Round One, Match Two, Big Tom's entry
Andor's Quest
"Enough of your riddles, witch! I came here for answers, not questions!”
Andor was angry with the witch. Not because she asked him riddles he could not solve, and not because she was slow in answering the questions he brought. He knew from his lessons that magic moved at its own pace. What angered Andor was the disrespect the witch showed him. Andor did not have the crown, but he was the rightful heir. Instead of speaking to him with respect, the witch mocked and chided him. She taunted him as one would taunt a child. Andor was only six months past the tests of manhood, but he had passed them. He would have her respect, or he would have her head. In the heat of the moment, he had stopped caring which it was.
The witch smiled at him. She had the look of one who kept a nasty secret and was about to delight in the pain its sharing caused. Then she spoke, her ragged voice cracking from age. “Youngling, if you come with foolish questions, I will give you foolish answers. You deserve no more. You have neither throne nor crown, and if you had prospects of gaining either you would not have come to me.” The witch cackled in a low voice, then continued, pointing at him with the withered claw that was her hand. “You want to know how to gain your father’s throne. The answer is simple. Kill your uncle and take it. Except your Uncle is a man who has earned the respect and loyalty of many good fighting men, while you are a boy whose friends are unblooded. So we both know the real answer to your question. You can’t take your father’s crown or throne. It is now beyond you.”
Andor gritted his teeth and held his rage. The throne and crown were rightfully his. On the day of his father’s death, his Uncle had arrived with many men and spoken many lies to the elders. In the end, they had given the crown and throne to his Uncle because they feared to do otherwise. Andor thought bitterly about his situation. He had been robbed, and could see the thief, yet he could not bring him to justice. Andor breathed deeply, slowly gaining control of the rage. He knew the witch spoke true. Yet he could not give up so easily. He would not be his father’s son if he abandoned his birthright so easily. Finally, he composed himself enough to speak.
“You speak truly, witch. I cannot fight my uncle and win. If I could I would. You know I come here to seek another way. I am barely a man now, and my friends are unblooded. But that will change in time. Witch, I ask you, can you guide me so that my future will hold victory over my uncle? Can you look into the future and tell me how I may defeat him and claim my birthright?”
The witch stared at him for a long time, the look on her weathered face less amused. He could tell she was studying him, but he could not tell what she might be looking for. He felt uncomfortable under her ancient gaze, like a schoolboy caught doodling instead of writing. Finally she broke the silence. This time her voice was serious, if not respectful.
“Mayhap there is a glimmer of hope in you, child. You have at least started to find wisdom. You talk of the future instead of the present. Good. Thinking of the future is the first step to finding answers.” As the witch spoke, she casually picked up a glass sphere and began playing with it. It seemed to dance across her fingers and along her hand. Andor could not help but wonder if it moved by magic or simple dexterity. He found it strangely distracting but struggled to continue to hear the witch’s words as she continued to talk.
“Our futures are not set things, child. The future is ever fluid and flows where it will. All we can hope to do is read how the riverbeds lay and try to steer ourselves through the rapids. One misstep and you surely drown. Ride them out and you may have a long smooth journey. The question now isn’t how to sink your Uncle’s boat, but where the rocks are.”
Andor heard her words, but they were becoming faint things. They seemed to echo at him from a distance. What he saw was the sphere, dancing on her hand. He saw nothing else. Then he didn’t see the hand. All he saw was the sphere dancing its hypnotic dance and the void. Slowly his mind realized what had happened. While she spoke, the witch had used her magic on him. Without taking his eye off the sphere, he called out to the witch. “What should I do here? Where have you sent me?” The reply seemed to echo at him from a thousand different places. “Watch and learn boy.” So Andor continued to watch the sphere dance. Slowly, he began to see his reflection in the sphere. He got a strange sense of himself staring at himself. He saw himself, and then he saw himself seeing himself. Slowly, the sphere began to reflect itself as it reflected him, and he saw more spheres, forming into a large, roiling sea of dancing orbs, each reflecting him in a slightly different way. Then in each orb, he saw himself acting. In some he fought his uncle, and he saw how he died. In one his head was removed from his shoulders. In another he lay on the ground, his guts hanging from his belly and crows picking his flesh before life left him. Then he looked at the other spheres. In some he fled. In some he stayed and bowed to his uncle. He kept looking until he saw one where he was old. He lay on his deathbed as an old man, surrounded by men and women who loved him, with rings on his fingers and silk sheets. He thought to himself that that was a fine thing. He focused his entire mind on that one orb as it danced in the jumble, seeing how he might get to that place. He couldn’t get everything, as the orb moved and changed too fast. He did see enough to realize what he needed to do. The witch had been right about the rapids. Yet now he would need to steer at a bigger rock than any his Uncle would lay before him, and get around it. If he could surmount that one great obstacle, he could have smooth sailing for an entire life. With this realization, the spheres seemed to fall away and suddenly everything was light.
Andor’s people lived a precarious existence. They lived in a great village in a fertile valley. Yet danger lurked, for beyond the valley were the mountains, and within the mountains dwelled many evil things. Some a sword would kill. Others laughed at the weapons of his people. The people of the valley avoided the mountains as much as possible, and relied on the king and his men when something came down from the mountains to threaten them. Thus it had been for as long as the people of the valley could remember. Sometimes their kings won great victories and there was peace. Sometimes the kings lost and a great price would be paid to the invaders, be it gold, food or children, and life would go on. The one thing that was known of the enemy was that just as the valley had a king, so too did the mountain. No one in the valley had seen this king, or knew what it was, but the creatures that invaded talked of their king and laid down their lives for him willingly. The king of the mountain had never attacked the valley himself, and those who went to the mountains to destroy him did not return. Yet Andor knew that he could destroy the king of the mountain. For he had seen the future where he did. If that future existed, then the chance of victory must also exist. So he would follow that path and die or live well.
Andor spoke of his vision and his plan to the witch, and she listened intently. She did not interrupt him, and she showed neither approval nor scorn. In the end, she offered him counsel.
“Young Andor, son of Gilean, blood heir to the crown and throne, hear me well. I would have you live and I would have you succeed, although neither is likely. If you would succeed, know this. The king of the mountain dwells in a cave in a great canyon. If you would find this canyon, seek the echoes, for all voices on the mountain make their way to the king. Once there, you will have to overcome his guardian and enter his cave. There, you may confront the king of the mountain and if the fates favor you vanquish him. Carry with you an extra days worth of food and water, for where you must go that which may seem fair to eat may prove most foul, and the water may be more deadly than a blade at your throat. Hold forth your father’s blade that I may offer you my meager assistance.” Andor held out the blade, and the witch began to chant. Her hands began to glow with white fire, and the fire slowly spread from her hands to the blade. In time the chanting ceased and the fire dissipated. The witch looked at Andor, and he saw weariness in those old, shrunken eyes. “Hear me one more time, boy. My magic has gifted your blade with the ability to strike both men and monsters. Even spirits will feel its sting. But know that his gift can only last for three days. After that, your blade will be naught to the spirits of the mountain and you will surely die at their hands. If you would go, go now and do not look back. Go with my blessings, and may the spirits of the fathers watch over you.”
Andor left immediately. Along the way was the homestead of his friend Gerd. He stopped long enough to grab the supplies he needed and let Gerd know what he intended to do. If he did not return, he wanted his friends to know his fate. Armed with an extra skin of fresh water, an extra axe, and his father’s sword, Andor hugged his friend goodbye and continued towards the mountain.
Andor walked all day and half of the night until he reached the base of the mountain. He located a small cave at the base of the mountain and hid himself as best he could. There he rested. He awoke with the light of dawn. Andor’s plan was simple. He hoped to locate the canyon before night fell. He would find a place to hide and rest, and assault it by the light of dawn. His father had always told him that the creatures of the mountain scorned sunlight, and he hoped that was true. He doubted that it would help him with the king, but it might give him an edge on whatever guarded the king.
For most of the day, Andor climbed. The high ground would offer the best vantage point for finding where he must go. The climb was treacherous, for the mountain had many steep, rocky climbs. Andor was young and agile, and he kept his footing. At the end of the day he stood atop the mountain. He looked over the valley as the sun set, its golden rays lighting up the cloudy sky with an incandescent display of gorgeous red and gold. He could see the village and the land around it. The sight filled him with a strange sense of sadness. He knew this might be the last he would see of his home. He looked all around, and although he could see much of the mountain, he did not see a canyon. Tired and frustrated, he lay down beneath a boulder, hoping to remain hidden through the night. With light fading, he thought all hope for finding the canyon and the cave today were gone. He would have to hope to find it tomorrow before the magic in his blade faded.
Andor hid until nightfall. The light of the sun made it impossible to sleep, so he lay awake thinking of many things. He thought most of his father. His father had been strong and proud. Andor had spent his life trying to live up to that image. Now, in a strange way, he had both abandoned and vindicated it. To give up the crown and throne would have made his father ashamed of him. Yet to pursue the mountain king and remove that threat to the village was the noblest of all quests, and he was sure his father would have been proud of his bravery. His father had been a good horseman, but when the colt panicked and rolled, his father could not get out of the saddle in time. No man could have. His father had been dead before anyone could reach him, his chest crushed and his heart broken. That single moment had completely changed Andor’s life, and now very well might lead to his death as well. As the last light slipped from the sky, Andor tried to sleep beneath the boulder, hoping to awake with fresh inspiration.
Two hours after the light was gone from the sky, Andor was still unable to sleep. He lay on his back, looking at the stars and praying to any god that would hear his plea. The night was deathly quiet except for the occasional call of an owl, and the rare call of the wolves. As Andor lay thinking, he heard another of the calls of father owl. Then he realized he was hearing something else. An echo. The words of the witch came back to him then. Follow the echo. He waited. The next time the owl called, he listed for the echo, and he could faintly hear where it came from. After two more calls from father owl, he had a direction. It was dark, and this was the dangerous time to travel in the mountains, but Andor knew time was against him. The mountain was dark, but the moon and stars did shed some light. Enough, he hoped, to guide his feet towards the echo. Slowly, measuring each step, Andor began the long climb down towards the returning call of father owl. It was painful to move this way. Many times his ankle tried to twist away from him as soft gravel slid beneath his feet. Sometimes, the ground sloped in an unexpected way, and Andor had to fight to keep his balance lest he tumble down the rock face of the mountain. Yet, he persevered step after step, minute after minute, hour after hour. Finally, he reached out with his foot and found nothing but air beneath it. Taking time to let his eyes adjust under the pale moonlight, he saw that before him was a vast canyon. Andor knew he could go no farther this night. He covered himself in a thin blanket and covered the blanket with gravel to hide himself. He knew it wouldn’t keep the hunters that tracked by smell away, but it was the best he could do. Then he lay on the hard earth and slept a deep sleep.
The light of dawn brought Andor awake, feeling strangely refreshed despite the night’s travails. Now he could see what lay in front on him. The canyon was deep, but not impossibly so. Far below, the early rays of the sun glinted off of a small river that ran the length of the canyon. The side was made of solid stone, rough in its surface and full of holes. With caution and effort he worked his way down the cliff to the bottom of the canyon. Andor followed the river, thinking that the king was likely to live farther along it. It was Andor’s experience that rivers grew as they traveled, and he was sure the king would live near somewhere with a better waterway than the stream he saw.
Andor walked until the mid day sun beat down on him. He took a small lunch by the side of the river. He desperately wanted to cool himself in the river, but caution prevailed. Instead, he took time to observe the river. Soon, he realized that no fish swam in the river. The few things he saw move did not look like fish. They did not look like anything he had seen, and did not look like things he wanted to see. So Andor remained hot and uncomfortable, but stayed alive. So it was for another hour until Andor came to a bend in the canyon and, beyond, heard a low growl. He pressed himself against the wall of the canyon and slowly crept forward until he could see around the bend. What he saw nearly made his heart stop. For he was sure he had found the king’s guardian.
What Andor saw could only have risen from the deepest pits of hell. The creature was enormous, larger than the largest ox. At least a dozen appendages seemed to hang from the grotesque, bloated body. Several of these ended in heads, while others seemed to end in claws and a few in hands. The heads seemed to writhe around, watching in all directions. As Andor continued to watch, he could hear the creature talking to itself. Each head had a unique voice, but none were pleasant and none quite human. Some growled deeply, while others squeaked and piped like a poorly tuned flute. Andor knew he could not simply charge such a creature and slay it. He realized his only hope lay in trickery. Quickly forming a plan, Andor took a deep breath, puffed up his chest, and boldly strode towards the creature.
“Hail the court of the mountain king! I am Andor, a wizard, and I come to offer my services!”
All heads turned for a moment to observe Andor as he walked towards the creature. Some watched him intently. Others quickly went back to their routine, watching in all directions. One that looked much like a wolf seemed to watch him the most intently, and Andor realized it also smelled his scent. The wolf growled out “I smell only manling. I scent no sorcery.” A second head, this one looking like a mountain cat, purred in reply “Maybe not, but I don’t trust such decisions to your nose. The king should make the decision.” A third head, that of a dragon, surged forward, roaring out “men are food unless the king says otherwise. I am hungry and I would feast!” The cat replied, “Your hunger is greater than your sense. Be still!” The cat and dragon growled and hissed at each other for a moment, then a small, serpentine head wound its way forward through the writhing mass. It hissed a command “Silence all of you. I shall judge this one. Speak to me manling, and speak well, or you will surely make excellent dining for my friends.”
Andor quickly began talking. “I am a wizard from the valley folk, recently come into my power. The old witch saw me as a threat to her position and turned the villagers against me. So I come here to this court, seeking revenge against those who wronged me.”
“A likely story” hissed the snake head, “but we want proof. Show us some sorcery and we will present you to the king. Otherwise, dragon will slowly tear away your muscle while wolf savors your guts. Show me something manling, if you would pass.”
Andor spoke. “Demon, I know you come from the deepest hells, so I know you have their power. If you choose, you can be impervious to the touch of mortals. Only a wizard could touch you then. Make yourself so. I will come forward and grab the wolf’s snout. If I fail to hold it, you can strike me down. If I grip it, my claim is true. What say you?”
The snake hissed back with what seemed to almost be a chuckle in its voice. “Very well, manling. But know this. We can come from our world to yours in but a second. If you fail, you will not be able to run from us before we can strike you true. If your plan is to charge through us while we cannot be touched, let me assure you all you will offer us is a short game and a quick meal. Come forward, manling, and show us your sorcery.”
Andor walked forward with a quick, deliberate step. He desperately hoped he was not betraying the fear that coursed through his body. If he showed this thing fear, he had no doubt it would strike him down. His only hope was for the thing to believe him enough to keep its word about being incorporeal. So Andor strode directly to the wolves head. As he expected, the dragon head looped behind him, ready for the snack it anticipated. Andor reached out with his left hand towards the toothy snout of the wolf. He hoped the creature didn’t notice his other hand quietly gripping the hilt of his sword. As his hand passed through the snout, his other hand drew the sword. Leaning forward and falling through the wolf’s head, he brought the enchanted sword down with all of the force he could muster. He felt the sword strike bone and the wolf’s eyes suddenly went blank. The force of the blow cracked the thing's skull and it hung loosely from the body, blood pouring from the mouth. Andor let himself fall to the ground and rolled to the side. As he expected, the dragon head had rushed to strike and had grabbed at where he had been. Andor drove his sword straight up, slicing open the long neck of the dragon. A strange black ichor erupted from the wound, covering Andor. Andor twisted the blade, then rolled away hard, pulling the sword with him. The dragon head collapsed to the ground and he narrowly avoided being crushed by it. Andor rose to one knee, sword ready, as the serpent head swept down on him. Down, and then through him. Andor had guessed correctly. The wolf and dragon had been ready to attack, the serpent had not. Andor swung the blade hard against the neck of the serpent and cut through it, severing the head completely from the body. Andor retreated as the thing lurched around. With the strongest heads slain, the rest could not control and guide the body. Andor retreated, warding the remaining heads with his sword, and waited. Soon the creature began to weaken from the blood loss. Realizing its plight at last, the remaining heads joined together for the only action that made sense, and the creature fled down the cavern with a dozen different howls of pain and defiance. Andor stood alone at the base of the cliff. A single ladder led up the side of the cliff to a small opening. Beyond was the hall of the mountain king. Andor climbed.
Andor expected to find many things beyond the door. Guardians and beasts. Great halls with massive thrones. Strange dungeons full of the awfulness of hell.
He found none of those things. Instead, he found himself standing alone in a forest. The cave mouth disappeared as soon as he entered it, and he stood alone in a great wood. The sun seemed to be blotted out and it was almost too dark to see. Yet when Andor drew his sword, it glowed with the magic on it. Andor quietly raised the sword in a traditional salute and offered a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god had guided him here.
Andor took a moment to get his bearings, and in that moment, he realized something. There was no wind in the forest. There was no rustle of leaves, and there was no call of animals. Instinctively, Andor knew this was a sorcerous place. Again he had to trust his intuition, and his intuition said this was a magical trap that would spring soon. Andor thought back to the village elders teaching on ensorcellments. The thought that stood out was how one defeated an illusion. The elder had said a magical illusion would stand up to any visual test, but it could not truly defy the laws of physics. So, Andor pulled his axe and hurled it at the nearest tree. It stuck into the tree with a satisfying thunk. Then Andor carefully stepped over to the tree to retrieve the axe. As he had thought, there had been no tree for the real axe to stick in, and his hand passed through the illusion. As it did so, Andor could feel a tingling in his mind, and the forest simply faded away. Andor turned just in time to see the thing that stalked him. It was a huge, hulking brute, seven feet tall and vaguely human. Yet its features seemed to be melted and twisted. It wielded a huge, spiked club that it swung with great force. Andor barely dodged the blow. However, Andor also could tell that for all the creature’s strength, it was slow. Andor was fast and Andor had steel. He stalked the creature. The creature continued to swing wildly, but Andor was able to dodge its massive, clumsy blows. Finally, the creature overextended itself trying to reach Andor and Andor struck back, cutting a deep wound in the creature’s arm. As the creature reared back in pain, Andor charged forward and stabbed with all of his might. The blade cut deep into the thing’s ribs, and it fell back with a piteous howl and expired.
Beyond the cave was another room, and Andor charged in. This room was carved from the rock. Several cushions lined the walls, and the floor was covered with exquisite tiling. Sitting in the center of the room was a boy. He looked to be about ten, and his face was a mask of fear and confusion.
“Sir, have you slain the king?”
Andor looked at the boy. “Do you mean that thing in the other room?”
“Yes sir. That was the strongest of the men of the mountain, so they named it their king. It made a compact with hell to gain power.”
“Yes, I have slain it. Who are you?”
“I am Arthuk. We were captured by the mountain men some time ago. The rest of my family is behind that door. Please, sir knight, would you rescue them?”
“Certainly, lad. Take my hand now. I don’t want you getting lost.”
As Andor reached for the boy, the boy shrank away from him. Andor knew this was a natural reaction for a boy who had been traumatized, but his senses had detected something amiss. He didn’t know what, but suddenly his reflexes all seemed to scream that there was danger. Andor took another, cautious step towards the boy, and the boy again slid back from him. Now Andor knew. Where the boy had been was hot. Too hot. In his heart, Andor realized this boy was no boy, at least not any longer. For he also smelled the faint odor of brimstone now, and knew this innocent looking boy was really a demon. Andor took a half step away as if acceding to the boy’s wishes, then drew his sword and whirled around, intent on surprising the demon. The demon was fast and dodged the blow. It rolled away from Andor and come to its feet. When it spoke again, it was no longer the voice of a child, but the deep roaring of a mighty conflagration. “Impudent mortal, you dare come to my hall to slay me! You have been clever and you have been lucky, but neither of those things will avail you now. I am hell, and hell will have you.” With that, the child seemed to erupt into flame. Its hair changed from curly blonde to curls of fire. Its eyes glowed with the heat of a furnace. Bits of flame seemed to float from different parts of its body randomly. Then, the creature rose into the air, floating above the ground in all its demonic splendor. Soon, it was too high for Andor to reach with his sword, and Andor knew he was in deep trouble. The creature laughed with a deep rumbling. “Fool, your blade is nothing to me. I am the fire of hell and now you will roast.” The demon pointed at Andor and a gout of flame shot from his hand. Andor threw himself to the side and narrowly avoided being engulfed, but he did feel the skin on his back singe from the heat. There was no doubt in his mind that a direct strike would burn him alive. Andor hurled his magical blade at the demon, hoping to run it through since he could not reach it. The demon easily moved from the path of the blade, continuing its mocking laughter. The blade clattered harmlessly to the ground behind the demon. Again the demon pointed and again flame leapt at Andor. Again he dodged and again he felt the sting of the heat. He knew he could not keep this up much longer. The heat was already taking its toll on him. Desperate, he pulled his extra axe and hurled it at the demon. Instead of dodging, the demon grabbed the axe in mid flight. For a moment, the handle flashed red, and then was burned away. The fire seemed to flow into the creature and it seemed somehow to enjoy the feeling. The head of the axe clattered to the floor smoking from where the handle had been attached. “Tasty, boy, but not as tasty as man flesh”. For a third time the creature hurled its fire and Andor dodged. This time, he rolled forward, towards the demon and towards his sword. In a final effort, he pulled his spare waterskin and hurled it at the demon. The demon caught it and it was engulfed in flame. Then the skin broke open and water struck the demon. The water exploded into steam and the creature screamed. The light in the room noticeable dimmed as the demon’s fire momentarily faltered. The demon plunged to the floor. Andor did not take time to look, as he was already running for the sword. He swiped it up in one hand and turned, using the turn to both propel himself forward and bring the blade around fast. The blade struck true and the demon was cut in two. The awful thing seemed to simply melt into the rock, leaving a scorch mark to show its passing. In his heart, Andor knew the mountain king was dead.
Andor's Quest
"Enough of your riddles, witch! I came here for answers, not questions!”
Andor was angry with the witch. Not because she asked him riddles he could not solve, and not because she was slow in answering the questions he brought. He knew from his lessons that magic moved at its own pace. What angered Andor was the disrespect the witch showed him. Andor did not have the crown, but he was the rightful heir. Instead of speaking to him with respect, the witch mocked and chided him. She taunted him as one would taunt a child. Andor was only six months past the tests of manhood, but he had passed them. He would have her respect, or he would have her head. In the heat of the moment, he had stopped caring which it was.
The witch smiled at him. She had the look of one who kept a nasty secret and was about to delight in the pain its sharing caused. Then she spoke, her ragged voice cracking from age. “Youngling, if you come with foolish questions, I will give you foolish answers. You deserve no more. You have neither throne nor crown, and if you had prospects of gaining either you would not have come to me.” The witch cackled in a low voice, then continued, pointing at him with the withered claw that was her hand. “You want to know how to gain your father’s throne. The answer is simple. Kill your uncle and take it. Except your Uncle is a man who has earned the respect and loyalty of many good fighting men, while you are a boy whose friends are unblooded. So we both know the real answer to your question. You can’t take your father’s crown or throne. It is now beyond you.”
Andor gritted his teeth and held his rage. The throne and crown were rightfully his. On the day of his father’s death, his Uncle had arrived with many men and spoken many lies to the elders. In the end, they had given the crown and throne to his Uncle because they feared to do otherwise. Andor thought bitterly about his situation. He had been robbed, and could see the thief, yet he could not bring him to justice. Andor breathed deeply, slowly gaining control of the rage. He knew the witch spoke true. Yet he could not give up so easily. He would not be his father’s son if he abandoned his birthright so easily. Finally, he composed himself enough to speak.
“You speak truly, witch. I cannot fight my uncle and win. If I could I would. You know I come here to seek another way. I am barely a man now, and my friends are unblooded. But that will change in time. Witch, I ask you, can you guide me so that my future will hold victory over my uncle? Can you look into the future and tell me how I may defeat him and claim my birthright?”
The witch stared at him for a long time, the look on her weathered face less amused. He could tell she was studying him, but he could not tell what she might be looking for. He felt uncomfortable under her ancient gaze, like a schoolboy caught doodling instead of writing. Finally she broke the silence. This time her voice was serious, if not respectful.
“Mayhap there is a glimmer of hope in you, child. You have at least started to find wisdom. You talk of the future instead of the present. Good. Thinking of the future is the first step to finding answers.” As the witch spoke, she casually picked up a glass sphere and began playing with it. It seemed to dance across her fingers and along her hand. Andor could not help but wonder if it moved by magic or simple dexterity. He found it strangely distracting but struggled to continue to hear the witch’s words as she continued to talk.
“Our futures are not set things, child. The future is ever fluid and flows where it will. All we can hope to do is read how the riverbeds lay and try to steer ourselves through the rapids. One misstep and you surely drown. Ride them out and you may have a long smooth journey. The question now isn’t how to sink your Uncle’s boat, but where the rocks are.”
Andor heard her words, but they were becoming faint things. They seemed to echo at him from a distance. What he saw was the sphere, dancing on her hand. He saw nothing else. Then he didn’t see the hand. All he saw was the sphere dancing its hypnotic dance and the void. Slowly his mind realized what had happened. While she spoke, the witch had used her magic on him. Without taking his eye off the sphere, he called out to the witch. “What should I do here? Where have you sent me?” The reply seemed to echo at him from a thousand different places. “Watch and learn boy.” So Andor continued to watch the sphere dance. Slowly, he began to see his reflection in the sphere. He got a strange sense of himself staring at himself. He saw himself, and then he saw himself seeing himself. Slowly, the sphere began to reflect itself as it reflected him, and he saw more spheres, forming into a large, roiling sea of dancing orbs, each reflecting him in a slightly different way. Then in each orb, he saw himself acting. In some he fought his uncle, and he saw how he died. In one his head was removed from his shoulders. In another he lay on the ground, his guts hanging from his belly and crows picking his flesh before life left him. Then he looked at the other spheres. In some he fled. In some he stayed and bowed to his uncle. He kept looking until he saw one where he was old. He lay on his deathbed as an old man, surrounded by men and women who loved him, with rings on his fingers and silk sheets. He thought to himself that that was a fine thing. He focused his entire mind on that one orb as it danced in the jumble, seeing how he might get to that place. He couldn’t get everything, as the orb moved and changed too fast. He did see enough to realize what he needed to do. The witch had been right about the rapids. Yet now he would need to steer at a bigger rock than any his Uncle would lay before him, and get around it. If he could surmount that one great obstacle, he could have smooth sailing for an entire life. With this realization, the spheres seemed to fall away and suddenly everything was light.
Andor’s people lived a precarious existence. They lived in a great village in a fertile valley. Yet danger lurked, for beyond the valley were the mountains, and within the mountains dwelled many evil things. Some a sword would kill. Others laughed at the weapons of his people. The people of the valley avoided the mountains as much as possible, and relied on the king and his men when something came down from the mountains to threaten them. Thus it had been for as long as the people of the valley could remember. Sometimes their kings won great victories and there was peace. Sometimes the kings lost and a great price would be paid to the invaders, be it gold, food or children, and life would go on. The one thing that was known of the enemy was that just as the valley had a king, so too did the mountain. No one in the valley had seen this king, or knew what it was, but the creatures that invaded talked of their king and laid down their lives for him willingly. The king of the mountain had never attacked the valley himself, and those who went to the mountains to destroy him did not return. Yet Andor knew that he could destroy the king of the mountain. For he had seen the future where he did. If that future existed, then the chance of victory must also exist. So he would follow that path and die or live well.
Andor spoke of his vision and his plan to the witch, and she listened intently. She did not interrupt him, and she showed neither approval nor scorn. In the end, she offered him counsel.
“Young Andor, son of Gilean, blood heir to the crown and throne, hear me well. I would have you live and I would have you succeed, although neither is likely. If you would succeed, know this. The king of the mountain dwells in a cave in a great canyon. If you would find this canyon, seek the echoes, for all voices on the mountain make their way to the king. Once there, you will have to overcome his guardian and enter his cave. There, you may confront the king of the mountain and if the fates favor you vanquish him. Carry with you an extra days worth of food and water, for where you must go that which may seem fair to eat may prove most foul, and the water may be more deadly than a blade at your throat. Hold forth your father’s blade that I may offer you my meager assistance.” Andor held out the blade, and the witch began to chant. Her hands began to glow with white fire, and the fire slowly spread from her hands to the blade. In time the chanting ceased and the fire dissipated. The witch looked at Andor, and he saw weariness in those old, shrunken eyes. “Hear me one more time, boy. My magic has gifted your blade with the ability to strike both men and monsters. Even spirits will feel its sting. But know that his gift can only last for three days. After that, your blade will be naught to the spirits of the mountain and you will surely die at their hands. If you would go, go now and do not look back. Go with my blessings, and may the spirits of the fathers watch over you.”
Andor left immediately. Along the way was the homestead of his friend Gerd. He stopped long enough to grab the supplies he needed and let Gerd know what he intended to do. If he did not return, he wanted his friends to know his fate. Armed with an extra skin of fresh water, an extra axe, and his father’s sword, Andor hugged his friend goodbye and continued towards the mountain.
Andor walked all day and half of the night until he reached the base of the mountain. He located a small cave at the base of the mountain and hid himself as best he could. There he rested. He awoke with the light of dawn. Andor’s plan was simple. He hoped to locate the canyon before night fell. He would find a place to hide and rest, and assault it by the light of dawn. His father had always told him that the creatures of the mountain scorned sunlight, and he hoped that was true. He doubted that it would help him with the king, but it might give him an edge on whatever guarded the king.
For most of the day, Andor climbed. The high ground would offer the best vantage point for finding where he must go. The climb was treacherous, for the mountain had many steep, rocky climbs. Andor was young and agile, and he kept his footing. At the end of the day he stood atop the mountain. He looked over the valley as the sun set, its golden rays lighting up the cloudy sky with an incandescent display of gorgeous red and gold. He could see the village and the land around it. The sight filled him with a strange sense of sadness. He knew this might be the last he would see of his home. He looked all around, and although he could see much of the mountain, he did not see a canyon. Tired and frustrated, he lay down beneath a boulder, hoping to remain hidden through the night. With light fading, he thought all hope for finding the canyon and the cave today were gone. He would have to hope to find it tomorrow before the magic in his blade faded.
Andor hid until nightfall. The light of the sun made it impossible to sleep, so he lay awake thinking of many things. He thought most of his father. His father had been strong and proud. Andor had spent his life trying to live up to that image. Now, in a strange way, he had both abandoned and vindicated it. To give up the crown and throne would have made his father ashamed of him. Yet to pursue the mountain king and remove that threat to the village was the noblest of all quests, and he was sure his father would have been proud of his bravery. His father had been a good horseman, but when the colt panicked and rolled, his father could not get out of the saddle in time. No man could have. His father had been dead before anyone could reach him, his chest crushed and his heart broken. That single moment had completely changed Andor’s life, and now very well might lead to his death as well. As the last light slipped from the sky, Andor tried to sleep beneath the boulder, hoping to awake with fresh inspiration.
Two hours after the light was gone from the sky, Andor was still unable to sleep. He lay on his back, looking at the stars and praying to any god that would hear his plea. The night was deathly quiet except for the occasional call of an owl, and the rare call of the wolves. As Andor lay thinking, he heard another of the calls of father owl. Then he realized he was hearing something else. An echo. The words of the witch came back to him then. Follow the echo. He waited. The next time the owl called, he listed for the echo, and he could faintly hear where it came from. After two more calls from father owl, he had a direction. It was dark, and this was the dangerous time to travel in the mountains, but Andor knew time was against him. The mountain was dark, but the moon and stars did shed some light. Enough, he hoped, to guide his feet towards the echo. Slowly, measuring each step, Andor began the long climb down towards the returning call of father owl. It was painful to move this way. Many times his ankle tried to twist away from him as soft gravel slid beneath his feet. Sometimes, the ground sloped in an unexpected way, and Andor had to fight to keep his balance lest he tumble down the rock face of the mountain. Yet, he persevered step after step, minute after minute, hour after hour. Finally, he reached out with his foot and found nothing but air beneath it. Taking time to let his eyes adjust under the pale moonlight, he saw that before him was a vast canyon. Andor knew he could go no farther this night. He covered himself in a thin blanket and covered the blanket with gravel to hide himself. He knew it wouldn’t keep the hunters that tracked by smell away, but it was the best he could do. Then he lay on the hard earth and slept a deep sleep.
The light of dawn brought Andor awake, feeling strangely refreshed despite the night’s travails. Now he could see what lay in front on him. The canyon was deep, but not impossibly so. Far below, the early rays of the sun glinted off of a small river that ran the length of the canyon. The side was made of solid stone, rough in its surface and full of holes. With caution and effort he worked his way down the cliff to the bottom of the canyon. Andor followed the river, thinking that the king was likely to live farther along it. It was Andor’s experience that rivers grew as they traveled, and he was sure the king would live near somewhere with a better waterway than the stream he saw.
Andor walked until the mid day sun beat down on him. He took a small lunch by the side of the river. He desperately wanted to cool himself in the river, but caution prevailed. Instead, he took time to observe the river. Soon, he realized that no fish swam in the river. The few things he saw move did not look like fish. They did not look like anything he had seen, and did not look like things he wanted to see. So Andor remained hot and uncomfortable, but stayed alive. So it was for another hour until Andor came to a bend in the canyon and, beyond, heard a low growl. He pressed himself against the wall of the canyon and slowly crept forward until he could see around the bend. What he saw nearly made his heart stop. For he was sure he had found the king’s guardian.
What Andor saw could only have risen from the deepest pits of hell. The creature was enormous, larger than the largest ox. At least a dozen appendages seemed to hang from the grotesque, bloated body. Several of these ended in heads, while others seemed to end in claws and a few in hands. The heads seemed to writhe around, watching in all directions. As Andor continued to watch, he could hear the creature talking to itself. Each head had a unique voice, but none were pleasant and none quite human. Some growled deeply, while others squeaked and piped like a poorly tuned flute. Andor knew he could not simply charge such a creature and slay it. He realized his only hope lay in trickery. Quickly forming a plan, Andor took a deep breath, puffed up his chest, and boldly strode towards the creature.
“Hail the court of the mountain king! I am Andor, a wizard, and I come to offer my services!”
All heads turned for a moment to observe Andor as he walked towards the creature. Some watched him intently. Others quickly went back to their routine, watching in all directions. One that looked much like a wolf seemed to watch him the most intently, and Andor realized it also smelled his scent. The wolf growled out “I smell only manling. I scent no sorcery.” A second head, this one looking like a mountain cat, purred in reply “Maybe not, but I don’t trust such decisions to your nose. The king should make the decision.” A third head, that of a dragon, surged forward, roaring out “men are food unless the king says otherwise. I am hungry and I would feast!” The cat replied, “Your hunger is greater than your sense. Be still!” The cat and dragon growled and hissed at each other for a moment, then a small, serpentine head wound its way forward through the writhing mass. It hissed a command “Silence all of you. I shall judge this one. Speak to me manling, and speak well, or you will surely make excellent dining for my friends.”
Andor quickly began talking. “I am a wizard from the valley folk, recently come into my power. The old witch saw me as a threat to her position and turned the villagers against me. So I come here to this court, seeking revenge against those who wronged me.”
“A likely story” hissed the snake head, “but we want proof. Show us some sorcery and we will present you to the king. Otherwise, dragon will slowly tear away your muscle while wolf savors your guts. Show me something manling, if you would pass.”
Andor spoke. “Demon, I know you come from the deepest hells, so I know you have their power. If you choose, you can be impervious to the touch of mortals. Only a wizard could touch you then. Make yourself so. I will come forward and grab the wolf’s snout. If I fail to hold it, you can strike me down. If I grip it, my claim is true. What say you?”
The snake hissed back with what seemed to almost be a chuckle in its voice. “Very well, manling. But know this. We can come from our world to yours in but a second. If you fail, you will not be able to run from us before we can strike you true. If your plan is to charge through us while we cannot be touched, let me assure you all you will offer us is a short game and a quick meal. Come forward, manling, and show us your sorcery.”
Andor walked forward with a quick, deliberate step. He desperately hoped he was not betraying the fear that coursed through his body. If he showed this thing fear, he had no doubt it would strike him down. His only hope was for the thing to believe him enough to keep its word about being incorporeal. So Andor strode directly to the wolves head. As he expected, the dragon head looped behind him, ready for the snack it anticipated. Andor reached out with his left hand towards the toothy snout of the wolf. He hoped the creature didn’t notice his other hand quietly gripping the hilt of his sword. As his hand passed through the snout, his other hand drew the sword. Leaning forward and falling through the wolf’s head, he brought the enchanted sword down with all of the force he could muster. He felt the sword strike bone and the wolf’s eyes suddenly went blank. The force of the blow cracked the thing's skull and it hung loosely from the body, blood pouring from the mouth. Andor let himself fall to the ground and rolled to the side. As he expected, the dragon head had rushed to strike and had grabbed at where he had been. Andor drove his sword straight up, slicing open the long neck of the dragon. A strange black ichor erupted from the wound, covering Andor. Andor twisted the blade, then rolled away hard, pulling the sword with him. The dragon head collapsed to the ground and he narrowly avoided being crushed by it. Andor rose to one knee, sword ready, as the serpent head swept down on him. Down, and then through him. Andor had guessed correctly. The wolf and dragon had been ready to attack, the serpent had not. Andor swung the blade hard against the neck of the serpent and cut through it, severing the head completely from the body. Andor retreated as the thing lurched around. With the strongest heads slain, the rest could not control and guide the body. Andor retreated, warding the remaining heads with his sword, and waited. Soon the creature began to weaken from the blood loss. Realizing its plight at last, the remaining heads joined together for the only action that made sense, and the creature fled down the cavern with a dozen different howls of pain and defiance. Andor stood alone at the base of the cliff. A single ladder led up the side of the cliff to a small opening. Beyond was the hall of the mountain king. Andor climbed.
Andor expected to find many things beyond the door. Guardians and beasts. Great halls with massive thrones. Strange dungeons full of the awfulness of hell.
He found none of those things. Instead, he found himself standing alone in a forest. The cave mouth disappeared as soon as he entered it, and he stood alone in a great wood. The sun seemed to be blotted out and it was almost too dark to see. Yet when Andor drew his sword, it glowed with the magic on it. Andor quietly raised the sword in a traditional salute and offered a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god had guided him here.
Andor took a moment to get his bearings, and in that moment, he realized something. There was no wind in the forest. There was no rustle of leaves, and there was no call of animals. Instinctively, Andor knew this was a sorcerous place. Again he had to trust his intuition, and his intuition said this was a magical trap that would spring soon. Andor thought back to the village elders teaching on ensorcellments. The thought that stood out was how one defeated an illusion. The elder had said a magical illusion would stand up to any visual test, but it could not truly defy the laws of physics. So, Andor pulled his axe and hurled it at the nearest tree. It stuck into the tree with a satisfying thunk. Then Andor carefully stepped over to the tree to retrieve the axe. As he had thought, there had been no tree for the real axe to stick in, and his hand passed through the illusion. As it did so, Andor could feel a tingling in his mind, and the forest simply faded away. Andor turned just in time to see the thing that stalked him. It was a huge, hulking brute, seven feet tall and vaguely human. Yet its features seemed to be melted and twisted. It wielded a huge, spiked club that it swung with great force. Andor barely dodged the blow. However, Andor also could tell that for all the creature’s strength, it was slow. Andor was fast and Andor had steel. He stalked the creature. The creature continued to swing wildly, but Andor was able to dodge its massive, clumsy blows. Finally, the creature overextended itself trying to reach Andor and Andor struck back, cutting a deep wound in the creature’s arm. As the creature reared back in pain, Andor charged forward and stabbed with all of his might. The blade cut deep into the thing’s ribs, and it fell back with a piteous howl and expired.
Beyond the cave was another room, and Andor charged in. This room was carved from the rock. Several cushions lined the walls, and the floor was covered with exquisite tiling. Sitting in the center of the room was a boy. He looked to be about ten, and his face was a mask of fear and confusion.
“Sir, have you slain the king?”
Andor looked at the boy. “Do you mean that thing in the other room?”
“Yes sir. That was the strongest of the men of the mountain, so they named it their king. It made a compact with hell to gain power.”
“Yes, I have slain it. Who are you?”
“I am Arthuk. We were captured by the mountain men some time ago. The rest of my family is behind that door. Please, sir knight, would you rescue them?”
“Certainly, lad. Take my hand now. I don’t want you getting lost.”
As Andor reached for the boy, the boy shrank away from him. Andor knew this was a natural reaction for a boy who had been traumatized, but his senses had detected something amiss. He didn’t know what, but suddenly his reflexes all seemed to scream that there was danger. Andor took another, cautious step towards the boy, and the boy again slid back from him. Now Andor knew. Where the boy had been was hot. Too hot. In his heart, Andor realized this boy was no boy, at least not any longer. For he also smelled the faint odor of brimstone now, and knew this innocent looking boy was really a demon. Andor took a half step away as if acceding to the boy’s wishes, then drew his sword and whirled around, intent on surprising the demon. The demon was fast and dodged the blow. It rolled away from Andor and come to its feet. When it spoke again, it was no longer the voice of a child, but the deep roaring of a mighty conflagration. “Impudent mortal, you dare come to my hall to slay me! You have been clever and you have been lucky, but neither of those things will avail you now. I am hell, and hell will have you.” With that, the child seemed to erupt into flame. Its hair changed from curly blonde to curls of fire. Its eyes glowed with the heat of a furnace. Bits of flame seemed to float from different parts of its body randomly. Then, the creature rose into the air, floating above the ground in all its demonic splendor. Soon, it was too high for Andor to reach with his sword, and Andor knew he was in deep trouble. The creature laughed with a deep rumbling. “Fool, your blade is nothing to me. I am the fire of hell and now you will roast.” The demon pointed at Andor and a gout of flame shot from his hand. Andor threw himself to the side and narrowly avoided being engulfed, but he did feel the skin on his back singe from the heat. There was no doubt in his mind that a direct strike would burn him alive. Andor hurled his magical blade at the demon, hoping to run it through since he could not reach it. The demon easily moved from the path of the blade, continuing its mocking laughter. The blade clattered harmlessly to the ground behind the demon. Again the demon pointed and again flame leapt at Andor. Again he dodged and again he felt the sting of the heat. He knew he could not keep this up much longer. The heat was already taking its toll on him. Desperate, he pulled his extra axe and hurled it at the demon. Instead of dodging, the demon grabbed the axe in mid flight. For a moment, the handle flashed red, and then was burned away. The fire seemed to flow into the creature and it seemed somehow to enjoy the feeling. The head of the axe clattered to the floor smoking from where the handle had been attached. “Tasty, boy, but not as tasty as man flesh”. For a third time the creature hurled its fire and Andor dodged. This time, he rolled forward, towards the demon and towards his sword. In a final effort, he pulled his spare waterskin and hurled it at the demon. The demon caught it and it was engulfed in flame. Then the skin broke open and water struck the demon. The water exploded into steam and the creature screamed. The light in the room noticeable dimmed as the demon’s fire momentarily faltered. The demon plunged to the floor. Andor did not take time to look, as he was already running for the sword. He swiped it up in one hand and turned, using the turn to both propel himself forward and bring the blade around fast. The blade struck true and the demon was cut in two. The awful thing seemed to simply melt into the rock, leaving a scorch mark to show its passing. In his heart, Andor knew the mountain king was dead.
