by Peter Plasse
“Orie!” called Forrester.
“I’m okay. Good job. Let’s keep going.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. I would tell you if I wasn’t. Keep going. I’ll be right behind you.”
Once again the sounds of the forest returned, and when dusk finally forced them to stop, they re-examined their maps, and it looked like there was a good chance that they might overtake Jacqueline the very next afternoon.
“What does he want?” asked the general.
“He says he has a message for you. He was pretty bold for a runt of a Troll, ordering me about like I was cheap help. He threatened me in the name of the Emperor. And he stinks like a sewer. Shall I cut his throat?”
“Well,” sighed General Dumfe, “let’s hear the message. If it is valuable to me, I will let him live. If not, you can cut his throat. I care not.”
The owner of the “Happy Troll” shoved Sliphen into the private room in the rear of the bar. He appeared to have lost quite a bit of bravado on the short walk back there and now looked like a nervous schoolboy appearing before the headmaster on a disciplinary issue. He folded his hands in front of him and waited.
“What is that horrible stench?” yelped the general.
“I told you,” said the owner. “Shall I?” He placed his hand on his belt dagger.
The general lifted a restraining hand and said, “Leave us.”
The owner bowed subserviently and left, but not before shooting a lethal glance at Sliphen.
“What is it?” asked General Dumfe. “And you had better not be wasting my time.”
“Yes, General, Sir, well, I work as a guard down in the cesspits under the city, and we had a most interesting visitor that I thought you should be aware of.”
“Go on.”
“His name is Maxilius Bravarus … ”
“I know him,” interrupted the general. “He was a commander. We served together in battle, years ago. Good fighter. Clever. Resourceful. Go on.” He took a large drink from the glass in front of him, nearly draining it, after which he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his uniform and emitted a large belch.
“Well, General, I happened to be on duty last night when he paid his little visit. He spoke with a Troll named Sivic. They, too, had been together in battle. He told Sivic that he needed to locate a Troll named Forrester Ragamund.”
“And?”
“Sivic told Maxilius Bravarus to go to the area around the Vargus Foothills. He said that if he did that, Forrester Ragamund would probably find him.”
“I see,” said the general, folding his arms. He waited for Sliphen to speak again, but he remained silent.
He glanced around to be sure that there was no obvious audience, then leaned in close to Sliphen and beckoned him to do the same. If the stench of the Ghasten sewers that clung to Sliphen was offensive, the general’s breath certainly matched it in foulness, and it was all that either could do to not recoil in disgust.
“You were good to bring this news to me,” he said quietly. “What is your name, anyway?”
“My name is Sliphen,” he answered. “Sliphen Wedor ’eum.”
“Well, Sliphen Wedor ’eum, I say again it was good of you to bring me this news. Now I ask you, and I demand a straight answer, have you shared this news with anyone else? Anyone?”
“No, Sir.”
The general backed away from the table and stood, a little tipsy, but able to hold himself erect without stumbling. “That is good, Sliphen. Very good. I applaud your discretion. Do you know where I live?”
“Of course, Sir. You live in the house of the General for the Northern Army.”
“Yes,” the general said, smiling smugly, “I do.” He drained the last gulp from his glass, half of which found its way down onto the front of him. “Come to my house tomorrow at the dinner hour. And be sure to bring this one called Sivic with you. I will need to speak with him as well.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir,” Sliphen said, as his heart skipped a beat. “That will not be possible. He is dead.”
“I see,” said the general. “And how did he die?”
“Well, Sir, I confronted the prisoners as they were escaping and had to kill him.”
“Mmmm,” said the general. “I understand. Oh well, these things happen. Meet me there anyway. Dinnertime. Don’t make the mistake of keeping me waiting.”
“I will not, Sir. I will be there.”
“And Sliphen.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Spend the day bathing.”
“Yes, Sir,” said Sliphen, thinking, “as long as you promise to eat some mint.”
“Time to get up,” said Jessica. “It’s time you all got up and went outside. It’s a beautiful day. Come on now. Up you go. Come on.”
The four Gnomes stirred in their makeshift beds. Groans of protest sounded in the crude shelter, but Jessica was unrelenting and soon they were all up.
“Out you go,” said Jessica. “All of you get outside and do your business.” She stood in the doorway and shooed them all outside. It was a beautiful day, warm and clear with not a hint of a breeze. Blake had gotten up early as usual to do all of the chores that were requisite for keeping them all alive. He had already gathered firewood that was stacked neatly outside the cabin, slapped mud on the ever-developing cracks and crevices of their crude log shelter, and was now off hunting and foraging for food.
The weather had warmed up significantly over the last few days. The snow had all melted, and it looked like they would be able to get on the move shortly. This was none too soon for both of them. They were sick over the weeks they had been forced to delay their mission to locate their child, not to mention the ungodly amount of energy they had been forced to expend in order to keep alive the ones who would have been perfectly happy to turn them over to the Trolls to be cooked to death.
“Gather wood,” she snapped at the backs of the Gnomes as they walked away from the shelter. “Keep moving. And don’t get too far away. I don’t want to have to come and find you.”
It took the Gnomes some time to adjust to the bright sunshine, having lived in darkness for weeks, and Oddwaddle walked straight into a tree, knocking his head hard and falling to the ground.
“Stupid Oddwaddle,” muttered Jebwickett. “Stupid, clumsy Oddwaddle.”
“That will be enough,” barked Captain Pilrick. “One more word like that and you will taste the whip, which I will do myself. Do you understand me?”
Jebwickett nodded sullenly and moved away from the other three, muttering rotten insults under his breath.
Jessica did her best to neaten the inside of the hut. She seethed with anger when she found that Jebwickett had messed his bed, despite the fact that the Gnomes had all been told the night before that they would be going outside the next morning if the good weather held. He, of course, was the only one to have done it, and she went straight to the door and hollered, “Jebwickett! You get back her right now and clean up your mess. Now, Jebwickett.”
He pretended he didn’t hear her, and she stormed outside. “Where is that little puke?” she yelled. “Captain Pilrick, where is he?”
Captain Pilrick, who was kneeling in front of Oddwaddle to make sure he had not hurt himself badly, pointed in the direction that Jebwickett had walked. In less than a minute she had him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him, kicking and screaming, back to the shelter where she threw him through the doorway.
“Get in there and clean up your mess. I’m going to be outside for a few minutes. When I come back, if it does not pass my inspection, you and I are going to have at it. Don’t toy with me, you little … ” She bit her tongue. Not one to curse, she was not about to let this intransigent little Gnome change her ways. “Just do it,” she snapped, and walked out. “What is wrong with him?” she voiced to no one in particular.
“Lady Jessica,” said Gall, who had only managed to make it a few feet from the hut. “Can Gall talk to you, please?”
“Of course, Gall.” She took a deep breath. It was hard to be angry on such a beautiful day, but having been cooped up for weeks now, struggling as they had to just stay alive, she was at the end of her rope.
He reached up to take her hand, which surprised her. It was such a simple gesture, one of a child reaching out for love. She took it and they walked out into the trees. Neither of them spoke for a while, but when they were out of earshot of the rest of the Gnomes he stopped and let go, turning to face her.
“First of all,” he began, “Gall wants to thank you and the doctor for all you have done for us. Gall knows now that what we were going to do to you when you were our prisoners was wrong, and Gall cannot believe that you would do all of these things to keep us all alive. Gall knows how hard it has been for you.” He paused briefly, obviously searching for words.
“Jebwickett and Gall grew up in the same town. He was a good boy when he was little, and we were always the best of friends. But then his mother died, and Jebwickett’s father turned to spirits. Gall’s father said it was the only way that Mr. Jebwickett could handle the pain of Mrs. Jebwickett’s passing, but it made him mean. Mean, mean, mean. He used to beat up on Jebwickett, something fierce, every day.
“Gall’s father knew Bramwith wasn’t safe there, so he came to live with us. For a while, it was the most wonderful time. We had always been best friends, and now we were brothers. We did everything together. But then, Jebwickett’s father died, and something happened to him… one day... while we were fishing. Something bad. Gall didn’t know what it was, but it seemed to go away.
“But then, Gall’s little sister was born and something in him snapped. He turned into some kind of monster, and Gall’s father decided to have him sent away. The constable came and took him from the house. Then, the Trolls showed up and … ” He began to cry.
“They killed Gall’s mother right in front of Gall. Because she asked a question. What was the crime in that? Oh Lady Jessica … ”
Now he completely broke down and began to sob uncontrollably. She knelt down, took him in her arms, and held him. She rocked him gently, saying, “Oh Gall, I’m sorry. There, there.” She kissed him softly several times on the head, saying, “There, there. There, there. Oh, you poor thing, there, there.”
After he had composed himself again, he gently pushed away from her, wiping at the tears on his face. “What Gall wanted to tell you was, Jebwickett was happy that Gall’s family had suffered so, and for the longest time Gall hated Jebwickett. He used to whip Gall every day, for the fun of it.
“But Lady Jessica?”
“Yes Gall.”
“In there somewhere,” he motioned in the direction of the other Gnomes, then pointed to his heart, “Jebwickett is a good boy. He can’t help the way he is, and Gall knows it, and Gall has forgiven him. Can you understand that?”
Swept away for a moment by this unbelievable act of forgiveness, she said, “Yes Gall, I can. How can I help him? Can I help him?”
“Gall does not know of such things. Gall only knows simple things, like making fires and cooking. Gall loves to cook. Gall used to cook with his mother all the time … ” He began to cry again, and she took him back in her arms for the longest time. When he had finally stopped, she held him out in front of her and said, “You are a remarkable young Gnome, did you know that? Your forgiving him is a miracle, and I thank you for sharing it with me. You have touched my heart. We will try and help him, you and I, and Blake, and Captain Pilrick, of course. But meanwhile, until we are able to reach him and bring out the good boy you say is in there, he is dangerous. Do you agree?”
He nodded, “Yes,” and said, “Gall will watch him like a hawk. Gall will not let him hurt you. Gall loves the Lady Jessica and the doctor.”
“And we love you too, Gall.”
He smiled a sad little smile as a final, solitary tear slid down his cheek.
Jessica reached out and wiped it away, saying, “Come now, we need to get back. There are things that need to be done. And you have some cooking to do.”
Doreen sat on a small bench, facing the Dukkar, in the same immense cavern where she had flown the day before.
“We begin the third of your eight tests in the Bindu-ward art of magic and spell. But first, there are some things that you need to know,” said the Dukkar. “Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“All right. The first is, once you begin the rest of the tests there is no going back. The first two were merely to demonstrate that you acted in such a way that showed you might truly be the one named in Prophecy. But from here on in, the tests bind you to a covenant of commitment. There is magic involved, and the laws of magic dictate that once you have taken and passed the last six tests, you cannot change your mind. You are still free to choose to return to the life you had before you came to us. Merely say the word, and it shall happen.”
“And what happens if I do decide to change my mind? After I pass the remaining tests, I mean.”
“Your life is forfeit.”
“You mean I die?”
“Correct.”
“Wow, you guys play hardball. Okay, let’s get on with it.”
“Do you accept this?”
“Yes.”
“Good. The next thing you need to know is that passing each test will give you more and more powers. Fantastic powers. That is the upside. The downside is that the use of these powers will leave you weak. You will be vulnerable, completely helpless to defend yourself against any who would do you harm, and once you have returned to the world out there, many will want you dead. Are you willing to accept this?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
There was a long silence.
“All right. The last thing you need to know is this. It is a complicated matter. Please listen carefully.
“If you pass the tests, you will have these powers, yes. They will forever be part of you, like the color of your eyes, the size of your feet. But you will not know how to call on them. You will be as the gifted child who has all the talent to go forth into adulthood capable of playing inspired violin, but has never been near the instrument.
“You will then leave here, but you will have no recollection of anything that you learned here. Or that you have even been here.
“You will travel to another place far away from this one where you will learn, once more, of the powers, and how to draw on them.”
“How will I get there, if I don’t know that I’ve been here?”
“Never mind that,” said the Dukkar. “It will be arranged.”
She paused.
“When you are done there, having learned what you must learn, you will return to the real world.”
She paused again.
“At this point, you will have the powers, and you will be able, when necessary, to call them forth. But, once again, you will not have any conscious awareness of anything you have learned there, or that you have even been there. To repeat, you will still not know that you have these powers. You will have to discover this all on your own as you make your way around on your travels.”
“And how will I do that?”
“That depends on how your life unfolds, the circumstances in which you find yourself, and how you react to those circumstances. Some things will be obvious, easy. You will learn, depending on the things that happen to you, that you are different than the other Humans, Elves, and Dwarves of Ravenwild.”
“What kinds of powers are we talking about?”
“Good question, but one I cannot answer. The powers that you will come to possess must be discovered by you, and you alone. And you will.”
There was another long silence.
“Do you have any more questions?” asked the Dukkar.
“Yes. I do. You said that if I chose to not do the six remaining tests I would be returned to the life I had before I ever came here, from wherever it was that I came. What was that life? Who was I? Where did I come from? Twice now you have calle
d me by a name I don’t recognize. How do I know the life I left is worth going back to?”
“More good questions, but I can only answer one. You had a blessed life before you came here, one to which you would be only too happy to return.
“Are there any more questions?”
Doreen thought for a minute. “No.”
“Do you accept the last of the conditions,” replied the Dukkar. “You are willing to leave here, and the place to which you must travel if you prevail in the six remaining challenges I will present to you, with no knowledge of ever having been to either?”
“What will I remember?”
“You will have all of the memories you had when you first entered the Northland.”
Doreen took a deep breath. “I accept the terms.”
“All three?”
“Yes.”
“You must be certain.”
“Now how can I possibly be certain?” Doreen snapped. “The only thing I am absolutely sure of is that Humans and Dwarves and Elves are being slaughtered like food-animals every day, and pretty soon there will be none left to kill. And I won’t stand by and let that happen. I won’t. Not for a minute.”
The Dukkar seemed to smile, if it is possible for whatever happened on that face to be called a smile.
“Very well,” she said. “We begin.”
“We need to get you to a place called The Gate,” Jacqueline heard, as Brutus talked to her telepathically, in the way of the Wolves. “You will be safe there.”
