The Guide

by Trudie Collins

  TOR’S QUEST

  Book 1: The Guide

  Trudie Collins

  Copyright © 2010 Trudie Collins

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Guide (Tor's Quest, #1)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

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  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my husband, Pete, without whom this would never have been published.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Babs, John, Julie, Terry and Wendy, for taking the time to proof read for me.

  Also a special thanks to Sheri Wilkinson and Jaidis Shaw from Juniper Grove and Nicki Markus.

  Chapter 1

  Dying is becoming rather inconvenient was his last thought as the sword was slowly pulled from his limp body, allowing him to slip to the ground.

  His attacker, wiping the bloody sword on the immaculately tailored trousers of the still twitching corpse, grinned. He looked at his feet, then at the nearly new black leather boots on his victim, trying to decide if they were his size. He didn’t catch the slight movement out of the corner of his eye, nor hear the soft whistle the arrow emitted as it flew through the air. He didn’t feel his spinal cord sever as the arrow found its target. By the time he hit the floor he was already dead.

  The archer rushed over, placing his hand on his murdered friend’s neck. Feeling no pulse, he let out a sigh.

  “Oh Patrick, not again,” he whispered. “When are you going to learn to take better care of your body?” He slowly stood up, muscles aching. It had been a long, strenuous, fight. He needed a warm, relaxing bath and a cold tankard of ale, but that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon.

  He turned around, hearing singing in the corridor behind him. The old man was still dancing and throwing a crystal ball into the air and catching it. They had won. He should have been happy, but all he could feel was regret. Was this much loss of life really worth it?

  It was dark outside by the time he joined the others by the camp fire, unceremoniously dropping Patrick’s body behind him.

  “I see Patrick didn’t make it again,” a gruff voice commented from the other side of the fire. “He’s going to be mad in the morning. That was his favourite shirt.”

  “I told him not to wear it,” another voice responded.

  A leg was pulled from one of the chickens roasting over the fire and handed to him. He ate hungrily, juices dripping into his beard, cursing as the hot meat burned his tongue. He broke some bread from a nearby loaf, not caring that it was stale. “I wish we had some butter,” he murmured.

  Looking around he noticed the old man, sitting by himself, under a tree. He was staring at the crystal ball. Tor could see his lips moving, but he was too far away to make out what he was saying. “I take it he has not figured it out yet,” he said, to nobody in particular.

  “No,” came the reply. “The last clue said something about elementary writing, whatever that means.”

  “Elemental, not elementary.” Nobody had heard Ellen approach, but they all looked up upon hearing her soft voice. “It ended with ‘elemental writing will show you the way’.”

  Tor smiled. Was there anything Ellen didn’t remember? The frown across her pale face showed she was still thinking about the latest puzzle. “Are the others on their way?” Tor enquired. “This chicken is edible, but I could really do with one of Seth’s stews right now.”

  “They should be here soon,” Ellen replied, her frown turning into a grin, which instantly fell from her face as her eyes drifted from Tor to the shape behind him. “Bloody hell Patrick,” she swore. “If you were not already dead I would murder you. That shirt was clean on this morning.” Not many people could make Ellen angry, but Patrick seemed to excel at it. “When you have all finished eating, could one of you undress him for me?” she asked. She leaned closer to the body. “I had better have his trousers as well,” she added, noticing the dark blood stains made visible by the firelight.

  Less than an hour later, she was sitting by the fire, eyes closed, softly chanting, as though in a trance. The blood on the shirt in her lap slowly disappeared, as if it was being sucked away, and the tear caused by the sword became increasingly smaller until there was no trace of it left in the silk. When she had finished she neatly folded it and placed it on the already clean trousers.

  “I still find it fascinating watching you work,” Tor said, the admiration he felt evident in his voice. A twig snapped behind him and he span around, sword in hand. His tense muscles relaxed as Seth stepped out from behind a tree, leading a donkey.

  “What did I miss?” he asked, tying the donkey to the tree and helping its rider dismount. Once on the ground, the dwarf slowly made his way to the fire.

  “Not much,” came the reply. “We got here just in time. Had to fight Gallad’s men to get in and I grabbed the last ball just before him.” Tor looked down at the ground, sadness creeping over his face. “Gallad is dead. He fell on his own sword as soon as he realised there were no balls left.”

  He lifted his head to stare at the fire, tears forming in his eyes. Gallad had been a good brother, though they had rarely spoken over the last few years. He had always loved court life and could never understand Tor’s need to be in the forest, away from people and court politics. Murmurs of sympathy crept around the camp as Bellak stomped over, throwing the ball on the ground in disgust.

  “I do not get it,” the old man grumbled. “I have tried everything I can think of. Nothing changes this from being just a plain glass sphere. There are no words anywhere. I cannot break it open. Magic does not work. I have tried every spell I have ever heard of. I do not care how elemental the words are, they are of no use to me if I cannot see them.” He sat down, still frowning, and grabbed a piece of chicken.

  Ellen had finished her work and moved closer to the warmth of the fire. Patrick’s body was now only partially clothed, but nobody took the trouble to cover it up. “Serves him right if he is cold when he awakes,” she muttered, when asked if she wanted a blanket fetched.

  She picked up the ball and started tossing it into the air, then catching it again, quietly repeating “elemental” over and over again. Suddenly she threw it into the fire. Everyone jumped back as sparks flew in all directions.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing you stupid girl?” Bellak cried, as he rushed to the fire to retrieve the ball. Muttering an incantation, he put his hand into the fire to remove the ball. He let out a yell, seeing words forming on the surface, dull and blurred, but slowly getting clearer. It was not long before everyone around the fire could read them.

  From another world comes your guide

  To show you where the clue doth hide

  Over hill and under mountain

  It lies inside the maiden’s fountain.

  Across the desert you must seek

  The hidden way, from those so meek

  Two must go into the h
eart

  But only one can then depart

  Soon the words faded and Bellak turned away, his old grey eyes falling on Ellen. “How did you know?” he whispered, a look of puzzlement on his face.

  Ellen shrugged. “Fire is one of the four elements so I thought it was worth a try.”

  Anger instantly flashed across the old man’s eyes. “Worth a try,” he yelled. “Worth a try. You could have destroyed the ball, you idiot. You could have ruined everything for me. Never do that again,” he shouted, then stormed off into the night, all eyes following him.

  Silence descended on them, broken at last by Grimmel. “I think he meant thank you,” he said, taking Ellen’s hand.

  “Thanks,” she replied, covering the dwarf’s hand with her free one. “I have grown used to him. I know nothing means more to him than this quest right now,” she said sadly.

  A howl ripped through the still night, making more than one person jump, and a large grey wolf padded into the clearing. “Any sign of unwanted visitors?” Tor asked, and he was sure the wolf shook his head. Taking the remains of a chicken away from the fire, he threw it at the animal, who pounced on it as if he had not eaten in a week. “You are getting lazy,” Tor commented. “I thought you were supposed to catch your own food.”

  The wolf raised his head, his face conveying exactly what he thought of that comment. Tor chuckled.

  “So what is next?” Ellen asked, looking at each face in the small group. Their features were hard to make out in the dim light the fire provided, but it didn’t matter. She knew them all well enough to recognise them anyway. All she got were shrugs and mumbles.

  “I guess we collect the rest, then head to Mama Rose’s. She is the expert on other worlds,” Grimmel volunteered. “Unless Bellak has a better suggestion.”

  “And what do you suggest we do with him?” Ellen continued, glancing over her shoulder at Patrick’s lifeless body. “Leave him a note?”

  Seth grinned. “We could not drag you away from here if we left him behind and you know it.” His brown eyes caught hers and he quickly looked away, thankful that the darkness hid the flush that he felt on his face. “We could always strap him to the back of the donkey if Grimmel does not mind walking for a while.”

  By the time Bellak returned, the fire had been doused and everyone was packed up, ready to go. He offered no apology to Ellen for his outburst, but couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “Right,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Molly’s cottage, then on to Amdale.”

  Molly’s cottage was actually a mansion on a nearby large estate. As they approached the main entrance, a butler appeared, ready to turn them away. When he realised who they were, his expression turned to one of distaste. “Wait here,” he said, before they got too close to him. “I will inform the Lady that you have returned.” Tor was sure he heard him mutter ‘unfortunately’ as he turned his back on them.

  Lady Molly was an attractive woman, her age lines emphasising her deep blue eyes rather than detracting from them. “Cousin,” she said, nodding her head formally to Tor. He barely had time to return the gesture before she picked up her skirts and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “It is so good to see you.” She paused slightly before adding, “Alive.” Tor winced. She had lectured him enough when he had set out that morning about leaving the fighting to others, he didn’t need a repeat performance now. He gently removed her arms and placed them by her side. She instantly noticed the spark that was usually in his eyes was gone.

  “How are your brothers?” she asked, knowing she would not like the answer. Tor ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

  “Five teams got there ahead of us, so I am guessing they are now on their way to the next clue. We did not see them so I have no idea how anyone is.” He paused, unsure if he should go on. Gallad had always been Molly’s favourite. “Gallad’s team arrived just before us and we could not avoid a fight. He hired some pretty ruthless men.” Was he trying to convince Molly that events were not his fault or himself? He pressed on. “I am sorry Molly.” His voice started to break, but he forced himself to continue. “He killed himself when he realised we had the last clue.”

  Molly gasped, her face going deathly pale. Before Tor could say more, she turned and ran into the house. A short while later the butler returned. “Your horses are in the stable,” he sneered at them. “Her ladyship says to take them and go. The rest of your rabble are packing and will be ready shortly.” He turned and walked back into the house, slamming the door behind him.

  ——————————-∞——————————-

  It was a quiet and subdued company that slowly left the estate. They all understood Molly’s need to be rid of them. In time she would forgive Tor, realising it was not his fault. Until then, they would do their best to avoid her.

  They had only travelled a few leagues down the road when Seth, hearing a noise behind them, looked around. From the amount of dust being kicked into the air, someone was following them; fast. He called to Tor, who halted the party, and waited for the rider to catch up. When he saw who it was, he swore loudly.

  “Dallan, what do you think you are doing? Your mother will kill me if she finds out you are following me.”

  The young man wore riding breeches and a loose fitting tunic, his curly blond hair bouncing in time with his horse’s canter. “Do not worry. I left her a note.” His smile made his handsome face almost look pretty, as his blue eyes met Tor’s, issuing a challenge.

  Tor shook his head. “You left a note.” He sighed. “What did you say? Gone off to get myself killed with cousin Tor? Molly hates me already. I do not need her blaming me for spiriting away her only son, especially with the wedding coming up. Go home.”

  He started to turn his horse around, but Dallan grabbed his arm. “Actually I said I was running away and I would travel with you, if you would let me; if not, I would head out on my own. We both know mother does not hate you and she would be a lot happier knowing I was with you than on my own. Besides, she is so busy organizing my beloved twin sister’s upcoming marriage that she will not even notice I am gone.” A cheeky grin appeared on his face. “There is no way I am going to go through all of the associated tedium just so I can watch Dallen make the biggest mistake of her life. I am not going back, so it is up to you.” He raised an eyebrow, as though he had posed a question.

  “Alright,” Tor said, shaking his head again. “But you have to earn your keep.” He pointed to the donkey and the partially dressed body lying across it. “You are in charge of Patrick.” Raising his voice, he addressed everyone. “It looks like Dallan – you can call him Dal – will be joining us for a while.” He turned to Bellak and added, “He only just turned sixteen so no wine, ale or tobacco.”

  “Why look at me?” Bellak asked innocently, winking at Dallan.

  “Because I know you.”

  It was approaching noon the next day, the sun just reaching its peak, when Patrick awoke. Smell was always the first of his senses to return and he often wished it wasn’t. He lay still for what felt like hours, wondering what the horrible aroma assaulting his nostrils was. Eventually he started to feel the sun on the back of his neck, which often meant his sight had already returned, as touch was usually the third sense he regained. He carefully opened his eyes and saw the ground, not far away from his nose, slowly moving past. Looking left, then right, he could just make out what appeared to be two hoofed legs, covered in coarse grey fur. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Speech always eluded him for a while after dying, though nobody had been able to explain why. He closed his eyes again. There wasn’t a lot else he could do and the gentle swaying motion was starting to make him feel sick. On the fifth attempt he found he was no longer mute.

  “Would someone be so kind as to help me down from this ass please?”

  Dal screamed. “I thought you were dead,” he stammered.

  “I was. Now, it appears, I have recovered. Please stop the mule from m
oving so I can slip off without getting stepped on.”

  Once the ground had become stationary, Patrick eased himself off the donkey’s back, landing in a crumpled heap when his legs would not support his weight. “Bother. I always forget about that.”

  Dal was in the process of helping him back onto the donkey when Seth appeared. “I wondered what was keeping you,” he said, trying hard not to laugh and almost succeeding. “Tor called lunch so they have stopped just around the next bend.”

  He looked at Patrick. “I suppose you need water.”

  “Unless some wine is available.”

  Seth laughed again. “Have you any idea how ridiculous you look on that donkey?” he asked, handing over a water skin. “By the way, you may want to put on some clothes.” Patrick looked down at himself and groaned.

  Soon everyone was sitting down eating bread and cheese, washed down with ale. Ellen had put a spell on the leather container so it was still cool and refreshing. Dal was about to take a sip when it was wrenched out of his hand and replaced with a tin cup, full of water. “I said no ale,” Tor reminded him, though he was looking at Bellak.

  “You cannot boss me around,” Dal yelled, getting to his feet. “I am old enough to do what I like. I would be married by now if I was a farmer.”

  “Fine,” came the reply. “The next village is 10 leagues that way,” Tor said, pointing down the road. “Take care of yourself kid.” He leaned back against a tree and bit into his bread.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Dal asked, confused.

  “Simple.” Tor sat forward, pointing at Dal with his bread as he spoke. “While you are with me, you follow my rules. If you are not happy with that then feel free to leave.”

  Dal looked stunned. “You cannot be serious,” he stammered. “Mother would murder you if she found out I was no longer with you.”

  Tor smiled. “You are the one that wrote a note saying you were running away. You are not my responsibility. So what is it going to be?”

  Dal opened his mouth, then quickly closed it again. Everyone watched silently, waiting for his response. Eventually he threw the cup down and walked away, muttering. “Looks like I do not have much choice do I.” Ellen started to rise to follow him, but Tor waved her down.