“It’s...ahh...difficult. Well, you see...ummm... I may have some talent for magically setting things on fire”.
From the look on Caenet’s face, Torr was going to have to get used to that mixed expression of bemusement and concern as well.
Fortunately, any further discussion on the topic was cut short by the arrival of Sergeant Bourne, who also seemed none the worse for wear. His uniform somehow cleaned up and fit enough for a parade. Torr wondered if Sergeant Bourne had some inherent magical ability of his own for keeping his armour so clean.
“Sir”, he saluted. “Commander Garel and Master Rowe are looking for you sir. They are outside sir”.
Torr left Caenet with the horses, having confirmed that he would help tack them up for use with pulling the wagons which, it seemed, would include Torr. He had been told by Silus no riding for a ten-day, whilst his leg healed. This was poor news indeed for the young cavalry officer.
He limped on behind Sergeant Bourne, who also politely enquired about his leg, which did feel less swollen and painful already, having now been dressed and treated properly.
The men had largely struck camp and one or two wagons were already fully loaded with injured men and the supplies that Oaks Keep could spare.
Garel and Bernhart looked deep in conversation when Torr arrived but they duly noted him limp his way up to the two older men. Torr saw that Garel’s wound also had fresh bandages as he saluted the commander.
“Ah yes Captain Skarsdale, good morning. How’s the leg?”
“Fine sir, how’s your neck?”
Oh...I’ll live I’m sure. You’re to ride back on the wagons, I believe?”
“Yes sir”.
“Very good, well, before you go, Master Rowe here has put forward the possibility of your new...trinket...staying here for evaluation”. Garel looked at Bernhart who nodded and continued the conversation. “With your blessing of course young man as it would seem you are the only one who can pick it up. May I enquire how you slept last night”?
“Like shit sir actually, pardon my manners”.
“Hmm, yes, I think, if you will allow, I would like to study it. I still do not believe it truly belonged, or at least, was destined for the bandits and, I presume their leader so...”
“Please, you don’t have to ask again, you are welcome to keep it for all I care”.
Bernhart turned back to Garel. “You are happy he has given it freely?” Garel just nodded.
“Very well, the gem will stay here for our examination and we shall of course, report back to you sir, although I anticipate we will be seeing Captain Skarsdale again anyway. Perhaps when he is well enough to travel under his own power again, yes?”
Bernhart turned from Garel and addressed the question to Torr.
“I guess so...yes?” By now Torr just wanted to get home. Riders had already come from Paega and Tantes with requests for a list of casualties. They had already been dispatched back, by fast horse, to ease the minds of some families but confirm the fears of others.
At least his family would know he was alive, but not necessarily that he was now a fire-wielding wizard who was the only person who could pick up an item of loot from the bandit camp, apparently. Torr had still not even seen anyone else try but there was something genuine in the look of each man present when Torr picked up the box in the palisade. To confirm Torr’s thoughts, Bernhart continued: “I am afraid there is no choice but for me to ask you to come back to my laboratory where, clearly, the gem will not move again until you return to reclaim it”.
They clearly were not joking then. Somehow, Torr had ended up with an artefact that no one else could pick up or move, and, he suspected, gave him nightmares. The questions started to boil over.
“But, what is it then? Why can I pick it up? How did it get there? Whose was it...I mean...”
Bernhart held up a finger and then put his arm round the back of Torr, encouraging his legs to limp him back towards the tower.
“Best go with him son, we need to get going as soon as we can” said Garel as Torr, dejectedly and with new found uncertainty, limped back towards the tower of Oaks Keep with the Master Wizard - Bernhart Rowe.
Torr’s resentment grew as this damn stone now caused him to limp all the way back into the tower, in addition to the lack of troubled sleep he suspected it had bestowed upon him last night.
Torr continued with his questions but Bernhart seemed genuine in his ignorance of the gem’s nature and origin.
He did, however, try and allay Torr’s worries and continued questions about why he would need to return to Oaks Keep in the future.
“We do not want your powers to manifest and grow without giving you the opportunity and discipline to control them. That is why those you see around you” - he pointed to the nearest apprentice, still scurrying through the courtyard as the remaining troops now fell in to leave - “agree to undertake the vow of Oaks Keep whilst they study here”.
Torr stopped. “You mean I’ve got to be like....” Torr also now pointed to the back of the same apprentice as the brown robed figure ran, arms full of swords, towards the main gate.
Torr’s look of horror was obvious to the master wizard. “No, not necessarily young man” pushing Torr onwards as his legs unfroze from the fear of being shaved, robed in one garment and not being allowed to speak for Lord knew how long. “Many young wizards come here either for simple guidance or advice”. Bernhart grinned at Torr. “We do not keep people here against their will. Those you see around you stay because they wish to. Because they want to master their abilities. Some are content just to understand their gift before they return to whatever role they have outside Oaks Keep. Or perhaps decide they wish to study and train at another faculty.” Bernhart paused. “Although the training elsewhere can be harsher than here”.
Having placated Torr’s over-riding fears that he would not be kept here against his will for the rest of his life, they slowly continued back into the tower. Torr had no idea how far in they would have to go and was surprised when Bernhart opened a particularly heavy looking oak door, close to the entrance on the ground floor.
“Ahh, here we are”, Bernhart exclaimed with an obvious tone of joy. “My refuge”.
The room seemed very large again and disproportionate to the narrow corridor from which they had entered.
“Is it my imagination or are all the rooms here....”
“Not quite within the confines of the real and non magical world, yes. The sense of proportion becomes clearer with study and time spent here though, as the spirit of the place makes its presence felt on the residences here”. Bernhart responded to Torr’s question without looking at the young man. The wizard was busy removing a candle from under a glass flask on an extremely long bench full of dishes, containers and flasks of all sizes and materials.
As Torr took in the magnitude of the room, he saw that all the walls were lined with large cabinets, most of which were secure with very heavy and solid looking padlocks. There were also what appeared to be dead creatures, or parts thereof. One instantly took Torr’s attention and even made him step back.
It was some distance away but even so, its visage was terrible to behold. Its body was secured by way of heavy steel chains to the wall. Even though it was clearly just a dead trophy, its scaly skin still appeared to shimmer in the candle light. It was around seven foot in height and powerfully built. A series of small humanoid skulls still hung, belt fashion, around its waist. It had a strong but strangely shaped, mandible, with quite large tusks at each corner of its mouth. Its thick legs were shaped like those of horse’s rear legs and long feet. Otherwise, it had a roughly human shaped torso and arms, albeit with four of the latter emanating from its shoulder joint.
“What in the hells is that?” he exclaimed.
“Ahh...perhaps my most prized possession”, said Bernhart, who had now moved on to fiddling with the next experiment on his long, sturdy table. Torr noticed it was secured to the floor just as the creature wa
s tethered to the wall.
“That, young sir, is a creature I hope you will never have to face”. Bernhart continued without looking up. “Its kind will not be found on any map you will come across, which is fortunate, as the civilisations of man would suffer again as they did in The Wars of the Dragons some seven hundred years ago”. Torr looked at the older wizard blankly. “It is called a Shak-Ra, and can now only be found in the largely undiscovered home of the Elheren”.
Bernhart dispensed this information regarding the semi mythical Elheren quite matter of factly. They were not a topic really discussed within his own teachings, merely that they were responsible for bringing demons into this world millennia ago, when man was little more than another animal. They had been forced into a war, siding with the dragons, to banish their own creations. They were said to have exiled themselves for their mischief in creating the demons in the first place, only for the dragons to rule in their place. The dragons then persecuted mankind until God’s Chosen defeated the Arch Dragon some seven hundred years ago. No Elheren now walked the land of men as far as Torr knew.
The existence of the trophy in Bernhart’s study was no myth however. Torr plucked up the courage to sidle closer to the creature, half expecting it to leap at him, breaking its chains with ease and devouring him.
“Impressive isn’t it?” Bernhart had moved closer to Torr whilst the young man kept his gaze on the creature, fearing it would snap his neck if he turned away from it. The Master Wizard’s voice made Torr jump slightly. “The Shak-Ra have the ability to almost disappear before your very eyes, a camouflage on a very grand scale. I believe the Elheren hunt them now. Suffice it to say, their skin is much sought after by men and women like myself for certain...ahh...magical properties”.
“Holy Lord, is that what you used to scout the bandit camp then?”
“You catch on quite quickly young man”. Bernhart sounded impressed. “Not the creature itself of course, but its skin, when distilled in the proper fashion, does seem to generate the same effect. Fascinating really”.
Bernhart looked as if his inner thoughts were starting to take over, and it was only with difficulty that he recalled the purpose of their visit to his lair.
“Anyway, feel free to put your burden over there”. Bernhart pointed to a slightly less cluttered area of the long table, indicating where Torr should put the gem.
“And now, I suspect we will need to return you to the care of Commander Valheimer and your fellow troops, before I get blamed for holding up proceedings...again”.
Torr turned to leave and started to limp towards the heavy oak door.
“Actually, before you go, you may also wish to consider leaving that with me as well”. Bernhart was pointing to the branch that Torr still had with him. Although he was using the more clinical crutch offered by the apothecaries he had still, subconsciously it seemed, retained the branch he had taken from the battlefield.
“What...oh yes...hang on, why would this be of any use to you?”
Torr had started to put the branch on the table next to the gemstone, before considering why the wizard would want a large stick.
“I may be able to fashion it into an item of some use for you when you return”
“What, you mean a magical staff?”
“Again, you are quick on the uptake young Master Skarsdale: yes indeed. It is often the case that we transfer a part of our essence, spirit or soul, whatever you wish to call it, into inanimate objects at times of stress, mortal danger or other, similarly emotionally strained times. For those with the skill and intuition to sense this, the object can be fashioned into something with magical properties, given time and the right skill and resources of course. The stronger the being, the more powerful an item may become. So, a person with magical prowess, or a being of magic itself, may create an item of similar strength. The correlation though is not a constant for some reason. Adventurers and bounty hunters alike, who have killed mighty beasts or warlords’ have come here with wagons full of objects closest to the creatures death, only to be disappointed with the strength of the end result. Nevertheless, I do sense some worth in leaving your modest stick with me ”.
Bernhart had opened the door as an indicator that they should get moving. On leaving the tower, the last wagon was waiting directly outside for Torr, to save him walking any further than he had to.
Bernhart helped him up. “I am grateful for the trust you have shown in me Torr. I wish you a speedy recovery and, rest assured, I shall keep an eye on your friend as well”.
Torr thought the wizards comments sounded genuine enough and he had no cause to doubt his sincerity. He still thought he seemed little like a wizard or, at least, how he had imagined a wizard to be and, therefore, set off relatively content in the knowledge that if, or when, he came back, he could count on the support of one of the most senior and experienced wizards alive.
The wagon lurched off, Bernhart waving a brief farewell before Torr disappeared from sight, under the gateway.
By the time they left the walls of Oaks Keep, the entire detachment which was fit to return to Paega’s Bay had formed up, save for a few remaining walking wounded who would share the wagon with Torr. They were fit enough and in sufficient spirit to salute the cavalry captain as they mounted the wagon, before gratefully sitting down on the long road home.
Just as they were leaving though, a small column of men could be seen approaching Oaks Keep from the south. It was Carodin. As Torr was at the back of the column as it snaked out onto the turnpike, he was close enough to see Carodin wave and salute, before the Tantes men made for the refuge of the wizard’s settlement themselves. It had been agreed they would rest here for a day, following on behind the wagons sometime later.
Ironically, therefore, the convoy of soldiers came towards their overnight rest at Tantes, a few days later, without any of the men from the town itself. Nevertheless, even as they reached the outskirts, the road started to fill with onlookers. Just a few at first, children running around and along with the wagons, before larger groups of townsfolk started to line the road into the town itself. Eventually, what appeared to be the entire town had come out to welcome them home.
Garel and Torr were hosted again by Carodin’s family. Even allowing for the earlier message that they had received to confirm that their son was alive and, pretty much, unscathed, their questions over dinner clearly denoted a desire for confirmation from first hand sources, as well as an account of their son’s heroic deeds and valour.
The column moved out early the following morning, still with well wishers stopping cheerfully as they passed out of Tantes and onwards to Paega. Despite the fact that the threat of banditry had largely been eradicated, the road still seemed unusually quiet. As if those with lawful trade were giving the soldiers who had made it back alive time to reflect on the blessing of life and limb, although also as word slowly reached more faraway settlements.
Torr also considered that Paega would have far less to celebrate than Tantes as the men from the town and the garrison had borne the brunt of the onslaught. This was reflected in the fact that they were now returning with, more or less, half the men that had gone south about a ten-day before. Torr would be returning to Home Manor with a similar casualty list. His family’s messenger had been dispatched with the news and the names of the fallen and injured. He wondered if this accounted for the lack of revellers as they drew close to the town now.
The men were clearly becoming weary as well, not only with the length of the march itself, but also as the mental weight of battle set in. Torr was also having difficulty staying awake, even after a slightly better night’s sleep at Tantes. He still saw the gem in his unsettling dreams though, even after leaving the thing at Oaks Keep. It replaced the sun in his subconscious thoughts, overseeing the utterly alien landscapes and creatures that also appeared to him during the night now, leaving him tired throughout the day.
As they drew close to the fork that divided the road between the entry to Pa
ega and onward to Valheimer’s garrison, the wagon stopped, stirring Torr. He looked round to see Garel approaching. Despite his injuries, Garel had decided to ride still at the head of the column. He did not want to look like a defeated force, which it might seem, if the commanding field officer was not at the head of their return.
“Captain Skarsdale” Torr saluted in response, trying to rise slowly and clumsily from his position on the wagon.
“There is no point in you or any of the men who have come from Paega itself marching all the way up to the garrison, only to walk back several hours later, just so you can be formally dismissed from this service and action in the grounds of the castle itself. We shall therefore parade here so you and your men, and those from the other merchant houses, can fall out and return home”.
Torr understood and, again, this break from military formality painted Garel as a reasonable man and commander. In any event, Torr noticed that Garel looked tired and also a little pale now.
All men who could stand were instructed to form up by Caenet and Sergeant Bourne, with Torr limping to the front of the parade with Garel.
Garel addressed the men and ordered them to fall out. It was agreed that, as there were wounded who could not walk and needed to go to the garrison and Paega separately, the two remaining wagons would be divided accordingly.
Garel also confirmed that there would be a sermon in a ten-day to honour those who had fallen. Given the time of year, this would fall within the usual harvest celebrations that were very prevalent in Sommerswake, given its arable heritage.
Some onlookers had gathered as the impromptu parade took place, with one or two children racing back into town, no doubt instructed to let their families know they had returned.
By the time the right men had been swapped onto the right wagons, a small throng of people from Paega were starting to make their way up the hill to the crossroads, just as Garel and what was left of his garrison men, left for the last part of their journey.
Even as Torr stood by the wagons ready to go, he realised that he, Caenet and the few remaining men from Home Manor would also need to make their way separately from the rest of the other merchant’s surviving men. He was also now the only officer here (albeit technically just having been relieved from duty when the men had been dismissed just beforehand).
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