R. Salvatore - The Ancient

Toniquay stared hard at Cormack for just a few moments and then motioned to some of his nearby tribesmen. Soon the trio found themselves surrounded by armed Alpinadoran warriors.

Cormack immediately turned to Bransen and grabbed the man by the arm. “They are honorable, but careful,” he said in the common language of Honce.

“I insist that you remain with us while we investigate your claims,” Toniquay explained.

“Be fast, for all our sakes,” Milkeila answered.

Toniquay nodded his agreement and motioned to the warriors, who escorted Bransen and Cormack to a nearby hut, while Milkeila stayed with Toniquay and the other shamans.

She knew what they would do, and was not surprised when several of the more powerful shamans called down high-flying birds. Weaving spells, they each bound their sight to that of an individual bird, then sent the winged creatures on their way, and for the next several minutes, the powerful elders saw through the eyes of their familiars. Unlike Ancient Badden’s heightened powers, though, these shamans couldn’t control their familiars, and so they were at the whims of the aerial creatures.

Still, it didn’t take very long for more than one of the birds to climb above the glacial rim, and the ice castle gleamed in the midday light.

To her surprise, a most pleasant one, Milkeila was allowed to leave Yossunfier with her two companions. She had not been forgiven, Toniquay assured her, and would ultimately have to answer the many questions her arrival with the men of Honce had raised, beyond the worries of some strange “Ancient” plotting atop the glacier.

Now, though, given the revelations, they all had more important issues before them, so Milkeila, Bransen, and Cormack paddled off for Red Cap Island, while Toniquay and the others plotted as to how they would best bring all the Alpinadoran tribes of the islands together again in an even more urgent cause.

Father De Guilbe rubbed his face and leaned back in his seat, breathing hard.

“It cannot be,” Brother Giavno said, shaking his head in denial.

“Exactly as the stranger said,” De Guilbe confirmed. He tossed a soul stone back onto his desk, the same stone that had just allowed him an out-of-body journey, where he had willed his spirit to fly up to the great glacier looming over Mithranidoon.

“They are boring a chasm that will collapse the front edge of the glacier into our lake,” he explained.

“Ancient Badden?”

“It can only be. The castle of ice has the Samhaist tree design.”

“Then Cormack was not lying, and the stranger is…?”

“Of no concern to us at this time,” Father De Guilbe answered. “We must be gone from this place posthaste. Our time here was not profitable-we claimed not a single soul-and so we will continue our mission elsewhere.”

“We will allow Ancient Badden to destroy the lake and all who live upon it?”

“What choice have we, Brother?”

Brother Giavno trembled and lifted his hands several times, as if about to divulge some plan. But alas, he had no answers.

“Prepare the brothers, prepare the boats,” Father De Guilbe instructed.

The differences between the reactions of the three peoples were not lost on the foursome of Bransen, Cormack, Milkeila, and Mcwigik. In fact, the reaction of the supposedly vile powries as compared to that of the humans proved startling to the two men and Milkeila-startling and embarrassing.

“Yach, but ye done good!” Kriminig the powrie leader congratulated Mcwigik after he had led Bransen and the others to his boss so that the stranger could tell his tale. “That beast up there’s thinking to be dumping on us when we’re not knowing, but now that we’re knowing, we’re the ones to be doing the dumping!”

“You know of Ancient Badden?” Cormack dared interject.

“Ye just telled me of him,” Kriminig replied, as if he didn’t understand the point of the question, and while the dwarf leader began barking commands at his charges, readying them for a fight, the three humans found a moment of quiet discussion.

“He believed us without reservation,” Cormack whispered, his tone clearly marking the distinction of that reaction to those of the monks and the Alpinadorans.

“Or maybe he is just happy for a fight,” Milkeila said, and she swung about to the wider commotion going on around them, the many excited discussions springing up among the powries.

“Bah, but I’m sad to hear this killer’s surrounded himself with trolls,” one said. “Their blood’s not much for shining me beret.”

“Aye, but he’s got a swarm o’ them, they’re saying,” another piped in. “We’ll get a glow out of it. The folks of the other islands won’t be needing their share, don’t ye know?”

“Yach, and there’ll be bunches o’ them folks about, too, won’t there?” the first replied with a wink. “More than a few’re going to be bleeding bright red.”

“And who’s to say they won’t be turning on us when this killer’s chopped down?” asked a third.

“A few hundred trolls and a few hundred men, and only two score of us,” the first said with a sigh. “It’ll take me all the day to collect the blood!”

“Ha ha!” the others laughed, and they swatted each other on sturdy shoulders and rolled along their way, as only powries could.

That last comment had brought a look of alarm to both Milkeila and Cormack, though-until Mcwigik and Bikelbrin shuffled over.

“Bah, but don’t ye be thinking me kin’re to start any trouble up there, other than the trouble that… what did ye call him? That Ancient?” said Mcwigik. “No trouble, I tell ye, other than finishing the trouble that one’s already started.”

“They are willing to fight beside the monks and the Alpinadorans, then?” asked Cormack.

“Ye heard Kriminig say just that,” said Bikelbrin.

“Sure, and a fine row it’ll be, we’re all for hoping,” Mcwigik added. “Though we’re not even knowing if yer monks’re coming along for the play. Did ye hear them say that?”

Cormack’s lips grew very tight, all the confirmation anyone there needed to understand that he was filled with doubts about whether his brethren would march alongside the rest or not.

“Yach, but it’s not to matter,” Mcwigik said generously, and he slapped Cormack on the back. “That Ancient up there’s made himself an angry swarm o’ powries, and we’re meaning to show him that doing so wasn’t the smartest thing he’s ever done!”

“Hope he’s not too old and withered,” said Bikelbrin. “Me beret’s needing a bit of a gloss.”

The Meaning of Home

Brother Giavno stepped out of the small boat onto the shore of Lake Mithranidoon for the first time in more than a year. He glanced back in the direction of Chapel Isle, the place that had been his home for these last few years. Not much of a home, and not much of an island, Giavno knew, but still there was in his heart a great lament, a profound sense of loss. Nothing more than a cursory glance at his dour companions told him that he was not alone in these feelings.

He let his gaze drift north along this, the western coastline of Mithranidoon. Cormack was up there, he knew, along with his strange collection of friends and perhaps with more allies culled from the various islands. He meant to go against Ancient Badden, and that was a noble cause, whatever the reason.

A splash behind him turned Giavno back to the lake, where the last boat, bearing Father De Guilbe and a foursome of Chapel Isle’s best warriors, neared the shore. As the five debarked, Giavno was left wondering how many years, decades, centuries even, might pass before the construction at Chapel Isle was once more inhabited by disciples of Blessed Abelle. Their monument would stand against the wave should it come, Giavno believed, and even if someone else, powrie or Alpinadoran, happened upon the island, they would more likely use the sturdy chapel fortress than tear it down. So maybe, someday long in the future, the Abellicans would return and continue the work done by Giavno and De Guilbe and the others.