from the countryside, with the smaller, humbler dwellings, he felt as though the isolation and military preparedness of the city was a throwback to the darker history of his people.

“Uncle,” Varcor said suddenly, “do you spend much time around the people of the city?”

Kronta scratched his bald head.  “Not quite sure what ye mean by that, m’boy.  I get a drink at the Golden Gauntlet on me nights off, if that’s what ye mean.”

“Are the people here anything like the ones from the villages we went through?” the prince asked.  When Kronta gave him a funny look, he elaborated, “What I mean is do they seem as content, as peaceful as the villagers?”

Kronta gave this a moment’s thought, then shrugged.  “City life’s different, you know, with everyone comin’ and goin’.  Never really peaceful, though, always a criminal or gang doin’ what they aught not to do.”

Varcor shook his head.  “That isn’t really what I meant.  I don’t know if you can tell me what I want to know.”

Kronta screwed up his face in concentration, thinking about the prince’s question.  His eyes lit up, and he said, “If yer talkin’ ‘bout the way the people are, ye don’t need to worry on such things.  City or village don’t change the fact that an orc’s an orc, an’ we’ve all come a long way.”  The big orc sighed and shrugged.  “That is, save yer father.”

Varcor’s eyes narrowed inquisitively.  “What do you mean?”

Kronta began to answer, but the gates began to open the moment he opened his mouth.  Beyond the walls was an escort of ten orcs, ready to bring the returned prince to the castle.  Kronta shook his head, and whispered, “I’ll tell ye later, at the castle, without so many ears about.”

Varcor nodded slowly, not understanding the big orc’s need for secrecy, but respecting that he was not as learned in the situation as well as Kronta.  Together they greeted the escort, and were guided to the castle, which served only to give Varcor time to worry.

As they walked through the town, Varcor felt something was out of place.  His father never wasted any opportunity to celebrate, especially on occasions like this one.  He was compelled to ask Kronta about it, but something in the soldier’s pace, the way he looked over his shoulder, made him save the question for later.

Unfortunately, as soon as the escort came to the castle gates, the guards there informed Varcor that he was to go see his father immediately.  Kronta shrugged helplessly, offering no explanation or aid.  Without any logical recourse, Varcor instructed the two guards to have them bring him to the audience hall.

“We would,” one guard hesitated to say, “but our instructions were to bring you to the king’s private quarters, not the audience hall.”

“What?” Kronta sputtered.  “Tha’s not protocol!  His majesty wouldn’t ask for anythin’ so improper!”  The guard only shrugged, and reiterated that the orders came from the king himself.

“It’s all right, Uncle,” Varcor said calmingly to Kronta.  “I’ll do as he wishes.  I wouldn’t want these soldiers to be in trouble on my account.”  The guards seemed relieved to hear Varcor’s words, and that worried him no small amount.

They brought him to the second level of the castle, where the banquet hall and guest rooms were, then to the stairs leading to the third level, where the royal family’s quarters were, and were intercepted there by a single orc. 

“General Ganash,” Varcor said, recognizing him immediately by nothing more than his manner.  He was by far the most disciplined orc Varcor had ever met.  He stood with a wide stance and his arms behind his back, patience evident on his rough features.  “It is good to see you again.”

The general nodded at the soldiers, not even glancing at the prince until the other two had disappeared around the corner of the hallway.  He looked tersely to the prince saying, “Come this way.”  He was climbing the stairs before Varcor could even say a word.  The prince had a bad feeling about this situation, made worse by Kronta’s earlier words.  He tightened the gauntlet on his right hand, and followed the general up to the top floor.

Once there, Ganash led him right, in the direction of the king’s study.  Varcor started to protest, but stopped himself, for most of the soldiers knew that the third floor was for the royalty and their personal guards only, and was by all accounts the king’s “private quarters.”

Upon arriving to the study, Ganash opened the door and gestured that Varcor should enter first.  Apprehensively, the prince did as he was instructed, walking cautiously past the general and into the room.  Varcor peered about the room, seeing it vacant.  He strode over to the desk at the far end, where a pile of books covered the surface.  He recognized some of the titles as copies of ones he read in Reylyn’s company, but there were others he did not recognize.  Those he did were history books about the Horde, a tome on demon physiology, and a primer on the hazards and precautions of summoning.  One book piqued his interest, a red cloth bound book with a silver rune inscribed on the front, which he did not understand.  The book otherwise had no title.

He was about to open it when he heard Ganash enter and lock the door behind him.  The prince once again started to protest, but Ganash cut him off.  “I need to speak with you, my lord.”

“You could have told me that,” Varcor said angrily, “instead of skulking about the castle like some invader.  Where is my father?  Why have you brought me here?”

“I brought you here because it is where your father is not, and no one would dare think of coming here unbidden,” Ganash told him evenly.  Varcor’s surprise was surpassed when Ganash’s face twisted into an expression of a man hounded by fear and doubt.  “Praise Faarthus that you returned when you did!  It might be our last chance.”

Varcor was stunned.  He honestly could not comprehend what could possibly get under the skin of the one person he thought was unshakable.  “What is it?  Does this have to do with what Kronta tried to tell me?”

“He tried?  Faarthus bless him as well!” Ganash said, crossing his right arm to his left shoulder, a sign of praise to Faarthus.  “Yes, my lord.  It is something he and I have been talking of for some time now.”

“What is wrong with my father?” Varcor said, as loudly as he dared.  Up until now, he did not think anything was seriously wrong or that his father was in some sort of danger.  It was clear that if something had upset the stalwart Ganash, then either of those things could be true.

“Outwardly, he is as he always was, but during the past three years he has become increasingly obsessed with his other projects, and has devoted a large portion of his coffers to their progress.”  Ganash looked to the desk, where the stack of books drew Varcor’s attention again.  “He spends long intervals here with his books and with Iksol, studying endlessly.  I do not know what he intends to achieve, but with books like those, it cannot be anything good.”

Varcor shrugged.  “Father has always been interested in other planes, and after the Horde, many rulers have developed an interest in extra planar attacks.  This is not so . . .”

“I fear he means to summon a demon, Varcor,” Ganash interrupted.  “I have seen experimental chambers, prepared with magic circles and other paraphernalia I could not identify.  I think he may already have.”

Varcor still shook his head.  “To learn weakness and susceptibilities of their kind, or for other studies.  I have read about this before.”

“You do not understand!” Ganash pressed on, not dissuaded by Varcor’s arguments.  “I have told him of the evil he works with, as Kronta has.  He admits openly to us that he has spoken with demons, and means to summon more!  He claims that his endeavors will eventually be for the good of all the orcan people.  I have done a fair bit of reading of my own, and this is exactly the course of behavior believed to have brought about the coming of the Demon Horde, the fall of the Lost Land, and the arrival of the Mist.”

Varcor wanted to shout, to scream that what he was saying was just not possible, that his father was a good person and strong ruler.  But he had indeed read the same things that the general was now telling him.  He could not bring himself to discount the evidence, or the shaken tone of the one person he was told had never been frightened of anything.

“Reylyn has her suspicions as well, I have corresponded with her without His majesty’s knowledge during your trip from her lair,” Ganash told him.  “We both believe that you are the one who could ever talk sense into him.”

Varcor nodded, but deep inside he questioned whether or not his father would listen to him.  If he was deep in the thralls of his research, there would be nothing to convince his father of a better path.  In fact, he was still not entirely sure that his father was the one making erroneous judgments.

As soon as Ganash had seen his nod, he moved to the desk and picked up the red book, handing it to Varcor.  Varcor eyed him, then the book, saying, “What is this?”

“I do not know what is in it, but your father recently spent a small fortune for its procurement.  It is not written in any language I can understand, so I need you to take a look at it.  Not here, but when you are away from the prying eyes of our good Iksol.  Judging by the price your father paid for it, I do not doubt that it is of importance to his plans.”

Tentatively, Varcor accepted the book, and placed it in his satchel.  “Shall I go to see my father now?”

Ganash shook his head, chuckling.  “It would be inappropriate to see the king in your traveling garb.  The only reason we are having this talk now is that he thinks you are using this time to prepare for a proper reception.”

Varcor smiled and nodded.  “Always a firm believer in formality.”  Giving Ganash one final nod, he headed out of the study, and went to his room to prepare for the meeting with his father.

******

           

Varcor walked down the steps to the main hall some time later, after having washed and changed out of his apprentice robes into fine clothes that had been brought to his room beforehand.  He felt awkward not wearing his robe, so he had opted to wear a crimson dress cloak that he had stored away in his closet.  He kept his gauntlet on, and had been surprised when he found his father’s ruby-pommeled sword in his room.  It had significance in the eyes of the people of Faarthusia as the sword of a ruler, worn and wielded only by the king or queen.  He had left the sword in his room, and was prepared to ask why it had been left there.

His question was answered the moment he was heralded into the audience hall.  His father, Toras Voldur, sat upon the stately throne atop a dais on the far side of the hall.  Flanking him one step lower were his advisor and his retainer, Iksol on the right and Ganash on the left.  Before Varcor had left, the prestigious right position had been where Ganash sat.  More importantly, he noticed what now replaced his father’s sword. 

The blade appeared to be made of dark iron, a much more durable metal for weapons than normal iron, mined from the Tharkas Mountains.  But it seemed to be alloyed with hardened crystal, making it somewhat translucent and giving it the illusion of a shadow sliding down the edge.  The hilt resembled outward facing ram horns, and the pommel was set with a fire opal.  The sword rested against the arm of the throne, and his father’s hand rested on top of it.

His appraisal turned to the king as he approached.  Ganash had spoken truly when he said that his father had not outwardly changed.  He carried himself in the same dignified manner, moved as deliberately as before, and stood as one might stand on top of the highest mountain, proudly and self-assured.  But Varcor noticed a haze in his eyes, a darkness that might have been from lack of sleep, or perhaps something deeper.  He might not have changed in appearance, but his eyes and new sword reflected the inner darkness growing in the ruler.

“Well met, father,” Varcor said as he approached.  He forced a pleasant look to his face, despite a growing awareness that the near future would indeed be anything but pleasant.

Toras stood up from the throne and walked down the dais to his adopted son, his arms spread wide to embrace the youth.  “Well met indeed, Flamesoul.”

Varcor returned his father’s hug, not missing the reference to his nickname.  He had many, many questions, but they would have to wait.  At this moment, he did not want to believe that his father was capable of consorting with demons or endangering the country and himself.  All he wanted to believe in now was the man who had raised an orphan son who had appeared from nowhere, a man who made every decision with the interests of his people and family in mind.

He needed this, or he would never be able to help his father.

After the hug was released, Toras looked his son over once, and gave him a curious look.  “Why do you not wear the sword I sent to your room?”

Varcor struggled not to scream his reply.  “Father, it is the sword of the ruler of Faarthusia, and it is not my place to wield it.”

Toras waved away those words as if they meant nothing.  “Tradition must change eventually.  It is only a sword after all.  This blade was a gift, and I find I prefer its balance to my old one.”  He smiled.  “After all, I received the old sword from my father, and now I give it to you.  The tradition shall live on, yes?”

“Yes sire,” Varcor answered, but still had a hard time accepting the answer as final.  He decided to let that topic sit for now, and move on to something that had been bothering him since he had arrived in town.  “I must admit, I had expected more.”

“More?” Toras echoed, guiding his son over to a table prepared for tea.  “How do you mean?”

“What I had understood was you would be holding a reception for my return, with guests and a banquet.” His father’s questioning look remained the same, and he continued.  “What I mean to say is you celebrate the return of a successful raid against encroaching ogres and goblins more than you have lauded the return of your own son.  I get the feeling that no one but the soldiers who escorted me had any idea I have returned.”

His father laughed then, and started pouring the tea.  “My dear boy, do you feel neglected?”

“Not at all,” Varcor said with a smirk.  “It’s just that you had less of a reaction to the consummation of my education than you did to the first words I spoke.”

“If I may interject, Majesty,” Ganash said as he came over, “my lord’s observations are not without truth.  Indeed, you threw a grand celebration when my lord took his first steps.”

Toras chuckled, and nodded.  “Yes, I understand you both very well, though I will point out that both of those were more private affairs than you make them out to be.”

“Majesty, you had invited the king of Valora to both occasions,” Ganash said dryly.

“He is a good friend, after all,” Toras pointed out, then he sighed.  “Indeed, I would have liked to have much more to do than this, but I thought it best if our first reunion in three years be a quiet one.”

Varcor looked at his father suspiciously.  Toras Voldur was never one to do anything quietly, especially if it involved his son.

The king’s tone became serious.  “Also, before we can celebrate, there is something I would have you do.”  He motioned for Iksol to come over, and the dark-haired priest made his way to his king’s side.  “There is a matter of national importance that requires your attention, Varcor.”

“National importance?” Varcor asked, now totally baffled. 

“Yes, my son,” Toras said.  “This is not to be spoken of around the public or anyone else uninvolved.  This is why no one must know you are here yet.”

“Despite the secrecy, the task is basically a simple one,” Iksol explained.  “You must go into the eastern kingdom of Shae’Ildarae, to the Cavern of Crystal.  There you will find a group of adventurers, led by a half-elf sorcerer of Solreth.  You must bring them here, dead or alive.”

“What is this rubbish?” Varcor spouted, no longer able to contain his frustration.  “First you tell me you have some secret mission for me, now you ask me to commit murder for the sake of our country?  We are at peace with the elves, but they still do not trust us!  Sending the prince of Faarthusia to attack one of their own – on their own land, no less! – is nothing short of asking them to retaliate!”

He looked to his father.  “Surely, with all the work you have done to win the favor of the fair folk, you cannot concur with this conspiracy?”

The king of the orcs, unaffected by Varcor’s ranting, gave his son a look of unfaltering conviction.  “In truth, the idea was mine.”

If Varcor had a reply to that, it was refusing to budge past his teeth.  He could only stare in horror at the madness that surrounded him.

“You forget, Varcor, that ever since you came to him, your father has been gifted with prescience,” Iksol said sternly, looking ruffled from the prince’s verbal barrage.  “His Majesty has had a vision concerning the future of our race, and you shall play an integral role in what is to come.”

Varcor calmed visibly at those words.  He knew of his father’s prophetic visions, and had actually witnessed most of them play out completely as his father said.  Though this ability had not been revealed to the public, most suspected that the king of Cagar-Tugan was either a genius or a seer.  Of course, those who did know of his gift knew he was both, for future sight (or accurate future sight) was a very rare talent and the ability to interpret the visions so well took incredible cognitive skill and memory.

“The half-elf Iksol mentioned is someone who can help to damn or save our people, by his life or death,” Toras said, picking up where his advisor left off.  “He is more valuable alive, but if he resists, then he must be destroyed.”

“Who is this sorcerer you would have me kill?” Varcor asked, still unsure of how he felt about the situation.

“His name is irrelevant, you may ask it when you meet him,” Toras said.

“What’s so special about him?” Varcor pressed.  “What could the kingdom of orcs possibly want with one half-elf?”

“If his exploits are left unchecked, he could bring us to ruin,” Toras explained.  “If he works with us, however, he could be the first stepping stone of our rise to respect and greatness.”

“What is it he could do for us?” Varcor asked, no longer quite so doubtful, but honestly curious about this person he had to find.

“In truth, it is his potential that interests me, not his current level of skill,” Toras said.  Varcor gave him a doubtful frown, but the king patted the air.  “I understand your reasonable reservation in this matter my son.  So I’ll tell you a little more of why I am interested.  It is my firm belief that this nameless half-elf sorcerer may help us fulfill the Prophecy of Unity.”

Varcor’s eyebrows rose and his pulse tripped and stumbled.  He certainly had not expected his father to say that.

Toras smiled at his son’s reaction, and went on.  “All of my visions since you have come to me are culminating in this one event, this precipice of glory or ruin.  You must bring him to me, or remove him as a threat.  Failure in this matter may result in our damnation.”

No pressure, Varcor thought sarcastically as he struggled to breathe normally.  This information was taxing to him, and the realization of the enormous burden his father had just placed unceremoniously upon his shoulders was stressful to say the least.

As if his father read his mind, he chuckled and shook his head.  “But you hardly need to hear that now, so soon after your journey.  I am sorry, my son, but you realize that I would not have mentioned it if it were not drastically important, don’t you?”

Varcor nodded.  “I understand father.”

Toras beamed.  “Good.  Do not think of this now.  Let us finish our tea, and then you can start getting the rest you need to be on the road again.”

A sudden thought struck the prince.  “When shall I be leaving?” Varcor asked.

Toras thought a moment, and then answered, “You must get proper rest, so no sooner than three or four days.”

Varcor nodded, relieved that he did not have to leave quite so soon.  He would have plenty of time to use the vast library at in the city and his father’s personal collection to try and find the person responsible for the Demon Horde, and their connection to Reylyn.  He would not have enough time for thorough research, but enough to have good leads when he began his proper search after he returned from his father’s task.  Not only that, but perhaps he could interpret or at least identify the tome Ganash had given him, which might give him insight to his father’s recent behavior. 

The future of Flamesoul seemed fraught with tasks.

Twinsoul, Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Future

The morning after Evandel and his friends got together in the Singing Storm was the morning before the day of the festival. Everyone in the town had something to do with the preparations. It was a day that Evandel wanted to be prepared to face. In order to prepare for something like this, he would need to meditate. He knew the perfect place to do just that. Besides, there was still one person he had not been to see.

An hour before sunrise, he left the village going west. When he passed through the apple orchards, he snagged two apples from low branches. He placed them in his pouch and made his way quietly, keeping to routes still shrouded by the cloak of predawn darkness. He did not want anyone to find out where he was going. He was going to visit his favorite place, and he could only hope that no one else had found it in four years.

He arrived at his destination shortly after dawn, a large, deep pond in the middle of a vast meadow. There was a special connection he felt here, a deep serenity that flowed through him and gave him strength. He understood better now, after four years of studying magic, why he felt that way. He was naturally drawn to concentrations of water, since that was his Principle. It was where he was most at ease. He smiled, looking forward to the coming reunion. All that was left was to wait.

“I can see why you didn’t want anyone to follow you here,” said a voice that came from behind Evandel, startling him. “This is a pretty nice spot.”

Evandel whirled around, surprised to see all three of his friends standing there, Zaken in front with a smug grin. His first inclination was to pelt all three of them with water orbs for following him, but instead he settled for glaring at them.

“Do all sorcerers learn how to contradict themselves so well?” Deida said, crossing her arms looking at him accusingly. “You give me a lecture on telling people where I am, and then you turn around and do the same thing?”

“This is different,” Evandel said pointedly. “I just came here to meditate.”

“Is that why you stole apples from the orchard?” Bargo said, grinning.

“Two apples! No one will miss two apples,” Evandel said defensively.

“Calm down, friend,” Zaken said, chuckling. “We just wanted to see what you were up to.”

“Yeah, you never said anything about this place to us,” Bargo said looking around. “It’s not like you to hide something like this from your friends.”

Evandel looked away, a little embarrassed. “I did not mean to hide anything,” he said. “I wasn’t sure that you would be welcome here.”

“Welcome?” Zaken said, giving him a funny look. “Are the trees going to tell us to go away?”

“Not the trees,” Evandel told him. “He should be here soon.”         

“Who?” Bargo asked.

As if in answer to his question, the wind picked up in the clearing. The sudden change in environment put the three battle trained warriors on the defensive. Zaken looked furtively to the sky, as though a great winged beast had caused the gale. Bargo watched the pond, and Deida kept an eye on the treetops. Evandel ignored them all and watched the edge of the woods.

“I wondered when you would come and see me, Deepseeker,” Poerna said pleasantly. “But I didn’t think you would bring guests.”

At this time, the other three had felt the asperi’s telepathic communication. They all turned toward Evandel, and then followed his gaze. From the edge of the clearing strode a white horse from the opposite side of the clearing, with a long, flowing gray mane and tail. The breeze seemed to emanate from the silvery white horse, tossing his mane out wildly. When the air calmed, the mane settled on his back, and the tail brushed the ground. His eyes shone of intelligence far beyond that of a mere beast.

Bargo’s jaw dropped, and Deida looked absolutely entranced.  Zaken paled and started to back away, a spark of fear in his eyes. Evandel noted this and looked at him curiously.

“What is it?” Evandel asked him. “It’s fine; he is a friend of mine.”

Zaken swallowed and regained his composure. “I’m sorry. I just . . . He just surprised me.”

“Greeting, friends of Deepseeker,” the asperi said, dipping his head low politely. “I am Poerna. Welcome to my home.”

“Is this why you didn’t tell us?” Deida asked, pointing to Poerna.  Evandel nodded. “Well, I suppose that explains it.”

“What does that explain?” Bargo said. “It’s a talking horse, so I could see why he would want to keep him a secret. I mean, there are circus troupes that would . . .”

Deida cut him off with a slap to the back of his head. “This isn’t just a talking horse, rock-head. He’s an asperi, a wind horse. They are very solitary creatures: Evandel probably didn’t want us to bother him,” she paused, cringing, and looked apologetically toward the white horse, “just like we probably are doing now.”

“You are well versed in your knowledge of beasts, young lady,” Poerna congratulated her, coming over to the small group. He looked at Bargo, saying, “Not many people can say they know what an asperi is, young man, so don’t be embarrassed.”

“Thanks,” Bargo said, unsure of how to accept that statement.

“Poerna,” Evandel said, gesturing to his companions, “This is Bargo Tramas, Deida Laiken, and Zaken Ryts. These are the friends I told you about.”

“I am honored to meet you all,” Poerna said, dipping his head politely again. “Evandel has told me much of you.”

“Yeah, well don’t believe a word of it,” Zaken said, laughing uneasily. “Not until we’ve had a chance to defend ourselves.”

“I thought I’d seen everything,” Bargo said, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d see anything quite like this.”

“Speaking of which, how did you meet him, Ev?” Zaken said, still a little nervous.

“Actually, he would not remember when he first met me,” Poerna said. “He was an infant at the time.”

All three of his friends looked at the half-elf sorcerer. He just smiled and nodded. “Poerna was the one that found me in the woods, and brought me to Tyhal.”

“Here in this very clearing, actually.” Poerna seemed to eye the pond, as though distracted by some thought.

“So someone had just abandoned him, then?” Zaken said, and he shook his head. “That’s just terrible.”

Poerna gave him a look that Evandel perceived as surprise, his tail waving. “You have grown in an interesting way, judging by that remark alone.”

Zaken looked away, and his own tail switched uneasily. “What’re you talking about, we just met!”

“I might not know you, but I know who taught you.” Poerna looked at him earnestly. “You think much differently from him.”

Zaken eyed him cautiously. “How do you know him?”

Evandel looked back and forth between them. “Poerna? Is something wrong?”

“No, everything is fine. I just didn’t think Lyxas’s disciple would have such sensitive views of orphans, even if he is one himself.”

Zaken shrugged. “Lyxas taught me many things. He never once tried to force his views on me.”

“To the relief of us all,” Poerna said, rolling his eyes.           

Zaken laughed, and seemed to relax. “That’s for sure.”

“Who’s Lyxas?” Evandel asked, confused by the conversation as much as Bargo and Deida were. “How do you both know him?”

“Lyxas was someone I met in my travels,” Zaken said. “He helped me refine my aura spells.”

“I have known Lyxas for a very long time,” Poerna explained. “He was once my enemy, but we have since made amends.”

Evandel nodded, accepting the carefully worded explanation as enough for now.

“Well, if you don’t really want our company right now, we’ll head back,” Deida said, tugging on Bargo’s arm.

“No, by all means, stay! After Deepseeker feeds me the apple I can smell on him, he’s going to meditate, like he always does. I’d much appreciate someone to talk to.”

Evandel laughed, and brought out one of the apples he’d stolen from his pouch. He held it out to Poerna, smiling. “I know they’re your favorite.”

“The best apple orchards in the country,” Poerna said as he munched on the offered fruit. Deida walked cautiously over to the wind horse and brought her hand up, as though to pet him. She hesitated at first, but Poerna nodded, approving her motion. She smiled as she stroked his soft mane, and the big horse seemed to appreciate the affectionate gesture.

Evandel spent about an hour in meditation before Bargo suggested that they start back before people notice that they were missing. Before they left, Evandel asked Poerna if he wanted to go to the festival.

“I think I will,” Poerna said, nodding. “I need to see more of Tyhal after so much time away.”

“There’s sure to be more apples at the feast, too,” Zaken said, grinning. Evandel was glad that he had grown accustomed to the asperi. He wanted to ask why he had been so tense when they had first met, but he figured that question was best left for later.

“I will look forward to tomorrow then,” Poerna said. “It is sure to be an exciting day.”

Evandel and his friends left, and Poerna sighed. He hoped that tomorrow was not as exciting as he feared it would become.

******

The Festival of Dawn’s Blessing was the highlight of the year in the Treehome Village. For as long as the oldest elves in Tyhal could remember, the ceremony held during the festival had prospered under the blessings of Taelri, the goddess of water and Alaron, the god of light. The festival and ceremony were conducted every year in the spring to insure the continued guidance and blessings from the gods.

What had started as a religious ceremony in a tiny settlement had become a grand festival for a small town. Everyone found some way to aid in the preparations, which many felt came from the fellowship between men and elves that had founded the village in the first place, which was what Taelri and Alaron had given their blessings. Everything about the festival was important to the village.

The festival actually began on the night before it was said to begin, starting very late at night and welcoming the dawn, at which point the ceremony took place. A feast followed the ceremony, mixed with revelry and merrymaking that often lasted on to the following night. The elves, who required little sleep, were more suited to the time span of the festival. The humans and half-elves that planned on taking part in the entirety of the celebration slept earlier in the day, to prepare their bodies for the long festival.

Evandel hardly remembered falling asleep for how hard he had worked. His magic had proved a boon in helping set up the center of the village for the dancing and musicians. He had used up all his energy by levitating workers into the air to hang up decorations and lifting heavy objects, as well as conjuring and cleaning water for the drinking pools. He was used to performing such feats, and his meditation had prepared him greatly, but he had obviously not remembered the amount of work to be done for the festival. He had closed his eyes while starting to lie down on his bed, and the next thing he heard was the sound of lively music in the dark.

Upon leaving the house, he gazed upon a much welcome sight, one he had not seen in four long years. Magical lanterns hanging from high upon the bridges that connected the houses in the treetops illuminated the clearing in a pale blue light. High above, the moon and stars could still be seen, shining through the clear night sky, parts teasingly hid behind the veil of branches and leaves. Upon the forest floor, the inhabitants of the Treehome village all gathered around a raised platform. Many were talking and laughing, and most were dancing to the midnight melodies provided by the instrumentalists playing atop the platform.

At the center of the platform was an altar, which would be used in the ceremony at dawn. Resting on the altar was the most treasured relic of the village, the Dawn Crystal. The crystal was an orb the size of a pumpkin, with a surface smooth as water and as clear as the purest spring. It was said to be the proof of Taelri and Alaron’s blessings by the priests, and its light foretold the prosperity of Tyhal in the next year.

At least, that was what the priests told everyone. Evandel researched crystals like the Dawn Crystal, which were similar in nature to the crystals that capped sorcerer’s staffs. They were all made up of a special mineral that focused and amplified auras. Most were adaptable to any magic, barring certain strains that reacted only to specific elements, but they could be specialized to affect one kind of spell above all others.

The Dawn Crystal’s sole power was to amplify a simple augury, a spell designed to foretell if a certain action would have good or bad results. The magic was augmented to cover the fate of the entire village over a year. In his readings, there had been no other crystals that had this kind of power that were known of on Kayledon. This alone was evidence that the gods were involved somehow, in Evandel’s opinion.

He had asked his grandfather a long time ago how the priests read the light. Arthil had told him that the light would glow white if peace and prosperity were in store. In all of Evandel’s life, he had only seen the Dawn Crystal shine white. He had then asked what would happen if the crystal did not turn white. His grandfather had frowned, saying the only time the crystal had turned any other color was a year nearly a century ago, when it had turned the color of flame and ash.

That was the year that the Demon Horde had come.

Evandel found Zaken first, sitting by the refreshments and ale. He knew that was where he would find him: Zaken, for all his personable nature, did not like parties or dancing. Evandel had a feeling that it had something to do with his tail.

“Good evening,” Zaken said, smiling as Evandel approached. “Have a good nap?”

“I hadn’t even noticed that I fell asleep until I woke up,” Evandel said, taking a seat and joining his companion. “Where are Bargo and Deida?”

Zaken smiled broader and pointed to the dancers. Evandel’s face lit up in a big grin when he saw his two friends dancing together, Bargo being as graceful as his muscular frame would allow, and Deida moving as though dancing were just as easy as walking.

“This party here never ceases to amaze me,” Zaken said. “One minute they were here talking to me, the next thing I know Deida is asking Bargo to join her for a dance, while we wait for you.”

“They seem to be having fun,” Evandel said. “Let’s give them a few more minutes.”

When Deida and Bargo noticed that Evandel and Zaken were watching them, they came over. Bargo seemed embarrassed that he had seen them dancing, but Deida acted as though it was nothing.

The four walked around the clearing, and Evandel took the time to talk with some of the townsfolk that he had not been able to see again. He had not realized just how much could happen in four years. Some families had grown, others all but dispersed. There were those that had sent their children out to Luereth, the sister school of Solreth, in hopes that they would be accepted like Evandel. Others had stayed in the town, and had already started families of their own.

There was much commotion indeed when Poerna descended upon the clearing, and landed on the platform with the altar. Evandel made his way to greet his old friend, and could see his friends coming to do the same. Before they even got there, Evandel’s mother and grandfather had already received the asperi. Arthil was talking to the wind horse as he would an old friend, something that surprised even Evandel. Poerna explained that he and Arthil were old acquaintances, and that he had known Arthil’s family for a long time. Evandel had a hard time believing that, but didn’t care enough at the moment to ask about it. When Arthil invited Poerna to aid in the ceremony, he declined, saying that it was the privilege of the village leader and eldest priest to carry out that duty.

The time came when dawn was nearly upon the clearing. The music and the dancing came to a stop, and Evandel’s heart began to race. He always became excited when the ceremony was going to begin, perhaps of all the magic that hung in the air, gathered for one purpose. Everyone’s attention turned to the altar, and the Dawn Crystal. Arthil and his fellow priests stood around the crystal in reverie, as if awaiting some great sign. At last, Arthil turned to the people of Tyhal, who were awaiting eagerly the ceremony.

“People of the Treehome Village,” Arthil greeted the crowd, his old voice still holding much of its power, “the time is near for the ceremony to begin! We shall know again what the future holds for our fair community for another year. Pray now for the prosperity that we have worked so hard to bring to each other, through the ancient pact of friendship entered into by our ancestors.”

With this, he turned to the altar, and began to chant the prayer, the words of priestly magic that began the ceremony. Evandel could tell now that the spell was indeed an augury charm. He could feel the magic of the each of the other priests’ words strengthen his grandfather’s spell. Evandel felt awe overcome him when he could almost see the magical energy being sent to the crystal. He had no idea that the magics taking place during the festival were so incredibly powerful. He felt like his own magic was meager as compared to the power before him now.

The chants began to rise, and the light of dawn brightened the clearing, though the sun had not yet breached the tree line. Simply being in the proximity of the crystal now was a rapture he had never felt before. He was startled when Bargo put his hand on Evandel’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” The big man asked. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

“I’m fine,” Evandel said shakily. “The magic is so powerful. Now that I can sense it better, I can see how much energy it actually takes for this.”

“This is really that powerful?” Bargo said, doubt at the edge of his voice.

“A normal augury is meant for one action,” Evandel said. “This spell covers the actions of not only the entire town, but the actions of unknown forces that will affect us in the future. Weather, accidents, invaders, other towns . . . it takes immense amounts of power.”

“That’s incredible,” Bargo said, staring at the crystal, as though trying to see what his friend saw.

The chants were coming to a crescendo, and Evandel was nearly knocked off his feet by the surge of auras coming together inside the crystal. He wished for a moment that he had brought his staff, so he could lean on it. Fortunately, Bargo did the job just fine, reaching out to catch him. The knight errant held his nearly swooning friend to keep him from falling to the ground.

The chanting stopped, and the first light of dawn found the crystal.

Arthil stepped closer and brought his arms out wide. “Lore Mistress, Sun Master, hear our call! Shine your light upon our future, and bless us with your knowledge! Shall our town come to prosper in the coming cycle of seasons?”

Evandel’s heart began to race again, but his time it was different. A cold dread swept over him, a shadow of fear that crept into his heart and mind. He wanted to cry out, to scream that something was not right, but his cry seemed lodged in his throat. A wave of revulsion overcame him when he saw a sparkle in the heart of the crystal. He knew its color before he even saw it.

It was red.

Fiery light flared from the crystal, and all of the priests fell back, some falling over. Poerna whinnied and reared, then galloped over to Arthil’s side, and people began panicking. Immediately, Deida and Bargo began crowd control, trying to keep people from rioting and calming them down.

The chaos was maddening; adding to the screaming energy Evandel could feel all around him. He could see that something was truly wrong, however, when the platform started to break apart.

He rushed toward the stage, not entirely in control of himself. He could tell that there was some powerful magic emanating from the crystal, something that was not supposed to be there. He did not know what to do, but knew he had to do something. He had barely reached the stage when altar that the crystal rested on shattered, covering those nearby with stone fragments. The crystal remained aloft, still bombarding the stage with its foul energies.

Evandel cried out for his grandfather and Poerna, but could hardly see them in the blinding red glare that now issued from the crystal. He ran as fast as he could, and without fear for his own safety, he climbed on top of the stage.

No sooner than he had stepped upon the platform, the crystal’s light shifted. The fiery gleam became a shining, white light. The light gradually became purer, and eventually the crystal shone as clearly and strongly as it had ever before. Evandel could feel the radiance come closer to him, and he felt encompassed, as though it embraced him. The brightness died away, and he could see the crystal still hanging in the air, several feet above him. He reached up, and it fell to touch his fingertips, the light ceasing to emanate from the crystal. He stood in the light of dawn, with the crystal held above his head.

He became suddenly aware that everyone in the clearing was now looking directly at him. He found the eyes of his friends; the awe that was on their faces was reflected in the faces of everyone else in the clearing. He turned to his grandfather, who was leaning on Poerna’s side. Arthil looked astonished, but Poerna seemed to be smiling.

“I knew I could expect great things from you, Deepseeker,” Poerna whispered into his mind.

******

Evandel stood in the clearing, hours after the Festival of Dawn’s Blessing had been declared over, and the presiding priests had gone to discuss what had happened. He still held on to the crystal, the only tangible thing that he had to hold on to at the moment. It seemed as though the ceremony had dispersed all semblance of order in his little village.

That said, the aftermath of the festival was not as chaotic as it could have been. The spectacle of what happened with the Dawn Crystal had everyone confused as to what the message of the ceremony was. Arthil called a meeting with all the other priests, but he would not say to the public what it was about.  

Fortunately, no one was hurt by the crystal’s corrupted energy, or the panic that had ensued because of it. There was damage to the platform that had weakened it considerably, which seemed to Evandel like fire damage, but the wood seemed warped and darkened in a way that was not normal for burnt wood.

“It’s not burnt,” Zaken told him. Evandel turned to see him standing there, apparently for some time. “There are parts that are burnt, but the other parts are corrupted.”

“Corrupted?” Evandel said. “What do you mean?”

“It’s simple,” Zaken said, smiling smugly. “Fire burns, cold freezes, lightning shocks, and darkness corrupts.”

“Dark magic?” Evandel said, trying hard to process how that could be. “All that went in was an augury, cast by several light Principles! How is that even possible?”

Zaken shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me. I have never seen anything like that.”

“That makes two of us.” Evandel’s gaze dropped to the Dawn Crystal. “This crystal isn’t even configured for any offensive or destructive magic.”

“Ideally, it wouldn’t have to be,” Zaken said, leaning up against the corrupted platform.  “If a fire aura is focused strongly enough, it can smolder clothes and paper nearby. Whatever caused that reaction is a truly powerful source of dark and fire magic.”

Evandel nodded. He knew full well the results of an over focused aura. He had frozen half his classroom and half of his professor by focusing way more than was necessary.

What he did not understand is where the sudden excess of dark and fire came from. He knew for a fact that each of the priests involved in the ceremony was a light Principle. Something outside of the influence of the village had caused this, and that worried him.

Deida came over then, trying to smile, but looking more concerned than anything. Bargo followed on her heels, his anxious frown far less subtle than Deida’s expression.

“Are you all right, Ev?” Deida asked. Her voice seemed between emotions.

“I’m fine, just as much as anyone else,” Evandel said, managing a weak smile of his own.

“What did you do?” she asked. “You changed the light, how did it happen?”

Evandel shook his head. “It wasn’t me. It changed and came to me on its own.”

“You’re saying that you had nothing to do with it?” Deida said, her eyes not fully believing him. “You, a student of Solreth and a practiced sorcerer?”

“I wish I could explain it,” Evandel sighed. “You must understand that auguries and their like are not my kind of magic. Mine has more tangible effects. Priests can use their auras for interacting on spiritual levels.” He furrowed his brow, taking in his own words. “Now that I think of it, I couldn’t have done anything, even if I wanted.”

Bargo grinned warmly. “Well, you did. I suppose it doesn’t matter how, but you probably saved the entire village just now.”

“No doubt about it, you at least saved the priests and Poe,” Zaken said. “The big guy’s right. You don’t know how you did it, but that doesn’t make you any less a hero.”

“A hero? Me?” Evandel said, raising his eyebrows. As far as he could tell, he simply came close to the crystal and it changed its light. He hardly thought that made him a hero.

But why did it react only to him?

Just then, Evandel saw one of the priests from the ceremony walking toward them. It was an elven man, but one Evandel did not remember from his days before Solreth. “Greetings, Master Evandel,” he said as he approached.

“Master Evandel?” Zaken said incredulously.

Evandel shrugged again. “Part of being a sorcerer is the title that comes with it.”

“Just don’t let it go to your head, and I’ll still have respect for you,” Zaken said, smiling and shaking his head.

The priest continued. “I am Talhaias. I am one of the priests of Alaron under your grandfather. He has asked me to come and find you, and bring you to our council.”

Evandel nodded, and started to follow the elf to the tree houses. Zaken and Deida stepped up beside them, and the priest looked at him questioningly.

“Does the high priest mind if we come along?” Zaken said.

Talhaias frowned. “He did not say you couldn’t, but he did ask for only Master Evandel.”

“I’ve only heard that twice, and I’m already sick of it,” Deida muttered.

“But he didn’t say we couldn’t,” Zaken said, grinning.

“I have to check in with the other guards, but I’ll be wanting to hear this too,” Bargo said, hurrying away in search of his fellows.

“Lord Arthil doesn’t like being kept waiting,” Talhaias said, impatiently.

“He can wait for his grandson,” Evandel reassured him. “I won’t be going unless it is with them.”

“As you wish,” the elven priest said, heading toward the nearest bridge ladders. “I will tell him you are on the way, when you arrive, you can explain why you are late.”

Evandel frowned, and briefly entertained cursing the holy man. He might have expected treatment like that in Vainemar or Fisathvanna, but not from a fellow villager. Even though he had been gone for four years, he thought that he would at least garner some respect or at least recognition from his fellow townsmen. Perhaps Talhaias was the exception, but Evandel was earnestly beginning to feel as though half-elves did not belong anywhere, even in Tyhal.

Bargo returned a few short minutes later, and they all climbed the ladders up to the bridges connecting all the tree houses. The size of the trees in the area of the forest in Tyhal meant they were able to hold up fairly large domiciles, including a handful of shops and a tavern. The elves had lent their expertise by growing the trees in such a way that building on the branches was safe, sturdy, and relatively easy. The construction of the bridges, however, was a matter of human ingenuity. It was one of the many testaments of cooperation that made Tyhal what it was.

The bridges were broad and strong enough that many people could be on them at once, and there were many bridges that connected the town together, joined in circle in the middle of the town. Since it had grown, there were more buildings built in the trees and more bridges built to reach them, becoming a web of wood and rope. At the center of the town was the largest tree in the area. At the base was the home of the village elder and above that was a small temple to Taelri and Alaron.

Evandel expected that the temple would not change in four years, for it had not ever been subject to the few changes that had happened to the village in all of Evandel’s life. Indeed, there were no outward differences in the structure. It was not until he crossed the threshold of the sanctum that he noticed the change.

For his whole life, there was a magic that permeated the temple, an inextinguishable light that made the temple feel safe. A ceremonial shallow pool in the center of the structure emanated a serenity that rivaled that of the deep pond in the western woods. Now, the light and serenity were all but gone, fading as though the sanctity of the temple was disappearing.

Arthil and his priests stood around the pool, talking in hushed voices. Talhaias, standing near to Arthil, pointed out Evandel’s arrival. Arthil beckoned him and his friends to come near, and the circle of priests made room for them. Evandel walked forward tentatively, not used to the lack of magic in the temple.

“Greetings, Evandel,” Arthil said, with all the presence he had during the ceremony. “You are late.”

“I’m sorry grandfather,” Evandel said, immediately regretting his slip of tongue.

“You are to call him Lord while you are here,” Talhaias said sternly. Arthil looked disapprovingly at the reprimanding priest.

“Do not take that tone with my grandson, Talhaias,” Arthil said, his tone no less imposing. “He is welcome to address me as he wishes, as are his friends.”

Evandel nodded, and was glad that his grandfather had never been much for titles. Talhaias fixed the half-elf with a disapproving look one last time and nodded as well.

“I am glad you all came, for you all should hear what we have discussed.” Arthil motioned toward the Dawn Crystal, still held by Evandel. “We do not believe that it was a coincidence that the crystal changed its light when you drew near. Rather, we believe it is part of the message sent to us by Taelri.”

Zaken tentatively raised his hand. “Why do you say Taelri, and not Alaron?”

Arthil chuckled. “Unlike other questions we have, that one is simple, Zaken.” The elder priest pointed to Evandel’s right hand. “You have undoubtedly seen the mark on his hand.”

“Ev’s birthmark?” Bargo asked. “Yes, it’s the symbol of Taelri. So what?”

“So, my dear knight,” Arthil said with a growing smile, “that is not a birthmark, at least not in the traditional sense. It marks him as Taelri’s chosen. Therefore, it is she who sent us this message.”

“And have you analyzed the events of the ceremony?” Evandel asked, placing his left hand over the back of his right. His markings had never made him feel so uncomfortable before, but the idea that he was chosen by Taelri now felt a little unnerving. He always knew that the Lore Mistress favored him, but he had never felt like he was chosen for anything.

Arthil nodded. “We believe we have. The red light that came from the crystal, what did it feel like to you?”

“It was like fire, but darker somehow,” Evandel said, and his friends nodded.

“I have seen the effects of dark magic elsewhere,” Zaken said. “It was similar to the damage done to the platform and altar.”

“It was also similar to the hex magic used by the gnolls,” Bargo put in. “It’s said they draw their power from the Darkplane itself.”

Arthil nodded gravely. “You may be more right than anyone else, Bargo.” He turned to Evandel. “Do you remember what I told you about the crystal, and the last time the light was a different color?”

“Yes, you said it was the time of the Demon Horde,” Evandel said, growing worried. This was not the direction he hoped things would go, though he had a feeling something like this was what happened.

“Are you saying that there will be another demon attack?” Deida asked.

Arthil shrugged. “That would be impossible to say for certain. All it means is that the Darkplane is somehow involved in our future.” He returned his gaze to his grandson. “What we have discerned is why the light changed the way it did. There is a legend of a pair of chosen, one of Taelri and one of Faarthus, who face and destroy an ancient evil, one encountered before by the people of Kayledon. The legend is relatively new, but it is highly regarded. We believe Taelri’s chosen is you, Evandel.”

Evandel was positive that his heart stopped for a moment. “Are you serious? Me?”           

Arthil nodded. “The legend speaks of the Taelri chosen having the mark on their right hand.”

Zaken gave him a sly look. “And you said you were worried about impressing us.”

“But . . . I . . . It cannot be me!” Evandel protested vainly. He was grasping at the meager strands of reality still dangling before him; his world was unraveling before his eyes.

“Ev, I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen what you did,” Bargo said. “I have to agree.”

Evandel’s head swam with thoughts, while everything that had happened buoyed on the surface. He never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would be at the center of something as big as this. Part of him wanted to deny that it was even possible for someone like him to be in the middle of a legend or prophecy, that he was no different from anyone else who carried a sorcerer’s staff. It made him sick to his stomach to think that his village’s future would depend solely on him.

But another part of him felt that he knew it was the truth. In fact, he was thrilled at the prospect of being the chosen of Taelri. He had a hunger for the kind of adventure that Zaken chased, to see the hidden places of the world and unearth ancient secrets. This might his big chance to do all of that.

“Suppose this is my future,” Evandel said, still not sure of himself. “Does the legend tell what I must do?”

“The legend says that the chosen use the artifacts of Unity to combat the evil,” Talhaias explained. “Are you familiar with them?”

“I hate to say that I am not,” Evandel said.

Arthil nodded. “It’s not surprising. It is a little known prophecy, known only by a few dozen scholars and people who were around when it was conceived.” He cleared his throat, assuming a scholarly posture. “Unity was a group of important people from all races, and walks of life, who stood up to the Great Demon, who led the Demon Horde. All of them were holders of an item of power, which we have come to know as the artifacts of Unity. They have been entrusted to guardians, and hidden around Kayledon, waiting for the chosen to claim them.”

“You said before that I am the chosen of Taelri,” Evandel said, starting to warm up to the idea. “Who is the chosen of Faarthus?”

“We do not know that,” Talhaias admitted. “What we do know is that you shall meet with him in your travels. Know this, we don’t know when this evil will be upon us, but it could be any time now. If you intend to live up to your fate, you must begin soon.”

“You may take as much time as you need to prepare, Evandel,” Arthil said. “Your journey will be long and difficult.”

“Wait,” Deida said, interrupting. “Does the legend say anything about us? You know, the friends of the chosen going along with him?”

“Yeah, we aren’t going to let him go alone, you know,” Bargo said, clapping his hand on Evandel’s shoulder. Zaken nodded his agreement, standing closer to his friends.

Talhaias and Arthil looked at each other, then to some of the other priests. Talhaias looked at them sternly. “No, it mentions only the chosen embarking on this journey.”

“However,” one of the other priests said, “It does not say anything about them not going.” Talhaias fixed him with a venomous glare, but the man continued. “If it is the wish of the Chosen, then it is our will that you follow him,” he said.

Arthil nodded. “No one can walk life’s journey alone, much less an endeavor of this importance. You are hereby commanded to accompany the Chosen of Taelri, through the spirit of fellowship of Tyhal and the gods that bless us.” He looked to his grandson, as though waiting for his affirmation.

Evandel studied his friends. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into. Evandel could hardly understand the seriousness of the situation himself. Yet their postures remained strong, their eyes determined. He would give the world to feel that way at the moment. How could he ask them to aid him in something so dangerous?

That danger, he realized, was the exact reason he needed to ask their help. This might be his destiny, but to face it alone would be madness. The dark power he had felt coursing through the crystal was not something he could face all by himself, even with another Chosen standing beside him in the end. His friends were what made him strong enough to get through Solreth, what drove him to be something. He could not be without them.

Evandel looked at each of them in turn, and said, “I would be honored if you came with me.”

******

           

Within a day, Evandel was prepared to leave Tyhal. He found that sorcerer’s traveled light, as they could provide most of what they need through magic. His friends had informed him that they would need another day, so Evandel found himself with more time than he would have liked to have to himself. He returned home, but could do little more than sit on the edge of his bed, staring at his old bookshelf, thinking of what his grandfather had told him, wondering if this was truly his fate.

He heard a knock on the door, followed by it creaking open. His mother stood in the doorway, and gave him a curious look.

“Back so soon? I thought you were ready?” she asked, coming into the room.

He smiled at her when she entered, and shrugged. “Everyone needed more time.”

Siali smiled back gently and sat beside him on the bed. “Are you sure you didn’t just want one last look at your old room? You’ve hardly been here the short time you had at home.”

“I feel the same, and I guess I’m going to regret it,” he said somberly. “I may never see this room or you again.”

Siali sighed. She looked at her son in the way she used to when he was in trouble. “Do you doubt yourself?”

Evandel balked at her question. “What?”

“Do you, Deepseeker?”

Evandel found suddenly that he could not meet his mother’s gaze. “This is so beyond anything I ever thought would happen I don’t know what to think. Yes, I have much doubt in this matter.”

Siali put her arm on her son’s shoulder. She lifted his chin to bring his ocean blue gaze to her almond shaped green eyes. “You are no more than the challenges you can overcome. We will never know if the obstacles on the Winding Paths are ones we can overcome until we challenge them ourselves.”

“You have said that before,” Evandel said, remembering the words from night before he left for Solreth. “I feel this is much different from that.”

Siali shook her head. “The moment I picked you up as an infant, I knew you were destined for great things, Evandel. Events that are bigger than this village, indeed, bigger than our country would take you far away from me. That is your fate, the one path that you have before you. Not many have their choice so simple. All that is left is for you to walk it.”

After she left him, Evandel still felt strongly that he was not ready. He took up his staff, and went to the door of his room. Before leaving, he cast a spell to hide himself from the senses of others. He walked right past his mother, sitting at the table with a cup of tea, looking troubled. He left the village, the sun still high in the sky, heading for the western pond.

When he arrived, he released his spell just in time to see Poerna standing there, almost as though the horse was waiting for him.

“Greetings again, Deepseeker,” Poerna welcomed him. “I was going to come see you, but I guess you beat me to it.”

“You were going to come see me?” Evandel asked, walking up to the wind horse. “What for?”

“To ask when you are leaving.”

“I will be gone early tomorrow, I would guess,” Evandel shrugged. “You do not need to pack much when you have magic to help you out. My friends, however, needed a little more time.”

“Undoubtedly, they are preparing themselves in more ways than just packing,” Poerna said. “Is that what you have come here for?”

 “Yes,” Evandel admitted. “Meditation, focus, a little practice . . .”

“I recommend the practice, but the meditation I would not suggest.”

Evandel scratched his head. “Why not?”

Poerna sighed. “It is in my experience that when one is faced with a difficult future, one tends to think on it. When this happens, one is warrant to fill one’s own mind with doubts and fears that never would have been there if one had just accepted the future before one’s self.”

“You can’t mean that,” Evandel said.

“I do, Deepseeker,” Poerna stated firmly. “Resolve yourself to your future before you talk yourself down from it.”

Evandel let Poerna’s words sink in before he asked his next question. “Why practice and not meditation?”

“Distraction is what you need,” he responded simply. “You will feel better about what is to come if you do not dwell on the inevitable. If you fear what is to come, you will live with doubt and resentment. Face the future with courage, and do not hesitate. In doing so, you may shape the path before you.  

“Now, you cannot be expected to ignore what is to come. That would be dangerous and arrogant. In honing your skills, you divert your thoughts from disruptive doubts, and prepare yourself for the times ahead. That and any more confidence you can instill in yourself through training before an undertaking like this is well worth it.”

Evandel chuckled. “You make a compelling argument. I guess I should listen to you. After all, you have been around longer than any of us. How many centuries did you say?”

“Five, but that might not be perfectly accurate; it is a long time to keep track.” Evandel could feel a humorous tone in the asperi’s telepathic voice, which faded with his next statement. “I should be perfectly frank with you, Deepseeker, I want to go with you.”

Evandel felt surprise at this revelation, but it fell quickly to the joy that followed. “You do?”

“Indeed. There are things I must attend to before I can join you and your friends, but I will catch up in time.”

“How will you know where to find us?”

“Simple. I know where the first artifact is found. I will meet up with you after you recover it.”

Evandel could not stop his curiosity. “How do you know where to find it?”

“I have been watching over its location for many years, as a promise to an old friend,” Poerna explained. “I had a feeling you would be the one to seek it out, regardless of your future.”

“Where is it?” Evandel’s curiosity continued.

“You’ll find it in a cave southwest of this pond, in the hills of the gnolls. Bargo and Deida, with their knowledge of the area, should have no problem getting you there. The artifact is known as the Sun Symbol, and is the former property of a Knight of the Shining Order, once known as Warrane.”

Evandel nodded. “Thank you, Poerna. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

The white horse seemed to shrug. “You would have found it eventually. You’re a resourceful one; I’ll give you that. Now, I’ll leave you to your practice.” Poerna started to trot out of the clearing.

“Wait!” Evandel called after him. The asperi turned around curiously, and Evandel grinned. “I could use a sparring partner.”

Poerna seemed to grin back, and the air around him flared to life. “Sounds like fun.”