Chapter 1

                     

     He stood on the watchtower, glancing nervously at the skies as the storm clouds gathered unnaturally.  Wizards work, there could be little doubt.  The darkening skies only added to the dismal gloom he felt in the pit of his soul.  The enemy drums had been booming all night long, very few men had slept through them. 

     From his watchtower, he could see almost his entire army, stretched an impossibly long distance in both directions from each side of the crude fort surrounding his tower.  The greatest army ever assembled.  The combined armies of all seven kingdoms.  And yet, it paled as insignificant next to the army from Scathia that was approaching. 

     A single lightning bolt split the sky and struck the ground between the two enemies.  His attention was drawn immediately back to the middle of the approaching doom.  Elephants, six of them, supporting a large platform between them.  On the platform, only one figure, Raphige, the self-proclaimed god. 

Another lightning bolt struck the ground, then another, as if slowly testing the ground in front of them for hidden traps.  Eventually a few of those traps were found, the resulting explosions harming no one.  As Raphige drew closer, the lightning bolts began hitting some of his men.  The panic that everyone felt increased a hundred fold.  Once again he feared for his own life, but like everyone else, he stayed where he was.  There was no place they could run to.

     Lightning split the sky to the north, a different lightning, the sky around it glowing with an impossible light.  As the glow faded, his eyes were glued to a figure riding out of that light.  A huge black figure riding a huge black horse.  The blackness about them so complete they were hard to see, yet he was unable to take his eyes off of them.  It was at that moment that it hit him, a terror so deep it nearly buckled his knees.  A terror so great, he could barely breathe. 

     Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that the enemy drums had stopped, as had the approaching enemy.  He watched as the huge black figure lowered its long trident at the approaching Scathian army.  Thousands of them began falling over dead as he rode past them.  The figure turned as it reached the spot right in front of the fort, right in front of Raphige’s approaching platform.  Once again the figure lowered its deadly trident as it now headed directly towards Raphige.  The elephants supporting the platform dropped to the ground, dead. 

     The figure charged straight at Raphige.  The huge black horse easily leapt onto the platform and the deadly trident quickly took Raphige directly in his chest. 

     Suddenly, all he could see was the black monster riding directly toward him instead, the deadly trident aimed at his own chest, the terror increasing with every step the huge horse took….

     He awoke.  It had been the same dream he had had nearly every night since it happened several months ago.  If he hadn’t been there and seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.  Now, he was left with nightmares every night.  He knew very well that he wasn’t the only one.  Few who had been there ever slept soundly anymore.

     As usual, King Pomeren gave up sleeping and rolled his more than ample body out of bed.  He noticed the sun was just beginning to rise.  He grabbed a partially eaten turkey leg from the platter by his bedside and began unconsciously gnawing on it as he reached for his robe.  There was work to be done.  The work helped to ease the memory of the nightmare.  He had to continue planning for Tobin Angott’s wedding, and consequently, the continued survival of his own little kingdom. 

     He opened the door to the outer chamber and called to one of the servants waiting there.  “Send for Halbeck…and get me some breakfast!”  He slammed the door shut again and sat down in a comfortable chair close to his bedroom worktable.  He deposited the now finished turkey leg on a platter that had once contained another of his snacks from the previous evening.  He picked up a small stack of letters and began reading the first one.

     A knock came at his door.  “Open!” he called without looking up. 

     A servant poked his head through.  “Breakfast, Your Majesty?”  Pomeren merely gestured half-heartedly at the table in front of him.  His servants were well used to his routines and food was always ready for him.   The servant entered all the way carrying a tray loaded with fruits, cheese, and wine.  He set it on the table and removed the old tray where Pomeren had deposited the turkey leg.  As usual, the King didn’t even look up from his business as the servant left the room and softly closed the door behind him.

     The door opened again a short while later as another servant announced, “Halbeck is here, Your Majesty.”

     Pomeren looked up with a pleased look on his face.  He set the letter he had been reading, back on the table.  “Good, send him in.”

     A moment later, Pomeren’s favorite clothing designer entered carrying a large folder tied tightly closed with string.  Halbeck was a middle-aged man whose sharp pointed beard and mustache were beginning to show signs of gray mixing in with his dark brown hair.  “Wait till you see what I’ve come up with this time, Your Majesty,” he declared excitedly as he practically bounced his way from the door to the other side of Pomeren’s table.  He laid his folder down and pulled the knot open with a small flourish.  Pomeren leaned forward expectantly as Halbeck placed his hand on the cover, preparing to open it.

      “Since your informants tell me that the bride will be wearing blue and white, the blue for Avindil and the white for Northland, I have used the same colors for the King of Avindil.”  He opened his folder and displayed the artwork inside. 

     Halbeck may have been a master designer, but there was certainly no doubt as to his ability as an artist.  There on the paper before him, was a painting of Tobin Angott, the new King of Avindil.  It was amazingly done, but Pomeren was more interested in the outfit Halbeck had designed for Tobin’s wedding.  He studied the painting carefully, from the shiny black boots, to the light cream colored pants and shirt, to the light blue belt and overcoat with white designs embroidered throughout, to the fancy scrolled sword at Tobin’s side. 

     Tobin was young and tall and powerfully built, and Halbeck’s painting displayed every bit of that.  But the wedding outfit that Halbeck had designed for Tobin somehow made him look regal, the one quality that Tobin never seemed to display.  Pomeren looked up at Halbeck and smiled.  “It’s perfect!” he declared.  “And for me?”

     Halbeck was more than well aware of the Kings eccentricities, not to mention his ego.  With a grin, he simply said, “And for you…”  He turned over the painting of Tobin to reveal his painting of Pomeren.  The small quick hiss of breath as Pomeren quickly breathed in with pleasure told him everything he needed to know.  The King was pleased.  Halbeck had long ago began shaving “pounds” off of his paintings of Pomeren.  He seriously doubted that Pomeren himself even realized it.  There on the desk in front of him was a painting of a younger, slimmer Pomeren.  The clothing Halbeck had designed was of the purest white and a darker shade of blue.  It also included a long flowing cape and the formal Imperial Crown of Impallia.  When Halbeck was sure that Pomeren was thoroughly enamored with the painting in front of him, he said, “Your Majesty, in that outfit, they’ll not only see you as the senior and most important King there, when they see you coming, they’ll think you’re God himself!”

     Pomeren suddenly looked up at Halbeck with horror on his face.  The vision from his dream of the huge black figure riding towards him with its trident lowered at his chest, once again swam before his eyes.  “Never!” Pomeren shouted.  “No!  Never!” 

     The look of horror on the King’s face frightened Halbeck.  He had no idea why Pomeren should be angry.  The King suddenly shoved the paintings in front of him onto the floor and backed away from them.  “Change it!  Change it!” he yelled.  “I must never be mistaken for a God.  I’m not a God!  Get it out of here and burn that painting!”  Pomeren retreated to the back of the room.

      “But your Majesty,” Halbeck pleaded with the odd king, still wondering what the problem was.  Just a few seconds ago Pomeren had seemed more than pleased. 

      “Get out!” Pomeren demanded again, and watched as his bewildered designer gathered up his paintings and quickly ran from the room.  Pomeren stood at the back of the room for a long time, staring at the spot on the floor where the paintings had fallen.  It was a while before the visions of the black figure once again receded, leaving only the vivid memory. 

     Sanity finally overtook his mind and he began to think clearly again.  Was he attempting too much?  It was an ambitious undertaking for sure.  One of the most ambitious and dangerous plans ever conceived.  And the complexity of it all was nothing but mindboggling.  But the personal stakes for him were so high, they couldn’t be ignored. 

     Many years ago, the answer to his problem had been right within his grasp, and yet fate had somehow interceded and torn it away.  Now he was presented with the chance to make it all happen again.  But time was growing shorter.  He had no choice.  He had to make this succeed.  And the first step?  The first step was without a doubt, Tobin Angott’s wedding.

 

--- §§§§§§§§§§ ---

 

     The unicorn stopped in the clearing to let the man climb off its back.  It wouldn’t have been good for someone to see him riding.  Men don’t ride unicorns.  Few people even believe that unicorns exist.  The man adjusted the strap holding the lute that was slung across his back, hugged the unicorn’s neck, and thanked it.  Then he turned and strode into the forest.  He didn’t look back, he knew the unicorn wouldn’t be there.  Unicorns never came close to people. 

     As he crested a small hill, he spotted the majestic Great River through the trees.  There was a tiny village on the riverbank, not much more than a small collection of buildings.  Even from this distance it didn’t look like much, but then he had expected that, he had been through there before.

He stopped where he was and removed his long cloak.  Turning up the collar, he reached deep into the hidden pocket and began pulling the material inside out.  When he had finished, his dark green cloak that had made him almost invisible in the woods, had become one of bright red and yellow.  Once again fastening the cloak around his neck, he stepped out of the trees and headed down the hill towards the village of Riverwash ahead.

     The closer he got to the ramshackle collection of buildings, the worse they looked…run-down, weathered, and falling apart.  This close to the river, buildings needed a lot of attention.  These looked like they had seen almost none.  All the buildings were built precariously high above the river on stout poles to guard against minor flooding.  If a major flood ever occurred, he doubted that any of them would survive.  Indeed, it was a miracle that the village was even still there, but then, some people continued to rebuild in the same place, no matter what happened.

     There was a large riverboat approaching the dock, one of the ones used to carry cargo up and down the wide river.  Not long ago, all trade along the river had been at a standstill.  He was glad to see it beginning once again.  Still, there were no other boats in sight…at one time, an almost impossible thought.

     The village’s single main street was deeply rutted by the passage of heavy wagons during the last rain.  Now, the late summer sun had dried them solidly that way, making them difficult to walk on.  There were few people in sight.  Of those that he saw, a few looked at him suspiciously, but most eyed him with a look of amazement.  To each, he either grandly tipped his hat or presented a flamboyant bow as he walked – all the better to drum up interest. 

     Climbing the steps up to the village’s only inn, he was immediately greeted by a look of astonishment on the face of the man behind the bar.  “A troubadour?  Here?”

      “Certainly!  Why should you be so surprised?”

      “Forgive me,” the innkeeper replied.  “This place is so small.  We’ve never had anyone come to offer entertainment before.  You have come to sing, haven’t you?” he added quickly.

      “But of course!  That’s what I do!”

     A look of shrewdness quickly settled across the innkeepers face.  “We’ll, I can’t pay you, but you can have a room for the night.  All the rooms are empty anyway.”

      “That’s all I ask.”

     The innkeeper seemed satisfied at the lopsided bargain he had just struck.  “What’s your name, Master Minstrel?”

      “Most people just call me Fredrick,” he replied.

      “Well, Master Frederick, most people usually call me Grennit.”  The man stuck out his hand and Frederick shook it.  An overly big hand Frederick noted, hard muscled and calloused, one that had seen more than just an innkeeper’s life.

      “Is this your inn?” Frederick asked.

     Grennit looked at him sternly.  “It is now,” he answered, as if daring the minstrel to prove otherwise.

     Instead of replying, Frederick just raised an eyebrow questioningly.

     Grennit seemed to back off a bit.  “When the war was over, I had no place worth going back to.  Stumbled across this place here.  It was empty, so I moved in.  Nobody’s been by since to lay any other claim to it, so I’m claiming it for myself.  River trade is just starting again, and I’m doing okay shipping goods in and out for the locals.  In truth though, we’re not shipping much out yet.  The war really hurt a good deal of the farming around here.  Next year should be better.”

     Frederick nodded his understanding.  “That’s always the way it is after a war.  It puts a big crimp on everything.  Everybody thinks that things will never be the same, but in the end, they wind up better than ever.  You just have to give it time and hard work.”  Grennit nodded his agreement, but Frederick had the impression that it was something the innkeeper already knew from prior experience.

      “When do the people show up?” Frederick asked, looking around the empty room.

     Grennit chuckled, “What people?  There’s only a few locals around, and they don’t show up till the sun goes down – if they come.  Some nights, there’s very few at all that come in.  But there’s a boat that just docked, so I expect we’ll have a good crowd tonight and the men from the boat as well.”

     Frederick smiled, “That’s all I expect.”  In truth, it wasn’t all he expected.  He had felt compelled to come to the tiny village by feelings that drove his life.  Feelings he never ignored.  He knew he was there to wait for something…or someone.

     Boot steps on the crude wooden stairs leading up to the inn, turned their attention.  A man walked through the doorway and began talking as soon as he spotted Grennit.  “Your goods are…” the man started to say, but he stopped in mid-sentence and locked eyes with Frederick, a look of distrust and recognition forming on his face.  “You’re that minstrel that’s friends with the king.”

     Frederick nodded his head.  “Captain Kallent, if I remember correctly.”

     Kallent nodded back.  “I’m not here for trouble,” he said.  “I’m just delivering my load of goods.  That’s all.”

     Frederick looked amused.  “My dear Captain, I assure you, I haven’t seen the king in months.  I couldn’t care less why you’re here.”

     Kallent looked a bit relieved, but continued to eye Frederick suspiciously.  Without taking his eyes off him, he said to the innkeeper, “As I was saying, your goods are being off-loaded now.  Your men were already at the dock by the time we tied up.”

      “Good,” the innkeeper said, not missing the fact that the minstrel and the boat captain were still staring at each other intently.  “You’ll get paid when Drake brings in the tally.”

     Kallent nodded his head.  “It’s all there.  I’ll just wait here.  Anything to ship out?”

      “Not today,” the innkeeper replied, a hint of frustration in his voice.  Then he moved away to the other side of the bar, leaving Frederick and the Captain alone.

      “So why are you here?” Kallent asked Frederick.  “I would think that anyone who was friends with Angott would be in Annador, or at least someplace a bit more upscale than this.”

     Frederick looked amused.  “As I said, I haven’t seen the king in several months.  I travel around a lot.  Tonight, I just wound up here.”

     Kallent seemed a bit more satisfied.  Grennit returned and set two mugs on the counter in front of them, “On the house,” he said, before leaving again.

     Frederick and Kallent each picked up a mug and took a swig of what was inside.  Frederick winced.  Some type of beer he figured, only so heavily watered, that it was almost unrecognizable.

     Kallent set his mug back on the counter with a look of distaste.  “There’s two fresh barrels in the load today,” he called to the innkeeper. 

      “Good!” Grennit called back.  “We need it!”

      “He’s not kidding,” Frederick agreed softly, setting his own mug back on the counter.

     Footsteps on the stairs again caught their attention as a man and woman entered together.  They looked a bit travel weary.  After glancing at them, Kallent paid them no attention, but Frederick was clearly surprised.  Of all the people in the world, he never expected to be meeting the man who had just walked in.  The man stopped at the doorway and stared back at Frederick.  He was also clearly surprised.  Frederick quickly walked over to him.  “Lord J…,” the man began softly. 

     But before he could say anything more, Frederick put his hand on the man’s shoulder.  “Frederick,” he corrected the man, speaking softly.  “I’m just a simple minstrel named Frederick.”

     The man looked a bit rattled, but nodded his agreement.

     Frederick turned to the woman who had come in with him.  “And who is this delightful creature, Melik?”

     Melik looked proudly down at the woman who had come in with him.  “This is Marah, my wife.”

     Frederick took off his hat and presented an elaborate grand bow towards Marah, then he picked up her hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it.  Marah looked at him like he was crazy.  “I had heard rumors that you had found someone, Melik,” he said, still not taking his eyes off of the woman.  “I’m so delighted to finally meet you, Marah.”

      “You have some strange friends, my husband,” Marah said to Melik, still not taking her eyes off of Frederick.  “First that crazy man, Iggy, now this man. 

     Melik didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned that Marah might have offended Frederick.  Instead, he explained, “We were married as soon as the war was over.  I’m surprised we didn’t see you in Sethland,” he added.  “All the…others…were there.”

      “I was there in spirit,” Frederick replied as he led them over to one of the tables to sit down.  “Believe me, I was there in spirit.”

      “I’m sure you were,” Melik replied before calling out to the innkeeper, “two beers!”

      “You’ll be sorry,” Frederick said softly.

     A few minutes later, the three sat staring at each other silently.  Melik and Marah’s mugs were sitting in front of them, still full.  Words simply couldn’t describe how bad the beer was, but the looks of obvious distaste on their faces told the entire story.  “I understand some new barrels have just been unloaded,” Frederick told them.

      “Good,” Melik replied.  “I think we’ll wait and see if we can get something better a bit later.”

     A large man walked into the inn and all eyes turned to him.  “Is it all there, Drake?” Grennit asked him.

      “It’s all there, sir,” Drake declared, stepping up to the counter next to Kallent, “even the food goods.”

      “I told you,” Kallent offered.

     Grennit just looked at him.  “I still prefer my own men to check everything.”

      “However you wish,” Kallent replied.  “As long as I get paid.”

     Grennit didn’t answer.  Instead, he turned his back and walked away into the back room.  He was back a few minutes later with a leather sack.  The sack made a slight jingling sound as he plopped it down in front of Kallent.  “It’s all there,” he said to the boat captain.

     Kallent smiled at him and dumped the sack out on the counter, a goodly size pile of coins spilled out, mostly silver.  “I prefer to check everything too,” he said as he picked up the one odd coin from the pile and quickly stuck it in his pocket.  Grennit grunted and walked away while Kallent counted coins and dumped them back into the sack.

      “A lot of money for his load of goods,” Melik whispered to Frederick as they watched the proceedings a short distance away.

     Frederick nodded.  “I don’t think he delivered just food and beer.” Frederick whispered back.

      “What then?”

     Frederick just shrugged his shoulders. 

 

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     The evening crowd was comparatively small, but in the tiny inn, the dozen or so people there still made it seem full.  The oil lamps had been lowered to a minimum against the summer heat, making the room seem dark and gloomy.  Frederick sat on top of an empty table in the corner and sang for the intimate crowd.  Despite the uncomfortable heat and humidity, they all listened raptly as Frederick performed.  The quality of the beer had certainly improved, and Frederick noted that everyone was consuming surprisingly large quantities of it.  At times, the people sang along with him, but mostly, they all just listened politely and drank their beer. 

     Everything was going well, until late in the evening when one of the men sitting with Kallent had a request.  “Sing about the last battle!” the man demanded.

      “Yes!” someone else in the room called out.

     Frederick looked at the man perplexed.  “I…”

     He was interrupted as Drake yelled.  “No!  I don’t want to hear it!”

      “Well I do!” the first man yelled back.

     One of the men sitting with Drake yelled back, “I don’t want to hear it either!”

      “Well I do!” Kallent’s man replied, standing to stare menacingly at Drake. 

     Drake stood and glared back at the other man.

      “Well I don’t!” Grennit yelled as he quickly walked into the middle of the argument to break it up.  He pounded his big fist on Drake’s table as he looked directly at the man at Kallent’s table.  “Now sit down!  Both of you!”

     Kallent reached out his hand and pulled his man back down towards his seat.  The man sat, but he continued to glare back at Drake, who finally sat down too.

      “I think we’ve all had enough of this,” Grennit announced.  He looked at Frederick.  “Master Minstrel, we thank you for your entertainments, but it’s growing late, and some of us have things to do tomorrow.”

     Frederick bowed grandly towards Grennit and a few people in the room applauded. 

      “Sylvia,” Grennit yelled to the serving girl as he walked back to the bar.  “Get him one last beer for the night.”

     It was an odd way to end the evening, but Frederick had seen worse.  He carried his lute back to Melik’s table and sat down.  Everyone else in the room went back to their own beer and conversation.

      “You were most wonderful, Master Minstrel,” Marah exclaimed as soon as he sat down.  “One of the best I have ever heard.  It’s a shame they wouldn’t let you sing about the battle, I would have very much enjoyed hearing it.”

      “So would I,” Melik agreed.  He didn’t add that hearing Frederick’s version of what had happened would have been of utmost interest to him.

     Frederick looked at them both.  “I can’t sing about it,” he told them.  “I don’t know any songs about it.”

      “You weren’t there,” Melik replied.

      “It’s all they sing about in Rentlick and Welliston,” Marah added.  “Some versions are most interesting.”

      “I’m sure they are,” Frederick agreed.  “Do I detect a hint of the desert?” he asked, changing the subject away from one he wasn’t yet ready to discuss. 

     Marah looked back at him surprised.  “You can tell?”

      “I’m guessing Serrat or Jullett?”

     Marah shook her head.  “Close, but too far south.  I’m from Grebat.”

      “Ah, I should have known.  Beautiful Grebat, filled with wonderful gardens and shady trees.  An absolute paradise in the middle of the desert.”  He sighed fondly.

      “You have been there?” Marah asked, amazed.

      “Several times,” Frederick answered.  “They liked my singing so much the last time, that the council awarded me the title of Superior Master Minstrel,” he said, referring to the desert people’s custom for giving everybody elaborate titles.

     Marah looked at him puzzled.  “I don’t remember anything about that.”

      “It was quite a while back,” Frederick explained with a wave of his hand.

     Melik smiled.  “You wouldn’t believe the title they cooked up for me while I was there.”

      “It is a good title!” Marah argued.  “It is well deserved.  It lets everybody know your power!”

      “But I don’t want everybody to know my power,” Melik argued.

      “It is a title that demands respect!” Marah continued.  “People would respect you much more if you would only use it!”

      “Not on this side of the mountains.” Melik replied softly.

      “What is it?” Frederick finally asked, very much amused by the conversation.

      “He is the Grand Master Wizard!” Marah declared, then she nodded her head as if to certify her own statement.

      “Oh ho!” answered Frederick.  “A worthy title indeed!”

      “He defeated three Scathian wizards – by himself!” Marah declared, boasting of her husband’s exploits.

      “Three…” Frederick started to say, but got no further as a giant set of fists set themselves down on the table.  He looked up to see Drake leaning over them.

      “Did I hear you say you’re a wizard?” Drake asked menacingly.

     Before anyone else could answer.  Marah stood and looked him in the eye.  “He is the Grand Master Wizard!” she announced to the big man in front of her.

      “Well, he’s a dead wizard now!” Drake replied as he roughly shoved Marah out of his way and grabbed Melik’s head.  He quickly moved behind his captive wizard and pulled Melik out of his seat as he wrapped his huge arm around Melik’s neck.  Frederick was moving quickly, but Kallent got there first and smashed his beer mug on the top of Drake’s head.  Drake was staggered and lost his hold on Melik, who staggered out of the way himself, holding his injured neck.  Marah rushed to help him.  Drake’s two friends quickly joined the fight and were met by all three of Kallent’s men.  Moments later, everyone in the room had joined the brawl.

      “To the boat!” Kallent yelled to Frederick and his friends as he shoved one of the locals out of his way.  All three quickly gathered up their few belongings and ran for the doorway and the steps outside.  At the bottom of the steps, Melik looked back to see Kallent and his men following after them.  “Better hurry!” Kallent yelled as he and his men ran past them.

     Melik grabbed Marah’s arm as he tried to urge her to hurry faster along the rutted road toward the dock.  Frederick had already reached the boat and was watching their approach.  As soon as Melik and Marah reached him, Melik handed Marah off to Frederick and said, “Get her on the boat!”  Then he turned toward Drake and his friends who were just reaching the wooden planking marking the edge of the pier.  Melik began moving in what looked like a strange dance. 

     As Marah jumped onto the boat, Kallent’s men cleared the last of the lines holding it to the dock.  Just before Drake and his men could reach Melik, a blinding flash of light staggered the pursuing men, stopping them in their tracks, forcing them to claw at their eyes as they tried to regain their vision.  Melik leaped onto the boat as the current pulled it away.  It had been close, but he had made it.  Drake and his friends were left behind on the dock where they could only stare with frustration through their spotty vision at the departing boat.

      “That was close, my husband,” Marah said as she hugged Melik and made sure he was alright.  Then she looked back at the dock.  “You didn’t hurt any of them.”

      “No,” Melik replied, looking back also.  “It was harmless magic.  I didn’t see any real need for anything more drastic.”

      “That is good.  They were just men who had too much to drink.”

      “They were more than that,” Frederick said as he moved to stand next to them.  “Grennit and all his men are Scathians.”

     Melik was shocked.  “Are you sure?”

      “Mm-hm,” Frederick replied, still looking back at the dock slowly receding into the distance.

      “Maybe somebody better tell the king.”

      “Maybe,” Frederick replied.  “Maybe.”

     Kallent walked up to them from the back of the boat.  “Better make yourselves comfortable.  We’re a little ahead of schedule now, but we still won’t get to Borinth before sometime tomorrow.”

     All three passengers sat together, watching the shoreline on both sides of the boat slip slowly by in the faint light of the moon.  Marah yawned as she leaned and snuggled against Melik, who gladly put his arm around her.  “So what are you two doing here,” Frederick asked.

      “Marah’s never seen the ocean…and neither have I for that matter,” Melik explained.  “I’ve spent most of my life cooped up inside the fortress.  So we’re taking some time off to see the world a bit before we go back.”

      “A splendid idea!” Frederick replied.  “Archmage Fennip himself has said to me many times that he’s spent too much time inside that fortress and has missed too much of the world.” 

     Frederick turned and looked at Melik and his wife for a moment.  Then he jumped up and faced the two wizards.  “I’ve spent most of my life traveling around this part of the world.  I know it like the back of my hand.  Please,” he said as he presented a grand bow to them both, “let me be your Guide.”

     Melik’s eyes bulged at the statement.  Of all the people around, only he knew Frederick for who and what he really was. 

     Marah looked at her husband.  “You have some crazy friends, my husband, but maybe this one can actually be of some use.”

     Frederick sat down happily while Melik continued to stare speechless out into the night.  When beings like Frederick were around, lots of things seemed to happen, not always good things.  And rarely was anyone the same afterwards.