Wayne Batson - The Final Storm

Warriant led them there and rapped upon the door with his spear. A gray-headed Glimpse leaned out of a narrow window, and his beard hung nearly halfway down the wall. “Speak the password!” he called down gruffly.

“Aelbark, you know full well who I am,” Warriant said, trying to be patient. “Now open the gate.”

“Sure’n I recognize thee, Master Warriant,” the gatekeeper replied. “But as a vanguard, you should know the daily password.”

Warriant smiled apologetically at Thrivenbard, and then glared up at his gatekeeper. “Aelbark, you open the gate this instant, or I will tie your beard in a knot and hang you from the Tree of Celebration!”

Aelbark laughed, then disappeared from the window of the gatehouse. They heard the long, grinding sound of the gate’s wooden bolt being withdrawn, and then at last the gate opened.

“Look, friends from Alleble!” said Warriant. “Look upon the Wood Realm of Balesparr! Few from your city have beheld it!”

Balesparr’s cottages and keeps poked up like thick mushrooms or moss-covered stones among the massive curling roots of the forest’s towering trees.

As they entered, any chill from the outside forest left them, for Balesparr was a city of light. Candles of every imaginable color burned in every window. Lanterns hung on the corners of avenues and byways, and hardy fires burned in public hearths wherever two or more streets met. Glimpse men, women, and children looked with wonder upon the visitors. Some spoke in whispers and pointed. Others shied away at a glance.

When Warriant came to a certain street corner, he said, “Thrivenbard, as leader you will join me. Also, is there a Sir Oswyn traveling with you?”

“I am Sir Oswyn.”

“Then I request that Sir Oswyn join us,” Warriant said. “And anyone else you would like. My Baleneers will take the others to their barracks where they may sup and rest from their journeys.”

Warriant dismissed his soldiers to their barracks and then led Thrivenbard, Nock, and Sir Oswyn to a massive cylindrical building. Its stony face had many high arched windows, but only one grand door. They entered and Warriant said, “Welcome to the main hold of our city. Here we shall discuss many things, but first, I return to you a few things you have lost.”

Thrivenbard stared at Warriant questioningly, but no details were forthcoming. They followed a long curving hallway and arrived in a wide room with a high ceiling. In the center of the room was a very large fireplace where a merry fire crackled and flickered. Facing the fire were three tall chairs.

“You have come at last,” came a gruff voice from one of the chairs. And a familiar face leaned out from the chair and looked their way.

“Sir Rogan!” Os yelled. “By King Eliam’s provision! You live!”

“Of course I am alive,” he grumbled. “No thanks to you! I said set fire to the spiders’ den in ten minutes, but the flames raced in by nine-according to my count!”

“I waited twelve!” Sir Oswyn exclaimed. “How did you-”

“I was on a patrol with a squad of Baleneers when one of the spiders’ trapdoors began to tremble. I prepared to strike when a hand suddenly appeared from beneath the ground! We wrenched open the door and pulled Sir Rogan out just ahead of the flames,” said Warriant with a laugh. “He was a sorry sight, what with his hindquarters on fire!”

A female laughed from one of the other chairs, and Lady Trenna appeared, followed by Robby. Their armor gleamed as if it had just been polished. Sir Oswyn ran up and hugged all three.

“I thought I had cooked you all,” he cried. Then, studying them all a moment, he asked, “Are all of you well?”

“We seem to be,” Robby said.

“I now know Sir Rogan’s tale, but how did you escape?” Sir Oswyn asked.

“I found Trenna at the end of a long tunnel,” Robby said. “The fire came, and there was no trapdoor there…”

“So we made our own,” said Trenna.

“How do you know?” Robby asked. “I don’t remember anything after we killed those three spiders… that and the fire coming. I don’t see how-”

“My memory is a blur,” Trenna interrupted. “But our swords were fouled with mud and grime. There was dirt in our hair and under our fingernails… that had to be what happened.”

“But why wouldn’t we remember?” Robby asked.

“They have been going on like this for quite some time,” Warriant said with a laugh. “Spider venom does strange things to the mind. And the two of them took about as much venom as a body can withstand and still live. When we found them, next to the exit they had dug, they were beginning to fade. Skin green, muscles seizing-most unpleasant to look upon. Fortunately for them, it is customary for all Baleneers to carry with them a spider poison remedy. It effectively washes the venom from the blood, and the victim sweats it out. It is very fast-acting.”

“Would you show me this remedy?” Sir Oswyn asked eagerly. “My herblore is substantial, but I know of nothing that strong for spider venom.”

“Of course,” Warriant replied.

“I am grateful to have these three back,” Thrivenbard said. “But Warriant, were there any others?”

Warriant shook his head grimly. “All of our patrols are back,” he said. “They found no one.”

Warriant summoned several Baleneers, who brought in a large table, more chairs, and enough bread, cheese, and drink to feed twice their number. After they had taken something to eat, the conversations turned to serious matters. Thrivenbard told Warriant about the growing threat of open war with Paragory. He told of the rise of the Wyrm Lord and of the release of the Seven Sleepers. And he told of Alleble gathering all its allies to make a final stand against the enemy.

“But you did not enter the forest to enlist the aid of Balesparr,” Warriant said after Thrivenbard’s tale was told.

“Nay,” Thrivenbard replied. “We did not know that such a force existed.”

“You sought Zabediel,” said Warriant.

“Yes,” Thrivenbard replied. He looked with indecision at Sir Rogan.

Warriant smiled and put his hand on Thrivenbard’s shoulder. “Ah. ..,” he said. “You are not sure if you should speak further on this matter. For my eyes sparkle green, and Balesparr is not an ally of your kingdom. Am I right?”

Thrivenbard looked at the ground.

“I see that I am,” Warriant said, but there was no blame in his voice. “Perhaps it would help you to know that I already know something of your situation. And I have guessed even more besides. See if what I say is not close to the mark. You sought after Zabediel because he was of old the scribe of King Eliam. And in an age long before Alleble and Balesparr, Zabediel recorded a prophecy that would concern the fate of all The Realm.”

The knights from Alleble were still as if stone.

“When the Wyrm Lord spilled the innocent blood of King Eliam’s noble servant Torin,” Warriant continued, “and The Realm was divided, Zabediel, being kin to Torin, sought refuge in this forest and founded the village of Balesparr. This Scroll of Prophecy was hidden, but now Paragor has it and seeks to use it to bring his dominion to this land. Your hope, however, is that Paragor’s wisdom is limited-that he could not make full use of the Scroll without Zabediel translating the language. You came for Zabediel for two reasons: first to protect Zabediel, keeping him from falling into the enemy’s hands; and second, to learn all that you could about the prophecy so that you yourselves might use such knowledge to defeat Paragor!”

Thrivenbard was bewildered. “How do you know all of this?”

“Zabediel told us much,” Warriant replied. “But much of this we learned from our time living in many other places. You see, Balesparr is a realm made of Glimpses who have turned away from the lands where we were born. It is a refuge, a place for those weary of politics and warfare. A place where we can thrive and grow without the threat or fear of wickedness. A place where evil has no influence. But alas, no place is safe forever. Paragor found us, and we have been reminded of bloodshed. And… he has taken our Zabediel, the founder of all that we live and believe.”