Author: bftowe

“Nameless faces are more easily forgotten,” the Man in Black, the highwayman John Money, from Thirttene Friends.

 

“No one is guaranteed his next breath,” Spellweaver Xenn, from Unwonted Spellweavers.

 

 

Fisher gathered his burgeoning supplies. He expressed no emotion and looked quizzically at Yannuvia. Yannuvia only carried a small backpack, but he had a bag of holding within the pack, so he had ample supplies. He removed a longbow from the bag of holding and draped it across his shoulder. Unbeknownst to Fisher, Yannuvia kept an artifact, the Firestone, in his raiment. The wild woods were not a safe place, particularly when one’s companion stood out like a sore thumb. Fisher might blend into a glacier or snowstorm.

“Let’s go,” Yannuvia suggested and walked through the tree.

When the Spellweaver turned he did not see the Mender. Yannuvia reentered the tree and found him standing perplexed within the small guest tree.

“How did I get in the tree? How do I get out? Where it only a little bit darker, I could,” Fisher lamented.

“Fisher, I don’t know how you propagate, but I seriously doubt Dienas and the folks of Lost Sons want you doing it in their guest tree,” Yannuvia said with consternation.

“I do nothing lewd, Spellweaver. I’m not a Kiennite. I only seek a dark place to plant my seed,” Fisher answered. He continued, “And now if you’d be so kind as to show me how to get out of this tree.”

“It’s easy. Just follow in my shadow. I’m sorry. The gray light minimizes my shadow. Just hold onto my cloak,” Yannuvia suggested.

Fisher gingerly grasped the Spellweaver’s cloak and followed Yannuvia through the bark of the red elm.

“Odd sensation. I’d think you’d have trouble with splinters. I’d be good at removing them,” Fisher commented.

“We are one with the trees of the forest, Fisher. Friends don’t give friends splinters. As soon as we leave the confines of Lost Sons, we enter the wild woods. We won’t find many friends,” the Drelve cautioned.

“How does the old barkeep come by his moniker?” asked Ceephus, a third advisor.

“E-squared? His name was too hard to pronounce by his patrons once they imbibed his wares. He is of another generation. Most citizens never live to see the color of brown, an unavoidable consequence of seeing many planting seasons. It’s a great distinction to be given the surname Brown. Most say the old geezer’s longevity comes his imbibing his own beverages. E-squared Brown. He’s a treasure of Vydaelia. You would know this if you paid attention in school, Ceephus,” Phade chided.

“I never cared that much for school, Phade. But if the barmaids that work here had been the teachers, I’d would’ve done better,” Ceephus answered.

 

 

.

 

Knarra said, “Go to the first door.”

Erinnia opened the door easily. She found a room with no defined dimensions. There was a blue sky filled with small fluffy clouds. The floor was grassy; there was a small tree with light green fruits. A white bird warbled in the tree.

“OK! This has to be illusory! I know we are deep within the world,” Nigel declared.

Roscoe peered through his prism and reported, “It’s a partridge in a pear tree.”

Cade drew his bow and released an arrow which struck the bird. The bird shrieked and fell out of the tree. Nigel inspected the bird and the tree.

He said, “It was a partridge in a pear tree.”

Tentatively, young Xerin approached old Zysle where the elder Draith labored.

“I am instructed to serve you, Master,” Xerin said.

Zysle muttered “Gorge dub you Bush”, struck a small black stone with the rod, and produced two identical stones. He did not acknowledge the youth.

Awkwardly, the youth continued, “Master, do you require any assistance?”

Zysle turned his gray-green eyes toward the youth and finally asked, “Is this something that you want to do?”

“It is my privilege to do the will of my elders and people. What I want is not important. Your question confuses me, Master. Should not any Draith accomplish whatever he can for the betterment of our people? Our teachers say we should strive for excellence and accept nothing less than being the best at any task. The new arena is filled every amber period. Competition grows fierce, even among the older groups. I look forward to my days as a scout. Perhaps it will be me that breaks the stone of Ooranth with my hand,” Xerin answered.

Zysle’s facial expression did not change. Draiths seldom showed emotion. The rigors of life in the mountains and the constant wars with giants and ogres had hardened the Draith people. Emotions and feelings were driven deeply into their consciousness. Zysle found the youth’s answer acceptable.

“The elders and the council reveal their fear of Magick and the shadow of the gray sun. My eyes have changed to gray. This enhances their fear. I can now see movements in the dark,” Zysle responded flatly.

The Tree Sprite coyly said to Agrarian, “You are pretty, Spellweaver. Maybe you’d like to come into my tree for a while. I have byneberry wine and passion fruit. Very tasty! But it’s not the sweetest thing I’m offering, if you know what I mean. Tree Shepherd, may I have this pretty Spellweaver?”

Tull kindly said, “He’d best stay with us, Lady of the Trees.”

The svelte little tree sprite replied seductively “I won’t keep him long, Teacher.”

Old Tull complimentarily said, “Oh, I suspect your beauty would forever detain him, my Lady.”

The tree sprite blushed, but her bright green skin turned purple instead of red. The tree sprite’s blue hair and purple eyes contrasted with her bright green skin. The greenness returned after her blushing ended. Though totally out of place in most of the World of the Three Suns, the little creature appeared perfectly at home in the Green Vale. As tall as thirty-six inchworms stacked end-to-end, the three-foot-tall sprite was about two-thirds the height of Russell, who was an average sized Drelve.

Playing on the sprite’s vanity, the Teacher Tull said politely and redundantly, “Thank you for allowing our eyes to behold your beauty, Lady of the Trees. It’s been too long. We can’t all be as beautiful as you. Please bear with us, and we thank you for allowing our glances.”

The tree sprite accepted the compliments and offered, “You may try some of my wondrous fruits.”

Tull interjected, “Ahem. We’ll accept the fruits of the trees, Lady of the Trees.”

“Quick, get off the trail. Someone’s coming!” Birney whispered. The little Drelves slunk to the side of the path and sat beneath a bramble bush.

A huge Droll walked near them, stopped for a moment, sniffed, and looked all around. Invisimoss shielded them from the keen eyes of the sentries, and the gray berries disguised their essence form the guards’ keen noses. Drolls had destroyed the forest near the tower and laid bare the land. There was nowhere to hide. Sentries on the wall walk at the top of the thirty-foot-tall tower had a clear new of the area around. The tower sat about fifty Yardley paces from the River Ornash. Drolls constantly watched the river. A Kiennite wearing an ornate robe walked back and forth across the bridge near the tower and fired bolts of purplish energy into the water. Huge fires burned on both sides of the river.

Xenn said, “Magick Missile Spells.”

Birney observed, “Fishing? Guess they are too lazy to use poles.”

Xenn whispered, “We are out of sight and smell. There’s so much noise with all the chopping and fires, they won’t hear us.”

Birney asked, “Are we going to use the odd round balls?”

Xenn said, “Yes. How far can you throw one of them?”

Birney said, “Not as far as I can hit the enemies with my bow. I’m in easy range of the tower from where we stand, but there are too many to take out with arrows. In fact, even if your spells destroy the tower, there are so many Drolls about that I don’t think we can succeed. We ought to fall back, Spellweaver. In my greed for vengeance, I have placed you at risk.”

Xenn said, “No one is guaranteed his next breath. Let’s proceed.”

Ranger Birney did not sleep. The veteran lay on his simple cot in the small red elm that was his home and recalled his great friend Mikkal and the many hours he’d spent with Mikkal and Tiffanne. Tiffanne had nigh chosen Birney as her life-mate, but Birney never revealed his feelings to her. Thus, she turned to Mikkal and their love blossomed. Ever the true friend, Birney stood by Mikkal as his best-Drelve at the ceremony of life-time commitment that united the happy couple. Birney had stood toe-to-toe with Drolls twice his size and Kiennish shaman, who fired blistering Magick against him. He’d accompanied the Teacher to Green Vale and stood among the Thirttene Friends whilst the enhancing root tubers were harvested and resisted the advances of the flirtatious Dryad. He’d battled noir skats, wailers, Baxcats, Leicats, and most predators that invaded the forests around Alms Glen. With Mikkal he’d bested the strange tall sorcerer that fell from the skies and bequeathed the brace of potions to gain his freedom. He’d felt the joy of seeing Xenn enter the world and the exhilaration of standing in the gray light of the Approximation. Now, the veteran Ranger struggled with his feelings. Looking into Tiffanne’s eyes furthered Birney’s angst. Since Mikkal fell, Birney had spent much time with the young Spellweaver Xenn, stood guard by his tree, and served many extra watches in the great trees bordering the wide Meadow of Lament. Nothing quelled his anger.

Xenn extended his hands and muttered an Entangle Spell. Nearby vines wrapped around the big Droll’s legs and brought him to the ground.

Another Droll shouted, “Dewrong! That’s Magick! He’s a Spellweaver! We’ll be rewarded well! Bind and gag him quickly lest he places spells on us!”

Xenn managed a Command Spell, saying “Stop.” The second Droll stopped moving, but his fellows rapidly gagged and bound the young Spellweaver. Dewrong angrily ripped the vines from his massive body.

The big Droll growled. “I’m going to enjoy tearing you up, Spellweaver. Your ilk has tormented my ancestors. Stole the heirloom that controlled the Firehorses! Destroyed the Firehorse brigade! Know Dewrong Korcran will be your end.”

A Droll shook his unmoving comrade and said, “Dewrong, Tummus isn’t moving and does not speak.”

Dewrong said, “He seldom says much of import, Norgle. It was a simple spell. Smack him! He’ll probably wake up. I’m more interested in getting our prize back to camp.”

Norgle slapped Tummus. The force of the blow knocked the Droll down and aroused him. Tummus jumped up and said, “What’d you do that for, Norgle. Dewrong, Farong, Fluggle! You’ve captured the Spellweaver! May I tear off a few of his fingers?”

Dewrong said, “Patience, Tummus. There’ll be plenty of time for it. He’ll sing like a bird and tell all about Drelvedom’s defenses. Let’s make ready. Farong and Fluggle, carry his sorry a**!”

Farong said, “Boss, it won’t take both of us to carry his scrawny a**!”

Dewrong Korcran said sternly, “Listen to me, you t**ds! Keep that a******’s mouth covered and his hands secure. I don’t want spells thrown against us.”

Fluggle timidly answered, “You got it, Boss!”

Norgle asked, “What about Zagnar?”

Dewrong said, “What about him? He got bested by a Drelve! He’s just carrion. Do you want to carry him back to camp, Norgle?”

Tummus, Farong, Fluggle, and Dewrong shared a laugh. Norgle growled under his breath. Only Xenn saw the movement in the dark waters of the Ornash. Farong and Fluggle threw their axes over their backs and picked up the struggling Spellweaver. A dark form silently moved across the water.

Old Zysle passed the black rod of Ooranth to Xerin. Xerin struck the stone of Ooranth with the rod and said, “Gorge dub you bush.” Maroon liquid oozed from the rod. Zysle gave the youth the little bag of holding.

The two sat in the amber light. Words formed in Xerin’s mind. “Your command is “Mill lard fill mar.” Xerin gripped the black rod, muttered “Mill lard fill mar,” and struck the stone of Ooranth. The stone divided into daughter stones equal in size to the original. More phrases entered Xerin’s mind.

 

“I give you my blood through which you will receive all you seek. You in turn give to me your all.”

Ǿ ∞ Ǿ

 

Old Zysle smiled and presented the small crystal orb and said, “Guard well this little orb. It may save you from Magick one day.”

Thereafter dreams troubled Xerin.