Five of Swords

Chapter 1

The Forbidden Spell

Leagard Tabor, second to last Tabor Earthbrother of Cantle Virid, hugged his power-wracked body and rested his forehead against the cold, damp stone leg of the southern guardian. Flickering torchlight pooled around him. Power breathed like iridescent fog across the rough slate floor of the Sacred Cave, wreathing the five man-tall, translucent crystal pillars in skirls of gilded white light. He had two more lines to speak of the Forbidden Spell.

At the end of the Forbidden Spell, the pillars in the center of the cave would contain five fierce fighters, drawn from the moment of their deaths, and his country would be saved. 

Voice shaking, Leagard forced the next line of the spell out, one knotting word at a time.
His brotherhood twin would have had no problem speaking the spell. Leagard drew a shaky breath. He had only been a full earthbrother for four months. Oh, God-Godess, why . . .

The last line fought him. Each word sliced through him like a ball of knives. He kept speaking them anyway. He could not fail. He just could not! The last word sparked a jag of eye-cutting light, which arced from pillar to pillar, leaving spangles of rainbows singing through the clear crystal pillars. 
Leagard folded over his knees, drawing in searing breaths of night-damp, pine-tanged, power-laden air. His skin tingled and crawled, his hearing tripled then vanished, then returned carrying whispers of almost words and laughter. The smell of cinnamint surrounded him, turned to the sweet stench of decaying leaves, turned into the sizzling crisp of striking lightning. A looming presense replaced that and Leagard snatched his head up.

The crystal pillars pulsed like five bursting stars; the souls he had drawn awaited release. One more word and his task would be done, his country would be saved, his earthbrethren would have restitution.
Despite feeling as weak as if he run a hundred leagues through knee-deep mud, Leagard dragged himself to his feet. He wanted to be standing to greet his Five Sacred Stones. The torch light sent his shadow, taller and thinner than his actual form, skittering across the floor and onto the pillars.

In circumference, the cave lay roughly the width of a man with his arms raised. The tall, domed ceiling faded into walls of pewter-grey stone, all generously flecked with crystal. In the center of the cave, the five clear crystal quartz pillars rose in jagged splendor fifteen handspans tall. For a second, his own face stared back from the surface of the nearest pillar.

Leagard shifted his gaze back to the scroll that held the Forbidden Spell. He knew what he looked like: a dun-haired, frumpy, lumpy farmer with elbows, wrists, ankles, and ugly, knobby toes. Pulling his thick woolen shawl closer around his shoulders, he straightened, scavenged a little air to breathe, and the final word strangled in the back of his throat. Trying to force the word out turned his vision black and dropped him to his knees.

Leagard hauled himself back to his feet, threw his arm across the back of the guardian, just behind the wings, and clung. He couldn't just stop. Look at what the truncated spells of the Green and Gold Magicweilders had done to the once lush and peaceful Sifted Forest!

Leagard checked the Sacred Spell to make sure he had been trying to speak the word right. Yes. He took a breath, and noticed a crabbed notation, a word that would call forth a single Sacred Stone. Stammering that alternate word cracked the air like lightning. A flare of blinding silver-white light exploded from the closest pillar, filling the cave with white-glazed rainbows. All his hair stood on end.
Leagard threw his free arm over his eyes, waited for the light to dim, then squinted out from under his arm. Like a person forming from smears of color in a mirror, his first Sacred Stone emerged from the pillar in shades of brown. Gradually the form, bent over slightly, rounded; huge, fist-wide sword first. When the man straightened, the sacred pillar vanished behind the breadth of his shoulders and the bloody sword swooped forward. 

Despite being a full two man-length's distance, Leagard jumped back, putting the guardian's stone wing between him and his first Sacred Stone.

The man looked so huge. Could his spell have possilby brought the legendary blacksmith, Hilvin, the Brave, founder of his brotherhood, a second time?

The tales spoke of Hilvin as standing seven feet tall and being strong enough to uproot trees with his bare arms, never mind his touted wisdom and common sense. But said nothing about him carrying a sword.

In the fist not holding the sword, the Sacred Stone clutched a twisted blue rag, which bound his short, wildly curly, dark-brown hair. On his feet, sandals laced over hairy legs to his knees. One sandal lace straggled untied. The hem of a short, tan kilt brushed the top of his knees-dimpled knees. Over the kilt, a loosely laced tunic allowed thick, dark, tightly curled chest hair to sprout between each lacing. The tunic stretched taunt over bulging muscles.

Leagard tipped his head back so he could see the man's face. Bright sapphire blue eyes fixed on him narrow and close. Leagard swallowed hard and started the spiel he had perfected on previous week's walk through Catwalk Pass, "I, Leagard Tabor, last of the Brotherhood of Tabor Earthworks of Cantle Virid, have called you forth from your world at the moment of your death-"

The man's expression turned decidedly sulky.

Leagard faltered to a halt, his gaze catching on the huge, bloody, pitted, sharp sword. When the man took a step away from the pillar, Leagard took another step back, into the guardian's wing, and added hastily, "In recompense I offer you an extra year of life here in trade for your service."

"No," his first Sacred Stone said, punctuating his word with a twitch of his double-sided sword.

"If I send you back, you'll be dead."

His Sacred Stone continued to eye him. "I don't want to be dead either." The rest of the words of his rehearsed spiel deserted him and his vision wavered, turning his first Sacred Stone into a blur of browns. Leagard sagged against the stone guardian. This wasn't how a Sacred Stone was supposed to act. A Sacred Stone should be grateful to still be alive, agreeable, eager to help.

He took a deep breath and tried again, "I called you forth because I-we-the God-Goddess needs fighters. Our country is falling into despair, we're being raided by Logan pirates." He couldn't imagine that Logan pirates were to blame for the destruction of his brotherhood's earthworks but saying: 'someone or other' just didn't sound serious enough.

"Our King is ill and refuses to act. I-the God-Goddess told me our Land Pattern had to be corrected by blade and blood. I'm the last of the Tabor Earth Brotherhood." Old Leveren, blind and mad, barely counted. What else did he need to say? "I need a fighter to rectify the balance of the land." Leagard stopped. Was he repeating himself? Were his words making any sense? "We-earthbrothers-are sworn to peace." It wasn't his carefully rehearsed spiel. He felt as if he had missed something important. He asked anyway, "Will you help?" 

"Balance a whole land by myself!" the man objected, crossing brawny, hairy arms over his massive chest. At least, he had sheathed his sword. "Besides, that's I was just doing that for my own land."

 "I'll send you back," Leagard answered wearily, ignoring the first objection, "and call someone else." He lowered himself to the floor. The stone felt harder than before. The Forbidden Spell said nothing about returning anyone to their death, only releasing them back into their pillar. Maybe that would work. He squinted and blinked, trying to read and make sense of the sealing passage, until a shadow fell over him. Leagard tilted his head back. The tan-kilted man looked even larger and fiercer close up.

His Sacred Stone peered down at him critically. "You'd better rest first, you look tired. You look worse than tired. You're grey." The man glanced around. "Since I'm going to be here a while, do you have any food? Wyn and I were headed to the stew pot when the grotesques attacked and you grabbed me." 

Relieved that the man seemed willing to stay after all, Leagard waved a hand towards his two food satchels. "You'll find berries, nuts, bread-" 

"Berries, nuts, bread?" the man echoed mournfully. "From a huge haunch of roast venison to-berries."

"We don't eat meat," Leagard felt compelled to answer, half apology for the man's distressed tones.

"Anyone?"

"Earthbrothers," he amended. A Sacred Stone wasn't supposed to complain, a Sacred Stone was supposed to bear up cheerfully under any misfortune. Leagard shifted his concentration disk over the word to release his second Sacred Stone and-didn't get a chance to speak. 

With a round of bread and a lump of white Zorah cheese in one hand and two amanthes in the other, his Sacred Stone returned to stare down at him. "Fighters do," the man said, speaking of the meat issue in tones that sounded like a scold. 

Leagard gazed up at him uneasily. As thick and as tall as an oak, with muscles like gnarled branches, the man towered over him. Though as huge as Hilvin was said to have been, surely this man was not Hilvin. A great hero would not have sulked at him. 

"What are you doing, anyway?" the man asked around a mouthful of bread. 

"Trying to release the rest. I might as well see if I have any one willing to help." He hadn't even considered that his Sacred Stones might not be eager to help. But he shouldn't have said the last-especially in such a peevish a tone. Had any of the others who had called Sacred Stones had such a difficult time? None of the legends mentioned that they had.

"There are more of us?" the man asked, over the chomping of the amanthe.

"Four more."

"From with me?"

"I don't know. No, probably not." He, at least, hoped not; he wasn't sure he could deal with more Sacred Stones like this first. "Would you please stand out of the way so I can see?" He paused, registered his uncivil tone, and added more politely, "May I have a name to call you?"

"Trahern." The man tossed the amanthe core away, licked cheese crumbs from his fingers, then leaned on the back of the stone guardian to the north. "If you're expecting four more fighters, you'll need a whole lot more food."

Surely his Stone should be more appreciative of being saved from death. Leagard sighed, then spoke the release word under his breath. A light flickered through the pillar to his right and his second Stone unbound in a swirl of blues and slate grey and streaks of white . . . and resolved into . . . An animal?

Leagard tensed and moved his concentration disk to the part of the spell that returned Stones to their pillars-only supposing he had a chance to speak the words before the creature attacked. Leagard squinted and blinked, trying to see clearly. It looked like a bear. The hulking, furred body moved. Leagard hastily spoke the first word of the return spell.

"Wyn!" Trahern bellowed cheerfully, drowning out his word, then adding unhappily, "Oh, is he being dead, too?" Trahern took a step forward and said to the unbinding-apparently-a-man-after-all, "I thought you guys couldn't be killed."

"No, it's just difficult." The man lowered the enormous fur he had been holding in front of his body. Around a spector-pale face sprayed shoulder-length white hair-despite Wyn didn't appear particularly old.

Wyn scrutinized the cave with eyes the color of ice across a pond in deep winter. Leagard flinched as the gaze came to rest on him. The ice-blue eyes held an eerie depth that chilled his heart and dried his throat.

The ice-eyed man terminated his examination and patted his side. "Sastaveer; I must have left my sword in the grotesque." He tossed the fur atop the pillar and strode over to Trahern. "Good; food. What are we doing here anyway? And for that matter, where is here? This doesn't look like dead. I hope it isn't some trick of your lady's."

Trahern mumbled unhappily.

Leagard took a breath to repeat his spiel-and he couldn't remember any of the words. He let his breath out and just said, "Cantle Virid," and closed his eyes-as if that would help either his tiredness or the unsettling sight of his first two Sacred Stones. One looked like a carnival rowdy, the other like a ghost.

"Is that a country?" Wyn asked curiously, as he inspected the food offerings, which Trahern dumped out on a blanket spread under the body of the northern guardian. "Where? Does time have another side still?" 

The question made no sense. Leagard pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes and took a long deep breath to clear his mind. It didn't work. He remembered his rehearsed spiel and reopened his eyes. "I have called you forth from your world-"

"I wasn't in my world," the pale-haired man interrupted, ripping a hunk from the bread in Trahern's hand in passing, then pacing the perimeter of the cave from stone guardian to stone guardian. 

"He wants us to stay here and fight a battle for him for an extra year of life-here," Trahern said. "I'd rather be back home alive."

Leagard gave up trying to explain and, hoping not to get anyone worse, spoke the word to release his next Stone.

His third Sacred Stone formed from greens and golds as if emerging from sunlight trees, with his scratched and bloodied arm up over his face. A deep-forest-green tunic, over a white cambric shirt-both ripped-encased the upper portion of his sleek, muscular body. Close fitting brown tights and folded-down soft leather boots, encased the lower. In the hand not protecting his face, the man held a spent bow, on his back hung a depleted quiver of arrows. Leagard felt relieved that neither of the others seemed to know him. The man stayed leaning on the stone several minutes before taking his arm down and tilting his head up defiantly. The defiance faded to puzzlement, causing Leagard to check his other two Stones. The two leaned on either side of the north guardian, a whole week's worth of food spread between them.

"Who are you?" the archer challenged, eyes on Wyn and Trahern. "Not us," Wyn said, pointing at Leagard with a wedge of cheese. "Him."

The archer's gaze turned to him. Leagard found the words of his rehearsed spiel leaping out in defense, "I am Leagard Tabor, the last of the Earthen Brotherhood of Cantle Virid. It is I who have called you forth at the moment of your death in-"

"If we get killed in this one, can we die in it?" Trahern interrupted. 

Leagard ignored him. Thank the God-Goddess he hadn't been able to speak the word to release them all at once. Before he could continue, the archer said, "I am Valdis Reginald Jayton, Second Master Archer to the King of Ravelin."

Even as secluded as he had been at the Earthworks, Leagard had heard of the King of Ravelin's Master Archers. "Oh," was all he managed to say, however. "I didn't expect someone from so close. I must have been tired."

"You are past tired," Trahern said. "Are you hungry, Master Valdis? There isn't much left. Oh, good, here's a flask. "

"Praisefruit wine," Leagard supplied. "The broth-" Tears clogged his throat and he took a second to swallow them. "Never mind, I'll tell the rest when I have everyone released. Anyone who wishes to return, I'll gladly send back." Why any one would want to go back just to be dead, he couldn't guess, but his first two Stones seemed so odd, it wouldn't surprise him. A Ravelin Master Archer, though . . . They were famous even in Cantle Virid. Best yet, Valdis would realize the importance of recasting the land's Pattern. Ravelin had the same God-Goddess-although they mistakenly worshipped only the Goddess aspect.

"The Deathmaster is at our land," Valdis said, unstringing his bow and sheathing it on his back. "Yours as well?"

Deathmaster? "He's a legend." 

"So is Wyn," Trahern interjected.

Leagard didn't look up so he wouldn't meet Wyn's ice-blue eyes by accident.

"Most people in the Thunderlands assume the Deathmaster is dead," Wyn said. "But Imbroglio is still there."

He'd heard of Imbroglio. "I have a copy of the emblem the attackers painted on my Earthworks."
"Where?" Valdis asked. "I might recognize it-unless it's exclusive to your country."

"I don't know." Tears burned momentarily for how little he felt he knew right then. "The copy is-" He couldn't remember. "

There's a couple pages over here under the belly of your stone guy," Trahern offered, scooping the pages up and thrusting them at Valdis. 

After a moment, Valdis said, "It looks like a spell."

Panicked that he had let the second Forbidden Spell float away, Leagard tried to scramble to his feet to retrieve it. Valdis caught his arm and steadied him before he fell, then held the two pages down to him. The second paper was a note from Corrie. Leagard's heart slammed to see it unexpectedly and his throat sealed up entirely.

"This looks like an emblem," Wyn said, holding a tattered page up. Recognizing the page by its torn corner and not trusting himself yet to speak, Leagard just nodded.

"I'd heard it was bad here," Valdis continued. "Our country is fast catching up. I don't know how the Deathmaster regained his power, but his dred hounds are on the move-though I haven't seen nor heard of any of his undead hulks, thank the Goddess." Valdis paused and accepted the emblem from Wyn, then moved to stand in the doorway, between the two torches. "I was tracking my cousin, Lord Jayton-the King's Woodlore Master-"

"Even I've heard of him-Lord Jayton," Leagard answered. "I've heard he has the ear of the . . . Goddess. I-We could have used him."

"I had just found his trail when I met the dred hounds. I was . . . killed before I could get the news to the King." Valdis looked up. "I'll stay here, pleased to help, but I beg to send a message to my King." He set the page on the back of the north guardian. "I don't recognize this off hand, but it seems familiar." He paused and glanced around the cave again. "I feared you were the Deathmaster resurrecting me."

"No." Maybe Valdis wasn't sane. The Deathmaster was only an evil legend to keep young novices from sneaking out at night, not someone real enough to draw an emblem on a wall. "I haven't heard anything about any dred hounds or undead. Someone attacked the Patterner's tower at Bay Hill. I don't know how many Patterners are left. There is only me and an old brother, that I know of for sure, to hold the balance of earth power-" Assuming the rumor he had heard from the old beggar and thief in Telib Steppe, that Gnarr Earthworks had been raided, as well, was true. He took a breath to continue, then remembered he had two more Sacred Stones to unbind. "Let me unbind the other two."

His next Sacred Stone tripped forward a step, then recovered on one knee, whip-thin sword braced at ready. He wore a glaring-grass-green, tight-fitting jacket and matching knickers, both heavily trimmed with gold coin-buttons and metallic gold cord, draped and tasseled. In the hand braced on his knee, he held an ornate sword. In the other hand, a walking stick with a round knife protruding from one end. His high-polished black boots came to his knees, and ornate, over-sized spurs decorated the heels. A wide-brimmed, ochre suede hat, sporting a long, fluffy red feather, which swept rakishly down over his left eye, shadowed his face. Beneath the hat's brim, hung long ginger, finger-round ringlets dressed with oil. The man had a pointed ginger beard, a sweep of a mustache and a quirky look in his eyes. Leagard blinked. This was a fighter?

The green-garbed man scanned the cave, came to his feet stiffly and cautiously, then nonchalantly twisted the top to his walking stick. The knife retracted into the stick. After a moment, he sheathed his sword as well-though he left his hand resting casually on his hip and near the hilt. Out of bright, maybe green eyes the man considered the other three Sacred Stones, then Leagard himself. The ginger-haired man's gaze, unlike Wyn's, didn't stay, it flicked around the cave and over each person several times, before he asked incredulously, "This is the land of Gold and Joy?"

Leagard shook his head. What a strange concept. Everyone knew the God-Goddess took one into Her Heart at death.

"No," Trahern said, "it's Cantle Virid, and there's about one swallow of wine left. When you hear the Earthbrother's tale, you'll need it." Trahern waggled the flask.

The new Stone's eyes widened and he took a dramatized step backwards. "Who are you?"

"Trahern." The answer sounded a tad sulky; Leagard choked on a laugh.

"And he's a Hyllyn guard, " Wyn observed dryly, "You can tell by the blinding green of his spats."

The man bristled. "Look, whoever you are-"

"Moonrider," Wyn supplied, then amended wryly, "Perhaps, late Moonrider, little green man."
The Hyllyn guard stiffened and tightened his hand on his sword hilt. Leagard hastily interjected his prepared speech. The second line in, Trahern wordlessly offered the Hyllyn wine again. This time the ginger-haired man deigned to accept, eye brows arching higher and higher with each word of the spiel.
Flustered, Leagard continued doggedly, anyway, until the Hyllyn smirked.

Leagard faltered to a halt.

"So what do you think, little green man?" Wyn asked, tossing the Hyllyn a fruit. With a flick of his wrist, the man caught the amanthe on the blade of his sword stick. Wyn quirked an eyebrow at him. The Hyllyn twisted the knife back in the stick without speaking and bit into the fruit.

"I hope there's more of this wine," Valdis said, shaking the flask, then tilting it upside down and producing no more than a single drop.

Trahern poked the second satchel with his toe, and the Hyllyn guard, amanthe between his teeth and dribbling juice down into his beard, began rooting in the second pack of food.

Assuming the second flask would be found without his input, Leagard stayed silent and covered his eyes with his hands. Why did he feel so tired? Saying the Forbidden Spell, even five times in a row, didn't seem like something that would wear him out worse than all night vigil.

"Do you have a name, little green man?" Trahern asked.

"Alysward," the Hyllyn guard replied tightly, words punctuated with a loud chink. Leagard glanced up. The Hyllyn was pouring wine from the second flask into the mug Corrie had painted and given him for his last birthday. Leagard bit back his protest, while silently chided himself for being selfish.

Alysward, mug and flask in hand, joined the others. "Dying is hungry work," Trahern said, as he passed a hunk of nut bread to Alysward. "I bet Vara could have done this. I don't suppose you need a sorceress . . .?"

"No," Leagard replied. "Magic doesn't work here." He received identical odd and disbelieving looks from each of his four Sacred Stones. Four. Oh, no! He had forgotten to unbind his last Stone! "What are you doing then?" Wyn asked carefully.

Leagard ignored the question, and, with trepidation, spoke the word to release his last Sacred Stone. He hadn't even felt this tired after digging the communal grave he had buried all his earthbrethern in. He hadn't been able to build everyone coffins. He hadn't been able dig everyone separate graves. He hadn't been able to match all the arms and hands with the bodies. The growing stench had finally forced him to stop trying. Just throwing the extra bits in the grave hadn't seemed right, he didn't remember what he had done. Maybe wrapped them in handkerchiefs or shawls or blankets or something.

Behind him, the Moonrider and the Hyllyn guard traded insults, recalling him to his current endeavor. Leagard blinked away tears and turned his attention to the last pillar. By now he didn't even hope the next Stone wouldn't be worse. But no one seemed to be stirring in the fifth pillar at all. Leagard took a step closer.

"Is someone with you?" Wyn asked abruptly.

"No." Startled, Leagard twisted to look behind him, outside. All he could see past the two stone guardians was darkness, a spattering of stars, and the night-shrouded, the round tops of the Cat Walk Mountains, which defined the edge of the Hobbah Valley. The Moonrider's shadow blocked his view momentarily and Wyn slipped outside.

\Trahern followed as far as the cave mouth, then frowned. "What is this? A cave? You had me in a rock too?" At the last, Trahern's tone turned gloomy. Before Leagard could answer, a squeak of protest, cut off, sounded from outside. Wyn returned dragging a scruffy old man by one bony arm. The Moonrider shoved the man against the north guardian, then glanced up questioningly.

Leagard stared a moment before he placed the ragged-haired, bony old man, then complained, "What are you doing here?" Why ever had the tattered old beggar and, in the old man's own words, "part time thief" from Telib Steppe followed him all this way?

Before he could ask, a scuffing noise behind him returned his attention to his last Sacred Stone. Finally someone stirred in the fifth pillar.

The man-boy-youth knelt crouched over nearly double with both arms tucked over his head, face hidden. Three gold bracelets, glinting in the torchlight, encircled each of the youth's wrists, His back looked oddly deformed. Leagard leaned closer and blinked his vision clear. On closer inspection, the seeming deformity appeared to be a musical instrument tucked in and half-hidden by an ornately painted leather carryall slung over the youth's shoulder. Sand-colored, shoulder length hair curled softly over the case and shoulders of a long, loose, indigo shirt. Embroidered bands of ivory vines, that matched the strangely laced pants he wore, edged the shirt's neck, cuffs, and hem. Over everything, a burgandy vest, corded with gold, fell from shoulder to cave floor. The boy lifted his face and howled, sounding uncannily like a wolf or a hill cat. All of Leagard's hair stood immediately on end.

Trahern bellowed over the howl, "Quit!" The boy stopped. The Moonrider took an uncertain step closer, then fell to his knees beside the youth, his arms slipping around the slim body to draw the youth tight against his chest.

"Sheridan? Little brother," Wyn whispered, his voice breaking. "How is it you are dead?" "Wyn?" the youth said, then spoke in a musical language Leagard had never heard before, glanced around in bewilderment, asked Wyn a single question, then, without waiting for an answer, pressed his face against the Moonrider's shoulder. As Wyn stroked the boy's sand-colored hair lightly and answered in the same musical language. Embarrassed by the blatant display of affection, Leagard turned away, left the others to tell or not tell the boy the situation, and gave the old beggar a long, considering look. Squinty, rheumy eyes of no distinguishable color met his and skittered away, then back. Leagard looked away. He couldn't deal with the old man now either.

"Don't trust him," he said of the old beggar, then glanced around at his five Sacred Stones. "You'll be safe in the cave." He paused to yawn. "The Sifted Forest is dangerous. Swim in the lake if . . ." His last word turned into a second yawn, and Trahern tossed a blanket at him, nearly toppling him.

As he tucked the blanket around his shoulders, Leagard struggled to explain more fully, but words refused to come together. Giving up, he sank to the floor and let his eyes close. The sounds of wine being quaffed and cheese and bread being chewed, the scuff of boots seemed to grow louder and louder, until they cut off, vanishing behind a dark, stalking dream.

Leagard woke, the next dawn, to his Sacred Stones squabbling about the old beggar. When he tried to open his eyes, they felt as if they had been glued shut over a handful of sharp pebbles. The instant he moved, his stomach growled ominously. Rubbing his eyes made them hurt enough to water-which allowed him to squint them partially open. Why did he feel so tired still?

The voices escalated. He couldn't just let them kill the old man. Leagard sighed and pried his eyes the rest of the way open.

"Drun," he said, and the old man scrabbled over and grabbed his hand between two filthy palms. Leagard cringed, but refused to pull his hand away, even when the old man kissed his fingers sloppily. "Kind, dear, gentle Brother, give me honor for my last days. I beg you, allow me to serve you. Ain't no one gonna suspect old Drun of helping you, now are they?" The old man cackled and slapped his thigh. "And ain't like you can be choosy, now can ye?"

"Fine," he lied before the old beggar could start slobbering on his hand again. "You can start by finding me something to eat." Then he thought about what he'd said and tried to imagine actually eating anything the old man had touched.

Thankfully, Trahern dropped a lumpy packet in his lap. "We saved you some." Trahern eyed the old tramp menacingly a moment before adding, "Vara used to be starved after doing magic, too."
"I wasn't doing magic."

"It felt like magic," Trahern returned firmly, then shooed the old beggar away. Drun scrambled to his feet and retreated to the mouth of the cave, where he sat cross-legged, crooning wordlessly over something cradled in his palms.

Leagard ignored them both and checked the rest of his Stones. Wyn had his arm around his brother. (How could a mere boy have come to the Forbidden Spell!) Alysward straddled the back of the southern guardian polishing his sword. Valdis- 

"Valdis went hunting," Wyn volunteered.

"Hunting? Where? Not in the Sifted Forest! It's not safe . . .! There are-He isn't killing the God-Goddess' creatures, is he!"

"You can't expect us to fight on roots and berries," Trahern scolded. "Besides those are gone." Trahern paused to indicate the mostly flat packs. "And none of us will eat animals while they're still alive."
"Still alive . . ." Leagard echoed faintly and couldn't think of anything else to say.

Alysward slid off the guardian, sheathed his sword, and came to stand over him. "That old man has a gem worth a city." The Hyllyn squatted nearby, eyed him, then said, "As soon as Valdis returns, you can tell us why we're here. And hope it's worth it." Were the words were meant as a threat? They sounded like it. He answered cautiously, "Otherwise you would be dead."

"Dead to me is the Land of Gold and Joy," Alysward answered flatly. Leagard decided the words had been a threat. Alysward continued, "A preferable place to this damp cave with a Moonrider, fighting, if Valdis is right, the Deathmaster. With someone-" Alysward indicated Trahern disdainfully, "from Gallimaufry."

Grumbling, Trahern came to glare down at them, arms crossed. "The City Out of Time first, Gallimaufry second, little green man."

"Dragon."

"Lizard."

Name-calling. His Stones were name-calling.

Leagard closed his eyes. If only he could send them all back and try again-except he didn't think he had the energy to try again. 

Story copyright Sara Ryan 2007

All rights reserved. No portion of this chapter may be copied in any manner. Thanks.

Return to Swords  home page

Fantasy Book Studio

Book Studio

Home  Top of Page  Index  Say Hi  Studio  Order  FAQ's   More about Tiger