Home Again

Lontel kissed Tambi, Davlena, and little Lontel; shook hands with Davon and several other elves then mounted the brown war-horse the elves had given him. Quickly he checked his supplies and felt the comforting weight of Wizbane on his hip. On a dappled gray, Tubar squirmed uncomfortably. Horses were not his specialty. Tambi handed Lontel the reins of a loaded packhorse with supplies meant for the dwarves at Midpost. Lontel kissed her again then urged his horse forward, looking back with tears in his eyes. The last three days with Tambi had been the best in his life. He hated to leave, but both of them knew they were from different worlds, and each had to return to that world.

Soon, the only thing around Tubar and him was forest. Lontel mused over what he had helped bring to fruition. After the Passage of Life, life had returned to normal. He had expected for some stupendous change to occur, but it hadn’t. Shangri-La was virtually the same. There were many subtle differences, though. The elves seemed to be even gayer than they had been previously. They seemed to have more self-assurance. Davon had told him that with their power replenished, they could again protect the gorge between Tubar Tower and Midpost. That would certainly be a comfort. Lontel dreaded having boulders dropping from the sky onto his head.

He and Tubar spent the night in the gorge under the icy gaze of thousands of stars. Lontel tried to force the cold out of his mind by huddling deeper into his blankets and thinking of the wonderful days he had spent with Tambi. The cold and Tubar’s moaning eventually won, and his mood soured. The realization then hit him like a troll’s fist.

"Damn!" he swore into the darkness.

"What’s the matter?" Tubar asked between moans. "Is your butt sore, too?"

"No," Lontel snorted wishing it was something so trivial. "I…" he caught himself just in time. Maybe he could sneak back and… What?! He chided himself for even thinking such a thing. After several hours of angry self-recrimination, Lontel finally fell into a troubled sleep. Time and again he was laughed out of the Bull and forced to flee Sepultha in disgrace. "Only an apprentice thief," echoed through his mind. It was barely light when he nudged Tubar awake and began saddling the eager horses that had spent a cold night and were ready to be moving.

Neither traveler spoke much. Lontel was lost in self-pity, and Tubar could do little more than wince with each stride his mount took. They made good time over the frozen ground that had seen little snow since their last visit. By evening they could see Midpost’s jagged skyline.

Eun met them at the north gate. They turned their horses over to eager boys who stabled the horses and scattered about the citadel digging up dried grasses for their temporary wards. The men practically fell over each other unloading the heavily burdened packhorse, and in only a few hours delicious vapors floated through the air.

Again Lontel ate sparingly as he had on his first visit. The gaunt faces of the dwarves were less the reason than he just couldn’t stomach the fact that he had nothing to show for months of perils. The next morning he gazed south down the opening valley that led to Quarter Tower and then to Ingress. The night’s frost sparkled in the morning sun, reflecting the pink glow of brightening sky.

"You seem unhappy," Tubar said as he stepped up beside Lontel.

"I am just disgusted with myself," Lontel said.

"Why is that?"

Lontel looked at Tubar. Why not tell him? Maybe it would ease his mind some. "I took Davlena all the way from Sepultha to Shangri-La, lived through one adventure after another, then forgot to do what I had been sent to do in the first place."

"What was that?"

"I Sepultha I am a thief, a common apprentice thief." The word apprentice grated as he said it. "My people allowed me to take Davlena only because I promised to return with riches from the reward I would get from the elves. All I will return with now is a horse, if he survives the trip back. I am afraid the guild members will want more than that for an elf.

Tubar thought a moment. "You have something more precious than all of the gold in this world. You have your life, which you have stolen from death innumerable times. You have the friendship of the elves, the sprites, and we dwarves. You have won it despite the centuries we have had to develop our hate for men. Also, you have Wizbane, which you stole from a wizard. That is no mean feat. Perhaps you can’t buy kingdoms with these treasures, but they will serve you much better through your life than would all of the gold the elves could have given you at Shangri-La."

"Maybe," Lontel sighed.

Tubar laughed and slapped his companion on the back. "No maybe. It’s true. You’ll just have to accept it to make it fact. Now come. I want to get to Ingress as soon as we can. I have been away from the family too long already." Soon they were trotting through the fence of skulls on Midpost’s south side.

As they rode by, Lontel saw a huge new addition and said, "One thing puzzles me. What ever happened to that dragon I killed. I don’t remember seeing the carcass when we arrived."

"That meat we had last night wasn’t rabbit," Tubar said and laughed when he saw the pale green Lontel turned.

No goblins bothered them on their return, and four days later, the two arrived in Ingress. Lontel stayed long enough to enjoy the feast in his honor then took his leave. As he rode out of the city, a great sense of loss overpowered him. He had left Davlena and now he was leaving Tubar. He had no friends left.

He quickly forgot to be morose as he again faced the wilds alone. Controlled fear and alertness became his traveling companions. He kept his horse moving at a quick pace by day and spent his nights with his senses keenly aware of every sound and smell. In four days he reached Sprite Forest. He could hear the giggling, and it sent a chill down his spine. True they had claimed him as a friend, but he couldn’t forget the horror of his last trip through it.

The war-horse calmly entered the forest. They were two hundreds into the forest when the sprites clouded the air around them. Their fluttering antics disturbed the horse not at all. They tweaked its tail and sat on its head while pulling on its ears. It just trotted along as though nothing was happening.

Lontel did the same as they crowded onto his shoulders and lap. He wanted to thank them when none pulled any hair from his pensive scalp. He spent his first peaceful night in over a week at a Nexus, one of the glowing rocks. The next morning Lontel awoke to find the golden haired sprite who had been his ward and savior sitting next to his face smiling at him. When he awoke, it tweaked his nose in its most friendly manner and flew to his saddle pommel. There it rode until Lontel came to the end of the forest.

The elder sprite flew down and sat on Lontel’s shoulder just before Lontel left the forest. It said, "Have a pleasant journey to wherever your path takes you and remember, you will always find safe lodging with us, friend."

"Thank you," Lontel said, his eyes misting then he yanked out several strand of hair that he gave to his host. The wizened sprite took them and flew away amid cheers and uproarious giggling. Lontel breathed easier when he was completely out of the forest. His hosts had been on their best behavior, and he doubted they could maintain it much longer.

Lontel spent several more near sleepless nights until his mind settled into the routine of automatically checking every disturbance without him actually being fully aware that he was doing it. He then began getting the rest he needed if he was going to make it back to Sepultha alive and sane. He had been gone from the Sprite Forest for a little over a week when he heard rushing water.

A quick gallop brought Lontel to a river running northeast. His heart pounded. He was actually going home. That sweet thought finally sank into him for the first time. He whooped and galloped upriver for several miles. He reined his mount to a sudden stop when he saw the charred land before him. Slowly he unsheathed Wizbane, and the sword surged slightly with power. Wizards, Lontel thought as he walked the horse through the cold embers of an enormous holocaust.

He saw the charred trunk of what had once been a gargantuan tree. Scattered around it in mad profusion were the burnt remains of the animals Arlin had called baboons. Lontel dismounted and crept towards the black stump that marked the remains of Arlin’s home. As he approached it, he saw a figure clad in lavender rags sitting dejectedly near a prostrate tree trunk.

"Grud?" Lontel asked when he was with striking distance of the wizard.

Arlin looked up with a smoke-smeared face. "Alas, yes, it is poor Grud. I am afraid he came between Oberon and me during one of the more heated portions of our battle. If he hadn’t, I am sure he could have withstood the slight overflow of energies." Lontel looked at the blackened land around them. Perhaps, but he wouldn’t have taken any bets on it.

"How long ago did this happen?" Lontel asked.

"I’m not really sure. Time loses much of its importance when one is battling for one’s survival. Oberon was intent on killing me for letting you escape with Wizbane thereby foiling his plans. I tried to explain to him that I really had no choice in the matter and that I certainly hadn’t intentionally foiled anyone’s plans. He didn’t listen, though, and tried his damnedest to end my very existence."

For several minutes the two faced each other silently, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Arlin asked, "Did you ever succeed in getting that young elven woman Davlena to Shangri-La in time for the Passage of Life?"

"Oh yes. We made it there with a couple of days to spare I would say."

"Really? Well come, you must recount the adventure for me. Things do get boring around here, you know." Arlin started for what had once been his house. He looked at the remains startled for a moment then snapped his fingers. "I guess we will have to find a soft tuft of grass on which to sit. My house is in need of repairs."

Lontel laughed. "You need a new house."

"True," Arlin agreed with a shrug. "I don’t know where I’ll build one, though. I think I am tiring of this meadow country."

"Why don’t you come with me?" Lontel blurted out before he could stop himself.

Arlin smiled. "And why not! Just one minute." He ran to the tree trunk and pulled a large carpetbag from within it. Lontel sighed at his folly as he watched Arlin. Why had he said that? Surely, he wasn’t that lonely. Not lonely enough to invite a crazy wizard to share the rest of his trip to Sepultha. Arlin whisked by him and tied the carpetbag to the saddle in no time.

He looked back at Lontel and said, "Come along now. It’s been ages since I have been on a horse, but I am sure I can hold this steed to a slow enough walk so you can keep pace." Lontel started to protest, but the insanity of it all hit him, and it was all he could do to keep from doubling over with laughter. "Now tell me how your journey went after you left my estate," Arlin said as Lontel fell in beside the war-horse that Arlin handled with more skill than Lontel could ever hope to acquire.

After swimming the river and climbing what seemed a goat’s path up the cliff, Lontel spent the rest of that day and much of the night recounting everything that had happened to him after leaving Arlin. If he tried to gloss over any part, the wizard took him to task with such a barrage of questions that Lontel eventually strained to remember every detail of every day so Arlin would just sit and listen. It was well past midnight when Lontel finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

He awoke the next morning to find Arlin sitting astride his horse with Wizbane lying across the saddle’s pommel. Lontel said nothing as he casually stood and stretched while he silently cursed himself forever trusting the wizard.

"I remember that it was once prophesized that this sword would someday find the person who would return it to its home after it had done its work here. I know that I shall never willingly enter the shadowy hell of the Dead East, its home according to the tale about Demius and Wilfred. I know, too, that the sword has a will of its own; otherwise, you would have never been able to take it from me. I don’t slur your skill as a thief, but I had successfully kept it from wizard, troll, elf, and even man until you.

"Over the years I think this sword and I have developed a sort of bond. It trusts me to care for it and its owner. In exchange, I get the honor of knowing that in my own small way I have helped carry on the tradition of Wilfred the White, my sire." Arlin seemed to go into a momentary trance, then he casually tossed the sword to Lontel. "We will never make it to your city if we dawdle here all day. Besides, my horse is impatient to be moving again."

"Your horse?" Lontel exclaimed. Arlin ignored his outburst and trotted off towards the south. Lontel sheathed Wizbane and ran after the receding rump of his lost horse. Now he couldn’t even give it to the guild. This addles wizard had taken the only thing Lontel had to show for months of grueling, treacherous work.

They made good time that day with Lontel huffing to keep up with Arlin who seemed impervious to every plea, threat, or insult Lontel could think of in an effort to get him to slow the pace. That night Arlin again questioned Lontel about his adventures. His successful journey through Sprite Forest both astounded and tickled Arlin. He had Lontel recount it several times in detail.

When they were nearly asleep, a thought touched Lontel. "Do you think I am the one who going to take Wizbane back to its home?" he asked.

"You or yours," Arlin said. "That is why I decided to go with you to Sepultha."

"Me or mine?"

"You or one of your children."

"I don’t have any children."

Arlin laughed. "I am sure you can cure that with little difficulty." Lontel laughed, too. As he fell asleep, his thoughts returned to Shangri-La.

Lontel grew accustomed to trotting beside the ground-eating walk of the war-horse as the days went by. He almost grew to like running along, but then he would see Arlin sitting astride HIS horse with not so much as a bead of sweat on his brow, and all thoughts other than smoldering resentment vanished. He was about to insist Arlin at least let him ride double for awhile when Arlin suddenly stopped.

Lontel stopped, too, and soon heard galloping hooves approaching. Quickly he unsheathed Wizbane and walked around Arlin so he could see the approaching riders better. Two riders stopped about fifty feet away from them. Both riders were in little more than rags.

One wore a burnt robe that looked as though it had at one time been gold. The other’s robe was in better shape, and Lontel could tell it was yellow. Wizbane surged brightly with power.

"Hold your hand, man," the yellow robed rider said. "We have come in peace."

"You and Satar have never gone anywhere in peace, Oberon," Arlin said coolly. Lontel gulped. Satar and Oberon together! Surely they could overpower Arlin and him with no difficulty.

"Your time will come, Arlin," Oberon growled. The lavender wizard laughed.

Satar added, "Our powers are weak again. The Passage of Life has been completed. A new balance is in the making. Wizbane will soon be seeking its home. Know that we know and will be waiting that day." The two of them thundered off.

Arlin sighed. "He’s right. A new balance is in the making. The wheel of life has nearly turned full circle. Wizbane will feel it some day and then will return to the bowels of the city spirit from whence it came." He smiled and added, "Until then, though, at least we won’t have to worry about those two scoundrels." Lontel could only shake his head numbly as the power surging through him subsided.

At midmorning the next day, Lontel thought he could feel an unusually cool breeze in the air. By noon, he stood staring over the calm waters of Lake Sepultha. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he looked north to the ones he had found so dear and had left to return to what would undoubtedly be an unwelcome homecoming. Still, his heart yearned to smell the sour sweat of other men, humans, bustling around under the warming sun. He wanted to see the buxom, heavy women toting their grubby children happily from market stall to market stall. He wanted to taste the strong ale of the Bull. He wanted… he wanted to walk boldly into the Bull and claim as his the right to be called master thief.

"We should be to your city in about four days if we keep up our pace," Arlin said. His estimate was perfect. Just after noon of the fourth day, they walked through the last field surrounding the northeastern side of the city and entered Sepultha. Lontel sighed as he and Arlin shoved their way through the crowded streets towards the inner district where Lontel made his home. When he reached the ramshackle room he had called home, he saw it had been taken. Instead of causing a scene Lontel decided to get them a room where they could at least freshen up before he journeyed to the Bull to make his claim and tell them he had no treasure to show for taking Davlena to Shangri-La.

Just as he was about to tell Arlin his idea, a familiar voice rocked him to the core of his being. "Well I’ll be damned! Frog, our apprentice thief has returned." Umseth’s ridiculing voice mocked him. Lontel turned and saw the big thief standing with five compatriots.

"I don’t see any gold," Umseth sneered. "What did you do, cut the elf’s throat and hide for the past months until your yellow hide could no longer stand the wilds?" Hate and embarrassment crept along Lontel’s spine shading his skin red.

"I’ll see you at the Bull," he finally forced out of his constricted throat.

"That you will, cowardly apprentice for we are taking you there now." The thieves surrounded Lontel paying no heed to Arlin who watched the entire scene with mild interest tinged with amusement. He casually followed the group as they led Lontel away.

"So, apprentice, you have returned at long last," Titarnaes said. "We had thought you long dead. Now you return no doubt to claim your right as master thief."

"I have," Lontel said as calmly as he could.

"Good. Now let’s see. It has been so long since I last saw you that I have almost forgotten what minor task I set for you to prove that you were worthy of the title you cherish so much. Perhaps you can refresh my memory."

Lontel cursed silently. The bastard knew exactly what the task was. He just wanted to smear Lontel’s face in the fact that he had returned empty-handed. Lontel cleared his throat and said, "You sent me away with an elven woman. I was to trade her for the substantial reward you thought would be coming for aiding her in reaching her destination."

"Thought? Come now, Frog, surely there was. After all, anyone with the slightest twit of a brain could see she was an important personage." Lontel chewed his lower lip nervously. The same feelings of nausea that had plagued him in the old days were returning easily. Titarnaes continued. "Umseth had you followed as soon as you entered the city. No one saw you cache anything, and the old man certainly can’t have anything worth our time, not dressed in the rags he is wearing. What was the penalty we imposed on you for returning here empty-handed?"

"Death," Umseth answered before Lontel could speak. Lontel could feel his knees weaken. After all he went through to end up as a buzzard’s dinner on the outskirts of Sepultha. His mind wouldn’t accept it.

"Is what Umseth says correct?" Titarnaes asked.

"Yes," Lontel said, his head dropping until he was staring down at the guild master’s feet. How many times had he done that? Stare down at the fat man’s feet and answer yes to every degrading question. Too many times, yet here he was again doing it just as though he had practiced it for years, which he had.

Titarnaes sighed. Why wouldn’t the lad ever fight back? "Then why did you come back? Surely you don’t think we will give you an easy or honorable death because you returned to tell us you failed." Umseth led the laughter at such a ridiculous notion. Tears strained to break free of Lontel’s eyes. How he hated the laughter!

A sudden thought took root, and as it grew a calm settled over him. "I haven’t come here to be ridiculed for failing because I didn’t fail. I have returned to take what is rightfully mine if none of you will give it to me willingly.

"You call yourselves master thieves, but all any of you do is cut the purses from drunks and old women who haven’t the strength to run you down. Which of you has ever stolen an elf right from under the nose of a wizard or a sword from another wizard? Which of you has ever walked into a cave of trolls and stolen coats without which you would freeze? None of you. None of you has ever befriended a dwarf or a sprite so that in your time of need they would come to your aid. No, you steal from the rich, the poor, the weak, and even from yourselves so you end up with no friends. Then you have to come to this stinkhole you call a tavern because you know here one man, fat as he is, has established some sort of order so you can sleep out at least one night of your miserable lives without fearing someone will cut your throat as you would his.

"Master thieves? Hah! Master self-deceivers, that’s what the lot of you are. And me, I am the worst. I have spent my whole life trying to become one of you. Now I take the title, hollow as it is. I take it and dare any of you cowards to take it from me. I am the best thief, the only true master thief here." Lontel’s eyes burned feverishly he had reached such a high peak of emotion.

"Thank you for the indirect complement," Titarnaes said smiling. He then turned to the crowd and said, "Fro… Lontel has made quite an accusation and has seemingly overstepped himself by quite a large margin. Are there any in here who would like to take him to task over his words?"

Everyone in the crowd grumbled, but no one stepped forward. Titarnaes started to speak again when Umseth said, "I will cut out his tongue and sell it in the market for more gold than he brought back with him." Laughter echoed off the Bull’s walls as the nervous crowd cleared a space for the opponents to meet.

Lontel unsheathed Wizbane, but Titarnaes stopped him. "No weapons." Lontel sheathed Wizbane and unhooked his belt. A waiting hand started to take it. Lontel started to pull it away until he saw that it was Arlin.

The wizard winked at him and took the sword saying, "I know you’ll win, but I don’t want the sword to fall into the wrong hands." Lontel smiled. Arlin’s words somehow just weren’t as encouraging as they could have been.

"I fight as you say because I choose to beat your best on your terms," Lontel said to the crowd. He and Umseth circled. Umseth kicked out with his leg trying to trip Lontel. The younger man grabbed the leg and held onto it with both arms. He then started trotting around in a circle using Umseth’s free leg as his pivot point. Again laughter rocked the tavern. Finally, Lontel gave a hard shove and Umseth tumbled onto his back.

Instantly he bounced to his feet and charged with a roar. Lontel sidestepped the charge and kicked Umseth in the butt as he went flying by. "How does it feel to be laughed at?" Lontel asked wickedly. Umseth said nothing, but ripped a knife from the waistband of one of the bystanders and charged.

"Stop!" Titarnaes bellowed. Umseth obediently stopped. Slowly the guild master approached Umseth and took the knife. The thief turned ghostly pale as he saw the fire in Titarnaes’ eyes.

"Collect your belongings and leave the city at once, Umseth," Titarnaes said barely restraining his rage. "You have dishonored our entire guild. Go into the wilds as has master thief Lontel and live there for four months as penance. When you return, or I should say if you return, bring with you respect for the laws of this organization. If you can’t, then don’t return."

Umseth stomped out of the tavern followed by four men sent by Titarnaes to make sure he knew where the outskirts of the city were. Arlin returned Wizbane to Lontel. As Lontel strapped on the sword, Titarnaes said, "As guild master I now proclaim that Lontel has more than established that he deserves the rank of master thief if he will do us the honor of accepting the title."

Lontel smiled. "I will." After the cheering stopped, he took a seat next to Titarnaes, a mightily proud father, and began recounting his adventures for all who could fit into the tavern. He couldn’t help but notice Arlin as the wizard surreptitiously sprinkled powders over unaware people, shook his head and tried something different. Lontel made a mental note to ask Arlin just what it was he had in his carpetbag.