They made a new camp in the woods outside the village, about a hundred yards from the closest dwelling. The villagers knew they were there, and didn't seem to mind; some of them even stood around gawking at them. Arai's armor, and especially his sword, were especially interesting to them.

The boy and girl who had first spotted them coming into the village showed up every day. Like the others, they kept their distance at first, but eventually they grew bolder, especially the boy, who wanted to examine Arai's sword up close. Arai did his best to make friends with the pair, and to discourage them from communicating with Lillandra -- he didn't trust the witch around children -- but they ignored him, babbling at her in their strange language whenever she went down to the river. To his surprise, the Night Queen was kind to them, and patient with them, and even offered them a few smiles from time to time.

It was a little disconcerting.

Arai, meanwhile, got acquainted with their neighbors, who lived in the house closest to their camp. They were a young couple, close to Arai's age, and they had a young son, perhaps two years old. The husband made his living as a fisherman. They were a friendly little family, and although they were wary at first, they eventually warmed to Arai.

Using his best sign language, he managed to borrow a large cooking pot from them, which Lillandra transformed into a cauldron. She filled it up with leaves, twigs, fish bones, grass clippings, locust shells, dirt, river water, and other oddments, set it over a fire, and stirred it up until it began to boil. She then spent an hour sitting in front of it with her eyes closed, all while Arai watched her very carefully. He kept his hand on his sword, just in case.

At last, she opened her eyes and said, "It's done."

"That's it?"

"It's a proper cauldron now," she affirmed. "It's drawing magia out of the ether. In a few weeks it'll have gathered enough for me to perform a calculation and create a Stone of Many Tongues." She rose to her feet and dusted herself off. "A cauldron itself is a kind of zemi, but a very simple one."

Arai gave her an appraising look. "Who taught you all this stuff?"

"My grandmother taught me the fundamentals. But I learned most of it on my own."

"Really?"

"I had a knack for it," she said, shrugging.

That, Arai suspected, was an understatement. He had met several sorcerers and spell-slingers over the years -- some of them had served as mercenaries in his father's company -- but most of them were rather limited in their abilities. They could throw fire and ice from their fingers, and hover above the battlefield, and deflect arrows with gusts of wind, but he had never met one who could turn a man to stone, transport a person to the other side of the world, or create enchanted objects. Even Vex couldn't do those kinds of things, and Vex was probably the most skilled sorcerer Arai had encountered...until now.

"Now we have to find a stone to cast the spell on," she went on.

"That shouldn't be too hard. There's stones all over."

She shook her head. "It has to be a special kind of stone, one containing a variety of different minerals. Granite might work, but skarn or tactite would be best."

"Why?"

"I told you before, the enchanted object has to be reflective of the nature of the spell. Many minerals in one stone, many languages in one mind...you see?"

"I can't believe you learned all this on your own."

"It's not that complicated," she said, "once you get the hang of it."

She went on to spend the next few days scouring the riverbank, searching for a stone, while Arai speared fish and constructed shelters for himself and Lillandra. The fisherman's wife, from whom he had borrowed the cauldron, sometimes stopped by to give them a bowl of berries or a handful of apples, which Arai thought was very kind of her.

"She has the makings of a sorceress," Lillandra offered, as she bit into an apple.

"The fisherman's wife? How can you tell?"

"From the way magia flows around her." She took another bite. "Anyway, the woman has a little potential. She could probably learn some simple spells."

"You can tell that, too? How powerful another sorcerer might be?"

"Most of the time."

A week passed, and then another. Lillandra eventually found a stone that she thought might work for the spell -- a chunk of skarn she had found on a cliffside, which was threaded through with bands of blue and gold -- but it took much longer for her to gather the magia in her cauldron. "There's very little magia in this area," she explained. "And I need a fair amount of it for this spell."

All this waiting around was very frustrating. Arai was desperate to return to Velon, to rescue Odo and Maya, to see Grizz and the Steelmen again, to find out how the rebellion was faring. He worried about Vex.

The journey back to Velon was likely to be a long one, though, full of dangers, and the ability to communicate with the people they encountered would be invaluable. They needed this stone.

They remained camped on the outskirts of the village for almost three weeks. In all that time, Lillandra made no attempt to escape, but then, where would she escape to? They were in totally unfamiliar country, and surrounded on all sides by forests. There was a road running out of the village, snaking through the woods to the north, but they had no idea where it might lead. She might have stolen a boat as well, and tried her luck downriver, but for all they knew the river emptied into the Southern Ocean, that endless expanse that no one had ever successfully crossed.

She was a powerful sorceress, of course, and might have used her magic to make a getaway, but most of her power seemed to have been bound up in the Staff of Night and her assorted zemi, which had taken her years to produce. Without them, she was practically helpless.

Slowly but surely, his attitude towards Lillandra began to change. He had to remind himself, over and over again, that she was the Night Queen, and that she deserved to die for her crimes, and that he had sworn to kill her himself as soon as Odo and Maya were returned to normal. He had to remind himself, because the more time he spent with her, and the more he got to know her, the more his resolve began to weaken. She was snappish, and sullen, and sarcastic, but she wasn't a demon. She was nice to the village children, and polite to their parents, and Arai never saw her do anything obviously wicked. It was hard to believe this was the same Night Queen who had terrorized Velon for a hundred years, whose assassins had killed rebel leaders, whose monsters had torn apart whole armies.

And although they didn't get along all that well -- how could they, when Arai had sworn to kill her? -- the fact that they were stuck in this situation together had bound them together, forced them to work together. She began to feel like an ally, of sorts.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

One afternoon, while Arai was brooding over these things, Lillandra spoke up: "I think I have enough magia to perform the calculation now," she said.

"Really?"

"It'll take a few minutes to enchant the stone. But I'm just about--"

She was interrupted by a series of shouts coming from the village, followed by a scream. "What was that?" Arai asked, sitting up.

"It's none of our business, whatever it is," Lillandra said, but Arai was already strapping on his sword and heading up to the village.

He saw the source of the trouble as soon as he entered the square. Three rough-looking men, wearing cloaks and breastplates, and all wearing swords, were accosting some of the villagers -- shouting at them, pushing them around. One old woman was lying in the dirt, having apparently been knocked down. Arai's neighbor, the young fisherman, was helping her to her feet.

Most of the villagers were standing around, eyes downcast, not doing anything to help.

Arai didn't know what was going on here, but he knew he didn't like it. "Hey!" he shouted at the men.

They turned to look at him. The leader, a large man with an ugly scar running down his cheek, barked something at him -- probably warning him not to interfere -- but he stopped when he saw Arai's sword, pointing at him and motioning for him to step forward.

Arai didn't move. Angered, the man shouted something at him, and then at his companions. The two men drew their swords.

That was all the excuse Arai needed. He drew his own blade. The crowd gasped.

The young fisherman began tugging on Arai's sleeve and pleading with him, obviously trying to dissuade him from fighting the ruffians. It was too late for that, though; the men were already approaching him, bare steel in their hands.

Arai pushed the fisherman away and fell into a fighting stance: the Rising Tide, one of the Three Waves his father had drilled into him so many years ago. This was a defensive stance, designed to exploit openings and counter an opponent as they came forward.

Fortunately the men did not try to flank him -- they both came at him from the same time and from the same direction, feinting with their swords, probably expecting him to back off. Arai did not back off; he remained rooted to the spot, one knee bent, holding Silus with both hands.

The men's swords were unusual; they were heavy and thick, more like big butcher's knives than proper fighting swords. And the men were holding them very loosely.

One of the men suddenly lunged, swinging his big sword horizontally, apparently intending to lop his head off. Arai didn't even bother to try to catch the blade; instead, he simply ducked his head beneath it, then came up with his own sword, slicing into the man's hand as his momentum carried him forward. The man dropped the heavy sword and stumbled away, howling in pain.

They were clearly amateurs. Arai could have easily killed the man at that point, but he thought that might be impolitic, so instead, he took a single step forward, using his foot to slide the man's sword out of play, and then flew at the other man, who was standing there dumbly. He quickly batted the sword out of the second man's hand, struck him in the head with the pommel of his sword, and whirled on the scarred man. He had his sword up and aimed at his throat before the man's own blade was halfway out of its scabbard.

"You're not welcome here," he snarled at the man. "Leave. Now."

The man couldn't understand his words, of course, but he got the message. He said something to his companions, who quickly collected their swords and mounted their horses, which had been tied up on the other side of the square. Arai lowered his sword, allowing the scarred man to mount his horse as well. The scarred man shouted something at the villagers -- a warning, perhaps -- and spurred his horse, and the three men rode out of the village, onto the road that wove through the trees to the north.

Arai sheathed his sword and turned to the villagers. He had expected them to be grateful, or relieved, at least, that he'd managed to run off these ruffians, but most of them looked terrified, and all were whispering urgently to each other. The fisherman's expression was grave.

Shrugging, Arai turned, and was surprised to see Lillandra standing there as well, staring at him.

He went to her. "You saw that?"

"You shouldn't have interfered," she said. "You've only made things worse for these people."

"How do you know?"

Instead of answering, she reached out and touched something to his forehead.

Instinctively, Arai slapped her hand away, afraid that she meant to do him harm. "What are you doing?"

The slap annoyed her. "This is the Stone of Many Tongues, you idiot," she said crossly, holding up the piece of skarn. "I completed it while you were up here getting into trouble."

"Warn me next time," he said. "I don't like being surprised by..." He trailed off, because, to his amazement, the whispers and complaints of the villagers around him had suddenly begun to make sense. They weren't speaking Velonese, but somehow, he was able to understand them.

"I've already used it on myself," she provided.

The fisherman approached them. "This complicates things," he muttered, in this language that had suddenly become comprehensible. "I know you can't understand me, but--"

"As a matter of fact I can understand you," Arai said, surprised to find himself speaking this strange language as well. It all felt very natural. "Now."

The fisherman blinked. "I thought you couldn't speak Addish. How is this possible? Or have you been deceiving us this whole time?"

"It wasn't deception," he explained. He gestured to Lillandra. "My companion here is a witch, and she's just completed a spell which allows us to speak and understand you. It took her several weeks."

The man looked at them both skeptically; he clearly didn't believe this. "Well," he said, "it's good that you ken my language now, at least. My name is Tal. What's yours?"

"I'm Arai," he said, "and this is Lillandra."

He nodded at them. "And where are you from?"

"Velon."

The man frowned. "I've never heard of it."

"It's a small kingdom in the far north, west of Arliel's Holy Empire."

"I've never heard of that one, either, I'm afraid."

"The Queendom of Elent? The Scarred Lands?"

He shook his head. "You must be very far from home. How did you get here?"

Arai glanced at Lillandra. "By accident. Tell me, what country is this?"

"Why, this is Addis, of course."

"Addis?" Arai had never heard of this place. "And those mountains, to the southeast?"

"The Fallhorn," he said, "and beyond them, Turuni, Turuval, and Elvinine -- the kingdoms of the elves."

Arai started. "Elves?" He had heard of elves, but he had never actually seen one; in fact he had assumed they were simply legends. They were said to live in a land very far to the east, beyond the Queendom of Elent, beyond the Scarred Lands. "We really are on the other side of the world, aren't we?" he muttered. But he put that aside for now. "Who were those men?"

"Gringus and his thugs," Tal said. "They work for Erek. They call themselves tax collectors, but they're little better than thieves. They come to the village every few months and make a nuisance of themselves. If we give them what they want, they usually leave us alone." He shook his head wearily. "But now you've made them angry. They'll return in a few days, with Erek, and Erek will want to teach us a lesson."

"Who's this Erek?"

"The ruler of Farlentree."

"Farlentree? I thought you said this country was called Addis."

"It is. Farlentree is the name of the province."

"Erek is your provincial lord, then?"

"Not...exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"Erek is a sorcerer. He was an advisor to Lord Barlotte, but three years ago he managed to seize power for himself, imprisoning our lord in the dungeons beneath Barlotte Castle. He claims to rule in Barlotte's name, but everyone knows Erek is the real power in the province."

"This man imprisoned your lord? How could you let that stand?"

"He's a sorcerer," Tal pointed out. "He has the power to wake the dead."

"A necromancer?" Lillandra asked.

"I suppose. Some of Lord Barlotte's men did attempt to break him out of the dungeons a few years ago, but they couldn't get into the castle; Erek's walking corpses drove them off."

"I can't believe your king would tolerate such a thing."

"Addis is a very large kingdom," Tal said, "and Farlentree is a small and remote province, containing only a handful of small villages. It is almost all wilderness, from here to the mountains. We are beneath the king's notice. Besides, Lord Barlotte is old and infirm, and Erek claims to be his legally-appointed regent. There is little we can do." He sighed. "Gringus will return, with Erek, and they will punish us. The sorcerer is a ruthless man. He's tortured men and women, burned whole villages to the ground..." He shook his head sadly. "If only you had known..."

But Arai wasn't about to apologize. "If I had known, I would've killed them, rather than let them go. I'm not the kind of man to simply stand by and watch, as innocent villagers and helpless old women are terrorized by thugs."

Tal looked at him curiously. "You're a bold one, aren't you? Are you a knight?"

Arai was not familiar with this term. "I'm a swordsman."

"I see," he said uncertainly. But then he shook his head again, in dismay. "I must speak with my wife. We may have to flee the village. I would advise you to leave as well. The people here...they may think they can appease Erek, by handing you over to him."

Arai hadn't considered that possibility, but it made sense. "Thank you," he said. "But if this Erek comes looking for me, I intend to give him a fight."

"He's a sorcerer," Tal reminded him.

"I'm not afraid of sorcerers," he said, throwing a meaningful glance at Lillandra. She merely snorted at him.