Chapter 1 - Into the Mountains

A grey mule, as noble as it was humble, clopped up a cobblestone road in a steady trot. The man atop the mule wore a red cloak that twirled and twisted in the wind blowing from the side. His heavy red hood hid a head of golden, flowing locks that spilt out the sides of the mouth of the hood.

The grey skies threatened the rider with a cruel storm. Hopefully, Ulrich will have shelter for me he thought as his mule trotted down the other side of the hill.

Rain began to patter down upon the grassy hills and speckled the stone highway. A bolt of lightning flashed over the mountains ahead in the east. A second later, thunder roared and boomed.

“Hyah!” The rider pushed his steed into a gallop. It’s only going to get worse before it gets better. I’m riding right into it. The wind tugged harder at his cloak, ripping off his hood and blowing back his golden hair. He could feel the rain patter and drip on his pointed ears.

Onward he rode, almost charging down the hills on his brave steed. A few minutes he thought. We’re almost there. We should be in the rain for no more than a few minutes. Then, the waters of heaven broke. Down came the torrents of the sky like the many tears of weeping gods, battering the earth in loud, heavy sheets.

His arms and head were immediately soaked. The large, breathy sleeves of his tunic now hugged his strong arms. His thick trousers were soaking through to his legs. The driest part of him was his chest over which he wore a bright breastplate of steel. Etched into it were the holy sigils of his order and his faith.

“All-Father, Who ruleth from Thy Temple, glory be Thy sacred name,” whispered the elf-man as rain pelted him in the face.

Lightning ripped through the sky ahead. The wicked crack of thunder followed. The mule stopped atop a hill, startled and turning. “We’re almost there, Habit!” yelled the rider as he pulled the steed straight again.

The mule shook his head as if gathering his senses, then bullied forward at a brisk trot. You beautiful, noble beast thought the man. You’re better than the rest of us. God was sure of that when he made you, Habit.

The man guided Habit gently down the slopes. They would be slippery now in the rain. The worst thing would be for the mule to fall and perhaps break a leg, and this thought badgered the rider, lingering in the back of his mind. Rather than push it out and ignore it, he brought the thought forward as if to trial. He questioned it, and he presented his own evidence against it: if we ride carefully, you’ll be safe, Habit. There’s no reason for either of us to get hurt. We’re already caught in this rain. We won’t be any drier if we hurt ourselves. Wouldn’t want them to have to name a Roderick XXIV all because Roderick XXIII couldn’t be patient riding in a little rain. We’ll be there soon, and we’ll be there without falling. I’ll be damned if either of us gets hurt, Habit.

Roderick could see the town he was riding to up ahead, though the grey curtains of rain tried their best to hide it. He pulled his hood back up, put his head down, and rode forward. He could hear the loud patter of rain against his hood. He watched the drops slam and splash against the stone road. He looked at the wild grass and saw it dance and waver under the assault.

The patter of the sky torrents was so oppressive, Roderick could no longer hear the clop of Habit’s horseshoes. Are they still horseshoes if they’re on a mule? thought Roderick. He’d had them put on before they left, knowing that he’d be riding on roads and rocky hills, really testing his steed’s endurance, and that would test the durability of the mule’s hoofs. He cared about Habit, not just as a means to an end, but as one friend cares for another.

The rain let up for a more. It did not stop, only lessened as if to take a breath before beginning its outpouring once more. Houses started to appear on his left and right, modest dry rock walls with thick, thatched roofs all built for men a foot or more shorter than he was. Since the rain had lessened, Roderick could look and see their vegetable gardens as well as some features of their stone gardens, tall, twisted rocks reaching up into oddly pleasant shapes.

These were the homes of hill dwarves. Roderick had always admired them. The hill dwarves had not built any large cities, unlike their kin who ruled the mountains. They were not interested in might or power or glory; they lived simple lives of gardening, stone working, and a bit of smithing here and there. They were farmers and modest merchants. They collected large rocks that were pleasing to their eyes. They were simple.

Roderick made his way to the town’s inn, a hulking building with a yard out back that Roderick was sure could entertain the whole town at once. Community is everything to them after God; if you do not have those He has given you to love, what do you have?

He rode over to the inn’s stable. The dwarves had built the stable mostly for ponies and their own smaller pack animals, but there was room enough for larger guests; some merchants would come in great wagons pulled by oxen, and so a prudent innkeeper built his stables to suit them. The most prudent of innkeepers built their stables with any guest in mind. So it is written: the wise man knoweth not when alefs be his guests.

Roderick put Habit in a stall. “I’ll be back, friend,” he told the mule. “I’m going to go and ask for some help with our things.”

He took a side door out of the stable that opened to a covered walkway that led to the front porch of the inn. I’ll be dry soon he thought. Water dripped from his cloak. His boots slushed with every step.

He came to the front doors, a nice, wide double set carved from beautiful wood the elf-man was unfamiliar with. The builder had set the iron frame of the doors into the dry stone walls without any mortar, keeping with the structural theme. Building wasn’t a mere practical game of necessity to the dwarf craftsmen; it was an art like any other, a craft to be mastered and an attempt to bring beauty into the world, for where there was beauty, there was certainly truth.

Some builders thought it was a crime to put paint to stone. Others felt that it tied their work together. Whoever had built this inn believed the latter; the rock walls were painted grey near the ground and a dark brown all the way up to the roof after a certain height.

Roderick made the sign of the rood, said a quick prayer of thanks, turned the doorknob, and bent down to enter the work of art.

“Oh, my!” called a woman from behind the counter a few yards to Roderick’s left. Straight ahead across the massive floor was a stage set against a wall. Roderick saw large openings in the walls that led to different rooms. To his right stood round tables with chairs and a fireplace large enough to roast a pig inside. Comfortable looking lounging chairs were set around the fireplace.

“Benediah! You and Tovia go out to the stable and take care of this man’s horse,” said the woman. Two teenage looking dwarf-boys walked out from one of the back rooms.

“Yes, momma,” said one of the boys as he led the other to the front door.

“Thank you, Benediah. Thank you, Tovia.”

“Gosh, mister. You really got caught in it, didn’t you,” said the boy Roderick assumed was Benediah.

“Indeed,” said Roderick. “If I’d only left a little sooner this morning, I could have beaten.”

“Yeah? That’s quite rough.”

“It is, but it’s a good lesson. Those who rise early often reach their goals before adversity can come. In other words, start the day early, and you’ll have less trouble.”

“That sounds pretty smart, mister. Thanks!”

“Thank you, for your help. We’re looking for the grey mule. I’ll show you.”

“Ooooh no you’re not!” called the woman as she came over with armfuls of towels. “The only things you’re looking for are some dry clothes and a warm fire. You take that cloak off, and I’ll hang it in the kitchen next to the stove. It’ll dry better there than it will on a rack out here.

“You take these towels and dry your clothes off as best you can. We’ll get you out of that armour too, no need for that here. What kind of room would you like? Are you staying for the night?”

“You’re too kind, ma’am,” said Roderick as he stepped out of the way to let the boys out the front doors. He took off his cloak as she instructed. “I’ll have a large room to myself if you have one.”

“Easy enough. I’ll take you to it in a moment here. Just let me hang your cloak first. Should I call you Brother or Father?”

She saw he was part of an order from his cloak and his breastplate.

“Brother is fine, ma’am. Brother Roderick.”

“The twenty-third, right?”

“Indeed,” said Roderick. He couldn’t help but smile, almost laughing. “Either my reputation precedes me, or I have a dear friend looking out for me.”

“Bit of both, Brother. Ulrich told us to expect you. Said you were a dear friend of his, but he didn’t say what you looked like.”

“Did he mention I was an elf-man?” Why am I not surprised he knew I was coming?

“No, but that won’t bother anyone around here. We’re not at all close to our Kriegsippen kin. None of them even live here that I know of. They consider us bumpkins, I suppose. Hand me that breastplate now. We’ll get it dried and oiled.”

“Thank you again, ma’am,” said Roderick as he removed his armour.

“You get dry, and I’ll be right back. And don’t worry about paying for anything. You’re all on Ulrich’s tab.”

A dear friend indeed thought Roderick as he patted his head with a towel. He then started working on his arms and legs.

Roderick heard the dwarf woman returning. He looked up, and she smiled back at him. He saw that she was now carrying a lantern in one hand and an unlit candle in the other.

“Let’s get you to your room,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am. I apologize, but I didn’t ask you your name earlier.”

“Just call me Miriam, Brother.”

“Thank you. You have a beautiful inn here,” he said as she led him upstairs.

“Why thank you! My husband and his father and my father all built it when I was barely a woman. When it was finished, we were married at the church. This was years ago of course. We were just a village out here. Now, we’re a proper town, but this is still the largest building around. They expanded the church a bit, but it’s still a bit small for all of us. Not everyone comes to the liturgy anymore though. It’s sad to say. Our community is outgrowing itself and falling apart a bit.”

“You have fine sons,” said Roderick.

“Thank you, Brother.”

“Raise them to lead men, but don’t raise them to lead men just anywhere. Raise them to lead men toward the truth. In my experience, that’s where every community begins to fail.”

“Thank you for your wisdom, Brother. It’d be nice if we could have more holy men around,” she said as she opened a door on her left and stepped inside. “Well, here’s your room. The boys will be up soon with your bags, and then after that, I want to see you in dry clothes downstairs by the fire.” She lit the candle on her lantern then lit a lamp on the nightstand with the candle. “I’ll warm you some stew. You aren’t fasting are you?”

“No ma’am,” said Roderick with a friendly smirk that showed he was pleased with her attention to detail.

“Good then. I’ll be filling the vegetable stew with cuts of beef.”

She left him to himself. He continued to dry off, and as he ran a towel through his hair again, there was a knock at the door. He walked over to it and opened it to see the two boys, each with their arms full of his bags.

“We brought everything up. We weren’t sure what you needed or what might be wet,” said Benediah.

“Perfect. That gives me the chance to air everything out,” said Roderick with true gratitude coating every word. “Set everything right over there. And take these.” He pulled out two gold coins and gave one to each of them. “Even if you just buy your mother some flowers, do something good with them.”

“We could buy a whole garden with these,” said Tovia.

“Indeed. I’ll let you figure out what kindness you want to do, just do something.”

“Isn’t it a little backwards taking money from a holy man? We’re supposed to give that to you,” said Benediah.

“Those who labour deserve a wage. Is that not what is written?”

“I guess so,” said Benediah.

“Well, what kind of monk would I be if I paid no heed to the scriptures?”

“You’d be about like most of us, I suppose.”

“Oh no. It would be far worse for me. I swore oaths. I made promises. I am allowed to fall, but I am not allowed to lie in the dirt.”

“You know, sir,” said Tovia. “I’ve never seen a sword this big. This thing is huge. It’s as tall as you are.”

“Haha, almost.”

“Do you really use that thing?” Benediah.

“Indeed,” said Roderick. “I use it to battle aeons much larger than myself.”

“You mean like hill giants?” asked Tovia.

“Exactly like hill giants. The sword is called a zweihander. It was actually designed by your kin in the mountains long ago. It’s similar to claymores of my own people,” said Roderick. “Now, if you two gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to get out of these wet clothes and get down by the fire.”

“Hey, you don’t need to call us gentlemen,” said Benediah, sarcastically. “We work for our meals.”

“Hahaha! Indeed,” said Roderick. “And never stop. You are fine young men. Grow up to be good men.”

“Thank you, sir,” said both of them at once before turning and running out the hall and down the stairs.

Roderick shut the door. He could barely hear the rain beating against the roof of the inn. He decided to open the window to get a look at the weather. He pulled two horn paned windows in which opened the window space to the shutters outside. He could see here that the walls were about two feet thick. It’s like being inside a castle he thought.

He could also tell from the rattling shutters that the storm outside had not subsided a all. He was just standing in a small fortress.

He found his dry clothes and removed his wet ones, finally glad to be out of the sloshing boots. He poured the water from them in the bedpan; that seemed more considerate than pouring them out on the hardwood floor.

He put on his change of clothes, put out the lamp, and headed downstairs with his boots in hand, planning to set them by the fireplace to dry.

After setting his boots a safe distance from the fire, he picked the largest chair he could find and leaned back in it. The dwarves really know how to make a chair. This is incredibly comfortable. The day had only come to the early evening, but Roderick had been riding since the early morning. He realized, there in that oh so comfortable chair, how tired he was. He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the warm dance of the fire, letting it soak into his cold skin and down into his bones.

“Do you take beer?” asked Miriam as she set a small table beside him. She held a tray with a bowl, a mug, and a pitcher in the other hand.

“I do. Thank you,” said Roderick.

“Good! I hope you like it dark too.”

“You mean stout? I haven’t had stout in years. The closest you can find in the west are pale lagers. They’re good, but they don’t compare.”

“The Brother likes his beer, doesn’t he?” asked Miriam with a bit of a laugh as she sat his stew on the table, then the mug, and then poured him a pint from the pitcher.

“We monks invented beer, ma’am!”

The two of them laughed.

“Get warm now. Do you think your clothes will dry upstairs? Never mind that. I know they won’t. I’ll go grab them and hang them near the stove with your cloak. You eat up and rest. Ulrich will be here soon.”

The stew had vegetables and chunks of beef as she had said: carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, peas, onions, and mushrooms. The tender beef melted in his mouth. The beer overwhelmed him at first; the black brew punched him in the mouth with a crisp tang, full of hop. The more he drank it, the more he liked it. The more he appreciated the clean finish. I can’t believe how well this pairs with the stew.

“Roderick!” yelled a familiar voice like a barking hound.

“The twenty-third himself!” said the monk without looking over his shoulder.

A dwarf came over and pulled up a chair near him. “How have things been?” he asked. A grey, almost white beard hung down from the dwarf’s sun-spotted face. The hair on his head, the same colour, flowed down his back and over his shoulders. His dark grey tunic looked like a robe. He wore thick gloves made for hard work on both of his hands. He carried a druid’s staff, a long piece of oak with a flaming bird, something between an eagle and a swan, carved out of the top. A pointed, red crystal jutted out that end like a spearhead.

“Well enough,” said Roderick. “How did you know I’d be here? The aeons?”

“Yes, the aeons told me. They saw you riding out this morning. I’m glad you’ve taken my warnings seriously.”

“Well, of course. The trouble was getting the bishop to take it seriously.”

“I see. Did he send any help with you?”

“No. I’m all on my own.”

“That’s odd.”

“It makes more sense when you understand why he sent me.”

“Oh?”

“He’s not truly concerned. He doesn’t really believe us.“

“How did you manage to get sent this way then?”

“It’s a political manoeuver. He wants his enemies to think he’s building up a connection with the eastern bishops. The whole thing is more complicated than I care to understand. We’re on our own, Ulrich.”

“Well, at least we have the chance to do something.”

“Indeed. Cevola should still be rife with freelancers. I’m sure we can gather together a party and go clear out the caves. If there’s anything unsavoury going on, we’ll find it in the depths.”

“We’re going to have to do some training with whoever we find.”

“You think so?”

“Oh yeah. You don’t want to run through a grinder with a bunch of meatheads. In my thirty years, I’ve seen hundreds of men die just because they didn’t know what they were getting into. Just because freelancer types are common over at Cevola doesn’t mean experienced freelancers are common.”

“You’re right,” said Roderick, putting his hand to his chin in thought.

“Heck, most of the experienced ones retire. The smart ones at least. It’s not an old man’s game.”

“What keeps you in it?”

“I fucking hate grogs,” said Ulrich. His jaw snapped tight and his brow furrowed. He wore his sincerity on his face. “What about you?”

“It’s where I’m called to serve, I suppose.” Roderick took a long drink from his beer. “I can’t see myself anywhere else.”

“Then you’ll die out there. Maybe not around Cevola, but somewhere out there.”

“Indeed.” Roderick stared at the fire as it danced and twirled in the fireplace.

“When are we leaving?” asked Ulrich.

“I should be asking you. I’m fine with as soon as possible, but you know the route and the weather better than I do.”

“Good. I was hoping you didn’t want to wait. I spent the morning packing and preparing my affairs.”

“You plan to die with me then,” said Roderick with a sarcastic smirk.

“You never plan to die. You just always make sure you’re prepared to do so.”

The two men had set out early that morning as they said they would, Roderick riding on Habit and Ulrich taking the form of a wolf.

Ulrich led the way. He ran ahead and found the safest paths up into the mountains, and where there were no safe paths, he turned back into himself and cleared them with his magic as best as he could.

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“It’s going to be cold up ahead. Are you ready for that?” yelled Ulrich down the mountainside as he watched Habit carefully climb the rocky trail.

“How cold?” Roderick shouted back.

“If you have to ask, you’re not ready. Here!” Ulrich pointed his staff at the rider and steed. A red light covered them.

Roderick saw little blue lights circling around him. Any chill that he had felt from the cool mountain air disappeared. He had the strangest feeling that the air was just right.

“Too easy!” said Ulrich. “I don’t know why more people don’t use that spell for travel.”

“It’ll work on Habit?”

“The mule? Of course. It’s just protection from cold. You usually see it thrown around before fighting a frost elemental or other icy aeons.”

“Lots of snow then?”

“Bingo.”

The wolf, the rider, and the mule kept pushing forward. When they came to the first signs of snowfall, Roderick went ahead and dismounted.

There’s no reason to risk getting us hurt he thought. Besides, I’m sore from riding anyone. I’ll gladly walk. His and Habit’s feet crunched down on the thickening snow.

The mountain towered up on either side of the pass. Roderick looked at the thick walls of ice that covered the mountain and shrank the pass. Even he could recognize the influence of a powerful aeon. That kind of influence meant danger. Why hasn’t he warned us wondered Roderick.

“Wait a moment, Ulrich,” said Roderick as he unpacked his zweihander from Habit’s load. Too large for a sheathe to be much use, Roderick wrapped the blade in a red cloth to protect it. He unwound the cloth then packed it away in Habit’s saddlebags.

The pale, almost silver blade spoke of more than simple steel. About a cubit from the hilt, the blade boasted two parrying hooks. Roderick suspected they were useful for knocking away pikes, but he couldn’t be certain; he had never fought with the blade in a war, its original intended use. What he did know was that the blade clove well through aeons. It was particularly designed for aeons of undeath and would supposedly well smite aeons of Hell as well, though he had never had the chance to try that either. He lifted the blade onto his shoulder and nodded at Ulrich to carry on.

They had marched through the pass for well over an hour when Ulrich stopped and looked up to his right. Roderick followed his gaze to see something climbing and sliding silently along the icy wall of the pass.

“Is that a grog?” asked Roderick, staring at the humanoid figure then looking down to Ulrich for an answer.

The wolf in front of him shook his head ‘no’ then transformed into a dwarf-man. “Worse. It’s a grendel.”

“Ah. A bigger, meaner, smarter grog.”

“At least it’s probably alone. I can only imagine there’s two of them at best.”

“Let’s keep moving. Standing around raises our risk.”

“Bingo. He was trying to get the drop on us. Since we saw him, he’ll probably leave us alone… for now. He’ll probably try the same thing again later.”

With flurries of snow swirling around them and the wintery winds rushing down the pass, the companions pushed forward again, still crunching snow beneath their paws, boots, and hooves.

I wouldn’t dare attempt this without Ulrich thought Roderick. You know, Habit: I think you two are the only ones in the world God has given me to fully trust. I say that like it’s a bad thing, but… Many have no one they can trust. You become a monk so you can join a brotherhood of faithful men. You think you’ll all be alike, always pursuing God, pushing yourselves deeper and deeper into holiness together.

But, no one else seems to have become a monk for that reason. They all became monks because they had nothing better to offer the world. They didn’t come to repent. They came to escape. I came to fight. So, how could I turn down training as an avenger? To deny the sword would have been to deny repentance. I learned to fight men and aeons so I could learn to fight my demons and slay my sins.

I came to the monastery to find out what it meant to be a man.

Ulrich turned around. He barked.

Roderick about faced and struck out of pure discipline and reflex as he saw the shaggy, towering humanoid rushing in on him. Black blood burst from the grendel’s shoulder, coating its pale fur and dripping down to the ground to freeze.

Habit ran ahead, startled.

The grendel mocked Roderick with his cold, black pits for eyes staring from behind a long nose above a sharp and crooked smile. He grabbed the monk’s sword tight in his mighty hand.

Roderick watched the monster’s wound start to close. He looked at the purple fist around his sword.

The grendel pulled the sword, expecting to jerk it out of Roderick’s hands, but the monk jerked back, slicing through the creature’s hand. The monk kept control; with the strength of a seasoned man, Rodrick swung the blade back down on the monster’s head, splitting it in two. He bounced the sword around and struck at the neck, slicing what was left of the head from the body. All this in seconds.

Roderick turned to ask Ulrich for fire, knowing what would happen without it.

The dwarf-man stood still, chanting and whispering as another grendel charged him. Blangh! Fire burst from the tip of his staff in a shower of fearsome sparks, blasting, burning, and destroying the upper body of the monstrosity that was charging him.

Roderick stood with his jaw hanging and a crooked smile on his face. He’d always loved to watch that spell. Twenty-five yards of fierce, fiery sparks and a fearsome bang that rang the ears. Exciting. He snapped to in a moment. “Ulrich! Fire!” he called.

The druid ran over and looked down at the grendel. He watched the pieces of its head continue to knit themselves back together. He watched the black blood start to writhe and move like a slimy, living thing, reaching for the head and pulling it back toward the body.

The old dwarf-man pointed his staff down at the reforming head. He whispered his magic words and again: blangh! The blast of hot sparks incinerated its targets leaving a charred black mess of what was once grendel flesh and blood sinking into the melted snow and ice. Steam rose from the hole Ulrich had melted and blasted into the ground.

“That was pretty savvy,” said Ulrich with a bit of a chuckle. “I was wondering what would happen if I cast that spell on this ice.”

Roderick ran over to Habit. “Let’s keep going!” he called over his shoulder. It’ll only get more dangerous if we stand around he reminded himself.

As they continued to crunch through the snow, they came to a fork in the pass. Ulrich the wolf sat down and looked both ways.

“Well,” said Roderick. “Which one?”

“I’m not sure,” said Ulrich after turning into a dwarf-man again. “I sense an incredible amount of power down the left way… but the right way is almost clear.”

“Seems obvious to me,” said Roderick. “We go right. No need for unnecessary danger.”

“Well, that’s just it,” said Ulrich. “I don’t think there is any danger. The power doesn’t feel threatening. It’s just big. Mighty.”

The longer we’re out here, the greater the chance is that something will go wrong. That said, are we going to need to make camp? “How much longer will it take to get through the pass? How much time do we have to spare?”

“We have at least two hours extra before there’s any chance of getting stuck and having to make camp.”

“Well, you’ve made me curious,” said Roderick. “Do you have any other means of scouting ahead? The danger here seems to be getting ambushed by something else.”

Ulrich held his left hand up to his staff. Fiery red energies pulsed from the staff to his hand. He threw the energy up into the air, and it manifested into an aeon, a flaming bird, something between an eagle and a swan.

Roderick watched the bird fly upward in circles. He wondered how it glided and climbed so easily. It seemed far more capable than an ordinary bird.

Ulrich signalled for the bird to fly ahead.

“Her name is Brenna,” said Ulrich as he stared up at the flaming bird flying ahead for them. He transformed back into a wolf and followed her.

Perhaps the only man in the world who knew the significance of that name stood silent and still in the howling wind, struck by the tragedy of Ulrich’s decision. So, you named her after your daughter, your little flame. And after all these years, you still hurt. Yet, you keep going. You never stopped. You fought harder, even. What Hell and all its devices took from you, you returned to them with righteous fury, tenfold. You’re a good man, Ulrich. An inspiration.

Roderick whispered a prayer with the sign of the rood then knelt on one knee and touched the ground. After standing back up, he marched after Ulrich.

The pass turned into a steady climb. As they drew closer to the top of the climb, Roderick noticed that the snow and ice were shallower. He and Habit seemed to be walking up steps.

“Ulrich. Did you notice these were steps?”

The wolf changed forms again and stomped his heavy boots into the snow.

“You’re right. That’s interesting.”

“Do you think we’ve come across some ancient shrine? A forgotten, frozen holy place?”

Ulrich shrugged. “We’ll see when we get to the top.”

“You’re right,” said Roderick. He looked to either side and saw how close to the tops of the pass’s walls they were. He looked ahead and saw where a cloud had settled into the pass. “We must be close to the peak of the mountain, even.”

There was a great screech. A massive white and blue bird burst from the wall of clouds up ahead and snatched up Brenna in its talons. It turned upward then back toward the cloud.

Ulrich took off in a sprint, racing after the great predator.

Roderick ran as fast as he could after Ulrich, but his feet still sank into the snow. Still not safe to ride Habit. We’ll meet him at the top he thought.

Ulrich entered the grey cloud. Blindness. The world around him was nothing but cold fog. Even his sense of smell was thrown off by the dust and vapour of the cloud. But, he could still feel that strange ahead. Straight ahead. Straight ahead.

The cloud grew brighter. I’m coming to the edge he thought. He sprinted, kicking up snow as he went. Dashing forward, the bright light of the mountain sun struck his eyes like a hammer hits a nail. He was at the top.

He saw the great bird perched on the ground with Brenna in one of his talons. To his left, he saw the white, pointed peak of the mountain reaching up into the crisp blue sky. A massive cave had been carved out of it, something large enough to serve as a cathedral’s nave or a banquet hall. The floor of the cave jutted out to form a bluff. All the way to his left, Ulrich saw a set of stairs that led to the top of the bluffs.

“Greetings and salutations,” said a tall elf-man standing at the top of the bluff. His brown hair blew in the wind. He held a pole in his right hand. Ulrich recognized that it held the magics of a staff, but it was as tall as a pike. A long banner hung from the pole with pale blue and white heraldry tinged with gold. He wore a full set of plate mail with his barbuta helmet tucked under his left arm. A cloak like his banner was draped from his shoulders, though the winds tossed it about like his hair. From where each stood, Ulrich couldn’t see a long sword, but he was certain there would be one on the knight’s left hip to complete the set.

“You must be a dragon,” said Ulrich after changing back to a dwarf-man.

A look of disappointment fell across the man’s face.

“How could you tell so quickly?” he asked.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious. That cave is huge, and knights don’t just stand around in massive caves on mountain tops.”

“Maybe I’m a devoted hermit! A holy warrior who’s chosen a life of solitude.”

“Well, if that was your story, you shouldn’t have let it go when I called you a dragon. If that’s what you’re going with, you’ll want to grow a beard. No self-respecting hermit is going to leave his face as naked as a woman’s.”

“Either you’re clever or I’m stupid,” said the elf-man with a sigh as he dropped his head. He soaked every word in dejection.

“Could be a bit of both. Don’t beat yourself up though. Mimicking men is hard. Keep practicing.”

“You’re wise, good sir.”

“And you’re kind.” Ulrich looked at Brenna squirming lightly in the large bird’s talon. “Could you release my aeon, please? She seems uncomfortable.” His calmness and kindness sounded strange coming from such a gruff voice. “Your blizzard-eagle really has her.”

“Certainly,” said the elf-man. He pointed his pike-staff at the blizzard-eagle, and it disappeared into the implement in a ray of blue light.

Brenna fluttered over and landed on Ulrich’s arm. “I’m sorry about that. Rest easy,” he said as he pointed his staff at her. She disappeared in a ray of red light.

Roderick and Habit arrived. The monk huffed and puffed. His legs burned from rushing up the last of the climb as quickly as he could.

“Greetings and salutations, friend. I assume this is the entirety of your party?” said the elf-man.

“Aye,” said Ulrich.

Roderick, still catching his breath, asked, “What’s he...doing here?”

“That’s a good question. What are you doing here, good sir? And how might we call you?” asked Ulrich, his face just as grim and stern as it always was, but his voice as cordial as a happy dog.

“I am Lord Alfreth Silversteel of the Blueskye Mountain. This is my home, my place of prayer.” I can’t believe the dwarf called me “good sir!” I must look quite the part if he’s willing to play along.

“Pray? Aeons don’t pray… Or can dragons actually pray to the dragon king?”

“What?! How did he figure it out so quickly too?” asked Alfreth.

“Well, I’m suspicious of any man at the top of a mountain, and the cave and clouds kind of give it away.’

Alfreth sighed again and slumped over. His armour clanked with the sound of a broken spirit. His sense of dejection weighed on the empathy of the two travellers.

“Well, if you just used a little magic to hide that cave, it’d be a lot harder to tell!” said Roderick with a cheerful tone. “I mean, you did a great job on the armour and the banner too, but don’t just wear them as everyday clothes.”

“What do you mean?” asked Alfreth.

“Well, we men wear clothes to suit what we’re doing. You look like you’re ready to go to war, but there’s no war to be had up here.”

“How should I dress?”

“Comfortably?”

“Yeah, you wanna wear comfortable clothes. Something rough and natural if you’re a hermit. Maybe even ascetic,” said Ulrich.

“This is comfortable. Reminds me of my scales,” said Alfreth.

Roderick fought the urge to palm his face.

“Bwahaha!” laughed Ulrich. “I’d never thought about that. Gee, I guess you feel pretty naked having just skin.”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean by this feeling of naked,” said Alfreth. “I know naked means wearing nothing, but when I’m a dragon, I wear nothing, and I feel fine.”

“But when you’re an elf and you’re not wearing armour, you feel like you’re about to be attacked,” said Ulrich. “Am I right?”

“Yes! I figured your kind must wear armour all the time.”

“Often, yes,” said Roderick. “But mostly it’s for when we intend to enter into harm’s way. We’d love to explain more, but we honestly must be going.”

“Oh? Where are you headed, friends? Wouldn’t you like to stay for some warm drinks?”

“We’re headed to Cevola,” said Ulrich. He turned and looked at his companion. “We climbed all the way up here, Roderick. We may as well stop and have something warm to drink.” Ulrich started walking toward the steps up to the bluff.

Does he really think this is wise? thought Roderick. I don’t like it, but I’ll trust his judgement. After all, he’s the one man left I know I can trust.

The two climbed the steps. Alfreth tapped the butt of his pike-staff on the ground; the implement diminished into a totem that fit in his hand, the banner becoming a braided rope of the same pale blue and white.

“I do not believe we properly introduced ourselves,” said Roderick. “I am Roderick XXIII, a holy avenger of the Order of the Ardent Crown.”

“I am Ulrich Vogelbrandt. I’m just a simple druid.”

“Well met, good sirs. Please, come in.”

Alfreth led the two travellers and their mule into the cave. Though the sun lit the mouth of the cave as bright as day, their way going deeper was lit by white lights set into the blue-grey walls. Beneath the lights were alabaster busts of gallant men of old, untouched by time or weathering, except for bits of snow and frost. Deeper into the cave were statues of mighty men and elegant women, noble heroes of ancient and forgotten kin. Neither Roderick nor Ulrich could name the persons of these artefacts; they were of times and peoples long lost and forgotten through the world’s calamities.

Alfreth showed the two travellers to a round table. Habit stood beside them; Roderick tied his reins to a chair before sitting down himself.

“If you two will excuse me, I’m going to go and make myself presentable. I will return with drinks for my guests, though forgive me that I have nothing to offer you to eat. That is proper, right?”

“Yes. Very proper,” said Roderick. “Your manners are excellent. Your mother raised you well.”

Alfreth flashed a smile of pure joy then snapped his face back into character with the stoic and mighty look of a noble and knightly man.

He walked to the back of the cave where sat a man-sized wooden door in a castle sized stone wall; it was as if the wall had been plucked from a fortress in Westhalion then set into the rock of the mountain. The door creaked slightly as Alfreth opened it and went inside.

“You never want to turn down an offer to be hosted by a chivalric dragon,” said Ulrich.

“What? Why?” asked Roderick.

“Because you want to keep these guys happy. They’re incredibly powerful. If they become sour, they could make the land they inhabit very dangerous.”

“I believe I understand.”

“We’ve fought hill giants; you’ve seen what they do to a place. Imagine that times ten, but right now, this guy is bringing good energy to the table. He’s worth respecting just because he exists.”

“Such is the life of those who so naturally bear the energies of Rolandus.”

Alfreth returned wearing diamond checkered pale blue and white robes fit for a duke or perhaps even a king. He carried a silver tray with a silver decanter and three silver tea cups. He set out the cups on fine plates and proceeded to serve his guests, pouring a hot, brown liquid darker than tea into the cups. As steam rose from the cups, so too did a nutty and roasty aroma.

“Have you two ever tasted coffee before?” asked Alfreth.

“Coffee?” asked Roderick. “I believe I’ve read about that somewhere, but no, I’ve never had the pleasure of tasting it.”

“Well, it’s a first for both of us then,” said Ulrich. “I’ve never even heard of it.”

“It should be just the right temperature,” said Alfreth. “The decanter is an artefact of bygone days. It seems to produce an endless amount of the drink so long as it gets to sit on its plate in the back to ‘refill.’ Quite the intriguing item, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” said Roderick. “I’m excited to try this.” He lifted the cup to his nose and sniffed. I’m not one for tasting fancy drinks, but I think this is what you’re supposed to do. Roderick took a sip. The drink was bitter. It reminded him of a stout but not as pleasant.

“No, no,” said Alfreth. “You have to slurp it to get the full impact of the flavour. Like so.” He lifted the silver teacup to his mouth and slurped. His two guests watched him intently. “See?”

Roderick and Ulrich lifted up their cups and slurped.

Wow thought Roderick. That’s actually really good. I have no idea how to describe it. He kept slurping, then looked at Ulrich who was doing the same.

“Did I dress more believably this time?” asked Alfreth.

“Almost,” said Roderick. “You look very nice for hosting guests, but if you want to convince people you’re a hermit, you’ll want to wear cheap clothing and dress warmly. It’s very cold outside, and men don’t usually protect themselves with magic like we are.”

“You mean, I’m going to have to wear rags if I want to convince people I’m an elf-man?”

“Pretty much,” said Ulrich. “You could try to convince them you’re a god instead.”

Roderick glared at Ulrich.

“I’d be convinced at first,” he said with a shrug before slurping more coffee. “I just figured it out because I’m so old; I’ve seen everything.”

“So, where is this Cevola you two are headed to?”

“In the wilderness on the eastern side of the mountains,” said Roderick. “It’s perhaps the only keep out there. I’m sure you’ve flown over it.”

“I believe I have,” said Alfreth. “I’ve always wondered just what everyone was doing down there, what it was like, how people spoke to each other.”

“You’re in luck,” said Ulrich. Perfect! This will make our work in the Wildmarch quick and safe. “We need brave and bold allies for our quest.”

Alfreth’s eyes lit up. “Quest?”

Roderick caught on to Ulrich’s game. “Yes, a quest. We’re headed to the Wildmarch of Midthalion to quell the gathering of evil things.”

“Quell evil? Well, that sounds like a job for a noble warrior, a knight whose lineage reaches back hundreds of years. A man of God and country, a protector of the innocent. That sounds like a job for Lord Alfreth Silversteel of the Bluesky Mountain!” Alfreth stood, pointing upward and yelling by the time he had finished.

“Indeed.”

“Bingo.”

“Would you not accompany us on our quest, Lord Alfreth?” asked Roderick. “We could use your mighty courage.”

“Very well then,” said Alfreth. “You need beg me no more. I shall sacrifice the comforts of my home and leave my family!”

What family? thought Roderick.

“I shall come down from my beautiful Bluesky Mountain and enter into the harsh and dark wilderness with you where we will do righteous battle against the enemies of God. We will bring them to justice or put them to the sword. May the Holy Light have mercy on their souls!”

Ulrich stood up and applauded. Roderick followed him, and they began to cheer.

“Thank you! Thank you, my good sirs.”

“Indeed.”

“You’re welcome, Alfreth. We’re glad to have you with us,” said Ulrich. “But, we’ll need to hurry up and set out. We’ve already lost a lot of time.”

“You two finish your coffee and let me fetch my things. I’ll be ready in a moment.”

With that, Alfreth hurried off toward the man-sized door in the castle sized wall.

“Amazing,” said Roderick. “I can’t believe we found a dragon to ally ourselves with.”

“Yes, well, think of him as more like a very powerful elven warrior.”

“Alright?” said Roderick with an inquisitive look on his face.

“He’s not going into the world to be a dragon. He’s going into the world to see what it’s like to be an elf-man. I’m not even sure if he’d be willing to turn into a dragon to save us. We’ll see. About the only time he’ll release his mimicry and turn into a dragon is if he sees an evil dragon, but even then he might try to kill it with the mimicry up.”

“Interesting,” said Roderick. “So, he won’t be flying us around?”

“No. He’s probably not even that big. Most dragons are around the size of Habit. He seems like a younger dragon. He’s probably not much bigger than us.”

“I didn’t know aeons grew as they aged.”

“Some do.”

Alfreth returned wearing his full suit of armour with a large sack strapped to his hip over his longsword. The totem that had been his pike hung from around his neck. He carried a poleaxe in his right hand and two other items in his left.

“I bring gifts for my companions!” said Alfreth. “These will help protect you on our quest.” He handed Roderick a strongman’s belt and Ulrich a wooden pipe for music. “I believe you might call that a belt of giant strength. It should increase your strength, perhaps even permanently. Who knows.

“The pipe is for you, Ulrich. I’m not sure what it does; I haven’t learned music yet, but I can tell it’s powerful. I’m sure you can do something with it. And, it has the most spectacular wolves running on the sides of it.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Ulrich. His eyes were wide with admiration as he gazed upon the instrument’s pale lacquer and the miniature wolves burned in a spiral around it. “I look forward to trying it out.”

“This belt is amazing, Alfreth. Where did you get this?”

“Well, a lot of this stuff was here when I took the cave for myself, but I’ll tell you about that some other time. We must be on our way now!”

“Indeed.”

“Bingo.”

“I’ll show you the quickest, safest way down the mountain! Onward to glory, friends!”

The two men, the dragon disguised as an elf-man, and the mule left the cave and marched down the mountain. Entering the inn of a discreet hamlet called Durthurn, they made their last stop by twilight before the last stretch of their journey to Cevola the next day.