by Tom Liberman
“Our stable lads are excellent horsemen,” said the high priest as he eyes flickered towards an attendant who stood in a nearby doorway. “I’ll instruct them to find men patrolling along the Mountains of the Orc and tell them to report to you anything they see of reptile priests. You’ll be heading south along the mountains so you should have news within two or three days at the most.”
“I hope that is soon enough,” said Odellius, “and I’d like to know more about this mysterious force that can coax a dragon to dream. That is our true enemy.”
“Agreed,” said the First Rider with a nod of his square head. He stood up, although this added little to his height, and smiled. “Imprilius, you’ve been an excellent host as always. Have our horses prepped for departure at dawn tomorrow and you have my permission to let chef stock Odellius’s saddle bags.”
“Why Vipsanius,” said Odellius. “I was beginning to think you didn’t love me anymore,” he continued with a huge grin and then grabbed the decanter of wine that sat nearby and poured himself a brimming glass. “Perhaps one more before bed to help me sleep.”
The First Rider shook his head but Imprilius nodded his own and motioned for Odellius to fill his glass. “It is many hours until morning and wine helps the digestion. You don’t mind if I stay with Odellius for a bit?” he said to the First Rider, “I’d like to hear how he’s doing in Black Dale as a mason. My nieces Shia and Rhia live there.”
“Of course not, Imprilius,” said the First Rider with a little bow. “I, on the other hand, will turn in for the evening to contemplate these matters. You’ve both given me much to think about.”
“Good night, sir,” said Odellius with a raised glass.
“Don’t stay up too late thinking about things Vipsanius,” said the high priest bobbing his own head up and down. “You cannot do anything by thinking and you need your sleep.”
The First Rider said nothing, frowned, and walked slowly out the room.
“He thinks too much,” said the high priest once the leader of the knights was out of earshot.
“He didn’t used to be that way,” said Odellius. “He was a bubbly little fellow, always cooking up something or another, got that from his mother, a lovely Halfling woman; although what she saw in that hobgoblin husband of hers I’ll never know. I offered to marry her when I was a lad, finest cook in all of Elekargul. I remember the puff pastries, she made the bread so light, filled with honey and berries.”
“Since he became First Rider he’s given up a lot of that,” said Imprilius as he sipped lightly from his glass, a small frown on his face. “It’s a position of great responsibility. He worries about all the people in the nation. Their lives are his responsibility.”
“That’s why I’ve never tried for the honor,” said Odellius who, in contrast, took a great swig of wine some of it spilling out of the corner of his mouth and on to his jerkin. “We Buffaloriders are not suited for such positions of leadership. We’re much too frivolous.”
The high priest looked at Odellius for a moment and took another shallow sip of his wine, “You’d be a fine First Rider, Odellius, and it’s not that you couldn’t do the job, it’s that you don’t want to.”
“What’s the practical difference,” said the rotund warrior and poured himself another full cup of wine. “The end result is the same.”
“Times are changing my friend,” said the high priest leaning back in his chair. “This Staff of Sakatha is just the first of it, I think. There’s a great deal more going on in the world these days.”
“You’ve piqued my interest, Imprilius,” said Odellius and also sat back in his own chair that again squeaked in agony from the pressure. “Tell me what else is going on.”
“You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve spoken about with the orc priests from Relm,” said the high priest, “and some traveling monk warriors from just outside of Doria, Thilnog Monks they call themselves, live on the side of the Maw volcano.”
“No one lives there,” said Odellius. “I’ve heard it’s as tall as the moon and erupts as frequently as an drunkard visits the slit trench.”
The high priest shook his head, “Now that Vipsanius is gone please feel free to exercise that vile tongue of yours to your heart’s content,” he finished with a laugh.
“You know you love it,” said Odellius with a smile. “Those acolytes of yours probably bow and scrape, and any petitioners do the same. You and I rode together as boys before you took up the calling. A fine knight of Elekargul we lost when you took the robes. The world is worse off without you in in armor astride a charger.”
“That is kind of you to say Odellius,” said the high priest with a smile and continued, “but that is one of the things that the clerics of Relm, and Adas Jdar, and the Thilnog Monks are concerned about. The Gods. The future of the world.”
“Go on,” said Odellius, “although keep in mind that I’m not a religious sort of fellow. The Black Horse is fine for most but I prefer to put my trust in my lance.”
“Have you heard the name Shinamar, Shinamar the Loathsome?” asked the high priest his voice lowered almost to a whisper as he looked around the room for the sign of another presence.
Odellius looked around as well, his eyes half lowered as he returned his gaze to the high priest, “No, can’t say that I have,” he replied not quite in a whisper but in a lower than normal tone.
The high priest nodded his head, “You know that the entire world was once ruled by an emperor. He built the great cities, Doria, Tarlton of the Sand, Sea’cra, Caparal, Stav’rol, and the most ancient of them all, the King of Cities Das’von.”
“Everyone knows those legends,” said Odellius with a shrug and took another sip of wine. “The old stone ruins that are everywhere. They say it was once a portal system where anyone could travel anywhere in the world with a few simple words. I’m not sure I believe any of the nonsense but I’ve been to Doria and I’ve seen those towers. No one could build them today and people say the same about the other ancient cites, Sea’cra, Stav’rol, and everyone knows about Caparal thanks to the Tales of Yumanar. Fine stories they are to fire the warrior spirit.”
“Yes,” said Imprilius with a nod of his head and then lapsed into silence as his eyes gazed off to the far side of the room at shelf filled with china.
Odellius waited a few moments and then broke the silence, “About this Shinamar fellow …,” he prompted.
Imprilius shook his head as if awakening from sleep and smiled sheepishly, “Yes, of course, I was lost in thought there for a moment. My apologies. Shinamar the Loathesome. They say he was second in command to Elucidor the Omnipotent in Das’von before it was destroyed.”
“That name sounds familiar,” said Odellius scratching his chin, “I’ve heard it before at least, a magic user as I recall, mage king of Das’von.”
“That’s right, my friend,” said the high priest. “Shinamar is said to have betrayed Elucidor and destroyed the city.”
“A bad character, his moniker indicates as much,” said Odellius with a laugh, “never trust a man titled Loathsome.”
“There are those who think the emperor will rise again,” said Imprilius, his voice lowered even further as he leaned across the table to shorten the distance between them. “Some think Shinamar did it to hasten the rise.”
“That old story,” said Odellius. “I’ve heard it a hundred times from the orcs of Adas Jdar and Relm. They think that humans will rise and attempt to conquer the world. That’s why they don’t want anyone living in Doria. I don’t understand it myself but they seem to believe it.”
“That’s right,” said the high priest. “The demi-humans largely believe that when the Emperor arises so too will the Usurper. That the two forces will battle for control of the world. That the Emperor will support the demi-human races, the orcs, dwarves, elves, halfings, goblins and such, and that the Usurper will garner the support of humans.”
“I’ll not live long enough to see such a thing,” sai
d Odellius, “so I’ve never taken the old legends seriously.”
“Something is happening,” said Imprilius, his brown eyes blazing. “We priests, we worship the Black Horse, the Dorians worship Mixcoatle of the Spear, the Dwarves worship Davim of the Anvil and on and on and on. There are thousands of so-called gods, each race worships them and gains their magical powers from them.”
“That’s true,” said Odellius, “everyone has a different god.”
“This Shinamar,” said Imprilius and now he spoke so low that the huge knight could barely make out the words, “this Shinamar is still around. He is active in the world and he has agents who do his bidding.”
“And he wants to bring back the Old Empire?” said Odellius.
“I … I don’t think so,” said Imprilius his eyes darting back and forth. “I had a strange dream where he spoke to me, I think it was a dream, I’m not sure. I awoke and I’ve not heard nor seen him again, but from hints the others drop, he may have contacted them as well. He is immensely powerful but somehow shackled, he cannot act directly, and he has enemies.”
“What did this dream say to you?” said Odellius his own wine cup forgotten and the huge warrior mimicked the whispered tones of the high priest.
“He … he said … he means to …,” Imprilius stuttered and was unable to finish his thoughts.
“Yes?” said Odellius.
“He means to slay the gods. To remake the world without them.”
Odellius looked at the priest for a moment and then burst out in laughter, his huge roars filled the hall, which brought out several of the acolytes who looked in at the jolly giant.
High Priest Imprilius did not laugh.
Chapter 22
“Where to now?” said Sorus as he cast a quick glance first to Proteus and then to Jon. “Whitebone knows we’re here and we have no idea where the Staff of Sakatha is hidden.”
“I don’t think Whitebone will bother us for a long while,” said Proteus as he looked back towards the mountain path they came down from moments before. “You’re right about not knowing where to go next though.”
“Why won’t Whitebone bother us?” said Sorus with first a frown and then a smile, “Not that I mind if you’re right!”
“I’ve seen priests do that trick before,” said the square jawed Brokenshield. “They have a one word escape but it takes them back to their home, and I got the distinct impression that Whitebone isn’t from around here. So, he’s a long way away now and that shoulder of his isn’t going to mend easily, even with magic. Jon crushed it to powder; I doubt he’ll ever be completely right again.”
“It was a lucky shot,” said Jon with a shrug of his shoulders and a narrow smile. “I was angry after what he did to you and Sorus.”
“Lucky you say,” said Proteus with a quick glance at the tall boy, “I don’t think so, but it doesn’t really matter. You saved both Sorus and me from that thing which means I’ll see my children again. That is more than I expected when we started this mission and it also brings me to my next point.”
Jon looked at the hardened warrior and deduced his thoughts, “You’re right Proteus. We’ve already asked too much from you. Go back to the boys and raise them straight and strong.”
“That’s right,” said Sorus who bobbing his head up and down eagerly. “You’ve done more than your share. You go back home and take care of your boys.”
Proteus looked at both of them and bowed his head, “I don’t like to leave you, but I think you’re right. I want to write a letter for you, to First Rider Vipsanius. I want him to know what happened, even if I’m a Brokenshield.”
“You’re not a Brokenshield,” said Sorus suddenly and looked at Proteus who paused for a moment and then realized what the young knight meant.
“You’ll grant me a second name?” he said, pulling his horse up short, and staring at Sorus with a strange grin on his face.
“Your boys are old enough and need to think about squiring or apprenticing in Black Dale anyway. The town needs an assistant brewer to take my place for the rest of the twelve month at least. Pick your second name, take care of the boys, and then report to Thaddeus Redhand in Black Dale for your duties. Is that understood?”
Proteus nodded his head and then raised his right hand and clenched it in the salute of Elekargul, “Thank you, Sir Sorus,” he replied. “I shall take the name Nightwalk both to honor you and because my journey took me into the darkling lands.”
Sorus suddenly blushed bright red and Jon gave out a great guffaw that seemed to release all the tension building since they left great underground complex. When the laughter finally died down, they pulled their horses up and Proteus Nightwalk wrote a short letter with a small feather quill and ink pot that came out of his saddlebag.
“How do you know to carry all that stuff?” said Jon with a shake of his head as a wry grin crossed his face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we ran across an enraged buffalo cow and you pulled out a calf to calm her down.”
“It’s a lifetime of military duty my young friends,” said Proteus with a smile and he came over to Jon and hugged the huge boy although his head barely reached Jon’s shoulder. He turned and did the same to Sorus and then mounted his horse. Before he rode off he undid a saddlebag and tossed it to Jon. “Maybe you’ll find something useful in there one of these days! Ride north to the monastery of the Black Horse. They live in the shadows of the Mountains of the Orc and if anyone can give you advice it’s the high priest, a man named Imprilius.” He then spurred his horse and headed home at a gallop.
“Thank you, Sir Proteus,” shouted Sorus to the knight and the young warrior waved his arm for a long time at the slowly receding figure.
After a bit Jon and Sorus turned to each other and smiled, “That’s a good man,” said Jon, a broad smile on his face. “We were most fortunate to run across his farm.”
Sorus nodded, “Lucky is the right word, Jon,” he said. “I think we can just keep heading north along the edge of the mountains and we’ll get to the temple soon enough. I’ve heard of it and I’ve heard people talk about Imprilius before.”
“They say good things, I assume,” said Jon.
Sorus stopped, “You know, I’m not really sure. I think so. Proteus wouldn’t steer us wrong in any case.” With that the two boys turned their horses north and headed forward in the shadow of the mountain.
The next two days went by quickly and the boys didn’t run into anyone, although they managed to replenish their water supply from a few small streams and caught some of the little multicolored trout to supplement their diet of the plentiful wild carrots, onions, and other vegetables that seemed to grow with great abundance along the mountain range. There were also numerous patches of mushrooms, and Sorus carefully schooled Jon as to which ones were safe to eat and which were not.
Late in the afternoon on the second day they spotted a pair of figures as they rode at the same slow pace, and within a few minutes Jon recognized the hugely fat man on the draft horse although he first took his companion for a young boy. It was only when they approached closely that Jon noted the heavy chain shirt of the small rider, the four horseshoe symbol on his shoulders, and the simple slash in the middle. Jon didn’t immediately recognize the symbol but suspected its meaning almost immediately; even before Sorus jumped forom his horse and saluted with a loud, “Hail First Rider!”
Odellius rode up with a broad smile across his face, “I’ll be a four-breasted gnoll whore,” he shouted and rode right up to Jon and gave him a solid smack on the shoulder that almost felled the gray knight.
“It’s good to see you as well, Odellius,” said Jon as he winced and he tried to keep his seat. “First Rider, I am Jon Gray and my father, the Gray Lord sent me to discuss an alliance with you and your people.”
The First Rider looked at Jon carefully, “Odellius did not lie about your size,” he said with a sage nod of his head. “I’ve heard you tried to wrestle the big fellow to the ground.”
Jon smiled broadly, “It seemed to be the only strategy that gave me any chance of victory in the yard. I wouldn’t mind another crack at the old man, this time on a ground of my choosing.”
Vipsanius nodded his head, “It is most fortuitous that we meet like this emissary, Gray,” he said. “Odellius and I are on a quest and I suspect that your father sent you here less to arrange an alliance between our people and more to obtain something from the region.”
Jon looked at the First Rider for a long moment, “I cannot deny that my mission is twofold but believe me when I say that my father strongly desires the friendship of your people.”
The First Rider nodded his head again, “Perhaps we should ride on a bit and look for a place to camp; have you passed any reasonable spots in the last hour or so?”
Sorus nodded his head, “Yes, First Rider, there is a small creek about an hour or so back, it’s up against a defensible cliff.”
“What is your name, young knight?” said the First Rider as he took his horse a few steps closer to the young boy who rode beside Jon.
“I … I am Sorus Nightwalk; Sir Germanius Brokenhand knighted me before a white dragon slew him, although he killed the beast as well.”
“Well, Sir Sorus,” said the First Rider. “The knights of Elekargul are lucky to have such a man as you among our number. Sir Odellius here told me you were just a brewer boy but I’m happy that you’ve joined us. There are responsibilities associated with knighthood that do not fall upon a brewer, I trust you appreciate them.”
“Yes, First Rider,” said Sorus and once again saluted as he sat up as tall as possible in the saddle. He was significantly taller than the First Rider but not nearly as broad as the thick little man.
“Lead the way to this campsite of yours so that Jon and I can discuss both the future of our nations and this secondary quest of his,” said Vipsanius with a wave of his hand towards the south.
