Chapter IX: A Campfire Story
Returning to the highway, they marched on, passing yet another lynx message scrawled in the dirt. In a for once justified sense of déjà vu, Jessar surveyed the highway for the second time. It had not changed much in the twenty years since he’d last trod the road just a few minutes ago. They reached the Observatory Stone, and, of course, there was no Observatory present.
“Okay, Stefir, it’s time for the answer: What’s so tough about moving through time?”
As Jessar expected, the wizard’s finger went up. “I am afraid the answer to your question is rather involved. You can consider this another lesson in the magical discipline of chronology.”
“Now wait a moment, Stefir. Who said anything about me learning chronology?”
The chronologist blessed the Lynx with a where-have-you-been look. “Jessar, did you not hear the Starlord say he was looking forward to my relieving him as Starlord?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, someone must be the next age’s chronologist.”
“Look, Stefir, I can’t consciously cast any spells and I certainly can’t read minds. Can’t you just get to the point?”
“Jessar, you promised to let me answer this at my own pace.”
“And I am beginning to regret it.”
“I always wondered what had become of my ancient master Lufir, and now I know: He is the Starlord.” The wizard smiled and smoothed Silentwing’s feathers.
“So?”
“Well, he selected me as his apprentice, to become the chronologist for the Age of Dooms. Now, it is my privilege to select my own apprentice, and I want you, Jessar, to take over for me in the next age.”
Jessar shook his head. “Pick again, Stefir. I’m not a good choice.”
“Why not?”
“Weren’t you watching the Tapestry? I won’t live long enough to be the chronologist for the next age.”
“Were you not listening to the Starlord? What you saw was the worst case, Jessar, how long you’d live if everything went as bad as it could.”
“But that was an elwen who killed me in the Convergence, and if I understand what happened there, that is something that must happen. Seems to me that means I die before the end of the age, especially since most elves feel the Calling well before even a millennium is over.”
“There are several flaws with what you just said. First, as I said just before we reinstated, that scene does not mean you must die.”
“I heard you say that, but it looked pretty fatal to me.”
“The Healers are quite adept at saving people from fairly serious wounds, Jessar, if they get to you in time. The second problem is that the female may have been an solowen.”
The Lynx stopped dead in his tracks, a look of horror on his face. “You’re not saying it was Sabretha?”
“Not necessarily, Jessar. She was dressed like a Valkara, however. Remember, we could not make out her features, so the Convergence Uncertainty means it could be a variety of females in the different Flows ahead.”
The Lynx started walking again. “She’s certainly been mad enough to kill me at times.”
“True.”
“Thanks.”
“Indeed, Jessar, you have a way of drawing it on yourself. Anyway, the other problem with what you said is that not all elves feel the Calling. Jessar, your own Galbardian elves never feel it. Remember? That is, after all, their Doom, as noted in the book I gave you.”
“Okay, Stefir. You’re right. But I didn’t need to read your book to know that. They are, after all, my own people.” Jessar was irritated with himself for the last mistake.
Ogador interrupted. “You know, I was thinking about that last scene, Jessar.”
“Oh no, Arien save us.”
“Shut up, wizard. You haven’t been very helpful on that scene. In fact, all you did was get our friend concerned that Sabretha will kill him. Anyway, Jessar, maybe she’s another Valkara and the Prophecy is wrong.”
Stefir pursed his lips. “Perhaps, but if that is true, we probably have already missed the chance to bring this age to a timely end.”
“I hope not. As for me being a chronologist – okay, Stefir, I know I should feel honored, but if you’ll forgive me, right now I just feel a little overwhelmed. I’ve been puzzling over things, like why the prophet couldn’t be more specific about the future. Also, the things the Roving Prophet—“
The chronologist shook his finger. “Jessar, we agreed to speak of that later. It is time to discuss time. It will make the prophet’s words easier to understand when we discuss them. Anyway, back in your treehome, Jessar, you may remember we discussed why manipulating the flow of time is perilous.”
“Well, we discussed that resetting time to a point in the past could, in the worst case, cause a time loop.”
“Precisely. That is why only the Chronologist of the age – me right now, of course – knows the spells required to change the flow of time.”
The prince spoke up. “Woah, now. If that’s true then how did someone undo your attempt to reverse time during the attack on Jessar’s gardens?”
“Well, it is not necessarily true that one must understand time alteration spells in order to prevent one from taking place—“
“I agree with Ogador, Stefir. Your spell actually started to go into effect before time reeled back to the present.”
The chronologist scratched the owl’s neck. “True enough. The point I was about to make before I was interrupted, however, was that just because the premier chronologists have never revealed the secrets of time manipulation hardly prevents someone else from discovering the secrets themselves.”
The prince chuckled. “It seems they’ve done you one better, though, Stefir. You said yourself that you couldn’t achieve the results that someone did that evening. You know, when they rewound time back to where it was before your spell? Oh, that you might be able to do, but not the other part: The part when some unknown third party simultaneously altered slightly what happened in between, namely the vanishing of that short elf.”
Stefir moved his scratching to the bird’s wing. “How is your memory so good in this matter yet you cannot remember the history lessons of your marms growing up? No, do not answer that,” the wizard said as Ogador started smiling broadly.
The Lynx sighed impatiently. “Please, will you two stop for just a moment? Stefir, what about altering time in the other direction, toward the future?”
“That is so much more difficult than you can imagine. The best way to explain the answer to your question is to explain the River of Time.”
Ogador sighed. “This is really going to be a long one.”
“Okay, go ahead, Stefir,” Jessar said, knowing the answer would be painful even before the wizard’s finger rose.
“As with most magic, it is always helpful to use a worldly analogy. The more closely the model fits the behavior of the subject matter, and the more familiar one is with the operation of the mundane analog, the more easy it will be to cast spells, and the more powerful they will be. Are you with me so far?”
“Sure, sounds logical enough.”
“In the case of time, the analogy most chronologists use is the classic River of Time.”
Ogador faced the wizard. “Woah, Stefir. Everybody knows about that. Time flows like a river, sweeping us downstream to some unknown future.”
The chronologist whirled on the prince so quickly, Silentwing had to lift a wing to maintain his balance. “No! You are wrong, Prince. Mundanes always make that mistake. We chronologists know the truth.”
“Wait a moment, Wizard. We’re talking about a model here. Who is to say what is the truth?”
“As I was trying to explain, the more accurately the model mimics reality, the better the magic. That is why I can say what is truth. The River of Time as chronologists use it is the best way to cast an entire family of chronology spells. You see, the waters of time do not sweep everything along to the ocean of the future. Rather, I, you,” Stefir pointed to Jessar, “and everyone else in our place/time, even you Ogador,” he pointed to the prince, “unfortunately, we are all like passengers on a ship sailing upstream, against the currents of the river, propelled by the winds of time. Now do you understand why it is so difficult to move time ahead and why the prophet could not be more specific?”
Jessar felt like he had missed the punch line of a clever joke. “Huh? I’m afraid I don’t.”
Ogador looked just as confused. “Say again, Stefir. In your usual intellectualist approach, you totally failed to answer Jessar’s question. Not even Urtigan the Wise, God of intellectuals and other incompetents, could leap the chasm of logic you set before us. If you cannot offer a simple and short explanation, Jessar and I will just have to sit and grow gray while you explain yourself in your usual manner.”
Stefir glowered back. “Very well. For Jessar’s benefit, I will continue. I am sure that you, our good prince, master of indecision, disciple of utter falsehoods, will find yourself as thoroughly confused when I finish as you are right now.”
The chronologist faced Jessar. “Very well, Jessar, consider a classic situation. Suppose that you stand at a fork in a road you have never traveled and try to decide which of the paths to take. You do not know which of the roads will get you to your destination faster. In fact, one road may not go there at all. Clearly, unless returning is an option, you have two choices. For the river analogy most mundanes use, however, there is only one path for our ship to move into the future, downstream. In the more correct model, however, our ship would lie at the junction of two tributaries, two Flows. Thus the future at which our ship arrives, its position on the analogous river, will differ depending upon which of these branches you choose. In the hypothetical situation of our two roads, you cannot know in advance that if you take the left road you will be attacked by highwaymen and perish, while, if you take the right, you will arrive safely at your destination.”
“So far, I’m with you, but it seems to me that the ship, which contains all the peoples on Talan, is being governed by my choice of roads alone when everyone on board is making similar decisions.”
Smiling, Stefir agreed. “Good, Jessar. You will make a worthy successor. My road example I chose deliberately to simplify my discussion. You are exactly correct. Once we adjust our model to account for the myriad of choices available to everyone on the ship of time, our river becomes very complex, with innumerable forks from every point, where each tributary represents the future that will exist for a particular combination of choices by those onboard the vessel proceeding upriver.”
“So,” Jessar said knitting his brow, “if I understand you, at any time on the river, there are an infinite number of futures but only one past.”
“Exactly. That is also why moving time into the future is a special challenge. Just which of those infinite futures do you want to pursue? Furthermore, in most of those futures, you are not likely to be at the same physical location Here. So there is the additional problem of transporting yourself to wherever you would be in the future. Even if you knew where to be, perhaps by studying the River of Time, how would you get there? Long range transportation is a challenge that has never been reliably solved without severe limitations.”
“Woah, Stefir. The Yitrava solved it. You said so yourself – the Summons, that censer thing she gave the elf.”
“Ogador, why do you even bother to question me? First of all, you said you did not care about magic. Second, if you had listened, you might have noticed I said ‘without severe limitations’.”
The Lynx smiled. “You mean the fact that the Yitrava has no control over when she transports.”
“Yes, not to mention the fact that she can only go where the bearer of the device happens to use it.”
“Okay, Stefir. I’m convinced. Modifying the flow of time is either perilous or practically impossible.”
“I agree with you, Jessar. Chronology is worthless isn’t it? Why has the West-realm wasted its money all these years?”
Before the wizard, who almost bristled, could burst out with a rebuttal, Jessar shook his head. “No, Ogador, I don’t think so. It seems to me that chronologists can study the past and future using the River of Time.”
“Precisely, Jessar. What a promising student.”
It was the prince’s turn to shake his head. “Jessar, I’m disappointed. The wizard will have you wasting time staring at the stars or worse. Besides I can see several flaws with your model, Stefir.”
“Oh? And what might those be, great chronologist that you are?”
“Sure, there’s Fate for one. What about things that must be, that are pre-ordained?”
“Ogador, have you ever wondered why the Creator made the universe?”
Ogador shot the wizard a what-does-that-have-to-do-with-anything look and then just laughed. “Only after I’ve had too many beers with my friends.”
Stefir smirked. “I should have known such matters were beyond your simple ken. The question is actually very important. For so long, people assumed that an omniscient Creator would know what everyone would decide to do given any particular circumstance. Thus, they argued, he would know the future, and in so knowing, would have conceived the universe already aware of who would be born, how they would live, and when they would die. Therefore, if this is true, there must be only one possible future, and the mundane analog of time flowing downstream seemed to work.”
“Ah, I knew I was right. We mundanes aren’t so bad after all,” Ogador dug an elbow at Jessar.
“I said seemed to work. But chronologists rapidly discovered that such a model does not work, and the reason lies in the answer to my question. The Creator made Here. Why did he not simply create the universe more like perfection of Beyond? Why must people suffer in a seemingly cruel universe? Why is there evil?”
Ogador muttered his own rhetorical question under his breath. “Why do we need a Chronologist?”
“Stefir, this seems a little esoteric. I thought you were teaching me the premises of magic, not philosophy.”
The chronologist frowned. “Jessar, pay attention. What I was really asking was: Why would the Overgod’s creation not be perfect?”
“Okay, I’ll humor you, but I really don’t see where you’re going with this. Ogador asked how your model allowed for Fate and we’re talking about the creation of All. Still, I’ll take a stab at it: Perhaps he didn’t make things perfect because he already knew perfection. Maybe he let things be the way they are because he wanted to be surprised.”
The wizard almost bounced with his satisfaction. “Very good! Of course, we may never know why the Creator made things the way they are, but most who have studied the subject agree with you, Jessar. The Creator wanted a world that would delight him, a place where his creations could function independently amidst a host of trials. Perhaps he wanted to be surprised and pleased when his peoples persevered while living a righteous life. Now, Jessar, here is the tough question: How can anything surprise an omniscient maker?”
The Lynx shook his head after thinking a moment. “Stefir, I don’t know. It would seem inconsistent. If the Creator knows everything, will he not know how his people will react to every situation?”
The chronologist nodded. “Yes, so it would seem. But, of course the mystery goes even further. By simply extending his mind, will the Creator not foresee the very end of his universe?”
The prince frowned. “Now you’re actually talking about something that matters, Stefir. It’s always bothered me that if the Creator knows how every man will react to every trial, hasn't he condemned evil men before their very birth? And if he knows, why doesn’t he intervene to destroy the evil, as is certainly within his power, that misleads these otherwise condemned men?”
“Yes, that is a question that has troubled philosophers for many ages. Chronologists, however, may know the answer. It lies in what the Creator has forbidden to us.”
“You mean technology?” Ogador asked.
“No, although it is encouraging to see that you listened to some of the things your marms taught you. He did not forbid technology until Man almost destroyed this world with careless application of a strange and forgotten magic known as science. Yes, that is certainly forbidden now, but there are other things forbidden, such as the magic to restore life, the Healer’s Quandary. Clearly, the Creator reserves that primary magic for himself. But what if one of the limitations we chronologists deal with is actually a limitation for the Creator also? If it were, that would explain how an omniscient Creator could still be surprised at what transpires on his world.”
“Okay, so what is this limitation?”
“Well, there may be several, but the one of interest right now is what we chronologists call the Uncertainty Principle. It states that a chronologist may not simultaneously study both an individual’s reactions to a circumstance and how that reaction will affect the Flow around him. In other words, if we concentrate on the proper decision we will lose the context of that decision, while, if we study the consequences of a decision we may not know the details involved in the decision.”
Ogador spat. “Woah, Stefir. That’s too much. There’s no way we can understand that.”
Stefir glanced at Jessar expectantly, but the Lynx said, “I hate to disappoint you, Stefir, but I agree with Ogador. Maybe if you tell me how that manifests in the River of Time I’ll understand it.”
“Very well, good idea. So far, we have discussed how the winds of time propel the Ship of the Here and Now upstream and into the future. With the power of our spells, we chronologists can propel themselves ahead of the winds to view the future farther upstream. Of course, while we magically journey outside the ship to descry the future or past we cannot alter what transpires on our own ship, and our consciousness must eventually return to our body. While exploring the River of Time does not require any real time—“
“Sorry, Stefir, I want to make sure I’m understanding you. What you’re saying is that if I examine this River, no time passes while I’m doing so?”
“Yes.”
“Obviously, there must be a disadvantage or you’d have explored all the possibilities and we could arrive at the perfect future. So, I’m going to guess that it requires expenditure of magical power to conduct these explorations, right?”
“Absolutely. With the countless number of tributaries that might be explored, even the most powerful wizard would rapidly drain his powers searching out only a small fraction of the possible futures, and regaining those powers does require real time to rest. The Roving Prophets undertake these journeys regularly, sharing their findings. Thus, they know more about the future than can I or any other chronologist alone.”
“I see. But that doesn’t yet explain this Uncertainty Principle.”
“True, that is all background, Jessar, so you will understand what I am about to say. Because of the Uncertainty Principle, when we journey ahead in time, we can either look within the ship or peer out at the shores we pass. In our model, these shores represent the future we have chosen to examine, the context in which we all live and make decisions. While we look outside the ship, we understand the place/time context of the tributary we choose to examine; we know what Flow we’re in.”
“And inside the ship?” Jessar asked.
“If we look inside we can study what a particular individual does; we can learn what he decides to do.”
“I don’t see the problem,” Jessar said, finger to his lips momentarily before he continued, “unless it’s because you can’t look in both places at once.”
Stefir smiled. “Right, Jessar. We cannot do both simultaneously. At best, we can look out at the banks to get an idea of the Flow we have chosen. Then we can peer inside to see what the future means for a few select individuals on the ship. Who is to say, however, what we missed ashore while we looked inside? Just because the bank looks much the same when we finally turn our attention outward again does not mean that we did not dodge into another tributary, a slightly different Flow, while we were not looking. Nor can we keep track of the actions of those aboard the ship if we choose to concentrate only on the beaches. And, remember, all this looking inside and outside the ship we have discussed is for only one of the many creeks we might have to navigate in order to find the course we desire. That is the great paradox of studying the future.”
Jessar thought he understood, but he wanted to make sure. “So, if I understand this right, it’s like what I see if I kick an ant hill and then watch the ants rebuild it. If I concentrate on individual ants, I will wonder how the mound ever gets rebuilt. But, if I back up a few paces and watch the pile itself, I will see it come back together?"
Stefir was ecstatic. “Excellent, Jessar. In the case of your anthill, it is easy to predict that the ants will repair it, but you could not say which ant would place the last grain of sand. Similarly, if you watched individual ants, you would see some ants tug a piece of debris one way, and others tug it the opposite way. Seeing this, you might conclude that the insects would never rebuild.”
Excited that he was grasping such a key point in chronology, Jessar continued, “So, you might make your observations in an effort to predict whether the mound will be rebuilt, but you might be just as interested in foretelling which ant would place the last grain of sand. You could watch them until an ant drops the last piece of debris from the tunnels below. Then you could return from your study to the present and say, ‘This ant will finish the reconstruction.’ However, if another ant were to ask you what it must do if it wanted to be the last ant, you couldn’t answer the question: You don’t know how the ant you studied came to be the last one, only that it was the last. Further, getting back to our river, that ant would finish the reconstruction only in the particular Flow you examined.”
The friends paused a moment. Without even thinking about it, the Lynx saw the familiar blue radiance ahead and arcing off to either side. “Stefir, are we—“
“Yes, we are about to depart the Zone of Protection. I find it interesting that you are beginning to attune to the Aura without even concentrating.”
“Well, it is rather difficult to ignore once you know what to look for.”
“Oh? Ogador, do you see it?”
The prince scowled. “Now you know I can’t see magic, any more than you can wield a sword.”
“See, Jessar, it is not ‘easy to ignore,’ not unless you are a practiced mystic. This is a good sign. Perhaps your mystical training will return to you.”
“Perhaps,” the Lynx said skeptically. He scratched his head. “I can’t even remember where you were headed with this explanation, Stefir.”
“Oh, but I can. I had pointed out that Stefir’s model didn’t account for Fate, and he distracted us with all this talk about creation, rivers and anthills.”
“If you had been paying attention, you would readily see the answer,” Stefir said.
“Let me try this, Stefir,” Jessar said. “The short answer is there is no Fate.”
“Huh?” the prince said, his face reflecting confusion.
“Careful, Ogador, you are picking up Jessar’s bad habit. Explain yourself, Jessar, for what you just said is not completely accurate.”
“Yes. Stefir actually explained this part of it when we went back in time to the Observatory. There are precious few moments for individuals where the future is predestined, and those moments are called Convergences, if I remember right. Fate is just another name for a Convergence. Even then, the event is not so much predestined as it is just a coincidence or so highly likely that for it not to occur just wouldn’t make sense in any conceivable future. In my anthill example, although it was a pretty sure bet that the anthill would be rebuilt, you couldn’t tell which ant would do it.”
“Yes, Jessar, you are correct. The way a Convergence appears in the River of Time is as a lake. The place/times flowing from the Convergence are like a delta draining the lake, and the many feeders to the lake are the various futures that can stem from the Convergence.”
“I can see how that works. In fact, I’m starting to sense the elegance of the whole model.”
Ogador interrupted. “Great, just great. Traveling with Stefir was bad enough, but now I’ll have to put up with the both of you talking about this stuff. All I know about time is that there is never enough of it, just like all this talk of the future whiled away our morning. As for me, it’s not worth it. For example, I don’t need to be a chronologist to predict lunch at the next opportunity.”
They stopped and took their meal at the next clearing, which, for once, did not hold a gypsy campsite. They built no fire and soon returned to the road.
Jessar had digested most of the chronologist’s information during lunch; he even understood most of it. Just as he was wondering how to broach the subject, Stefir broke the silence. “It is time for our talk about the Prophets.”
“Good, but can we start with how the things we discussed this morning apply to them? And what about the star paths?”
“Do you never run out of questions, Jessar? We did good to get as far as we did with the River of Time, and the star paths are at least as complicated, so we will leave that for another day. As for the matters we discussed, the Uncertainty Principle limits the Roving Prophets as much as the chronologists. In fact, the prophets, in an effort to reduce their workload, do not even consider the decision aspect of things, the viewing of things within the ship. All they know how to do is to peer outside the ship, to find the circumstances of the future they consider best. Thus, all our prophet could tell us were some of the things that will transpire if we make the decisions that will take us down the path they think is the most desirable. That is one of their functions: to find the preferable future. Sometimes they cannot identify a single advantageous future; they may select several channels that seem to point in the right direction. Certainly, any one, or perhaps all, of the prophet’s predictions could be true in most possible futures. Hopefully, the prophets choose wisely, and all of the truths our prophet revealed will only be true in the optimum future.”
“Which brings me to their second function: To reveal to others certain facts about their selected future. When we find ourselves adrift on a nexus as we do now, it is an especially important time for the prophets. They are very busy now, visiting key figures in their chosen future and doing what they can to provide guidance. The ironic thing is that, when the prophets most need to spend time researching the routes to the future, they must instead spend more time on the road sharing their prophecies.”
“Those of us who receive their fortune tellings must then decide how to arrive at that future. Some may even strive to avoid the foretelling and, in so doing, cause the prophecy to succeed anyway. The uncertainty factor, along with the sheer number of paths to examine, is what makes it difficult for the prophets to tell both what the future is and how you should get there. That is why our prophet was so vague, Jessar. Do you understand?”
Jessar gave his pack a bounce and adjusted its straps. He didn’t have all the pieces that belonged in the numerous gaps of the puzzle of prophecy, but at least the corners were intact. “Mostly, but how does this nexus fit in?”
“So far, every age of Talan has ended in a vast and complex nexus. During such a nexus the prophets are most vital, for prophecy becomes very difficult.”
“But what does such a thing look like on the River of Time? Why does prophecy difficult on one?”
“In the star paths—“
“Woah. You promised not to discuss the star paths.”
“No, I said I did not have the time to explain them fully. Now shut up, Ogador.”
“Where was I? Yes, a nexus is a complex intertwining of the links between patron stars, like a rats’ nest in twine. In the River of Time, a nexus corresponds to a large lake or even a sea. On the upstream end, numerous rivers feed the lake. And, somewhere among these feeders is the one river we must follow to arrive at the desired future beyond the morass of the nexus. Consider the problem of finding that one channel.”
“Is it like you’re on a large lake where you can’t see the shores to find your way?”
“Precisely. You cannot navigate by following the shores, which are beyond the horizon. You cannot determine if your course will bring your ship to the mouth of the proper river. In fact, you could follow many routes across the water, some more direct than others, that would get the ship to any feeder you wanted. There are infinitely more paths, however, that will lead you to an entirely different river.”
“But I thought a Convergence was a lake.”
“It is, and you can think of a nexus as a mega-Convergence. In the scenes of Fate you saw on the Tapestry, the affects are usually limited to a few individuals. On the River only those tributaries representing Flows wherein the individuals on the Tapestry are still alive and well will supply water to the lake. For a nexus, most if not all streams feed the lake, indicating that the lives of all are impacted.”
Jessar’s brow knotted. “I’m confused, though, Stefir. Nothing you’ve told us about the River leads me to think of it as dynamic. In fact, you said it describes all the possible futures. But the prophet talked about the Nexus Sea widening with every moment.”
“He was speaking figuratively, Jessar. On the River, time can be gauged by the length of the path that a place/time ship follows. So, if you cross a lake directly, it will require less time than if you tack back and forth. The prophet was warning me that our Ship of the Here and Now is wandering, straying from the straight path.”
Ogador slapped his sword scabbard. “Wandering, that reminds me of something the prophet said about the Wanderer.”
“Yes. Who is the ‘enigmatic one’?” Jessar asked.
The wizard pursed his lips and glanced from side to side. “I do not know, but he appears now and then on the River of Time. Although I have occasionally encountered other explorers, Roving Prophets usually, using spells to access the River, I have run into the Wanderer many times, almost as if he can sense where I am going. More troublesome, there have been a few times when he has actively opposed me, preventing me from examining certain important Flows.”
Ogador winked at Jessar. “Say it isn’t so. A chronologist more powerful than you?”
Stefir’s eyes danced about again. “I didn’t say that. I’ve beaten him before.”
“But who is he?” Jessar demanded.
The wizard’s voice became quiet. “I don’t know. He appears on the River in a flowing white robe, deeply hooded so that I have never actually seen his face. Recently, it is rare that I do not at least see him somewhere in the distance when I travel on the River.”
“The prophet said you are not powerful enough to traverse the Nexus Sea, and yet they have revealed things that are surely on the far side.”
“Good, Jessar, you are understanding this. Although the prophets are very powerful in the ways of chronology, I do not believe they are able to summon any more of the Flux than I, and this is what governs how far one may voyage on the River. They cannot cross the lake any easier than I, now that we are on it. It is an interesting question, Jessar, for it almost certainly means they have learned a voyaging technique I have yet to discover.”
Ogador gave Stefir an amazed look. “Why, Stefir, you’ve now admitted that the Wanderer and the prophets can beat you. Not only that, but you managed to cover creation, predestination, prophecy, the River of Time, the end of an age, and the Roving Prophets, and all that before dinner.”
“And you probably understand it no better than before. My explanations were appropriate for so weighty a subject. If Jessar had wanted a short answer, he would have asked you. You would take little time to reveal the few trivial facts you might know about any subject short of drinking and chasing women.”
“Well, sometimes I wouldn't mind being an expert in at least one of those subjects,” Jessar offered.
Ogador laughed and raised his hand to slap Jessar’s back, only remembering at the last moment his friend’s wound. “Perhaps I can coach you in both areas, Jessar.”
The sun had set long before, and Jessar didn’t know how much farther he could go today. Also, the Lynx was sure he saw the silhouette of a horse and rider approaching. “I think I see Sabretha on her horse ahead. Why don’t we stop for the night?”
“Yes, we’ve come far enough tonight. Listening to Stefir is enough to tire anyone.”
They came to the campsite, and the Valkara swung gracefully down from her horse. “My, but you hiked long tonight. I thought you’d never get here. What took you so long? You should’ve been here at least two hours ago.”
The prince shed his pack, leaning it against a tree. “We did a little backtracking this morning, and it delayed us.”
The sword maiden looked confused for a moment but then tossed her hair dismissively. “Lynx, it is time for your treatment again. I’ll need some hot water.”
In a voice he thought Sabretha wouldn’t hear, Jessar muttered, “Why did I go and get wounded?”
“You were wounded because you did something incredibly stupid, but typically male,” she responded.
Ogador laughed. “Come on, Jessar. Let’s get the fire going.” He winked at the Lynx, who realized the prince had a double meaning.
Soon the invigorating aroma of spearmint wafted into the air. With quick flicks of his sling, Ogador bagged a couple of rabbits that strayed too close to their campsite.
“You know the routine,” Sabretha said in a businesslike manner, holding a steaming compress by the corners.
Jessar kicked his bedroll flat, removed his tunic, and spread out on his stomach. The Valkara removed his bandage carefully, and draped the cloth on his wound, evoking a reflexive shudder. “When will you learn to be still?”
“Sorry.”
Massaging a few steeped leaves into his back, the Valkara said, “It’s just not working like Bidmaron led me to believe.”
“Well, it’s starting to feel better. If it weren’t for my pack—“
“I can take care of that problem,” she said, surprising Jessar when she easily lifted his heavy bag with one hand and strapped it atop her own.
With a conspiratorial look at Jessar, the prince commented off-handedly, “Sabretha, that’s probably a good idea to help his recovery, but you know he’ll need to get to a few things in there tonight and in the morning.”
The Lynx shook his head slightly at Ogador. Expecting the sword maiden to come up with the obvious solution that he put the things he needed into one of his other two friends’ pack, he was shocked when she instead said, “Hmm, I suppose you’re right.”
Ogador continued, shooting Jessar a trust-me look, “Why don’t you join us here, Sabretha? You can leave again first thing in the morning with his pack after he’s finished with it.”
She put her forefinger to her full lips for a moment. “Very well. I suppose that makes sense. The rabbits do smell good.” She unpacked, spreading her bedroll in the open well away from the others’ tents.
Jessar gave the prince a deferential nod. Later, however, he wondered if the prince had achieved something worthy or not, for the Valkara adopted a distant demeanor. It put a damper on the levity the other three normally shared at night.
The next morning, the fourth of their journey, she didn’t even say a word. After snacking on the last of Ledrana’s rations with her campsite mates, she packed up and promptly headed out with both her and Jessar’s packs.
The Lynx and his two friends followed, heading steadily northwest along the road. They had not gone more than a couple of hilltops from their camp when the trees suddenly gave way to large cultivated plots that rolled along with the hills. The travelers had come to Galbard’s rich farming interior. Most of the plots held young vegetable plantings, but here and there stands of mature late winter oats bowed in the breeze.
As they moved through the acreage that morning, Jessar saw many a farm treehome and even a village in the sunny distance, but whether they understood the lynx symbol or had talked to the gypsies, the farmers and their families never left their walls. The travelers remained silent, lost in their own reveries.
Jessar thought about what he had read. He wondered about Stefir’s Walanari elves. “Stefir, if I understood what I read from your book, your Civilized Elves also violated West-realm’s claim to the West Veinous.”
Ogador smiled at the wizard’s discomforted prodding of the road with his staff. “I suppose you could interpret our actions that way.”
“What? Say again? Interpret? We left Walanar alone when we discovered the tribes of little people living there.”
The wizard spoke rapidly. “Where else would you have us live? Your chieftain claimed everything north of the Sarkaron Swamps and the Rain Forests of Zandalor and everything west of the Beltland – actually, you claimed everything west of the North Veinous, south of Esparanza and north of the Galbard River, but why quibble? And would our old allies bequeath us a homeland? No. So... yes, we defied your ancestors when we founded Walanar. Ever loving the sea, we established our country on the east coast of what is now the West-realm, for it reminded us of the coastline of the Sacred Realm.”
“I see, and did that give you the right to murder the halflings?”
“Those who did that heinous act were quickly brought to justice. The halflings kept their own hamlets and still retain them to this day. What of your ancestors? Simply because a few tiny mountain brooks of the hills on the border of Walanar ultimately find their tortuous path to the West Veinous, did that give your knights the right to war against us for three centuries?”
It was Stefir’s turn to enjoy Ogador’s pointed silence. Jessar asked, “Well, what happened?”
Stefir waited a moment longer, as if he were waiting to pounce on any reprisal Ogador might make. Finally, he faced Jessar. “At the start of the First Dynasty, West-realm finally conquered us. Ever since, we have been nominally a province of West-realm. Actually, as much as it pains me to admit it, West-realm only wanted the victory to solidify their claim. They had decided, for reasons invisible and irrational to any cogent person, the First Dynasty could not start until they held everything west of the Beltland. Why men make such arbitrary definitions and then hold to them as if they were laws of the Creator I have never been able to fathom. Immediately, King Galvedor stationed his youngest son to be our first governor. From the first, our governor has always been the heir prince. Like our good prince here they have always been too busy training and fighting – and, for our prince, at least, drinking and womanizing – to spend very much time worrying about our affairs. So, we have always done most of our own governing.”
Thinking of Walanar and Stefir, Jessar recalled the Fulfillment, that a Walanari of power would lose his sight. He suddenly remembered what the prophet had said and why it had been bothering him. “Stefir, the Prophet said you would pass beyond the need for sight, and your book said the Fulfillment for your people involves a highly placed blind elf who locates the Sacred Calling Passage.”
The wizard stopped walking. “Yes, and his words settled once and for all a fear I’ve had for many centuries, for I knew then that I would be the one to be blinded.”
Jessar and Ogador also stopped. “Oh, come on, Stefir, what makes you so sure?”
He wasn’t prepared for Stefir’s reaction. Silentwing flew off in a frenzy. Small tremors wracked the wizard’s body. “I have seen indications of it in the star paths. I have tried to deny it for a long time. When and how will it happen, though? That I don’t know but absolutely must find out. I cannot afford to sit idle, doddering while I have yet to find all the answers to the Dooms. This just cannot BE!” Stefir shook his fist angrily at the sky overhead.
Jessar had never seen Stefir in such a mood, and he glanced uncertainly at Ogador. The prince winked back and seemed rather casual about it. “Stefir, Jessar said your book says an important elf would be blinded. Perhaps the Prophet just got you confused with someone important.”
The wizard jerked his head around to stare at Ogador. For the briefest moment, Stefir was speechless. Then, fist still raised to the sky, the wizard softened his countenance with a visible force of will. “Speaking of Prophecy, I, for one, was overjoyed to hear that you would not reach the throne. Your father had better show up soon if he is to produce another heir.”
Ogador slowly moved his gaze from Stefir’s face to his still raised fist. The wizard angled his own eyes to see what Ogador found so intriguing. Noticing his elevated arm, Stefir yanked it to his side.
Jessar admired how the prince had diverted Stefir’s attention from the blinding. However, the Lynx barely listened to his friends’ ongoing argument, thinking instead about the prophet’s words.
Supposedly, anyone visited by a Roving Prophet could never forget what the visitor said. The legend was true enough in his own case: Jessar could remember everything with absolute clarity. The mysterious messenger had said that some of his words might seem unimportant, but to Jessar, who knew so little about his past, even confusing Prophecies were important.
He did not, however, find much comfort in what he recalled. He had always thought he would find an elwen or woman he would love, and recently he’d begun to hope Sabretha would be the one. He had even dreamed of sharing the vows of companionship with her.
He interrupted his friends’ argument. “What do you think the prophet meant when he said my life’s love would not be my companion?”
Stefir said, “There are, of course, two ways to explain the companion issue: Either you will have no companion, or you will not love your companion. As the prophet warned you, some of what he revealed might have different meanings in the myriad futures ahead. So it is possible that both interpretations represent viable futures. I cannot say which you should hope for or which would more likely achieve the Fulfillments, if that is why you are asking.”
Ogador cleared his throat loudly. “I say it doesn’t matter. He also said that you would love many women after your chosen mate—“
“No, Ogador. He said I’d know many females, quite different than love.”
“Jessar, I would have to agree with Ogador on this point. It would hardly be revealing to tell you that you would make acquaintances with many females in the future. The prophet had to have meant know in an intimate sense.”
The Lynx slumped his shoulders. Why couldn’t things work out with Sabretha?
The prince continued, “As I was saying: Women are wonderful. They’re like gemstones. Under the right strokes of the jeweler’s chisel, every one can be made to sparkle in its own splendid way. It is, after all, only the diamond’s rarity, and not some kind of relatively higher beauty, that makes the stone more valuable than a well-cut garnet. If you don’t love your companion, then she will be like any other lovely concubine, or perhaps one of a few, who you can still cherish. And if you simply never have a companion... well, the sons and daughters of a concubine are as much yours as any other.”
Stefir shook his head. “Ogador, how do your women keep from killing you? We elves are less fickle than men and have little or no need for concubines. Or is it simply that elwen have what it takes to keep their elves lovingly content?”
“Or is it simply that elves don’t have the needs of men?”
The Lynx took advantage of the momentary silence following the prince’s score in the ongoing verbal tournament of Jessar’s friends. “At least it was reassuring that I will locate my parents if I struggle, but what was the reference about the final star stone power not being usable without my star name?”
“Yes, that is worrisome and may again represent two very different futures. In one, you cannot use the last stone’s power because you do not know your patron star. That would almost certainly prevent achieving the Fulfillments and bring about the Reign of Chaos. Or, in the other future you learn your star name, perhaps through the spell I hope to use—“
Jessar’s conscience sang a note of guilt. Stefir had worked so hard to research the spell to identify his patron star. He’d been dreading telling the wizard that he didn’t have any Bordana. Uncomfortably, he stared straight ahead, avoiding looking at Stefir. “There is a problem with that, Stefir. I have no Bordana. They burned my gardens before I could collect any pollen.”
Stefir stopped again and looked at Jessar in disbelief. “What? You did not have any of it stashed?”
“Stefir, I’m sorry, but I used the last of my stash to make the tea you’re carrying. The season was too early for a large pollen harvest.”
Ogador asked, “Can you use the tea? We still have plenty of it left. Perhaps there is enough Bordana to make it useful.”
Stefir shook his head. “No, it must be pure. Jessar, it would take many moons to find an alternative to Bordana, if one exists at all. How can we get more?”
Jessar shrugged, again avoiding the wizard’s look.
The prince said, “Say, perhaps we can buy some in Bilaron.”
It was Jessar’s turn to shake his head. “Even if the gypsies would be willing to sell it to us, they would not knowingly let us take it past the border. Exporting the pollen is punishable by a life of hard labor.”
The prince seemed undaunted. “Don’t worry, Jessar, I’ll think of a way.”
Stefir scowled. “Well, it may not make any difference. The giant glow worm ichor I also require will be a challenge to find unless we get lucky and the Wesari happen by with their herds of the beasts.”
“Jessar, what about your curse? That didn’t sound like good news,” Ogador observed.
Stefir rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. “The Yitrava invoked the name of Urgon, the God of Curses, for your curse. That is, of course, the worst kind, and a witch who hexes you is always able to remove her own curse. But even a curse of that seriousness should not be impossible for another, more powerful, witch to cancel. Perhaps when we get to Plasis, where there are many witches, we can have one examine you. Hexes are unfortunately outside my expertise.”
“Typical. Anything useful is outside your expertise.”
“Why is it that I always feel like a mediator with you two?”
They stopped arguing. The prince said, “I think it’s interesting when you compare your prophecy with that of Sabretha. It looks like you won’t have any luck with her, Jessar, since she’ll spend an age with the Son King, whoever that is.”
Stefir nodded. “Of course, almost every king is the son of a previous king unless a new dynasty begins.”
“It’s the transformation thing that bothers me most, Stefir. What do you think he was talking about?”
The wizard’s shoulders sank. “Jessar, I don’t want to discuss that right now.”
Ogador shot Jessar a don’t-press-it look and changed the subject. “What about my prophecy? ‘Lionheart’ is a nickname for a Sphinxed Knight, but I wonder what maiming he could have meant?” He winked at the Lynx.
As was apparently Ogador’s aim, the wizard straightened his shoulders again. “Why, Ogador, it can only be the Emperor’s gate warden, Hisgoth. During the Battlements Battle when Vasaron died, the Unthroned managed to slay only one of Hisgoth’s five heads.”
“Of course you’re correct, Stefir.”
“It is good you finally recognize that fact. You should also be glad West-realm will expand if we are able to seal the Dooms.”
“Yes, for too long we’ve been losing territory.”
They continued down the road, and Silentwing returned to his master’s shoulder. Stopping once for a hurried lunch, they finished the day in relative silence. Every so often, however, Ogador would ask a question of Jessar, like what kind of goods gypsies bought and sold, where the more unscrupulous marketeers could be found, and how much a thimble-full of the blue dust might bring in trade. Plainly, the prince was formulating some kind of plan, but Jessar could not imagine what it might be.
They traveled for seven more days in a northwesterly direction. The days were pleasant, fair as only early spring can be. Each night Sabretha returned to treat the Lynx’s wound and sleep in their camp. Only once did it rain, a light shower to dampen the forest leaves. The clouds didn't even bother to obscure the sun during the rain. And when the rain ceased, a rainbow spanned the sky, visible through the break in the trees over the road.
They passed many more abandoned gypsy campsites, all decorated with the by-now-familiar lynx symbol. Even the Holvenum, the sedentary Galbardians, had adopted the sign. The lynx marked the walk of all three inns on the way to Bilaron. Clearly, the inns did not want their business.
Twice, on the fifth and eighth days of travel, they went through villages, Kamel and Zedel. Word of the travelers’ passage had, of course, preceded them. No children played in the courtyards where the hourglasses marked the passage of time; no citizens discussed the season’s agricultural promise by the central gazebo; and every treehome brandished shuttered windows.
A day before Kamel they saw the last of the scentwoods. The land changed again, pitching up in tumultuous foothills and climbing steadily in altitude. Kamel was at the top of Basin Ridge, the foothills marking the transition from the Galbard Basin to the Galbard Highlands.
Two days out of Bilaron, a gravel of river pebbles again littered the road, with only an occasional patch of the brick-red, iron-rich soil endemic to the region. The terrain gradually flattened out from the steep hills they left behind until, on their eleventh day, the ground stretched out in every direction without so much as a ripple. Dominating the trees on this shelf land, tall pines stretched almost as high as a scentwood.
These were all signs of reaching the vast basin of the West Veinous River, the northern border of Galbard. The first stage of their journey, the walking part, was nearly over.
Had they wished, they could have extended their march by two more hours on their eleventh evening to reach the largest of all Galbardian cities, Bilaron. Jessar, however, advised against moving into the promontory city at night. He feared they would not be able to negotiate passage across the river to the turtle village of Galvek after dark, and based on what they had seen so far no innkeeper besides Maili would have them. Stefir agreed, and they decided to wait until the morning to traverse the city.
The wind had been picking up throughout the day, blowing in their faces, and the gypsy site they found that evening was particularly welcome. A huge rock outcropping some thirty feet long curved around a fire pit. The tattered remains of a rope protruded from the top of the rock near one end of the formation.
“I wonder what they gypsies used the rope for,” Jessar said.
“Perhaps it is not the gypsies who affixed the rope.” Stefir had been examining the sheltering rock carefully, and stood smiling.
Spending his last night in an abandoned gypsy campsite, Jessar was excited. He had hiked farther than he’d ever done, unless there had been some unremembered journey in his indentured life. His return to the ancient city of Plasis would take him through yet other lands, lands of which he’d only dreamed as he studied his maps in the light of a whale oil lamp at his kitchen table.
Perhaps it was the idea of seeing the country beyond Galbard and his satisfaction with nearly completing the first part of his trip that explained Jessar’s excitement that night. Even Ogador and Stefir, seasoned travelers, were in high spirits. As Ogador put it: “There’s nothing like putting your footprints behind you on a long trek.” They shared more of the Bordana-mint tea and sang songs of heroes and quests and of love and honor.
The most surprising thing, however, was that Sabretha laughed right along with them. Not only was she friendly to the prince, but she actually smiled at Jessar once.
Laughing as they finished the bawdy song of Maili the mariner, Jessar clapped Stefir on the back just like the skipper had done. “Stefir, tell us a story.”
“Yes, Stefir, a story,” Ogador agreed between chuckles.
Stefir’s own laughter rolled away. “All right, all right, let me think.” Fingertips on his forehead, he pondered a moment before snapping his fingers. “I know. You shall hear the tale of Gerkar and Thivo, heroes of the Border Scouts of West-realm.”
Ogador stood and confronted the wizard. “But I already know of those two. As a Border Scout myself, I cannot help but know them. Their exploits in the territory of the Undying are legendary.”
“Yes, but I will wager you have not heard how the two began their career.”
The wizard motioned for Ogador to sit. He made a great show of clearing his throat and removing his traveling cloak. Jessar smiled, remembering how Ogador had called it ‘putting on his stage manner’ back in Plasis. The Lynx suspected the wizard cherished telling a good story more than magic itself.
Finally, after cracking his knuckles and taking up his staff, the wizard began. “I met Gerkar and Thivo in Sidan, one of the Twin Cities, during the planning for the Battle of the Sphinx.”
Sabretha added excitedly, “I fought in that battle alongside the scouts. And Sidan’s where I met Gerkar, on the streets by the sixth river gate. What a gentleman he was, as all Sphinxed Knights I’ve ever known, present company excluded, of course.” She glanced at Ogador.
“Yes, Sabretha. You are correct, of course. Anyway, it was a frigid day, and I ducked into The Warrior’s Den, to warm up. In a city famous for its theme taverns, this particular one is dedicated to the Border Scouts. I sat at a table with an empty seat alongside the famous man, who was the only scout not drinking. All the others I have known,” he said, pausing to glare at Ogador, “drank as if they would never see another frothing mug in their life. Naturally, I asked him why he did not imbibe.”
“He said, as if it explained everything, ‘Once, I was a Sphinxed Knight.’ At the time, the answer seemed to make sense, though I have since known another reject from that grand tradition who overcame the knights’ usual aversion to heavy drinking.” Again, he peered meaningfully at Ogador.
The prince stood again. “I’ve heard this before, Wizard. You cannot imagine what a burden it was to overcome my training and partake of the spirits. But it was a task I undertook with determination, as in everything I do, in order to make sure my new compatriots in the Scouts wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.”
“Of course, Prince. And I suppose the reason you still consider drinking an art form is to honor your old comrades? Now, sit.”
Ogador started to say something else, but instead ebbed back into his seat. Apparently, the prince was curious about Stefir’s tale.
“Anyway, with a few of my well-placed questions, Gerkar related the story of how he came to meet Thivo and join the Border Scouts. This is his tale, just as he told it five centuries ago.”
“Gerkar had entered the Balta Academy to become a Sphinxed Knight at the urging of his veteran grandfather. That earned the cadet the wrath of his father, a merchant of high regard who disowned him. Nevertheless, the boy persisted.”
“As were all the knights-in-training, he was, to put it politely, shielded from the corruption of the real world. You will recall that Ogador, like many princes, also underwent training as a Sphinxed Knight. And, also like many princes, Ogador never earned his knight’s pedigree. It seems the royal heirlings will never measure up to the challenges against their physical abilities and chastity. Ask Ogador about it sometime; he failed on the latter account.”
The wizard paused again, clearing his throat before assuming a voice accented with the stilt of a Swordlander. “Most rapidly did I acquire knowledge at the Balta Academy, and it was with exceptional vigor that I anticipated my trial with the Sphinx.”
“After only three years, I earned my first day of liberty. With my gold piece pittance, I proceeded to the market that I might procure a gift for my mentor, Udrid. Ever will I cherish that day, for it happened that I encountered the man who would be my fast friend for life. And though Thivo be somewhat basely educated and spoke in a manner most perplexing, he was nevertheless honest and diligent, a courier by trade. On that glad day, he took it upon himself to evince that my leather breastplate was wanting in integrity, owing to a small tear nigh unto my girdle. Bearing so grievous a defect in my armor, I had no choice left me but to abandon my quest and return to my berth. From that day forward, however, I found myself increasingly in the company of the man to whom I owed my continued honor.”
“Alas that Thivo did not remain my sole acquaintance outside the academy, for I also came to cherish Adrazin, the sister-daughter of my master. This beautiful and virtuous maiden was blessed with voice like unto the sweetness of wind chimes in a spring breeze. She had of late taken to watching the jousts, and mine eyes often glanced on her countenance through the slit in my visor. She knew not that I descried her flushed cheeks and excited visage.”
“Thus it was that on one day the lady’s veil tumbled to my feet as I strode past her appointed place. Averting my eyes lest I offend her sensibilities, I proffered the gossamer, perfumed fabric to the maiden. She graciously accepted it and secured it across her statuesque jaw. When I then turned toward her, the keen edge of her beauty smote me, and, losing the last vestige of control over my faculties, I intoned in my finest court manner, ‘My lady, wouldst thou deign to join me this Revelday for a stroll in the central gardens and to take sustenance at the Hall of the Sphinx?’”
“Her reply served to heighten my state of elation. ‘Most noble presumptuate, I wouldst gladly join thee. I shall with every measure of my patience await thy arrival to the abode of mine uncle at the waning of the sun.’”
“Would that I had but followed the mandates of my order not to share the company of the fairer sex and so tarried yet another fortnight. Then would I have been secure in my knighthood and armed to resist what was to transpire. Lo that I rather divined that my shield master, as chaperone, would serve to prevent any improprieties. Moreover, I deemed myself justified when, after learning of the events, Thivo counseled, ‘Go for it,’ which I took as a peculiar affirmative. Thus, I resolved to enjoy the evening.”
“Imagine my consternation, however, when I arrived at my master’s villa only to find that Adrazin sat in waiting alone. I questioned the propriety of my presence in her company without a chaperone. In a manner most uncourtly, she replied, ‘Nonsense. I am quite certain that the intentions of one soon to be a Knight of the Sphinx are beyond reproach.’”
“Falling prey to the long-lashed eyes of the maiden, I conceded despite my reservations. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breast beneath her embroidered bodice, taken with her heady perfume, did cause the flight of all reason from my mind.”
“Long it seemed that my misgivings were for naught. As it were, the night progressed according to the very model of decorum. Twice only did I restrain my sinful hand from hers when her wrist, in the utmost of innocence, fell to my thigh as we reposed on a bench.”
“Much to my sadness, the glass of the square expressed the hour that a proper gentleman would have his lady home, and I made haste to usher her there forthright. Further, I gave her due succor upon her petition that I escort her to the rear door, lest, as she pronounced, ‘some prying neighbor think it improper for a gentleman to have kept a lady out so late.’”
“The deportment of the maiden upon attaining the entryway, however, gave me pause. I can only conjecture that she was possessed by a demon, for she insisted that I accompany her inside. I resisted, asserting that a gentleman must not enter a maiden’s abode. She threatened to bear false witness and reveal to my master that I had ravaged her unless I did as she bade. Against all the canons of my fellowship, I agreed, for I was truly at a loss. Ever shall I regret that decision.”
“Once inside, she insisted that we retire to her boudoir lest she beckon to her uncle. My soul cried out for rescue, but it was not to be. We entered unto her private chambers. The silken hangings and exquisite canopy over her bed emphasized the forbidden nature of my surroundings. I knew of no recourse save to flee, but my sinews would scarce obey.”
“She stroked my rigid arms with her fingertips and whispered, ‘You can’t wait to take me, can you?’ laughing. I burned with shame, feeling my manhood aroused by her illicit attentions. I could only imagine what my defense might be if my master, hearing the maiden’s laughter, stormed into the room.”
“Then she began nibbling at my ear and speaking sultrily words that a lady should not know. Her perfume and another musky scent threatened to overcome my very senses.”
“As my head reeled from these new sensations, I heard what I most feared: My master called out from the next bedchamber, ‘Adrazin, I shall see you to bed after I shed my riding uniform.’”
“What was to be done? My master would find me in his niece’s private chamber. I had violated every principle I had been taught to uphold. So desperate were the straits in which I found myself that my jaw could scarce drop further when the lady unhitched some secret catch at her back and her raiment plummeted to the floor. Helplessly, I cursed the weakness of mine eyes, as they scanned the sinful curves of her perfect figure in all her unclad glory. I stammered, ‘Thou hast no clothing under thy mantle.’”
“In a husky voice, she said, ‘Don’t worry, you can hide under my covers. I can feel that you are more than ready.’ She had thrust her hand down my hose and choked my very manhood.”
“At that inopportune moment, a noise sounded from the wardrobe, and I knew my life would soon be forfeit. Foolishly, I unhooded the lantern on the bed stand. Too late, I understood my compromising position, with the naked maiden standing before me and her hand in my hose.”
“To my utter astonishment, however, the man issuing from the wardrobe was not my master but none other than my ally Thivo! Recovering somewhat my composure, I seized the lady’s hand and said, ‘Foul vixen, thou dost wrongly tempt me.’”
“I faced my friend and gave my thanks for extricating me from an error most grave. Thivo, ever the master of any situation, gesticulated toward the bag slung at his shoulder and the door from which he had come.”
“In my bedazzled state I was slow at the uptake. Finally, I understood: My friend had rescued me not only from my own sin but had also interrupted a burglary in progress under my very nose.”
“In haste, Thivo explained. He proposed that we withdraw through the bedroom window. As soon as we were beyond sight, the maiden was to cry for help. If luck were with us, he pointed out, my master would apprehend the thief before the villain could escape.”
“We executed Thivo’s plan flawlessly, leaving me to marvel at his resourcefulness. Horses even waited outside the villa.”
“Still, my moment of weakness marred my very soul. I can only be forever grateful that my friend stopped the heinous act before its consummation. And my future course lay clear before me. I was no longer worthy to be a Knight of the Sphinx.”
“So Thivo and I came here to West-realm, where are found the stout allies of my Swordlander countrymen. After a brief time, we joined the brotherhood of the Border Scouts, undertaking something they called forward operations, and infiltrating Nordrak, the land of the Undying.”
As Stefir finished, Ogador slapped his thigh, saying, "Well told, Stefir. I hadn’t heard this part of the tale of Gerkar. I always wondered why a knight in training and Swordlander by birth would join the Border Scouts."
Stefir said, “You see, Ogador, you are not the first to train as a knight, fail the vows, and then become a Border Scout. But, wait, the rest of the tale is still to be told. For you see, Thivo shared his side of the story with me also. Again, I will attempt to render it as did he:”
“I was born with a birthmark of larceny and a liar’s tongue. I skyed to help my family’s livelihood, but I told my rootman that my coin came from being a courier. What I really shined on, though, was a life of adventure, and this is the bone on how I found my rootman:”
“One day, while catching loose purses as they fell, I chanced on this uniform at the market. He was one of those easy sphincter-knight lobs. Just as I was marking to light this lob’s purse, he turned, and I botched his armor with my ring blade. I said, ‘Lark, but let me eye you the ‘fect in your weave.’”
“After several minutes of explaining what I’d said, the lob actually tried to thank me. He mouthed me how he was schooling as a Knight of the Sphinx and he’d tripped to the market to buy a give for his ‘shield master’. I brained he might be useful sometime, so I mouthed him that I was a courier.”
“The lob stuck on me during his ‘liberty’. To secret my lighting from him, I actually had to do some courier toil. Remote, I’ll brain you, but this lob, Gerkar, came to be my rootman. He lifted me along on many of his jaunts. My purse bulged from the things that somehow found their way into it at the estates we visited.”
“If you can brain it, I didn’t have the time to do any serious lighting in the daytime; I had too much courier toil. With every message I carried, my reputation improved, and Gerkar found me more toil. My customers frequently prouded out about how trustworthy I was. I tried to mouth Gerkar that he’d done enough, but he just said it was no trouble. I did so well that even my rootman prouded out on me.”
“One day, Gerkar told me how he sparked for this hair that was a kin to his master. I gladdened out and encouraged him, thinking a female in his world might keep him too busy to find me any more toil. With all the fancy places I’d been as a courier, I had many places to light.”
“Fearing that I’d lose my lighting skill completely, I planned to pull down a steal at one of the places I’d eyed. I chose my mark carefully. A fine hair and her kin oldster lived there. Reading the messages I carried for them, I learned that the hair was a fresh tease and her kin oldster toiled at the uniforms’ school. I didn’t brain that my rootman knew either of them. I had no idea of the trouble it would be for my rootman.”
“I picked a night when this hair and her sponsor would be away. She was dating a uniform somewhere, and the oldster was toiling late. I tied two rented rides to a post in an alley by their place. Then I sneaked over the wall into the courtyard. Mouselike, I climbed the latticework outside the hair’s flatroom window. Before long, I was through her shutters and across her flatroom with my sack. I collected some of the hair’s jewelry first. The ease of it all gladdened me out bigwise.”
“With my first sack totaled, I tripped back to my rides. Only then did I eye that the door was unlocked. I had scratched myself on the roses of the trellis for no good reason.”
“I also eyed how two people were tripping down the alley toward me. I hid in the shadows. As she approached, I heard a hair whispering and merrying out. She mouthed, ‘We’ll enter by the back door so my reputation will be safe.’”
“To which the lob with her said, ‘My lady! I durst not enter a maiden’s home without a chaperone. ‘Tis improper.’”
“I groaned when I recognized the voice. The lob was my rootman, Gerkar.”
“Choking curses, I hoped my rootman would win the argument. But I brained I was in a deep pit when the hair mouthed, ‘Well, if you don’t escort me to my bedroom, I might not remember tomorrow that you did not violate me tonight. You wouldn’t want me to tell dear uncle that his prized student had deflowered his niece, would you?’”
“Things no longer seemed so easy. I went back inside, trying to keep my bag from jingling. I knew my rootman would never take the wench to a bedroom, so I hid in the room beside the hair’s.”
“It was another flatroom. To my disbelief, I heard the tart leading my rootman to her room. I had to get out. After they went into her room, I opened my door again. I heard muffled laughter from the hair. Just as I took out down the stairs though, a lantern flared up below, and someone yelled, ‘Adrazin, dear, it's your uncle.’”
“Cursing sailor-wise, I retraced my steps to the flatroom. Surveying the space in the moonlight, I eyed another door. It suddenly occurred to me that this might be the uncle’s own bedroom. All doubt vanished when I eared him tromping up the stairs. I went through the bedroom’s other door into a wardrobe.”
“The oldster entered the flatroom and yelled, ‘Adrazin, I shall see you to bed after I shed my riding uniform.’”
“His niece only giggled throatily in response. My rootman tried to quiet her out but she only enticed him further. As I wondered what to do next, I heard my friend say, ‘But we are not betrothed.’ followed by a gasp and, ‘Thou hast no clothing under thy mantle!’”
“Footsteps came toward my hiding place. Just in time, I found a door at the back of the wardrobe. I stepped through just in time to avoid the oldster. But I realized my mistake when a bright lamp flared to life behind me and I heard a startled gulp. I was in the hair’s flatroom.”
“Looking over my shoulder, I eyed that my rootman had unhooded a lantern. A most voluptuous and completely naked squeeze stood before him. Her hand was in a private part of my rootman’s own weave. Astounded, I’m afraid I simply stood there with my jaw gaped out while I pointed back toward the wardrobe I’d just left. I couldn’t brain it; my rootman and his squeeze had ruined my easy steal.”
“For some reason, the knight looked thrilled out. He turned to his squeeze and mouthed, ‘Foul vixen, thou dost tempt me wrongly.’ To me, he said, ‘Thanks, friend, for saving me from a most heinous mistake. I am forever in your debt.’”
“I reeled with confusion, pointing to my bag and the closet. Gerkar scanned the room, trying to interpret my gestures. He spied the open bureau drawers and empty wall sconce.”
“‘Lady, clothe thyself. Thou dost not realize thy fortune. As thou canst see, my noble friend hath saved us not only from an error most grievous, but also from the midst of a burglary. Hark, even now I hear the villain struggling in yon closet.’”
“Braining out my luck at Gerkar’s thickness, I calmed out, and mouthed, ‘Yes, I ear him also. I belted him hard, but he was a very big man. We don’t hold much time, I’m afraid. Woman, my rootman and I will leave through the window where the thief came in. I heard your sponsor close behind me when I came in by the back door. If you do what I say, you can keep your reputation. After we blow, you yell loud-like for your kin. Your kin will see to the thief if he’s still there.’”
“The hair agreed, and slipped under her covers.”
“In the end, my rootman and I left hasty-like. We fled Balta and tripped here to West-realm where we joined the Border Scouts. And now I have my life of adventure. My rootman and I have even been under disguise in the presence of Zog, the Emperor himself.”
Ogador held his sides with laughter, and Jessar laughed so hard he fell off his seat. The prince struggled to get his laughter under control. “Outstanding, Stefir. You can really tell a tale.”
Ogador stood, looked at Jessar, and laughed again. “Jessar, our friend’s story explains the reputation of those two, especially Gerkar, whom the scouts remember for his naiveté and good fortune. Were it not for his incredible luck, he and his friend would have perished soon after joining the Border Scouts. Instead, the pair flourished. The more preposterous Gerkar’s plan, the more likely it was to succeed.”
“As for Thivo, some say he could steal the breath from the wind. He never abandoned his cover as a courier, however, and Gerkar never knew Thivo’s real occupation. Instead, the warrior believed Thivo had learned all his thief’s skills from the scouts.”
Jessar drew a deep breath between chuckles and stood along with Stefir. “Yes, the two hold a well-deserved seat of honor in your realm’s Halls of History. Now, I suppose we should be getting to the rack if we are to have a good start tomorrow.”
The Valkara, who only laughed politely, asked, “What became of the woman?”
They all stopped laughing, and Stefir shook his head. “You know, I never asked. I do not know.”
“How typical,” she lamented.
The prince smiled. “She probably preyed on several other of the knights in training before winding up in a brothel.” He laughed, triggering Jessar and Stefir to join him.
Sabretha, hands on her hips, fumed, “She was probably just lonely. I don’t see how it’s so funny.” She stormed off and flung herself onto her bedroll.
Ogador watched her leave, shaking his head. Stefir suggested, “She probably has a good idea, going to bed,” as he got his laughter back in control.
They headed to the tents. Jessar slid into his bedroll. For the next few minutes, Jessar and Ogador chuckled sporadically from their separate tents. As soon as one of them fell silent, the other would remember something, and they’d start laughing all over again. For some reason, the image of Thivo bursting into the room with Gerkar and the wench kept returning to Jessar. Every time he imagined the look on Gerkar’s face, he launched into more chuckles.