by Robert Beers
McCabe sensed the rush of the Garloc's life-force as it was absorbed into his system. Something about it didn't taste right, he wondered if it hadn't been quite ripe. Maybe another one of the things should be sampled. Broadening his smile he started toward the Garloc closest to him.
After the second step the remaining members of the Tongue broke and ran. To McCabe's disappointment there were no screams, but he did sense naked, unreasoning terror. That was partially fulfilling. He considered pursuing them but then a sudden wave of nausea dropped him to his knees. Pain came on the heels of the nausea and for the first time in McCabe's life it hurt. It had never hurt before; he couldn't understand what was wrong. The Garlocs had done something to him. His stomach emptied itself of what bile was in it adding the cold fire of the acid to the hot knife tearing its way through his guts.
Like all those who take pleasure in the pain of others, McCabe was unable to comprehend what was happening to him, as he found himself on the receiving end of that terrible club. Pain, no longer pleasurable, tore at his being. He whimpered in agony as his mind, along with the voices of the seeker, howled in lost confusion as their one time friend rampaged through his system in raging fury.
On the other side of the wall between the worlds a presence clenched its fists in mute frustration as it watched the slow death of the door it had been building.
Chapter Five
“Open your eyes, human, rise and listen, learn of Dragonkind. Learn of those you would try to destroy,” The voice, though far deeper than any man's, held no sense of anger.
Vedder felt impossibly huge hands gently grasp him by the shoulders and lift him to his feet. Sheer terror swirled through him, bouncing between his stomach and his mind. He kept his eyes firmly shut; he did not want to see what held him, for he knew with absolute certainty his bowels would give way if he looked.
“Open them, human. There is nothing for you to fear ... now.”
“No. I can't, you'll kill me, I know it,” Vedder clenched his eyes tighter while trying to turn his face away from the source of the voice.
A low chuckle was his answer. The Priest imagined he could feel a vast head shaking side to side.
“That, human, is part and parcel of your folly. In ignorance you imagine evils where they exist not, and in your fear, you seek to destroy that which you fail to understand. Open your eyes and learn, growing in wisdom will not harm you.”
A will, vast and implacable, bore down upon Vedder. The compulsion to open his eyes became irresistible and he did so. The face of the Dragon swam into focus; the reddish mottling of its skin pattern glinted in the sun. It smiled at him!
“Your fear is pushed away human, Tell me your name. By what are you called, and what is your vocation?”
That deep, deep, gentle voice soothed away the panic and Vedder found himself wanting to answer, “I ... I'm called Vedder, um, actually, it's ... I'm a Priest, I guess. I don't know any more,” His voice trailed off.
The Dragon shook it's head and then asked, “You know nothing more about yourself, or you no longer know the certainty of your priestly vocation?”
Vedder attempted to stutter a reply but the Dragon's presence so overwhelmed the priest that all he could get out was, “I ... I ... I...”
“Be at peace Priest Vedder,” The Dragon rumbled, “you are in no danger. I am Mashglach, Chief of Dragonkind. Know this, Priest Vedder, I have lived on this world for over five thousand of your years. My people watched as the younger races began to take their first tottering steps into civilization. They watched and waited for that certain spark denoting the potential for greatness to show itself, and rejoiced with great joy when it did.
“That spark led my grandsire and others to quietly guide certain philosophers, scholars, clerics, and wizards along the path to enlightenment, in some cases, without them being aware of it. I myself aided young Labad when he first began the building of his empire.
“The petty squabbles you call wars we abjure, for Dragons will have no part in the death of any living creature, not even those brought into being by the Sorcerers, not even the Firewyrms—a lesser species that some mistake them for Dragons, though they have no wings, they expel fire, and eat meat, not Dragonlike at all.”
Mashglach fixed one of his great eyes upon Vedder. “Would you mistake a Garloc for one of your own kind?”
The priest shook his head no, vigorously.
“Commendable,” the Dragon said softly, “then tell me this, why do you do thus to my people?”
“I don't know,” Vedder replied. “I don't know.” He could feel the Dragon's will press against his, pushing aside the blocks built up over years to keep the truth of what he'd become hidden from his conscience. A bubble of horror over what that reality was, welled up and broke, spilling its contents over the priest's soul.
He began to shake with emotion as he sobbed, held up only by the Dragon's grasp, “Forgive me, I didn't know, I didn't know. How could I have done it ... how could I ... oh I am so sorry, please forgive me? Please?”
“Forgiveness on my part and that of the Dragons is yours, Priest Vedder. But know this; we are a creation of the one you call Bardoc as much as you are. Ask it of him, and ask it of your self as well. That he will give, as freely as we, I have no doubt. It is of you wherein lies the question. Unless you deal with your own darkness and what it has done to your soul, I fear for your healing.” Mashglach lifted his head back to its full height and looked down at Vedder, “Are you able to do so?”
The priest's sobs lessened to the point where he could speak, “I, I don't know, all I can do is try.”
Mashglach released his hold on the man and nodded, “That is enough. Go in peace, but remember, the Dragons are watching.”
Vedder swayed a bit as he was released, and with the Winglord's last words echoing in his head, he turned, stumbled slightly, and then began walking back down the mountain into a life of quiet obscurity.
Harlig settled onto the ground next to Mashglach, “You let the human go, was that wise?”
The Winglord turned to acknowledge the senior Dragon's presence, and then looked back at the vista spread out below them, “I fear we may have spent too little time with them, Harlig. This world is going to be theirs to care for one day, whether you or I wish that to happen. Wouldn't it be wise for at least a few of them to learn from us before that day comes?”
“That is already done. The Wizard...”
“One among millions, two, if you count the young human he brought with him.”
“How can we be sure some do not take what we teach them and turn it to evil?”
“We can't, but inaction is a worse path. I believe we've learned that through hard experience. There is coming a time, Harlig, when the Dragons will have to take a stand. I feel it, deep in here.” Mashglach tapped the area over his heart.
The senior Dragon looked at the Winglord out of the corner of his eye. “One would think Mashglach, that you've a bit of human in you.”
The Winglord nodded. “That is not necessarily a bad thing.”
* * * *
Westcott looked up as the door to his Inn opened, “Come in, in a hurry mind you—the storm doesn't care if it's early as much as we do.”
“Came up all of a sudden, damned inconvenient weather if you ask me.” The man brushed snow off of his shoulders and then looked up at the Innkeeper with a grin, “Sorry about the mess, have you got a mop?”
“Ethan, that you?” Westcott came out from behind the clerk's desk with his hand held out.
“If that woman of yours is still doing the cooking, it's me,” Ethan took Westcott's hand and shook it firmly.
“Sheriwyn's in the kitchen right now, but dinner's not for another hour yet, will an ale or two keep you till then?” Westcott released Ethan's hand and looked to either side of him, “Where's that boy who came here with you? Something happen to him?”
Ethan shook his head as he pulled his pack off and placed it onto a nearby chair. “No, he's
in good hands. You didn't hear about it when we stayed here, but the lad has strong feelings about something that he's got to do, you might even call it a compulsion. There's a company of engineers camped against the southern flank of Cloudhook, they've kind of ... adopted him.”
Westcott raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Sounds like a story to me. I'll pour one and join you while you tell it. The afternoon's quiet, most of the townsfolk are up at the mine, and I can only polish the mugs and tankards so many times,” He indicated the empty room with a wave of his hand.
“Glad to oblige. This freak snow added a couple of days to my trip anyway. Ellona won't mind waiting a few more hours.” Ethan sat at the table shared by the chair his pack sat in.
“Ellona, she your woman?”
“Bring the ale and I'll add her story to the Lad's.”
Westcott nodded and disappeared through the door at the back of the room.
As the door to the cellar closed behind Westcott, the front door to the Inn opened and a man and a woman came in, blowing and shivering from the chill of the snowstorm outside. The smell of wet pine came in with them and added itself to the atmosphere of burning logs and roasting meat.
“Ooooh that's cold,” The woman, Ethan took another look and amended his thought, girl, stamped her feet as her companion walked over to the fireplace, pulled off his gloves and began warming his hands.
“Decora,” The man called out, “come over here and thaw out.”
Ethan knew that voice, and that name. He turned and caught the young man's eye, “You're welcome to share my table, that is, if you don't mind a tale or two told over a tankard of ale before dinner.”
The girl's face lit up at the mention of storytelling and her companion cocked his head as he studied Ethan's face.
“Do we know you?” The young man's mouth twisted to the side as he concentrated on pulling Ethan's name out of his memory's hat.
He got punched in the shoulder for his trouble, “Rober, you numbskull! That's the traveler who came through here last week. You know, the Swordmaster, the one with that adorable boy, the one who knows Adam?”
Rober's eyes widened in recognition, “Of course, Ethan, right? Welcome back to our little village of Access. Hope you like our beautiful weather,” He extended a hand toward the snow flurries outside the window.
Ethan acknowledged the young man's welcome with a grin, “Thanks. Too bad I can't take some back with me to Berggren. The children would love to build a snowman or two.”
Westcott pushed back into the room bearing a tray with a pitcher and five tankards and placed it onto the table in front of Ethan. “Sheriwyn saw Rober and Decora come up the steps and told me. Knowing how much the young woman likes her tales, I figured I might as well bring in the refreshments now.”
“Well now, I knew you were a man after my own heart back when I first saw you.” Ethan reached for the pitcher and poured himself a tankard full. The cream-colored head foamed up, rich with the aroma of hops and yeast.
He breathed in deeply, savoring the smell of Westcott's brew, “Ahhh, you could make a fortune selling this in Berggren.”
“Aye, that he could,” Rober said in agreement.
“Why don't you Westcott? You could be a rich man.” Decora looked up at the Innkeeper with her doe-like eyes.
“I'm a rich man already, lass, and it's made up of a lot more than money. Besides we've our famous magical mine, or have you forgotten?” Westcott poured himself a tankard, as well as one for Decora and Rober.
The young man stiffened at Westcott's mention of the mine and Decora covered her mouth with a hand. Ethan caught both of their reactions while sampling his first sip of the ale. “Now that I think of it, you're probably right, sire Westcott. A man could do far worse then live in a place like this, far worse. Some wealth you just can't measure in gold. Me, I'll settle for this fine tasting brew of yours,” He lifted his tankard in salute and then drank deeply, watching the young couple visibly relax out of the corner of his eye.
Westcott nodded. “You're right in that; how about that tale of yours, while we still have time before Sheriwyn's done with her cooking, and the dinner crowd starts arriving?”
“Yes, tell your story, please.” Decora echoed Westcott's request.
Ethan put down his tankard and took a breath, “Ok, first I'll fill you all in on what Circumstance and I did in our travels after we left your pleasant little village. And since the question's hanging in this lovely young lady's eyes, I'll also reveal the reason as to why he's not with me now.”
“Circumstance ... yes that was the boy's name—unusual and beautiful at the same time. Why did you name him that?” Decora leaned forward as she asked Ethan her question.
“I didn't. And that's another story for another time.” Ethan picked up his tankard and Westcott and Rober followed suit.
The Inn's front door opened and closed, letting in another couple and a man. They each in turn greeted Westcott as they chose a comfortable spot next to the fire. The Innkeeper grimaced as he rose to his feet, “Raise your voice a bit Ethan, it looks like I'll have to hear your tale while I work.”
“Very well Innkeeper, I'll do what I can.” Ethan sipped some more of his ale and then launched into a rambling rendition of the trek he and Circumstance took from Access to the Ortian Engineers’ camp around the Southern end of the mountain. Like most men given to storytelling, he embellished a little by adding a few dangers here and there, spicing up the story like any good stew, or so he would say.
When he got to the part where he lay Engineer Gaspic out with one punch his audience had grown to number a dozen or more villagers including Nowsek, the Mayor and his wife Maibell. He also saw Saichele, the buxom young woman who was there when he and Circumstance first passed through.
The Mayor and several of the men applauded when Ethan described the punch, “Well done!” “Bravo!” “Good Show!”
A few of the women gasped and Saichele appraised Ethan with a feral eye.
As Ethan paused to wet his throat Westcott leaned his head out of the kitchen door, “Food's ready for those of you wanting dinner. Will you be in that number, Storyteller?”
“Yes, please. Whatever's hot and plentiful, I forgot how much of an appetite a long tale can build.”
“But you're not finished yet,” Decora complained, “You said you'd tell us why Circumstance isn't with you.”
Others in the crowd echoed her sentiment.
“I did, didn't I?” Ethan folded his hands, put his elbows onto the table and rested his chin against his thumbs. “Well, I've never broken my word, and I'll not begin by doing it now. I told our worthy Innkeeper the Ortian Engineers sort of adopted him, and I suppose that's the best way to describe what happened. The boy's part Elf, so perhaps that explains some of the stuff he's been able to do, maybe. I've never known an Elf to do anything worthwhile as far as I could see, but Circumstance is different, any father not proud of a lad like that isn't worthy of the calling. You know, there wasn't one time he complained? Not one! If something needed doing he did it, no questions asked, unless it was necessary for doing the job.
“One evening in Berggren, he came to me on the doorstep and said there was something he had to do. I found out later part of that something meant his leaving the family in order to get to wherever it is he needs to be. I suppose that feeling is what led him to leave before dawn a few days later. I set out after him and soon caught up with the lad on the eastern flank of this mountain. He convinced me he could take care of himself and I promised I'd let the decision be his. I don't know what Ellona's going to say about it all, but there it is.”
Decora leaned against Rober's arm, “Ohh, that's a beautiful story.”
Saichele sat down next to Decora and leaned toward Ethan, emphasizing her attributes with pressure from her arms. “And who's Ellona?” She said huskily.
Ethan looked up and nodded to Westcott as the Innkeeper placed a heaping platter of roast game and root vegetables before him. The savory smo
ky smell of the dish rose up to greet him. He looked back at the young woman and smiled. Her return smile was an engraved invitation.
Picking up the knife and fork that came with the meal, Ethan sliced off a portion of roast. “Ellona, my gorgeous young lady, is the one reason why you and I will never be more than acquaintances.”
The laughter from Nowsek and some of the other men filled the room. Saichele's eyes flashed dangerously and then she settled down and smiled at the joke herself. But for the rest of the evening, her eyes would on occasion stray in Ethan's direction, appraising the man.
When the last villager left the Inn, Ethan thanked Westcott one more time for his hospitality, and then walked the stairs up to the room Sheriwyn told him he could use. The evening had been a long one, and the villagers anxious for news of the world outside. Ethan barely remembered his head hitting the pillow.
In the morning he wolfed down the breakfast Sheriwyn laid before him, paid for room and board, and bid the Innkeeper and his wife a hasty farewell.
Westcott turned back to Sheriwyn, “There goes a man in a hurry.”
She smiled, “From what I heard he has good reason.”
Her husband raised both eyebrows, “Oh?”
Sheriwyn imitated his gesture, “Oh. Maibell told me about it before she and Nowsek left for home, Saichele made a move on him.”
“Oh?”
“Everything shy of stripping down and giving him the key to her door.”
“Oh my ... did he...?”
Sheriwyn kissed Westcott on the cheek, “No dear, he didn't. What he did do is ruin her nights for the next month or two, at least. He told her there was another woman in his life far more important than the young hussy could ever be, His woman. I do love you Sire Westcott.”
He kissed her back, “And I love you.”
* * * *
Thaylli didn't much like the look of the room the Innkeeper showed them. Nor did she like the look of the little man himself. He gave her the impression of a rat that had learned to walk on two legs, and in addition his nervous habit of dry washing his hands while he talked made her feel twitchy just watching him.
