Elantion

“I’m sorry that happened to your loved ones, though you story is similar to many others I’ve heard… I know the fangwyns or ‘abominables’ well. People transformed into monsters, and commanded by necromancers. Do you know how the transformation takes place?”

“I’m not sure I want to know…”

“After they’re killed, a ritual snatches their souls, and their bodies twist into husks filled only with hatred and brutality.”

“By Dag! I shudder to think those things were once people.”

Clarice put down her daggers and neared the fire. “Let’s eat the hare now; otherwise you’ll char it.”

Having enjoyed their meal, they retired for the night.

Just before the break of dawn, Kaj felt something brush against his shoulder, and woke with a start, only to realize it was her.

“Get up! We’ve got to leave!”

“Dammit, do you mean to scare me to death?”

“If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t have noticed.”

The nalnir’s answer sent a chill down his spine. She didn’t even spare him a glance, as she was intent on putting out the fire and hiding the traces so that any other orcs that might be in the area couldn’t identify them. The cloak he habitually wore around his neck concealed most of his body, but he noticed she’d removed her gloves, and regarded her thin cold-beaten hands.

The fog was quite thick that day, but the deeper they ventured into the forest, the thinner the mists became, hanging high amidst the trees. The atmosphere was magnificent, if surreal. The Shadetrail Forest was still this green and lush (in complete contrast with the rest of the world) thanks to elven magic. By comparison, the Whitetrunk Forest was an expanse of bare and battered trees.

They moved forward at a brisk pace, and the forest seemed a samey blur to Kaj.

“Tell me, how do you elves recognize every tree in the forest? How do you always know where you are?”

Her response was not the one he wished to hear. “You humans don’t observe, and you don’t know how to listen to the forest. You’ll never be able to get a grasp. You’re too distracted,” she pontificated.

“Oh c’mon! Would it kill you to answer without the usual elven arrogance!?”

“If you don’t like my answers, then don’t ask questions.”

“Three centuries since the Reconciliation, and nothing’s changed,” he prodded her, annoyed. “I was just hoping to make the trip there more pleasant.”

“We have to walk, not talk. Fenan’s not far now. You can talk to whomever you like once we’re there.”

“You bet I will!”

They walked for a day and a half, most of the time in silence. During the afternoon of the second day, they arrived at the bridge to Fenan, a small and quiet elven village. It stood between two fierce streams, the White and Silver Creeks. Scads of refugees from beyond the Slumbering Peaks had found a home here. The streets (some cobblestone, others clay) were narrow, and the sticky mud of that time of year sullied boots, clothing and cloaks. The houses built by the refugees were mostly small, wooden, one-floor affairs with thatched rooves, while the older homes around the plaza were two stories tall and built using wood and stone. The tavern stood out from among them, along with the smithy’s furnace and forge and their attached residences. At the center of the square was situated a large well, near which stood a vegetable-laden table; a number of human women and female elves were cleaning the vegetables while chatting and having a laugh or two.

On one side of the square was located the building that housed the wounded and sick. It was a sanctuary dedicated to Luhreil, the god of water, and it was a circular structure built of wood and stone. The jutting roof was supported by slender columns, from whose sturdy iron rings sizeable lanterns were hanging. The sanctuary’s large door was made of solid wood, so old and run-down that it had lost its erstwhile shiny patina. Inside, the single nave housed beds and cots, and the handful of windows let in little light. The clouded panes of glass evoked a sense of isolation. Additionally, there were three small rooms and a nice stone fireplace that warmed the whole interior.

“Now go take care of your wounds,” said the elf hastily. “I have something to do.”

“The tavern’s on the other side of the square, if you need a room.”

But Kaj received no reply. He turned to face her, only to find she was gone.

When Kaj opened the sanctuary door, he found it fuller than ever before. There were many inside—too many. There had to have been some battle, with the wounded militiamen taking refuge here. He feared there might not be enough roots for everyone. He had to get to work. He went to the room that had been designated the kitchen and started making his healing brew.

Moments later, he heard the door slam. “So it’s true! You are back!”

He spun on his heels, to see Cilna run toward him and throw her arms around his neck. She was a young elf of Fenan; her family had lived there for many generations, a fact of which she was proud. She was frail, and not very tall, with long always-braided blonde hair and big brown eyes. Her open, friendly, and curious nature had often gotten her in trouble for some ill-spoken words, not to mention all the times she’d been too curious. Like everyone else in Fenan, she wore simple clothes, a linen tunic yellowed by time plus a blue woolen robe which the young woman protected by wearing a coverall.

“Cilna, be careful! These roots are precious!” The bowl had almost dropped from his grip.

“You found so many!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“Yes, and it wasn’t easy. Now let me continue, if you would. You can help me when the medicine’s ready to be distributed.”

Cilna nodded. “I’ll be there when you need me.”

After entrusting Cilna with the hot infusion he’d just finished concocting, Kaj busied himself preparing compresses for the wounds.

Then the young woman called out for him in desperation. “KAJ!”

He rushed over to her. Five ailing and wounded hunters were beginning, one by one, to tremble and squirm. Before long, they were all dead. Their wounds had been infected by the teeth and claws of lalks, demonic wolves whose packs numbered many across all of Elelreel. Cilna was motionless beside Kaj, staring at the hunters’ bodies.

“You didn’t think to check the wounds?” asked Kaj, in time.

Petrified, she stammered incomprehensibly, and moreover, in the heat of the moment she had dropped what little of the potion had remained.

“By all that’s holy!” he shouted, picking up the cauldron and ladle. “How thoughtless can you be? I risked my life for those roots, and then you go and waste them like this! The brew was supposed to be enough for tomorrow morning, too!” he cried. “Get out of here.”

Cilna ran away crying, and the door closed with a dull thud.

III

Snow-bearing clouds were gathering in the north, over the peaks of the Icemount. The frigid winds accompanied Clarice, who had left the village many hours ago to meet with an old friend. Her quick and confident strides belied her confusion; she was beginning to entertain the notion that perhaps this journey had not been entirely in vain. Perhaps she had found what she was looking for. She had bet it all on that human, flouting strict rules in the process, and as such she felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders more than ever. Nearing the slopes of the Hallowed Heights, she slowed down to try to and catch sight of her friend. Soon enough, she spotted her approaching wearily.

“I’m sorry I made you travel so far,” said Clarice.

They greeted each other by gripping each other’s wrists, and didn’t waste any time with useless small talk. They repasted, and just before dark, they said their goodbyes before Clarice retraced her steps back.

When the nalnir returned, she visited the sanctuary to find Kaj crouching on the floor, sad and disconsolate.

“So many have died, and so many more will die. Spilling tears over their bodies will do nothing for them,” she told him.

Kaj looked up at her; she was leaning against the doorjamb with her hands clasped. “None of this seems to worry you very much.”

She shook her head. “If you let this get you down, then you’re not fit to fight,” she replied, intending to spur him on.

“Maybe I don’t fight for that very reason,” retorted Kaj. “Well, I don’t fight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t. I do my part, and nobody else takes on the responsibilities I do…”

“The way I see it, you’re hiding from the problem,” opined Clarice. She turned to leave, and Kaj ran after her towards the entryway.

“Look after your wounded while you still can.”

“You’re not getting away this time,” he said, as he sensed she was hiding something from him. “You disappear, only to come back to judge me some more. Didn’t you say Fenan was on just ‘on the way’ for you?”

“It’s up to me how long I stay here.”

“I understand that full well. But over the past few days, you seemed reluctant to stay here.”

“There’s a reason I’m staying here in Fenan. I don’t know what your problem is, but whatever it is, I suggest you resolve it.”

Kaj frowned, speechless.

The nalnir took a bag from her belt and put it in his hand. “Put a pinch of this in a bowl of hot water for each of them. They won’t heal, but it’ll give them some relief.” Then she turned around and closed the door behind her.

Kaj was even more confused than before. He opened the bag and looked at the powder inside. Then, as if gripped by a sudden frenzy, he went to heat up some water.

The streets were deserted, and people were afraid to be milling about in the dark of the night, as it brought with it orcs and demonic beasts. That evening, Kaj left the sanctuary, pleased to be breathing in some fresh hair and smelling the strong aroma of heki wood. Heki trees had a balsamic and resinous extract, similar to larches. They were widespread only in Draelia, and their wood was used for hearths. The days were getting shorter, the temperatures colder. As Kaj headed home, a cold wind made him hold faster to his cloak and increase his pace. He heard the laughter of the children in the nearby houses, and the lights of the lanterns and candles flickered behind their windows’ curtains.

Near his house, he spotted a hooded Clarice wrapped in her cloak, leaning against a tree trunk.

“I thought you’d gone again.”

“As you can see, that’s not the case,” she replied.

“Where will you spend the night? Do you already have a room at the tavern?”

“Don’t worry about me. If all else fails, I have my pelt of fur.”

“It’s very cold out here, and it’ll only get worse as the night deepens.”

“I know. That won’t be a problem.”

Kaj shrugged. “Then I won’t insist. But I’ll leave the door open for you, just in case.”

“Do you have anything strong to offer me?” she asked before Kaj crossed the threshold.

“I might,” he said, bidding her inside with a jerk of the head.

Kaj took off his cloak and hung it on a hook on the wall. Clarice lowered her hood and observed the house closely.

“Want to hand me your cloak?” asked Kaj.

“I’ll put it on the chair.”

The first thing she noticed was how cozy and welcoming the small house was, defying her expectations. There were bunches of many types of herbs hanging here and there, while others were carefully preserved in jars. The bottles placed in the cupboard stood out in particular, and a stone mortar sat next to them, along with a stack of bowls, some glasses, and a few spoons. A big knife was stuck in one corner of the cabinet, with some cheese and apples nearby. The two doors at the bottom of the cabinet surely concealed the rest of the supplies.

A very damaged wooden table lay at the center of the room, with two chairs next to it, and two stools near the wall. A pile of wood and two buckets of water sat adjacent to the hearth. A handful of candles, placed here and there (with pools of hardened wax beneath them), illuminated the room.

Clarice peered at Kaj for a moment. She’d been nursing some doubt about him ever since she’d found herself stealthily tailing the man and his cart on the flatland road up to Falcon’s Pass. Her meeting with her old friend had only intensified that doubt. Nevertheless, he was a human, and she knew it wouldn’t have been easy for him to carry out his plan.

Holding a bottle, Kaj placed two glasses on the table and poured them a liquid with a green sheen. She sat down, and Kaj handed her one of the glasses.

“Have a taste and tell me what you think.”

Clarice grabbed the glass and sniffed. The aroma impressed her a great deal. “This is no common spirit. How did you come by it?”

“I have my connections. I knew you’d like it,” he smiled.

The elf drained the glass, and her expression could hardly be more satisfied. “I haven’t had the stuff in some time. Offer me some more.”

Kaj obliged, pouring more into both glasses. They knocked it down in one fell swoop.

“You’d better go easy,” said Clarice. “You’re not an elf.”

“Wonder what it is!”

Typical human, thought Clarice.

“Can I ask you a question?” asked Kaj.

“Ha, like you haven’t been asking questions of me already!”

“Where are you from?”

The elf rested her arms on the table and poured herself a little more. This time, she savored it slowly, with a little sip to start. “You and your questions.” She paused. “…I haven’t had the opportunity to sit in a warm house and enjoy this tipple in a long while,” she said, smiling wistfully. “I lived in a village on the Red Rises near the Valwald River. My family traded maple juice for a living. I still remember the strong aroma that wafted from the barrels during fermentation. The vibrant color of the leaves, the rushing river waters… it feels like centuries have passed since then.” She finished drinking. “This damned hooch is making me talk too much,” she said, vexed.

She got up from her chair and, with a broad motion, put her cloak back on her shoulders. “Take advantage of the tranquility of your home while you can. I have a feeling that times will worsen sooner rather than later,” she said, distraught. She adjusted her hood and headed for the door.

Kaj was leaning against the back of the chair with his arms folded. “Do you really want to sleep outside?”

“I’d be getting some fresh air. It’s hot in here.”

“Blame the booze for that,” he said, smiling. “If you want to come back in, make yourself home anywhere you like. I’m going to sleep!”

Clarice exited, and closed the door behind her.

The night was deep and silent in Fenan. The thick and clear clouds were gathering apace. The village streets were illuminated by scant lanterns, casting the hush that enveloped Draelia into greater relief. One could hear only the slight patter of footsteps that grew louder and more rhythmic before slowly dissipating. A door creaked slowly open, which was then closed gingerly. So it was that sudden, faint flashes of light gleamed from the sanctuary’s windows, followed by more silence.

Clarice had ambled for a spell amidst the quiet of the night, before the cold forced her to take refuge in Kaj’s abode. The elf settled herself down on the floor near the door, still wrapped in her cloak and furs. The warmth of the embers in the fireplace had her dozing in no time.

The next morning, the sun peeked out from behind the Slumbering Peaks, though its heat was meager, as winter was upon the lands. The nalnir woke up when a tiny ray of sunshine managed to infiltrate a hole in the window’s wooden shutter, striking her straight in the eyes. She got up with a sleepy groan and lit the fireplace anew.

Cilna woke up early, with a fire inside her. She went to the sanctuary, and when she arrived before the door, she took a deep breath, steeling herself for another difficult day. What she witnessed left her breathless. Moments later, she was running at breakneck speed toward Kaj’s house. When she arrived, she started knocking violently and without restraint.

“Kaj! KAJ! Open the door!” She was in no state to wait; she had to take him to the sanctuary immediately.

After a short wait, Clarice opened the door. “You must be Cilna…”

The young elf was annoyed. “Yes, I am! And I have to see Kaj right away!”

“He’s sleeping. Wake him up if you must.”

Without hesitation, Cilna ran towards him.

“Open your eyes, Kaj! C’mon, wake up!”

Kaj suddenly heard his name, and his body getting shaken. He realized that he was not, in fact, dancing with fawns in the woods.

Clarice was leaning against the door, thoroughly amused.

With difficulty, the man opened his eyes, to be greeted by Cilna bent over him trying to wake him up. The words that came out his mouth were not terribly friendly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Something happened down in the village! You have to come and see!” she insisted.

“I’m guessing it’s nothing that can’t wait,” he lamented.

“You guessed it! C’mon, get dressed!” Cilna pulled off his covers.

A cold wind made him shiver. Laboriously, he got up. The water in the washbowl was freezing, but he screwed up his courage and dipped his hands in to rinse his face, so as to clear his mind.

“I’m ready,” said a shivering Kaj, tucking his shirt into his pants.

“Finally! C’mon, let’s go!” Cilna grabbed him by the hand and started pulling.

“Clarice, are you coming with us?” he asked, resisting Cilna’s tugging.

“You go on ahead. I know the way, if I’m needed,” she replied, in her usual detached manner.

As soon as the two turned the corner, the nalnir pulled something out of her pocket, and she wrote some words on a parchment. Then she departed the house, the door slamming behind her.

Cilna and Kaj reached the square, where a considerable crowd had gathered.

“What’s going on here?” asked Kaj in amazement.

“Come in! Come and see!”

As soon as they entered, they were greeted by everyone’s salutations and laughter. They sat there on their cots with relieved expressions, chatting amongst themselves. Kaj, standing at the center of the nave, saw smiling faces every which way he looked. But how was this possible?

“I hope you don’t think it’s thanks to your pigswill!” teased a soldier.

“I don’t! I didn’t do a thing!” he replied, incredulous. He made the rounds, to find no fevers or wounds in anyone. “How can this be? You’re all healed!”

An old woman replied: “Somebody was here last night. I saw her. A hooded figure, not very tall, with a white light ‘round the hands. Didn’t catch her face, though.”

“Are you sure?”

The woman looked none too pleased by this. “I may’ve been ill, but I wasn’t mad, deary!”

“I was here till the late evening,” said Cilna, “and I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Did you notice anything else of note?” Kaj asked the woman.

“What does it matter!?” interrupted the young elf. “Everyone’s hale and healthy! It’s almost like you’re unhappy about that.”

“You don’t get it! Not just anybody could have done this. It’s just like the stories I’ve been told by the elders of Lochbis.”

The old elf woman was deep in thought. She looked up and said: “I think she had long hair. And she was definitely an elf. Her hands were so slender…” she smiled contentedly.

Kaj returned her smile. “Thanks for being such a talented observer.” He turned to Cilna: “Check on everyone again. Some of them are very worn out—they still need a day or two of rest. The others can go.”

“Sure thing. Wait, where are you going?”

“I need to have a chat with someone.”

At that moment, Clarice was putting distance between herself and Fenan. She had all of her stuff on her (which wasn’t much), and as always, her mind was swimming with thoughts.

Kaj came out on the path, and spotted her pacing away, about to leave the village.

“Clarice, wait!”

But she heeded not his words. He jogged up to her and grabbed her by the arm. Her death glare shocked his fingers loose, and she quickly withdrew her arm.

“Do NOT do that again!” she warned him.

“I’m not letting you run off! I want answers.”

“Oh, you want answers?” she asked in resolute tones.

Kaj goggled at her. “Of course! Is that so strange?” he said, the words coming out harsh.

Clarice was looking away. There was a strange glint in her eyes; she seemed almost resigned. “Before you can have your answers, I must have mine,” she explained. She turned around and started walking again, but when Kaj again tried to stop her, she pointed a dagger at his throat.

“Don’t you try following me!” She didn’t need to add anything else.

Though nothing was clear to him, Kaj raised his hands in surrender, and she continued on her way, sheathing the dagger.

*

Kaj was still busy at the sanctuary, as a group of men-at-arms had come to the village in search of food and information. By the afternoon he was exhausted, so he went home, wrote in his diary, and rested his feet on the table while rocking in his chair. He reflected on his days with the nalnir, from their meeting on the banks of the river to their arrival in Fenan. His memory went to that night’s events, and it was then that he spotted it. He rose to his feet quickly, almost tripping in his haste. On the stool beside the door lay a carefully folded parchment next to a leather bag. He opened the letter:

Wear it, and don’t show it to anyone. Soon you will understand.

—Clarice

Kaj opened the bag. Inside was a necklace with a medallion. The man took a close look at it. The stone was quite beautiful, a light purple color at the edges, and darker and deeper at the center—almost smoky, in fact. It was bright, multifaceted and rough, which probably meant it was a fragment collected who knows where, and embedded in gold as it stood. There was something magnetic about it. He let it dangle off his fingers for a moment before putting it on. Kaj looked at it, and it seemed to shine lightly. He held it a little longer in hand, then hid it under his shirt.

Meanwhile, on the path that ran alongside the White Creek, the evening’s shadows were lengthening, and the clouds that had Clarice on her travels seemed to be making way for the last faint ray of sunshine. The hooded figure moved rapidly down the road, headed for the small stretch of woods at the foot of the Slumbering Peaks. She needed to reach the tunnel entrance to the Rainvale as quickly as possible. She had been journeying alone for many years, far and wide throughout Draelia and sometimes even beyond. This had honed her senses, and she had learned to survive in even the most extreme circumstances. That was why she was still alive. Her thoughts strayed to Kaj for a moment. She absolutely had to look after his well-being, at least until she had dispelled all of her doubts.

Her train of thoughts was distracting her. She stopped, taking in the noises that surrounded her. She took a deep breath; there was something in the air. The trees were close now. She had to hurry and seek shelter for the night.

Clarice found an area at the foot of a steep hill. The place was sheltered by large trees and dense shrubbery, and the ground around was slippery, making it impossible to risk advancing further. She made a hole for the fire, thereby concealing the light of the flames. She curled up next to it, wrapped in her cloak, and slept for a few hours.

She was startled awake by a host of strange noises. Perfectly still, she listened. Some soil fell upon her, and she understood from the croaking that it was a pack of anurians, a species of froglike amphibians that wandered from one land to another in nomadic groupings, collecting what they found on both continents. They were rarely seen in that area; since the Invasion, they had been pushed to as far as Elelreel due to the devastation in Draelia. They were a gawky lot, with slimy and spotted skin, short legs and long arms. They could be on the fat side, and their colors could be vivid—the distinguishing characteristics of wiser, older anurians. These creatures were venomous and quite swift, which made them difficult to deal with groups of them.

While Clarice was deciding what to do, a small flame went out from among the embers, and a thin plume of smoke rose up. The elf’s eyes followed it, cursing its existence.

The anurian at the head of the pack caught a whiff of the scent, and spotted the smoke. Then it ordered the pack to halt. Before they could stick their heads out over the hill, Clarice dashed like lightning behind a large tree trunk.

The anurian leapt down to Clarice’s altitude, but with its poor sense of smell, it could not distinguish between Clarice’s odor and the overpowering smoke. It rummaged through the embers with its spear, and then, with a guttural cry, jumped onto the path, the caravan setting off once again.

The elf waited for them to go away, and watched to make sure none were straggling behind.

By Efabi! Danger averted, she thought.

Dawn was breaking, so she decided to resume pace. The last stretch in the woods was propitious. She found some bushes that still bore berries for the plundering. She popped some in her mouth intermittently as she continued forward. Her strides were light and fleet of foot, and she always tried to leave as few traces as possible by avoiding mud and overly soft ground. The sun had risen by the time she left the woods and spotted the hills that would lead her to Herle.

She arrived outside the village on the afternoon of the fourth day. She crossed the Murkwaters and followed them to the passage toward the Rainvale. She hadn’t the time to walk the entire path and reach the hidden entrance—she could already hear the group that was waiting for her arguing heatedly. She stopped and shook her head, mustering all of her patience before proceeding onwards. She wouldn’t stop by for long—just for long enough to exchange information. Then she would walk right back to Fenan.

Ten days passed. The sun had almost dipped behind the mountains. Kaj was returning home, convinced he would never see the nalnir again. He looked up, and in the distance he saw a limping figure. Curiosity spurred him to get a better look, and he realized it was Clarice. Kaj dashed to help her, and she fell into his arms.

“What happened to you, Clarice?” he asked worriedly.

“Now’s not the time. Take me to your house.”

Clarice let herself be guided by Kaj, who helped her lie upon the bed. The elf took off her cloak and began to unfasten the leather protector on her injured left thigh, taking off that leg of her trousers as well.

In the meantime, Kaj was preparing her some water and clean cloth, which he brought over. Her thigh was deeply lacerated.

“It was lalks, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I’ve never seen a pack of lalks that organized,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. She was very pale-faced, and worn out, as she had lost a lot of blood.

“Now stay still; I’ll try not to hurt you too much.”

She nodded slightly, laying her head on the pillow. Kaj dipped a piece of cloth in the washbowl and set about washing away the blood, cleaning the wounds thoroughly. With each touch, he felt the elf’s muscles contract in pain.

“I’m almost finished,” he informed her. “I just have to go get some herbs from the hospital.”

“There’s no need. Just put some bandages on it. It’ll heal.”

“I’m the wound expert here.”

“Listen to me, Kaj,” she replied harshly.

“Okay, if you say it’ll heal… you should’ve put some galium leaves on it as soon as possible, you can find them all over the place here.”

“I was busy running away. I was being unwary, and now look at me…” she said, her words tinged with disappointment.

“But you’re alive!” he cried.

“So it’d seem…” she replied, without much enthusiasm.

Kaj finished wrapping her wound, and whipped up an infusion with a mixture of invigorating herbs. When he returned to the room, he saw she’d fallen asleep.

Good, he thought. She’ll at least regain her strength.

It was now evening. Kaj looked out the window, but the stars were not there. The white clouds shone, covering the whole sky from horizon to horizon. A gust of freezing air enveloped Kaj, who watched the first snowflakes of the season. He went outside, spread out his arms, and turned to face the sky. The snow’s caress felt nice, but a snowflake made it way past his cloak onto his neck, causing him to shiver. He quickly returned inside, and saw that Clarice was awake, leaning against the headboard.

“What’s so fascinating out there? You rushed out the door…” she asked, curious.

The man opened the shutters of the bedroom window. As soon as she saw the snow, Clarice swore in Elvish (which Kaj did not understand). She started rising out of bed, pushing herself onto her feet using her arms, and staggering a little. Kaj stepped in to support her.

“I’m fine!” she insisted firmly.

“Okay. I just wanted to help.”

The nalnir limped to the window. “I hoped it’d take at least a few more days. I didn’t need this,” she admitted, destroying Kaj’s glee completely.

She drank a sip of water and laid herself in bed again, dozing off forthwith. Kaj looked at her for a moment. Most in Clarice’s place would have already developed a high fever, accompanied by delirious dreams. It seemed very strange to him. He found himself handling the medallion she’d given him; it seemed to help him reflect. With his mind full of thoughts, he stretched out on a carpet, and before he realized it, he’d fallen asleep.

Outside the village, the nocturnal quiet was punctuated by the howls of lalks. That night, however, they could be heard barking in pain. A short figure packing metal was striding toward Fenan. His loud and heavy footsteps were accompanied by labored breathing. When the sun began to rise, he finally saw the outline of the houses in the distance. He stopped to catch his breath, and took the opportunity to drink some mead.

Kaj’s awakening was a rude one. He heard shouting in the streets. The speakers were very riled up, so he got up hastily and opened the door. Despite his cloak, he was struck by the cold air. A little further on, a dozen or so villagers were gathered to rail against something. He decided to try and figure out what was going on. Making his way through the crowd, he saw a dwarf brandishing an axe at the crowd with a menacing look. Insult them as they might, none had the courage to attack him.

“Please, stop this!” said Kaj.

“Oh!” exclaimed the dwarf. “Someone with a little common sense!”