Chapter Thirteen: Of Arnur and the Fall (Part Two)
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) When James woke dawn was rapidly approaching, encroaching over the tip of the mountains like a massive hazy beast. Thin clouds filled what little of the horizon he could see—little more than a thin hole through the foliage around Arnur. He stopped all fantasies that he was home from filling him with sadness. Deep down he had hoped that he would simply wake up in a hospital somewhere with his parents looking over him with joyful faces. But now he discarded those thoughts, however happy and warm, and came to the full realization that he truly was stuck in another world. Yet, one thought managed to make him smile: he had traveled farther than anyone else likely had. That made him, in an ironic way, a hero in the same way that Neil Armstrong and Edwin Aldrin were hailed after returning to Earth. He reminded himself that he would likely never get the same welcoming because despite anything he would do in Traea, only the narrow minded people in Woodton, his parents included, would know anything at all about where he had been. James sat up. His bones creaked; his muscle protested. He hurt in places where old wounds, now only noticeable by discolored lines, had plagued him. His hands traced over where the Lyphon had dug its malicious claws into him. I’ll have no scars to show when I get home. James turned and nearly swallowed his tongue as he came face to face with two white marbles and an infinite shadowy blackness. He leaped up, stumbled as his blanket wrapped around his ankle as if it were alive, and then tumbled backwards with a yelp on top of a tiny figure. Pea, having been squashed by someone twice his size, cried out and became tangled in the mess that James had created. The two of them caused such a ruckus that Darl woke violently from his slumber, jumped up, sword in hand, and began turning hazy eyed this direction in that as if he expected to be attacked at any moment. Then, as suddenly as it had all started, all went silent. James stood and helped Pea up. He brushed himself off and glared at the Lean. Darl, however, hadn’t grasped that nothing bad had happened at all, holding his sword in exhausted desperation. “Put that thing down before you hurt someone,” Pea said, waving a tiny hand in Darl’s direction. “I’m sorry. It…he was just there. Scared me. I freaked,” James said. Darl still didn’t grasp what was going on. “You can stay there all morning if you like.” James snickered. “Suit yourself. I say we get something actually worthwhile to eat. I don’t blame you for avoiding that strange culinary invention last night. It did taste better than it smelled. It looked better than it tasted though.” James grinned and followed Pea to the fire, which has smoldered to glowing gem-like embers. With a simple work of magic Pea had the fire crackling. Then Pea produced two eggs from his pack, found two thin sticks, and gave one of each to James. “The thing about Fidget Fowl is their eggs stay good for weeks when you boil them,” Pea slowly broke the shell of his egg and peeled it off. “And, they taste even better roasted on fresh flames.” Then Pea stuck the egg on his stick and placed it in the fire. James followed suit. He watched the egg brown in the flames and expected that the whites would be set ablaze at any moment. But no such event occurred. He simply retrieved the egg from the fire and looked at the smoking oval. “Like roasting marshmallows,” he said. “What?” “Marshmallows. They’re a sugary squishy pillow. You cook them just like this over the fire. They’re good.” “I’ve never met a pillow that I thought tasted good. Not to mention I’ve never tasted a pillow with the intention of eating it…” He rolled his eyes. “They’re not really pillows.” “Perhaps not, but describing something as a pillow doesn’t make it very appetizing now does it?” “No, I guess not.” “Now these?” Pea indicated his egg. “These are not a pillow. As far as I am concerned they represent all that is good about the food in this world.” Then Pea plopped the egg in his mouth and chewed it roughly. James waited for his egg to cool, and when it did he took a small bite. He had had Fidget Fowl eggs before, but never like this. The flavor exploded in his mouth in a flurry of spices. He tasted fine garlic, rosemary, and a dozen other flavors that he could only describe as supreme. They banged his taste buds mercilessly with their goodness and he found himself gobbling the remainder of the egg like a starving man. With the egg devoured he hoped that Pea had another. But no other came and he felt slightly depressed. At some point during their conversation Darl had put down the sword and begun shoving everyone’s things into their appropriate places. When James turned back to his spot he found everything in perfect order, ready to be hauled at any moment. “I think it wise you receive at least some sort of lesson from me today,” Pea said. James nodded enthusiastically. He had been waiting for this for some time, but it seemed as though fate had taken every measure possible to prevent it from happening. “A light lesson today. You’ve fiddled enough with your magic, but the first thing you have to understand about it is this. If you don’t know how to funnel and control your magic you’re going to continue going around passing
Chapter Thirteen: Of Arnur and the Fall (Part One)
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) Note: I apologize for not being able to give a full and complete chapter for WISB. I have a good reason, and it is this. The chapter is proving to be far longer than I had intended. I could easily put in a chapter break, but I feel that it would take away from the flow of Chapter 13 by calling it 13 and 14, rather than two parts. Right now I am deep into the second half of the chapter which is pushing 7,000 words, which on average is a good 2,500 words more than other chapters. I don’t feel safe pushing to finish it tonight, though I will get as much done as possible. However, I will post part two the following sunday and obviously write chapter 14 for the weekend after that. So really, it’s like you’re getting a triple treat over the next three weeks! In any case, enjoy Ch. 13 Part One! Night fell like a wave of black for the moon, as it rose, was still a stark gray so dark that only the outline of its shape and the darkest of craters could be seen. Stars glimmered and provided a negligible amount of light, and nothing more. The heavens were fraught with inactivity. No meteors fell, no stars died, and all seemed in a complete standstill as life on Traea moved on as if nothing had ever happened. It was doubtless that the people, creatures, and beasts of Traea were affected; some must have been more than others. James had seen the disturbed faces of the people of Arlin City when the sun forgot to rise, and he knew how disturbed many must have been when all ran in reverse. He had a rudimentary knowledge of physics and the inner workings of the solar system. Planets that rotated developed magnetic fields to protect the surface from radiation. If the world that Traea was forever connected to suddenly stopped, radiation would have pounded every living thing so drastically that he couldn’t imagine anyone surviving for long. To add to the problem, with the air in the atmosphere moving at the same speed as the rest of the planet, a sudden stop would send all that air careening around the planet like a massive elemental hand to smash and suck up anything and everything possible. The idea that the planet could have stopped for any moment was mind boggling to him. It’s impossible. And if the moon stopped moving it would come crashing down. He realized at this point in his journey that if something was impossible, it likely would happen, as if nature in this strange world followed a twisted version of Murphy’s Law. James decided not to think on it anymore. He hadn’t the knowledge to figure it all out logically, and even if he did he doubted he could make any of it sound remotely logical to an entire world devoted to the works of magic. The golden path turned out to be less magnificent than he had expected. While the walls were a golden hue, they were faint and unimpressive apart from the fact that they were gold colored in the first place. The path climbed steadily in altitude and slowly melded into the tree like a landscape painting, tall dark brown trunks reaching up with scraggly bark wrinkles and long limbs of green pine needles and prickly pinecones. Soon the rocks faded away into nothing but trees and brush, leaving behind the tall cliffs of gold. James could no longer see anything of the little part of Traea that he knew—Arlin City, the entirety of the Lor Range, nor the great valley floor—that having little to do with the final blow of failing light as the sun disappeared beyond the farthest mountains, though Pea had brought out his torch and set it brilliantly aflame. The valley floor was simply out of sight. It felt as if he was in a new world completely separate from all that was happening below, and in a strange way this was true. James, Pea, and Darl were cut off from the Farthland, at least the civilized portion of it. As far as they knew, nobody else knew where they were, except for a select few who had likely died horribly in battle. James now understood why Arnur could keep him safe. The terrain was well enough for a few passengers, even a light wagon, but not sufficient enough to move an army. He imagined that Arnur had some form of protection, something that a small force would be unlikely to handle. And he wondered what it was. Is Arnur an ancient castle? A sacred fortress of some sort? Pea’s light shined on the encroaching tree limbs that seemed to reach out like ancient hands. The trees looked old, older than any James had seen back home. And they seemed overly healthy. Nothing that he could see seemed in any way to be dying or losing the brutal battle called life. Yet, at the same time, the forest, for that was all he could call it, was unkempt and untouched. Trees wound into themselves in a mock of natures’ battle to maintain superiority; bushes and thick bulbous mushrooms seized the opportunity to leech from the larger trees, wrapping around like wiry tendons and ending in tiny flowers of virtually every prime color imaginable so that they blended like the colors of a rainbow after a spring shower. Then Arnur presented itself, and James could only describe it as awe-inspiring. The magnificent structure seemed to appear from nowhere as if waiting patiently for he and his friends’ arrival. Arnur took up the entirety of
Chapter Twelve: The End of the Beginning
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) James had narrowly escaped death. In his mind he could still see the menacing white eyes of the creature, beast, whatever it was, thirsty for his flesh, thirsty for the sweet comfort he would have created inside its belly. Yet, he had survived. The sword, to his surprise, refused to leave his hand. He tried prying his fingers away, laying there on the beach, but his hand, and the sword, seemed unwilling to let go. The blade itself shimmered faintly as if it were suddenly brand new. He couldn’t quite understand how it had all happened. He remembered thinking desperately about the sword, and then it ripped free and he found himself on the beach, blurry eyed, and exhausted, sword tightly in his hand. Magic, he thought. For some reason he felt as if he were becoming more used to the blurry vision and weakness. He had the energy to stand again; he simply wanted to lay there in the sand for a moment. But Darl refused to allow him more than a few minutes, and before long, he found himself on his feet and hobbling through the open tunnel mouth and up a winding cramped tube. He dragged the sword behind him. Every so often the blade bumped Pea who in return grunted angrily and kicked it away. Darl, not at all to James’ surprise, became grumpier than before, grumbling to himself as they climbed. The journey up seemed far easier than the journey down. At least James thought so. The biggest problem he found was drying off. The process made him tremendously uncomfortable and he started to feel the way a cranberry might feel after being drowned. Still, he prayed and hoped there would be a soft bed in Arnur and that he would be able to sleep. And sleep. And sleep. The tunnel no longer curved in strange winding patterns; rather, it kept relatively straight in a easterly direction. James took this as an advantage. It meant they would have a full understanding of which direction to look when they managed to get out of the tunnel. Slowly the tunnel widened allowing everyone in the group to walk fully upright. James sighed as his spine popped. He stretched as best he could with the sword hanging from his hand. Then a faint light appeared, intensified, and then the end of the tunnel presented itself. Pea quietly put out his torch and placed it in his bag. Darl broke into the outside world first, then James, and Pea shortly after. James breathed in deeply, closed his eyes, and reveled in the moment. He promised himself that should he ever get home he would never go spelunking. Not so long as I have a choice. In the distance massive bangs filled the air like the sound of two enormous boulders crashing against each other, or a tremendous rockslide ripping away from a rock face. James saw Darl look back and for a moment thought to look too. He stopped himself in mid-motion. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Darl’s eyes were sunken; Pea, who had turned a moment later, looked on the brink of tears. The sounds continued and James built up the courage. He turned. The sight before him, a sight he had half-expected and yet could never fully prepare for, caused his knees to quiver, nearly buckling beneath his weight. Fires ravaged anything that could burn within Arlin City. Though he couldn’t see the main gates, he could tell that the walls had been crushed. Buildings buckled from car-sized stone missiles. But the fires hadn’t reached the two towers. Instead chains with links the size of human torsos stretched up the height of the structures. The Adul’pur shimmered. Faint black clouds enveloped the bridge. They grew in intensity, becoming like elemental serpents, surrounding the Adul’pur, but held back by an invisible force. Whatever held the clouds a bay lost its strength and in a sharp flash of light the Adul’pur shattered and exploded out into a green mist and disappeared. The black clouds dissipated just as sneakily as they had come. Then, the chains became taut. A stone missile ripped low into Naz’ra. It hung in balance with gravity and the last remaining supports within its structure, and then it fell, toppling down in a maze of dust, slabs of stone and pulverized rock. The sound of it all seemed infinitely greater to him. He winced as it crashed and dropped to his knees. He watched the dust settle and tears began to well in his eyes. Then Al’Dul creaked, a long crack opening like the maw of a stone beast along its midsection. Another stone missile burst through it. Then it crashed, hitting the hilltop in two large pieces, fragmenting, and spilling dust down the hillside. “We must go,” Darl said. James buried his head into the ground and sobbed. “James,” Pea said, “we have to go. There’s no time.” “I-I…” “Fear not. Luthien will pay for this.” But Darl’s words had no affect on him. He broke down completely, feeling as though one of his parents had died. What have I done? What have all these people done to deserve this? He searched for the answers; none came. It’s all my fault. Every last bit of it. If I had never come here, none of this would have ever happened. God help these people. God help me. “We have to move now. If his men see us, then all of this is pointless,” Darl said, then searching for the words, “all those people would have died for nothing. Don’t let that hang on your shoulders. Ammond knew there were great things
Chapter Eleven: Of the World Below
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) The cold black enveloped him in every direction and he soon realized that his inability to breath was the result of being thrust many feet underwater. But with nothing but darkness filling his vision he couldn’t tell which direction led to the surface. He hung there for a moment, feeling the water he had accidentally ingested swimming in the bottom of his lungs and his reflexes telling him to cough. Then, he picked a direction and swam frantically. A few seconds turned to many seconds and he started to wonder if he had chosen wrong and that he would die in the bottom in a watery grave. Quickly he dispelled those thoughts and swam harder and faster. Then, miraculously, he broke the surface. The chill sensation of air tickled his face. He breathed hard and coughed wildly as his lungs begged to be free of their burden. He dispelled the water and phlegm that found its way back into his throat and then breathed a sigh of relief. Looking around he could see nothing. Without the light from Pea’s magical torch every direction left him blind; his eyes could not adjust. To add, his arms were still burning and the only thing that kept him going was the burst of adrenaline injected ever so smoothly into his muscles. James tried to float on his back in order to cool his aching body. He managed it, albeit crudely, and grinned at having remembered something he hadn’t done since he was five. The only thing holding him down was his pack, which he took great effort to keep centered so he didn’t have to flop around too much to keep afloat. What am I going to do, he thought. The echo of voices answered his question. At first he couldn’t make out what was being said as the voices merged into a collage of sounds. Then, as if his hearing suddenly became more accurate, he could hear the faint arguing of Pea and Darl. Despite his fear he chortled. Then the joyful moment was over. “I’m okay,” he said, practically screaming it. A first there was no reply except the continuing debate above. Then, suddenly the echoes stopped. “James?” Pea’s voice came, broken, through the tunnel. “I’m okay. There’s water down here. A lot of water. I can’t see.” He slipped briefly, coughed up the water that ran into his mouth, and righted himself. “We’re on our way!” James waited patiently in the water, floating calmly. He could stand the dark—for a time. He had never been afraid of the dark, not really. His parents had told him he had feared it when he was younger, but he could never remember those days, and in some ways he was grateful not to. He instead fixated on the nights when his parents had told him to go to bed and he had simply remained awake fiddling with his computer. He started to wonder when he would get to use his computer again. He floated there in the dark for what seemed like ages. The sounds of Darl’s work in the tunnel filtered through the air. Shortly after the languid glow of Pea’s torch send a shimmer of light through the end of the tunnel and James could finally make out the dark shapes of his surroundings. The tunnel ended some twenty feet above him, simply cut off by the ceiling of a monumental cavern that stretched farther than the light could reach. We must be under the river, he thought. He wondered how far Arnur was from the river. He guessed a couple miles at least, assuming they didn’t get lost, something he hoped wouldn’t happen. There’s no time for that. A cry of surprise from above forced James to look up just in time to see Darl falling haphazardly through the opening in the tunnel. He tried to move out of the way, but it was too late and Darl came crashing down a few feet from him, landing stomach first, and sending a wave of water over his face. Darl surfaced a moment later. Pea snickered. “Not funny!” Darl said. Then Pea cried out too and fell with a small plop, sending yet another wave of water over both James and Darl. Then Pea surfaced too. “Right, not funny,” Pea said, the torch still held in his tiny hand. The flame hadn’t gone out, in fact, it had sunk an inch below the water and still glowed bright. James admired it for a brief moment. Then Pea said, “Well, what direction should we go.” “I haven’t a clue where we are, let alone which direction is east.” “I think we’re under the river,” James said. “But where under the river I don’t know. The tunnel didn’t exactly stay straight.” “Pick a direction then.” Pea didn’t seem too pleased with the option, but opted for it nonetheless. James hung his head back for a moment and let his ears sink, using his legs to keep him afloat. He floated there, silent and quiet, contemplating the next course of action he would have to take. East could be any direction, he thought. And if we go the wrong way we’ll all be dead. Something gently tugged on his back. At first he ignored it, thinking it little more than the movement of water around him, a current, or perhaps Darl or Pea swishing around. It was only enough to grab his attention, nothing more. But, he soon came to realize that it wasn’t the swishing and movement of his companions that was causing the force on his back. Rather, something inside his pack seemed to be pushing against the side. He
Chapter Ten: Turned Black the Old Oak and Farewell
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) Nub had tried hard to keep James in the room. She pleaded and begged, half dropping to her knee for him to stay. But he couldn’t. He had to know what the sounds were—the horns. He left the room; Nub refused to follow and curled in a ball near the door. Here and there he stumbled from weakness, succumbing to the effects of his wounds. It was all he could do to stay full upright, let alone see all that stood before. Each step, however, grew easier, and he felt his strength returning in groves. Yet, he paused outside the door, using the corner of a nearby wall as a support and nearly fainted. Rays of light ran along his exposed skin and lit up the face of the wall so he could see the paleness of the stone. Dawn, inescapable and unforgettably true, came at him as if a call from the Heaven that only he believed existed. He faced the mountains beyond and became overwhelmed by the greatness of the sun as it passed between two peaks, lighting everything in its path. For the first time, looking east, he saw the wide expanse of farmland that extended down the backside of Arlin City and on past the walls and into the country beyond, meeting up with the Far’anon River. Part of the river had been diverted into a series of canals and irrigation ditches like a giant maze of sparkling pathways. The farmland ended in a series of thickets, each round and independent of one another. They dotted the landscape like a group of toadstools. And then, like a massive blow to his gut, the reality of the situation presented itself. The euphoric moment ended and he realized that the sun was rising from the wrong side—the west. Panic struck through the inhabitants of Arlin City. He had been too blind to it to realize. People of all shapes and sizes ran frantically to nowhere at all. Below he could see nothing but chaos as men, women, and children of all races crowded around the western wall as far away from the main gates as possible. It was as if they hoped they could escape magically through the stone, but he could sense that the majority of them couldn’t use magic at all. Soldiers appeared from various sections of the city below, forming ranks and marching to the western wall, and though from this position he could not see the west, he knew there were more soldiers and people there. He walked along the wall to find an open view of the western side of the city. A few women brushed past and nearly knocked him over. Finally he found an open alcove that ended in a curved balustrade of aged gray stone fitted with alternating pillars carved with armored horses rearing high and regal and bowing as if to a king. For a moment, James feared to look over the edge. He couldn’t be sure what he would see, and at the same time he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what it was that everyone was so eager to escape from. But, he bit down and pushed away all the fear and limped until slowly the east side of Arlin City and the great green field beyond came into view. As stunning as it was to see the sun rising from the west, the sight below caused every muscle in his heart to lurch as if he were having a heart attack. His throat seized up; a thick bulb that felt like a smooth golf ball swelled up there preventing him from swallowing. Below he could see lines of soldiers lining up along the walls and below, catapults that had not been there before inside the excavated forms of buildings, archers preparing lengths of flaming arrows, and then…beyond the walls. For several hundred feet there was nothing but green and gold grass. Then, where the Old Oak stood, the same place where James had appeared in the Farthland, stood a black mass a mile wide and half a mile deep, interspersed with long squares of silver. Thousands and thousands of creatures, armed and shuffling impatiently, were there, part of an enormous army. There were men there too, normal men indifferent from those of the Farthland. Near the oak a small circle had been cleared, in which was a tall figure in a bright burnished silver suit of armor, helm removed and flanked by the lyphon, who walked in lonely circles in a motion of obvious discomfort at being held at bay for too long. Three massive wooden horns, now bellowing again in such a deep, resonating tone that he had to close his eyes to make it go away, and a series of tarred catapults made up the rear. His heart sunk deep into his chest and he felt as if it wanted to trade places with his gut. An army, he thought. What have I brought down on these people? He started to cry, but stopped himself as the first tears slipped silently off his chin. Instead, he sucked it back; his muscles spasmed in protest. The army remained still, yet no messenger came forward asking for surrender, and neither did anyone leave Arlin City to suggest the same, or a different end. Luthien’s army simply remained still, anticipating, and antsy. A long, black shadow appeared over his shoulder. He turned and met face to face with a dark brown gryphon in mid-flight, diving straight for him. Two fiery amber eyes centered on his face. It shrieked and raised its claws and, just as suddenly as it had appeared, so too did
Chapter Nine: On the Brink
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) James quickly came to realize that he had not entered into the same sort of paralysis he had when Dulien had spoken to him. Even so, voices rose up inside his mind and his vision went from clear as day to dismally blurry. He could see a flurry of figures, moving so fast he started to think that time was either passing him by at an alarming rate, or skipping like a rock on the water. From moment to moment, depending on the pattern of his vision, he could hear voices spoken from the real world, but before he could make out what was being said, the world of chattering entities drew him back into the fray. There were so many voices. He couldn’t focus on any one of them. Some were male, some female, and some even inhuman. Together they formed a loud, animalistic roar, all begging for his attention. He dared not focus, but for reasons he couldn’t be sure. A deep yearning inside his very person wanted to speak and mold with those within his mind, converse with them, but his mind fought against it as if it knew that nothing good would come of it. If he tried, his mind resisted, forbidding him from doing anything it disapproved of. He could only assume that this side of him represented logic, his logic. His vision faded back into the real world again. A scene played out before him, as if from a movie he had once seen. Triska and Pea—as best he could tell from their blurred appearance—spoke over him in sharp whispers. “A lyphon,” Triska said, her voice warbled. “Here? How?” “I don’t know,” Pea said. Then the scene continued, muffled beyond his recognition, until it finally receded as his vision phased out again. His mind felt utterly cluttered, as if he could focus on nothing. He started to sense that he was moving, up and down, up and down, in a swing-like fashion. It was dizzying. Pulses of sound, as if someone were barking orders through water, overcame the voices. He was not grateful, though, as the pulses furthered the nauseating dizziness. His vision returned to the real world, now a different scene. Someone, a woman, crouched over him, her giant eyes hovering inches from his face and her twisted nose nearly touched his lips. He couldn’t feel her, but in his hazy vision could make out the wiry hair that ran along her ears and down her neck, ghostly white. “Virnum,” she said, and then the scene passed away and he found himself back amongst the voices, the throbbing, and the pulsing. A flash of light filled the foggy world, and, to his delight, he found himself slipping from the state of paralysis and into a deep, rejuvenating, and altogether amazing sleep. When James broke away from the nothingness of his dreams he was overcome with pain unlike any he had ever felt before. Searing, agonizing, and unrelenting pain that made it altogether impossible to determine the origin. His head hurt. His body hurt. Even his jaw muscles hurt, preventing him from groaning or making any unnecessary motion that might trigger further pain—though he couldn’t fathom any pain more excruciating. While his eyes were in working order, he was unable to truly make out his surroundings. The room seemed…different. He couldn’t quite explain it, partly because the pain prevented him from focusing fully on any one thing at a time. Eventually he managed a tiny cry. Inside he cheered at the monumental feat. The wiry-haired woman from before appeared, poking her head into his field of vision like a giant bird. She eyed him; he tried to look back. Then in a tiny, whispery voice she said, “Virnum,” and the pain subside enough so he could bear it. He finally managed to see the features of her face. She had a long, thin face that forced her mouth to look as if it were constantly wording an ‘o’. Her skin was darker than his, but he couldn’t tell if it was because of her race or from exposure to the sun. For clothes she wore a pair of tattered robes over a supertunic that failed to hide her worn and beaten body from years of age and hard use. The robes were burned at the edges of the sleeves. She has lived a long, hard life, he thought. The woman walked away to a nearby table where she poised herself over a stone jigsaw puzzle. James felt ignored, but thankful nonetheless that he could now manage to move with only minor discomfort. The pain had gone from unbearable to livable. He hoped it would go away completely. Sitting up, he took in his surroundings. He was no longer in the dining floor of the keep within the Lord’s Hold. Rather he had been taken during his slumber to a small, yet cozy little room with one window next to a shining iron door opposite where the wiry-haired woman mused over her puzzle. He shook his head to find that the darkness still prevailed outside. The room itself was lit by several enormous candles twice as large as his arm, irregular numbers of wicks stuck into them—nine, four, seven, twelve, and more. The stone walls were covered in framed paintings of armor clad soldiers, noblemen, and gryphons. Among the furniture were two round tables, a pair of gold-lace covered rocking chairs that looked comfortable enough to make even the most raggedy old person feel at home, and two straw beds—one of which he lay in, covered in three layers of quilted blankets. Other than the wiry-haired woman, he was alone. “Where am I?”