Chapter 7: Causes
Eric leaned against the wall of the stockade long enough to rub the blister that was developing on his heel. "I definitely need to get a new pair of boots. Not that I can find a pair that fit," he muttered as he waved at Stathis, who watched the north side of camp. The last six months had worn through three sets of boots, a set of gloves, and six shields, but Eric still had a few complaints that hadn't grown old to him yet. He saved them to bring out when he had nightwatch duty, and there, he fondly polished them to a warm glow. "Not to mention the food in this place. I'd give a hundred silver for a pepperoni and artichoke pizza right about now. . . " He tried, but he couldn't quite remember what a pepperoni and artichoke pizza tasted like. It still sounded good.
He dusted off another. "Besides, there's nothing to do around here but drill, drill, drill, and march, march, march, camped on this stupid mound of dirt. No movies, no TV. They're lucky we don't just dig our way out to freedom with our spoons." That sounded good, too. He'd heard of someone digging out of someplace with a spoon, but he couldn't remember where.
Stathis hissed at him. "Sssssilencsse. The captain issss coming." Eric pulled himself up to attention. The last year had added muscle to his lean form, and his sword hung at his hip like it belonged there.
The captain emerged from his tent, followed by two of his lieutenants and three men dressed in rich-looking robes. The captain shook hands with the man in the richest robes. "It is agreed. We will meet you at Darkcruigh within a fortnight."
The man in the robes gave a polite bow. "We await your coming eagerly. I bid you good night." The captain himself led the trio to the gates of the stockade where they mounted and disappeared into the night
Eric tugged the tuft of hair growing on his chin thoughtfully, unsure about what he saw. He'd wanted to hide his youth by growing a goatee, but all he got were jokes so far. He shuddered to think about what Diana would say if she saw it. The captain was not above adding to the jests as he strolled casually over. "Pulling on it won't make it grow any faster, my boy," he offered with a smile. "You might pull it out."
Eric stood at attention and didn't twitch, even though talking about it made his chin itch horribly. The captain grinned. "At ease, Eric. Wondering what we took on?"
Eric nodded, relaxing slightly, but self-conscious under the captain's scrutiny. "Yes, Sir."
The Captain nodded. He was a fairly short man, and wiry, with blond hair given well over to gray, and pale blue eyes. "I've heard that you've been a bit concerned about not fighting for an evil cause. One of His pupils, I know. It's not a healthy thing for a mercenary to think about, but you can set your mind at ease. Your first war will be all for the good. We're going to save a princess."
Madelaine emerged from the confines of her cottage. "Has Donovan reached Standwell yet, dear? We have all of these lovely summer vegetables. I would hate to see them go to waste. It would be wonderful if Donovan and your young friend Hank could join us for dinner."
Presto stood, setting the last of the tomatoes into the basket. He'd reached his full height, and though he'd never match Hank, he'd definitely see Eric eye-to-eye. He desperately needed a haircut, but then, he usually did. The young magician's eyes lost focus for a moment. "They're about three miles out of Standwell. Can I go get them? I can meet them at the gates."
Madelaine looked her apprentice up and down. 'He has grown. He is not a child any more.' She frowned thoughtfully. "No, my Duck. I'd like you to stay here. I'll go fetch them."
Presto frowned. "Why? I've not been to town in over a month. I'm going to go stir crazy if I don't leave for at least a while."
Madelaine pointed to his right hand. "It's a little too early for a winter frost, Luv. Please don't ice over the tomatoes."
Presto jumped, and looked at the basket he was holding. His hand, and the handle of the basket he carried, were covered over with a fine rime of ice, sparkling white in the afternoon sunshine. He quickly pulled his hand free and tucked it under his armpit to warm up. By the time he looked up, Madelaine was out of the gate and headed towards town, humming to herself.
Standwell glittered in the afternoon sun, the summer's day giving color and a certain grandeur to the otherwise drab city walls. Donovan carried a roll of pelts over one broad shoulder. His long bow was in hand, but he seemed at ease. Hank was excited. It had been at least a month since they had come to town, and Presto had all but promised news of the others the last time he was here. 'I wonder how everyone has changed,' he mused as he walked beside Donovan, carrying his own bow and more furs. 'I know I have.' He had. He wore light leather armor he had crafted himself. His blue eyes, blond hair and beard, and rugged frame won him no end of attention from the girls the last time he was in Standwell. The beard was new, a concession to convenience after too many days in the woods without a mirror. Sheila would laugh. Or she would have, once. He hoped desperately that she was all right. That they all were. 'And where is Eric, anyway?'
Donovan broke the dark train of Hank's thoughts. "Hank. We're almost to Standwell."
Hank looked up, "Yes?"
Donovan paused, and Hank stopped also. "I think this visit to the city will be my last with you."
Hank's brow furrowed. "Why? Are we moving away?"
Donovan shook his head. "No. You have been my apprentice for over a year now. . . more than my apprentice. My friend. The son I never had. But, there is a change brewing on the wind, and you will be part of that change. I cannot keep you from it."
"I don't understand. What kind of change?"
"I don't know. I do know this. You came to me skilled and knowledgeable. I have finished your training. All you lack now is experience, and you will match, you will exceed me. You do not need my teaching any more." Donovan paused. "I am very proud of you, Hank."
Hank stood on the roadside, stunned. Donovan spoke so little; Hank had not anticipated this at all. "What should I do? Where should I go?"
Donovan slapped the young man's back. "We'll discuss it in town. I'm sure Madelaine's got something cooking for us, and I wouldn't want to miss it."
Hank blinked. 'How would she know that we were coming?' he wondered, but already Donovan was several paces ahead. Hank quickly moved to catch up, his thoughts quickly turning to the future. 'Now what?'
"Why did we leave, Xalen?" Diana asked as she twirled the Guardian's spear in her hand. "We traveled two hundred miles just to get to that village."
Xalen seemed impatient to get away as she strode ahead of Diana on the road north. "And we'll walk two hundred miles back again."
"But. . . there had to be some reason we were going there."
"There was. Big bulette." Xalen kept going.
Diana stopped. "Bulette? What's that?"
"A landshark. Nasty, so I hear. Propensity for eating halflings, children, or anyone else that looks tasty."
Diana was horrified. "So why aren't we stopping it? Those villagers couldn't kill it on their own. We need to go back!"
Xalen's face was sour as she turned back to her apprentice. "I offered a reasonable price to remove the problem for them. They didn't want to pay, and landsharks have no treasure."
The acrobat felt a flash of anger. "You saw their farmland. Their crops had rotted in the field. No one could tend them. How could the villagers pay you and afford to eat?"
"They should have been better prepared for it then. It's not my fault if they didn't put aside money ahead of time for this sort of emergency. Now they can just find their own way of disposing of it."
"But what if they don't have a way ? What will they do?" Diana glanced back down the road that they had come. 'How could Xalen not help them?'
Xalen shrugged. "Not my problem." Seeing Diana look back down the road, she added. "And don't you dare head back there. That spear of yours would break against a Bulette's hide, and then you'd be eaten. You wouldn't stand a chance."
Diana seethed. "I can't believe you'll let them die just to make a few coins. I'm going back."
Xalen whirled, and in an instant, she stood at Diana's side with the tip of a knife held to the acrobat's throat. "I won't let you commit suicide. You swore to obey me while I taught you, and I will hold you to that."
Diana straightened, lifting her head away from the knife. This was a side of her teacher that she had not seen much of. It had felt so right, fighting the monsters that made life in the Realm a nightmare for villagers. But fighting for money, letting the villagers die, it was just wrong. In a tight voice, eyes on the blade, she said, "Then I don't want you to teach me any more."
"You can't break our agreement until you prove to me that you can survive and perform this craft on your own." Xalen's voice was silk over steel. "You haven't yet."
Diana closed her eyes, feeling the cold touch of the knife against her skin. "And what would that take?" she asked stiffly.
"I've got a job in Coulone. They're being attacked by an invading army, and need scouts. We're going. Prove to me you can be a decent scout, and you'll have proved you have a craft. I'll release you from your oath."
It wouldn't save the villagers from the bulette, but it would free her to do what was right. And staving off an attacking army was a good cause. Diana nodded. "Agreed."
The bounty hunter pulled the knife away, sheathed it, and started walking. Diana watched Xalen stride northwards and hated her for it. But she followed.
"I'm stuffed. Madelaine, you have got to be the greatest cook in the whole world." Hank leaned back from the table and the devastation left behind from the delicious meal.
The healer's eyes twinkled. "And you've got to be one of the greatest flatterers in the world." She glanced over at Donovan with a blush on her plump cheeks. "But then again, you had a good teacher."
'Donovan and Madelaine?' Hank shook his head and grinned. "Well, it's the truth. I'll help clean up. . . "
"No, lad. Go on out with Presto. Donovan and I have some catching up to do, and I'm sure you boys do as well. Out with you, now."
Hank looked across the table at his friend, who had spent the evening being rather quiet and withdrawn. But, when Presto noticed the look, he flashed a grin. Hank smiled back. "All right. We'll be outside." Presto nodded agreement, and the two headed out into the garden.
...
Inside the cottage, Madelaine started picking up plates, while Donovan contentedly smoked a carved, wooden pipe. "I can't keep him here any more," she said simply.
Donovan nodded. "Hank. . . is ready. As ready as I can make him. The wizard?"
Madelaine quickly shook her head as she dampened a rag for the plates. "I can't teach him any more. I never reached the Second Test. You know I only have the Sight. But. . . that's not the same as being ready, is it?"
"He needs to leave Standwell before he gets dangerous. If the townsfolk find out, they'll stone him. Hank too, just to be on the safe side." Donovan's voice was matter-of-fact.
"Not alone!" Madelaine vigorously scrubbed at a dirty plate. "I won't let him go."
Donovan sighed. "I didn't doubt it. Hank is ready. He can go with him. But to where?"
"I was thinking of the wizard Melchior of Coulone. He, at least, might be powerful enough to mitigate some of the damage. And he lives alone in that tower." She dipped the plate in rinsewater.
"Does your apprentice really have the power you say?" Donovan shook his head in disbelief.
Madelaine turned to face the Woodsman, holding clean dish in her hands. "Old friend, if we aren't very lucky, it won't be a village he reduces to ash when the Second Test comes. It will be a kingdom."
Hank sat against the trunk of an old apple tree that was just beginning to show its fruit, his bow across his knees. He grinned. "It's good to see you again."
Presto settled in the grass across from him. "You too. I haven't been able to go out at all for ages, and it's been kind of lonely around here."
Hank nodded. He tried to think of something else to say, but finally he couldn't resist asking the question that he had wanted to ask all day. "Did you figure out how to do it yet? The clairvoyance spell?"
Presto did grin back, then, a genuine smile that lit his whole face. "Yep. Well, I managed to find you. I saw you and Donovan leave for Standwell. I haven't checked on the others yet. I sort of thought it would be better if you were there when I tried it. I'm not sure who I'll be able to find." 'Or if they can be found,' he thought. Hank had told him how Eric never went to Tardos Keep.
"That's great, Presto! Do you want to try it now?" Hank ran his fingers along his bowstring. "I've been worried about everyone. Especially Sheila. And Eric."
Presto nodded. His shoulder began to throb. "Me too." He took a deep breath and released it. "Okay, I'll check on Diana first. Just stay quiet, this might take a couple of minutes." He closed his eyes and reached out with another kind of sight. . . .
...
Diana stormed down the path after the warrior woman she had apprenticed to. She wore a white tunic and carried a spear that shone with a pale, sky-blue light to his eyes. A black tattoo wound around her left eye, and others ran down her arms. Diana was still bathed in the deep blue aura that always surrounded her, but he could almost feel the electric crackle of her anger as she marched after Xalen.
Master called back to apprentice, "Diana! What lies on the crest of the hill up ahead?"
Diana snapped back. "Twenty-seven Cobo trees and three deer."
"You missed the berry bushes and the eagle."
Diana fumed as the two continued to walk in silence.
...
Presto's eyes snapped open. "Geez. I don't think I've ever seen Diana that angry."
Hank leaned forward. "What? What happened? Is she okay?"
Presto nodded. "She's still with her teacher. They're no where I've seen before, walking down a path. Her teacher was quizzing her about things on a hilltop. But for some reason, it was making Diana really mad."
Hank mulled that one over for a moment, and asked, "Did she look okay? What did she look like?"
"She looked fine, as far as I could see. Different. She's got a tattoo. But she's hurt or anything. . . just angry. She has a spear. I think it's magical." Presto was beginning to get used to the auras he saw. Sort of, anyway.
"Can we send her a message somehow?" Hank felt relief. One of the others was safe. That was something.
Presto just shook his head. "Give me a moment. I'll try and look for Eric next."
...
The tent was lit by a charcoal brazier. Within, six men leaned over a map and frowned. The tent flap opened, and Eric walked in and saluted. Eric looked. . . mostly like Eric. The warm, red light surrounding him matched the glow of the charcoal flame.
For a moment Eric glanced up and looked directly at him, a small frown on his face. But he looked away when one of the men spoke. "Come in, Eric. Gentlemen, this is Eric of Montgomery, a second-year. He came to me highly recommended, and his performance since then has been exemplary. I'd like him to listen in on these discussions to further his training."
Eric looked confused, but rather proud of himself as he said, "Thank you, Sir." He eyed the map over the shoulders of the other men.
The others glanced up at Eric, and one said, "Of course, Captain."
The Captain pointed to the line of a river. "The Red Blades have been assigned the initial movement. We'll cut down along the fields here, and use the river to help prevent us from being cut off. We'll have to move quickly – a sharp thrust to the castle proper, and a rapid retreat."
One of the other men shook his head. "That will leave our supply lines over-extended and, should their forces overwhelm the sieges here and here," he pointed to the map, "We'll be cut off completely."
The captain nodded grimly. "I know. But if we delay the strike to secure those forts, the princess will die. And if she dies, King Harduc assures me that the Blades' keep will be the next to burn."
Eric, quiet in his corner, paled noticeably. But he too nodded as the mercenaries continued to outline their plans.
...
Presto looked up. "He's a soldier." He sounded surprised.
"A soldier? Eric? Are you sure?" Hank shook his head. That didn't sound like the Eric he knew at all.
"I'm pretty sure. He looked like he was fine. He was at some meeting that a bunch of officers, I guess, were having." Presto pushed up his glasses worriedly. "It didn't sound like whatever it was they were planning to do was very safe, though."
Hank ran his hand along the length of the bow. 'Eric. A war. This could be really bad.' "Did you find out who he was fighting with?"
"Something called the Red Blades, I think, and a King Harduc." He sighed. "Maybe Donovan knows where they would be. At least he's alive."
"That's right. He'll be okay." There was a hesitation in Hank's voice as he leaned forward, and a growing light in his eyes that Presto couldn't mistake. "Do you think you could find Sheila?"
The fledgling wizard looked away. 'Hank loves her.' It seemed like everyone who knew Sheila loved her. He knew he did. He wouldn't have said a word about it, not in a hundred thousand years. Hank was his friend, and Sheila deserved someone as great as Hank, anyway. Varla had, in the little time they were together, come to fill that emptiness in his heart, but Hank missed Sheila every day. '"I never want to see you again!" That's what she said. But. . . .I'll try. For Hank.'
Presto rubbed his shoulder as if it hurt him. "I don't know, Hank. I'm getting tired. But I'll give it a shot."
Hank nodded and leaned back, but Presto could see the earnest hope in his ice-blue eyes. He took a deep breath, and sent his sight ranging into the darkness again.
...
The cool glow of triple moons bathed the clearing with a soft radiance. In the center of the clearing, white skin and black light. . . .
...
"Oh!" Presto covered his face with his hands, hiding the red flush that started under his collar and climbed his cheeks until they flamed crimson.
Hank reached up to pull one of his friend's hands away from his face. "Presto? You okay?"
Presto cleared his throat and nodded. "Uh huh."
"What happened?" Hank lowered his hand after uncovering one hazel eye.
"I. . . uh. . . ." His voice steadied, and he dropped his hands. "I couldn't find her. I got near her, and she's okay, but I couldn't see."
"That's really all? But what about. . . " Hank gestured, feeling confused and disappointed. He had really wanted to find out about Sheila, more than anyone.
Presto shook his head. "I. . . um. . . I felt something notice me, and it startled me. Madelaine's warned me of all kinds of trouble you could get into, doing this sort of thing. So I hurried back. I'm. . . sorry, Hank. I couldn't see her." He looked away guiltily.
Hank lay his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. "She is all right, though?" 'Maybe Presto could look again later.'
Presto examined the lacings on his boots. "I'm pretty sure. I could tell that much." 'And I wouldn't tell you more. Sorry, Hank.'
The two sat in silence for some time as the first stars began to reveal themselves in the eastern sky.
Shadow Demon glided through the ruins of the ancient city, reveling in his new-found power. The power of touch, the strength, the freedom! He was freed from the eternal bondage of his own weakness, unable to carry more than the lightest zephyr. But, finding the club had been his triumph, and his reward had been great! He had the power to make them hurt. He had the power to make them scream! And he owed all to Venger.
And what did Venger wish in return for this great gift? The Crystal Skull. A pretty thing. How many years had Venger denied the waning of his powers, the inevitability of his own mortality? Shadow Demon had watched with patience as Venger assumed the mask and mantle, using illusion to hide the toll of his years as The Dungeon Master had flaunted his. Venger, whose slightest whim had, at one time, caused the very ground to tremble, came to rely on terror alone to hold the inhabitants of the Realm in thrall. And when mere children would not yield to that terror, Venger found himself defeated time and again. Producing the children at all had been Dungeonmaster's last, clumsy blow in a fight that had lasted a thousand years, but it was enough.
Venger was not defeated yet. Shadow Demon knew full well the power of those places where Dungeonmaster would never choose to go. For years, now, Venger had gathered his strength for the incantation that would take him to that darkness. With the Crystal Skull, there would be no doubt that he would be the ruler. And Shadow Demon had always known who best to ally with. As he brushed over the bleached bones of a long-dead warrior, Shadow Demon rejoiced.
"Now, my Duck. Remember what I told you. Dress warmly, it may be summer now, but winter will be here faster than you know it, and if you're not in Coulone by then. . . ." Madelaine licked her finger tips and leaned over the fence to straighten a hopelessly unstraightenable curl.
"I'm sure they'll be in Coulone long before the leaves turn, Madelaine. Let them go." Donovan sounded amused. Hank gave Presto a sympathetic smile, but Presto wouldn't meet his eyes. He just waited patiently for his mentor to finish her 'ministrations'.
"I suppose," Madelaine said. Her face was serious, though, when she said, "Don't go to any villages. Don't stop in any village or town until you reach Coulone. Do you understand?"
Presto looked over at Hank then with frustration. "Can't you tell me why?"
Madelaine shook her head. "Young magicians are not popular in the country you'll be traveling through. That's all I can say." She then reached into the basket she carried, and passed a neatly folded white bundle to her apprentice. "This might help. . . later, anyway. You can put it on when you get out of Standwell. I've managed to convince it that it needs to stay clean for you, anyway."
Presto reddened as he took the bundle, feeling guilty for how angry he had been at Madelaine over the last few weeks. He remembered a time when all he wanted to do was stay home and read, but after traveling in the Realm for so long, Madelaine's little cottage seemed like a prison, its white-washed gate an impenetrable wall separating him from his friends. And the hints she gave scared him as much as learning to use the magic intrigued him. He stammered his thanks as he held the bundle tightly.
Madelaine leaned over the fence to give her apprentice one final hug. In his ear, for him alone, she whispered, "Remember, my duck, if you forget everything else. You have everything you need. In yourself. I know you'll do very well." There were tears in her eyes as she turned back towards the cottage.
Donovan said nothing, but gave a small nod of his head before going back to the cottage as well.
Hank returned the nod, then turned to Presto with a smile. "All right. We're off to see the wizard."
Presto gave a crooked grin, though he still didn't quite meet Hank's eyes. "Well, at least we've got good directions this time. We can follow the Yellow Brick Road."
They both laughed and headed down the trail towards the next town, and what lay beyond.
