Avarom and the Secret of the White Mist

By J.L. Stewart

Though Servitica's monumental battle against the nefarious Yarum ended less than a year ago, it almost pales in comparison to the recent ill temperament of Queen Nakir. Yet, her majesty's mannerisms of late toward Avarom and her subjects must be set aside as an astonishing piece of news comes to light!
The White Mist, which has loomed atop the Caye Mountains for centuries, has vanished! And all know the legend that when falls the mist so rises the Mighty Beast of Caye! A gigantic fire-breathing serpent of immeasurable power and ferocity controlled only by the one sorcerer who created it - Tiamuzin!
And when this beast of legend reveals itself by murderously attacking the Red Queen's Castle, Avarom furiously races head on to track it down.
The hunt is on as Avarom, filled with deadly determination, charges into the unknown to face the likes of Striya, the guardian of the underworld, Murok, the invincible man-monster, Queen Shenkar and her arena of death!
All this and much more await the Queen's Champion in this non-stop action adventure as he uses his undaunted fighting skills to face off against the ancient enemies of the Great Lands; but will it be enough as Avarom seeks to discover the Secret of The White Mist!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491809976

J.L. Stewart

Author opted not to put authorbio.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

It was a cold cloudy morning in the latter half of the winter season. Thick rich snow permeated through the icy air to fall on the already snow-covered forest. The wind whistled its approach as it washed through bare trees and passed two fur-covered riders. Side by side they rode, their pace slow and steady.

Watch out, you one-eyed fool, one rider barked to the other, while motioning his horse to one side. His blonde hair caught the wind as he pulled back his wolf-hide hood, the frigid air instantly flushing portions of his pale face.

You steady your own mount, you blonde-haired freak, the other rider responded, waving off his adversary. He pulled back his fur-covered hood and used his good right eye to give a sharp leer to his riding companion. His dark hair equally caught the cold wind.

Don’t look at me that way, Surkon.

Why shouldn’t I, Adomis? Surkon asked, halting his horse. Adomis did the same. It was your idea to accept this patrol in the middle of the barren wilderness—Something about a Tavern in a small village along our route.

But there is, friend Surkon, Adomis said, wiping his nose and caressing the fine thin line of blonde hair beneath it. Curse this wind, it will ruin my mustache.

When?

When what? Adomis asked, giving his full attention to his comrade again, rather than his mustache.

When did you last visit this tavern?

You ask as if you don’t trust me.

When?!

No need to shout, Adomis remarked, motioning his horse forward.

Surkon quickly moved his horse to block Adomis’s way. We go no further until I hear we are either close or far from this tavern. In case you haven’t noticed, it is cold and snowing out here.

The more reason to continue, my one-eyed shivering friend, Adomis said with a slight smile. He then motioned his horse to proceed around Surkon.

This is insane! Surkon howled and snatched the reins of his comrade’s horse. Look about you, fool. The Caye Mountains loom but a day’s ride from here. Servitica and her warm fires are nearly two days away. I see nothing but bare trees and snow. We are lost!

Calm yourself, Adomis said, gently taking the reins from his friend’s hand. I know that our outlook at this point in time is questionable, but trust me, all will be well soon. Think about it, would you rather be back in Servitica with the way the Queen has been acting of late?

Surkon blankly stared at his comrade, absorbing his words. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. You know, my friend, I do believe you have a point. With the way the Red Queen has been acting, maybe being lost in a winter wilderness is best.

Now you begin to see the light of reason behind our acceptance of this patrol, Adomis said, slowly ushering his horse through the snow. Surkon did the same, though I would have thought you would realize it sooner.

How the hell was I to know we were going on a long-distance patrol? Surkon asked, steadying his mount. This type of run is usually reserved for the cadets, as a test of their mettle. Seasoned warriors only patrol the mere outskirts of Servitica, often changing with the cadets from time to time.

I had a good reason, as I explained.

And I accept that fact.

So what is the problem?

Nothing, Surkon shrugged. In future just let me know in advance how far our patrol will take us in such inclement weather. Don’t wake me up just before dawn to say we are going on a patrol, and have me think it would be within the boundaries of Servitica.

Aye, you should have seen your face when General Onanlu confirmed our route just before we left, Adomis snickered. You became as pale as the snow.

Who wouldn’t?

Adomis laughed out loud, throwing back his head at the facial expression his friend was giving him. Once he had composed himself he placed a hand on the shoulder of his comrade. I am sorry, my friend. But we had to flee Servitica for a while. The Queen’s temper is too much for even my patient personality.

What ails her, anyway?

Who knows? Adomis howled, throwing both hands in the air. His loud voice echoed through the forest—startling his horse. Only by gently tugging at the reins did he compose his mount. You see? Just the mere mention of the Red Queen throws me into a rage and scares my horse.

So I see.

But if you notice, my friend, her anger is directed at one person.

I know, Surkon nodded with a smile. It is Avarom who is feeling the brunt of Her Majesty’s rage. All the rest of us are only getting the residue.

I wonder what he has done.

Surkon shrugged. All I know is that every time he wants to leave the palace grounds, he must be escorted. Sometimes he is not permitted to leave at all. I was told, not three days before we left, that the General asked the Queen in private about her ill temper.

And?

And she brushed him aside like a servant.

She’ll have the devil to pay for that one.

How so?

The General was around long before she came into power, Adomis said, wiping his nose. She can’t just treat a well respected man such as the General in any foolish fashion.

I agree, Surkon responded, bowing for a low branch. The consequences, depending on the General’s temperament, may be irreversible.

I will not even bother to go into what will be irreversible, or what the General is capable of doing, Adomis remarked, steadying his horse down a small hill. He respects the Queen too highly to even think harsh thoughts.

But how much longer can one endure this abuse?

That is a question best left for Avarom.

They both laughed as they proceeded through the forest. Their conversation resumed on the subject of the Red Queen and her sudden foul temper as they composed themselves. At times the two soldiers would dismount to lead their horses over uncertain terrain, thick with snow, often taking time to eat and make a record of their travels before a small fire.

It was near dark when the two soldiers emerged from the forest to see a small village nestled in a valley. The Caye Mountains loomed ominously in the far-off distance. The village’s meager structures were nearly blanketed in the pure white snow—they would’ve missed it entirely if not for the lanterns that hung sporadically in the windows of the stone and wooden houses.

One particular abode was illuminated more than the rest, suggesting to Adomis that it was a tavern. He was quickly corrected by his comrade who argued that it might be a place of worship, which not all well lit structures qualify as a tavern.

Adomis laughed as he dismounted, explaining that of all the villages he’d visited, no house of worship was ever so well lit. He continued as Surkon dismounted and added his knowledge of temples and their interior decoration. This discussion continued as they both led their horses through the thick snow and down towards the village.

The interior of the tavern was a dimly-lit log cabin with a few rickety lanterns awkwardly placed about the meekly furnished room. Square in shape, the wide one-level structure played host to many fur-covered patrons that evening. Some stood in the center of the room to converse, or leant near the stone clad fireplace, across from the bar. The flames from its wide maw illuminated dark corners and showed just how low the ceiling hung.

Others, that wished to be left alone, remained silent against the wall, drinking or staring out of any of the four windows into the snow-filled sky.

The proprietor was a middle-aged man of a stout nature. His raven hair stretched to his shoulders with streaks of silver. Dark olive skin from working in the sun displayed gentle features on his clean-shaven face, an aspect one would not ordinarily find on the proprietor of such an establishment.

Calmly he served the customers as he spoke to one in particular, often wiping his hands upon a black fur-laced tunic. Its long sleeves were greasy and wet. Aiding him were two young girls, both blonde and slightly pale. Their thin appearance allowed them to pass swiftly amongst the patrons. Their long, heavy, square-necked gowns often snagging on the heel of a patron or the corner of a table.

Attention! Attention my fellow farmers and miners, bellowed the proprietor, his hands held up, a slight grin on his face.

All turned to him—some were still mumbling, others were still drinking. When he saw that he had most of their attention, he slowly lowered his hands and rounded the bar. He approached one patron leaning against the bar, and lowered a hand upon his shoulder. Irul has a tale. For a while he has been standing here relating the events that happened no more than two days ago. I cannot make sense of it, which is why Irul will tell you the same tale he has told me. Maybe with our combined minds we can figure it out.

The blonde middle-aged patron known as Irul slowly turned, nervously caressing his goblet. His hazel eyes met the dark eyes of the proprietor, then slowly glanced through the sea of patrons calmly watching him, some whispering to one another, while others vied for a view of him. Irul placed the goblet upon the bar and rubbed his hands together nervously.

Come on man, be not afraid.

Yes, speak up. We are all family here.

Tell us what happened.

Irul smiled. Yes, you are right. We are all family. Some of you I’ve known since I was a boy. ‘Whatever happens to one happens to all’ was what my father would say. Now he and mother are gone. I, alone with my daughter, hold the farm just on the outskirts of the village.

Aye, and you manage it well.

Much better than some I know.

Sporadic laughter was heard throughout the tavern. The proprietor held up his hand. Please, let him continue.

Thank you, Irul said, nodding to all in the tavern, and especially to the proprietor who now relaxed against the bar. But my tale is neither about my farm nor me. It is about my daughter.

What ails the little lady?

Is she well?

Who has harmed her?

Again the proprietor held up his hands to calm the patrons.

All is well with her, Irul remarked in an assuring tone, mainly towards the female patrons, since they were the ones to step forward with these questions. She is fine and now spends this evening with my sister.

Then what happened?

Yes, tell us.

Irul was about to begin when the door of the Tavern opened. All eyes turned toward the two fur-covered strangers, as they stepped inside and closed the door. Almost simultaneously they pulled back their hoods and stared at one another and then into the crowd. One was blonde, slightly pale with a thin mustache. His comrade, a rugged brunette of an olive complexion, had a patch over his left eye.

The proprietor leaned over to Irul. Who are these strangers?

Irul merely shrugged, shaking his head. I do not know.

Greetings, one and all, the blonde one announced, stepping forward a few feet. My name is Adomis, and my one-eyed friend here is Surkon.

Patrons made way as the proprietor stepped forward. Greetings to you and your friend, Adomis, what can we do for you?

Well, we were riding through the forest and came upon your village, Adomis said, smiling and loosening his coat. Surkon and I merely wish to warm ourselves by your fire.

The proprietor stared at Adomis for a moment, from his black boots to his calm features. He shrugged. I don’t see why not. Where do you . . . ? He suddenly stopped in mid-sentence as Adomis removed his fur coat to reveal a gray uniform with a shaded twin leaf upon his left breast. His sword adjusted as a black cape fell just below his waistline.

A soldier of Servitica . . . .

The Red Queen’s soldier . . .

All the way out here . . .

Surkon removed his coat and displayed the same uniform.

What are the soldiers of the Red Queen doing so far from home? The proprietor inquired.

Long distance patrol, Adomis responded, smiling to all those about him. Just ensuring that nothing is amiss and that all is well about her kingdom.

I would think the Empress of Daru would send such a patrol, Irul stated. Her kingdom is closer.

Aye, Surkon remarked, staying his ground by the door. Then again, the patrol from Daru may have passed by without stopping.

Too true, the proprietor announced, moving closer to Adomis. He put an arm around the soldier. And since you and your comrade have stopped, let us show you what the soldiers of Daru have missed. Welcome to the village of Voros—named after a farmer who settled here from Celba many years ago. Ladies! A table for our guests!

A way was made for the proprietor and Adomis toward a table being cleared by the maidens. Surkon followed, shaking a few hands.

Here is the best table that my tavern, The Hunter’s Moon, can offer, the proprietor proclaimed. You and your comrade sit here, while my two sisters tend to your needs.

Thank you, good sir, Adomis said, handing his fur coat to the blonde girl beside him. Surkon silently did the same as another blonde girl wiped down their table. Such hospitality shall be remembered.

You honor me, sir, the proprietor replied humbly, slightly bowing. But before you came in, Irul the farmer was about to tell a tale. It is a rather strange tale.

Then please continue your affairs, Adomis said with a smile, leaning back in his chair and waving away the proprietor. My friend and I merely wish to rest in your establishment, and a good tale would be most relaxing.

The proprietor smiled and walked back to stand beside Irul. You may continue your tale, my friend.

Irul looked up at the gathering crowd before him. A line of sight was made available for the new-comers. Well, for the benefit of the soldiers of Servitica, this tale is in reference to my daughter. You see, I am a farmer. My land is on the outskirts of this village. It’s just me and her, her mother died giving her life.

How old is the girl? Adomis inquired.

Irul smiled at the soldier’s interest. She is no more than nine summers, sir. I’m sure she would have loved to meet a Servitican soldier.

It would be a pleasure to meet the little lady, Adomis said, shifting to one side to allow service by the proprietor’s sisters. A goblet of wine and a bowl of stew were set for each, with a flask of wine between them. But please continue.

Yes, well, Irul nervously began with a smile. A couple of days of ago my daughter and I were out hunting. It was a clear, cold day with not as much snow as there is now. I always take her hunting with me because of her good eyesight. She can spot movement from a great distance, and this allows me time to prepare and to choose my weapon. Well, we were but a half a day from the Caye Mountains when we came to a small clearing. There, the face of the Misty Peak can be seen stretching to the heavens. It is a beautiful yet frightful sight, no matter how many times I see it.

A few mumble in agreement.

Irul continued. Well, as we walked through the clearing my daughter stopped to look up at the Misty Peak. I thought she was merely fascinated by the sight, since it was only the third time she was so close.

"‘I see you are awed by the Misty Peak,’ I said.

"‘Yes, father,’ she said. And she was still staring upwards. She even took a step or two. ‘I . . . I see a man.’

"‘Where?’ I asked, looking about my surroundings. I looked to where we had come from, and to where we were going, but saw no one.

‘Up there, father,’ she said, pointing to the mountain. ‘There is a man climbing the side of the mountain.’

A few of the patrons began grumbling their doubt, while others snickered.

Your daughter saw a man scaling the smooth sides of the Misty Peak?

Irul nodded his response to the fellow patron. Aye, that she did and I believe her. My daughter may be unpredictable, as most children her age will be, but I know her and she does not lie. She was quite serious.

What did you see?

Irul looked toward Adomis. I saw nothing. I watched the side of the mountain from all angles, but I saw no one. Yet—

Adomis leaned forward as Irul trailed off. The room fell suddenly silent.

This may not mean much, Irul continued. But as I stared at the mountain I saw rocks falling. Not from the top but from the center, as if caused by someone, or something, climbing.

What is so odd about that? the Proprietor asked. Mountains are known to shed a few rocks every now and then.

I can answer that, Surkon said, wiping his mouth from the ale. Everyone turned to him. The Misty Peak is very slick. There are virtually no balancing stones to fall, unless they are disturbed. Irul stated he saw rocks falling. That cannot be, unless there was movement to cause this act.

So you’re saying there is some truth to his tale?

Truth to his tale, Adomis, yes, Surkon answered. But to say it was a man climbing which caused those rocks to fall is a little far fetched.

Irul humbly stepped forward. I know it sounds outlandish for a man to perform such an act, but the sincerity that was in my daughter’s eyes made it hard for me to disbelieve her.

Adomis rubbed his chin. Is that all your daughter saw?

Well, she did say the man continued to climb until he realized he was being watched, and then moved out of sight, Irul said.

Interesting, Adomis mumbled to himself, raising his eyebrows.

Sir?

Nothing, he said to Irul and to those staring to him. A most interesting tale. So tell me, sir, how does your daughter fair this day?

She is fine, Irul happily shrugged. She barely remembers that day, and I do not bring it up.

Have you been back to that particular part of the forest?

No, Surkon. The snow is too high for anyone to travel that far now.

Then drink up, man, Adomis said, rising from his chair holding his goblet. Your daughter is safe, you are amongst good people, and all is well. Let not this event plague your mind.

Aye, the proprietor added, coming up behind the farmer and placing an arm around him. The soldier is correct. Whatever has occurred is now a past deed. Let there be merriment, and let this incident forgotten.

An exhalation of agreement was heard as the proprietor led the farmer back to the bar. A patron with a flute began to play. He was soon joined by another as several other patrons started to dance.

Surkon watched Adomis as he slowly sat once again—his eyes fixed upon Irul as he drunk from his goblet. You watch the farmer with a cautious eye. I wonder why?

Adomis lowered his goblet and wiped his mouth. His eyes still focused on the farmer at the bar, amid all the dancing and singing. Leaning back in his chair, he sighed, I believe this farmer is telling the truth.

Surkon snickered, stirring his stew. One story-teller believing another—who is the greater liar,?

The one who knows best how to tell a story.

And you definitely have it down as an art.

Which makes me the best judge of those who are lying?

And is the farmer lying?

Adomis glanced at those about him dancing; over to the bar where the farmer drank, then back to Surkon. My one-eyed friend, he said, smiling and waving to those dancing nearest to him, the farmer is telling the truth.

How so?

"Well, your statement about the rocks falling. Why speak of rocks falling when one can, if lying, speak of so much more.

You mean, such as a flying demon?

Now you understand what I mean, Adomis said, lowering a hand onto his comrade’s shoulder. He moved closer to whisper so that only Surkon could hear him above the escalating singing and dancing. True, it is impossible for a man to climb the side of the Misty Peak. But why fabricate a story through the eyes of a child—your own daughter at that?

Surkon shrugged, taking a spoon full of the stew.

If anything, make yourself the center of it all by reciting what was seen. Leave out the child.

Maybe it is more believable if a child is used?

Not such a well-known child, Adomis responded, leaning back in his seat, but shifting his chair closer. Why not use a lonely child or a group of children. Better yet an elder in the village, whose senses are in question?

Surkon looked up from his stew and towards the bar, where the farmer was still standing. He greeted those that passed him by, but mainly remained alone, caressing his goblet. Surkon realized that Adomis may be right. Anyone else telling such a tale would prefer to be the center of attention, and would not stand virtually alone. Alright, you may have something there, but what do we do about it?

We do nothing, Adomis said, rising from his seat with a broad smile and clapping his hands. Remember, the path back to where Irul’s daughter saw this man climbing is covered in snow. The wind is howling, and before us there is drink, as well as food. So eat, drink, and enjoy yourself, for we leave tomorrow for Servitica.

Surkon watched as his comrade joined in the melee of singing and dancing patrons. When the crowd had swallowed him, Surkon turned back to his bowl of stew and momentarily looked up at Irul. There the farmer stood, alone, holding his goblet. The proprietor often stopped between servings to speak with him. Irul neither looked for attention nor wanted it. An act that started Surkon thinking more about the tale of Irul.

CHAPTER 2

It was late, and the quarter moon shined brightly over the snow covered village of Voros. A herd of clouds moved slowly Southeast with the stars lighting their way. The wind no longer howled as strongly as it had earlier, though a bone-numbing chill still lingered in the air.

Still in his uniform, Surkon watched from a second-storey window, as the remaining citizens of the night scurried about to find shelter. Some were completely covered in fur, while others were wrapped in cloaks and capes. The snow made each step they took a cautious one, since the depth of the snow was not known. The lanterns on the doorways which they entered briefly lit their cold teary-eyed faces. Some laughed, while others were irritated by the brisk weather. Once the door closed behind them, lights were either turned on or off—a sight that added to the calmness of the village. Surkon knew this about Servitica in this time—no matter the weather the streets were often busy with revelers, singing and dancing from tavern to tavern, drawing those watching or passing by to join in with their merriment—and that would be a calm night. Let there not be a cause for celebration, for then such revelry would spill into the streets, over the walls, and into the woods. Campfires would burn all night, as would the singing and dancing.

Surkon snickered to himself at one particular thought, his mind recalling how the Red Queen, earlier in her career as ruler of Servitica, had nearly mobilized the army one summer’s night. She had heard faint screams coming from her kingdom. Obviously she thought her citizens were in danger, until she was told that the would-be sounds of conflict were merely those of celebration. Disbelieving, she traded her royal gown for a riding outfit, and rode with an armed escort to investigate. Surkon remembered this well because he was part of that escort, along with General Onanlu.

When the Queen arrived at the center of Servitica people were indeed singing, dancing, hugging and kissing one another. Laughter echoed all about the streets, from almost every open window, yet it all ceased when the crowd caught the sight of the Queen. The laughter and music trailed off as one.

Slowly, the Queen dismounted and casually walked a few paces from her horse. A space was made clear for her by bowing subjects. Her hands were on her hips as she stopped to look about her surroundings. What goes on, that a Queen thinks her kingdom is under attack? she asked sternly, not focusing her stare on any one particular person.

No one said a word, they just looked to her in silence, some to one another for guidance, and others looked to the ground. At that time the Queen was still new to the throne. With the death of the King no more than six months old, not many people felt confident in Queen Nakir. Her age, background, and inexperience as a ruler made people nervous.

Surkon had thought her coming to Servitica that night was a complete failure, and was prepared to suggest that she leave, until a drunkard came out of a nearby alley holding a flask of wine. With his back to the Queen, the middle-aged brunette was singing and swaying—his arms aloft, inviting everyone to join in. Wine spilling onto his tunic and trousers, the drunkard continued to chime off-key. The General moved in but was waved off by the Queen.

Though all was silent about him, the drunkard continued dancing and spilling his drink on himself and the cobblestone streets. His hymns continued to be off-key, and slurred to a point that only he could understand them. When he finally turned and saw that he was before the Queen, he tried to steady himself. His eyes went wide then quickly into a comical squint as he swayed to and fro.

Man of ale, the Queen began, with a revealing grin. Her arms extended to steady the man. What is the cause of your condition?

The drunkard took a moment, as if digesting the Queen’s words. His head comically swaying in a multitude of directions, he suddenly threw his head back as if to pass out and came forward with one word, twins!

The Queen looked away with a sigh, rolling her eyes and waving a free hand about her face from the combination of ale and bad breath that came strongly her way. Surkon remembered laughing inwardly along with some of the other soldiers at the sight of the Queen inhaling the man’s foul breath.

Then the drunkard collapsed upon her—forcing the Queen to lower herself to one knee. Guards moved in but were waved off once again by the Queen.

Surkon recalled stretching his neck to see the drunkard nestle himself comfortably upon the bosoms of the Queen. She merely cradled him like a baby as he smacked his lips and snorted in sheer comfort.

The Red Queen, still on one knee, looked up, Can someone whose veins carry less wine tell me the reason for this celebration?

A moment of silence continued, around the Queen.

He speaks true, a woman said, nervously stepping forward. Twins it is—the birth of twins.

The Queen gently laid the drunkard down on the street, and stood up. A bassinet was brought forth by two women. Inside, wrapped in blankets, were two round pale-faced babies, identical in every detail, from what Surkon could see from his vantage point.

Bless them, the Queen said, surveying them with a broad smile, Bless the darlings, and may they live long and charmed lives.

Surkon watched the Queen caress and kiss each baby. The look she gave was that of one wishing the infants were hers to keep. She finally looked up, after a near-eternity of eyeing the bundles of joy, at the teeming mass before her, Your celebration is most justified, the Queen announced, Please continue.

A cheer rang through the crowd as the Queen turned to leave. She stopped suddenly, noticing the drunkard still on the ground, sleeping silently, his arms cradling his wine bottle as one would a lover. Shaking her head with a broad smile, she merely skipped over him. This act made the crowd laugh and applaud even more.

Then a tall, slender man began to play a violin. He danced, hopped, and skipped about the Queen, causing her to stop once more. The tune he played was a lively one and each step he took matched the tune.

The Queen merely placed her hands on her hips, as if in defiance. Then she suddenly began to dance. A roar of cheering went up for the Queen, for never has royalty danced in public such as the Queen did that day, and dance she did—all the way to her horse, not missing a step, even as she mounted her steed—an act no one thought she could do. It even took Surkon by surprise, as he applauded and laughed with his fellow soldiers.

It was during these cheers that the Queen waved and reined her horse to depart, followed by General Onanlu and the rest of the soldiers. Surkon was the last to leave, amongst the cheering crowd. His horse barely made it past the mob, as he and the soldiers ahead of him waved and shook a multitude of hands.

With the crowd behind them, Surkon took one last look at the crowd, waving and continuing their celebration of the birth of twins. His heart soared at the thought of how a single birth of twins can incite such a celebration.

Grinning at this thought of the past, Surkon gulped down some sweet wine, while moving away from the window and the memories of the past. He barely took two steps and he was at a small rickety table. Another seven or eight steps would have put him at the main door of the room. To his right were two small beds, with an even smaller fireplace between them. One piece of wood burned brightly within it, giving the room a warm glow.

He wanted to ask the innkeeper for two more pieces of wood, but thought better of it. These people are polite, but they are not fools. Since soldiers of Servitica are rumored to be wealthy, through the grace of the Red Queen, one can expect to be charged double in a village such as this one. The flask of wine, a bowl of assorted meats and some bread had cost four gold coins. The room itself had nearly emptied his purse.

Still, Surkon must admit to himself that the room was quite clean. The linen was very white and smelled of pine. The wood floor, broom-swept and recently mopped. The beds were constructed of a strong wood—Oak, Surkon believed—which made very little noise when one’s weight was upon it.

I’ll drink my fill of this wine, and eat what I can, Surkon said to himself, pouring the red liquid into his goblet. Whatever is left goes into the satchel for the journey home. His goblet full, he raised it high and stated, To the Queen.

Drinking the wine, Surkon stepped back to the window. He sighed for a moment at how peaceful this village could be, and shivered at how cold it was outside. Even though Servitica had her cold moments, it was never as brisk nor the air as crisp, as it was here. There was also a certain serenity about the village. The people were much more respectful. Perhaps being in the middle of nowhere had something to do with it, but whatever it was, Surkon liked it. He could actually see himself raising a family here, or in a village much like it. A village made up of twenty or fewer structures, grouped in an almost oval shape, with one main street right through the center, near to a forest full of game, stretching as far as the eye can see, to the base of the Caye Mountains.

Yes. Living here would be very nice, indeed.

Surkon suddenly heard the slow and steady approach of someone coming down the hall. His skills as a soldier told him it was Adomis. The pace of his steps and the tune he often hummed to himself was a dead give-away. Thus Surkon barely turned when the door opened.

Ah, my friend, you are still awake, Adomis said, removing his fur coat and closing the door with his left foot. He tossed the coat upon the first bed to his left and stood before the fire, hands extended then rubbing one another. I hope you were not waiting up for me?

Humph. Don’t flatter your self, Surkon replied, now leaning against the window at an angle to include Adomis in his singular view. Where have you been?

Oh come now . . . father, Adomis said comically with a grin, turning from the fireplace to walk to the table, still rubbing his hands. He poured some wine with one hand while placing a piece of meat in his mouth with the other. I’m sorry I’m late, but one should never rush the warm touch of these village women.

I see.

Be glad you did not, Adomis continued, taking his cup of wine to where Surkon stood. What happened between us was not meant for that last eye of yours to see.

Spare me the details, Adomis, Surkon remarked, looking out the window.

Adomis moved closer to the window. He then proceeded to bob his head about in all different directions in a comical manner. Did I miss something?

Surkon glanced to Adomis while sipping his wine. He could not help but smile at the antics of his foolish friend. You had that much of a good time that you still have energy to spare?

Ah, my one-eyed friend, Adomis said, placing a hand on Surkon’s shoulder. I have so much energy left I could retire here and become a farmer or a miner like the rest of them. Raise a family. Adopt you.

Funny, Surkon stated dryly, removing Adomis’s hand, the smile slowly turning into his signature frown. I was thinking the same thing.

Of me adopting you?

No, fool, Surkon snapped, walking away from the window to sit on his bed with a heavy sigh. He cradled his cup as an archaeologist would an artifact.

Adomis took a final drink and moved toward his friend, placing his cup on the table. Alright, my friend, what is the problem? Why so glum? He asked with an air of sincerity.

Surkon barely looked up as Adomis walked over to sit across from him in a nearby chair.

Adomis sighed, while leaning forward to take the empty cup from his friend. A moment of silence filled the room with only the sound of burning wood and the occasional rattle of wind against the window. What’s wrong, my friend?

The solemn soft speech of Adomis caught Surkon off-guard. He was so used to hearing witty remarks from his comrade that a serious tone from him was quite unnerving. But the sincerity in his eyes compelled Surkon to sigh and then speak, I’m tired, my friend.

Adomis pulled his head back with a smile. You’re tired? If you could but see the woman I was with, and what she did to me . . . .

I should have known better to try to speak with you seriously, Surkon snapped, snatching the cup from Adomis. He rose to walk to the table to pour some more wine in an angry manner. Damned poor excuse for a soldier.

Adomis rose as well, a frown forming on his face. What the hell is all that about, you one-eyed bastard, he scolded, pulling at Surkon’s arm. Who are you to lecture and judge me?

One who takes everything seriously! Surkon yelled back, wresting his arm free and slamming the cup onto the table. Some wine spilled onto the table and the floor.

All that we’ve been through, Adomis angrily hissed, pointing his finger in Surkon’s face. All our adventures and you have the nerve to say I don’t take anything seriously?

I say what I please.

While not understanding its’ meaning.

Maybe you should watch your words!

Adomis angrily waved off Surkon’s last statement and took a few steps away. All that we’ve been through together and all that we’ve faced. You can stand there and say for some unknown reason that I don’t take things seriously?

Surkon watched Adomis move closer.

With Avarom and Gulub we have faced just about every threat to Servitica, Adomis said, his finger inches from Surkon’s face while his own face flushed red with anger. From mere ruffians, to some of the deadliest sorcerers around, and as your arrows flew into their followers and familiars, who do you think was watching your back? Seriously speaking?

That’s not how I meant it.

Whether it be spoken, or meant in the form of action, who are you to state how seriously I take things? Or anyone for that matter?

Surkon merely turned from his angry comrade to walk to the window. Once in front of it, he silently stared off to the Caye Mountains in the distance, his hands clasped behind him.

There you go again, Adomis continued, not moving, shutting out all those who try to get close to you. What is it with you lately? With everyone, for that matter? First the Queen begins to persecute Avarom for no apparent reason, and now suddenly you become distant. Is it the weather?

I don’t wish to be lectured. murmured Surkon, not turning around.

Then what do you want?

I wish to be alone, Surkon snapped, turning around, but standing his ground. All that you just said is exactly my point. We’ve fought and battled against all those who wish to prove something by going up against the Red Queen, Avarom or Servitica itself. It seems endless, almost as if they are waiting in line. I’d wager the kingdom of Daru has not seen this much action.

For a moment Adomis said not a word. He merely stared at the sweat building upon his comrade’s brow. The anger in his eye and his trembling hands—Adomis knew he has seen these symptoms before. His heart dropped in sadness and the anger left him, for now he understood the reason behind his friend’s anger.

Hearing Surkon’s words and how they were expressed convinced him that perhaps his comrade had succumbed to a form of battle weariness. That all their adventures, most of which had nearly ended in their deaths, were now taking their toll on the well-being of his friend.

Oh, my dear friend, Adomis said calmly, moving to slightly lean on the table, his eyes sincerely locked onto Surkon’s damning stare, Now I understand.

Do you? Surkon asked, turning back to his vigil of the Caye Mountains.

Yes, Adomis responded, moving past the table to stand beside his friend. He placed a hand on Surkon’s shoulder. I realize now that you are tired. That probably the peacefulness of this village has reminded you of life as it should be lived.

Surkon sighed. He leaned forward onto the side of the window and watched Adomis remove his hand to lean on the opposite side. I’m sorry, my friend. I guess I do shut those out whom I should let in—like you for instance. You’ve stayed by my side when I know for sure you could have gone elsewhere. You’ve saved my life when I saw others flee, and through it all you kept on smiling—almost enjoying it all.

Actually, Adomis said with a snicker, I was scared out of my wits throughout our adventures. You see, everyone has their own way of dealing with the dangers put before them. You become a recluse, while I become a laughable idiot.

Surkon smiled, still looking out the window. Good to see you smile, my friend. But tell me, if you wish, Adomis said, taking a moment to adjust his position against the side of the window, has this village overwhelmed you? Are you thinking of quitting your position as a Servitican soldier? Breaking up our partnership to remain here?

Surkon continued to smile. His gaze was still upon the Caye Mountains. He then looked momentarily to the floor and sighed, before giving Adomis his full attention. When we first arrived here I cursed you for bringing me so far from home. I wondered what selfish reason could command you to do this, other than to get away from Queen Nakir and her ill temper of late, but hearing and seeing the residents of this village go about their business in such a peaceful manner has made me think. Here, in the middle of nowhere, there are no wars, no rivalry for power, and no swords being crossed—just people being people, and living.

I see, said Adomis, nodding.

Yes, I’m glad you do my friend, continued Surkon, because you are right, when we return to Servitica I will notify General Onanlu that I am resigning from the Servitican force.

He will not take it lightly. Adomis warned with a smile.

What in his life has he taken lightly?

They both laughed. This act eased the otherwise harsh tension that was in air.

Adomis moved away from the window towards the table, still snickering, then let me pour you a drink, perhaps the last drink on patrol that we will share.

Surkon smiled and was about to join his friend when something outside caught his attention. He turned swiftly and looked out of the window. Adomis, my friend, come quickly.

The urgency in Surkon’s voice caused Adomis to quickly place the goblet and flask down. He raced to the window, nearly drawing his sword. What is it my friend? What alarms thee?

Look to the mountains beyond, Adomis! Quickly, before the sight vanishes, exclaimed Surkon, pointing towards the Caye Mountains.

Adomis’s eyes danced about the scenery until they fell upon a light on the Eastern side of the tallest peak of the Caye Mountains. What the devil? Is that a flame burning, up on the side of the Misty Peak? Impossible!

Aye, my friend, Surkon said, pointing to the flame burning brightly in the distance. Look to the fire burning brightly where no flame should burn. Look to the flames that may coincide with the tale of the farmer’s daughter, who stated she saw someone climbing the side of the Misty Peak.

But the Caye Mountains is better than a full day’s ride from this village, Adomis stated. How can what appears to be a flame shine so bright from so great a distance?

I do not know my friend. But look now, as it begins to dwindle and fail. Perhaps due to wind that assails it from its astonishing height, Surkon remarked.

With such a wind it should not have been lit at all. What flame can begin, remain lit, and only dwindle after a time, at such a wintry height? What could fuel it? Adomis asked fearfully, still fixed upon the sight, on the side of the mountain.

Only a flame of unnatural origin, my friend, save for the permanent mist that forever hovers above the highest peak, there is hardly a cloud in the sky. This rules out that lightening may have caused the light, replied Surkon. But Lo! The flame is dying off and now vanishes!

Aye, the flame is gone, just as suddenly as it appeared.

Fires that burn on the side of the Misty Peak?

It’s not natural, my friend, I know, Adomis said, watching people gathering in the street below, some pointing to the mountains in the distance. It appears that this display has caught the eye of some of the villagers too.

Surkon looked down onto the street and into the many windows as their lights came on. Even through the closed window he could hear people shouting about the mysterious light in the distance.

A sudden knock on the door caused both Surkon and Adomis to reach for their swords, while turning to the door—their reflexes reacting to the mysterious event that had unfolded on the Misty Peak.

Men of Servitica are you there? A voice called from behind the door.

Surkon looked to Adomis with a smile, easing his grip on the hilt of his sword, and relaxing his stance. They both sighed. That’s a female voice on the other side of that door. Expecting anyone to expel that left-over energy?

Adomis silently laughed while easing his stance. How do you figure that because it is a female she is here for me? Besides, we just arrived. Give me another day, then they will be knocking on the door for me, and for me alone, not asking for the Men of Servitica.

Just get the door, Surkon said with a snicker.

Adomis opened the door and was confronted by two women, one blonde, the other a redhead, each wearing a long cloak with a hood. Their faces were both pale and unblemished from the easy life of Voros. Can I help you . . . both?

Sorry to bother the two of you, the blonde one said, looking up and pulling back her hood, her blue eyes staring directly into the face of Adomis. My name Ishel and this is my cousin Verzicka. We live below with my father, who is away on business. We heard that there were two soldiers from Servitica passing through and staying here. With all that is happening, with the mysterious light from the mountains, my cousin and I wish to seek shelter with you brave men.

Well, Adomis said, looking over the two women with much favor. The one called Verzicka pulled back her hood and allowed her red hair to fall to her shoulders. He then glanced back, and remembering Surkon’s temperament, thought it better that these women seek shelter elsewhere. "I would invite the both of you in, but my comrade is not feeling himself