by Bill Albert
“They said he had gone hunting in the ice.”
“Really? That seems odd. I thought he always went later in the year than this,” he said. He looked at her and tapped his forehead. “Memory is the first to go,” he winked at her and then dropped back into the rocker. The room shook as he landed, and several stacks of papers slid from the desk and fluttered to the floor.
There was a cry from outside and Gallif turned to see a frustrated hobgoblin come running into the room. The hobgoblin was dressed in gray and blue stripped robes with many pockets and had several cloth pouches pinned to his belt. He yelled something in a language that Gallif didn’t understand, but she could tell by his tone it was not flattering. He then started scrambling to organize the papers.
“He takes care of my money,” Rante said and started rocking again.
“You’re sure these meats are done by Bitran?” Gallif steered the conversation back to her reason for being there. “Anyone else in the Stack Black Mountains who could have made them?”
“I suppose there could be others someplace,” he said. “But that would be my best guess.”
“Would orcs like those?” she asked. She tried to reach for the bottle, but Rante held it tight in his hand.
“No,” Rante shook his head and continued to rock. “Orcs got no taste for spicy foods,” he said. “Upsets their stomachs too much. Why would anyone want to feed an orc anyway? The animals usually eat beasts they find killed on the road,” he said disgustedly. “Mr. Taker, my money man, would like them. Dwarves like them and even some kobolds do. By the size of the strips I’d say these were made for humans or smaller.”
“Thank you,” she said as she held out a hand to take the jar back, but Rante just kept rocking.
“Of course, humans will eat just about anything that doesn’t move,” he said. “And some things that do? Ever try a spaget worm for dinner?”
“No,” Gallif said as she shook her head and swallowed hard.
“Can’t blame you,” Rante nodded.
“Well, thank you. May I have the jar back?”
“Make you a deal,” he said. “Beside the desk is my pipe,” he said pointing to where Mr. Taker was sorting the papers. “I’ll hand you this jar if you hand me my pipe.”
Gallif found no reason to protest so she quickly retrieved the pipe. She had to hoist it with both hands and delivered it to the rocking giant. He smiled and very gently handed the jar back to her.
“Is there anything else I can tell you?”
“No,” she looked fondly at the giant. “You have been a great help.”
“Very well,” he said. As he rocked, he produced a match at least three inches long from a pocket in his robe and struck it against the wooden arm of the chair. He lit the tobacco inside the pipe and very slowly inhaled the noxious smoke. He blew it out slowly and tossed the still burning match aside.
Gallif was just out the door when she heard a cry of despair from Mr. Taker as he tried to stamp out several burning sheets of paper.
***
She had little luck finding Micarta and was told by some of the guards at the town hall that the woman was busy preparing a fancy meal for the mayor’s birthday. If she wanted to speak to the woman, she would have to wait two days and was firmly escorted off of the premises.
She decided to go back to the inn and wait until the next morning before trying to contact Tome. The inn she was staying in had no stables, but she found a very good building to house Snow for the night and just carried a few things with her.
When she entered the hotel there were twice as many people as there had been before. Dinner was being served to several tables and the clientele was eating heartily. One person, at a far table, looked up at her and stopped with a meat loaded fork in his hand. He nudged his friend and whispered something to him and they both started watching her. Gallif tried to ignore them and went to get to the main desk.
Loreba smiled and handed her a key. She glanced at the two men who will still watching and then looked back at Gallif.
“Don’t mind them, dear,” Loreba said. “We’ve been getting some news and stories from the southsiders about attacks against the Giant Lords. Story has it a young red headed woman made a miraculous rescue a few weeks back. There’s talk it maybe you.”
“Well, I’m afraid I haven’t heard of anything like that,” Gallif said doing her best to look innocent. “Hope whoever saved the Minister is well.”
“Didn’t say anything about a Minister being involved, dear,” Loreba said with a smile. Gallif’s fists clenched and she cursed at herself for being sloppy. “Stay as long as you like, dear. It’s good for business. Even picked up a few extra southsiders tonight on that rumor.”
“Southsiders?”
“People not from the mountains, dear,” Loreba explained. “From this far north everyone is a southsider,” she smiled and turned away as new customers entered the building.
Gallif again looked at every person in the room but found no familiar faces. She did, however, find more people paying attention to her. As she carried her belongings to her room on the second floor she reflected on her day.
She entered her room and sat down for a few minutes leaving all her items still wrapped together on the bed. She realized she had learned very little. She hoped the next day would be more successful and she would get more information from Tome.
She stopped as she thought of Maura joining her as well. She almost regretted allowing her to come along and was wondering if it wouldn’t be best to talk her out of going further. Could she avoid her all together and hope she’d return home? No, she told herself that was not going to happen.
She locked the door and hurried downstairs for supper.
The soup was some of the finest she had ever tasted. She was told that the meat was from elk that had been freshly hunted and the rest from rare spices that grew in the higher altitudes. It was so good she almost didn’t care what was in it.
As she ate, she occasionally caught people glancing at her, but it wasn’t as obvious or as uncomfortable as it had been before. One of them was an attractive young man who winked at her. She smiled and winked back before his attention was drawn to some of the other men at his table. Gallif started in on the stew and didn’t look up until Loreba came over and set a mug of ale on her table. She looked questioningly at the older woman who sat down next to her and smiled.
“Dear, the young man asked me to bring this to you with his compliments,” she said and motioned to the man who had winked at her. They made eye contact and he smiled. She nodded her thanks and took a long drink of the ale.
“It’s very good,” she told Loreba.
“My husband makes it in the cellar,” she said. “The coolness from the ice fields keeps it fresh.”
“I could feel the temperatures when I rode in.”
“It’ll be cold tonight but should warm up by tomorrow noon.”
Gallif swallowed a few mouthfuls of stew and finally pointed to the young man. “What do you know about him?”
“He’s a fur trader,” she said without looking over. “Those are his older brothers at the table, and they are in town for a few days. He lives in a town called Resurrec. He’s nineteen and has no girlfriend.”
Gallif fixed a bright stare on Loreba and asked, “What don’t you know about him?”
“His favorite color,” she smiled.
Gallif laughed and was about to ask another question when Loreba’s assistant patted her on the shoulder then went to the entrance to greet a new customer. The man smiled but shook his head and she went about helping other customers.
After a few more bites of stew Gallif looked over at the man. At first there didn’t seem to be anything at all unusual about him. He was dressed in a very nice set of cotton clothes of much understated shades of green and blue. He also wore a long cape of the same colors and, though the clothes were very fine and neat, there was very little difference between what he was wearing and what any other member
of society could wear. As he moved, she noticed he wore no jewelry or accessories of any kind. No necklaces, bracelets or rings could be seen anywhere on his body. He had pitch black hair and even darker eyes topped by bushy eyebrows. With the loose-fitting clothes that he wore it was impossible to tell much about his physical attributes and he appeared to be unarmed.
As Gallif watched he moved across the room nodding and smiling at everyone he met. In due time he came to where Gallif was seated.
“Good evening, miss,” he said in a very calm and well-mannered voice. “May I sit down?”
“Okay, but I’m almost finished,” she said and indicated the almost empty bowl of stew.
“It will only take a few minutes of your time,” he said as he sat down next to her.
Now that he was closer, she realized that he had rather attractive features. He showed great experience and wisdom, yet there was something almost childish about his smile. It was impossible for her to tell how old he really was.
“I’ve been hoping to meet you someday, Gallif.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I was in the arena on Festival Day in Atrexia and saw what happened.”
“My loss,” she said and looked down at her bowl.
“No, no, no,” he said with a gentle smile and tapped her hand. “Your reflexes are quick and agile, and your eye is sharp.”
“Thank you,” she said and pulled her hand away from his. “What is your name?”
“I am Zaslow.”
“Did you leave a message there for me?”
“No. I did try to find you after the contest, but you’d already left. When I first heard that you were here in Primor I came looking for you.”
“There was a man following me that day. I thought maybe he worked for you.”
Zaslow paused for a brief moment, just long enough so she could tell he hadn’t been aware of everything happening, and then shook his head. “Oh, I see. Did you try to contact him?”
“No, I wasn’t interested in him.”
“Luckily for the Third Minister you weren’t.”
Gallif had been about to take the last mouthful of stew but set the fork back into the bowl and looked directly at him. “What if I told you that wasn’t me?”
“Then I would apologize for making the assumption. There are stories spreading about the rescue of a Giant Lord.”
She quickly swallowed the last of the stew and then said, “Yes, it was me.”
He smiled and put a hand on her left arm. “Thank you, Gallif.”
“So why is it you are interested in me?” she said. Though she was right-handed she used her left arm to drink from the mug of ale. She laid her arms down on her lap, so they were out of the reach of Zaslow. She didn’t feel comfortable with his habit of touching her.
“I am looking to form a party of warriors to help me on an expedition into the mountains. I need good people who can handle themselves well.”
Gallif held her breath and looked into his eyes for several moments before asking, “What are you looking for?”
“I believe I know the true location of the Bridge of Immortality,” he said watching her closely and monitoring her reactions.
“The Bridge of...?” Gallif asked as she searched her memory. “That’s a legend, no, not even a legend, just a story for children.”
“How sure are you?” Zaslow asked with a crooked eyebrow.
Gallif wanted to answer immediately but stumbled in her thoughts. “I’m sure,” she answered weakly. She had believed many things about giants and, in the past few weeks, had found them to be false.
“This is your first trip up here to the mountains, isn’t it?” he asked.
She nodded that it was but had the distinct impression he already knew the answer.
“Well, up here the influence of the Giant Lords isn’t so total. You hear things up here that many closer to Starpoint Mountain don’t. Some people will even go as far as to say that not all elves are evil.”
“Wrong,” she said and flatly pounded her hand on the table. She shook her head wildly and took another swig of her ale. She set the drink down between her and the man. “All elves are heartless, cold monsters,” she said with clenched teeth.
“Gallif,” he said and bent closer to put a hand on her wrist. She was so caught up in what he had said she didn’t notice his hand quiver as it quickly passed over the ale. “Forgive me. It’s just fables I have heard.”
“Such as?” she asked out of dull curiosity. As she watched him, she relaxed and became interested in what he was saying. She let his hand rest on her wrist as he spoke.
“I hear there are tribes of elves that weren’t involved in the Dragon War,” he told her. “They remain hidden from everyone else and keep their identities a secret but live in peace.”
“No,” she shook her head again and took another drink of her ale. “It’s just lies. All elves are evil and there are thousands of deaths to prove it.”
“Of course, they are,” Zaslow patted her hand again but did not look away. “I was using that as an example and I am sorry,” he waited for her to take another drink and nod before continuing. “But think about a bridge that if you crossed it could make you immortal. There are hundreds of stories, legends, if you will, about its existence. I have been studying the different reports of sightings for years and think I know where it lies. It’s a long and rough ride to get there and I need experienced people to join me,” he said.
“I’m afraid you have the wrong person,” she said looking directly at him. “I have other matters I have to see too. Things more important than chasing children’s stories.”
“But doesn’t the thought interest you?” he pressed on. “Isn’t it at least possible?”
“I’ll admit it is possible,” she said. She was beginning to feel slightly lightheaded and wondered just how powerful the ale was. It was very good, so she downed the last of it in one gulp, and then looked back at the Zaslow. “I’m still,” she paused for a moment as she searched for the right word. “Unavailable,” she said finally.
“Of course,” he smiled. “Your help would be invaluable.”
“You said something else before. What was it? Hearing other stories?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “You hear stories of all kinds. Sometimes you hear stories about giants that are just as unbelievable to you as the Bridge of Immortality.”
Gallif’s head was swimming and she took a full minute to process what he had said. “What do you hear about giants?”
“I have heard that there are giants looking to destroy the Giant Lords,” he said. “Very few people believe that, however. It is harder to believe than good elves,” he chuckled.
Gallif took her hand away from his and wiped it across her forehead. “I may know something about that,” she whispered.
He sat up quickly and looked at her as if puzzled by what she had said. “Perhaps we can exchange information?”
“I don’t know,” she said and held her head in her hands looking at the table as she spoke. She tried hard to think about Tome and what had happened, and she told herself how the secret must be kept. She looked at the empty mug of ale and then pushed it away. “I’m really tired.”
“Yes. We can speak more later. I must make a trip to a small village tomorrow, but I shall return the day after.”
“I have a friend coming who may want to talk to you. How will I get a hold of you?”
He reached into his cloak and pulled a small golden charm with a red stone. He put it into her palm and took a tight grip on her hand.
“Hold this and think of me,” he assured her. “I will know and come to find you. Do you need help getting up to your room?”
“No,” she said as she looked around the room. “I can make it.”
“Strong willed, to say the least,” he said. “May I ask you one question before you go? Just to ease my curiosity.”
“I guess so,” she said. She was having trouble concentrating as mixed
thoughts and ideas echoed through her mind. She had drunk ale before but had never felt like this. There was something about this man that she didn’t trust, but despite the fact that her instincts told her to move, she could not easily walk away.
“Where is your home?”
Gallif thought about her home on the farm that had been burned. Then there was a blur of different places, but many of the details had been lost in time. Then she remembered, with great clarity, the school. Gallif shook her head as the memories of the fire came back to her.
“Gone,” she said. “Burned to the ground.”
“Again, I am very sorry,” he frowned. “We will speak no further of it.”
With a sudden rush of strength Gallif stood from the table. Unsteady, she moved from table to table until Loreba caught her and guided her away.
The Zaslow watched her until she was completely out of sight. He took a deep breath and sat back comfortably in the chair. Soon the frown was replaced with a slight smile and the look of someone who had just gained some very valuable information.
SIXTEEN:
TOME’S TOMB
As she slept a single dream repeated itself again and again. She dreamt of her meeting with Zaslow in rich detail during the first vision, but when it came again it was slightly blurred and faded. As the dream repeated each time it was less clear as to what had happened and when. By the final time the dream visited it was just an image of people, one of which may or may not have been her, talking at a table.
It was difficult for Gallif to wake the next morning. She opened her eyes briefly and could see the early sun light coming through the window, but before she could move, she fell back to sleep. She woke again later, and this time fought to keep her eyes open. She looked out the window and saw that the sun was directly over the horizon and she knew she had to get up and get moving. She forced her feet off of the bed and tried to stand but fell face first on the floor.
She took several deep breaths and then pushed herself over onto her back. She looked at the ceiling and concentrated on a single crack in the wood. She summoned all the strength she could to raise her hands and lay one on her forehead and the other on her chest. She took a few more slow breaths and then cast her thoughts back to Festival Day. She remembered the fun that they had had visiting some of the shops and watching some of the street performers. Even the really terrible art at the show they had visited seemed funny when she thought about it now.
