Sword of the MacLachlan - 1. Mission to Glebe

The companions sat around their table at the Wooden Troll on a sunny autumn morning. The breeze that wafted through the open door was crisp and redolent of…

“What is that smell? Onions?” Alan asked.

In the street outside the inn, voices raised in anger were followed by childish laughter. James stepped to the door to see what was happening. “Cart full of onions and another with bags of flour,” he reported. “Apparently couldn’t pass in the narrow street, and tried to, anyway. There’s flour all over the street, and the children are pelting each other and the walls with onions. Anyone for zwiebelkuchen?”

“What’s a zwiebelkuchen?” Alan asked.

“An onion roll. Fresh and hot, it’s the most wonderful pastry in the world,” James sighed. “It’s too bad no one south of Bowling Green knows how to make one…”

James returned to his seat. A few minutes later, Caulden, Senior of the Temple in Fortmain and a friend of the companions, entered. He stamped flour from his feet and peered around the room. When his eyes adjusted from the brightness outside, he spied James and walked over to join him and the others, beckoning to the serving boy.

“Greetings, in the Light,” he said, encompassing all at the table in his blessing.

“We thank you for your blessing,” James replied. “Please, won’t you join us?”

“Coffee?” Patrick offered.

Caulden shuddered. “Don’t know how you stand that stuff,” he said. “Thank you, just the same.” Turning to the serving boy, he asked for tea.

Among the gossip that Caulden shared was that a cleric from the capital city had arrived in Fortmain. He would be posted to Glebe, a town in the mountains to the west-northwest. Caulden continued, “He traveled here with a caravan, and isn’t looking forward to walking the rest of the way! It’s a five, maybe six-day trip. The last two days are in the mountains. Glebe can be reached only by crossing a narrow footbridge, and scuttling along a path on the side of the mountain so narrow that no horse can pass.”

James and Patrick exchanged looks, and a silent message passed between them. Just the night before they’d discussed a reconnaissance to the west; accompanying this cleric might be the opportunity they had been looking for.

“Caulden,” James began, “Do you think this brother would like a little company on this trip? Even though that area’s supposed to be safe, a couple of armed escorts might be welcome.”

“I’m sure that he would, if only to have someone to share his discomfort!” Caulden chuckled. When he was assured that James was serious, Caulden offered, “Let me confirm that with him. When could you be ready to leave?”

It was agreed that James and Kenneth would accompany the cleric to Glebe, and that the three would depart two days hence. Patrick expressed concern, and desire for all the companions to make the journey, but James demurred. “The danger is minimal; the cleric will be in mendicant’s robes—an unlikely target—and Kenneth and I will be dressed plainly, but with weapons in full sight. There’s a lot of farm traffic on that road this time of year; we’ll be just fine. And, a couple of clerics are more likely to gain the confidence of the people of Glebe than an armed band.”

Patrick agreed, and for the first time since they had been bound, the companions would be separated.

*****

The new cleric was received coolly by the Senior of the Glebe Temple, who made it clear that the town was hard pressed to support him in the style to which he was accustomed. He also made it clear that James and Kenneth were not welcome to stay at the Temple, despite their status as clerics, because that would further drain his resources. He graciously pointed to an inn a few doors down from the Temple. “That place shouldn’t strain your purse any,” he said, as he closed the rectory door in their faces.

James and Kenneth looked at one another in amazement, and then James shrugged. “We’ll likely learn more at the inn than we would at the Temple, anyway.” The two boys walked to the inn.

Inside, the inn was like any inn anywhere in World, except that virtually everything but the doors and furniture was made of stone. The common room was broken up by heavy stone arches atop stone pillars that supported the weight of the upper floors. Even the bar, behind which the publican stood drying mugs, was made of stone. A niggardly fire crackling in the grate of a small fireplace provided scant heat and little light to augment the few oil lamps on the walls. At least it’s a wood fire, and not dung, James thought.

The publican looked up and frowned at the sight of strangers. James quickly introduced himself. “I’m James and this is Kenneth. We just brought a new cleric to the Temple, and they said we might stay here…for a few days…” his voice drifted off. Let him assume that we are waiting for the Temple’s permission to leave, if he wants. That way we can perhaps stay long enough to learn something…

“It’s a shilling a day for the room; a shilling each for supper; and a shilling for a hot bath for the two of you.” As James started to dicker, the publican continued, “You walked up here…you know that we can’t bring wood and food in from the valley. Everything costs more, up here…”

James nodded, and counted out four farthings, “We’ll be here at least two days. After making that walk, we deserve a hot bath. And, how much would two mugs of ale be?”

The publican brightened when the silver hit his palm. “First mug is my pleasure…after that, a ha’penny each. Thruppence will buy you a pitcher. It’s cheaper that way.”

James added thruppence to the coins in the man’s palm. “If we buy the pitcher, we’ll need some help drinking it. Will you join us for a mug?”

The publican positively beamed. “Thank you, youngling; I will, and right gladly.” As he filled a leather pitcher, he continued talking. “So they told you at the Temple, did they? Brother Adrian that must have been. You brought a new cleric did you? Guess I’ll meet him soon enough. I see Brother Adrian every couple of days. He comes in here to dinner when he can’t afford the Cock o’ the Walk. Oh, I don’t mind telling you, they have better food, but it’d cost you twice as much and it’s not twice as good. No, you did right to stay here.”

The publican waved the boys to the stammtisch, and followed them with the pitcher and his own mug. “So, you’ve come in from Arcadia, have you? How was the trip?”

James corrected the publican. “We’re only from Fortmain. The new cleric, Brother Berman, came to Fortmain from Arcadia with a caravan, and we just walked with him from there.”

Kenneth sipped his ale, knowing that his slight weight could not absorb more than the pint without making him dizzy. I’m going to ask Patrick to teach me the spell that he uses to neut…neutral…whatever he calls it…the alcohol so that he doesn’t get drunk. He said I’d have to learn more chemistry, though.

While Kenneth was wrapped up in his thoughts, James had made a friend of the publican. “You’ve been to Agium, have you,” the man asserted. “Heard there was a big fight there recently. Some of the baron’s soldiers and a bunch of Trolls, or so they say. What do you know about that?”

James drank slowly, although his body weight could tolerate more alcohol than could Kenneth’s slight frame. “Well,” he said, preparing to lie without lying, “We left Agium a couple of weeks afterwards. While we were there, it was the talk of the town. Did you know that the baron’s son had been one of the captives? And the only one who lived to tell the story?” For the next hour, James spun out the tale, interrupted frequently by the publican’s expressions of “You don’t say!” and “Well, I never.”

The pitcher was empty, and James’ bladder was full, by the time the publican’s curiosity had been satisfied. “Guess you’ll want to see the room,” the publican said, and then burped. “A good story, youngling. I hope that you’ll tell it again, tonight. My boys would like to hear it.”

James politely agreed, but vowed to stick to cider for the next telling.

It was nearly compline before James finished his seventh mug of cider and third telling of the story. The common room of the inn had been crowded for supper and after. The publican’s three boys, who had been in the hills gathering wood during the day, were kept busy serving and cleaning, and insisted on one last telling for their ears, alone, after the last of the customers had left.

“All right,” James said, “One last telling.” The common room was cold. The fire had been allowed to go out, and the door had been opened to clear the air of smoke from the grate and the oil lamps.

“It’s too cold in here,” complained the youngest of the publican’s sons, a boy named Bram. (The boy’s name sounded something like Bramante, but only his mother called him that. She and her daughter had appeared in the door from the kitchen several times during the evening, carefully surveying the room, and keeping an eye on the boys.) “And we haven’t had a bath, yet.”

Quinn, one of the two tweens, added, “Would you tell us while we bathe?”

James and Kenneth followed the three boys to the bath. The hot soak was cooling, and the story was only half-told before the boys were forced from the water.

“Come to our room,” Adam, the second tween, urged. “It’s over the kitchen, so it’s warm.”

As they drifted off to sleep, Quinn whispered, “Thank you, James. I’m glad you came to Glebe.”

The next night, Quinn knocked on James and Kenneth’s door. He had a book in his hand. “I cannot tell stories like you do, James, but there are some good stories in this book. I often read a story to my brothers before sleep. Would you like to join us?”

James looked to Kenneth, who nodded. The two boys followed Quinn down the hallway.

This is the story Quinn read.

How the Woodpecker Got Its Red Head

Few know that the woodpecker was born with a head of brown, and fewer know how it came to be that today his head is red.

A thousand lifetimes ago, there was a paladin. Well, actually there was a boy who wanted very much to be a paladin, but who had no one to teach him how to be a Warrior of the Light. His father and his uncles and his brothers were all farmers. They were fine farmers and Good people, but they did not know the ways of a Warrior of the Light.

The boy asked the cleric in the market town to which the family brought their produce, but the cleric did not know. ‘There were paladins in the old days,’ the cleric said. ‘But not today.’

The boy asked the mendicant who visited the farm, but the mendicant did not know. ‘Once, there were paladins,’ the mendicant said, ‘but there are no more.’

The boy decided that if he were to become a paladin, he would have to find someone to teach him. Taking an old sword that had belonged to his great-great-great-grandfather, he set out into the world.

As he walked down the road, he saw a man beating another man. He ran toward them, and drew the sword. When he reached the men, he struck the assailant with the sword. Because the sword was old and rusty and the boy was small, the blow did not harm the man. However, the blow did startle the attacker. The man who was being beaten took advantage of this, and was able to overcome his assailant. He then took the other man’s purse, and walked away. As he did, he said to the boy, ‘Thank you. I was trying to rob that man, but he resisted. He was about to get the best of me until you arrived.’

The boy was stricken with grief because he had unwittingly aided a thief. He helped the second man—the one he had struck with his sword—to his feet. ‘I am sorry I hit you,’ he said. ‘I thought you were an evil man.’

The man brushed himself off and said, ‘Please do not be sorry, for I was about to kill a man to stop him from stealing a purse that contained only five pennies. That would have indeed, made me an evil man. Thank you.’ He shook the boy’s hand, and walked away.

The boy continued walking down the road until he encountered a man, dressed in black, sitting beside the road. As he approached, he saw that the man’s face was covered with hairy warts, his nose was long and crooked, his hair was gray and lank, and his fingernails were long and sharp. The man saw the boy and raised his hand. The boy felt a shiver of fear. He must be an evil magician, the boy thought. And he is trying to cast a spell on me. The boy drew his sword and struck the man. Because the sword was dull and rusty, and the boy was small, the blow did not hurt the man. However, as the sword struck him, there was a flash of light. The old, ugly man dressed in black disappeared. In his place was a tall tween, dressed in yellow and green and wearing a crown.

The boy was stricken with grief because he had hit a handsome prince with his sword. ‘I am sorry I hit you,’ he said. ‘I thought you were an Evil mage.’

The prince brushed himself off and said, ‘Please do not be sorry, for an evil mage had turned me into an old and ugly man, and the iron in your sword broke the spell. Thank you.’ He shook the boy’s hand, and walked away.

The boy continued walking down the road. Suddenly, he heard a child screaming. He ran toward the sound. He saw a young girl, tied to a tree. It was she whose screams the boy had heard. Beside her, an old woman stirred a cauldron as it bubbled over a fire. Thinking the woman to be a witch who would harm the girl, the boy ran to the woman and struck her with the sword. Because the sword was dull and rusty, and the boy was small, the blow did not hurt the woman. However, as the sword struck the old woman, the fire below the cauldron went out.

‘Now see what you have done,’ the woman said. ‘My granddaughter has the screaming sickness. The potion in the cauldron would have cured her. Now I have to start all over again.’

The boy was stricken with grief because he had caused harm once again. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought you were an Evil Witch and that the girl was your captive.’

‘Your intentions were good, but your actions were not. You must learn to look beyond what you see,’ the woman said. ‘Do not worry, I will make another potion and cure my granddaughter. Run along, now.’

The boy continued walking down the road. In a tree beside the road was a woodpecker. Now, in those days, woodpeckers were brown all over, and the boy didn’t see this one until it spoke. ‘Why are you so sad, boy?’ the woodpecker asked.

‘Because I want to be a paladin and destroy evil, but I don’t know what evil is. So far, today, I have wrongly attacked three people.’

‘Well,’ said the woodpecker. ‘That will never do. Follow me, and when next I land on a tree, strike it with your sword, for that tree will be truly evil.’

The boy didn’t know if he should believe the woodpecker, but he’d not been doing very well on his own, so he followed the woodpecker as it flittered through the woods. It was difficult to follow the woodpecker, because it was brown and the trees were brown. At last, the woodpecker landed on an old oak tree. ‘Remember what I told you, boy,’ the woodpecker said.

The boy drew his sword and struck the tree. Dark blood spurted from the tree, which turned into a Troll. With a surprised look, the Troll fell, dead, at the boy’s feet. The boy’s eyes widened when he saw that his sword was now bright and shining, and that the edges were sharp. When he raised his arm to return the sword to its scabbard, he realized that he was no longer a boy, but a tween in whose strong arm the heavy sword moved easily.

‘You may see evil where it is not, and not see evil where it is,’ said the woodpecker. ‘But I have the gift of knowing evil. You can destroy evil, but I can only knock my head against a tree.’

The boy took blood from the body of the Troll and smeared it on the woodpecker’s head. ‘Now, I shall know you, and see you among the trees. I have strength, and you have wisdom. Together, we will be a paladin.’

In time, the boy learned to distinguish Good from Evil, and Evil from Shadow. He became a true paladin. When this happened, the woodpecker returned to the forest. All of the woodpecker’s children had red heads, and thus do all woodpeckers, today.

*****

Bram had drifted off to sleep, so when James thanked Quinn, he whispered. “That was a fun story,” James said. “I’ve never heard it, before.”

“Thank you,” Quinn replied. “Will you share with me again, tonight?”

James looked at Kenneth, who was curled up with Adam. Those two boys caught James’ eye and grinned.

“Yes, thank you,” James said to Quinn.

The next morning, Quinn sat down beside James as that boy ate his breakfast. Kenneth had eaten quickly, and had joined Bram and Adam and some of their friends in a game of ball in the town square. Their voices drifted through the door of the inn, which was open to an unusually warm day.

“James,” the boy began, somewhat hesitantly, “you and Kenneth were wearing mail when you first came to the inn. It’s common knowledge that you came to Glebe on Temple business. And, when we shared boy magic, I felt…something I’ve never felt before. I felt your strength, and I also felt your goodness. You’re a paladin, aren’t you? And you’re in disguise…” Quinn’s voice drifted off.

What Quinn said startled James, but the boy recovered quickly. “Is that why you told that particular story last night?” he asked.

Quinn nodded.

“No, Quinn,” James said gently, “I’m not a paladin. I am a cleric, but only an acolyte. I do wear armor and I do fight for the Light, but I’m a long, long way from being a paladin!”

“But that’s what a paladin is,” Quinn asserted. Then, a little less sure of himself, he added, “Isn’t it?”

“Quinn,” James asked, “do you want to become a paladin?”

Again, Quinn nodded without speaking.

James pushed the remains of his breakfast aside. “Why?” he asked, careful to pitch his voice to show interest without appearing to challenge or belittle the notion.

“Because I’m afraid,” Quinn said. “I’m afraid for Adam and Bram, and I’m afraid for mother and sister and father.”

James remained quiet, but Quinn needed no encouragement to continue. “We’re not as isolated up here as you might think,” he said. “We hear what’s going on. We hear about the brigands and the people they’ve killed. We hear about the slave raids near Almay.”

James started. He’d not heard of those.

Quinn didn’t notice James’ reaction. He continued. “Most of the people here, they think the mountains protect us from all that. I know better. There are passes in the mountains that brigands and slavers could use to get to us. The only reason they haven’t is because it’s easier in the lowlands. But after they pick that tree, they’ll come looking for us.”

“Quinn,” James began, “in the story, magic and a magical bird helped the boy become a paladin. I think, earlier in the age, that could really happen. Today, I don’t think so.”

“Do you really think the story is true?” Quinn asked. Wonder and amazement lit his face.

“I think that long ago, when the need was great, wishes sometimes came true. Whether the story’s true or not, I think it is possible,” James replied.

“But it would be harder, today,” Quinn said. “I guess I know that. How long have you been training?”

Relieved to be on more solid ground, James described his training to Quinn, starting with his apprenticeship at the Temple in Tipsy Green. The common room began to fill with people wanting lunch, and Quinn was called away to work, just as Kenneth, Adam, and Bram came in, tired and hungry from their game.

Later, James and Quinn resumed their conversation. “Quinn, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about,” James began. “You do understand, don’t you, that clerical training lasts a long time?”

The boy nodded, but he looked puzzled.

“It’s not particularly difficult, but it’s not easy, either. It requires commitment… dedication…and sometimes, a lot of sweat.”

Quinn nodded again. “Anything worthwhile takes dedication and effort,” he said. “I know that.”

“Quinn, I have met the Senior at the Temple in Fortmain,” James said. “If you want, I could ask him if he would accept you as a probationer. If he agreed, and you wanted this, you’d have to travel to Fortmain and commit to at least a decade at the Temple, there.”

Quinn was quiet for a moment, and then said, “James, you’re making a very kind offer. But…you seem very hesitant…you’re not really sure I should accept, are you?”

“No, Quinn, I’m not, and there are things you must know before you accept…if you do,” James said. “My friends and I have lived in Fortmain for a while, on and off. It was never the best place…and it’s getting, well, Dark. I’m not sure if offering to get you an apprenticeship in the Temple there would really be doing a good thing for you.”

“But the Senior,” Quinn said. “Is he a Good person?”

“Oh yes,” James replied.

“Then I would like you to ask him, for me,” Quinn said. “I will trust you and him.”

“I may not be there,” James said. “My life is not always mine to command.”

“Oh,” Quinn answered. “I guess I should have known that. But…still, I’d like you to ask. Thank you, James.”

The next morning, all three of the publican’s boys, Bram, Quinn, and Adam, walked with James and Kenneth down the first part of the path that led from the mountain.

“This is where we turn off,” Adam said when they reached a fork in the trail. “Woodlot is over yonder…You be careful.”

The boys exchanged hugs and farewells, and James and Kenneth continued down the mountain.

James and Kenneth spent that night huddled together in the shelter of a fallen tree at the foot of the mountain while the wind whistled snow and sleet around them. The morning broke to reveal an inch or so of crusted snow covering the road, and a thick fog that limited visibility. “We were lucky,” James said, “that the storm didn’t hit until we were at the foot of the mountain.”

After walking through the morning, James admitted that he was lost. “This is not the right road, but it does seem to be taking us to the east. We’ll hit the Arum River soon enough, and follow it south…”

Fog still smothered the land as an unfocused light announced the beginning of a new day. The light was too diffuse for the boys to be entirely sure which direction was east, but it seemed as if the road were leading toward the brightest part of the sky.

As the day progressed, the fog began to break up near the ground, although the sky remained heavily overcast. At times, they could see as much as 100 yards ahead. Even so, they could not see far beyond the road. The trees were mostly hardwoods whose leaves, touched by the frost, were beginning to turn color.

The road had narrowed, and Kenneth was walking behind James, his eyes scanning the verge, when he heard a sharp grunt from James. Turning his head, the boy was horrified to see an arrowhead protruding from James’ back. James fell heavily to the ground, and another arrow found Kenneth, striking him in his thigh. The muscles of his leg contracted with the shock, and the boy tumbled onto the ground to lie beside his friend.

Kenneth saw four men brandishing swords as they dashed from the trees on both sides of the road. The boy tried to draw his own sword, but was unable to. The first of the men to reach the fallen boys struck Kenneth on the side of his head with the flat of his sword. Kenneth was lost in blackness.

Kenneth woke. Only minutes had passed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the men sauntering down the road to the east. James…James! The boy reached for his friend. His head was still swimming from the sword blow; Kenneth could not concentrate to focus magic, but his hand on James’ throat felt a pulse…weak but steady. James is alive!

The men had disappeared into the distance. Kenneth rolled over so that he could see his friend. James was lying on his left side. An arrow pierced his body just below the ribs on the right and projected from his back. The arrowhead glowed with a dull, red light. That’s not just blood, Kenneth thought, there’s a glow to the arrowhead…reddish, not blood red, something else…a darkness. The glow faded even as Kenneth watched. No, must have been my imagination…I’m in shock…I must concentrate! Kenneth thought.

Blood was seeping from both of James’ wounds. James was ashen, and in shock. Kenneth reached for his water bottle, and realized that the water bottle, his pack, his weapons, and James’ equipment and weapons, were gone.

I must focus! the boy thought. Reaching out, he gathered magic. As weak as he was from his own wound, he was able to touch only a few strands. He directed their power to James’ body. Unable to heal, he hoped only to provide enough energy to keep James alive.

Again Kenneth reached for magic, and again directed the feeble energy to James. It was enough. Kenneth passed out, again.

Hours later, Kenneth crawled, dragging James, still unconscious, across the verge, and a few feet into the shelter of the trees. To protect them from the cold of the coming night, he gathered leaves and duff, packing it around James’ recumbent form. Despite the cold, he could not risk a fire.

When Kenneth next woke, the effects of the sword blow to his head had been mitigated to the point that he could gather larger quantities of magic and direct them at James, providing the energy the boy’s body needed to maintain itself and to alleviate shock.

Still ignoring his own wound, Kenneth took in both hands the arrow that ran through James, and broke off the fletching. Then, touching the arrow with nothing but magic, he pushed it through so that it came out of James’ back and fell to the ground. Quickly he added more magic to the wound, stanching the flow of blood and directing generalized healing. The boy’s strength was failing fast. I can do no more…I… and Kenneth fainted.

James was still unconscious when Kenneth woke, but the older boy’s pulse was stronger and his face less ashen. The spreading bloodstain from Kenneth’s wound drew the boy’s attention back to himself. I’ve got to get that arrow out! Before it moves around and cuts an artery. Can’t push it through; it’s lodged against the bone. Pulling it out is risky…no choice, though.

Kenneth gritted his teeth, and slowly began to pull the arrow out of his leg. Mustn’t pass out…mustn’t pass out…I’ll die if I pass out. The pain was incredible, but the arrow was free! Tearing his tunic, and noting absently that the robbers had taken even his overtunic, he put a pad of cloth over the wound and tied it on with more strips from his tunic. I can’t waste magic on me, he thought as he turned once more to James, even if I dared!

The ache in Kenneth’s thigh was a distraction that he fought to put aside as he focused and gathered magic to support James as his body healed itself. The effort was too great; Kenneth passed out again.

“They’re hurt…No father, they’re not robbers…They’re just boys…We’ve got to help them…” In his delirium, Kenneth heard voices.

“Wha…?” he tried to speak as he opened his eyes. The blow to my head… concussion …I’m seeing double, he thought. As he struggled to focus, he realized that there were, in matter of fact, two boys looking at him, and that they were twins. Identical shocks of yellow hair, identical blue eyes, identical faces, identical tunics…

“James…?” Kenneth whispered weakly, looking around.

“Your friend’s alive,” a deep, adult voice came from over the boys’ shoulder. A man, from his appearance the twin’s father, bent over Kenneth. “What happened?”

“We were attacked,” Kenneth said. “They got us both from ambush. Arrow in James’ side, one in my leg. Hit me on the head with a sword, too. Took everything we had except trousers and tunics…” His head swimming, Kenneth fell silent.

“I’ll carry your friend,” the man said. “Can you walk with help?”

When Kenneth nodded, the man gestured to his sons, “Help him up, gently.”

As the man lifted James, the tween woke to see Kenneth picking up the arrows with which he and James had been injured, and raising his hand as if to toss them into the woods.

“Wait,” James whispered, “Save them…”

*****

The farmstead consisted of two large houses, four barns, a smithy, a bathhouse, and several other outbuildings. A thin stream of white smoke rose from the chimneys of the houses; they were burning pine, rather than hardwood. Makes sense, Kenneth thought, that’s about all there is near the farm.

There was no shortage of hot water in the bathhouse to which James and Kenneth were first brought. Under the critical eye of the farmer, the twins carefully cleaned the boys. Under Kenneth’s direction, a new bandage was prepared for his leg. James’ wounds, although initially more serious, had closed and were no longer bleeding. James, marginally conscious, was wrapped in a blanket and carried by the farmer and an older son, into the house where he was put in a bed. Kenneth, in a thin tunic and wearing slippers, was helped to hobble to the same room, where a pallet had been hastily assembled for him.

“You boys make up another pallet for yourselves there,” the farmer said. You’ll sleep here and keep an eye on them.”

Turning to Kenneth he asked, “When did you say you were attacked?”

“Unless we were unconscious for more than one night, it was just yesterday,” Kenneth answered.

“And your friend got that wound then?” the farmer marveled.

“Um, yes. You see, James and I are healers. He’s not been able to heal me, which is why my leg is still pretty banged up. I was able to heal him a little…” Kenneth began to explain.

“Umph,” the farmer ejaculated. “Let’s hope that he wakes up before long. Your leg is going to be full of puss if something isn’t done, quickly. There’s a poultice we use for cuts. Draws out the poison. Would that help?”

“Oh, yes, please,” Kenneth said.

The farmer’s wife brought the poultice and shooed away her husband and the twins.

She fussed over Kenneth, and rejected his attempts to help apply the poultice and bandage it in place. “Gracious,” she said, “with seven boys, I’ve done this before. My mother taught me well.”

She examined James’ wound, as well. “No need for a poultice, there. This is healing well…on the outside. Can you be sure about inside?”

“Yes, Goodwife,” Kenneth answered politely. “I can see if there’s any poison inside the body, and there is none in his.”

As soon as their mother left the room, the twins crowded in. “If you’re a healer, why don’t you heal yourself?” the first of the twins asked.

“Yeah,” continued the other, “Why didn’t you?”

The poultice had already started drawing poison and pain from Kenneth’s wound, and he felt considerably better. “First, let me see to my friend,” he asked, “and then I’ll try to answer your question.”

The twins watched a much-refreshed Kenneth weaved magic and directed it to James. As the power flowed from the matrix, James wakened enough to ask where they were and how Kenneth was.

“We’re at a farmstead with Good people,” Kenneth answered. “You are getting well, but need rest. I’m fine.” Satisfied, James fell asleep.

One of the twins’ older brothers came in with a tray. “Mother sends soup…says you’re to eat every bit. There’s water in this mug, cider in this one. What about your friend?”

Kenneth thanked the boy, and explained that James would be unconscious for a while, but would probably need food in the morning. The tween nodded, and left the room. Then, in between sips of soup, water, and cider, Kenneth explained healing magic to the twins.

“Well, to use magic to heal, I have to direct it…to funnel it…like a funnel directs water from a bucket into a jug. I have to use energy to funnel magic, and magic is energy. It’s as if I made a funnel out of magic and then tried to pour magic through the funnel…the magic pouring through the funnel might break through the funnel.”

He hesitated, seeing that the boys were still puzzled, and tried to fill in the analogy. “What if we carved a funnel out of ice, and then tried to pour warm water through it. It would melt the ice, and spill on the floor. If magic went through a magic funnel, it could melt the funnel, but instead of spilling on the floor, it might burn, shock, or even kill me.” Kenneth tried to explain what elsewhere would be called feedback.

“But you can use boy magic on yourself,” objected one twin. “You can use it to clean yourself.”

“Well, yes. But there are two differences,” James said. “Boy magic isn’t nearly as strong as the magic we use to heal; and, when you’re using boy magic to clean yourself, you’re not really using it on you, you’re using it on the dirt.

“Some healers can heal themselves; some mages can use magic on themselves. But they are a lot older and smarter than I am,” Kenneth concluded.

“Grandmother can use magic to heal…she healed a wart on herself. She didn’t burn up, or die,” one of the twins protested.

At Kenneth’s request, the twin’s grandmother visited his room. She was an impressive woman, still tall and straight even though she was probably half a dozen centuries old. Her hair was white, and pulled into a severe bun. Her robe was plain, and her only adornments were a smile and a silver flower pinned at her throat.

“My mother taught me how to make a poultice, how to bring babies into the world, how to cure warts, and other necessary things, as her mother taught her, and as I taught my daughter and as she will teach hers. I’ve never shown a man, much less a boy. Not that it’s a secret, but no one has ever asked! My grandsons tell me you’re a nice boy, and you asked so politely. Watch carefully,” she directed.

The woman chanted…a simple nonsense rhyme…and twiddled her fingers while pointing to Kenneth’s wound. The boy saw her words and gestures gather magic…and felt its warmth as it flowed through his leg. The spell is non-specific; the woman apparently doesn’t know her target. But the spell is focused tightly, and would certainly kill a wart virus…or a bacterium, Kenneth thought.

Before the woman left, she had told Kenneth the ingredients in the poultice. Easy enough to find those things, the boy thought. Most of them would be in an herb garden; the others would be in the woods. “Is there any order in which the ingredients must be added, or any special way in which they must be combined?” the boy asked.

“Oh no…there’s no magic in the poultice,” she said. “It’s just plain and simple.”

Within a few days, James was strong enough to heal Kenneth’s leg, but not strong enough to travel or even to move about. Kenneth, however, was not only able to walk easily, he was restless and anxious to move around.

The twins had taken charge of Kenneth, and were showing him around the farm when they approached the barn where the twins’ father and two older brothers were taking an obviously crippled horse from a stall.

“He’s got the bone spavin,” one of the twins said. “He’s got to be put down. It’s too bad; he’s the best horse we have.”

Kenneth turns to the farmer, “May I examine the horse, first?”

“Can you heal horses, too?” the farmer asked.

“I’ve done it before, but it depends on what’s wrong. We saw bog spavin sometimes, but bone spavin was rare. I don’t know much about it.” The farmer and his sons held the horse, gentling it, while Kenneth bent down and examined the horse’s ankle. After a few moments, he stood.

“There are two problems: the extra bone has to be removed, and the cause of the disease has to be stopped. I’m pretty sure the cause is the same thing—or the same kind of thing—that causes bog spavin. I would treat the cause the same way…and then disintegrate the extra bone and remove it. It would be necessary to make a small cut to remove the…the gook. That cut would be easy to heal. Would you like me to try?”

“I’d be most grateful if you would, youngling. Until this happened, he was the best horse I had, and I’d hate to lose him.”

Kenneth closed his eyes better to see what he was doing, and gathered magic, focusing it on the joint. The virus was throughout the horse’s body, but had only attacked the hock joint where somehow it found a purchase. Kenneth isolated the virus and twisted it to create an antibody. Then he diffused magic throughout the horse’s body, and felt the virus begin to break up.

That’s the easy part, he thought. Getting rid of the bone…hmmm… “Do you have a sharp knife? Can you make a one-inch cut, right here?”

The farmer bent down with a dagger. “Here? From here to here?”

Kenneth nodded, and directed magic to block the nerves in the area. “Now…”

After the farmer made the cut, Kenneth directed a needle of magic to the boney growth, being careful not to attack the original bones, and broke the molecular bonds of the calcium deposit that had crippled the horse. The resulting mess, along with some fluid and blood, oozed from the cut. When that was done, the boy directed power to the cut, and watched it begin to heal.

Finished, Kenneth stood. He swayed, and was caught by the twins. “The cause was a tiny, tiny organism floating in his blood stream. It has been destroyed. There is a natural defense in the blood that should protect him in the future. The growth is gone. I’d like to check him tomorrow.”

*****

“I don’t understand how that arrow got through my chain shirt,” James mused. “There were no tears in it, and it was buckled closed…I just don’t understand.”

“There was something,” Kenneth said. “Just after I woke the first time, I thought I saw a dark red glow from the arrowhead. I thought it was funny, then, but…well, I passed out again. When I woke again, there was no glow. I didn’t think of it until just now.”

“Then I’m especially glad that we saved the arrows,” James said. “Would you look at them…really hard…?”

Kenneth focused his mage Sight on the arrows, concentrating especially on the one he had taken from James. “No…nothing, now,” he sighed.

James tied one of the arrowheads to a string, dangled it from his fingers, and focused magic on it, willing it to point toward the person who might have crafted or ensorcelled it. There was no reaction. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s likely too heavy for this. We’ll have to try with a feather. Later, though. It’s getting very tired…”

*****

“You must have boots…these are worn, but serviceable. And another tunic…here, try this one. There aren’t any overtunics…and it’s going to be cold. Here, this might fit.” The twins rummaged through the family’s old-clothes chest, pulling out a quilted jacket and a padded leather vest. Soon, both James and Kenneth were outfitted for the coming weather with boots, packs, and sturdy, plain clothes.

“It’ll be cold at night…hot in the daytime,” the twins advised. “But you don’t need to worry about that just yet. You’re going to stay for a while, aren’t you?”

“Yes, thanks to your family’s kindness. James must heal more before we travel. We can’t stay too long, however. We don’t want to impose on your family, and we have friends in Fortmain who will be worried about us. We were supposed to be there four, maybe five days ago.”

“Well, don’t you worry about that, now,” a new, deep voice interjected as the father came in the room. “It’s at least a tenday to Fortmain from here, no matter which road you take, and you’ll not overstay your welcome, not at my farm.”

After several more days of care, James and Kenneth were well enough to resume their journey. The night before their scheduled departure, the twins approached them.

“Father said you couldn’t go back on the road without daggers, and he told us we could pick out two and gift them to you…or…, we could let you pick for yourself,” Dan said, shyly.

Kevin spoke for both the twins. “We sort of hope you’d let us gift them to you…” he said, a catch in his voice. “We’ve never known boys like you before. We know that we will never see you again…but…we’d like to offer you brotherhood, and we’d like very much to share boy magic with you…”

James glanced at Kenneth for confirmation, but there was really no question. Kenneth nodded without hesitation.

“We would gladly share with you, and accept your gift of brotherhood,” James said, smiling.

The night spent with the twins was joyous for them and for James and Kenneth. The naivety of the farm boys, Kenneth’s sweetness, and James’ strength, tempered by his youth and rural upbringing, melded, and created a synergy that was new to all the boys. When all were surfeited, the oaths were sworn, concluding with the words that would bind them for this life and all their lives to come:

“Wherever we may be, we shall always be together,” James and Kenneth said.

“Wherever we may be, we shall always be together,” Dan and Kevin echoed.

The next morning, the entire family gathered to see James and Kenneth on their way. “You have been a blessing to us,” the farmer said. “You will always be welcome, here.”

“May the Light bless you, and your family,” James replied.

*****

James had pulled one feather from the arrow with which he’d been shot. He’d attached the feather to a disk of cork, cut from a wine bottle’s plug, which he floated on water in a wooden bowl. Gently he pushed the cork to the center of the pool of water. Releasing the cork, he focused magic onto the feather, willing it to find the man whose hands had trimmed the feather and glued it into the arrow.

Slowly, but deliberately, the feather-laden cork glided to one side of the bowl. Looking up and orienting himself, James announced, “East. Well, we knew that. And, it may simply be pointing to the bird from which the feather was removed. Still, it’s a lead.”

Dumping the water, he put bowl, cork, and feather inside his tunic, and stepped onto the road. Kenneth followed.

A day later, they approached a village. Once again, James floated the feather-laden cork in the bowl of water. The cork carrying the feather moved swiftly and unerringly, pointing the boys to the door of a seedy tavern. “He’s in there,” James whispered, as he took the feather in his hand and dumped the water from the bowl onto the ground.

“Are you sure you’d recognize them?” he asked Kenneth.

When the boy nodded unhesitatingly, James strode to the door of the tavern. “Gather magic,” he instructed Kenneth, “and make it obvious!” James swung his own arms through the field, collecting the magic he would use for defense…or offense.

James pushed aside the door, holding the feather between the fingers of his outstretched hand. The door slammed into the wall behind him, drawing the attention of the publican and of the four men sitting around a wooden table. James released the feather, which flew unerringly to strike one of the men in the chest. James glanced at Kenneth, who nodded. “He’s one…and the three with him…they’re the others,” the boy said loudly.

“You’re dead!” one of the men sputtered as he stood. “My arrow went right through you!” He paled as he realized what he’d said.

“Where did you get that arrow?” James asked, his voice grim.

“Get it?” the man asked, puzzled. “Get it? I made it myself.”

“Kenneth, look at him,” James instructed. “What do you see?”

“He’s all black inside…he’s got some magic, but it’s black—pure black.”

“Innate Magic,” James said, focusing to look for himself. “Ill-used, at that.”

Turning to the man, he raised his hand and spoke, “You are a self-confessed thief and would-be murderer,” James said, a touch of sadness in his voice. “You left my companion and me to die beside the road. In the Light…may your next life be Brighter.” He swung his hand and released the magical energy he’d gathered. The Hammer of Light struck the robber squarely in the chest. The man’s eyes brightened for a moment, and then dimmed. The long bones of his arms and legs cracked and popped as every muscle in his body tensed. His hair stood from his head and sparked as the magical power sought an escape back to the matrix. The contents of the man’s stomach were ejected to splat on the ceiling as he fell backwards. The contents of his bowels filled his trousers and squished as he fell to the floor, dead.

Kenneth was standing beside James. The boy’s own hair sparked with the magical energy he’d gathered. He was incapable of wielding the Hammer spell, however they were counting on the men not realizing that. James spoke, his voice firm despite the energy he’d just discharged. “You will return our weapons and possessions. Now.”

Their eyes filled with fear, the men hastened to gather what was left of what they’d stolen from the boys. James was relieved to see that it included their swords and daggers, sword belts, and their chain mail shirts. But little else. When it was piled on the table, James ordered. “Into the back room.”

The men pushed at one another to be the first to comply.

“You, publican,” James spoke to the tavern keeper, who was cowering behind the bar. “You knew these men to be thieves, and worse?”

Glancing from James to Kenneth, whose hair crackled with energy, and back to James, the publican decided the truth would serve him better than a lie. “I did…” he whispered, “I…Please, please don’t kill me!”

“No, but you shall go into the room with them,” James ordered.

When the publican entered the room, James pushed the door shut and jammed a wooden platter in the crack between the door and frame. “That will hold them for a while,” he whispered to Kenneth, who had already buckled on his sword. James buckled on his sword belt and followed Kenneth out the door.

*****

James and Kenneth sat by a fire. They had camped in a clearing far from the road. “James, why did you kill the robber? Would it not have been enough to have…well, I don’t know, just scared him?” Kenneth asked.

“Kenneth, that’s the hardest question you’ve ever asked me,” James said. “I wondered that, myself, the instant after I did it…did I really have to kill him…?” James paused.

The tween continued, “I’m not sure I have an answer, but I’ll try. Our rules say that we may kill to destroy Evil. They say we may, not that we must. That’s the first problem I have to wrestle with.

“The second problem is whether the man was Evil or merely evil. The second problem is the easier, I think. When you looked, you saw Evil. I looked, too. I saw that the man had been given a gift—Innate Magic—and that he had elected to use it to create death from ambush. The darkness was solid…not a wispy smoke that might have suggested that he had only done this once or twice. It told me that he had used his talent to do Evil for a long time.

“While I was gathering magic, I felt a tug in the field…from him.” When Kenneth nodded, James added, “You felt it too…Anyone who is evil enough to warp the field is truly evil. There was no doubt that he was Evil.”

“So that leaves only the first question. Should I have killed him? I’ll admit, I felt a lot better after I did…and that frightened me, a little. Had I done it for revenge, because he hurt you and me? I don’t think so…I hope not…because that would be Evil…”

Kenneth interrupted, “No James! No! I would see that! There’s no Darkness in you!”

“Thank you, Kenneth…I trust your sight…No, I hope that I felt good because, first, I’d opened a path for Light by wiping out Evil, and second that I might have convinced his friends to find another way of making a living.”

“Well, without his magicked arrows and his leadership, maybe they’ll realize that they’re not very good robbers, after all,” Kenneth laughed, although it was a bit of a nervous laugh.

*****

The road continued to wind through the hills and lightly forested grasslands. By late afternoon, the road had straightened and turned to the east. Behind the companions, the sun began to settle in a glow of amber, gold, and pink. In the growing twilight, they saw on their right a small lake. In the lake, about 30 yards from the shore, a small hut rested on four pilings. In the growing darkness, they saw a pale orange glow, suggesting lamplight, streaming from a window and from the upper, open half of a Dutch door. The boys stopped at the shore.

“What a neat hut!” Kenneth said. “Uhm…and it’s…you know…glowing…the whole hut is glowing.”

James concentrated as if he were preparing to manipulate magic. As the lines of force became visible, so the hut took on its own magical glow. I’ll never get used to Kenneth’s ability to see magic without even trying, James thought.

James put his arm on the boy’s shoulder and said, “Well, don’t just look at it, look at it.”

While James scanned the physical world for possible danger, Kenneth invoked the power to Detect Darkness. As the spell took effect, he gasped. The hut was standing in a locus of power, a place where the natural lines of magical force came together with great energy. The color was a deep reddish gold that blended to a pure white at the edges. Whatever or whoever was in the hut, they were of the Light…and strongly so. Kenneth turned to James, “It’s good. I mean, it’s Good.”

As the boys pondered their next move, a figure appeared at the Dutch door. It appeared to be a boy. In the fading sunlight, they saw that his hair was dark, perhaps black. A high soprano voice came lilting over the water. The pitch suggested that the figure was that of a child, not a boy.

“Who are you?” the figure asked.

“James and Kenneth, servants of the Light, returning to Fortmain from a mission. Who are you?”

“I’m Ivan,” they heard the boy say. “And this…” The boy stopped when a figure appeared beside him.

“Invite them in, Ivan. Take the boat; bring them here.” The figure turned, leaving the boy in the doorway.

“Will you stay the night?” The boy called, as he opened the door and slid down a rope attached to the frame and into a boat that…well, hadn’t been there before.

“Gladly,” called James, as he watched the boy awkwardly row the boat toward them from a hut that…well, had been farther away when they first reached the shore of the lake.

“You said your name was Ivan?” asked James.

“Yes. I’m Ivan,” the boy answered. “And you’re James and you’re Kenneth. Do they call you Jimmy and Kenny? No, of course not. You’re a tween, and you’re a boy, and tweens and boys don’t have baby names. I’m still a child. What’s it like to be a boy?”

“Would you like me to row?” James asked, as much to stop the flow of questions from Ivan as to be polite. He and Kenneth settle into the boat that…well, was bigger than it had been when the boy-child first set out from the hut.

“Oh, no, thank you,” Ivan replied. “The boat knows the way home.” As he said that, the boat began to move toward the hut, reaching it before James and Kenneth could do more than marvel. Descending from the Dutch door was a ladder that…well, hadn’t been there, before. By now, the boys were accustomed to the strangeness of the situation, and did not hesitate to climb up the ladder behind Ivan, and enter the hut.

They entered what was apparently the main room of the hut. The hut was circular, and this room comprised one-half of the circle. On each side were windows; across the back of the room was a wall with three doors. The room was sparsely furnished with a plain table and two…no, four…chairs, several chests, a roll-top desk with another chair, and a lectern at which a wizened, gray figure poured over a thick book. Behind him were several full bookshelves. An oil lamp in the ceiling, and another above and to the left of the lectern provided illumination.

The boys stood awkwardly while the figure behind the lectern continued to read, pursing his lips occasionally, and once stabbing a finger at a page. Finally, James coughed rather loudly. At this, the figure looked up.

“Aha. Ivan, why didn’t you tell me we had guests? And so dark outside. Have you had supper?” This last was addressed to all three boys who shook their heads.

“Well, you must clean up, first. Ivan, show them…” As he turned back to the book the lamp to the…yes, the right of the lectern, flared to brightness.

Ivan gestured James and Kenneth toward one of the doors in the back wall. Through the door lay a changing room. Through a door in the back of that room they could see steam rising from a large tub. The three boys quickly removed clothes and boots, and dashed to the shower on the side of the second room. James and Kenneth reveled in the hot water, soaping and rinsing over and over again, massaging shampoo into each other’s hair and washing who knows how many days worth of dirt from themselves. Ivan, by comparison, made short shrift of the shower, and jumped into the tub, splashing water across the room.

Impatient, he called, “Come on guys; hurry up.”

James and Kenneth rinsed the last of the soap from their squeaky-clean bodies and, holding hands, walked across the room to get into the tub. Ivan wanted to play, and soon the three boys were ducking one another and wrestling as they splashed water from a tub that…well, never seemed to empty or grow cold.

The two older boys got the better of Ivan, who then sat on a bench in water up to his neck, and stretched his arms out along the top edge of the tub. “Whew! That was fun. Hey, how long can you guys stay?”

“Until the morrow,” came the voice of the wizened man. “Now, supper.”

James and Kenneth looked around. “Where is he?” James asked Ivan.

“Oh, he’s probably still reading. But he knows what I’m doing. Well, most of the time, anyway.”

The boys walked back to the changing room. James and Kenneth were almost not surprised that their filthy clothes were clean, mended, and folded on the bench; that their boots were polished; and that even their weapons had been cleaned.

“Ivan, who is he?” James asked, nodding toward the door to the main room.

“Oh, his name is Marcus Chamberlain, and he’s a mage,” the boy replied. “He’s my guardian, and he’s going to teach me all about the world as soon as I change from child to boy. But that won’t be for a long time, still.”

Dressed in clean clothes, and carrying their packs and weapons, James and Kenneth followed Ivan back into the main room. Marcus was still reading at the lectern. The only change in the room was the addition of a large, white snow owl, which looked from its perch at the boys with a preternatural intelligence, and then closed its eyes and went to sleep.

“Aha. Clean. Supper.” Marcus gestured at the table that was…well, laden with a soup tureen, bread basket, foaming mugs, and a plate of cheese and fruit.

The boys seated themselves after Marcus had taken his chair. More animated than they’d yet seen him, the old mage served a rich bean and barley soup, encouraged them to try this cheese or that, broke and passed bread, and insisted that Ivan eat some fruit if he wanted any dessert.

The meal was wonderful, spiced by days of trail bread and pemmican that had been the staple of James and Kenneth’s diet for most of their trip. The foaming mugs held small beer with a most pleasant aroma.

After the bowls had been emptied and filled again, Marcus addressed James. “Have you had a long journey?”

James replied, “We escorted a new Cleric from Fortmain to a village in the mountains, and were returning to Fortmain when we were lost in a fog. We’ve been on the road for…what day is it…at least a month. Yours and Ivan’s are the first friendly faces we’ve seen for several days. We are grateful for your hospitality.”

“You are most welcome, here. Ivan seldom has anyone to play with, and I’ve not seen him have so much fun in quite a while.” Marcus stood. “I have things to do. You boys enjoy yourselves. Ivan will show you to a room when you’re ready to retire. I’ll see you in the morning before you leave. Not too much pudding, Ivan.”

With that, the wizened Wizard walked into the changing room, which now appeared to be an alchemic laboratory, and closed the door.

As the boys left the table, Ivan took Kenneth’s hand and tugged him toward one of the chests near the front of the room. James turned back for a last strawberry, only to find the table empty of all but mugs and a pitcher of water. Shaking his head, he joined the others who were exploring the contents of the chest.

Ivan pulled out several hand puppets, and passed two each to James and Kenneth. “You,” he said to Kenneth, “shall be the king and the soldier. You,” to James, “are the dragon and the prince. I shall be the hero and slay the dragon.”

It was a familiar game; the boys played their parts in the classic drama, interjecting an occasional ad lib or a joke. When the final battle between the hero and the dragon began, Ivan abandoned the puppet and jumped on James, playfully wrestling him. James played along and allowed the boy—the child—to pin him into submission.

“I won, I won,” crowed the little boy, until Kenneth, in defense of James, joined the fracas, tickling Ivan until he gasped with laughter.

Marcus’ voice came from somewhere. “Bedtime.”

James and Kenneth helped Ivan stuff his toys back into the trunk. Ivan opened the left hand door in the back wall. “This is my room; yours is through there,” he pointed to another door.

“Goodnight, Ivan,” James said, bending to kiss the boy. “We had fun. Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Ivan,” Kenneth kissed the boy as well. “See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, guys,” Ivan yawned.

James and Kenneth stepped through the door into another simple room, furnished with a large bed with several blankets, a lamp on a stand, and a chest on which their packs and weapons rested. Through another door was a small room with a sink and toilet. They cleaned their teeth and made ready for bed.

The air in the room was unaccountably cold on the boys’ bare skin, and they jumped quickly into bed and huddled together for warmth. James breathed in Kenneth’s sweat breath as they held each other tightly. They kissed, and James felt Kenneth swell against his tummy.

*****

After a breakfast of pottage, James and Kenneth thanked Marcus for his hospitality and for the trail rations with which their packs were now filled. Ivan rowed them to the shore in the magic boat; they kissed him; he bade them farewell. The boys looked back after they’d walked a few yards and saw that the hut was once more far from shore in the center of the lake.

“He is an incredible mage, isn’t he?” Kenneth asked.

“Even Patrick will be amazed at some of the things he did, I think,” James replied. “I’m sure glad he was friendly.”

*****

High clouds gathered to hide the sunset. The moon had not yet risen. Travel became hazardous. Despite their eagerness to return to their friends in Fortmain, the boys elected to camp for the night. As they prepared for sleep, Kenneth saw a dim light in the trees. “Dead man’s lantern!” he whispered. Turning in the direction the boy had indicated, James saw a nacreous glow and a vague humanoid shape outlined in a pearly light.

James offered a spontaneous Prayer of Protection, gathering power to himself and Kenneth; there was no obvious effect on the light, which continued to flicker through the trees, as if wandering.

With the protective spell in place, the boys felt safe to explore, and followed the light. It led them on a roundabout chase through the woods, eventually hovering over a low mound in a small clearing. The ghostly figure rose to stand atop the mound. As it approached the mound, it took on a more substantial shape as well as the appearance of a man wearing armor and holding a long sword. The figure was not solid, however. The clouds had cleared, and the boys could see the rising moon shining through the figure.

James felt a tingling…he could not decide if the figure was going to attack, or if it did attack whether such an unsubstantial figure could harm them. There appeared to be a device, a coat of arms, perhaps, on the figure’s left breast. An idea strikes James. He bowed to the figure. Kenneth followed James’ example.

At this, the figure sheathed its sword. Pointing to a spot near its feet, it clearly indicated to the boys that it wanted them to unearth something buried there. As the boys approached, the figure vanished into the mound.

“What is it?” Kenneth asked.

“I’ve never seen one, before, but I think we both just saw a real ghost!” James replied. “And I think he wants us to dig up the mound.”

“Yeah, that’s what it looked like to me. Do you think we should?”

“Well, he’s a ghost. He can’t hurt us. Hang on a second. No, wait; you do it. Do a Detect Darkness Spell, and examine the mound.”

Kenneth reached for magical power, weaving it into a pattern. Turning toward at James, he saw his friend bathed in a golden glow…some of it was innate to James; some was from the Prayer of Protection recently cast. Kenneth looked at his hands, and saw a similar glow from them. All around him he saw the lines of magic, bright and golden. Here and there was an eddy or a ripple, but for the most part, the lines were straight and clean.

Looking at the mound, likely the burial mound of the ghost, Kenneth saw the magical lines penetrate the mound, entering and exiting without deviation or color change. Below his feet, where the ghost had pointed, there may have been a particularly bright, reddish gold glow, but Kenneth could not be certain. “There’s no Evil, here,” he said to James. “Or if it is, it’s old and weak.”

“Good, and good for you,” James smiled at his apprentice. “Let’s dig.”

The boys found branches that were not too rotten and, using them as shovels, began to dig as close to the spot indicated by the ghost as they remembered. The earth of the mound was loose and the digging went easily for the first few feet. Then they hit a layer of clay. Although the night was cool, the boys were soon sweating.

The moon was nearly overhead when James’ branch—the third one, actually, since the first two had broken in the clay—struck something that returned a hollow thud. The boys scraped away more clay. The light of the moon revealed a wooden plank that rang hollow when struck by the handle of James’ poniard.

“Is it a coffin?” Kenneth asked.

“I don’t think so,” James replied. It’s not wide enough. See, here are the edges. It’s a box; it’s a long box.” Using the blade of his poniard, James began to pry at the edge of the board. Kenneth continued to scrape away clay as James slowly pried at the lid of the box.

When the lid was free, the boys stood. Kenneth took out flint and steel and tinder, and prepared to strike a light. Before he could do so, the ghost suddenly reappeared. The coat of arms on its breast was clearly visible, now. “Sable, a harp argent,” Kenneth boldly proclaimed. The ghost smiled and nodded. It gestured for James to stand back, and for Kenneth to reach into the box.

Kenneth looked at James, his eyebrows raised in a question. James nodded. His instincts told him this was Right, and of the Light.

Kenneth reached into the box where the ghost pointed, and grasped the handle of a sword. As he pulled the sword from the box, the leather scabbard, rotted, fell away. There was a clunk as something more substantial than rotted leather fell back into the box. The ghost gestured impatiently. Kenneth reached in again, and felt around among the scraps until he found something hard. He stood, the sword in one hand. In the other, revealed by the light of the moon and that of the ghost, was a metal device. The symbol on it was still bright. “Sable, a harp argent,” Kenneth whispered again.

The ghost reached out and wrapped his hand around the hand with which Kenneth held the sword. Kenneth shivered at the ghost’s touch; then both the boy and the ghost looked at James, who nodded understanding. Kenneth was to be the owner, or at least the custodian, of the sword. With this, the ghost slowly faded, not sinking back into its burial mound, but seeming to evaporate as a raindrop on a hot stone. The ghost’s mission was over, and it was free to seek its next life.