Overland Quest

by D C Ware

  Then she was awake! Violently awakened as if she had been ejected from her very reality. The Lady’s breath came heavy to her. The bed in her pavilion where she had laid was blackened like soot. But her person was untouched. She had warded herself in the last of moments. But she was changed. She closed her eyes and looked within herself. What had the wizard damaged within her. It was gone. The ‘dowlite’, the dream walking. Never again could she wake in that realm. A solitary tear fell down her golden face. She had paid a dear price. But the price had been worth it. The wizard had been too late. She had found the source of his power. She had revealed the nature of its origin. Apollyon and Abaddon. The destroyer and the place of fire.

  The Lady sat up. Pulled her knees into her chest, rested her head upon them and went to sleep.

  “The Pathfinder? What do you know of The Pathfinder foolish wizard?” Lord Aranrood was furious. Up to this point he had been stern but polite with Vandrel. But at the mention of that name he erupted.

  “And before you answer, I assure you whatever you think you know of him is legend, myth, fables and less than that.”

  “Great lord, I did not mean to anger you. I know but what I have heard. And that, as you say, is legend and fable and less than that.” Vandrel was careful to make his answer soft and in doing so doing, it turned away the elven king’s wrath.

  “Forgive me Vandrel. The history of that elf is written in despair and of those who have called upon him, in regret. The Pathfinder is not something that can be summoned or sent forth lightly. To call upon him is to be bound to him and to his fate.”

  “Even so, lord elf. But is he not the one thing you elves are most certain of. That when sent forth he will not be stayed.”

  “Ah, of course Vandrel. But again I say, temperately, that you do not understand. Synn Cumhal is not a person but a force. An unnatural one at that.” Aranrood tried to emphasize his point by referring to The Pathfinder in his elvish name.

  “Synn Cumhal ‘Son of Fury’.” Vandrel thought on the name. Such a name for an elf was contrary to their nature. As if a dwarf was named ‘sweet lilac’.

  “Even so.” Said Lord Aranrood, satisfied that he had driven his point home by revealing the elven lord’s name. Yet Vandrel pressed on.

  “But Lord Aranrood you yourself not many seconds hence examined me thoroughly for fear The Lady conspired with me. Such is her power I have no doubt that if you doubted the truth of my words you were prepared to assault me. Not just you but this castle. Am I correct in this?”

  Aranrood was silent for a second. Then finally he said, “You are.”

  “Of course I am. Now I am a wizard of little worth. True enough I am sufficient for the task for which I have been assigned, but other than safeguarding the ring, I am no terror to anyone of significance. Yet you feared lest I were to be joined with The Lady in some wayward cause. Now take careful note of what I say next. Morcai has sought The Lady out. Of this I am sure. Behind the same veil that showed me The Lady I saw the shadow of that Dark Wizard and he was looking for someone. Of course I did not know who until The Lady called out to me shortly before I broke the portal.”

  “Morcai? And The Lady? How long ago was this vision Vandrel?” Aranrood asked interrupting the wizard.

  “Four days hence, for I came through the mountains to avoid detection.”

  “Four days. Then surely if Morcai has sought her, he has found her by now. And we know not the fate of that alliance. Whether they be joined or no. By The One! We could already be outdone!” Aranrood crashed his fist against a marble column cracking its surface and causing chips to shoot off.

  “Have a care, great king. I do not fear we are in jeopardy yet. Had they allied already I am certain some omen of it would have come to me or Vinetach or some other guardian of The Weapons of Power by now. But surely you understand that if they have joined or do so shortly then only one such as The Pathfinder can stand against them.”

  Vandrel knew he had won his argument before the elven king answered. There was no choice for any of them now. Whatever the price of summoning The Pathfinder it was preferable to that of falling under the subjugation of the Dark Wizard and The Lady.

  “I will send him wizard. And without delay.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Revelations

  It had been years since he had gotten word from the Mercenary Wizard. The messenger told him the sender of the message was unknown but Goliath knew it was Kane because he was the only person who knew of Goliath and of his whereabouts and who could also afford to contact him in that manner. Goliath (whose real name was ‘Goil’) did not like Kane. Heck, no one liked Kane. But within certain circles he was not only well known, and well respected, but feared. Goliath on the other hand feared no man. He stood taller than the average man by at least two feet. At seven feet eight inches and five hundred ten pounds most men referred to him as “a giant” although Goliath had seen real giants and knew that not to be true. Still he embraced the moniker and did not discourage it.

  After doing manual labor most of his life, Goliath was ordered by a petty noble to carry him and his horse across a stream so as not to wet his horses’ fetlocks. After carrying the noble across, and it came time to carry the horse, Goliath picked up the horse and crushed the noble with it. Killing the horse and the noble.

  From that day forward he became a fugitive although a warrant for his arrest was never issued as no one believed the nobles’ servants when they reported the incident and instead concluded that he had fell from his horse and the horse had fallen on top of him killing him. Afterwhich the servants had then obviously crushed the horse’s carcass to support the tall tale they made up.

  Unfortunately Goliath never knew about this turn of events as he did not stick around to give his account. Instead he took in with whatever brigand or outlaw or highwayman would have him (most of whom agreed to the arrangement in exchange for him not bashing their heads in).

  These days however he mostly worked alone. He enjoyed ‘his work’. Sometimes he even got a challenge out of it. Like the time he was attacked by six sailors who tried to press gang him into service aboard their ship. His size was obviously no deterrent to them and probably motivated the attack as he could power the oars on a small ship all by himself. What Goliath enjoyed about that encounter was the way they came at him with no fear. Armed with their little wooden cudgels they first tried to rush him and overpower him all at once. But when Goliath picked one of the men up and started using his body as a weapon to beat and flay the others they tried to spread out and come at him one at a time. To which Goliath would simply drop the sailor he was using at the time as a weapon and pick up the new guy and start flailing him around instead. Five times they came at him this way until he had so many bodies stacked up around him when the last one came at him, he picked up one of the dead bodies and smashed the two of them together like he was clapping his hands. That was a good brawl.

  Even still, despite his size and his power there were two classes of people even Goliath did not mess with - wizards and knights. Wizards simply did not play fair and a knight could wield a sword better than he could eat a chicken.

  Of course it was just his luck that the job Kane wanted him to do involved a knight. A job he would have immediately turned down were he not so broke. That and the message assured him it was a petty knight only recently knighted and on his first quest. While that made Goliath feel a little better. Petty or not, still it was a knight and were he not so broke he would have turned it down. But he had just enough coin left to purchase a room and a meal for two more nights before he would be out on the street. Kane had promised to send his payment by ‘air’ in the morning. And with Kane ‘by air’ meant either a pigeon, a Groc or a Gargoyle. It was the Gargoyle for sure.

  Goliath had a two day trek ahead of him. If Kane’s information as to their heading was correct. He could cut them off right outside of the Wooddam Forest at the river north of the Town of Wooddam. The river would be ideal as it would
slow them down since it forked off in three directions at that point and they would have to cross all three forks to get to Kings Castle. Better still, all of the forks ran into the Firetop Mountains where he was setting off from, giving him an opportunity to cut them off at either one.

  Goliath slung his massive spear over his shoulder, picked up his helmet, breastplate and shield and walked off whistling the melody to The Lyre of Abraxos.

  “That’s enough. Your stomach will toughen up like your back in due time. In the meantime get back to swabbing!”

  Oxley lifted his head from the side of the ship and wiped the puke from his lips. This was the third time today he had thrown up the little food that he had been given. He had no idea how far out to sea they were by now and had given up any hope of Maverick and Lyla (or the hooded adventurers) being able to rescue him.

  That was assuming they would even try to rescue him or come looking for him. Which he was sure Maverick would not. Not only that but he was sure if Lyla did inquire about his whereabouts Maverick would probably give her some sarcastic explanation of how ‘Ox’ had been drawn into the seedy world of women by the wharf. And if Lyla did not press the issue of his whereabouts no one would.

  As far he knew it had been five days since he was first gang pressed into service on The Adamante. The first two days he had simply been left tied up below by the powder kegs. The Sailing Master had told him it was just to let him get his sea legs underneath him and that after two days of that he would be untied and probably assigned as a swabby by the Quartermaster.

  And that is exactly what had happened. Despite his protests that he had still not gotten used to the great undulations the ship made when it picked up speed and the waves got choppier. Bosun Rodrigo had simply said the best way to take your mind off the pain in your stomach was to focus on the pain in your back and then he had lashed him with a bamboo rod. Oxley rushed him for that. For all the good it did. He ran into the muscular bosun with all his weight and he never even moved him. After using some maneuver to force his arms behind his back and flip him onto the ground the bosun delivered another one of his signature knock out punches to Oxley’s face. The next thing Oxley felt after that was a cold bucket of water and seaweed washing into his face and mouth.

  Since that time he had mostly been assigned to ‘swabbing’ the deck which entailed moping it over and over again so that as soon as he reached one end it was time to do the other end again. Only once when it appeared they would engage an enemy ship was he ordered below to help move gunpowder to the ship’s sixteen guns. That’s when everyone kept referring to him as the ‘powder monkey’.

  Today he had been swabbing again when the waters got worse than they had been since he had boarded. That’s when he went over to the side to puke. He had overheard some of the crew talking about the Captain having detected a storm on the compass Maverick and Lyla had sold to him. From what he could make out a lot of them wanted to ‘put in’ to land as they called it at Kings Harbor. But Captain Milan wanted to press on and anchor off Demon’s Bane.

  Oxley didn’t care what they did. He just hoped he would have a chance to make a run for it if the ship did dock. Something one of the cabin boy’s had told him would be considered ‘desertion’ and was punishable by hanging or ‘walking the plank’. “Desertion?”, thought Oxley. “How can you desert a ship you never signed up to serve on?”

  “You are Mr. Oxley are you not?” The lady’s voice was foreign. And not just outside of Milestill foreign. Oxley was sure she was from one of the western continents.

  He looked up from swabbing and saw a dark haired, brown eyed lady with very fair features and a very petite frame speaking to him. She had a sash tied about her waste and wore a cutlass at her side. She had what Oxley believed was a small pistol tucked in the center of her breaches. She wore black boots that reached up to her knees and had yellow trim on the edges.

  “Yes maam.” Oxley said dryly, pausing from his swabbing.

  “I am Lucretia, the Quartermaster of this ship.”

  Oxley’s next breath froze in his throat. His heart began to race and he stood up straight. The Quartermaster was second only to the Captain on a ship. She would deal with punishments and discipline, including punishing the Captain himself if he stepped out of line. The Quartermaster represented the other pirates, taking their issues to the attention of the Captain when necessary. She would also be the one to take control of any vessels won in a battle, becoming her own Captain unless and until the ships were ransomed.

  The one phrase Oxley had heard constantly since being on the ship, even while tied up, was ‘the Quartermaster’. “Tell the Quartermaster.” He would hear someone say. “Take it up with Quartermaster.” He would hear another person say. “The Quartermaster will have your hide.” Was something he heard said too many times to count. But in all those references he had never heard or had it even been implied that the Quartermaster…was a woman!

  Araton came to the heights cautiously. This was only the second time in his aging that he had come to this place. The very peak of the Elf Mountain mountain range. Even for one such as he it was hard for him to breathe. The air was thin and the wind was strong and cold. He could see as far east as Kings Harbor and as far Northwest to the tops of the trees on The Unknown Islands.

  There was only one structure on this plateau. A structure that overlooked the citadel of Elf Mountain itself. A structure that stood watch over her like a guardian. ‘The Ouránia Stoá’ was what its master had named it. The building was rectangular and resembled the Greek Parthenon of earth. It had three columns to its front and rear and four columns on either side. Steps led up to the base of the building and when you entered there was open space adorned only by its marble floors.

  Far to the rear of the structure against the shelf of the mountain a semi circular apse had been carved out. It had been cut ten feet deep into the mountain and consisted of a semi-circle with an area of about sixty feet. An elaborate bas-relief of elven history decorated the inner walls and ceiling of the apse. The only furnishings or decorations being a white bear skin rug in the center, wood and ivory chests along the sides, large pillows, and a Doric rack of weapons and armor.

  The man he sought was seated upon the skin. Synn Cumhal, The Pathfinder.

  “Lord Aranrood, long has it been since your shadow fell on this edifice. Dire must be the need for you to seek me out. What is the task that you would ask of me?” He remained seated repairing a tear in a heavy cloak made of lion skin.

  “Synn…” Aranrood paused. Something within him still fighting with the idea of asking the Elven Prince for his help.

  “Speak Lord. Your servant is listening.” The Pathfinder stood and presented himself to the Elven King.

  “Synn your kingdom has need of thee.”

  “And what of my king?”

  “Yes. I have need of thee as well.”

  “Great king, though I honor your person above many others in this realm or those beyond, yet I must caution you the price of invoking the aid of The Pathfinder must be paid by all. Even kings.” Synn’s voice trailed off like a melody high atop the world where they stood. A sad sonnet that had begun.

  “I will pay your price ‘Gate Breaker’.” Aranrood’s voice stiffened as he addressed The Pathfinder by one of his many appellations.

  “Then I ask again my king. What is the task that you would ask of me?” Synn relaxed and started making his way to his armor rack. Slowly he began unlatching a set of engraved black armor with gold trim. Upon the chest of his breastplate was engraved the head of a great lion roaring.

  “The Lady has returned to the realm.”

  “Gabriel?” Synn stopped what he was doing and turned and looked at Aranrood surprised.

  Aranrood was caught off guard to see the warrior’s reaction. He had heard rumors of the prince and The Lady but during those days there were rumors of many things. But maybe there was some merit in them after all.

  “Yes The Lady Gabriel moves thro
ugh the Overland even now. And we fear Morcai seeks her out.”

  “Morcai and The Lady? Indeed and you would have me discover their intentions?”

  “Even so. But know this Synn there is a rumor in the land that the king is dead. King Overlord.”

  “Such a rumor had not reached me.”

  “Nor has it reached Elf Mountain but it has reached me.”

  “And have you ascertained the truth of this rumor King Aranrood.”

  “No. But I sent for Aranoor to seek out the truth of it at Kings Castle.”

  “Aranoor, the Half-Elf?”

  “Precisely. If the lords of Kings Castle will trust any of us with the truth then it is Aranoor. Long has he walked among their people and noble are his deeds.”

  “Of a truth you have spoken. But may I ask you this king? Why have you sought me so early in these affairs. Surely you know that my coming is a doom in itself? I am no ambassador or knight. I am The Pathfinder.”

  “Synn. If The Lady has joined forces with Morcai then one or both of them must be destroyed. Do you understand me?”

  Synn tried to disguise the anguish that had momentarily arisen in his person when Aranrood used the word ‘destroy’ but then he spoke, “Of course my king. I am The Pathfinder.”

  Bonelord was weary. He had supervised the clean up from the great fire for the last three days without rest. Over and over again the people asked about the king and whether the rumors of his death were true. “Surely they must be, why else would the king not be here leading us and vowing to avenge this attack.”