The merchant lord sat amid piles of silken pillows. Golden incense burners sizzled, sending sweet spices into the air from metallic pots. Cabinets of fine oak and smooth glass displayed curiosities from many a country and far away land. Fine carpets of red and yellow covered the ceramic-tiled floors. Gilded masks of war and ceremony looked down from ornate ledges. A great stuffed beast, its black fur shimmering, its fanged maw spread wide, crouched on a raised platform, keeping watch.

Visandus himself was garbed in long brown pantaloons that bulged around his black leather boots. His white shirt was plain, but the vest that he wore atop it was beaded with colored gemstones. His skin was tanned bronze from the many years of plying ships through the seas, yet his smile was bright and his eyes twinkled. Great loops of gold hung from each earring, and his long hair was loose about his broad shoulders. A thin square of beard surrounded his thin lips, matching his narrow face and thin nose. A great golden goblet was balanced between his ringed fingers, and he sipped its hot contents slowly, listening to the knights’ plea.

The emissaries of Turinthia included all the knights who had taken part in the recent adventure, along with Glaive and General Mountebank. The merchant lord sat quietly for a time, hearing their tale. At last he placed his goblet down, and crossing his hands, looked down at the maps and objects that had been placed before him.

“Quite the tale. Quite the tale indeed,” Visandus said as he pored over the documents.

“This place that is marked is not unknown to me. It is one of many islets that ring their nation, little more than the tips of hilltops rising from the sea. There has never been any use for them, save as lookout posts. It is one of the isles furthest away from their central domain. It would make sense to make use of it for such a purpose, as no merchant lanes go through it. You have the ship?”

“Yes, it is moored in the naval harbor,” Mountebank said.

Visandus laughed. “Mezzolanke knights involved in such work. No longer am I surprised at the level they will stoop!” He rolled the special spear the knight had carried between his hands, releasing the blades from each side. “Yes, you are correct. This belonged to a true senior knight of their realm. They take pride in the use of such weaponry. No knight would let such an impressively made tool leave his side. He would rather die than relinquish it. You have read it well, Bartholomew.” Visandus rose from his seat.

“You have given me a pretty puzzle indeed, my friends. In all the years I lived there, none in my capacity ever heard talk of slavery, and believe me; I have many friends in low places.” He winked. “I have heard tales about such things from many a land, of course, but you hear of such fables when you travel. You have cracked quite the shell!”

“That is why we have come to you. You have aided us in the past with your knowledge of the enemy. We need you again to provide service to your adopted country,” Mountebank pleaded.

“Rather quick and to the point! I have indeed provided your King with much information in the past, anything that my contacts could offer me, at great risk to themselves. It is a trying and difficult thing to do.”

“We understand. The King asks for merely one of your captains, someone familiar with the waterways and checkpoints of Mezzolanke. As our own ships are not allowed in, to find a merchant captain who has the proper knowledge and skill would take time, which we cannot afford. We shall supply a naval crew, of course. And your captain would be protected by the knights of the Order.”

“Hmm,” Visandus mumbled. He strode to where the giant stuffed creature stood, and stroked its fur. “A captain needs his own handpicked crew to ensure loyalty without hesitation. Soldiery from your navy would not be preferred.”

“Then, you could supply the crew,” Mountebank said.

“And what would the price for my services fetch me this time?”

“Price?!” Richard sputtered. The other knights turned to look at him.

“Enough, Sir Knight,” Mountebank warned.

“We look to defeat this terror that has stolen men, women, and children in the night, and this Mezzolankean demands a price?”

“Former Mezzolankean. I am a Turinthian now,” Visandus corrected.

“It is payment to our nation for allowing his entrance with all of his ill-gotten gold in the first place that he should be paying for!” Richard said.

“Richard!” Mountebank snapped.

Visandus stared at Richard. “My men are sailors, not soldiers. I could not risk the lives of one of my captains or his crew without reward for their efforts, or compensation to their families should they not return.”

“Then you pay them! You seem rich enough!” Richard blurted out.

“Be silent at once or be removed from this mission!” Mountebank yelled, pointing a finger at Richard who crossed his arms in frustration.

Relaxing his voice, the general returned his focus once more to Visandus. “Submit your price and you shall be paid—when the mission has been completed!”

“Double our usual agreement,” Visandus said smoothly.

The general stared at him for a moment. He did not like Visandus, nor did he like his mercenary attitude, having seen it displayed in the past. Although he agreed with Richard in principle, they could not force the merchant to assist them, nor expect him to volunteer freely. He was a merchant lord, a traitor to his own people, caring only for the coin that was placed in his hand, with loyalty to no one but himself, Mountebank thought darkly.

“Done!” Mountebank responded.

The sea merchant bowed. “Well done! My doors are always open to my adopted nation.”

“We set sail in three days,” Mountebank said grimly as they turned to leave.

Glaive smiled to Qualtan on their way out. “Now that is my kind of merchant!” he said.

“The fact that I’m not surprised you said that is one of the sadder things of this affair,” Qualtan responded.

Glaive merely laughed, patting his friend on the back.

The ship was fitted and prepared. It was of medium size, of a generic type used for long distance trade. It could either be sailed or rowed, depending upon need. Large, square sails unfurled on dual masts. It had an enlarged forecastle, with a high upper deck. Its hold was deep, and the many chains and cages found therein told a grim tale of the cargo that was supplied. Visandus’ crew was used to daring missions in and about the island strongholds of Mezzolanke. Many in the merchant lord’s employ had come with him from that nation to Turinthia, and were adept at avoiding warships.

Along with them came the soldiers of Tringolm, dragging their weapons into the belly of the ship, fitted in armor that did not bear the signature of Turinthia.

All the original adventurers were to be part of the journey, save for Michael. Someone had to go back to the free lands between Turinthia and Medlissia, to coordinate and manage the replacements of the Turinthian garrison, and to ensure no final vestiges of the slavers had been left uncovered. This person would have to work in tandem with the Medlissian knights in securing the borders of that place. As other camps were exposed, additional knights could possibly be introduced, needing help with regard to details and information. This necessitated the person chosen would need to be one of the knights who had first uncovered the slaver post. Michael argued passionately against his selection, feeling abandoned from the main mission, but General Mountebank would have none of it. Richard reluctantly agreed, seeing the sense behind it. After all, Michael was well received by the inhabitants of the free lands, and would be welcomed as their protector after all that had transpired, Richard thought. He would rejoin him eventually.

At the last, Michael relented, as he had no choice. Resigned to his fate, he said his goodbyes to the other knights, wishing them well as they stood by the naval docks, awaiting their ship’s captain. Climbing atop his horse, he looked back at them dejectedly, and trotted off towards a smaller boat that awaited him.

“He’s a fine knight, and I feel his sorrow. Although a junior, he has proven himself well. I will miss him,” Richard said, smiling and waving at Michael’s back. His expression soon reverted to one of frustration and impatience. “Where is this accursed captain that is to lead us? We have already lost time!”

“Patience, Richard, we have only just begun! Supplies are still being delivered. He will be here,” Bartholomew said.

“Bah! Accursed Mezzolankeans! They are as greedy as they are lazy!” Richard said, marching onto the ship.

“Is he ever in a good mood?” Glaive asked, sitting on a large crate, picking at his short fangs.

“Short tempered he is, but a good, sturdy knight,” Bartholomew responded.

“Still, he has a point. Where is this captain? The rest of the crew is here and they are nearly done hauling the supplies!” Jesepha said.

At once a round of cheers came from the seamen on the ship, waving their caps. The captain appeared with a retinue of personal guards. He waved back at his men, clapping with joy.

“He comes, and Richard will be overjoyed,” Qualtan said with sarcasm as the captain came near.

Visandus strolled over to the knights. He took Jesepha’s hand in his to kiss, but she pulled it away. Smiling, he ignored her refusal, bowing low.

“I am honored to lead you on your way,” he said.

“You? Why do you come?” Euric said, annoyed at his gesture towards Jesepha.

“On a journey of this importance, how could I not? My men chose freely to take part. As their lord and captain, I could not let them sacrifice alone.” Visandus snapped his fingers, and his guards quickly took his belongings into the waiting ship.

“Of course, this means I may ask for triple the pay,” Visandus quipped, jumping nimbly onto the boarding planks. Laughing, he quickly joined the sailors aboard who surrounded him in joy.

“Hah! Perhaps he is not as much a mercenary as you thought,” Qualtan said to Glaive, patting his back as he followed the merchant lord onto the waiting craft. Glaive snorted in response.

“By Urgsh’s fiery bunions, can you explain to me again why I endeavor to join you in these suicide missions?” Glaive complained, walking up behind Qualtan.

“We are family, are we not?” Qualtan said with a smirk.

“I take that offer back,” Glaive responded, laughing.

“It’s interesting, those two, eh, Jesepha?” Euric mused as he observed Qualtan and the half-orcne. “You would think them truly brothers, the way they act! A noble friendship, just like ours, wouldn’t you say?”

Euric waited for her usual acerbic response. Instead she merely placed her hands on her hips, smiling his way with amusement, before boarding.

Euric, twirling the ends of his blonde moustache, looked over to Bartholomew. “At least she didn’t strike me this time! There’s still a chance there!” he said excitedly, whistling to himself as he followed her.

Bartholomew merely laughed with bemusement at the pair. Three sailors passed him by, en route to boarding, struggling with a large crate. The knight assisted them, as the last of the crew quickly finalized their preparations. Two teams were still on shore, fetching the last of the stacked supplies that sat in an idle wagon. As they did, a robed man appeared nearby. He quickly made his way toward them. When the wagon was manned by only one, he called out. The sailor paused, and upon seeing the man, quickly jumped off the cart to meet him. He removed his cap, bowing quickly.

“Yes, my lord! What do you need?” he asked nervously.

“A moment, please.” The robed man gestured, and the sailor followed him towards a darkened corner, lost in the bustle of the crowds.

“With permission, your Grace, we are to cast off soon,” the sailor said, looking back to the ship.

“I wish to thank you personally for the dangerous journey you take. The King himself sent me to wish all of you well.” The sailor blushed at the compliment. “You will need to take me to the others before you leave. It will only be a moment,” the robed man added.

“Of course, milord! Come with me, your Grace.” The sailor turned to go back.

“One last thing, please,” the robed man said, pulling free a short blade from the layers of his cloak.

“Yes, milord?”

“You are not joining them,” the robed man said.

The sailor, confused, stopped to face him. The blade went through his chest. The robed man covered the sailor’s gaping mouth quickly, and dragged him further back into the secluded alley.

With eyes that began to glow a wickedly dark yellow, the robed man placed his hands on either side of the now dead sailor’s face. His appearance began to change, matching that of his victim’s, while the sailor’s features began to smooth and shrink inwards. As the robed man’s body became a duplicate of the sailor’s, shifting in size and shape, he quickly removed the man’s clothing, leaving behind a faceless, featureless, shriveled body with no eyes, lips, mouth, or hair.

“Boreson! We are boarding now!” one of the sailors yelled back as he cleared the final parcel off the wagon.

Boreson, who was not truly Boreson, appeared from the alley, smiling sheepishly as he joined the others.

“No time for lollygagging about! Put your back to it so we can finish the task!” another sailor said.

Nodding, the spy helped carry on the last of the supplies.

The ship set sail at last. Qualtan was excited to travel into the open sea. From the side of the stolen slaver ship, he eagerly observed the other craft that came and went, thinking back to the crowded docks of the Woodworm Ports. Every ship that passed them was different, from the colors of their banners to the symbols painted on their sides. Sea-themed carvings decorated just beneath their bowsprits, and Qualtan lost count of the varying number of masts and sails on each. Clouds of birds followed in their wake, searching for fish. The further they moved away from Tringolm, the larger the city seemed, as it flattened out across the horizon. The sun reflected back bursts of light from the many bronze domes that dotted the city. It seemed as if immense jewels were strung from high above, dazzling all who viewed them with their beauty. It was a very peaceful, serene scene, unlike the one to which they were traveling. He could barely be pulled away from where he stood. When evening came, he returned to the same viewing spot, noticing that his place was now occupied by another.

Bartholomew, seemingly of the same mind as his, stood in lonely vigil, observing the frothy waves that spread out from beneath the ship. He smiled when he saw Qualtan.

“So how fares our newest knight?” he asked.

Qualtan laughed. “I am well. And you?”

“I am happy for our journey. Our own special Order of knights has done quite well with its first assignment, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, we have proven ourselves as a team. Glaive has also proven himself to the others.”

“You are fond of him.”

“Yes, I am. He’s had a rough time of it, and could have been rougher for it, but despite all chance, he has kept himself above expectations for the most part; probably surprised himself more than anyone.”

“You are a good man, Qualtan, and a good knight. You do not squander the powers given to you. You see value in places others would not tarry with. There is a wonder for the world about you. Trust me in this; you shall not be of the Order for long.”

Qualtan was unsure what Bartholomew meant. “I don’t understand. You say I will tire of it?”

The older knight laughed. “Unlike the Ulthags and the Rutts and even the Richards of this group, you will not tire of it. Indeed, you will grow beyond it. The good you wish to do will find a higher calling, of that be sure.”

“You are quite the mystery,” Qualtan said.

“Hah! I trust not!” Bartholomew said.

“Well, you have yet to tell me your tale. You have shared with me Jesepha’s and Euric’s, but not your own.” Qualtan was eager to know more about the sage-like knight, and felt at last he had an opportunity to do so.

“Ah, I see! So what mysteries do I need to unravel? Tell me what you know!” Bartholomew turned around, crossing his arms in mock concern.

“For one, you carry an enchanted shield as powerful as my sword. You are older than you look, far older than you let on. You seem ever looking beyond the present, looking far away, past the horizon. You seem to be waiting for something, something that takes great patience to achieve. That is my tale of Sir Bartholomew, the inexplicable!”

Qualtan stared at his friend, hoping to see a crack form in that unflappable demeanor. Bartholomew smiled warmly, pleased with the tale.

“See? You have the wizard sight of your uncle.” The knight sighed, sitting down upon the smoothly shaved deck that bobbed with the tilting of the tide. “You have solved the riddle then! I do look towards the future.” Bartholomew’s face grew sad, as if he was burdened with a great melancholy. “I am older, ’tis true, older than Lord Mountebank. Surely older than the King and your uncle. For many years I have been as you see me. Well over one hundred winters have I seen come and pass. My father was the master of a small hamlet that sat many leagues from the cities of the Alliance, when the mighty nations were small, and there was no protection against the night. I was the chosen hero of our lands. We stood against all invaders from human to orcne, from soldier to wild beast. Eventually, others came to live in our village, and the beginnings of a tiny kingdom began. My father and mother soon passed, and there were others better gifted to lead than I. The man chosen to lead us was true of heart, for I had known him well. He supervised the building of a mighty castle and defensive walls to secure our lands. The people were happy, and I saw no need to linger, for my task was now done. I was young then, and I found great relief in this. I wished to explore and journey, so I did. For years I traveled to many lands both fair and foul. One day, I traveled through a great forest, old and grey. I stopped to rest by a pond, and I lay beneath a large tree, feeling safe. I fell asleep, and was awakened by the tinkling of bells and the sound of laughter. There were elves! Not the mighty high elves that rule over Hermstingle, but the elves of wood and valley, wild and free. Some danced and played, taking delight in the forest, while others on horses of the softest white quietly kept watch. Their voices brought such delight to my heart I walked towards them. Those on horseback took notice, and immediately took aim with great bows and silvery arrows. But one of the females allowed me to enter their circle without harm. We spoke and we danced. I cannot say how long we lingered. Her eyes were of the darkest green, her hair a light brown like the gentlest of oaks. I was invited by her to their village, deep within the forest, and I accepted.”

Bartholomew sighed, again seeming to look through Qualtan to some distant place.

“We fell in love. Her name sounded like the morning dew that pearled upon moistened branches—in our tongue, her name was Aeida. All my desire to adventure was snuffed out. I stayed with her folk for many years and was accepted by them. I hunted elk and deer with them, creatures of the same color of white as their horses, and defended their sacred forest with them. Time seemed to slow there, for I seemed to age not at all amidst their Kind. They were attuned to the tree and leaf, stone and rock in ways I could not understand. They communicated with them, and the spirits that resided inside of each. I was blissful, and content, but alas, such eternal happiness is not meant for us in this world. An illness attacked the forest, and the elves became sick. As the trees withered, the elves did as well. I was lost in my ignorance. I left with the staunchest of their Kind to find a cure from druids in lands far away. When we returned, it was too late. Many had passed on, and though we saved their village, I could not save her. I kept to her side as she died, grieving at my loss. Yet, despite what was happening to her, she was happy. She was expectant of where she was to travel next, although I was not. I hugged her tightly, demanding mercy from the High Lord and to whatever gods the elves worshipped to leave her with me, to no avail. At the last, she looked into my eyes with a face of such calm it frightened me. She said to weep not, for she would still be. She said in time I would join her and that all I needed to do was to continue my own path, and wait. She would watch over me from time to time, she promised, and swore I would feel her presence when she did. Sometimes…” Bartholomew paused, his eyes welling with tears.

“Sometimes, I can smell her hair, her skin, and I know she is close. There is a thin wall that separates us from those that have passed. I can see her in my dreams at times, and I wear this to always remind me of her.” Bartholomew removed a locket, pressing it into Qualtan’s hands. He opened it, and saw a finely drawn image of the elf maid Bartholomew had loved.

“I will always honor her and stay true to her. What tasks we are meant to complete in our current life cycle and those that follow, I do not know, but I do know wherever she is, whatever she is tasked with, she is still given permission to find me.”

“A beautiful woman,” Qualtan said, admiring the shining face that smiled back at him. He gave the locket back to Bartholomew, who nodded at his response.

“That, my friend, is what I wait for. That is why I always look away. My time with the elves changed me. I age very slowly now, as they do. I left them, for without her I could not stay. In my wanderings I eventually found my way to Turinthia. I offered my sword. I was a knight, in a sense, as so given the title by my father. I was tested in many battles before given my due.”

“This was given by King Prelance?” Qualtan asked.

Bartholomew smiled a sly smile. “Two Kings before him.”

“I see,” Qualtan said quietly.

“So, I sit and I wait. I do what I must, for the passing of one does not take away the duties of the other. I wait for when I will be joined with her again. The life that will complete me is beyond the veil, amongst the stars.”

“You wait for your death,” Qualtan said flatly.

Bartholomew shook his head. “Not my death, but my life.”

A moment of silence overtook them. Qualtan broke it with a final question.

“Your shield?”

“Ah, yes. The elves gave this to me, a defense forged by ancestors long gone, with magicks that still were strong. It can absorb magic attack and return it in kind. No bolt of magic can penetrate it, and no weapon of man can cleave it. Your sword could, perhaps, as others in the past of note have, but it heals itself with time.”

Slapping his thighs, Bartholomew rose. His face beamed, as if speaking of his beloved Aeida had refreshed him.

“So now you know my tale! I have lost my mystery!” he jested.

Qualtan put his hand on Bartholomew’s shoulder. The older knight smiled, appreciating the gesture. They spoke for a time, sharing stories of their previous adventures, until the hour grew late and Qualtan decided to retire. Leaving Bartholomew, he returned to his quarters within the stern of the ship. He passed one of the sentries on duty, who bowed as Qualtan stepped by. Qualtan did not hear the sentry follow him towards the rear of the ship, pausing when the main door to the officers’ quarters was closed. The sentry stealthily crept in, taking note of the interior four doors, two to either side of the captain’s room, that led to bunked accommodations for the knights. Looking about to ensure his own safety, the sentry stood behind the door Qualtan had entered, touching it gently with his hands. He smiled wickedly. Then, hearing muffled voices that grew louder in the other rooms, he quickly left to resume his duties outside.

When his shift was over, the sentry returned to his quarters near the bow of the ship. Many of the men that made up the crew and the soldiers that had joined them slept soundly on their cots, while those still awake read by candlelight or played cards.

“The silent stone returns!” one of the men jested. “You’ve been too quiet on this trip!”

Another joined in. “Ey, he’s been spending too much of his time fawning over the knights. One especially, I imagine, with long brown hair and fierce eyes to match!”

The others that were awake laughed. “Who hasn’t?” a soldier chimed in.

“I am tired,” the returning sentry said, sliding into his bed.

“Here now, Boreson, we are only funnin’!” another crewmate said, but the man did not reply, and was soon ignored. None saw the faint glow of yellow that came from his eyes, or the satisfied grin that grew on his face.

* * * *

The kingdom of Mezzolanke was a great archipelago comprised of forty-five islands and islets. Its waters were a bright blue white. Great fortressed cities sat on some of the larger islands, while others served as naval stations or as small fisheries.

The knights assembled alongside Visandus, who, acting as helmsman, navigated them through, steering the ship’s massive wheel.

He focused his words towards Jesepha, who had never seen the country before.

“There are great underwater gardens here—many of my people are experts at diving deep to collect precious shells, harvesting great forests of flowing fronds, or hunting for giant fish. The pearls are of the largest size, some the size of a man’s hand, found in the velvet-like mouths of purple oysters as big as a horse,” he said, staring at Jesepha as he spoke.

“Hmph!” Euric grumbled, unimpressed by his words or his attentions towards the lone female knight.

Small boats bobbed in the ocean as fisherman cast nets or dove with large spears. They looked at the ship and waved, smiling happily.

Jesepha leaned forward. “It seems like a beautiful place. Not at all what I expected.” She took in the banners that flew high above the stone castles that guarded the tips of the islands they passed. She laughed as a school of dolphins cavorted nearby.

“Don’t be fooled. They are a vicious people, freebooters and pirates that raid and harass all other ships, especially our own! Many a pirate fleet is secretly paid for by them, and they share in their plunder!” Richard said.

Visandus laughed. “That I cannot deny! I did so myself in my day, and did so proudly! My mother was native born to these isles. My father was a direct descendant of the pirate clans that invaded and took over the gentle folk who lived here, enslaving and dominating them to form the great naval empire of Mezzolanke. Richard is correct. The citizens are given a small piece of freedom, to keep them happy enough in their place, but never more. They are kept poor, and under tight scrutiny. All services are controlled and owned by the reigning emperor and the clans he holds in favor. Many who we pass work hard hours under the blazing sun, securing exotic foods and expensive stones they themselves will never afford. Many crave true freedom and would have it, if given the chance, but the many attempts to foment rebellion, especially those illegal actions taken secretly by other countries, have always failed. The power of Mezzolanke is too strong to break.” The merchant lord stared at Richard as he gave his last comment.

“Bah! Their attempts to invade Turinthia’s seaways have always failed!” Richard responded.

“Many a war has been staged between both countries, vying for control over the trade routes of the sea. To Turinthia’s credit, they have held Mezzolanke’s navy to a standstill, for the most part, despite their lesser ships and skill.”

“Hah! Which proves my point!” Richard railed.

“Mezzolanke will not attack Turinthia directly with the Alliance backing them. Nations and empires rise and fall. Mezzolanke had their time in the past; the Alliance has theirs in the present. In the future, who knows?”

“You sound as if your sympathies remain with them!” Richard demanded.

Visandus arched an eyebrow at Richard’s direction.

“I would go back if I could, for I love my homeland. The pink white sands, the swaying palm trees, the lush tropical forests. But I will not return until the clans have been removed of power, and power is given back to its people. They and their sister clans in the Woodworm Ports will need a reckoning, some day. Until then, my home is in Tringolm, and I am content. There are many objects, Jesepha, that I could present you with that would give you a taste and smell of the inner beauty of Mezzolanke.” Visandus returned his attention once more to the knight. She smiled in response, looking at him briefly before returning her gaze to the brimming waves that twinkled in the sunlight.

“We have already traveled many leagues to get here. How far before we arrive to this island?” Euric interrupted impatiently.

“Soon. There is a maze of stony outcroppings, barely islands at all, which we will need to travel through. We will be stopped and inspected of our cargo, for the patrols will be heavy there. You know what we need to do.”

Three days passed before they entered the Brokens, the outer islets that were for the most part uninhabited. They were colossal projections of fisted stone that burst from the sea. Thousands of birds made their homes here, and their cacophony of cries overwhelmed all else. Palm trees grew around their sandy bases, like emerald ringlets encircling the necks of aged Kings.

The ship skirted around them, for they formed a tangled avenue of inlets. Rowers were put to work, in order to maintain maneuverability in the tighter waters. A small garrison watched their passage atop the ledge of one of the rocky islets. Two red warships idly sat as they swept by.

Visandus watched them carefully. “They are used to this ship’s presence, or others like it. They will send one out to meet us soon,” he said. “Make ready.” The knights followed his commands. Soon Visandus’ words came to pass. A great red ship, its sides guarded by rows of armored men carrying crossbows, came close. A great shell was blown and a cry of warning was given. Their ship slowed, allowing the other to side next to them. Small boats were discharged, and they were quickly boarded. A commander of sorts clambered on first, two assistants in hand, with a company of men that followed.

Visandus welcomed them in the tongue of Mezzolanke. Qualtan stayed with him, as the other knights had fled below. His armor was gone, and he dressed as a simple sailor with plain shirt and worn pants. He listened to the ebb and flow between the merchant lord and the commander of the other ship, noting the inflected language that was used, the rising and falling of sounds, and the quick speed of their dialogue. A charming language to the ears, he thought, as Visandus escorted the commander and his men into his own cabin. He motioned for Qualtan (playing the role of bodyguard) to follow. Drink was freely shared from crystal decanters as Visandus and his guests laughed and joked. Visandus produced documents they had removed from the ship’s original owners that were traded, signed, and stamped by the commander. Qualtan stood behind him, arms crossed, facing the commander’s own guards, who stared back with little expression. From a small cabinet, Visandus removed a bag of gold, and gave it to the commander, who smiled at the gift, quickly counting the coins and placing them in his pocket.

Quickly they shook hands, and Visandus snapped his fingers at Qualtan, escorting the group below deck. There, the commander took note of the many captives that were chained in the deep stores of the ship, or who sat with heads down amidst piles of hay in large cages. Satisfied, the commander and his men returned to the upper deck of the ship. With a simple wave, the soldiers on the other ship lowered their crossbows. Shaking Visandus’ hand, the commander left, satisfied with the inspection. As the enemy ship slowly moved off, Visandus breathed a sigh of relief.

“Things seem to have gone well,” Qualtan said. “You and the commander of the other ship acted like brothers.”

Visandus whistled as the crimson craft departed from view. “Do not be deceived, friend Qualtan! I had to tell quite a tale as to why he did not recognize me. They have multiple ships involved in this game, so it was easy for him to accept I was newly hired to replace a captain that had failed. Being of Mezzolankean blood helped, as did the gold that I offered as a present. That is something our Turinthian King will owe me for as well!” Satisfied they were safe, Visandus and Qualtan returned below.

“We have passed! You have all performed well!” he said, clapping his hands and bowing as the “captives” removed their shackles or were freed from their prisons.

“A fine act indeed! I don’t like being caged!” Glaive grumbled, swatting the sticking hay off his chest as he donned his clothes upon release.

“Neither do I!” Richard complained, attempting to clean his beard from debris.

As the knights and soldiers dressed, Visandus took a seat as he observed them, staring and smiling at Jesepha. As she replaced her torn captive’s clothes with her knight’s garments, she took note of his awareness. She felt ill at ease without her full garb and she quickly turned around, dressing with some awkwardness, feeling his gaze upon her.

“That, my friends, was the easy part for you,” Visandus said. “Now comes the more difficult. I shall not be able to land where I should, for they will be expecting captives to be brought forth for whatever purpose, and I know not what that is, or how they will do it. I will need to hide us behind one of the larger rock croppings nearest to them, and you will have to land using the canoes at night. I will attempt to stay, but will leave, if I must, to avoid any searching warships that will surely come about. If this happens, I will return when I can. You must take care. I know not what you will find there. If this is truly sanctioned by the emperor, it is a sad thing indeed. If not, he will need to be told to stop this.”

“Hah! Of course your emperor is involved, how could he not be? His naval warships guarding secret island bases? Unmarked slave ships passing through his country’s waters? Of course he knows of this!” Richard said as he put on his thickly armored boots.

“Perhaps you are right. If so, you must be wary, for you may face the full fury of their knights as two of you have already done,” Visandus said, referring to Jesepha and Glaive.

“We will take care, for this is what we do! We shall find this base, and raise it! This country will pay dearly for their acts when we return to Turinthia and lay all that we have learned before our General! The King and his council will put these robbers in their place; make no mistake! And you’d best keep your ship at the ready and dare not think to leave us here!”

“Richard!” Qualtan said, taken aback by his words.

Visandus said nothing until Richard stormed from view.

“I’m sorry,” Qualtan said, but Visandus waved him off.

“It’s of no consequence. He doesn’t trust me and has little faith in my blood. Pirate I have been, merchant lord I am, but my word is my bond. I will not fail you, or any of you,” he said gravely.

As the knights began to withdraw, Visandus took hold of Jesepha’s arm as she passed.

“Be careful, Sir Knight. There will be much danger here.” His look of concern was genuine, and Jesepha paused, unsure how to respond.

Euric appeared behind her and pulled her arm away, nudging her forward.

“WE shall!” he said at Visandus, with much anger in his face. As they left, Visandus grinned inwardly, laughing at the knight’s jealousy. He snapped to his feet and began giving directions to his crew.

“How could you let that rogue touch you? You’ve tumbled over many a man who dared, including me!” Euric said, taking hold of Jesepha’s shoulder.

“My business is my own!” Jesepha responded.

“Surely you are not attracted to him?! He is a brigand and a scheming profiteer! Probably has more wives in more lands than you have fingers and toes!”

“Your opinion means little to me.”

“And what of your opinion of me?”

Jesepha sighed, pausing her step. “Euric…” she began to complain. He quickly put a finger to his lips, pulling her to a quiet alcove within the ship.

“We don’t have time for this,” she argued.

“Yes, we do. I play no games this time. You know how I feel about you. I have attempted to court you…”

“As you have many a maiden back home.”

“Because you deny me at every turn! I have no choice! What is it? Why will you not honor me with a favorable response? For awhile I thought you had chosen Bartholomew…”

“Bartholomew? He has looked out for me, and mentored me. I love him as I would an older brother.”

“And I?”

Jesepha allowed her usually tough exterior to slacken. Her voice became gentle.

“Euric, you are like a younger brother to me. You are kind, and despite your childish antics and annoying prattle, you are a true knight. I know your feelings for me, and I have done my best to dissuade you of them. I’m sorry.”

Euric looked down and frowned with sadness. He shuffled uneasily.

Jesepha could see his pain, and smiled sadly. She placed a hand on his cheek, and stared into his eyes.

“Please understand, Euric. I love you as a good friend, but I cannot give you more.”

He placed his hand upon hers. “Then whose favor do you carry?”

“I carry none.”

“But surely matters of the heart have not escaped you.”

“I have not thought to concern myself with such things.”

“A horrid mistake! You cannot live by the sword alone! There is life to live, and parties to attend, and merriment to be had!”

Jesepha laughed at last. “I have enjoyed those things.”

“But alone,” Euric insisted.

This time it was Jesepha who seemed unsure of herself. “I am not closed to such matters. When the right man comes, I will know of it. Until then…”

“Until then! By that time you will be an old crone, creaking more than your armor! You aren’t getting any younger, you know…”

Jesepha’s face turned red with sudden rage. “Not getting any younger?!”

“You demand too much! If you continue with your ways, you will never be happy and it will be too late to show a bit of lace on your leg!”

“You insufferable, ignorant…”

“You know I speak the truth!” Euric quickly interjected.

“Argh!” Jesepha growled with frustration, quickly moving away.

Euric watched her leave. He sighed, touching the side of his face where her hand had been. “Well done, you fool!” he said to himself miserably.

Another day would dawn before Visandus slowed their ship. Another craft of similar size and shape drifted in the opposite direction, hailing them as they passed.

“Another slaver ship, on its way to collect more for their vile harvest!” Richard said.

“We can do nothing about that. To attack them now would bring a wide net of warships around us. In these maze-like waters, we would be easily trapped. Vengeance will have to wait,” Visandus cautioned. The submerged, mountainous islands began to close in around them. The sailor stationed atop the crow’s nest kept a vivid eye on the banks and turns that lay before them. At last, a cry was given and the ship rowed to a stop.

“There she is! There she is!” Visandus said, looking through a telescope. He saw a budding, dome-shaped island, and a trio of ships stationed by a small port. He squinted, staring closely. “No warships are docked. Interesting. They may be on patrol. We will have to go back and circle round to the island closest to this one.” He yelled to his crew in Mezzolankean, and the ship retreated, following a roundabout course to a nearby isle. There, they sat and waited until the sun began to set. Small canoes were disembarked and the knights filed into them, one at a time.

Bartholomew and Qualtan were the last to leave the ship. Both turned to Visandus, thanking him for his assistance. The old pirate bowed again, giving words of praise.

“We will explore the island first. If we need additional aid or escape, be ready for us!” Bartholomew said.

“I will stay as long as I can. But pay heed, if you return and find the ship gone, do not worry! I will be back soon.”

Balancing on the canoes, the knights removed large paddles, and made toward the opposing shore. Upon reaching it, they shoved the pointed boats onto a sandy embankment. Content with their work, they moved inward, entering the isle. Qualtan’s sword afforded them some light, as they struggled through tightly growing trees that flapped wide leaves.

“This heat is stifling!” Glaive said, pulling and bending branches away from his face. Cries echoed from the forest. There were sharp clicks from beetles, hissing sounds from snakes, and the chittering of small furry things that made the island their home. Tiny orbs of light floated where insects hovered and danced. At a clearing, the knights rested, overlooked by a small waterfall that cascaded gently into a tiny stream. They readdressed their direction and drank from the cool water. Richard was impatient to continue, but Bartholomew wished to travel more slowly, as did the others.

“A bobbing light from Qualtan’s sword, no matter how dull, may still attract attention from any sentries that could be lurking about,” Bartholomew cautioned.

“The only ones lurking here are we! The threat we look to encounter will be escaping this country with more slaves if we tarry long. We need to be quick!”

“Patience, Richard. We are near,” Bartholomew said as they shared rations. “There can be other threats on this island besides men.”

“’Tis true! I have heard of the crab-folk that like to land in places like this, searching for living food!” Euric said. “They are called the Krag, no the Krat…no, it’s something with the letter K. K something…”

“The Brachura,” Bartholomew replied.

“That’s it!” Euric said. The other knights laughed at his mistake. “Then there are the Lina, the reptile-folk, powerful warriors that do not like intrusion by other Kind.”

“Euric…” Bartholomew said.

“Great sea serpents nest on small islands, watching ships from onshore to attack. Then you have the undead that watch over their hidden treasures, and dragons that…”

“Euric. That is enough,” Bartholomew chided. “Let us move on, then.”

The other knights rose as Euric looked about with slight confusion. “I was only trying to help…” His plea was ignored.

For two hours they continued their approach, stumbling through the night, until Qualtan halted, dousing his sword’s enchanted light. He warned all to silence, gesturing for Glaive to join him.

“Your eyes can see better in the dark. Look there,” Qualtan said and pointed. Glaive stared in his direction. Bartholomew moved in next to him.

“What is it? What do you see?” he whispered.

“There…and there!” Glaive said.

Four hulking forms, obscured in shadow, hunched and moved. They were bipedal in shape, and paused on occasion. They quickly vanished into the trees.

“What were they?” Qualtan asked Glaive.

“I could not tell. They were large, with bulbous heads, and moved quickly, despite their size. That is all I could see.”

“They were moving in the direction towards the fort we had spied. They may be allies of the slavers. We need to be careful,” Qualtan warned. Bartholomew nodded, instructing the rest. They made their way further, holding weapons tightly pressed against their sides. Additional rustling in the trees would warn them to stop, and they did, breathing from their mouths in silent expectation. When the crunching of plants faded, they would move again. Qualtan dared to light his sword, but only just so, to ensure the path was clear. The sound of footsteps in the brush increased and for a time they sat as stone, unwilling to move, as rushing bodies ran past all around them. When the movement died, they continued, reaching a clearing at last, and the slavekeeper base for which they had been searching.

A carved staircase led into a great hole on the face of a stony wall, covered with hanging vines. A rushing sound, like falling water, echoed from within. Two great statues, crumbling with age, adorned either side. Their exact detail was hidden from view by shrouds of green, but the faces were fanged and bestial. Twin lines of staked torches marched towards the cave entrance. All was quiet. The knights kept watch for a time, ensuring the area was clear. Then came a sudden burst of movement from the surrounding trees. A humped form, scrambling on all four of its limbs, quickly scampered into the cave entrance, followed by another. Soon the area was dotted by the creatures as they cleared the forest, mumbling and panting. Again, their full view was unclear, but as they passed through the torchlight, a mottled design of roughly pockmarked skin could be seen, fading into iridescent patchwork scales that armored their rotund bellies and crooked legs. Something moved on their backs and shoulders, but whether hair or something else, the group could not tell. The creatures seemed to be wearing helmets of some sort ornamented with curled spiky shapes. The bodies were wide, but nearly all head, with groping, taloned hands and large feet.

“What are they?” Jesepha asked.

“I cannot tell. They are not brachura, nor the other beasts Euric mentioned. I have never seen their like,” Glaive said quietly.

The knights waited to ensure no other parties of the beasts appeared. Then, satisfied, they crept toward the opening. Quickly, they rushed past the open area where the torches still wavered. The sky was wide above them, twinkling with stars and a shrunken moon. They stepped nimbly over the cracked stone steps, pausing briefly to view those twin statues whose demonic faces lay hidden by gloom and vine. Torches continued within the great portal, casting wild shadows against the granite walls. The sound of rushing water increased. The cave seemed to magnify the echo of their feet as they spread themselves against its curving sides. Soon, they realized there was little to fear with regards to unruly noise, as the crashing of water grew loud. They reached the end of the tunnel mouth, and looked beyond.

They were within what appeared to be a hollowed out cavern of rock and shale, honeycombed from the many years of water that dashed upon it from crevices high above. Great gouges in the earth drained three waterfalls into places unknown. The largest of the waterfalls spilled through a slot from a huge wooden/metal patch near the ceiling that acted as a dam to block the bulk of the water. On each side of the main waterfall were roundish, burrow-like entrances numbering five or six. Above them was a second landing with similar holes. Two long, dangling bridges bounced across the waterfalls, connecting one side of the landings to another. What was most disturbing, however, was the construction of a large wooden pillar firmly centered in the cave, raised high towards the rooftop, balancing a wooden platform. Support beams encircled it, like great spokes from a large wheel. The platform dangled chain upon chain, from which cages swayed and clinked. It seemed to serve a dual function, as both support for the roof of the cave and as a mechanism from which the cages were pulled and moved. Rocks and other debris lay about, having either fallen through the tracks of the delicately plated platform, or having been dug out from the surrounding burrows. There were four cages that sat on the ground, their chains fully extended. Three were empty, but one seemed to hold captives who lay unmoving.

The knights stood stunned by the bizarre scene.

They began to move in carefully. Besides the rushing water and creaking cages above, they could hear no other sound.

“How could they have built this?” gasped Richard, eyes squinting from droplets that dripped off the chains and cages.

“Devil’s work!” whispered Euric.

The knights looked all around for any foe or concealed attack, but all was still. Torchlight beamed from every doorway, every wall, fighting against the ever present spill of water.

“Perhaps we should go back to the ship for aid? If we come across those skulking beasties….” Euric said, and was quickly interrupted.

“We are knights of the Bearded Lion! We have no need for further aid!” Richard snapped.

“What do we do?” Qualtan asked.

“We carry on!” Richard said.

Bartholomew grabbed Richard’s shoulder.

“No. We spread out across the room—circle the cages. We can release the prisoners and take them back in order to learn more of this place. Then we can decide a proper move.”

Richard shrugged Bartholomew’s hand away. “You countermand my order?!” he whispered hotly.

“You are not in charge. We are in this together,” Bartholomew said calmly.

“Confound it! Are we knights or skulking thieves? We have the half-orc for that!” Richard said.

“Half-orcNE, and thanks for that!” Glaive said sarcastically.

“Enough! We do as Bartholomew has said!” Qualtan said.

“Agreed!” Jesepha added.

“Bah! Cowards, the lot of you!” Richard growled.

Ignoring him, the others followed Bartholomew’s direction. They fanned out, surrounding the cages. They passed the open portals that begged further discovery, expecting some hidden assault, but none occurred.

“Perhaps the creatures are sleeping!” Euric whispered.

“Ssshhh!” Jesepha scolded.

They tightened their circle. Pebbles fell from above, banging and bouncing, bringing the knights to freeze their movements, waiting for any answering sounds to issue forth from those dark doorways. When none did, they reached the three cages that sat empty. Disheveled hay lay within them, soaked with water. Euric tested a cage door and found it locked. Bartholomew nodded, and Qualtan and Richard ran towards the fourth and final cage. Qualtan grabbed the door and with his strength slowly began wrenching it free. He stopped at times, ill at ease with the noise, but the waterfalls insulated the sound well and he continued until the door snapped free. Bartholomew looked to Glaive, who kept his eyes on the yawning portals: still no movement, still no sound.

Again the elder knight signaled, and Qualtan and Richard made their way into the square cage. There were two persons, their hands manacled to the side of the cage, their backs facing them. They were emaciated, and their clothes stank.

“Do not be afraid! We are here to rescue you!” Richard said, sheathing his sword. Both he and Qualtan knelt beside the unmoving forms.

“Do you hear us? Can you speak?” Qualtan asked gently, prodding one of the prisoners. A look of concern struck his face as he snapped one of the wrist shackles free. The body slumped. Qualtan turned it around. It was a human male, but a dead one.

Richard looked at Qualtan. He pulled the hair back from the head of the second prisoner. An elf’s face appeared, its eyes staring, its tongue sticking out.

“They are both dead!” Qualtan said. A sudden realization took hold of him. As if by signal, a rumbling and groaning could be heard. The two knights left the bodies, quickly joining their comrades. From above, a tangle of floppy movement caught their ears. It was soon followed by similar noise below. Glaive stepped backwards towards the others.

“They come!” he said.

“A trap!” Bartholomew said, to which Glaive nodded.

The knights formed a tight circle. The creatures on the second landing were joined by others that appeared from the doorways on the first floor. They poured out from the burrow holes, merging with their brethren, forming a circle of their own around the knights. The warriors were surrounded. Swords were raised, a recently repaired wrist gauntlet was aimed, and shields were lifted as the creatures continued to mass.

“By the High Lord! Look at them!” Richard said, his eyes widening with sudden fear.

In full view the creatures gave an awful sight. The things that had swayed on their backs were short, stubby tentacles that also covered their necks, chest, and shoulders. Their bodies were comical, arms and legs that seemed too thin to manage the great claws and feet that adorned them. Massive bellies bloated out, coated with thick lumps. The scales on their lower abdomens and legs seemed to click and clank of their own volition. But what drew the knights’ attention was their heads, masses of horn and teeth that seemed made for bodies larger than what carried them. Their heads were not adorned with helmets, but tangled with horn-like protuberances that grew in tight knots. Their eyes were huge, great balls of black with no discernable pupil that stared greedily at them. Their noses were pink and piggish, with black hairs and streams of slime coating them. But their true horror was in their mouths. They were wide and stretched taught. Great tusks grew and twisted from their upper mandibles, into and through their very lips, clustering about their cheeks, sometimes to the point of nearly obscuring their oily eyes. Black tongues drooled continually.

“Although I am not a knight, I do believe we are surrounded,” Glaive said sardonically.

“We will fight our way through!” Richard said to the look of amazement from the other knights.

“Qualtan could probably push his way past them. My shield may protect me. The rest of you would not survive,” Bartholomew said.

“Pfaugh! Dare you think your magic toys give you advantage over the rest of us?!” Richard replied.

“Perhaps they are willing to talk?” Euric said nervously.

“Ask the ones they slew in that cage,” Jesepha retorted.

“Why don’t they attack? What are they waiting for?” Richard said.

Suddenly, the line of teeth and scales parted, making way for a human to pass through their ranks. He wore long, ornate robes of green and black. He was bald, yet his chin and cheeks were hidden in a massive black beard. A golden belt held a black scabbard by his right side. He smiled politely, but his eyes reflected a dark menace.

“Welcome, knights of Turinthia. We have been expecting you. Relinquish your weapons. You are surrounded.”

“I already said that,” Glaive said, keeping his wrist weapon aimed squarely at the bald man.

“Silence!” Richard replied. “Who are you to command us, harborer of ill omens in dark allegiance with these fetid beasts!”

The bald man smiled but briefly. “At my command, I can unleash these ’fetid beasts’ as you call them, upon you. You are outnumbered and alone. You have no choice.” His eyes sparkled momentarily with magical energies of his own.

The ring of creatures moved closer, swiping with their claws, snapping with their teeth. Some coiled to attack, while others lunged forward threateningly.

“What do we do, what do we do?” Euric pleaded.

Bartholomew looked to Qualtan who returned the same gaze. Sighing heavily, Bartholomew lowered his sword. The others followed his example, reluctantly, save for Richard.

“No! I shall not!” he challenged, though he bit his lips nervously.

“Lower your sword,” Bartholomew commanded.

“Never! I will not become the feast of some evil supper!” Richard was breathing fast, and his hands trembled.

Bartholomew gently approached him and placed a soft hand on Richard’s wrist.

“Lower your sword. We are not undone yet,” he whispered, pleading with his eyes.

Richard looked to the surrounding creatures, and then to Bartholomew. Roaring in rage, he hurled his sword to the ground.

The bald man began to laugh. Raising his arms, the creatures moved in, pushing and cajoling the knights and Glaive away…except for Qualtan. Glaive gave a concerned look at him over his back as they were shoved into one of the tunnels.

The bald man kept his eyes focused on Qualtan, never straying. A smile of victory played on his lips.

“You have a friend that has been looking forward to seeing you again.” At his words, the giant Qualtan had fought before appeared, shuffling through a corridor, smiling broadly at his defeated foe.

“You knew we were coming. How did he get here in time to warn you?” Qualtan’s thoughts immediately went back to the giant’s disappearance from under the stockpile of fallen boxes during their prior battle. He cursed inwardly that the fate of this mission was now at risk because of his blundered move in allowing him to escape.

“Him? Oh, he did not advise us of you. He has only just joined us here. Our reach goes further than you think. Your ship carries a threat that let us know with ample time. Follow me.”

Qualtan looked about at the sea of toothsome faces, considering his chances.

“We have the other knights and your half-orcne. It would be prudent of you to obey.”

The giant began to laugh. Sighing, Qualtan realized he had no choice at the present moment.

“That’s better,” the bald man said.

“Why have I been separated from the rest?” Qualtan asked, as the giant took a guarded position accompanying him from behind.

“I am curious. You carry the Goldenflame, the weapon from the old wars. You have other powers as well, from what Horga here has told me,” the bald man said, referencing the giant. “The others are cattle to be put to work. You, on the other hand, are special, and deserve special treatment.”

The giant again began to laugh, his golden teeth flashing.

They entered a separate corridor. Carts and wagons showed proof of the excavation work the cave had seen. Qualtan observed the many prison cells aligning the walls. Some were filled, while others remained empty. Saddened eyes watched him pass. There was a menagerie of Kind, humans, and elves, but also surprisingly orcnes, and even hobgoblins; that fallen race of pebbly skinned, shaggy-headed folk with elephant-like noses, giant ears, and sharp teeth. Many seemed exhausted, their bodies scarred with lines of welts.

“So you ARE slavers then,” Qualtan said grimly.

The bald man laughed. “Such an infamous title! We work them for our needs. As you can see, your lands are not the only ones we have selected for harvest.”

“Your needs? You mean, the Mezzolankeans, or these vile creatures?” Qualtan was immediately shoved to the floor by the giant, his eyes daring him to fight. Qualtan rose guardedly, keeping his temper in check.

“The Mezzolankeans? They are our hosts, nothing more. These ‘vile creatures’ as you call them are the Slth, and are not native to your land or any land of this place. Here!”

The bald man paused as two of the snarling, pumpkin-headed Slth opened an ornate metal door for him. They entered the bald man’s quarters, a large cave decorated with comfortable chairs, sofas, and tables. He took his place behind a large desk, and motioned for Qualtan to approach him. Six of the Slth entered the room, as did the giant, slouching in order to fit.

“It is a simple enough proposition. The Slth need workers to toil for them in their home land. Your Kind, as well as the others, is suitable enough. The Slth will breed them back home for more labor, and work them until they die. When they die, they are used as food. Nothing is wasted.” At his words the Slth around Qualtan began to hungrily growl and pant.

“As part of our agreement, we leave the Mezzolankeans alone. As the Slth know nothing of these lands, they aid us in securing bases to supply us with the labor we need and provide security. In turn, we pay them with gold, our allegiance, and protection—ours, and our benefactor’s. He was very happy to learn you were coming here, by the way, very happy indeed.”

“Allegiance for what?” Qualtan demanded.

“Your Alliance has made many enemies who refute their dominance over these lands. Those enemies plan to make their move against them soon. When that occurs, we will assist, and have even more bounty to take, and the Mezzolankeans will be left untouched and rewarded with stewardship over Turinthia’s lands. Everyone profits from the relationship, as you can see.”

Qualtan’s mind was spinning at this news. He attempted to delay his own fate, while pulling out as much information as he possibly could.

“Who is this benefactor you speak of, and what interest does he have with me?”

“You will learn of that yourself in time,” the bald man giggled.

“I don’t understand all of this. From where do these Slth come? And why do you dare to serve in their cause?!”

The bald man smiled, spreading his hands upon the table.

“This interview has ended. I have shared with you what I wished, as you will not be able to do anything with that knowledge, out of respect to your status. You are not the same as the others. I can see the magic within you. No wonder Horga was so hard put against you.”

“The battle was not yet his,” the giant said, embarrassed anger showing through at the mention of his defeat.

“Now, out of respect to our benefactor, I will fulfill his wish.”

“For what?” Qualtan demanded.

“A demonstration. Take your sword,” the bald man said, nodding at Qualtan’s sword belt.

Qualtan paused, unsure of his intent.

“Take it—I know we cannot touch it,” the bald man said. He rose and unsheathed a curved sword, liquid black in color. There were striations or cracks on the weapon that glowed red from the power that hid within. “You and your friends will be given over to him, but you especially! But before that, he wants further proof of the claims about you. Defend yourself!”

The bald man thrust his sword forward. Qualtan removed his sword, blocking the attack in time. Horga and the Slth moved back, giving them room.

Qualtan eagerly fought back against the bald man. His opponent used a vicious, biting, lunging attack, spearing his sword at him—a master of the sword, Qualtan quickly realized. Throughout their contest, the bald man smiled, appraising Qualtan’s form.

“Good…good! You are very good!” he would say as if their battle carried no peril.

Qualtan was able to launch an offensive of his own, pushing back the bald man. His smile wavered momentarily, but quickly returned when he crouched down in a fleeting motion, spinning away from Qualtan’s attempt to trap him, striking the young knight’s leg in the escape. The warrior lurched. Qualtan’s leg became numb; the response was immediate. The bald man laughed as Qualtan realized the special power in his opponent’s sword. The bald man continued his attack. Another blow bounced off Qualtan’s shoulder, just enough to strike his bicep. His arm became as dead weight, and flopped to his side. Qualtan was sorely disadvantaged. He put up a blazing defense but, with one leg and one arm unmoving, he could not balance, nor strike with full power. Another strike at his remaining leg crashed Qualtan to his knees, gasping for breath. His own mind began to grow numb as he struggled to rise.

The bald man halted his attack, laughing at Qualtan and then turning to the giant. “This is the one that gave you so much trouble? You are a disappointment, Horga.” Horga stiffened with injured pride.

The bald man returned to Qualtan. With quick savage blows, he quickly unarmed the knight, slapping his sword away from the creeping lethargy that enveloped his body, sapping his strength.

“Sadly, it seems you have been overestimated,” the bald man said. “The kiss of my enchanted blade is mighty, is it not? It seems the magic of the Slth is more than a match for the magic of your Arch-Mages.”

Qualtan’s eyes began to glow red with arcane power. Struggling mightily, he attempted to rise to his feet.

“Good, good! Keep trying, young knight! Keep trying!” the bald man provoked, his own eyes blazing starry white. He turned away from Qualtan, sheathing his ebony blade. “You will enjoy your new master. He has many plans for you.”

Qualtan lurched forward. He forced one leg to work, and then another. His mind was turning grey, and he could not think.

“Face me, coward!” Qualtan groaned.

“I am done here. Horga, finish this, please,” the bald man said calmly, refilling a cup with wine.

Horga nodded, eager for revenge. He stomped up behind Qualtan, and with his fists, slammed the warrior back to the floor. He lifted the limp form and hurled it into a wall. As Qualtan collapsed, the bald man continued his threats.

“You will suffer much, moreso than even your friends.” The giant Horga kicked into Qualtan’s ribs, shoving him into yet another wall. “Together, my benefactor and the Slth shall remove you and all the other Kind from your place of supposed prominence on this world.”

Horga lifted Qualtan by the arm, and with a mighty fist battered him down again.

“Put him away!” the bald man insisted.

With a snort of satisfaction, the giant hoisted Qualtan high and threw him toward the locked metal door that secured the bald man’s quarters. Smashing through it, Qualtan rolled unconscious into the murky hallway beyond.