On the Instructors

We all traveled back to town together and checked into the inn. A few of the houses were burned, but because a pair of powerful mages were already staying here, the damage wasn't too extensive. It was mostly confined to the outskirts of the town and outlying farms. How could something like this happen? I shudder to think how bad this would have been if Magus K and Celon weren't here. Oh, and he writes his name like the letter, not the name. He's kind of interesting, but I get this cold feeling from him. Up close, he's nearly seven feet tall! He's not actually a full professor at the Academy, more of an adjunct. But I saw him shoot some sort of ray, so he must be a powerful mage, right? Even though Magus Celon is his superior, he seems to be in charge of the travel. When I asked about it at dinner, the Magus laughed, and Mr. K made a noise that I guess could have been laughter.
“Mr. K knows every inch of the world better than the back of his hand. He teaches geography.” The Magus explained. I don't know why that's funny. Geography. How completely boring. I thought we were going to be learning spells and things. As though reading my disapointment, Mr. K told me that he also teaches Planar Geography. As in The Planes, the worlds beyond. Which is pretty cool, I guess.
Gloria asked if he had traveled a great deal, and all enigmatic and mysterious, he said “My heels have pressed the earth on many worlds.” So I guess that is a yes. But a Planar Traveler. Wow. I had a million questions, but he's like a statue. That was the longest sentence he said all evening.
Magus Celon teaches more advanced magic theory and practice. He is an Evoker, which is a special kind of mage. He can only cast certain types of spells. I asked him a bit more, but all he said was that I would learn well enough in Spellcraft, and that I should be patient. He is an honest to goodness Elf, so I guess I can't be surprised by that answer. I've never met an elf before. He seems very nice. He's clearly a mighty wizard. He's from the great forests far to the west, but the Elves are complete isolationists. They appeared in the world briefly during the War of the Gods, led by their Goddess and firing arrows made of pure magic. Then, they were gone. When the third age dawn, the other People found that the Elves had disappeared back into their woods like mist. There are exceptions, of course. Adventurers ply the roads, and some of them are Elves, but Elves and Humans have a bad history. Worse even then with the Dwarves. I've heard that elves are immortal, that they do not age. I wonder if it's true, but I don't think I could ask him. Grandpa said that he knew some elves that were hundreds of years old, and didn't look more than 20. So, there are two mysterious gentlemen that I'll be traveling with, one tall and dark, one short and fair. It looks like it won't be a boring journey! Our ship leaves tomorrow! I can't wait!

An Interuption

The crossbow still works.
I didn't notice anything was wrong until Dad told us to get down and stay hidden. The village was visible, but still tiny and far away on the blasted plains. The cart was slowing. The houses were squat, domed structures made from the earth of the plains. They rose like hills with chimneys, bellowing smoke. Too much smoke. Then I saw the licks of fire, and the distant sounds of battle, massacre, pillaging? It doesn't matter what they were. We had stumbled into the middle of a bandit raid. Dad was resting the crossbow on the front rail of the cart. He had one hand on the trigger, and the other on the reins. This was the closest I had ever seen him to anything adventurous or violent. It felt wrong. I looked over at Gloria. She was still deeply absorbed in her book, mumbling the words to herself. I reached over and tried to pull her down. She just looked up at me and shook her head. Then she went back to her book. I let it go. She was small enough to hide if it was bandits.
Bandits. My Grandfather fought them all the time. He never really hunted them or anything, but every so often a bunch of greenhorns would cross his group's path, and find out that it was a lot tougher to intimidate travelers with a broken jaw. Listening to his stories, I always thought the idea of fighting bandits was kind of romantic. It was just something an adventurer did from time to time. When he wasn't robbing others. But those were almost always bad guys, who deserved it, thus squaring the cosmic balance. But this wasn't anything like those fire-side tales. This was desperate and sordid. From somewhere in the direction of the village, A horn was sounding. I couldn't tell what it meant, but soon the steppes were thundering with hooves and paws, They were an entirely mismatched band. They were largely human, with assorted members of the lost races, goblins, bugbears, ogres, even some orcs, all riding mounts of their size. Mostly horses and ponies. Some of them had bundles on their backs, others were carrying struggling women or children behind them. All of them were dirty, ragged and scarred. I could smell the fire now, and it had something else in it, something that made me want to throw up.
“People are burning to death.” My father said. “There are at least twenty of them, and we have nothing but open ground between us and them. Get down, and stay down.” I did. Gloria wasn't concerned. I tried to find that thing inside me. That dragon hiding deep in my soul. I needed more fire. Fear, that was the key, I thought. Fear of losing Dad, fear of dying, those were things that had triggered my “episodes” in the past. I was terrified now. Nothing happened. There was nothing there. I think I've never felt more alone. I was sure I had it. Knew what I was doing. But it was gone again. There wasn't anything there at all! I felt myself crying without really being aware of it. Then I heard the sound of something like a dragon and a stream of silver fire lit the sky. Dad fired the crossbow. I looked up in time to see the bolt slam into the neck of the horn player. He fell, and his horse went wild. A few of the ones nearby bolted as well. There were still too many of them, though,
“Dad! We have to get out of here!” I screamed. The fire in the town was dying, but the riders were still coming. Sixteen of them now. They would be on top of us in no time at all. Dad was loading another bolt into the bow and reeling back the string.
“Where would we run to? And how far do you think we'd get?” He didn't look at me, he was focused on the battle. As if to punctuate his argument, a pair of arrows slammed into the side of the cart. One of them fell a few feet from Gloria. She look at it for a second, then went back to her book. Some people aren't bothered by anything. “These aren't just raiders, Liz. Look at what they're carrying. They've got people trussed on the back of their horses. Ha!” He fired the second round. It flew like a silver comet, sparking with the mystic power of the bow, willing the tiny bolt to go straighter, faster and farther than it had any right to. It slammed into the riding hound of a goblin leading the charge. It whined, buckled, and collapsed, throwing the rider. The other fifteen rode past him. One of them rode over him, in fact. “These are slavers. And I won't let you get caught by them. I certainly won't show them my back. I may not have turned out to be a hero, but I owe your Grandad this much. I'm not going to put his training to waste.” He loaded the third round. I couldn't do anything but watch as the slavers closed in. I tried, again and again to use it, that thing inside me, but I couldn't find it. I prayed, like I did under the hill, but heaven was silent to me. If I can't use my power, my curse, whatever it is I have, when I need it, what good is it? I took out my knife. At the very least, I could defend myself with it if I needed to. Dad fired again, but the riders were getting better. The horseman he was aiming for jumped suddenly, and the arrow slammed into the dust at its feet. The riders closed in. Dad stopped the cart completely, and focused all his attention on the bandits. This was the last stand.
The circled us in a tightening noose. Dad picked off one with the bow, but he stood back up and marched in for the kill. The others followed him. The women and children tied to the backs of their saddles struggled and looked at us with hopeful eyes. I felt sick. This was totally different from the skeletons. Those were just things, mindless monsters. These were people. People that were going to kill me or worse, just to survive. One tried to get into the wagon, and Dad hit him with the stock of the crossbow. He went spilling backwards, but more took his place, with axes drawn. Gloria shut the book.
One of the raiders, a gnome by the look of him, with a gristly beard and a filthy blue cap, climbed into the back of the wagon. I stuck the knife out between us, but Gloria gently pushed my hand away and smiled. It was the first time I had seen her smile since the fair. She was chanting something, but I couldn't make out the words. She reached out and grabbed the tiny highwayman by the hand. He looked as surprised as I was. Then things went strange.
She said two words in clear, ringing common. “Shocking. Grasp.” There was a pop, and their hands flashed blue for a second. Then he was suddenly on the ground, smoking and shaking. The jolt had sent him flying backwards out of the cart. His hat was singed. In the front of the cart, Dad was still holding his own, but barely. One of the bandits caught him from behind, and stabbed him in the back. I heard him wince, and I shouted. That's when the lighting appeared.
It rushed forward like something alive, a squealing, screaming tiger of power. It leapt from one bandit to the next arcing and sparking. I felt my hair stand on end. I looked at Gloria, and she looked at me. “Chain lightning. It's highly advanced magic,” she said breathlessly. Half the raiders were dead, and the rest were in chaos. Mounts were bolting right and left. I reached over Dad, hoping that he was alright, and took the reins, Struggling against the horses. The spell ended, and the slavers fell down dead. Those still upright broke ranks and fled. They didn't get very far before a tall, statuesque bald man with dark skin appeared from nowhere. He raised his finger, and a black ray of inky darkness sprang forth. The remaining villains collapsed, and we were somehow still alive.
A second, silver-haired man descended from the sky in front of the cart. He whispered something to the horses, and they stopped. Beneath from beneath his streaming hair, I could see pointed, elven ears. He approached us and grinned warmly. In seemingly no time at all him companion had joined us. Without a word, the man checked my father's pulse, reached into the pocket of his blue robe, and produced a potion of some sort. He poured a tiny drop into my father's throat. Dad sputtered, coughed, and sat upright. Satisfied, he went back next to his companion. It was the elf that greeted us. “Good Afternoon,” he said as though sitting down to tea. “I am Magus Celon, and this is my associate, Mr. Kay. Would I be mistaken in identifying you as Master Vernes and his charges?”

The tale of the magic crossbow, pt. 1

We're officially out of Lythia and in the borderlands! The official border between Lythia and the Dwarven kingdom of Paladine is the Blackwater river, but in the last battles of the war between Gods, Humans and Dwarves have been on poor terms. The borders were pulled back fifty miles in both directions, which seems a little severe to me. The towns in the middle, along the river, were pretty much abandoned by their governments. Lythia encouraged the river-folk to move inland, but mostly they stayed where they were. Lythia didn't use its military to force the issue, probably fearing the Dwarven response to such a troop build up. They'd have said they were converting the river towns to military bases, and they'd do the same, and the situation would have only led to war. So the people carry on much as they were, but I noticed when we were traveling today that Dad kept a crossbow next to him in the front seat. Bandits and monsters are more common in the borderlands, which has no armies except for whatever small militias the towns can throw together. The crossbow's old, but well made. It's ironwood inlaid with mithril. The weapon itself is worth a fortune. It belonged to my grandfather. Grandpa was a warrior, but my father isn't. I don't even know if my father knows how to use a cross bow. It might break to pieces if he pulled the trigger. It has to be at least a hundred years old, after all. I remember sitting on his knee when Grandpa told me the story of how he found it.

“I remember we were traveling, and it was just the three of us. It was me, Glorianna Boflin, who was still Glorianna Bywater at the time, and a traveling elven cleric who went by the common name of Rose Goodwind. This was just after that damn clever idiot Bindle Took got himself stuck on a kobold's falling log trap that he was “totally sure” was disarmed. Glorianna and he were originally to be wed, but after he died, things were never the same between them. The three of us had been founding members of the Traveler's Guild, as we called ourselves, so we were honor bound to get him raised. The problem, of course is that a resserection costs more money than most people see in a lifetime, hells, in ten lifetimes. Since our encounter with the kobolds of Blackhill forrest ended so disasterously, we were light on treasure. We didn't have long, either. You can only raise someone if their remains are whole. If he was buried, we'd never be able to get it done. So we went out looking for adventure, and one landed far too conveniently in our laps. For the next three nights, we hit every lead we could. Nothing really panned out. There were a lot of reward offers, but nothing serious, and nothing that would bring us the money in time. We needed a sure thing, and that's what Rose was. Or that's what she seemed to be. Never count on something to good to be true. Because...” He had paused there, for effect. I piped up with my eight-year old voice.
“Itsnot!” I shouted, and giggled. He looked down and smiled. It was a familiar sequence. I'm sure my mother was looking in from another room with disaproval. She always did. She didn't think Grandfather's stories were 'appropriate for a young lady.' She said they gave me 'ideas.' I admit she was right. His stories ignited lit a fire in me that hasn't gone out to this day. He made me want to see the world, even if it was full of danger. His stories are the real reason I agreed with this plan of my grandmother's. Someday, I'll be a real mage, and I'll go fight monsters and win treasure, just like my grandfather.
“That's right. But let me tell you about our poor, hunted heroine before we get to the twist. Rose was, as I said, an elf maid. She was in fact a Wood Elf, a tribe less flighty austere and serene than their magician cousins the High Elves. Wood Elves keep involved in the world, and patrol their forrest homes looking for poachers. It seems that another band of nasty elves, Dark Elves by nature, had crept into her forests, and it was more than her folks could handle. So she had made the dangerous journey to the city to seek help, or so she said. She found us.”
“Grandpa, what's a dark elf?” I asked. This was also part of the story, part of the ritual of the story. He'd pause every time he got to a new place, or a new monster or such thing so that he could explain it, leaving no creepy or horrible detail out. Most children think there are monsters under their bed. I was probably the only six-year old girl in Hydraal convinced there was a terrasque hiding in the shadows at bedtime.
“Oh, Dark Elves are the nastiest, most cunning, and most evil of all the kinds of elf there are. Nobody else knows for sure where they came from, but legends say that in the Golden Age, the First Age, Elves loved the sky, and they loved most of all the stars. Most tribes of elves were faithful and unwavering in their duty to the old gods, but not the dark elves. So they were punished, and sent to the Underdark for their sins. The old gods made it so that they couldn't stand the light of the sun, the moon, or the stars. To this day, the dark elves appear only on dark, moonless nights, rising from their hidden homes beneath the earth to spread fear and missery, and to take revenge against the other elves.”
“Is that what they did to Rose?”
“Something like that. The Dark Elves had stormed into her little wood, casting evil magic and blotting out the sun. She didn't know if any of the others of party escaped. She was worried they would go back to her village. Rose was the chaplain for a group of patrolmen who protected the Ironwood Forests from loggers and poachers. Her settlement did its own share of strategic cutting and gathering, though. Do you know about ironwood?” He asked me, holding up the the polished stock of the crossbow.
“It's strong?” I guessed.
“That's right. Ironwood is as hard as stone, and just as heavy. You need special tools just to cut it. The thing about an ironwood tree is that it only lives about a third as long as a regular tree. The Ironwood only grows to about twenty feet tall.”
“Why's that, Grandpa?”
“Well, it's too heavy for its own good, my little darkmantle. It can't spread it's branches as far, or as tall, or else it topples under its own weight. The Wood Elves made a nice living gathering the fallen branches and trees and carving them. An Ironwood log is as strong and heavy as a steel bar. But we've lost track of the story. Where was I?”
“You just met the Elf maid Rose.” I pipped up.
“Quite right. Glory and I never thought to question her, and we knew that she could reward us in enough ironwood to pay for the spell to have our friend raised. Only Rose hadn't gotten away from her forest clean. Two Dark Elf warriors ambushed her halfway through the meeting!”
“What did you do, Granpa? Did you give him the Dragon Fang Strike?” Grandfather smiled. “Of course, I had to. Do you know the toughest thing about Dark Elves?” I shook my little head.
“They hate light, but are powerfully strong strong against magic. Gloria tried to freeze on in her tracks, but she kept on coming. By now, we had just accepted the job, so there was no going back. I stepped up to her partner, a big, white haired bruiser with a scimitar the size of you, little lady.”
“Did you give him what for?”
“Of course! but it was a close shave. I kicked the table out in front of him and smacked him with the butt of my spear right behind his long ears! That's a tricky spot for an Elf, you know. Wham!” Grandfather sliced through the air with his empty hands, as though he had taken a swing with his weapon. “But the big guy kept coming. He grabbed old Incisor by the heft and lifted me up for a killing blow. I thought I was a gonner!” With some difficulty, he mimicked getting lifted and stabbed.
I gasped in mock horror. This was another part of the stories, the part where my grandfather was in mortal danger, but was saved at the last minute. “Oh no! What did you do?”
“Actually, it was Rose that saved us. She prayed for a spell, and suddenly the inn room was as bright as day! The pair of them went scurrying off like roaches, vowing revenge. We set off for Rose's forest the next morning.” Grandfather would always only tell one part of the story at a time. I'll do likewise, because we're coming up on a town. I think we're stopping for the day. I'll finish this story later, if I have the time. It's time to catch a ship!

Leaving Shadyborough

The cart was pretty much loaded by the time I got my trunk downstairs. I double checked the room to make sure I hadn't left anything behind after dragging my trunk into the hall, then one of the porters came and helped me. I had to get on the other side of it, though. We wound the thing down the main stairwell, and through the front office door. He went out the Halfling door by mistake, so I had to duck a little going through, but I managed it. By the time we had gotten out into the yard, things had quieted down a bit. Mr. Boflin took my end of the trunk, and they loaded it onto the wagon. It nearly tipped, and I heard a jingling clatter from the strong box. Mrs. Boflin was hugging her daughter tightly, wishing her goodbye. Dad came up and loudly told me we were going. He asked me, in public(!) if I had used the bathroom. I was so embarrassed I prayed to Hattori to open up the ground beneath me like the long-suffering heroine in that story. Of course, I'm not marrying an orc or anything, but the rules apply. I was waiting to say my farewells to Mr. and. Mrs Boflin when Tarry came up and tapped me, quickly and nervously, on the back of my elbow. I think he would have liked to have done me shoulder, but he couldn't reach it. He stood there silently, for a moment, looking at the ground. I thought he was being unusually shy. Finally, he mumbled what he had to say.
“I'm real sorry about yesterday. Uh, You got hurt, and it was my fault.” He said it to the dirt, but I'm sure it was meant for me.
“Don't worry about it. It's our secret.” I bent down. “But you're going to have to stop going off on your own like that. Your sister isn't going to be here to protect you, and she'll worry.” It felt weird talking like this to someone my own age. Maybe I shouldn't have said it that way, because he looked up at me fierce eyes.
“You don't get it. I'm not just running off. I'm being called to battle. It's hard to say how, I just know that I have to sometimes. The town's in danger! I just want to save everyone, but then my vision always goes red, and... and... he couldn't go any further. He broke down sobbing and I hugged him close. He was the same as me, and I didn't know what to say to him. I was going to learn about myself, but what would happen to him? Without his sister to protect and look after him, would they lock him up? I knelt down and let him cry on my shoulder. I knew everyone was watching us, but I whispered in his ear.
“You have a wonderful gift, Tarry. I saw it yesterday. But you owe it to everyone you care about not to let it consume you. Train, and study, and grow stronger. When your family really needs you, be ready.” I don't know why I said that, but it felt like the right thing to say. Tarry stopped crying and reached into his pocket. I thought he was going to pull out that fist of his, but instead, he came out with a long silvery chain. At the end, was a large pendant, about an inch tall, in the shape of a bird in flight. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He pressed it quickly into my hand and whispered back in my ear.
“You saved my life with your magic, Lizeth. I found this in the ruins, but I want you to have it. When you come back, you'll see how much stronger I've gotten.” His eyes were still wet, but he broke into a wide grin. I stuffed the necklace into my pocket before anyone else could see. We broke the hug, and we both got on with our goodbyes. Gloria was watching me from the cart. I climbed into the back and wedged myself between her and the cart.
“What did Tarry give to you, just now? I couldn't quite see.” She demanded. I was put back by her tone. Tarry was right, after all. Even if I didn't know quite what I did, or how exactly I did it, I saved our lives last night. The future danger of accidentally blowing myself up or shocking a friend pales compared to being torn to pieces by war-mad skeletons. I decided that until we settled out our feelings on what happened the day before, I wasn't going to trust her with the pendant, as much as I wanted to take it out and look at it again. It is my first real present from a boy, even if he's not human and still a child. He was quite impressive under the hill. He might turn out to be a dashing little hero, with the right encouragement.
“Oh, nothing just a bit of shiny string he picked up. You know how kids are.” I brushed her off, but she wasn't satisfied.
“Yeah, but Tarry has a habit of picking up dangerous things in the ruins. Once he brought back a broken wand, and nearly gassed the house. I just hope Mother can keep him inside now that I won't be there to watch him.” She looked at her family and brightened They were gathering. She started waving and shouting, but I couldn't bring myself to do the same. She though Tarry should be locked up. What did she think of me? I knew then that I couldn't trust her with any more of my secrets. I couldn't count her as a true friend. I patted my pocket, and felt the weight of the silver bird. Dad climbed into the front seat, and cracked the whip. We were off once again, but the sun felt cold. What if the mages all were like Gloria? What if I wasn't going to be taught, but imprisoned, or worse, put down like a dire rat? I shivered and watch the inn shrink away. Soon, we turned against the hill, and they were lost to view.

Morning Checklist

Things look a bit brighter in the light of morning. There was a weird silence over breakfast, but the three of us mostly studied our breakfasts without saying a word. Our fathers made a joke of it, as usual. I'm a little bruised this morning, but it isn't anything serious. I'll just be a bit sore for a few days. I wanted to speak with Gloria and Tarry alone, but Gloria has been rushing around all morning, and I haven't had a chance to catch her. Tarry has been helping our fathers load the wagon. And I'm here double checking that I haven't forgotten anything before we hit the road once again. Here's the checklist:
Six pairs of stockings...X
Six shifts...X
My Feast day dress...X
Three winter dresses...X
Three summer dresses...X
Muffler...X
My heavy lambskin cloak...X
My sunhat...X (I'm wearing it right now, actually.)
Travel leggings & tunic (also worn)
The strongbox...X
My jewelry box...X
Travel papers...X
This diary and pen...X
That should be it. Everything else will either be bought in Carabos or provided by the Academy. It's time to close up the trunk again. I can see that this is the last thing to go. Gloria is already in the yard, watching our fathers place a pair of leather bags on the cart. Those must be her luggage. Tarry is down there too. She's speaking animatedly at him, but I can't hear the words from out here. He's not paying attention. He just keeps patting his pocket and looking off into the distance, towards the hill.

The Incident Under the Hill

It has been a long day. I hope I'll be able to read this later. I'm still shaking. I can't calm down. I did... something. And I don't know how or if I can do it again, or if I will do it again at the wrong time, without control. Something is happening to me, and I am afraid. Worse yet, Gloria watched it happen, she was almost hurt. I need to study. I need to find out what this is, before I hurt or kill someone that I care about. I still can't think clearly. I hoped writing things down would help. But I can't do it all at once. I'll start at the beginning.
We woke up early for the festival. Over a quick three course breakfast, Mr. Boflin explained about the festival, which is held every year in midsummer. It's called the “Leavetaking Festival.” Traditionally, the border between spring and summer is considered by Halflings as the luckiest time for traveling. So once a year, there is a farewell party. Gloria was one of the honorees this year, and we were humans, just along for the ride. After breakfast we hiked to the top of the hill for a religious service. I didn't want to go, but Dad gave me one of his looks, and that was pretty much that. There was already a steady stream of pilgrims going up the hill by the time we got outside. I figured that my rare height advantage would make things easy, but the townsfolk were surprisingly quick and agile. I was practically running to keep up. My father was working just as hard. The road up the hill, at the very least, was not too steep. The road was paved in brick, and the hill formed a wall against one side. A wooden railing, at waist hight for a halfling, protected travelers from wandering off of the edge. In the hill itself had windows and doors every few feet. Occasionally, as we passed, new members came outside and joined the march. They were singing a song, but it was in Halfling, and I couldn't make out the words. Dad told me it was a song about a gathering, a traditional travel song and processional.
We cleared the top of the hill, and there was an amphitheater cut into the top. The entire floor of the theatre was a massive mosaic shaped like the holy symbol of Barley, the Halfling goddess. It resembled a golden stalk of wheat crossed with a black sickle. The Boflins went to their usual seats, quite close to the front. Halflings aren't overly concerned with rules, but they cherish respect, so they sort of live by an unwritten, unspoken consensus. Dad and I went with them, even though Dad had to sit on the isle because he couldn't comfortaly on the half-sized benches. I sat on the end, and hunkered down in my seat. The woman behind me gave me a nasty glare, as though I was purposefully trying to block her view.
On the other side of the theatre was a set up for musicians and effects. I watched as the technicians pulled some levers, and the sunlight filling the amphitheater was suddenly prismatic. The musicians began, and the congregation began to sing, again in halfling. I tried to find a prayer or songbook, but there was nothing to follow along with. Dad whispered to me that the song was a prayer of thanksgiving for the new day and for the fertility of the fields and the growing things. During the song, the celebrants, two men and an elderly woman, came down the center aisle. They blessed people and shook hands as they came down. She gave the service in Halfling, and even though she pointed at me several times, I have absolutely no idea what she said. The woman behind me kept shushing Dad every time he tried to tell me.
The service was surprisingly short. It couldn't have lasted more than one half of an hour. There was a short reading, a response, and a little sermon. I don't know what she said, but the congregation spend much of it laughing. Even Dad chuckled once or twice, although I think he looked embarrassed. After the ceremony, there was a sort of informal town meeting, with lots of shaking hands and jokes. Dad and I were introduced as good friends of the Boflins, and friends of the town. There were many stories told about my grandfather and Mr Boflin's mother. A few of them were told in common, but I'm certainly not going to write them here. Who knows who might see it. Still, if half of what they said was true, I didn't know the old man had it in him!
The meet and greet went on for a long time, then the congregation broke for an early lunch, which to the Halflings is an official meal, followed by late lunch, tea, and supper. The entire congregation moved to the row of stalls and tents on the main street. The fair was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. There were rows and rows of stalls selling food, trinkets, and just about anything you could imagine! There were these totally boring displays from the local guild, showing new pony carts and barrels and thing like that. Barrels! Who would want to go see a display about a new kind of barrel? I was bored off my feet, but Dad and Mr. Boflin were strangely interested. Gloria and I tried to slip back to the midway, but Mrs. Boflin made us take Tarry with us. Tarry has some kind of problem, I think, but nobody talks about it. Even though he's my age, he's kept on a string, to keep him from wandering off. It wasn't like this last time they visited. I wonder what happened.
We took him back with us, and we grabbed some fish and chips from one of the stalls, and we watched the performers. Tarry watched happily, and he seemed normal enough, but Gloria kept looking at him; watching him out of the corner of her eye, as if he were about to explode or something. It freaked me out. The wandering performers were jugglers, bards, and clowns, who wandered down the streets and stopped at some of the tables. They were actually quite good, particularly the tumblers. A few makeshift stages were also set up for concerts, plays, acrobats, and even a magician!
The magician was unbelievable. He wore a black robe embrodered with red roses, and his tall, pointy hat matched. He threw fire, he lifted a brick without touching it, and he pulled doves from out of thin air. It was amazing! I hope that when I become a mage, I'm half as skilled as he is. I was watching the performance with Gloria and Tarry, who kept trying to run off. She said she wasn't impressed, that he was a fake, but at the end, when he disappeared in a flash and a cloud of smoke that smelled like flowers, I thought, this is what magic should be. His placard read "Periel the Magnificent, Magician to Queens and Emperors." I guess there is much more to magic than running a dusty old shop or exploring moldy ruins. I just hope I can enough control.
I was so wrapped up in the performance that it wasn't until it was over that I noticed that Tarry had run off. Gloria hadn't realized it either. Somehow he had slipped out of the hold on his wrist, and tied his end to a chair instead. Then he sort of tipped the chair so it would feel like he was still tugging on the line. He must have done it and been gone in less than a minute. Gloria immediately panicked.
"We should go find your parents," I suggested.
"No, they'll only chide me for losing him, and it's getting dark. We have to find him and get back to the inn before supper." She was starting to calm down, but I doubted that we could find him on our own. We didn't even know where he had gone. I didn't know where to start looking. The city was a mystery to me.
"I know where he's gone. The same place that he always goes. The reason we have to keep such a close eye on him is that he has... wild blood in him." She said it gravely, as though it were a curse, or a fatal disease, but I had no idea what she meant.
"Wild blood? I don't understand." She looked at me as though she shouldn't have to explain, like I was an idiot, or a foreigner, but I am the later. She sighed and started walking, motioning me to follow.
"Before we settled here, ours was a wandering tribe. The Halflings would go from place to place, seeking a promised land, a shire we could call our own. It hasn't been long since we settled here. But something of the old ways still survives in us. It was a gift of the our patron, the Goddess, Lady Barley. Some of us are born warriors, with powers that could be used to protect us, even against foes twice or three times our size. It is a power of chaos that served the tribe well. But we have since settled, and there is little use for the old powers of the blood. But it pumps in his veins, guiding him to the one place he can really use it." We took twists and turns quickly, as though Gloria had the route memorized, had taken this journey many times before. We sped into seedier, darker parts of the city, past tanners and blacksmiths, as the light of the afternoon faded around us.
"So he's going somewhere to pick a fight?" I couldn't keep track of the turns we were taking. I'd have to rely on the two of them to get back to the inn. I was worried, and in the back of my soul, the worry was spinning, like a top, only faster and faster. Something bad was about to happen, and I could feel it starting to uncoil.
"Something like that," Gloria said through panting breaths. She was racing to overtake him, but we could barely hear his footfalls. "You know how children like to play heroes, and adventurers? We found out the hard way that Tarry wasn't playing. Last year, one of his friends almost died. Then, the unthinkable happened."
"What? What happened?" I asked as we turned a corner. Suddenly I knew. In front of us was the base of the hill, and set into it was a crack, black and menacing. It was just large enough for me to squeeze through, if I tied. Gloria stopped, and I slid to a halt just behind her. Tarry had gone into the ruins.
I still don't know a great deal about the ruins of the old town, but that temple on the top of the hill, and that giant holy symbol, were supposed to lay the spirits of the dead, the ones that had died in the disaster, to rest. But something happened twenty years ago, during the war. I heard the rest of the story from Gloria, in whispers as we entered the cave.
"Do you still have your knife on you, the one your Dad gave you for protection?" She was deadly serious. I produced it.
"We aren't going to have to fight anything in the ruins, are we?" My mind raced through what could be in there. Bats, darkmantles, mindflayers? I was suddenly terrified.
"I hope not. But against what's in there a knife won't do much good. Hold it out in front of you, yeah like that." She said it without looking up. She looked squarely at the knife, and started waving her hands overing, saying complicated phrases. I knew she was doing magic, like the performer had done, but it felt, different somehow. It made my skin itch. She finished, and said the final, keystone word of the spell. "Light!" As I watched, the knife began to glow, dull red at first then orange-yellow, like it had be thrust in a fire, but there was no heat. "At least it will give us light to see by. We've got to hurry, though. The spell only lasts an hour, and the other spell I have is reserved for an emergency." I held the knife in front of me and we stepped into the cave. Well, Gloria stepped in, I squeezed in behind her. Once we were inside, I was surprised to find I could stand without difficulty. This portion of the hill was like a stone shell, covering the ruins. The ground was uneven, and covered in uneven mounds of debris. There was something like a path, winding through them. Gloria motioned me forward, and we walked down it, into whatever was waiting.
"The hill was raised in a ritual, so most of the ruins are untouched. The crack formed later, as an effect of the summoning."
"The summoning?" I asked. "What summoning?"
"I'll tell you the truth about what happened twenty years ago. Do you know of the fall of the Sheild-biters?"
"Of course. It was an important event in The War. The god Hattori was trapped by an army of demon-blooded orcs, and he called a spectral army to fight for him." It was a famous story, one of the rare early victories against the orcs, and Hattori had done it without calling upon his mortal servants.
"Where do you think that ghost army came from?" I stopped in my tracks, and stared at her. She turned back to look at me. She was serious.
"So the army, was the souls of those who had died here? And they still remain?"
"No, thankfully. Although there were an unusually high number of recorded hauntings after the battle, the priests have sent the souls on. What waits below are the bodies."
"I don't understand what you mean."
"When Hattori called back their souls he also called their physical remains, sealed here for a century. The body strives to reunite with the soul, the spark, which it has lost. When Hattori made an army of ghosts..."
"He created an army of zombies as well?"
"Some zombies, mostly skeletons. Nothing but animated, soulless killing machines, struggling for an exit. Fortunately, they haven't found one. The holy symbol is strong enough to keep the corporeal dead in the ground, but they still walk these halls." She broke into a run again, desperate to find Tarry before something horrible found him first. I kept up, the knife-torch shaking with my footfalls.
What was left, in the torchlight, was a dusty maze of devestation. A hundred years ago, it was a village. Now, it was dust, stones, and the debris of lives long since lost. Mercifully, we didn't see any bodies, or people, or skeletons, I guess, but we saw lots of tracks in the dust. We managed to follow Tarry's fresh, clear footprints in the dust, on top of so many other strange marks, left by shambling yet tireless feet. We tracked him through the crushed, burnt out ruins of what were once homes. We could see the signs the lives these unfortunate people had left as we passed. There were dolls moldering in the dust and tools slowly fading to rust. The air became worse, and it was hard to breathe. We must have been traveling for twenty minutes when we heard the sounds of fighting ahead of us. Tarry had found an opponent after all.
If anything, Gloria broke into an even faster run, and left me behind. Tarry was holding a torch in one hand, one he had made himself, I guessed. It certainly wasn't a magical one like mine. He was using it to fight wildly, swining it like a sword with his left hand, and punching with his right. I couldn't make out the figures clearly in the low and wildly flailing light, but I knew he was facing several opponents. They must have been skeletons, I reasoned, by the high, echoing impacts his attacks made against them. He was shouting, but they were deathly silent, moving relentlessly forward with dry, clicking steps. His blows had a ringing quality, and his right hand flashed in the fire from the torch. He was wearing some kind of gauntlet, and using it to surprisingly good effect against the skeletons. He punched a small one, that might have once been a child, or possibly an an adult Halfling or Gnome, in the hip, and it shattered. The sinister red glow of its eyes faded as it fell. But there were many, many more of them. I could see the pinpoints of light as I got closer.
Tarry had them at some kind of a choke point. Perhaps it had once been a city wall, or an alley between two buildings. In any case, they could only come at him two or three at a time, and he was holding his own, but I could see him tiring. Whatever madness had overtaken him must have been fading, and with it, that chaotic strength that Gloria had told me of. He couldn't fight an army. He was a child, after all.
Gloria reached him first, and tried to pull him back, shouting. He pretended he didn't hear her, or perhaps he couldn't hear her. He brought his fist and torch down in a two handed attack on the ribcage of one of the skeletons. It went down, but another took its place. There was no end to them. I finally caught up, panting. Tarry was coming back to himself. He looked at me and his eyes were clear. There was triumph in them.
“Come on, we have to get out of here!” Gloria shouted, and Tarry looked out over the skeletons, with what might have been regret, but he didn't say anything. He patted his pocket with his mail-gloved fist and nodded. Suddenly, there was a huge skeleton in front of us. It blind sided Tarry, and he fell over, clutching his chest and wincing. I moved to catch him, but gloria was already in front of him, chanting. Her left hand started to glow, faintly, with a violet, chilling light. She reached out and grabbed the skeleton on the tibia. The glow spread from her hand into the monster,and the glow in its eyes faded. It toppled, once again lifeless. The two of them ran back towards me. There was a look of horror on Gloria's face as she looked towards me. I didn't know until too late that it was a warning.
A force, thin but solid, came down on my shoulders from behind. I dropped the knife, and the blade clattered to the dusty stones. I dropped to my knees, and I twisted to see the skeletal face, emotionless, of course, standing above me. I tried to push back, to kick it with my feet, anything, but it was like a nightmare. There was no way I could escape. I backed up like a crab, moving out of fear, staring into cold red starlight eyes. Eyes that maybe didn't really see me. I ran into something, and I screamed. Fortunately, it was Gloria and Tarry. The bad news is that we were being over run. More skeletons were coming, and they had found a way to block the path in front of us. Tarry struggled in his sisters arms, arguing with her to let him protect us. She refused.
"Can you do that spell, whatever it was, again?" I asked, staggering to my feet. I felt sore, but I wasn't too badly hurt. In the dim light, I saw her shake her head.
"Grandmother taught me how to disrupt the undead, to drive them off, but I'm drained. I can't cast anything else today. I saw how suddenly tired she was, and I knew it was true. We were doomed. I felt the chill of my impending death come over me. Not a sweat, or a panic, but cold certainty that I had reached as far as I could go. I was suddenly very angry. The undead came closer, two of them were in front of us, perhaps coming the way we had came. They blocked our path. I didn't want to die. A skeleton behind us swiped at Gloria, missing her by inches. I knew I had to do something, but I didn't know what.
I have never, I will admit, been religious. I respect the traditions of the Five People, and the Six Heroes, of course, but I've never respected and venerated the Great Lord the way I should. I've only ever paid him lip service. But I whispered something like a prayer, not really conscious of the words, just asking for deliverance, and then, I was. It flashed so clearly in my mind, I can't now fully recall it, but I thought about what I wanted to happen, made a wish, and watched it come true. It was so much like that one time, when my father was being taken away, but greater, more wild, more complex, I didn't know what I was doing, or how I was doing it. Everything I've ever learned says that this is impossible, but I did magic. And it was stronger than anything I'd ever done before, either willfully or on accident. My fists were shaking with rage, a burning, fiery rage, and I wanted to see the world, and all the ruins, and all the monsters in it burning, and then, somehow, my hands were small flames. I thrust them outward, and the fire was a wave, no, a pair of waves, spiraling around each other, two sudden white contrails in the dark. They connected with the skeletons squarely in their chests, and they froze, their tattered rags burning, before collapsing back into lifeless, disjointed bones. The path ahead was clear, and I was filled with sudden energy. I reached for Gloria with my left hand, picked up the knife with my right, and ran as fast as I could, barely glancing behind me at the shocked expressions on my companion's faces. I did magic, powerful, violent magic, without even knowing how. And in the brief moments in the dark, running through the tunnel, I didn't even question it. I simply reveled in how indescribably wonderful it had felt, like I had stretched a limb long disused.
We slowed down once we reached the crack, and squeezed through one at a time. Gloria insisted on going last, either out of nobility, or out of fear of taking her eyes off of me, I can't be sure. We walked back to the inn in the last embers of the sunset. I felt as though the day had slipped through my fingers, like sand. We passed the closed stalls and shuttered shops. It was fully dark when we reached the inn, after a journey that felt like a thousand miles. Mr. Boflin was waiting for us on the porch with a lantern. She berated her children for being late, and told us we had missed supper. Gloria said nothing, and held Tarry's wrist tightly. His other hand, with the incriminating gauntlet, was thrust deep into his pocket.
"Well, I hope you ate, for I'm not staying. We will be late for the fireworks." It was apparently, the end of the discussion. She herded us out to the green, where our fathers were waiting. I was quiet, and Dad asked me if I was ill. I shook my head and didn't look at him. The two men made a small joke, but I wasn't listening. The fireworks began, filling the sky with light and smoke and noise. I couldn't bare to watch them. I just kept thinking about those thirty seconds in the dark, when I pulled fire from thin air, like a magician. But I'm not a magician. I'm just a girl. I can't do that. I shouldn't have been able to do it. What if I do something that powerful again? Without trying, without warning? I could burn down a building, I could kill a person!
The oil is running low in the lamp. It must be close to dawn by now, and I don't know how I feel. Something between elation and terror, I suppose, but it's faded, with the night. I have to go to Carabos, I need to know what is happening to me. I need to talk to someone, but I don't know what to say. I should try and get some sleep. We're leaving town early in the morning.

A Light Supper

Apparently, the Halfling concept of a “light supper” lasts two hours and is five courses. I like it here! Best of all, Dad didn't say one word about me watching what I eat! I tried to be polite, of course, but the dinner table was a battlefield. This is definitely the kind of cultural expirience I can enjoy. Momma is always yelling at me to eat more like a lady, which I think to her mind means not at all. I've always been able to eat a lot without gaining weight, but she constantly chides me. I'm really full.
Anyway, we brought the cart into the stable, and Dad was really, really careful with our stuff, like he didn't trust the stable hand at all. After that, we went in, through the human-sized door, and found Mr. Boflin behind the counter. After a brief reunion, Mr. Boflin called for a pair of porters to take our bags, and he took us up to our rooms. The Mountain Ash is the only human sized building, well multi-sized building in the town. It actually survived whatever disaster happened here a century ago, but nobody is alive who witnessed it. The King at that time had bigger problems. The first signs of the upcoming war were upon him, and it was draining his coffers to fight those battles. So he just had a team of priests bless the ruins, declared it a war grave, and let the Halflings take care of the mess. This building was rebuilt rather than torn down. And it is pretty amazing. I feel kind of odd when I'm in here. There are some spells built into the walls. I think that is how it managed to stay intact. It was a luxury in in the old city. There are even magic wells in the kitchen and baths for running water. Mr. Boflin said that the place was haunted, that there were strange lights and ghosts who walk the halls. He's considered having the clerics on top of the hill do an exorcism, but for the most part they are benign, and he says it “adds charm” to have a ghost at an inn like this.
The average-sized section of the inn was really quiet. He said that there was only one other guest, a merchant from Managan Town who delivered the fireworks for tomorrow's celebration. When I asked about it, he just laughed and said that I would see soon. Dad was watching the porters carefully. I don't think he was really listening. Since the human section was so empty, we were able to get really good rooms. Dad is next door, and the Merchant, Mr. Cobble, is on the far side of him. Down the hall is the toilet and next to me is the bath. Mr. Boflin left us to get settled and said that supper would be served soon. He said we should join him with the family in the kitchen, and Dad immediately accented. After Mr. Boflin left, I took a quick bath to get the road dust off of me. The bath is segregated into men's and women's sectcions, and is small, but really nice. The water comes from hot and cold fountains, and there is a big mercury mirror on one wall. I think it must be a lot of trouble for only three guests. After that, I got changed, and then wrote my last note. Gloria came and got me for dinner. She is the Bolfins' daughter. She's a few years older than me, but I guess because Halflings live longer, and age slower, she's about the same as me mentally. She watched me shut and lock the journal with a weird look on her face. On the way down to supper she asked me if the book was magic.
“It is, but it's just a simple spell, I think. Not like the ones in the bath. I can lock it so no one else can see what I write. My grandmother gave it too me. She said my grandfather bought it when I was born, and she'd been waiting to give it too me.” I said. We headed through the central lobby and into the restaurant.
“Is your grandmother well?” She asked as she passed through the middle door. She looked so tiny passing through the swinging door, which had no handle, that it was hard to think of her as Twenty.
I told her that she was, but the restaurant was filled with guests, either enjoying the last of their meals, or getting started on the first round of drinks for the evening. I don't know if she heard me over the din. I followed her through the crowd, feeling akwardly gigantic; something I've never felt before. At four and a half feet, I'm more than on the short side. Things were quieter in the kitchen, but not by much. The one team of cooks was finishing up with deserts and such, and the others were starting on a massive pile of dishes. There was a massive, low table at one side of the room. It was surrounded by Halflng-sized chairs. At one end, The other Boflins were in deep conversation with my father, and Tarry, Gloria's younger brother, was starring at covered dishes in anticipation. At the other end, employees that weren't busy were engaged in their own dinner conversations. Gloria took a seat next to her brother, chiding him to be on his manners, and I sat cross legged on a cushon net to my father, since the table was far to low for me to sit at a chair. The arrangement worked better than I had expected, and soon dinner was well underway.
We were almost finished when I suddenly realized something. I asked Gloria how she could tell that my journal was a magic item, and I got a big surprise.
“I studied a bit under Nanna when she was still with us, so I can cast a few simple spells like that.” She said simply. Dad and Mr. Boflin turned back to us.
“Gloria's being modest. She'll be starting at apprentice level when the two of you get to Carabos.” I felt a surge of excitement. I was worried I would be feeling homesick and alone, in a far away city. I'm glad I won't be doing this on my own. Gloria said she would look out for me at school, but she could already tell that I had lots of potential. I felt a little panic at that, but I can't say why. It was just a bad feeling. Does she know that I've done magic without any control?