Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 29. The Battle of Glaber

 

 

Chapter 29: The Battle of Glaber

…who stealest fire,
From the fountains of the past
To glorify the present…
—Alfred Lord Tennyson
Ode to Memory

George sat reading from The Book of Heroes. Arthur had read to him until George learned Old Elvish. By the time they had reached Barbicana, so many years ago, George was reading on his own. Still, he had not exhausted the book’s stories. This is what he read.

The Final Battle

Of all the stories and of all the heroes of the last battle of the Great War, this one must never be forgotten. It is the story of two boys, best friends, who turned the tide of battle and won the war for the Light.

For more than a century, Balance had dominated the war. An army of trolls would sweep across a province; then Light would pierce the Darkness as the Army of Arcadia pushed the trolls back to the southern forests. Elven forces with their dwarven allies would seize a mountain pass, and Light would shine brightly until a Dark army overran the pass. Both sides knew that there soon would be a final, decisive battle, for that is the way of the forever fight between Light and Dark.

In a fortress under a mountain south of the ravaged Temple City of Fortmain, Prince Conrad sat at the council table. The greatest mages, clerics, and generals of the Age sat with him. King Oberon had sent his younger son, Prince Henry. The armor of kings and athelings from seven dwarven kingdoms sparkled with platinum and gems, but the blades of their war axes were brighter still. A nomad prince, swathed in white gauze, sat next to the fire, unaccustomed to the cold and damp of the underground fortress. The mahogany skin of a nearly naked plainsman gleamed in the light. If he were cold, he would never show it.

This great council agreed that the final battle would take place in the plain east of Calill and south of the mountain Glaber. Calill recently had been lost to the Dark, but Prince Conrad’s forces still held the mountaintop and the supply routes to the seaport at Barrone. Quickly, messengers sped to the prince’s allies. Come to Barrone; come to Glaber. The final battle is at hand.

As quickly as the forces of Light gathered, so did the forces of Darkness. The once beautiful town of Calill was a smoky ruin. The veldt and taiga that surrounded it had been plowed by war machines and magical explosions. The land had been stripped of everything living.

Mages of the Light, and clerics, too, stood on the treeless rock at the top of Glaber, scrying what mundane eyesight could not see. Their intelligence went by messenger and by signal fire to Prince Conrad. Opposite Glaber, Dark mages and clerics performed the same duties for their Dread Lord.

Among the mages of the Light were two who seemed much younger than the others: a tween named Chandler and a boy named Marty. Chandler’s mastery of that most awful of magics, Mage Fire, was greater than known in living memory.

The battle was stalemated when, upon Chandler’s stern orders, obeyed even by his elders and teachers, all had evacuated the naked crest of Glaber save he and Marty. Marty watched for the signal while Chandler gathered magic. “Now, Chandler,” Marty whispered in the dry air.

Mage fire appeared over the center of the Dark army and descended on the massed forces.

Marty gave power to Chandler; Chandler poured more and more fire into the maelstrom that roiled through the Dark Army. Neither was aware of the Dark mages’ counterattack. A blast of Cold Fire washed over Glaber; Chandler’s Mage Fire guttered to extinction, but the Dark force’s counterattack had come too late. The Army, its Dread Lord, and the fields of war machines had been destroyed.

On the flanks of Glaber, the mages of the Light saw the source of the attack on Chandler and Marty, and focused their own magics, breaking the power of the Dark mages.

It was morning of the next day before anyone reached the top of Glaber. Nothing remained; there was no sign of Marty and Chandler. As Prince Conrad strode across the great tor, lichen crackled under his boots. He knelt. “Two heroes died here. By their deaths, the Light has prevailed.”

Thus ends this story of Marty and Chandler. They had come, they said, to Arcadia from Sedona of California in search of a knight named Arthur and his squire, a boy named George. They had not found their friends, nor had they returned to their home. Now, their home is World.

*****

“Arthur, how can this be? This story is more than 6,000 years old…but we’re in it!” George looked at his mentor and best friend. The boy’s eyes were wide with awe and a little fear.

Arthur scanned the story, and then read the last few paragraphs again. “There’s something wrong, here.”

“I’ll say there is,” George whispered, shivering. “Six thousand years ago they knew about us?”

“No, no. Not that. Remember what I said about time? If these boys came through a door looking for us, they could have ended up 6,000 years in our past—or 60,000. That’s not what’s wrong. What’s wrong is that they didn’t find Marty and Chandler’s bodies…see, lichen crackling under his boots but nothing remained; there was no sign of Marty and Chandler. And, Cold Fire…that’s a very specific name for a very specific spell. The author of The Book of Heroes was a mage…and he was very careful with his spell names and descriptions. Cold Fire doesn’t vaporize as Mage Fire does. It freezes—freeze-dries, actually. That’s why the lichens crackled. The bodies would be frozen…but they’d still be there. No…there’s something quite wrong with this story.”

Arthur continued, “Who are these boys? They were from your world. Do you know Marty and Chandler?”

George thought for a moment. “Marty…of course! Marty Harmon was the chancellor at the faire…he was a senior at my school. The coach…the king…gave him the parchment with our oaths on it! It’s got to be Marty.” George paused. “I don’t know anybody named Chandler, though.”

Arthur thought for a moment. “I remember…the king…and the boy who took the parchment. Marty must have used the parchment to find a door to World, but the door took him to another time.

“George, we’re going to Glaber.”

“Is that what destiny wants?” George asked.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “But this is important.”

*****

Master Criticus did not seem surprised when Arthur told him that he and the boys would leave the college. Arthur was reluctant to tell Master Criticus the real reason for their departure; however, Master Jerome had provided an excuse. “I propose to travel to Fortmain. Master Jerome hid some books that he would like recovered. He has been such a good friend to us, and has done so much for George. Whether we return with the books or ship them through a trusted agent will be determined when we reach Fortmain.”

“Do you have all you need for the journey?” Master Criticus asked. “Money?”

“Yes, thank you,” Arthur said. “The temple has been very generous with their payments for the herbs that we have gathered.”

“You and Larry and that acolyte friend of his have certainly been generous with your contributions to the college, as well. The school, the faculty, and the students have all benefitted from your visit.”

“And we from your hospitality and teaching,” Arthur said. “I believe we’ve both made a good bargain.”

*****

The boys’ farewells with their special friends were emotional, but none more so than that of Gary and Petrus. “Wherever we are, we shall always be together,” Petrus said.

Gary echoed him and added, “I will always remember you. If I do not see you in this life, I will look for you in another.”

*****

George found a forest glade in which the boys camped the first night on the road. After supper, they sat together facing a low fire that took the chill off the cool spring evening. “I’ve missed this,” George said.

“Me, too,” Gary said. “I remember the first night I was with you. It was a rocky meadow. Arthur gathered brush for our bed.”

“Are you boys going to be able to sleep on the ground after so many years in real beds?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know, Gary said. “You may have to hold me…”

*****

The journey to Glaber had taken nearly two months, however the weather was fine, and the boys easily readjusted to travel. Some of the farm boys they had met when they last traveled the road—with the Rom caravan—remembered them, and eagerly invited their stories and their magic. The publicans and innkeepers with whom they occasionally stayed did not remember them, but were glad of their custom. A day’s ride east of Calill, they stabled their horses at an inn, and walked north to Glaber.

The mountain was a monadnock: an isolated basaltic granitic mound that rose from the surrounding plain. “I understand why this would have been an observation post,” Arthur said. “From the top, you can see more than 20 miles in every direction.” Arthur sat on the crest of Glaber. Only he and George had climbed to the top. The others of their companions waited at the base, in a small copse of trees. Arthur’s back was against a bolder, and he looked south, across the plain to the Iron Mountains.

“They won the war and then were destroyed by Cold Fire…except that’s not the way it works. They would have been frozen…like in liquid nitrogen…worse, maybe. But their bodies should have been left!” Arthur reiterated his objection to the story in The Book of Heroes. “Not only that, the author doesn’t say they died. He says that the prince said it, but he doesn’t say it. He says that their home is World. He says it as if it still were.”

“George, come sit with me, please,” Arthur asked. When George was snuggled beside him, with Arthur’s arm around him, Arthur continued. “George, would you close your eyes and try to imagine Marty standing here? Picture him as you remember him best.”

Arthur felt the boy tense, and then relax. Closing his own eyes, Arthur reached for the magical field, and saw for himself the image George had created in his mind.

“I was right,” Arthur said. “They didn’t die. A door opened and they went somewhere. But where did they go?”

“Here,” George said. “They went here, but later. I saw…” The boy’s voice trailed off.

*****

More than five thousand years earlier, Marty saw the Dread Lord and his army disintegrate in Chandler’s Mage Fire. He knew that the battle and the war had been won. Marty felt, rather than saw, the Cold Fire approach, and heard, rather than felt, the opening of the gate that would save them. Feeling himself being pulled toward the gate, he grabbed Chandler, wrapping his arms around the older boy, breaking Chandler’s spell.

“It’s over! We’ve won!” Marty whispered to Chandler.

There was a bright flash and the smell of cinnamon, then darkness.

*****

“Marty? Marty? It’s George. George Rogers.” George gasped. And then, “Rocky? What are you doing here?”

“We must leave here,” Arthur said before Chandler could answer. “The noise of the gate will attract attention that none of us needs.” Marty and Chandler nodded, and followed.

The inn on the Southern Mountain Road where they’d left their horses was glad of their custom. Arthur waved off Marty’s attempt to pay. “Those coins are a little bit old, and might attract attention you don’t want,” he said.

Marty looked at the images on Arthur’s coins, and at the image of Prince Conrad and a different King Oberon on his own. “You’re right. Chandler can melt these down, though. Let us at least reimburse…”

“Look,” Arthur said. “You two are going to need your money…or the lumps of gold that Chandler will turn it into.”

George wasn’t paying attention. His head was spinning. Marty Harmon, who once was my age Now, he’s more than a hundred years older…he’s older than Arthur, even…but he’s still a boy!

“At least a hundred years,” Marty said when George asked. “I sort of lost track…”

The boys were in the inn’s bath. “And, yeah, we’re both mages. I’m a scryer, and Chandler’s a Master of Fire. Hey, this shower is cold, why don’t you show them, Chandler?” He turned in time to see Chandler drop to the floor.

Marty knelt by Chandler and struggled to gather magic. “Chandler…Chandler…” he gasped.

“Please? Let me?” Larry said, softly. When Marty did not protest, Larry put his hand on Chandler’s head.

“Syncope,” Larry said. “He fainted.” Larry showed Chandler’s body how to constrict certain blood vessels and how to dilate others. Chandler opened his eyes.

“Chandler!” Marty said. “What happened?”

Chandler’s face was slack, completely devoid of emotion. “Marty, it’s been less than two days since I killed more than ten thousand men with Mage Fire.”

The silence that followed that announcement was broken by Chandler’s sobs. His chest heaved. He uttered deep, whooping cries. He collapsed, to lie shaking on the floor.

Marty brushed aside Larry’s hands and lay beside Chandler, hugging him tightly. Marty twined his legs around the older boy’s legs and pressed their bodies close together, maximizing contact. He pressed his cheek to Chandler’s.

Larry understood, and reacted instantly. He knelt beside Marty and put his hands on that boy’s back. There was no time to gather magic, so it was boy magic and Larry’s own life force that he channeled to Marty.

Arthur knelt behind Larry and gestured to George and Gary. “Gather magic,” Arthur said. “Give it to Larry.” The boys nodded.

Arthur carried Chandler to their room. The boy was exhausted, but he was no longer crying. Larry had flooded him with endorphins. “He’ll sleep now.”

“I’ll stay…would you bring supper, please?” Marty asked.

Chandler was alert the next morning. While he didn’t appear to be cheerful, neither did he seem morose. “The memories are still there,” Chandler said. “I know what I did and I know how I did it. But what I felt then and later are behind a wall—the wall you built for me.”

The boys were at breakfast. Sleep, and now food, had restored the energy they’d expended the evening before. Chandler’s announcement cheered everyone.

“You built the wall,” Arthur said. “Marty and the rest of us just supplied stone and mortar.”

“But I felt you,” Chandler said. “I felt you in my mind. You must have seen…you must have seen what I did…what I am…”

“No,” Marty said.

“No,” Arthur echoed. “We gave. We pushed. We did not take or pull or see. Your thoughts and memories are your own. And, we do not believe that you are anything other than Good.”

Arthur and Chandler stayed at the breakfast table, talking. George took Marty back to the room. “Here’s the story,” George said to Marty, opening the Book of Heroes. “See, your names, and ours.”

Marty scanned the story, and then flipped the pages of the book, reading a line or two, sometimes a paragraph of each story. “I’ve got to show this to Chandler. May I? Please?” George nodded, and the boys returned to the common room.

“Chandler,” Marty said smiling, “Rudy got his wish.”

“Huh?” Chandler said. “Rudy?”

“These are his stories,” Marty said. “I recognize every one…except the one about us. Rudy,” he said, turning to George,” was one of our first friends on World. He was an apprentice mage. We were roommates for years at the College of Magic. He had a gift for storytelling. He wanted to write the stories into a book, someday. He never had time, though, because of the war.”

Chandler had taken the book from Marty and scanned several of the stories, himself. “Rudy, all right. Look here, only Rudy would say it that way.”

“Rudy’s probably dead, isn’t he?” Marty said, suddenly sober.

*****

Rain had kept them in the common room all day. After talking privately to George, Larry, and Gary, Arthur asked if Marty and Chandler would like to accompany them to Fortmain. Neither seemed interested. “Look,” Marty said. “When Chandler and I first got to World, we camped out in the woods. When we walked for a month almost to get to Barrone, we camped out in the woods. During most of the war—for the past 20 years, at least—we’ve camped out in the woods. I get the impression that you four are on some sort of perpetual camping trip. Not my cup of tea, guys.”

“I agree,” Chandler said. “I know, the story says we came here looking for you. We found you. We’re happy you’re safe. However, I’m not an outdoor guy, either. Never was. About all I liked about the outdoors is geology, and it’s so different here, I don’t know where to start.”

“What do you mean by geology being different?” George asked. “The rocks look the same to me, even inside dwarven caverns.”

“They are the same, with one important difference. There are no index fossils,” Chandler replied.

“Index fossils?” George asked.

“You can determine the age of sedimentary rocks by the fossils they contain. At least, on Earth you could. If you found trilobites, you know the rock was 500—600 million years old, for example. Ammonoids are only in rock that’s at least 65 million years old. There are other index fossils, too, but I’ve found none of them. It’s almost as if evolution didn’t happen here.”

Arthur, sitting across the table from Chandler, nodded. “That’s probably correct,” he said. “My guess is that your Earth is the only planet with fossils that show the chain of evolution from single-celled creatures some three billion years old all the way to the present. At least, the latest present that any of us know—20^th century CE.”

“So, people—and plants and animals—evolved on Earth and what? Came here through gates?” George asked.

Marty had been silent and thoughtful throughout this exchange. When he finally spoke, it was as if he hadn’t been listening. It was several minutes before Chandler, Arthur, and the other boys began to see the connection. “The Hopi,” Marty began, “as well as others you probably called Native Americans, believe that they came to Earth through a hole from another world. They believe that their ancestors entered through a sipapu, or spirit hole in the ground. There is a replica of that hole in their kivas, even today, through which they believe spirits enter. I think that the first sipapu was a worm hole, and that they did really come from another world.”

Before anyone could object, he continued. “I know. Based on what we know, humans—probably all life—originated on Earth and evolved there. However, we know the wormholes move around in time. I think the Hopi’s ancestors evolved on Earth, that some of them went through a wormhole to another world or to another time, and that some of those people came back to Earth through a wormhole, and that their trip was the beginning of the Hopi legend. Other American First Peoples have similar stories. In fact, all of the stories that I remember say that Earth is merely the latest in a succession of worlds on which they have lived. I think it is both the first and the most recent.

“There were some books from Earth—not ours, but another one—at the college in Barrone. They were written by a boy who came to this world many thousands of years ago. He describes being sent through a sipapu. I wasn’t sure, at first, if I believed it, but after talking to Chandler about the geology, I decided it had to be that way.”

“What will you do, then?” Arthur asked.

“Is there still a Barrone?” Chandler asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said. He described the city, and their stay at the College of Magic. “The city is close to the border of Eblis, though, and likely to see early battles. I know you guys just came from a war, but there’s another one brewing. You ought to know that.”

Marty sighed. “Guess we’re not going back to Sedona, after all.”

Chandler touched Marty’s cheek. “I promised to get you home. I’m still willing to try. Arthur, can you make a gate open to Sedona?”

“No, Chandler, Marty. I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “Neither George nor I opened the gate on top of Glaber; a greater mage than any of us did that. George and I were cat’s-paws.” Arthur smiled at George. “I’m beginning to think that our entire adventure has had one purpose: to bring you two to this time and place. I think you, too, are cat’s-paws, and that someone wants you to fight again for the Light.”

“How can you know that?” Chandler challenged.

“Don’t know,” Arthur said. “But it is the simplest explanation of a very convoluted set of circumstances.

“Occam’s razor,” Marty said. George nodded.

“True,” Arthur said. “But, whoever it is that is guiding us—all of us—from place to place, I must act as if I have free will—or I’d go crazy.

“It’s a good two months to Barrone,” Arthur added. “On horseback, that is. And it’s dangerous. We should go with you.”

“We’ve been fighting a war for a hundred years,” Chandler said. “I think we can take care of ourselves.”

“Rocky,” George said, “it’s—”

“Stop calling me Rocky!” Chandler said. “Rocky’s dead. He was a jerk, who killed Kevin—” Chandler’s mouth snapped shut. An instant later, he paled as blood left his face.

George furrowed his eyebrows for an instant. His face, too, became ashen when he realized what Chandler had left unsaid.

“You killed Kevin?” George said. “What—”

“Chandler!” Marty said. “We agreed—”

“Who is—” Gary began.

Pandemonium. Arthur was holding George, who couldn’t decide whether to cry or shout at Chandler. Marty held Chandler who had fallen to his knees, and looked from Chandler to George, wishing he could comfort both of them. Larry and Gary stood behind Arthur. They were miserable, too. They knew something horrible had happened, but didn’t know what to do.

George moved first. He looked at Arthur, and nodded. Arthur released George from his embrace. George knelt in front of Chandler, and rested his hands on that boy’s shoulders. He thought of the love he had for Arthur and Gary and Larry. He remembered the puppy love he and Kevin had shared. He wove those thoughts into a ball of magic, and pushed it until it filled the room.

Chandler stopped crying and opened his eyes. What he saw, what he felt, reassured him. Still, he remained silent.

“Chandler,” George said. “I don’t know what you did—or think you did. I do know that you are Good, and that nothing—nothing!—should cause you such grief.”

“But I have to tell you—” Chandler said.

“No, you don’t,” Marty and George said at the same time.

“I do!” Chandler said.

Arthur stepped forward. “Catharsis and confession. Chandler needs these. George? We all felt your love. Does that include Chandler?”

“You know it does,” George said to Arthur. “Oh—Chandler needs to hear it, right?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “And you need to hear what he needs to say. Marty? Boys? They need to be alone.”

*****

Supper was long over. They’d saved food for George and Chandler, but the cobbler was cold and grease had congealed on the stew when the two boys came into the common room. Their faces were fresh, their smiles were bright, and they were holding hands—comfortably, like long-time companions.

“Do you guys have any boy magic left?” Larry said.

“We didn’t—” Chandler said.

“We just talked,” George said. “But we are going to, later. Is there any food left?”

*****

Hark! Hark! The dogs do bark.
The beggars are coming to town.
Some in rags, some in tags,
And some in velvet gowns.
—Old Earth-analogue English nursery rhyme

“The Rom are here!” The publican’s son burst in the door followed by two of his playmates. The three children jumped and clapped their hands. The publican scowled, and privately swore once again not to wager the price of ale on a roll of the dice.

Larry was the first to spy a familiar face among the Rom men and boys who began to fill the common room. It was the cute boy with auburn hair who had become so close to him. The two boys collided in the middle of the room and embraced. “Larry! How did you know we were coming? I didn’t expect to see you until Barrone,” Xera asked.

Arthur and his companions had traveled with this Dan of Rom from Lollypine to Barrone two years ago. The Rom traveled east-to-west and back again on the Southern Mountain Road, and visited Barrone yearly.

“Didn’t know,” Larry replied between kisses. “We came here to—uh—we came here to meet some friends.”

Someone had recognized Arthur, and sent for Ambie and his father, the Rom king. Introductions of Marty and Chandler were interrupted by hugs and kisses as more and more of the Rom boys greeted their friends. The publican’s scowl was long gone. The mood of the crowd was exuberant, and happy people drank more than sullen ones.

“You guys are early,” George said. “When we were with you, before, we didn’t get here for—oh, at least a tenday.”

“We skipped the market at Fairfield,” Xera said. “Grandmother had a dream…” The boy looked at the king.

The king nodded. “Arthur and his companions are our brothers, and these are their friends. They may know all but the Arcana.”

“Last month, she dreamed that Agni rode down Glaber on a white steed,” Xera said. “And then, just two days ago, she heard a sound and said that Agni had arrived. She said—” Xera stopped speaking abruptly.

Arthur looked at Chandler. The boy’s nostrils flared and his eyes widened. He knows! Arthur thought. He knows the story of Agni, named for an Earth god of fire—oh, oh.

Marty had sensed that something was wrong, and grasped Chandler’s right hand. Gary, sitting the other side of Chandler, felt Arthur’s trepidation, and took Chandler’s left hand.

“What—?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Are you all right?”

“Why are you—?”

Chandler’s voice cut through the babble. “Thank you, Marty. Thank you, Gary. No, Xera, you didn’t say anything wrong. Arthur? Please? We have to talk.”

Arthur nodded. He addressed the king. “May we speak with Xera’s grandmother?”

*****

Xera’s grandmother, Lydia, lived in one of the gaily-painted wagons of the Rom caravan. There was not enough room inside for everyone, so an awning had been stretched from the wagon to a pair of poles. The king and Lydia sat on three-legged stools. The others, Xera, Arthur and his companions, Chandler, and Marty, sat on the ground.

Lydia recounted the story, adding nothing of substance to what Xera had already said.

“Most dreams are but symbols of reality,” Arthur said. “Could your dream have been symbolic?”

“No, youngling,” Lydia said. “I am a scryer; my dreams are reality.”

Arthur nodded. “And you heard Agni’s arrival two days ago?”

Lydia nodded.

“It’s clear to me,” Arthur said, “that we have another instance of exceptional Good attracting exceptional Evil.”

Chandler and Marty looked surprised. Lydia reflected for a moment, and said, “A pretty aphorism, youngling. Why do you use it?”

“Chandler?” Arthur asked. “You seek answers, but the question is yours to ask.”

Chandler understood. Arthur could not ask the question that Chandler wanted answered without revealing Chandler and Marty’s origins—at least, their most recent origins. He nodded. “You can likely tell it better than I.”

*****

Arthur described the final battle of the last great war, using words from The Book of Heroes. He then explained that Chandler and Marty—the boys about whom the story was written—had come to this time. “Six days ago,” he emphasized. “They came here six days ago, not two. Nor did they ride down Glaber. They walked. We all walked. Our horses were here. That is why I wanted to be sure your dreams were reality and not symbolism. Chandler, you’re not Agni.

“It seems, however, that someone or something followed Marty and Chandler down that mountain. Whether he followed them through the gate, or whether he came through another gate, or whether there is some other explanation, I don’t know. Nor do I care. It’s interesting, however, that he’s not reached us…he’s had enough time.”

“Arthur, we’ve checked…there’s no one in range who is…Evil…after us… whatever,” George said.

“True,” Arthur said. “And now, thanks to Lydia, we know to be on our guard.”

*****

Farewells were emotional. Marty and Chandler were to accompany the Rom, who would take them to Barrone. Arthur and his companions turned west. They would travel to Fortmain to collect the books Jerome and his companions had been forced to abandon on their journey. Jerome had carefully described the cairn in which he’d hidden them. “Had I known we would meet you, I’d certainly have brought them,” he said. “There is much in them that will interest you.”

*****

“Thank you all for…well, for everything,” Marty said.

George hugged Chandler and whispered something into that boy’s ear that made him smile.

“What did George say to you?” Marty asked when he and Chandler were alone.

“He thanked me for…for what the gang and I did at the faire back in Sedona. He said if we hadn’t ragged on him that day, he could never have talked Arthur into bringing him here.”

Marty and Rocky in Barrone

On a hillside overlooking Barrone, Marty and Chandler slowed the horses to a walk, and then stopped.

“How long ago was it when we stopped here on our first visit to Barrone?” Marty asked.

“I thought it was about a hundred years, but Arthur seems to think it’s more like 6,000,” Chandler said.

“It doesn’t look that much different,” Marty said. “From what Arthur and the guys said…it’s going to be the same. Except that…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Chandler knew: all their friends were dead. He nudged his horse, and the boys rode down the hill toward the city.

“Marty and Chandler of Barrone. We’ve been away for a long time,” Marty said. I hope that’s good enough, he thought.

It was good enough. The sembler nodded, and the guardsmen waved them through the gate.

There were few people on the streets. Marty and Chandler rode quickly to the square where the college had been. “Same door,” Marty said. His voice was a little shaky.

They dismounted and tied their horses to rings set into the wall of the building, Marty turned to the door, but Chandler took his hand, halting him. “Marty, do you remember what I said to you in the street the first time we came to Barrone? It’s still true.”

Marty nodded. “And I still love you, and I still need you, too,” he said.

The door opened to a narrow hallway. A few feet from the door, a small table constricted the hallway. Behind the desk sat a boy with blond hair. He wore a blue tunic belted at his waist, and sandals. He smiled. “Welcome to the College of Magic. My name is Petrus. What do you seek?”

“My name is Chandler; this is Marty. We’ve come a long way to speak to a Master Mage—one who serves the Light.”

The boy raised his eyebrows. “We here are all sworn to the Light. How could it be otherwise?”

“We were told that Evil is rising, and that the College of Magic in Fortmain and the temple there were abandoned,” Chandler said.

“Barrone is closer to Eblis than Fortmain,” Marty said.

“And you think Eblis is the source of Evil?” the boy asked.

“Is it not?” Chandler asked. “It has been, before.”

“That,” the boy said, “is illogical. If you are to become a mage, you must be logical. All magic is cause and effect.”

“That’s the Second Precept,” Marty said. “The First Precept is, ‘It is easier to destroy than it is to build, and easier to do Evil than to do Good.’ Do you know others?”

The boy gasped and jumped from the stool. “I’m sorry, Brother. I didn’t know…I thought you were…”

Chandler and Marty exchanged glances. “Where have we heard that, before?” Marty said.

“You’re mages?” the boy said. “Oh, Master Criticus will be so angry with me! Oh, please, don’t tell him I was rude to you.”

“Petrus,” Chandler said, “I told you that we had come a long way.”

The boy nodded.

“We have no friends here. Causing trouble between you and your master would not be logical if we wanted you to become our friend,” Chandler said.

“And, yes,” he continued. “We are mages. Marty is a journeyman; I have been named master.”

“It’s the same room,” Marty said. Petrus had invited them to wait there while he summoned a master.

“Same table, too,” Chandler said. “That gouge? It’s where that dwarven Atheling pounded the table and struck it with the boss on his greave.”

“Different pitcher, though,” Marty said. “Want some lemonade?”

“I don’t think—” the door opening interrupted Chandler.

“I am Master Criticus,” the man who entered said. “My apprentice said a master and a journeyman were here. I don’t think I’ve ever known a master who was a tween or a journeyman who was a boy.”

“The circumstances were unusual,” Chandler said. “Marty and I were students at this college, and our ranks were confirmed by Master Fitzgerald.

“About six thousand years ago,” he added.

“You believe the truth of what you say,” Master Criticus said. “And you appear to be good; yet—” His voice betrayed his disbelief.

“Did no one hear a gate open?” Marty asked. “It was slightly over two months ago. That’s how Master Fitzgerald knew—at least, partly.”

“He also said our magic was colored differently,” Chandler said.

“Yeah, but it’s not, any more,” Marty said. “We’ve been here too long.”

“There is something,” Chandler said. “The books from the Earth-analogue you hid in Master Fitzgerald’s workbench.”

“Do you think they’re still there?”

“Only one way to find out,” Chandler said. He turned to Master Criticus. “May we visit the underground workrooms?”

“That you know of them is…interesting,” the mage said. “Yes…yes, if you can find them. Lead. I will follow.”

Marty led the procession. Chandler, Petrus, and Criticus followed. At the end of the entrance hallway, Marty turned right and then entered the first room on the left. “This was a mechanical laboratory,” he said. He walked to the blank, back wall, and gestured. The wall opened.

“What do you know, it’s still keyed to you,” Chandler said.

“I could only hope.”

Several dozen steps later, Marty stopped on a landing and faced the wall.

“There’s naught there—” Petrus began, and then gasped as the wall opened to Marty’s gesture.

“You reckon the lasers are still there?” Chandler asked. Without waiting for an answer, he gestured. The room filled with light.

“Marty, we’re home,” Chandler said. Master Criticus nodded.

“Yes,” Marty said, “we are.”

*****

In an inn west of Calill, George took the Book of Heroes from his saddlebags and opened it. “Look!” George exclaimed. “It’s never opened this way before.” He was holding The Book of Heroes, and staring at the first page.

Arthur leaned to see. “Never opened this way? What do you mean?”

“I’ve figured out how to make it open to a bookmark, and even to certain stories,” George said. “But unless I want it to, it’s random. It opens to any story. This is the first time it’s opened to the first page. Look.”

Arthur and George read.

The Book of Heroes
Stories Compiled by
High Master Mage Rudbec of Barrone

George closed the book and reopened it to the same page. “It’s still here.”

*****

Gary extinguished the mage-lit ring that illuminated their room, and snuggled under the covers. They were already warm from Arthur’s body heat. Beside these two boys, George and Larry lay. Without warning, George sat up.

“What was that?” George wondered. “Did you hear it? Anybody? It was like a wind blowing through a bell tower and setting all the bells swinging.”

“It was beautiful—” Larry began.

“Like the birds that Kalin of Amber made to sing—” Gary said.

“Wait! Listen! There it is again…no, it’s not. It’s something else,” George said.

The bright harmony, as of the Light being restored to a place from which it had long been absent, was echoed by something different; something dark. Something far to the northwest.

“It’s Good and Evil,” George said.

Arthur nodded. “The first sound was perhaps a powerful spell by a mage who serves the light. The second…the second was Evil answering it.” I’m beginning to understand, he thought.

“Whatever it is, I think that we should investigate,” George continued. He looked at his companions, his Best friends with a little trepidation.

“You don’t need to ask,” Gary said. “We want to, too.”

Arthur watched as George, Gary, and Larry—three individual minds—merged for an instant, looked at one another, and then separated. This is what it was all about, Arthur thought. It wasn’t about Marty and Chandler, after all. It was about this...

“That was awesome!” Larry said. “Now, let’s go kick some evil butt!”

The End

 

Postscript

In a nondescript stone house on the edge of an unnamed elven village, a mage put a mirror face down on his workbench. “You saw?” he asked his apprentice. The boy nodded. The mage continued. “They have reached a point beyond which I cannot take them. They must now go their own way.”

“What will you do, now?” the boy asked.

“Now,” the mage replied, “now we will concentrate on your training, so long neglected.”

 

Translators’ Notes

The story of Marty and Rocky’s arrival and early years on World is told in “Master of Fire.”

The expression, “the most potent herbs are found in the most dangerous places” is attributed to Valeus.

The maxim “appear where you are not expected,” is from Sun Tsu, The Art of War. This and other quotations from Sun Tsu are in the public domain. The nursery rhyme about the Rom and the quotations from John Dryden and Alfred Lord Tennyson are in the public domain. The brief story about the Knight of Swords (a playing card) and apple cider is an analogue of a story from Guys and Dolls, by Damon Runyon.

This story contains information about “forbidden technology.” One example is Arthur’s discussion of the similarity between light (sunlight, e.g.) and magic. Where this occurs, it is an amalgamation by the translators of the story in The Book of Heroes and the hand-written journals of Arthur and George.

Although this marks the end of this story of George of Sedona and his companions, we are only about 40% of the way through The Book of Heroes. We hope to find more stories about this remarkable group of boys.