Anthology - The Search For Magic

The pine forest ended abruptly. The brothers looked out of the woods to see a clearing of tall grass that drooped in the rain. A huge pile of freshly turned dirt rose up out of the grass.

Yarl gripped his saber. Gnash looked at his brother, shook his head, and proceeded stealthily.

“What is all that dirt?” Yarl asked in a low tone.

“I think it’s a grave-one of those big ones where they dump a lot of bodies after a battle. Damn it, Yarl,” Gnash swore, “do you know what this means? This means we’re still somewhere close to the war! Too damned close.” He felt for his saber. The grip was wet, but he wanted it close if a fight erupted.

“Yeah,” said Yarl, and after a moment’s consideration he added, “but if they’re digging graves, then the battle must be over.”

“I guess you got a point,” he admitted, admiring his brother’s sound logic. “But just be careful. We don’t know who’s diggin’ the graves!”

He crouched low and crept forward. Yarl stayed right at his side. Creeping past the mound, they stopped at the far end. A stone marker stood at the head of it.

Gnash nodded to his brother. “Go see what it says.”

“You want me to walk close to a grave?” Yarl asked, horrified. “What if somethin’ grabs me?”

“How old are you? Ten? Nothin’s going to grab you,” said Gnash, disgusted. “Now go on.”

Yarl did as he was told. Gnash was the older brother by a year and Yarl always did what his brother told him to do. Yarl cautiously approached the stone marker, sinking in the fresh mud with every step.

“Says THREE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN SOLAMNIC SOLDIERS, FIFTY-ONE SOLAMNIC KNIGHTS, AND TWO QUALINESTI ELVES. BATTLE OF THE SOLACE WATERSHED, CHAOS WAR, YEAR 384 AFTER CATACLYSM. THEY DIED BRAVELY. Stone’s been fresh cut, Gnash.” Yarl glanced about. “That means there must be Solamnics still about.”

“Solamnic grave-diggers,” said Gnash, relaxing. “They won’t have swords, just shovels.”

The clearing ended another fifty yards ahead as it led into a forest of poplar and oak and scrub pine. The brothers entered the forest warily, but saw no sign of anyone.

The smell was stronger now-the sweet smell of fresh baked bread with something else, cinnamon or nutmeg, Gnash wasn’t sure. Both were so hungry they wouldn’t have much cared if the whole Solamnic army had been up there waiting for them, so long as they were fed.

The trees stopped ahead, with another clearing opening out beyond it. An ancient road, overgrown with grass and weeds, crossed the clearing. The two stopped and stared into the wet landscape. The clearing opened onto several old farm fields, with an old, tumbledown farmhouse at the end. A wagon stood parked beside the ruin of the building. Smoke and the wonderful smell rose from some sort of chimney-like contraption sticking up out of the back end of the wagon. No one was in sight.

“Think we should sneak up?” Yarl asked.

Gnash shook his head. He felt braver now that he was certain there wasn’t an army around. “Naw. We strut in bold as brass. Make friends with ‘em first. Then later, we do what we must. Either way, we’ll eat good tonight, brother!”

“You bet!” said Yarl, grinning.

The two headed across the open expanse, sabers sheathed but at the ready. They might have drawn their weapons, had they seen an enemy, but still there was no one to be seen. Gnash waved his hand toward the right side of the farmhouse. He pointed to left. The two brothers split up and circled the farmhouse, peering inside. No one there. They met up outside the wagon that had to be the strangest looking vehicle they’d ever seen. It was actually closer to a house on wheels. All sorts of pots and kettles dangled from hooks on the sides. The wagon was seemingly meant to carry heavy loads. Several large draft horses grazed nearby, glanced over their at the brothers, and went back to eating. Gnash pointed at the horses.

“No more walking,” he said softly.

“Hey! Wagon!” Yarl shouted boldly.

A canvas curtain hung over the back end parted. A beard poked out. So thick and black was the beard that it took the brothers a moment to realize the beard was attached to a head. Two black beady eyes stared at them, then the head withdrew and another head- this one with a salt and pepper beard and intense brown eyes-poked out. The curtain parted. An elderly man, hale and hearty to judge by his upright bearing and quick step, walked down the stairs that led up to the wagon. Behind the old man came a short, stocky person, the owner of the full black beard.

“That little guy’s a dwarf,” said Gnash, showing off.

“I know a dwarf when I see one,” Yarl stated indignantly. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“The old man’s wearing robes. He looks like a wizard. Let’s see your hands, Old Man,” said Gnash, reaching toward his saber.

The human held his hands out, so that the two could see that he had no weapons. The dwarf did the same.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the old man greeted them.

He walked forward, his hands in plain sight, his gray robes trailing in the mud. The dwarf remained behind, near the wagon.

The two brothers each fingered their sabers nervously.

“You’re cold and wet,” said the old man in friendly tones. “You must be hungry, as well. Am I right?”

Gnash was taken aback. He’d expected the old man to run off screaming at the sight of two such fearsome warriors. Gnash could have drawn his sword and just sliced the old man in two at that point and taken what he wanted. But what did the old wizard have up his sleeve besides bread? He was acting so nice to them that Gnash felt obligated to talk to him.

“Uh, what’s that smell?” Gnash asked.

Yarl nodded and licked his lips.

“I’m baking bread, and I’ve got a pot of beans on,” said the old man. “You are welcome to share supper with my associate and myself. You like spicy food?”

Gnash watched the old man warily. He should be afraid of them, for he must know that they would steal his food and his horses and probably kill him in the bargain. But the man didn’t appear to be afraid of them at all, and that made Gnash even more nervous.

“You got a weapon on you, Old One?” Gnash asked, motioning at the man’s cloak. “Or maybe stuff for spellcastin’?”

“No weapons on me,” the old man responded, shaking his head. He pulled back the cloak to show that he had no weapons or bags of bat wings attached to his belt. “I do have a lot of weapons over here near the wagon, though. Perhaps you’d like to see them?”

The old man motioned toward the wooden crates piled beside the wagon. At his gesture, the dwarf clomped down the stairs and opened the lid on one of the crates. Suspecting a trap, Gnash moved forward slowly. He kept his distance, peering inside the box.

“By the Queen! How many swords you got in there?” Gnash demanded, astonished. “Hey, Yarl. Come look at this!”

“There’s gotta be a hundred swords!” Yarl added, awed. “Enough for an army.”

The old man smiled. “No, only forty, with another forty daggers or dirks. They’re not in very good shape though. I can still use them, however.”

“Use them? You got an army we should know about, Old One?” Gnash glared at him.

The old man glanced at the dwarf. Both of them seemed amused. “An army?” the old man repeated, chuckling. “Oh, dear, no. When I say I use them… well, I can show you, if you’re interested. You need to come into the wagon to see. There’s food for you here, too.”

The man turned and walked back up the three steps into the back of the wagon. He flipped up the left flap of canvas, then stepped in. After a penetrating look at the two brothers, the dwarf followed.