Chapter 1: Reunion (part 1)
I will not lie that it first came as a great surprise to me that this disparate band of colleagues were all childhood friends. Before I joined their ranks and earned their trust, they had known each other for most of their lives. They had all grown up in the protective bosom of the agricultural barony of Goldfire Glen. Peaceful as any small town could be, well protected by Underhill Keep, with its high walls and humble assemblage of well-meaning, if not hearty, soldiers, unflappably loyal to their lord, the Baron Derren Underhill, Goldfire Glen had earned a solid reputation as prosperous and welcoming. Even the High Priest of Canaan, the rotund and sweet natured, Father Nimitz held views of heterodoxy that fit perfectly with the city’s diverse population of farmers and smiths.
Devotees to Canaan and The Green lived in peace there. Respect between the two religions was unquestioned and unwavering. Alas, had such enlightened views survived on such a grand scale after the first wave of horrors befell Turgos. Fear is a mighty weapon. Fear of the unknown can carry a man to the bottommost pits of insanity, but fear of the known, of the other, of the different; it is not gold and jewels which bring the roots of all evil to simmer, it is this fear given face, given flesh and blood that can be smote with a righteous hammer that gives the purveyors of evil the most delight. How effortlessly we are all corrupted.
But I digress.
Lilian and Gabriel Evenshire were orphaned siblings raised by the Church of Canaan in Goldfire Glen. The fate of their parents was unresolved. They had vanished while on a mission of the Church in a far off place called Rappan’Athuk. (The elders never spoke of it directly. I had heard whispers of this dread place in my days at seminary. It is a stronghold of evil in Turgos, somewhere in, or beyond, The Wildlands.) Having no other family to claim them, the Church had little choice but to nurture the children themselves.
Both had grown into healthy young adults. Both took to the artistry of combat. Lilian’s path balanced humble, divine supplication to Canaan’s Will with the skills of the blade and shield. She became a champion of Canaan and was well respected by both the Baron and the Church. Gabriel’s anger and impatience made him ill-suited for devotional work. But he was strong of heart and muscle and became an adept brawler.
Four more friends rounded out this group. Jordan Gunderson, an erratic eccentric entranced by the arcane arts. Shale, a dedicated priest of the Green. Boots, a soldier, who had been kicked out of the baron’s brigade for reasons he refused to discuss, and finally Aesendel, a bartender who was also a talented sorcerer. It was at the Feisty Fox, a seedy tavern and inn that catered to all kinds of transients and vagabonds, where Aesendel worked and Gabriel called home. It was also at this watering hole where our story truly began.
Days before, each of these cohorts received an unexpected invitation which read:
“My dear friends, please do me the honor of joining me one day hence at the Feisty Fox to celebrate my achievement of reaching the First Valence. Thank you. The Acolyte Hu-Li in Residence at the Tower of Balian, the Ever-Watchful.”
Each recipient, in turn, all agreed that it must be Jordan. He was always a bit off, and they all knew he had gone off several months prior to study with the elusive, enigmatic Arch Mage, despite several of their protests that doing so was a mistake. Balian lived a day’s journey from Goldfire Glen, within the foreboding walls perched upon an outcrop of granite, that was known far and wide as the Tower of Balian the Ever-Watchful. It’s façade was covered with ivy and surrounded by a decrepit stone curtain wall that Balian, more concerned with perusing dusty tomes than aesthetically pleasing landscaping, had never quite gotten around to repairing. It rose from the precipitous northern flank of the hill. It teetered improbably above a cliff, but has successfully withstood harsh assaults from both, the weather, and several years previously, a large gang of irate Hill Giants. As the story goes, Balian was so angered at being jostled from his studies by rocks pounding the outer walls of the curtain, that he stormed to a window and uttered a tremendous incantation turning all of the Hill Giants permanently into ducks. The ducks remained and populated the moat surrounding the wizard’s tower defecating with abandon on absolutely everything. Locals were often warned not to mention the ducks if ever in the wizard’s presence as it remains, for whatever reason, a troubling memory and is likely to put the prickly prestidigitator in a dangerous mood.
It was under tutelage of this volatile temperament that Jordan’s already fragile conscience was molded. I met this Balian, and fell under his spell for time. I still, though the thought of it sends icy shards dancing up and down my whole countenance, bear his mark. Perhaps the residents of where we are headed will have the means by which to extract this scar on my soul.
Forgive me. Back to the story at hand.
Upon receiving the letter, the fair warrior maiden, Lilian, decided to procure a gift for her longtime friend. Unsure exactly what suited Jordan’s tastes, she ventured into the market district of Goldfire Glen and found herself in the cloud filled shop of Menion, The Herbalist. Entranced by the overwhelming collage of scents that filled the small store, Lilian fought the growing urge to breathe deeper and allow herself to be intoxicated by thick, dry mists. Menion greeted her with his usual preternatural serene demeanor.
“How may I help you, great champion of Canaan.” He slowly breathed at her. Lilian was known in every corner of the town and she was used to being recognized, even when out of her armor.
“I am looking for a gift.” She replied, trying hard not to take in too much of the sweet smelling air. “For Jordan… that is… the…” and she unfolded the note she had received to make sure she was correct. “The Acolyte Hu-Li.”
“Jordan? He’s coming back?” Menion’s nearly closed eyes flickered for a moment at the sound of the name.
“Yes.” Answered Lilian. “He has reached some milestone in his studies and wishes to celebrate. I want to offer up some token of congratulations but I am a bit flummoxed as to…”
“Token?” Menion came around from behind his counter. “Token, you say?” His gait was relaxed, but something in his arms, some excited energy took hold and forced them to suddenly flit about like drunken gnats. He maneuvered through the tight maze of pillars that held the regions finest examples of dried herbs and seasonings and suddenly knelt down next to a shelf that held an impressive collection of glass vials. His trembling hands grasped one of the larger vials and, in an instant, his fingers relaxed. He turned to Lilian. “If you’re looking for a token for the likes of Jordan, you will not fail with this.”
Lilian took care to mark the strangeness of the vial’s shape. The bottom was round, a perfect sphere from which grew two cylindrically shaped protrusions. One was very small, but an aperture on one side of the globe, while the second was wider, and cocked at a slight angle as it rose nearly a full foot and a half from the round base.
“What is this?” Lilian innocently inquired.
“'Tis a device…” Menion looked around, making sure no one else was about, and lowered both his voice and his head. “… that in the hands of someone like Jordan, can, with but a small pool of water, some specially chosen dried herbs, and a wisp of a flame, open up visions of the distant past and the near future. Trust me. It’s precisely what Jordan needs.”
“Herbs?” asked Lilian, strangely intrigued “What sort of herbs?”
“Let me show you.”
As Menion bagged up the necessary herbs to be used in the divination device, he asked Lilian if she knew of his old friend Jazzad, a ranger who visits every year around this time. Lilian simply shook her head. “I’m afraid I do not.”
Menion went on while carefully measuring the herbs. “He lives in the Wildlands and, well, he’s a few weeks late for his usual rendezvous with me and a few other friends and, quite frankly, I’m a bit worried about him. I even went to Captain Tiberon about this and he reminded me that it was against the law for anyone to be sent into the Wildlands, so it was forbidden for the city guards to assist in locating Jazzad.”
He tied the small bag and handed it over to Lilian and finished his story.
“But then with a wink an a nod, old Tiberon told me that there was nothing preventing a person from going out into the Wildlands on their own. But I’m just a simple herb peddler. I can’t go out there. That would be suicide!”
“Are you asking me to go look for your friend?” Lilian knew the question and the answer before Menion did. His face turned ashen and his heavy eyes blinked silently for a long moment.
“Oh, Miss. If you only would. You’re a champion of Canaan. You’re not officially connected with the Baron or the Duke of Auros. I know you still live in the Temple and that comes with some strings to be leery of, but I’m at a loss for what to do. Your brother Gabriel’s a tough bloke. I’m sure the two of you could…”
Lilian held up a hand. She offered Menion, whose face had dissolved into a pleading gape, a compassionate smile. “I have a party to go to.” She said at last. “I will be more than happy to ask my friends if they would be willing to help.”
Moments later, Lilian left the shop with the glass vial, a small bag full of herbs, and a smile that did little to hide how giddy she felt at the choice of her gift. She wore a simple dark gray tunic and pants that scrunched up at the tops of her knee high leather laced boots. A long blade hung sheathed at her side. Her golden hair was wrapped in a tight braid that circled the back of her head like a halo. Her emerald eyes squinted as the sun hung low in the West, its sharp yellow rays bouncing off the cobblestones.
She would have been loathe at the time to admit it, but the chance to leave Goldfire Glen on some adventure, albeit a small one, was also filling her with a sense of excitement. With a spring in her step, she skipped across the cobblestone streets making her way to the Feisty Fox.
Save for Shale, they were all waiting for her when she arrived. Hu Li and Gabriel had already been drinking and were in the midst of a raging debate over the nature of life, the universe and every other fleeting, contentious whisper of an idea that floated up out of either of their mead-drowned mouths.
* * *
Hu Li was a towering figure, standing nearly seven feet tall and draped in a bone white robe. His frame was frail, thin, like young branches on a sapling. His flesh was almost colorless, not quite white, more like the top layers of ash that remained after a fire consumes its wooden fuel. His dark, deep eyes were ringed with crimson as he leaned into Gabriel for the latest retort.
Gabriel listened, but remained tense, ready for an equally violent reply when his friend had finally finished his rant. Like his sister, Gabriel’s hair was the color of the sun at its zenith. His blue eyes were fixed on Hu Li. His muscled arms and hands were clinched with frustration, his veins popping out like tributaries.
Talon looked on stoically as the argument mounted, deflated, reheated and looped into a new topic. His large, calm brown eyes stared through the row. He was clothed in a simple, loose fitting brown robe and his feet were bare.
Boots sat at the bar, clad in faded, patched up leather armor, a crossbow set on the stool to his left and a sword, wrapped in a torn sheath on the stool to the right. His eyes and knuckles clinched and whitened at the onslaught of rejoinders behind him.
Aesendel, youthful, lean and normally effervescent, kept himself distracted by continuously cleaning and refilling Boot’s mug from behind the bar. Both of them had always loathed being privy to these pointless arguments before Jordan went off to Balian’s Tower and now dreaded their return. He and Boots shared several quick, voiceless, irritated glances.
“Give it a rest, guys.” Aesendel finally said. “We get it. You’re both smart, you’re both passionate. You’re both deep thinkers. You’re both…”
“Silence!” commanded Hu Li.
Talon snorted, his mouth pulled back in a smirk.
Gabriel pounced. “Your assertion, then is that because we have the power to do something, we not only have the right to do it, no matter how heinous others may think it to be, but we have the moral imperative to do...”
“You are not listening!” cursed Hu Li “Morals are irrelevant!”
“But you’re wrong, Jordan…”
“That’s the Acolyte Hu Li!”
Lilian entered the Fiesty Fox to the sound of laughter. Everyone was shaking their heads and scoffing at the flustered young mage. He folded his arms and with a great pout, planted himself on a stool opposite Gabriel.
“I regret inviting any of you to my party.” He scowled.
The laughter only grew. Jordan always had a thin skin and was quick to lose his temper, but in truth he relished any opportunity to give his friends a good dose of petulant silence. It was a test of wills and he always won. One of them, without fail, at some lusciously somber moment would allow their pride to fracture just enough to offer Jordan an apology. Through a perfectly executed grumble, he would humble himself enough to accept and then all would be well.
“Hello, Jordan. Welcome back.”
“That’s the Acolyte Hu…”
He had suddenly stood and turned to face the infidel, but stopped his torrent short when he saw, framed in the doorway, bathed in an aura of orange sunlight, was the stunningly fair Lilian, holding out her gifts for him.
“Oh, my dear. I did not know it was you.” He managed to sputter.
Everyone else let out muted groans. They all knew Jordan’s infatuation with Lilian. The matter of her being chaste, as was the custom of her order, only fueled his unseemly desires. She wisely maintained a suitable distance.
Hu Li nabbed the gift with a mixture of sheepishness and aplomb and wasted no time in giving his puzzled friends a demonstration of the devices subtle magicks.
After several minutes of fighting off the effects of an ever growing green cloud that being coughed up from the vial, Lilian told her story about Menion and the missing ranger, Jazzad. Bored with their provincial lives, it took very little convincing.
“A quest!” shouted Hu Li. “Master Balian will be so proud. Yes.”
* * *
The following cloudless morning, the band, loaded down with armor, weapons, and the usual assortment of traveling gear, left the comforts of Goldfire Glen behind them and headed into the Wildlands.
Hu Li was uncharacteristically quiet. Talon asked him if there was anything bothering him. “Shale.” He said. “He wasn’t at my party.”
“Oh, yes.” Said Talon in a smooth, calm voice. “I failed to tell you. I received word from Master Baern, Shale’s mentor, that they were off to a remote village to assist in a birthing ritual.”
“Bah!” said Hu Li. “A birthing ritual? For that he misses my party? Detestable! The customs surrounding birth and death should be reversed. Birth should be mourned and death should be celebrated, for, at last, the soul is released from torment to be consumed by the Eyeless Hollow Ones! It is the fate of all. And a glorious fate it is! Yes!”
For a long time after, no one spoke a word. Soon Hu Li was leading the rest of the party who had drifted further behind him.
“I don’t like it.” Gabriel whispered to his sister. “He’s changed, and not for the better. That madman Balian is corrupting him, I know it.”
“I agree.” Answered Lilian. “But there is little we can do about it at the moment.”
“He should have never been allowed to go to that accursed tower,” Gabriel added.
Boots and Asendel, having overheard the conversation closed in around Gabriel.
“I agree.” Whispered Boots. Gabriel gave them both a sidelong glance. “He’s lost half his mind being exposed to those… unnatural arts.”
“It’s not the arts we should be worried about.” Said Aesendel, a bit offended. “It’s the artist about whom we should be concerned, and... his particular vision.”
“If we have to, I’m willing to…” started Boots.
“No.” said Gabriel. “We can’t just kill him. He’s our friend. He’s not beyond redemption. His new found certainties mask a profound confusion. One thing is clear, we can’t allow him to go back to Balian alone.”
* * *
Three days into their travels, they came upon a familiar site. The small acreage of their longtime friend Farmer Jed and his family. Under their simple thatched roof home, Jed’s sweet, ample wife Betsy, his two straw haired, browned eyed children, Jimmy and Carrie, entertained their guests with a silly ditty about their milk cow, Bessie. Betsy played on a slightly out of tune mandolin as Jimmy, a darling faun of only eight years, kept time by striking a wooden spoon against the bottom of a milk bucket and little Carrie, six and overflowing with innocence, sang:
Bessie has a big wet nose
That once caught up a fly
She sneezed and shook
Dipped it in a brook
But that fly just would not die
She mooed so loud so pa would hear
And he came runnin’ quick.
He dug and dug
Said “Relax. I’ll tug.
This fly is mighty slick!”
Bessie tried to stand quite still
Despite the awful itches.
She gasped and wheezed
And finally sneezed
All over pa’s new britches
As Pa cleaned off his soiled pants
The fly, at last, flew off
“How will this look?
Me at this brook
Oh, how Betsy will scoff!”
Quicker than a hunted fox
He ran back to the house
He changed his clothes
Picked a wild red rose
And placed it in a blouse.
When Ma came back into the house
And smelled the rose’s scent
She hugged her Jed
“I love you.” She said
“You’re such the perfect gent!”
After a lovely, soothing evening of the simple family’s hospitality, they spent a quiet, comfortable night, each slumbering in their own straw bed gathered in the farm’s only barn. At dawn, awoken by the shrill cries of one of the Jed’s roosters, they packed their gear and met Jed at the border of his home. Betsy had, the night before, packed a parcel full of cheese and jerky for each of them.
“Been having some troubles of my own.” He told them as they thanked him for the rations. “Sheep gone missing. Darndest thing. Not a trace of them. Could be bandits. Best be on the look out.”
After another round of thanks, the group headed out. After a few hours, they finally came to the Granite Bridge which marked the official end of the Duchy of Auros and the beginning of the formidable Wildlands. The old bridge yawned over a dried out ravine. As the adventures passed, each flung a pinch of salt over their left shoulder, as was custom to the wise.
An ancient tale told of a spirit that haunted the bridge and if an offering of salt was not given by anyone attempting to pass, the spirit would appear and eat the offender. No one dared to test the verity of the story.
After a long, peaceful day of travel over gentle sloping hills awash with tall yellowish green grass, the sun sunk under the Westward horizon and night unfurled a sea of stars that surrounded a lonely moon which clung to the velvety blackness.
Camp was set. Everyone soon fell into a deep sleep, though Gabriel kept a close eye on Jordan and refused to allow himself to sleep until the wizard was snoring.
Lilian kept watch as the others slumbered. The half moon above glittered with the brilliance of newly minted breastplate. Save for the gentle, lulling chirps of countless, invisible crickets, all was quiet.
Then, without much warning, Lillian spotted what she at first thought were fireflies, blinking between the thick, tall blades of grass. She grabbed her blade and gave a shout when she realized they were eyes. Several feral snorts emanated from the shadows.
Everyone awoke and reached for their weapons.
Hu Li began chanting.
Aesendel took in an inhumanly deep breath.
Moonlight reflected off gray spittle that sheathed jagged ivory tusks. Thick chunks of dirt kicked up around the perimeter of the camp as a sounder of wild boars hungrily charged.
