Druid's Child

By Dale R. Bonifield

Druid's Child is the story of Adam, a young child born unto the Druid legacy and of the adventures he faces growing up and meeting his final destiny with Crough, the evil God who is bent on destroying all that is good in the lands. Adam is protected first and foremost by his grandfather, the great Druid Starwald, along with the finest warriors in the lands from the races of Men, Giants, Elves, and Dwarfs. The great fire of death powers the evil forces that invade the westlands as Adam and Starwald race to save all. With additional help from Brun, the greatest warrior of the race of man, the companions encounter multiple battles with the enemy, culminating in a deathly encounter with Crough. Follow the companions on their journey in this epic fantasy story that will leave you wanting more every time you stop reading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667878645

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Druid’s Child

© Dale R. Bonifield

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-66787-863-8 | eBook ISBN: 978-1-66787-864-5

Map by Elisabeth Bonifield

Contents

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

DRUID’S CHILD PART II

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Part I

Chapter 1

Black clouds swirled high above the city-like fortress of Torg Mautta, creating whirlpools of darkness encircled by silver linings that made them appear like dark saucers. The unrelenting rain battered down upon the cold stone of the ageless fortress, creating a cacophony of sounds that blended together to create a symphony of unending dark noise.

Torg Mautta’s location at the base of the Black Grolock mountains was built for the constant rainfall as storms that made their way east from the western lowlands would back up against the high jagged peaks of the dark mountains and have nowhere to go. Fed by Cripal Lake moistures, the two would mix to produce constant moisture that ranged from steady downpours to a heavy mist that hid all the horrors that defined Torg Mautta’s past.

But this day was different. The black whirlpools in the sky were turning with a ferocity that belied the normalcy of the eastern empire. Something different—and very evil—was in the air. Suddenly the air above the fortress seemed to move in different directions and the circles of darkness screamed, joining together as if actually coming alive and blowing a hurricane force wind down onto the fortress walls.

As this happened, in the eastern-most tower of Torg Mautta, deep in the reaches of the ancient castle, in one of the anti-chambers that made up the lower dungeons, an ancient evil began to stir. The still air within the chamber began to swirl and groan just as the clouds above were doing the same. On a stone dais in the middle of this particular antechamber lay the body of a tall man dressed in black tunics. Nothing else surrounded the dais; it sat like a lone beacon in the room. As the dank air shifted and swirled within the chamber, the chest of the man suddenly began to move with the breath of life, and the evil god Crough opened his eyes for the first time in two thousand years.

At the same time, in the adjoining tower to the west, the evil sorcerer Cictak awoke suddenly in a cold sweat as an icy shudder rolled through his body. His sorcerer’s awareness immediately screamed within his soul that something drastic had just occurred. It took him a minute to become fully awake and as he did so, he realized what had happened … the evil lord had arisen.

Quickly, my robe, ordered Cictak to a Morg chamber gremlin who stood guard near the wooden door to his dimly lit and starkly cold chamber, which resembled all the rooms and chambers within Torg Mautta: dark, outfitted with stone furnishings, cold, and with a stale air that would sicken the senses of normal beings.

I believe our destiny will begin today, murmured Cictak in a monotonous, cold voice to nobody in particular, although the black-clad Morg who handed him his robe bowed and nodded in robot-like obedience as he backed away from the sorcerer.

Sorcerers tended to be on the thin side because of the nourishment and use of calories that were required to be able to channel their powers, but Cictak was especially thin, with a gaunt looking face that made him look more ugly than fearsome. The stark paleness of his face contrasted with his robe, which was woven of black and gold threads with the insignia upon his shoulders that marked him as the high sorcerer of Torg Mautta and leader of all the eastern armies. That is, leader until this day, until this very morning when the universe had deemed it time to awaken Crough.

Arising from his stone and wooden bed, Cictak glided across the stone floor, seemingly without touching it or moving his feet, to where the gremlin archbishop Morg was kneeling in reverence to the great evil leader, and his king. Although powerful himself and knowledgeable in the ways of sorcery and its evil uses, the gremlin was no match for the power of Cictak, and he trembled slightly in his leader’s presence.

My Lord, I am thy servant, he growled out in a routinely cold voice that sounded powerful, yet in some awe of his lord and master.

The prophesized writings of the Word have come true, and Crough has awakened, barked Cictak to the suddenly wide-eyed and frightened gremlin bishop.

Crough has … awakened, but …

Never mind, you fool, snapped Cictak as his body suddenly began growing in stature until he towered over the gremlin to a height of about seven feet. I must prepare myself for all that must be done.

Outside, the rain pounded down on the towers and walls of the eastern fortress, and the darkness of midday seemed to thicken and mirror the dark waters of Cripal Lake and the unknown creatures that inhabited its depths.

The Morg gremlin bishop arose to follow in Cictak’s footsteps.

Begin the sacrifice ritual immediately and tell Tunick to assemble the parish of bishops at sunset, ordered Cictak to his follower. I must go down to the forbidden dungeon to greet the reawakening of Crough.

Cictak glided through the large wooden doorway of the chamber, mindlessly using his sorcerer’s power to propel himself forward, unconcerned that his use of magic would be sensed by anyone important that might be near enough to feel his use of the power. He moved rapidly through the spiraling stone stairwell that wound its way down through the southwest tower of Torg Mautta. Small open windows within the stone tower opened up views in all directions. The vast Morglands to the west, the black mountains to the east, and Cripal Lake, just south of the tower.

As he descended the tall tower, Cictak went over in his mind very carefully how to great the great evil god and shuddered internally at the thought of the encounter. He glided out into the dark daylight of the rainy day, into the inner courtyard of the great fortress, and made his way to the eastern tower.

I must convince Crough that I am the one, the only one, who can do his bidding and conquer the lands. Then I too shall have the bidding to become a god that will serve Crough, and rule all else, he thought to himself. I have waited a thousand long years for today, he whispered aloud to nobody in particular.

Morg patrols busily conducting combat drills and exercises under the watchful guidance of archbishop commanders, knelt and bowed their heads in respect and fear as the reclusive evil sorcerer passed.

High over their heads an orange flame suddenly came to life and illuminated the gold half-dome atop the eastern tower, shining brightly down upon the blackness of the stones, all the way to the inner courtyard. The half-dome roof of the tower was constructed of pure gold, and bright flame now within gave it an odd luster that contrasted with everything that made up Torg Mautta. None alive in the courtyard that day had ever seen the tower so lit, not even Cictak. Now the roar of the flames within the dome could be heard over the silence of the soldiers, and the constant pounding of the rain.

The sacrifices will begin today, announced a thin, sunken-faced gremlin bishop to this platoon of dark Morg soldiers once Cictak had glided past and was safely out of earshot. Prepare for war, he hissed to his company. This can only mean that the Word has been avenged and Crough has awakened, the gray-cloaked bishop snarled as he stared at the euphoric glow of the dome.

Awed murmurs ran through the platoon of Morg soldiers, each transfixed on the eerie sight of the dome, as if hypnotized by the rhythmic sounds and flashing reflections being created by the great flame.

Cictak passed by the final platoons of soldiers, crossed under a series of archways, and into a lower courtyard that led to the eastern tower. This courtyard was deserted, and a maze of weeds grew weakly between the stone steps of the pathway he followed. It was apparent that this portion of the fortress was not maintained, which was a result of the gremlin bishops religiously forbidding entrance into what they called Crough’s sacred brothel.

The weeds melted before Cictak as he crossed his way toward the eastern wall and tower. The glow from the dome created a long eerie shadow that followed Cictak’s wiry frame. The thunderous noise of the flame echoed off the stone walls, sending reverberations throughout the fortress city and into the lands below to the south and west.

Cictak glided right up to the solid but neglected stone wall at the base of the tower, stopping roughly an arm and a half’s distance from the round edge of the dark stone. Feeling his way carefully along the stone, he searched for several minutes for just the right position, then he raised both arms slowly and pointed his fingers directly at the tower’s stone. Instantly, orange fire leapt from his fingertips and began to scorch a design in the stone of the wall. Slowly, he formed a perfectly scorched six-pointed star in the facing of the stone.

Bringing down his arms, he breathed a sigh of relief and dried the droplets of sweat that appeared on his dark wrinkled forehead and around his black, deep-set eyes. In front of him a black smoke drifted up in the gray daylight from the scorched stone. He could smell the dirt and moss burn away. It smelled like a rotten animal being burned up in flames.

Reaching underneath his dark cloak, he unhooked a silver amulet that was fastened to a chain around his waist. Slowly, he matched the star-shaped amulet perfectly over the burned design on the stone and pressed it firmly against the wall. It stuck. As the sorcerer released the amulet, he stepped back one step and the amulet seemed to simply melt into the stone. As it disappeared into the stone, a low, grinding noise from somewhere below the wall began to shake the whole courtyard. As the evil one took another step back, the stone where the amulet had disappeared began to glow orange and emit a hiss that sounded like a rattler preparing to attack.

Cictak stood motionless as the roar of the fire within the dome was momentarily drowned out by the hiss coming from the stone and the groaning and shaking of the land underneath his feet.

Then, as suddenly as it had all begun, the violence stopped, and the roar of the fire overhead again dominated. Continuing his focus and concentration on the wall with a spell that only a master sorcerer could yield, a door-sized portion of the tower wall began to slowly disappear. The evil one held his breath, concentrating all his energies into his spell. Then, the round shaped section of tower wall that was fading was gone, revealing an entrance into the tower, with a stone staircase that went straight downward from the entrance.

Cictak breathed a sigh of relief, gathered himself, glided through the entrance, and began descending into the darkness. He quickly created a sorcerer’s candle to light his way, as behind him the stones of the tower reappeared and the entryway he had created was gone.

The staircase angled down rather sharply, but Cictak simply glided above the steps as he descended. Down he went, more than a hundred steps before finally emerging in a large chamber. Upon all four walls of the chamber were shelves of books and scrolls that hadn’t been touched in a very long time. They appeared to be yellow around the edges, and dust had turned them all into the same blackish-gray color. There simply was no color to be found anywhere in Torg Mautta; everything was black and gray. Between the wooden shelves, the stone walls of the chamber appeared cold, hard, and impenetrable. The staircase Cictak had come down was off to the side of the chamber and was almost hidden, carved into the stone so that it would be difficult to see from anywhere else within the chamber. Cictak’s eyesight adjusted as his sorcerer’s candle illuminated more of the chamber.

The chamber was indeed large, as the far wall blended into the darkness, making it impossible to see exactly where it was. On the wall to Cictak’s right a grand stairway led up to a ledge that looked like a greeting area and main entrance. Even from where he stood, Cictak could tell no one had ventured on those steps in hundreds of years.

There were no furnishings in the chamber except for a large wooden planking that looked like a bed, and which hung from the ceiling in the middle of the chamber. The ten-foot bed was supported by about twenty black iron chains which hung from the ceiling high above and which were long enough to allow the planking to land at eye level. Upon the planking Cictak could see a still body lying in the darkness. The evil sorcerer approached it slowly, struggling to maintain even the small amount of concentration needed to keep his candle alit.

Silence permeated within the chamber; even the constant drone of the flamed dome could not be heard this deep underground. As he approached the body that lay on the planking, he could feel a lifeforce about the body that signaled to him that this person was clearly alive.

He glided up next to the body and moved his sorcerer’s candle through the air up near the head of the body. As he did so, the person on the planking opened his eyes and looked directly at Cictak! The evil one let out a sigh, quickly gathering himself as he realized that his god Crough was indeed alive and awake.

For a moment nothing happened. Cictak could clearly see Crough’s eyes. They were just as the writings of the Word had described—one black and one blue, and they looked evil in a way that was hard to describe. The sight started Cictak, and his flame flickered for just a moment as he lost spell concentration. He quickly corrected his mind’s direction, the flame brightened, and he took a deep breath as the body below him began to make more audible breathing noises.

Quickly now, Cictak glided across the cold, clean stone floor of the chamber to the darkness of the far wall. There, he let his evil sense guide his hand over the surface of the wall to where a round winch was located. Cictak placed his hands upon the winch and, first with a groan, then a squeaking, the winch turned and the wooden planking upon which Crough lay was slowly lowered to the cold stone of the chamber floor.

Cictak sighed, and with a measure of hesitancy, he glided over to inspect the legend. At first sight, the sorcerer could see that aside from the large and different colored eyes, his god was very ordinary looking. He wore only a tunic around his waist and was otherwise naked. Even though he had been asleep for two thousand years, he was clean shaven and had the body configuration of a very large young man. He had the whitest skin Cictak had ever seen, except around his wrists where his skin showed two rings of terrible looking purple and yellow blisters.

In the dim light Cictak could see that Crough’s head was bald and he had no body hair. He lay staring straight up into the ceiling and his chest moved rhythmically up and down with the breath of life. His arms lay at this sides and his palms were open, facing the ceiling. Upon the left palm, about the size of an Urkandan silver piece, was a birthmark in the shape of a star, similar to the mark Cictak also bore upon his left hand.

A cold sweat began to bead on Cictak’s forehead now with the job at hand. He had to finish what had been started here today. Cictak reached for a chain that was strung through the tunic around the god’s waist and dislodged a gold, six-sided star that was small, but heavy as pure gold might be.

Nervously, Cictak placed the gold piece directly upon the birthmark that Crough bore upon his left palm. Immediately and without warning, orange fire burst from Crough’s eyes and hands, exploding up toward the ceiling, simultaneously sending a sheet of yellow flame up into the ceiling where it spread across the entire top of the chamber and down its walls. Cictak protected himself from the immense heat and flame with his own protective spell.

The wall of orange and yellow flame quickly spread over the scrolls and books that lined the walls, instantly burning them to ashes. Spreading with incredible speed, it quickly engulfed the entire chamber, including the floor. Cictak floated just above the burning flames as the entire chamber became a hot orange inferno.

Then Crough’s hand moved and closed upon the amulet, and suddenly there was complete life in his body. Slowly, amidst the intense heat and roar of the flames that engulfed him, he rose to a sitting position, then stood up, and turned to face the floating sorcerer in front of him.

Chapter 2

Rulug was a gremlin bishop with an overabundant ambition. His leadership in the war with the Crathians and his defeat of the Serpent King of Cssisor three hundred years earlier in the battle for the Desert of Sin had earned him high honors in Cictak’s hierarchy.

As Speaker of the parish of all gremlin bishops, both Morg and Andarak, he was a powerful and dangerous magician.

But now as he made his way through the crowded streets of West Demlin, he blended right into the crowd made up of merchants from all over the western lands. As he was smaller in stature, as magicians tended to be, not many people bothered to notice his dark, deep-set eyes that marked him as a Morg.

Having left his winged horse disguised as a cow in the wheat fields outside the city, Rulug was forced to walk through the bustling streets. He dared not use any movement spells this close to western enemies. He didn’t like it much, but a horse, and especially a winged one, would attract attention that he didn’t need.

Moving quickly through the throngs of those intent on doing their day’s business or chores, Rulug made his way to a tavern that was located in the northern section of the city. The northern part of the city was made up of mostly merchant shacks, taverns, brothels, and street markets where much trading and selling took place. It was a place where you needed to protect yourself. Rulug went unnoticed in the confusion and chaos of midday marketing as he made his way to a windowless tavern at the end of one of the streets that stretched out from the main marketplace like spokes on a wagon wheel.

Here the narrow streets were lined with apartment buildings, sometimes three and four stories high, that served to block out the sun, even close to midday. Thousands of people lived in these apartments, often seven to ten to a single unit. Even with the mass of humanity, or maybe because of it, there was a tavern every fifty feet, and they were all quite full, even though it was midday. That was often the case in West Demlin. The city was basically divided into a northern half and southern half, and although it was all one city, lifestyles were very different depending on where you lived. While this northern half was busy twenty-four hours a day, and basically policed itself, the southern section of the city was quite subdued and lent itself to processing the agricultural fields that surrounded the city. The southern section also housed a Bourn regiment, and that part of the city was more heavily populated by Bourn legion soldiers.

It was much safer for Rulug to choose this inconspicuous area in the northern section to meet with Armit in the dark tavern at the end of this street.

Rulug entered under a sign which read The Raven’s Nest—Drink and Meat. The place was packed with a variety of people, from farmers to nomads to Randarian merchants. As he entered, three Bourn foot soldiers sat laughing quite loudly at the closest end of the bar, obviously drunk. Rulug silently slipped by and sat down at a table near the far end of the bar next to a large man who wore the armor and insignia of an Archlot horse warrior.

Immediately, a bar runner set down two tall mugs of stout on the table. Two mugs, said the short balding man as he looked down at his dirty white apron.

Rulug reached beneath his gray cloak and flipped two silver pieces down on the table. The serving man quickly reached his arm to the table and clasped the two coins.

In a flash, Rulug grabbed the main’s arm. No interruptions, he said softly, not letting the server see his face, which was mostly hidden underneath his hooded cloak.

Yes, sir, no interruptions, replied the rather startled server as he quickly walked away, rubbing the soreness where Rulug had gripped his arm.

Any news? Rulug asked softly from underneath his cloak.

How about some payment, my Lord? I am quite hungry, retorted the large man rather hesitantly in the monotone voice that characterized Naylot warriors.

Armit, you fool, I could blow out the flame that is your life in a second, yet I choose to let you live because you serve me a useful purpose … and you ask me for money, Rulug replied in the same soft, yet menacing voice, still concealing his face.

Forgive me, my Lord, apologized Armit, suddenly realizing the powerful gremlin was in no mood to be bargained with. But I have ridden from Archlot in just fourteen days without sleep, and with no food for the last two days. And if I am not back before the calendar changes I will be missed, whined Armit in a drab monotone.

Don’t worry fool, I will make sure you are back in time. It wouldn’t do for my only spy in the entire state of Naylot to get his head cut off. I shall give you the will to make the return trip in ten days before the calendar turns in your silly army.

You are most kind, my Lord, although I do not enjoy traveling under a spell, it is much preferable to the neck-blade.

Now then, is there any news of strange births in the westlands? whispered Rulug in an impatient manner.

No, my Lord, no news of births that were different, but one of my men heard rumor at the embarkment that the great sorcerer Starwald had journeyed from the Valley of the Druids into the lands.

Yes, that would make sense, he would be alerted to Crough’s awakening, and he would be searching for the Child of Light also, Rulug whispered, almost to himself.

Then you mean the rumors are true, that the evil one has risen from the dead? questioned Armit in a suddenly terrified voice.

But Rulug did not answer the man and made a movement with his hand for Armit to lower his voice.

Where is Starwald rumored to be? he demanded.

I know not my Lord, answered Armit. The rumor had it that he had entered the eastern Nomad plains, said the Naylot warrior, who was quite heavily armored with sword, dagger, and body plating. Shall I keep alerted to news of a strange birth, my Lord?

No, you fool, the birth has already taken place, what I need to know is where it happened. I must find this child quickly before Starwald. It is said the birth will involve the line of Bonar and the ancient Elven line of Lorinac. The question is where I can find a meeting of these heritages.

I know not, my Lord, but it will be difficult to find if not in one of the large cities or if it took place in Elvenland, said the burly, unshaven warrior, looking down into his already empty mug of stout.

I have already searched Elvenland, and they are not there, whispered Rulug.

A look of astonishment came over the face of Armit. My Lord has been in Elvenland and returned unscathed?

Of course, you fool, Elven magic alone is no match for me, and besides, the stories of what the Elves do to foreigners are greatly exaggerated.

Still, Armit had a newfound look of respect and admiration for Rulug, and at the same time his fear of the gremlin increased considerably.

Listen, whispered Rulug, moving closer to the man. You must keep your ears open for any rumors of a strange child with different colored eyes born unto a Bourn man and an Elven girl. If you hear of such a child, you must keep my name in your mind for one entire day. I will check your mind daily from afar to see if you have heard about this child.

Armit nodded his head in understanding of the gremlin’s instructions.

With that, Rulug flipped a gold piece onto the table in front of the Naylot warrior and gulped down his stout.

Armit reached for the gold immediately and snatched it up without looking at Rulug.

Satisfied that he had gotten all he was going to get from the man, the gremlin bishop got up and began to make his way out of the tavern, as he mulled over the news about Starwald, now even more anxious to continue his search for the child.

Just as he was passing by the end of the bar nearest to the tavern entrance, one of the drunken Bourn soldiers turned from his mug at the bar to get up and came face to face with the strange, gray-cloaked figure.

Say, friend, why don’t you show us your face? laughed the big red-haired man as he stepped right in the path of the smaller Rulug.

Rulug said nothing.

What’s wrong, can’t you talk either? Or are you so ugly that you’re not only afraid to show us your face, but afraid to speak as well? he laughed.

Now everybody in the tavern was looking, as the other two soldiers drew their sabers, more in a show pride in being allowed to have them, than for any other reason.

Still, Rulug did not move and kept his face well concealed under the hood of this cloak.

I think we should take him to the captain, Jess, said one of the two soldiers with drawn sabers, and who was obviously not as drunk as the big red-haired one who had stopped the gremlin from leaving. This one looks strange and he carries no tunics or merchant markings.

The red-haired soldier looked back at his comrade and then back at Rulug, contemplating what he should do.

Speak, fellow, and state your business in West Demlin, the red-haired soldier named Jess cracked with confidence, now quite serious about the whole matter.

The whole tavern had grown very quiet now as they watched the confrontation continue to unfold.

Still, Rulug remained motionless, his face almost totally hidden under the outcropping of his hood.

I don’t like troublemakers, stranger, so you better loosen your tongue before I loosen it for you, bellowed the bearded soldier, not getting quite angry at Rulug’s refusal to play his game.

Let’s take him out into the street and teach him to respect the legion of Bourn, laughed a third soldier confidently.

Good idea, said Jess, and he reached out to grab Rulug.

But just as he touched the gray cloak, a shot of orange flame burst forth from Rulug, incinerating the bearded man in an immense explosion.

Shouts of horror rang up from the people inside the tavern and the other two soldiers jumped to their feet, sabers drawn, now sober and ready for a fight.

But as the smoke cleared from where the red-haired soldier had been standing, the smaller cloaked figure was gone, and the only thing remaining was a darkened stain on the floor, a blackened sword, and a smoldering stink arising from the ashes that had been Jess.

At the back of the tavern, Armit quietly slipped out a side door, unseen in the ruckus and confusion.

Outside the city of West Demlin, Rulug disengaged his movement spell that had taken him from the troublesome tavern and now quickly changed the odd-looking cow back into his winged stallion, and hurriedly flew off to the north. Best to be as far away from the city as possible before his spell wielding alerted anyone that might be listening.

However, the gremlin bishop had not been aware that there was in fact another sorcerer within listening distance, who was alerted to his spell casting. Use of the death magic was quite loud and easy for one with magic to sense. Unwittingly, Rulug had just announced his presence in the westlands to the great Druid magician Starwald.

Chapter 3

Travel along the Great Troll Road was difficult during the winter in the Nomad plains. Strong, freezing-cold winds blew constantly across the open tundra during the coldest months, and could last for a hundred days and nights, or more. At night, temperatures froze any standing liquid.

Traveling east of the road during this time was unthinkable; even the Nomads who roamed the eastern plains during the summer months moved west of the road during the severe winters. The barren, snow-covered eastern plains remained deserted during most winters.

But this was not like most winters. There was an air of urgent expectancy that permeated all the lands. Rumor had it that Crough, the legendary evil god, had awakened the summer before and that the two lands would again meet in mortal combat. This, however, was no rumor to the two lone figures that trudged step by step through the desolate eastern plains.

Starwald had easily sensed the awakening of Crough and his powers had shown to him that Cictak the evil sorcerer had been present at the time of the awakening. But the great wizard also knew that this meant that at the same time there had to be an accompanying birth of a new and powerful child of light somewhere in the lands. It was his mission to find the child. This was the way of the Word.

A chill wind few across the barren plains as the two figures, one rather smallish in a blue cloak, and one extremely large with a silver cloak draped around his tremendous body, moved through the light coating of snow that covered the uneven tundra of the plains.

Do you feel it’s necessary to travel so far from the road even in these wintery times, my friend? inquired the large fellow of the one wearing the blue cloak.

Yes, Lord Hightower, these are dangerous times and Cictak will have spies everywhere. It is best if we travel where nobody will look, answered the diminutive man, speaking between the whiskers of his gray beard which was combed to a perfect point and hung past his chin to the midpoint of his chest.

One of Cictak’s spies by the name of Rulug announced his presence to me not more than a week ago.

Where was this foul Rulug that you speak of, Starwald? asked the large fellow of the smaller one in blue.

He was in the Southern Plains of Man somewhere. I wasn’t sure of his exact location, but I know he killed a man with his magical powers, lamented Starwald.

The smaller wizard shivered as the wind picked up and tiny snowflakes blew in their faces.

As a Giant I have experienced some cold and snowy winters, but this wind is enough to scare off any living creature, half-joked the huge figure in silver as he adjusted his cloak to cover his freezing face.

Yes, my friend, but you know as well as I that horses would never make it through a trip on the winter plains and we are simply too close to the enemy’s lair for me to use any transport spells; Cictak’s archbishops would sense it immediately, yelled the Druid to be heard over the wind, which now had picked up into a howling storm.

I believe that we are in for a bad storm, yelled Hightower as he pointed to a dark cloud mass that stretched all the way to the ground and that was moving in quickly toward them from the east.

You’re right, my friend, we had better make camp here and wait this one out, Starwald yelled back.

With ease, the Giant unfastened his silver cloak and slid the large pack he carried off his back. The pack was as large as Starwald himself and probably weighed twice as much, but for a Giant like Hightower it was an easy burden to bear.

I think we had better dig under for this one, yelled Hightower as he took out a large, sharply pointed shovel with a very short handle from the pack and began digging through the covering of snow into the rough tundra.

The storm was already reaching its full potential as swirling snow blew everywhere and it grew very dark. Starwald could barely make out the large form of the great Giant working quickly, yet with ease, just a few feet away.

Within minutes, the Giant had dug a round hole through the snow and dirt some fifteen feet in diameter and about three feet down into the tundra.

Your strength and agility are truly admirable traits, my friend, said Starwald as they quickly erected a white canvas over the dugout that the Giant had dug.

There you go, my friend, I only wish I had the time to dig this hole deeper into the ground so that I could stand up and stretch my bones every now and then, as we may be here for a while, bellowed the Giant in good humor as they finished tying down the canvas above them. But, also, the ground is hard as rock in this particular spot.

A howling wind rippled off the canvas above as a strange glow pierced the calmness of the little dugout from the odd, round shaped lantern Hightower pulled out of his pack. The light from the lantern came from a strange rock set in the middle of the device, which glowed without help from any source of fire.

Well, I may have to scramble on my knees a bit but it sure is going to be nicer in here than out there when this storm hits with all of its power, laughed Hightower as he pulled out some dried bacon and two large loaves of bread.

The two solitary figures relaxed a bit within their calm sanctuary that even provided a bit of warmth as they lay below the surface of the tundra.

I sure do miss not having any butter within my pack, the Giant lamented as he prepared his meal, continuing to talk non-stop as was his habit.

You know, I never have been able to fathom how you do your magic and sorcery, my friend, he went on, but that’s OK because you are a Druid and no one really knows from where you came, but what I can’t fathom is why you don’t indulge in life’s one true great pleasure: eating!

Starwald broke out into loud laughter.

Ah, my friend, if all peoples had your appetite, I’m afraid everybody would soon be starving to death.

Hightower grinned as he pulled out two more loaves of bread and another stick of bacon.

Well, since I packed all this food, I would hate for it to not be eaten, joked the Giant.

Starwald sat with his legs crossed looking at the Giant’s huge forearms rip the loaves of bread apart like they were sheets of paper.

We must quicken our pace once the storm lifts, my friend, said the wizard in a more serious tone of voice. I would like to get to the Northern Nomad embarkment in six days’ time.

And from there? asked the Giant.

We will be meeting a friend there, and then on to Randaria, answered the Druid.

Is this where we will find the child? the Giant asked, raising an eyebrow in an inquisitive manner.

Yes, my friend. Randaria is where we will find the child of light.

The Giant gave a grunt of satisfaction as he finished off his great meal.

I think I will stretch out and sleep for a while, Hightower sighed.

Yes, my friend, you should restore your strength. It has already been a difficult journey. I will awaken you when the storm has abated, the Druid said softly.

The Giant contorted his body within the dugout until he was apparently comfortable, and soon, he was snoring rather loudly.

Starwald sat still under the canopy, staring at the glow coming from the Giant’s lantern. He looked at his Giant friend with fondness, knowing that this honorable warrior would play a vital role in the quest that awaited them. The large figure of the Giant looked odd to the wizard, contorted in a ball shape, mouth wide open to emit loud snores, hand resting securely on the sword at this side. He was twice as tall as any man and barely fit into the dugout he had prepared so quickly. His large bushy eyebrows and jutting forehead dominated his facial features, although his leathery skin was flawless. The Druid felt safe and somewhat reassured, having recruited one of the finest warriors in all the lands to accompany him on the quest that lay ahead.

Starwald turned his gaze from the Giant and looked back into the orange glow of the lantern, and slowly let his mind run with the wind all the way to Randaria, careful to use a mind travel spell that could not be detected by anyone else. Within the city of men, his mind’s eye came to rest in a small apartment in one of the many miner’s shanties.

There, inside the neatly kept apartment, a smallish but beautiful young woman nursed her young son by the light and warmth of the fireplace. The young woman’s face was impeccably beautiful, and her body was sculpted like that of a goddess. A well-built and strong man who bore the blond hair of a Bourn yet had the defined muscles of a Randarian gold miner stood over the fireplace stirring a stew that cooked in a black pot hanging over the burning logs.

Starwald slowly retrieved his mind, closing down the spell, content at the pleasant scene and knowing that the child was still safe.

Chapter 4

Two days later the storm finally abated and Starwald awakened the slumbering Giant.

I believe you would snore away your life if you were allowed to, laughed Starwald as the Giant shook himself awake.

Well maybe in my next life I shall be a Druid and never have the need to sleep, replied Hightower with a small smirk on his face.

After the Giant had consumed another quite large meal, they quickly packed up their canopy and the Giant’s eating tools and resumed their journey northward. The temperature outside was still quite cold, but the biting wind they had been dealing with since the beginning of their journey was no longer present. It had only been ten days since they had started from the base of the Druid mountains, but the delay due to the storm had made it seem longer. The fresh snow powder from the storm that had now passed made the going slow and difficult. Almost two feet of snow had accumulated on the tundra during the two days they had spent within their dugout. Starwald seemed to have no problem with the powder, but for Hightower the snow caused considerable problems. Because of his immense weight he would often sink almost to his knees in the powder.

Can’t you just wield a spell to melt this bothersome snow? snorted the good-natured Giant as he struggled along.

I do not seem to be having any problems with this wonderful gift from the heavens, chuckled Starwald. But then I did not have a cart load of food to eat over the past two days to weigh me down,

Very funny, retorted the Giant.

Eventually Hightower found that by following in the Druid’s path he could manage much more easily, as the snow seemed to melt and become firmer in the sorcerer’s wake.

Because of their unexpected two-day rest, they did not make camp again, but marched straight to the Nomad embarkment in six days’ time. It was not a difficult march, and the two warriors idled away the time in casual conversation that was for the most part light-hearted and lifted their spirits despite what the future portended.

The Nomad embarkment was like all the other embarkments along the Great Troll Road. It had been built thousands of years ago by the Trolls when they had built the magnificent road system that still served all the lands to this day. But the road construction had occurred before the rise of the Shadow Mountains, which followed the great war between the east and the west. At that time, the Trolls had occupied all the northern lands, and traded freely with men and Dwarves alike.

The embarkment towered above the road and split the embarkment in two so that one could not bypass it and stay on the road. All the embarkments were like this so that each territory could charge merchants and travelers for the use of the road in their lands. It was quite ingenious and since there were towns and taverns inside the embarkments, travelers were usually agreeable to paying the fees to enter.

The embarkment itself resembled a great stone castle with huge stone walls built across the road and on all four sides. There were only two gates into the embarkment, and fees were paid upon entering and leaving. Usually, each embarkment was heavily soldiered by the territory it was located in, which meant it was usually safe for weary travelers and anxious merchants.

The North Nomad embarkment was patrolled and kept safe by the legion guard from Tribunal, and although the legion was noted for being fair and honest with all peoples, and very patriotic to the governor of Tribunal, activity inside this embarkment was much like the others along the road system—very loud and gregarious.

Who are we to meet at the embarkment? inquired the Giant as the two travelers neared the south gate.

Eclean, Prince to the Elven throne at Loreen, answered Starwald.

A look of surprise came across the Giant’s face.

I have not heard of an Elf crossing to the mainland in many years, my friend, especially one of such importance. How can we be sure he has crossed the Land Bridge, and what part does an Elf play in this escapade of ours?

A very important part, my dear Giant, and believe me, Eclean is capable of getting to any place in all the lands. Much of the Elven mystery and solitude is only legend, explained the Druid somewhat defensively.

The entrance to the embarkment was magnificent and there was a lot of tradition that went with entering an embarkment, for the vast majority of people in the lands never saw an embarkment during their lifetimes. Most people only knew of embarkments through the exceptional stories that passed from generation to generation, stories that detailed outlandish and thrilling plots and featured heroes and villains, usually culminating in great feats of strength and magnificence that saw the heroes defeat the villains. And although a lot of the storytelling had been embellished over the years by enthusiasm and good stout, most of the stories were routed in truth. Embarkments could be wild and dangerous places.

The entrance to the North Nomad embarkment was made of finely crafted cobblestones, which replaced the dirt of the Great Road for about one hundred feet, leading up to a very tall and thick wooden planked gate which was heavily guarded and shut closed.

The two travelers approached the torch-lit entrance just as nighttime fell and the breeze turned very cold again.

Starwald pulled out three silver pieces and presented them to the guard outside the gate.

As the guard looked up at the old man, his eyes met with those of Starwald. A momentary glance was all Starwald needed, as he entered the man’s mind and convinced him there was nothing unusual about himself or the Giant.

Open the gate, yelled the guard as he put the coins in a small tunic pouch that hung from his impeccably pressed uniform, easily falling prey to Starwald’s mild mind spell.

A loud clicking noise sounded as the heavy wooden gate was opened, revealing a small community of markets, taverns, and inns located inside the embarkment. As if by magic as the gate opened the noise from inside the embarkment was released. Within the walls, this city was built of stone, and it all looked very old and weathered. Upon first appearance, it was not an appealing place.

Charming place, said Hightower in a sarcastic tone which he could muster when he wanted to.

We won’t be here long, replied Starwald as they walked through the archway that supported the gate into the town. Behind them, the gate closed with a thud just as the last remnants of the day’s sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon.

I do not like being closed in like this, my friend, said the Giant nervously. Too many bad things can happen.

I agree with you, my friend. It is especially easy to be spotted by Morg spies. I think it will be best for us to find Eclean immediately.

Suddenly, a loud crash rang into the night as two men grabbing each other flew through a door from a tavern just to their left. Both men were bloodied from the crash, but they continued to pummel each other with their fists as they rolled around in the street. A crowd of onlookers streamed out of the bar to watch.

Maybe I should teach them both a lesson about the proper way to exit a tavern, growled the Giant, enraged over the useless destruction of the land’s wood that had made up the tavern door.

He began to unhook his cloak which was fastened about his waist. But before he could move into the sea of onlookers to get to the two men, Starwald grabbed his thick forearm.