13th Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
Hidden Jewel, Welkwood
The druid turned and glared at Thorin, his expression of anger unmistakable.
The man bade his three companions wait with a curt gesture and strode briskly back towards the boy. The black bear followed at his heels. The Guardian of Nature Eldeth Shae also followed but remained further back.
Thorin's eyes were wide as the man approached. I guess I should have figured out beforehand what to do after I got his attention, he thought.
There was a very uncomfortable silence all around as the druid bent down so the displeasure in his hazel eyes would only be inches from Thorin's. The child would have sworn even the forest birds had shut up, just to accentuate his discomfort.
"My name, child," the man hissed, "is Wainold. If you call me Wayne again, you are bear scat- do you understand me?"
Thorin considered himself a pretty good judge of character. He was reasonably sure the druid would not carry out his threat.
What he was not sure of however, was the bear. The animal no longer looked nearly as friendly as it had earlier.
Wainold crossed his muscular arms across his chest and straightened up, retaining his glower down upon the youth.
"Human," he mused.
Thorin was still. He knew he was the only human child in Hidden Jewel. Did Wainold know that as well? If he did, and he started to wonder why Thorin had called him that hated nickname, he'd put the pieces together quickly. It would probably be better if Thorin brought it up first before-
"You're Cygnus' son, aren't you?" Wainold asked abruptly.
Thorin nodded mutely.
Another growl sounded from within the druid's throat. It came out sounding remarkably like the word Argo.
Thorin just stood there shaking. Inwardly, the child was berating himself for calling out in the first place.
Wainold appeared on the verge of saying something else when one of his companions called out to him. Both the druid and the boy looked over.
Eldeth Shae had strolled off, but another elf was now standing and amiably chatting with the other three humans. The elf threw his long blonde hair back over the pale violet dressing gown he wore as he laughed at some joke Thorin couldn't hear. The light-hearted attitude of the quartet was in marked contrast to Wainold's sour mood, but Thorin felt instantly at ease.
It was going to be all right now. The Lord of Hidden Jewel was here.
The best description of Alias that Thorin had ever heard came, ironically enough, from a dwarf. A member of a trade delegation from the nearby city of Fax, he had frustratingly denounced the elven ruler as "an elf's elf" when the group had left Welkwood without the one-sided trade agreement they had hoped to connive Alias into signing. While the proclamation had certainly not been intended as flattery, Alias delightedly turned it into such, and had afterwards stated his intention to try and live up to such worthy praise.
As outsiders viewed elves, Alias was already pretty close to their stereotype. He was graceful, elegant, and possessed an androgynous beauty, feminine without being effeminate. He seemed carefree, and almost always had a joyous smile visible or at least nearby. He was even a wizard- and one of no mean power.
Alias beckoned them over, and Thorin wasted no time in responding, even though he had to make a wide circle to avoid the bear, whose dark eyes followed him unceasingly. Wainold took a deep breath and then followed.
Thorin's newfound confidence began to erode as he actually reached the group. While the child had always felt at ease around Alias, he felt uncomfortable actually talking to the elven leader. For one thing, he never knew what to call him. Alias had no family name that Thorin had ever heard, and he was called one title as often as another. For his part, Alias wasted no time in initiating conversation with his charge.
"Hello, Thorin," he said, with a smile and a nod towards the approaching druid. "Recognized your father's friend?"
"Friend carries assumptions." Wainold scowled as he came up. The other three humans were eyeing Thorin now, the wizard most intently.
For his part, Thorin had eyes only for the forest floor beneath him. "Yes, sir," he mumbled in reply. "I mean, my Lord... my King..."
He looked up, flustered. "I'm sorry, Alias- I never know what to call you!"
Alias' smile dimmed somewhat. He squatted down so as to look the child in the eye and placed his hand on his shoulder. The elf spoke to the child as an equal.
"If you would satisfy me, Thorin, call me friend. If you would make me happy, mean it."
Thorin noticed that the druid looked mildly uncomfortable as Alias stood back up.
"So, Wainold," Alias continued without missing a step, "I am gladdened to see you and your companions again, though quite surprised, I confess. Had you not been confirmed as an Initiate of the Eighth Circle down south in the Suss, under Wictwodu?"
Wainold nodded. "True. However, another Initiate of like ability has come into his service, and the Archdruid offered me a release. Seeing as other matters clamored for my attention, I took it."
Alias raised an eyebrow.
The druid gestured with his oaken staff at his wizard cohort. "Thorimund's father Thormord is highly placed in the Wizard's Guild of Willip in Furyondy. They are having some difficulties, and we are heading there to assist."
Thorin's heart leapt up in his chest, but he kept quiet.
Alias bowed slightly. "The Hidden Jewel is your home for as long or as short a time as you desire, Wainold. I know you have just arrived, but may I be so crude as to request a moment of your time? We have a mystery that you may be able to help a good friend of mine unravel."
Some suspicion showed on the druid's face, but he nodded and motioned for Alias to lead on. The elven lord smiled and headed towards his personal dwelling, followed by four humans and one black bear.
And one human child. Thorin stayed back aways but was determined to camp outside at the base of Alias' tree, if necessary, so he could apologize to Wainold when he came out. He'd then beg the druid to carry a message from him to-
"Thorin?"
The boy blinked at the sight of Alias, ahead on the path ahead of him. The elven monarch was holding out his hand.
"Would you come with us, please?"
Thorin's mouth dropped opened in astonishment. Ashamed of the long silence that promptly issued forth from it, he clamped it shut and shuffled forward. This wasn't what he had wanted. Wainold did not look at all happy about Alias inviting him along, and Thorin was sure this would wreck whatever chance he might have of speaking privately with him later. He couldn't begin to imagine what the ruler of Hidden Jewel was up to, but he did know that refusing him was out of the question.
The treetop dwelling of the King of Welkwood consisted of three levels compared to the usual two, but otherwise seemed wholly unremarkable. Thorin hadn't been here in over a year. He glanced around as he climbed up the rope ladder onto the bottom level and then followed the quintet up the wooden stairs that run around the trunk of the huge tree that held this home in its branches. The house seemed fairly crowded with elves, but they gave only passing smiles of greetings to Alias' guests and did not attempt to engage them in conversation.
The staircase ended in what seemed to be a very comfortable-looking library, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with tomes, scrolls, maps and intriguing curios. Three plush chairs and one couch sat unused. The far wall, about fifty-five feet wide from trunk to where it bisected the curved outer wall, was a wood that seemed to grow directly into both floor and ceiling. Two oval-shaped doors, about fifteen feet apart, gave the appearance of eyes.
"Wainold, Thorimund, Arwald, Hengist," Alias intoned pleasantly while indicating the rightmost door. "Please make yourself comfortable. I shall join you in just a few moments." The elf turned to Thorin with one of his seemingly inexhaustible supply of smiles. "This way, my dear child," the elf said, indicating the other door. "We mustn't keep our guest waiting any longer than necessary."
Thorin's heart pounded in his chest as he approached the door. Who was this person he was about to meet, and how could a mere boy like him be of any use is solving a problem Lord Alias himself could not? The child steeled himself, putting on what he hoped was his best somber expression as he opened the door to reveal-
"Father!"
Thorin's body was already in motion, his legs pushing off in a great leap forward even as that wonderful word tore itself loose from his lips. Cygnus, clearly prepared for this moment, caught his son and the two of them whirled around. It was only after Cygnus had lowered Thorin to the ground but stayed bent over, keeping him in a hug did the boy realize that this was as demonstrative a display of affection that he could ever recollect from his father.
Trying to hold back tears of joy, Thorin could only whisper, "I've missed you, father."
"And I've missed you, Thorin." Cygnus stood up, smoothing his son's hair the way he always did. A wistful look came into the tall mage's face. "You've grown at least two inches in the last couple of months. Are you sure you're not using growth spells on the sly?"
Thorin's happy attitude deflated, at least partially. "Not likely. I still can't even cast a cantrip," the boy groused.
His father raised an eyebrow. "You're seven, Thorin. Do you know of any seven year-olds who can?"
Thorin folded his arms across his chest. "Technically, I'm less than two years old, father."
Cygnus shrugged. "And you have the maturity of a ten year-old, if not more. What's your rush?"
His son looked down at the floor. He would have scuffed his feet, but the silken rug underneath looked expensive. "I don't know. I guess I just hoped that by studying with the elves, I'd be able to..." his voice trailed off.
There was a slight pause.
"There's more to life than wizardry, Thorin."
His son looked up at him.
"I'm not quite sure when I first realized that," Cygnus continued, "but it's a lesson that I get reminded of every single night, when I look over to your bed and realize that it's too dangerous to have my own son live with me at home. Arcana alone won't solve that problem, Thorin. It's a tool- perhaps the only one I know and will ever know, but I'm under no delusions- not anymore."
Thorin could only gape at his father. Two distinct thoughts screamed for attention in the child's mind. The first was the somber realization that Cygnus was not here to take him home- Nodyath was evidently still at large.
The second was even more startling. More to life than magic? His father had no hobbies or leisure pursuits that Thorin knew of. He couldn't ever recollect him professing an interest in anything else. Sometimes he would talk about Thorin's mother, but-
A lump rose in Thorin's throat, and he turned away so his father would not be able to see him pull himself together.
"Thorin," he heard his father say, "We have a very serious matter to discuss- and a very important decision to make."
Once again, Thorin stared at his father in disbelief.
Cygnus nodded. "That's right, son. I said we. This concerns both of us, and what we decide here today may well affect the rest of our lives. It's a decision I'm not willing to make unilaterally."
The boy stared into his dad's brown eyes as Cygnus slowly settled himself into one of the two wooden chairs by the small oval-shaped table in the room. The wizard gestured for son to take the other seat.
Suddenly Thorin wasn't in such a hurry to grow up anymore.
Wainold glanced at his companions seated around the large table, then at the large cloth-wrapped bundle lying on the table's surface, and then up at the short man who stood nearby, attired in a green shirt, brown trousers and boots. This man was not looking at the druid, however. Rather, he stroked his short beard as he gazed at the package.
The man had been waiting in this conference room when they walked in. They'd exchanged small talk and were now waiting for Alias' imminent return.
Wainold disliked waiting almost as much as he hated his nickname. The druid scowled at the man.
"That boy Thorin- he's picked up some bad habits."
Aslan raised an eyebrow as he turned his attention back to the speaker.
"What, did he call you Wayne?"
The druid's expression made the answer he didn't give irrelevant.
The paladin shook his head. "Why does that upset you so?"
Wainold narrowed his eyes. "It shows a lack of respect. I'd expect no less from a buffoon like Bigfellow, but Cygnus seems like a sober enough fellow."
At that moment, the oval door behind them opened of its own accord, and Alias entered, carrying a tray with six glasses.
Hengist shook his head; the warrior's dark curls framing his tanned face. "I've never seen a king serving drinks before."
Alias smiled at him as he placed the glasses on the table. "I gave my serving girl the day off."
Aslan slowly took a sip and closed his eyes in satisfaction. The Brass Dragon did not carry Aleeian wine, and he found this a superior vintage. The paladin waited until everyone else had taken a drink, and then gestured towards the wrapped bundle on the table. "So, what's all the fuss about, Alias?"
The elven noble untied the string holding the bundle closed, and gently opened it to reveal what looked like two sets of identical clothing.
Everyone leaned forward to examine them. "You can touch," Alias said. "Just don't try them on."
There were two white silk shirts, as fine in craftsmanship as anything Aslan had ever seen. There were also two doublets of fine cloth to be worn over them. They were an off-white, with gold filigree, ruffled sleeves and a subdued geometric pattern of white and tan diamonds with small embedded gemstones. There also two sets of light beige trousers, also of superior workmanship. The final items were two tan cloaks with a complicated red weave design running around the borders.
Aslan glanced over at Alias, but the elven ruler's face betrayed nothing.
"These are for a nobleman," Hengist offered, laying the shirt he had been examining back down on the table.
"A Furyondan nobleman," added Arwald. When the others looked at him, the warrior indicated the small metal cloak clasps. In the shape of a shield, each bore the royal insignia of the Kingdom of Furyondy.
Alias fingered his glass as he began to speak.
"Just over two weeks ago, a patrol from Baridel Castle discovered three humans camped out in their territory. They-"
"Baridel Castle?" interrupted Aslan. "I'm not familiar with it."
"Elin Baridel is a half-human adventurer from Celene who retired and settled down in Welkwood many decades ago," replied Alias pleasantly. "He built a castle about seven leagues due north of here. He helps us keep bandits and other visits from unsavory types to a minimum."
"Tell me," snorted Wainold. "When did they start calling grave robbers adventurers?"
"Just looking for some respectability, I expect," Aslan said with a thin smile.
The druid glared back but said nothing.
"These humans did not appear to be the noble type," the elf continued. "They were camping in a matter that suggested they wished to avoid detection. When the patrol demanded their names and purpose, they took off. When they started firing arrows, Baridel's men returned fire. Two of the interlopers were mortally wounded, but the third escaped."
Alias' face grew uncommonly serious. "The third man dropped two bundles during his escape," he said, indicating the clothes. "That's one of them. The other burst open upon hitting the ground. He gathered it up and fled, but the patrol leader's report said it appeared to contain clothing- for a noblewoman."
"Which way did he flee?" asked Wainold.
"North."
"Towards Furyondy, not away from it," mused Thorimund. The wizard's deep green eyes suddenly snapped up to meet Alias' light green ones. "Are these magical in any way?"
Alias nodded. "A detect revealed nothing, but I had a hunch the aura had been masked- and so it had."
Thorimund's mouth was a tight line. "What type of aura?"
"Enchantment. Powerful. Very powerful. An unusual type, but sadly, one I've encountered before."
"Where?" Aslan asked.
Alias turned to him. "From you."
The paladin's eyebrows shot skywards. "Excuse me?"
"Valente."
A silence settled upon the room. Wainold and his cohorts seemed confused, but Aslan stared back at Alias for a few seconds before realization hit him and his head snapped back to stare at the garments.
"Chams clothing," he breathed.
Alias nodded.
"We're not of much use if you don't fill us in," Wainold said quietly, frowning and drumming his fingertips on the table.
"Valente is a fiend we first ran afoul of several years ago," Aslan began, his voice low and his eyes downcast. "We eventually slew him, banishing him back to the Lower Planes for a century, but his legacy lives on in magic items he created- and his children."
The paladin drained most of his glass, waited a moment and continued. "They're hordlings- these beasts he called his children. Each one unique in appearance and abilities, but all utterly malign to the core. We've slain most of them as well, but at least one still survives, if not more."
Thorimund looked thoughtful. "I've not heard of them."
Aslan looked grim. "Your father has."
The wizard stared at the paladin, who responded with a bitter smile.
"Chic is one of the children of Valente."
The mage exchanged glances with his three companions, and then turned his attention back to Aslan. "Do these hordlings have any common weaknesses you know of?"
Aslan chewed his lip. "Cold iron, but only to a degree."
"You also mentioned magic items?" Wainold put in.
"Valente apparently was a master of creating unusual magic items, which he distributed either to his children, or to unsuspecting mortals." The paladin pointed at the clothing again. "A human-looking hordling named Chams de Baron used sets of garments like these to cause untold woe. Fortunately, he eventually met his doom at our hands." Aslan paused. "I had thought all of the clothes were destroyed as well, but it seems not."
"Well, now for the prize question," Thorimund muttered. "What exactly do these clothes do?"
"You'll notice there are two identical sets," Alias stated. "That is part of the enchantment. When they are both worn, the minds of the two individuals involved are switched."
There was another silence.
"Permanently?" asked Thorimund.
The elven wizard nodded. "It's an instantaneous effect, much like flesh to stone. The clothing loses all power once the switch is accomplished, so a dispel does nothing. There are certain spells that can break the enchantment and reverse the effect, but since neither person affected by the change radiates magic, it's difficult to know what you're looking for."
Wainold squeezed his ball of a beard. "Does the initial transformation require a certain range to take effect?"
"Yes. A mile, maybe less."
Thorimund ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Ingenious. The perfect tool for infiltration."
"Or assassination," added Arwald darkly.
"Either way, the target is probably one of the Knightly Conclave," Hengist said, frowning.
"Where do we figure in all this?" asked Wainold.
"I was hoping you might be able to speak to some of your forest friends," Alias replied. "They might be able to find and stop this villain before he escapes the Welkwood. If he has no special means of travel, he'll probably reach the forest's edge in two days. At the least, we might get a fix on his location. I already have Eldeth Shae working towards this end."
Aslan was still mulling over this discovery in his head. "Could this get any worse?" he sighed.
"As a matter of fact, it already has."
Aslan stared at Alias, but the elf looked like his nearest smile was a long ways off.
The paladin looked back out towards the library. "Before we go any further, we're going to need Cygnus in on this," he said.
"Yes." Alias' voice was soft. "You most certainly will."
"So," Cygnus concluded, leaning back in his chair, "that's pretty much what's been happening back at home. Now, what about you? Tell me how things have been for you here."
Thorin hesitated. He was sure there was a lot more than what he had been told. Admittingly, Cygnus had just condensed four months of time into ten minutes, so he had been forced to leave out a lot. Still, the boy suspected certain events, such as the party's adventurers in the Pomarj or the recent revelations about Tojo, were more serious than his father was letting on. He shrugged uncomfortably and looked down, not really sure what Cygnus wanted to know.
"Okay, I guess."
Cygnus frowned. "I expect better elocution from you, Thorin. What have you been studying, besides magic theory?"
Thorin waved his hands about vaguely. "Well, when I first got here, I told them I didn't want to study anything else. I mean..." The child trailed off and looked at his father. "I mean, you study magic... mostly... and it's always worked for you!"
Cygnus pressed his lips together. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"They wouldn't let me just study magic though," Thorin sighed. "So I tried other things. I like history, so I've been studying that a lot. I mean, I always kind of feel like I'm behind, you know?"
Almost imperceptibly, his father nodded.
Thorin hesitated. "I've also been... spending a lot of time outdoors. My foster brother Daekin and his friends... we go out into the forest a lot, and they're teaching me a lot about plants and animals." Unable to look him directly in the eye, the boy cast him a sidelong glance. "I like it... being outdoors. I mean, I like studying and all that too, it's just that-"
"That's good, Thorin."
The child looked at Cygnus in surprise and was favored with a small smile.
"It shows you're more well-rounded than I am. You're putting into practice what I only know in theory. You always loved riding on the pegasi or playing with the horses or dogs." The tall mage nodded approvingly at his son. "So, what have you been giving the elves in return?"
Thorin blinked, taken aback by this unexpected approval from his father. He struggled to formulate an articulate response to his father's question. "The only thing I have to offer. I'm teaching the Common tongue to young elves. I don't know why- almost everyone here speaks it as well as I do!"
Cygnus nodded. "It's the elven way, son. Everyone receives the benefit of the community, but everyone is expected to pitch in with something they know. How is Barahir? Do you see him a lot?"
More comfortable with this topic, Thorin straightened up in his chair. "He's staying in a different home, with an elf who specializes in looking after kids his age. I check on him every day though, just so he doesn't forget what a human face looks like!" He smiled proudly at his father, who returned the grin.
"Good. I'm sure the elves are taking fine care of Barahir, but I feel better knowing you're looking after him- and I'm sure Elrohir and Talass feel the same way."
The child beamed with pride, but that soon faded. Cygnus was looking at him now in deadly seriousness.
"Thorin," he said softly. "We had a meeting last night at the Brass Dragon- discussing whether we would be returning to the slavers' stockade. I was the first to speak." The mage hesitated. "I told them that I was seriously thinking of leaving."
Thorin's brow knitted in confusion. "Leaving?"
"Leaving. You and myself, Thorin. The two of us. Leaving the others for good and going off someplace else to live out the rest of our lives in peace."
The child's mouth went dry. "But," he stammered, "what about Nodyath? Couldn't he find us wherever we went?"
"We would not be telling anyone where we're going, Thorin," his father replied. "Nodyath is unlikely to spend all of his time trying to track us down when the others remain at the Brass Dragon."
Thorin's eyes went wide. An image of everyone back at the Dragon flashed in front of him. "Father," he whispered, not wanting to anger him. "Wouldn't they be at more risk, then? They'd be less able to defend themselves against Nodyath- or the Emerald Serpent!"
"I do care about them, Thorin," Cygnus responded, his own voice straining to remain level. "But I care about you more."
The boy couldn't say anything now. He didn't know where to put his eyes.
"Son."
He couldn't help but look. Thorin wasn't used to seeing his father this... unsteady.
"Son, back at the stockade- I thought I was never going to see you again." Those brown eyes were misting over. "I swore on your mother's grave that I'd look after you. And no matter what else I have to give up to do that, I will. It's been months now, and we're no closer to catching Nodyath then when we started. Retirement isn't working. There's always another mission, another enemy. Talass' vision. I- I don't want to be apart from you forever."
"Father," Thorin said, his own eyes starting to tear up. "Please-"
"I've already lost your mother, Thorin. I can't lose you, too. I won't. I won't!"
The anger in his voice couldn't stop Cygnus from dropping his head to his chest. He dabbed at his eyes furiously, but his tears fell faster than he could dry them.
Cygnus felt the weight of his son on his knee, and then Thorin's arms were around his neck. His boy's face nestled into his shoulder.
"I love you, Thorin. Never forget that. No matter what happens- never, ever forget that."
Thorin had barely heard his father's whisper and wasn't even sure it had been meant for his ears. The boy squeezed his father again, and sat up, drying his eyes as best he could. Cygnus followed suit.
"Whatever you decide is best, father. No matter where we go or what we do, I promise you... I'll make sure you never have cause to regret it. I'll make you proud."
The wizard finally managed a shaky smile.
"You already have, son."
Thorin cleared his throat and abruptly changed the subject. "Father, that ranger from Chendl you talked about- Nesco Cynewine?"
Cygnus frowned, puzzled by the sudden change of subject. "Um, yes?"
"Is she going to be staying at the Brass Dragon from now on, like Zantac is?"
His father frowned. "I don't think so, Thorin," he replied. "I think we'd all like that, but she's an agent of King Belvor, and doesn't have the freedom to make those choices like we do. It's too bad, though," Cygnus mused, thinking back. "Too bad," he muttered.
"Is she pretty?"
The wizard's eyes flashed wide open in astonishment. "What?" Seeing the earnest look in his boy's eyes though, he considered. "Uh, yes, I'd say that she is." He eyed Thorin curiously. "Where did that come from?"
The child bit his lip, looking away. "I don't know. It's- been a while. I didn't know if you were- were..."
Cygnus smiled, finally understanding.
"Son," he said softly. "Your mother was the only true love of my life. I have no problem whatsoever about spending the rest of it with her memory. I have no problem with that at all."
He hesitated. His son's eyes, as brown as his own, were tearing up again.
"Thorin?"
"Father," whispered Thorin suddenly. "May I make one request?"
"What is it, son?"
And the most precious thing in Cygnus' life turned his head to look directly into his eyes.
"May I see mother? Just once?"
Cygnus drew in a sharp breath. He knew what his son meant.
Thorin, seeing the hesitation in his father's eyes, waved a hand dismissingly. "That's all right, father. You don't have to-"
"No," said Cygnus firmly. "That's the least I can do for you. Besides, you deserve it." He swallowed hard and pointed towards the back corner of the room.
Thorin adjusted his position on his father's lap and followed his finger- and waited.
Cygnus' left hand, trembling badly, came out of his spell component pouch clutching a small piece of fleece. He took a deep breath, and then another, and then began to rub the fleece while speaking an incantation.
And Hyzenthlay was there.
She stood in the far corner of the room, smiling at her husband and her son. Her hazel eyes sparkled, and the ringlets of her long brown hair cascaded down over her shoulders. She wore a simple woolen skirt and flax blouse (it'd be different if Thorin wasn't here, Cygnus suddenly thought, and had to fight to suppress a grin).
Thorin was absolutely riveted.
Cygnus adjusted the tempo of his moving fingers, and Hyzenthlay walked slowly over to them, still smiling. She made no noise at all.
"She's so beautiful," Thorin finally whispered.
"Yes," his father agreed, his own eyes growing misty yet again. "Yes, she was, son. In so many ways."
The three of them stood in silence.
A family.
There was a sharp intake of breath behind them. Cygnus turned to see Aslan standing in the open doorway. The paladin's eyes were wide in astonishment as he gaped at the image.
The moment was broken. Cygnus lost his concentration, and Hyzenthlay winked out.
"That was for me, Uncle Aslan," Thorin spoke first, taking the initiative. "I, uh... I'd like to thank you for bringing my father here to see me."
Aslan tried to refocus. "Oh. Yes... you're welcome, Thorin." He laid a reassuring hand on the child's shoulder. "I've missed you; you know."
The boy nodded and smiled. "I've missed all of you too," he replied while standing up.
"Cygnus," the paladin said, his voice serious again. "We need you. We've got a new problem- or should I say, an old problem has resurfaced."
The magic-user rolled his eyes. "I didn't know they were any left we weren't already dealing with."
"How about another legacy of Valente?"
Cygnus stood up slowly, his expression grim. "I'll be right there."
Aslan nodded, flashed a grin at Thorin and left. Thorin, not wanting to stop talking, addressed his father as formally as his trembling body would allow.
"I meant what I said, father. I know the ultimate decision is yours, but if it helps, you will always have my support. If... if you don't mind, I think I need some fresh air. I'm going to take a walk. I'll see you later on?"
Thorin stared at his son, then burst back into life.
"Yes! yes, of course you will, Thorin. I'll send for you as soon as I know what's going on. We'll all have dinner together tonight, I'm sure, and we'll talk more then."
His son nodded, and walked slowly out of the room, his head held high. He was halfway towards the staircase when he turned around.
"Father?"
Cygnus, just about to open the conference room door, paused. "Yes, son?"
"Thank you."
There was a short silence, but not nearly as sad as the previous ones.
"Don't mention it, Thorin."
The boy smiled and left.
"All right," Cygnus said several minutes later, after the situation had been explained to him. "Now tell me how all this could possibly be worse than what you've already mentioned."
Six figures exchanged glances, and then all turned their eyes to the tall mage.
"Cygnus," Aslan said. "The man who escaped with the other set of Chams clothing- he's working for the Emerald Serpent."
Thorin walked through the forest, taking deep breath after deep breath. He wasn't leaving Hidden Jewel, but he wanted to be off the main paths. The child found a nice looking ipt and sat down, leaning against its trunk.
This had been one incredible day, and it wasn't even over yet. Traumatic to be sure, and yet- and yet somehow enlightening, in a good way. He'd loved the chance to talk with Cygnus outside of arcane lessons, and he looked forward to more such talks. There were a lot of things he wanted to ask his father. In fact...
Thorin frowned, concentrating.
There had been something important... something very important that he'd wanted to ask his father about, but he hadn't thought then that he'd have the opportunity to do so this quickly, and now it had gone completely out of his mind.
He hoped he'd remember what it was later on.