MITCHELL – ARANSON MANOR, GARET, KLYDOR
[https://i.imgur.com/13l3JXM.jpg]
6TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
“You are going where?” roared Hawkin incredulously.
Moments before, Mitchell had tapped on his bedroom window, waking him. After being allowed entry, Mitchell had informed Hawkin of his imminent departure for Fort Ajaxin via Port Chandrex.
“You know. The big fort we built when we beat the Merlos. The one on the other side of the empire?” Mitchell replied sarcastically, well aware that while Hawkin was no keen student of geography, he knew where the Fort was.
Mitchell had banked on Hawkin’s impulsive nature; his outburst during a hunting trip months earlier had not faded from memory. Yet as the conversation unfolded, Hawkin appeared nervous and uncertain.
“I have some very urgent business to intend to and I am afraid it cannot wait.” Mitchell's voice was calm and his manner made it appear he was in control of everything at hand, but his insides were churning when for the first time it occurred to him that Hawkin may actually refuse.
‘Please do not say no!’
Hawkin however raised his eyebrows at Mitchell's last statement as though something of incredible importance had just been let slip.
“Your business?...or Maragon's?” queried Hawkin, his eyes showed he doubted that Mitchell had anything to do with this strange behaviour.
‘Sometimes I wish you were as dumb as we like to joke you are.’
“Maragon has affairs to tend to and is currently preoccupied. I am acting on his behalf,” Mitchell responded.
“You mean he's too afraid of daylight to leave his stupid tower,” snapped Hawkin.
“Do not talk of him in that way. He is as brave as any man in the land.” Mitchell replied indignantly. “As usual, there is much you do not understand.”
Hawkin scoffed at that suggestion and shook his head, but knew Mitchell well enough to let it drop at that.
“What affairs might these be that have you running off into the wilds in the middle of the night?” queried Hawkin.
“I need to deliver something to Fort Ajaxin,” Mitchell replied.
‘Slight bending of the truth. But Maragon did ask me to take the replica 'Stone of Evronn' to somewhere near the Fort. So it is not an outright lie.’
“But it could be dangerous so be prepared for anything.” Mitchell added the last part as he did at least need to let his friend know this trip could be perilous.
“Danger, hey?...I like the sound of that. And you’re wanting my company on the road there, right?”
“You are very observant my friend.”
‘Normally I dislike the reckless way you brush off danger. But not tonight. I did not come all the way here to talk you out of coming.’
The two friends stared at each other, gauging each other for a reaction for what seemed an eternity to Mitchell. Hawkin’s facial expressions softened and a shallow laugh escaped his mouth.
“Just let me get my gear,” the big man said as he pulled on a pair of breeches that had been carefully and meticulously screwed up and thrown on the floor next to his bed, “Besides, I can always tell father that I was going to Fort Ajaxin to further my training. What better place than the central command of the Knights of Klydor.”
Then he motioned for Mitchell to stay, and quietly slipped out the door and into the hallway beyond. Mitchell felt the tension inside his chest evaporate. Slowly, the enormity of what he was doing was dawning on him, but having found somebody to accompany him made it all seem bearable.
‘Least I can count on Hawkin to make the trip as enjoyable as possible.’
Several minutes later Hawkin returned with a small pack that was obviously struggling to contain all of its contents, and slung over his shoulder was the huge scabbard that held his sword. He had a contagious grin on his face when he glanced at Mitchell.
When Hawkin slid on a sleeveless tunic, and then slipped a dagger from his desk drawer into his boot, Mitchell knew the time to leave was rapidly approaching. But he was still caught off-guard when Hawkin moved away from the door, and instead stepped out of the window.
“What are you doing?” Mitchell asked, although the answer was becoming increasingly apparent.
“Hurry up, would you. I'm only doing this for you,” Hawkin snapped back. “And be quiet or you'll wake the whole house up.”
“I hope your motivation is the consideration of your household's slumber and not that you do not wish your father to know of your departure,” warned Mitchell.
When Hawkin picked up a shirt of chain-mail he had obviously just placed outside the window during his earlier absence, and began to sneak towards the stables several hundred feet away, Mitchell knew the answer.
“Relax Mitchell… I left him a note,” he called back just loud enough to be heard.
With a helpless shrug of his shoulders, Mitchell began to move quietly after him.
‘I would not want to be here in the morning when Lord Sarek sees that note - Hi Dad. Ran off with Mitchell. Who would have guessed he would be the one to get me into trouble.’
“Is Peregrin still here?” asked Mitchell, suddenly remembering the Llewyrr elf who was staying with Hawkin’s family.
“He is asleep in the guest quarters. Please don’t say you want to bring him?” queried Hawkin.
‘His skills could be useful if we get in trouble. But I do not know him well enough to trust him yet, so it is better to leave him here. I am also not sure he is capable of keeping a low profile. It will be hard enough to do that with Lord BimboBox.’
Inside the stables of the Aranson family were eight of the best horses in Garet. There were chestnuts, blacks, and even Sarek's old grey which had become a legend to the rest of the militia. Hawkin wasted no time in taking his riding gear down from the wall, and moved into the stall to gear up his magnificent chestnut mare, Alannor. As he gently stroked the horse's nose he turned to Mitchell and pointed to a black stallion in the stall next to his, and then to another saddle that was hanging on the wall.
Mitchell looked at the horse carefully. Last time out on a hunting trip Hawkin had deliberately given Mitchell the most troublesome horse in the stable. That had lead to Mitchell struggling mightily and even falling from the horse at one point when a wild boar got spooked and ran right at him. This was a serious moment, so choosing a bad horse was less likely. But Hawkin rarely understood the need for being serious.
‘What is the point? I cannot tell the nature of a horse by looking at it, and hence am powerless to ascertain its character. Once again I place my wellbeing in Hawkin's hands. But if this goes badly again, I cannot promise I will refrain from using my Illusion magick to make him hideously ugly the next time we go out drinking.’
Mitchell hurriedly began to saddle the horse. He could have sworn he heard movement from the furthest most stall in the stable, but as that stall was unlit it was impossible to see anything. Perhaps they had stirred one of the horses.
“Hurry up,” chided Hawkin, more because he was impatient than any concern to save an extra minute before they left.
‘Sure. Expect me who saddles horses five times a year to compete with you who does it every single day. Maybe you would look good with two huge warts on the side of your nose.’
“Your cinch strap needs tightening,” instructed a third voice, slightly more melodic and higher pitch than either Hawkin or Mitchell.
Mitchell’s head snapped around in surprise.
There stood Peregrin, leading his completely saddled white horse from the back stall.
‘Even his damn horse is stealthy.’
Mitchell tightened the cinch strap again, and once Peregrin gave him a nod of approval, he finished the rest of the procedure, and lead his horse from the stall.
“What are you doing here?” asked Hawkin, louder than he intended.
“I am following you as you attempt to flee your father,” Peregrin replied. “If nothing else I will earn the favour of your family by ensuring you come to no harm.”
“Why not just stop me?” asked Hawkin.
“Because I wish to understand humans, and in particular their ruling class,” replied Peregrin. “Stopping you from behaving as you wish to, particularly when are about to do something potentially stupid, runs counter to the whole reason I am here.”
“How did you know? Did I wake you? Don’t tell me you found the note already?”
“I do not sleep. At least not as you do. Elves go into a state we call Olos Enyalië, or the ‘Dream of Memories’ in your tongue. It is how we consolidate the memories of our extended lives, more a profound meditation than sleep, re-experiencing our past. Hence, I remain more vigilant at night,” explained Peregrine. “I heard figures moving through the house, and so I investigated further. Once I saw you gather your armour and riding boots and put them outside the window, it was a reasonable conclusion you were about to depart your father’s estate in an unannounced fashion.”
“So you were just creeping around behind me as I moved around the house?” asked Hawkin, in a tone making it clear he thought that behaviour was both strange and creepy.
“I was testing two things; my skills in stealth; your skills in perception,” replied Peregrin. “If it makes you feel any better, most Lie would be deeply embarrassed if an Ala-Lie was able to detect them while they were stealthing.”
“It doesn’t,” replied Hawkin.
“If you are intending to come with us, do you not wish to know where we are going?” asked Mitchell.
“I will ask my questions once we are clear of the manor and it’s guards. I will not be the reason you are detected,” replied Peregrin.
Mitchell nodded his appreciation.
Hawkin led Alannor out of the stable and along the path that lead through the estate grounds to the town street. Mitchell followed a close distance behind, while Peregrin brought his horse at the rear. Their conversation was kept to a minimum of hushed whispers as they moved, and none of them carried any light source, their only vision coming from the moon and the few lanterns that were hung intermittenly along the path. Even though they were out of earshot of the house, Hawkin remained cautious because there were always two members of the militia on watch in the grounds.
“You sure you don't want old Cranky again? There is still time to change your mount,” snickered Hawkin as they rounded the last corner and started to head for the iron gate. He never saw the reaction, but felt the dull blow to the back of his head. He turned around, surprised Mitchell had been able to reach him so quickly. He was more surprised when he saw Mitchell still well out of arm’s reach.
‘Using a simple Telekinesis cantrip to slap his head is not my proudest moment. Maragon would not be pleased at my using Magick for such a petty response. But in this moment, it was worth it.’
“Ouch…How in all the hells did you do that?” he queried, but if he was going to say anything else he stopped.
A hundred feet down the path two figures came into view. But rather than standing at their guard-posts as expected, both appeared to be lying on the ground motionless. Their red lion's head crest stood out plainly on the blue background of their tabards, the distinctive crest of both the Aranson family and the militia of Garet.
Hawkin was spurred into motion instantly, sprinting the short distance to the guards' unmoving bodies. With precision that Maragon had taught Mitchell to associate with thieves or warriors, the big man stooped only ever over the nearest one and checked for a sign of life. Oddly, he could see what seemed like pinches of sand, and some flower petals on the ground in front of them. When he looked up he saw Peregrin had his bow out with an arrow, and was looking everywhere for signs of a threat. But Mitchell was calmly walking the two horses towards him.
“What the...Can't you see what's happened? Both of these men have been knocked out,” Hawkin cried. “We must sound the alarm.”
“Asleep actually,” Mitchell replied. “Keep quiet you stupid ogre or you will wake them up. As they are only asleep they will awaken soon unharmed, by which time we will be a long way from here. Alternatively, you could keep screaming at which point I suspect they will awaken now, and you will need to explain why we are stealing two horses. What is the punishment for horse theft again?”
Hawkin looked at his friend very suspiciously. “I don't know how you did this, but you will explain it to me later, won't you?” he asked.
‘I suspect at some point the truth is going to come out, yes.’
“I did not harm them,” Mitchell replied solemnly, “Now please let us move on.”
With that Mitchell mounted his horse and began to gallop out of the Aranson grounds. With another look at the peacefully sleeping guards, Hawkin shrugged his shoulders to no one in particular and also mounted his horse. Within seconds, he too was racing along the dark streets of Garet, chasing after the faint form in the distance.
Peregrin examined the scene closely, and briefly touched the sand and rose petals. A knowing look came over his pointed features, before he whistled for his mount, mounted it in one smooth motion, and galloped into the streets after his quarry.
After a few minutes of hard riding Peregrin caught up to the rapidly moving Mitchell and Hawkin. Out of immediate danger, Mitchell reigned in and slowed his mount down to a slow canter, allowing the others to reign in beside him.
“Where to first?” Hawkin asked.
“Down Kaver's Road to Chandrex,” replied Mitchell confused, not following what Hawkin was talking about, and aware of only one way to get to Chandrex.
“You sure we don't want to see if we can find two more companions crazy enough to join us?” Hawkin asked.
The light of understanding came into Mitchell's features and he slowly nodded his head. He alone would have been reluctant to involve them, but if Hawkin also thought it appropriate, then he was easily convinced.
‘Drawing confidence from an idea because Hawkin is in agreement is seldom a good idea. But in this case I WANT to agree with him. I hope I do not end up regretting this.’
“Splendid idea, but their farms are both outside the city, on opposite sides, and we do not have an abundance of time. If you will be kind enough to retrieve one, then I will make it my duty to find the other,” Mitchell replied.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“Which one do you want me to fetch?” asked Hawkin, pretty sure he already knew the answer.
‘I would love to go and get Alicia, but the thought of going to her house this late at night also fills me with cold dread. I will go and get Davon. That seems much simpler and safer.’
“You can find Alicia, I am not as accustomed to knocking on the windows of young girls in the middle of the night as you,” Mitchell replied, a large smirk enveloping his face.
“You mean you’re too yellow-bellied to knock on her window in case she knocks you out, or places a curse on you,” replied Hawkin.
“That is ridiculous,” replied Mitchell, trying to sound offended at the suggestion, as the smile rapidly disappeared from his face. “She could not hurt me, she is only a...” Mitchell stalled as he looked for the right word.
‘She is a priest of Chandrilar, and therefore little of her magick is of threat to me.’
“…girl?” Hawkin queried, finishing his sentence for him. Hawkin had been baiting him, and now he thought Mitchell had fallen directly into his trap.
‘Oh No!’
“Good to know, then you won't mind a bit when I tell her what you just said.” A smile now covered Hawkin’s features as Mitchell's showed even more displeasure at the turn in conversation.
“Please do not do that,” Mitchell pleaded. “That is not what I was going to say.”
Sinister laughter was the only reply Mitchell got as Hawkin rode off in the other direction.
“What is wrong with being called a girl?” asked Peregrin, genuinely confused. “Is there something inferior about human females?”
“Not particularly. Although in my limited experience they are capable of holding onto slights, even imagined ones, for an inordinately long time,” replied Mitchell mournfully.
“Ahh. That is a trait they share with Lie women too then. However, a Lie woman can do it for centuries. Try living with that.”
HAWKIN – ROAD TO PORT CHANDREX, NEAR GARET, KLYDOR
6TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
The morning greeted Hawkin as warmly as any other he could remember. For the first time in many months he was leaving the town of Garet and the suffocating presence of his father. He was embarking on a grand adventure, and he was able to spend time with his friends.
‘Although I will likely face consequences for my actions this night, I am more excited and free than I have ever been in my life. This trip will not end in a couple of short days. I could be gone weeks, months even… perhaps even forever. Even the grumbling presence of Alicia riding next to me can do nothing to dampen my spirits. I would not change a thing.’
“Apparently a priestess of the God of Chivalry and Duty does not like having to leave town in the middle of the night,” poked Hawkin. “Perhaps it is just your way of protesting your ideological differences with the goddess of darkness.”
“Is it possible you came up with this scheme yourself just to get us out of Garet?” Alicia queried, as she pulled her travelling cloak tighter to ward off the fresh morning breeze. Her eyes revealed a definite lack of sleep, while the almost constant yawns told Hawkin they would probably have to stop soon. “And do not take to referencing the Dark Gods lightly, Hawkin. Within my church you could be whipped for such associations,” she added.
“Would you whip me personally,” he continued, “I might like that... I wonder what the ceremonial outfit for that might look like.” Hawkin's tone was playful, undeterred by the gravity of the conversation.
“You know people have been flogged to death?” she asked incredulously.
“Does that mean I get a last request too? Then my request would be to choose the outfit you whip me in,” he replied, refusing to take the conversation seriously.
“I thought priest's were meant to be about kindness, mercy and forgiveness,” called Davon from in front, joining in the light-hearted jests at Alicia's expense.
“I could serve my God by performing a couple of 'Last Rites' if you would prefer,” she jibed back, and again her companions broke into laughter. “What would have possessed me to crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to accompany you three anywhere is beyond me.”
She mumbled something under her breath about a vision, but Hawkin could not make it out.
‘Time to redirect the rage. Gods, this is fun.’
“My recollection is you didn’t really,” replied Hawkin. “You initially just wished me good luck and tried to close the window again. It was only when I threatened to come into your room, dress you myself, and, if necessary, drag you kicking and screaming with me, that you agreed.”
“I could not work out if you were serious,” admitted Alicia, “and actually it was when you mentioned Mitchell was going with you that I changed my mind. You are big and dumb enough to look after yourself. But Mitchell both warrants and needs protection.”
“I was completely serious. Both about needing to go, and that I would have come in and got you. Or should I say I meant everything I said. Not sure I am ever serious,” replied Hawkin with a grin. “I also think it helped when I told you Mitchell wasn’t sure he wanted to bring you, because you are a girl. After I saw the resolve in your eyes at that point, I knew a simple, ‘I will wait out here’ was enough.”
“But I did not say that,” pleaded Mitchell from the back.
Alicia glanced back at Mitchell, then shook her head. She took her horse up and began riding next to Davon, who was leading the group about fifty feet ahead.
Mitchell stole a questioning glance at the large figure of Hawkin, now beside him, and saw a beaming grin on his face.
“But I did not say anything like that. I know she has always struggled with being treated differently because she is female. She should be angry with you,” Mitchell argued.
“You have so much to learn when it comes to women, Mitchell. But do not worry. Your sacrifice was necessary to ensure she came with us. You did your duty for Chandrilar.”
“What?” Mitchell blurted out.
With a smug laugh Hawkin pranced Alannor up to the front and resumed riding beside Alicia again, leaving Mitchell to ride behind the rest in complete confusion.
MITCHELL – ROAD TO PORT CHANDREX, NEAR GARET, KLYDOR
6TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
“Is it customary for human nobles to mock and belittle their people? To use half-truths and lies to turn them against each other?” asked Peregrin, bringing his horse up beside Mitchell.
“No,” replied Mitchell after considering the question for a few moments. “Hawkin is just an ass who thinks everything in life is a great big joke because he has never had to work for his place in the world.”
“How far along are you in your Mage training?” asked Peregrin, much to the surprise of Mitchell.
“Wh.. What do you mean?” Mitchell stammered.
“My first suspicion was when we trained together. Your off-hand rests in a rather strange configuration. Unless you intend to cast Air magick, in which case it is an efficient way to keep your hand,” replied Peregrin. He mimicked the gesture, stretching three of his fingers to their fullest, but well apart, while keeping his ring finger tightly curled.
“The way someone holds their off-hand can often tell whether a caster intends to lead off with an elemental spell, defensive spell, or divination spell,” continued Peregrin. As he spoke his hand went through combinations of finger and hand positions, forming fists, circles with thumb and finger, or different combinations of straightened and bent fingers.
Mitchell found himself nodding at the sage advice, before remembering he was supposed to be denying knowing anything Peregrin was talking about.
“The proof was you cast a sleep spell on the two guards back at the Aranson estate,” replied Peregrin. “I recognised the spell components of the sand and the rose petals on the ground. I think I may have also seen a telekinetic slap to the back of your Lord’s head as we rode out of his grounds.”
‘Damn it. Morning going brilliantly. Alicia hates me. And it would appear my skills with magick are no longer a secret.’
“I did,” acknowledged Mitchell. “But please do not tell the others. My mentor, Maragon, insists I do not share my capabilities with anyone.”
“Then the telekinetic slap was a particularly poor and unnecessary risk for you to take,” commented Peregrin.
“I am sure my mentor would agree with you,” sighed Mitchell.
“I would also suggest you consider learning the enchantment Combat Mind. I believe you would benefit from that being the first spell you cast in any encounter where you expect to utilise your blade. I can teach you while we travel if you like.”
“I would like that a lot,” replied Mitchell, his spirits momentarily lifted. “Thank you!”.
“Your relationship with your Lord is also extremely familiar. I am not yet sure if this is a positive or negative reflection on the both of you,” Peregrin replied flatly. “But I will honour your mentor’s wishes and keep your secret.”
Mitchell looked at Peregrin but could read nothing from his facial features.
‘Does that response mean you know of Maragon?’
Mitchell would not get to continue the exchange as Peregrin spurred his horse and rode up to join the others riding in front of him.
****
Late that afternoon Davon called them to again stop and rest the horses. As they tethered their horses Mitchell tied his horse away from Alicia, still too embarrassed to be near her. And once they had unpacked some of their equipment, he again sat well away from her. She looked at him several times, but she had a strange expression on her face he did not like.
Davon gave a sympathetic nod to Mitchell, but Mitchell just shrugged his shoulders, feeling powerless to do anything.
“How long are we going to rest here?” Hawkin asked Davon.
“I think this is our final resting spot for today,” Davon replied. “We rise early tomorrow morning, at dawn, and continue on our way. We don't want to tire the horses too much this early in our journey.”
“OK. I for one am looking forward to getting some sleep,” declared Hawkin.
“We should gather firewood too. I will cook us something decent to eat for our evening meal,” offered Alicia.
“I assume you will be assigning watches?” gently chided Peregrin.
“Umm… I guess. Lets say an hour each on watch, and four hours of sleep?” replied Hawkin. Peregrin you can take first watch, then Davon and Mitchell and myself. Then Alicia can have the last watch.”
“Can I ask why you assigned those watches?” enquired Peregrin.
Hawkin faultered a little in the spotlight of Peregrin’s question, feeling very much like this was a test.
‘Maybe you got this right. Maybe you lucked into it, but best not let you answer in case you did just get lucky.’
“You are first, as your need for sleep is different to the rest of us, and you will likely be the most able to remain awake,” answered Mitchell. “Alicia has the last watch so she may be the best rested and can do her morning prayers to Chandrilar, to best prepare her magickal energies for the day, lest we have need of them.”
Peregrin face flashed irritation to Mitchell thwarting his test of the human Lord but covered it quickly.
“Adequate reasoning,” Peregrin replied after a brief pause.
With that four of the companions quickly set up their camp. A small fire was built, which Davon dug down into the ground to minimise how far it could be seen from, and bed rolls were placed on suitably flat patches of ground. Alicia prepared a decent meal from the rations they had, from which each member quickly ate. After, and with a minimal of chatter, each fell off to sleep. Peregrin tended to the horses and ensured they were fed and tethered safely.
****
Mitchell’s watch consisted of alternating between wandering around the camp fairly aimlessly, and resting up against a tree listening to the woodland nightlife. Either way his mind was busy reflecting on his three childhood friends now asleep in front of him, and the almighty task he had drawn them into.
‘I am not really worried about Hawkin. He has been looking for an excuse to leave town for over a year. Hawkin is a free spirit who extracts the maximum enjoyment out of everything he does. If we do indeed have to travel right across Driax, then Hawkin’s ability to find satisfaction in even the most trivial of things will help keep everyone sane. I am quite sure he is happy to be here.’
‘I suspect Davon is similar. While not as light-hearted as Hawkin, Davon also has the nature skills to easily prosper on this trek, both in finding the best trails to traverse, and in hunting the occasional piece of fresh meat. Davon is a lot more reserved than Hawkin, generally preferring the company of the wilds and its animals than that of a bustling town centre, but he is the only person I know who may have a chance of finding signs of a long lost battlefield. This trip should actually do Davon some good, as it will take him from his comfort zone and out a little further into the real wilds, both of an urban and natural sense.’
‘Alicia is another matter entirely. She is firmly grounded in Garet, with both her family, and the small church to her deity. If we do end up getting into trouble, can she really defend herself? I would feel more guilt if something unfortunate were to befall her, than I would any of the others.’
‘Do I love her? As long as I can remember she is the one I have wanted. I know Hawkin flirts with her and competes for her attention, often quite successfully. She is more protective of me, but there is a difference in the way she treats us. Our interactions seem to lack the spark she has with Hawkin. How could she not be drawn to him. He is attractive, strong, noble and rich. He has a layer of etiquette he can muster whenever the situation requires it. He is the perfect provider for a family.’
‘I can offer neither a nice house nor a substantial income. Would you like to share my room in the tower? Alicia treats me more like a younger brother, fussing over me, trying to ensure that I be kept out of trouble. But she never looks at me with a want or desire. I bet she looks at Hawkin that way. Maybe those warts would be a good addition to his face?’
‘So many times in the last year I have resigned myself that this friendship with Alicia is unlikely to ever progress beyond that. I think I know she does not yearn for me. And yet, I continue to hold onto a glimmer of hope that this may one day change. I cannot be sure if this is love, but what I feel for Alicia is stronger than I have felt for anybody else I have ever known. I know I would do anything to protect her from the pain and evil in this world. I would die for her if I had to.’
‘But now I have dragged her into this ordeal with the Stone, and I have clearly put her in the line of both evil and pain. Instead of protecting her, she might die and it would be all my fault.’
As Mitchell thought of the Stone it almost seemed to get heavier within his pocket, and he quickly found himself fumbling around and retrieving the little pouch in which it was contained. Almost excitedly, he pulled on the drawstring and then tipped the large red gem into his open palm.
As he looked at it closely, he was amazed by its magnificent colour and clarity. While it had a brilliant red exterior, the more he turned it in his hand, and studied its perfect facets, it almost seemed to have a faint blue hue emanating from deep within its core. He studied it further, and Mitchell could feel the immense reserves of magick that flowed within. He was also sure the blue glow was getting stronger.
‘Are you really just the replica of some great stone? That seems very hard to believe.’
As he rolled it around in his fingers, he was sure he could sense the raw magical power it controlled trying to surge into him. He almost felt as though it were reaching out to him, trying to connect on some spiritual level.
‘OK. Let us see what we can learn about you. ‘Knowledge is power,’ Maragon always says. He also says,’Do not fear the truth.’
Mitchell cast one of the first spells Maragon had ever taught him. One that would allow him to see any magical energies within an item as clearly as another would see a bright torch light.
As the spell completed his eyes refocused and now he could see the magickal auras emanating from the stone. As he expected, the Stone shone far more brightly than anything he had ever witnessed, even brighter than any of the items Maragon kept hidden up in the upper levels of his tower.
‘This is the real stone! Maragon must have decided he would use himself as a decoy, hoping that because nobody was looking for me, I may be able to safely whisk the real stone away. Knowing him, this strategy is not a total surprise - do the unexpected to foil your opponents. It has been true in the many games of chess we have played over the years, and it was likely his thinking here.’
Now convinced the Stone in his hand was the real item, Mitchell was unable to resist the temptation to try and reach out and interact with the stone magically. Mitchell slowly closed his eyes and reached out to the stone with a magical connection, as if preparing to channel energy from it. Almost immediately he felt a response from the stone, and it was like he had been plugged into a massively powerful battery. The feeling was invigorating.
‘OK… This is cool!’
He eagerly allowed the power of the stone to wash over him. He was vaguely aware of some part of his mind screaming some kind of Maragon based warning about being careful. But this feeling was intoxicating, and it made Mitchell feel more awesome and powerful than he had ever felt before.
Even with his eyes closed, he was aware of the red hue that soon surrounded his body, casting a feint light out over his companions and their small camp-site. All his senses seemed sharper. He could now see and hear everything around him, both in front and behind at the same time. And yet this was while his brain screamed at him that his eyes were still closed.
He could make out the small rises and falls of his companions’ chests. He could clearly hear the faint sounds of them all breathing. And he could hear the sounds of small animals moving through the trees above and around them. He was able to identify the direction of each creature, and determine the exact creature making it.
‘This stone is the greatest thing ever!’
As he and the stone became more attuned, he felt other senses becoming active as well. Senses that he had not been aware existed until this moment. He felt the stone both pulling and pushing him, but he did not understand what that meant and why the stone might be pulling him in conflicting directions. Like giving in to a strong current of water, Mitchell allowed himself to be pulled along in one of the directions, the one that felt like going downstream to him. Gradually the images of the forest around him blurred, as though a great mist had rolled in, and then as quickly as it came, the mist retreated.
Except Mitchell could now see a lone figure of a Dark Knight in the fading mist. And then as the mist disappeared completely, rather than his campsite, Mitchell could now see a battlefield – a battlefield far larger than any he could ever imagine. Bodies littered the ground as far as the eye could see in any direction, and still a war was raging.
Mitchell could see the royal banner of Klydor flying, but the figures around it nearly all the bore mark of the Timber Wolf clan of the Merlos. The armour the troops were wearing was of a very old style, and it seemed the Merlos were closing around the banner.
The Black Knight cut a desperate path through the Merlo troops, heading for the Royal banner. The few surviving Klydorian troops around the King were doing their best to save him, with many of the warriors using their own lives as shields for their Lord.
The Black Knight dispatched his opponents with a strength and brutal efficiency Mitchell had never seen before. Armed primarily with a large hammer, he smashed each Merlo warrior’s defences apart with sheer power. One warrior parried the hammer with his shield, but was knocked over anyway, and then the Black Knight smashed the hammer into his helm before he could recover. Another tried to dodge out of the way, but the hammer clipped him. Such was the power even in that faintest touch, that he was knocked from his feet, and felled with a second blow that descended onto his chest with horrific force.
‘This is the ballad of the Black Knight. I am witnessing the Merlos and Klydorians fighting at a key point on the Plains of Victory. But am I seeing the battle from the song? Or the actual battle that inspired the song?’
The banner-bearer toppled, killed by two of the converging Merlos. And then a man wearing a tabard with the Royal Family on it stepped into the breach, trying to recover the fallen banner. He fought brilliantly, driving back the Merlos and laid his hands on the banner. But then he slipped on the blood and bodies of the fallen and crashed to the ground.
As the first of the Merlos stepped in to finish the young Prince off, the Black Knight stepped through the lines and parried the finishing blow. Within seconds he had killed the three nearest Merlos with broad sweeps of his Hammer, and was dragging both the Prince and his banner back behind the Klydorian line.
The lasting image Mitchell saw was the Black Knight dragging the Prince, with two huge mountains of the Indiana Peaks in the background, each looming inwards as though framing the scene.
‘The stone is helping me! That image of the mountains can be used to help find the spot. I have my first clue!’
Then the mists began to roll in again, just as Mitchell thought he could make out a series of horns echoing across the battlefield. He tried to focus on the battle and see what was happening, but the mist continued to get thicker and obscured everything. The image of the battle was gone, and only the mists remained.
And then the mists were gone also. Mitchell could again make out the camp-site, and the forms of his four companions, their chests still rising and falling in time with the sounds of their breathing.
Except something had changed. There were more than five humanoid heartbeats.
They were no longer alone.