by M. Gregg Roe
Stunned, Gabriel watched silently as his father exited the café with a purposeful stride. There had been a time when Mardan referred to Kora as a whore, furious that his son was involved with a woman who practiced prostitution. And now he had just given them his blessings. After ordering a second cup of mead, he sat for a long while, mulling it over in his mind.
By the time Gabriel finished his brief (and incomplete) explanation, Kora had a smug look that neither surprised nor bothered him. Her plan had clearly come to fruition.
“To be honest,” she said, sitting close by him on her sofa, “I thought you would just defy your father, not that he would come around to accepting me as his daughter-in-law.”
He was certain that Zyrahi was a key factor in that, but he wasn’t about to reveal to Kora what the woman actually was. The fewer that knew about that, the better.
“Do you want a ceremony?” she asked, snuggling close. “That was a marriage proposal, wasn’t it?”
He wrapped his right arm around her. “So it would appear. What do you want?” He hoped it wasn’t something elaborate.
“All that’s really necessary is filing the proper form with the government,” she told him. “I’m sure we’ll be approved.”
He was certain that she already had the proper form in her possession, lacking only a date and their signatures. Approval was only withheld when there was the suspicion of an arranged marriage. The only appeal was to submit to questioning by a cleric capable of detect falsehoods.
“What about hosting a gathering with food and drink?” he suggested. “We will only invite close friends and family.”
“That sounds perfect. Where should we hold it?”
Again, he could tell that it was a rhetorical question. “Where do you suggest?”
The reply came instantly. “Draymund and Almera’s parlor.”
He wondered if she had already spoken to Almera about it. “That is fine. When?”
Kora scrunched up her face as she thought. “There’s no need to rush. We could hold it near the end of the year and then attend the Rohoville Festival on the first day of the new year. I’ve always wanted to go.”
It was a longer delay than he had expected. Perhaps she hadn’t expected to succeed so quickly.
“I agree,” he said, embracing her gently and filled with joy. He couldn’t wait to tell his mother and sister.
“If you like,” she said, “you can move in before that and help with the preparations. We need to write out a guest list, finalize the date, and arrange for catering.”
“I will start packing tomorrow,” he told her in such an overly serious manner that she laughed with delight.
As they kissed, he felt happier than he had in years. They were together again, and this time it would last.
[ 24 ]
Going Outside
The wait was torture. It really didn’t matter whose potion wore off first, but Ferikellan secretly hoped that it was his. He wanted to be the first of the two of them to set foot outside. It was something that he had always dreamed of. Rosalind looked over and gave him a reassuring smile, but he could also read her impatience.
“I don’t know why I’m so excited,” she blurted. “It won’t look any different.”
“We will be outside Andoran’s Realm for the first time in our lives,” he returned. “That is what matters.”
“I just hope there’s nothing hostile out there,” she said. “I want to enjoy myself.”
He did as well.
The trip was also an opportunity to further their slowly developing romance. It humbled him just how much more experience she had in such matters, despite her relative youth. He really had led a life of isolation these last few decades.
Planning to camp out in the woods for two nights, they were well-equipped, including food, appropriate tools, and a small tent that the two gworn had made for them. It was something that neither of them had ever attempted before, but he was confident that they were up to the task.
Their specific destination outside, as shown on an old map, was a narrow strip of woods bordered by a river on its far side. Finding it had been straightforward because the river also dipped into the Gray Forest. Once they sighted the river, they had followed its course east until they reached the boundary. And then the waiting had begun.
The excursion also served as a much-needed break from the tedium of their potion research. The so-called two-blood potions were frustrating. Some blood combinations worked consistently, while others failed to mix properly, completely ruining the mixture. It was as if there were different types of blood, and some were incompatible with each other. On the wall of the laboratory was a chart that showed the results of all the combinations they had tested so far, but it still made no sense.
On the plus side, they could now control the duration of the new potions precisely. The ones they were currently using were calibrated for four hours. They had also succeeded in making potions usable by ogres, but the maximum duration they had achieved was barely an hour. That was too short to allow passage all the way through the Gray Forest.
“The fish in the river,” Rosalind said, staring in that direction. “The ones outside can’t let the current carry them into the Gray Forest or they’ll be attacked. Is it instinct, or part of the enchantment?”
He had wondered about that himself. “Perhaps it is selective. Fish smart enough to avoid the Gray Forest are more likely to live long enough to reproduce.”
“Maybe.” She cocked her head to the right. “It must have been really unpleasant when Andoran first created the Gray Forest. I wonder if it appeared all at once or gradually.”
It was an excellent question. He hoped that Andoran had left behind some kind of documentation detailing the creation of the Gray Forest. If such a thing existed, it would be found wherever the man had actually dwelled. But even Audrey didn’t know where that had been. It was frustrating.
“I feel it,” she said, suddenly tensing.
Rosalind snatched up her pack from the ground and walked forward. Her normal color smoothly returned as she passed through the boundary. She turned in a complete circle and then put down her pack. “I’m going to look around,” she announced, then walked off to the east.
A few minutes later, Ferikellan felt the characteristic tingling. He retrieved his pack, waved at the squirrel that was watching him from a nearby tree branch, then strode across the boundary. It felt no different from reentering the interior of Andoran’s Realm. He dropped his pack next to hers, but decided not to call out. There was no point in attracting unwanted attention.
When Rosalind returned a few minutes later, she gave him a quick hug. “We did it,” she said, beaming at him. “We’re outside Andoran’s Realm.”
“We are indeed,” he returned, realizing that he was smiling himself. “Did you find anything of interest?”
“Does a wasp’s nest count?” She shrugged. “There’s no sign that anyone has ever lived near here. I didn’t see any trails either, but I didn’t go that far.”
He had a theory that the people outside had probably learned to stay away from the Gray Forest. Any habitations in this strip of woods had probably been abandoned long ago and fallen to ruin. But there might well be a village on the opposite shore of the wide river. Whether they should reveal themselves to its inhabitants was another matter.
Rosalind picked up her bulky pack and pulled it on. “The first step is to find a place to camp. There should be streams that feed into this river. If we’re near one, we won’t have to go to the river for water.”
He was more than willing to let her take charge. Rosalind might be just as inexperienced at camping, but she had taken the time to consult Birchbark for advice. After donning his own larger pack, he followed as she made her way amongst the trees and bushes. There was undergrowth, but it didn’t significantly impede their progress. They had traveled what he estimated to be about a mile when she came to a stop.
“This looks good,” she said. �
��The stream is clear, and there’s a suitable spot for our tent over there.”
He looked to where she was pointing. It was an area surrounded by three tall red maples. There were some scraggly bushes, but the ground was mostly a combination of ivy and moss. “I agree,” he said, smiling at her.
Working together, it didn’t take long at all to erect the tent. After stowing their packs inside, they set out to do some exploring.
Looking up at the immense creature that was easily three times his height, Ferikellan said, “I think I misheard you. Could you please repeat that?”
The giant, for that is what it certainly was, furrowed his massive brow. His mouth dropped open, revealing large and discolored teeth. Dark brown hair was both matted and cut irregularly, and his beard was scraggly. The deep-set eyes were leaf green. His only clothing was a loincloth crudely made from the hide of some animal. Scars crisscrossed most of the giant’s sallow skin. His weapon, held casually in his left hand, was a crude club, no doubt made from a small tree trunk. But the worst part was the stench. Ferikellan wondered if the creature had ever bathed.
“Uh,” boomed the deep voice, so loud that it shook the surrounding vegetation. “Give me money and I hit you.”
So he had heard correctly. The giant was every bit as stupid as he appeared, but he was also undeniably dangerous. Ferikellan would have gladly handed over all of his coins if he had thought to bring any with him.
“So if I give you money, you’ll hit me?” Ferikellan inquired, trying desperately to remain calm.
The crude features formed into a deep frown. “That not right,” he said, lowering the arm holding the club. “I give you money. No. That not right. I give me money? You hit me? I hit money? No.”
Fleeing was clearly in order, but first he would cast a weak Lightning Bolt spell at the creature’s groin. That should incapacitate the giant long enough for him to make his escape.
“Hello!” called out Rosalind as she landed neatly to his left. She had flown off to scout the area, even offering to take him along. But he had wanted to explore on his own. In a quiet voice, she said, “Charm,” while maintaining her smile and making an intricate gesture with her left hand. He had no trouble detecting the powerful surge of spirit magic that enveloped their foe.
“Friend!” boomed the giant, now displaying a truly frightening smile as he bent forward to peer down at Rosalind. “Me not know you here.”
“We are both your friends,” she said, speaking both slowly and loudly. “It was good to see you, but don’t you need to go?”
“Yes,” agreed the giant, then stood up straight. “Need go. Need hit money.” He frowned. “No. That not right.”
Rosalind smiled and waved energetically. “Goodbye! Take care!”
“Uh, bye.” The giant slowly turned around and then walked away, trampling vegetation and heedlessly breaking tree branches as he lumbered along. No wonder he was covered with scars.
“Why didn’t you just hide?” she whispered to him. “You must have heard him coming.”
“I was curious,” Ferikellan confessed. “What type of giant was that?”
Rosalind smirked. “I don’t know what they’re called, but they’re not typical. Most giants are reasonably intelligent. Three of that type once came to our temple and spent more time arguing with each other than making threats. Fortunately, they’re vulnerable to any type of coercion spell.”
“Do we need to worry about him or any of his fellows trampling us in our sleep?” he asked jokingly.
The question startled her briefly, but then she shrugged. “He was probably just lost, but I’ll set some wards tonight just in case.”
That sounded prudent. “Did you discover anything?”
“I did,” she told him. “About four or five miles east, there’s a large village on the other side of the river. A dwarven village.”
“Don’t dwarves normally dwell below ground?” That was what he had always heard.
“Not all of them. The place looked well defended, so I kept my distance.”
That implied that the dwarves either had reason for strong defenses or were paranoid. “Should we attempt to contact them?” he asked hesitantly.
Her head shake was firm. “There’s no point. I doubt they would believe that we’re from Andoran’s Realm.”
After so much time, they might not even know who Andoran was.
“What now?” he inquired. “Dinner?”
“Gathering some firewood is first,” she answered. “We can do that on the way back.”
That sounded just fine to him. He doubted that they would need a fire to keep warm tonight, but it would allow them to heat up the food they had brought. A fire would also add to the atmosphere. With a spring in his step, he followed along after her.
After wringing it once more, Ferikellan hung the shirt from a tree branch. Despite the temperature, he doubted it would dry much in such high humidity. The clothes he wore were rather damp themselves.
Rosalind hung up a pair of her socks and looked at them sadly. “I think we should just head back home,” she said despairingly.
He couldn’t disagree. In fact, he never wanted to spend a night camping in the wilderness again. He would happily spend the rest of his life living in the Triangular Keep with its nice solid walls, leak-free roof, and indoor toilets.
It had begun to lightly rain while they were eating dinner, but not enough to interfere with their meal. But by the time they finished cleaning up, they had no choice but to retreat inside the tent. They passed the time by telling each other stories of their childhood. Race had been irrelevant in the part of Zardis where he had been raised. He and the other children had been united by their poverty, and by their shared dream of escaping it. Rosalind had grown up solidly middle-class. Most of her friends had been half-elves that were also relatives. Exhausted from their long day of unaccustomed physical exertion, the two of them fell asleep listening to the sound of rain striking the canvas.
Sometime after midnight the light rain had transformed into a monster of a thunderstorm, complete with buffeting winds and heavy downpours. The tent’s canvas became so saturated with water that it began to more or less rain inside. With so much to carry, neither one of them had brought a rain cloak (not that it would have made much difference). Wet and miserable, they had clung to each other for comfort as the storm raged.
“I believe that we will need to leave the tent behind,” he said, staring at the mud-spattered shelter. It had been heavy enough to carry when dry. At the moment, it probably weighed more than he did. “But we should take the poles back with us.” They fit together cleverly, in his opinion, and they weighed little.
“I agree,” she said, walking over to stand next to him. “The tent was sturdy, just not waterproof enough.”
Removing the ash poles proved to be a messy business. When they finally finished, he bundled them up and placed them next to his pack.
“The next time,” she declared, “we should pick a location where we won’t be that far from a city. There’s an elven city that’s only about ten miles outside the eastern edge of Andoran’s Realm. They make really nice furniture there.”
“How do you know that?” he asked, mystified.
“Because you can buy their furniture in the Witch’s City. A company called Novox imports them.”
He had heard of Novox. It was a business involved in both trade and transportation. “And how do the goods get through the Gray Forest?” he asked.
“Oh.” She looked at him sheepishly. “I forgot that most people don’t know about that. They use hill giants. There are some that live in the Gray Forest, and—”
“Others that dwell just outside the forest to either side,” he completed, understanding now. The goods would be transported using carts or wagons. They probably paid the giants inside the Gray Forest with metal items or even food. It was clever but only practical for high-priced items. “That city sounds interesting.”
“I’ll look into
it,” she said thoughtfully. “We can either take a Novox ship to that area or ask Audrey to take us.”
Either way was better than walking. And it sounded like they could reach the city the same day. An entire city of elves! He definitely wanted to see that.
After a brief rest, they began packing their damp clothing into their damp packs. There was little food left that moisture hadn’t ruined. They followed the now-swollen stream south until they reached the boundary, then each drank a Gray Potion. (That still left them two spares each, because they weren’t about to risk being stranded outside.) He breathed a sigh of relief when they were both safely inside the colorless woods.
With her leading the way, they continued to follow the stream south. It was, not surprisingly, rather muddy, and that sometimes forced them to take slight detours. But at least the trees shaded them from the sun.
“Fern thinks you’re too old for me,” Rosalind said suddenly.
“What?” He had been lost in thought.
She repeated her statement, then added, “I pointed out to her that we were well-matched in one respect.”
Was she expecting him to guess? “Because we are both researchers?” he hazarded.
“Well, that too. But I was referring to our remaining lifespans.”
That had never occurred to him. Rosalind did have a unique way of looking at things. “So we can grow old together?” he asked lightly.
“It’s possible,” she said, bringing them to a halt. “I think the stream’s going a little east, but it’s easy to follow. What do you think?”
That would mean a longer walk back after they emerged. “The stream, unless it wanders too far to the east.” But that might be hard to judge since the stream meandered somewhat.
“The stream it is!” she declared, raising her right arm high.
It grew even hotter (and appallingly humid) as they continued toward the boundary. He sought every bit of shade while wishing he had brought a hat like Rosalind had. Despite the longer journey, they still had to wait nearly an hour at the boundary before both of their potions wore off.
