Robert Keller - The Eye of Divinity

"I will speak no more of it," said Taris, turning away.

Cordus patted Lannon on the back. "It's a good sword, and I'm sure you'll do fine in the Color Trials."

The sword felt light and perfectly balanced in Lannon's grasp. He could barely bring himself to believe that Taris had just given it to him.

Sambar started to open his mouth as if to say something, but then he closed it again and shrugged. "More ale?"

That night the travelers bathed themselves and slept in clean rooms. Lannon's belly was full of good food and drink, he had a new sword, and Dremlock Kingdom was growing ever closer. He should have been content. Yet even upstairs, behind locked doors, he could feel the anger of the men and women below. It seemed to fill the air, contrasting the sweet aroma of the incense and merging with the faint stench of the Bloodlands, which could never be completely concealed here. And deep uncertainty weighed down on him, making him restless. Just what was expected of him in the days ahead? How much were Knights concealing from him, and ultimately, what was the risk? His deepest fears whispered to him in his father's voice that death wasn't the worst fate one could encounter.

After a quick yet delicious breakfast, they set out from the Dead Goblin. The rain had slacked off, but the mist remained heavy. The Iracus Trees thickened, and the Mothers appeared again, their arching roots crisscrossing the road. The Knights drove the Greywinds as fast as they dared.

At one point Furlus' horse stumbled and went down, dumping him headfirst into the mud. Lannon started to laugh, but when he saw the look on Furlus' face, he strangled it. Bellowing curses, Furlus lunged up, his beard dripping filth and his dark eyes blazing with fury. He wiped his beard with his sleeve, grabbed the root that had felled his horse, and tore it two. Dark blood poured out from the severed ends. The angry Tower Master cast the ends aside.

"I've had enough of this, Cordus!" Furlus' brow was knotted with rage. "We leave a comfortable inn and ride like Tharnin through this slop-for no good reason! We could have stayed another night and waited for better weather."

Cordus sighed. "Do you want to go back? You saw the way the Rangers regarded us. I don't know about you, but I have no wish to spend another night at that inn. And, considering what we're facing, we dare not waste even a single day. Now get on your horse and ride with us, or go stay with the Rangers. But I'll move on and tonight sleep amongst the Northern Hills where I won't have a bunch of contemptuous people breathing down my neck."

Furlus nodded, his face red with embarrassment. "Since you put it that way, I'll keep quiet." He patted his horse and then swung up into the saddle.

"Where's the Scribe," Taris said, smiling. "We need to record this wondrous moment. Furlus Goblincrusher admitting he is wrong!"

"I admitted nothing, oh dark one," said Furlus, wringing out his beard. "I simply said I'd keep quiet for now. Let's just concentrate on getting through this giant dung pit. I've had too much open sky above me on this journey, and now these filthy Bloodlands are getting to me. I guess I just need to get back to the silver mines and the Deep Forge."

"Of course," said Taris. "We all know how lovely the mines are."

"A Tree Dweller like you wouldn't understand," mumbled Furlus.

The stench and misery continued throughout the day. The riders became distracted, paying little heed to their surroundings. They simply pushed onward as the hours slipped by. They ate a quick lunch of dry foods, without dismounting, and rode without pause until dinner. At dinner, they seated themselves on a log and forced down some leftovers from the inn.

When they set off again, the Iracus Trees formed a forest, while the mist became almost like a solid wall. They were forced to go slower than ever. Twice, Taris stopped his horse and sat still, gazing off into the fog as if straining to see or hear something. But when asked about it by Cordus, he simply shook his head and they continued on. Because the sun was lost from view, it was difficult to tell what time of day it was, but they felt it was nearing evening.

When Taris stopped for the third time, the sorcerer spoke. "I think Goblins are watching us. I can't tell how many, or their kind."

"How long have they been following?" Cordus asked.

"I'm not sure."

Furlus readied his axe. "Something to interrupt the boredom, I guess."

"Let us hope they're not Goblin Lords," said Cordus, drawing his broadsword. "That's the last thing we need right now."

"Not likely," said Taris. "No Goblin Lord has ever been spotted near the Middle Bloodlands. But anything is possible, I suppose."

Cordus shook his head. "Before breakfast, Sambar described, for me alone, Goblins that resembled Lords. A Ranger spotted them on the road. I fear they might be planning to finish us off before we reach Dremlock."

"I'll bet they're waiting for us to pass through the North Gate," said Furlus. "Then they will try to ambush us."

"You should have told us earlier," said Taris, shooting Cordus an angry glance. "Why did you wait?"

"I didn't want to scare the boy," said Cordus.

"But if these are indeed Goblin Lords we're dealing with," said Taris, "then we should have been watching for them."

"We were staying alert, regardless," said Cordus. "I intended to tell you, but the hours slipped past quickly."

Lannon glanced about, but all he could see was mist. His hands clenched Taris' cloak so hard his fingers ached. He thought he could feel yellow eyes peering out at him, teeth and claws ready to rip the flesh from his bones like they had done to the merchant. He began to tremble, suddenly wishing he were safely back in Knights Valley or at Dremlock Kingdom-anywhere but in the Bloodlands.

"Calm yourself, Lannon," Taris said to him. "We will protect you."

"Draw your sword, Lannon," Cordus commanded.

"What?" said Lannon. "You mean…?"

"You ride with Knights," said Cordus. "You are expected to fight with us if need be. You wanted the sword, and now it is yours. Thus, we no longer protect an unarmed lad. Now, draw your sword!"

With a trembling hand, Lannon drew the bone sword from the sheath at his belt. It felt cumbersome and useless in his grasp. He had no desire to test his skill against the Goblins.

Cordus nodded to him. "You will fight only when ordered to, however. Is that understood?"

"It is definitely understood," said Lannon, breathing a sigh of relief.

The Knights stared off into the mist, and exchanged concerned glances. Grim tension hung between them. Even the horses seemed to feel it, for they whinnied nervously.

The land crept upward and then flattened. The mist thinned, revealing two huge boulders on either side of the road. Smaller boulders lay just beyond them, barely visible in the fog. Thick Iracus roots clung to the two big rocks, hanging off them like ragged spider webs, their strands disappearing into the mist.

"The North Gate," Cordus said quietly. "The Hills lie not far beyond. This is where the Goblins will probably make their attack."

Taris rode up alongside him. "I sense the Goblins are close." The sorcerer pulled a stone dagger from his cloak, and it erupted into greenish flames.

Just then, a tall figure walked from the mist. It was a Foul Brother-yet certainly not one of normal intelligence (which for a Foul Brother was virtually no intelligence at all). It wore a black cloak and carried a twisted wooden staff. It was powerfully built, with hands and feet that were slightly larger than those of a human, and its head was bald, with deep lines in its forehead. Its dark eyes-usually sad and dumb on these creatures-were narrowed with focus. A single red rune was painted on its forehead.