Fistandantilus Reborn

by Douglas Niles

  “Uh … I don’t have any tea,” Danyal interjected in the momentary pause of the pen’s progress.

  “Why, yes, that would be very nice.” Foryth’s head bobbed in agreement, though his face remained someplace very far away. “Help to take the chill out of the bones and all that. Now, where was I?”

  Danyal sighed, figuring he could probably inform the historian that the sky was falling down on them and Foryth would merely suggest, politely of course, that he would really like a little sugar with that.

  The lad stared into the flames, moping. For some reason, though he had a companion in his camp for the first time since leaving his village, he felt lonelier than ever. Foryth Teel couldn’t even carry on a decent conversation. At the same time, the distracted traveler seemed as if he would be terribly vulnerable if the bandits decided to return. Again Dan wondered about the flames. He knew the fire was a beacon that would extend well beyond the confines of their narrow grotto.

  It occurred to him that he could just take Nightmare and leave, moving farther up the streamside trail, but he wasn’t ready to turn his back on the strange traveler. Foryth Teel, for all of his distractibility, at least did not seem likely to be any threat. And he was company.

  Finally the historian drew a breath and raised his eyes. The book remained open on his lap, but he set the quill carefully on the flat log where he had placed his ink bottle. “Didn’t you say something about tea?” he asked.

  “No!” Danyal’s exasperation crept into his voice. “I asked what you were doing on this road, and when you said you wanted some tea, I told you I didn’t have any!”

  “What? Oh, forgive me. I have tea. It’ll just take a minute.”

  Danyal waited impatiently as the traveler pulled a tin pot from his pack, scooped some water from the stream—almost falling in as he did so—and then looked vainly into the surging flames, seeking a place to rest his kettle.

  “Here.” With a sigh, the lad used a stick to pull a small pile of hot coals to the side of the flames. “Set the teapot on these.”

  “Splendid! Now, what was it you were trying to say?”

  Danyal was about to shake his head in disgust, muttering that it didn’t matter, when Foryth brightened with sudden recollection. “Oh, yes—why am I here? I daresay they’d have to let me into the priesthood if I could give a complete answer to that one!”

  He laughed self-consciously, though the youth saw no humor in the statement. Foryth continued. “I’m on my way to a place called Loreloch. It’s up in these hills.” He gestured vaguely to the darkness on all sides.

  “I’ve never heard of it,” Danyal admitted. “But I’ve never been very far from Waterton.”

  “Well, it’s kind of a secret place. In truth, most people don’t even know it’s there. It’s a little village, so I hear, gathered around a fortified manor house, a stronghold of armed men. The lord there doesn’t have much to do with the outside world.”

  “Why do you want to go there?” Danyal also wondered, but didn’t ask, how the befuddled researcher expected to find the place.

  “Fistandantilus!” Foryth held up a single finger, as if that one word held the key to all of his plans and ambitions. Apparently observing that Danyal wasn’t terribly impressed, he continued. “I’m a historian, seeking to chronicle the story of Krynn’s greatest archmage. Specifically, there’s a man who lives in Loreloch who went there after the Seeker priests were thrown out of Haven.”

  “I’ve heard of Haven,” the lad declared proudly. “That’s where my ancestors came from, not too long after the Cataclysm.”

  Foryth might not have heard; at least, he made no adjustment to his own tutorial “This man, the disgraced Seeker, declared that the archmage Fistandantilus was a god, and that he himself was the high priest of the religion. For a time, he had quite a few followers—until, of course, the Seekers were shown to be false priests.”

  In spite of himself, Danyal found himself fascinated by the story. “That was when the dragons came, right? And people learned that Paladine and the Dark Queen were still here, could still answer prayers?”

  “Aye, the two great lords live, and so do many other gods as well. Gilean, the patriarch of my own faith, and gentle Mishakal. And others who are less benign as well.

  “But back to my story: This false priest was driven from Haven and, with a small band of followers, he seized the stronghold of Loreloch for himself.”

  “Didn’t the highlords object?” asked Danyal. “I mean, I know I wasn’t born yet back then, but I heard that during the war they even came to Waterton and made folks pay them with food from every harvest. Or else they threatened to send their dragons in and destroy the town.” The lad shuddered as his mind conjured up a vivid memory of just that. He looked at the man out of the corner of his eye, relieved to see that Foryth had apparently not noticed his distress. For some reason, he wanted to keep that incident a secret for now.

  “They may have done the same to Loreloch. Gilean knows, they could have sent a dragon to raze the place if they were displeased,” the man admitted. “I don’t know why they didn’t, to tell you the truth. Perhaps they simply paid no attention, or maybe he was too small a pest to warrant the trouble.”

  Foryth cleared his throat, and Danyal realized the man was organizing his thoughts, restoring his direction after the question.

  “There was another unique feature about this priest of Fistandantilus. Unlike most of the Seekers, this priest had at least one unnatural power: Though he had been the head of his sect for something close to a hundred years, he had never been known to age. It is said that he survived the war, which ended more than twenty years ago, of course. I’m wondering if he still possesses the same youthful appearance as he did back then, though his church was cast down and he was lucky to escape into banishment.”

  “Lucky?” queried Danyal.

  “Compared to dead, I should say so. After all, no less a personage than the dragonarmy highlord had issued an order for his death. And now, from Loreloch, he makes occasional raids into neighboring villages, preying upon the highway traffic into and out of Haven and the coastal ports.”

  “Don’t the Knights of Solamnia object to his robbing people and stuff?” On several occasions during his life, Danyal had seen one or two of the armored warriors pass through Waterton. He vividly remembered his impressions of dignity, might, and awe-inspiring competence and capability. “I’d guess that no one could get away with crossing them,” he suggested earnestly.

  “Well, you’re right about that last. Still, the knights have been awfully busy since the war. They’ve tried to restore some order to their realms, and they had another invasion of Palanthas to face just a few years after the Dark Queen was defeated. Too, down here the Newsea cuts you off from the centers of knightly power, although there is one knightly marshal, named Sir Harold the White. Still, he has a great territory as his responsibility, so, no, I would say that Loreloch is a little too much of a backwater to call for the attention of our Solamnic protectors.”

  “But why do you want to go there?” Danyal pressed.

  “I told you!” Foryth seemed exasperated, though the lad could not remember hearing an answer to that question. “Fistandantilus!”

  “He’s there? But you said he was dead.”

  “He’s not there! But the leader of Loreloch is a man who claimed to worship the archmage, and this man doesn’t get any older! Naturally I want to find out why.”

  “If it’s a secret place, how will you find it?” Danyal finally asked.

  “Why, my book, of course. The Book of Learning,” Foryth explained, as if the lad should understand everything he was saying.

  Danyal waited, hoping that the historian would say more. But then Foryth shook his head, discarding some private thought, and the lad wondered if there was still another reason the man had embarked on his journey.

  The historian resumed his scribbling, muttering quietly to himself, as Danyal felt his eyelids growing heavy
. He lay back, finding a smooth, rounded curl of root to serve as a pillow, and in moments he was asleep. His dreams were filled with images of dragons and knights, of a tall fort on a mountaintop, and dark forests that were full of dangers. For a long time, he ran, cutting between the trees, gasping for breath, but he couldn’t escape.

  The snapping of a twig was the sound that pulled Danyal up from the depths of his slumber—so abruptly that he wondered if he had just closed his eyes a second before. But, no, the fire had faded to a mound of coals, and Foryth, too, was asleep, leaning against the rock where he had been doing his writing.

  “Wake up!” hissed Danyal, looking around worriedly. Through the memories of his sleep, he heard the echoes of the breaking stick and felt grimly certain that something—something large—was out there.

  He blinked as the shadows moved, then found himself looking up into a handsome face that he vaguely recognized. Gray metal reflected the pale firelight, a crimson glow running up and down a blade of sharpened steel.

  “And what prize is this?” declared the young, dapper bandit, his dark eyes flashing back and forth between Danyal and Foryth. “It seems that our poor net has caught us two birds!”

  Chapter 23

  The Master of Loreloch

  First Majetog, Reapember

  374 AC

  Another bandit pressed forward, and Danyal caught his breath in sudden fear. The newcomer looked every bit the villainous wretch. One eye was missing, covered by a crusty black patch. A scruffy beard, tangled with mats, coated the man’s chin, and he opened his mouth to reveal numerous missing teeth. Dan recoiled from breath stinking of ale, garlic, and other, less readily identified odors.

  “Let’s have yer purse, laddie,” growled the nearly toothless bandit, leering down at Danyal with an expression that churned the young man’s stomach into a roiling mess.

  “I—I don’t have any money!” he stammered. He thought fleetingly of the silver belt buckle, nervously pulling down the front of his shirt to make sure the heirloom was covered.

  “No money? Then I’ll have to take me booty from yer blood, I will!” The leering bully pulled out a long, wickedly curved knife, the blade gleaming sharp on both sides as he extended one edge to press against Danyal’s neck.

  “Hold a minute, Zack,” said the first bandit, the one with the handsome, beardless face of a young man. Despite his ragged garb, there was a sense of nobility, or at least an element of graciousness, in the way he stood regarding the two captives with an expression of vague distaste.

  “Aw, Kelryn!” Zack complained. “We’ll get naught from these blighters. Let’s just stick ’em and be on our merry way.”

  “No,” declared the leader, studying Foryth Teel’s slender figure. “I’m curious. Why weren’t you frightened enough to go farther away? Instead, you build a fire that we can smell for a mile down the road! And what was all that about wanting to take notes?”

  “I’m merely a humble researcher, attempting to conduct studies in the field.”

  “Studies?” Kelryn stared curiously at Foryth Teel. “You’ve picked a rather strange place for your library, stranger.”

  “The true historian must be willing to journey to strange places.”

  The one called Kelryn acted as if he hadn’t heard. “You had a partner?” he mused, still studying Foryth Teel. “And all the time I thought you were alone.”

  He turned to regard the youth. Despite the man’s smooth forehead, his strong chin and mouthful of clean white teeth, Danyal recalled—and confirmed—his earlier impression: This was a very dangerous fellow indeed. His eyes were dark and hooded, utterly devoid of compassion or any other human emotion. When he smiled, the expression seemed to Danyal like the toothy grin of a hungry cat.

  The youth sensed that the situation had spun far beyond his control. “I wasn’t traveling with—”

  “This is my squire,” Foryth interjected smoothly. “As a precaution, I had directed him to camp some distance away from my own sleeping place. I find it easier to complete my studies in solitude.”

  “Bah!” Zack was still impatient. The frightening man with the knife felt the edge of his blade, and his one eye shone with eagerness as he regarded Danyal. “Like I says, boss, let’s be done about it.”

  Again the leader chose to ignore his henchman’s suggestion. “What is the nature of your research?” he inquired instead.

  Foryth Teel seemed quite willing to explain. “I journey to find a man, once a false priest of the Seeker cults, who is rumored to dwell in these mountains, in a place called Loreloch. I wish to converse with him on a matter of mutual interest.”

  “I see. It may be that I can help you. What is the nature of your business with the Master of Loreloch?”

  “I seek information on matters regarding the ancient wizard Fistandantilus, who has been long dead from our world,” Foryth was saying. “It is said that this Seeker is quite an authority on the topic.”

  “And you have come to sit at his feet?”

  “Er, in a manner of speaking, yes. I have devoted many years of study to stories of the archmage. I had hoped his knowledge might help me to fill some of the gaps in my research.”

  Kelryn laughed easily, and Danyal saw those hooded eyes brighten with the first light of enthusiasm, of genuine feeling, that the youth had seen there. “I believe he might be willing to meet you. If, that is, I let you live.”

  “What about the kid?” whined Zack, plaintively. “Can I stick him?”

  Danyal edged away from the one-eyed bandit and his sharp knife, but the rock wall of the grotto brought his movement to a sharp halt.

  “I should say not!” Surprisingly, it was Foryth who answered. “My work requires the presence of my squire, else there is no way that I should be able to compile my notes and maintain a precise record. I need the lad.”

  “It seems to me that we can make other arrangements for your assistance,” Kelryn said, shaking his head dismissively. “And truthfully, if Zack doesn’t get his regular entertainment, he can become rather … disagreeable. I think I should give him the boy.”

  Danyal’s stomach churned in fear, even as he realized that he found the bored manner of Kelryn’s words even more frightening than Zack’s leering cruelty.

  “Tsk, tsk.” Foryth shook his head, though Danyal thought the historian didn’t seem terribly agitated. “Remember, there is the matter of the reward.…”

  “And what reward would that be?” Kelryn asked, staring intently at the priest-historian.

  “Why, the ransom that my temple would be willing to pay for myself and my squire.”

  “What temple?” Zack spun, crouching as he faced Foryth. Danyal took advantage of the bandit’s turn to draw several deep breaths, grateful for the clean night air. He watched, heart pounding, as the men continued to talk.

  “Why, the Golden Palace of Gilean in Palanthas, of course. The patriarch of my order would be more than willing to ransom two of its lost sheep, should they be assured that neither of us has suffered harm in your hands.”

  “He’s lying!” snarled Zack, his glaring eye swiveling back and forth between the historian and the youth.

  “I’m not so sure,” mused Kelryn Darewind, speaking to his henchman. “In truth, it seems that the temple masters might well be inclined to protect these lives with coin of good steel.”

  He regarded Foryth questioningly. “For the sake of argument, what manner of reward are we discussing?”

  The historian shrugged. “I cannot say with any accuracy. This is a situation unique in my experience. However, you can always send a message of inquiry. While we’re waiting for the reply, perhaps I can effectuate an interview with the Master of Loreloch.”

  Danyal watched the exchange with a mixture of disbelief, amazement, and fear. He was astounded that these men could discuss matters of life and death with such aplomb. At the same time, he felt as though he was a very unimportant piece in the game that was being enacted before him.

 
; “Hey! They’ve got a horse over here!” A voice called from the darkness, and other shadowy forms moved through the woods, drawn toward the source of the sound.

  Abruptly the night was split by a loud whinny, followed by a bone-crunching smack and a very human wail of pain and fear. Brush cracked and a body tumbled into view, a bandit who clutched the limp, twisted shape of his left arm as he collapsed on the ground and moaned.

  More whinnies rang from the darkness, followed by curses, smashes, and finally the sound of rapidly receding hoofbeats clattering up the streamside trail. Three more bandits came into view, dragging a fourth, the latter bleeding heavily from a gash on the forehead. In another moment, another man crawled out of the woods, pulled himself onto a stump, and proceeded to wrap a filthy cloth around his knee as he cursed beneath his breath.

  “Eh, Gnar,” chortled Zack. “Break yer leg, did ya?”

  “Bah! It’ll set just fine!” growled the other, though the grimace tightening his face served to belie his bold words. He looked at Zack, then Kelryn, and Dan was surprised to catch a glimpse of the naked fear on the man’s face.

  “That was no normal horse. It was a beast possessed by a demon!” snapped the bandit with the broken arm, painfully rising to a sitting position. “I swear I saw fire come out of its mouth!”

  “And it crushed my knee with a hammer,” moaned Gnar, drawing his bandage tight. Meanwhile, the man whose head had been gashed by the hoof moaned and pressed his hands to the swelling lump of his face.

  “A spirited animal, that’s all,” spat another, a stocky, mustachioed man with a short bow and quiver of arrows. He looked at his fellows in scorn. “You’re just not fit to hold the halter of a horse like that!”

  “Why didn’t you take the rope, then, Garald?” asked Kelryn smoothly.

  “I tried, lord—I tried. But these fools had made such a mess of things that by the time I got there the animal had broken free. There’ll be no catching it, at least on foot.”

  “Your horse?” Kelryn inquired, regarding Foryth with a raised eyebrow. “Undoubtedly the creature responsible for the attack against us at your first camp?”