by Wayne Mee
Erin, feeling the conquest all but complete, grinned broadly and leaned forward. Then the Erg-Leath continued. "You all were in my dreams; yes, even you good Timin. As The Erg-Leath I often have visions or 'dreams'." She turned her large green eyes on a disappointed Erin. "Over a year ago I first saw you. Distant at first, faceless, then both clearer and nearer with the passage of time. A tall 'outlander' from a far away place. A man of many talents, though a 'man of weapons' above all else." Her voice lowered. "I saw too the coming of the Slathlanders, though the when and where was not shown to me. Perhaps Erg was testing me, perhaps not. This house was also made known to me, and all those who dwell here."
She looked at all three Kirkweans one at a time, and each responded to her gaze as their nature decreed; Timin with shyness, Granther with pride, and Thorn with impatient curiosity. Her velvet voice continued.
"The bronze-skinned servant was the latest to be shown to me. When I heard this morning that he too had arrived, I knew that the time had come."
"The 'time' for what, Lady?" Thorn's voice was sharp and eager.
Her response at first was a warm smile. Then she said something that rocked the three Kirkweans to their very core. "The time to seek out 'The Wanderer'."
***
As both the afternoon wore on and the mead jar emptied, the Erg-Leath told her tale. Her dreams had indeed shown her many things; the coming of both the 'Slathers' and the 'tall one' who would oppose them and aid her kind; of the part played by two close friends; of the arrival of a stranger with 'slanting eyes'; and, perhaps the strangest of all, the choosing of 'The Wanderer'.
The Legend of The Wanderer itself went far back into the mists of time, when the Kirkwean race was newly born to Oma-Var, and had not yet settled in The Wold. A nomadic people they were said to have been, having neither king nor kingdom, but rather free to roam and wander at will. Being small in stature they were wrongly considered 'easy prey' to the older and rougher races , the Karns and Gref. Even the reclusive Delgii made sport of them, though in time a sort of 'cool understanding' came about between the Delgii in their towering mountains and the free roaming Kirkweans. Only the 'Ancient Folk' of the Gil-Fain, known also as the Nimloth, befriended them, though even they too never had overmuch to do with the 'Wee'ns'.
Then a leader rose up among the small folk. A Kirkwean who brought the various 'Clans of Wanderers' to their present homeland. Long was their trek, and great were their dangers before finally settling in the greenwood of The Wold. Great too was the name of the one who led them. Brand Silverleaf, who, with the passage of time, came to be known simply as 'The Wanderer'.
The tale goes on to tell that Silverleaf, bent with age and knowing that his time was short, left his beloved Wold to 'wander' once again. But he promised to 'return' when his people needed him most. The river of time flowed ever on, and with its slow passage the tale grew into The Legend of The Wanderer, and though few now put much store in it, still there was not a Kirkwean who did not know of it.
"And just why, Narya, should we of the Root have need of 'The Wanderer'? Granther's voice had a tone in it that went well with his piercing eyes.
Narya smiled and took his gnarled hand in hers. "Both the wide world beyond and our own tiny one here, are changing, old friend. Things are not as they once were. The old races are on the wane, while the newer one, that of Man, is waxing full. Change is in the air and we, if we are to survive, must change with it. Not only the Slathers of the north are advancing, but the many clans of Man are pushing ever closer to our once secluded borders. Those of Anon-Hep to the east come ever closer. Why, in Del-Lingus our cousin Kirkweans even now live side by side with those who come from Anon-Hep. The once little fishing village of Rush at the mouth of our own Nal Torrent is now a bustling port." She glanced around the room as though its lengthening shadows held something sinister.
"From the south also, 'Man' comes. Both the warlike Ishtar from the grasslands of The Veld and the traders from Toman-Glith by the Endless Sea push ever closer to our borders. And their numbers are endless, Granther. Endless."
She looked at both Erin and the statue-like Chin. "Here before you are yet two other offshoots of the rapidly growing Race of Man. This one with his bronze skin and slanting eyes comes from a distant place called 'Chin'. This other one, with a voice like your honey mead, who can kill with such wanton lust, comes from some far-away island kingdom called 'Loamin'."
She bent forward and held the old Kirkwean's stare. "And I, who have spent most my life traveling the length and breadth of Oma-Var, have never heard of either of them!”
There was a heavy silence in the cozy little room as all there took in her strange words. At last Granther broke the spell. "And you believe 'The Wanderer' will return and lead us once more into this 'changing world'?"
Narya's deep green eyes washed over the retired High Warder. The flames from the hearth turned her yellow hair to burnished gold, while the silver circlet on her forehead flashed like starlight. "He will, for Erg has so decreed it, yet first the chosen one must become 'The Wanderer'."
She swept them all with her knowing gaze. "He must go forth into the wide world to be hammered and forged on Erg's Anvil. Only that way can he return to lead us all into the future." Her deep voice dropped to a whisper. As she spoke a trembling took her. "It will be a long and perilous journey, one from which there is no certainty that he will return --- but he must go, for without him, our small race will be swamped by the others --- swallowed up, piece by piece, until we are no more than a fading memory --- even to ourselves."
As he once had done with the little Narya long ago, Granther held her close, soothing her trembling body with his gentle words. When at last she had regained control, he looked into her far-seeing eyes. "All this you have seen it in your dreams?"
Narya nodded. "I have seen it, and know it to be true.”
Thorn, unable to contain himself any longer, blurted out the question that was on the tip of each of their tongues. "Lady, prey tell us who Great Erg has chosen to be the one?"
Her answer was swift in coming, though there was a hint of sadness in her voice. "I believe you already know the answer, Bramblethorn Higgs --- for 'The Wanderer' is to be you."
***
Chapter 7:WEAPONS FOR THE WANDERERS
Thorn was in a daze. It was all happening too fast. How could he be the legendary 'Wanderer'? All he knew of the 'outside world' was what Granther Higgs had told him about his own travels of long ago. Once Thorn had gone with the elder Kirkwean to Del Lingus, but that was but a week’s journey to the far side of The Wold. He had never even seen the sea!
"Watch your step, Thorn!" Timin pulled him away from the bridge's edge. "Get a hold of yourself, lad! I know you're rattled over what The Lady said, but come along with us to the Forge. Perhaps there we can sort things out."
Thorn followed his cousin and the others down to the ancient stone building, his feet moving woodenly while his brain raced. Another thought nagged at him, though he feared to speak of it, even to himself, --- he was not very religious.
Erg to him was just a hazy idea that he had grown up with; a name to swear by and little more. Deep in his heart Thorn now feared that he was unworthy. A whispered voice broke through his musings.
"Thorn-lad, we're here." Timin's round, friendly face showed his concern. Thorn glanced up and saw the Forge. It was here that the Erg-Leath had insisted that they all come, even the slant-eyed Chin --- though she wouldn't say why. Corg the blacksmith greeted them at the door. He made a deep bow to the Erg-Leath and smiled at the rest, though Erin and Kel's presence caused a slight frown to flicker across his soot-blackened features.
"It's fine, Corg," Narya said softly. 'He too has his part to play."
The short yet powerful Kirkwean merely bowed once again and held the door open. The Erg-Leath flowed through it like water, followed by the five others. Inside the Forge the late afternoon light streamed through high open windows, bathing everything in a golden, dappled
light. Cluttered with harness, ploughs, broken wheels and all manner of things to be repaired, the high roofed stone building none-the-less took on the air of a church rather than a lowly workshop. At the center of the room stood the bellows, from which a dull red glow pulsed like a living heart. A long table to one side held the tools of the blacksmith's trade, while opposite this, on a raised platform stood a great anvil --- the Kirkwean symbol of Erg's creative force.
Narya went forward and reverently touched the heavy anvil, while the others bowed their heads and waited. Erin felt strangely confused, while the Chin stood back in the shadows, his dark eyes not missing a thing. Then Narya turned and spoke. Her deep voice had an other-worldly tone to it.
"In the form of dreams does Great Erg make His will known to His Bride. So it is and so it shall always be. Blessed be His name."
The others repeated this last phrase and looked up to see her smiling warmly upon them. Her green eyes sought out Thorn's blue ones. "Be not overly disturbed Good Bramblethorn, for one need not be the Erg-Leath to see that your heart has ever been a 'restless one', and that your feet have long yearned to 'travel distant paths'. Is that not the main reason that you have not yet joined with Mistress Fernleaf Broadbeam?"
Thorn was taken back by this sudden 'invasion' into his private life and his face reddened. Narya's tiny hand however, stilled his beating heart. "There is nothing to feel reproved for, Thorn, for Erg forms us all as is His want. You and I both but follow our true nature as we move towards our destiny. Mine is to wander The Wold for His sake --- yours is much the same, though your 'wanderings' will far surpass mine."
She then turned and spoke to the shadows at the far end of the Forge. A small form emerged, wizened and bent both by age and countless turnings of the seasons, yet somehow strangely ageless.
This was Larg, companion and servant to Narya as well as the Erg-Leath who went before. Larg seldom spoke, though he missed nothing. In his gnarled hands he held before him a slender object wrapped in a green cloth. He moved noiselessly forward and offered it to the Erg-Leath. She took it gently and Larg melted back into the shadows, his ancient features lost save for his eyes that burned like the smoldering coals in the heart of the fire.
Narya held the narrow bundle out towards Thorn. Granther Higgs prodded him from behind. Slowly Thorn unwrapped it. He gasped at what he saw, for there before him was a short sword made from the precious 'Black Gold' or 'Twill'.
The scabbard and hilt were wrought with all manner of strange signs, only one of which Thorn recognized. It was on the pommel; a silver acorn --- the holy symbol of Brand Silverleaf. This was ‘Shard’, the legendary sword of the 'The Wanderer'!
"Take it, Thorn, for Shard has now passed on to you. Long have the Erg-Leaths watched over it, guarding it against the time that one would be called forth to take it up once more. Such a time has at last come, and you are the 'chosen one'".
Thorn, his sky-blue eyes ablaze, slowly pulled Shard from its scabbard. To the ears came a faint tinkling sound, slightly off key. The blade itself was jet black, engraved with more runes down its center. The hilt was bound with silver wire that gleamed like sparkling water beneath his trembling hand. The silver acorn on the round pommel blazed forth like a tiny star. Shard! "I -- I -- ", he stammered.
Narya silenced him with a wave of her hand. "There is naught for you to say, yet much for you to do, and even farther still for you to go. Erg has chosen you to tread His path, and though it will be both hard and long, you will not go alone. Friends may share your journey. Both old ones and new, and others still you will meet along the way. But it is you that must bare 'The Wanderer's Sword'. May Great Erg give you both the wisdom and the strength to use it wisely."
The others started forward, to both comfort Thorn and look upon this legendary weapon, but Narya bid them wait, for she was not yet done. Turning to Erin, she beckoned him forward. "In a dream I said that I saw you, and in a dream Erg told me of His will. I sent word to this Forge some seven moons past that another 'weapon' should be crafted. My old companion Larg brought Shard here, where both he and friend Corg have labored long and in secret, using the One as a model for the Other. Now their work is done.” She nodded to the blacksmith and her silent servant, then turned to Erin.
“Step forward, Erin ap Conn, weaponsman from the far distant shores of Loamin, and receive your new weapon, for you too have been 'chosen' by He-Who-Strikes-The Anvil."
Narya, standing on the raised platform, held Erin's gaze on a level with her own. "Receive now that which Erg has contrived to place into your hand, and mind that you yourself be as true a friend and comrade to 'Thorn The Wanderer' as he was to you when he saved you on the river."
Erin, somewhat caught off guard by the sudden turn of events, none-the-less did as he was bid. Kneeling before the radiant form of the Erg-Leath, he received from her that which Old Larg had brought forth from the shadows. It was indeed a copy of Shard, Thorn's legendary short sword, right down to the embossed scabbard and the gleaming acorn, yet it was much bigger. The Slath 'shim' he now carried seemed like a crude field blade by comparison.
He stood and beamed down at the long, sleek weapon, his calloused hand gently caressing the beautiful black blade, then moved his gaze to the likewise beautiful female before him. "My thanks be ever upon ye, M'Lady, n' it's wearin' it with pride I'll be, n' with remembrance o' one as fair as the gift itself."
Narya's smile held just a hint of mockery in it. "Just be 'rememberin' well' the oath you agreed to when you accepted it; to guard him with your strong arm and hold him in your bold heart."
Erin's smile was as bright as her own. "Put such fears away from yer soft heart, darlin' girl, for it's treadin' the wide world friend Thorn 'n I will be; aye, 'n closer than my own mother will I be holdin' him --- save only for your sweet lovin' self!"
Narya eyed him through arched brows. "You've a silver tongue in that roguish face of yours; see that you use both it and your gift with prudence."
Erin knelt once more and boldly took her hand in his. "'Prudence', me darlin' girl, has never been one of me strong points."
Narya leaned forward and patted his hand, then gently removed her own from his grasp. "Another time, 'me darlin'boy', I may just give you the chance to prove your over-bold words, but for now the hour is late, and you journey begins with the dawn."
***
Word of what had taken place spread like wildfire throughout the Root. The coming of the Slathers and the following battle had caused quite a commotion in the otherwise quiet little village. The fact that not a sign had been seen of the invaders that had escaped did little to ease the tension. When it was made know that the Erg-Leath had declared that 'The Wanderer' had been chosen from among them, the excitement mounted to a fever pitch! Both well-wishers and volunteers flocked to Granther Higgs's tree-home, each one eager to see both 'The Chosen' and, Silverleaf's fabled sword. Neither Thorn nor the tall manling disappointed them, though Thorn was not near as flamboyant about the whole thing as was the 'outlander'.
High Warder Broadbeam was among the loudest to proclaim his 'great confidence' in Thorn. And though he admitted that the two of them had had their differences in the past, all that was now just so much 'water under the bridge'. After all, didn't Thorn and his own fair daughter Fern have an 'understanding' between them?
Fern herself seemed to have her doubts. She and Thorn had had a somewhat 'stormy romance' off and on now for some years. She had wanted him to join her father's 'Warder Troop'. In her mind's eye she saw her brave husband-to-be famous throughout The Wold, and, in the fullness of time, taking her father's illustrious place as High Warder.
Thorn however, had other plans. Not for him the tedious job of a Warder. Sitting for hours up an uncomfortable tree, straining one's eyes to see what seldom came to pass; or trekking back and forth over The Wold from village to hamlet, only to sit in judgment over 'who stole whose chicken' or helping some farmer pull his stuck cow out of the mud! Thorn was a 'Forester', one o
f those proud and independent Kirkweans who roamed the deeper glades and vales in search of meat for the village. A solitary life and at times a dangerous one, but a life he enjoyed.
Thorn's secret dream had always been to follow in Granther's footsteps and be a 'Rover'. One of those rare Kirkwean who dare to wander outside The Wold; to trade and learn and just see what there was to see. Granther had done it for many years before becoming a Warder. Thorn had often toyed with the idea of doing the same. Now it seemed he was going to get his chance --- want it or not! 'Perhaps that is why Erg chose me?!', he thought --- then he noticed Fern standing in front of him. The crowd, seeing the furrow of her brow and knowing well her fiery temper, began to melt away. As usual, she wasted little time getting to the heart of the matter.
"You'll be going then? Leaving me to go off to Erg-knows-where, carrying your famous 'sword' and taking that heathen 'manling' with you?" There was no hint of a 'question' in her voice, and her large brown eyes nearly bore holes into his soul.
Thorn gazed at her fiery fall of red hair and thought that he had never seen her look more lovely. He reached out to touch her but she smacked his hand away and stomped her foot.
"Don't think that you can sooth-talk your way out of this, Bramblethorn Higgs! I don't intend to sit here mooning my life away waiting for the likes of you to come wandering home whenever you feel like it! I wont! Do you hear me, I WON'T!"
She turned away, anger and worry welling up inside her till the only release was tears. Thorn gently placed his arms around her and pulled her to him. Together they stood, silently watching the sun go down.
***
Later that night, as the fire burned low in Granther's cozy little house, yet another heated debate was taking place. Timin stood red-faced in the middle of the floor, wagging his finger and telling the new-found 'Wanderer' just exactly what he thought of him!
