Chapter 5

***

Qualtan sat expectantly, as Aurelus slowly withdrew a wooden tube lined with pressed pulp from a small chest. “I have been in communication with his majesty, King Prelance, ruler of the Kingdom of Turinthia, leading body of the Alliance. We have spoken about you,” the wizard said with exaggerated concern. Qualtan sighed, knowing his uncle was enjoying prolonging the suspense.

Aurelus circled Qualtan, his sandaled feet slapping against their stone floor. “This letter I hold will grant you audience with his majesty, a recommendation by me for your acceptance into the ranks of the Royal Order of the Bearded Lion, Turinthia’s noble order of knights.” Aurelus motioned to Qualtan with the scroll but lifted it away from his nephew’s attempt to reach it.

“This is a very prestigious honor, not to be taken lightly. The Order had two hundred and fifty knights in its fold during the Great War, although nowadays mostly around one hundred, under the command of General Mountebank, supreme commander of Turinthia’s militia and a finer swords master has never existed. You will be following in your father’s footsteps. Knighthood is to be taken seriously, Qualtan. It is for the deepest devotion, the noblest of character, and the humblest of heart. You will represent not only your honor, but that of Turinthia’s, of the Alliance itself. Leaders in war, observers of the most dangerous of missions, a knight is a living trust of the powers of Good. Those selfsame powers strive to guide us in our journeys, just as the powers of Evil attempt to mislead. We wizards are blessed in our ability to sculpt and mold from the energies that surround us all, but we did not create that power. We craft with it, build from it, and harness it. Like an artist taking a vision from his mind and giving it breath upon an empty canvas, we create our own reality. The power behind all life is of course beyond our faculties; it stems only from the High Lord, He Who Has No Name, and the font of all that we are. A true wizard must respect that. As a knight, so must you.”

“You make knighthood sound more burden than honor,” Qualtan reflected, waiting impatiently for his uncle’s speech to end.

“It can be. Oh, there are many orders of knights. The Order of the Black Tower from Medlissia, the Order of the Star and Sword, from Bagda, the Elven Order of the High Forest, there are many others. Some have little value or little honor, being knights in name only. Others, like the Orders I have mentioned, are true to their ideals and are looked upon as the highest of service. But remember, a true knight, a true man of honor, listens to his own counsel with that of those given to him. Never follow blindly.”

Aurelus placed the scroll before Qualtan. “Do you accept this responsibility, this noble charge?” Aurelus asked.

Qualtan looked at the words etched upon the sheets that lined the scroll with excitement. He looked up to his uncle, and his face bespoke gentle confidence.

“I am ready, uncle. I accept your recommendation, and your wisdom, with love and humility. You have been both father and mother to me, lo these many years, and I have never wanted. I will be a true knight,” Qualtan said.

Aurelus smiled, spreading his arms wide as Qualtan embraced him. “My dear, dear boy, you have at last grown too large for your nest. It is time for you to fly.” Aurelus fixed a loose lock of Qualtan’s hair. “But I have one final gift for you,” he added, beckoning his nephew to follow. Aurelus led him to a large crate that rested to one side.

“What is this?” inquired Qualtan.

Aurelus explained, “Ah! When one is selected by his King to become a knight of the realm, it is customary to fast and offer prayers of fealty to the High Lord after which the gift of armor and lance are bestowed, at least among civilized nations. However, in this case, as your sponsor, it falls upon me to confer the gifts now due.”

The wizard opened the wooden box. Qualtan gasped at the sight of what lay within. A suit of stunning armor, liquid gold in color, bedazzled his eyes. The chest piece was ornamented with etched, silvery wisps of cloud stemming from a bearded central face. Ribbed pauldrons extended to either side. The lower abdomen was comprised of keeled plates as were the leg coverings beneath their metal guards. Qualtan lifted the pieces in awe. Aurelus smiled, pleased with his response.

“The armor was made as was your sword, in dwarven forges by master metal smiths.”

“It gleams like the sun! Was it drawn from the same source as the sword?” Qualtan asked.

“No. The sword’s properties are unique. The armor’s is nearly so; it was made from the shed scales of a dragon, proof against many foes. You will arrive to King Prelance’s court dressed in armor befitting a true knight!”

“When was this made?” Qualtan asked.

“It has been in preparation this past year.”

“I had no idea the armor would be as gloried as this! My many thanks, uncle!” Qualtan exclaimed.

Aurelus clapped his hands. “We are done here. You are fully prepared.”

“When do I leave?” Qualtan asked.

“As quickly or as slowly as you wish. It is up to you now to decide. I can do so no longer. However, I should advise you one last time: it is not good to keep a King waiting,” Aurelus said, smiling at his nephew, who smiled back.

It took Qualtan a few days more to say his farewells. On the day of his departure, morning fog draped over the hilltop and gently pillowed against the walls of the once-monastery. Aurelus stood by his side, assisting him with his luggage, as Elizabetha pressed a warm package of nut-filled bread from out of her basket into one of his bags.

“You should appreciate this gift! I spent all night preparing it just for you!” she chided.

Qualtan laughed. “Appreciate it I do, almost as much as I appreciate the best friend who made it.”

Elizabetha sighed, and hugged Qualtan tightly.

“You can’t hide in Turinthia forever! You must return some day,” she insisted.

“But you must come visit me! You cannot hide in Littlebig forever,” Qualtan retorted.

“I have no interest in seeing grand towers or crowded cities. But for you, I may consider it. I will be your Lady,” she said, curtseying.

Qualtan bowed, taking her hand. “My Lady you shall be. I will carry your favor in battle.”

Elizabetha’s eyes began to tear. Qualtan took her into his arms once more.

“Promise to return?” she said.

“I promise,” Qualtan said.

Elizabetha kissed him gently on the side of his lips as Aurelus turned away, not wishing to intrude.

At length he released her. Aurelus stepped closer to her and put his arm around her shoulder.

“Do not fear, Elizabetha. Qualtan shall return to us both with many wonders and marvels to speak of!” he said.

She nodded, smiling, as she took the wizard’s hand in her own.

“Is there anything you need, Qualtan, anything at all?” Aurelus asked.

“No, uncle. I have supplies … and nut bread … enough for the journey,” he said, bringing out a soft laugh from Elizabetha.

“Then it is time.” Aurelus hugged Qualtan. “I will attempt to keep an eye on you from time to time, as best as I can,” he said, as a small bird landed on his open palm. “ After all, that is what wizards do,” he added, raising an eyebrow as the small bird took flight.

Qualtan kissed the cheek of his aged uncle. He nodded and climbed atop his horse. Raising his hand in farewell, Qualtan turned his horse toward the road.

“Watch for thieves or brigands, or evil women out to take advantage of you!” Elizabetha said.

“Mind the sword’s powers! Remember the learning you have gained!” added Aurelus.

“I will do both!” Qualtan laughed, looking back a final time.

As his image was slowly swallowed by blankets of white mist, Elizabetha and Aurelus kept vigil until he was gone.

“Thank you, milord Aurelus, for allowing me to come early to say goodbye,” Elizabetha said.

“No thanks are required, my dear. Have you had your breakfast yet?” Aurelus asked.

Elizabetha nodded, still staring towards the path Qualtan had taken.

“Well then! I will heat some honeyed milk for us, and prepare some biscuits with crisp bacon!”

“You cook?” she asked incredulously.

“Indeed I do. We wizards can perform many feats!” he said, patting her hand softly.

She laughed, somewhat sadly. “Thank you, you are very kind.” Aurelus stared at her intently.

“You were his first friend, and his best.”

“Yes. Best friends,” she added.

“Best friends,” Aurelus said, straightening out his robes. “Or perhaps more…?” he added, smiling at the girl who still stood watch.

Shocked, she looked at him, her face turning red with sudden embarrassment.

Aurelus smiled, offering his arm to her. “Mayhap one day?” he said.

Elizabeth smiled. “Mayhap,” she sighed, taking his arm as he escorted her back inside.

***

Piles of brittle leaves crunched under Qualtan’s horse as he left the comfortable home of his uncle, possibly for the last time. Many birds called out from the trees, and the young warrior wondered if they served as escort by his uncle’s grace. Qualtan’s plan was simple. He would return to Woodworm, take passage on a coastal ship and travel through protected waters to the city of Tringolm, Turinthia’s capitol. The other option was less direct; to travel by land, which would take many months in comparison. It would still be weeks before he would reach the city, but travel by ship was the most direct route, and one with which he was familiar. He had taken the selfsame voyage years ago with his uncle when he had first traveled to that noble city. Besides, he enjoyed travel by ship. Qualtan breathed in the cool morning air, looking forward to revisiting the fabulous arcade of the Parade of Heroes, and to view as an adult the image of his father once more.

A sudden chattering of childlike voices brought Qualtan from his thoughts. Above him on a large extended tree branch sat a group of small, brown-skinned folk that pointed and waved. Large brown eyes stared back at him. They had gnarled, bearded faces seemingly carved from wood itself, with twin budding knobs atop their foreheads. Their shriveled forms were adorned with small skirts and cloth vests. Butterfly-like wings graced their thin backs, and as Qualtan grew nearer they began to rise, their wings becoming invisible with their incessant beating. The small creatures began to pelt Qualtan with flowers and the occasional hard kernel or seed. He laughed, protecting his head with one arm. Stopping his horse, he lifted his arm towards them.

Two of the tiny creatures, laughing cheerfully, buzzed towards him, flying around him before settling on his arm. Qualtan knew them to be the Gruach, the mischievous faerie kin of both forest and hearth. The safety of Aurelus’ presence and the small size of Littlebig had attracted a colony that lived in the forests nearby, while others had moved in with some of the townsfolk to aid with chores for rewards of clothing and porridge.

“Spirits of the forest! I will miss you dearly!” Qualtan said as others began to hover around him. When they spoke, their voices were heard more from within the mind, like an afterthought, than from their wide lips.

“The hero travels to make his name, and rise above with glories and fame!” said one of the Gruach.

“Be wary, for what he wishes to seek may be not joyful but instead be bleak!” responded another.

Qualtan laughed aloud again. The magical Gruach usually spoke in meaningless rhymes or random babblings that never seemed to make sense.

“Now then! A proper good-bye this is surely not!” Qualtan said, with mock anger. “I have left you soups and cream in our yards for many a year and this is how I am repaid?”

Laughing and dancing, the creatures flitted about. Holding one another, they formed a line, and with practiced motion, bowed as one.

“We wish you well in all regard! We did not mean to hinder or retard!”

Qualtan bowed in response. “Farewell, little friends! Keep watch over Elizabetha if you can, but do not tell her!”

The Gruach began to fly back into the tree tops.

“Your favored friend we shall watch with glee. Her spirit is onto ours, wild and free!”

Qualtan watched them disappear back into the trees. He wondered if such creatures of fey would be found inhabiting large cities like Tringolm with its rows of gilded facades, and realized they probably wouldn’t. Such creatures stayed close to those living in harmony with the land. He would miss their presence.

It wasn’t long before Qualtan found he was once again in the Woodworm city of Salarza. It was early morning and nothing had changed since his last venture here. The streets were mostly empty, save for a few drunken men lying sprawled about on walkways and dirtied porches. Innkeepers appeared from their grimy establishments to throw trash into the thoroughfares, gaining the attention of wild dogs and filth-ridden beggars. Qualtan wrapped his cloak tightly around his face as he continued. He doubted any would associate him with his past misadventure here with the half-orc, but it would probably be safest to move on as quickly as possible. As he made his way to the Golden Tankard, he ignored the petitions of heavily decorated women and the guttural challenges from gangs of young men who prowled about in packs. Huel the innkeeper was outside sweeping his entranceway. He clapped his hands in joy at Qualtan’s appearance.

“Welcome again, noble sir! Always a pleasure to serve milord!” he said, quickly bowing.

“Hello, Huel!” Qualtan replied, as he jumped from his saddle. A servant quickly took the reins and escorted his mount into the tavern’s stables.

Huel, leaning on his broom, took in Qualtan’s armored appearance. “Ahh! What fine armor that is! Takes me back to me father. He had quite the suit! He would take it out and wear it proudly back in the day! It was passed down to me for use in the old soldiering days. I still have it. Would you care to see it?”

“Perhaps later, once I have settled in?” Qualtan replied.

“Of course, of course!” Huel replied. He whistled and two additional workers rushed out to take Qualtan’s luggage.

“I was afraid that you had run into a bit of trouble during your last stay, when you suddenly departed. It was a blessing when I received word you were coming back! Did you get the parcels I sent to you?”

“Yes, I did, and thank you for that! I was unexpectedly inconvenienced the last time I was here.”

A look of concern took over Huel’s sooted face. “I hope there was no trouble! If any of the vagabonds lodging here were up to mischief…”

“No. It had nothing to do with your fine establishment or your other renters. The matter was personal, which I’m sure you can understand in my line of work,” Qualtan said, returning to the assumptions Huel had about his business.

“Yes, yes! Lucky for you, you left when you did! There was quite the derring-do last time you were in these parts. Thieves or bandits I heard tell of, running about like mad squirrels, bouncing up walls and smashing through rooftops, if you can believe it! Probably assassin guilds up to no good, and no lie to that! Makes a man wonder how much more he can take working in these parts, what with trying to earn a decent livin’!”

Huel paused to gulp down water from a large mug, wiping his sweating brow. “Er, I made sure everything was sent by me best men to Littlebig … I believe that was the place, yes? See? Mind like a steel trap!” Huel said, pointing to his forehead.

Qualtan laughed and withdrew two small bags of gold coins and put them atop a table. “For your services beyond measure.” Huel bowed deeply, with some difficulty. “Thank you, milord! Anything to serve you and your company!” he said. “How long will you be with us this time?”

“Not long. I will be needing passage to Turinthia. Other customers to see, you know.”

“Ah. That I do, that I do!” Huel said, nudging Qualtan in the ribs. “But you have come at a good time, for the Mid-Year Fest is upon us! You should stay a bit for that! Business should be brisk. Brisk, indeed! Well, I will take your time no more. Is there anything you wish? Anything?”

“Nothing but your fine hospitality, innkeeper Huel. I will retire to my room.”

“Of course!” Huel said. As Qualtan went in, one of Huel’s assistants approached his master’s side and opened one of the small bags, gasping at the coins that rolled forth.

“Hey now, enough of that! That’s not for you!” Huel said, quickly swatting the worker away with a rag. Once he had fled, Huel quickly slid the monies into his apron, giggling with glee.

Upon entering his room, Qualtan half expected to be greeted by Glaive the half-orc once more, but he was not. Qualtan stood at his balcony and observed the town, feeling slightly disappointed. The rest of the morning was spent seeking a coastal ship to ferry him to Tringolm. The task proved more difficult than he had expected, for the few ships that were currently docked did not have Turinthia as a destination. The dock master at the last informed him of a ship that would be arriving within a day that would be passing by Tringolm on its return voyage. It would doubtless stay anchored for a few days more to replenish its supplies and take in the local festival before disembarking. Qualtan was not happy with the prospect of lingering further in Salarza, but was resigned to the fact he had no choice. The continual stares and dark scrutiny from strangers were beginning to wear on him. Frustrated with the delay, Qualtan decided to mill about some of the open marketplaces to allay his temper. Huge statues and puppets of paper-mache’ and wood were being wheeled out and prepared for the upcoming festival. The Mid-Year Festival was celebrated with parades of costumes and images of worshipped gods of sea, trade, and luck. It was the time when a last push of ships was made into the Ports before their cycled voyages would have them leaving Woodworm and not returning for many months. Tradesmen, merchants, and common folk traveled to the Ports to barter and purchase for a final repast of rare flowers, cloths, wines, linens, foodstuffs, and perfumes. It was the busiest season of the Ports and every effort was made to capitalize on it. With so much coinage and bartering to be had, traveling carnivals, poets, bards, and actors peddled their crafts while the increased opportunity allowed the thief guilds to peddle theirs.

With such a press of crowds it wasn’t long before yet another fight broke out. A group of men became engaged in swordplay with one another. Observers formed tight circles to watch. As Qualtan took in the scene, one man was brought down, and the fight began to encapsulate others. A swath of Woodworm soldiers eventually took charge, whipping the onlookers back and surrounding the combatants. A prison wagon was brought in, and as one of the fighters, bereft of sword, attempted to fight his way free, he was cruelly struck down by the laughing soldiers. The rest were taken away as the crowd hurled stones at them. The bodies of the two men that had been killed in the melee were immediately engulfed by people looking to pilfer their belongings. Two soldiers that were left to keep order quickly joined in. Qualtan could take little more of the sights and sounds of the Woodworm Ports. Disgusted, he pushed himself through the crowds to return to the Golden Tankard.

Eventually, the ship Qualtan was expecting landed, and he quickly made arrangements for travel to Tringolm. The ship’s captain demanded payment in advance, and stated in no uncertain terms that they would leave in four days and that Qualtan should return to the dock promptly for departure if he did not wish to be left behind. Qualtan agreed to his terms, and left to prepare. As the moon rose, he wove through jugglers and jesters, fire-breathers and storytellers, pausing briefly by a platform full of so-called wizards selling elixirs and spells for a fee. What Aurelus would have said to that! Qualtan thought. A shaggy man shambled by and took hold of Qualtan’s arm, hoping to entice him towards a small doorway where his customers sat idly by, their senses intoxicated and their minds befuddled by deadly herbs and numbing smoke. Qualtan shook free and continued on his way. He went to the Tankard’s stables and visited with his horse. Whistling softly, he brushed his mount’s mane, continuing over its shoulders. He placed some vegetables on a platter and began feeding them to his horse until a sudden movement in a dark corner caught his eye. He whirled about, expecting some thief or perhaps one of the maugs that harassed the Ports at night. Instead he was greeted with a hooded figure that withdrew from its chosen hiding place.

“It’s about time,” Glaive said, pulling back his hood.

“You!” Qualtan said. “I hadn’t seen nor heard anything from you since my return these past few days. I thought you imprisoned or dead!”

“Close enough on both. I took a chance waiting on you.”

Qualtan resumed brushing his horse.

“I assumed then, since you are still alive, you achieved your revenge?”

Glaive took a carrot from the plate Qualtan had brought for his horse, sitting himself atop a wooden gate.

“Things didn’t go exactly as I planned,” Glaive said, chewing loudly.

“They didn’t? Did you fail to kill your Lord Thule, then?”

“Thule almost killed me! Seems I underestimated the swine. He had the forethought to switch some things around. I was very nearly trampled before even getting near to him. I fled on foot, bloodied, but in one piece, more or less. At least I got some loot out of it. Hollow victory that,” Glaive said, spitting out a piece of carrot.

“I see,” Qualtan said.

Glaive hopped down from his perch, reaching for another vegetable to eat.

“I’ve had to keep under cover, which is why I waited to see you. I won’t tell you the dodging and hiding I’ve had to do!” He reached for an additional carrot as he finished off a second, but Qualtan whisked it away from his hand in order to feed his horse.

“So what is your next move? To try again?”

“Hah! Not likely. There is no surprise now. He knows I’m back and that makes matters doubly difficult for me. I’ve failed in my chance. If there was a price on my head before, it’s surely grown by now.”

“So what, then?”

Glaive seemed annoyed at the question, if somewhat embarrassed. He appeared to be building up to something, but was unsure how to reach it and keep his dignity intact. He sighed as if finally deciding upon a course of action.

“What then? What do you think?! I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t considered your offer!”

“Ah. To join me as a, how did you put it, a page of a newly crowned knight?”

“All right, look…”

“Or better yet, to use the opportunity to rob the King’s coffers blind?”

Glaive crossed his arms in thought.

“That MAY still be an option.”

They stared at one another for a moment. Then both began to laugh at last.

Qualtan extended his hand to the half-orc. “Friends?” Glaive smiled and took his hand. “Friends,” he added.

“When do we leave?” Glaive asked.

“In four days. I have already booked passage, although a few more gold coins should secure a spot for even a half-orc to accompany me.”

“Hah! You are beginning to learn, priest!” Glaive jested.

“Join me for something to eat inside, then?”

Glaive smiled, shaking his head. “I’d best wait until we leave to be sure. I’ll return to meet you here.”

“As you wish.”

As he left the stable, Qualtan watched the orcne slink back into the shadows, limping from his recent travails as he went. Thoughts of Aurelus came to mind and for a moment he worried how his uncle would react to such a friendship. Yet, he thought, he was no longer a child. He had begun to trust his instincts, and though wary, felt no threat from the half-orc. After all, hadn’t his uncle said that a true man of honor listens to his own counsel with that of those given to him?

The days remaining before their trip passed quickly. Glaive had reappeared on the last day, and despite his objections, Qualtan pulled him into Huel’s tavern for a hot meal, although the half-orc made sure to keep his hood pressed over his face for fear of recognition. Huel was told he was a “contact of business” and did not object to his presence, although he did wonder at the half-hidden face. The place was full of people as the Mid-Year Festival reached its zenith. Musicians played loudly, and the sounds of laughter from the crowds outside echoed within.

“This festival reminds me of the harvest celebrations we had back in Littlebig. We, too, had the parading of statues, representing local spirits, for luck and protection, with dancing and blessing rituals for the fields. Much like the End of Summer Rite, when grotesque statues and masks were placed by every home to scare away the evil spirits that were freed on that night. We would also prepare meals to welcome back the souls of the dead. The fields were thanked as they prepared to sleep through the following season, the Winter Rite, when my time of birth took place.”

“Hah. The ceremonies offered here have but one purpose only: the making of money and the fleecing of lambs. The coins tossed to the old statues that are dusted off each year and carted out are more in tribute to the merchant lords than to anything else. The gods and spirits they represent wouldn’t care if a captain and crew that offered prayers to their glory sank into the depths along with their fully laden ships!” Glaive said. “It’s the same everywhere else.”

“You are truly a sorry man! I can believe some of what you say, but not all, even in this place. Have you no tradition that holds your respect?” Qualtan asked.

“I respect a keen eye to fill my belly and a quick hand to lighten the rich burdens of some fat fool who grows rich from the toils of his servants. These traditions work well with me!”

“Spoken like a true thief,” Qualtan said ruefully.

“That’s right, and your preaching has yet to move me into any other direction.”

“Give it time, you’ll see.”

“Hah!” Glaive said, clinking his cup.

A sudden disturbance caught their attention. “Away with you beggars!” yelled a man. Three men in rather plain, ragged dress had approached a nearby table and had been rudely shoved away by the table’s drunk and roaring occupants, five mercenaries of some sort, judging by their semi-armored forms.

Glaive continued their conversation. “You’ll find every spirit, god, or devil worshipped here. Your High Lord is known by other names to many, even to the elven and dwarven folk. We thieves have our own gods, of speed and guile that the guilds pay tribute to.”

“What of orcs? Do they have gods?”

“Yes, even we orcs have gods—the great orcne father, Urgsh, with his golden tusks, the warrior god, Balsk, and the female hearth goddess, Lo-ath. Truly, they are all the same. No special answer or boon was ever given to me, no matter who I prayed to!”

“Perhaps demanding favors from your gods is not the best way to solicit a response.”

“Bah! Then what good are they? If they can’t help me, then it’s best they keep to their business and I will gladly keep to mine!”

They were again interrupted by the selfsame trio from moments before, who again drew near to a busy table and again were put off.

Realizing there would be little agreement in their current topic, Qualtan decided to pursue a different course. “What of your Lord Thule? Will he persist after you if he finds you out in Turinthia?”

Between gulps of stewed meat, Glaive replied, “No. He may be powerful here, but he is just a petty criminal boss when everything is said and done. His reach and that of his two captains would not extend to Turinthia. He would not dare to cause any trouble there that would bring the Alliance’s response here! His influence extends throughout the Ports and the surrounding lands but no further.”

“You mention his captains?”

“Aye. M’Shua, his bodyguard and commander of his men. A great warrior from the Third Continent Thule picked up during his travels. The other is Caurn, his wizard, who advises him in his planning and plotting. He is powerful, though not as powerful as your own uncle, I would wager. Still, they form a dangerous lot, especially if you add the creature Caurn enslaved to serve Thule. That one…”

Their conversation was halted by the three men they had observed going from table to table, who now reached theirs. Qualtan and Glaive sized up the trio standing before them. Their faces were tired and dirty, their eyes cast downwards. Their dress was that of farmers, with soiled, brown smocks and heavy boots. In their hands they held wide brimmed hats used to protect the head and eyes from longs hours toiling in the sun. The leader of the three seemed very uncomfortable, and he wrung his hands as he began to speak.

“I apologize on behalf of myself and my companions for this intrusion. We do not wish to offend,” he said, as the three bowed in turn. “May we have permission to speak?”

“Please do. Join our table,” Qualtan offered. Relieved, the men took chairs and sat.

“Seems like you three are causing a ruckus. If you are looking for donations…” Glaive said.

“Beg pardon, good sir, we are not looking for money. My name is Rudolpho. My companions are Frederick and Mikas. We are humble farmers from the village of Cuthbert. You have probably not heard of it…”

“Indeed I have! That town resides in the Burnt Hills past the Darklight Forest! Nothing but a giant dustbowl, with vast, open plains surrounding it. You’ve come through Flotsams End,” Glaive said.

“You are correct, kind sir. We paid fare to come to Woodworm to seek assistance.”

“Uh oh,” Glaive retorted.

Qualtan waved Glaive to be silent for a moment. “Please continue. What is this assistance you seek?”

“Thank you. As your comrade states, our village is indeed well isolated, and secluded. Little of value is to be found in the Hills and life there is hard, but we work to rekindle the spark of life to a harsh land. It is our home, and we are proud of it.”

“Hah. Proud of living in a sandbox!” Glaive jested.

“Glaive! Please,” Qualtan said, rebuking his friend.

“We understand your friend’s comments, and do not take offense. Regrettably, we must agree. Our town was founded by Cuthbert, a noble cleric who had fled the vileness of these lands called the Woodworm Ports, and took his followers to establish a settlement in the Hills. It was a small colony of farmers who wished only to live in peace with no knowledge of arms or conflict. When they first arrived it was a lush and forested land, part of what is now called the Gladed Forest, cousin to the Darklight Forest, but during the Great War most of it was laid to waste. A great battle was waged there by elven forces against Those That Stand in Shadow. The elves lost and were brutally killed. The Evil Ones burned down the trees, and poisoned the lands. Cuthbert led the townsfolk to hide in the hilltops until the evil had passed. During that sad period he garnered supplies and protected our people. In time, when it was safe, we returned to our village, now burned to the ground, and rebuilt it. We did our best to bury the dead from that battle, as Cuthbert said it was our duty to grant their bodies surcease from bloodshed, but there were hundreds of them and we could not tend to them all. The surviving elves took it upon themselves to lay to rest as many as they could, before leaving what had once been their home to return nevermore. The fields were horrid with the stink of decaying corpses and clouded with flocks of ravenous birds and hungry beasts. Although the Burnt Hills are now desolate, with little that can grow there, our village, though humble by any means, yet thrives.”

“Are you hungry?” Qualtan asked.

“Thank you, we are well.”

“So why have you come here? What aid do you seek?”

The three men looked at one another anxiously. “You have been gracious indeed to grant us time to share our tale…” The leader paused.

“Out with it, man! What do you want?” Glaive asked impatiently.

The leader sighed. He looked up with a pained expression. “We are besieged! The memory of that conflict has come back to haunt us! The dead have recently risen from their graves as loathsome ghuls and at night swoop down to prey upon us! The horror that now descends is only worsened by their ever increasing numbers. Cuthbert has long since passed on, and we know not why they bear malice against us, save perhaps in retribution for having left so many unattended to. Our situation has grown desperate!”

“But that conflict was years ago, was it not?” Glaive asked.

“Yes, yes, over thirty winters hence,” Rudolpho replied.

“Then why the devil would they return now to cause so much evil upon you?”

“We do not know! Our task was to hire from the many adventurers and hirelings that come to Salarza. Others from our village have been sent throughout the Ports to seek the same. We are poor folk, and the meager offerings we can give do not interest those we have encountered. We have spent nearly all we have in travel here and can go no further. Together with our brothers and sisters, we hope to bring about a troop of warriors to rid our home of this blight! Please sirs, we beg of you…” His tone was pleading, hopeful. “Help us. Though we can give but little, we give all that we have.” Rudolpho motioned to his companions to remove the satchels strapped to their waists. Each man withdrew three copper pieces and laid them upon the table.

Glaive picked at the coins critically. “Nine pieces of copper to face the undead? You couldn’t buy a good sword with these. You need wizards or priests to fight ghuls! There should be many here to petition!”

“We have tried, but those in the market waved us off with fear in their faces. The priests we have begged are false servants of the High Lord! They say we offer little in sacrifice to their houses of worship for them to assist us! We can see why Cuthbert left this den of filth and lies!” Rudolpho said angrily.

“Your task is difficult indeed! Few will stand against the legions of the dead! You should flee your homes and build elsewhere! Why bother to stay?” Glaive inquired.

“It is our home. We have no resources or gold to just leave our village! The way is fraught with peril from all around. We are not soldiers or men-at-arms. We could not survive a journey with our children, women, and elder-folk into the surrounding forests and mountains to seek out free lands!”

“Hmm, yes, I see your point,” said Glaive. “You would make quite the prize to the many gangs of highwaymen lurking on the roads, much less the bands of orcne, docma, maugs, and other creatures that live in the wild. Well, I wish you well on your quest; you will find little of it elsewhere.”

Qualtan, who had listened intently to the farmers’ plight, at last spoke. “We would be honored if you would accept our swords … for free.”

“What?!” Glaive cried.

The three men looked dumbstruck as Qualtan pushed back their coins. Their hands trembled as they reached out for his in gratitude.

“Oh, noble warrior, we are forever in your debt! You have brought happiness to our ailing hearts!” The three men rose. “We must leave by tomorrow! Let us pray our kin have been as equally successful! May the soul of Cuthbert bless you! Bless you both!”

“Meet us here then in the morning,” Qualtan said.

“Bless you!” they said, bowing deeply multiple times before leaving with renewed vigor.

Glaive glared at his companion. “What are you, mad? What about Tringolm? What of your knighthood? This will add weeks if not months delay to our sojourn there, if we are still alive to return! Didn’t you hear the man? Ghuls! Undead with a never ending taste for flesh, fresh or rotten! As quick as wolves, with teeth just as sharp! This is madness!”

Qualtan looked at Glaive thoughtfully. “What sort of knight would I be if I did not offer myself to their request? They have nowhere else to go! I cannot ignore them.”

“Offered US to their request, mind you! You didn’t even ask me what I thought of this!” Glaive said.

“They are a small village, poor, and with great need. Smaller by far, I’m sure, than Littlebig. They need our help. This is why I have chosen the path I lead!” Qualtan implored.

Glaive shook his head vigorously. “No, no, not our help, YOUR help! I’ll not risk my head against the undead! Few of them there are that living kind ever encounter. They haunt untended burial mounds or evil graveyards! They linger at places of violent deaths or at the crossroads of hung criminals! No one dares seek them out, except foolhardy wizards or addle-brained priests! This work is not for us, and certainly not for me!”

Qualtan frowned, his blue eyes squinting in the smoky haze of the inn. “Be that as it may, I will help them.”

“You are mad, truly mad!” Glaive countered.

Qualtan took a deep breath and rose from his seat. “You are right in that I should not have answered for you. For that, I am sorry. I will not, however, apologize for my own decision. I will go to Cuthbert. You do not need to join me.”

“Hell’s bells, you better believe I will not join you! I am safer here dealing with Thule! I’m a thief after all, not a warrior! I will not risk my life fighting the undead for some grimy villagers who can’t afford more than a few pieces of copper! My job is picking locks and stealing from pockets! You are the fighter, not me! I will check on the Tankard from time to time and see if you return alive, but that is all you will get from me!” Glaive said, rising also.

Qualtan stared at Glaive with an uncompromising glare. “Fine. Good luck to you then, friend Glaive.” Qualtan turned to leave.

“Fine it is! Good luck to you, friend Qualtan! You will need it and a lot more of it besides if you hope to return!” Glaive replied, storming out from the inn.