Morgan's Tale

The Letter

Respected Sir,

I, with regret, must inform you that your presence is required in New Targanor. Your hard-earned leisure time is much deserved, extenuating circumstances do, however, dictate that your leave be cut short. Please return with the utmost expediency. Remember, your service to the people of New Targonor is an invaluable one.

Minister Adlus

Morgan Derek folded the letter and set it on the table in front of him. Frowning, he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Typical," he thought, "Just typical."

"Were the instructions clear?"

Morgan looked up. The rider who had delivered the message was standing next to him, peering down quizzically.

"He didn't even write this himself, you know." Morgan answered, "He probably has a room full of them." Morgan leaned forward and snatched the letter from the table, glowering. "Once a year, I get a few days to come home and rest and without fail - one of these, every time." He shook the letter in his hand half-heartedly and sighed with resignation.

He sat in his favorite tavern, in the village of Tursh. It was spring in Thestra, the winter snows had melted and the pleasant feel of a new summer had begun to gently settle over the small farming community. The tavern was bustling with activity as farmhands, weary from long days in the fields, arrived to eat, drink and share a laugh. The smells of an oaken fire filled the room, its snapping and popping just barely audible over the jovial voices of the patrons. For Morgan, this was a rare luxury.

As a young ranger pledged into the service of the great city of New Targonor, Morgan's assignments kept him from home much of the time. He liked traveling the lands though, it was one of the reasons he had sworn his service six years ago. But since then, Minister Adlus had assigned a steady stream of road patrol duties and scant else. It was a bland job and Morgan cared little for it. Long periods of little to no human contact gave him time to wander in his thoughts though, and for that he was thankful.

Yet somehow, every year when Morgan was granted a small amount of leave, a crisis had managed to arise on the small stretch of road he guarded. And every year, Morgan was pulled from his home by Minister Adlus and sent to deal with whatever minor disturbance was threatening the freedom of Thestra that particular day.

He should have learned to expect it by now, but Morgan had remained purposefully optimistic that this year he would be able to enjoy his leave and spend some much needed time getting re-acquainted with his boyhood home. But once again, it seemed as if he would have to wait another year. Duty had called, and he would answer.

"The instructions," the rider repeated, "Do you understand them?"

Morgan stared at the man standing before him; he was certainly unlike any rider Adlus had sent before. The man looked more like a hardened soldier than a message courier. He wore a simple, yet elegant suit of green tinted ring mail that fit snugly across his broad shoulders. Across his back was strapped a large, powerful looking sword. The blade was covered, but Morgan was sure that it was no toy. The man shifted his weight, gazing back at Morgan coolly, waiting for an answer.

"Yes," he replied, "they're quite clear." Morgan pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. He reached into a dingy pouch secured to his belt and emerged with a few small coins. "Thank you," he said and offered them to the messenger.

The man grinned for the first time, amused. He bowed his head slightly, turned and exited the tavern.

"Ah, in it for the love of the job," Morgan said to himself, "...that'll change." He looked down at the unfinished meal on his table, it seemed somehow appropriate.

"I knew what that man was here for the second he walked in." a friendly voice said, coming up behind him. Morgan returned the coins to his pouch and turned, smiling.

"Oh did you now, Gillian?" he said.

"Sure did!" the young barmaid chirped with a grin, "I'll just put the rest of this away for next year. That way you can pick up right where you left off. Maybe you'll even get to finish!" Morgan grinned as Gillian began to remove the remnants of his dinner from the table. "We don't get too many like him in here," she paused, "you're not in trouble are you?"

"Too many like who?" Morgan asked.

"Your friend in green! You are in trouble, aren't you! What did you do this time Morgan Derek?" Gillian demanded.

Morgan laughed, "You're awful quick to the stern tone! I didn't do anything. There's nothing for me to do. A mouse probably got ran over by a wagon on my road and Adlus wants me to go pick it up. You know, the usual," he made a face; "...you're right though, something about that rider made me a little uneasy. He was...," Morgan searched for the word.

"...Green!" offered Gillian.

Morgan rolled his eyes, "I was thinking more like... intense."

"That too," she agreed with a nod.

Morgan sighed inwardly. "Well, it'll be dark soon," the young ranger said, peering out the front of the tavern, "If I leave now I can make it to New Targonor by morning." He did not want to leave.

"Well you're not going anywhere until I get a hug," Gillian said reaching out, "last time you just took off without a word to anyone."

He chuckled, "Very well then." Gillian wasted no time in wrapping him up in her arms, and gave Morgan a tight squeeze.

"Now you listen here mister," she said, stepping back, "When you find that big bad mouse squashed in the middle of the road, I want you to be careful. It probably had friends, lots of them, and they're probably quite angry about the whole thing. So... just be careful, all right?"

Morgan nodded and picked up his traveling pack behind the chair. "Don't worry; I'm sure it's nothing big. Besides," he added with a grin, slinging the pack over his shoulder, "it would take at least thirty mice to do me in. And I can run much faster than they can."

"At least thirty, and much faster," Gillian echoed.

Morgan smiled and turned towards the door. "I'll try to get back as quickly as I can," he said and with a small wave the young ranger stepped out of the tavern into the night.

The sun was already setting as Morgan stepped into the street. Its pale orange glow slowly sank below the horizon and the pleasant breeze of the day steadily turned frigid as night descended upon northern Thestra. Morgan pushed his sandy hair from his eyes and wrapped his heavy woodsman's cloak tightly around his body. Not summer yet, he thought to himself.

The streets were quiet. Only a few people still milled about. Vendors, mostly, still cleaning up after a tiring day of selling their wares. Morgan kicked at a loose rock in the muddy dirt road that led through the center of the village. He was not looking forward to walking through the night; at least he'd be able to get a horse from the stables once he got to New Targonor. Still, he thought, that doesn't help me much tonight.

Morgan lingered in the center of the village briefly - savoring what he knew he'd not see again for some time. After a few moments he muttered to himself and began to walk, determined to put as much distance as he could between himself and Tursh, the quicker the better.

New Targonor

The buildings of Tursh soon faded from view in the darkening sky, as Morgan walked briskly out the east end of the small village until soon its flickering torches were barely distinguishable from the twinkling stars above. For a ways, he followed the oft traveled winding road, listening to his heavy boots thumping on the earth beneath him. The steady cadence calmed him, on this clear, cold night.

As he trudged through the darkness he wondered what the real reason behind his summons was. Minister Adlus's notes were always so brief and cryptic. Morgan understood the necessity of keeping some things quiet, but he half thought Adlus did it on purpose - just to keep him unsettled. Truth be known, he was not overly fond of the Minister. He seemed more concerned with writing reports and filing papers than actually solving problems. That is unless Morgan had taken leave, in which case there were always an abundance of problems to be solved - and nobody else to do it.

Morgan wondered if Adlus knew of his resentment, but doubted it. They rarely spoke and when they did it was often too cluttered with formality to have any real meaning. Such is the way of cities, Morgan thought.

The path suddenly veered to the right, Morgan stopped. He'd gone as far as the road would take him. Having traveled between the village and New Targonor many times he had learned early that he could save many hours by crossing the Weatherfall River himself, rather than following the road south until he reached the trade bridge.

Stepping off the path into the tall grass of the plains, he drew a short sword from his side and waded into the knee-high brush -- poking here and there to avoid any hidden burrows or gnarled stumps that could play a potential hazard to him. There was a time when small farms occupied much of these lands, but now none remained. They had all been razed or abandoned during the centuries before and for a good many reasons, had never been fully rebuilt. As a result, the region had largely been left to its own, and after many years of relative peace was entirely grown over.

Morgan liked it though, much better than any city in fact. In his far removed, solitary outpost he had learned the value of silence. Travelers were infrequent and days would go by where he spoke not a word - and spoke it only to himself when he finally did. There was a peacefulness to it, and while it was at times a lonely one, it comforted him a great deal.

This was a comfort no city could provide, least of all the teeming New Targonor. Never was there a time when someone was not out roaming the streets. There was always someone, something moving and that far off voice echoing through the alleys. It could never attain that perfect stillness only the plains seemed capable of. Still, the city did have a unique charm of its own. In these dangerous times there were very few places Morgan felt completely safe - secure from any outside aggression. New Targonor's walls seemed to block out everything beyond the gates. While inside of the city, the rest of the world ceased to exist. It was a place where all civilized citizens of Thestra are free to come in search of protection and so long as they abide by the laws of the great settlement, protection was granted.

For several hours, Morgan walked in quiet contemplation - occasionally rustling up a small group of rabbits or a skulking musk hog with the tip of his sword. The tall sweeping grass gradually thinned and was replaced by shorter, bristly underbrush as he drew nearer to the river.

Morgan could hear the gentle streaming of the water before he was close enough to see the river in the moon's pale glow. Merely a faint shadow at first, but as he approached the source it began to slowly materialize in front of him. The Weatherfall River wistfully wandered through the plains, peacefully twisting about as it split the landscape. The night darkened the shallow water, giving the illusion of depth. Morgan knew better though -- the water was shallow, and quite safe. He'd crossed here many times before.

He waited a moment as his eyes adjusted to the reflecting moonlight. Morgan began to scan the bank, searching for something until he had found the familiar sight he was looking for; a fallen tree lay partially submerged in the river. Its branches had long since been ripped from the trunk but its roots still clung tightly to the shore, creating a natural bridge that led slightly past half the width of the water.

Morgan sheathed his sword, removed his boots and hiked up the legs of his pants. He then carefully crept onto the tree. Once he had gained his balance Morgan began to slowly make his way across. He stopped just before the trunk dipped into the water and peered across the river -- he could just make out the silhouette of the opposing shore. He set himself, took a quick step back then threw his boots the rest of the way across. Morgan heard two dull thuds as they landed in the grass on the opposite bank. Next, Morgan removed his traveling pack and holding it high above his head he began to wade into the river.

The wet cold engulfing his foot sent a chill running up through Morgan's body as he took his first step. He took a second step and carefully set his foot down as to avoid any sharp rocks hidden beneath the surface. The water came up to just above the young ranger's knees, though the summer rains would soon change that. Morgan quickly waded across the rest of the river and climbed up onto the embankment. He rolled his pant legs down, located his boots and sat in the grass to put them back on.

He looked up at the sky - sunrise was still a few hours away, he was making good time though and would be at the city gates shortly. He finished strapping on his boots and stood up. Morgan swatted at a small insect buzzing around his head and began to walk again.

He continued to plow through the night for a time, quietly humming to himself as he went along. Soon, thin streaks of light began to sneak over the horizon, streaming from the dull orange glow which lingered just out of sight. Morgan squinted; he could just barely see the shadow of New Targonor's great walls. He picked up his pace, anxious to reach the gates and hurried towards the city.

As the sun began to rise over the far horizon, filling the landscape with a dim morning light the massive walls of the city became clearly visible. Inside of them, mountainous towers leapt into the air spiraling upwards towards the sky. Morgan paused a moment to take in the sight before him. Regardless of how many times he came to New Targonor or how much he preferred the open wilderness the sight of the colossal fortress city never ceased to astound him. New Targonor was set, like a mountain on the northernmost coast of Thestra. With its back to the sea, it was a pillar of strength and might to all of those whom inhabited it and was the backbone of the human kingdom. No force had ever breached the strong stone walls.

The closer Morgan got to the city the more immense it became, what started as a shadowy block in the distance now dominated the landscape. The cool ocean air blew pleasantly around the walls, rustling the thick grass with each pass. Morgan could begin to hear the sounds from inside the high stone walls as New Targonor awoke for the day. He made his way to the east gates, where a steady stream of workers and their carts were already coming in and out of the city. Large billowing banners flew proudly in the wind above the entrance as dozens of armored guards patrolled the ground below.

Morgan passed through the crowd, stepping up to the gates.

"You there!" a chain mail clad guard barked to him, "What is your business here?"

Morgan smiled and flashed the guard the note he'd been sent, Adlus's seal plainly visible on the edge. "I was wondering much the same myself," he said. The guard nodded and waved him in.

He passed through the gate and into New Targonor's parade grounds. Large tents were erected on both sides of the busy street. They were filled with all manners of knights and tournament combatants, preparing themselves for the day. To Morgan's right two men rode horses through the jousting fields, practicing their timing. Several children lounged about in the wooden grandstands watching the two riders below. The stone cobbled street continued on to the left past the city's stables and down a slight hill until it reached another gate that guarded the entrance to the inner city. And looming over it all was the central keep, its numerous high towers keeping a watchful eye on all below. This was New Targonor, pride of the human kingdom.

Morgan followed the endless flow of people along the street as they streamed under the raised portcullis and into the heart of the city. As Morgan stepped through the gate the world around him changed once more. Large buildings were packed tightly together for as far as he could see. Busy streets, teaming with activity, ran through the center of them, darting this way and that. Vendors were already in their stalls, hawking their wares. Workmen hung from the sides of buildings endlessly pounded away from their scaffolds - forever expanding upon the already massive city.

Morgan exhaled and pressed into the crowd. The streets, even in this early hour, were already tightly packed with people eager to get a head start on the day. A loud metal clanking rang from a building to his side as a blacksmith began his day of work. He looked up at the keep towering over the rest of the city. Somewhere inside of it Adlus would be waiting in his office to see him. Morgan quickly weaved through the throng of people in the streets, dodging carts and the animals that pulled them.

It didn't take him long to reach the inner gate that led to the keep. It was nearly the same size as the outer gate and looked to be at least as thick. The crowds had thinned considerably in this part of the city but there were still a goodly amount of guards posted at the entrance to the courtyard. They stood in pairs, and talked idly with one another pausing only to wave the occasional government official along. Morgan showed the guards his letter and passed through the gate.

He walked briskly through the courtyard and up the ramp leading to the giant stone fortress; Morgan had been here before many times and knew where he was going. He passed another guard at the main door of the compound and once inside quickly made his way up a flight of stairs and down several corridors until he had reached the Ministers' district.

The hallway opened into a large room with numerous adjoining offices. A chandelier dangled from the ceiling, hovering several feet over the large rug covering the floor. Padded benches lined the walls and deep, cozy looking arm chairs sat sporadically around the room. At the far end of the chamber a clerk sat behind a desk busily shuffling a stack of papers. Upon hearing the ranger, she looked up; Morgan nodded in acknowledgement and walked across the room to Adlus's office.

As he raised his hand to knock on the wooden door the clerk spoke up, "The Minister has yet to arrive for the day," she said with a smile, "You may have a seat and wait for him if you'd like."

"Thanks," he replied, "Do you happen to know when he'll be in?"

She wrinkled her brow and shrugged, "Hard to say, within a few hours I would imagine. Sometimes the Minister is later though."

Morgan grumbled quietly to himself, so much for that pressing emergency. He thanked the clerk and walked back to the center of the room. He removed his pack and set it on the floor next to him. Letting out an exhaustive sigh, he sank into one of the large armchairs. The muscles in his leg ached from a night of walking and no sleep, and the weight of the pack had stiffened his back. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the cushioned headrest; it felt wonderful to sit down. There were certainly no chairs like this back at his outpost, or in Tursh for that matter.

Adlus

"Wake up," came a deep voice from above him. Morgan felt a pair of large hands plant themselves on his shoulders. Suddenly, his entire body began to shake. "Wake up!" the voice repeated - more insistent this time.

Morgan's eyes shot open. The room surrounding him was a blur; he blinked, trying to bring it into focus. The hands on his shoulders shook him harder, Morgan let out an involuntary yelp.

"I'm up! I'm up!" he sputtered frantically, flailing his arms about.

"Are you sure?" the voice asked him.

He rubbed his eyes and looked up. Towering over Morgan stood one of the biggest men he'd ever seen. He was powerfully built and clad fully in thick scale armor. Two large, heavy looking swords were crossed in sheaths over his back. Their pommels jutted out over either of his shoulders. His blue eyes gazed down intently at Morgan.

"...Well?"

"Yes, yes, I'm awake." Morgan answered. He stretched his arms out in front of his body and yawned. "How long was I out?"

The big man shrugged and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Streaks of gray were just beginning to make themselves visible. "I don't know. I've only been here about an hour."

Morgan frowned, "What time is it?"

"About midday," the man answered, "Minister Adlus arrived a few minutes ago. He'll see you now."

"Ah, thank you." Morgan said, standing up. The large man stood easily a head and a half above him. He stretched again, his aching muscles feeling much better now, and walked to the door - the big man following closely behind him. He took a deep breath, and knocked.

"Come in," a nasal voice called from the office.

Morgan opened the door and stepped in. The office was by no means large, but was comfortable. A large wooden desk sat in the middle of the room, papers stacked all over its top. Behind it sat a balding, heavy-set, middle aged man. His beady eyes squinted at Morgan over his large round nose.

"Enjoy your nap?" he crowed.

Morgan stiffened, "Forgive me Minister. I spent the night traveling from Tursh..."

Adlus cut him off, "Yes, yes and the walk left you quite tired, I'm sure," he said shuffling some papers, "Now then, let's get down to business, shall we?"

The Minister cleared his throat loudly, "You're probably wondering why I called you back from your leave," he said, and continued before Morgan could reply, "Well the reason is simple. It seems something has the blasted Halflings all up in arms. Stories of "monsters" killing their livestock and frightening their old women or some such nonsense."

"You don't sound too convinced," Morgan said.

"Pure rubbish, I'm sure, it's probably just a pack of wolves." He sighed, "Halflings scare so easily. None the less, we're obliged to go and see for ourselves... Well, you are anyway," he added with a grin.

"Forgive me for saying so Minister, but--" Morgan started.

"Yes I know, Rindol Field isn't normally your responsibility." Adlus interrupted. "It is this time though, so don't bother trying to argue with me about it."

"Can I ask why?"

"No!" Adlus cackled gleefully, leaning back in his chair.

"My apologies Minister," Morgan said, "I wasn't questioning your judgment, it's just that this is the first time you've assigned me...well, anything really. I'm just curious as to why is all."

"First time I've assigned you anything!" Adlus said incredulously, "I spoil you for years and this is the thanks I get."

Morgan nearly choked. He stared at the Minister coldly. Adlus coughed and straightened himself, "Oh all right, if you simply must know," he said, "it's because you're the only one I can spare at the moment."

"Oh?" he asked, his interest piqued.

"Our able men are scattered about the Highlands and Falgarholm." Adlus continued, his tone more sober, "Troublesome reports coming out of there..." he said, trailing off, "But that is of no consequence. Your assignment is to investigate what has the Halflings upset - and to calm them down if at all possible. Some warm milk and a blanket ought to do the trick." The Minister chuckled quietly to himself.

"What sort of trouble could be coming from Falgar-?" Morgan pressed.

"Never you mind!" The Minister said irritably, "You're to go deal with the Halflings. You'll be leaving immediately. Stop at the stables and get a horse, then gather supplies if you must but I want you on the road by dawn tomorrow at the latest."

"Very well then," Morgan said as he turned to leave, accepting defeat.

"Oh, and one other thing, Morgan," Adlus added and gestured towards the entrance of the office, "Zanadar will be accompanying you."

Morgan turned - the big man who had woken him had quietly slipped into the room and was standing straight against the wall. Zanadar bowed his head slightly to the ranger.

Morgan paused. "...all right," he said hesitantly, "It will be nice to have some company for once."

"Good, now off with you," the Minister said with a flick of his wrist, "I've a lot of work to get done and can ill afford to waste time with idle chatter."

The two men quickly exited the room. Morgan opened his mouth as if to say something, but Adlus' shrill voice called out behind them, "Close the door, please!"

Zanadar reached back into the office and quietly shut the door. He looked back to the ranger and grinned. "Ass," he said.

Morgan blinked. "What?"

"The Minister is an ass," he placed a hand on his stomach, "I'm hungry, are you hungry?"

Morgan grinned devilishly, "I could eat."

Zanadar smiled as he headed towards the hallway, "Don't forget your pack."

Morgan snatched his traveling pack off the floor next to the chair and rushed to catch up with Zanadar. "The messenger found me during supper last night; I had to leave without finishing."

The big man looked back over his shoulder, "You could have finished."

"I should have."

Zanadar nodded.

Morgan frowned, "I'll finish next time."

The big man grinned, "No you won't."

He thought a moment. "No... I probably won't," Morgan conceded. He looked around, "Hey, we're not going the right way. The entrance was back that way," he said, pointing the other direction.

"I know," Zanadar replied as they began to ascend a flight of stairs, "We've got one short stop to make first."

Finding a Friend

A small but busy looking group of government workers carrying stacks of documents rushed onto the steps and began to hurriedly make their way down, chattering incomprehensibly to one another.

"What's that?" the ranger asked, dodging an oblivious official.

"We've got to pick someone up."

"Who?"

Zanadar turned back to Morgan as he reached the top of the stairs, "You're just full of questions aren't you?"

Morgan suddenly felt a bit sheepish, "Sorry... this is just a bit... unusual. I can't say I've been given too many big assignments yet, but I was under the impression the rangers didn't employ any real outside help unless matters were quite serious."

"What? You don't think I could be a ranger?" Zanadar said with a feigned hurt.

"Well," Morgan shrugged, "You aren't, are you?"

The big man grinned, "No, you are correct -- I am not."

"Is your friend then?" Morgan asked.

Zanadar laughed deeply. "Ah...No."

"If you don't mind me asking then," Morgan said, "Why are you here?"

"That's a bit complicated I'm afraid, let's just say I owe Adlus a favor," he answered.

Morgan wasn't convinced, but decided to let the matter drop for the time being. As much as he disliked the Minister he was grateful to be given this opportunity. He knew it wasn't much, but it also wasn't guarding a nearly forgotten road by himself for weeks on end. Still though, Adlus' mention of trouble to the east in the highlands gnawed at his mind. He tried to push the thought out of his head, but to no avail. Something big may be happening there. Morgan chuckled softly to himself, maybe something big was happening in Rindol Field.

"What are you laughing at?" Zanadar asked, as they rounded a corner.

"Nothing," he answered. "Do you know anything about what's happening in the highlands?" Morgan asked suddenly.

"No," the big man said.

He narrowed his eyes, "I don't know if I believe you."

"The fact that Adlus saw fit to send every available ranger--besides you that is--to the region has me uneasy as well, Morgan. But I assure you, I haven't the slightest idea what is going on over there."

"Fair enough," Morgan said, still not entirely satisfied.

"And here we are," Zanadar stated as the hallway opened into a wide room.

Bookshelves were set wall to wall in neatly arranged rows. An elderly librarian stood behind a table at the far end of the chamber, sorting a stack of tomes. In the center of the room were a small number of long wooden benches. Behind them a large window overlooked the city below. The sea dominated the horizon, as it splashed against the rocky cliffs upon which New Targonor's outer wall was built. Great waves threw themselves at the exposed earth sending white foam spraying all directions before retreating back into the ocean. In the city, antlike workers scurried about the streets busily, negotiating the crowds as they moved from one small building to the next.

Zanadar stepped into the room and looked around. He walked slowly down the side of the chamber, peering down each row of overflowing shelves. After a moment, he came back to the center of the room, shaking his head.

"What?" Morgan asked.

"He's not here. I knew he wouldn't stay, blast it." Zanadar cursed under his breath and walked over to the librarian's counter. "Excuse me," he said. The librarian looked up.

"What?" the old woman asked, somewhat irritably.

"I was hoping you could help me with something, I'm looking for a friend." Zanadar said.

"Unless your friend happens to be a book, I'm afraid I can't help." The librarian went back to her stack of texts.

"He was in here a while ago," Zanadar pressed, "Big white beard, silly hat. Hard to miss, probably very loud. Come to think of it," he added, "you may have kicked him out."

The old woman scowled, "Oh that one. I'm surprised he has any friends. Foulest man to ever set foot in my library. Don't you even think about bringing him back in here. Good riddance, I say."

"Ah, you remember him!" Zanadar smiled, "I don't suppose you know where he went do you?"

"Probably back to the gutter where vagrants like him belong," she growled.

"But he didn't say which gutter specifically?" the big man asked.

The librarian huffed, "That one said a lot of things. A lot of mean things."

Morgan stifled a laugh, "It sounds as if you keep good company," he said quietly. The librarian shot him an icy stare.

"You stay away from that man," she said, "He's a bad influence."

Zanadar nodded. "I agree completely ma'am," he said, "Unfortunately, due to certain circumstances, I must see him." He smiled widely to the librarian, "and it would help me greatly if you had any idea where he went."

The old woman frowned. "Well, he did say something about being thirsty. He mumbled about getting a drink on his way out," she said somewhat begrudgingly.

The big man set his hand on top of the old woman's. "Thank you very much, you've been a wonderful help," he said, still smiling, "And the Great Library itself is not so well kept as yours, I must say."

The librarian began to smile, but caught herself. She straightened, "All right, I told you all I know. Please leave me to my work, these books won't sort themselves."

"Oh, of course," Zanadar apologized, "Again, thank you for your assistance. Keep up the good work!"

Morgan leaned in as they left the library. "I get the feeling you've practiced that," he said. "So where are we going then?"

Zanadar grinned, "To get a drink."

"There's a lot of places to get a drink in the city," Morgan said, "Your friend could be anywhere."

"I've got a good idea where he went. For as much as he'd like to think he isn't, Elandar is fairly predictable. Don't worry, we can find something to eat there too."

"That's his name?" Morgan asked, "Elandar?"

"Among other things," Zanadar said, "Yes."

The two men made their way out of the keep and back down to the city streets. The sun was now high overhead but the morning's hustle still remained. Zanadar led the ranger back towards the edge of the city, where the buildings were packed even tighter together. He stopped outside a seedy looking tavern; its sign was worn and cracked and hung lopsided on the front of the building.

"'Tavern'," Morgan read the sign aloud, "Well, that's pretty straightforward, I suppose."

A series of loud unmistakably female shrieks came from inside the building, followed by the sound of something breaking against the wall and much laughter.

Zanadar nodded. "This is definitely the place," he gestured towards the door, "After you."

Elandar

Morgan winced, "Are you sure he's in there?"

Another scream followed by laughter rang out from inside the tavern.

"Very sure," Zanadar said.

Morgan opened the large wooden door and was blasted by a rush of warm air. It reeked of watery ale and sweat. He made a face and stepped inside, Zanadar right behind him.

The tavern was dimly lit and packed tightly with patrons. The stained wooden floor creaked unpleasantly as the two men made their way into the crowd. Rickety old tables were scattered about the floor in no particular order. Men sat in chairs around some, and stood around others while talking loudly amongst themselves, pausing occasionally to shout for more ale.

An angry looking barmaid was doing her best to negotiate through the crowd towards the far end of the tavern. Her dark shoulder length hair stood nearly on end, sticking out in all directions. She had a decidedly murderous look about her.

The barmaid pointed to a skinny old man who sat grinning fiendishly in the corner and shrieked again violently. "Stop it you demented old rat! Stop it right now!" She snatched a tankard off a table and hurled it in his direction.

The old man ducked as it smashed against the wall and raised his bony hands innocently. "Crazy woman!" he shouted back indignantly. The crowd around them roared again in laughter.

The barmaid made a quick grab for another tankard, but Zanadar was faster. "Sascha!" he said pleasantly, "So nice to see you again. You're looking positively radiant, as always."

Sascha spun to face him, a threatening look in her eye. "Make him stop," she demanded.

"Stop what?"

"You know what!"

"No really, what's going on?" Zanadar said with a feigned innocence.

"This!" she grabbed at her hair, "This is what's going on!"

"Oh that? Nonsense, I think your hair looks lovely. It's very becoming," he nodded assuredly.

Sascha stared at him a moment and growled angrily. "Don't even start with me Zanadar, you're just as bad as him." She looked back to the old man in the corner, "You have to the count of three to stop it or I am going to tear you to pieces. Do you hear me?"

"No!" the old man shouted back, shaking his fist.

Sascha glared angrily at him and began to count, "...One...Two..."

"You don't scare me!"

Sascha opened her mouth to say three, but suddenly her hair began falling back to its normal position, settling comfortably. She shot the old man a dangerous look and stomped off to the kitchen. Morgan followed Zanadar over to where the old man sat.

"Enjoying yourself?" the big man asked.

The wiry old man grumbled irately, "What kind of world do we live in when a man can't even sit down to enjoy a cup of brew without having to dodge flying crockery!"

Zanadar nodded solemnly, "It's a sad reflection of our times."

The old man's eyes widened as he felt the tip of his hat. "She got my hat wet!" he complained. He removed the pointed cloth cap from his head; its end tipped slightly backwards and was splotched with wetness.

"Morgan," Zanadar said and gestured towards the elderly man at the table, "This is Elandar."

Elandar looked at Zanadar expectantly as he dried the tip of his hat on his robes, as if waiting for something.

"Forget it," Zanadar said, "I'm not saying it. I told you last time was it, no more."

Morgan blinked, confused, "Say what?"

Elandar cleared his throat deeply, "Mighty Wizard! Elandar, Mighty Wizard!"

Zanadar shook his head and sat down, "Mighty indeed. Have a seat Morgan."

Elandar tugged at his long white beard, eyeing the ranger suspiciously. "So you're the pup we have to watch after?"

"Oh I'm sure he's quite capable, try not to offend him until after we eat at least," the big man interjected.

Morgan looked at the old man. Elandar was taller than him, but still not nearly as large as Zanadar. His wiry frame was hidden from view under thick dark purple robes which Morgan got the feeling also concealed a goodly amount of other things he'd rather not know about. His long white unkempt hair rolled off his head in seemingly random directions and landed in a tangled mess just past shoulders. The old man's beard was in an equal state of disarray. Leaning against the wall behind him was a worn wooden staff which looked to be older than Elandar himself.

The ranger spoke up, "Speaking of eating..."

"I think it may be a while before Sascha is ready to come back over here," Zanadar said, "Why don't I just go let her know we're ready myself so she doesn't have to?"

"An excellent question, what is keeping you?" Elandar asked.

The big man stood up, "I'll be right back." He looked to the wizard, "Elandar, be nice."

The old man waggled his finger wildly at Zanadar, "I'm no child! I'll not be ordered around by some sword swinging meathead!"

Zanadar rolled his eyes and wandered off to find Sascha. Elandar put his hat back on his head and stared at Morgan, narrowing his eyes.

"So..." Morgan said, a bit uneasily, "...that's a nice staff."

"Don't you be getting any bright ideas, nobody touches Elandar's staff but Elandar! It's very powerful and very-"

"Mighty?" Morgan grinned.

Elandar folded his arms across his chest and frowned. Morgan leaned back in his chair and scanned the crowd for Zanadar, who was nowhere to be seen. He sighed, and set his chair back down on its legs again. He absently tapped his fingers along the top of the table, trying to avoid eye contact. Morgan glanced up; the old man was staring at him coldly.

"All right, I'm sorry," Morgan said finally, "I take it back, your staff isn't mighty."

Elandar's frown deepened and his stare intensified. For a moment, Morgan was positive the old man was going to start shaking and explode.

"You and Zanadar are friends then?" the ranger asked. Elandar stared back stone like, unblinking. He coughed anxiously and looked around again.

"There's a roasted boar on the spit this afternoon," Zanadar reported finally, coming up behind them. He was carrying three large cups of a dark groggy ale. He set them on the table and looked to Elandar. "Sascha said she's going to bring some out for us and that if you try any funny business she's going to stab you with a meat hook."

The old man broke his stare and took on a contemplative look. "Fair enough," he decided, "I'm hungry enough to risk it."

"That's comforting," Zanadar said as he sat back down. He grinned "So, are you two old friends yet?".

"I didn't say a single mean thing." Elandar boasted. The big man raised an eyebrow at Morgan.

"Well, technically that's true," he said.

"Well then," Zanadar said, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, "I'd say this is going very well!"

A thought suddenly occurred to Morgan. "Does Minister Adlus know Elandar is accompanying us?"

Sascha's Meathook

The big man took a small sip of his ale and set it down. "No, he probably doesn't."

"Probably doesn't?"

"Well I'm not a mind reader. I supposed it's possible he could know, yes. But I find it highly unlikely."

"You didn't tell him then?"

"Me? No, I didn't." Zanadar answered.

"Does he know Elandar?"

The wizard smirked darkly, "We've met."

"Is that why you didn't tell him Elandar was coming with us?" Morgan asked.

Zanadar looked to the old man. "I told you this one was capable. I had a good feeling about him from the beginning."

Elandar shrugged, "I'm still undecided. He disrespected my staff."

"Oh," Zanadar said seriously, "You've got to be mindful of that Morgan." He grinned at the ranger.

"I'll... be more careful of that in the future," Morgan said, unsure quite how to respond. "So Adlus doesn't know Elandar is coming with us," He continued, "and if he did, he'd most likely disapprove. Is that right?"

"Think of it this way," Zanadar answered coolly, "He didn't say Elandar couldn't come, now did he?"

Just then Sascha appeared out of the crowd, carrying a large plate of steaming roast boar. She scowled at Elandar. The old man snorted defensively. Sascha looked to Zanadar, "Did you tell him about the meat hook?"

The big man nodded, "Yes ma'am. I wouldn't dare think not to." She glared meanly at Elandar.

"Egads woman!" he said, "I didn't do anything! I'm hungry!"

Keeping a watchful eye on the old wizard she carefully set the plate down on the table in front of them. She took a step back and looked at Elandar suspiciously. "There's your blasted boar, don't even think about trying anything."

The old man sputtered indignantly and muttered something under his breath.

"Thank you Sascha," Zanadar said, smiling pleasantly, "This looks very good. We appreciate it."

"You're welcome," she said, still watching Elandar closely. The wizard eagerly reached for the boar and began to tear off a large chunk of meat. Satisfied, Sascha slowly backed away from the table and went back to the other patrons.

Morgan helped himself to a fair sized portion and began to eat. He hadn't realized how hungry he actually was. "I'm still not comfortable with this," he said between mouthfuls.

"Morgan," Zanadar said, "Do you always do everything you're told?"

"Not always, no." he replied defensively, "But if Adlus wouldn't like-"

"Adlus doesn't know, he doesn't need to know and as much fun as it would be if he found out, he probably won't. I think you overestimate your beloved Minister, Morgan. I don't know if you'd noticed or not, but he's not exactly the most astute person in the world."

"But still-"

"Look at it this way," the big man said patiently, "What is the worst that could happen? He'll send you back to what you were doing before? That's the fun part about being at the bottom, there's no room to get demoted."

"Oh that's really reassuring." Morgan replied.

"But true!" Elandar cut in gleefully.

"All right, I couldn't get demoted. But I could be dismissed from the rangers altogether," Morgan said.

"Even better!" the old man said excitedly, "Then you'd be able to actually make something of yourself."

"The rangers are a good organization, you know." Morgan said, a bit annoyed. "We keep the roads safe, risking our own well being to do so, we keep a constant lookout for any danger even in the harshest conditions, and we don't ask for anything in return."

"And you're humble." Elandar added, "Don't forget humble."

"Well if you think the rangers are so useless then why are you so eager to work with one?"

Zanadar grinned. "You stepped right into that one, old man."

"I stepped into nothing!" he replied indignantly. "There was a time when the rangers provided a valuable service. Now they're little more than a foppish bunch of ne'er-do-wellers more worried about impressing the ladies than doing their jobs."

"Now that's just a bit unfair Elandar," Zanadar said, "look at Morgan - how many ladies do you think he's impressed lately?"

Morgan looked to the big man. "I thought you were on my side!" he said.

"I am on your side, I was defending you."

"I'm the one attacking you, you dandified little tenderfoot!" Elandar said, shaking a piece of meat wildly at the ranger.

Morgan rubbed his eyes wearily and looked at the two men sitting across from him. Well, he thought, at least it's not the road.

"You're not going to cry are you?" the old man asked, "that would be terribly embarrassing."

"No," Zanadar said, "But I think he may just brain you with his mug if you aren't careful." He gave Morgan an appraising look, "Isn't that right?"

Morgan brought himself back into focus. "I don't know," he said, smirking, "He may be too mighty."

The big man laughed deeply. "Yes, he very well may be."

It did not take long for the three men to finish their meal. Morgan still had reservations about keeping Adlus in the dark, but decided to let the matter drop for the time being. Elandar accompanying them may upset the Minister if he found out, but Morgan was willing to take that risk if it meant getting a real assignment. And although he was quite sure they'd never met before there was something about the old man that seemed oddly familiar.

Zanadar yawned expansively and set down his mug. "That was quite pleasant."

"If you say so," the old man complained, "I've had better."

The big man glanced at Elandar's empty plate. "You sure ate a lot of it," he said.

"Don't you look at me like that, I was hungry! I hadn't eaten all day."

"Poor neglected old man," Zanadar teased. "So then," he asked, looking to Morgan, "Now that we're fed, what is the next order of business?"

"Why are you asking him?" Elandar demanded incredulously.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want to ask him?"

Elandar scowled deeply at the big man. Zanadar laughed heartily and looked back to the ranger. "He looks positively silly when he gets himself all worked up like that," he grinned, "We've got a few hours before night fall yet. Why don't we make any preparations that are needed in that time and then head back here?"

"You want to spend the night here?" Morgan asked, "Adlus seemed to want us on our way as soon as possible."

"Adlus said we needed to leave by tomorrow morning at the latest, and I don't know about you but sleeping in a nice comfortable bed sounds much more appealing to me than sleeping in a nice comfortable pile of dirt off the side of the road. This is the last chance we'll likely have to get a good night's rest for a while, I'd take advantage of it," he grinned crookedly and gave a brief shrug, "But that's just me."

Morgan thought it over for a moment, weighing his options. He was eager to get back on the road but the big man had a point, and a warm, cozy bed sounded very appealing to him just now. "A good full night of sleep in a bed does sound fairly pleasant," he admitted.

"Oh, fairly pleasant!" Elandar echoed mockingly, "Offer the pup an alternative to sleeping on the cold ground and its only fairly pleasant. Old enough to carry a weapon but too young to appreciate a good, soft bed. I'm already frightened of him."

Zanadar rolled his eyes. "So we'll stay the night, Morgan?"

Morgan thought for a moment and then nodded. "I suppose if we leave early it shouldn't be too big of an issue. We'd just need to be quick about it."

"And so it shall be! King Tenderfoot has spoken!" Elandar proclaimed loudly. Several of the taverns patrons turned their heads towards the group, amusement in their eyes. "The world may continue now," the old man finished, with a dramatic sweep of his arm.

Morgan suddenly felt a bit foolish. He started to say something but Zanadar, seemingly sensing his discomfort, spoke up. "Oh hush you old windbag, Morgan just has a conscience. I know the great lengths you've gone through to lose yours, but despite what you think, it's still a good thing to have."

"It certainly is!" Elandar retorted, "Look how far it's gotten you, after all."

The big man narrowed his eyes, "How would you like me to tie your beard in a knot?"

The old man huffed, and turned away. Morgan couldn't help but laugh a bit at that. "Thanks," he said to Zanadar.

The big man smirked, "I tie good knots too. He'd never get it undone," he paused a moment, "We should probably be on our way then."

Morgan nodded as Zanadar waved his hand in the air, gesturing for Sascha, and began to unfasten the coin purse from his worn belt.

"There's no need for that Morgan," Zanadar stated simply, "I'll take care of this one."

"Nonsense, I ate my share and I'll pay for my share," the ranger said as he reached into the purse and pulled out a few small coins.

"Its quite alright, it was my idea to come here anyway."

"Actually it was my idea," Elandar reminded the big man.

"Why, you are absolutely right old man," Zanadar agreed, "Why don't you pay then?"

Elandar frowned, his bushy eyebrows moving seemingly independent of one another. "Never mind, it was your idea," he said.

"Just like I thought," the big man grinned.

Just then Sascha reappeared at the table, squeezing her way through the crowd. She gave the three men a severe look, "Are you ready to leave?"

Bolted

"I think we just about are, dear Sascha," Zanadar answered, "It seems we've just got two small issues to resolve before we're on our way. Maybe you could help us out."

"If this is some kind of trick..." she said dangerously, trailing off.

The big man laughed. "No tricks, I promise."

"Then what is it?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well," he began, "first, it seems our new young companion here is under the impression I'm going to let him pay for this absolutely delicious meal you've provided for us. Now, I tried to tell him that I would take care of it but he's insisting that he pay his share. Would you please be so kind as to tell him that I always pay?"

Sascha brightened a bit and looked to Morgan. "Zanadar always pays," she said sweetly, "because Elandar never can."

"See?" Zanadar said to the ranger, interrupting Elandar's lively protest, "I told you I always pay."

"That doesn't settle anything. I could have told you Elandar never paid for anything before you even asked Sascha," he said, as the old wizard sputtered indignantly, "And you can pay for Elandar if that makes you happy, but I will be paying my own way."

"Morgan, is it?" Sascha asked.

Morgan nodded, "Yes."

"He's impossible," she said knowingly, "believe me, he will not quit. I suggest you just let him pay for you and then try not to kill him when he acts all smug about it."

Morgan frowned. "Fine," he said after a moment, "But only if I can pay for the room tonight."

Her smile faded immediately, "Room tonight? I thought you said you were leaving?" She looked to Zanadar, "You said you were leaving!"

The big man leaned back in his chair. "It's so nice to be appreciated, you know. People can try to say that it doesn't matter, but they're just being humble. When someone loves your company this much..." he gestured at Sascha, "it really is heartwarming."

"You said you were leaving!" Sascha insisted.

"Well that was actually the second bit. You see, we're about to undertake a perilous, and very heroic mission to save the world," Zanadar explained, "but after thinking about it we decided it would be really very nice if we could get a good night's rest, just one last time, on a nice, soft bed before we go. Now, this fine establishment has rooms, I've stayed here before. So we figured... we're already here, why not just stay?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"You act all mean and tough," Zanadar said pleasantly, "but I know you'd be disappointed if we left."

"Oh I simply do not know what I'd do," Sascha responded, her voice laced in sarcasm. She sighed dramatically, "How many rooms do you need?"

"Two." the big man answered cheerfully, "That way Morgan can pay for his own still."

"That was a mean trick," Morgan accused.

Zanadar grinned. "I know, I'm a mean person."

"Our last two rooms for tonight," Sascha said. She held out her opened hand expectantly, "And not that I don't trust you, of course. But we'll need that up front."

"Oh, of course," Zanadar replied, counting out a small number of coins. He piled them neatly in Sascha's outstretched hand and smiled, "There you go!"

"Thanks," she said with a forced smile. She turned to Morgan, who was loosening the strings on his coinpurse, "And you," she continued, "can pay in the morning." With that, Sascha turned neatly on her heels and went back to the kitchen.

Morgan looked up in bewilderment, "Well, she seems nice enough."

The big man frowned, "She did that out of spite, you know."

"Maybe she just likes me more."

Elandar narrowed his eyes, "No, that couldn't be it."

Zanadar took one last drink from his tankard and set it down on the table. "Well," he said standing up, "We'd best be off then. There aren't many things that I need to get before we go, but I'd like to get as much sleep as possible tonight. So let's get moving."

The three men gathered up their belongings and exited the tavern. A brisk sea breeze greeted them as they emerged back onto the streets of New Targonor. Although evening was fast approaching, the sun still shown brightly and the city streets remained a hive of activity.

"What do you need to get, Morgan?" Zanadar asked.

"The only thing I really need to do is notify the stable master at the keep that we'll need our horses ready for tomorrow morning." He tapped the large traveling back slung over his shoulder, "I've got just about everything else I need in here."

"Good," the big man said. He glanced at Elandar, "most people don't come that prepared."

"Don't you look at me that way, I've got everything I need!"

"Anyway," Zanadar said, ignoring the wizard, "the smithy isn't far from your stables. We can stop there on the way."

"Fair enough," Morgan replied, "what do you need from the smithy?"

The big man tugged at the hilt of one of the large swords strapped across his back. "Repairs," he answered slyly.

Zanadar lead the way into the crowded streets, maneuvering with surprising agility through the throngs of people. Morgan struggled to keep up, dodging in and out of the way of workers and pushcarts. He was sure they would lose the grumpy old wizard moving at this speed, but every time he looked back to check, Elandar still followed closely, muttering to himself all the while. The old man certainly had spirit, Morgan gave him that.

At their pace, it was not long before they were standing in front of a slightly run down, old looking building. Its two stories were splotched with dark smoke spots and the tiled windows were covered by a thin layer of ash. The piercing, heavy metallic clang of metal striking metal rang out from inside the building, sending vibrations down Morgan's spine. Zanadar opened the door, just as another loud strike rang out from inside. Morgan winced involuntarily as he covered his ringing ears and followed the big man into the smithy.

The blacksmith's forge was dimly lit, and smelt of burning coals. A grimy smoke wafted through the air and seemed to stick upon everything it touched. Racks stuffed with various weapons and tools lined the walls and a long wooden counter split the room in two. Metal spikes and bolts lay strewn across its scarred top. Behind it an aging, barrel chested man stood hunched over the forge, his back to the door. He held in one hand a large hammer. The other was wrapped in a dirty looking rag and clung tightly to an iron handle protruding from the pulsing orange glow of the forge. He drew back the hammer to strike at the hot ember once more.

"Ho there, Grodek!" Zanadar called out.

The blacksmith brought the hammer crashing down, filling the room with a shrill ringing as sparks leapt silently away from his blow.

"I said, ho there, Grodek!" Zanadar called out again.

The smith brought his hammer clanging down upon the forge another time, paying the big man no attention. Zanadar frowned. Elandar muttered under his breath and pushed to the front, making his way towards the counter.

"Why do I always have to do everything myself?" he grumbled as he snatched one of the large metal bolts from the countertop and flung it at the oblivious blacksmith. The bolt sailed across the room and collided against the smithy's backside with a dull thud.

Grodek

"Zanadar!" he bellowed loudly, wiping the sweat from his brow, "I didn't hear you fellers come in."

The blacksmith groaned and set down his hammer. "My hearing isn't what it used to be, believe it or not," he said walking towards the counter.

"You don't say?" Zanadar joked, "I hadn't noticed."

Grodek laughed and leaned on the counter heavily. "It's been a while, what brings you to my shop?"

"Well, I need a repair to one of my blades. I need it done quickly though, is there any chance you could have it finished by tomorrow morning?"

The smith rubbed his chin contemplatively. "That's not much time, I'll have to see the damage."

Zanadar nodded and wrapped his hand around one of the large hilts protruding from over his shoulder. With one quick movement he drew the heavy sword from its sheath and held it in front of him, a noticeable dent had been etched into its side.

"That's a mighty big sword," Grodek said, "I'll never understand how it is you're able to use two of them fellers at once."

"He just wears them to look scary," Elandar stated as Zanadar set the sword down on the countertop.

Grodek leaned over the blade, examining it carefully. "That's an awful big dent," he observed, "How did you manage that one?"

Zanadar chuckled a bit uneasily. "It hit a piece of metal."

The smithy looked up from the sword. "That's it?" he asked, "that must have been some piece of metal." Grodek gave the big man an amused look, "I think you're holding back on me."

"Well, it was two pieces of metal really, I suppose. And it only damaged my blade because they were moving at an awkward angle."

The blacksmith grinned knowingly. "That's from another sword, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes it is," Zanadar admitted somewhat guiltily.

"So what was the second piece of metal then?"

"Well that was the armor of the fellow holding the sword," he answered.

Grodek winced and shook his head. "I don't even want to know."

"So do you think you'll be able to have it fixed by tomorrow morning?"

"I thought you knew me better than that, Zanadar!" Grodek answered, "Of course I can have it ready by tomorrow morning. The question is can you afford to pay me to have it ready by tomorrow morning?"

"Now there's the Grodek I know." Zanadar replied. He loosened the strings on his money purse and picked out a few shiny coins. He looked backed to Morgan, who had been standing quietly in the background as the two men talked. "I seem to be doing this a lot today," he said glumly. The big man turned back to the blacksmith. "You haven't gone and raised your prices on me, have you?"

Grodek held up his hands defensively. "I would never do such a thing. I still charge the same exorbitant amount for you as I always have."

"You could make him pay more, you know." Elandar suggested irritably.

"Nonsense," the blacksmith responded, "There was a time when Zanadar almost single-handedly kept me in business. I can only hope that a war will break out so your big friend has an excuse to go start breaking things again. I could really use a few new horses, or a bigger shop."

"That's a terrible thing to say," Zanadar said with a grin as he set the coins next to his sword on the counter.

"But it's true all the same!"

"Well, I can't really argue that."

"So," the blacksmith said pointing to Morgan, "Who is your friend back there?"

"Oh, how rude of me," the big man apologized, "Grodek, this is Morgan Derek."

Morgan gave the blacksmith a friendly nod, "Pleased to meet you."

"So what's your business with these two troublemakers, Morgan?" the blacksmith inquired.

"The three of us are headed out of the city on ranger business," Morgan explained, "Zanadar and I are assigned to work together."

Grodek frowned, his deep wrinkles creasing his forehead. "Well that was disgustingly vague," he said sourly, "I see Zanadar is already rubbing off on you."

"No, he came that way," Elandar responded crankily.

Zanadar laughed. "Well, he is a fast learner."

"So you're working with the rangers now?" Grodek pushed.

"It would seem that for the moment I am," the big man answered with a smile.

Grodek threw his hands up in the air. "Blast it all, try not to be too forthcoming there, Zanadar!" he said, "I wouldn't want you to give away any official state secrets or anything. Even for an old friend like me, it's just not worth it."

"You know you're right," Zanadar answered sardonically, "I ought to watch what I say. So you'll have the blade ready tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah, yeah," the blacksmith grumbled, "you can pick it up anytime after dawn."

The big man cringed, "I'm afraid we're going to be leaving a little earlier than that."

Grodek cursed. "So I get to work all night and get up early. I sure am glad my old friend Zanadar stopped by to visit today."

"That's the spirit!"

"I could certainly use a little 'spirits' right now, if you catch my drift," the smith said hopefully.

Zanadar laughed. "We will see you tomorrow morning, Grodek," he said with a wave, "Thank you very much, of course, for your time. It is greatly appreciated."

The three men made their way out of the blacksmith's shop and back into the city. The central keep loomed over the streets as the sun sank lower into the horizon. It was not far to the stables, and the group walked briskly out the inner gate and around the towering walls until they reached New Targonor's parade grounds.

The jousting fields Morgan had passed earlier were now empty, the riders from the morning had abandoned their training for the day hours ago and the field sat empty, save for a few squires grooming their masters steeds.

A long wooden structure sat apart a small distance from the field's grandstands. It was open from either end and both the noises and smell permeating from the building left no question in the minds of any unsure travelers that these were indeed the city's stables.

Inside, the ground was covered with a matted layer of dry hay. A variety of horses filled the stalls lining both walls, sticking their heads out eagerly as the three men passed, hoping for treats. The stables were not nearly as crowded as the streets outside. Only a few stable hands scurried back and forth, busily attending to the animals. Morgan led the group to the center of the building and stopped next to an open stall.

"Well hello there, Morgan!" a friendly sounding voice called from inside the stall.

Cornered

Morgan smiled politely. "Hello yourself, Renna."

A short, dark haired girl, who looked to be about the same age as Morgan emerged from the horse stall. She had a slender build and wore dark brown pants and a loose fitting grey tunic, bits and pieces of straw clung to her mussed hair. She rubbed her dark eyes wearily.

"Am I interrupting something?" Morgan asked.

"What?" Renna responded, confused.

Morgan pointed at the straw dangling from the girl's hair.

"Oh that!" she said brushing it away, "No you weren't interrupting anything. I was already awake anyway."

"Sleeping on the job?" Elandar gasped incredulously.

"Well I wouldn't say that," the girl said impishly, "more like working between naps." She turned her head slightly at the old man. "I don't believe we've met, I'm Renna!" she said, extending her hand.

Elandar ignored the gesture. "In my day we'd have been stoned for such insolence!" the old wizard spat angrily. "I ought to notify your superior."

"Her superior is Adlus," Morgan responded.

The old man cursed and took on a sour expression.

"Anyway," Morgan continued, "I do have a reason for being here-"

"Yes, yes, Minster Weasel sent word earlier."

"Sssh!" Morgan whispered, looking over his shoulder, "Not so loud, what if someone hears you? You really shouldn't speak of Adlus like that, so...openly."

"I sure hope the horses don't tell on me," she said sarcastically.

"Still," he said stubbornly, "it's not right."

Renna rolled her eyes. "All right, his esteemed Excellency Minister Adlus of New Targonor hath sent word to me, verily, of your impending arrival. He doth assure me in your company shall be one great oaf who doth respond to thy calling of Zanadar. Henceforth, upon your arrival, I, stablehand Renna am hereby obliged to offer you two mounts of unmatched quality for assistance in thy realm of speediness... verily."

The girl scanned the three men, her gaze stopping upon Zanadar. "You must be the oaf," she said, "Pleased to meet you!"

The big man frowned. "Did he really call me an oaf?"

"I'm afraid so," Renna nodded solemnly. "So..." she asked Morgan sweetly, "how is Gillian?"

"She's doing well." Morgan answered, "She'd be happy that you asked."

"Oh I'm sure she would be. Has she decided to come to the city yet?"

He shook his head. "No, she's still very at home in Tursh. I don't suspect that will change much anytime soon."

Renna wrinkled her nose. "I'll never know what it is you two see in that place. But I do know what when I finally convince Gillian to come to New Targonor that you'll be close behind." She smirked devilishly. "And then... you'll be in trouble Morgan Derek."

Zanadar raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind." Morgan said quickly, "About those horses?"

Renna laughed wickedly. "Of course!" she said, "For you, nothing but two of our finest animals."

Elandar cleared his throat loudly.

"Actually," Zanadar added, "we'll need three."

Renna looked to Morgan, he nodded. "We seemed to have gained another person."

"Oh, I don't know..." she trailed off playfully, "Minister Adlus specifically said there would be two of you. I wouldn't want to disobey him."

"Don't you even think about getting smart with us, you little nuisance!" Elandar squawked.

"I wasn't being smart, I promise. I am just trying to do a good job. I don't know what would happen if I were to give you three horses when instructed to only let you have two. Why, in your day I could be stoned for such insolence," she said tartly.

"Conniving wench!" the old man bellowed, nearly choking. "I ought to turn you into a horse!"

"Then I could kick you out of my stables with four feet instead of just two."

Morgan winced. "Let's not do anything drastic."

"I have to apologize for my venerable companion," Zanadar said, stepping in front of the old wizard, "He's very old, you see, and quite upset by the fact. He also won't fit on a horse with me, and as you can probably imagine, I don't think Morgan is particularly enthused by the prospect of sharing a mount with him either. If we had a third horse, you would be doing us a tremendous favor. There must be some way we can convince you."

Renna gave Morgan a pointed look. "You know what I want."

The ranger gulped heavily, he could feel himself blushing. "Could we just buy it, perhaps?" he asked.

"You know as well as I these horses aren't for sale Morgan," she said with a devastating grin.

Morgan squirmed about uneasily, from which Renna seemed to derive some sort of cruel pleasure. He looked to Zanadar, desperation in his eyes.

"Maybe we could rent one?" the big man interjected.

Renna sighed in disappointment and took her eyes off the ranger. "That sounds a lot like bribery to me."

"I apologize, I didn't mean to imply-"

"Lucky for you I'm very susceptible to bribes," she interrupted cheerfully, "How much have you got?"

Zanadar grumbled and once again loosened the strings on his coin purse and looked inside. "Not nearly as much as I had this morning," he muttered. He emptied the purse into his hand and counted out a few of the larger coins. "How's that?" he asked, showing them to Renna.

"It looks like a joke to me," she responded.

"I can match that," Morgan said, adding several more coins to the pile in Zanadar's hand.

"Now we're getting somewhere. What about you, old man?" she said to Elandar, "It is your horse, after all."

"Don't push your luck missy," he growled.

Renna laughed and tapped her chin absently as she thought. "I suppose that will do," she said and deftly snatched the coins from Zanadar. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you gentlemen."

"We'll stop by tomorrow morning just before dawn to pick up the horses," the big man said.

Renna cringed. "That's quite early."

"Good thing you had a nap." Elandar mumbled as they began to head towards the entrance.

"Good thing," she shot back. Renna smiled dangerously. "I'll see you tomorrow, Morgan."

Morgan gave an uneasy wave and followed the others back out onto the street. The three men began to walk back towards the tavern in silence. The streets remained busy, but a relaxed quiet had fallen over them as the sun gradually disappeared below the horizon. Morgan glanced over at Zanadar. The big man was grinning at him dumbly.

"Don't do that," the ranger said self-consciously.

Sleep at Last

"Don't do what? I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

The big man held his hands up defensively. "But I didn't say anything."

A surprised look suddenly shot across Elandar's face, his bushy eyebrows springing to life. He looked about excitedly. "Tenderfoot!" Elandar exclaimed in a hushed tone.

"What?" Morgan answered shortly, without thinking.

The old man leaned in closely, a conspiratorial look about him. "I think that crook running the stables fancies you," he whispered. Elandar took a step back and nodded sagely.

Morgan rolled his eyes and began walking faster. "We need to hurry up and get back to the tavern. We'll need all the sleep we can get tonight."

"She was pretty," Zanadar offered innocently, matching the ranger's pace.

"Shouldn't we be discussing the plan for tomorrow?" Morgan asked.

"There really isn't much to it, I'm afraid. We wake up, get my sword and the horses and then go to Rindol Field," the big man answered. "Who is Gillian?"

Morgan ignored the question.

"Are you courting her?" Zanadar asked. "Your wife perhaps?"

"Wife!" Elandar said. "He's just a boy. He's far too young to be married."

"I don't know Elandar," the big man replied. "Maybe it's a political marriage."

"...and that's why he doesn't walk to talk about it," the old man finished.

"Exactly."

"And that lawless rogue Renna?"

"Well she is just his mistress in the city," Zanadar explained.

"All right!" Morgan said finally, throwing his hands in the air. "She is my sister."

"Who?" Elandar asked.

"Gillian!"

"Ah, now it's all beginning to make sense," Zanadar replied knowingly.

"I told you he was too young to be married," the wizard said. "My advice to you, boy, is to never burden yourself with marriage. Especially not to your sister."

Morgan tried to think of a response, but the best he could muster was a strongly disgusted look.

"You are demented, old man," Zanadar accused. "So Gillian lives in Tursh?"

"Yes," Morgan answered, "she does."

"And Renna wants her to come and live in New Targonor?"

"Yes," Morgan said cautiously, "that is correct."

"What do you think of that idea?"

Morgan turned abruptly. "Why are you interrogating me?"

"Just making conversation," the big man said with a grin.

Soon the three men had made their way back to the tavern on the far end of the city. Thick torches illuminated the side of the building, their flames dancing silently into the crisp night air. Morgan could hear music coming from inside, accompanied by loud voices and occasional bouts of laughter.

The door to the tavern suddenly flew open, flooding the street with the familiar stench of beer and sweat. A short, portly man stumbled out of the entrance and rudely pushed his way past Morgan before staggering off into the darkness. The door began to swing back shut but Zanadar caught it. He gestured for the others to enter.

The inside of the tavern was a sharp contrast to the relative peacefulness of the evening's streets. A small troupe in the corner of the building performed a merry, upbeat tune while the more jovial patrons drunkenly sang along. Workers, retired for the day, lined the walls of the bustling tavern making passage through the crowd difficult.

"You are in rooms five and six. And no matter what the drunk in the common room tells you, room five does not belong to him," a muffled voice called out from somewhere in the crowd.

Morgan scanned the area, attempting to find the source of the voice. A large, heavy-set man standing directly in front of the ranger suddenly lurched forward, as if struck from the other side. Sascha stepped calmly out from behind him, an annoyed look on her face.

"Next time move!" she hollered at the patron. She narrowed her eyes at the three men and held up her hand. Two keys dangled from her clenched fist.

"Thank you," Zanadar said pleasantly, reaching for the keys. Sascha snatched them away at the last second.

"Not so fast," the barmaid said. "You three will be going straight up to bed. I don't need any more trouble down here tonight, and you...," she pointed at Elandar, "are always trouble."

"Blasted wench, I've never done anything wrong."

"What did you just call me?"

"Never mind him," Morgan said. "That sounds fine to us. We were planning on going straight up to bed anyway and we will be out of your hair before dawn tomorrow morning." He shifted the traveling pack on his shoulder and pulled a coin from the small pouch on his belt. "In fact," the ranger continued, "why don't you take this now so we can just leave tomorrow without disturbing you?"

Sascha's harsh gaze softened a bit. "That will work just fine. Thank you," she said and took the coin. With that, Sascha handed him the keys, then promptly turned and went back to the other patrons.

"Very diplomatic Morgan," the big man approved. "You do learn fast."

"I just want to get this pack off my back," he replied. He looked down at his hand. "Do you want room five or six?"

"We'll take six," Elandar stated.

Zanadar shrugged. "Six sounds good."

Morgan handed the big man the key and lead the way through the crowd towards the rickety staircase at the far end of the building. The second story of the tavern was centered around a single hallway leading from the stairs to a dark common room on the opposite side of the floor. Three doors lined each side of the hall adjacent to one another. Rough looking numbers had been crudely etched into the center of each of the heavy wooden frames.

"Don't worry, its more comfortable than it looks," Zanadar said in a reassuring voice.

"I wasn't worried, it looks fine to me. I'm used to the ground and I doubt it could be any less comfortable than that," Morgan answered as he found the room with a five etched above the door.

Zanadar unlocked and opened the door to his room. "You're probably right. If it were less comfortable than the ground they wouldn't get very much business," he grinned, "now would they?"

"Enough talking!" Elandar scolded harshly. "I'm tired." The cranky wizard tried to push his way past Zanadar. "Get out of my way, meathead."

"And even if it's not very comfortable," the big man continued with a sidelong glance in the old man's direction, "at least you don't have to share a room with him."

Morgan laughed softly. "Very true."

"Good night," Zanadar said.

"Good night to you," he replied as the big man and Elandar disappeared into their room for the night. Morgan wasted no time in unlocking the door in front of him and entered.

The room was small, only a bed and a worn looking desk occupied the floor. A smeared window overlooking the alley to the side of the tavern provided the only source of light. The dim glow of the moon filtered through the dirty glass and settled gently around the room. It looked as if there had once been cloth drapes covering the window, but only their ripped corners now remained hooked to the wall.

Morgan set his pack on the floor and took a seat on the bed. It was surprisingly soft. The big man had been right. He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. The noise from below was plainly audible, though the music seemed to have stopped for the time being at least. He could hear staggered snoring from the common room and the smell was not much better upstairs than down, but Morgan did not care. He was tired. The previous night's hurried trek from Tursh had worn him out, and he had much on his mind.

He untied the straps holding his traveling pack closed and quietly opened the top, peering in at its contents. A dark leather wrapped hilt poked out through the opening. He thought for a moment then grabbed the hilt and tugged. A blackened, sturdy looking mace slowly worked its way free from the pack. Its shadowy-colored metal was light, making it easy to wield. He had another just like it in his pack.

Morgan turned the mace over in his hand as he thought. He had not expected Adlus to give him a real assignment. And though he was eager for the chance to prove himself, he was more than a little nervous at the prospect of it all. What if there was something in Rindol Field? For that matter, why had this task been assigned to him? What could be occupying the more seasoned rangers to the east in the highlands?

Morgan could not help but chuckle in spite of himself. He doubted that last bit was even true. Adlus had a flair for the dramatic and an even greater affinity for making situations seem much worse than they actually were.

More unexpected still though, was the addition of Zanadar and the cranky old man claiming to be a 'mighty wizard' to his assignment. Perhaps Adlus had sent Zanadar along simply to watch over him, to make sure that he did not foul up the job. Morgan knew better though. It was true, he was a novice, but he was more than capable of taking care of himself and handling matters with discretion. The Minister may not be the most learned man in the city, but he must know that.

So why send Zanadar? The question nagged at Morgan, hanging in front of him, the answer just beyond his reach. The only explanation he could offer was that the big man had been sent because Adlus was not sure he could handle whatever the problem was alone. Zanadar seemed like an intelligent person though. If that were indeed the case why would he bring a frail, delusional old man? Neither of them were even rangers.

The more Morgan thought the more unanswered questions he had. He liked Zanadar though, and knowing that the big man would be there in the event trouble should arise comforted him. Elandar, however, was a different matter entirely. Elandar worried Morgan.

Just then, a sharp pounding erupted from the entrance to the room. Someone was banging violently on the other side of the ranger's door. He tensed and instinctively tightened his grip on the mace, and waited.

You're in My Room

The pounding continued in erratic bursts, subsiding for brief moments before beginning again. Morgan stood up and silently began to inch his way towards the door. If it were Zanadar or the old man they surely would have said something by now.

He leaned in close to the door. The heavy wood shook on its hinges with each hit, sending small clouds of dust billowing into the room.

"Who's there?" he called out cautiously.

The banging stopped abruptly.

"I am," a high-pitched, nasal voice replied after a moment.

That didn't help him much. Morgan frowned.

"What do you want?"

"You're in my room," the voice whined pathetically.

Morgan let out a relaxed breath and loosened the grip on his mace. It was only the drunk Sascha had warned about earlier. He fumbled briefly with the lock, then pulled the door open slightly and peered out through the narrow crack.

In the dim light of the hallway stood a sickly-looking, wiry man dressed in rags. His sunken cheeks and long, pockmarked face gave him an emaciated appearance. A thin, scraggly beard grew in patches around his jaw, and dark circles sat heavily under his eyes. His dirty hair was matted across his forehead. The man was filthy.

Morgan shrank back immediately, disgusted. The drunk's warm breath was putrid, and his stench was thick in the air.

"You're in my room," he repeated, his dry rasp more agitated this time.

"I'm sorry, but you're mistaken friend," Morgan replied, doing his best to avoid the smell. "This is my room. At least it is for tonight."

"You're in my room," the drunk's voice grew steadily louder. "Get out of my room!"

"I'm sorry," the ranger said and began pulling the handle closed.

The filthy man slammed his fist into the door with surprising force. Morgan stumbled back a step, dropping his mace. He heard it hit the floor somewhere behind him. It rolled back loudly before finally settling.

"No!" he shouted angrily at the ranger, his voice stinging with desperation. "Get out of my room!"

The drunk lowered his head and lunged towards the open entrance. Morgan quickly regained his composure and started to swing the heavy door shut. A sickening thud rattled through the frame and up the ranger's arm as the wiry man collided with the thick wood. He heard the drunk stagger back and fall to the ground cursing. Morgan pulled the door open to see him climbing back to his feet, clumsily attempting to regain his balance. A foamy stream of drool dripped out of the corner of his mouth and down the dirty man's chin.

"Please," Morgan said, "I do not want to hurt you. This is my room, just go away."

The drunk paid no attention to Morgan's pleas. His eyes were glazed with a frenzied madness. He clenched his fists tightly and with a blind rage, charged at the ranger.

This time Morgan was ready. He deflected the first blow and sent the filthy man's fist slamming into the doorframe. The drunk screamed in pain as large splinters painfully dug into his knuckles. The ranger kicked the side of the man's knee causing it to twist and buckle awkwardly. He then took a step back and hurled his fist directly at the drunk, catching him squarely in the jaw.

The wiry man's screams stopped instantly. He toppled to the ground, falling to a crumpled heap at the center of the hallway. Morgan mumbled a curse under his breath and rubbed his hand. He'd swung a bit harder than he had meant to. He sighed and knelt down next to the man. He was not seriously injured, although when he awoke he would not be very happy.

Morgan looked over the unconscious drunk for a moment, examining him. The dim light of the hall made it hard to see his wounds clearly. His jaw was already beginning to bruise and swell - there was nothing Morgan could do about that. The drunk's right hand was smeared with blood. It trickled slowly through his fingers and onto the ground.

Two large splinters had broken from the frame and lodged themselves firmly into the man's knuckles. His hand twitched slightly, and his blood was already beginning to clot around the slivers. Morgan leaned in closely, inspecting the wounded hand. The splinters were not too deep and should be fairly easy to remove. The injury could have been much worse, the drunk was lucky that he was not stronger.

With a skilled hand, Morgan slowly twisted one of the pieces of wood and slid it free from the man's hand. He held the jagged splinter in his palm for a moment. It looked to be largely intact. Nothing had broken off inside the drunk's hand. He discarded the sliver and then carefully removed the second in the same fashion.

When he was finished, he set the man's arm back down on the floor. Morgan sat back on his knees and thought for a moment. "I can't really just leave you here," he said. Morgan scanned the area, his eyes coming to rest on the dark room at the end of the hallway. "You probably came from there, might as well put you back."

The ranger stood up, placed his hands under the drunk's arms and pulled the unconscious man down the hall to the edge of the common room. He could hear snores drifting out of the darkness, it sounded as if there were already several people asleep in the room. He leaned the man against the wall gently. "There," he said, standing up.

Morgan walked back to his room and shut the door behind him. He removed his boots, and then flopped rather unceremoniously onto the bed.

Morning came much sooner than Morgan would have liked. He was awakened by a loud knocking on his door. He sat up in bed and yawned, it was still dark outside. The knocking continued. Morgan slipped out of bed and quietly picked his mace up off the ground. He walked cautiously towards the door, readying himself.

"Who is it?" he called out.

"Its me," Zanadar's voice answered.

Morgan lowered his weapon, relieved. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, Zanadar stood in the hallway. He was already fully armored and carried a fair-sized saddlebag that looked to be about half full. He gazed at Morgan peculiarly.

"Expecting someone else?" the big man asked.

Morgan gave him a confused look.

"Unless that's for me," he said, pointing at the mace, "in which case I'd just as soon go back to bed, if it's all the same to you."

"Oh, that," Morgan replied, looking down at the dark, steel weapon in his hand. "Long story."

"I bet," the big man said with a grin, as Morgan put the mace on his bed and sat down to put on his boots. "Does it have anything to do with the blood on the floor out there and the sickly looking fellow with a swollen face propped up against the wall?"

Morgan cringed. "You knew what happened before you even came in here," he accused.

Zanadar just shrugged and continued grinning smugly.

"How bad does he look?" the ranger asked.

"Oh he looks absolutely dreadful, but you're only responsible for the bruises on his face. I suspect a strong drinking habit and a frighteningly ugly mother are to blame for the rest."

"What about his hand?"

"It's fine, just a few small cuts. How did that happen anyway? Those puncture wounds were oddly shaped, almost like teeth."

"He punched the door."

"...and it bit him?"

"Sort of," the ranger answered as he finished tying his boots.

"Well," Zanadar said, holding up a mailed hand. "I'm glad I wore these."

Morgan snatched his mace off the bed and placed it back into his pack. He stood up and slung its straps over his shoulder. "All right, let's go. Elandar is downstairs waiting for us, I assume?"

"You assume correctly."

The two men walked out of the room and back into the hallway. The drunk still lay against the wall near the entrance to the common room. He was asleep and breathed deeply, wheezing loudly as his chest rose and fell. Morgan shut the door and locked it.

"I hope he's not hurt too bad," he said.

"Don't worry about it, Morgan," the big man replied. "He had it coming anyway, making all that noise."

Morgan turned. "You heard him?"

"How could I not?"

"And you didn't come out to help?"

Zanadar shrugged. "You seemed to have the situation under control. No need for me to get in the way."

"Thanks." Morgan said dryly.

Catch

The tavern was much quieter now. The crowd had nearly dissipated completely, a few of the more slovenly patrons had passed out in their seats at some point during the night and the musical troupe had long since left. Behind the bar, the innkeeper dozed peacefully.

Elandar sat quietly in his chair at the far corner of the room. He glared at the two men as they descended the staircase.

"You certainly took long enough," the old man said.

"We were talking," Zanadar replied.

"Oh? Did Tenderfoot explain about the bloodied up drunk?"

"Yes he did."

"I'm right here, you know," Morgan cut in.

"Give me your key," Zanadar said to the ranger, "I'll go put them back."

Morgan handed the big man the key to his room. He quietly stepped behind the bar and walked just past the sleeping innkeeper, to where a small row of metal rungs hung from the wall. Zanadar hung the keys up and then silently crept back to the others.

"Its bad luck to beat up a drunk," Elandar scolded.

"There was no avoiding it," Morgan explained, "I tried not to hurt him too badly."

"Oh, I'm sure you tried valiantly. As soon as the meathead is ready we can go... if we pass any small children or old women on the way, try not to beat them up."

"I've been ready to go," Zanadar said.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get this over with."

"Fine by me, lead the way old man."

Elandar huffed and leaned on his staff as he stood up. His joints creaked audibly as he walked out the door, causing the old wizard to leave a foul string of curses in his wake.

Zanadar cringed as he looked to Morgan. "That's what we have to look forward to. Depressing, isn't it?"

"I heard that!" Elandar yelled from outside.

The early morning's streets were nearly empty, as they would remain until dawn. With the sun would come workers, merchants and travelers of all sorts - but for now, the city was quiet. They made good time due to the sparsely populated streets, passing the occasional guard or street urchin.

Soon, Grodek's smithy sat plainly in view. A faint glow emanated from the dirty windows and the familiar call of metal striking metal pierced through the crisp ocean air. Zanadar stopped short, causing Morgan to almost run into him.

"That's odd," the big man said.

"What?" Morgan asked.

"Grodek doesn't normally work before sunrise."

"Maybe he's still working on your sword?" the ranger offered.

"Maybe." Zanadar replied. He did not sound convinced. "That'd be awful out of character for him though."

"He's probably just drunk and doesn't know what time it is." Elandar said.

"Now that would be much more like him."

The big man had barely finished speaking when a series of loud crashes rang out from the building. A deep, haggard voice screamed viciously from inside. It was human, but primitive, like a cornered animal fighting for its life.

"That's Grodek," Zanadar said sharply. He dropped his bag and took off running towards the entrance.

Morgan started to speak, but decided against it and ran after the big man. He had trouble keeping up with Zanadar's long strides. Despite his armor and gear, he was surprisingly quick. Morgan could hear more shouting as he raced closer to the building.

Zanadar lowered his shoulder as he neared the heavy wooden door. He let out an angry yell and crashed through it forcefully, bringing the door and sizable part of the frame with him. With a tremendous blast, the door was ripped savagely from the wall. It splintered loudly and crashed onto the floor of the smithy. Zanadar rushed in after it, not losing a step.

It was dark inside, the only illumination the dull pulsing of the embers from the forge. The inside of the building had been thrashed. The long table at the center of the room lay overturned and many of the racks and shelves lining the walls had spilled their contents onto the floor below or sat broken on the ground. The smith's tools were scattered about the floor in disarray.

An overbearing tension hung heavily the room. A man lay face down next to the forge, unmoving. A large sword sat broken on the ground beside him.

Next to it, Grodek stood hunched over, his back to the wall. The stocky man's head was dirty, and bleeding. He gripped his hammer tightly, teeth bared. His muscled arms glistened with sweat, reflecting the orange glow of the forge. They rose and fell with his broad shoulders as the smith breathed deeply. He grinned weakly at the big man.

Four other men also stood in the room, and were staring at the door with startled looks on their faces. They were dressed in dark clothing and wielded a variety of simple cudgels and small blades.

Zanadar stopped, and considered the area coolly for a moment. Morgan slid in behind him, peering wide-eyed at the tattered door fame.

"There are a few possible outcomes to this situation," the big man explained calmly. "And I'll be honest, none of them are terribly pleasant for you gentlemen. But if you run away right now and you promise me I'll never see any of you again... I may let some of you continue to breathe." He reached down and slowly picked up a large wooden board from the broken door off the ground and patted it suggestively. "What's it going to be?"

One of the intruders, a short grimy looking man, pulled a jagged knife from his belt and sent it flying through the air at Zanadar.

"They're the ones!" the man screamed.

Zanadar stepped aside easily as the blade sailed past and smacked against the wall behind him. He grinned dangerously and gave the man who had thrown the knife an amused look.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

The short man fumbled with his belt as Zanadar charged, trying desperately to draw another knife. But the big man was too fast, he drew back and with a rumbling growl he swung the large board upwards. He connected with a devastating blow directly under the man's chin, lifting him off his feet. He landed on his back with a heavy thud and lay still.

The entire room then suddenly began to move at once. A wild-eyed, bulky man brandishing a cudgel rushed towards Morgan. The two other men were larger, each wielding sharp looking short swords, they closed on Zanadar slowly.

Morgan leapt out of the way as the bulky man lunged at him with his cudgel, narrowly missing him. He stumbled back and let his pack fall to the floor, there would be no time to get his weapons from inside of it. Morgan scanned the area around him, trying to find something he could use to defend himself.

He grabbed a large iron hook off the wall and brought it up just in time to beat away another blow. The strike sent vibrations reverberating up the hook and through Morgan's body. He fended away another attack, and then another. He was losing ground quickly. He needed to find an opening.

"Catch!" he heard Zanadar's voice call out.

The bulky man ignored the yell and raised his arms above his head, readying to strike again. For a brief moment a large dark shape appeared over the attacker. Morgan braced himself as the bulky man spun around just in time to see the body of one of the other intruders come crashing down upon him. The two men tumbled to the ground hard, in a mess of knees and elbows. The wild-eyed attacker clawed violently at the unconscious man on top of him, trying to wriggle free.

Morgan looked across the room over to Zanadar. The short man still lay on the floor unmoving. The larger was picking himself up off the ground, a vengeful look in his eyes. He leapt up and swung his short sword at the big man in a blind rage. Zanadar effortlessly stepped out of the blade's path and brought his board crashing down upon the man's head. A loud snap shot through the room as the wooden board splintered in half.

The big man met the ranger's gaze, then grinned and shrugged innocently. He dropped the now useless piece of wood as the intruder toppled to the ground in a heap.

The wild-eyed attacker finally managed to pull himself out from under the unconscious man and jumped to his feet, ready to fight. He surveyed the room for a moment, then dropped his cudgel and ran towards the door.

"Don't let him get away!" Zanadar yelled.

Morgan took careful aim and threw the metal hook at the fleeing attacker. It rapped him sharply on the back of the knee, buckling his leg. He stumbled and fell through the empty door frame, his head meeting the hard ground outside. He turned over wearily and reached for the knife in his belt but instead met with the end of a worn old staff, which thumped him painfully across the forehead and into unconsciousness.

Elandar, carrying the big man's saddlebags, stepped in over the body and eyed his surroundings.

"That was easy," he said snootily as he tossed the bags onto the floor. "What a bunch of amateurs."

Not Even Locked

"Thanks old man," Zanadar said sardonically, "We couldn't have done it without you." He turned to the blacksmith. "Are you all right, Grodek?"

"Your head is bleeding," Morgan observed. "Let me take a look at it."

Grodek rubbed his bald head and then held his hand out in front of him, examining it. "It's just a scratch, I'm fine, boy." The smith pointed at the gaping hole where the door had been. "It wasn't even locked you dumb brute!" he roared.

"I guess that's a yes," Zanadar said. He started to absently collect the attackers' weapons and put them in a pile on the floor. "You're welcome, by the way."

"I could have handled it just fine," Grodek responded sourly. He turned around, looking at all the mess. He cursed loudly. "Will someone please tell me, what, exactly that was all about?" he yelled furiously.

"Well I couldn't say for certain, but I believe those men came in here with the intent to attack you," Elandar stated.

Zanadar grabbed a large coil of rope from a hook hanging on the wall and began to bind the men's arms and legs.

The smith glared angrily at the old man. "Don't try me, Elandar."

"They probably came here to rob you and you just caught them by surprise," the big man said as he finished tying up one of the attackers.

Grodek stepped over one of the unconscious men, knelt down, and began to lift up the long wooden table that had been pushed on its side. "Don't think that I buy that nonsense for a second, Zanadar."

"Why not?"

Grodek stared at the big man coldly.

Morgan thought for a moment. "Grodek may be right," he said hesitantly.

Zanadar and the old man shared a brief, uneasy look. "What makes you say that?" he asked, his voice neutral.

"That one," he pointed to the grimy man who now lay bound tightly on the floor, "He said, 'they're the ones'. We are the ones what? What is that supposed to mean? Unless..."

"They were here for you Zanadar," the smith growled, "Who did you kill this time? Why are you in trouble?"

"Oh quit jumping to conclusions," the big man said irritably, "You always assume the worst."

"And I'm always right!" Grodek spat back. "They weren't surprised at all when they came in here and saw me." The smith's eyes widened. "They even knew I was working on your sword!"

Zanadar folded his arms across his chest. "How is that?" he said flatly.

Grodek pointed to the broken sword lying near the forge. "That was the first thing they went for. They didn't even try to attack me until I brained one of them with my hammer." He shook his fist angrily. "Blast it all, this is your fault!"

Zanadar peered at the large worthless blade on the ground. "You let them break my sword?" he accused.

"Five armed men sneak into my forge in the dead of the night and try to kill me." Grodek sputtered, "Yes, I let them break your sword."

"He didn't use them both at once anyway," Elandar cut in. He poked his staff at one of the bound men on the ground. "My, aren't you an ugly one?"

The big man sighed. "No matter," he said. "The important thing is that you were not seriously hurt. I don't need them both right now, I suppose."

"Told you," Elandar added.

"Spare me the sincerity," the blacksmith responded, "I don't need any more trouble here. Why are they after you?"

Zanadar glanced back at the old man. He was giving him a withering look. "I guess we had better ask one," the big man said, turning back to Grodek.

He walked over to the grimy man who had thrown the knife at him. The man still lay unmoving in the spot he had fallen. His arms and legs had both been tied tightly behind his back. Even if he were conscious, he would not have been able to move.

Zanadar pushed at him with his boot. "Wake up."

The man did not budge. Zanadar sighed and knelt down next to him. "Wake up," he repeated, shaking the man's shoulders. Still, he did not move. The big man mumbled something under his breath and stood up. "He's being difficult."

"So, maybe you should try another one then," Grodek pushed.

Zanadar glared at the smith. "Maybe I will," he shot back.

"Its nice to see that we are not above acting like children," Elandar commented. The two men ignored him.

The big man knelt beside one of the other attackers and shook him by his shoulders, the attacker's dark curly hair flipped about wildly. "You had better wake up," he threatened.

The man groaned and began to squirm. Zanadar dragged him along the floor a few feet and sat him upright against the wooden wall. He was about average height and had a stocky build, short, tangled hair and a mangy black beard. Zanadar knelt down directly in front of the man and leaned in closely. "Open your eyes," he ordered.

The man groaned again and wearily began to open his eyes. They were dark, and very bloodshot. As his vision came into focus, he noticed Zanadar kneeling in front of him. His eyes widened in surprise and he attempted to spring to his feet, managing only to knock himself over as he fought against his bindings. From the floor, he saw the rest of the attackers with their arms and legs tied neatly together and lying about on the hard floor of the smithy. He leaned himself back up against the wall and looked directly at Zanadar.

"What do you want?" he asked, his haggard voice defiant.

The big man laughed. "Funny question for you to be asking me, don't you think?"

"If you were going to kill me you'd have done it already," the man replied, "What do you want?"

"Straight forward enough, I can admire that," Zanadar said pleasantly. He then looked his captive directly in the eye and spoke again, his voice taking a much more serious tone. "Let's start with why you broke into the forge and tried to hurt my friend."

"Grodek is reputed to make quality blades. We came here to rob him. We did not think he'd be here."

The big man nodded. "I see," he said. He stood up and looked down at the man. "Thank you."

The bound man seemed to ease back into the wall as Zanadar walked over to the table. Grodek began to protest.

"What kind interrogation was tha-" the smith was cut off as Zanadar held up a finger and grinned. He picked up a large pair of iron tongs and turned back to the attacker.

"Open your mouth," he said, returning to the man's side.

"Why?" the attacker asked, eyeing the tongs worriedly.

"So I can rip out your tongue. If all you're going to do is lie, you might as well not have it."

A look of panic shot across the bound attacker's face. "I told you the truth. I swear it."

"Then I apologize." Zanadar replied, "Now, open wide." With one large hand, the big man held the attacker's head back against the wall. "This is going to hurt a lot," he said as he slowly lowered the tongs down into the man's mouth. Despite the bound attacker's struggles, he clasped the tongue firmly between the tong's pincers and gave it a sharp tug.

Morgan started to say something, but was hushed by Elandar. The old man gave the ranger an assuring wave and then went back to happily watching Zanadar.

The man's head jarred forward as he screamed. He tried to speak, nearly choking himself in the process. Zanadar removed the tongs from his mouth.

"Did you have something to say?" he asked.

The man cursed. "You're a lunatic!" he yelled.

Zanadar nodded. "Was that it, then?" he asked as he began to lower the tongs back towards the attacker's face.

"Wait!" the man said urgently.

Zanadar raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"All right... we didn't come to rob Grodek."

"You don't say?"

"We were sent for you three," he said, giving the big man an icy stare.

"Us three!" Morgan repeated incredulously. "What did I do?"

The man smirked grimly. "Maybe it's the company you keep, boy."

"Who sent you?" Zanadar asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know."

Grodek slammed his fist on to the table. "What do you mean you don't know?" he demanded.

The attacker nodded towards the grimy man on the floor next to him. "He's the one who hired us. If you want to know who ordered it, ask him. I don't ask questions, I just get paid."

Zanadar frowned.

"Maybe you shouldn't have hit that one so hard." Elandar offered.

"You're not really helping, old man," he replied. He looked back to the captive. "How did you know where we'd be?"

"He told us," the bound attacker again looked back towards the man on the floor. "When we met up with him a few hours ago most of us came here, but he sent a few somewhere else. Listen, I was just doing what I was told. He promised we wouldn't have to kill anyone."

"Wouldn't have to kill anyone? Is that why you messed up my forge with all those weapons of yours?" Grodek fumed. "If Zanadar isn't going to do it, I'll rip your tongue out myself." The smith started towards the man.

The big man held up a hand. "One minute, Grodek. Then he's all yours, I promise." He studied the captive for a moment. "You said there were others. Where are they now?"

"They went somewhere else, they won't be coming here."

"You know, you're starting to irritate me." Zanadar grabbed the man's throat and began to squeeze. "Are you going to answer my question or not?"

"The stables," the man coughed, "They went to the stables."

An ill feeling began to creep through Morgan. The color drained from his face. Renna. The ranger grabbed his pack from the ground and raced out the broken doorway.

Doors Beware

He vaguely heard someone call out behind him, but ignored it, instead willing himself to run faster.

The predawn streets were for the most part empty, affording Morgan ample space to frantically dig in his pack as he ran through the city. He tried to draw one of the dark steel maces, but it caught sharply on something. He tugged harder and heard a rip as the mace slid free. Morgan flung the pack onto his back and continued to run. Sweat was beginning to appear on his forehead as he drew the second mace out from over his shoulder.

By the time Morgan reached the stables the muscles in his legs burned painfully. The main doors were closed, as they should be at this time of the morning. The building sat quietly in the darkness. From the outside, it looked to be undisturbed.

Morgan breathed heavily and carefully tested the main door. Locked. He put his ear to the wooden wall and listened. He could hear some faint shuffling from inside, but nothing else. He stepped softly in the loose dirt that ran along the side of the building, cautiously making his way along the outer wall until he had circled around to the back end of the stables.

The rear entrance hung opened widely. The faint light that should be spilling out behind the building was absent. He steadied his breath and slowly crept towards the door. As he neared the entrance Morgan could hear the shuffling, it was much clearer now.

He edged closer, and peered around the door. It was dark inside. He could make out the edges of two rows of stalls and not much more. Moving guardedly, Morgan stepped inside. Many of the horses treaded about nervously, peering wide-eyed into the darkness, their hooves making the rough shuffling sound as they crunched the dry hay beneath them.

Morgan heard a sound. His head shot up as he tried to pinpoint the source. It had come from somewhere near the center of the building. It sounded like a person. He pushed farther into the stables, keeping close to the wooden walls. He stayed below the heads of the horses, so as to not spook them and draw unwanted attention to his presence. Just ahead of him, one of the stall doors hung open.

The ranger paused for a moment, silently debating the best course of action. If there were more of those men in here, he may not be able to scare them all off. For that matter, he now stood alone more or less directly at the center of the stables. Suddenly he felt a bit foolish. It was too late to turn back now. He frowned inwardly and slowly poked his head around the corner.

A dark shape lay in a heap in the middle of the stall. Morgan strained to make out any detail in the darkness. It was a body. Something was protruding from its back. A hilt, from a small blade or dagger, maybe. His heart sank. They had already been here. He was too late.

The ranger forced his eyes from the body and continued to scan the stall. A small wooden stool rested on its side on the dirt floor against the wall, it looked to have been kicked over. It was Renna's. The slender girl sometimes had trouble grooming the heads of the taller horses on her own.

Then he heard the noise again, a whimper. It came from the back of the dark stall. It was definitely a person. He listened closer. He could distinctly hear breathing. It was uneven though and erratic.

"Renna?" Morgan whispered.

He heard the girl's breath catch, and a startled rustling.

"Renna?" he whispered again, more anxiously this time. "Are you all right?"

There was a pause.

"Morgan... is that you?" he heard her voice whisper back.

He rushed into the stall, nearly tripping over the body in the center. Renna sat huddled up in the back corner. Her legs were pulled closely and tucked beneath her arms. The girl's small frame was trembling. Tears rolled down her face.

"It's me," Morgan replied, "Are you hurt?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but could only manage to stare at the dead man. Morgan moved to block her view of the body. His foot crunched loudly on some hay. He glanced nervously over his shoulder and out into the darkened stables.

"Are you hurt?" he repeated hurriedly.

She shook her head meekly.

"Can you walk? We need to get out of here."

Renna wiped at her eyes and sniffed. "I think so," she said quietly. She took Morgan's hand and slowly pulled herself to her feet. She glanced down at the man lying on the ground. Immediately tears began to well up in her eyes once more.

"Don't look at it," Morgan said gently as he guided her past the body. He poked his head out of the stall and looked both ways. Even with the faint light leaking in through the back entrance, the building was still dark. He did not see anything, though it did little to assure him that no one was there.

The ranger cautiously led Renna out into the center of the stables. Staying close to the wooden stall doors, they began to creep back towards the rear entrance. The young stable hand stumbled lightly a few times, but caught herself. As they neared the back door, a loud shout rang out from just outside the main entrance. It was deep and barbaric sounding.

"Go! Quickly!" Morgan exclaimed urgently, dropping the whisper. But before either of them had the chance to reach the back, the front doors were blast open. The lock was blown off and shot forward into the stables several paces. A resounding clap echoed through the building as the main doors smacked violently against the front wall. Their hinges screamed in protest, but held. Renna gripped Morgan's arm tightly.

The moon's dim light poured into the stables, illuminating the inside of the building with a soft, pale glow. Several horses reared up in their stalls and cried out, spooked by the sudden disturbance. Morgan tightened his grip on his maces and whirled around to face the entrance, ready to fight.

Zanadar stood planted in the doorway. The big man's armor glistened casually in the moonlight. He held his large sword at his side and gazed into the room with an icy glare. Elandar stood behind him. The old man looked into the stables for a moment then turned up his nose.

"Where are all the thugs?" he asked impatiently.

Zanadar lowered his sword. "I don't see any," he said, his voice somewhat disappointed. The big man spotted Morgan and Renna near the back entrance. "That was a brilliant idea running off like that alone, by the way," he added.

Morgan exhaled slowly and eased back on his maces, though Renna still held his arm tightly. Zanadar and the old man entered the building. "We didn't miss all the fun did we?" the big man asked. As he passed, he glanced into the stall Renna had been hiding in. "Oh," he said soberly. "Are you two all right?"

"We're fine," Morgan answered.

"Did you do that?"

Morgan shook his head.

"You?" he pointed towards Renna.

She nodded slowly.

Zanadar studied the girl for a moment. "I see," he said. "Was he alone or were there more?"

"There were more," she sniffed. "And they may be coming back, we should go."

Zanadar patted his sword. "Let them come back. So, what exactly happened?"

"I was here getting your stupid horses ready when I thought I heard someone at the main door. It was locked though," she paused to wipe her dark eyes, "and we are never opened this early so I ignored it. But when I came in I left the back unlocked, I closed it, but that didn't stop them. I heard them come in, at first I thought it was you three until I turned around..." she trailed off.

"And then what?" the big man asked.

"They came after me. I ran into one of the stalls and climbed up into the roof," she pointed upwards, "They couldn't get up after me so they left. I stayed up there for a while, incase they were just waiting for me to come down. Then two came back, I tried to stay hidden but it did not take them very long to find me.

"One said that if I didn't come down he was going to start killing the horses. He didn't know I had a knife though. I didn't want to kill him," she looked up at the big man, trying to hold back tears, "...I had no choice."

Zanadar shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned he got off easy. What about the other?"

"I cut him across the face when I jumped down. I think I may have gotten one of his eyes, because he ran as soon as I stabbed his friend." Her face took on a frightened look, "He said he was going to come back and find me. We need to go."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Zanadar said, "If they come back we'll be able to handle them. Did they say anything else?"

Renna stared coldly at the big man through her teary eyes. "They said a lot of other things. I killed one of their friends. I know their type. They are going to come back for me, only next time it's not going to be just one man. How long did you plan on staying?"

"They weren't here for you," the big man stated.

"What are you talking about?"

Morgan cut in. "We came from a forge near the other side of the city. When we got there, a group of men was waiting for us. Fortunately, I think they underestimated what Zanadar was capable of. In any event," the ranger continued, "one of them told us there'd be men waiting here too."

"Are they the reason you're leaving the city?"

Morgan shook his head. "No, Adlus is sending us to Rindol Field to check on something. He doesn't seem to think its anything serious though. We should only be gone for a week or so, you can come with us if you'd like. By the time we get back the guard should have rounded up all the rest of those men."

"Absolutely not." Zanadar said stiffly.

"What?" the ranger asked, turning towards the big man.

He pulled Morgan aside a few steps. "She can't come," he said.

"Why not?"

"No other people, just the three of us."

"Can't you see how scared she is?" Morgan whispered harshly.

"...and don't think I'm not sensitive to that Morgan, but--"

"But what?" Morgan said, becoming a little annoyed. "If Elandar isn't going to hinder us than neither will Renna. Listen, I've been pretty appeasing to this point. First, you bring Elandar along and I know Adlus wouldn't be happy about that if he found out. Then, someone looking for you tries to kill me. Maybe that's a common thing for you, but nobody has ever tried to murder me before. As if that weren't enough then they try to hurt Renna... and she had to kill one of them - all the while with not so much as an explanation from you. No, we are not going to just leave her here, you might, but I won't."

The big man gave Morgan a look that suddenly made him feel a bit less sure of himself then glanced back to Renna.

"Fine," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Are the horses ready?"

Renna nodded. Morgan straightened himself, he was a little surprised the big man had actually changed his mind.

"Good, then let's go."

A faint smile touched Renna's tear-streaked face. "Thank you," she said softly to Morgan.

Elandar scratched his head and looked up into the wooden beams supporting the roof. "How did you get up there?"

She pointed towards one of the larger horses, a foul looking, dirt colored gelding. "His name is Grayus, I climbed up his back. He doesn't let anyone else near him."

"If I were in his condition I probably wouldn't have the best disposition either," the big man said sourly.

"You don't have the best disposition," Elandar pointed out.

"Which one is mine?" Zanadar asked shortly.

Renna pointed to a large black horse in one of the stalls near the back. "That one," she said.

The big man grabbed his saddlebags off the ground and stomped off towards the animal.

"That back door looks to still be rather unsmashed," Elandar called out behind him, "Please try to resist any urges you may have to break it."

They Just Like to Talk

It did not take long for the three men to prepare their mounts. Morgan filled Renna in on the morning's events as he strapped his packs to the horse she had selected for him. The stable hand gasped audibly several times while he described the encounter at Grodek's smithy.

"And you still don't know why they attacked you?" she asked quietly. She glanced over towards Zanadar and the old man. They were at the other end of the stables speaking in hushed tones.

From what Morgan could tell, the big man did not appear to be happy. Though he could not hear exactly what was being said, Zanadar was far from being the only one who was upset. Morgan let his gaze shift back to Renna. She had stopped crying, but was still visibly shaken. The ranger was angry. At whom precisely, he did not know, but angry nonetheless.

He was frustrated because he knew the big man was not being entirely up front with him, he was mad because he had been attacked and did not know why, and he was furious that Renna could have been killed and he still did not know to what purpose.

"No, I don't have any idea," Morgan answered calmly. "Believe me, I'm just as eager as you to get out of the city and let the guards round them up."

"And you're sure they'll be able to do that?" Renna pushed.

"I have a feeling we left most of them tied up back at Grodek's," he smiled assuredly, "I'm sure the guard can persuade at least one of them to talk."

"I hope so," she replied softly. She glanced back at the stall, now closed, that Morgan had found her in, her dark, brown eyes betraying her worry.

"You were defending yourself, Renna," Morgan said, "You had no choice."

"I know," she said, her gaze still on the stall.

"Are you two about ready?" Zanadar said, as he walked over from the other side of the building. He appeared to have calmed down.

"Just about," Morgan answered. He turned to Renna, "Was there anything you wanted to bring?"

The stable hand shrugged. "I don't really have anything."

"There's nothing wrong with traveling light," stated Zanadar. "Let's get going then," he said as he started back towards his horse.

"Don't worry, I have plenty of gear," Morgan said to Renna as he climbed onto his steed, "we can share."

She smiled lightly. "Thanks."

"Which horse are you taking?"

Renna nodded her head towards Gray. "I might as well take him," she said, "Nobody else will ride him while I'm gone." She walked over to the cranky gelding and patted his head affectionately. "Besides," she said as she leapt up into the saddle, "He's a good horse, whether he wants to admit it or not."

The two guided their mounts from their stalls and slowly rode to the back of the stables where Zanadar and the old man were waiting for them.

Morgan gestured towards the stall where the attacker's body lay. "Shouldn't we... do something about that before we go?" he asked.

"Grodek has probably already contacted the guard," Zanadar answered, "They will undoubtedly be here before long, I'd just assume be long gone once they do arrive."

"Don't you think that looks a bit suspicious?" Renna said.

The big man shrugged. "We didn't do anything wrong, why care how it looks? We can explain when we get back, but for now we need to get moving."

Elandar raised his hand dramatically, nearly knocking the hat off his head. "The journey begins!" he declared.

Zanadar shook his head. "You better not do that the whole time."

"I will do whatever strikes my fancy," he said defiantly.

Renna gazed at Morgan with a questioning look.

"I'm assuming you get used to it," the ranger explained, he then shrugged and raised his eyebrows. "Still waiting, though."

The stable hand actually managed a bit of a laugh.

"Let's go," Zanadar said with a wry grin.

The stables were close to the west entrance to the city, and within a matter of moments, the four had reached the gate. The sun was only minutes away from peaking over the horizon, and already a steady stream of people were arriving and departing the city.

Several uniformed city guards briefly questioned each person to pass through the gates before waving them onward. Morgan knew that there were also a number of guards in plain workmen's clothing observing the area. Security was something taken very seriously in New Targonor. Should any sign of the undead that had claimed the southern half of Thestra ever reach the city, the entire army of Targonor would be called to duty and mobilized within a matter of days.

After a short wait in line, an imposing looking guard waved the group to the gate.

"What is your purpose for leaving the city?" he asked politely.

"Ranger business," Morgan replied, showing the guard Adlus' seal.

"Four of you? Those two don't look like rangers to me," the guard said as he looked to Elandar and Renna.

Morgan pointed to Zanadar. "He's not either. It's a long story. We're leaving for Rindol Field. We expect to be gone for about a week."

The guard nodded. "Very well then," he said, waving them through the gate, "Travel safely."

"Thank you," the ranger replied.

Outside the city, a well constructed cobblestone road lead from the gate to a small bridge, which spanned a narrow crevice leading out to the sea. The crevice was deep, and was where the Weatherfall River met with the ocean that dominated New Targonor's northern horizon. With each wave, seawater swept in and crashed alongside its walls, sending a wet spray upwards.

They rode across the bridge, which had little traffic at this early hour and stopped to survey their surroundings. To the west, rolling green hills sprawled for as far as Morgan could see in the morning light. To the east, back across the Weatherfall River the northern plains stretched out of view.

"That was impressive," the big man said after a few moments.

"What was?" Morgan asked.

"The way you handled that guard."

"I told him the truth," Morgan said, confused.

"Exactly," Zanadar replied, "Most people leaving a dead body behind them tend to lie."

Morgan shrugged, "We didn't do anything wrong. You said it yourself."

"That is true."

"I hate to interrupt," Elandar said in a tone that suggested that he did not at all, in fact, hate to interrupt, "But we are going to be traveling sometime today, correct?"

"We can just head southwest until we hit Tursh," Morgan replied, "From there we can take the road to Rindol Field unless you know a quicker way, I haven't been down there very many times."

Zanadar leaned back in his saddle. "The road will do fine. I'm surprised you haven't been down there much before."

"My post is near Leth Nurae," Morgan explained as they began to ride. "I've never really had much of a reason to go to Rindol Field before."

For several hours, the party rode southwest, climbing and descending the lush green hills of the Thestran countryside. It was a bright day. Only a few puffy white clouds lingered in the rich blue sky, slowly nudged onward by a peaceful breeze.

As they crested one particularly tall hill, the village of Tursh gradually became visible. Morgan knew that from this vantage point the village appeared closer than it actually was, but that even so, they were not very far away.

"Morgan..." Renna said. "Are we stopping in Tursh?"

He thought for a moment. "As much as I'd like to, I can't really think of a reason. It will only be around midday by the time we get there so we couldn't spend the night." The ranger frowned and let out a brief sigh. "No, we'll just go around."

"I see."

"Would you rather if we dropped you off in Tursh and picked you up on our way back to the city?" Morgan asked, guessing as to the meaning of her question.

"No," Renna replied quickly, "That's not why I was asking."

"Why go around?" Zanadar asked.

"Experience," Morgan said, "Every time I've tried to go through I always get stopped by someone. Tursh is not a large village and I have spent most of my life there. Whenever I come through people always want to talk."

"Well it isn't everyday their poor muddy village gets to be blessed by the likes of the all powerful tenderfoot Morgan," Elandar said sardonically, "I am sure it's a big deal for them."

"That wasn't how I meant it," the ranger said defensively, "What I mean is, all my mother's old friends always want to talk. They're dear old women and I like them all very much, but we don't really have time for that."

A grin cracked Renna's somber face. "They still bother you all the time?" she asked, sounding amused.

"They're not a bother, they just like to talk."

"You're allowed to say they annoy you, Morgan," Renna said. She narrowed her dark brown eyes and flashed a dangerous grin. "I promise I won't tell."

"I think I'm missing something," Zanadar said in a puzzled voice.

"You see, after Morgan's parents..." the girl began to explain, she stopped abruptly though and looked towards the ranger. "Sorry," she apologized.

"Its fine," he said with a dismissive wave. "It happened whether we talk about it or not."

"...After Morgan's parents passed," Renna continued, "His mother's friends sort of adopted him and Gillian. He was mothered constantly by about five old women with absolutely nothing better to be doing. Gillian took to them immediately, of course, but they made Morgan uncomfortable, I think. If you hadn't noticed, he gets a bit fidgety when he's the center of attention." She shot him a suggestive look.

Morgan frowned and made a conscious effort to avoid squirming in his saddle. He was happy to see Renna cheering up, he had been worried about her earlier but at the same time he did not particularly want to encourage her.

"If you ask me, they're the real reason you joined the rangers so young," she said.

"It sounds as if Renna has you just about figured out," Zanadar observed casually.

"They are wonderful women and I owe each of them more than I will ever be able to repay, we really just don't have the time right now," Morgan insisted, "they'd want to know why I had to leave so abruptly the other day and where we're going and whether or not it was dangerous." He sighed. "They just worry, is all. They don't bother me."

"That's an awful lot of explaining if they don't bother you," Renna teased.

Elandar's bushy white eyebrows peaked up. "Five wonderful women with nothing better to do than lavish us with attention." He straightened himself and ran his fingers through his stringy old beard. "Maybe we should stop in Tursh."

Morgan sagged his shoulders, accepting defeat.

"It's all right Morgan," Zanadar said in a comforting tone, "Going around is fine. The quicker we can get to Rindol Field the better, we do not need anything slowing us down and I applaud your efforts to keep on us on track."

"Thank you," the ranger replied.

"Besides," the big man added smugly, "I don't like old women either."

Rindol Field

They continued on for several more hours, winding between hills and through small valleys. The sun passed above overhead as the party made their way around the outskirts of Tursh. They passed the occasional grazing cow in the tall, sweeping grass but managed to avoid any other contact with the village. Morgan looked back over his shoulder regretfully as the small farming community began to fade from sight.

"Don't worry," Zanadar said, noticing the ranger's look, "You'll get to go back soon enough."

Morgan managed to force a weak smile and nod. He knew the big man was only trying to comfort him, and that it would in fact be quite a long time before he had the opportunity to go home again.

They rejoined the road a short distance south of Tursh. It would lead them directly to the home of the Halflings. While Morgan was growing up, Halflings frequently stopping in Tursh on their way to New Targonor with wagonfulls of goods. He had been taken to their village on occasion, but was young and could recall very little. Morgan was somewhat curious to see it for himself now that he was older. The more he thought about it, the sillier it seemed that he'd lived so close for so long yet had never gone and it was only now, that he spent most of his time much farther away that he had occasion to go there.

By the time the first of the small earthen roofs of Rindol Field became visible it was already mid-afternoon. They had traveled quickly and made very good time. Though with the exception of Gray, who looked to be perfectly fine, the horses were beginning to show fatigue.

"You know, I haven't been here since I was a small child." Renna pointed out as they neared the village.

"And now you get to see it as a fully grown child," Elandar cracked. Renna rolled her eyes and ignored the old man.

"It's a nice enough place," Zanadar replied, "Their ale is a little too sweet for my tastes though. What they need is a nice, dark, thick groggy mead."

"I happen to like sweet ale," the stable hand said winsomely.

"How much could you possibly know about beer?" Elandar quipped, his wrinkled face distorted into a frown.

"Enough." Renna answered guardedly.

"Really?" the old man pressed, unconvinced. She looked to Morgan for help. He raised his hands defensively.

"Don't bring me in to this," the ranger said, "I'm a little curious as to where this knowledge comes from myself." A mischievous grin crept over Renna's face. She started to say something, but Morgan cut her short. "You know," he added quickly, "On second thought I'd really rather not know at all."

"Probably a wise decision," Zanadar laughed. The stable hand narrowed her eyes and glared sternly at Morgan as they rode into the village.

Rindol Field, home of the Halflings, was an amicable little community. It was a stable, peaceful place that revolved around a strong sense of kinship and camaraderie. Vibrant green hills surrounded the village, creating a pleasant feeling of seclusion. Most of the Halflings were farmers by trade, and the quiet existence suited them well.

A single, worn road split Rindol Field. It worked its way in from the hills to the north and continued all the way to the very end of the village. On either side of it, small cottages and buildings were placed comfortably apart from one another. They were stout structures, with low earthen roofs and wide doors. Several young Halfling children raced back and forth across the road, darting between a handful of produce carts. They paused briefly to give an appraising look at the group, paying particular attention to Zanadar.

The big man flashed a friendly smile at the children from atop his horse. One of them yelped out loudly and they quickly scattered.

"Well done." Elandar said sardonically.

Zanadar frowned. "Children usually like me," the big man moped lamely. "It must have been your fault."

Before the old man had the chance to protest, Morgan spoke up. "I guess we're looking for the Mayor then." He gazed down the road. Compared to the buzzing streets of New Targonor the village felt almost deserted. What residents were out on the main road cheerfully went about their business, loading produce into carts or rolling large barrels down the street, seemingly oblivious to the newcomers. Off the road a bit, several older looking Halfling women stood together in a large garden. They laughed buoyantly with one another as they tended to their plants. "I'd imagine there's a town hall somewhere around here," the ranger observed.

"Sort of," Zanadar replied, "The mayor's home serves as town hall when needed, but from what I understand that isn't very often."

"Do we know the Mayor's name?" Renna asked.

"Dorbin," Zanadar said looking back to the girl. "Dorbin Gamstell. We should probably find a stable for the horses first though."

"Good idea," Morgan replied. He hopped down off of his horse and looked over towards the small group of children who had cautiously begun to gather together again. They eyed the group curiously. "Hi there," he said with a smile, "Do any of you happen to know where my friends and I could find the stables?"

One of the smaller children, a young, fair-haired boy, let out a frightened squeal, and the group once again scattered off into all directions. The big man laughed deeply as Morgan looked about with a confused expression. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

"I told you it wasn't me," Zanadar said to the old man as the rest of them slid off their horses.

"It was all of you," Renna chimed in knowingly.

Elandar peered back at the dark haired girl. "What?" he asked irritably.

"It's all of all of you," she explained in a pleasant tone. She looked to the big man. "You're wearing armor and a sword bigger than they are." She grinned and shifted her gaze to Morgan. "You, as adorable as you are, look like you haven't had a full night's rest ages. And you..." she said, turning towards Elandar, "Well... you're...you."

The three men stood silently for a moment, glancing dubiously at one another. Elandar arched an eyebrow back at the stable hand. "And I suppose you could do better?" he challenged.

Renna nodded. "Oh yes, much," she said seriously.

The old man gestured at the small Halfling child who had squealed. He was peeking his head out from behind a large rock a short distance off, trying to remain inconspicuous while staring wide eyed at the party. Upon realizing that he had been discovered, the fair-haired boy let out a startled gasp and leapt back into hiding.

"I hope you're ready to learn something," Renna said casually as she strolled over towards the large stone. When she got there, rather then going behind it she instead took a seat on the rock, her back to where the small child lay hidden.

She said something that Morgan could not quite make out and leaned back on the stone a bit, as if trying to find a comfortable spot. Then, after a few moments, slowly crawling along the ground on all fours, the fair-haired Halfling boy began to creep out from behind the rock. Cautiously at first, though he quickly became bolder. He looked up towards where Renna sat pretending not to notice him and grinned wickedly. Summoning up all his courage, the boy suddenly leapt to his feet, arms high in the air, and roared as fiercely as a small Halfling boy can roar.

The stable hand jumped back in mock surprise, nearly falling off the stone and held up her hands, as if to surrender. The victory was short lived though, as the boy was quickly overtaken by a relentless wave of giggles. Renna lowered her hands and began to laugh with him. She slid off the rock and sat down on the ground next to the boy, smiling warmly. They talked for a short while, Renna making exaggerated expressions and twice falling over, much to the delight of the young Halfling. Finally, after a quick session of furious tickling Renna gave the boy a brief hug and stood up. He waved fondly, and then ran off to go find his friends.

The stable hand walked back to the group, smiling broadly. "Apparently," she said, rejoining them, "the stables are right next to the tavern, which is just down this road a ways and then to the right. He says they will keep our horses for as long as we'd like and they will treat them very well. Apparently," she added, "one of his friends' uncle works there. How about that?"

"Was that all?" Elandar grumbled.

"Oh, and he has a kitten named Apple." She wrinkled her nose. "That's kind of an odd name for a cat, but I guess it likes apples," she said with a shrug. Renna then noticed the look the three men were giving her and grinned. "Don't let it get to you. It's not your fault you're all the same," she said in a consoling tone.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Zanadar asked pointedly.

"Boys..." she said rolling her eyes. "You may be bigger, stronger and smell worse but inside you're just the same as that child." She glanced at the ranger. "You can be lead around by the nose and be perfectly fine with it as long as you think you're the one in charge." She smiled. "But its okay, I forgive you."

Morgan wisely chose to stay quiet. He followed along silently while Renna and the old man bickered. As they made their way to the stables, leading their horses down the road, many of the village's residents began to take notice of their presence. They stood alongside the road or appeared in doorways to offer welcoming smiles or friendly waves.

"You'd think they were expecting us," Morgan observed.

"They probably were," Zanadar replied. The big man was right. The ranger had almost forgotten why they were here. They probably were expecting them.

"Well whatever the trouble is, it can't have them too afraid or they wouldn't be letting their children run around outside still."

"Good observation Morgan" the big man said. "I'm getting a little curious to find out what is bothering them, myself."

"I'm more curious to find out if they've finally got something good to drink around here," Elandar stated hopefully.

"Forget it, old man." Zanadar responded sternly. "Business first."

"That's right," Renna said with a mocking nod, "Business first."

It took only a few minutes to reach their destination and they quickly stabled their horses. By the time they reached the mayor's home though, it was nearly dark. The building was near the center of the village and was larger than most in town, but was constructed in the same fashion. The windows were all closed and there did not appear to be any light coming from inside the house.

"That doesn't look very promising," Morgan said as they approached the wide wooden door. He knocked. There was no answer.

"Well it isn't a big village." Zanadar said, "I'm sure he's around here somewhere."

Just then, a woman's voice called out from behind him. "Are you looking for the mayor?" Morgan turned around to see a Halfling woman standing in the doorway of a small home on the other side of the road. He squinted, trying to get a better look. She appeared to be young for a Halfling, and stood halfway out onto a small wooden porch.

"Yes we are," the ranger called back. "Has he gone for the night?"

The woman chuckled briefly. "You could say that. He's gone to the tavern. If he's not at home, you can usually find him there. You're the ones from the city, yes?"

"That we are, my lady," Zanadar chimed in.

"I thought so. Thank you for coming," she said. She then waved and turned back into her home. "You all have a pleasant evening"

"See," Elandar said, rubbing his bony old hands together, "I told you we should have gone to the tavern first."

Several minutes later, the party was once again just outside the tavern. Along with the stables, it had a higher roof than most of the buildings in Rindol Field, most likely to accommodate taller visitors to the village. Morgan was thankful for that, and was sure the big man was too.

He could hear music and laughter coming from inside the building. As Zanadar opened the door, he expected to be blasted with the same stench of sweat and watered down beer that the tavern back in New Targonor reeked of. He was surprised though to be surrounded by the pleasant aroma of a fresh oaken fire. It conjured up images of being back in Tursh. He much preferred that.

The inside of the tavern was remarkably clean. Halflings, both young and old filled the building, sitting around tables and lining the walls. The fireplace was along the far wall and three Halflings sat next to it on small stools whistling out playful melodies on simple wooden pipes.

A stout, rather chubby Halfling came rushing up towards the entrance. He looked to be middle aged, and had thin brown hair that was beginning to bald. He was wearing a spotless wool shirt and a pair of finely stitched work pants. In one hand, the Halfling held a sticky looking pastry and in the other a large tankard. "You must be the rangers from New Targonor," he exclaimed cheerfully. "Welcome to our village! I'm Dorbin Gamstell," the mayor said, introducing himself. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Our pleasure," Morgan responded politely. "My name is Morgan Derek, and these are my friends, Zanadar, Elandar and Renna," he said, gesturing towards each of them.

"A pleasure to meet you all," Dorbin said kindly.

"So," Zanadar asked, "What seems to be the problem?"

Not So Mighty Now

"Well..." Dorbin began expansively. He then stopped abruptly and gave the party an embarrassed look. "Where are my manners?" he asked, "Please, come sit down."

The Mayor ushered the group to a large table near the rear of the tavern. At it, two more Halflings sat on high stools. They each appeared to be roughly the same age as the Mayor. They raised their mugs and greeted the party with friendly smiles.

"These are my cousins, Nelton and Reinor," Dorbin said, "They help me keep everything organized. Nelton oversees all of our finances and trade matters and Reinor is our chief envoy. I don't know what I would do without them."

"You would do about a third as much," Reinor teased. The Mayor's cousin had a stocky build and like the Mayor, thinning brown hair. He wore a fine white shirt underneath a buttoned surcoat and a pair of well made brown pants.

Dorbin's brow arched into a good-natured frown, and then softened. "It's true I'm afraid," he conceded as the group sat down around the table.

Nelton turned towards the party. A sly twinkle beamed from his chestnut colored eyes giving his face a youthful appearance, despite the wrinkles beginning to appear. His hair was lighter than Reinor's and he was a bit thinner. "Don't let Dorbin trick you into thinking he doesn't do anything," he said jovially while rolling up the sleeves on his patched tunic, "As much as he would have you believe otherwise, he is the one who keeps Rindol Field intact."

The Mayor finished his pastry and shrugged. "It isn't hard to stay on the right path when you were placed on it from the start," he said, licking his fingers. "But we're getting off track, I apologize."

"I would not have requested the rangers' assistance had I the means of dealing with this problem myself," he began, "but with all those dang blasted ants in these parts lately I simply don't have the resources to deal with it. You should see those things," he paused briefly, "The ants, I mean. Just last week I saw one nearly as large as me! Fortunately, they only seem to be interested in our crops unless provoked, but I'll feel much better once we are able to get rid of them."

"So the ants are not the problem then?" Zanadar asked.

"Oh they're a problem all right," Nelton said seriously, "But not the reason we sent for you."

Dorbin nodded. "Rindol Field is a peaceful place, we aren't accustomed to trouble, but the ants are more of a nuisance than anything. A very large crop destroying dangerous nuisance, mind you, but one I think we are capable of handling," he said, "No, we called for you because of another matter entirely.

"About three weeks ago now," the Mayor continued, "One of Jon Harkin's-"

"-Jon is a local farmer," Reinor interjected.

Dorbin grinned a bit sheepishly. "Sorry," he apologized, "I tend to get a little ahead of myself."

"Its quite all right," the big man replied patiently, "Go on."

"A few weeks ago, a few of Jon's pigs turned up dead. At first, I figured the blasted ants had just gotten sick of swiping our crops. But then he showed me the pigs..."

"What happened to them?" Morgan asked.

"You tell them, Nelton," Dorbin responded with a shiver, "You saw them too."

The Mayor's cousin grimaced and shook his head. "It was not pleasant, to say the least," he said, "They had been torn apart pretty thoroughly. We found pieces of them littered about Jon's entire field."

Renna brought a hand up to her mouth. "That is horrible."

Nelton nodded sadly and set his mug down. "They were the friendliest bunch of pigs I've ever seen too."

"So how do you know it wasn't the ants though?" Morgan said.

"Well, a few reasons," Dorbin explained, "When they decide they fancy something they never leave pieces laying all about. They take every little bit back to their holes. As much as I don't like those pests, one thing they most certainly are not is wasteful." The Mayor took on a thoughtful expression. "Then we started to find ants in conditions similar to the pigs, and I've never seen them fight one another before. I don't think that they do."

"Besides," Nelton added, "I'm not sure they would even be capable of doing something like that. They were not clean wounds. Whatever did that used brute force."

"So then what happened?" Zanadar pressed.

"Well like I said," the Mayor replied, "At first I thought it was the ants, but we ruled that out. Then I figured Jon's son, Durton was involved."

"He's not a bad boy," Reinor offered, "He just seems to have a knack for finding trouble."

Dorbin nodded in agreement. "And it isn't uncommon that he disappears for a few days only to turn up again after something suspicious has happened."

"However," Nelton chattered on, "Durton assures us he had nothing to do with it. And as easy as it would have been to just blame the boy, I believe him. It just doesn't seem like something he would do. Its true, he does get into a good deal of trouble, but it's always he just pilfered this or swiped that. He's never really hurt anything before."

"Nelton is a shrewd one," the Mayor continued, "He can usually tell when someone is trying to pull one over on him. I have to admit though, I wasn't entirely convinced that Durton wasn't involved. I never thought he had done it personally, but he's got friends from the city who come down here every now and then." Dorbin's eyes narrowed slightly. "Very shady friends."

Zanadar blinked wearily. "But you don't think it was his friends?" he asked.

"Well I did," Dorbin said, "until just last week. It rained one night and the next morning we found some tracks around another torn up ant."

The big man arched an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "What did they look like?"

The Mayor shrugged. "Nothing I've ever seen before." He held his hands out a few feet apart, eyeing them carefully. "They were about this size, I'd say. What do you think Nelton, is that right?"

The other Halfling nodded his agreement. "They were quite large. They certainly were not made by one of us."

Zanadar leaned forward a bit. "Was there anything peculiar you remember about them?"

"I wouldn't know where to begin," Dorbin answered. The big man gave the Halfling a frustrated look. "But we thought you may want to see them so we covered one to keep it safe. We'll take you to see it first thing in the morning," the Mayor said with a grin.

"I think he was about to come right over the table at you," Reinor observed casually to his cousin. Zanadar coughed and tried not to look too guilty.

Over by the fireplace, the three Halfling musicians finished their performance and set their pipes aside. The crowd applauded graciously as the troupe took a bow. Nelton and the Mayor both clapped and shouted their praise.

"Those three always do a terrific job," Dorbin said blithely, looking at the party.

The crowd inside the tavern quieted somewhat and the group continued talking at the table. Dorbin asserted there was no reason to start investigating that night and insisted upon treating the entire party to supper.

Pausing briefly to eat, the Mayor and Nelton shared several long-winded but entertaining anecdotes. Reinor remained quiet for the most part, occasionally tossing in his own somewhat sardonic perspective. The crowd in the building seemed only to grow after the meal. Morgan found himself having a good time.

A short while later, Nelton peered through the crowd at a small group of children who sat near where the musicians had been performing earlier. They kept shooting curious looks towards the table and giggling amongst one another whenever they caught one of the group's gaze. Morgan turned around in time to see one of the older children approaching where they sat, her friends watching intently from behind. The ranger recognized a few of them from when they had arrived in the village earlier.

Nelton grinned at his cousin. "I think you're going to get a request for another story," he said to the Mayor.

"I've been telling the children stories after dinner lately," Dorbin explained, "I think they've come to expect it." He chuckled softly for a moment. "I don't know that many more to tell though," he said.

"Mayor Gamstell..." the young girl said as she reached the table. She looked up at Dorbin with big brown eyes. Dorbin melted almost instantly.

"See what they do?" he accused, "They know I don't stand a chance. They're really quite devious."

"Mayor Gamstell, will you tell us a story?" the girl asked hopefully, "...please?"

He smiled back down at the child. "Well now," Dorbin replied in a serious tone, "What kind of story are you interested in hearing?"

She thought for a moment, pondering what was to her a very serious issue. After a moment, she looked back up. "A story about magic," she said decisively.

"A story about magic," the Mayor repeated to himself, thinking, "I'm not sure if I know any of those. I know lots of stories about farmers."

"It just so happens I know somebody who can probably tell a few stories about magic," Zanadar cut in. He gestured towards where Elandar sat. The old man though, appeared to have fallen asleep in his chair, his head tilted back slightly and the mug in his hand hovered dangerously close to slipping free from his grip and spilling onto the floor.

Morgan tugged politely on the sleeve of Elandar's robes. The old man snorted and pulled away. Zanadar leaned over and poked him sharply in the ribs. Elandar spat out briefly as his eyes shot open. Straightening himself, he scowled at the big man. "What?" he asked crankily. "Did those three finally get to the point about the pigs?"

"Sort of," Zanadar said, flashing a quick grin at the Mayor. "But we have a request for a story about magic." He gestured towards the group of children back near the fireplace, all anxiously awaiting the old man's answer.

"It seems a wizard as mighty as yourself would know lots of magic stories," Renna offered, smirking.

The young girl's eyes widened in amazement. "You're a wizard?" she asked excitedly.

Elandar shot the big man a dangerous look before turning back to the child. "I happen to be a mighty wizard, young lady," he replied sternly, gripping his worn staff tightly in his bony old hands. He thought for a moment and then narrowed his eyes down at the girl. By this point, much of the tavern was watching the interaction with a keen interest. "I may know one..." he trailed off briefly. The crowd seemed to lean in closer. "But I'm not sure if I remember it all. Perhaps if I had a few more drinks it would help freshen my memory."

Almost instantly, shouts erupted from the patrons and tankards full of sweet ale began to appear on the table at an alarming rate. The young girl backed up and rejoined her friends seated in front of the fireplace. All eyes were now rested firmly upon the old man, who sat glaring at the collection of mugs on the table before him.

He grumbled bitterly to himself and then leaned back in his chair. "Fine then," Elandar said with a frown, "One story and one story only."

Storytime

The group of children cheered gleefully, as the rest of the patrons in the tavern could not help but to smile with excitement. After a moment, the crowd settled into their seats comfortably and focused their attention on the old man.

Elandar eyed the room full of Halflings dubiously. He repositioned his chair and briefly adjusted his robes before sitting down once more. "This particular story," he began abruptly, "happens to be quite old.

"It takes place in a more peaceful time, centuries ago," the old man said dramatically, with a peculiar gleam in his eye. "Before the fall of Targonor, before your village existed, before the taint of the dead had even arrived in our lands.

"Thestra was a much different place then," Elandar explained, his voice changing tone. "There was a culture of learning. Knowledge was more valuable than any lost treasure. And no where was this more the truth, than in Leth Nurae, the majestic city of the elves.

"After what seemed to be an eternity of war and rebuilding, the elves had finally returned to their homes and were free to pursue that which they coveted the most. Ancient knowledge thought forever lost after the breaking," he paused, "began to reemerge.

Morgan smiled quietly to himself. He had heard this story before, many times in fact. It had always been one of his favorites. He glanced at his companions sitting around the table. Zanadar was leaned back in his chair, his large frame barely able to fit on the seat. The big man listened politely. The mayor and his two cousins all gazed at Elandar attentively, excited expressions on their faces.

Equally enthralled was the stable hand, Renna. She sat contentedly, elbows on the table, with her chin resting firmly in her hands. She'd had a long day. They all had. Sleep would come easily tonight. The ranger looked back to Elandar. Had Morgan not known any better, he almost would have suspected the cranky old man was enjoying himself.

"The greatest mages in all the lands flocked to Leth Nurae, to take part in these exquisite discoveries. But the elves were very protective of their secrets," the old man continued with a shake of his finger, "and so they turned away all but their own.

"For years they continued with their research. Delving continuously deeper, into their long forgotten past. Among them, one in particular stood out. A mage," Elandar said darkly, "and one of considerable power. For it was this mage who made all the most important discoveries and it was this mage who gained all the power with which they came."

"What was his name?" one of the small Halfling children asked.

Elandar drew back sharply as the crowd leaned in. "His name," he said in a whisper, "was Silas Lucertae."

The old man continued on. "Silas was one of the most respected leaders in the elven community. He, for years, unearthed discovery after discovery and gradually began to assume political power within the city. He ignored it for the most part, caring only for his research. Silas spent weeks upon weeks arduously laboring over single passages in ancient tomes, hoping to unlock whatever secrets they may be hiding.

"Then, one night something happened. He found something in one of those passages. Something he had not anticipated. He locked himself away in his home and entered a frenzied study of his new obsession.

"It was not long after," Elandar said quietly, "that he began to summon forth magic not seen in over a millennia. Powerful magic. Though nobody knew to what extent, it changed Silas. He emerged from his study invigorated and began to take notice of the titles and positions that had been bestowed upon him.

"In a small amount of time Silas became the most prominent figure in Leth Nurae. And though he took a keen interest in the running of the city, he seemed distant - aloof. He continued to gain power at an alarming rate. So much, in fact, that many of the other mages began to fear him.

"This was a fact that Silas very much took advantage of, as he bullied and intimidated all those who opposed him. He grew arrogant, and venomous. He viewed the other mages as beneath him. Powerless magicians, whose purpose was simply to further his own interests. His arrogance grew to contempt, and he guarded the secrets to his power jealously.

"For a while, there was an uneasy understanding among the elves. They feared Silas, but there was nothing they could do to stop him. Until one day, his boldness took him too far. During a dispute with another ranking mage, in a bout of anger, he killed the elf. There were many witnesses and a trial was called almost immediately.

"He was stripped of his authority and forbid from continuing his research. This only angered Silas further though, and he struck out against his peers," Elandar exclaimed sharply.

The old man went on to describe, at some length, the atrocities which Silas inflicted upon his own people. His voice rose and fell, hardened and softened at all the right moments. The old man was a skilled orator, which for some reason surprised Morgan. He was also most certainly enjoying himself.

Elandar continued with his story, telling of the effort to subdue the rogue elf. Unfortunately, it seemed as if Silas could not be contained. All who rose up against him were beaten back viciously, powerless against his newfound magic.

"Why couldn't they stop him?" a small boy asked at one point.

Elandar raised an eyebrow and peered back at the young halfling. "Because he was too strong. Lucertae, as he was now called, was unrivaled even amongst the most powerful mages."

"Was he more powerful than you?"

Elandar huffed at that, and leaned back in his chair with an amused expression. He stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment. "He was mighty," the old man said, "but he was no Elandar."

Zanadar groaned audibly and rolled his eyes back in his head.

"How did they stop him?" another boy pressed.

"Well if you'd quit asking questions maybe I could get to that," Elandar scolded. He let his hand fall away from his thick beard and continued. "The elves lived in a constant state of terror. Trying desperately to appease Lucertae, but the more power he gained the more insatiable his lust for destruction became. Any who disturbed his study were slain, and their homes destroyed.

"All those who challenged him were tossed aside, broken, as if they were mere children. Conventional weapons were useless against Lucertae and no mage in Leth Nurae had the power to oppose him. He closed the city, allowing no one to enter or leave. Any who tried were put to death. His evil began to taint the very earth upon which the city sat."

The crowd remained silent as the old man then told of a peculiar stranger who arrived one night, somehow managing to avoid Lucertae's detection. He was adorned in full, dark robes, which masked his features, and spoke with a deep, commanding voice. In the night, he made his way through the city, gathering what few high mages remained alive from wherever they hid.

The small group of wizards, just six men strong marched through the darkness towards the entrance to the city. Led by the mysterious robed man, they began to cast a spell. It was not long before Lucertae stalked into view, eyes blazing.

"What is this?" he demanded. His voice was twisted, and no longer recognizable. "Who dares defy me?"

The six wizards continued their spell, ignoring Lucertae. The air around them began to shimmer and blur. The tainted elf roared furiously and began to cast a spell of his own, but before he could finish the robed man suddenly broke his concentration and looked up sharply, directly at Lucertae. He spoke a word and in an instant, all seven mages vanished.

Elandar paused as the crowd inhaled audibly. He went on to describe the wizards appearing leagues away and the immense magical battle that ensued. This was, of course, the best part of the story and Morgan found himself watching the crowd rather than paying attention to what the old man was saying.

The young children by the fireplace gasped and covered their eyes as Elandar described how Lucertae battled the six mages. The older Halflings all sat still, paying full attention to the old man, occasionally sipping their drinks. They were a good audience, and Elandar surprisingly enough, was a very good storyteller.

With a grand sweeping gesture he brought the tale to a finish. Lucertae was defeated, but at a great cost. Only a single mage from the six survived. He returned to Leth Nurae, badly injured and incoherent. He lived for a short while, but in the end his wounds proved to be too grave and he passed. The bodies of the other four elves were never recovered, but a tomb was erected in their honor.

"And that," Elandar said expansively, "is the end."

The audience applauded the old man loudly for several moments. Elandar bowed his head once and then continued to scowl until everyone had taken their seats. By now, the sun had long since fallen and the crowd started to disperse.

The young boy who had spoken earlier walked up to the table, a curious look on his face. He stopped a few feet shy of the old man and looked up at him politely.

Elandar glanced down at the boy out of the corner of his eye. "What?" he asked.

"What happened to the man in the robes?"

The old man shrugged. "What do you think happened?"

The boy thought hard for a moment. "I think it would be better if he got away," he replied.

"Then that is how it happened." Elandar answered. He turned back to his mug and began to take a deep drink.

"I don't know though, the evil wizard was very powerful," the boy continued, "How much magic did the robed man have?"

Elandar swallowed and turned back to the boy. He looked at him for a moment, and then held his hands several feet apart. "This much."

"How much magic do you have?" the young halfling asked.

The old man frowned. "Don't you have parents?"

Zanadar grinned and leaned forward. "In other words," he said, "Less than that."

Reverse Logic

The party spoke with the mayor and his cousins for a short while longer before deciding to retire for the evening. They would meet Dorbin the following morning at Jon Harkin's farmhouse, which lay a short distance outside the village.

The inn had a few larger rooms upstairs directly above the tavern area. They had been built specifically to accommodate visitors of larger stature, and had a handful of moderately sized beds in each. The innkeeper led Morgan, Zanadar, Renna and the old man to an empty one and thanked Elandar again for his story. The halfling lit a few large candles, which adorned the walls, before bidding them goodnight.

The room, while bigger than most at the inn, was still quite cozy. A small window about midway up the far wall overlooked the back of the building. The wooden floorboards creaked slightly as they walked into the room and the muffled voices of the few patrons who still remained at the tavern below could barely be heard through the thick timber. Morgan was tired though, he knew the soft noise would not bother him at all.

The old man glanced around the room, muttered a few curses under his breath, set his staff against the wall and placed his hat atop it. He then collapsed into bed, falling into a heavy slumber almost immediately. Within minutes, the big man had removed his traveling gear and also lay stretched out, sleeping deeply. Morgan sat on the edge of his bed and took off his boots. He rubbed his eyes wearily and looked towards Elandar. The old wizard was snoring loudly, he sounded oddly content.

Just then, Morgan felt weight on the bed next to him.

"I bet he's doing that on purpose," Renna said quietly, sitting down beside him.

Morgan nodded in agreement. "That would not surprise me at all." He turned towards the stable hand. She was staring at him, a peculiar look in her large brown eyes.

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

She shifted her gaze away from the ranger, eyeing the two occupied beds on the other side of the room. "What are we doing with them?" she asked seriously. "I don't understand anything that has happened today."

Morgan yawned slightly and exhaled. He looked down to his worn backpack, which sat on the floor at the base of the bed. He stared at it for a moment, and then shrugged. "We're here to see what is killing the Halfling's pigs," he said finally.

"And you need them for that?" Renna retorted, unconvinced.

"I don't know why Adlus sent Zanadar along with me... or sent me along with him. Or why Elandar is even here."

"And what about this morning? What was that?"

Morgan could only shake his head. "I don't know," he said helplessly.

"Those men..." she trailed off.

He gave the stable hand a reassuring look. "I don't think that had anything to do with us."

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Morgan!" Renna whispered harshly, her voice catching briefly, "They tried to kill us."

"Listen," he said, "All I know is that the worst place to be right now is in New Targonor. We should just stay down here for a little while, find the wolves that are probably killing the pigs and then go back after things have settled down. We don't even have to go back with those two," Morgan added, "We can let them go first and follow later.

"I don't know why what happened this morning happened, Renna, and I don't know what it is they aren't telling us. But what I do know, is that I will not let anyone else try and hurt you, all right?"

She gave the ranger a crooked smile. "You'll protect me from anyone?" she asked with a mock innocence.

Morgan frowned. "Don't push your luck," he said, trying not to sound embarrassed. He hated it when she did that. She always did that.

Renna smirked, then stood up and began to walk back towards her bed. She paused after a few steps, and turned.

"Morgan?" she whispered softly.

"Yes?" he said, still frowning.

"Thank you."

As most had recently, morning came sooner than Morgan would have liked. He awoke to a bright ray of sunlight streaming through the window and across his face. He squinted and looked around the room.

Elandar was still sound asleep. Renna sat on her bed, running a simple looking brush through her long dark hair. The big man was nowhere to be seen, his sword and armor noticeably missing.

"You look like you are not ready to wake up yet," the stable hand observed, seeing Morgan look about the room.

"When this is done I am going to sleep for a week," the ranger stated matter-of-factly. Morgan groaned audibly and sat up in bed. He had a sour taste in his mouth and an uncomfortable cramp in his neck. "Where is Zanadar?"

"Downstairs," she answered. "He said to wake Elandar up and come down whenever you are ready."

Morgan stretched his arms out in from of him for a moment, and then yawned expansively.

"You don't look ready," Renna offered.

"I'm fine," the ranger protested. He swung his legs out of bed and stood up gingerly, peering over at the sleeping old man. "This ought to be fun," he said under his breath. He glanced at the dark haired stable hand, "I don't suppose you would like the honors?"

She shook her head and smiled sweetly. "All yours."

"Wonderful," Morgan muttered as he walked over to the other side of the room. He stopped just next to Elandar's bed and leaned in closer, though making a careful effort not to touch the old man.

"Elandar," he said briskly, "We need to go."

He did not move.

Morgan sighed and sagged his shoulders. "Elandar," he repeated, louder this time, "wake up."

Still, there was no response from the old man. The ranger leaned back for a second, thinking. He glanced contemplatively at the old man's staff, which was leaning against the wall next to the bed. He looked back to the sleeping wizard and cautiously began inching his outstretched hand towards it.

Just as the tips of his fingers were about to touch the worn old stave, Elandar's eyes shot open, immediately focusing squarely upon Morgan, with a markedly unfriendly look. The ranger recoiled back, taking his hand away from the staff. He smiled slightly.

"That worked well," Renna called from the other side of the room.

Elandar, still glaring at Morgan, shot the stable hand a quick sidelong glance, his beard twitching slightly. "What worked well?" he asked dubiously.

"We need to go, get up so we can go downstairs," the ranger explained.

The old man narrowed his eyes. "I see," he said coolly. He slowly rose from bed, snatched his hat from its perch and placed it on his head. He turned back to Morgan, his wrinkled purple robes swishing about, staring at him coldly.

"Stay away from my staff," he growled.

A few minutes later the three were coming downstairs to meet Zanadar. When they arrived back at the inn's tavern the big man was sitting at a table, tapping his foot impatiently.

"What were you doing out so early?" Elandar inquired.

"I was just looking around a bit," Zanadar explained.

"Oh?" Morgan said, his interest slightly piqued.

"Yes, we need to go right now."

"Why is that?" Renna asked.

"Because I saw the footprint Dorbin was telling us about."

Morgan tried to search the big man's face for answers. "What did it look like?"

Zanadar leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table in front of him. "We are not dealing with wolves."

So Much for the Wolves

Elandar shivered mockingly. "Oh no!" he exclaimed. The old man sniffed at the air and glanced around the room. There were a handful of scattered patrons seated sporadically across the tavern, each seemingly content to eat their meals quietly while minding their own business. "I smell something cooking," he observed with a hungry look in his eye, "what's for breakfast?"

Although Morgan was eager to get going, the pleasant aroma of whatever was being prepared back in the kitchen had stirred up his appetite. He put a hand to his stomach. It murmured its agreement.

Zanadar sighed and sagged his shoulders in defeat. "Fine."

The party ate a quick breakfast, with the big man tapping his foot impatiently all throughout and then departed. It was a pleasant morning in Rindol Field. The crisp air was somewhat cold, but the rising sun would quickly remedy that.

Jon Harkin's farm was located on the outskirts of the village. Along the way, they passed many of the townsfolk in the street, most of whom were already hard at work tending to their gardens or carting in produce from the fields. Morgan recognized many of them from the previous night at the tavern. They smiled and waved politely at the group as they passed, before returning to their work.

As the party passed the stables, Renna glanced in their direction, a concerned expression on her face.

"Don't worry, I'm sure they are fine," Morgan said, noticing her look. "If the Halflings are anywhere near as hospitable to them as they are to us, we will probably never convince them to leave."

That seemed to ease the stable hand's worry a bit. She nodded, and then an impish grin spread across her lips. "They're probably having a wonderful time with Gray."

They arrived at Jon Harkin's farm a few minutes later. A small house sat along the edge of the property. Behind it, a large field stretched out into the countryside. A worn down looking barn with peeling paint stood a ways beyond the house. Despite its dilapidated appearance, it was quite obviously well built.

"The print is back this way," the big man said, gesturing towards the field. Zanadar lead the group around the side of the farmer's home and back into his neatly planted rows of crops. A variety of vegetables and other plants grew in the field, each given their own large area.

They trudged through countless rows of turnips, radishes and onions, occasionally scaring up a small flock of birds or startling a rabbit out of hiding. Morgan stepped carefully, to avoid damaging any of the knee-high plants.

The ground began to slope downward slightly, and the ranger could see Mayor Gamstell and another halfling, presumably Jon Harkin, perhaps a hundred paces in front of them. They were standing close together and looking at something on the ground.

Dorbin glanced up and noticed them approaching. He waved and gestured towards the ground in front of them.

"Over here," he called out.

"I was beginning to think you had forgotten about us," Jon said to Zanadar as the group reached the two halflings. The farmer appeared to be middle aged. Wrinkles lined his hazel eyes and forehead though his brown hair still maintained most of its youthful color. He was clean shaven, and a bit skinnier than the mayor. He wore simple workman's pants and a loose fitting, knit shirt. He grinned crookedly at the big man.

Zanadar frowned and pointed a stern finger at Elandar. "That one held us up," he accused.

"I wasn't the only one who wanted breakfast," the old man spat back indignantly.

Dorbin let out a deep laugh and clasped his hands together. "Well, we're all here now," he said, "That's what is important." The mayor was dressed much the same as he had been the previous day. He turned towards Morgan and Renna, "It is good to see you two again this morning. I hope you slept well?"

"Very," Renna said pleasantly, "Thank you."

"Well, Zanadar here has already seen it," Jon said as he leaned over and began to pull several plants out of the way so that the others could see, "But here it is."

Morgan looked down into the exposed soil at the print. The big man was right. It was large, much too large to be a wolf. The shape of the print was entirely different from a wolf's as well. It was sunken deep into the dirt and rather than looking like a paw, it instead had a large sole and three thick, oversized and elongated toes.

Renna squinted at the print. "It looks kind of like a big bird."

Morgan knew that it was no bird though. Whatever had made the track was much too large and much too heavy to be just a bird. The ranger placed one boot covered foot next to the print. It was barely as long as one of the toes alone.

"Bears, wolves, deer, badgers... I would know any of those if I saw them," Morgan said, "But I've never seen a track like this before. It walks on two feet, but that's about all I can tell you right now I'm afraid."

Dorbin's face fell somewhat, he looked a bit disappointed. The ranger noticed the mayor's expression and apologized.

"I'm sorry, Mayor Gamstell. I don't know what it is," he looked towards Zanadar. "What about you?"

The big man eyed the three-toed indentation silently for a moment, studying it carefully. "No." he said finally, in a flat voice. "I don't know either."

Renna shot the big man a peculiar look.

"Well some help you two are," Elandar chimed in, waving his staff at Zanadar and Morgan. "It's a good thing we came all this way. I don't know what they would have done without us."

Both Dorbin and Jon laughed at that. "Oh don't you worry about it," Jon said empathetically, "We haven't the slightest idea what it is either, but between us I'll wager we can get to the bottom of it."

Morgan knelt down next to the track and looked at it more closely. "I am assuming it was raining the night this was made?" he said looking up towards the farmer.

Jon nodded. "Indeed it was. There's a few others scattered about but this was the best looking print I could find, so I made sure to take special care of it until you got here, so nothing would ruin it."

"I appreciate that," the ranger responded. "How long ago was it made?"

"This one..." the farmer thought for a moment, "about a week ago. If you look hard enough you can find them all over my field though. Whatever it is has been back as recently as two nights ago. It doesn't seem to ever go up this hill, and I've taken to herding my pigs into the barn at night. It has stayed away so far, but I would rather not give it the opportunity to kill again.

"Even without taking more of my pigs," he added, "it's still doing enough damage to my crops. Whatever it isn't digging up and eating, it's just trampling into the dirt."

"And you've never seen the creature?" Morgan asked.

Jon shook his head. "I'm in my fields nearly the entire day and I've not seen a thing. It comes during the night. I tried sitting on top of the barn after the sun has gone down on several occasions but never have I managed to spot the beast."

"None of us have," the mayor interjected, "It only comes when it's dark and until recently hasn't come very close to the village, so we weren't too worried. But it has been coming farther and farther up this hill. Slowly, yes, but with each visit it ventures closer. That's the reason we decided to send for you. We do not have walls or fortifications, and as you saw yesterday our children are quite fond of playing outside during the day..." he trailed off.

"I understand completely, Mayor Gamstell," Morgan assured the Halfling. He turned towards Jon, "Do you mind if I look around at some of the other tracks?"

"Of course not," the farmer responded, "Do whatever you need to do." He gestured down the hill, "Most of them are down that way, there's a few up here but not many."

"Thank you," the ranger said as he continued further down into the field. The others followed close behind. While descending through the rows of crops Morgan could make out faint impressions of where the animal had stepped. He carefully pushed the farmer's plants aside, spilling the morning dew from their leaves onto the ground, to get a better look. None were nearly as well preserved as the first print. As the ground began to once again level out though the tracks became clearer, and much less difficult to find.

"Why are they so much easier to spot down here?" Renna asked, looking back up the hill to where Dorbin and Jon stood talking to one another.

"Farmer Harkin said it had rained recently, most of the water probably ended up down here and caused there to be quite a bit of mud. It dried, and apparently it has not rained again since, which is fortunate for us," the ranger explained.

"You know Morgan," Zanadar started with a grin, "You're much better at this than I thought you'd be."

"Thank you... I think."

The big man laughed. "Don't worry, it was a compliment."

Elandar poked at one of the footprints with his staff. "Not good enough to know what it is though," he grumbled.

"Well, I can tell you that whatever it is," the ranger said towards the old man, "that there is more than one of them."

Zanadar nodded. "He's right," he pointed towards a group of crushed plants. Their leaves had been stomped into the dirt. Two partially faded sets of tracks ran through them. "Look, they aren't the same size. They're close, but these were definitely made by two different animals."

"So what does that mean?" Renna asked.

The big man shrugged, "Just that there were at least two."

Elandar leaned on his staff and peered to the south, past the edge of the farmland and into the sprawling green fields, which seemed to roll off into the distance forever in the clear morning air. Their tall grass waved gently in the light early breeze. "I don't see anything," he said.

"Well," Zanadar stated, "You are quite old, you know."

He glared dubiously at the big man and gripped his staff tightly. "Don't you start with me, meathead, my eyes are just as good as they ever were and you know it."

Zanadar looked amused for a moment, and then narrowed his eyes as he too gazed out into the fields. "As much as I hate to admit it, I don't see anything out there either."

"The tracks clearly came from the south though," Morgan added.

The big man grinned widely, "So I guess we'll be going that way, won't we?"

Elandar grumbled audibly and looked back up the hill towards the village. "After we get our horses." Renna seemed to brighten a bit at that.

Morgan and Zanadar exchanged a quick glance and both nodded. "Fair enough," the big man said. "We will be able to cover a lot more ground that way. With any luck we'll be able to catch whatever they are sleeping."

They turned and began to hike carefully back up the hill, the ground was wet and slick still at this early hour.

"Did you find any more tracks?" Dorbin asked as they made their way back up towards the two Halflings.

Morgan nodded to the mayor and explained what they had seen down the hill. "Right now we are headed back to the stables to get our horses then we're going to ride south a ways and see what we can find."

"Oh my," Dorbin responded. "Do be careful." Jon echoed the sentiment. "If you need any supplies see Nelton," the mayor called out as they started back towards the village, "they will be free of charge, of course."

Elandar rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Free of charge," he hummed to himself.

"Don't get any bright ideas." Zanadar scolded. "I sincerely doubt by supplies he meant any sort of ale. Besides, I thought you didn't like Halfling brews."

"They are better than nothing," the old man shot back, as they entered once again into the village.

Renna tugged on Morgan's sleeve and pulled him aside as the other two men argued. "Morgan..." she said quietly.

"What is it?"

"You know when Zanadar said he didn't know what made those tracks?" she whispered, keeping an eye on the big man.

"Yes."

"He was lying."

Guess Work

"Lying?" Morgan repeated, surprised.

"Not so loud!" the stable hand whispered harshly. "Yes, he was lying."

"How do you know?"

Renna arched her eyebrow and shot the ranger a pointed look.

"All right," Morgan conceded, "I guess you would know."

"So what are you going to do?"

The ranger shrugged.

"Nothing?"

"It doesn't change the fact that we still need to find out what did that to the fields."

Renna grasped Morgan's arm sharply, causing him to flinch. "All they have done is lie to us, and you're just going to follow them blindly and not ask any questions? What reason do you have to trust either of them, especially Zanadar, he almost got you-both of us-killed, or had you forgotten about that already?"

Morgan started to respond, but the big man noticed the commotion and turned away from Elandar. "And what are you two arguing about?" he asked, grinning broadly.

Renna nestled her head up against the ranger's arm and flashed a sweet smile. "Who says we're arguing?" At that, Morgan began to blush furiously, which elicited only a larger grin from the big man.

"I see," he said.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," the ranger mumbled quietly after Zanadar had turned his attention elsewhere.

She looked back up at him. Her large brown eyes narrowed slightly as a fiendish smirk spread across her lips. She gazed at the ranger coolly for a moment, which made him quite uncomfortable, then abruptly laughed and turned away. Morgan was not quite sure how he was supposed to take that, but was convinced talking would only make it worse. He let out a brief sigh and continued into the village.

The worn road leading back through Rindol Field now teamed with activity. Halflings pushing carts of all shapes and sizes full of a variety of crops from the fields weaved in an out of larger wagons drawn by small teams of ponies. Though even with all the movement the town's residents still managed to appear relaxed and generally content.

It did not take long to reach the small stable building. The party quickly gathered their horses, apologizing profusely to an irate young stable boy whom Gray seemed to have offended dearly, and after a brief stop to gather a small amount of supplies, departed.

On horseback, the group stuck out from the rest of the crowd, and attracted quite a bit of attention. Taller visitors were fairly common to Rindol Field, but visitors wearing armor and weapons such as Zanadar's were not. Elandar received many friendly waves as townsfolk recognized him from the previous night, each of which he returned with a dark glower.

"How odd," Renna observed as they continued back towards the farm, "They seem to like you, Elandar."

"They're Halflings," the old man huffed, "They like everything."

Soon they had reached Farmer Harkin's field again. The party rode around the side of his modest home and began down the hill. The mayor seemed to have left, but Morgan could see Jon off in the distance tending to a group of plants. He looked up as they passed and waved. "Good luck," he called out.

The tracks were not hard to follow at first. They continued down into the muddied valley and stayed mostly on lower ground. Morgan had tracked animals much smaller working on much less many times before. Though the grass was tall and thick, this was relatively simple. Even someone who did not know what they were looking for could have very well followed this particular trail.

They rode at a leisurely pace, talking idly while Morgan surveyed the ground around them. "There doesn't appear to be any particular pattern here," the ranger observed after a while.

"What do you mean?" asked Renna.

Zanadar pointed at the scattered imprints in the ground. "He means it looks like they just wandered aimlessly through the valley until they reached Jon Harkin's farm."

"Right," Morgan said, nodding, "And there is no consistency to their movement. Sometimes they are running, other times they are walking. At times they're going straight and others just in circles."

Renna leaned off Gray's back slightly and stared at the ground suspiciously. "You can tell all of that just by looking at some footprints?"

"It has to do with how deep and how far apart they are." Morgan explained, "Once you know what to look for it really is not that hard." He gazed across the valley. "Though it is going to more difficult. The trail looks like it is going to lead up over that hill, which means it will be harder to follow."

"...Because it's not where all the mud was." Renna said.

"Exactly," Zanadar replied, "We will have you tracking with the best of the rangers in no time."

She looked at Morgan and grinned. "I already am," she boasted playfully.

The big men held up his hands. "I stand corrected," he agreed as they neared the end of the valley. Despite Zanadar and the stable hand's joking, Morgan did his best to follow the trail up side of the hill. There were very few solid tracks but several moderately sized patches of displaced dirt amongst the tall grass suggested recent activity.

Unfortunately, the patches seemed to have no point of origin. They were scattered over the hillside in no particular order and worse yet, did not continue up past the crest of the foothill. He frowned.

"What is it?" Zanadar asked.

"I am having trouble picking up the trail," the ranger admitted, "There's no prints here and though I would wager a good deal those dirt piles came from them too, they don't go anywhere."

"Don't worry Morgan," Renna teased in a reassuring tone, "We still think you're the best. Don't we Zanadar?"

"Right," the big man replied. He peered down off his saddle at the ground. For several moments he scanned the area for any signs of passage, leading his horse in small circles through the grass. "I don't see anything either," he reported at last.

"I knew a blind ranger once," Elandar stated suddenly.

Morgan blinked, still concentrating on the ground. "What?"

"He could track better than both of you combined."

The ranger looked up. The old man had ridden a short distance ahead, stopping at the top of the hill. "All right..." he said uneasily, unsure exactly how to respond.

"Do I have to do everything myself?" Elandar muttered something under his breath and pointed out in front of him. "Look," he said as he peered out into the countryside.

The rest of the group rode up next to the old man and followed his gaze down the hill. "What are we looking for?" Zanadar asked.

"You don't see it?" Elandar replied, sounding somewhat surprised.

Morgan surveyed the landscape before him. Rolling green hills continued to stretch out beyond his vision. Trees of varying sizes springing from the high grass littered the countryside. Small pockets of bushes grew around their base and frequently spread out farther into the landscape.

It was nearing midday. The sun now sat almost directly overhead, warming the usually brisk Thestran countryside. A large flock of birds soared through the sky in the distance, calling out to one another as they dove and twisted about in the air.

The big man let out an annoyed curse. "Don't answer a question with a question. What am I looking for?"

"I'm not quite sure what you want us to see either," Morgan offered.

Elandar held out his staff and pointed off into the distance. "Look," he said, "Near the tree on that hill."

The ranger narrowed his eyes, trying to spot what the old man was pointing at. The hill looked to be fairly close, but he knew it was actually deceptively far. It would take them at least a few hours to reach it.

"I still don't know what you're talking about," Zanadar said between clenched teeth, nearly growling.

"Do you see that brown patch on the ground? It's a pile of dirt similar to those behind us."

"Similar?" the big questioned acidly.

"They are the exact same thing, meathead. Whatever made these made that. Don't use that tone with me."

Morgan could barely make out the brown patch. Had the old man not labeled it as such he would have never noticed it. "Are you sure that's what that is?" Morgan asked politely, "I can't really tell."

"Of course I'm sure, tenderfoot." Elandar shot back, "You think just because I'm old that means I can't see anymore. I will have you know that my eyes are more capable right now than yours will ever be."

The ranger gave Zanadar a questioning look.

"Well, we don't have much else to work off of," the big man replied, "We might as well go and see."

They rode in silence for a time, each seemingly content with the company of their own thoughts. Morgan continually scanned the ground beneath them as the horses trudged onward. A few times, he spotted marks that could have been made by the creatures they followed. Or they could have been made by wolves, he had no way of telling for sure and was beginning to have doubts that the old man had in fact, seen what he had claimed.

By the time they reached the point Elandar had spotted, it was mid afternoon. The sun hung heavily in the sky and had long since dried the morning dew. Though it was a pleasant day, a steady breeze kept the group chilled. As they crested the hill, Morgan could clearly see the large patch of displaced dirt. It sat a few dozen paces to the side of a lone, gnarled tree. Its thick trunk was short, and sprouted off into several directions just a few feet above the ground. The tree's branches stretched over the hilltop and were thick with leaves, forming a near canopy over all beneath.

Scrubby bushes spread out from under it and back over the other side of the hill. It looked as though something had dug a shallow, circular trench into the soft earth, piling the loose soil up on one side.

The dirt at the bottom of the trench had been packed tightly into the ground. Morgan slid out of his saddle and kneeled next to it to look closer. He stood up and gazed back at Elandar, a look of surprise on his face.

"It's very faint, and I can barely see it but there is definitely a track in there," he reported. "I never would have seen this, Elandar. How did you spot it?"

"Great, now he'll never be quiet about it," Zanadar muttered under his breath.

The old man shot Zanadar a caustic glance. "My hearing is even better than my sight, you know." He turned his attention back to the ranger and shook his staff with one bony old hand, "And by the gods, I'm a mighty wizard! How do you think I spotted it? Don't look so surprised."

The big man peered into the shallow trench from atop his horse. "It looks like a shelter of some sort," he said conclusively. "They probably slept here, which would explain why the bottom is packed so tightly."

Morgan nodded. "That's what I was thinking." He peaked out over the side of the hill. His face brightened a bit as he saw the land stretched out before him. Several small bushes had been quite obviously trampled by something heavy. Beyond that though, there was nothing. "Well, it isn't much," he said, "But I can tell you they went this way."

"It's a good start," the big man replied. He rode around the dirt shelter, next to where the ranger stood and peered out over him to the south. "And judging by the looks of that," he gestured at the next closest hill in the direction Morgan had indicated, "They stayed in the valley. The soil is loose and rocky, and the incline too steep. It would be easier to just go around rather than try to climb up."

Zanadar and Morgan both looked down into the valley with their eyes narrowed, they gazed appraisingly at the land below.

"So did they go east or west then?" Renna asked finally, after a long silence.

"Hard to say," the ranger answered, "Upwind most likely, but we don't have anyway of knowing which way the wind was blowing when they passed through here."

"Well," the big man said with a shrug, "The wind is blowing east now."

"East then?" Morgan asked.

"Wait a minute," Renna interrupted, "You're just going to guess? You don't have any kind of ranger tricks to tell you which way they went?"

"A great deal of tracking is guess work, Renna." Zanadar answered for Morgan.

She frowned. "That isn't a very reassuring thing to hear."

"The trick is to guess right," he said with a grin, "That's what separates the good trackers from the bad."

It took only a few minutes for the group ride down into the valley. As suspected, there were no additional tracks or signs of the creatures to be had, so they continued on to the east. They stuck to low ground as they circled through the dense grass around the base of the large hill.

Gradually, the ground began to slope upward to meet the hilltops and they found themselves rising out of the valley. There was still no sign of the creatures, but they continued nonetheless. Soon, the group stood atop a small knoll among a narrow cluster of trees overlooking the surrounding countryside.

"We haven't seen anything for a while now," the big man pointed out. He glanced up at the sky. The sun was beginning to sink into the horizon. "If we're going to circle back we need to make a decision soon, we only have another hour or so of daylight left."

Morgan surveyed the area around them. Behind the party, to the north, the hills rolled back into the distance and out of sight. To the south, the land flattened into a grassy field and gradually sloped downward. With a sigh, the ranger turned back towards Zanadar. He opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short. Several hundred paces out into the tall grass something moved. Something big.

He looked to the big man.

Zanadar nodded. "I saw it too."

Shades of Gray

It moved again. The creature stood up from the concealing grass, tilted its stout head slightly and sniffed the air. It had rough, splotchy gray skin and a bulky, hunched body. Its long, muscular arms reached down from its broad shoulders and disappeared into the brush. At this distance and with the covering it was impossible to determine the creature's exact size, but Morgan could quite plainly tell that it was bigger than he was.

Renna stared wide-eyed into the field. "What is that?" she asked quietly, her gaze trained on the beast.

Zanadar peered intently at the creature for a moment and then tightened the straps on his armor. "It's a troll," he said simply, testing the grip on the sheathed sword across his back. "And it's been causing the trouble at Jon Harkin's farm." He noticed the stable hand's uneasiness. "It's quite all right. We're upwind, and it doesn't see us."

Renna did not look convinced. "Why didn't you tell us what it was before? You were lying when you said you didn't know what made the tracks."

Elandar's eyebrow arched. He gave the big man a slightly amused expression. "It seems you aren't nearly as clever as you think you are," he said with a grin.

Zanadar shrugged. "I suspected they were troll tracks, but I didn't know for sure, and I didn't want to cause any excitement if I was wrong."

Morgan did not believe that for a second, but something else was bothering him. "What is a troll doing here?" He asked, "I've never even heard of one in this region."

"You're right about that," the big man answered, happy to change the subject. "It is a long way from home. Your guess is as good as mine as to why it's here. Trolls tend to do most of their thinking with their stomachs. I'd wager that had something to do with it."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Renna asked, still carefully watching the beast.

"We have to kill it," Zanadar replied, "They are vicious, violent creatures. If we don't, it's only a matter of time before it feeds on Halflings instead of their pigs." Zanadar frowned. "It's probably a little late to be asking this, but how well trained are these horses?"

"They're the best we have," the stable hand said, "They won't spook."

"Well, at least that's good news. Morgan, how skilled are you with those maces of yours?"

"Why?" the ranger asked dubiously.

"If I charge it, it may run. I need you to circle around the side and keep it between us. Can you do that?"

Morgan had never seen a troll before, let alone fought one. "I can try."

"Good. Let's get this over with then. I'll circle around to the west," the big man pointed his mailed glove in the opposite direction, "You go around to the east. Just don't let it get by you. I'll do the rest." With that, he nudged his horse into a subdued trot and looked back over his shoulder to Renna and the old man. "You two stay here. As long as you don't move, you shouldn't draw any attention to yourselves."

"I was slaying monsters before you were born," Elandar rebutted, "Worry about yourself."

"Be careful, Morgan," Renna called softly as the ranger began to slowly ride around the opposite side of the troll. Morgan carefully removed the darkened maces from his traveling pack, all the while keeping his eyes on the creature, which seemed preoccupied with something in the waving grass.

Morgan had not known what to expect after finding the tracks. But a troll? The ranger would never have guessed such a creature would wander this far from its home and end up in the peaceful land of the Halflings. Yet here it was. Morgan grinned. After all that had happened in the past several days, he did not know why he was the least bit surprised now.

He could see Zanadar circling around the creature on the other side, gradually inching closer. The troll batted playfully at whatever it had discovered on the ground, probably tormenting some small animal. Across the field, Morgan stayed even with Zanadar, while keeping himself at a safe distance. He was nervous and found himself holding his breath as he inched silently around the beast.

Suddenly, the wind changed direction, gusting strongly towards the troll. Morgan froze in his saddle. His horse bayed nervously side-to-side as the troll's head shot up and sniffed the air suspiciously. It turned its gaze in the ranger's direction.

Morgan tried to keep himself low, a feat not easily accomplished on horseback, but it was too late- the troll had spotted him. The creature rose out of the grass, its icy stare locked onto the ranger as it reared back and then charged. It barreled through the fields toward him, pounding forward with its large, muscled arms. Despite its size, it was surprisingly quick.

Zanadar spurred his horse. The big man's mount raced through the grass, trying to catch the beast. He shouted something that Morgan couldn't quite hear as he drew the large sword from across his back. Barely slowing, the troll threw back its head and let loose a deep, penetrating roar.

A pair of large patches of grass behind the creature began to twist about awkwardly as two more trolls stood up in the brush. Morgan heard the big man curse as he pulled up hard on his reigns and narrowly missed colliding with one of the beasts. His horse stumbled to the side but the big man managed to stay mounted. The ranger silently scolded himself. Of course there were more, they knew that from the tracks.

The first troll continued its charge toward the ranger. This was not going how Morgan had hoped. He was not sure how to deal with the beast but was confident that standing there was not the answer. He kicked his horse into action just in time to avoid the troll's rush. The creature let out an angry wail as its charge came up short, then it spun around and lunged at Morgan.

At its full height, the troll stood nearly eye to eye with the mounted ranger. Grasping the reigns tightly in one hand and his mace in the other, he did his best to beat away the beast's powerful claws.

He managed to fend off most of the troll's attempts to maul him and connected a solid blow to the creature's knuckle. The strike only further enraged the beast. As Morgan tried to ride out of its reach, the troll growled viciously and snatched the hind leg of the ranger's horse. With a sharp tug, it pulled the frantic steed to the ground and sent Morgan sprawling into the grass.

The ranger took the fall well and quickly rolled to his feet as the troll turned its attention toward him, allowing the horse to recover and gallop off. So much for it being well trained. Morgan certainly did not blame it though. He readied himself as the beast reared up on its legs to attack. It towered over Morgan, its shadow enveloping him completely. Its rank breath seeped into the air as the troll seethed and furiously hurled its fists at Morgan.

The ranger was outmatched and he knew it. On foot he was at a serious disadvantage, though he had little time to dwell on it. He barely managed to jump aside as the troll's rocklike fists pounded into the ground beside him. Moving quickly, Morgan swung fiercely at the creature's wrist, leaving a painful contusion that began to swell immediately from the impact of the heavy blow.

The troll bellowed loudly in pain and jerked its arm back. It snarled at the ranger and grabbed at him with its uninjured hand. Morgan tried to dodge but faltered and stumbled into the creature's grasp. It gripped him painfully around the torso, its long, thick fingers squeezing the air from his lungs as it lifted him from the ground. He struggled to break its hold, swinging feebly at its arms, but the troll was too strong. It secured its grip with its wounded hand and began to squeeze, crushing the ranger.

As the beast tightened its grasp Morgan began to feel light headed. "Morgan!" he thought he heard a voice call out. The troll looked momentarily back over its shoulder, allowing the ranger to glimpse Renna breaking from the cover of the trees, galloping full speed towards him on Gray. The large horse looked angry, and gnashed at its bit as it charged through the grass. Elandar called out for her to stop, but if the stable hand heard the old man's shouts she ignored them.

The troll paused briefly at the sight of Gray racing through the field and loosened its grip on the ranger. Morgan began to wriggle and the creature turned its attention back toward him just in time to catch the ranger's boot on the underside of its chin. The beast was unfazed and pulled Morgan closer, baring its teeth in a menacing snarl. The ranger quickly drew his mace back and, summoning all of his strength, swung it at the beast's head.

It slammed into the troll's temple with a sickening crack. The beast staggered backward, releasing the ranger. Morgan fell to the ground, gasping for breath. A crimson patch stained the side of the troll's head as it whirled about awkwardly, trying to stay on its feet. The ranger heard the thundering cadence of Gray's steel-shod hooves and looked up just in time to see Renna leap from the mighty horse's back and into the safety of the grass, rolling to a stop perhaps a dozen paces away.

The troll, still reeling from the blow, made a weak attempt to defend itself from the charge. But Renna's horse simply powered through, crashing headlong into the beast with tremendous force. The troll was hurled backward several paces and crumpled to the ground in an agonizing wreck. It cried out pathetically and tried in vain to rise to its feet, much to the delight of the angry horse, who gleefully stomped the troll into one final, broken heap.

Morgan wheezed for air. "I'm glad he's on our side."

"Me too," Renna said as she rushed over to where the ranger lay. "Are you all right?"

His chest ached and it was difficult to catch his breath. "I'll be fine," Morgan answered stoically. "Thank you." He struggled to his feet and looked around for Zanadar, spotting the big man back toward the center of the field. The tall grass around him was spattered with red. Zanadar grappled with one of the trolls but the other was nowhere in sight. With a deep, painful breath, the ranger began to rush toward him.

Zanadar broke away from the creature, clenched his fists and landed several powerful blows to its midsection. It reeled forward, lashing out at the big man. He stepped aside easily, letting the attack brush past him and leapt onto the troll's back, driving the creature into the ground. Morgan could not see what was happening in the tall grass, but a moment later the troll stood back up. Zanadar still clung to its back. His strong arm was wrapped tightly around the beast's neck, choking it. The big man kicked at the back of the beast's knee. It buckled, sending the two back down into the dirt. For several seconds they thrashed about wildly in the grass. Then, after a long pause, Zanadar emerged. He brushed off his hands and glared down at the ground, looking genuinely annoyed.

"Are you all right?" Morgan asked, panting, as he reached the big man.

Zanadar cursed. "Yeah," he replied, "I cannot believe I didn't see them." Though the grass was splashed with streaks of blood, none of it appeared to be from him. Except for his stormy expression and the absence of his sword, Zanadar appeared to be fine. Then he looked up. "How about you?"

"Nothing that won't heal," Morgan said, as Renna led Gray up behind him. "I had a little help." He gave the big man a peculiar look. "Where's your sword?"

Zanadar muttered something under his breath and stalked off into a particularly large patch of red grass. He reached down into the brush and, with a stomach-turning, wrenching noise, pulled his sword out of what Morgan presumed to be the other troll- though at this point it was somewhat hard to recognize. "It got stuck," he explained sourly. He gave the messy blade a disgusted look and wiped it off on the grass.

Elandar emerged from the cover of the trees and casually strolled over to join the group. "Fool girl," he said, "You could have gotten yourself killed."

"When the alternative is cowering behind a tree with you," she chirped back tartly, "I'll risk it."

Morgan bent forward and put a steadying hand on Gray's saddle for support as he erupted into a brief fit of coughing. "Are you sure you're all right?" Zanadar asked.

The ranger held up his other hand. "I'm fine," he assured him as the coughing subsided, "I'll just be sore for a few days."

Elandar looked around, scratching at the rim of his hat as he took in the surroundings. "Where is your horse?" he said to Morgan.

"It ran off after the troll grabbed it."

"It couldn't have gone far," Renna added, "It shouldn't take us too long to find it."

"Well," Zanadar said expansively, "We'd better start looking then. We don't have much daylight left and we need to find it before dark."

Renna looked confused. "Why?"

The big man gave the stable hand a hard look, and then replied. "Because these trolls weren't fully grown, which means that tonight, there's going to be a very unhappy mother out."¹

Original page: http://www.thesafehouse.org/vanguard/lore/Content/GeneralStories_T15.php