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“A quest you say? Then you must be part fool if you’re thinking of entering the forest and coming back out alive.”

Half taken aback that he had guessed correctly where he was going, Hycal let out a dry laugh at Walter’s dumbfounded expression. “I’m no simpleton, boy. The only thing out this way is the Forest of Blackwing, unless you mean to cross the mountains. But you’d be a damned fool if you’re thinking of stepping foot in there. Braver, tougher, and more powerful warriors than you have tried in the past and never come back.”

His fingers curled up into fists as yet another person underestimated him, Walter again wondered if all this was worth it? He had chosen this path because he believed it would get him to his goal the quickest, but after facing those undead monsters at the farm, being given this suicide mission, and meeting this strange man, Walter was convinced that luck was not on his side.

Allowing the silence to deepen between them, Walter listened to the cicadas outside, the whisper of the wind beating against the windows, and eventually he asked the question that had been stuck in his mind. “How do you know my father?”

The lines on his face deepening into a frown, Hycal released a heavy sigh, “Now that is a long tale, my son, but I suppose it would do you good to know.” Adjusting himself a little as he leaned back in his chair, the old wizard’s voice took on a life of its own. “It was the Year 1648, the Empire of Preternia was at the height of its power, and to the south rumblings began to stir among outlying regions of the southlands. Neglected for many centuries and left to rot by the circle of archmages, few were surprised in the Capital when those rumblings grew louder.

“However, of more importance to my tale, was the introduction of gunpowder and its effects on the world. Before the War of Salvation as it was later called, it was used as a means to speed up mining operations in the region, but in the hands of Lamar and his disciples, they had become devastating tools of war. Used in the invention of muskets, and later canons, they would reshape the way battles would be fought.

“But alas I digress a little. It was during my service in the Capitol mastering the arts of illusion at the humble age of thirty that I was sent along with a group of justicars to identify the source of the rebellion and put an end to it. But as I traveled further south all I would come across were the atrocities committed by rogue unsupervised spellcasters. They had not only created fiefdoms for themselves in the south, but had begun to dabble in experiments that would unleash monsters, slavery, and without the protection of the justicars they were at the mercy of every bandit, warlord, or marauder that would pass them by. All the while on the lips of every single man, woman, and child was the name of Lamar, each time spoken with such hope and reverence that I believed that I had to meet him.

“So it was after nearly a dozen years of loyal service, I abandoned my post and went out to find him. In many ways I was as foolish as you, boy, but once I found his people hidden in the mountains I eventually came to my senses. Caught between two worlds I did what I could to help the injured and sick, and to my surprise I found more than a few spellcasters had joined Lamar’s camp.

“Speaking with them, I realized how far the corruption had spread and after a long contemplation I decided to join them. Together we formed several brigades of spellcasters who would support Lamar’s campaign in driving out the justicars. Together we assaulted caravans, transports, and captured more than a few warships. We did whatever we could to hurt the enemy, but as we grew in size, so too did our problems. Unable to feed or hide so many in the mountains, Lamar soon came to the conclusion that we had to meet the justicars in open battle.

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“It was a foolish and suicidal notion, but as the idea took shape, I began to hope that it was possible. Mobilizing thousands of our people we marched to face Archmage Sezouza, and after several days of heavy fighting, our ranks were obliterated. It was only due to the sacrifice of three hundred men that were able to escape that slaughter. But the war would not end there.

“Having learned from his defeat from the Battle of Broken Valley, Lamar focused his attention towards the advancements of new technologies, weapons that could even the battlefield against sorcerers capable of devastating entire regiments of warriors. In time we developed the rifle, grenades, cannon, and perhaps the most ingenious of all alchemy. With the ability to create potions we would gift our own soldiers with unique abilities, albeit for a short period of time.

“Eventually as our forces grew in size once more and our technology continued to advance, we expanded into the southern territories freeing hundreds from slavery, fed the hungry, and broke the lines of the justicars.

“Back then of course, it would still take at least a dozen good men to slay a single spellcaster, but eventually with the right tools and planning, we began to decimate the enemy. And me being the naive fool that I was, I took pleasure in their deaths. But all of that changed at the Battle of Alampo.

“Mobilizing thousands more of his people, Lamar marched deep into the north, and it was there that I met your father. Back then he was Major in charge of a rifleman regiment. A decent man, it was with his help that we devised a plan to ambush the enemy’s advancing vanguard before the real battle could commence. But on the day the plan was meant to put into action, the Major was nowhere to be found. Too late for us to windraw, we did what we could to retreat, but alas nearly all my people were killed.”

His rheumy green eyes growing wet at the memory, Hycal brushed a calloused hand across his face, and continued, “I did not understand then why your father had betrayed me, but after the battle of Alampo, word would arrive that the Empire desired peace. But only on the condition all spellcasters were returned to him. It was a death sentence, and most knew it. Still Lamar seized the opportunity to write up a treaty that would release the southern territories into his keeping and in return he would hunt down the traitorous spellcasters for the Emperor. It was only a matter of time before everyone seemed to forget that it was because of our help that the south was able to become free.”

Lulled to sleep by the sound of his voice, Walter wondered couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at the end of his tale. And while a part of him wished that everything he had said was not true, Walter would remember the way his father had forbidden from joining the guard. Was it guilt that had driven him? Was it shame at betraying the spellcasters and allowing these lies to spread? Walter didn’t know anymore. He didn't know what was truth or lie anymore, but as he fell into a deep slumber, one thought emerged at the back of his mind. He needed to know if his father, an honorable man, had been lying to him all these years?...

…Awakening to the warm touch of sunlight on his cheek, Walter found himself alone, the house bare of everything except for the chair he had been sleeping within. Looking out the window to see daylight streaming into the empty farmhouse, Walter half wondered if this had all been in his imagination? Perhaps the exhaustion and fatigue of the road had created such a lucid memory. But as he stood up he noticed something on the now dead fireplace. Placed carefully to show its flat surface on the mantelpiece was a letter in an envelope, resting against a blue stoppered vial, he slowly walked towards it, and picked it up.

Made of a crisp white sheaf of paper, he opened it up, when a voice began to speak to him.

“Glad to see that you’re finally awake, boy.” Half startled at the sound of voice, Walter dropped the letter. What is the saint's name? He swore he heard a voice in mind.

Shaking himself as he gingerly picked the letter back up, he listened in astonishment as heard the voice again. “Ahh, where was I? You had nodded off sleep before I could finish my tale and in normal circumstances I would have taken that as an insult, but you seem like a nice enough lad. Unfortunately however I must be moving on further afield. The Gray Wolves have eyes everywhere, and while I do believe I can trust you to not send them after me, an errant word, a slip of the tongue, and they would be on my tail in seconds. I suppose it is also high time that I left this miserable country. My kind is no longer welcome here, and believe me I say I do not blame your father for it. We all had to make difficult choices back then, but it is guilt over the past that eats away at us. Be sure that you live your life so that never occurs to you.

“P.S. If you are still feeling foolish enough to enter the Forest of Blackwing, I’ve left a little gift behind for you, a bottle of scaleskin. It should protect from being eaten alive. Drink it just before you enter the forest, and it will strengthen your hide. Be sure not to tarry too long inside before it wears off, and goodluck, my boy.”