Passage of the Acolyte, Part Two

By James M. Vargo

This is the second part and conclusion of Passage of the Acolyte. Greynol Arowen receives a message that brings him out of retirement and sets him on a journey to face Fauglir, enemy warlord who also claims to be his son.
Greynol and his young companions continue to venture towards war and the final destination, Asenrael, where Fauglir and his Raugulon Master await his coming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James M. Vargo
• Release date: Mar 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458153326

James M. Vargo

Pittsburgh born and raised, married with one daughter. Lover of Epic Fantasy and worldbuilding.

Book preview

Passage of the Acolyte

Part Two

JAMES M. VARGO

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 James M. Vargo

http://passageoftheacolyte.blogspot.com/

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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...for all who keep listening.

A special thanks to:

http://karenswhimsy.com/public-domain-images/ for their wonderful cover art. (Edmund Dulac, The Bells)

Synopsis

This is a summary of the Passage of the Acolyte – Part One.

When an unexpected scroll arrives at Greynol Arowen’s door, its seal broken, he discovers it unlocks the biggest mystery of his eighty years. Once a fighter, husband to Aliane, and then Acolyte after the taking of his wife in a siege upon their village, Greynol resides alone in the Vanyorian manor he calls home. Fauglir, author of the message, a warlord set to attack the distant Farrian Kingdom of Asenrael, claims also to be the Acolyte’s son. Greynol now seeks to face Fauglir and undo the evil that binds him. He forgos his retirement and begins the long journey south.

At a tournament in Nordhiem’s capital of Thalon, Greynol enlists the services of six young friends: Armond, a fighter from his own city of Vanyor, who places well in the King’s Tournament; two Kuirian brothers, Drago and Zerrin, and their reluctant cousin, a Mihtrir named Brenn Linderfell; and two friends from Logan, Rogan Pinehurst and Andro Rhine. Andro is the link between the companions, and suddenly finds himself thrust into more adventure than he ever planned. The Acolyte promises payment for their services – that being an escort to Asenrael, nothing more. He withholds the knowledge of his son and blood-words upon the parchment that are enchanted by a Raugulon, an evil lord of Illutar and Ninterat.

One more is added to their number, Andro’s close friend Leonin, who is a Farrian, one of the High Race and People of the Jewels, and no friend of Nordhiem. Armond reluctantly accepts him into their number – Greynol leaves him no choice. Now Greynol’s Alliance is complete: eight riders and nine horses for the four hundred league journey south. But their trail is sought, he warns, for men are so easily bought.

In a friendly home on the edge of the Wilds in Central Gandol, the young men stumble upon the enchanted scroll while Greynol went off on an errand. Each man read the words, save Brenn who wanted nothing to do with the thing. Feels evil to me, he said. Andro and the others discover the truth about their journey, of Greynol’s son Fauglir who is in league with Illutar, and his veiled threat. The Acolyte chastises them upon returning, then realizes he can no longer undo what has begun. Like it or not, the young men where now linked to his passage by the curse upon the words, just like the unknown reader who opened the sealed letter prior to its arrival in Nordhiem.

Crossing the wilderness upon they came to Dagoraust, a city of ruins rarely ventured, but Greynol had been there before. Here Rogan finds a key in an out of the way crypt, and during a night-trance, discovers that it opens the dominant building of the city – a blue-domed Pantheon whose doors had been shut for four hundred years.

While the others slept, he entered within and discovered a purple-hued gemstone in a chamber. He touches it, and while a surge enters his arm, its guardian is awakened. A wizard beyond mortal years ensnares Rogan, and then the others once they are alerted of his disappearance. Brenn Linderfell saves the day – his reluctance keeps him back, and upon entering the chamber he discovers his friends within the winds of a Binding Spell. He finds the Timlet Stone, a holy relic, which fell from the Acolyte’s hand in the attack, and casts it at the undead sorcerer, breaking the enchantment. They escape the spectre’s clutches and depart Dagoraust in haste.

They journeyed into Ainiald and found welcome in Larin, Mont Eldalard, and the twin citadels of King Emeraith and Holy Patriarch Eathadur. Here Greynol gains council with the Superior of his order, but no finds answers about the scroll. Exarch Ondolowne gives him the medal of Anavah for protection.

On a search of the stables below the Mont, where Brenn saw a suspicious man, Armond encounters a spy who wounds him with an assassin’s dirk. With all remedies taken with the armies down south, Armond drifts into unconsciousness and approaches death. Only with the help of Lord Chamberlain’s daughter, Lora, is the antidote found – within the dark garden of Acolyte Hawthorne. The entire house was alerted to the attack and Armond’s state, stunned when the Turrar insisted they depart the next morning. He stood, warily at first, walked over to a chamber pot and vomited. Now I’m ready.

Gladly, he and the Kuirian brothers led their departure from fair Larin and entered the greatest range in Turrar Arrither, The Werithain Mountains. Here they crossed tall passes, keen that Armond’s attacker still walked free, and keener still to a strange creature of fire that kept its distance as it emerged time and again in pursuit. It soared over the village of Finar where the Alliance slept, and disappeared into the southern night sky. Andro crept back from his bedroom window muttering, why did we ever leave Logan?

In Finar, a town where in younger days Greynol held many gatherings, he found old acquaintances, friendly and rude. Most noteworthy was Thairidain the Watcher, aptly named by Greynol years earlier for his prying nature. His appearance at the inn they were staying was strange, departing as soon as he came, but not before dismissing Greynol Arowen as a fool. At a friend’s home, the men learn of the scroll making it there, unopened, and learn that Thairidain handled it last before sending it north.

Hoping to question him further, they find the Watcher with a certain cloaked man, Armond’s attacker, making a hasty exit into Fanael. They tried to pursue, but found Thairidain in league with scoundrel guards at the border keep, who arrested Armond and sent the others back into the village. Armond escapes their watch while the others, with help, plan a siege of their own. In an event that will live long in the townsfolk lure, Armond, Greynol, and the rest of the Alliance help supplant the keep’s wretched captain and henchmen, but also lose much time in their pursuit of Thairidain and his counterpart.

Book two continues Greynol’s march towards Asenrael in the conclusion of the Passage of the Acolyte.

CONTENTS

BOOK TWO

Synopsis

1. Shadows of the Past

2. Ghosts of the Duarhurm

3. Shortcoming’s of Nordhiem

4. Darkest Night

5. Flower of Valor

6. Hope of Bayne

7. Land of Three Bridges

8. The Dragon’s Breath

9. A Fork in the Road

10. Wizard in Gray

11. The Heart of Evil

12. Sacred Heart

13. A King’s Justice

14. The Vale of Asengard

15. Into the Fire

16. The Pinnacle

17. Horns in the East

18. Glimpse of Home

Chapter One – Shadow of the Past

Daylight arrived sooner then any desired, born upon a pillow of night-fog that folded away with the rising sun. Greynol kept his promise of a noon departure, allowing the men to sleep until the eleven-o’clock hour, and they could have gone much longer under cover. Unlike the night before, Finar House sat quiet as a creek bed where a sojourner or two enjoyed plates of eggs and gallimaufry.

In their room, the young men enjoyed a hasty breakfast consisting of boiled eggs and a basket of warm rolls and honey. They packed in silence, and by noon, the Alliance left Finar‘s south gate. They crossed the bridge with a glad sun upon their shoulders; Andro could not help but toss glances toward fair Ainiald as they passed into Fanael for good. Nearing the keep, knights Leomund and Corull came out to send them off.

Feeling well, Armond? You had quite a dose of medicine last evening, laughed Leomund. He tipped his hand as he would a mug.

Aye, a little something to help me sleep.

It is good to find you up and about…no use tarrying here. Finar is fine for a spell, but it is several day’s ride to Rintar – if you ever get there.

How long must you remain? asked Brenn seated comfortably upon his brown and white palfrey.

Until a replacement is found, not before. We dispatched a swift messenger for the King’s City this morning to inform them of our need, replied Leomund. The details of events have been noted, of Ernild’s guilt and Armond’s vindication after striking a captain of the guard, for a captain he was not. In your place, I would have done the same. Farewell Acolyte Greynol and fellowship!

Corull too offered a slight bow. When tidings come we too shall follow your path, he added. May Fawarra bless you with speed. Take courage, wherever your road lie.

Greynol returned a grim nod, reminded of the passage ahead. Fanael meant his journey’s end approached. The kingdom at war held a spirit all its own; a feeling of affliction to contrast the peace of Ainiald. The party rode out of the Binarra Vale, climbing a gravelly slope of the Werithain Road that paralleled the river before turning aside into the southern hills. Thairidain’s trail had long grown cold.

A day of riding carried them into the lonely lands east of the mountains. They gazed back, the ever-shrinking sight of Mounts Kairn and Sorindon still imposing across the northern leagues. For a time they crossed the paths of highwaymen, messengers, and hunters, and the unwelcome sight of a caravan of injured soldiers bound for Ainiald. Late in the day, they settled within the arms of one of the many narrow dales and folds found among the hills of northern Fanael. There they slept peacefully beneath the trees and pale light of a full moon.

Morning came without incident: a warm, cloudless, cheery day stirred by a western breeze. This was Saturday, the forth of Hawe, (Turramir in the calendars of the South; August in lands more distant) and the later days of summer when leaves paled and nights brought dry comfort. But further south the hot days continued deep into fall. In two months time the forest ridges will burn with the orange and reds of maple and amber hues of beech.

Across rows of hills the path rambled, twisting and turning, climbing steadily. From an outstanding bluff, a vista opened wide before them: a mixture of forest greens, wave upon wave, rolling away until a steep shelf rose tall above the woodland. A great plateau appeared: a white wall beginning in the west with splintered crags bright against a blue horizon, then ran razor straight across the path of the road, continuing on until it broke up into many smaller bluffs in the east.

Must we climb that shelf? asked Brenn, drawing to a halt with the others. Those cliff sides look awfully steep.

No cousin, we go through, replied Drago with heavy arms resting upon his saddle-horn. He gazed ahead with wonder and anticipation. I have studied the lay of many lands, but no map is necessary to explain this place. This is the door of the South – the Ansiwar Gap.

Will we reach it today?

Tomorrow, Brenn. The gate will have to wait until then, answered Greynol. Tonight we settle in reasonable comfort beneath the pines, but first let us put a few more hours behind us.

Greynol’s memory was sharp, although many years had passed since he last ventured that road: he seemed keenly aware of every needful place to help the party abroad. Little from memory could prepare him for the day to come.

Sunday began warm and the wind died away. Summer regained its firm hold on the season, not soon to ease its grasp upon the road. Rushing through a scant breakfast, the men found the road dusty and unbearably hot; the forest shade, when available, offered little relief.

We must sweat out this ride, muttered Armond, wiping his brow with a kerchief. The stitches beneath his shoulder itched terribly. I’ll take that perfumed bath after this day is ended – we’ll smell like our mounts.

There is a place to rest ahead, but luxuries will be wanting from here on, replied Greynol, steering Toryche off the road along a wooded slope. He led them down a thin trail where a stream ran – a short break to ease the strain.

Greynol’s rest came with purpose, for soon after they climbed a steep ascent beneath the Ansiwar Plateau. Columns of stone rose up along the side of the slope – sun-baked pinnacles, the color of rust – witnesses to the men’s struggle. Pine-trees emerged where the earth remained soft, but their shadow gave no comfort. Nearing the crest, a mighty wall of stone emerged stretching east to west as far as they could see. The escarpment Brenn glimpsed the day before looked enormous now – seemingly impenetrable. At the height of the climb, a widening gap came into view. A sheer cut divided the rock shelf, as if a giant’s knife sliced an opening straight through the mountain – a deep channel, tall, ominous, and dark.

"Here is our door, the Dragon’s Mouth, called Greynol, searching the bright cliffs; the Kuirian named it so."

This is true. The passage has long been the gateway to the South, added Drago, Compelled they were by the lore of Kule; a metal so rare, found only at Llorky and nowhere else…and nowhere since.

Did Kuirian shape that opening? asked Andro in wonder.

No, the gap is made of its own hand. No man, Kuirian included, could dig so far and so deep, replied Drago.

Would there be a road if the gap never existed? asked Rogan, eyes rising higher and higher across the saffron-hued mountain.

The Werithain road could not run this way. A longer path around might be managed, but not without the greatest difficulty, answered Greynol, first to approach the shadow of the trench. One hundred meters in height and only five across, a breath of air blew through its opening – the chill Dragon Wind. And with it arose new alarm.

The trench ran deep, like a crack dividing a colossus; its floor consisted of packed sand and the tracks of previous wains and riders. Andro found it strange; the horse’s hooves made little sound. Above them hung a thin strip of blue and straight ahead, by a thousand feet, lay the exit – a bright yellow line too distant for comfort. Amid the feelings of unease Rogan’s arm began to twitch, but he kept it to himself.

They spoke little along the way, even their whispers returned to them. But echoes they did not fear, for within this place of no turning back they felt watched, as if eyes surveyed their every movement. A wind picked up above the rim drawing their attention, but they saw nothing. Rogan squeezed his fist to relieve a growing discomfort.

Are you all right? asked Leonin nearby, his attention drawn by Rogan’s sudden frustration.

Let’s just get out of this place.

Nearing the end of the gap the view widened and a rock-filled valley opened ahead. The sound of wind stopped. Rogan began to swoon with pain and the horses grew uneasy, stomping and neighing at something unseen. They reached the end of the canyon where layered cliffs of stone cascaded down among rows of sturdy pine, the only hue of green upon the hills. Then came an unwelcome sight. A shadow leapt from the canyon rim with great thrashing wings that filled the air with sound. A large creature swooped down from its perch, first southward, then with a sharp turn circled back towards the road.

They halted at the edge of the gap, bewildered at the sight of what seemed a great bird of prey. Andro recognized it as the sight from Finar the night before: feathered wings, black as coal, swept down with a body shaped like that of a man. Its head was horned and fire issued from its mouth.

The Fury! shouted Drago. It is upon us.

They reached for their weapons. Leonin with a snap flitted an arrow, terror filling his eyes. A Fire-gyre! They are of Turgulant’s ilk.

A fast-moving shadow bore down upon the Dragon’s Mouth. Wings as wide as the gap itself cast upon the men a storm of cloud and dust. Greynol braced for the onslaught, Timlet Stone shining like a star in his hand. The beast bore down upon him, but hesitated before its light. It came to rest upon the road only meters away causing Toryche to rear back in fright, throwing Greynol to the ground.

The creature stood like a man now upon broad hairy legs. From its lion-like snout issued a flame that poured over its torso; bristles of hair burned like a protective mantle, incinerating arrows before they could pierce its flesh. A panic spread between the horses and riders. Armond fought through it, leaping off his black draught to stand over their fallen leader, sword brandished and shield in hand. Andro left Ambarr to secure the reins of the loosed steeds.

Two heads taller than Armond, who tried to hold it at bay, the Fury strode towards Greynol who lay unmoving upon the earth. But its curiosity turned. Searching the others, its yellow gaze fell upon Rogan whose arm now seared with fire and a strange light emitted from his flesh. The beast crouched low, and with a sudden thrust of wings bounded over the others in a great leap. The crossbows of Drago and Zerrin let loose striking its side, and a Farrian arrow found a leg. The Fury was sent spinning mid-air narrowly missing Rogan as it fell to the earth, striking the packhorse and breaking the tether that linked it to Ambarr.

Quick, let’s get out of this place! called Andro. He picked up the Timlet Stone and dropped it into his pocket. Then he tried his best to hold the horses as Armond draped Greynol across Toryche’s saddle.

They hurried along in a disorganized file, leading their steeds out of the gap and into the open – all save the packhorse who could not be helped, the Fury separating it from the rest. After tearing the darts from its side, the creature returned to the air.

Their options were few and Andro saw it plain: stay upon the road without cover, or choose a rough path that formed upon their left – a natural step that began at ground level and ran out of the valley with a scattered line of trees for protection.

This will have do for now, he said, off the road and up this slope.

Lead on, Andro. Kuirian pathways exist throughout these parts, but I have no maps to show where they lead, called Drago from the rear.

The Fury returned as they climbed, forming tight circles in the air. Then it swept down for the attack with a rain of fire that struck the trees and fell across the men and horses, burning their flesh with its sting. The creature attacked again and again, snapping trees with its strong wings and hurling rocks upon the party. They protected themselves as best as they could, bucklers above their heads, deflecting a hail of stone and fire. Armond secured the unconscious Greynol, holding his shield across them both as fiery sparks, like hot coals, fell from the above.

The beast leapt upon the rock crest, searching for an open place to attack away from the sharp spikes of the pines. Soon as it found an opening, it came. But Armond was watchful and ready and loosed his crossbow into its charge – a perfect shot below the neck. The Fury crashed into the trees, howling like a wolf caught in a trap. The men scuttled beneath a tangle of branches and great-feathered wings that showed plenty of life – blood steaming from its wounds.

No lagging about – we are near the top! called Armond to the others at his back. I’d say our friend is a little upset with me now.

Not only you, replied Andro, first to reach the crest. He turned back to survey their attacker’s progress. The creature regained its form, spreading its wings; and with an eruption of fire, set the tree ablaze in its wrath. Like a fallen ember, it dove out of a gulf of smoke and flame and plummeted towards the earth before returning to the sky.

We made a mistake, there is no cover up here, grumbled Brenn as the others gathered on the crest overlooking the valley road.

Back to the trees then – and quick, said Zerrin.

No good there unless you wish to burn, replied Armond, the most composed voice of the seven. Look, this step we climbed seems part of an older path – Drago spoke of such things. See how it continues down the backside. Below there are trees and hollows for shelter.

But it is away from the road. Where shall we go from there? asked Rogan in distress, shielding his arm that none save Leonin saw aglow in the attack.

Armond watched in the distance as the creature turned back for another winged charge. We may not know the way, but it seems our only choice. First we have one more round to go.

The Fury made a hasty escape impossible. From the sky it came, poised purposely between the men and the sun to blind them, flames shooting from its mouth. Arrows were nocked and set to fly upon its approach, but a shower of fire left them grabbing for their shields as it passed from fear of that painful sting. Flames swashed against their shield like cascades of steaming water.

Rogan’s arm burned like a white flame now without the expected throe, holding it aloft behind his shield. The Fury seemed to sense it and bore down upon him, disregarding the others. It knocked aside Armond and the Kuirian, landing upon the ridge before him. It glared at Rogan with menacing eyes. Then it spoke cruelly:

Where is the jewel, woodsman? Where have you put it? it asked. I bear a new summons now. You shall speak of it before the Master.

Rogan was in no mood to discuss the clarity of the question and tried to scramble away, but the creature caught him by the ankle and lifted him off the ground. It spread its wings like an eagle over its prey, knocking aside Armond, Drago, and Zerrin as they rushed to his aid. Another spurt of fire to stay the others and it bound into the air, Rogan dangling below.

With half-a-moment to spare, Andro succeeded in loosing an arrow. Usually erratic in a pinch, he managed to send a shaft home, striking the creature beneath a wing – a mere splinter in its great span. Leonin did him one better, loosing two arrows in succession: both sunk deep into the Fury’s neck as it let out a terrible cry.

Now every creature, natural or unnatural, doomed to one day die knows its limitations – save man – and as Leonin pulled back a third shaft, the demon flung Rogan to the earth and spun away in a ball of flame. The arrow turned to ash before striking home. The winged-beast swooped low into the valley to elude their weapons then rose above the next ridge and disappeared into the west.

Andro was quick and rushed over to Rogan who landed hard upon the ground, fortunate to miss the boulders scattered like a giants toys atop the ridge. Rogan, are you all right? he cried.

Nothing is broken – except my will, he replied, dazed and shaken. Andro, why did it choose me?

Andro gazed blankly into his frightened eyes: he could not answer what he did not know.

Come now, Master Rogan, if you can walk, let us do so before that thing decides to return, said Drago, helping Andro pull him up and shake the dust off his shirt.

What of Greynol? asked Rogan.

He lives, only knocked senseless by the fall, replied Armond aside Toryche and the fallen Acolyte. But we need to get under cover to check things over; far away from here where we are open for attack. There seems a trail to the east, and I say we take it.

Down the backside of the hill they went, along a slope that ran steep at first, and then flattened out into a manageable grade. The path they chose remained broken and uneven, but a yielding course for their needs. Further below, they entered a forest upon not much more than a deer trail, but suitable for a traveling party in a hurry. The earth softened beneath the shadows and all grew silent – neither wind nor sound of wings was heard overhead. Only after some time of quiet riding did they dare stop. The tall woodland seemed glad now, brilliant green with a bright sun behind its canopy. Here they lifted Greynol from Toryche and placed him carefully upon the ground. With a groan, he showed signs of regaining consciousness.

He’s perspiring. Does anyone have some water? asked Andro, kneeling at his side. Flask in hand, he dabbed a wetted cloth across the Acolyte’s forehead and neck. The old man turned his head. Are you fine, sir? You took a hard spill.

He opened his eyes and glanced about, unsure of his whereabouts. I’m getting too old for falling off horses. Did Toryche survive?

A familiar neighing answered his question. Greynol smiled and greeted the courageous animal as it muzzled up to his hand. Just a bit shaken then…the both of us. What of the creature?

We fought it off. The Gyre has taken back to the skies, but I fear it will return, answered Leonin.

Well, you are all here, and I am glad to see it.

Only scratches…Rogan got the worst of it, said Zerrin, heartened to find their leader in good spirits, but we lost the packhorse during the attack.

Then we have lost most of our provisions, and since this no longer looks like the Werithain Road, we must tally what remains, Greynol replied, sitting up with his elbows upon his knees.

The road is not far, but for the time being I suggest we find another way, replied Armond, somewhere away from that thing.

More wisdom from the mouth of a Turrar? laughed Greynol who gave Armond a look of approval. Seems you have led us this far – go on.

Well, anywhere but here sounds better. Let us keep to this trail for a time until we find our bearings and a cool spot to rest, he answered, turning his eyes to the leaves above. Anywhere but here.

The trail tumbled deeper into a forested valley, and from appearances, looked recently used. The trees increased in height and girth, shielding any view from above. But now and again, a rustling wind passed above the treetops like the rush of wings; they would pause until the sound faded away. Some time later, they came upon a glad stream where the horses made a splash, cooling their hooves, and found the trail re-emerge upon the opposite bank, continuing along the brook’s path.

The air calmed as they entered a deep vale littered with mossy stones and deep-green bracken. The stream quickened its pace, ending with a sudden drop; the song of its flight rose up to greet the men’s ears. Here the trail turned down a broken hillside they attempted on foot. A pool waited below, where the water tumbled and fell before continuing on its way into a glade of broken forest. About it lay a soft blanket of gray-sand strewn with mossy boulders that looked like sleeping bears covered in green fur. They delighted at the sight: the soft floor and unspoiled falls made for a suitable camp, although the unease remained.

Some time has passed since we last heard it, said Armond, gazing skyward where the cover was broken. I feel we should go no further today.

Wherever here is, said Brenn.

No telling while the sun sets, replied Greynol. Our fortunes may change come the morrow.

But I am hungry now. I could try a line or a makeshift net to snag some of these shiner’s; even now, frogs and snails would make a meal for me.

Poor Brenn. Without the packhorse, even an apple sounds like dinner. Come to think of it, I’m a bit famished myself, said Zerrin, grabbing his belly.

I have some bread and a bit of dried meat, but fresh trout sounds better, replied Andro, picking through his saddlebag.

They settled in, each to his own task, save Greynol who seated himself upon a perfectly round rock, back against a tree with legs stretched out, hoping to ease his quiet pain. Leonin found himself at home, and with Brenn and Rogan, pulled some line and hooks from their packs. They found a comfortable spot across the pond and dropped their lines baited with rolled pieces of bread and even snippets of yarn – an old Mihtrir lure. The fish were plenty and before long dinner was on the fire.

After watering the horses down creek, Andro and Armond offered them leftover grain; although most was now lost with Uncle Breden’s packhorse. Once securing the steeds, they found seclusion upon a natural rock wall that overlooked the camp and falls. Here they rested like young boys on a romp, but found it hard to relax fully with ears opened and eyes peeled to the skies.

This place reminds me of the Lanfersi. The forest invigorates me, as if a great calm makes its home here, sighed Andro, quickly forgetting the day’s misery.

Aye, but these bruises tell me we are far from the North, replied Armond, numbering his fresh wounds and cuts caused in the battle with the creature. For my part, I feel older and my edge has sharpened. If anything, this journey has made a man out of me.

Andro offered a shrug and sighed. Poisoned weapons, evil men, and now a fire-breathing creature. I cannot be anything but fearful in the face of such things.

Yet, you fight still, said Armond with a glance of reassurance. Like I said before, we will stand together through thick and thin. You must know that I am afraid many times over, but feel compelled by a stronger desire to triumph. You concern yourself over what we all sense – let the valor that comes in victory drive you forward. Wisdom is your gift, Andro, like a second Greynol in this party, and that is important. Wisdom will prove your worth.

Armond smiled in his honest manner and laughed, placing a firm hand upon Andro’s shoulder. "You may not feel it now, but if you saw your reflection in that pool down there, you would see a man. Your beard is coming in, like a true woodsman; Rogan too, yet his face is younger and he needs couple more years under his belt."

A few more days like today will take care of that, replied Andro with a laugh. Let’s make our way below, dinner smells ready.

In the darkness they dined – the light of a generous campfire their one comfort. The aroma of fresh trout filled the air, but little else, for provisions were scant. Zerrin carried some salt for flavor, the only saving grace for Armond who preferred his meat red. They conversed in quiet whispers, seemingly helpless out in the open should the fury return; but despite it all, they felt comfort in their surroundings – a shadow of the past that carried new resolve.

The Kuirian felt it even more; a place once claimed by their ancestors. Before dinner, Drago and Zerrin explored further down stream in hopes of learning their direction. A short distance away, so close as to make Drago feel foolish for missing it, stood the dark opening of a long forsaken mine. They hoped to explore it.

There have been enough surprises today. Wait until sunup before you go lookin’ about, replied Brenn, casting suspicious glances into the blackness across the vale. They gave in to his wishes.

A rounded hillock stood in the shadows with steep sided walls that bore the entrance to the tunnel. Brenn did not like the looks of it at all. He drew a blanket around his knees; content to sleep where he sat before the light of the blaze.

One by one they found sleep, warm licks of fire illuminating the tall branches until slowly dying away. Stars emerged from a cloudless vault; clustered candles burning in the night sky. Barren of any human sound, the surrounding forest offered only the falling water, murmur of frogs, and a calling night owl to claim the darkness. Brenn sat up alert, the last to find sleep, nervous at the sight of glowing eyes just outside the firelight. But these turned out to be curious things and no cause for alarm: raccoons, a skunk, deer, and the distant grows of a badger.

Might there be worse things in these woods? he asked with his knees pulled close to rest his chin. He roused Drago who lay drifting off beside him.

Huh? Worse things? he replied, blinking tired eyes. These are wild areas, Brenn, for the most part; you are bound to find a good many critters out here – including wolf and bear.

What did you mean by these being wild areas, ‘for the most part’?

Drago caught himself nodding off at Brenn’s question.

The mine shaft, it is not so desolate – there were fresh tracks all about. Someone’s been ‘round of late.

Men like us?

…or a bear. It could be anything, cousin. Now leave me be, for a sweet dream is calling, finished Drago, drifting off with little hope of re-awaking.

Brenn sat alone now, staring deeply into the darkness away from the pond. His eyes were sharp, intent on piercing the secrets of the mine – not so distant it seemed; and from it, he perceived large eyes staring back at him. As he drifted into dreams of his own, he imagined those eyes ever closer, circling the camp – even from the top of the falls. At daybreak, upon waking, these things evaporated into the clouds of his memory.

When Brenn awoke a loud discussion was already at hand – sad that the smell of eggs and bacon were only part of a sweeter dream. He forgot all his concerns of the night before.

"We are near the Duarhurm Plateau and Carrock, the