CHAPTER TWO

"THE THORN IN THE BOOT"

He awoke from nightmares, grasping for the vial he knew would be there. His friend, the Magi Timor, had not forsaken him, and had created his potion for the journey.

It was still only half-drained, and would last him for months more. If necessary, he could request a transport spell to include a replacement, if it was around the right time.

Drink this, my friend, it will give you fortitude, was all that was ever written on it. An odd black scrawl on the globular container itself, which was corked. And of course, the Mage's name, which he would not forget. He was careful not to stumble and sweep it off to crash on the floor. He did as instructed, and soon the chill in his bones was filled with warmth.

Most soldiers got solid drunk – he was a Paladin and forbidden to drink, but he was fortunate to have a friend skilled in magic who had, in his intimidating intelligence and foresight, created a more proper solution. It did not take the memories, but he could stand to think of them, to a degree, whilst under the influence of that spell.

It was meant to do other things as well, ward off evil spirits, protect his flesh from harm – and it did, in a fashion. He was less afraid of arrows than he was of his own thoughts.

He still remembered that first night, when the undead had appeared. He was barely a year through his novitiate, and woken from his bed. There was a dreadful howl outside, and a ripple of dread had warned him, this was no ordinary beast that mourned in the village square.

Arms and hands emerged, grey, decaying, shaking themselves from the Earth, and he knew in his heart, and from the touch upon his shoulder, that this was the battle the Light had prepared him for.

How the Light could see such things, sometimes Devron didn't understand. Just like he didn't know why it would take the form of such ordinary things as the spells the Elves weaved, although the measure of ordinary was relative.

He envied the Elves on some level. He didn't quite understand them, but they had been friends of the Light for longer than Men had cities.

Humans has studied the Light, worshipped it, and given it name. But the Elves had belonged to the religion, or the calling, rather, longer than they. They were older brothers of a sort – but he didn't know if they had the same relationship with it he did.

He rolled himself out of the lurching bunk, and stood, feeling the chill souse him from top to bottom – but he did not move, simply absorbed it. It was always that way in the morning. But the potion worked miracles, and he enjoyed the feeling of it chasing away the chill he otherwise would have obliged. A happy accident, really.

He dressed himself, and put on his well-scrubbed leather boots, and prepared for his morning vigil, already feeling the excitement of another day approaching. The little bites and snaps of cold and discomfort that nipped at him like small dogs, all just reminders of the work he had to look forward to. A Paladin endured any discomfort for a good cause, and this pride is what kept him warm. But not too proud, he reminded himself.

It was probably a meaningless question, he returned to his initial thought, for in studious thought he found occupation while his muscles worked or rested. One drew close to the Light, or far from it, or not at all. But many of their kind were respected scholars and workers of light and magic, and had often taught in the Paladin halls. But he had never seen an Elven Paladin. Possibly because the Elves didn't have knights, he mused. This was not a difference of religion, but martial order, he supposed.

If the Elves did have knights, though, what a wondrous sight that would be. He had heard tales that the Elves did have knights of a sort, that rode the sky on steeds like great hawks. But he had never seen it, and yearned to see something so wondrous and strange. Elves were certainly the friends Men could wish for in any war, their powers were great, and their friendship beneficial. And although he knew many who did, Devron had never mistrusted them. Something he felt was due to their close ties to the Light itself. One who dwelled in its presence, could not stray too far from its illumination.

A foolish belief, perhaps, but one he would believe nonetheless. Belief was always the beginning, and given his own youth in regards the Paladin order, felt a certain harmony with it.

But the Elves were all touched by the fire in some way. Perhaps what he thought of as being a Knight, was to them merely a matter of being Elvish – so that there were no nobles that stood over another.

A more practical aspect was the Elves nigh-invisibility in woodlands. Something like a horse could not move with as much stealth and agility as they did on foot, and thus, their knights were in the sky. It made sense. The Elves had much war-like cunning.

Pity they did not have more of them with them, but again, Jaina had gathered what strength they brought to make part of her vassalage. Their quest was obviously one that required much of the insight and power of trained magi, human and Elven alike.