by F. P. Spirit
“What’s in it?”
“Secret seasonings known only to the ancient Elvish Lords,” Elladan said with a half-smile.
“No, I mean the meat.” From the expression on her face and the way her mouth watered, it was obvious Ruka was tempted to take the bowl. Yet for some reason, she held back.
Elladan sighed and cast a quick glance over at Martan. “It’s venison, though the recipe calls for pork.”
“Not my fault,” Martan protested between mouthfuls. “The pig farmer wouldn’t sell me any. He made up some crazy story about a little dragon stealing his whole pen.”
Ruka’s face flushed ever so slightly as she held up a hand in front of her. “Oh, then I think I’d rather not. I just spoke with several deer. I don’t think I could eat one of their relatives in good conscience.”
“Mom always told me never to name any of the animals that we were going to eat. I don’t think talking to your dinner is wise, either,” Alana interjected. Everyone turned to look at the lady knight, but she merely shrugged and took another bite of stew.
Ruka appeared as if she were about to reply, then abruptly cocked her head to one side as if she had heard something. A smirk spread across her lips as she took the bowl from Elladan and held it aloft in her hand.
“That doesn’t count. My stomach growled,” came the disembodied voice of Seth. The bowl appeared to float in the air for a second before the halfling appeared. He sat down with it in hand and hungrily consumed the stew.
Ruka’s smirk spread into a bonafide grin. “Yeah, that was a close one—thank the gods for Elladan’s stew.”
Looking at her grinning like a kid across the campfire, it was hard to imagine Ruka as anything other than the young teenager she appeared to be. Glo had to remind himself that she was far more than just a shape shifter, and he strongly suspected that her current form was not her true shape.
“Then why eat fish?” Elistra asked as Elladan handed Ruka a plate of trout.
“The bounty of sea and stream are the just due to the masters of wind and wave,” Ruka replied with a faraway look in her eye, as if quoting something she had heard many times before. “We honor their life and respect their death as they feed our children.”
The group went silent as they considered what she had said.
“Oh, and fish are stupid and not worth talking to,” Ruka added with a smirk. A few short laughs trickled around the campfire in response to her remark.
“Respect all beliefs, but hold true to your own.” Alana recited the familiar passage as she rose. “Still, I’ll stick with the bounty of the lands that the gods provide and that are cooked by the hand of our fair elf friend.” She turned to Elladan. “It was deliciously rendered and most appreciated.”
Elladan glanced up from his cooking pots and gave the lady knight that now-familiar half-smile. Alana briefly smiled in return, then addressed the rest of the company. “Excuse me, all. I shall go relieve Lloyd in his guard duties so he may also enjoy this meal.”
“Wait, fair lady, I shall accompany you!” Donnie rose in one smooth motion, spinning an empty stew bowl on a finger, then tossing it to Elladan. The bard gave him a nudge with his elbow and a wink as he passed.
“There is no need, really.” Alana’s voice could be heard as the two headed up the path toward the road.
“Ah, perhaps not, but to miss the moonrise on a face as lovely as yours would be a sin to all artists!” came Donnie’s reply.
“But you’ve forgotten your paints...” Alana could be faintly heard.
“Ah, but there are so many forms of art...” Donnie’s voice faded into the darkening woods.
Glo exchanged an amused look with Elistra. Suddenly he heard a roll of thunder off in the distance. On a hunch, he cast a quick glance at Ruka. Her bright green eyes appeared to have amber flecks in the firelight, her pupils briefly contracting vertically like some great cat.
“Sounds like a storm’s coming,” Martan noted, briefly pausing in his effort to gather the empty bowls and plates from around the campfire. His comment seemed to rouse Ruka from her thoughts.
The young teen blinked, her eyes returning to normal. Abruptly she shot up from her seat next to the fire. “Well, you people can sit here snuggling, playing house with your tents, and eating poor forest animals!” she spat out angrily. “But there are real monsters out there...” She took a deep breath, appearing as surprised at her outburst as the rest of the companions. “...somewhere,” she added rather awkwardly, then stormed out of camp.
Moments later, Lloyd came rushing in. “Did I hear someone say something about monsters?” He seemed quite anxious, his hands gripping the hilts of his blades.
“Nothing to worry about.” Seth smirked as he got up from his seat. “The biggest little monster in the area has already left,” he added as he walked to the edge of camp. Reaching the trees, Seth waved once, then vanished into thin air.
Lloyd stood there with a bemused expression until Martan offered him a bowl of stew.
The birds chirped their early morning greetings as Martan walked from the campsite down to where a bend formed a pool in a nearby creek. He had a water skin over his arm and held a pile of dishes that still needed washing from the previous night’s meal.
When he reached the stream, Martan froze in his tracks—Elistra was already there, seated on a large flat rock that tilted into the water. The seeress was barely dressed, wearing only thin black silk undergarments that strategically covered her most private areas. Her bright red travel clothes were laid out on the other end of the stone, drying in the morning sun. Martan felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he watched her slowly comb her long honey hair, currently damp from being washed in the stream.
“Good morning,” she greeted him with a friendly smile. She did not seem concerned in the slightest about his presence there.
“Morning,” Martan muttered, averting his eyes. He swiftly turned away, deciding to head further downstream. It wasn’t so much Elistra’s current state of dress that unnerved him, but rather the odd stare of her violet eyes.
Three strides were all he took before observing the second set of clothes, a pile of dark leather fabric, folded exceedingly neatly on the bank near the deeper part of the stream. A sword and dagger lay next to them. Martan froze yet again, uncertain what to do. He recognized the outfit as belonging to the girl, Ruka, and immediately decided there was something that urgently needed his attention back at camp. It was too late for the poor archer, though. His eyes went wide as a familiar head rose out of the stream, his feet firmly rooted in place out of fright.
Ruka held a pair of fish in each hand—she was also completely naked. The teen strode calmly past Martan and laid her catch out on a stone. She then turned toward him, raising a hand in front of her with sparks jumping across her fingertips.
“What’re you staring at?” she asked menacingly.
It was surprising how scary this teenaged girl could be. Martan felt the short hairs on his arm stand on end as he desperately tried to keep his expression neutral. “N... n... nothing.”
A soft laugh suddenly filled the air. Both Martan and Ruka turned toward Elistra. The seeress was staring at the teen with an amused expression.
Ruka’s eyes narrowed as she peered at the gypsy. “What’s so funny?”
Elistra let out another short laugh. “Your hair—it’s ridiculous.”
Somehow this morning, Ruka’s hair had become a startling, garish pink color. Martan felt relieved to have the attention diverted off of him. He debated running while he still could.
“I didn’t get it right?” Ruka’s tone was flat and strangely emotionless.
Elistra chuckled and shook her head. “No, horribly, horribly wrong—unless you were going for the carnival jester look.”
Martan involuntarily flinched in anticipation of th
e explosion. Ruka, however, just sighed, her hand going to her hair. “I was going for red. I couldn’t tell from the stream’s reflection. That bad, huh?”
Elistra nodded, her expression changing to one of sympathy. “I’m afraid so, although he may go for the other enhancement you are working at.”
Ruka’s face reddened at the remark. “What do you mean?” she asked, sounding suddenly more like an embarrassed school girl. Yet before Elistra could answer, Ruka sighed again. “Never mind, it was a pain holding this change anyway.”
Elistra nodded once more as if she understood, and said something that sounded like “morphic resonance.”
“Huh?” Ruka stared at Elistra with an uncertain expression.
Martan had never heard the term either. Then again, he had never really studied much of anything other than the bow.
“It’s just a term scholars use to describe a common effect of shape change magic. Shape changing requires altering your spirit image and invoking the magic to match your physical form to that image. The maintenance of an altered form is primarily handled by the subconscious mind, and the more the altered aura is in sync with your psyche, the easier it is to maintain. Forms that are fundamentally in sync with yourself are easier to assume, become familiar, and gain morphic inertia.”
Ruka stared silently at the seeress for a few moments, then muttered irritably. “That was as clear as mud.”
Martan couldn’t have agreed more. The entire explanation had gone right over his head.
“It just means be yourself and let the magic determine the form for each creature type,” Elistra explained.
Ruka laughed, though it sounded more ironic than cheerful. “Myself? That is the one thing I can’t be in front of...” She paused and shook her head. “He sees me as just a plain little girl.”
Elistra’s voice grew soft. “You are hardly plain, but you are just a girl, regardless of your form.”
“I’m older than you!” Ruka snapped. The crackle of electrical power was once again in the air, making Martan take a step backward, into the stream.
“You might be surprised,” Elistra responded calmly, “but regardless, I was speaking of mental and spiritual maturity. The magic knows what it is doing. After all, it comes from within you. It manifests one of your true forms for that type. It would be a feat, but with practice, you could overcome morphic resonance. You are a natural shape shifter, and could make yourself appear as anyone. Still, what would it gain you? The greatest risk of shape shifting is the risk of losing yourself. Would it be worth it to get him to like you when you are just pretending, and not being true to yourself?”
Martan was sure lightning was going to strike this time, but instead Ruka let out a long breath. “I guess you’re right...”
Her form blurred for a second, then her hair returned to sandy blond. Martan also noted one other obvious change. He felt suddenly embarrassed standing so close to the naked teen. He involuntarily took another step backward and lost his balance as his rear foot landed on nothing but water. He pitched over and fell into the deep part of the stream with a splash. The pans he had held in his hand went clattering onto the creek stones all around him. As he righted himself in the water, he heard the high-pitched laughter of the gypsy woman and the teenaged girl. Suddenly, the sound of rustling came from the trail to camp.
“Donatello, is that you?” Elistra called out in a loud voice.
With barely a flash of pale posterior, Ruka snatched her clothes and dove into the bushes.
“I heard a crash. Is everyone alright?” Alana asked as she stepped onto the little embankment.
“Just Martan being a klutz,” Elistra said with a grin. “Apparently, no one told him this is the girls’ bath time.”
“Well, I think that is just stupid,” Alana said as she pulled her tunic over her head. “Aren’t we all comrades on the campaign trail?”
Martan was busy moving downstream and tried not to look back. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Ruka coming out of the bushes, and he doubled his pace.
“Good morning, Ruka,” Alana said, her tone quite cheerful.
Ruka stared at Alana’s half-naked form for a moment, then blushed and ran off. Alana turned toward Elistra with a bemused expression. “What was that about?”
“I think you won this battle, lady knight,” Elistra chuckled.
House of Barmann
Vermoorden isn’t all that sophisticated a place
The Old Knight’s Road continued westward, paralleling a set of foothills to the north. Those low rolling hills, thickly lined with trees, bordered the south end of the Bendenwoods. South of the road, lush green grass stretched as far as the eye could see. Elladan said that the East Stroman also paralleled the road some twenty leagues south of here. The river sprang out of Lake Strikken and ran nearly straight east to where it emptied into Merchant’s Bay at a place called Fisheye Cove.
Somewhere in the midafternoon, the road began to curve southwest. According to Lloyd, the road would soon turn south altogether and run along the east coast of Lake Strikken, down to Vermoorden. If one continued along the road, in another day they would reach the city of Lukescros, and Lloyd’s home city of Penwick in two days more. The first hint that they were approaching their destination was a strong musky smell wafting through the afternoon air. Apparently, there was a swamp at the north end of the lake, a fact which their nostrils verified.
“I hope the whole town doesn’t smell like this,” Seth commented, holding his nose.
“There are sections...” Donnie responded dryly.
“Great. Just great.” Seth tried to wave the smell away with his free hand. “No wonder the Baron of Penwick gave these lands up.”
A short while later, they got their first glimpse of Lake Strikken. The shimmering waters were visible off through the trees to the right of the road. The woods soon thinned out, and the companions were treated to a clear view of the lake. It was a wide expanse of water, the late day sun causing the smooth surface to shimmer and sparkle.
Alana appeared mesmerized by the view. “It’s quite beautiful.”
“Indeed it is,” Donnie said. “When all this is done, I need to come back here with my easel. You wouldn’t care to join me, would you?”
“Perhaps,” came her noncommittal reply.
The opposite shore was a couple of miles away. It was lined mostly with woods, though a solitary peak stuck out at the northern end. North of that, one could see the wide mouth of a river.
“That’s the West Stromen, and where we need to head next,” Elladan told them.
“Shall we hire a boat first, or do you intend to start swimming from here?” Seth’s mouth bent into a half-smirk.
“Swimming would not be an option for me,” Alana responded, showcasing her full plated armor with one hand. “I would sink straight to the bottom of the lake, I’m afraid.”
“Fear not, for I would dive in to save you, milady!” Donnie declared, finishing with one hand pointed upward for dramatic effect.
Seth gave a short, closed-mouth laugh. “Then you’d both drown.”
A large hill rose between the lake and the road, eventually blocking their view of the waters. Southward, the top of another hill appeared through the trees. A walled structure stood atop that peak, obviously quite large, to be seen from this distance.
“That’s Vermoorden Keep,” Lloyd told the others.
“Home to the most honorable Lord Mayor of Vermoorden,” Donnie added with a sarcastic edge to his voice.
For some reason, the sight of the keep gave Glo an eerie feeling. He stared intently at the structure but saw nothing to justify the strange sensation. He glanced upward and noted Raven flying peacefully overhead, spiraling around the treetops along with Ruka, still in the form of a white-tailed hawk. Well, the weird feeling cer
tainly wasn’t coming from his familiar. Abruptly, he felt as if he was being watched. Glo spun around in his saddle and saw Elistra staring at him intently.
“Yes?” he asked the gypsy woman.
“Oh, nothing,” she answered with that mysterious smile that said she knew more than she was telling.
Glo sighed and turned back to the keep once more. It was just an ordinary keep on closer inspection. Must be my imagination acting up after a long, tiring day on the road.
The first building cropped up on their right, signifying they had finally reached the town of Vermoorden. It was a small building with a wide porch, and numerous barrels and sacks stacked outside. A sign across the front read General Store. They cantered past the building and soon reached an intersection. The road to their right ran down toward the lake. A rather large wooden structure stood along that path, seated on a stone foundation. A fancy sign stretched across the front, covered with scripted, multicolored lettering. The sign read The Theater of the Festive Spirits.
Elladan raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s an interesting name for a theater.”
Donnie made a square in front of him with his thumbs and index fingers and gazed critically through it. “The sign’s rather well done, too, though I’m not sure I would have chosen those exact colors.”
There were a few more buildings farther down the south road. A baker’s shop stood to their left, and a store with a sign that said Tackle, Harness, & Leather Goods on their right. Just beyond the bakery was a fenced-in area that enclosed a large wooden building, and some smaller ones that stood behind it. There was a sign out front that read House of Barmann: Food, Lodging, and Ale. The party came to a halt in front of the sign.
“This is where I stayed on my trip up from Penwick,” Lloyd told them. “It’s actually pretty nice inside.”
