THE NIGHT AT THE STONE BRIDGE
The three friends sat huddled about the watch-fire atop the great stone tower which guarded the river crossing.
They kept their cloaks pulled tight about them, in a vain attempt to keep out the incessant drizzle of the Plains of Karana. The tower with its guards and its stone bridge, and the immutable wizard-spires nearby, had beckoned them with the hope of a peaceful night's rest in this dangerous land. They now awaited only the dawn before they would set out again.
Belrosian was in a particularly foul mood this night, and he kept peering out beneath the hood of his robes, scanning into the darkness as if searching. The wizard had a hunted look about him, and that unsettled his friend, the scout Benarque Fortuneblade. The gloom that hung over the wizard seemed not to affect Kalweni. The paladin was as unperturbed now as she ever was.
"I thought it rained a lot in the Butcherblocks," said Benarque, trying to lighten the mood and create a little conversation, "but that was nothing compared to this. Does it never stop raining here?" Kalweni looked up from sharpening her axe. "These lands are named for the god of rain," she said in all seriousness, without so much as a smirk. Benarque looked back at the wizard, wondering what was on his mind.
"Perhaps," thought Benarque, "being so long out in the open or on the road is beginning to wear on him." They had seen many griffons and hill giants on the way here, but that sort of danger did not normally upset the wizard like this. Often it seemed that when Benarque felt in fear of his life, the wizard was always there, always confident with hidden arcane power. "No," he thought, "it must be something else." Perhaps it was something the gypsy woman, Mrysilla, had said. They had visited the gypsy camp north of the Stone Bridge earlier that day. Kalweni had given the woman a handful of lightstones, with a few coins passed and barely a word between them.
Afterward, Benarque had noticed the wizard speaking to the woman in hushed tones when he thought no one was looking. The woman had given Belrosian a small book, which the wizard promptly tucked into his pack. He had not so much as mentioned the tome since.
"What troubles you, wizard?" he asked. "It is something the gypsy said?" Belrosian started, and made an odd sort of noise, as if Benarque had interrupted him from some intense reverie. But then he sighed, and pulled his old red mantle tighter about him, and spoke for the first time since lunch.
"The gypsy mentioned an old hermit who lives south of the the stone bridge," he answered, as if THAT would explain it all. At the mention of crossing the stone bridge, Kalweni looked up. "I know little of what lies beyond the river," she said, "save only that centaurs and aviaks reside there, under Karana's protection."
Benarque frowned. Not at the mention of the stone bridge, but about the hermit, thinking he knew now what had been keeping the wizard pre-occupied. "Morin told me that long ago a sect of wilders was driven out of Surefall Glade," Benarque explained, "and it occurs to me that this hermit may be one of their following." His jaw clenched, and he rubbed absently at the three days growth of beard on his chin. "I think we should indeed pay him a visit."
Kalweni laughed, and said, "Benarque, we do not need any pretenses from you. We know you are dying to see what lies over the next hill, or, in this case, beyond the stone bridge." "True," chuckled the ranger, "but Morin is a wise man as well as skilled, and I spoke with him for a while at his camp in the Haunted Forest. He would surely not have mentioned the unkempt druids to me if they were a trivial matter."
Then the wizard spoke up again. "In any case, that is not what has been troubling me. My thoughts are of Felwithe, not of South Karana."
The paladin and the ranger exchanged befuddled glances. "Felwithe?" they exclaimed together. "The marble city of the High Elves is a long way off, wizard," laughed Kalweni, "and unless you have suddenly learned the secrets of teleportation, it means another hard climb over the mountains." Belrosian scowled and shook his head. "Making jokes about magic, are we?" he quipped. "Well, this is no laughing matter. And yes, I realize the road is long. Quellios help me, it means yet another crossing of the Ocean of Tears on that infernal boat. I would avoid it if it were possible, but I think now I may find the answers I seek in Felwithe."
Then it was Benarque's turn to laugh. "Ho-ho," he exclaimed. "Remember the last time we crossed the mountains, Kal? How he kept himself pressed up against the mountain wall, tapping his staff like a blind man, for fear we'd lead him over a cliff in the dark?"
"Aye," answered Kalweni. "The wizard was grumbling afterward for a week that his feet still hurt." She grinned. Then, the two became serious for a moment, and Benarque put his gloved hand on the wizard's shoulder. "The trip will not be as rough this time, my friend, now that we know the ways better," he said. "But, Felwithe? I must ask, why there?"
Belrosian grimaced, and stared out into the gloom. The wizard muttered something under his breath. The two half-elves, with their keen hearing, thought that he said something about ancient diaries. "That is all I will say for now," the wizard mumbled.
Then, as often happens in the world of Norrath, the rain clouds suddenly retreated. The sun appeared, rising above the distant mountains. From their vantage atop the tower, the fair vista of the central Plains of Karana became visible before them, spread out as far as the eye could see. In the midst of it all, the ancient, massive wizard-spires reached gracefully upward. The view was indeed astonishing, and the three friends caught their breath.
"As for me," Kalweni said after a moment, "I would not mind returning to the elvenwood, though the road is not an easy one. I long to visit again with our guildmates, the brothers and sisters in arms I have not seen in many days."
"So," Benarque asked. "Do we go south, to find this hermit, or do we go to seek the wisdom of the High Elves?"
For a long moment, Belrosian was silent. Then, he looked up. "There is more."
"When we passed through the gypsy camp, I felt a strange pulse of mana. Very faint it was, but growing in strength. When Mrysilla the gypsy woman saw my dragon-mark, she told me a strange tale. Recently, she and Romilla have been having troublesome dreams. Their dreams are of a vicious battle before a bridge in the heart of a forest of murky darkness. Imposed in her vision over the image of each of the combatants was a symbol of a dragon- some coiled, some striking, some sleeping, some flying. She indicated my own dragon mark and said it was similar to those in her dreams. When I asked her about the strange pulse of mana, she said a new nexus is forming around her camp. In a few days, it will be complete."
"So a gypsy woman is having dreams," asked the ranger, "why should that concern us?"
"And if there is a new foci of soulbonding," asked Kalweni, "that is a good thing, is it not?"
"I think the growing nexus is somehow a sign for the Thrice-marked of Veeshan," the wizard explained, "and the gypsy's dreams are but a side effect of the powerful warp in the fabric of magic that is taking place here. But why here, and why now? There have been no new foci since the days of the Combine empire." Belrosian scowled, and shook his head in consternation. Then he looked up. "A wedding is to take place in a few days in which two Thrice-marked are to be bonded. That coincidence is rather too strong to overlook."
"Which path we must take is now clear to me. The hermit is on the way to the Arena, and I think that after we learn what we can from him, we must continue on to this wedding."
The three friends sat huddled about the watch-fire atop the great stone tower which guarded the river crossing.
They kept their cloaks pulled tight about them, in a vain attempt to keep out the incessant drizzle of the Plains of Karana. The tower with its guards and its stone bridge, and the immutable wizard-spires nearby, had beckoned them with the hope of a peaceful night's rest in this dangerous land. They now awaited only the dawn before they would set out again.
Belrosian was in a particularly foul mood this night, and he kept peering out beneath the hood of his robes, scanning into the darkness as if searching. The wizard had a hunted look about him, and that unsettled his friend, the scout Benarque Fortuneblade. The gloom that hung over the wizard seemed not to affect Kalweni. The paladin was as unperturbed now as she ever was.
"I thought it rained a lot in the Butcherblocks," said Benarque, trying to lighten the mood and create a little conversation, "but that was nothing compared to this. Does it never stop raining here?" Kalweni looked up from sharpening her axe. "These lands are named for the god of rain," she said in all seriousness, without so much as a smirk. Benarque looked back at the wizard, wondering what was on his mind.
"Perhaps," thought Benarque, "being so long out in the open or on the road is beginning to wear on him." They had seen many griffons and hill giants on the way here, but that sort of danger did not normally upset the wizard like this. Often it seemed that when Benarque felt in fear of his life, the wizard was always there, always confident with hidden arcane power. "No," he thought, "it must be something else." Perhaps it was something the gypsy woman, Mrysilla, had said. They had visited the gypsy camp north of the Stone Bridge earlier that day. Kalweni had given the woman a handful of lightstones, with a few coins passed and barely a word between them.
Afterward, Benarque had noticed the wizard speaking to the woman in hushed tones when he thought no one was looking. The woman had given Belrosian a small book, which the wizard promptly tucked into his pack. He had not so much as mentioned the tome since.
"What troubles you, wizard?" he asked. "It is something the gypsy said?" Belrosian started, and made an odd sort of noise, as if Benarque had interrupted him from some intense reverie. But then he sighed, and pulled his old red mantle tighter about him, and spoke for the first time since lunch.
"The gypsy mentioned an old hermit who lives south of the the stone bridge," he answered, as if THAT would explain it all. At the mention of crossing the stone bridge, Kalweni looked up. "I know little of what lies beyond the river," she said, "save only that centaurs and aviaks reside there, under Karana's protection."
Benarque frowned. Not at the mention of the stone bridge, but about the hermit, thinking he knew now what had been keeping the wizard pre-occupied. "Morin told me that long ago a sect of wilders was driven out of Surefall Glade," Benarque explained, "and it occurs to me that this hermit may be one of their following." His jaw clenched, and he rubbed absently at the three days growth of beard on his chin. "I think we should indeed pay him a visit."
Kalweni laughed, and said, "Benarque, we do not need any pretenses from you. We know you are dying to see what lies over the next hill, or, in this case, beyond the stone bridge." "True," chuckled the ranger, "but Morin is a wise man as well as skilled, and I spoke with him for a while at his camp in the Haunted Forest. He would surely not have mentioned the unkempt druids to me if they were a trivial matter."
Then the wizard spoke up again. "In any case, that is not what has been troubling me. My thoughts are of Felwithe, not of South Karana."
The paladin and the ranger exchanged befuddled glances. "Felwithe?" they exclaimed together. "The marble city of the High Elves is a long way off, wizard," laughed Kalweni, "and unless you have suddenly learned the secrets of teleportation, it means another hard climb over the mountains." Belrosian scowled and shook his head. "Making jokes about magic, are we?" he quipped. "Well, this is no laughing matter. And yes, I realize the road is long. Quellios help me, it means yet another crossing of the Ocean of Tears on that infernal boat. I would avoid it if it were possible, but I think now I may find the answers I seek in Felwithe."
Then it was Benarque's turn to laugh. "Ho-ho," he exclaimed. "Remember the last time we crossed the mountains, Kal? How he kept himself pressed up against the mountain wall, tapping his staff like a blind man, for fear we'd lead him over a cliff in the dark?"
"Aye," answered Kalweni. "The wizard was grumbling afterward for a week that his feet still hurt." She grinned. Then, the two became serious for a moment, and Benarque put his gloved hand on the wizard's shoulder. "The trip will not be as rough this time, my friend, now that we know the ways better," he said. "But, Felwithe? I must ask, why there?"
Belrosian grimaced, and stared out into the gloom. The wizard muttered something under his breath. The two half-elves, with their keen hearing, thought that he said something about ancient diaries. "That is all I will say for now," the wizard mumbled.
Then, as often happens in the world of Norrath, the rain clouds suddenly retreated. The sun appeared, rising above the distant mountains. From their vantage atop the tower, the fair vista of the central Plains of Karana became visible before them, spread out as far as the eye could see. In the midst of it all, the ancient, massive wizard-spires reached gracefully upward. The view was indeed astonishing, and the three friends caught their breath.
"As for me," Kalweni said after a moment, "I would not mind returning to the elvenwood, though the road is not an easy one. I long to visit again with our guildmates, the brothers and sisters in arms I have not seen in many days."
"So," Benarque asked. "Do we go south, to find this hermit, or do we go to seek the wisdom of the High Elves?"
For a long moment, Belrosian was silent. Then, he looked up. "There is more."
"When we passed through the gypsy camp, I felt a strange pulse of mana. Very faint it was, but growing in strength. When Mrysilla the gypsy woman saw my dragon-mark, she told me a strange tale. Recently, she and Romilla have been having troublesome dreams. Their dreams are of a vicious battle before a bridge in the heart of a forest of murky darkness. Imposed in her vision over the image of each of the combatants was a symbol of a dragon- some coiled, some striking, some sleeping, some flying. She indicated my own dragon mark and said it was similar to those in her dreams. When I asked her about the strange pulse of mana, she said a new nexus is forming around her camp. In a few days, it will be complete."
"So a gypsy woman is having dreams," asked the ranger, "why should that concern us?"
"And if there is a new foci of soulbonding," asked Kalweni, "that is a good thing, is it not?"
"I think the growing nexus is somehow a sign for the Thrice-marked of Veeshan," the wizard explained, "and the gypsy's dreams are but a side effect of the powerful warp in the fabric of magic that is taking place here. But why here, and why now? There have been no new foci since the days of the Combine empire." Belrosian scowled, and shook his head in consternation. Then he looked up. "A wedding is to take place in a few days in which two Thrice-marked are to be bonded. That coincidence is rather too strong to overlook."
"Which path we must take is now clear to me. The hermit is on the way to the Arena, and I think that after we learn what we can from him, we must continue on to this wedding."