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PERVORIN
by Jim Tomasello
Copyright 1987 - All Rights Reserved
Awareness. Slowly his vision cleared enough to make him aware of his
surroundings. He way lying on his back in the middle of an open field
covered with sagegrass. Moving to a standing position, he expanded his
vision further, viewing fields filled with endless grasslands teeming with
life.
After an unmeasurable time a brilliant shaft of green luminance stabbed
down from the heavens, impaling him. An aura of golden light encircled him
completely. He felt an awareness entering his mind, and then blackness
claimed him.
Chapter One - Pervorin
For a second time, awareness returned. He was on a crude, makeshift bed
which seemed to be stuffed with rocks. At least, that is what his back
seemed to be telling him.
Slowly he rose until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Looking
around, he found that he was in a small tent. There was another small cot
opposite him, with a travelling pack on top.
As he took in his surroundings, he heard voices from outside the tent.
Every so often one of the voices would raise above the others, as if in
anger. Then the voices would die again to a murmur. I do not know if they
are talking about me or not, he thought, but I am not sure I want to find
out. He turned and started looking for something he could use as a
weapon. Finding nothing, he headed toward the other cot to examine the
pack. As he reached out for it, he heard a small noise behind him.
A solitary shaft of sunlight penetrated the interior of the tent as the
flap was lifted. A lone figure entered. As the flap dropped back into
place, the gloom returned with more force than before. Noticing his
startled looks, the figure laughed and made a gesture with his hand. A
soft whit glow sprang into being near the ceiling, illuminating the
figure. It showed a man of slight build, clothed in a simple blue smock,
with a long flowing cape around his shoulders. His eyes were what drew
attention to himself. They seemed to possess an inner fire of their own.
"Well, you seem to be in much better condition than last evening. You
were in pretty bad shape when we found you." the figure said.
"Found me?"
"Why, yes. You were in the middle of the Plains of Jeah, just laying
there staring into the sky. We tried to rouse you, but you seemed to be in
some sort of trance. But enough of that for now. Let me intorduce
myself. I am called Gwindor by my friends. By what name do you go by?"
As the silence lengthened, Gwindor looked slightly puzzled.
"You do have a name, do you not?"
"I am not sure," he replied, slightly startled by the sound of his own
voice. It was as if he had never heard it before. That gave him pause for
thought. The more he thought about it, the worse it got. He could not
remember anything before his waking inside the tent. As the strain of
thinking started to get to him, he relaxed his mind. As he did, a name
came to him -- Pervorin. Nothing else, just Pervorin. Sighing, he sat
back on the cot and told Gwindor this.
"So you have no memory of happenings before this evening. That is
interesting, if you are telling the truth." Gwindor said the last with a
note of hardness in his voice.
As he looked at Pervorin, his eyes seemed to grow larger, until Pervorin
could see nothing else. He seemed to be drawn into them, and he felt as if
he was being absorbed. Then, as suddenly as the feeling started, it
stopped. The surroundings flooded back to him so quickly he felt dizzy.
"What did you do to me?" he asked, shaking his head to clear it.
Gwindor looked relieved. "That was a weak type of mind probe. It
allowed me to discover whether you were telling the truth or not. Tell me,
are you a sorcerer?"
The change in subject threw Pervorin off balance. "I do not know," he
replied. He suddenly discovered that he knew the names of everyday
objects, but, try as hard as he could, he could remember nothing about his
background.
"I understand," Gwindor replied. Then, slapping his hand to his head,
he said "What a terrible host I have become! Here you have been asleep for
a full day, and I haven't even offered you any food or drink. Come, let us
retire to the fire, where there is food and drink in plenty."
As soon as Gwindor had mentioned food, Pervorin had discovered that he
was ravenously hungry. He turned and followed Gwindor out of the tent.
Blinking, he emerged into the fading sunlight. It came streaming over
the treetops to strike the ground scant inches from the front of the tent.
Standing still for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust, his ears detected
something odd. The normal sounds of the plains were missing. There were
none of the sounds of the insects buzzing through the air, or the calls
from the birds. Something was gnawing at the inner portions of his mind,
but he could not put it into words he could understand.
With his shoulders slumped, he neared the campfire. The blaze was
cheerful enough, adding needed warmth to the chill air. It must be near
Mid-Feast time, he thought to himself as he sat down beside the fire.
Then, jerking his head upright in surprise, he wondered, what is
Mid-Feast? But no answer came to him.
Just then Gwindor emerged from the second tent, bearing two trays
heaping with food, and a stoppered flask. Sitting down beside Pervorin, he
grasped the stopper with his teeth, pulling it out as he handed Pervorin
one of the trays. Lifting the flask to his mouth, he took a long draught.
Emitting a relaxed sigh, he handed the flask over to Pervorin.
"Carefully, my friend." Gwindor said. "That is Dragonmead you are
drinking, the best brewed in the land. Take care, as too much could cause
drastic side-effects."
Pervorin soon discovered what Gwindor meant. As he had taken his first
swallow, his sight had become almost blindingly clear, as if long-forgotten
blinders had been removed from his eyes. He saw Gwindor radiating a glow
of health, and although he could not see into the second tent, he detected
two more auras there. As he took a second swallow of the Dragonmead, a
tingling developed in his feet, and then advanced slowly until his entire
body was affected.
Suddenly he felt weightless. A feeling of incredible power slowly
emerged from deep within him, bringing fragments of scenes to him. A city,
set aglow by towers of crystal, sunlight seemingly drawn to them, then
flung back to the skies. A deep underground cavern, with endless water
dripping. Fragments of memory, familiar, yet unknown. But from where?
His vision clouded, then cleared. He now seemed to be floating some
distance above the campfire. He saw Gwindor sitting next to his own body,
eating.
Floating higher, at first all he could see was the plains. Then, as his
vision expanded, he saw several small villages surrounding the plains.
Slowly turning his vision, he saw nothing that called to his attention
until he faced south. There too, he saw nothing unusual, but a disturbing
feeling eminated from that direction. He felt as if something was calling
to him, beckoning him southward. He had unconsciously started moving
towards the south when he felt something tug at him. A force seemed to be
trying to return him to the campsite. For a few moments the forces
counteracted one another, and then the force from the campsite won out, and
he found himself being drawn towards it. Slowly he floated back, to
finally hover over his body, and just when it seemed that he was about to
merge back into his body the force from the south returned, stronger this
time. He became aware of Gwindor franticly gesturing with his hands, all
the while sinking to his knees, as if from some great effort.
Suddenly one of Gwindor's companions saw what was happening, and with
one swift stride reached Gwindor's side, placing his hands on Gwindor's
shoulders.
The force from the campsite grew stronger, and Pervorin again found
himself over his body. Then, with one final pull from the unseen force he
was back in his own body, sitting before the campfire.
Gwindor groaned. Pervorin now noticed that Gwindor looked as if he had
been strained to his limits. His face was ashen; his limbs hanging useless
by his side. Even as Pervorin watched, Gwindor collapsed onto the ground.
Pervorin rose, moving to Gwindor's side. As he did so, he discovered
that he was very weak, as if he had been running hard over a great
distance.
He hardly seems alive, he thought. Looking around, he saw the man who
had helped Gwindor lying on the ground several feet away, with another man
bending over him.
Turning his attention back to Gwindor, he found that Gwindor's body was
cold to the touch. He started rubbing him, trying to rub the warmth back
in.
The other man had left his companion's side, and now knelt down beside
Pervorin.
"How is he?" he asked.
"I do not know," Pervorin replied. "He is awfully cold, and nothing
seems to be helping."
The other man nodded. "I have seen this before, though I am no wizard.
It is said the ones who possess the powers are subject to this if they
overextend their powers."
"Is there nothing we can do for him?" Pervorin asked.
"Another one of power could help, but Darin," indicating the other man
on the ground, "seems to be in the same state." He paused for a moment.
"I am afraid for them," he whispered.
Pervorin was frustrated. Here, on the ground before him, was a man he
hardly knew, and who knew even less about Pervorin. Yet he had found
Pervorin in the plains in need, and had helped him. Now the situation was
reversed, and there was nothing he seemed to be able to do.
"If there was only something I could do to help them live!" he shouted
to the skies. "Anything!"
Then his mind seemed to explode. A surge of power erupted from the
center of his being, springing into a golden aura that surrounded him. The
aura built in his hands until he could no longer see them. He felt
helpless before this power he had unleashed. He seemed not to be able to
control it. The pressure on his mind was overwhelming, and he seemed to
slowly be losing consciousness.
A pure beam of golden light sprang from his hands to play over Gwindor's
body. As it continued to pour out of him, Pervorin felt himself growing
weaker. Then the beam moved to play over the prone figure lying near
Gwindor. Struggling to think through the force in his mind, he realised he
must stop soon or destroy himself. Mustering all of his remaining
strength, he threw it all into a single command: STOP!
The golden aura vanished. The initial shock of finding himself free of
the power left him gasping. Then, motioning to the man who had been
watching with amazement and not a little fear, to come and help him. They
carried Gwindor and Darin into a tent, laying them on the cots inside.
Leaving the tent, Pervorin hardly noticed the questions that were flying
from the man who had helped him. Shrugging him off, he stumbled into the
other tent, collapsing onto a cot. In a second he had fallen into a deep
sleep.
PERVORIN
Chapter Two
The next morning found the group still asleep in their tents. The
fire had burned down through the night until only dying embers
remained. There were several fresh animal tracks on the ground, and
the forgotten platters of food had been scattered over the campsite.
Darin woke to the sounds of birds calling to one another gaily.
Rising from the cot, he got dressed and ventured out of the tent,
trying to be quiet so as not to wake the others. Gathering some wood,
he stoked the fire back to life, bringing with it a cheerfulness which
did little to lighten his mood. He had found himself more frightened
last evening when he had helped Gwindor pull the stranger from the
void then he had ever been before. After, when he had expended all
his power, he had found himself crossing the Great Hills of
Nothingness. If another with the power had not given up of some of it
to draw him back, he would never have seen the land of the living
again.
As he finished preparing a hearty breakfast for himself out of the
antelope they had downed yesterday, along with some wild onions,
Himmen emerged from the tent.
"Ah, I see you still haven't lost your knack for awakening at the
right time," Darin said, handing over a plate. Turning to the fire,
he ladled the food onto Himmen's plate, and then onto his own.
Himmen looked over at his friend, a vague look of worry on his
face. Darin seemed to have fully recovered from last evening's events,
but he had never seen anyone recover so fast from being so near death.
"How are you feeling this morning, Darin? You and Gwindor had a
pretty bad time of it." he asked.
"Still a little weak," admitted Darin. Glancing over at the second
tent, he sighed a bit. "Actually, I'm a little surprised that I'm here
this morning. When I was over the Hills, I had pretty much resigned
myself that I was leaving this world." He stopped here for a minute
in thought. Then, taking a spoonful of the stew, he looked up at
Himmen.
"I shall have to thank Gwindor greatly for bringing be back."
Himmen laughed softly. "My friend," he said, "it's not Gwindor
that you need to thank."
Darin looked over at Himmen, surprise on his face. "If not Gwindor
then who? There was no one here except me, you, Gwindor, and..."
"That's right." Himmen said. "The stranger."
"He brought me back? But how?"
"Well, after you and Gwindor collapsed, he shuddered, and then
looked up to see both of you lying there. He was pretty upset about
it, talking about how nice Gwindor had been to him, and wanting to
help you two. Then he seemed to go into a waking trance, and started
casting a spell. A healing one, I would imagine from the results.
Afterwards he was weak, and after we got you two onto the cots, he
went and fell asleep himself."
Just then a tent flap opened, and Gwindor emerged. Rubbing his
eyes, he made his way over to the fire, and sat down with a sigh.
Rubbing his hands close to the fire, he looked over at Darin and
Himmen.
"I feel like I haven't slept in a week," he said wearily. Taking a
plate, he filled it from the pot of stew bubbling quietly over the
fire, attacking it with enthusiasm. After finishing off about half of
it, he stopped and looked up at Himmen.
"I've been going over what happened last night, and I keep drawing
a blank after Darin merged his power with mine. What happened?"
Again Himmen recounted the happenings of last evening, as Gwindor
quietly listened to him and finished his meal.
Instructing Himmen and Darin to begin breaking camp, Gwindor went
in to check on Pervorin. He found him still sleeping deeply, a look
of utter exhaustion on his face.
He sure is an interesting fellow, he thought to himself. First the
mind probe, which had been reflected by one of the strongest thought
shields he had ever encountered. Then, after he had drunk of the
Dragonmead, he had gone easily into the far-vision state. Too easily
for one not acquainted with the arts. And the astral travel!
There are many things that I want to know about you, my friend.
Many things.
The sun had travelled halfway across the sky before Pervorin awoke.
Attempted to sit up, he found that it was several minutes before he
could accomplish this. Finally he was able to get off the cot and
make his way outside.
As he emerged from the tent, he saw Himmen and Darin packing a tent
into one of the packs lying on the ground. He walked over to them,
wanting to be of some help.
"Good morning. Is there anything I can do to be of help?" he
asked.
Daring looked up from the pack. "Good afternoon!" he said with a
laugh in his voice. "No, I don't think there is anything that you can
do right now. Thanks anyway."
"Don't worry about helping now," a voice said from behind him.
Turning, he saw Gwindor standing there.
"Come. There is food by the fire for you. There is just time for
you to eat before we must continue our journey."
"Your journey? Where are you travelling to?" Pervorin asked as he
sat by the fire.
"My friends and I are heading to my brother's home. It is a good
many days journey from here, and we really must be getting back on the
trail again." Gwindor took a drought from a wineskin, then offered it
to Pervorin. Noticing Pervorin's startled looks, he laughed.
"Don't worry! It's just water!"
Pervorin grinned sheepishly as he took the proffered skin. Lifting
it to his mouth, he found that it was indeed water, and took several
deep swallows from it.
"You know, Pervorin," Gwindor said. "My brother is an expert in
certain, how shall I say it?... fields. I would like him to meet
you."
"Do you think he can help me with my not remembering who I am?"
Pervorin asked.
"It could be. He is very knowledgeable. If anyone can help you,
he can."
Pervorin thought about that. He would definitely like to find out
who he was. Having no identity to grab onto was disconcerting.
"Yes, I believe that I would like to go with you."
Two days later found Pervorin wishing he had stayed behind. It had
been raining for a full day, and nothing had avoided the relentless
creepings of the rainwater. It was in the food, the clothing, and
worst of all, in his face. He quickened his pace until he was beside
Gwindor.
"Does it always rain like this?" he asked.
Gwindor turned to look at Pervorin. The wet, sullen look on
Pervorin's face caused him to burst out with laughter.
"I'm afraid that it always rains at least once a week here. That
is one reason that our fields produce as well as they do."
At this Pervorin just nodded, and plodded through the soggy ground.
They were walking over a plain, and, from the little he could see
through the rain, there wasn't much in the way of cover, anyway.
Shortly before dark, Gwindor called a halt. The rain had slowed to
a drizzle, and the air was still damp with moisture. Pervorin saw
Gwindor looking off to his right, and he looked over to see what
Gwindor was looking at. At first he could see nothing, but after
looking for a minute he could make out the vague shape of a building
of some sort.
"Is that a building I see over there?" he said aloud.
"Shhhh!" whispered Gwindor. Pervorin, startled, looked over at
Himmen, only to find that neither he nor Darin were there. He turned
back towards Gwindor, opening his mouth to ask another question. But
at Gwindor's stern expression, he closed it quickly.
A short time later a figure loomed out of the gloom, only to become
Himmen as it got nearer.
"The place looks abandoned, Gwindor." He said. "The roof's partly
caved in, but it looks like we can shelter there and wait out the
storm. I checked around a bit, but couldn't tell whether anyone, or
anything for that matter, has been around lately. Sorry."
"Don't worry about it, Himmen." Gwindor said. "This rain could
hide an army's trail. Come on, let's get out of this rain." With that
he started towards the building.
I couldn't agree with him more, thought Pervorin as he followed
Gwindor towards the building. As they drew nearer, the could tell
that the building at one time appeared to have been a small barn of
sorts. There was no signs of a farmhouse, though.
When Pervorin stepped through the broken door, the smell of wet and
moldy hay hit him with the forcefulness of a physical b, let's get out
of this rain."
With that he started towards the building.
I couldn't agree with him more, thought Pervorin as he followed
Gwindor towards the building. As they drew nearer, the could tell
that the building at one time appeared to have been a small barn of
sorts. There was no signs of a farmhouse, though.
When Pervorin stepped through the broken door, the smell of wet and
moldy hay hit him with the forcefulness of a physical be sky clear and
blue. "Pervorin!" He heard a distant call, and turned to locate its
source. Looking down a small incline that he hadn't noticed the night
before, he saw Himmen just coming out of a grove of trees. "I was just
coming to wake you," Himmen said as he drew near. "We have discovered
a village just on the other side of the trees, and Gwindor wants us all
there before we venture in." "Sounds good to me, Himmen." Pervorin
said as he joined Himmen in the walk back towards the woods. "I could
use a good strong draft of ale right now!" "I wouldn't count too much
on that! From what I saw of the village before Gwindor sent me back
for you, there doesn't appear to be anyone there." No one there?
thought Pervorin as he entered the woods behind Himmen. Maybe it's
abandoned just like the barn we slept in last night. They walked for a
short time, then the trees thinned again, and Pervorin could see
Gwindor and Darin standing at the top of a low rise. When they saw
Himmen and Pervorin approaching, Gwindor spoke up. "We've been watching
the village since you left, Himmen, and haven't seen any signs of life.
I think that this is worth investigating. You can see by the condition
of the buildings that if the village is abandoned, then it hasn't been
this way for long. Everything has been too well maintained." As
Pervorin climbed up beside Gwindor and caught his first look at the
village, he could see what Gwindor meant. Although not a big village,
perhaps a dozen buildings, none of them was in the state of disrepair
that one expects to find in abandoned buildings. "So what are we going
to do?" he asked. Gwindor turned to him with a grin on his face. "We,
my friend," he said, indicating himself, Himman, and Darin, "are going
to go into the village and have a look about. You, on the other hand,
are going to stay right here!" Pervorin opened his mouth to protest,
then realized that Gwindor was right. With his memory loss, he didn't
even know if he could use a sword or bow, and if things weren't right
down there then he might even be in the way. "You're right, of course.
I will wait here for you."
Gwindor glanced back to where Pervorin stood. They had covered
half the distance between there and the village, and still they heard
no sounds of anything that might be taken as unusual, except the lack
of the normal village noises themselves. Giving Pervorin a nod of
encouragement, he turned his attention back to the village.
They entered the village quietly. Mud was everywhere, and water
dripped from the roofs of the buildings. Nodding to Darin and Himmen,
they split up, each searching a section of the village. Darin moved
towards the end, while Himmen went to the center. He himself entered
the nearest building, which turned out to be someone's home. He found
nothing disturbed. It was as if the owner had just left, and never
returned. There was even the remains of a meal, long overdue, which
was sitting on a table.
There was only one other door in the place besides the one Gwindor
entered through, and he headed over to it. As he neared it, he
noticed an odor, similar to that of rotting meat. Opening the door, he
nearly gagged from the overpowering stench that came rolling out.
Fighting the urge to become ill, he stuck his head in the door.
What he found inside caused him to lose his control, and rush
outside to become sick. When he finished gagging, he took several
deep breaths to clear his head. He didn't want to return there, but
he had seen something that he needed to look at again. Steeling
himself, he re-entered the cottage.
The bedroom hadn't changed in the short time he had been gone.
There, laying on the bed, almost looking peaceful, were two children.
They couldn't have been over eight years old. They looked like they
were sleeping. It was only when one looked closer that one could tell
that the sheets weren't red... they were covered with blood. The
bodies had been hacked to pieces, then laid on the bed, with all the
parts touching where they should have normally been connected. But it
wasn't the bodies that interested him so much. His attention was
caught on what was leaning against the bottom of the bed. A double-
bladed hand axe rested there, the edges of the blades coated with
blood.
He went over and bent down to take the weapon in hand, but, as his
hand closed over the shaft, a cold chill seemed to emanate from it,
immediately causing his had to become numb. Pulling his hand away
quickly, he rubbed it until the feeling came back to it. Then,
reaching into his pocket and pulling out the strip of cloth he
sometimes used to keep his hair out of his eyes, he wrapped his hand
in it first, then again attempted to pick up the weapon.
This time there was no cold, and he lifted it easily. Examining
the blade, he shuddered as he recognized the runes inscribed into the
metal. Runes of power, death, and great evil. The oaken haft also
bristled with runes.
Turning, he left the room and headed outside, both to see if Himmen
or Darin had found anything, and to get a better look at the axe. As
he went outside into the sunlight, he saw Darin approaching him. Just
as he was about to hail him, he felt the axe in his hand give a little
shake.
Looking down at the weapon, he stared in astonishment as it twisted
and turned in his hand, seemingly attempting to free itself. Then,
with a shriek that built in intensity in his head, he saw through
watering eyes the blade melting off the handle to puddle on the
ground, where it turned into a black powder.
"Never have I seen anything like that!" exclaimed Darin, who had
also been watching in astonishment. "What manor of weapon was that?"
"I've never seen anything like it either," replied Gwindor. "But I
have heard my brother speak of such things, although the stories he
told me are of the distant past. Do you have an empty flask? Good.
Collect some of the powder into it. But don't touch any of it with
your hands."
Gwindor stood to one side, looking at the handle he still held as
Darin collected some of the powder. I must get back to my brother as
soon as I can, he thought to himself. He must be told of this.
"Come, friend." he said to Darin. "Let us collect Himmen and
Pervorin and depart this place. I feel evil here, and will not
willing stay."
PERVORIN
Chapter Three - The Crevice
The party walked slowly along in the afternoon sunlight. Everyone had
grown quite weary of travel. Day after day they had plodded through
grassland that was at times up to their waists, until finally, after four
days of this, a line of trees appeared on the horizon. Here Gwindor called
a halt.
After setting camp, and a filling meal, Gwindor motioned that he wanted
to speak with the rest of the party.
"I am sure you are all familiar with the wooded lands we must now pass
through, with the possible exception of Pervorin. For his benefit, and to
remind the two of you," he said, motioning towards Darin and Himmen, "these
wood that we face on the morrow are no ordinary wood. It is said that long
ago a small but powerful group of people lived where the forest now
stands. They were a just people, a people totally against violence. One
day a messenger approached their leader and demanded a tribute be paid to a
new king who reigned to the south. The messenger demanded one-half of
their crops as tribute, or the wrath of this new king would fall upon their
heads. Of course, these people refused, being a very independent people.
They disarmed the messenger and sent him on his way."
"A season passed, and the people soon forgot about the warning they had
received. The harvest arrived, and the people celebrated, as the harvest
was a good one."
"Then, just as the sun reached the center of the sky, a black boiling
cloud appeared on the southern horizon. The people at first thought it was
a storm cloud, and so it was. But not the type of storm they expected. As
the storm's center passed over the cultivated fields, a fiery rain fell
from the cloud. Everywhere it fell fires broke out, and soon every field
was burning. They tried to put the fires out, but there were too many of
them. The people then fled to an underground cavern they had discovered
nearby."
"The fires burned for five days. Some say the sun was not seen during
those days due to the smoke. Finally the fires burned themselves out, and
the ground cooled. The people emerged from their hiding, and stared in
dismay at the destruction the fires had caused. There wasn't one building
in their small town that remained standing."
"Well, the people rebuilt the best they could. The winter was a hard
one, and only about half the original survivors survived the hardships of
trying to survive the winter. When planting season arrived, they planted
in the wasted soil the best they could, but the crops grew poorly. As the
time for harvest grew closer, the people left looked southward in anxiety."
"Finally harvest day arrived. The day was clear and the sky was as
crystal blue as a rare sapphire. No dark cloud appeared, and as the sun
rose to full the people breathed a sigh of relief. The harvest was
gathered, and a feast was prepared."
"As the people celebrated into the evening, the moon rose. It wasn't
the normal harvest moon. It was a brilliant green which dazzled the eyes.
As the people started at it, they were transformed into the dark trees
which you see off in the distance."
Here Gwindor paused, staring at the line of trees off in the distance.
After a few silent moments, he continued.
"To travel through those woods now is very dangerous. The trees have
memories, and they do not like to be reminded of what they once were. So
they destroy any who travel their paths without their leave."
With this, Gwindor stood up and adjusted the pack on his back, which
currently contained all of the remaining food supplies, meager though they
were.
"Now listen to me," he said. "We will be lucky to make it to the center
of the forest by midnight, and that's just when I don't want to be there.
So the quicker we get started, the quicker we'll be through the woods. So
on your feet, people, and let's get a move on!"
The party rose to their feet, shouldering their own equipment, and
followed Gwindor toward the faint line of trees.
Pervorin, much by happenchance than anything else, found himself
bringing up the read of the small party. He was not happy about it, but
finally decided that it was better to follow those who knew the way than to
be in the front and not know where he was going.
After an hour's walk, they approached the faint trail leading into the
wood. Here Gwindor called another halt. Pervorin looked up and down the
line of trees, and found that as far as he could see, both to the north and
south, he could see a distinct line where the wood met the plains.
"I see what you mean about having no choice but to travel through the
woods, Gwindor." Pervorin said.
Gwindor, who was staring intently into the woods, nodded. "It is many
days journey to circle this. We have no course except to travel through.
Now, everyone try to be as quiet as possible, and under NO account do any
damage, whether intentional or otherwise, to any living thing once we
enter."
With that Gwindor turned and faced the wood again.
"Here me, people of the Wood. We seek to pass through your forest in
safety. We will cause no damage to leaf, twig, or tree. In this I,
Gwindor Ka-rakis, do pledge my word."
As Gwindor finished speaking, the normal noises of the land around them
ceased. It didn't trail off to a silence, it just ceased. A chill
surrounded the party, a deathly chill. Still Gwindor looked into the
forest. Pervorin, after watching Gwindor for a few minutes, was wondering
what he was looking for. Just as his mind was starting to wander, he found
out.
* We have heard of you, Gwindor, * a voice boomed in his head.
Startled, Pervorin looked around, but saw no one there but the party.
* Long ago we parted with our flesh, and do not wish to be reminded of
what were once were. For that reason, we do not allow the living to pass
through our boundaries. Many have tried, and many have died. However, you
are known to us. For what you have done for us, we will allow you and your
party to pass in safety. Be warned. Destroy nothing. *
With that the voice trailed off into silence, the chill lifted, and the
normal sounds returned. Gwindor looked visibly shaken.
"Well, I had no idea I was so well known." he said with a wry grin on
his face. "But we have their consent to travel through their domain, so I
suggest we get on with it."
Pervorin sighed, adjusted his pack, and followed Gwindor as he headed
down the path into the woods. As he entered the forest, the change in
atmosphere did nothing to set him at ease. The trees towered many feet
over his head, cutting off all but a trickle of sunlight. It brought a
shiver of trepidation to him. At least the lack of sunlight has kept the
undergrowth to a minimum. Then again, he thought, glancing up at the
trees, maybe it isn't the lack of sunlight that's achieving it. Glancing
around again with a shiver, he hurried to catch up with the rest of the
party.
Several hours later they stopped for a rest. The way had become
increasingly difficult the deeper they had travelled into the forest, and
now they found the trail, growing fainter all the while, had now vanished
completely. In it's place loomed a chasm. And what a chasm it was; it
appeared to be about forty feet across, with sheer walls that disappeared
down into murky depths.
Gwindor looked long at the chasm. It would delay them to have to try
and walk around it, as looking he could see no ending to it. He could also
tell that it was recent, as the land was still raw and unweathered.
Himmen appeared at his elbow. "It appears to be newly made."
"Yes, it does. And that's what is worrying me. I've been keeping a
good eye on the landscape as we've been travelling, and everything else
appears normal. Look over there," he said, pointing across the chasm, and
a bit to the left. A towering structure of rock jutted from the ground. A
large boulder sat on a promenade of rock, seemingly balanced on a narrow
point.
"There's Balancing Rock. I've never seen it, nor other human eyes for
centuries if the spirits of the wood are to be believed. And I've no
reason to doubt them. Whatever created this chasm did not disturb it. I
would have to believe that a natural earthquake would have unbalanced it
into falling."
Darin, having walked up to them shortly after they had stopped, spoke
up. "Whatever caused this must have been incredibly powerful."
"I agree." said Gwindor. "I believe the easiest way across will be
found over there," he said, pointing northward to a point where the
crumbling side of the crevice wall had partially collapsed. "We had better
move if we want to see the other side before dark."
The way was slow. As they neared the edge, the ground turned loose and
rocky beneath their feet. More than once one of them slipped and slid
towards the edge, only to be stopped by the ropes that Gwindor had insisted
they tie around themselves.
After picking their way through what seemed like miles of stone and
shale, the group found themselves standing at the brink of the chasm.
Looking down, Pervorin paused. There seemed to be no bottom to it. He
picked up a stone and tossed it out over the edge. It quickly vanished
from sight. Pervorin, after waiting a moment or two, realized that he
wasn't going to hear it hit bottom.
"Now how are we going to cross over onto those boulders and make it to
the other side?" Pervorin asked himself.
"Don't worry. We'll find a way," Darin said at his elbow. "Gwindor's
pretty good at figuring out ways to do things."
They moved to Gwindor's side, where he and Himmen were examining the
boulders.
"There's not enough room for one of us to try and jump across, barring
the fact that I doubt if we could jump that far in the first place," Himmen
was saying as they walked up.
"Look on top, Himmen," Gwindor said. "About fifty feet in."
On top of the vast pile of rubble sat a large, pointed rock. It was
laying with the point angling skyward.
"Darin, you are the best aim among us. Do you think you could loop a
rope around that point?"
Darin looked up at the rock. "I don't know, but I'll sure give it a
try." With that, he took off his pack and removed a coil of rope.
"Why don't you just use your powers to get us across, Gwindor?" Pervorin
asked.
"I could do that, yes." admitted Gwindor. "But whatever created this
has great power. I can feel its traces lingering even now. If I use my
own, I fear this will alert it to our presence. I don't think I'm up to
matching that kind of power. No, we will try to cross without resorting to
magical means."
Darin had taken a small grappling hook from his pack and attached it to
the rope. Now, swinging the grapple in a circle over his head, he stared
at the point of rock. Then, with a grunt, he let it fly.
The grapple flew out over the abyss, trailing the rope behind. It flew
in a perfect arc towards the point. Then, just as it was about to drop
over it, the rope jerked tight, snapping the grappling hook back towards
Darin. With a clang of metal against stone it hit the side of the crevice.
"Didn't realize it was that far," Darin said, removing another coil of
rope from his pack. Within a moment he had attached the ropes together and
was again rising to swing the hook. Staring steadily at his target, Darin
swung the grapple around and around, until he appeared mesmerized by his
actions. Then, with a yell, he released it. Out it flew, to finally wrap
itself around the point, wedging itself firmly into a crack.
Turning, Darin attached his end of the rope to a large boulder near
him. Now a rope stretched across to the other side.
"Now to cross," muttered Darin as he tested the strength of the rope.
Slowly, so as not to add too great a strain, he eased himself out until he
was hanging by his hands. Swinging his legs, he caught his feet around the
rope, and proceeded to pull himself across to the other side.
The others, watching anxiously, let out a sigh of relief when he was
across.
"Pervorin, you're next." Gwindor motioned him over to the rope.
Pervorin walked slowly towards the rope, sweat suddenly coating his
hands. As he neared the edge, Gwindor smiled at him reassuringly and
helped him over to the rope.
"New to this?" he asked lightly.
Pervorin let out a small laugh. "A bit." he replied.
"Well, remember, whatever you do, do not look down. Just loop your feet
around the rope, and let your arms pull you across. Darin's there to stop
you from running into the rock, so don't even worry about that."
Nodding, he decided that he would never be more ready than he was now,
and grabbed the rope with both hands. Slowly, hand over hand he pulled
himself across. All the while, his eyes were locked on the rope hanging
inches from his eyes. The distance seemed endless, and he was beginning to
think he'd never get there when he felt a hand clap him on his shoulders.
Looking over, he saw Darin standing next to him, grinning widely.
Letting his feet down slowly, afraid he was still over the chasm, he let
out an audible sigh of relief when they touched ground.
"You know, I think I could tell you how many strands make up that rope,
Darin!" he admitted as he rubbed his sore hands.
"That's the spirit, Perv!" Darin said, smiling. "Here comes Gwindor."
Pervorin looked up to see Gwindor almost halfway across. He glanced
over to the other side, where Himmen was waiting by the rope for his turn.
He glanced again to Gwindor, who was now just reaching this side. As he
reached out to help him gain his footing, Pervorin caught a flicker of
movement out of the corner of his eye. He stood, peering across to see
what might have caught his attention.
A gasp of astonishment escaped him. There, not more than fifty yards
from Himmen, a group of creatures were making their way along the edge,
towards Himmen!
"Himmen! Look out!" he screamed, pointing.
Himmen turned, caught sight of the advancing creatures, and leaped onto
the rope, crossing as quick as he could. He had made it halfway across
before the creatures reached that end of the rope.
And creatures they were, too. Some walked on two legs, some on four,
and others ran on five or six. Great fangs protruded at all angles from
their mouths, and oversized arms hung down to their feet. The sounds they
emitted sounded like something in terrible agony, sending chills up and
down Pervorin's back.
One of the creatures grabbed the rope, swung easily down, and began to
make its way across. The rope sagged alarmingly with its added weight, and
sagged even further when a second creature joined the first on the rope.
"Come on Himmen, you have to move!" shouted Gwindor, who was standing by
the rope with his sword out. Pervorin could see the muscles in Himmen's
arms and neck straining as he sped to cover the last few feet.
Suddenly the air was full of arrows! They were being fired upon by the
creatures standing on the opposite side! Gwindor let out a yell just as
Himmen scrambled onto the rock, and sank from sight. Himmen lay where he
had pulled away from the rope, pinned down by arrows. Darin was no where
to be seen.
Pervorin had taken shelter behind a rock. Looking around it, he saw the
creatures had almost made it across. I've got to cut that rope, he
thought, and started to rise to run towards it. But as he did, another
hail of arrows fell, pinning him back behind the rock again.
They don't want us to cut it! Almost in despair he watched the
creatures on the rope continue to get closer. There was only a few feet
remaining before they would gain this side. Then, as he watched, he saw
something fly from the second creature on the rope to strike a rock close
to his head. He ducked, only to discover a small crude axe beside his
head. Without even thinking, he reached down, picked up the axe, and
hurled it at the rope wrapped around the rock. It struck squarely, but the
rope failed to part.
Himmen rose to his feet as the first of the creatures crawled over the
edge, hitting it squarely in its face with his huge fist. It fell
backwards towards the edge, hitting another creature that had just gotten
off the rope, knocking them both over the edge. One grabbed for the rope
as it fell. It was too much. The rope parted with a loud snap, sending
the creatures plummeting down into the darkness.
Pervorin crawled over to where he thought he had seen Gwindor
disappear. He feared his friend was hurt. An arrow fell here and there
around him as the creatures on the other side tried to get at them, but
they were too far away to do anything but hope for a lucky hit.
Rounding a boulder, Pervorin was relieved to see Gwindor sitting with
his back against the other side.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
A low moan was all the answer that he got, so he crawled around until he
was beside Gwindor. He noticed a cut on Gwindor's forehead, and an arrow
laying beside him. It had caught him a glancing blow, and had stunned
him. Even as Pervorin reached out towards him, he opened his eyes.
"Thought I had seen my last sun," he said shakily, rising to a
straighter position. "Let's find Himmen and Darin and get out of here. I
don't think our friends over there will sit still for long."
Pervorin glanced across the chasm. The creatures, seeing that they were
now out of their reach, had vanished. Helping Gwindor, they located their
friends and their gear and turned east, back into the trees.
PERVORIN
Chapter Four
Several days later found the group considerably east of the
crevice. They had continued on their way, soon finding themselves back
into dense forestland, though not with the malignant spirits that
resided in the Wood. Now, late at the end of the second day of travel,
Pervorin found himself bone tired of tripping over roots and ground
brush. Sighing, he pushed away another branch that threatened to slap
him in his face and plodded on, following Himmen. He had found that if
he concentrated on Himmen's back, he could partially ignore the ache in
his legs and back.
Finally they broke through the forest into a small clearing.
Pervorin's heart lightened as he looked around, his eyes widening with
the beauty of the glen. It seemed to have a life of its own. The late
afternoon sunlight reflected off the lush greenery of the plant life,
and bounced cheerfully off the bubbling brook that flowed happily
through the center of the glen, nourishing the small wildlife of the
area.
"I know this place!" Gwindor exclaimed, his face lighting with
joy. "My brother and I used to treat this place as our special place.
I have spent many an hour sitting here upon the ground, watching him
try and perfect his calling."
Gwindor stopped, his vision transgressing the years as he lost
himself in his memories. The rest of the party lost no time in finding
themselves a place to sit or lay down in the grass, and for a time they
all lost themselves in the peace and tranquility.
Gwindor came to himself with a start, and grinned sheepishly at
his friends. Sitting down himself, he stretched until his joints
popped.
"Feels good, doesn't it, my friends. Here we can rest and take
comfort, as nothing of evil has ever entered this glade. Enjoy the
night, as tomorrow we continue on to the Citadel."
Pervorin, almost dozing, opened his eyes at the mention of a
Citadel. "A citadel? What citadel?"
"Well, that's what everyone calls it. Actually it is called
Rasvan Castle, supposedly after a wizard of earlier times. Gwindor's
brother now calls it home. From there it is said that he is delving
into the mysteries of his power. If anyone can help you regain your
past, it is he. Now rest, for we shall not stop again until we reach
Rasvan."
Pervorin could still feel the awe that his first sight of the
castle had aspired in him. From out of a grassy plain it rose to a
great height against the deepening blue of the evening sky. The towers
rose above the rest of the castle, seemingly swaying gracefully in the
wind. In contrast, the outside wall was squat and formidable. He
supposed an army might break its back on that wall and still not force
an entry.
As they had walked towards the bridge spanning the moat, the
people working outside the walls had taken notice of them. Several had
stopped what they were doing and called out to Gwindor.
"Hail and well met!" one of them cried. "Kantar told us to keep
an eye out for you today."
Smiling, Gwindor advanced over the moat. "Morgan, it's good to
see you again!" He clasped his friend's arm heartily. "It has been
too long! But what are you doing here? I thought you were garrisoned
in Tralug."
As Gwindor and Morgan continued to talk, they moved through the
gates into the castle, and Himmen, Darin, and Pervorin followed. Their
path followed the main street for a distance, and Pervorin marvelled at
what he saw. Buildings stretched in every direction, lining both sides
of the street. At the end of the street, just within eyesight, he
could see the entrance to the castle proper. He noticed now that the
castle walls, besides protecting the castle, surrounded the city, thus
providing protection for it as well.
Following the small group, Pervorin now noticed the aromas that
were assailing him from every side; the smell of freshly cooked meat;
the sweet smell of fresh flowers; the strong aroma of wine.
And the people! Never had he seen so many in one place! It
seemed that for every one that disappeared into a doorway or down a
side street, three more took their place.
"Pervorin! Come along!"
Startled, he looked up. The rest of the group was standing a good
distance away, looking at him. He hurried to catch up, a sheepish grin
on his face.
"All these people getting to you?" Himmen asked as he caught up
with them.
"It all is a bit overwhelming," he admitted. "Do they always run
about like that?"
"No," laughed Himmen. "We're in luck. We have arrived in time to
celebrate the Festival of Mid-Feast. Everyone is preparing for it."
Pervorin looked at Himmen in surprise. "You mean there really is
a Mid-Feast time?"
"Of course there is," replied Himmen. "It's the time when the
people celebrate the successful harvest, and eat, drink, and make
merry. For the planting and harvest seasons are hard ones here, as are
the winter months. In another month, they will begin preparations for
winter, so now they are living it up while they can."
They had continued to walk while they had been talking, and now
Pervorin saw that they were entering a quieter section of the city.
The number of shops they passed lessened, while the number of homes
increased. After passing numerous side streets, Gwindor and Morgan
finally turned toward a house situated at the far end of the street.
Walking up onto the porch, Pervorin caught the pleasant smell of
cooking food wafting from an open window. Gwindor turned and looked
questionly at Morgan.
"I told you we knew you were coming," he laughed. "Sabrina has
been inside all day readying your home for your return."
"Sabrina!" Gwindor exclaimed, the joy in his voice unmistakable.
"Long have I waited to hear her sweet voice again!"
Opening the door, they entered into a large room. The curtains on
the windows had been tied back, allowing the sunlight to stream in. At
one end was a hearth, in which a fire blazed cheerfully. Over the fire
hung a cooking pot, from which the smell of food originated. Several
feet away a table occupied a corner, on which five settings had been
placed. A couch and several stuffed chairs completed the room.
"I have been waiting for you, my love." a soft voice said.
Turning, Pervorin saw a woman standing in a doorway he had not
noticed before. She was dressed in a in a simple white dress, with her
long flowing brown hair cascading around her shoulders. Her features
appeared plain, not especially attractive to him. Then her eyes met
Gwindor's, and her face lit up in a smile that seemed, to Pervorin, to
light up the whole room. At once she had gone from a plain woman to
someone that armies would fight over.
As Pervorin watched, Gwindor went over to her and enveloped her in
his arms. For a time they were lost in their own world, oblivious to
their surroundings.
Grinning, Himmen motioned for Pervorin to place his pack over in a
corner, where he was just leaving his own. Darin followed suit, and
then joined them at the table. Morgan had found a pitcher of dark ale
and was pouring large mugs for all of them. This completed, Morgan sat
back in his own chair and proceeded to drain his cup in one long
drought. Smiling with satisfaction, he poured himself another, and
sipped contented at it.
A few moments later Gwindor and Sabrina separated. Gwindor turned
towards the table and sat down.
"Well, it has been a long time," he said sheepishly to the smiling
faces around him.
Laughing goodheartedly, they all sat down to one of Sabrina's
homecooked meals, which they all agree was the best thing they'd done
in months. Pervorin, who had not realized how hungry he was until he
had taken his first bite, was polishing off his plate with passion.
"This is very good!" he exclaimed to no one in particular. "It
brings to mind some of the food I've had in..." Here is voice trailed
off. In where? he thought. At the first taste of the food he had
remembered a similar meal. There had been food as good as this, with
wine and ale. There were other people there too, but as he strived to
remember it slipped away, until the thought vanished as if smoke. He
looked up to find them all looking at him.
"In where, Pervorin?" Gwindor asked quietly.
"In... In... I can't remember!" Pervorin cried out with anguish.
Gwindor settled back into his chair. "I think that we shall go
see my brother today. Perhaps he can help shed some light on your loss
of memory. As for now, finish your meal. I feel that you will need
your strength later."
Later, after the meal, Gwindor came over to the couch were
Pervorin was sitting off in thought.
"I go now to see Zanath, Pervorin. If he agrees, I will send
someone for you. Agreed?"
Nodding in agreement, Pervorin noticed the concern in Gwindor's
face, and he realized how much he had come to depend on this man for
guidance and friendship.
"Thank you my friend," he said quietly as Gwindor clasped his arm.
"Don't worry," Gwindor replied. "If anyone can help you, Zanath
can."
PERVORIN
Chapter Five - Castle Rasvan
Gwindor walked slowly along the street, stopping now and then to greet
a friend. Finally he made his way up to his brother's home, the Castle
Rasvan. Drawing up to the door, he took the huge knocker on the center of
the door in both hands and lifted it, then let it fall. Thrice he did
this. As the last echoes of the knocks faded away, the lion's head in the
in the center of the door spoke.
"Who comes knocking at the door of Rasvan's Castle?" it boomed hollowly.
"It is I, Gwindor!" he replied.
"Oh, it is you, brother! Come on in, you know the way." The voice
had lost much of its timbre, and Gwindor smiled as the door swung
open. His brother had always had a taste for theatrics.
The passageway behind the door led twisting and turning past many
hallways and doors. Gwindor's stride did not hesitate as he followed a path
that he had travelled many times. He headed up a flight of stairs, and
then continued down the corridor. At last he came to a small entranceway,
similar to the many others he had passed. It was a plain wooden door with
iron hinges. Turning the knob, he pushed the door open and entered the
small room behind it.
The room was nothing spectacular. It was a small bedroom, with a single
bed, small night table, and a dressing table. It was dim inside, as the
candles set along the wall were not lit, and there were no windows. Reaching
over to one of the candlabras set in the wall, he gave it a twist. Silently
a portion of the wall slid aside, to reveal a spiral staircase leading up.
As Gwindor started up the staircase, he heard the secret panel close behind
him. The way was not dark, however, as there were lit candles along the
walls. Reaching the top, he stopped before another door and knocked.
"Enter, brother!" a voice boomed out.
Opening the door, Gwindor entered into what was obviously an elabrate
workshop. Various sizes of flasks sat in holders suspended over candles,
bubbling furiously. Running the entire length of one wall was a bookcase,
crammed to overflowing with books, scrolls, and tomes. A desk occupied the
center of another wall, and there Gwindor saw his brother peering intently
over a yellowed scroll. He was older than Gwindor, with white streaks
running through his coal black hair. As he looked up, Gwindor noticed that
his face had aged since he had last seen him. His eyes still had that same
sparkle in them, though.
"Gwindor, it's good to see you again!" he exclaimed heartily as he
rounded the desk.
He embraced his brother, and then motioned Gwindor to one of the stuffed
chairs that were near the desk. Gwindor sank gratefully into it, just now
realising how tired he was.
"Did you get my message?" Zanath asked.
"Yes, I did," Gwindor replied. "That is why I am here. You were right
in believing that something is brewing in the south. I visited most of the
villages that lay on the edge of the Great Waste, and found that most of them
are deserted. It appears that they have been attacked by unknown forces. I
found many tracks leading from the villages to the Waste, but I could not
track them any further. The winds that sweep the Waste obliterated any
tracks long before I got there."
He looked up at his brother. "That's a lot of people that are missing."
Zanath, whose expression had been getting grimmer and grimmer while
Gwindor was speaking, rose and went over to the bookcase. Rummaging through
a large pile of scrolls, he finally withdrew two. Bringing them over to the
desk, he carefully unrolled them, motioning for Gwindor to come over and
look. Gwindor rose and walked to stand beside his brother. Looking down at
the scrolls, he saw a map of Kultauren. The language on the scroll was in
the tongue of the Ancients, and now he blessed his brother for all the times
he had made him study what he had thought was a useless tongue.
"How old is this map?" he asked.
"Well, as near as I can make it, it is between two and three thousand
years old. Whoever drew this probably signed it, but as you can see, there
is a section that has been torn away."
Gwindor had noticed that the bottom right corner was missing, but had
paid it no mind. Now he took a closer look. There appeared to be some
writing, now partially missing.
"Were you able to make anything out of this?" he asked.
Zanath shook his head. "There just isn't enough for me to go on."
Gwindor looked back at the main portion of the map. He could see the
River Jarah, winding it's way down the mountains to feed the Great Swamps.
The Great Waste was missing, though. Instead, where the Waste is today,
there was a large inland sea. Scattered around the sea were several large
towns, and from some of the descriptions given on the map a great deal of
trade went on between them.
"This is interesting," he said, "but I do not see what this has to do
with what is going on today."
"Look closer. Down there," Zanath said, pointing down to the
southernmost point of land.
Looking, Gwindor saw a small notation. It was written so small that he
had trouble reading it.
"I cannot make it out. Have you been able to translate it?"
"Yes. Roughly, it says: Beware the Oblisk of Dread."
"The Oblisk of Dread? Nothing else?"
"Nothing else. Just that." With that Zanath turned and wandered over to
his desk. "After I translated it, I realised that I have recollections of
that name somewhere before. So I did some digging in the old books and
scrolls that I keep lying around, and I came up with something. In one of
the scrolls of the ancient city of Charrew there is mention of the Oblisk of
Dread. It says that during the Age of Madness, a powerful user of the arts
way trying to forceably proclaim his rulership over Kultauren. After many
battles the wizard was defeated, and his body was placed in the Oblisk. It
also said that a curse was placed upon the Oblisk, though of what manner of
curse it does not say."
"Do you think that this oblisk has something to dow with whatever is
happening now?" asked Gwindor.
"I don't know. But it is a possibility that we dare not overlook. The
scroll also mentions that the wizard's possessions were sealed up with him,
lest they fall into the hands of others. Supposedly he had some powerful
items in his possession. If someone has entered the oblisk, then they may
have taken what was inside. That could bode ill for us all."
"But to what purposes? I mean, between the deserted villages, there must
be close to a thousand people missing."
Zanath said nothing at this, just stood shaking his head. "We must find
out what is happening down there. We must also find out if the oblisk has
been defiled. If someone has gained access to the secrets there, and has the
ability to use them..." he stopped and shuddered at the thought.
After a moment, Gwindor remembered the other reason he was here.
"Brother, I believe that something else I ran into while on the Plains of
Jeah you might be interested in."
With that he explained finding Pervorin, and the events after. After
finishing, Gwindor sat back and sipped on the wine his brother had given him
while he had been speaking. As he had thought, Zanath was very interested in
Pervorin.
"Where is he now?" he asked.
"He is at my home," replied Gwindor. "I have told him that you may be
able to help him regain his memory, which he is understandably anxious to
recover. He is waiting for me to summon him to meet you."
"Well," said Zanath, rising, "let us not keep him waiting any further.
We shall retire to the library, where we shall await his arrival."
PERVORIN
Chapter Six
Pervorin lay on the couch in Gwindor's living room, enjoying the
feeling of having absolutely nothing to do. He had helped Sabrina
clean up after the meal, and then had wandered into the living room,
starting a fire against the chill in the night air. Now he relaxed
and stared into the flickering flames, thinking of nothing, letting
the dance of the firelight devour his thoughts.
A knock at the door broke through his reverie, startling him.
Rising to his feet, he strode to the door.
"Who is it?" he asked through the closed door.
"The city guard," was the reply.
Opening the door, Pervorin saw a group of four men standing in
the street. Each was in chain armor, with light from the torches that
two of the men carried reflecting brightly off the polished metal.
Pervorin also noticed that they were armed with swords at their sides
and bows across their backs.
"What can I do for you?" he asked politely.
"We have come to escort you to Rasvan Castle, where Zanath awaits
you."
"Ah, yes. Well, would you wait a moment while I get myself
together?"
"Of course. But please hurry. We were told to be prompt."
"I'll be as quick as I can," replied Pervorin as he shut the
door. Turning, he gathered up his cloak, tossing it around his
shoulders as he stepped into the kitchen to let Sabrina know that he
was leaving. That finished, he stepped outside to join the guards
waiting for him and vanished with them into the dark streets.
Several minutes later he found himself standing in front of the
great doors of the castle. The guard who had spoken to him earlier
went up to the door and knocked.
"Who knocks on the door of the Castle of Rasvan?" a booming voice
asked, seemingly emanating from the lion's head that was centered on
the door.
"The City Guard. We bring the one called Pervorin."
"Good!" the voice replied. "Escort him to the library."
"As you command." the guard replied. Turning, he dismissed the
other men, and then motioned for Pervorin to follow him as the
ponderous doors swung open.
The guard led Pervorin through many passages and hallways,
getting him thoroughly lost. Pervorin contented himself with looking
at the contents of the hallways they were travelling. Along the walls
were numerous types of weapons. Polearms, longswords, axes, there
seemed to be no end to the different styles. The floor itself was as
quite to walk on as a grave, due mostly to the rug, which was so thick
that his boots made no sound at all as he walked.
"In here," the guard said, motioning towards a door that he was
opening. Stepping through, Pervorin saw Gwindor sitting in a chair
near a fireplace. Sitting next to him was a man he had not seen
before. They looked up as Pervorin entered.
"Pervorin," Gwindor said after the guard had left, closing the
door, "come over here and meet Zanath, my brother."
Pervorin walked over to Gwindor. Turning, Gwindor looked at his
brother as he stood up. Pervorin saw indeed that this must be
Gwindor's brother, as the resemblance was unmistakable. He was older,
and looked more wise in the ways of the world than Gwindor.
"Pleased to meet you, Pervorin." Zanath said, rising from his
chair and extending his hand.
Pervorin shook hands, surprised at the strength of the other
man's grip. His strength was more than his looks implied.
"My brother has told me all about your little, hmmm, shall we
say, adventures? since he met you. As I understand it, you have no
recollection of the events that happened to you before you met
Gwindor?"
"Yes, that's true," replied Pervorin. "I cannot remember
anything that happened before the plains."
"Perhaps I can help. Gwindor has told me that he has spoken to
you about me, to the effect that I may be able to help you. Perhaps I
can. However, it will require your willingness to let me do things
that may appear strange to you. Whatever I do, you must not do
anything that would interfere with the process. You must trust me.
Nothing I do will bring harm to you. Do you understand?"
Pervorin thought a moment. From what Gwindor had told him,
Zanath was a powerful user of the arts. He wasn't sure if he wanted
to go through with this, but he would like to get his memory back, and
there doesn't seem to be any other option at the moment. Finally he
nodded.
"I will cooperate with you," he replied.
"Good. Very good." Zanath said. "Now, you do understand that
what we find out may not be to your liking?"
"Not to my liking?" Pervorin asked. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you could be a thief, or a cutthroat, or any number of
other things. There's just no telling until your memory is restored."
Pervorin thought about this for a few moments. At last he
answered.
"Yes, I am willing to take that risk. At least, even if I find
out I am one of those types, I will know what I am. That's better
than what I know now."
"Very well," replied Zanath. "We will begin immediately.
Gwindor, if you would, please take Pervorin up to my lab and make him
ready. I will join you shortly." With that Zanath turned and left
the library.
"Well, come along Pervorin," Gwindor said with a sigh as he
rose from the chair and walked towards the door.
Pervorin followed Gwindor as he left the library and headed down
the corridor. He was wondering what Zanath had meant when he had
asked Gwindor to 'make him ready'. Finally his curiosity got the
best of him, and he asked Gwindor.
Gwindor laughed. "That's Zanath's way of telling me to make sure
that you don't get into anything in his lab while he isn't there. He
has things in there that, handled improperly, could do a lot more to
you than restore your memory, if you get my meaning."
Pervorin got his meaning. He resolved to keep his hands off of
anything in the lab.
A few minutes later they entered Zanath's lab. Pervorin stared
at all the strange items that seemed to fill the room from floor to
ceiling. What caught his eye and held his attention after a moment
was a long table. On top of the table were beakers and jars sitting
in a strange apparatus, over top of candles. Inside liquids bubbled
and seethed. He stared in fascination at them. They seemed quite
familiar to him, but somehow strange.
While Pervorin was looking around the room, Gwindor had taken a
chair and placed it in the center of the room, which was clear. He
then took a lead-stoppered flask from one of the many shelves, opened
it, then proceeded to pour the contents in a circle around the chair,
at a distance of perhaps ten feet. He did not close the circle,
leaving an opening a foot wide in front of the chair.
"What are you doing that for?" Pervorin asked, Gwindor's
movements having caught his eye.
"I am preparing a circle for you," was the reply. "The forces
that Zanath will use need to be contained, or they could conceivably
destroy this castle and most of the area around it."
"Do you mean to tell me that I am going to be sitting in that
chair while all these... forces will be in there, too?" Pervorin asked
nervously.
"That about sums it up, yes." Gwindor said. Seeing the look on
Pervorin's face, Gwindor smiled. "You have no need to worry, my
friend. Zanath will do nothing that will cause any harm to you. You
have his word, and his word is good."
Pervorin was relieved to hear that. After the strange experience
he had had back at Gwindor's camp, he wasn't real sure about the
arcane.
Just then the door opened, and Zanath entered. He had changed,
and was now wearing a long dark blue robe. The robe had silver runes
running the length of the hem and around the collar. The necklace he
was wearing caught Pervorin's attention. It was in the shape of two
moons, one smaller than the other. He could see a faint glow
emanating from the smaller moon, and it seemed to be pulsating.
Zanath walked over to them. "I see you have made the
preparations, Gwindor. Excellent. Well Pervorin, are you ready to
begin?"
"I guess so," Pervorin replied nervously.
"Then please be seated," Zanath said, gesturing to the chair in
the center of the circle.
Pervorin walked over and sat down in the chair. Zanath went over
to a table, selected several beakers from what seemed an endless
supply, and mixed them together into a goblet. Walking back over to
Pervorin, he handed him the cup.
"Please drink this as fast as you can," he said. Noticing
Pervorin's worried glance at the goblet, he smiled. "It's nothing to
worry about. It is just a sedative to make your mind more relaxed and
calm. Now please, drink."
Pervorin raised the goblet to his nose and sniffed at the bouquet
rising from it. It was a pleasant smell, and seems to relax him a
bit. Raising the glass again, he looked at Gwindor and Zanath.
"To what we may find," he said, toasting them, and then he
drained it. A warm feeling flowed through him as the liquid coursed
down his throat into his stomach. He handed the empty goblet back to
Zanath.
"That is some pretty good stuff you mixed up there, Zanath." he
said with a lazy smile on his face.
Zanath returned the smile, then picked up the flask that Gwindor
had been using earlier. Stooping, he used the remaining powder to
close the circle. Then he turned and began to walk the circle,
careful not to step inside. As he did so, he was gesturing and
muttering in a language that Pervorin did not understand. Suddenly
the powder started to sputter and smoke, igniting by Zanath's feet as
he strode around the circle. The smoke wafted towards Pervorin, who
could not help but inhale it. It made him feel light-headed and dizzy.
"Now we will see who you are!"
(c) 1987, 1988, 1989 Jim Tomasello. Reprinted by permission.